♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami
♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! //
♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his)
♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡
- ᡣ𐭩 time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᡣ𐭩 -
ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]
on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto.
after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.
fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good
he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.
in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.
the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”
the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you.
when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.
the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”
you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”
the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”
you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.
he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.”
you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”
he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”
you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back.
when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in.
but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.
your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs.
“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable.
he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest.
“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.
you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.
“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”
his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin.
you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.
there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you.
when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”
in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?”
he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.
“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.
ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]
you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.
you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-
you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door.
but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient.
you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself.
toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.
now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.
“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body.
you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait.
“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure.
“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”
“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration.
you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence.
“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now.
you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”
“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils.
“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question.
one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope.
one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think.
but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less.
“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view.
“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.
“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates.
you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.
“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes.
you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.
“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”
you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”
he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”
“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.
“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.
“clearly,” you interject.
“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.
“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer.
“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?
“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest.
“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.
“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.
the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left.
his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”
“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me.
“whatever you want,” he answers instead.
you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.
“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated.
“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”
and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?
“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along.
“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now.
“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”
“and do you?” you ask.
his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you’ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.
“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.
“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?”
“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that.
“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.
you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)
“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”
“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want.
“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever.
“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”
“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”
you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it.
“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.
ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]
being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee.
like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.
but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.
so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee.
but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee.
yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee.
you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee.
and it works for a while.
but not forever.
three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt.
you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.
“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.
“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.
“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.
“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead.
you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful.
“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”
it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”
“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either.
you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession.
“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.
“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.
“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”
“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”
he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.
“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.
“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.
“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.
“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”
“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too.
he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”
“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too.
“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too.
“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again.
he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.
“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.
he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says.
“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.
“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”
even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips.
he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body.
why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?
ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]
you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme.
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅
“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs.
you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?
he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.
you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅
“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat.
when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”
“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act.
he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”
you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”
“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅
“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall.
“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.
the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?”
you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”
he nearly comes inside of you right there.
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅
maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out.
you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure.
but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this.
it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out.
you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.
and then one night you can’t find your keys.
you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen.
when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”
you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”
he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes.
you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”
“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere.
you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”
from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”
“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.
he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”
“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked.
15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?”
your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs.
you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.
“how do you know?” he asks.
“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”
“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.
you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face.
eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.
“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering.
he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”
you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”
it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost.
it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.
in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.
you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs.
you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together.
you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”
you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur.
“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”
“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree.
he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?”
and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.
you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow.
nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.
ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]
“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence.
you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump.
nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)
he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask.
he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”
you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”
“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”
“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”
it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not.
now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”
“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement.
he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.
“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”
he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”
you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”
“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before.
“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”
“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile.
he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak.
you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about.
“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”
you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree.
“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response.
“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap.
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅
you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:
>> nami <3
>> how’s work baby
<< read
<< if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)
>> nami <3
>> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????
<< read
<< how do u know that?? nerd!!!
>> nami <3
>> google tbh.
<< read
<< wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(
>> nami <3
>> goodbye.
<< read
<< :(
>> nami <3
>> i love you
<< read
<< :)
you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy.
arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case.
he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”
if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop.
he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word.
by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky.
“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too.
he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are.
“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles.
everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time.
it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you.
when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop.
you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back.
the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety.
“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur.
he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter.
“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates.
sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder.
♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡
no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP
ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩
@igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)
Notes: sfw; wonwoo is old as hell, like volturi old; this is super long soz
Total recluse, is not up with the times at all
Doesn’t have a phone, or internet, until he meets you
You meet at a bookstore, you work there and that’s the only place he goes
He’s breathtakingly lonely
Doesn’t talk much, just stares at you with those dark, baleful eyes and listens to every single word you say
Turns them over in his head until he can conjure the sound of your voice
Overhears you saying your apartment building is being demolished and that you have nowhere to go
Posts a flier advertising his spare room on a pillar outside the bookstore the next day
You move in the next week
His house is old af, super victorian, creaky as all hell
There are hallways leading to nowhere, locked doors without keyholes, and mirrors covered with sheets everywhere
He’s got a sunroom but it’s all boarded up, and as soon as winter hits and you mention missing the sun, he’s prying the boards off with his bare hands
Probably should have waited until the sun went down but he’s only a little singed so it’s okay
Sleeps so much
Like most of the hours in the day
Finds himself missing you though, dreaming about you and longing for you, and realizes all he has to do is rest less and spend that time with you instead
His schedule gets a little wonky because yours is, but it works
Basically, he goes to coffin when you leave and gets up when you come back to him home
You have to go away for a month to take care of family and you adopt a cat to make sure wonwoo doesn’t just sleep the whole time you’re gone
He’s rested for longer, he tells you, but you don’t care
Because if he’s sleeping the whole time, you won’t be able to talk to him at night
Which is why you also put him on your phone plan
He doesn’t make you pay rent, so it’s the least you could do
Takes you ages to teach him how to use the phone, and even longer for him to actually think to use it, but it’s all worth it when you get that first selfie
It’s mostly of Howl, but you can see the rim of wonwoo’s glasses and you count that as a win
Doesn’t outright say he misses you but definitely acts like it
Texts you all the time, sends voice notes when he gets so excited that his thumbs move too fast for the phone to handle
It’s the most you’ve ever heard from him, and you can only hope that doesn’t change when you return
Of course it does though
He avoids you like the plague as soon as you get home, only opens his door to let howl out to see you, times his feeds with your shifts at the bookstore so he can be out while you’re home and home while you’re out
You have no clue why he’s suddenly being so reclusive again, and it pisses you off
And makes you sad, but you choose to focus on the anger
Eventually, you threaten to break down his door
He refrains from reminding you that he could kill you with one hand behind his back and finally opens up
He looks fucking awful
His cheeks are gaunt, his skin pallid, his eyes sunken, and you wonder if he’s been feeding at all
And then he has the nerve to give you attitude, to tell you he hasn’t been ignoring you, that he’s just going about his undead life like he always has
And ohhhh that gets you mad, that gets you real mad, mad enough to step into his space and maybe shout a little and perhaps poke his chest with your finger and shit, his pecs are like freakin marble
He’s still as a statue through all of this, and when you’re finally done yelling, it occurs to you that it might not have been the best idea to lose it on your landlord/roommate/vampire bestie
But he’s… smiling?
It’s small, and just barely noticeable, but the corners of his mouth are curled up in a smile, and that steals all the rest of your anger
“You care about me,” he says, awe evident in his voice and wonder clear on his face
“Of course I do! Are you fucking stupid?” You shout at your wits end, ready to lose it again
“Apparently.”
Things are different after that
He’s more open than ever, spends literally every waking moment with you
Until he meets your best friend’s boyfriend
Him and mingyu latch on to each other immediately in a true show of black cat and golden retriever energy
Pretends he doesn’t want to hang out every time mingyu asks, opens the door for him without fail
mingyu introduces wonwoo to video games and he’s lost to you for weeks
he stops only to feed and even then, he doesn’t get nearly enough
you have to conspire with mingyu to get him to a good place in the game and then cut the internet
he’s upset at first but then he realizes how hungry he is
and how much he misses you
he keeps his gaming to just a few hours a day from then on
before he knows it, a year has passed, and his life looks so very different than it did what feels like a moment ago
his house feels like a home, he has hobbies, he has friends, he has you.
He doesn’t know when (time is meaningless to one as old as him) but somewhere along the way, he started seeing you differently
You always had a glow, something like an aura, to him
But now, you’re so golden it’s almost like he’s back in the sunshine
He hasn’t felt it in millennia, but you warm him from the inside out just like the sun used to
It’s why he pulled away when you had to leave all those months ago
Well, after you got back all those months ago
When you were gone, he realized that you’re the only bright spot in his life, and that was scary
He didn’t have to confront it until you got back, so he did the only thing he knows how to do - not confront it at all
He should have known you wouldn’t abide by that, but he wasn’t upset at being called (threatened) out
If anything, it made him realize that he’s important to you just like you’re important to him
Plus you’re beautiful when you’re angry
You’re beautiful always, and there hasn’t been a day since he met you that the thought hasn’t crossed his mind
Now it’s almost recurring, so frequent that it’s become a problem for him
Because you’re his best-
He can’t say friend anymore, but best works. You’re his best. The best person he knows, the best thing in his life, the best of him
One night, you’re both reading in the study; science fiction for him and romance for you
You gasp every so often, and after a particularly loud one, he glances over surreptitiously to find you curled up with your hands pressed to your cheeks and the book in your lap
“What happened?”
“They finally kissed,” you beam at him, your eyes watery and your glee uncontained
He can’t focus on his own book after that, his thoughts full of what it would be like to kiss you, what you’d sound like, feel like, taste like
If you would gasp for him like you gasp for your book
If you would kiss him back
For days, that’s all he can think about
He doesn’t know what to do with it, or how to behave around you, but he can’t avoid you like he did last time
He doesn’t have it in him to be away from you for too long anymore, his cold heart even colder without you
So instead he grows quiet and follows you like a shadow, like a ghost
You recognize that he needs some time to work through his feelings, and go about your business, a vampire and a cat on your heels at nearly all times
It all culminates when you’re trying to teach him how to cook
He never had a need for the skill until you, but now, he wants to be able to take care of you if some illness or poor fate should befall you
When you ask him why he wants to learn, he tells you exactly that, and you’re so endeared you wrap your arms around his neck and press a quick kiss to his cheek
You pull away like you didn’t mean to do that, but he doesn’t want you to go, his own arms wrapping around your waist and holding you to him
He can feel your heart racing against his chest, hear the way it skips when he squeezes and starts to lean in
He goes so slowly, it could literally be minutes before he kisses you, so you close the distance between you and press your lips to his
He hasn’t kissed someone in ages, and now he’s kissing you, and you smell so good and taste so good and feel so good, he could die again
Time slips away and he loses himself in you, a hunger like he’s never known growing in the pit of his belly
It's a unanimous decision to postpone cooking lessons and go straight to bed 😌
Summary: Carmy can’t put into words how he feels about his roommate. It’s only been a couple months, but here he is looking forward to going home and sharing a smoke with them. That’s all it is, though. There are no underlying feelings, none at all, even if everyone around him has something to say about it.
Or: Carmy is repressed as ever, but through the combined power of vulnerability, weed, and the horny, Carmy too can find love.
Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, cursing, yearning, repression, SO MUCH REPRESSION, angst, mental illness, canon-typical imagery, unresolved tension, for now, virgin carmy, use of weed, alcohol, all that good stuff, carmy character study, eventual smut, gender neutral reader, nonbinary reader, up to you
A/N: HI I've never posted fic on tumblr before but i deeply love Carmy...please enjoy!!!
CHAPTER 1: onions, weed, and pizza
It always stays the same.
This is the thought that Carmy has when he wakes up, gasping for a chance to just catch his breath and keep it. It’s a kitchen knife twisting like a lock and key in his chest. It fits just right, as all awful and familiar things seem to do.
No matter how many times he wakes up, he’s never anywhere different. That drowning feeling suffocates him in his sleep and follows dutifully into his waking hours. He can’t remember when that haunting started, only that it’s always been with him.
He hates feeling like a drifter, like he’s lost (even though he is both of those things), so he picks a goal and runs after it like a monster. He’s an animal, hunting and working and bleeding until he fucking makes it work , because that’s who he is, and that’s who he’s always been. He can’t not make it work. Because if he can’t do it, then…then what was it all for?
What is he even for?
These are the thrilling thoughts that serve as the background music to the swirl of his cheap morning coffee, oils rotating in a slow circle. He thinks about getting a nicer brand next time he goes grocery shopping. But that would mean change. That would mean less money on the restaurant, too.
Yeah, so it tastes like shit, but it doesn’t matter. Even if it mattered once. Less and less matters to him these days.
Mornings in Chicago are not technically quiet by definition, but when compared to other times of day, they are. Especially when most of his day is spent in the kitchen wringing out his throat. It isn’t bad to have a quiet morning by normal means, but for him…
The quiet is dangerous.
It’s not silent, but it’s not enough. There’s distant beeping of impatient cars. The whirring sound of the old AC unit. He tries to listen to them, but his rampant thoughts nonetheless rise above them all, buzzing everywhere with nowhere to land.
A brief analysis of his thoughts reads as such:
Beef sandwiches eggs flour shipment Michael cigarettes smoking sore throat late shipment so tired not sleeping Michael Sugar Mom coffee tastes bad it’s too early my stomach hurts Michael fucking hates you Michael Michael Michael Michael Michael you piece of shit you fucking ki—
“Mornin’, Carmy.”
Until his roommate wakes up, that is.
When he moved back to Chicago, there was a fact, plain, simple, and unchanging. He wasn’t gonna make rent on his own, not with the restaurant. Not with everything. So maybe he didn’t need to deal with a new roommate, but it’s not like there was a choice. It seemed bearable, survivable enough.
He keeps waiting for the thing that’ll make him grit his teeth, make him regret not getting a place on his own, but it never comes. They’re easy to live with. It’s so easy, as a matter of fact, that it feels strange. The difficulty that he was so certainly expecting just isn’t there.
If anything, he looks forward to being at home. For someone who lives at work, that feeling is completely foreign.
They don’t steal his food (not that there’s much). Instead, they cook him food, leaving heated leftovers on the stove on late nights. In Carmy’s case, that’s most nights. They don’t bring over obnoxious company and keep him up with the noise. Rather, he basks in their company, and they make a ruckus between their laughter. Their presence doesn’t stifle him, it soothes him, just like the candle they leave lit in the kitchen for him when he comes home. They’re not just easy to live with, they’re good to live with, and that’s…
That’s been a hard adjustment, Carmy would say. It’s too much of a good thing that he’s not sure what to do with himself.
On those late nights, they’re usually fast asleep by the time he’s home. But as he sits and eats the leftovers they’ve kept for him, he wants to say something. Something about how a long time ago, there was once a Carmy who cooked for himself, who looked after himself, but that he’s not that Carmy anymore. That it doesn’t matter that he’s a five star chef and they’re just some guy in the kitchen, as they would put it, because he’s…
He’s grateful. Incredibly so.
And yet, the words will never come out. He feels the words tingling on his lips, but it feels scary. He can thank them as many times as he likes (which he does) but it will never capture what he’s really trying to say when he says thank you . There’s too many words, and it just can’t…it just can’t—
It always stays the same.
“You’re up early,” he says to them when they enter the room. It’s a rare sight to see them up at the early hours he frequents. He sees the morning drowsiness in their mussed hair and big t-shirt stained with hair dye. They yawn back at him, nose scrunching.
Cute , he thinks, and he stamps it down as soon as it flashes through his mind.
“Randomly woke up.” They fall into the empty seat next to him on the couch, and they rub at the crust around their eyes. “About to head off to work?”
“Unfortunately, yeah,” he replies. There’s a certain sentiment that lies on the tip of his tongue, something about how he wishes he could have a slow morning with them instead. Of course, he can’t voice it. He can’t even come close.
“The plague of the working man,” they sigh. “Well, I got an idea that might cheer you up.”
“...And that would be?”
“Let me paint you a beautiful picture,” they start. They clear their throat and gesture widely with their hands. He notices their chipped nail polish, the writing callus on their middle finger. “Imagine this—you come home from work, tired. You need to relax —something you need to do more often,” they add with a pointed look. No comment. “And I have dinner ready. Some sort of soup, pasta maybe. I need to check the fridge.” They pause with a yawn. “And before we eat, we smoke a big, fat joint.”
He snorts as they finish, unable to hold back a laugh.
“That’s a nice picture,” he admits. He doesn’t remember when he started smiling. “Y’know, I was wondering when the joint was gonna pop in.”
“You fucking know me, man,” they reply, blooming with his interest, his smile. Not that he can perceive that. “So? Thoughts? Haven’t done that in a while, right?”
“Right, right,” he echoes faintly. His mind is already sorting through the pile of tasks on the schedule. “Well, I gotta go over this new recipe with Marcus, today,” he mutters, partially under his breath. “But before that, ingredient orders. And those invoices before the end of the day—and that, that toilet guy was supposed to come today…I think?”
“Dude, I do like, one task, and the day’s over for me,” they say sympathetically, and the look on their face is so serious that Carmy struggles to hide his smile. “You’re crazy.”
“I, I’ve seen you do tasks,” he argues.
“Name one,” they argue back.
“You did two loads of laundry and did the dishes all before lunch time once,” he says, the memory clear and instant. “And when I woke up, you were vacuuming the whole place.” The immediacy surprises him, and it seems to surprise them, too.
“Damn, I said name one , but I guess I’m just that good!” They laugh, a breathy, exasperated sort of thing. “Well, point taken. Anyway, it sounds like you’re not gonna be home early tonight.”
“It is a Friday,” he says, “but…”
“But.”
“Can’t make promises I can’t keep,” he sighs, and shame melts over him like butter on a stainless steel pain. This isn’t anything new.
“I know, I know,” they say, gracious as ever. “It’s okay. Such is the life of a business owner, yeah?” He searches for some thinly veiled shred of disappointment, frustration in their expression, but he doesn’t. No matter how many times he lets them down, the explosion he’s waiting for never comes. They remain patient, collected through it all.
Says more about him than them, he supposes.
“Yeah,” he mutters, “such is the life.”
“C’est la fucking vie,” they say, and he laughs with a shake of his head.
It can feel strange to laugh. He worries that the lightness in his chest will expand like a balloon, and he’ll float away. It’s uncontrollable, foreign. It should be scary, how his emotions lead him when he’s around them, not the other way around, but it’s not.
It’s not scary to loosen up around them, and that’s the scary part. There are no words to describe why. All he can see is that the fear exists, stubborn and persistent. That fear is what makes him snap out of it, makes him look at the clock. He holds back a sigh.
“Time to go,” he mutters, and they nod.
“And time for me to go back to bed.” They salute him. “Best of luck with your day, brave soldier. And just shoot me a text if you do end up coming back early, ok?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll try. And, thanks. You, you too,” he gets out. He stands up, readjusting the waistband of his pants. “I’ll, uh, see you later.”
“See you,” they say through a yawn, waving at him from where they’re lying down. They’ve taken his spot, sprawled across the couch, tangled hair flayed out on the pillows.
Cute , he thinks again, and hearing the thought in his brain makes him wanna panic.
He doesn’t wanna panic, doesn’t wanna think about it at all, so he nods, shuts the door, and heads out to work with a cigarette hastily lit in his mouth.
By the time it’s Carmy’s lunch break, he swears his vocal cords must have snapped by how tight he was wringing them.
The soreness has never stopped him from lighting a cig, though. As he stands outside in the back, finally forced to go on his 30, he smokes rather than eating. There’s a sandwich in his pocket, one that was bearing the brunt of test ingredients. He can feel the aluminum wrapping at his fingertips.
Eventually, he does eat, though, because he sees the way his hands are shaking when he flicks his lighter. He doesn’t wanna shake when he uses a knife, so he eats. He tastes it, but he doesn’t really taste it.
In truth, he wasn’t even planning on taking his lunch break at all. Most days, he forgets about it. The kitchen’s always busy, there’s always something missing, there’s always something that hasn’t been prepped that’s ruining everything, the lights in the hallways keep flickering because they need to fixed, Fak’s supposed to fix them, but he can’t, because Richie’s still out getting the replacement bulbs, the pile of papers on his desk are bigger than he remembers, he doesn’t have enough fucking time—
But then he’s in the middle of chopping an onion, and the cutting board slips. The half-chopped onion and its sliced offspring scatter on the floor with the cutting board. The sound of its fall draws Sydney in like a whip.
“You okay? Need a bandaid?” Sydney’s already kneeling by him, helping him pick the onions off the floor.
“I, I’m fine, didn’t drop the knife,” he explains, and it feels like an ocean current is rushing by his ears. “Fucking, I just—such a stupid fucking—” He sucks in a breath and goes silent.
His entire body feels tight, wound like a spring. He can barely fucking breathe.
“Hey.” Carmy turns his intense stare from the onions to Sydney, and when he sees her searching expression, he remembers himself. “Maybe you should go take your lunch break.”
“No, I’m fine, really,” he repeats, and he feels like he’s heard this before. From someone else. He can’t remember. Who was it? “The onions—we’re behind on onions—”
“I can handle onions for 30 minutes,” she interrupts, decisive and firm. “Seriously.”
Carmy’s about to say something, but then he’s looking at the onion half in his hand. His hand is shaking.
“Okay,” he sighs after a beat. “Okay, yeah. Sorry. For fucking up.”
“It happens. We all have our moments.” She shrugs. When he keeps standing there, she makes this shoo-ing motion with her hand. “Go on. Take your 30!”
So here he is, taking his lunch break a whole hour later than he’s supposed to. Although it’s better than most days where he doesn’t take it at all.
She wouldn’t have had to tell you to take a break if you didn’t fuck it all up, he thinks to himself, eyebrows knitted together. When the last time I’ve fucked up something so fucking easy?
He thinks about his dream from last night. A familiar sight of red fire and flames up to the ceiling, crackling so loud it sounded like screaming. The only good part is that when he woke up, he wasn’t at the stove burning his place down. It hasn’t happened at this apartment yet. Carmy hopes it never happens.
Just get it together, he thinks. He aggressively taps the ash out onto the decrepit ash tray they have in the back. It’s full. You’re supposed to be at this shit. So just be good.
“Cousin.” Carmy snaps his head up, and Richie’s at the door, stepping out. His presence yanks him out of his inner whirlpool, a quickly descending spiral. “Gimme one.”
Wordlessly, Carmy hands him a cigarette. Richie plucks it out of his hand like a flower.
“You had a lighter, but no cigarette?” Carmy comments, squinting at Richie pulling a busted up red lighter from his jean pocket.
“Shut up,” Richie mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. “Got the wrong damn light bulbs,” he explains unprompted.
“Alright,” Carmy sighs. He has so little energy that the frustration bypasses him completely, diving instantly into deflated acceptance. “Just return ‘em.”
“Can’t,” Richie says, and when Carmy gives him a look, he elaborates, “no receipt.”
“ Dude .” Carmy opens his mouth, but then he shuts it again. It’s just not worth it. “Thanks anyway, cousin. We’ll get it done.”
“Don’t fuckin’ thank me, you asshole. I didn’t do shit.” Richie nudges him, but like before, it’s not an angry thing. “Also, toilet guy’s not comin’ today.”
“The fuck? Why ?”
“Canceled,” he replies simply.
“Fucking hell,” Carmy mutters under his breath. “Did he say when he could reschedule?”
“Not yet.”
“Great.”
“Yep.” Richie tilts his head up, blowing out a slow stream of gray cigarette smoke. “Might as well wait for Fak to get his ass back in town at this rate.”
“I guess.” Carmy sighs. He thinks about all the things he still needs to do. “I dropped this onion I was chopping, earlier,” he mentions out of nowhere.
“Okay.” Richie gives him a look. “And? You bitches chop those things up faster than I could cut one in half.”
“I dropped it on the floor,” Carmy tries again, but Richie’s expression remains unchanged. “I never do shit like that.”
“Well, cousin, you did.” Carmy feels something in him deflate. “What’s the big deal?”
“Nevermind,” he replies, because he’s a coward. “Just—just forget it.”
Silence. The spark of a lighter.
“I’m gonna leave early,” Richie says, like he can just do that. Which…he can, Carmy supposes. “If no one’s gonna show up, what’s the point?” He slaps Carmy’s back, and Carmy doesn’t watch him as he heads back inside.
Guess all I need to do later is get rid of those papers on the desk , Carmy thinks to himself, idly moving the shortening cigarette between his lips. Then that’ll be it, I guess.
He doesn’t remember the last time he’s gone home early. It’s hard to even imagine what he does on days like those. Sleeping, probably. There’s nothing much else for him to do, not with how tired he is—
Shoot me a text, okay?
He hears them in the back of his head all of a sudden, and he remembers.
Oh, he remembers, hands moving to take out his phone. Almost forgot.
“Sorry to bother you, chef.” Carmy’s not sure how he didn’t hear the door opening. Marcus’ head pops out, nose covered in flour. “Just wanted to let you know that we’re gonna need more flour for tomorrow.”
“Order’s not gonna come for a couple days. I thought we had an extra bag left,” Carmy tries, but the guilty look on Marcus’ face explains it all.
“Dropped it,” Marcus grimaces, and Carmy’s already fucking over it.
“We’re all fucking up today, chef,” Carmy replies, and the day goes on.
. . . . .
It’s a strange, delightful miracle, but he manages to get out of the restaurant before the sun sets.
Considering their collective track record, the fact everyone was able to leave early was cosmic intervention. It helps that the toilet guy didn’t come, in an unfortunate way, but still. Standing outside of the restaurant in the evening like this feels…weird.
It’s not that Carmy’s complaining about a nice thing, it’s just that he wasn’t prepared to have anything good today.
Shower, dinner, and weed, he thinks absentmindedly on the way home. He juggles the three around in his brain. Just the thought of it feels like relaxing. A little.
With company , his brain helpfully adds, and his stomach squirms.
Self control, he thinks. He needs more self-control. He can’t just keep thinking of them so indulgently. He’s not allowed to think of them that way, because it’s not fair to them. Even if no matter how many times he chastises himself, it never works. Even if they remain in his brain like sun-spots in his vision. Even if it’s not his fault that he just can’t help it.
The thing is, though, it always is. Even when it’s not his fault, it actually is. Always.
You dropped that fucking onion , his brain helpfully adds for no particular reason. Fucking loser.
Fuck off , he thinks back as he approaches his front door. Predictably, it does not stop.
Just as his fingers search for his keys in all of his pockets, he hears something that makes him pause, hands stopped on his waist. It’s music, distant and muffled. They’re probably listening to music in the kitchen. He stands, trying to place the song, but he doesn’t recognize it.
He does recognize the voice that’s singing over the music, though.
Oh, he realizes. That’s them.
The way their voice clumsily layers over the music shouldn’t make him pause like this. He shouldn’t be doing this, standing in the doorway and listening rather than opening the door. The keys are in his hand. This, this is a breach of privacy, he tells himself, feeling a little dizzy with distress, he just needs to just—
There’s an abrupt, loud clang, and he shoves the door open.
Concern is on the tip of his tongue, but it dies there. The source of the noise lays face-down on the floor—a pan sitting in what seems to be tomato sauce. The matter next to it is what makes the words evaporate from his lips, like they were never there at all.
They’re kneeled down next to the pan, paper towels in hand, but all they’re wearing is an apron.
His mind blanks. He thinks he stops breathing. He’s never seen so much of their skin at once. He needs to look away, he thinks, but his eyes keep traveling, traveling, and traveling. It just happens so quickly. He doesn’t mean to look, he doesn’t, but they’re right there and he can see right down their—
“No, I—I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were coming back early!” They exclaim, quickly crossing their arms over their chest, and that’s what makes him tear his eyes away.
“I—I thought I texted you,” he says quickly, hot face turned to the side, “on my lunch—...“ He stops there, the memory reconstructing itself.
He forgot.
“It’s fine, I just feel bad about dinner, and, uh—okay, I’m just gonna change real quick, and then I’ll clean this up,” they reply, words rushing out. In the corner of his vision, he sees their bare legs dart to their room.
It seems wrong to just stand here staring at the tomato sauce slowly expand outwards on the floor, so he cleans it up. A couple paper towels later, he’s gotten most of it, and they’ve returned with a change of clothes.
“Sorry,” Carmy starts right as they also go “I’m sorry”. He pauses, meeting their eyes. It’s a lot easier now that they’re wearing leggings and a t-shirt as opposed to, well, nothing. Not to say he doesn’t appreciate the leggings.
“Sorry you had to see me like that,” they sigh. “I don’t—I don’t usually walk around the place naked, I just—I didn’t think you’d be back—“
“I should’ve texted,” he interrupts. He struggles to not think about them walking around the living room naked. “I forgot. But it, it’s fine. You’re fine. Really. Sorry for not texting.”
“Okay. Cool.” They exhale, a tired noise. “And it’s okay. It happens.” They look at the floor and make a sound of surprise. “Did you clean this up?” The look they give him has far too much gratitude, and it feels like a searing hot iron.
“Yeah, uh.” His hands are moving like he’s trying to explain something, but no words crop up. “Felt weird not to.”
“Well.” They smile, grateful. “Thank you. That was gonna be dinner, but…” They trail off, looking at the floor with a sour expression. “I fucked up.”
“It’s just that sort of day today,” Carmy mutters.
“Shitty day for you, too?”
“Yeah. Lots of shit went wrong.” Especially me, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. “You?”
“Gotcha.” They shrug. “As for me—yeah. Really not my best day. It was just, uh, some family shit. You know how it is.”
Carmy makes a sound of acknowledgement. “That sucks.” He doesn’t know much about their family other than that they’re fairly shitty. It’s the same the other way around, too.
“It’s whatever,” they say, even though it really isn’t, and he knows it. They look at the floor one more time before looking up at him. “Do you just wanna order pizza or something?”
“Yeah, I do,” Carmy replies, his words coming out much more despondent than expected.
They settle on some pepperoni pizza from a place down the street. It’s a tried and true method—they deliver, it’s cheap, it’s oily, it’s cheesy, it’s good. Just talking about it makes Carmy taste it on the tip of his tongue.
“You can go and shower if you want. I’ll get the door when pizza comes,” they offer. They’re standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up.
“Okay, thanks.” Carmy pauses then, gears turning. He’s vaguely worried his memory is going to shit. “Did—did I just say I was gonna shower?”
“Oh, no, you didn’t, you just always shower when you get home from work, right?” They say it like it’s the weather, like it’s familiar, and that’s when Carmy realizes because it is. After several months of living together, of course they’ve picked up on his habits. It doesn’t need to be a thing. There’s no reason for it to be a thing.
“I do,” Carmy replies faintly, and for some reason, that’s all he can say.
“Thought so.” They look at him for just a moment, but it makes him feel like his body’s gone transparent. “I notice these things, you know.”
“Yeah.” Carmy looks at them when they turn back to the dishes, back facing him. “You do.”
He tells himself he’s not gonna think any harder about any of it. He’s not gonna think about the singing, the apron, the way they just notice these things, but then he does.
He’s in the shower, and he thinks about everything.
The water pressure is pathetic, but the warmth still feels nice. Between that and the sound of the running shower, it’s usually enough to quiet his thoughts. This time, though, it doesn’t. To his credit, he does try to think about anything else.
He thinks about work, because he always does. He thinks about flour, about onions, about knives. He thinks about the shampoo lathered in his hair. He thinks about those lightbulbs they still need to get. He thinks about food. He thinks about them. He thinks about pizza. He thinks about the way they sing when no one’s around. He thinks about the way they know him.
He thinks about them, knees on the floor only in a—
He thinks of bashing his head into the tile wall until he explodes.
“Shut the fuck up,” he whispers to himself, rivulets of hot water trailing down his forehead and dripping off his lips. “Shut the fuck up.”
The soreness is still present in his body, but that never quite goes away. He does feel a bit better now that he doesn’t have sweaty, sticky skin, though. It gets even better when he puts on a clean white t-shirt and his favorite sweatpants. It’s a nice surprise from his past self who did his laundry for him.
This amount of niceness is okay. This is what he’s used to—a shower and comfortable clothes when he’s home from work. That’s enough.
He steps out into the kitchen with a damp towel on his head. He finds them sitting by their one shitty window that opens, pizza box in front of them and joint lit. It casts an orange glow to mix with the golden light from the window.
“Hey, pizza’s here!” They slap their hand on the greasy cardboard box. “Just got this joint started for us, too.”
“So you weren’t gonna smoke it all on your own?” He doesn’t mean to tease, but he does. He slips into the seat across them, arms resting on the table they placed by the window.
“I couldn’t smoke this whole thing even if I wanted to,” they protest. “Besides, joints are made for sharing. Here—now you get to take it. Isn’t that nice?” With their elbow propped up on the pizza box, they hold up the joint to him. The lit end of it sizzles a bright orange, emitting a thin trail of smoke up to the ceiling.
“That is very, very nice,” Carmy agrees, taking it carefully from their fingers. Their face spreads into that contagious grin of theirs, and he’s far from immune. Sometimes he smiles so much around them that his face hurts, rusty and unused.
Sure, he can blame that on the weed, but if he’s being honest with himself (a rare occasion), that’s a complete lie. Obviously the weed lessens the tension, the stress that winds him up tight. It’s not just the weed that gets him to relax, though.
It’s them. There’s something disarming about their presence, something that makes him loose-lipped around them. Even when he’s sober, he finds himself feeling comfortable. He’s not quite sure how that happened, or if that’s ever happened. He supposes that isn’t a bad thing. Just something he’s noticed.
He wonders if they’ve noticed.
“You like the new rolling papers?” They tuck their knees under their chin, propping their feet up on the chair.
“Hm.” Carmy lowers the joint from his mouth to give it a good look. He rotates it around in his fingers. “Strawberry?”
“Yeah, it’s strawberry,” they confirm, poorly hiding the excitement in their demeanor. Not that they were trying to. “Can you taste it?”
He pulls from the joint, the edges of the paper sizzling red with the weed. It’s an even burn this time. He rolls his tongue around in his mouth after he exhales a cloud of smoke.
“Still no,” he decides after a beat, and they sigh.
“I don’t know why I ever get my hopes up.”
“I do taste something else in this, though.” He takes another hit, stews on it. “Lavender?”
“Shoulda known you would’ve gotten it on your first tray. Yeah, it’s lavender. I found some lying around.”
“You made this one pretty nice,” he observes, eyes tracing the shape of the joint. “Between the lavender and the new papers, I mean.”
“Well, y’know.” The smile on their face is small and shy. “I don’t smoke joints often, so I wanted to make it nice, and I, uh…”
They’re paused for so long that Carmy interjects.
“And?”
“And I—want that joint,” they finally say, outstretching their hand. Carmy has a strong feeling that they weren’t originally going to say that, but he hands over the joint nonetheless.
“Strain?” He asks curiously. He can feel the body high creeping up his shoulders, fluid and light.
“The strain that gets you high,” they reply with a grin.
“Oh, thank god,” Carmy sighs in relief, and the way that makes them laugh… It makes his chest tight.
“To actually answer your question, though—I dunno.” He likes watching the smoke drift from the tip of the joint as they talk, thin gray wisps in the air. “I think it’s a hybrid? Not sure if it’s more one way or not, though…”
“As long as it’s not the weed that puts you to bed.”
“Um…well, if you smoke enough of it, it can.”
They sit together like this for a while, just sitting and taking turns with the joint. It’s an easy, fluid exchange, flowing between them like smoke. No matter how much they both try to blow it out the window, it always comes back in. The smell of weed is strong in the air, earthy and pungent.
Although he would never describe himself as a talkative person, sitting stoned across from them makes the words come out. Sometimes, he thinks he likes himself better when he’s high—his mind isn’t running circles around itself, and the soreness of his body just floats away. He feels more like a human than a poor imitation of one like he usually does.
This weed smells kinda good, he thinks, and when they laugh, nose scrunched up, he realizes he said that out loud.
“That’s literally what I’ve been saying,” they agree, a bright grin lingering on their face. “That’s how you know you’re a fuckin’ stoner!”
“Feels weird to call myself a stoner,” he muses. He plucks the joint from their outstretched hand. It definitely looks shorter from when they started a moment ago. “But I guess…”
“If you like the smell of weed, you’re too far gone,” they say with a grave expression. “It’s so fucking over for you.”
“Fuck,” he whispers, equally as serious, and then they’re both bursting out into laughter. He likes the sound of their laugh—it’s unabashed, fills up the space.
“Dude, I’m high,” they whisper after they both calm down, like it’s some sort of secret, and Carmy can’t stop himself from laughing all over again. “Oh my god. Are you high?”
“I—I think I might fucking be,” he gets out between laughs, and that sparks them straight into another cackle of laughter. He’s not supposed to be able to make others laugh, he doesn’t even make himself laugh—but then he’ll say something, and they’re lit up with laughter.
“We need to eat this pizza now, ” they yell, projecting over their combined noise. They flip the pizza box open, and it smacks Carmy right in the face.
“Oh,” he reacts mildly.
“Shit, I’m so sorry—”
“It’s fine, it’s not like you punched me in the face,” he reasons, but their guilty expression persists. “It didn’t hurt, it’s just cardboard.”
“I’m sorry, I’m high,” they sigh apologetically.
“I know,” he replies with a little smile. His eyes drift down to the pepperoni pizza sitting before them, glorious in its perverse amount of oil. “So, we’re gonna eat this, right?”
“Oh my god, yes we are,” they gasp, and the moment is forgotten.
When he tears off a pizza slice, the cheese stretches in thin, gooey strings. They grab the slice adjacent to it to snap the strings in half, but they’re both leaned back in their chairs, pizzas in hand, and the cheese is still connected.
“This doesn’t seem right,” Carmy mutters, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “We should’ve just cut it.”
“How could we have predicted this?” They pull their pizza further back, and the string still doesn’t break. “Wow. I’m honestly impressed. I don’t think it’s ever been this insane before.”
“I think we’d remember.” He’s not sure why he’s still talking and not just running his finger across the string to break it.
“I think we would, too.” They snort, shaking their head. “This—this is some spaghetti type shit.”
“What? Spaghetti?” He’s genuinely perplexed.
“I—I mean like—that fucking disney movie. With the dogs.” They pause for a moment, mouth silently moving. “Fucking—lady and the, the truck—”
“Uh.” He has to hold back a laugh. “...The lady and the tramp?”
“ Holyshittheladyandthetramp ,” they blurt out in a rush, and the cheese string finally snaps in half. “…Well, I guess it’s not exactly like the lady and the tramp, then.” They take a large bite of their pizza, and it reminds Carmy exactly how hungry he is.
“You mean lady and the truck,” he corrects, and he can’t stop himself from smiling. Especially not with how good this hot pizza is, delightfully salty and greasy in his mouth.
“Shut up, I was trying,” they grunt through a mouthful of food.
“How exactly is this like the lady and the tramp, again? Or, uh, not like it?”
“Well, it was just like it, but then the string broke.” Somehow, they’re already halfway through their slice. “Could’ve been a beautiful spaghetti moment.”
“Spaghetti moment,” he echoes under his breath, holding back a laugh. “Remind me how that scene goes?”
They go quiet for a moment. It’s like he can see the gears turning in his head. If he’s being honest, he already remembers how that scene goes, but…he wants to hear them say it. He needs to hear them say it.
“Uh, well, they’re…eating spaghetti. The titular lady and tramp.” Their eyes are fidgety, flickering back and forth between their pizza and the window. “And they’re sharing the plate, the two of them. They’re eating together, and, um…”
“...And?”
They meet his eyes, mouth hanging open, and then they close it.
“Um, I don’t remember, actually,” they say, shaking their head and blinking. He sees it for the blatant lie that it is, and yet. “Do, do you remember?”
As he stares back at them, unable to look away, he wonders. He wonders about what this really means. About if this really means anything at all, about if he’s going to find out if it does.
“I don’t remember,” he answers quietly, cowardly, and neither of them say anything else.
Out of the two of them, they’ve always been better with recovering from awkward moments, so they do. They start talking about something else, and the world keeps turning. But in the back of his head, Carmy remains in that moment, unwilling to let it go.
Why did you say that you didn’t remember? He wants to say. Why didn’t I say that I remembered how it went? Because I remember. They kiss—they fucking kiss. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what I wanted to hear?
But because he’s Carmy, he doesn’t say anything. He just eats.
He’s so hungry that the pizza disappears in minutes. It’s delicious, but he’s so high he’s not completely sure he can taste it. Somehow, it remains the best thing he’s ever eaten.
The rest of the night is a blur. He remembers getting onto the couch at some point. They both decide on a random movie he doesn’t catch the name of. They finish off the joint on the couch together, sinking into its cushions. It burns hot in his throat as it reaches the end.
And as it turns out, the weed he smoked is the one that puts him to bed.
“...Ca…Car…” Someone’s calling him. “...Carmy, c’mon. You’re gonna complain about your neck tomorrow if you keep sleeping here.”
“Mhm,” he replies helpfully. He turns his head into the cushion. His body feels like an abstract blob, perfectly molded into the couch cushions.
“Okay, you made a good point. But. ” They laugh quietly, under their breath. “Movie’s been over for like 20 minutes now.”
“Mhm,” he repeats, nearly inaudible. He doesn’t wanna get up. Whenever he falls asleep, it always feels like he’s never gotten an hour of sleep in his life. There’s nothing he needs to think about, worry about. He’s warm and comfortable, and he doesn’t feel like letting that go just yet.
Everything goes silent again for a moment, save for the cars on the road. He begins to drift away again, slipping back into his dreamless sleep.
But then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and it’s like a smoking brand on his skin. His eyes fly open and he jolts awake, jerking upright.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” they apologize, fretful. Between the dark of night and haze of sleep, they look pretty different. The blue light from the television is streaked across the blurry planes of their face.
“It’s fine,” he replies, drowsy. Speaking feels…heavy. Begrudgingly, he adjusts to sit up. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“Weed,” they say with a shrug.
“How, how long was I—?” He cuts himself off with a yawn, wide with condensation in the corners of his eyes.
“Only like, 30 minutes.” They yawn back. Typical infectious yawning. “End of the movie sucked anyway.”
“Oh.” Pause. “What was the ending?”
“Love interest died,” they state plainly. “He told her about how he felt, got rejected, and then she died in a car accident. Pretty tragic.”
“Huh.” Carmy makes a face. “That does suck.”
“Yeah, a bit.” They’re idly fiddling with the remote, scrolling through Netflix without reading anything. “I feel like the movie was trying to say something profound about the unpredictability of life or something, but the writing was shit.”
“I guess it’d be too perfect if they got together,” he muses.
“I guess,” they echo. They turn off the tv, and the room goes dark. The only light is from the yellow street lamp right outside their window, wonderful in its inconvenient placement. It illuminates the shape of the back and leaves their face in shadow. “I think I remember how that scene went,” they say suddenly.
“Oh.” Carmy’s heart feels stuck in his throat. “And how does it go?”
“Well, they’re—both eating spaghetti. Like I said.” They’re not facing him, leaving their face shrouded in shadow. He’s not sure if he’s imagining the shake in their voice or not. It’s beyond him why there would be any shakiness at all. “They somehow get the same noodle, so they, uh, kiss.”
“They kiss,” he repeats for some unknown reason.
“Yeah.” They let out a quick laugh, but it doesn’t sound like they actually find this funny. He wishes he could see the look on their face.
“I don’t think pasta works like that,” he hears himself murmur faintly. For some reason, he can’t help but think that was the wrong thing to say. But he’s already said it. Maybe it’s the same reason as to why his heart is beating so urgently.
“No, I, I don’t think so either,” they mumble. He refuses to place the way they’re feeling.
I can’t fucking do this.
The thought resounds like a gong, hit with a mallet right next to his ear.
“It’s late, I gotta head to bed.” It feels like someone else is speaking for him, moving his body for him. He can’t stop them. When he stands up, he avoids their face.
What the fuck are you doing?
Another thought resounds. He doesn’t respond.
“Right, I—didn’t even notice the time.” He pretends he doesn’t hear the strain in their voice. No, he didn’t word that right—there is no strain in their voice. “G’night.”
"Night,” he murmurs back.
This is enough, he tells himself as he falls into bed. His sheets are tangled. This is enough , he repeats, and it’s not because he’s scared, afraid, anxious, or any other stupid synonym. It’s because he believes it, needs to believe it.
He tells himself, this is enough , even though he wonders, what is supposed to be enough? He doesn’t listen. He stamps down the protests, the thoughts that are out of line. The high usually helps with that, but it’s worn off, now just leaving him in a weary, sleepy state of things.
This is enough, he thinks, and he falls asleep looking at their shrouded face behind his eyelids.
Heyy i LOVE your writing your my of my favs writers
was wondering if u could do like hc of tom with a reader like childhood bffs to dating only if you can ❤
a/n: i love this trope so much so im so glad someone requested! imo it's one of the best and cutest tropes to ever exist. it's actually the one I'm using for my DR 💀 this is also kind of like a pt 2 for this post except with Tom instead of bill and there's not much mentioned of georg and gustav
childhood friends to lovers w/ tom
tom x fem!reader
• you met tom and bill when your mom moved you to Loitsche when you were 5 years old, right next to tom and bills house. their mother met yours when their mother went over to introduce herself to you guys. that's when she mentioned that she had a daughter the same age as her sons.
• that night, your mom brought you over there for dinner and you played with Tom and Bill. you guys had tons of fun and ended up becoming great friends that night.
• after that, you guys hung out every day and hung out at school. you were their new bestfriend and as I mentioned in this post, you helped them switch back and forth and confuse the teachers.
• the teachers were already used to their antics but with you, it just got worse and more complex. your mom scolded you a ton and ever had a fight with Tom and Bills mom because you kept getting into trouble but there was nothing they could do to stop you guys from hanging out.
• it was really hard to tell them apart when they were younger so you got relieved as they got older and started to have their own style
• you guys went bike riding all the time together and would ride for hours doing random shit
• you, bill, and tom would always go to the pet store to see all the cute little animals
• you would pick flowers for bill and make him a flower crown and even know tom refuses to admit it, he wishes you made him one too.
• both bill and tom were very over protective of you, but tom mostly. if he ever found out that anybody hurt you in anyway, he'd be pissed.
• you went trick or treating with bill and tom every year. (even though it wasn't too popular yet in the 90s in Germany)
• sharing and switching candy with them was a must
• you and tom were a bit closer than you and bill but you were still friends with both of them. it's not like you had a choice anyways.
• you always slept in toms bed whenever slept over (which was pretty much almost every night) and you two were always cuddling.
• bill and tom had bunk beds, so whenever you slept over you guys would put blankets around the edge of the top bunk and then tell scary stories
• you guys would sneak onto the ice cream truck and steal as much as you could. you'd always end up puking after because of how much you ate.
• you and tom would sit next to eachother every time in class and whine whenever you two had to move or got told to move because you guys were talking
• tom has a massive sweet tooth and you guys would steal stuff from the corner store
• you, bill and tom would hang out at the pool tons.
• you and tom would practice playing guitar allllll the time
• you were apart of the original "band" and played for weddings and other gigs with them
• you helped their mom bake a cake for their birthday every year and you always had so much fun with her. she even taught you how to write their names on a cake
• you went cd shopping with Tom for new cds and other old cds he didn't have.
• when tom had his first kiss (WITH A 16 YR OLD GIRL AT 9 YEARS OLD 😨😨😨) you didn't really know what to feel. you weren't even sure what you were feeling but you didn't like that he was kissing another girl
• you never said anything though, what could you even say?
• you and tom started out as just friends, no feelings at all not until you guys were pre-teens.
• as you guys grew older, tom and bill started getting girlfriends. you never dated anybody though; mostly because of your insanely massive crush on Tom.
• you basically just pined for him while he dated other girls. but you did feel nice sometimes. you got to see the side of him other girls didn't. you got to see how sweet and fun and nice he was with you. he was always different with you and if any girl had a problem with that, he'd drop them immediately.
• you got to sleep in his bed and cuddle with him and stay up late and hang out with him 24/7. they didn't get to do that, you did. and that gave you a sense of security.
• when the band started to actually become a band and you guys started getting more gigs, you and tom would always play next to eachother and even created your own style of playing with eachother
• you helped tom pick out his red guitar
• you and tom also have matching stickers on your guitars
• whenever girls flirted with Tom, you'd always get jealous and sometimes even try and steer tom away from them. like if they started flirting, you'd come up to tom and say "we need to get to band practice" or "Bill needs you for something" etc. etc.
• after a while, you'd come to the conclusion you just weren't his type and he'd never have feelings for you like you did for him.
• when tom first told you guys he lost his virginity, your heart dropped. tom, your tom, lost his virginity. you wanted to cry but you couldn't, they wouldn't get it, they wouldn't understand. so you just laughed along with the guys and make jokes.
• when durch den monsun came out, more and more girls were all over tom. but at this point, you'd gotten used to it. when you realized how many girls he was sleeping with, you just shoved all your feelings down and locked them away. feelings would ruin your friendship, right?
• your hotel room was right next to toms so you could hear basically everything they were doing. it was absolute torture. why couldn't tom see your feelings, why didn't he feel the same way?
• tom treated you like a little sister. it was awful. you wanted to cry everytime he called you dude or bro. he would never call you baby, or babe, or sexy. like he does other girls. he'd never see you like that.
• when you guys are at clubs, you try your best not to watch him flirt with other girls. it's easier that way. but along with that, you just end up getting drunk.
• tom would come running into your room at like 11 pm at night asking you for a condom. this became routine, and over time your heart shattered a little bit less only because you'd gotten used to this. used to him liking other girls.
• one night, while you guys were out at a club. you got sloppy. when you were drinking you ended up stumbling over to tom and dragging him to another room. and that's where you confessed to him down you were feeling.
• you ended up bawling your eyes out and saying how stupid it was because you know he'd never feel the same and that he doesn't want a serious relationship but you couldn't "help how you feel".
• tom took you back home that night and cuddled you and rubbed your back until you fell asleep. little did you know he felt the exact same way about you...
edit: I'm super tired and wanna go to bed, but let me know if you want dating headcanons for this bc I will do it, I'm just so tired.
Can u write a Yandere!Fnaf 1 x Reader fanfiction? It can be like 20 to 30 chapters or maybe less if that makes you comfortable.
so I don't think I could run a series that long on tumblr but I can probably try but for now, here's some shit post and a small bit of headcanons with m/n and gn y/n
*glamrock Freddy trying to drive*
Gregory: "what happens if you press the breaks and gas at the same time?"
Minimum wage m/n: "the car takes a screenshot"
Glamrock Freddy on the verge of crying: "your making me nervous!"
Y/n's live reaction to seeing Monty running straight at them
Sundrop: "your my favorite friend m/n, I don't imagine what I would do without you!"
M/n: "I would be home, unconscious on my floor after this hell of a shift, I know that for truth"
Employeer: "come on, working in our underground pizzeria isn't so bad"
Minimum wage y/n: "balloras little gremlins of fucking side animatronics tried to drag me into there area the moment my shift was over"
Y/n: "so Vanessa, heard we got a some dj animatronic, hope it's one bolted to the floor at lea-" *sees dj music man that's currently not operating yet* "...i wish I could quit that job but this is the only thing that gives me free food"
Vanessa: "don't you steal the food?"
Y/n: "not everyone has the time to buy food after work Vanessa"
moon: "m/n I see those bags under your eyes, you haven't been sleeping have you?"
M/n: "I'm fine, I'm running in 18 hours of red bull, monster and something I found in my car before I walked into work....i can't feel my body"
M/n to the mapbots the first time he saw them.
Some supermarket worker: "Mr/mx y/n (or) m/n, can you please come to the front? A special guest is waiting for you"
Monty: "I got lost..."
Y/n (or) m/n: "I didn't even bring you here!"
Hey guys so I know I've been gone off a bit but shit dude, it's like the AO3 writers curse with me, a lot of stuff is going on and well all I wanted to say is that I'm extremely grateful for everyone of my followers and mutuals for being with me on my journey from new to old follower, I hope that everyone of you have a wonderful Christmas or any culture you celebrate on this day or tomorrow and I'll try to be more frequent with my uploads but for now, I love each and everyone of you guys who's been with me through my Tumblr journey and I hope you have a wonderful day and a wonderful christmas.
Imagine if you will. Post Vecna, Steve and Eddie have been circling each other like vultures all summer, but neither one of them will do anything about it because Steve is convinced the minute he does, he will Fuck It Up the way he always does, and Eddie is just waiting for the day Steve gets another thump on the head and realizes he's been wasting his time with the Town Freak.
Yeah, they flirt. Of course Eddie flirts , but Steve isn't as stupid as people think he is. He knows that Eddie is just Like That, right? Sure, Eddie smiles at him in that way he does, throws his arm around Steve's shoulder, grabs his hand and drags him around like it's completely and totally normal to just hold your bros hand like that because of course it is. Why wouldn't it? Entirely pushing away the fact that it's like he can feel Eddie's fingers, the cool metal of his rings catching against Steve's palm even after he's let go. Like a phantom limb that itches and itches and no matter how hard he tries to ignore it, he knows he'll never actually get any relief.
Robin holds his hand all the time, so Steve tells himself it doesn't actually mean anything.
Because it can't.
Until one night in August when the temperatures are so high and the air is so humid you can practically drink it, and Eddie's invited himself to spend the night because, "What are rich friends for if not to steal their air conditioning. Plus look at me, Stevie! I'm practically melting."
"I was gonna go with poodle that got electrocuted, but yeah...melted works too, Munson."
Steve ignores the fact that Eddie's grin, the way he smiles so big, sometimes it's like those pretty doe eyes of his complete disappear. How something so fucking adorable could also make him feel like there are splinters in his heart, Steve doesn't know.
He's just going to chalk it up to the Munson Effect and just pretend like he doesn't feel a little like dying later when Steve is in the ensuite brushing his teeth, and if he's been hiding in here for the last ten minutes or so probably brushing the fucking enamal off his teeth, that's between him, God, and his dentist, okay?
It's not like Eddie hasn't spent the night before. Most of the time, they pass out stoned on the couch before they ever make it to an actual bed. But tonight, after three joints and a four hour movie marathon, Steve's back could not take another night on the couch bending his spine in the most obscene ways just to avoid accidentally cuddling the shit out of Eddie like his hindbrain seems to always be screaming at him to.
Eddie had simply shrugged, grinned, and followed him upstairs without comment or complaint.
And that's why Steve is having a breakdown in front of his sink right now, because he just doesn't think Sleepy Steve can be trusted not to complete lose his fucking mind.
Not when Eddie is out there in his room, sprawled on his bed because Steve had been left shaking his head and sighing when he'd watched the metalhead take a running leap and belly flop onto Steve's hideous comforter.
("Gingham should be made illegal just for your sake, Stevie. This is just cruel and unusual punishment, man.")
But it's fine. He's fine. He's in on the joke, he gets it.
Until he finally feels steady enough to open the bathroom door to see Eddie exactly in the position Steve'd thought he'd be.
Only suddenly everything is very much Not A Joke, because, yeah, of course he'd told Eddie he could borrow some pajamas, because Eddie never remembers to bring his own.
He's just not sure how his old letterman jacket counts as, you know, that.
Just like he knows that Eddie is going to take one look at his face right now, because basically it feels like someone's reached inside and cut one of his fucking wires or something, and know.
A normal person would probably say something, but Steve has buckets of brain damage he can blame for what he does next, thankfully,because in the span of, like thirty seconds, Steve finds himself practically on top of Eddie, hands on either side of the guy's absolutely ridiculous curls.
Of course, now that some oxygen has apparently made its way around to some of his braincells, Steve realizes how fucked up it is that he's just tackled Eddie liked this and oh my god how the fuck is he going to explain this when the only true explanation he has is just, "I want to fuck you so bad I think I've actually made myself dumber."
"Thank fucking christ, Harrington. I thought about, you know, just the jacket and nothing else but it seemed a little too on-the-nose, so I--"
There is a split second of pure, blind panic because what the fuck what the fuck oh my god he said all of that out loud?
"Wow, I really did make you lose some of those precious braincells of yours. You think if you fuck me tonight, you'll get them back? Like...reverse osmosis or some--"
Steve decides to just go ahead and shove his tongue in Eddie's mouth before either one of them can say anything else to screw it up.
Because god knows he's fucking waited long enough.
summary: The reader encounters the Batman when stealing information from a murdered man one night. The next day at a meeting to merge her business with Wayne Enterprises, she meets Bruce Wayne for the first time--and he has a cut on his face exactly like the one she gave the Batman. When sparks fly, will they go down in flames?
a/n: look it's me back with another "oneshot" in which I'm too long winded! This one's smutty and full of banter--enjoy! (and yes I do have to use this gif whenever there's something sexy in the content oops)
***not affiliated with middle of the night***
*content is NSFW. 18+*
word count: 10,497
The window opened with barely a creak. Y/n slipped through carefully, quietly, every one of her senses on high alert.
Getting caught at an active crime scene would be a terrible look for her company, to say the least. Especially the night before a huge meeting about a potential merger.
But that part of her that had always existed–the part that fought against injustice, no matter how big or small, the part that used her position in life for good–wouldn’t let this rest.
A man had been murdered, after all.
A man who was a murderer himself. A man who hurt people, repeatedly, for his own gain.
She left the window open the barest crack in case she needed to make a quick getaway, but still closed enough that it didn’t look like it had been tampered with. She’d learned that lesson the hard way over the years she’d been doing this.
She waited a beat in the silence of the night to make sure nothing was stirring.
The penthouse apartment was utterly quiet.
She knew from a couple of hours of observation that there was only one cop posted outside the apartment door and another in the lobby. She guessed they hadn’t expected anyone to come in from the roof. And hadn’t that been how the Riddler had gotten in to kill the mayor the year before? GCPD were never going to learn.
Y/n bit back a sigh. A year, and things in Gotham were still shit.
Well, she was working on that. Not only did she shore up charitable donations in the city, but she also had taken notes from the Batman and decided to take matters into her own hands–in secret of course. She did good work with her money and her company by day, and a different sort of work by night in disguise.
While she didn’t have the gadgets or physical strength like Batman did, she had her own set of skills. Namely, plenty of friends in places both low and high, willing to help her out because they all owed her favors. She dealt in secrets, and secrets were what led to real change in the city.
Not violence. Not death. Not even good, old-fashioned police work.
Secrets from the right person leveraged in the right way wrought change with little effort.
And secrets were what she was currently after.
The man who’d been murdered–a former city councilman who had just announced his run for Senate and his plan to eventually run for president–was scum just like all the powerful people the Riddler had murdered a year before.
Y/n didn’t condone murder, but she did believe in bringing the darkness into the light. That part of the Riddler’s manifesto, at least, she could get behind. As fucking crazy as the guy was, she really couldn’t blame him for wanting to correct some of the shitstorm that was the city of Gotham. His methods had been all wrong, though. She didn’t hurt anybody. She merely told the truth about them.
It was pure chance that her target had been murdered. There had been a string of robberies in the upper class neighborhood–and this time, the apartment hadn’t been empty as expected. The thieves had killed him in their surprise. It had always been her plan to rob the man, just not his valuables. She was after his secrets so she could expose him and ruin his political career.
Now one man was dead and the thief turned murderer was in a jail cell. The city was lauding one and villainizing the other. But they didn’t know what she knew, what she was seeking to reveal to the city at large.
Y/n knew the truth. Not only was the Senate campaign paid for with all kinds of dirty money, but that money had also been stolen from all kinds of charities–several of which y/n was directly involved with and one she had started herself.
Even if she hadn’t been involved in the aforementioned charities, her blood would have curdled at every other secret this former councilman had hidden. The skeletons in his closet were overflowing, all clambering over each other, multiplying the more she dug.
And apparently, the man was old fashioned and had several paper copies of his nefarious dealings hidden in a personal safe. The police had checked the other safe, the one the thief had been trying to get into when he shot the former councilman. All along there had been another, smaller, much more important safe underneath the man’s desk.
It was this safe y/n aimed for.
She bent underneath the desk and got to work picking the lock.
It took nearly ten minutes, not her best work, but finally the damn thing opened with a soft click. Sadly, her informant hadn’t known the code, but y/n was adept at safe cracking and lock picking.
Every hair on the back of her neck rose.
It was instinct born of her nightly activities, or it was the soft movement of air as someone snuck through the apartment, or maybe it was the barest sound of a shoe against the hardwood. Somehow, she very suddenly knew she wasn’t alone.
Y/n didn’t hesitate. She whirled and threw one of the many knives on her at the person sneaking up behind her. The aim was to scare, not to kill. In the same moment, she grabbed everything from the hidden safe and tucked it under her arm.
The knife nicked the side of the Batman’s jaw as he easily stepped out of the way.
Shit, she thought, because she had expected another thief or maybe a cop. And he was close, closer than she’d expected.
She hadn’t expected Gotham’s favorite vigilante to be right behind.
The Batman didn’t hesitate either. He darted forward so fast she barely saw more than a blur of shadow. With a curse out loud this time, she dodged, hip banging painfully against the corner of the desk as she moved out of the way.
“It’s not what it looks like,” she said in a low voice.
“It’s exactly what it looks like,” the masked man said. They were both keeping as quiet as possible. She didn’t think either of them would want the cop outside knowing someone had broken into the apartment.
He lunged. She ducked under his arm and kicked at the back of his knee. He grunted but didn’t go down. She frowned but had no time to alter course before his hand grabbed her upper arm and yanked. All of the papers she’d taken scattered across the floor.
Y/n chopped at his elbow, hand stinging as it connected to whatever his armor was made out of.
“Ow,” she muttered as she tried to release herself from his tight grip. Damn, he was strong. She aimed a kick towards his balls but his free hand caught her ankle. Now he had her arm and her leg. She bared her teeth at him and forced herself closer to take him off guard. He wasn’t easily fooled, though, and only held her tighter.
“I’m not stealing, you fucker,” she hissed. Her chest pressed up against the hard planes of armor. Batman stared down at her, eyes almost blank underneath the mask. He was taller and broader than her, and showed no signs of his grip lessening.
“Then why did you take papers out of that safe?” he asked in a gravelly baritone that made her shiver. She hadn’t realized that the Batman was…kind of hot.
“Take a look at them and you’ll see why.” She wriggled again but he didn’t let go.
He stared down at her for a long moment. Finally, he moved enough to bend over and gather up the papers with one hand. His other hand still had her by the wrist.
“I’m not going to run,” she said with an annoyed sigh. “I’m doing what you do–fixing corruption.”
The vigilante straightened and glanced at the topmost paper in his hand. He frowned.
“Is this all true?”
She craned her neck to see what, exactly, he was looking at.
“Yes, it’s all true.” She gave up trying to get out of his hold. He was too strong, too fast. “That’s all I was after. I have a contact at GC1 news I was going to send it to. Make it public that this guy was a piece of shit who’s better off dead.”
Batman simply stared at her. The cut across his jaw was shallow but bleeding steadily.
“Then why break in?” he finally asked.
“Why’d you break in?” she countered. His grip loosened slightly. She silently began to count down. She didn’t want this asshole taking her hard-earned information to the police or anyone else. She wanted it public and she needed the papers in his gloved hands in order to do so.
“I’m investigating,” he said with a slight narrowing of his eyes. “And catching thieves.”
“I’m not a thief!”
She used his distraction to yank her hand back, grab the papers, and dart away.
Batman caught her by the suit at the scruff of her neck.
Rage welled up inside y/n and she struck out with her leg. In the same movement she twisted to face him. Her foot connected with his chest. He barely moved. He didn’t make a sound, either, as if she was simply an insect bothering him.
“If you’re not a thief,” he said while blocking the blow from her fist. She kept backing up towards the window she’d left cracked, even as they exchanged a flurry of blows. “Then why did you break in? Why did you throw a knife?”
She almost winced. “You snuck up on me, okay? You were closer than I thought. I wasn’t aiming to hit you.”
“But you were aiming to steal.” Again, he caught her by the ankle as she tried to kick him. She growled as she was forced to hop on her other foot to remain balanced.
“Yes, we went over this. Nothing else nefarious is going on.” She crossed her heart with her free hand for emphasis.
Quicker than she thought possible, the Batman released her foot. It knocked her off balance and she stumbled.
He pulled off her mask.
Her heart stopped. She froze, panting heavily from their little bit of sparring, and stared at him in fear.
“Don’t–” she said, but no other words would come.
“I’m keeping this,” he said as he held up the mask. “Do what you want with those papers. Then stop breaking into places.”
He had her mask. He was looking her dead in the eyes. She might not have been easily recognizable like other wealthy CEOs in Gotham, but if her merger with Wayne Enterprises went through the next day…her picture would be everywhere. And then he’d know who she was.
She half-snarled and darted towards her mask. The Batman easily kept it out of her reach.
“Give it back!” she said in a voice that was much too loud.
They both froze as the apartment door clicked–a key in the lock.
Shit, the cop was coming to check on them.
She and the Batman exchanged a glance.
Her mind tripped over itself trying to get past her fight, flight, or freeze instincts all warring for attention. She needed her mask, but if she got caught…it was over.
Fuck it, she had to leave the mask.
“Fucker,” she mumbled to the other vigilante as she fled for the window. He didn’t stop her.
As she closed it behind her, she chanced a glance in the window. The Batman was gone. A cop was walking through, shining his flashlight over every shadow.
Y/n stared for a beat longer.
Then she scrambled up to the roof to grab her things and run like hell.
First she had information to leak to the press. Then she had a board meeting to prepare for. At least she had the files now.
She could get revenge against that asshole vigilante some other time.
–
Y/n dressed carefully for her meeting the next morning. It never hurt to dress to impress, she reasoned. She needed to look strong, capable, but not dowdy. Men were simple creatures and she figured Bruce Wayne was no different. If she could impress him, the merger would go through.
Her pantsuit was simple and black, tailored to perfectly accent her body. Underneath she wore a red silk shirt–red for power, red for purpose. Red to match her favorite lipstick.
The news played in the background as she finished her makeup and hair. The information she’d given the news was already everywhere. She tried not to feel too smug, but it was hard. She’d taken that bastard’s reputation down, sent it to hell where it and he belonged. And now investigations were starting–investigations that would hopefully help the people he wronged. That would give money back to the charities and families he had stolen from.
She was so focused on her triumph that she didn’t have time to be angry at the asshole vigilante who’d stolen her mask. She could get another one made–but it would take a while. It was custom made, bulletproof and made to perfectly fit her face. Maybe this time she’d request it hook to her suit, too, that way it wouldn’t be so easy to steal next time.
She and her team were the first ones in the boardroom at Wayne Enterprises. They were early, but only by a few minutes. She shuffled her papers quietly and pulled up the current contract on her laptop. They would be discussing terms in that meeting and hopefully everyone would win. In another tab she had cost and profit projections in neat little graphs.
Merging with Wayne Enterprises was going to change her life. Her business would thrive even more, have more reach, be able to give more to charity. She knew Bruce Wayne liked charitable giving–his parents had been philanthropists and he had started a relief. She had made sure to include all this in her pros and cons list that she’d emailed the Wayne CEO at the beginning of the merger talks.
“Good morning,” said a member of the Wayne Enterprises board from the doorway. She and her team stood and started shaking hands.
Bruce Wayne was the last one in the door. He didn’t shake anyone’s hand, merely went to the opposite end of the conference table from y/n.
As they all sat, Bruce Wayne looked up and met her gaze.
They both startled.
Recognition flitted across his face before he could hide it.
Her own mouth parted in shock.
Bruce Wayne had a long cut across one side of his jaw. A cut that perfectly matched the one she’d given a certain vigilante the night before.
Bruce Wayne was the Batman.
–
“–not saying that we shouldn’t, but after all the bad luck with the Riddler last year–”
Bruce Wayne interrupted y/n with a growl in his voice. “Bad luck? Bad luck? He’s a psychopath who murdered people and blew up half the city! It’s not–”
“You know what I meant!” she shot right back.
There had been a moment, at the beginning of the meeting, where everyone was introduced and the terms of the contract were read aloud and y/n and Bruce had simply stared at each other. The moment stretched into silence, and all she could think was, Holy fucking shit.
Bruce Wayne was the Batman.
It had devolved from there.
Bruce had immediately shot down several of the terms she had insisted on, which pissed her off. Her rebuttal had been appropriately angry, which had pissed him off. Every beat of her heart had her more and more worried he’d reveal her identity and she’d be fired on the spot.
After half an hour, they’d argued about several things, and she finally started to stop worrying about him outing her.
That didn’t mean he didn’t piss her off with every word out of his mouth.
Now, here they were, half-shouting at each other from across the long table, both of them the only ones standing. Bruce had his hands flat on the table as he shot daggers at her with his eyes and his words. She stood with a hand on her hip, just as angry as she was.
The worst part was, they’d been using an intermediary to even draft the contract they were there to discuss. And now he suddenly had a bunch of issues with it? It was in his fucking favor.
There was a soft clearing of a throat that shut them both up mid bickering.
“I think we should table this for the day,” said the intermediary. She was pretty sure he wasn’t there to act as a literal mediator. “We can reconvene at the same time tomorrow. Why don’t we have both sides draw up new proposals in the meantime.”
Everyone was staring at them, at their behavior, and it only served to piss her off more.
“Well I’m okay with getting this finished today,” y/n said petulantly. She glared at Bruce Wayne.
“Let’s table it,” he said as he glared right back. She had a feeling that he was only saying that to disagree with her, not because he actually thought it was a bad idea.
She ground her teeth together so hard she was pretty sure the whole table could hear it. “Fine, same time tomorrow.”
She was too angry to feel embarrassed at her squabbling with the CEO of Wayne Enterprises like two rival schoolchildren. Not only had this fucker taken her mask, but he also was trying to fuck her with her company too. All this work she’d put into the contract, into the merger, and he was blowing it off like it was nothing.
She stormed out of the room without another word, headed straight for the elevator, and muttered curse words under her breath the entire way. It didn’t help her feel better, but she had to blow off some of the steam rising in her somehow or she was going to burst into angry flames and take down the whole building, his apartments included.
Inside the elevator, she took a deep breath. She’d have to rewrite the entire contract, which would probably take all night. The only thing that made her feel better was that Bruce Wayne had to do the same thing if he wanted any of his terms put up for consideration.
She imagined him in his full Batman costume pouring over the contracts and snorted to herself. Of course, he probably just had someone do it for him and send it to him to review, but the mental image cheered her slightly.
As if her thoughts had conjured him, a hand caught the closing elevator doors, and in stepped Bruce Wayne.
The doors slid closed beside them.
Y/n had to bite her lip to keep from making a rude comment. There were several of them warring to get out at once.
“Mr. Wayne,” she said instead, but she let all of the built up anger and venom come through her words.
He put his hands in his suit pockets and sighed. She had to admit, even as mad as he made her, he looked damn good. He was wearing a tailored dark blue suit that made his blue eyes pop. His long, dark hair was tousled as if he’d woken up right before coming to the meeting. He was tall, his shoulders broad, and his damn jawline was so sharp it looked like it had cut itself with the damage her knife had inflicted. And the cut along the jaw just made it worse–he looked mysterious, handsome, like he was full of secrets waiting to be discovered. Which, she guessed, he was.
He stared down at her, back ramrod straight, and seemed to grow in the small space. He reached a hand out and without looking hit a button that made the elevator stop.
She simply waited. She was pretty sure she knew what was coming. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.
Bruce leaned in very close–close enough that she could smell whatever fresh scent of shampoo or deodorant he used. It was a masculine scent that made her pulse jump as he got close enough for her to feel his breath.
“If you tell anyone,” he said in a voice that definitely dredged up all sorts of images of darkness and shadows and bat wings. It also made her think of silk sheets and shadowy beds.
Feeling bold, y/n stepped closer. Their chests brushed now. “Is this a threat, Mr. Wayne?”
Something flashed in his eyes and her traitorous body decided to get really, really turned on. His jaw clenched so tightly she expected to hear an audible snap. She could practically see his internal struggle not to be an asshole and it made her want to laugh. It was almost too easy to rile him up.
He took a step back, expression suddenly vulnerable. “It would be…very bad for me, and those close to me…if you told anyone. So, please. Just don’t–please.”
She softened a little. She hadn’t expected the please. “Hey, I’ve got a big secret too, remember? I won’t tell.” He gave a single sharp nod. “I want my mask back,” she added.
“No,” he said as he leaned against the elevator wall. She could see their reflections in the shiny metallic ceiling. He was a blur of dark blue, she a pop of red. Opposites, of course.
“Why the fuck not?” she asked. She crossed her arms again. The softness she’d felt towards him was completely gone just like that.
Bruce straightened and got into her space again. Granted, it might not have been on purpose since he was so tall and the elevator was small. He lowered his voice, eyes flickering to her red lips, and said, “To keep you out of trouble.”
Y/n had no excuse for what happened next. As if possessed, she matched his step forward and let her hand slide up his chest to his shoulder. He swallowed hard, seemingly nervous.
“I can get into all kinds of trouble without the mask,” she murmured. Her eyes traced his lips this time.
And maybe it was because he was handsome and he was there. Maybe it was because they shared so many similarities. Or maybe she wanted to one up him somehow, and knew this would do the trick.
No matter the reason, y/n stretched up and captured Bruce Wayne’s mouth with her own.
He froze for a second, going unnaturally still, before he seemed to shake it off.
She couldn’t help the small groan that escaped when his tongue traced her bottom lip or the one that slipped out when he grabbed her waist and pulled her flush against him. One of her hands slipped inside his suit jacket while the other tangled in his hair. He groaned this time, and it went straight through her like a meteor, lighting her on fire as it went.
Her back bumped against the cold elevator wall, the railing digging into her, and she let herself be lifted so her ass sat on top of it. It was barely big enough to balance on, but provided enough leverage for Bruce to slide between her legs. She could feel his arousal press against her, right where she wanted him, and she couldn’t help the small shift of her hips.
Bruce grabbed her tighter.
She bit his lower lip and grinned when he jerked back.
“That was for being a jerk earlier,” she said.
He stared down at her. His dark hair was mussed. The blackness of his pupils had almost overtaken the bright blue.
Y/n lifted her hips to grind against him. His breath shook, eyelids fluttering closed. He felt so good against her like this, warm and strong and solid.
But then he let go and stepped away from her. He straightened his suit and wiped her lipstick off of his own mouth.
“Was it something I said?” she asked, teasing to cover up the hurt that was stinging through her like small thorns.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said. He jabbed the same button from earlier and the elevator lurched into motion once more.
She frowned at him. He didn’t bother looking at her. “So you’re going to leave me and my business high and dry?”
No answer. She scoffed. “And here I thought you were different from the typical rich man.”
His shoulders stiffened but he still didn’t say a word. Above their heads, the elevator counted down as they slowly got closer and closer to the ground floor.
“Don’t you live in the penthouse?” she asked with another frown, distracted from her annoyance by the descending numbers.
“Yes,” he said, but didn’t elaborate.
“Then let’s go up there so you can give me my damn mask back.”
The elevator dinged as they reached the lobby.
“No,” he said over his shoulder as he stepped out.
She watched him stride away on impossibly long legs.
“Fuck,” she said, half annoyed with him, half with herself. She wanted to chase after him and slap some sense into him. Or chase after him and kiss him again. Her whole body tingled from the adrenaline of their meeting followed by quite possibly the best kiss she’d ever had.
And he still wouldn’t give her damn mask back.
With another soft growl of frustration, she stepped out of the elevator. She had no choice but to head home and start working on the damn contract. That, and she had to order a replacement mask. Hopefully her supplier still had her measurements on file.
–
The next morning, y/n decided to do something stupid.
She left two hours early for their makeup merger meeting and stopped at the reception desk with her most winning smile.
“Good morning,” she said brightly. “They messed up my order this morning so I have an extra latte. Do you want it?”
“Oh–Yeah, sure, thanks. I was running late this morning so I haven’t had time to get coffee,” the young girl said. She took the proffered coffee and inhaled deeply with a soft sound of appreciation. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, it was free.” She smiled again. It definitely hadn’t been free and was, in fact, part of her stupid plan. “I’m just heading up to see Mr. Wayne. He forgot to give me the code to get up there. I don’t think he’s awake yet.” She winked and laughed. “We’re going over this merger contract some more before we bring all the big boys in on it.”
She waved a file folder in the air. It was a copy of her amended contract, to be fair. And she did want to talk to Bruce about it. But she also wanted to maybe snoop around and get her mask back and maybe also find out where he hid his Batman armor.
“Sure, no problem,” the receptionist said cheerfully. She scribbled a note with one hand and sipped her coffee with the other. Y/n relaxed. She thought for sure she’d be told a very firm no. She’d imagined Bruce being summoned from the top of the tower to come curse her out in front of all of his employees. She supposed being a CEO in her own right made it easier to get into a forbidden space. Hell, this girl probably thought she and Bruce were going to go over the contract naked.
And wasn’t that an idea.
Y/n thanked the girl and practically skipped to the private elevator she was directed to. It gave her no small amount of joy to get one up on Bruce again. She spent the whole long ride up to the penthouse smiling as she imagined the look on his face when she interrupted his breakfast.
She knew it was stupid–really, she did. The merger was tentative now because of their show in the boardroom and she was sure their kiss hadn’t helped matters at all.
She didn’t stop and question why she was doing this or what she hoped to get out of it. Mostly she wanted to bother Bruce, get her mask back, and maybe, hopefully iron out some of the kinks in the merger plan. She had a feeling they would both be better without an audience.
The elevator made no noise as it slid to a stop and opened its doors.
Y/n stopped in her tracks.
Wayne Tower’s penthouse was…like the inside of a gothic church. The ceilings were tall and sweeping, full of detailed arches, sculptures, and well, a lot of dust.
“Hello,” said a soft, accented voice. She turned and saw an aging man with a cane, his salt and pepper hair styled perfectly neat, his clothes pressed and clean. “Is Mr. Wayne…expecting you?”
She didn’t miss the way his hand strayed to his side and the telltale bulge underneath his shirt. He was armed. His expression was polite, kind even, but there was a glint in his eyes that said he meant business.
She held up her trusty file folder. “I came to go over some stuff about the merger. I’m y/n. I don’t know if he told you about uh…our argument in the meeting yesterday, so I’m here to apologize and smooth things over.” She shrugged as if sheepish.
“The day you apologize is the day my father becomes mayor,” said a familiar voice.
She turned, and there was Bruce. He was dressed in dark sweatpants and nothing else, running a towel over his damp hair. She hated that her entire body reacted to the sight of him shirtless. He was muscular. Scarred, too, but it made sense with his nightly activities.
Her mouth was too dry to talk. Finally, she cleared her throat and said, “Well, you better get out the confetti because I really am here to say I’m sorry.” Okay, maybe it hadn’t actually been part of her plan but…she could say two little words in exchange for saving the merger.
Bruce and the older man exchanged a look. Bruce made a dismissive wave. The man nodded once and disappeared down a hallway.
They stared at each other in silence. Bruce slung the towel over one bare shoulder. She tried not to stare, she really did, but it was next to impossible. God, did he have to be so fucking good looking on top of everything else?
“How’d you get in here?” Bruce finally asked. He crossed his arms, which only served to show off his biceps and pectorals.
Stop staring! y/n mentally shouted at herself. She tore her eyes away and met his gaze.
“I flirted with the receptionist,” she said. She was rewarded with Bruce’s shock. He opened and then abruptly closed his mouth before he schooled his expression.
“Poor Stella,” he said after a beat.
She couldn’t help her laugh. “I bought her coffee and told her the truth. I came to talk about the contract. And…okay, maybe I wasn’t going to apologize, but I did intend to smooth things over. That counts for something, right?”
Bruce’s lips compressed like he was trying not to smile. “I should have let Alfred shoot you.”
She let out a startled laugh. “I did sneak into your home, so…”
“Well, come on then,” Bruce said, gesturing for her to follow him.
“Where are we going?” she asked uncertainly.
“We’re going to have breakfast and go over the damn contract.”
“And you’re going to give in to all of my demands and grovel at my feet, right?” she said to his unfairly muscled back.
He turned his head just enough that she could see his arched eyebrow.
“Hey, it was worth a shot.”
Breakfast went well, at first. She and Bruce joked together like they were old friends as they ate. He told her about the time he’d snuck out on break from college and had tried to sneak back in, only for Alfred to catch him and threaten to shoot him.
Then the talk shifted to business, and they started arguing all over again. She shouldn’t have brought up the controversial Renewal Fund, she knew that, but it had been an accident. An accident that pissed Bruce off, apparently.
“I’m just saying that we should have more checks and balances,” she said through gritted teeth as Alfred cleared their plates. He was Bruce’s butler, apparently, though he seemed more like an uncle or something.
“I don’t disagree,” Bruce said. He rubbed the space between his brows with his thumb.
“You are literally disagreeing!” She threw her hands in the air in exasperation.
“Not about that!”
“Then what? That the Renewal Fund wasn’t used to fund the corrupt? That it wasn’t an absolute shit show?” She tapped her pointer finger on the table with every other word.
Bruce stared at her. “All of that is true.”
“You are so–” She made a frustrated noise. “So fucking annoying!”
“If you would listen to me for a moment, maybe you wouldn’t get so frustrated.” He glared at her between his fingers as he continued rubbing at what was apparently a massive headache caused by her.
“I am listening! I don’t–I mean, come on, you run around dressed as a bat every night to try and make a goddamn difference in the city. And now suddenly your morals change?” She smacked her hand against the wood table so hard it hurt. “Of course I’m frustrated.”
Bruce’s gaze went flat. “That has no bearing on what I do in my company,” he finally said after a long pause.
She inhaled deeply. “Shouldn’t it, though?”
“What are you saying?” Both of his palms were pressed flat on the table. Every line of him was rigid as if he were about to snap.
“Jesus, if you’d chill for a second,” she muttered, then straightened. “I’m saying that my company is charitable. That’s one of our core values. We hire the underprivileged, we give back to the community, we work to build up Gotham brick by brick. And what does Wayne Enterprises do? Give to charity once or twice a year? Sometimes help with relief funds where there’s a flood caused by a psychopath?”
“You’re saying you don’t think this will work because I’m not charitable enough?” Disbelief colored his tone even though his face remained carefully neutral. His nostrils flared though as he breathed in deep and let it out, the only sign she was truly getting under his skin. “Because I shut down the Renewal Fund?”
“I know what you do every night. I commend it. It’s–actually pretty fucking amazing. But that’s only one thing. Bruce Wayne, CEO, can do…so much more in the light of day. Why do you think I do both, too? So all I’m saying is, maybe if we join forces….we can really make a change. At night and during the day. You understand?”
Bruce stood abruptly and started pacing. “You shouldn’t be doing that kind of stuff.”
“Neither should you,” she said dryly. “And that’s not stopping you.”
Bruce paused in his pacing. He opened his mouth but she interrupted, her annoyance rising all over again.
“I swear if you say it’s different for you, I’ll punch you so hard you’ll forget your name.”
He closed his mouth again.
“Seriously,” she said. She stood to better face him. “You’ve got some kind of weird savior complex going on and it’s getting on my nerves.”
He raised one dark eyebrow. “Savior complex?”
“Yes!” She resisted the urge to stomp her foot like a child.
“And you’re qualified to comment on this after–” He pretended to check a watch he wasn’t wearing. “Only knowing me for about thirty-two hours?”
“You’re not as much of a mystery as you like to think, Mr. Wayne. You run around every night and yes, you do plenty for the city. But you think you have to do it alone. I don’t know if it’s because you think you’re better than anyone else or what, but newsflash–other people want to help Gotham too.” She crossed her arms again and stared him down. His eyes narrowed. “Other people can help Gotham.”
“It’s dangerous,” he finally said after a long minute of glaring at each other.
“No shit, Sherlock,” she said. She couldn’t help the roll of her eyes that went along with the words. “I’m not hurting anyone. Hell, I usually wait until places are empty to steal information. That’s what I deal with–secrets and information. I’m barely in danger.”
“How do I know you won’t steal information from me?”
She grit her teeth. “Are you doing anything illegal? Other than, you know, being a vigilante, I mean. I don’t care about that.”
“No.” His jaw flexed and he looked away.
“Then what the fuck is your problem?” She’d been doing so well at squashing the annoyance that kept rising within her. “Are you just trying to be an asshole? You lose nothing with this merger, don’t you get that? All I’m asking is for you to use your fucking money for good. You know, I bet your dad would be so disappointed that–”
“Get out.” The words were a growl. All at once something in him shifted and she saw a shadow of a cape and mask. Something in him was all predator now.
She hesitated. She hadn’t meant to actually piss him off. “Bruce–”
“Get. Out.” He pointed a single, threatening finger. He seemed to loom even larger, his body taking up twice the amount of space with its anger.
“I just meant that–”
He took a step forward and damn it if she didn’t feel a small jolt of fear. She scrambled to grab her stuff.
“The meeting is canceled,” he said in a calmer voice. “Now get out.”
“You’re canceling?” She paused in the process of gathering her things. “No way. I’m going to talk to your board about canceling the merger, I–”
“Not the merger, just the meeting.” Without another word, Bruce turned and left. She imagined a shadow following him, a physical manifestation of his anger. Somewhere, a door slammed.
Grinding her teeth, y/n grabbed all of her stuff and stomped back to the elevator. “Stupid, stubborn, asshole of a man,” she muttered the whole way. Sure, maybe she shouldn’t have brought up his dad. But she had a point and he knew it. That was why he was so pissed off.
And canceling their meeting? What a dick.
She stopped before hitting the button that would take her to the lobby.
“You know what?” she said out loud. “I’m just going to wait.” She glanced around at the imitation of a spooky castle. “Hear that?” she shouted. “I’m not fucking leaving until you see sense!”
Her voice echoed around the space. She half-expected a hoard of bats to take off from the rafters far above. She bit back an almost hysterical laugh. Maybe there were bats hiding up there. That’s probably where he got the idea from.
She leaned back against the wall next to the elevator.
“Am I going to have to have you arrested for trespassing?”
Y/n jumped. Standing in the entrance to a hallway on her left was Alfred, the butler or…whatever he was. Security. Uncle. Bruce hadn’t ever actually clarified that point.
“Oh–Uh–” It was one thing to try to get back at Bruce. Alfred, frankly, intimidated her. And he seemed nice, unlike Bruce, which made her loathe to get on his nerves. “I was just–”
“I take it the meeting didn’t go so well?” he said, letting her off the hook.
She relaxed slightly. “Oh, it went perfectly. We yelled at each other for half an hour, debated the morality of vigilantes, and then when I accidentally brought up his dad, he kicked me out.”
Alfred’s eyebrows practically disappeared into his hair. “Oh?” he said.
Right. She probably wasn’t supposed to know that Bruce was Batman. “I uh…we actually met the night before last,” she said. “He stole my mask.”
She was impressed that he didn’t show any emotion. “Did he?”
“And I cut his face. It was an accident, but at yesterday’s meeting I noticed and…well. You probably know what I noticed.”
Alfred hummed and relaxed his posture. “You didn’t tell anyone?”
“Like I said, he stole my mask. I don’t give a shit what he does.” She shrugged. It was the truth. “All I want is for this merger to not only benefit our companies, but Gotham too. And for some reason the guy who runs around at all hours of the night protecting the city is suddenly waffling about using some of his buckets of cash to do some fucking good.”
Alfred did the last thing she expected. He laughed. “Oh, I like you. Come on.” He waved her over and went to, of all things, another elevator.
“Where are we going?” she asked, wondering if maybe there was a dungeon beneath this place that Alfred was tricking her into. “And why does this goddamn tower have so many elevators?”
Alfred put in a code and stepped inside an elevator that was a lot…grungier than the others she’d been in inside of Wayne Tower. He pressed his thumb to a keypad and entered another code. He then hit a button labeled only B before the thing started to lower. Basement, maybe?
“This one is only for Bruce and I.”
“Are you taking me to the dungeon?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
Alfred chuckled. “You’ll see.”
“So that’s all it takes to get into Bruce Wayne’s inner sanctum, huh?” She leaned against the side of the elevator. “Sneak into the penthouse, pick a fight, and reveal that I know his deepest secret to his…uncle?”
“Butler,” Alfred said. He shifted grip on his cane. “And Bruce needs someone to pick a fight with him.”
“I really feel like you’re about to lock me in a dungeon.”
The elevator jerked to a stop. There was a gate across the opening that rattled as it parted.
Alfred gestured for y/n to step out, so she did. She was surprised to see Alfred was staying inside. He winked at her and was gone as the elevator ascended again.
“Is she gone?” Bruce’s voice echoed around her and a chittering noise started in its wake.
The space around her was…dark. She was standing on a platform with steps in front of her that led down to a wide open space. The edges of the area were in deep shadow and everything echoed strangely. Her eyes lifted to the dark ceiling and–holy shit, those were bats.
Her gaze landed next on two words carved into the stone overhand: Wayne Station.
“No, actually, she’s not,” y/n said as she followed the stairs down to where Bruce was. He had a shirt on now, at least. He was standing at a desk with several computer screens, hunched over as he scribbled something down. All around them were tables, computers, various tools, random pieces of Batman’s suit, two motorcycles, and a car on a ramp with one of those cloth covers over it.
Bruce whirled at the sound of her voice. “What–”
“Alfred let me in,” she said with a triumphant grin. The pen in Bruce’s hand cracked from the force of his grip.
Bruce growled and turned back to what he was doing, unceremoniously flinging his pen to the side. “Alfred,” he muttered as if it were a curse.
“He said you need someone to pick a fight with you. All I did was tell him I knew your secret and poof, here we are.” She greedily took in the space around her. It was so interesting. She had a feeling she was seeing a manifestation of Bruce’s mind. There were blueprints, all kinds of gadgets in various stages of completion, and a dummy dressed in his Batman armor and mask.
“He–” Bruce muttered something else she didn’t catch.
“Listen, I can pick a fight if you want, or you can show me all of this cool stuff.” There was almost a giddiness rising within her. He had so many cool gadgets, things she’d never dreamed of having. No wonder he was such a good vigilante.
Bruce glared at her for a moment before turning back to whatever it was he was doing. It looked like he was making notes on a blueprint of some sort. The drawing looked like a car. Kind of. “It isn’t stuff,” she thought she heard him mumble, but she wasn’t sure.
“Ooh, okay, fine. Let’s pick another fight. Will you get pissed off if I start moving stuff around?” It was too easy to tease him, she thought as she reached out and lifted something that looked an awful lot like a grenade. Her fingers had barely wrapped around it when Bruce’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.
“Put that down.”
She grinned at him and obliged. “That’s a yes, then. What if I touch this?” she asked as she picked up something that looked like the armbands he wore on his wrists. It was a lot heavier than she expected. Goddamn, he wore those things every night? Her wrist felt like it was about to break just from holding it.
He snatched it from her.
A small laugh escaped her lips. “You’re too easy a target.” She reached blindly for something else.
He caught both of her wrists in his hands this time. “Stop doing that.”
“Who pissed in your wheaties this morning, huh?” she asked as he yanked her away from the tempting pile of stuff.
“You did,” he said. He still hadn’t let her go.
“Listen,” she said after a beat. “I didn’t mean to–bring up anything by mentioning your dad, okay? I was frustrated.”
“Understatement of the year,” he muttered. He glanced away but didn’t let her go.
“I’m going to let that one slide because I really am sorry.” She shrugged as best as she could from within his grip. Her eyes trailed past him, over his shoulder, and she jerked. “Hey! That’s my fucking mask!”
She yanked hard against him but he didn’t let her go.
“I told you, you’re not getting it back,” he said firmly. He was scowling down at her.
“You fucker,” she said. “I already ordered a new one, anyways. Made some improvements.”
He sighed long and loud through his nose, eyes closed as if he were trying to find inner peace or something.
“Will you let me go?” she asked.
“Will you stop touching stuff?” he asked, eyes opening. She didn’t miss the way his pupils expanded as he continued to stare at her.
“That depends,” she said with a bold step forward. “Is there anything I am allowed to touch?” She said it so seductively that there wasn’t a question about her meaning. She let her chest brush against his.
Bruce said nothing but his grip loosened.
She slid one of her hands up his chest and rested it on his shoulder. “Do I really piss you off that much?” she murmured.
“Yes.”
“So you don’t like me…at all?” She pressed herself closer against him. His sweatpants did nothing to hide the fact that he at least liked her some.
“I didn’t say that.” His hands fell to her waist, his touch burning hot even through her clothes.
“Should I get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness?” she asked in a low voice. Just imagining it turned her on so much her breath stuttered. Bruce’s fingers flexed against her and she felt the words go straight through him as his cock twitched against her stomach. “Or maybe you should get on your knees,” she murmured as her hand tangled in his hair. His eyes fluttered closed for a second.
“Which one will make you shut up faster?” he asked after a second. His blue eyes flashed as they opened again.
She laughed and leaned up to whisper in his ear. “Sounds like you want my mouth full.”
Bruce stopped breathing for a split second. Then his lips were crashing against hers. Her back smacked against the nearest table. He was everywhere. The warmth of his body surrounded her and she again had a moment of thinking he was larger than he was. His hands strayed up her shirt, the calluses on his bare palms dragging a shiver from her as they scraped across her skin.
This time he bit her lower lip and the mixture of pleasure and pain had a soft noise escaping from her before she could stop it.
“You’re so infuriating,” he said against her lips. “You drive me crazy.”
“Right back at you,” she said and kissed him again.
“I mean it,” he said as his nose traced her jaw. He pressed a kiss against her pulse. She was certain he could feel the way it suddenly jumped. “I have never been so aggravated by a person before.” He kissed down her neck and sighed into her skin. “And I’ve never wanted someone so much.”
“Then do something about it,” she said with a challenge in her voice. It didn’t come out as strong as she’d hoped though, because his lips were distracting her, and one of his thumbs had chosen that moment to brush the underside of her breast through her bra.
In one swift movement he had rid her of her shirt. His eyes were hungry as they took her in. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
“Finally, a compliment,” she said but the words choked off as his lips touched the top of one breast and then the other.
“One of us has to be nice,” he said, and the way his breath brushed against her skin made her shiver. He glanced up at her through his dark, dark lashes.
“I can be nice,” she said defensively. What she really wanted to do was demand that he touch her already, but that would defeat the purpose of her comment about being nice.
Bruce quirked an eyebrow at her. “Oh?”
She pulled him back to his full height and settled on her knees before him. And bless him, he had some sort of cushioned mats underneath the tables so she wasn’t on hard concrete. Her hands settled on the backs of his thighs as she leaned back enough to stare up at him.
“I can be very nice,” she said as she tugged his sweatpants down.
His breath and hers both caught when his cock sprang free. Her mouth practically watered at the sight. His hand caressed the back of her head encouragingly but he made no move to force her forward. He simply watched, and waited.
She licked the underside of him slowly. Her reward was a choked noise. His hand tightened spasmodically on her head but again, he didn’t force her forward.
She licked him again, experimental this time, letting her mouth very slowly explore him, moistening him so when she decided to, her lips would slide right over him.
She took the head of him in her mouth first and swirled her tongue. This time he moaned out her name. The sound of it made her squeeze her thighs together. Her want was a living, breathing thing within her. She didn’t want to tease anymore. She took him into her mouth fully, swallowing him as deep as she could.
The sound Bruce made was desperate. It echoed around them and only served to make her hungry for more. She was doing that to him. She was making him feel that good.
Her head bobbed, his hand a gentle guide on the back of it, the noises he was making becoming more frequent the more she moved. His body trembled. She wasn’t entirely sure he was breathing, either.
All of a sudden her mouth was empty as he jerked away from her. It was instinct to follow but he tugged gently on her hair to stop her.
“My turn to be nice,” he said, voice deeper than she’d ever heard it. He guided her upwards and kissed her so hard it left her breathless. He palmed one of her breasts with one hand and her ass with the other. Then her bra was falling off and to the floor.
“You?” she said on half a gasp. “Nice?”
He grinned at her. “I can be very nice.”
He unzipped her skirt. It puddled around her ankles. She kicked off her shoes and the skirt in anticipation.
“Yeah?” she said as both of his hands gripped her ass and pulled her closer. She wiggled against him, his cock against her bare stomach about to drive her wild with need and they hadn’t even done anything yet. “Prove it.”
One of his hands was between her legs before she finished speaking. He brushed a thumb against her clit through her underwear, making her squirm. He leaned down to kiss the pulse point in her neck again.
She made a noise of complaint when he stopped touching her but all he did was lift her so she was situated on the table.
“Spread your legs,” he said and her body instinctually obeyed without her permission. He pulled down her underwear. His eyes were hungry as he lowered himself to her knees. He was devouring her with his gaze. His lips parted as his tongue darted out. She knew that tongue was about to be on her and the anticipation was killing her.
“This is the part where you beg for forgiveness,” she said in a breathy voice. All of her bravado went out the window as he smirked at her and traced a finger through the wetness between her legs.
He moved teasingly slow as he continued to trace her, staying just outside where she wanted him, every other pass stopping to circle her clit. He kissed the inside of one thigh and then the other. Then he paused, staring up at her with eyes like blue flames, and lifted one of her legs to rest on his shoulder. The new position made her lean back against her hands.
She moaned at the first touch of his lips. His tongue gently traced her clit and she squirmed all over again.
“Bruce,” she said like a plea.
He listened to her unspoken demand and inserted a single finger into her so slowly she wanted to scream. His tongue worked her clit as his finger moved in and out of her. The sensation started to build and build and build. She reached out for an anchor with one hand, something, anything to keep her grounded. Her fingers threaded into Bruce’s hair. He hummed against her, eliciting a moan from her as the vibrations moved through her body.
“Fuck,” she said because there was no other word for it.
He pushed a second finger inside her. His movements started to quicken.
Her orgasm built within her as he moved faster and faster. The sensation of his tongue on her clit coupled with two of his fingers inside her was almost too much. She couldn’t catch her breath.
Bruce slid a third finger inside her and every muscle in her body clenched around him.
She shuddered as the orgasm washed over her, pleasure rolling on waves throughout her body.
When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her. Somehow, that was hotter than anything he’d done up until that point. The look in his eyes, feral and hungry, made her feel more naked than her actual nakedness.
“How do you want me?” she asked, voice thick in the wake of her orgasm. Her body shuddered with an aftershock and Bruce’s piercing blue eyes didn’t miss any of it. He stood slowly, the bulk of him seeming to unfold little by little as he towered over her. He pulled his shirt off with one hand and somehow kept eye contact the whole time.
He stepped between her legs and she shivered again. The air was cold but the warmth pouring from Bruce’s magnificent body was enough to keep her from feeling it.
“How do you like it?”
God, his fucking voice. Deep and sexy and with a hint of a growl that turned her on.
How did she like it? Was he serious? She just wanted him inside her, she didn’t care where or how.
“Just fuck me,” she said when she could find her voice.
“You’re so bossy,” he said with half a smile as he bent to kiss her.
She clutched his shoulders. “I mean it, Bruce,” she said with as much bravado as she could muster. “Fuck me. I have an IUD so we have nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure?” he asked after a second. He studied her face calmly as if she weren’t half-mad with lust. As if his cock wasn’t dripping for her, angled perfectly to go inside her.
“I don’t know how I could make my consent any clearer.” She rolled her eyes. Then she realized that maybe Bruce wasn’t sure. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he said against her lips, and then pushed into her so suddenly she cried out.
She said every cuss word she knew which only served to make him laugh. The vibrations traveled between their connected bodies in a delicious way. He stayed still for a moment, letting her adjust to him, his lips moving up her neck and to her breasts and to her lips.
“Fuck,” Bruce said as he began to move. She agreed with the sentiment. With her leaning back on the table, him between her legs, the angle was just right to immediately send shivers up and down her spine. Every thrust made her muscles clench.
The feel of his cock within her was almost transcendent. She grabbed him tightly, pressing their bodies together, keeping him close to her as he thrust in and out.
He slid a hand between them to circle her clit and she cried out as she came almost immediately. When she opened her eyes she expected to see that she had burst into flames. Bruce was staring at her again, his expression tight.
“You’re beautiful when you come,” he said and the words almost made her do so again.
“I bet you are too,” she said with a grin. She wrapped her legs around him so that their bodies were flush. The new angle made them both gasp. His big hands splayed across her back and her own hands tangled in his hair. He seemed to like it when she pulled, so pull she did.
“Y/n…” he said into the crook of her neck. His thrusts picked up speed. She saw stars as his cock hit her just right, over and over and over. The grip she had on his hair was a lifeline now, the only thing grounding her and keeping her from exploding into a million tiny pieces.
“Come inside me, Bruce,” she said. It wasn’t at all bossy like she’d intended it, but he groaned anyways.
He rocked into her, harder and deeper than before, the sweat on their skin making their chests slide together. His fingers deftly swept over her clit again. Her cry echoed, almost a scream, as she came for the third time.
Bruce wasn’t far behind. His thrusts stuttered, rhythm uneven, as his hips jerked into her. She could feel it spill out of her even as he continued to move.
“Fuck,” he said as his hips slowly jerked to a stop. They were both panting.
“Fuck,” she agreed. She was still clinging to him. They stayed tangled together for a minute more. Her body shivered with aftershocks every few seconds. Her mind was blissfully blank. Her limbs were warm, her body languid. She felt completely wrung out in the best way possible.
Bruce kissed her jaw. His hands rubbed idle circles against her bare back. It was…sweet. She liked it. Usually the men she fucked pulled out and yanked their clothes back on in the same movement.
“I had no idea Bruce Wayne was such a…generous lover,” she said, breath still heaving.
“Now you know all of my secrets.” He toyed with her hair, his face softer than she’d ever seen it. She let her legs fall from around his waist. He stepped back, sliding out of her, and passed her a small towel from God only knew where. “It’s clean, I promise.”
“I highly doubt I know all your secrets.” Their eyes met and they shared a smile. She cleaned herself up to the best of her ability. “I’d like to, though.”
“Oh?” he said, and there was a vulnerability in his expression that wasn’t there before.
“Feel free to say no, but I’d like to take you on a date.” She nudged him gently. She pulled her bra and underwear back on.
“I’d like that. But I should pay.” He pulled up his sweatpants but left his shirt off. She couldn’t say she minded the view.
“Oh, I only meant I was driving. You’re definitely paying.”
He laughed, long and loud, and the sound stirred something in her gut.
“Who knew that all you needed was to get laid to loosen up?” she teased as she gave him another playful nudge.
“I doubt this is what Alfred had in mind when he said I needed someone to pick a fight with,” Bruce said with another slight laugh. “But it worked, didn’t it?”
Y/n glanced around, suddenly panicked. “There aren’t security cameras in here, are there?”
Something glinted in his eyes. A playfulness, almost. “No, there aren’t.”
She squinted at him, suspicious. “If you tell me know and I find out you’re beating off to the tape every night–”
He laughed again, this one a short, surprised burst of sound. He raised his hands as if in surrender. “I promise there’s not.”
She finished straightening her hair with a soft hmph. “Fine, fine. Date’s still on then, I guess.”
Bruce leaned in and brushed a kiss to her temple. It was as if he couldn’t help it. As if the sex had softened all of his rough edges. Maybe it had softened her, too, because she couldn’t drum up an ounce of annoyance at him if she tried. In fact, she leaned into the touch.
“Seriously,” she teased as she bent to pull her shoes back on. “It’s like you’re a different person.”
“What can I say?” he said. He spread his hands. “You’re not all bad.”
“Does this mean you’ll accept all my terms with the merger?”
There was a long, long pause. “Absolutely not.”
She snorted, and they fell into what was becoming their new routine of bickering as they went upstairs to get lunch.
Hiii I have a request!! Ok it’s kinda long cause it’s all a dream I had
Jake sully x reader
Ok let’s say reader and jake were married before everything (when he was still human) and she got knocked up by him and lates say like in the movie jake falls for neytiri and reader finds out and during the war reader gets injured and they take her to eywa, eywa saves her baby but it’s transformed to a Navi baby (let’s say it’s neteyam) while reader is stuck still being human so yk Jake and neytiri takes care of the kid it’s angsty especially with neteyams death
hey bestie, so i saw that you sent this same exact request to another writer(same exact wording as well). was thinking about not posting it now, but i wrote this at work and finished it so you’re getting two versions. but not very happy about this IMO, not very nice to go to different writers so you can get more/different versions of your request
pairing: jake sully x human fem!reader wc: maybe almost 1k warnings: blood, infidelity, mentions of pregnancy
masterlist / jake sully
this trip to pandora was pretty much your's and jake's honeymoon. away from home and family, now living on a foreign planet surrounded by scientists and the military. dream destination spot.
"this place is marvelous. a true beauty." in awe while the helicopter flew your small group over the pandorian forest. the lush green of the thriving trees mixed with the spectrum of colors was outstanding. only used to the muted palette of your dying earth.
jake sat beside you with his hand in yours, being oddly quiet for the chatter-mouth he normally is. "everything okay. handsome?" leaning into his space even though you have radios to hear each other.
jake looked away from the jungle and peered at you with shallow eyes. "yeah. yeah, all good."
-
two days after the ride they set jake up to test his avatar. he went into a pod structure and then about an hour later you saw him as a nine-foot blue-striped alien with feline features. his human features still showed through, your jake staying present.
when he came back to your shared quarters the both of you got handsy and frisky, acting like a pair of teenagers. the next morning both were naked and awoken by a loud pounding on your door.
"let's go jarhead! don't have all day!"
groans from jake and light giggles from you. he rolls over to press multiple kisses scattered over your face until he leaves a deep and final kiss upon your lips.
"i love you." his sparkling blues looked over your face. he steals an encore kiss, "I'll see you later." and he grabs his clothes from the floor before getting into his wheelchair.
"i love you too. be safe." called to him before the door shut closed.
-
"you're pregnant." jaw dropped involuntarily. "are- are you serious? i- I mean, are you sure?" your heart pitched up in speed on the machine.
max nodded while keeping a neutral expression. "I'm sure. three months along."
your hands cupped over your mouth as your vision blurred with tears, "holy shit."
"is... is that a good holy shit? or a bad holy shit?" max stepped forward while clinging to his clipboard.
a nod of your head, "a good holy shit. a very good holy shit."
later that night when jake returned from his training you broke the wonderful news.
"you serious?" and he sounded the farthest from happy. you faltered for a second before bouncing back. "yeah, max said I'm three months along. isn't this exciting! we can start a family on a thriving planet-"
"and start one on an alien world where everything is deadly. everything is dangerous here. the plants, animals, the locals! the natives hate us and they are barely warming up to me with these hours of training. a kid is not safe here!" jake's voice rose to a sharp yell causing you to flinch in both shock and fear.
"well, we'd- we'd keep them in hell's gate until then. wait until their of age." trying to get jake to warm up to the concept just a little. "aren't- aren't you at least a- a little happy? you're gonna be a father!"
you wrapped your arms around your elbows, protecting yourself from any harsh words to be thrown. jake scoffed while shaking his head.
"no. i'm not. my father was shitty, treating my brother with his respect while I was just dirt. now I'm gonna end up repeating that cycle!" rubbing his hands over his face in stress.
you jumped quickly to his defense. "no you're not. you'll be a great father, gentle and caring. i know it, they'll love you." setting slow steps toward jake, stretching a hand out to comfort him.
-
four months have passed. you were showing more each week and even found out it was a boy. jake was still training with the omatikaya clan to gain their trust. having two separate lives, exploring the world of pandora as one of the people, and at night he's back in his human body that’s getting weaker each day. it's caused the two of you to hit a rocky patch in your new marriage.
jake barely spoke to you when he came to bed, still giving his touches but those have been lessening each night. he can’t keep eye contact with you now, you miss gazing into his clear eyes as you get lost in dreams. he would avoid any of your questions about his day, especially ones that involved her.
that gut feeling told you he didn't love you anymore. ever since the pregnancy announcement he's been completely different. it caused tears to sting your eyes when you think about the possibility he fell in love with her, dreams about her while he’s beside you.
"jake?" calling his name before he could slip away from the day. he stopped just before the door, keeping his back to you.
"do- do you still love me? cause if you don't just- just tell me. it's breaking my heart to just take this silent treatment, having you slowly retreat from me. just tell me you don't love me, that you love her now. just tell the truth." cracked voice and hiccuping breathes. you thought you were on the verge of passing out with your ragged inhales.
he still didn't bother looking at you. if he did you would see how his eyes are screwed shut and his mouth twisted in a grimce. small tears staining his skin as he replied in a cool and collected voice.
"i don't love you anymore and i'm sorry." jake left before you could say anything, leaving you to sob alone and hold your bump in a cradle.
-
a week later all hell broke loose for every species on pandora. a war between the greedy corporations and the locals of the planet. you, max, and trudy helped free grace, norm, and jake from their cell. it was a race against time, too much happening at once to process the damage taken.
both you and grace were shot, losing blood and slowly dying. jake said he was gonna take the both of you to the spirit tree to have mo'at save the three of you.
"it's gonna be okay, baby. everything is gonna be okay." jake's voice broke as his hands caressed your paling face. tear rolling in drops to his cheeks. you tried smiling for him, showing you were fine.
"it's okay, handsome. just save the baby. be his father." jake sobbed, "i- I can't do- do this without you."
you shushed him while running a heavy hand over his head, "yes you can. you have people around you and- and you have neytiri. someone who loves you." jake scrunched his face, 'i'm sorry, baby. so so sorry." giving a rock to your body.
your skin was feeling colder and you could feel your heart slowing. "jake... can i- can I have a- a kiss? for goodbye?"
"you're not leaving. you'll be okay." his thumb smoothing over your skin. eyes dimming in shine. "of course,' words getting breathy, "I still want a kiss, handsome." sleepy eyes taking in all of your husband's details. for the final time.
jake stared into your shrinking pupils before leaning down so his lively lips connected with your bloody ones. "I'll always love you, jake sully." whispered to his lips with your last breath.
-
almost a month after the fire had settled, most of the humans were taken back to earth, and the clans began rebuilding. jake is now the lead for the people of the omatikaya clan. toruk makto gone until he is needed again.
jake was out by a stream collecting fish for the communal meal later that night. the quiet always helped him at times and allowed him to reminisce on the past. flashes of your face or smile, small bites of your laughter ringing within his ears. thinking of how he should’ve treated you better, wishing he could have a second chance at human life with you.
jake knew he didn't deserve your final words, but he held them close in his heart.
"ma jake." neytiri's soothing voice filled the silent air. he turned on his heel and smiled as she came closer. "yawne," holding a hand out for her to grab. he pressed three kisses upon her knuckles.
neytiri's lips parted in a smile. "i have blessed news, ma jake." he waited for her to continue, eyes taking in her glowing face.
"i am with child."
and instead of that gut-wrenching feeling he was expecting to feel the first time this news dropped, it was only solemn. a sad happiness crashing over him in waves.
but he didn't need to force a smile, it came with ease was he whispered, "that's- that's wonderful news."
-
a/n: i fridged the reader i know! (if you don't know where fridging a female character came from look it up)
PLEASE write something for richie jerimovich maybe you’re carmys sister and you all work at the beef 🫶🏻🫶🏻
ANON i am overjoyed at this request. thank you so much for being my first ask and my first official post on here!!!
18+ for some elusions to sex
word count: 1.3k
pairing: richie jerimovich x f!reader (only gendered term used is sister)
Nat never wanted you in the restaurant.
Even after re-opening, the name change, the renovation–it was still something she wanted you separate from. Protected from. It was the start and end of many fights.
And you still found a way to weasel in.
Family, prep, hands; it didn't matter, but you were eager to help. To be useful. It mattered to your brother and sister, and that meant it mattered to you.
There's a shout of corner! as you walk through the swinging door. Tina's the first to see you, chopping onions with a quickness you'd never been able to master. You put in the hours, you learned the techniques, it was just something about a knife you couldn't get down. Or maybe it was the tears that sprung to your eyes no matter how many times you'd practiced.
"Hi, baby," Tina smiles and tilts her cheek to you so you can kiss it. "Jeff is in the office, Nat's... you saw Nat, si?"
"Si, T, thank you."
Nat was in the front of house, fidgeting with the plate settings and rolled-up napkins. It must be pregnancy hormones or something because she's only gotten more nit-picky and everyone's noticing it.
Syd and Marcus greet you as you walk past them, in search of something you can't seem to find.
You peek your head in the walk-in. Nope.
Rap your knuckles against the open office door, nodding to Carmy on the phone, finding the room empty apart from him. You mouth his name but Carm's never been that good at lip-reading, so it's a benign effort.
You push the back door open and spot him by the dumpster smoking a cigarette.
Bingo.
"Psst," you say as you walk over to him slowly.
He looks up at you through a cloud of smoke that doesn't hide his grimace as well as he thinks it does.
"Whadda ya doin' here? I told you to stay home. Never fuckin' listen."
You steal the cigarette from between his fingers and wiggle it above him, grinning like the cat who got the cream.
"Not the boss of me." You quirk a brow.
Richie gets up off his feet. You instinctually back up to get a better look at his face, but he wraps an arm around your waist to hold you in place. You're craning your neck to look him in the eye, but you don't back down. You'll never hear the end of it if you do.
"Not the boss, huh?" This close, you can taste the smoke on his breath, puffing in the cold of autumn.
You bounce on your heels just slightly. "Nope," popping the P. "Not on the papers."
"You don't fuckin–" He puts distance between the two of you to throw his hands up in exasperation, "you don't even work here!"
Biting back your smile, barely, you say, "I'm family."
"Oh, you little shit," he says, and then he's on you, lifting you up and carrying you til your back hits the cold metal of his car. "Brat."
It's not exactly a secret that the two of you are an item, but there hasn't been a public announcement either. Richie had come a long way–a long way–from who he used to be, but Carmy remembered, and Sugar remembered, and that was a lot to have hanging over your head when it turned out he wanted their little sister.
So the two of you are cautious. Never at work, which is part of the reason you shouldn't be here, part of the reason RIchie's all riled up in the first place.
He'd told you to stay at his place, promising he'd be back before dinner. That was at seven, and who's to say if you heard him correctly, in your sleep-addled state. You'll blame it on that.
Richie's apartment was nice–he'd eaten you out on that kitchen island more times than you can count–but it was lonely. And you missed him. And maybe you had to walk or Uber your way there, and maybe he wasn't so happy with you in the streets of Chicago by yourself, and maybe it was an unspoken rule.
And maybe you had just broken it by showing up here.
"Sorry," you whisper, and kiss away any protests forming on his tongue.
He lets you, for a while, only because he missed you, too. He rubs his hands up and down your back, sure that you must be freezing in the thin pants you're in on the unforgiving cold of the trunk of his car. He pulls back and you follow his mouth blindly.
"Sweetheart."
"What?" You whine.
Richie huffs a laugh.
"You're not s'posed to be here." He cards a hand gently through your hair.
You shrug your shoulders petulantly, not meeting his eyes now. "Missed you."
Richie makes a sound like he's in pain, and then he cups your face in his hand and squeezes your cheeks together gently, like he has that cuteness-aggression thing Marcus was telling him about a while ago. You're too sweet for him.
"I missed you, too," he whispers, releasing your face to smooth back your hair and press a kiss to your forehead. "I'm in the middle of one thing and then we can go home, okay?"
You nod slowly, leaning your head into his chest.
Richie smiles to himself. "That means you gotta get up, baby." He slaps what he can reach of your ass lightly.
You shake your head against his heartbeat. "Carry me?"
Richie's heart hurts with how much he adores you. He might just get down on one knee right there. He picks you up and calls you baby in a scolding voice instead. If you mind, you don't make an effort to show it.
He stops and sets you gently on your feet after the short distance and opens the passenger door for you, watching as you plop down into the seat unceremoniously.
Just five minutes. He could finish in just five minutes, and then he can take you home.
"Okay," he starts, bends down to kiss your forehead again, and you lift your head expectantly for a goodbye kiss. He gives you one. "Five minutes and I'm out, got it? I'll get you a Sprite if you want it, and then I'm all yours."
You look up at him grinning, open-mouthed, and nod. "Keys?"
Richie pats the pockets of his jeans. "Keys, keys... they're in my locker, give me two seconds, baby, so you don't freeze out here." The car reverberates with the force of him shutting the door as he jogs back inside the Beef.
"Whatchu up to, papa?" Tina calls from the kitchen.
"Keys," Richie shouts back, "gotta take the baby home."
Tina's behind him in record time, watching him turn his locker inside-out in his search. "Taking your girl home, huh?"
"Oh, shut up." Richie turns to face her and finds a shit-eating grin staring right at him.
"Careful, Jeff," she says as she walks away, "you'll get yourself in trouble."
Richie rolls his eyes, pockets his keys, and walks back out to you.
You open the door for him again, and he drops the keys in your lap.
"All good?"
"All good except Tina fuckin' knows."
You laugh before you realize you're doing it. Richie is not so amused.
"What, that's funny? I gotta hear it at work now all 'cause you got lonely?"
You reach your hand up and into the pocket of his leather jacket. "Everyone knows, Richie. It's okay. Go and hurry up, I'm cold."
"Shit," he swears. "Here." His jacket is draped across your shoulders and now it's him shivering, and you would protest, but it would be fruitless. Richie would get frostbite before he let you catch a cold.
One last kiss is dropped on your forehead in lieu of a goodbye. "Five minutes and I'll be back, okay?"
"Okay," you nod, hand on the door, even though Richie's already pushing it shut. "I'll time you."
Some shameless POS literally used AI to steal my friend's animated film
I usually don't post stuff like this but this shit's insane and downright insulting. I graduated from Ringling College of Art and Design in 2022, a pretty well known animation school in the US, and every animation student on their final year of college has to make an animated film for our final thesis. If you have any idea of the animation making process, you would know that making an entire film by yourself in one year is batshit insane and extremely exhausting, to the point where I'm still feeling the effects of the process on my physical and mental wellbeing 2 years after I graduated. Once more, my friends and I did it during the covid period, which was another level of hell. I was literally watching my grandfather's funeral while working in the labs at 2am because I couldn't fly home to attend it because we had to make this film. This film was our lifeblood, the culmination of 4 years of hell at school which was suppose to be our gateway into the industry. Tldr, it's fucking difficult to do, especially on your own.
So imagine 2 years later and I wake up to a bunch of messages on our alumni chat where a dear friend of mine posted a link to a tiktok video of someone literally stealing her entire film and superimpose it shot by shot and claim it as their own ad for their AI game. As animators, we aren't unaware of people stealing our films and reposting them elsewhere. Heck my own film "The End" was stolen from our school vimeo and posted on tiktok BEFORE IT WAS EVEN OFFICIALLY RELEASED, and that tiktok got hundreds of thousands of views while a year after my own real release my film is still struggling in the thousands.
But this
This is a fucking new low.
Can you imagine? A fresh graduate going through literal blood sweat and tears to make a film on their own that is so important to their future in the industry, to get them a job, with a film that represents a part of themselves to the world, just used as fodder for some stupid tech assholes? It's infuriating. It's insulting. It's literally a big fuck you to the hundreds of students who spent their lives toiling to make these films from the heart who are just desperate to get into the industry.
The animation industry right now is in complete shambles. People are graduating from animation schools with thousands of dollars in dept only to be met with a wasteland of minimum wage and lack of funding and competing for jobs with people who have already been in the industry for years affected by the massive layoffs not only in the movie but also the gaming industries. These films we make for our thesis aren't just films made for fun, they represent our lifeblood, our only opportunity to get a job as a graduate in this sea of hell. If you didn't make a good film, chances are you're never even stepping foot in the industry ever. It's our golden ticket that we would put thousands of hours through, sleepless nights and pushing through no matter the circumstances of sickness and pain it caused us.
And now some dumb fucking AI using dickbags see that and decide it's worth nothing.
Here's a link to my friend's real film. Please go watch it and support her work. I'm not even gonna link the other piece of shit tiktok because I don't want that video to even get a single extra view but here's a recording my friend made so you can see this malarkey side by side.
It's heartbreaking to see my friend's film barely getting any views while the stolen garbage is already in the thousands. I hope the person who stole my friend's work and made that shit dies in a fiery car crash and go straight to hell.
I cannot emphasise how we must not let this shit continue to happen. We're living in a fucking dystopia and unless we do something about it and support those affected by it it's only going to get worse. They're already expanded from stealing people's still art to stealing people's entire films, if we don't stop this nothing we create would ever be safe.
Just a dumb bunch of thoughts about the 141st members reacting to their S/O giving them a massage, i crave fluff so i'm writing it for myself. If you guys like this please reblog! It gives me my daily serotonin boost.
word count: 1.3k
Warnings: Unsure, if you find any let me know <3.
Captain John Price
We all know that as Captain, John is under a lot of pressure to not only keep his team alive but to get results.
A lot of the stress that he has is held in his shoulders, it doesn't help that post mission he spent a lot of his time hunched over a desk completing reports.
Massages often helped.
You often bought him coffee in the early hours of the morning, strong and dark the perfect combination to get him through the rest of his reports.
Even with exhaustion hanging over you, you'd stay by his side. Keeping him company until he joined you in bed.
You sat on your phone, idly scrolling through the news trying to catch up on the normal of aspects of life you missed while deployed. In the three months since you'd been away there was another royal scandal, the clicking of keys stopped drawing your attention away from the click bait article you'd been occupying yourself with.
Looking up you noticed how John rubbed his shoulder, sighing as he checked over his work before turning to you. When your eyes met he smiled and you practically melted, rolling the chair closer to his side in order to steal a kiss to the cheek before you lost him to his reports again.
"I'm almost done, love. Won't be long now."
Your hand reached out to his, squeezing gently as you stood fingers sliding up his arm and the shoulder he'd been rubbing just moments prior. Wordlessly you added a small amount of pressure, both hands now gently massaging the tension away. John leaned back in his chair, head lulling to the side as his hands reached up to hold yours. In a matter of seconds he'd completely melted in his chair, blue eyes staring lovingly up at you.
"You've been sitting at this desk too long, dear."
"Hmm if you keep this up I'll never get the reports done."
"That's the point."
Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick
Gaz always has an air of 'calm' surrounding him, it's the reason why you'd fallen in love with him. Even under pressure he never seemed to crack, though that didn't change the fact that even he could grow angry and frustrated.
Anger was often a result of exhaustion, nightmares, aching limps keeping him awake or the worst possible thing. Your young neighbours throwing a house party at 2am on a tuesday.
You'd hate to admit it but even you were growing tense with the near constant thudding of bass boosted music. The party did eventually end, only with police intervention. Which was probably for the best, because if either of you had gone next door it would not have been a nice encounter.
Even after the nights drama Gaz couldn't sleep, he'd continued to toss and turn next to you. No amounts of spooning able to quench the frustration he felt.
Gaz had gotten up to get a glass of water from the kitchen, you sat up listening to the sound of footsteps padding back into the room. He gave you an apologetic smile as he placed the glasses down, that's when you realised. He'd bought you water too. This man was far too sweet to be real.
"Sorry to wake you Sweetheart."
"Come 'ere"
Your voice was coated in sleep, soft and sweet as you reached out for him. As he knelt down on the bed he pulled you into a kiss, something soft and sweet hidden within all of his anger and frustration.
"Lay down."
"Is that an order?" He's smirking at you, you're rolling your eyes at him. Despite the sass he still lays down, on his stomach. Fingers tugging lightly at the shirt you wore, it belonged to him once upon a time. Doing your best not to accidentally knee Kyle in the ribs you straddled his back, hands running down his back.
"Don't be a shit, Kyle."
"Yes ma'am."
In a matter of seconds he was putty in your hands, muscles relaxing under your expert hands as they pushed out the knots in his back. Fifteen minutes later he was fast asleep, with you laying on his back like a weighted blanket. Both finally sleeping peacefully.
Simon 'Ghost' Riley
Ghost isn't the type to enjoy a massage, or any form of TLC really. The feeling of hands on his shoulders send him back to the battlefield, the weight on his back makes him feel like he's suffocating.
Even with you he's not fond of a massage, if you start to rub his shoulders or back he'll guide you into a a hug. Often smothering you in a cuddle, or returning the favour and offering to give you a massage instead.
What he does like however, is his hands being played with.
Simon can't explain it, but the feeling of your fingers gently pinching the pressure point between his thumb and forefinger is relaxing.
The movie had long since been abandoned, yet it still played softly in the background. You and Simon hadn't moved from the couch since dinner, takeout containers sitting empty on floor instead of being disposed of immediately. 'It won't hurt for the floor to be messy for a few hours' Simon had said, his attempt at keeping you on the couch successful. He'd sat with his back against the armrest, you between his legs so he could stop you from leaving. So you wouldn't have been able to say no either way.
Your hands had taken one of his, gently massaging away the ache that had settled in during the cool evening. He told you he was starting to get old, you rolled your eyes and reminded him that you're both the same age.
As the ending title began to play you shifted, releasing his hand as you attempted to get up. The same hand you'd been holding moments early snaking back around your waist and pulling you back to him.
"Where are you going?"
"To pee"
"I'm coming with you." At that comment you smack his hand, standing up.
"Clingy are we?"
Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish
Johnny is very much a head rub kinda guy, he would start world war three if it meant getting a head rub.
that's an exaggeration, he wouldn't.. unless- jk
He likes to sit in front of you on the couch while you play with his mohawk, normally he pulls your leg over his shoulder and will massage your calf or foot.
He doesn't want you to feel left out
but when he's stressed tho? like mega stressed all of the tension in his body goes to his neck. He ends up getting Migraines so bad he sits in a dark until they go away. When on a mission it's worse.
As the sun went down the chill in the safe house grew, huddling closer to the fire you waited for Soap to come out of the shower. He'd been in there for longer than usual, you could only assume that it was as a result of the exhaustion that had overtaken both of you.
If it wasn't for the chill that had set in you'd probably have fallen asleep in bed, but you'd wait for Johnny first. After all snuggling was the best way to achieve warmth, or so he liked to remind you. The door swung open behind you, footsteps skipping right past you as he flopped down on the bed.
It was clear as day and you knew the signs, he had one of those Migraines again.
"mo ghràdh.. I'm so tired."
"Come get into bed properly, love. Then you can sleep."
Once you were both snuggled up under the covers, your hand rested on the back of his neck. Thumb sliding up from his shoulder just to the base of his ear, adding a little pressure before going back to it's starting position.
"Y/N-"
"Shh, go back to sleep."
"Thank you.."
Within a few minutes you'd both drifted off to sleep.
AAAA REQUESTS ARE OPENED ILYSM!!11!1!1If it's not too much id like to request for my bbgs Jamie, Brienne and maybe Arya when they haven't seen s/o all day so they're getting pretty angsty but when they're finished with training or whatever for the day they find beloved asleep in one of the spots they usually meet at while waiting for them. (Sorry if I made it too specific) sending much loveლ(´ ❥ `ლ)
Im gonna do Jaime and Brienne (and some others bc i cannot control myself) but sans Arya! lets goooo
Jaime - First of all, he's in a foul mood when he finally gets back, muttering and grumbling to himself. When he spots you in the usual spot you wait in - oh. Shit, that's actually ... very endearing. He wants to be smug about it, but there's just a lot of sentiment that sits with him as he tries to remember someone wanting to see him that badly, that they'd fall asleep waiting. He watches you for a little while, considering this, before finally waking you up. Now he's all smug and teasing you about being so clingy. Naturally he'll escort you back to your chambers, not really caring about the hour or that he's a Kingsguard and shouldn't be seen doing such things. He'll figure out a lie an explanation later.
Jon - He's ready to kick in the door of the Lord Commander's chambers, if only his sore and freezing body would cooperate. Jon's exhausted and figured a while ago you would've gone to bed. You both have to be careful, after all - but then he spots you dozed off in an old wooden chair by a dying hearth. Were you waiting up this whole time? He feels guilty at once, and tries to be quiet as he gets the fire going again. Once it's up, Jon gently wakes you up by brushing some of your hair aside and kissing your brow. He really can't help himself, though his hands are like ice! You two cuddle and warm up before heading to your separate chambers.
Brienne - It was a brutal day of riding and routing bandits, and while she can normally take it, this went on longer than usual. Brienne's strong, but she has her physical limit. She's staggering back, being the last to retire to bed. When she finds that you waited for her, she feels so bad! Brienne hadn't realized you'd do such a thing - it fills up her heart with affection, so she gently wakes you and asks if she can carry you back to your room. You actually accept, and she feels the fatigue wash away as she gladly carries you back. She loves being a knight for you, and it turns out you're very snuggly when you're tired.
Arthur Dayne - He leaves his post late in the evening, much later than the usual meeting time. You probably aren't there, but - it's worth a look, isn't it? And there you are, asleep in the garden you and Arthur like to steal away to. He wakes you up very gently, cautioning you between kisses about falling asleep in such a vulnerable state. He doesn't have the heart to really scold you about it, at least not until the morning. He escorts you halfway to your chambers before has to retreat to the White Sword Tower.
Victarion - He already thinks about you when he doesn't want to, or when it's not a good time. It happens more often when he's tired, which is troublesome. The late hour doesn't occur to him when he's back; you're always waiting, no matter what, and - oh. You're asleep. ... You really shouldn't be asleep where anyone could find you and do something, even in Castle Pyke. Victarion scoops you right up, not realizing how badly that would startle you. He just grumbles that you ought to be more careful, and any touches or kisses distract him immediately.
Asha - First, why are you so damn cute? How'd you end up in a place like the Iron Islands, anyway? For once in her life, someone is waiting for her at home like a puppy... even when she gets back late, like now. Asha wills her tired body over and wakes you up with a big kiss and her soft laugh. Aww, what, you really like her that much? She messes with your hair and pulls you up, urging you to her chambers as you stumble and grumble behind her.
Jorah - Well he's always thinking of you, but especially so if he had to depart before the sun is up and he's finally returning hours after its set. By then, Jorah's exhausted and just wants to get home to you. Once he finds you asleep on the settee you like best - oh no, he might die from the sweetness. You waited up for him? Jorah sits right next to you, giving you a big, sleepy hug and apologizing about being back so late. You both end up falling asleep cuddled up on the couch because he's too tired to move and now you're comfortable and warm, so you aren't going anywhere.
Brynden - Coming back from a long day of training and keeping up with his men, Brynden doesn't notice the time until he spots you sleeping on a large windowsill. He feels bad for making you wait so long, and finds it endearing you even wanted to wait up for an old knight. He picks you up very carefully, so it's his voice that wakes you. "Making these old bones carry you back to bed, hm?" He's not bothered that anyone would spot you two - he knows which halls are empty at this hour.
Riordanverse Characters as quotes by people i know have said
dedicated to @lord-of-pterodactyls, i know you asked for friends in particular but i’m broadening it as even people i consider my nemeses (old ass philosophy teacher) are funny
Percy: i truly feel as if nothing will ever incapsulate my being as truly as the singing monsters water wubbox
Annabeth: *screaming from adjoining room* GET LOST APPLE MUSIC PRIVACY
Piper: *in bikini* i don’t like people with big boobs
Jason: *trying to compliment piper* your hair looks like dementia
Leo: *emerging from the stinky depths of his room after being in there for 16 hours straight and no showers with clothes from 5 days ago, red scabs all over his body and lips so dry it looks like a snake shedding its old skin by how crusty it is* guys on a scale from 1 to 10 how sexy do i look rn?
Hazel: *yeets her foot out and jiggles her toes menacingly at people she dislikes as an intimidation tactic because her toes are particularly hideous*
Frank: *after literally being targeted by a racial ‘joke’* worse than that, you white people eat spam
Grover: *pats air purifier* a good trusted friend
Nico: *drifts into hazel’s room* bro i ain’t even gonna lie, the holidays are better than the black plague *leaves room before she can question him further*
Reyna: *sleeptalking* stallion le meghan
Rachel: *pretending her coloured markers are vapes*
Thalia: *pointing at luke* my bro be the victim and the perpetrator
Tyson: *when talking about doing math* all i have are my fingers and a dream
Clarisse: *sees a sick person in bed* you’re looking pretty vulnerable *proceeds to ransack their room and steal their sheets like some gremlin*
Octavian: i am THE riddler *speaks in riddler voice and puts on devious little expression* what is... a curtain?
Will: *sees a dying person and looks pointedly at nico* and thats because they didnt take their cenovis vitamin c
Luke: i am constantly one snap away from either committing homicide or suicide
Apollo: *feeling face after new skincare routine* gosh my face feels as soft as a silicone tit
Meg: *pointing at apollo after redemption arc* YOU WON’T GO TO HEAVEN BECAUSE YOU ARE A COMMUNIST!
Magnus: *eating falafel* this is an orgasmic experience
Samirah: *substituting random words in english for arabic and not realising no one understands what she’s saying*
Alex: *laughing at the death threats she gets online after posting a meme about BTS in the military*
Blitz: *does something naughty* omg sorry im such a libra(^ν^)
Hearth: *walks into room* god is dead.
Carter: *walking into sadie’s room visibly upset with a box of cadbury favourites* here take them. if you don’t im going to eat them all. please, dont make me do this
Sadie: take a shit and be late to school or dont take the shit and be on time hell loop
Zia: my top artist on spotify this year will be xi jinping’s wife
Walt: *simply, appreciatively and completely without context* yeah, buddha is a pretty amazing guy
Anubis: i dislike being emo because i can only go as death note characters for halloween
Bast: *absolutely entranced by watching love island uk and is just repeating everything any person says back in a treacherous essex accent*
Bes: *walking into classroom full of young teens with an oversized ‘free james assange’ shirt* today i am a nice, trendy leftist. tomorrow, who knows?
Author’s Notes: Ha, yall thought that the Plug!Hobie fic was gunna be posted first, gotta keep yall on your toes. I finished this first so here it is <3 Also any content by me about Hobie his age is 21-24. Im also looking for people to beta read.
CWs: Mention of piercing gone wrong, suggestive, stealing, not beta read
Random Hobie Brown Headcanons
He has/had more piercings, notably a pair of sub-clavicle piercings, a belly piercing and nipples piercings (I know other people headcanon him as having a prince albert, but god I know that shit hurts so we’ll be skipping for now). He took those out because they kept getting caught in the frayed fabrics of his clothing, and especially worse his spider suit.
His final straw was amidst fighting a foe, he sustained several injuries, but he was horrified looking at the ripped skin of his clavicle, frantically looking for the bar and the flesh still attached, he did, but it was deep in the crevices of his suit and didn’t find it until after repairing it.
That was enough to get rid of all his torso piercings.
Hobie is extremely anal retentive when it comes to the upkeep of his piercings though, every night, maybe except those he’s really incapacitated from battle. He spends so much time in the morning carefully soaking q-tips in saline to clean the puncture holes, if he can take the jewelry out to let it soak in peroxide for a few hours.
You both fight over the real estate of the sink and its mirror, until you ask (threaten) him to get you a vanity so you both can have space to get ready, he does and its gorgeous; a vintage one he found abandoned on a side street.
But this doesn’t stop him taking up vanity space.
“Feel pretty sitting here luv”
Hobie is of Jamaican heritage, I headcanon that his grandmother is his only living relative, and he dedicates so much time taking care of her in her old age, despite their arguments about Hobie being able to be free, and not held down by family. She knows she won’t have many years left, and she may want to embrace him in her love for these final years, but she also doesn’t want him to feel a great heartbreak at the loss.
That being said he visits her every few days, stopping by for some beef patties, jerk chicken, curries of all kind, taking home the bulk containers of sorrell and ginger beer, Grandma Brown doesn’t question how her lanky streetlight grandson has gotten so strong and fit over the last few years, or how he’s able to take the large crates back to his flat.
She has her suspicions and theories, but she would rather not pry if it could end in harm for the both of them.
When he’s off being spiderman, or doing shows and odd jobs, you take up the mantle, visiting Grandma Brown and aiding her around the home, Grandma Brown gets to sit back comfortably as you take over cleaning and seasoning the chicken, she trusts you to remember all the ingredients she uses to make Hobie feel like he’s still a child with how nostalgic the food makes him.
She genuinely loves having you around, but she also loves to tease her grandson, “Don’t know what you see in that boy, he should kiss the ground you walk on darling,”
And that’s not to say he doesn’t. The undercurrent of his unruffled attitude, is an adoration for you, he loves you in a way he can’t even put into words for his songs. He thanks whatever cosmic source there is for dropping you in his lap, like a starved dog given shelter, and cared for the rest of its life.
Sometimes you catch him staring at you deeply, teasing the inside of his lip piercing with his tongue causing it to wiggle around, youre locked into his penetrating gaze, you feel critically wounded by his affection, it always comes in sudden frothing sea waves, cooling your body, leaving you to yearn for the warmth of the sun that is his love.
Hobie isn’t the type of punk to wear sexually suggestive clothing, but he does use riskier photos of you or the both of you, faces obscured or cropped, and edited heavily with grain to make it look vintage, he takes them to a vendor he works with closely for band merch and has them screen print the design on shirts for the both of you, loves wearing them during concerts especially to ward off erratic fans.
You let Hobie pester you about getting a piercing, which you know you can’t handle the pain for, but you humor him.
“Luv ya need some metal on that leng face of yours” He’ll say every few weeks, despite knowing the answer, insanity is doing the same thing knowing the results won’t change, Hobie’s fine with being insane if it means maybe one day your resolve will crack and he can see you two with matching jewelry.
He often ponders about what gems and metals would look best, the color, the shape, the size, and how all these can complement that enticing face of yours.
Steals you clothes (duh not original, but considering my taste of clothes…), and I don’t mean a few pieces here and there, he actively searches for things that will compliment your wardrobe, and in the span of a few months together your closet has doubled in size.
One day you say you’re interested in latex, he’s going to barter with some craftsperson to get you a few items to experiment with, maybe a few gloves.
You say you want to be corporate goth (I don’t see people ever adding corp goth to their alternative reader fics) ? He’s nicking the most gorgeous pants and skirt suits he can find, getting accessories and sitting beside you as you customize the outfits together.
Like high fashion, Thierry Mugler or VW? He has no problems with linking up with Black Cat to get into stock warehouses and design studios to steal some, Black Cat teases him by saying ‘You owe me for this bug.’ But she gets compensation by nicking a bunch of clothes for herself.After the fact they bound off in separate directions carrying webbed satchels of merchandise.
You know he stole them, in fact youre proud he was able to do it with ease.
(He doesn’t tell you Black Cat helped him, you wrongly assume they are attracted to each other, but Black Cat is actually a lesbian, he’s seen her in costume as a spectator of a dyke march parade under the guise of ‘watching out for the community’, he doesn’t tell her he’s seen her sneaking off into a civilian woman’s apartment, he’s happy to keep the city safe enough for everyone to nurture love.)
You wear these outfits with pride, sauntering down the street as an orchestra of gawks, and stares fills the area, blown away by the complexities of the outfit, and attention to detail to every complimentary aspects of the look, the essence of slay cunt one could say.
When Hobie’s there walking alongside you, he lets a hand glide to your lower back, urging you to walk faster, whispering into your ear,
“Walk faster luv, don’t you wanna give them a show?”
And scene. Hope yall enjoyed these, I aint great at british slang so be patient and give tips!
There's something almost calming about watching Jaskier when he orgasms. It's always so loud, and intense, and powerful; it leaves no room for anything else.
It's as if his body is absorbing every bit of chaos that surrounds him until he can't take it anymore, and then he simply... releases.
Geralt's had the pleasure of experiencing it many, many times now, and it always has the same impact on him, if not stronger each time. It's addictive, makes him wish that he could spend all of his days, every day, his only purpose in life being to bring Jaskier to orgasm.
And it's possibly making the person in the room next to them homicidal because this would be the seventh time tonight that they’ve banged on the wall, and shouted insults at Geralt and Jaskier for being too loud.
Jaskier’s chuckle turns into a gasp when Geralt slips out of him— the slide slippery, the sound lewd.
Geralt grunts as his body hits the mattress, finding that he's aching in the way he always does after several rounds with the bard. Very few people can tire him out, but it is no surprise that Jaskier manages to be on that short list.
"Outstanding as always, dear witcher."
"Hm."
"And verbal as ever," Jaskier teases as he sits up. "Your ability to be so nonchalant and quiet after sex with me is becoming quite offensive, I must say."
"This is how I normally am."
"You had a lot to say an hour ago when I had my lips wrapped around your cock."
Geralt shrugs, "I was inspired."
Jaskier rolls his eyes, but there’s a playful glint in his eyes as he sits up and begins searching for his pants.
Geralt admires his back (and his backside) as he moves, eyes trailing over the—
Wait…
Wait.
Geralt doesn't panic, okay? Living the life he lives, he doesn't have that privilege, but right now, laying in this bed as he watches Jaskier get ready to leave— fuck, he might be panicking.
Because Jaskier never leaves after sex, not since after the first few times, at least. And yes, he isn't necessarily obligated to stay, but he always does, and so does Geralt, and now he isn't.
Why?
Why is Jaskier not talking him into cuddling right now?
Why is Jaskier not attempting to get him into the now-cold bath in the corner of the room?
Why is Jaskier not going on one of his very detailed post-sex rants that Geralt pretends to despise, even though they both know he gets invested each time?
Why is Jaskier not falling asleep right now? Hogging up all the bed space and stealing the blanket while using Geralt's chest as a pillow?
Geralt remains as still as possible, barely twitching out of place as Jaskier pulls on his doublet. He may not feel normal about this, but he can sure as shit act normal, even if it isn't normal.
"Alright, darling, I'm going to go fetch us some water. Be back before you can miss my presence too much," the bard announces, throwing a wink over his shoulder before practically skipping out the door.
The words settle him, but only for a few moments before he's ready to panic over something completely different because why did he care so much about Jaskier possibly leaving?
Sure, Geralt has become almost as fond of the after-sex things as he is of the sex-sex things, but he doesn't need them. He won't break down into tears without them.
Except...
That's sort of exactly what he was ready to do just now.
Okay, maybe Geralt wouldn’t have cried, but he definitely would’ve bothered… upset, even.
And he knows this because even with the knowledge that Jaskier is coming back, even knowing that Jaskier only left so he could make sure they both stay hydrated, Geralt is, in this very moment, bothered.
Which isn’t good. At all.
Because the last time he got bothered by someone leaving, it was Yennefer. And he was only bothered because.
Well.
But that wouldn’t make sense, would it? Because Jaskier leaves all the time. He leaves Jaskier all the time. They part for months on end, and Geralt lives.
So what if Geralt has begun to notice that it gets a little harder to willingly go every time they part ways?
So what if his mood during the months where Jaskier isn’t around is shittier than usual?
So what if his mood when Jaskier is around is better than usual?
That doesn’t mean anything. Sex puts most men in better moods, that doesn’t mean he’s in love with the bard.
Not that feelings would mean love. Because a little crush doesn’t equate to love.
Not that Geralt has a little crush, or any crush of any sort. Because he doesn’t. Because he can’t.
Because what they have now, friendship and lust and comfort, is the best thing that has happened to him in a while, and he will not ruin that over catching feelings, of all things.
He doesn’t have feelings for Jaskier, so he can’t ruin anything.
“I don’t have feelings for Jaskier,” he says aloud, into the empty room, but the words feel heavy on his tongue.
I can’t have feelings for Jaskier.
“I don’t have feelings for Jaskier,” Geralt says again, but this time, it comes out as a growl.
Please, don’t let me have feelings for Jaskier.
“I do not have feelings for Jask—”
The door opens, and Jaskier walks in with a wide smile, and that spark of electricity that follows the bard wherever he goes bursts in behind him.
Jaskier takes easy steps towards the bed, and it’s like he’s moving in slow motion.
Geralt desperately wants to run. He doesn’t.
He remains still as Jaskier sets down the pitcher of water, and the cup in hand, and fills it up to the brim before turning to Geralt with a disarming gaze.
The rim of the glass in Jaskier’s hand is pressed to Geralt’s lips, and the witcher takes in the sight before him.
Those wide blue eyes, and that disheveled hair, and those pouty lips— he realizes that he could probably draw every single feature of this man’s face perfectly without even looking, and he’s never drawn a day in his life.
I can’t.
“Well?” Jaskier says, “drink up.”
Geralt parts his lips, and Jaskier’s eyes drop, and Geralt’s heart thuds so loud, it seems to echo throughout his entire body, and Jaskier smiles wide, as if he heard it.
I really hate to drop and run, but I’ve posted the latest update just before I step away from fandom.
It might be a couple days, it might be a couple months. I’m not sure. I’ve been receiving some anons that, as a general consensus, are telling me that I was a bully for addressing the content stealing because I have a bigger platform and the other person isn’t a native English speaker. My job was brought into it in a way I was uncomfortable with, and I was told rather rudely that it’s not anyone else’s problem that I choose to spend as much time as I do making content (which, weirdly, I don’t think I’ve ever complained about, per se). I’m being told I am a bitch, a cunt, that I should k*ll myself, that the whole thing was an overreaction, that I was wrong to call the other person out. I’m being told that all I do is stir drama, that my life must suck because I’m such an attention-seeking slut, that I’ve lied about both plagiarism cases and that I attack everyone I’m threatened by. I’m being told in anons, and even in reblogs, that I have nothing to complain about and that the other individual was justified in their behaviour. According to these anons, I’m a liar, I’m toxic, I’m the reason fandom is so awful right now, I’m a narcissist, and I should leave the fandom.
Okay, then.
I came with receipts. Even my call-out post was polite. I did not call this person out until they were rude to me and indicated they were unwilling to resolve this issue. I do not believe I should be subject to criticism and abuse for defending my work. Sure, perhaps “all fanfiction is plagiarism”, but in some instances, my work was literally taken from within mere days of posting, and in the SAME fandom for the SAME root pairing. This is not coincidental. This is not something I ever thought I would be demonised for being upset by.
I refuse to allow myself to be degraded and gaslit into minimising a problem created by another user, and mocked for having feelings over that. I was polite to this person. I was kind to this person. They proceeded to insult me, and so, with no further recourse, I took the situation public as I was recommended to do so by my fellow writers. I have never lied about this - I did publically post it when my attempt at private mediation failed. My intention was to force their hand. It worked. Is this kind? No, of course not. Was I aggressive? Yes, perhaps. But these are the wrong questions to ask.
See - why do I have to tolerate being treated unfairly? Why do I have to bite my tongue and lay down so others can walk all over me? Why is it that the fact that people follow me means I am not allowed to ever voice my upset about the manner in which I am being misused? I don’t understand - are all plagiarism call-outs “starting drama” now? I’m particularly upset by this. I do not bait drama, and I do not start shit for the fun of it. I guess there are those who think I should’ve just let them continue; after all, it’s only fanfiction. Not a big deal, right?
I was polite. Until I wasn’t. I did get angry when, after being confronted by all this, they doubled down, making several manipulative posts about me across platforms and blocking me from my right to respond. I’ll apologise for the tone, and I regret posting links to their crossposts - which I did take down not long after posting them, though this is perhaps redundant now - but I am not sorry for being angry. I am allowed to be angry. Maybe it’s “just fanfiction” and I “don’t own any of this stuff anyway”, but it’s my writing, my hours, my research, and my enjoyment that’s being cheapened by all this.
To those of you who have a problem with this and with me - at least do me the courtesy of letting me know you think I suck so that I (or my friend, who I will be giving some measure of access to my account) can block you back. I don’t want you being part of my space if I decide to return, and nor do I have to live up to everyone’s simultaneous expectations of me. I feel powerless after being told so many times that I don’t have the right to protect my hard work. I’m sorry you’re disappointed in me, but I don’t have any obligation to act the way you - a bystander, who has no idea how much I’ve worked on my writing and how much happiness it has brought me - deem it morally correct to do so.
So, I’m done with fandom and with writing.
For now at least, that is. I’m sad and drained and I no longer enjoy being part of an environment where I am being attacked for something I didn’t start. My passion has been obliterated. My joy sucked away. I feel alone. And this person has continued to make mocking commentary about me on their Wattpad account after reactivating, showing no signs of stopping anytime soon. I’m done.
I’ll be turning off anons for at least a while, even if I feel ready to come back tomorrow. I probably won’t be responding or posting or even really checking in that often, because just the sight of Tumblr is making me anxious and unhappy at the moment.
I do hope I’ll see you soon. If not - thank you. Thank you for being part of this journey. I love you all for being in my life, even if it wasn’t for long.