rinney/brance oneshots

rinney- good morning

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can we talk about how good 'Euphoria by ghostly_tears' is?? i'm acc inlove w it😭🙏🏼

The first thing Robin noticed as he emerged from sleep into bleary wakefulness was that there was something in his mouth.

The second thing he noticed was that that 'something' was hair.

The third thing he noticed was Finney Blake, sleeping peacefully with his head on Robin's chest, looking almost angelic. Robin knew that Finney was only as far from angelic as one could ever be, but the way the sunlight streamed in through the curtains fed the illusion. The sun was hitting Finney's light curls in a way that made it look like he had a halo, and if Robin didn't have his best friends's hair in his fucking mouth, he might not have minded staying still for a little while more.

But he did.

And so, trying not to move too much, he reached over to his bedside table for a box of tissues, grabbed a handful, and spit. He made a face as he leaned over again to dispose the horrifying wad of tissue paper into the bin under the table, wincing at the effort it took for a simple action.

"Finn, get your fucking curls off my face," he said finally, trying to sit up, but Finney's head weighed him down. Despite the amount of energy he was spending at pushing the other boy's head off of himself, Finney hadn't budged. Robin sighed in frustration and pushed his fingers through Finney's hair, tugging at it a little to try and wake him up.

"Mm, love it when you pull my hair, babe."

It was more of a mumble than actual speech, but it was enough to make Robin run through twenty different feelings in a second—two of which being frustration, and a jolt of arousal.

"Fuck you Finn," he said as he finally pushed Finney off—of him and the bed—before his body got any ideas. There was a loud thud and a bewildered Finney on the floor next to his bed, blinking rapidly and trying to regain his bearings. Finney managed to pull the blanket with him during his short journey from the comfort of Robin's bed to the not-as-hospitable surface of the hardwood floor, leaving Robin exposed.

"What the fuck Rob?" he asked, voice still rough with sleep and laced with confusion. Looking down, Robin cursed himself as he felt himself stir even more. With his hair falling into his eyes and the large sleep shirt he was wearing falling off one shoulder, and the sunlight illuminating him, Finney was almost too irresistible.

Almost.

"What the fuck Rob?" Robin mimicked, his face mocking as he glared at the Finney-shaped heap on the floor. He tosses him his glasses from the bedside drawer, but not before admiring the color of his best friend's eyes for a moment (not that he'd ever admit it). They land in Finney's lap and Finney uses his shirt to wipe at them before perching them on his face.

"What did I do?" he asked Robin, still confused. "Why am I on the floor?"

"You were heavy," Robin replied simply.

Finney frowned and rolled his eyes, standing up to stretch. As he raised his arms over his head, his shirt rode up a little and exposed a bit of his stomach above his boxers. For the second time that morning, Robin cursed at himself for letting his eyes linger on that patch of skin even though he's already seen more. Unfortunately, this time, Finney catches him staring, and he already has that stupid grin on his face. He winks at Robin before turning around, wiggling his hips teasingly, and heading for the door.

"I'll go make us some breakfast," he says behind his shoulder, and Robin curses at him for being so annoyingly perfect.