#for my shift. i have to wake up at 4am. or maybe. i could just stay awake until 4am. and then work until 3pm. this plan is foolproof

[princessbrunette]

shy!reader who study medicine and spider!jj always goes there when he's hurt for care 🥺

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answering the door at 4am, there’s only one person it could be. the blonde listens to you unlatching your door before you’re revealed in all your sleepy glory, rubbing at one eye in the cutest little pyjamas.

he’s pretty banged up this time — a busted lip and his suit is ripped at his rib cage, nothing he couldn’t fix but the gash beneath it was definitely something you were going to have to stitch up. your brows knit together, eyeing him over.

“you should see the other guy, cupcake.” he jokes, despite being in clear pain. you huff out your nose, tugging him inside.

“why are you using the front door? did anyone see you?” you stress, leading him by the hand to your quaint little living room. it wasn’t much, rather shabby if anything — but living in the city wasn’t cheap and it was the best you could do.

“ah, i used the fire escape. this asshole spared me some brain cells when he was kicking my shit in. you really think i’d just walk up in here?” he scoffs, dropping down comfortably on the couch as you frantically make space on the coffee table, spreading out your first aid kit.

“you’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days, jayj.” you pout, beginning to dig for the antiseptic.

“oh but then who will patch me up everytime i get my ass beat?” he tilts his head and his messy blonde hair flops with it, grinning lopsidedly in the dim light of the room, the cut on his lip glistening with it. you hate how your stomach stirs with butterflies for your best friend. your face gets all hot, averting your eyes and you feel him grinning harder — he always did love how bashful you got.

things get quiet when you start to wipe up his rib injury, aside from his dramatic winces and curse words tumbling from his mouth.

“you’re going to wake my neighbours.” you giggle, after a particularly loud ‘fuck’ from him.

“hey, maybe they’ll think you’re gettin’ some.” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows. as you reach for another cotton pad, your mouth moves on autopilot.

“i wish.” you remark, straying from your usual shy ways. his brows instantly jump up with intrigue, and you avoid his eyes, pressing your lips together as you busy yourself. you’d always been shy, since he’d met you — that’s why he’d taken you under his wing. he was dorky where it counted sure, but also boyish and confident in a way a lot of guys your age lacked. it made sense that he was spiderman, the unexpected amounts of unbridled swagger mixed with the scrappy awkwardness you’d expect from your best friend. he was drawn to your shyness because of how different you were, and because he knew deep down there was a freak just waiting for him to break it free.

“you know, if you ever wanna set up a — uh, lil payment plan, if you will — i could show you a real good time, mama.” he lays it on thick, too thick — incase you reject him, and then he can play it off as a joke. the problem is his tone is so teasing, you don’t know if he’s joking. your eyes flicker up to him from your knelt position, all doe-like and sweet in the way that makes him wish his spider suit wasn’t so tight as to not reveal his excitement.

“huh?”

“nah nothing. unless…you really get desperate. can totally step in and help you out. y’know in the…sex department.” he shrugs, tonguing at his lip cut and internally cussing himself out for being such a weirdo.

you blink a couple times, shifting to sit on your feet.

“are you concussed?” you speak after the pause.

“am i conc— no, okay it was a — an offer. but i feel like i kinda made it weird so that’s my bad let’s just pretend that didn’t happen and we can—”

“i wouldn’t mind.” you suddenly but quietly break through his ramble. he blinks a couple of times, lips parted in surprise.

“you wouldn’t mind — like… pretending this didn’t happen? or… the other thing?”

“the other thing.” you’re reduced down to a whisper now, eyes locked. he sits up slowly, leaning forward on the seat with his elbows on his knees so that your faces were close. in the low light, your pupils are all blown out, searching his eyes.

“you mean that?” he smirks, almost like he doesn’t believe you. you swallow and nod, not trusting your voice. something about it being 4am made you braver, and you’d completely forgotten about tending to his injuries. “well alright then. how ‘bout when i’m not bleeding out on your couch? gotta be in top condition when i put the moves on you.”

just like that, you’re brought back to reality — this time with the whisper of a promise that the two of you could be something more. you could be more than a late night emergency patch up.

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[your-divine-ribs]

Kinktober 🩵 Inside

"We don't have to do anything, we don't even have to move, we could just lie here together. I just wanna be inside ya love, is that okay?"

Words: 1.7k // Sam Fender // cock-warming

Kinktober Masterlist Main Masterlist

The bed dips and you stir, your mind fogged over with sleep, caught in that hazy realm between dreaming and wakefulness. You squint through the darkness at the faintly glowing display on your bedside clock.

4:06 am... ughhh... you have to get up for work in less than three hours.

Your eyes flutter shut again, chasing sleep, elongating your limbs in a restless stretch and going to turn over but something stops you, your body colliding with the warmth of bare skin.

"Sam?" His name sounds thick on your tongue, your voice laden with sleep. Of course it's him, who else would it be? He's just got back from his American tour at this ungodly hour, slipping straight into your bed like he's never been away. Filling that empty space that's been driving you crazy for three whole weeks.

"Am sorry love," he murmurs from behind you and you feel an arm wrap tightly around your waist as he pulls you in closer to the warmth of his bare chest. "Didn't mean to wake ya."

He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, planting a few soft kisses as his breath warms your exposed skin. The hand on your waist strays under the hem of the oversized t-shirt you wear to sleep in, rubbing small circles.

"S'okay," you mumble into the darkness of your room, then "I'm so tired" as an afterthought, a weak kind of resistance even though you're already pushing your hips back into his.

He's so soft and warm and he feels so good pressed up tight against you, comforting and rousing in equal measures. You hear him laugh, feel the warm huff of air tickle the back of your neck. "Thought you said you were tired pet..."

"I am," I you insist, sulkiness tinging your words. "I've got to get up in a few hours. It's good to have you back though... missed you."

"Mmm, missed you too," he hums into the back of your neck, sending a pleasant vibration through you. His hands wander downward to smooth over the contours of your ass through the thin lace of your panties and he lightly squeezes you, making you squirm.

"Don't get any ideas, it's like 4am," you whine, burying your face in your pillow and he's quick to reply, surprisingly agreeable.

"I'm tired too, bloody knackered actually. Can never sleep in those tour bus bunks. Got fidget-arse Joe above me and Dean just across the way snoring like a warthog. Don't worry love, shagging's the last thing on my mind right now."

"It is?"

The disbelief rings out clear in your voice, earning another chuckle from him. This is novel. You don't think Sam's ever not in the mood. He usually needs little encouragement, just the feel of your body pressing up against his enough to raise his pulse... and to raise something else.

Despite his words you can feel the definition of his cock through his boxers pressing against the swell of your ass. You'd be lying if you said you weren't a little disappointed. You've missed this... you've missed him and the way he makes you feel.

"I thought that maybe we could try something different," he murmurs, voice quiet, a little tentative like he's testing the waters. "I've missed ya so much, just being here, cuddling and stuff, being close... and I've really missed being inside ya, like you wouldn't believe."

His hips shunt forward a little as if to demonstrate and your breath catches, a tiny spark lighting, threatening to burn away your tiredness.

But Sam has other ideas, his voice hopeful as you feel him shift behind you, shedding his boxers. "We don't have to do anything, we don't even have to move, we could just lie here together. I just wanna be inside ya love, is that okay?"

"Okay..." you mumble, a little hesitantly even though you're already tugging your panties down your legs and kicking them off. You can't deny the way your body reacts to him being so close, the thrill that simmers in your core as you imagine him burying himself inside you whilst he fucks you slow and deep into the mattress.

But that's not what he's implying... is it?

Your confusion quickly melts away as you feel him reaching to hook your leg over his hip, opening you up as you feel his unclothed cock pressing temptingly against your entrance. He drags the tip up and down your slit, coating himself in your wetness, mouthing tender kisses on your neck as he begins to ease himself slowly inside you.

"Sam..."

You breathe out his name, an automatic reaction as your body stretches and moulds itself around him, accepting him, welcoming him. The slow, blissful drag of his cock against your walls has you fisting the bedsheets as he buries himself inside you up to the hilt.

"Shit... forgot how good you feel," he says, voice slightly shaky, large hands moving from your hips to slide around your waist, pulling you closer. He presses his lips against your neck again, murmuring sweet praises that travel straight to your core, your hips automatically pushing back to seek that blissful friction.

"Nuh-huh love," he chuckles, fingers flexing around your waist, holding you tightly pressed against him. "That's not how it works. Ya gotta keep still, okay?"

He holds completely still in you, hot and thick against your tight heat and you can't help but squirm from the need for friction, movement, anything.

"Sa-am," you whine, frustration chasing away any remnants of sleepiness. "I'm all for experimentation in bed but this is like torture!"

"Hmm my pretty girl getting impatient huh?" He teases, shifting his hips barely imperceptibly, pushing himself impossibly deeper until his cock kisses the depths of you. You have to clamp your lips shut tight to stifle a whine, determined not to show your neediness. You want him badly but this is his idea and you're stubborn as hell. You're positive you'll get what you want but you don't want to show your weakness. You don't want to be the one to break first.

"Nah, I can handle it," you reply, trying to hide the smirk from your voice, faking a yawn which you hope sounds convincing. "And I am still pretty tired after all... reckon we could sleep like this? Feels nice."

"Err... yeah... sure," he mutters and you swear you hear a note of dismay in his voice. He probably thought you'd be begging by now. "It is really nice. Ya feel so warm and snug and tight around me... perfect."

You just smile to yourself, making out like you're getting comfy whilst you surreptitiously bring a finger up to brush over your clit, your pussy automatically clenching as you bite back a sigh.

"Shit," he hisses, and you relish the keen sound he makes as you press down on your clit again and your body reacts, contracting around him, effectively milking his cock.

His fingers move against your skin, grasping you firmly, the pressure of his teeth grazing your shoulder as he bites down a little where the neckline of your t-shirt gapes open. The sensation makes you clamp down on him again, a moan slipping out that you don't try to hide this time.

"Fuckin' 'ell love, I don't think I can do this after all," he mutters throatily, hands back on your hips as he draws himself back to fully plunge into you, an impassioned groan vibrating across your skin. His fingers are digging in so hard you feel he might leave permanent dents.

"Thought it was a stupid idea," you giggle, triumphant. "Now are you gonna fuck me then or what?"

"Can't bloody resist ya can I?" He huffs in amusement, your bold request finally breaking his resolve. You both knew full well it wasn't going to be enough. It was never going to be enough just being close, the two of you always needed more of each other in every single way.

You let him manoeuvre your body so he can slide on top of you, the delicious heavy weight of him pushing you face-down into the mattress. You arch yourself back into him and he responds by thrusting deep, tangling his fingers through yours and pressing your hands firm to the bed as he sinks into you with a groan of pure relief.

You're completely enveloped by him, his cock hitting the deepest parts of you in this position, your moans and whimpers muffled by the pillow as he finds a steady rhythm, each buck of his hips pushing you closer to the brink.

"Feels so good... missed ya so much... love ya so much darlin'..." His words are interspersed with kisses, hot, wet and sweet, scattered along your jaw and your neck, every thrust rocking deep and hitting that blissful little spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

You don't normally come from sex alone but tonight is different, you can feel the pressure building deep inside, shockwaves of indescribable pleasure as you surrender yourself to him.

He groans your name out loud, hips stuttering against your ass, grinding a final thrust as he comes, pouring into you like molten heat.

You both lie there for a moment in the quiet, completely spent and panting, him slumped over you until you begin to squirm beneath him. "Sam, you're squashing me now!"

"Shit, sorry pet," he laughs, rolling back on to his side, taking you with him so you're still fused together pressed up tight against him, the little spoon. You can feel him softening inside you, his release dripping out of you and soaking into the sheets.

"So much for just lying there," you grin and hear him chuckle, feel the warm vibrations of his laughter carry through his body to yours. "Are you gonna let me go now then?"

"Love..." he starts, the affectionate timbre of his voice warming you through as you feel him press a soft kiss to your hair, humming softly in contentment. "I ain't ever letting you go."

[hcuyk]

okay since you're back, may i please request something around 4am with changmin (or sunwoo?) and make it angst or comfort or whatever just because why not thank you my love i'm so happy you're here you don't imagine how much

[4:01AM]

Not often did you wake up in the middle of the night, yet something felt different. Maybe it was because there was a sudden lump that had developed within your pillow or the temperature in the room had changed, but your dream had slowly faded into darkness. As you adjusted to your senses and reality itself, your eyes fluttered open and caught a glimpse of Changmin in the dark.

Your eyes traced the silhouette illuminated by the moon, noticing his eyes wide and fixated on the ceiling. Unsure of both the time and if Changmin had noticed you, you scooted over to where he was and wrapped your arms around one of his, hugging it close to your chest.

“Why are you up?” you mumbled while tucking your nose behind his shoulder, wanting to remain as close as possible. 

Changmin turned his head to face you, slightly startled that you had woken up, but his parted lips of shock curled up into a warm smile—it was almost impossible to not be in love whenever he saw you. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head before shifting in his spot, adjusting so he could bring you into his arms.

“Why are you awake, hm?” He pulled you in close and against his chest, allowing you to snuggle up against him within his embrace. 

“I asked you first,” you retaliated. You gave him an exaggerated pout before having it interrupted with a yawn. He shook his head and laughed at you softly, his arms squeezing you. He then had one of his hands gently pat you on the head, providing a weak attempt to get you back to sleep.

“Just woke up randomly, and I couldn’t go back asleep,” he whispered.

“You better not be bullshitting.” He giggled at your grumble, causing you to shuffle your feet under the comforters and kick his legs when you found them. Changmin then burst out in laughter at your terrible attempt and refuted the action by locking his legs around yours, trapping you completely in his hold. 

Instead of fighting back, your tired state melted against him, but you still glared at him as a threat. 

“I’m not bullshitting, I promise.” Your skepticism made him coo and kiss your nose, watching as your bunched-up facial features began to relax.

“We sleep together?” Noticing your slight worry, he nodded and pressed a soft kiss against your lips to reassure you.

“We sleep together.”

It had taken less than a few minutes for you to knock out, but Changmin was still completely awake. He would play with your hair, tucking strands behind your ear, before his thoughts drifted off once more. He kissed your cheek with a whispered ‘I love you’ before untangling himself from you to glance at the ceiling once more. 

His eyes then trailed over to the nightstand by their bed, and without much thought, he silently pulled out the drawer to take out a small velvet box. He flipped it open to reveal the ring he had bought you and raised it to where the moon was shining, wanting to look at it one last time before officially getting down on one knee for you.

His heart thudded against his chest and fluttered the moment he thought about you wearing it on your ring finger. He smiled and put it away so he could go back to holding you, finally relaxed enough to fall back asleep.

You were his forever, and he couldn’t wait for tomorrow. 

permanent taglist . . . @armysantiny @stealanity @zzoguri @nyujjan @tinisprout @the-kpop-simp

author's note // first timestamp for changmin! (the other one was unhinged and we pretend it doesn't exist 😭). matty my biggest supporter ilysmsmsmsmsmsmsm thank you for sending this in i hope you enjoy ALSO this may or may not be canon kidult changmin 🫣

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

How They'd Come In Late After a Race (1)

<word count - 3375>

In this chapter - CL16, MS47, DR3, MV1, GR63

Charles Leclerc

Charles hadn't had a great race in Monaco. In fact, he didn't even start it. Of course, he still wanted to hit the dazzling streets of his home town to try and drink away his problems.

You had stayed at home, not feeling like going out tonight since you could any night of the year. If you were somewhere else, maybe you'd think about it, but not tonight.

You did decided to stay up and wait for him, however, since we all knew how wild parties in Monaco can get. It was nearing on 3am, and there was still no sign of Charles.

On the other side of the door, you could hear the jangle of keys, and some silly giggles. There was no point in helping him - it would be more funny to let him struggle.

After a few grunts and groans, he stumbled in, slamming the door a bit too loudly than he probably should have.

At first, he didn't notice you at all. He just wandered past you and into the kitchen. It's not even like you were sat in the dark, you had the light on in the living room of your apartment as he walked by.

Some glasses clinked together, the tap was aggressively turned on and off, then Charles walked towards you. He still didn't notice your presence.

"What time do you call this?" You asked him, watching as he nearly dropped his glass on the floor. "Shit did I wake you up?" he whisper-shouted.

"No, you are just very late," you explained as he set his water down on the coffee table, the clear liquid sloshing over the rim and onto the table.

He plopped down next to you and leant all of his weight into your side. "Sorry for being late," he softly mumbled, before yawning.

"It's OK, my love," you told him, shifting your weight as he wrapped his arms around your waist and snuggled into you even more.

"But it's not. I let you down," he started.

"No, Charles, you didn't let me down,"

"I did," he protested, "Baby, I didn't even start the fucking race,". How you had gotten from him being late to the race, you didn't know, but drunk Charles' mind wandered like an unattended toddler.

"I think it's time for you to go to bed, OK?" you told him, tapping his shoulder to get him up. Normally, he'd be upset after a bad race - which was understandable. But when he'd had a bit to drink, it got worse, so you didn't want him to tumble into that spiral.

He stumbled over to your bedroom and collapsed onto the bed.

"You not getting changed?" you asked him. "No, just come here," he pouted, opening his arms out to you and doing the grabby hands.

There was no resisting his pouty, flushed face, the ruffled hair and the grabby hands, so you traipsed over to the bed and led down next to him.

He shuffled around for a second, pulling one of his many Ferrari hoodies over his head and handing it to you. "What's this for?" you asked, since you already had one of his hoodies on anyway.

"This one smells more like me," he babbled, his eyes fluttering open and closed. There was no arguing with him because he was right, so you replaced the one you had on with the new one.

You slumped down into the vast sea of sheets and pillows that were on your bed, and Charles shuffled over to you.

He rested his head on your chest, immediately making himself comfy and his arms clasped around your waist. Just as you were about to fall asleep, you heard a soft "I love you," from the drunken boy.

"I love you too," you whispered back, pressing a soft kiss into his hair and closing your eyes.

Mick Schumacher

Most of the time when Mick came home, you waited up for him. But, he had specifically told you not to due to his flight getting in at 4am.

As much as you had protested, he had charmingly convinced you to go to bed and he'd be right by your side when you woke up.

So, when you did head to bed, you left him one of your famous, homemade granola bars that he adored and scribbled a short note onto a post-it.

You fell asleep easily, especially since you knew that Mick would be there when you woke up. However, some hours later, you were woken up by the low rumble of a vehicle outside.

To be more specific, it was the sound of Mick's motorbike engine. Why he had taken that to the airport, you would never know, but you did love the sound of it.

You smiled to yourself, glad you wouldn't have to wait much longer to see him.

The door opened downstairs, and light footsteps pattered through the kitchen. Mick had spotted the snacks for him on the counter and couldn't stop the large grin that crept across his lips.

"Mick I'll probably be asleep when you get home, but I'm glad you're here because I've missed you. I thought you'd be hungry after your flight, so enjoy. ❤️"

He took a few minutes to himself, munching away at the granola bars and already loving the serenity of being at home.

He cleared the plate away and tucked the note into his jacket pocket so he could read it whenever.

He left everything that could jingle or make any noise as he moved downstairs since he didn't want to wake you up, and quietly skipped up the stairs, avoiding the ones that creaked out of habit.

Meanwhile, you had closed your eyes to try and go back to sleep, but the excitement of having him home was too much.

Mick came into the dark cave that was your room, and you could hear the rustling of clothes and the wardrobe opening and closing again. The bathroom light flicked on for a few minutes, before you finally felt the mattress dip beside you and the covers rustled.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you to his chest. "Thank you for the granola, I really did need it," he whispered into your hair, "I love you," he said.

You two had never said it to each other before, and he thought you were asleep at the time. You couldn't help but wonder if he had said it before when you were asleep. For a second, you were frozen, but there was nothing you wanted more than to respond.

"I love you too," you whispered back, feeling his smile against the top of your head as he planted a soft kiss on it. No more words were exchanged, Mick tucked his head into the crook of your neck.

Your heart sang in your chest, and there was no where you would rather be.

Daniel Ricciardo

You didn't know what time Daniel was going to be getting home, since you weren't actually going home. You had flown out to Australia to meet his family for the first time and he was flying over after the race.

The second leg of his flight had taken off a few hours ago, so you were waiting for the call to either pick him up from the airport or that he'd gotten a taxi and he was on his way. His first flight was supposed to set off nearly 12 hours ago, but it was cancelled last minute, so he had to get the one he was on now and he was going to be fashionably late to 'lunch'.

Meanwhile, you had headed out to the grocery store to pick up some things that you'd need for dinner. You'd picked up some basic things, like fruits and cereals you'd need for the week, as well as a some desserts that you couldn't resist.

You wandered around the store for a bit, picking up things you thought would make nice lunches while you were there. You were next to the cards, since it was Daniel's nephew's birthday and you still needed to get him one, and you heard a voice.

"Sorry, excuse me ma'am, I was looking for flowers for my girlfriend, do you think these are nice?" A familiar voice spoke behind you, and you thought you knew who it was, but it wasn't possible. Well, it wasn't supposed to be.

You turned around to see Daniel stood next to the flowers, beaming from ear to ear with a large bouquet of pink roses in his hand. "I think she'd love them," you smiled, abandoning your shopping cart in front of the cards.

You flung your arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. "You're not meant to be here for another few hours," you said to him.

"I know, but the flight was much quicker than expected," he explained. You looked at him, examining the dark circles under his eyes and how bloodshot his eyes were. "I'll pay for the shopping, then we can get you some rest," you said, pulling him into you as his head flopped onto your shoulder.

He groaned in agreement, following you to the shopping cart and to the tills. He went separately to pay for the flowers, despite your protests. You met him on the other side of the tills, "A very pretty lady helped me pick these out," he smirked, handing them to you and taking the shopping cart to the car.

"Oh did she now? You're away from me for a week and you're already looking at other women," you playfully scoffed and rolled your eyes at him. "Couldn't help myself, she was just that stunning," he hit back, stumbling as you lightly shoved him.

Once you got home, you unpacked the shopping while Daniel took a well-deserved shower. You were done before he was, so you sat on the living room couch, scrolling through Instagram for a bit. The door to the bathroom opened, and Daniel walked in, his hair slightly damp and he look a bit more awake.

"You going to take a nap for a bit?" you asked as he stood between your legs.

"Yeah," he said, trying to pull you up from the couch.

"I'll wake you up before dinner," you told him, expecting him to go to your room.

"Can you come with me?"

"I'm not sleeping,"

"Can you still come with me?" he asked, tugging on your arms harder. You laughed and stood with him, following him into the room. He flopped down on the bed and patted the space next to him. There was no denying his pouty face as he turned to look at you.

You got yourself comfy on the bed next to him, and he rolled over and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head on your chest. "I'm so tired," he mumbled, his eyes fluttered closed.

"I'm not surprised," you laughed back. It wasn't long before Daniel was softly snoring as he rested all of his weight on you. Now, you had three weeks to spend, relaxing, spending time together and probably napping.

Daniel would want to do a lot of that.

Max Verstappen

As expected, Max had just won yet another race and he now had three weeks off until his home GP in the Netherlands. You had only just arrived back at the hotel after waiting for him during interviews and the post-race debrief and whatever else they got up to. 

Flopping down on the bed, you allowed your muscles to relax after a day of tension. "We've got half an hour before we need to get to the bar," he said, flinging his jacket off onto the armchair in the corner of the room. 

A few of the drivers were getting together for drinks to celebrate the finish before the summer break, but you didn't want to go. You were flying back home tomorrow, then you had work the next day. 

"You can go, but I'm not," you told him, supporting your head on your arms as you spoke to him. 

"You're not coming?"

"No, I don't feel like flying hungover," you said.

"Please baby, it'll be fun. We don't even have to stay out late. Just a drink or two and then we can go," he pleaded, taking a seat next to you. 

"You can go, by yourself, and have as many drinks as you want and stay out as long as you want. Don't let me spoil the fun," you told him. Sure, Max was very calm and collected when it came to racing, but when he went out, he was a whole different person.

"But I won the race," he whined, gently poking you in the stomach and making you laugh. He was really like a child sometimes, but in the most adorable way. "I know you did, and I'm very proud of you, but I don't have the next three weeks off," you told him, and he sighed in defeat. 

"Fine then, I guess you'll be missing out on all the fun," he scoffed, getting of the bed and going to the bathroom for a shower. As he was at the door, ready to leave, he looked over at you, all cosied up in bed and thought it would be better to crawl in with you and watch a movie. 

But, tonight was going to be fun and you'd want to go to bed early anyway. "You sure you don't want to come?" 

"Yes, now go or else you'll be late," you told him, itching to get watching your movie. Just like that, Max was gone and you were watching your movie. 

As the time went by, you slowly drifted off to sleep during the new movie you had just put on. You were settled in your slumber, only to be woken up by the door being slammed and some sort of loud rustling.

Your eyes fluttered open as the lights flicked on, and Max was stumbling around the room. He was just idly giggling to himself as he leant against the wall, and he hadn't yet noticed that you were awake. 

"The fuck are you doing?" you grumbled, irritated that you had been woken up. Normally, Max tried his best to be quiet if he was coming in late, but not tonight. "Oh hey baby, I didn't realise you were awake," he said with a goofy, lopsided grin on his face.

"Well I wasn't until you came clattering in here," you huffed, rolling over in bed to try and avoid the light. "It's not even that late," he argued.

"Max, it's three A.M," you told him, glancing at the alarm clock on the side table. You didn't mind him coming in late, but you did when he woke you up. "And we have a flight to catch in... six hours," 

"It's fine," he scoffed as he threw his jacket onto the floor somewhere. 

"It might be for you," you grumbled back at him, screwing your eyes shut to try and fall back asleep. "I'm sorry," you heard him quietly say and you heard him shuffling around the room a bit. "Baby, I'm sorry," he said, sitting down in front of you on the floor next to the bed.

You ignored him and tried to go back to sleep. "Y/N," he whined, poking at your face and squishing your cheeks. "Max, get off me," you said, trying to swat him away as you looked at his rosy cheeks and ruffled hair. 

"I'm sorry," he repeated as he carried on prodding at you. You knew the only way to get him to stop was to tell him you forgave him and that it was alright. "It's fine," you said, closing your eyes as he finally stopped poking you.

"But you don't mean it though, you're annoyed at me," he complained like a child.

"Just get in bed, Max," you said, just wanting to sleep.

"I can't sleep if you're mad at me," 

"I'm not mad at you, I'm just tired my love," you said to him as another goofy smile spread across his lips. "OK," he said, finally standing and hopping in bed with his clothes still on. But, you couldn't be bothered to tell him to get changed.

"The lights, Max," 

"Oh yeah, sorry," he giggled, getting back up to switch the lights off. He shuffled back into bed, and he fell asleep nearly instantly. And he was snoring. You groaned to yourself, knowing you wouldn't be getting a good nights' sleep like you had wanted. 

George Russell

"I am a fucking champion!" George yelled, jumping on the bed of your hotel room in Brazil. You could only hope the neighbours were heavy sleepers and couldn't hear him.

"George, I know you are, but please be quieter," you told him, knowing you were going to have among night. "I bet Max does this and you don't yell at him,"

"George, I'm not with Max when he goes to his hotel room," you said, confused as to why he would even suggest that. But, he was drunk, so you couldn't expect complete sanity from him. "But I bet he still does this,"

"George, Max doesn't do this. Max celebrates like a proper adult by being quiet and respectful to the neighbours," you said, grabbing him by the arm and trying to drag him off the bed. He had never done this before, but he had never won a race before. 

"Fine, you're no fun," he whined, sitting down on the floor. 

"George come on, get up. It's time for bed," 

"But I don't want to," he whined, lying down and spreading his arms and legs out as if he were grounding himself. "It's late, George," you sighed, knowing you wouldn't get very far with persuading him to function like a normal human being.

"And? I'm a champion, I can stay up as late as I want. Consistency is key, after all," he drunkenly giggled to himself, "Fine, you can stay up, but I'm going to bed," you huffed, hoping that might incentivise him to go to bed with you. 

"Alright, goodnight," he said, still staying on the floor. You didn't say anything else to him, you just got changed, crawled into bed, and turned out the lamp beside you. You heard George rustling around for a second, and then you felt something in front of your face.

Opening your eyes, you could make out George's features through the darkness. You squealed in surprise when you saw him, but you calmed down when you saw it was just George being silly. "George, please, I'm trying to sleep," you sighed, rolling over to face away from him. 

"But you're pretty, I want to look at you," he said, lazily tickling his fingers up and down your back. "Thank you, but you can look at me tomorrow when I'm not trying to sleep," you smiled to yourself. Even if his words were at the wrong time, they never failed to make you blush. 

"I'll go back to the bar so I'm not annoying you," he sulked, getting up from beside you and skulking over to the door. "George, you're not going back to the bar," you said, sitting up and turning the lamp back on. 

"But you want to sleep, if I go back I can let you have some peace," he smiled. He had the right intentions, but the bar was the last place he needed to be right now. "I appreciate that, but you should stay here. As long as you're reasonably quiet, then I'll be alright," 

"OK, I'll just lay here with you for a bit," he smiled, kicking his shoes off and flopping down into bed with you. "Goodnight, George," you said, turning the light back off and trying to fall asleep again. 

It was silent for a few minutes, before you heard his whispers and quiet chants, "I'm a champion, I'm a champion,". You couldn't help but smile at how proud of himself he was, and you were proud of him too. 

You just breathed a bit heavier, and he got the message. "Sorry," he giggled, continuing his chants but just a bit quieter. You didn't want to rain on his parade, so you let him carry on while you tried to fall asleep. Again. 

A/N - I just thought I'd do these little like.. Drabbles for each of the drivers and I have a few different scenarios planned out. I have another part planned with 5 more drivers, but let me know if there's anyone you would like to see in particular! Have a great day!

|masterlist|

[gothicflowers]

John Price x GN!firefighter!Reader

Hang Up The Coat

Umm so this is extremely self indulgent (I’m using Price to cope instead of facing the reality of my job)

Warnings: mentions of death, alcoholism, firefighter reader. SFW.

John had returned last night from his deployment to an empty home. Bottles scattered around, Piles of laundry from the past month. He knew it was getting bad but it seemed to have gotten worse in his absence. He didn’t know how to have the talk that needed to happen but you seemed to be on the edge of breaking and he’d be damned to let you get near it.

It was 07:13 in this morning and he had already polished the house clean. The was no evidence that anything was even remotely wrong. To price it was important to help you get better. Even if that meant waking up at 4AM to clean the house so you could relax when you got off shift. Working 48 hours consecutively absolutely exhausted you and he wanted to make sure you could have his undivided attention.

You had a habit of going full housewife when he was home. Cooking, cleaning and tending to his every need. Despite your families disappointment of getting a male dominated job you still can’t get rid of the traditional values you where raised to uphold. Your adoration for John was undeniable even after all these years. In a way you left that your life purpose was to serve him. And John lived his life to serve you, when he wasn’t at work the soldier in him melted away to reveal a kind hearted man with a love for his wife and board games.

He finally heard your car door shut in the driveway. He practically ran to the door to great you like a puppy. Opening the door you were greeted with a brown haired man with his hair pulled back and a smile plastered on his face. He was home a week earlier to your surprise.

“My love I missed you”

He pulls you into a deep kiss. His strong hands cradling your small head as he kissed you. The tears he hadn’t noticed poured into his hands.

“No, no, baby what’s wrong?”

You sniffled and handed him the paper that you hoped would say something different. Instead it read the same as all the times before.

Hello,

Thank you for applying for the lieutenant position. We regret to inform you that you were not selected this round. While you held the necessary certificates and training requirements the promotion committee believes you should improve as a member of the brotherhood before any further promotions. We appreciate your time and dedication in the selection process.

Thank you,

Chief

“Darling im so sorry”

He pulled you into a deep hug. His musk engulfs your senses. He’s been gone for three long lonely months. No contact with you per 141 policy. The isolation is suffocating. All your friends had moved on with life and left you behind so you were completely alone. The letter wasn’t helping with the sense of adulthood failure.

“I’m so tired, of this constant struggle to be enough”

“Maybe it’s time to consider other options”

His soft voice was afraid of what you’d say next.

“But it’s what I was made for. All these year and to just be done?!”

John felt a ping in his heart because he knew his honest words would still sting.

“Love you don’t need your job to be your purpose in life”

That’s when you began the real breakdown.

“But it’s what I’ve been doing since I was 18. I don’t know anything else, I’m stuck, but I love the job too much to quit. It’s like asking you to leave 141.”

You never intended to be a firefighter. It just kinda happened. That bright eyed rookie that was full of energy had been burned to pieces years ago. Your friends always told you that working a 48 hour shift must be so nice because you have so much time off. In reality you came home and slept for a few hours after the never ending late night 911 calls and days filled with the general public yelling at you for not being fast enough, cold dinners, washing bio hazards of your boots.

At home waking up to deal with the mental toll of the job and making yourself a glass of whiskey to ease your mind, only to overdo it and end up passed out on the kitchen floor.

The department you worked for always peached “brotherhood” but no matter how hard you worked you still remained an outside. Constantly getting pulled into the chiefs office for “not showing enough dedication”. They never recognized the extra effort you put in. The endless charity events you organized, overtime, teaching classes. Going to extra training classes eating away at your days off. Countless trainings out of town when your husband was home from deployment. None of it mattered to them. Never good enough.

Promotion time came and went again, this was round four of applying for promotion. Yet again missing out on becoming a lieutenant because you don’t fit into any of the clicks. You didn’t golf with the ranked officers on your days off. You didn’t get invited to the cookouts. They always said promotion was based off performance but the five newest officers proved that to be false. Lazy, arrogant, fat men had moved up while you stayed at the bottom. If you wanted to move up you needed to be one of the boys. How?

“It’s never enough for them is it” John has said just loud enough to be a whisper.

John was tired of seeing you get kicked around. It angered him more than you’ll ever know. He always stood by your side when things got hard. You had made it your goal to get promoted to lieutenant before you started trying for a family. John was never going to tell you but he has growing slightly impatient. He wanted you to spend your days happy, kids running around while he cooks breakfast and you sleep in. Not coming home pretending that you didn’t witness another overdose before breakfast and help the corenor bag another young person took far too soon before bed.

You barely had energy to kiss him when you got home. Your mental health had plummeted, your new hobby was drinking and screaming at the walls. Stumbling around with music blasting. You didn’t care about anything, and when you wanted to talk about something you turned it into an argument over nothing. The five foot nothing angel he fell in love with eight years ago was barely recognizable in you. The man that never wanted you to know pain, death, loneliness felt helpless.

But for whatever reason he still loved you. He recalls a time before you met when he was this way in the military, before 141. Angry at the world, doing his best with a bottle in his hand. He only realized he needed a change when he was given the option to stay or start 141. He chose to leave the bottle.

“Love maybe… maybe it’s time to close this chapter” he was gentle saying it as best as he could. He knew how much it hurt for you to hear it. But he knew you better than to let you keep being destructive. He could see the internal conflict within yourself behind the tears in your eyes.

“Then what do I do? I know what I want out of life but I just feel like I’ll lose part of myself if I stop”

“Do you think you’ll lose a part of yourself, or has the part of you that’s tired of pushing has turned into rage?”

“It’s turned from rage to sorrows. And I’m tired of being pushed around. And I’m tired of not being good enough… and…”

“And what love”

“I don’t want you to think less of me for calling it quits when you’ve always stood by be though it all. I want to go back to how I was to you. I’m so sorry I’ve neglected you for so long”

“Oh love you’ll always and forever be my strong angell. I would never think of you differently for quitting. You did such a good job and I know they don’t see it but I know. I will always know my wife fought hard. And I just want you to get better and I’m happy you want to. But I can’t let you keep hurting yourself like this”

“Then I think… I’m ready to hand up my coat.”

“Then that’s what you will do”

He gently kissed your lips and wiped away your tears.

He had a soft reassuring smile. He knew this was going to be a hard process for you but the job was eating you alive and you knew it too.

“Would you like me to help you write your letter of resignation?” His hands still holding your delicate face while his eyes looked down with love.

“I would love that”

[hollandroos]

I'm not sure if this is the right place for this so I apologize in advance 💗 I was hoping you could please write a Hotch fluff piece where him and the reader are navigating the first few weeks with their newborn? The reader's first baby and Aaron's second.

I hope you and the baby are doing well 💗

ahhh i saw this ask & i was so excited to write this that I wrote it at 2am so I hope its good! although i can hardly remember the newborn phase now but i vividly remember crawling into my boyfriends room every single night in tears asking for help because i was so tired & i swear my baby never ever slept 😂🫠

i hope you like this!

If there was anything that you had learnt since becoming a mom, it was that everyone who’d told you ‘sleep when the baby sleeps’ was a liar. The baby hardly ever slept and when she did - it was in yours or Aaron’s arms.

Daisy squirms lightly, letting out small coos to show that she was still awake. Still.

You felt so guilty as you slipped into Aaron’s bedroom- even though he’d told you countless times to wake him if you ever needed to, and begged you not to feel guilty you couldn’t help it.

You knew how important it was that he got enough sleep and remained vigilant considering his line of work so you had a tendency to push yourself to your breaking point before crawling through his doors.

He was absolutely amazing with Daisy. After taking a whole month off to be with you guys and Jack he’d finally gone back to work last week and yes, it was hitting you a little harder then you’d expected.

During that first month you’d taken it in shifts - Aaron would look after your sweet Daisy from around 8pm-2am and you’d take her from 2am until he woke up for the day. And it worked really well - however now that he was back at work you pretty much did the night shift alone and yeah, it was lonely and only getting around 2 hours of sleep a night wasn’t the best.

It didn't help that the two of you slept in seperate bedrooms now too to allow him to get his sleep.

Having a daughter that refused to sleep unless she was being held by either one of you was rough, but both of you adored her dearly. However that didn’t make the long nights easier.

“Aaron?” You say softly, trying to stop yet another round of tears from spilling over. God, you needed to sleep. You’d probably had 4 hours sleep in the last two days? Maybe three days now? wait - what day was it? when was the last time you changed clothes?

“Aaron, please.” You beg.

Aaron jolts a little before realising it’s just you. The man let’s out a tired groan and blinks rapidly, trying to make out the time on the alarm clock.

“Honey? are you okay? what time is it?”

It didn’t take a profiler to see how upset you were. Even then - he heard it in your voice before he saw it. Your throat was dry and hoarse, and the second Aaron turned the lamp on he noticed your swollen eyes and tear stained cheeks. His heart broke ever so slightly at the sight.

“It’s 4am. I know you have to go to work in a couple hours but please, please can you watch her for just two hours so I can get some rest. I-I haven’t slept at all and everytime I put her down she just cries and I feel like I’m going insane.”

Aaron doesn’t even hesitate to slide out of the bed. He’d had 6 hours of sleep - that was more than enough for him. And probably 6 hours more then you'd had.

“Of course I can.” He takes the newborn from your arms and you relax a little. “You’re not doing anything wrong, honey, she’s a newborn. This is just what she does. It’s not you. Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling this much? You need to let me help you, sweetheart,”

“Why- why can’t I handle it? I’m her mum Aaron i’m supposed - im supposed to be able to handle this. I feel like i’m failing.”

“You’re her mum, but you’re also human. No one can handle this much sleep deprivation. You’re a fantastic mum to both Daisy and Jack and you’re doing your best.”

He places Daisy down on the bed softly and pulls your shaking frame into his arms. Just like that you immediately break out into tears again, having missed his warm embrace. All the guilt you were feeling for waking him melts away with each gentle kiss to your forehead.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” He repeats softly until you stop shaking in his arms and for a second he wonders if you’ve fallen asleep standing up. “You lay down for a couple hours, I’ve got Daisy.”

He picks up the newborn again and she coos softly in his arms, snuggling into daddies embrace. You lay down without wasting another second and you swear the moment you close your eyes you're fast asleep.

And Aaron didn’t know how he did it, but somehow, nearly a whole two hours later he managed to get sweet little Daisy to sleep. Light snores fell from delicate newborn lips. Ever so carefully he places the baby down in her bassinet right next to you and places her pacifier in with a gentle pop.

He knew things were tough now, but he also knew that they were bound to get better and that this season the two of you were in was only temporary.

With a small kiss on each of your foreheads he slips out of the door, excited to get the day over with so he can return to his girls later,

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

Hi! Could I get a fluffy moment with Lui/Sully and reader waking up in bed together cuddling and just enjoying each other's presence? Maybe reader has to get up for work and Lui/Sully don't want them to yet

I love Liu and Sully they are my babies <333

Thank you so much for requesting!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cuddling with a needy Liu and Sully

Liu

He's so very needy

He loves to cuddle with you, and has to cuddle for at least a solid 10 minutes after you wake up before he's satisfied

But you had extra work this month and had to get up a little bit earlier than usual

And Liu was not happy about it

So as your 4am alarm went off, he woke up with you

Unbeknownst to you, until you began getting up to get dressed and felt a hand wrapped around your wrist

You look back and see a sleepy Liu staring up at you, and pulling you gently back into bed

You sigh and smile, ruffling his hair and climbing back into bed

"I really have to get up, hun" you whisper into his head with a kiss

He pulls you into his chest and kisses your forehead "just stay with me instead" he whines

You smile and nuzzle his nose "5 minutes"

"I'll take it" he whispers back as he shifts to lay on your stomach

You begin to rub his head and play with his hair, humming a tune and almost falling asleep again

You're lucky you didnt, because he definetly wouldn't have woke you up and you would have been late <3

Sully

Waking up to your alarm, you look over at Sully and smile. He's still asleep

You lean over and kiss his head, before getting up and getting ready

You are brushing your teeth by the time he's up, feeling his arms wrap around your waist and feeling his nose in the crook of your neck

You rub his head and finish up your teeth, which is when he begins to pull you back over to the bed

You grin and hold back a bit "love, I already put my shoes on and everything,"

He grunts in response and pushes you onto the bed, before crawling onto you and burying his face in your neck

You kiss his head and giggle "I can only stay for a little bit, and then I really do have to get going"

He kisses your neck in response

"Are you gonna be all sour when I get home again?"

He smiles, and you feel it too

"Wooooow ok I see how it is" you joke, softly punching is arm

"Nothin' personal, my sweet" he says, sitting up to kiss your nose

"I just take great offense in how you leave me to go to work"

You kiss his cheek and pat his neck "you should really stop talking <3"

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Change | Changing | Changed?

Sooo Ive read Change like 10 times and though I love ALL your fics, that one gained a special place in my heart as soon as you posted it. I really vibe with Roman (maybe I am autistic…) and I love projecting onto him and watching him suffer. Anyway I was wondering if you feel like it or had any ideas, if we could get a third chapter? Maybe more about how the others react to finding out what Patton and Janus did to Roman, or more protective Ollie! <3 – stealing-babies

Had this concept idea hit me: Patton (as part of being Thomas’s emotions) is hypersensitive to the effects of the other sides's rooms + the imagination. No idea what one could do with that but thought it was neat enough to share. – ax3-e0ns

Have you seen the new incorrect quotes? I feel like there could be some Roman angst/hurt/comfort potential, either with Logan or Janus, what with the stress ball or the 4am chocolate pudding scene – anon

Hey, I was wondering if you’d be interested in writing a fic where Roman’s actually the one who finally snaps and goes off on everyone about he himself has been treated? I don’t see enough of the boy standing up for himself for a change. No worries if not! – anon

Read on Ao3 Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: panic attacks/dissociation

Pairings: none

Word Count: 7191

Roman is over the top, bombastic, and enthusiastic. He is prone to fits of passion and emotional outbursts. Such is the nature of Creativity. But the others...don't like that. They aren't exactly ambiguous about it either. Or, Roman struggles to walk the line between being himself and being something the others can tolerate. It gets far worse before it gets any better. Getting better takes...a long time

The deepness of the Imagination's oceans vary according to the demands of its various creatures. On this day, when Red Prince is too quiet and a little too sad, Oliver the Kraken decides that the ocean needs to be as vast and monstrous as it can be. He takes Red Prince in his arms, cradling him against his bulbous body to afford him protection within his aura from the crushing depths, swimming down, down, down, past the shoals of fish and pods of whales to the hidden tunnel near the base of the great cliffs. The water here is icy cold, lit only by the sparse bio-luminescence of the deep-sea folk, briefly illuminating the jagged rock walls and mountainous sea terrain. Oliver moves through as silently as a monolith of his size can, Red Prince held delicately in the safety of his grip. As they reach the end of the tunnel, it begins to curve upwards, a faint violet light coming from someplace above the surface of the water.

The Kraken breaches with a soft splash in the hidden cavern, lit by the glowing crystals growing along the walls and the ceiling. Red Prince lets out a breath, sagging in his grip, his tiny fingers stroking the bumps and scars along his skin. The cavern rings with the quiet music of water lapping against the crystals and the slight breeze that blows through their hollows, interrupted by the sloshing sounds of him swimming toward the island in the center of this sheltered cove. Small piles of glowstone highlight the soft white sand underneath flowering trees. The faint smell of them wakes Red Prince from the stupor he had been in since entering the Imagination, and he reaches for them as Oliver nears the island.

"Thank you for bringing me here," he mumbles as he's deposited on a patch of pale green grass.

Of course, Red Prince. You know that you will be safe here, whenever you want to be. He shifts his arms around to prop himself up a little. I will not let any harm come to you.

"I know." Still, Red Prince shuffles a little, tugging his limbs close to himself. "I just—I suppose it's stupid."

Nothing is stupid to me, Red Prince, not if it concerns your well-being.

"Are—you like spending time with Remus too, right?"

Oliver burbles quietly, the water frothing around his arms. Yes, Red Prince, I do. And despite that, I do not favor him anymore than you.

The hidden meaning seen, Red Prince's shoulders relax and a small smile comes to his face. Oliver reaches out to lay an arm within Red Prince's reach and his hand rests on it. Little birds twitter in the trees. The crystal song changes pitch.

You need not fear anything here, he says again, and you may stay as long as you like. She-Who-Tends-The-Clouds knows you are here as well, even though she cannot get here. Is there anything else I can do for you, in this moment?

"I—I don't know." He curls up a little tighter. "I'm just…I'm just really scared. And it feels like nothing I do even helps make it go away."

The water bubbles again as his arms churn. What does it feel like? Does it feel like the type of fear that Green Duke makes?

"Sort of? I just—I keep waking up sick to my stomach like something bad's going to happen, like, bad enough that I don't want to wake up anymore."

That is worrisome indeed. The arm wraps around him and tugs him slightly back toward the water. I regret that I cannot hold you the way you might desire.

"This is great, Ollie, you're…you're great." Red Prince now sits near one of the piles of glowstone, turning to rest his cheek upon it. "I think I'm…I think I'm tired."

The bone-weary ache of his words ring through the cavern. A few birds flutter down to perch on the rock, making soft chirps as they run their beaks through Red Prince's hair. Red Prince's smile brightens just a smidge.

"Thank you, little birds."

You know that we all would gladly give you whatever you need, Oliver says, there is nothing you could ask of us that we would not try to provide to you.

"I know."

Although none of us have arms that would embrace you, would you like to be held still?

"Yes, please."

It would be our pleasure.

It is not a simple thing for a Kraken to embrace Red Prince, but Red Prince is sad and upset and in need of comfort, and so he takes two arms and wraps them gently around Red Prince and the pile of glowstone. The pile is not the most forgiving of surfaces, but glowstone is warm to the touch and yields ever so slightly if pressed. Red Prince does not seem to mind, closing his eyes as a soft sigh leaves his lips. The birds perch on his head and shoulders. One of them settles into the crook of his neck, a wing brushing his cheek. He turns his head and his lips brush the tip of its beak. It chirps.

"Not the most fairytale of places," Red Prince mumbles, "but I do like this a lot."

We do specialize in the unconventional, Red Prince, and if I may speak for the birds, we all are quite happy to stay here for as long as you need.

The ocean is vast and hungry, monsters swim its depths and light vanishes from the waters far before it approaches the entrance to the hidden cavern. But here, in the quiet light of the crystal cave, Red Prince is safe for the moment and Oliver is content.

***

At the very tops of the mountains, high beyond the clouds, grow small trees no taller than a bush that could grow anywhere else. The trees have soft and warm bark from the sun's warmth, for there is little cover up there amongst the flat planes of rock and stone. She-Who-Tends-The-Clouds nests at the very peak, between the trees, sleeping in the light of the endless spinning galaxies of stars. The wind blows cold in the darkness of storms alone, where the clouds can rise high enough to block out the infinite skies. Otherwise, the sweet warm gusts of wind waft the secrets of the valleys up, up, where she may peruse them in comfort and safety.

It makes it far easier to rest easy when she has her charge nestled against her chest, humming a quiet song to keep her company.

I have missed your voice, Red Prince, she says gently, I cannot say I have heard it nearly enough in the recent times you have come.

"I haven't really felt like singing all that recently."

I know, says she, and leans down to nuzzle her snout against his chest, is there anything I can do?

"Just sitting here with you is nice. I haven't really had a lot of places that I feel safe enough to just exist in for a while."

The now familiar tingle of irritation flickers down her scales and she lays her head down next to him, watching him fiddle with a small amulet—from the kindly man who lives deep in the woods, no doubt, he had long ago taken a liking to Red Prince and provided him with many gifts and trinkets. She puffs a small smoke ring. What is this one for?

"He said it was to bring a sense of comfort to me." He runs his thumb over the engraving, the shape of a blooming flower worked beautifully into the metal. "I don't know if it was just supposed to be figuratively or if there's some magic in it, but…I like it."

It is a most thoughtful gift. Partway between sentiment and practicality, is it not?

Red Prince smiles. "Yes, it is."

Then it is perfect for one such as you. She nudges him with her snout to make him chuckle. Perhaps he has been refining his gift-giving for you intentionally.

"I didn't come here to be teased," he protests, but it is only lightly, and she relents as soon as she began, turning her head to rest once more towards the edge of the mountain to sniff the breeze. "I…I said thank-you, and that I'd be…interested to learn from him."

Her ears prick up slightly. Oh? I did not know you would be interested in such a craft.

"I'm trying new things."

It does not take a dragon of superior wit and mind to know that Red Prince has long be afraid of sharing new things with Those-Who-Do-Not-Shape, and as such, has even hesitated to try something in the safety of the Imagination. Her chest warms with contentment, a low and pleased rumble thrumming through the surrounding stone. Red Prince smiles. She turns once more to press her snout into Red Prince's stomach.

Words cannot express how pleased I am to hear that, Red Prince.

"Yeah," he says quietly, "I know. I…yeah."

The breezes forgotten for the moment, she sighs happily and lets Red Prince run the medallion across the ridges of her snout. I do not wish to push you, but I have questions if you would answer them.

"I trust you."

I will not abuse it, Red Prince, you have my word. She shifts her tail to curl it around him, adding another degree of safety even atop this mountain where none else would dare to tread. Does Green Duke still help you?

"Remus is great. He's—he's really helpful, he's—I wouldn't—I don't think I'd be able to do any of this without Remus."

What does he do to help, if you would tell me?

"He helps take the heat off me when I need it, or he's always there to help me escape if I need to. He also helps me explain what's going on with me or—or if I need to do things a different way than what they want."

I see. Are you…safe with him?

"I've never not been safe with Remus."

She lets out a quiet growl, not quite a reprimand, not quite not a reprimand. You were frightened when he came upon you on the grass, where The Deep One and I were tending to you.

"Yeah, but that wasn't—that wasn't really because of him, it was…I think it was…"

Even now, just speaking of it, Red Prince hunches in on himself, curling up in the lea of her. With another soft rumble, she moves them a little closer to one of the small trees, affording him something to clutch if he needs it. He rests his cheek against the warm soft bark, taking in the shade. She gives him the time he needs, but keeps up the gentle rumble of her breath to ground him.

"…I was scared of him being there because the others would—because I thought they would just immediately be mad at me, not because I thought Remus would hurt me."

And the others, do they still frighten you?

Red Prince lets out a long sigh, slumping against the tree and her chest in turn. He looks like the little child whose favorite toy has floated away in the river, and the old man who has seen a thousand thousand years and still must watch the sunrise.

"Yes," he says with that voice of infinite sadness, "every day."

I am sorry, Red Prince, that I cannot always protect you from the hurt they cause you.

"It's not your fault. I know…I know most of it's my fault."

No, she says firmly, raising her head up to look him in the eye, it is not your fault, Red Prince, you are scared and hurt, and that is not and never will be a burden that falls on your shoulders and your shoulders alone. You are scared, that is true, and you are hurt, that is true. But you have been taught to be scared and hurt, and you are far too gentle of a soul to have done that to yourself.

Red Prince sniffles and oh, her intention was not to make him cry, and so she leans forward to gently lick away his tears. He tucks the medallion into his pocket and hugs her back, the tears subsiding quickly as he falls into a doze against her heat.

You are welcome to come back here, Red Prince, whenever you need.

"Will you take care of me like this if I do?"

Yes, of course I will.

***

Patton sits next to him on the couch and Roman immediately tucks the medallion into his pocket on the far side of his leg. He can tell by the way Patton shifts that he notices it, but doesn't say anything. Remus comes over a moment later and sits on his other side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pressing a smacking kiss to his head.

"Hey, Roro."

"Hi."

"You doing okay today?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Across the room, Janus gives him a look but doesn't say anything. After another moment, he gets up and ruffles Remus's hair, kissing Roman's forehead. Roman tenses a little and Janus doesn't seem to take any offense, moving away and sitting next to Logan. "Well, shall we decide what movie we're watching tonight?"

"I'm partial to something along the lines of The Imitation Game," Logan says, looking up from his notebook, "but I am aware that we've been going with my choices quite a few times over these past few weeks."

"I'd be down with watching that," Virgil says, "but I think I'd rather—I mean if we're throwing out choices, I wanna put Pacific Rim out there."

"Ooh, I do like watching giant robots punch giant aliens." Remus nudges Roman. "What about you, Roro?"

"Um, I don't really have an opinion right now."

"Okay." Janus says quickly before anyone can say anything else, "that's fine, sweetie. What about something like one of the documentaries we've been working through?"

"That sounds great," Patton says, but Roman can tell he's still looking at him, "Roman, does that work for you?"

"Yeah, I like documentaries."

"Settled, then." Logan stands up and fetches his laptop, beginning to hook it up to the TV. "Roman, would you mind helping the—"

"Yep."

He doesn't give anyone the time to say anything else, immediately going over to Logan's side to fiddle with the cords and make sure everything's good. Behind him, he can feel the eyes creeping up his back and rounds his shoulders. Logan touches his back lightly in thanks as he finishes, quickly going back over to let Remus lie on top of him. Janus chuckles at the two of them even as Patton yelps, quickly getting up and going to sit by Virgil.

"Sweetie? Can I play with your hair?"

"Um, if you want to."

"Thank you." Gloved fingers begin to scritch lightly through his hair and he closes his eyes, letting Remus's weight sink him into the couch. The sensation is soft and makes his brain go a little fuzzy, and he thinks that maybe he'll fall asleep here, before the documentary starts…

"Is everything ready?"

Patton's voice wrenches him back to wakefulness and he knows that Virgil, Janus, and Remus can all sense it. Remus lets out a quiet growl, holding him a little tighter. Janus kisses his fingertips and ruffles his hair again. Roman keeps his eyes open for the rest of the documentary and there's a sickness curdling in his stomach that he can't quite shake.

"Hey," Remus whispers when the documentary is loud, "hey, Roro, just stay with me, okay? Just hang out."

"I'm trying."

"I know, and you're doing great. Hey, can you name all the colors on the screen right now?"

He turns his head and looks at the animals, the plants, the skies. "Brown…white…purple…green…blue…black, yellow, red, and pink."

"Hey, nice, good job." Remus nuzzles into his neck. "You're my favorite brother."

"I'm your only brother."

"So?" He nuzzles into him again and it tickles. "You giggling down there, Roro?"

Roman glimpses Logan glancing at them and braces himself to be scolded, but Logan only smiles fondly at them and shakes his head, looking back at the screen. Remus follows his gaze and huffs, flopping down like a cat and making a show of being comfortable while shielding Roman's head from everyone else.

"You're safe," he whispers into his ear, "you're safe, I've got you, nothing's gonna hurt you right now."

There's nothing like this in the Imagination, Roman knows, nothing like this comforting weight and warmth and safety that he can't really get from the dragon or Ollie or anything else. He curls into Remus and tries to lose himself in the documentary. It's interesting, something about how these animals have adapted to living in urban environments. But he sees a rat scurry through a dark, dank alleyway, and can't help but feel like he's recognizing something in himself.

***

"Remus," Logan calls, walking down the hall, "can I speak to you for a moment?"

"What's up, Lolo?"

"Can we…" He indicates Remus's door. "Would you mind if we spoke somewhere more private?"

Remus nods and opens his door, welcoming Logan inside. Logan fiddles with a notebook, turning pages back and forth. After a while, he sighs and looks up.

"I have a question about Roman, and I want you to know that I don't intend to cause him hurt by investigating this information."

Remus raises an eyebrow. "Well, this definitely doesn't make me incredibly inclined to help you."

"I don't think it's anything that you did, if that's any consolation."

"It's not, but proceed."

Logan sighs. "Can I have your word that you will not immediately attempt to cause me physical harm when I ask this question?"

"I will not immediately break your spine, no."

"Is that the best I'm going to get?" Remus grins a little two widely and he sighs again. "I suppose that's a yes. Very well: I am…concerned that something has happened between Patton, Janus, and Roman, and I don't know what to do."

Remus takes a deep breath and sits down, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What's he told you already?"

"Something stemmed from the incident between the three of them when Thomas was still uncomfortable with his homosexuality, but I don't know—"

"The 'incident,' is that what he called it?"

"…no, that's my word for it."

"'Cause it was a fucking incident, alright." He reaches out and grabs a squid ink sac. It bursts in his hand. "That was—shit, and you and Emo didn't learn about this until later, did you?"

"I was not aware of an incident until Roman told me about it recently."

Remus growls at him and he steps back with his hands raised. "You mean that Roman was physically locked out of the Imagination for months, and you guys didn't fucking notice?"

Logan's expression drops. The notebook clatters to the floor. "Roman was what?"

"How the fuck did you not know about it? The Imagination—shit, Lolo—"

"No, I knew that Roman didn't go into the Imagination for a while, but I didn't—I was not aware that it was because his entrance was prohibited. What—why—"

"Because Roman's existence hasn't actually been appreciated by everyone around here for a long time and things like stuff he needs to do to stay alive are viewed as privileges that can be revoked."

Guilt and regret tremble at the corners of Logan's mouth and he adjusts his glasses. "I know I have played no small part in this—"

"No shit."

"—but I didn't…Remus, you must understand, I never meant to…I had nothing to do with this. I didn't know. I wasn't—I don't—I wouldn't—Roman is Creativity, how would I—"

"I believe you," Remus says quietly, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder, "I know, Logan, I know."

Logan lets out a shuddering breath, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. "I apologize. I did not foresee myself becoming this upset."

"Yeah, I know."

"The…the incident, if I may still call it that—"

"That's fine, yeah."

"—would I be incorrect in assuming that it was not the only one of its kind?"

"Well, they never tried to banish Roman from the Imagination again, that's for fucking sure." Remus shakes his head. "God, I've never—I've never fucking seen Roman like that before and I never want to see him like that again. But yeah, Lolo, I don't—you're smart enough to know that Patton and Janus have been holding some sort of power over Roman for a long time."

"Yes."

"That's not an accident. Roman's really vulnerable to stuff like that—and you need to know that I'm telling you this because if this somehow gets back to them," he continues, tightening his grip on Logan's shoulder, "I'm going to know exactly where it came from."

"I won't betray your confidence."

"You'd better fucking not. Yeah, Roro's the Ego—he's fragile in ways that Patton and Janus can exploit. Uniquely exploit, because Patton can feel what's going on in the Imagination to a certain extent, and Janus…"

"Janus knows Roman," Logan says softly, "and that is perhaps all he needs."

"Yeah."

"You said Patton can feel what's going on in the Imagination?"

"Well, Thomathy isn't exactly unaffected by what happens in the Imagination, nor is he immune to what his Ego does to take care of him. So when Roro's trying to make himself feel better, Thomas can feel it, which means Patton can feel it."

"So Patton knows when Roman's trying to cheer himself up."

"Yeah."

"How…how is this a bad thing?"

"Well, if you have a conversation with someone and they immediately run to make themselves feel better…"

Logan's expression shutters and his jaw sets. He adjusts his tie and covers Remus's hand with his own. "I don't know what else I can do for Roman, especially since I have contributed to the pain he has felt, but if there is anything, please, tell me?"

Remus looks at him, eyes narrowing slightly. He seems to be content by what it is that he's found, however, and nods sagely with a seriousness that seems almost foreign to him. Logan nods back and picks up his notebook.

"Is there anything else that I should know?"

"Not right now, I don't think."

"Can I…is Roman in the Imagination right now?"

"Why?"

"I…wanted to tell him that I had an idea for another board game I think he and I could play together. You could play it with us too!" They start moving toward the doors. "It's a mystery horror themed thing—"

"Sold!"

"Remus, I didn't even explain what it—"

"You said 'mystery' and 'horror.' Lolo, I'm in already."

***

"I'm sorry, he did fucking what?"

Logan puts his hands on Roman's shoulders and a different shudder goes through him, one triggered by the dry warmth as opposed to the near flinch in response to Virgil's shout. He leans into the touch as much as he can.

Virgil, of course, senses his fear, and quiets immediately, slouching a little to make himself seem smaller. "Hey, I'm sorry, Princey, I didn't mean to shout."

"It's okay."

"It's not," Logan says softly, "and that's alright too."

"L's right." Virgil even goes so far as to ease himself into a seated position on the other side of the room. "I know how bad yelling can be for you, Princey. I'm—shit, I'm just really upset for you right now."

Roman peeks out at him under his hair, surprised to see a soft smile on Virgil's face. After a moment, he holds out a hand, and Virgil gets up and ambles over. He sits down next to the base of Roman's chair, tangling his fingers with his. He gives a few reassuring squeezes and Roman squeezes back.

"Can I—so obviously I'm gonna try not to shout again, but can Remus keep telling me about this incredibly fucked up thing that happened to you?"

Roman nods. Logan squeezes his shoulder. He drifts away again, for he has no need to relive this more than he already does, focusing on the comfort of Logan's touch and the way that Virgil squeezes his hands every once in a while. Remus's voice stays low and even, but there's an undercurrent of steel that doesn't quite vanish even when the words never raise louder than the low thud of the wind against the walls of the Imagination's cabin.

"—incey? Princey?" Roman blinks. Virgil looks up at him. There's a furrow between his brows but he makes an effort to smile. "Hey, there he is. I'm so fucking sorry, Princey, that's fucked up. That's really fucked up, and I'm sorry that I've—I'm sorry that I've ever had anything to do with making this worse. I don't really—I'm not great with words, but I—"

Roman squeezes his hand. "You didn't do it to me, I don't…I don't blame you for that."

"But I've been doing the same sort of shit. Hey, hey," and here his voice softens a little when Roman goes to protest, "I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I'm not trying to run my own fucking pity party over here, I just—fuck, Princey, you're owed so many fucking apologies about all this shit, okay?"

A lump suddenly appears in his throat. He swallows heavily.

"Oh, hey, hey, c'mere…" Warm arms wrap around him and he's leant back into a strong chest. "Hey, it's okay, you can cry, Princey, that's okay."

"Shh, little one," Logan murmurs when Roman starts to try to apologize, "you're safe here. You're doing very well."

There's a soft thwoop sound and he peeks out to see Remus has summoned a massive mattress on the floor of the cabin. The windows are open, the late-afternoon breeze blowing in with the soft sweet smell of grass and flowers. Virgil and Logan must've had some sort of silent conversation, for he's lifted up into two pairs of strong arms and laid down on the mattress. Remus tucks a blanket over them and then gleefully flops down, much to the surprise and chagrin of the other two.

"Hey!"

"Remus!"

"Cat pile time, everyone hush and cuddle Ro."

Roman chuckles, a little watery, but snuggles into the midst of the three of them. Logan sighs, far too fondly, and presses a kiss to his temple. Virgil scoots a little further away so none of them are at risk of losing circulation, still holding onto Roman's hand.

"I vote that we don't talk about this anymore for right now," Logan says quietly, "all in favor?"

"Me."

"Also me."

"Yeah," Roman mumbles, "can…can we just stay here for a while?"

"Of course, little one."

***

"Sweetie," he hears distantly, "sweetie, it's alright, it's just me, I'm not here to hurt you, can you open your eyes for me?"

Roman opens his eyes. He's lying on the floor in the hallway. It's dark. Someone is leaning over him.

"Sweetie," he hears again, "sweetie, can you say something?"

"J-Janus?"

"There you are, my sweet prince." Janus smiles and cups his face. "Can I help you sit up for me, sweetie? I don't think the hallway is very comfortable at this point at night. There's nothing wrong with sleeping on the floor, believe me, but I think a fine prince such as yourself would be better suited to your bed."

Roman blinks again. "I'm…on the floor?"

"Yes, sweetie, you're on the floor. Do you remember how you got here?"

"I was…I was in the kitchen."

"Yes, that's right. You were making chocolate pudding."

"Why was I making chocolate pudding?"

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I believe you said it was because you've lost all control."

"That does sound like me."

He chuckles. "Now, sweet prince, can we see if we can sit you up? Come, come, lean on me…that's it, there you are."

Roman blinks a few more times as he slowly lifts himself up, holding onto Janus's shoulders. Janus slips more of his arms around his waist to help him, murmuring more encouragement in his ear as he goes. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sits up, leaning now against the wall. Janus crouches there with him, tucking his hair back behind his ear.

"Janus?"

"Mm?"

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever for, sweet prince?"

"I was—I'm—I didn't mean to—"

"I'm not angry with you, sweet prince," Janus says gently, "I promise. I'm only worried—can we get you to bed?"

"I don't want to impose—"

"Sweetie, I'm not asking you because I have some obligation, I'm worried, and I want you to be safe in your bed so you can rest." He leans down and kisses his forehead and everything is fuzzy for Roman, and he doesn't know what to do, but warm touches are warm touches and he's always been weak to a soft voice with gentle words. "So?"

"…okay."

He leans against Janus's side as they move down the hallway, opening the door into Roman's room. He pulls back the covers and lies down, leaning to help tuck him under the sheets. "There you are, sweet prince, is that better?"

"Why…why're you only nice to me when there's no one else around?"

Something shutters across his expression before it settles on something terribly sad. "I don't know, sweetie. I'm—I'm trying to be better about it, but I seem to keep messing it up."

"I don't know what to believe anymore, Janus." His voice grows thick. "I don't know whether you're going to be nice to me or hurt me."

The bed dips as Janus sits down near his head, still carding his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry, Roman. I'm so, so sorry."

"You hurt me, Janus," and now he begins to sniffle, "you—you keep hurting me."

"I'm sorry, sweetie, I'm sorry."

Janus doesn't move away, not as Roman sniffles and sobs his way through saying how much pain Janus has caused him, not when he tells him how difficult it is to keep moving forward, not even when he says how scared he is right now, with his belly showing and Janus's teeth at his metaphorical throat. He just sits there, listening, pressing kisses to Roman's hands and cheeks.

***

"Patton?"

"What is it, Roman?"

"Shut up."

Virgil mutters oh, shit. Logan takes a deep breath. Janus's shoulders tense. Remus steps closer.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Roman says through gritted teeth, "shut up. You don't know what the hell you're talking about. You don't get to talk over me like that. You don't get to act like I'm just some good-for-nothing spoiled kid that doesn't know anything."

"Now, Roman—"

"No. I've had to sit here and have you talk at me for ages. You're gonna listen to me for once." His hands ball into fists. "You don't get to act like you're the one who's always going to be right. You don't get to do that, not to me. You don't get to act like I'm the one who always comes into this sort of thing with a preconceived notion of how it's going to go. I'm the one who's tried with you. I've tried so many times to just talk to you and you never listen to me."

"That's not—"

"It is. It is true, because every fucking time I have to walk away from those 'conversations' with bruises all over me because you can't be bothered to think about what your words do to me. Because they hurt, Patton, and you don't get to act like they don't. You don't get to act like you don't know what you're doing when you tell me I'm stupid or petty or a bully, you don't get to act like you're hurting me because you don't have a choice or that it's my fault I'm getting hurt."

Remus brushes against his arm. A silent keep going.

"You don't get to act like you don't know why I'm scared of talking to you sometimes, not when you've claimed the authority to remove my fucking coping mechanisms like they're some luxury that you think I don't deserve anymore. You don't get to hold that shit over my head like you have the right to it. No, I don't want to talk about this stuff with you. No, I don't feel safe to talk about with you, and no, I don't feel bad about saying any of that because it's true."

"Those are very hurtful things to say, Roman."

"It's hurtful to tell someone they're wrong when you haven't even taken the time to actually listen to them. It's hurtful to invite someone to a 'conversation' and then just lecture them the whole time. It's hurtful to hold someone's insecurity over their head for actual fucking years and use it whenever you want because it's a convenient way to make someone listen to you."

Patton just looks at him. Roman's breath suddenly catches in his throat. He's yelling at Patton. He's yelling at Patton.

"He's right, Patton," he hears Virgil say, "you're—I'm not gonna say the rest of us are blameless here, but you're really unfair to Roman sometimes and that's not cool."

"And now, how am I supposed to react to all of these accusations? Are you all going to gang up on me now?"

"We're not ganging up on you," Logan says, "the rest of us have barely said anything."

"But you're not disagreeing with Roman."

"No, we're not, because he's right." Remus squeezes Roman's shoulder. "And you know he's right."

"I don't think it's right that he's making me out to be this big bad guy who's trying to hurt him on purpose!"

"I don't think it's right to act like we don't know what they're talking about," Janus says softly, and Patton turns to look at him, "you know we've been unfair to Roman, Patton. We've been cruel to him, almost, and even if we didn't know the effects of what we did when we did them, I think we both know better now."

"Why are you looping me in with you?"

"Because the reason Roman was so receptive to praise and positive attention was because it was so foreign to him he didn't even think to question it," he says, voice a tad sharper now, "and there's really only one person who could've started such a thing."

Patton goes quiet for a long, long moment. Then he looks at Roman. Roman flinches just at that look.

"Roman? Is…are you…did I really make this a lot worse for you?"

Trap. This is a trap. This is a trap, this is a trap, this is a trap.

"You can tell me," Patton says, which doesn't make him think it's any less of a trap, but then Janus nods at him and he manages to swallow.

"Yeah," he mumbles, "yeah, it's—it's really bad, Patton."

Silence. Remus squeezes his shoulder tightly. There's a roar of blood in his ears. Distantly, he hears Virgil mumble something to Logan and Logan starts talking. They're all talking now, but Roman can't say a thing. He's so scared. He's so scared. He's going to pass out. He's going to throw up. He's going to have a sword thrust into his chest and split his ribs.

"Roman," he hears Remus say, cutting through the fog, "Roro, you did great. You did it, it's over now. If you need to run and hide, you can. We'll take care of it. It'll be okay."

He thinks more than says I can go?

"Yeah, Roro, you can go."

Roman's gone in the blink of an eye.

***

The forest is dark. There is no moon. The sky is black. The trees loom over the clearing. The wind is bitingly cold. The grass crunches and snaps. No living creature dares move.

Roman curls up on his knees in the middle of the clearing. The wind whips across his bare skin so harshly it feels like a blade. In the dark of the night, there is no refuge from the biting cold, no place where he could go and be free of the pain ravaging him inside and out. Breath shudders out of him in pitiful clouds of steam. He shakes and trembles.

The reverberations of the approaching footsteps are so powerful that he feels them deep in his chest.

With jerky movements, he looks up. It's difficult to tell at first what's different, just because the mass is so large it's hard to distinguish it from the surrounding sky, but as he moves, the faint silhouette of the wolf becomes discernible from the forest. Glowing eyes gleam down at him, light reflecting off of the fangs, as the enormous paws come to a stop right in front of him. His head bows, his snout lowering to breath warm air across Roman's frigid form.

The wolf, unlike the other creatures in the Imagination, does not speak. Not in the way that Oliver or She-Who-Tends-The-Clouds speaks. But he knows Roman, more perhaps than any aside from Remus, and so he needn't speak to be able to communicate. He leans down, taking Roman's limp form in between his giant teeth, beginning to carry him through the woods. His tongue presses against Roman's freezing arms, trying to convey some warmth back into him, but he is too massive and too focused on carrying him to safety to be able to do something more right now.

There is no fear sweeter than the kind that curls in Roman's stomach at this moment, for what could be more terrifying than the one that carries him in his jaws? They move through the dark forest, over fallen logs and past trickling streams, deeper still into a thicket where the warm air from the valleys below has created a dense fog. A few skittering noises as different small critters move away from the wolf's path. They reach the base of a cliff and he recognizes the entrance to the wolf's den.

He's carried into the den, laid down on soft moss next to a small fire. The warmth licks at his limbs as the wolf lies down with a growl, circling him with his bulk. Roman turns and snuggles into the soft fur of the wolf's belly, hearing another soft growl that sounds almost like a huff of endearment. The fire snaps and crackles, a soothing noise as the wolf's heart beats steadily against his side. He continues to let out low huffs and growls, reassuring Roman of his presence and safety in this moment.

The fear re-surges. He retches, clapping a hand over his mouth. He curls up tighter, as if he could squeeze it from himself. The wolf growls again, a little louder, and his tails flicks up to almost cover him as though it were a blanket. He knows it is ridiculous to be scared, here, between the paws of the wolf, but he is only small and cannot help it.

Another huff of breath and the snout pushes against him.

I know, he thinks, I know it's okay to be scared, but I—I—I—

The wolf rumbles again, tongue darting out to lightly lick his hand.

Can I just be scared? Is that okay?

Another rumble, and this time he feels the wolf shift slightly so he can curl better around him. He noses gently at Roman's head, lapping at his hand again, his tail lightly tickling under his chin. He closes his eyes and leans into the gentle attention, letting the wolf protect him. The sound of the fire soothes the frantic part of his hindbrain, the fur too tempting not to burrow into just a little. He's barely the size of a thorn in the wolf's side. The wolf rumbles, lying his head down and leaning it against him so he's pressed in on all sides.

The sickness recedes ever so slightly. Exhaustion quickly replaces it. The wolf breathes slowly. Roman turns his cheek to rest against the soft fur.

***

"I just don't understand!"

"You're hurt because Roman has expressed that you've hurt him."

"Well, yeah!"

"I don't think you get to be mad at him for that, Patton."

"I'm not mad, I'm just very disappointed that—"

"Okay, no, you don't get to do that either. That's not—Patton, the reason this got as bad as it did is because Roman doesn't feel like he can express that he's upset. At you or anyone else."

"But that's—how is that fair?"

"Okay, I think we're going in circles here—look, Pat-Pat, the point here is that Roro's upset—rightfully so, and he needs to time be upset about it now that he knows it's safe for him to be upset."

"It's always been safe for him to be upset!"

"No, Patton, it hasn't."

"Not when we've been jumping all over him for just expressing how he's feeling."

"He knows he can come and talk to me, he does! I don't understand why—"

"Patton, when was the last time Roman sought you out? To talk to you, or even just to hang out?"

"…"

"Patton?"

"…oh, no."

***

It takes a long time.

Roman spends a lot of time in the Imagination. Patton can feel it, can feel how hurt Roman is and how Thomas must be feeling by association. Everyone spends more time just…existing around each other without actually doing anything.

It takes a long, long time.

Fear never completely goes away, but it does become a little less omnipresent. Pain fades, or dulls, but the memory still causes flinches.

In time.

In time.

***

"Roman?"

"Hm?"

"Any ideas?"

Roman glances up at the others. They're all looking at him expectantly. Logan raises an eyebrow and gestures for him to go on.

A slow smile spreads across his face.

"Well, I did think of something."

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[karikarasuno]

Pantone 16-1364

Pairing: Ichigo Kurosaki x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Soulmate!AU, Modern!AU, Strangers to Lovers, Dating, Domestic Fluff, Pumpkin Picking/Carving, Floor Sex, Fingering, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Sappy Feelings

Word Count: 10.9k

a/n: this was supposed to be @thegetoufather birthday fic, but life had other plans for me so i couldn’t finish it in time. but nevertheless, it is here. i hope you enjoy this, my love, my other half, my soulmate. and happy birthday, you a real one. 

The world is black and white. And maybe a little less than fifty shades of grey. For those who have fallen in love, it’s rumored that they can see a few shades more. A color called red or even blue. But for you it’s still dull, love not having awarded you those rose colored glasses you’ve heard about. Yet you still hold out hope that one day, you’ll see more, that love will find you and fill your world with something colorful. Even if it’s mild compared to what a person can see when they meet their soulmate. 

Apparently it’s a rush and a daze. It’s sudden and overwhelming. The world like nothing you could’ve ever imagined before. And you crave it. But you also force yourself to be a touch realistic. The odds of you meeting your rumored other half is unlikely. Zeus allegedly had taken that from you a millennium ago. You’ve stayed up late into the night more times in your life than you could count simply imagining what your soulmate was up to, imagining what it would be like connected so physically that you shared a body and a beating heart. 

The thought alone is too much. So you focus on other things. Like the line for Starbucks wrapping around the entire store, the afternoon rush is just as unsightly as the morning one. And you feel bad for the baristas, but you’ve been up for far too long. The weight of waking at 4am hanging heavy on your shoulders as you finished your shift at the hospital. And really all you wanted was a pumpkin spice latte. The weather finally catching up to the season in a way you thoroughly enjoyed. You place your order with the young looking girl at the register, her demeanor a bit frazzled as you specified your order and walked off to the side to wait. 

The crowd is thankfully shrinking. Bodies no longer push you off into a corner and you take your first conscious deep breath of the day. You relax as much as you can and go over the other tasks you have to do once you get home. A nap at the very top of it, if you’re being honest. Your name is called some minutes later, incorrectly but you know it’s you as you walk back up to the pick up bar to grab your drink. You give the person a small thank you, grateful to finally be heading home. That is until you bump into someone. They’re taller than you, build firmer in comparison to yours. And the force with which you slam into them has your bag slipping from your shoulder and your coffee lid popping off the top of your cup. Your blessed pumpkin spice latte spilling right over the lip and all over hand as you drop it from the shock of the heat. You could cry, the tears already burning the back of your eyeballs. There’s a series of apologies falling from the other person’s lips, a hand gripping your bicep to keep you steady, and napkins being shoved into your open hands. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. One deep breath and then a broken exhale to ground you. But when you open your eyes to look at the person keeping you up, your vision is blurry and out of focus. Like a camera lens that can’t seem to concentrate on the subject. Your head is spinning, your body feeling like it’s teetering sideways. And you see it. Colors. Too many to keep track of, all bright and bold and nauseatingly vivid. This can’t be happening, not to you, not now. Not ever if you are being honest. This is too unexpected, your control snatched straight from your fingertips as you look up at him. He’s stunning. Heartbreakingly gorgeous. And you wish you had the ability to describe the extraordinary color of his hair, the color bright enough to blind you. There’s a headache forming at your temple, a building pressure behind your eyes as you take everything in. It’s too much. You feel like a newborn first opening their eyes. A world that is too foreign suddenly appears all at once and in high definition. 

He’s staring straight back at you. The moment just containing you and him in the middle of a bustling Starbucks. But you can’t bring yourself to care about anyone else. Too enraptured by him. Your soulmate. The one ripped from you by a bitter Greek god and you get it. This is terrifying in a way you cannot comprehend. Color rises on his cheeks. Irritating you because you can’t pinpoint it. But it burns and you yearn to feel it beneath your fingertips. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, his voice gruff and astonished. It warms you from the inside out. The autumn chill long forgotten as your coat becomes stifling. 

“No.” It comes out confused and accidentally. 

“No?” He mimics, voice just as confused, but his hand tightens on your bicep as you sway. You bring a hand up to dig the heel into your eye, shutting them again in disbelief as a dizziness begins to take you. The pain in your head grows tenfold when you open your eyes again. Your vision continuously in and out as you stare at the man in front of you. 

Your soulmate. 

“This can’t be real,” you say, regaining some sort of composure as you register the napkins in your hand and the cold stickiness clinging to your scrubs. He seems quicker on his feet than you are, bending over to pick up your spilled coffee and laying some napkins down to soak up the mess. You can tell he’s still processing this. But not in the same way you are. Not in the outwardly life altering, mind numbingly slow way that you are. 

“Sorry,” he says again, stepping back to toss the soaked napkins into the nearby trash can. You’re still embarrassingly frozen in place. Too many thoughts and also none at all buzzing through your mind as you wrap your head around the situation. It is far too much. 

A barista is coming over with a mop soon enough, breaking your spell as you step aside to allow him to clean up the mess you made. He offers you a sympathetic smile, and you notice the colors of his eyes are light and a weird feeling twists in your gut when you can’t put a name to it. It’s almost like a pit of envy has rooted itself into your stomach at the fact that this is what you’ve been missing your whole life. And you can’t even identify what you’re seeing, just that your eyes have finally reached the full extent of their abilities and your brain is pounding because of it.

“Stop apologizing,” you respond, walking around the mess on the floor and closer towards him. You shift your bag onto your shoulder again, your feet feeling like they're on solid ground instead of walking on water. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No, I should’ve been more careful, but it was like you appeared out of nowhere,” his voice is distant, like he’s thinking too hard about the situation. “It must’ve been the,” he waves his hand between your bodies, gesturing vaguely to what you assume is the bond. The inevitable entangling of your soul threads that whipped you two into each other. 

“Yeah,” you nod meekly, not sure what more to say. An awkwardness so palpable settles around you two and you almost want to run. But it’s as if you no longer have control over your limbs, your feet taking you closer to him instead of towards the door like your brain is telling them to. It still seems fake to you that he’s here, the person you’re fated to be with always within a normal distance and not halfway across the world like you always thought them to be. 

“I, um,” he pauses, sensing your apprehension and giving you a moment. You’re starting to feel cold now that the coffee is no longer hot. Your clothes are just wet and uncomfortable on your skin. “I’m Ichigo.”

Ichigo. Ichigo, your soulmate. 

You swallow. Your name stutters out from between your lips and for a second you assume you said it incorrectly. Adding syllables where there are none. But when he repeats it, sounding as awestruck as you feel, your heart grows. It knocks against your ribcage and pushes out whatever air you had left in your lungs. You’re selfish all of a sudden. The need to hear him say it again tangles its way into your being and a fast greed washes over you. 

“Ichigo,” you repeat, the name supposed to be foreign on your tongue but it’s sweet and familiar. Comforting as if you’ve been saying it for lifetimes. 

You’re not sure how you made it to your apartment after that. He was heading back to work when you gathered enough brain cells to rub together to have a normal conversation. Something about some office job. But honestly your head was still reeling and your eyes were about ready to pop out of their sockets, so you exchanged numbers and went your separate ways. Except now you stand in your living room. All the furniture and decor are a mixture of colors that you can’t decide if you like or not. Rangiku had picked everything out when you moved in together a few months ago. She met her soulmate over a year ago. But she’d fallen in love prior to that so her concept of colors has always been far different from yours. 

You need an aspirin. And a shower. And a fucking nap. 

You try to keep your eyes shut for as long as you can, bracing yourself against the kitchen sink as you chug some water and two pills. The door unlocks from behind you as you wait there, Rangiku yelling that she’s home so loudly the pain in your temple sharpens. 

“You okay?” She asks as she takes off her shoes by the door and puts her things down. She sounds concerned, her voice thankfully dropping multiple decibels to a more manageable volume for you. When you open your eyes, she’s standing much closer to you than you expected. And the first thing you notice is her hair. It’s nearly the same color as Ichigo’s. And again, a pang of jealousy resonated in your chest. 

“Your hair…” You reach out to feel some of the thick tresses hanging over her shoulder. She must’ve had a blow out this morning because it’s soft and voluminous, but really, you can only concentrate on the vibrancy of the color. 

“I just got it done,” she smiles, teeth twinkling and eyes shiny. “I saw a new lady today and she was amazing. I swear she worked some magic because my hair has never looked this good.”

And she’s right. It’s glossy and strong, each strand bouncing and smooth beneath your fingertips. But again, you’re stuck on how it just reminds you of him. “The color, it's just like-” his, it’s just like his.

“Oh yeah, the hair lady said she never worked on a natural ginger before–”

“Ginger. Is that what this color is?” You force your eyes to focus on it. Force them to concentrate on the deepness of it that’s packed beautifully within each strand. 

“Wait.” Her whole body freezes, her chattiness devolving into stunned silence as she stares openly at you. There are gears turning inside her head. Her eyes are darting all over your face in rapid tiny movements and you swear the motion makes you dizzier than you already are. “You can see my hair color?”

It’s hard to respond to her. Difficult to explain the situation when you are still processing it yourself. But there’s a rising excitement coursing through her body. She has questions. So many that you don’t know how to answer. You don’t even know if you want to. 

She calls your name, emphasizing each syllable slowly, as if your hearing changed and not your eyesight. “Tell me right fucking now if you can see the color orange.”

Orange.

You’re ready to pass out. You wanted this so badly, but now you’re not sure if you can handle it. Not in this state, at least. “I met him today at Starbucks. He bumped into me and spilled my coffee everywhere and I’m so dizzy and my head hurts so bad and he’s so gorgeous and I don’t think I can do this.”

Words are flying from your mouth before you can stop them. A tornado of emotions that was swirling inside of you is now spinning out of control and straight at Rangiku. She’s pulling you into a hug though, her arms wrapping around your shoulders and the pressure helps you breathe. It alleviates some of the pain thumping against your skull and you suddenly want to cry. 

Your world is on an axis foreign to you. Gravity is a concept you’re no longer acquainted with and your soul feels like it’s not even tethered to your body anymore. 

“How did you do it? When you met Gin for the first time, how did you keep from falling apart?”

She places a sympathetic hand on your head, cradling you to her body as she just holds you. “Come on, let’s get you out of these gross clothes and into bed. You’ve had a long day.”

As soon as you are laid in bed, your blanket tucked over your shoulder and under your chin, sleep welcomes you immediately. To be fair, you’re exhausted. Meeting your soulmate was just the cherry on top of a sleep deprived day. And if you didn’t wake up some odd hours later— pain in your head gone, but colors still attacking your vision— you would’ve sworn it was some fatigue induced delirium. But no. Your duvet is a pretty light shade of something and there’s a rug at your bedside that’s fluffy and a deeper shade of something else. The curtains are white, at least that much you know. So for a fact, you didn’t imagine him. Him and his orange hair and stunning eyes and strong hand. Your bicep is still warm from where he gripped you, almost as if he branded it into your skin from just one brief meeting. 

It’s difficult enough to thumb through all of your muddled feelings. But oddly, there is an overwhelming sense of relief. Like some weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying around for so long has somehow lifted and you’re lighter. Is this how Rangku feels? Like she’s floating?

You find her in the living room when you finally muster the strength to pull yourself out of bed for the second time today and see her with her hair tied up messily on her head as she paints her toenails. The tv is playing some random real estate reality show she’s been trying to get you to watch and her tongue sticks out the corner of her mouth with concentration. You don’t make a noise at first, not wanting to disrupt her when she’s already on her pinky toe and you know damn well she will fuck up if you interrupt her. So when she’s done, a satisfied grin on her face, you plop down beside her with a heavy, huffy breath. 

“Your head still hurt?” She glances your way, sympathetic but ready to pry. She won’t ask anything if you’re still in pain, regardless of if she’s dying to know. So while her question comes from concern, it’s also laced with her own self interest. 

“No,” you say, nudging her shoulder away with your palm, “just hurry up and ask me your questions.” 

“I need every single detail. What does he look like? How did you meet? Is he tall? I need an estimate too, like feet an-”

“You’re gonna make my head hurt again if you don’t stop,” you laugh, heat touching your cheeks from the memories she’s pulling from your brain that’s still slightly foggy from sleep and distant pain. Her features soften, a tiny, excited smile on her face as she waits for you to respond. You bring your hands up to hold your cheeks in your palms, still warm to the touch as you try to decide where to start first. Images of Ichigo flash through your mind and you wonder how to even describe him to her. And you’re positive that if he wasn’t your soulmate and you didn’t meet him for the first time in dazzling colors, you would still find him dizzyingly attractive. 

“Go on then,” she urges, nudging your calf with her foot, careful not to press her freshly painted toes onto your sweats. 

“Well, his name is Ichigo.” And the story flows forth from you with ease like a rush of water lapping at the sandy shores, the words never ending as her questions meet your thoughts halfway. It’s late into the evening when you manage to end the conversation, she ordered takeout before you woke up, already knowing you’d be too tired to want to cook anything. She pulled out her laptop too, finding those flashcards you use in kindergarten to show you all the basic colors. You recognized very few. Black, grey, white, and now orange. But there are so many more that you wondered how someone could choose a favorite. 

Red is nice, it comes in so many shades you find yourself drawn to the darker ones. Blue is wonderful too, the pastel ones especially pretty. But you aren’t sure if it’s just your newfound bias because of a certain someone, that your eyes always linger on orange. 

The next time you see Ichigo is at a local cafe. It’s small and one of your favorite spots, so when he suggested it you jumped at the opportunity. It’s been a week or so since you first bumped into him. The week drainingly long and cumbersome. Your shifts seemed to last forever, the residents up your ass with misplaced pride, and you just wanted to go home. Your only saving grace is Ichigo. He likes to text you sporadically throughout the day, but never too late and never too early. He’s the one who actually reached out first, the day you met he texted you at around dinner time. A simple hey and you were smiling like an idiot at your phone for twenty minutes. 

Since then conversation was easy if not a bit stilted at the beginning. You found out he works at a publishing company in the children’s literature department as an editor and translator. Which admittedly tickled you because he didn’t seem the type. And when you told him just that he was adamant that there couldn’t be a ‘type’ to childrens lit. You decided not to die on this hill, even though riling him up was proving to be particularly entertaining. 

“See anything you like?” He asks over the menu, peeking up at you curiously. You’ve been taking turns stealing glances since you arrived a few minutes after he did. Your memory of him really didn’t do him any justice. He is slightly tanner than you remember, his eyes a stunning shade of what you now know is brown. It’s light and warm, very welcoming on his otherwise serious face. 

“I had my eye on the roasted red pepper pesto sandwich, probably with a side of chips.” Your eyes drift down the menu, reciting your usual order by memory since you haven’t paid a lick of attention to the menu since you’ve arrived. 

“Hmmm, that looks good,” he says inquisitively, his eyebrows furrowing in thought and you can’t help but admire how endearing he looks, with his lips in a thin line and his brows pinched together. He traces a knuckle down the laminated menu, running through the options again as he clearly struggles to choose one. 

“It’s really good, it’s one of the only vegetarian dishes so my options are limited, but it’s actually delicious.” 

“You’re vegetarian?” His eyebrows quirk up interested. You nod, placing the menu face up in front of you to look at him fully, instead of between glances that didn’t belong to you. 

“Not a big fan of the texture of meat, so I stopped eating it a while back,” you explain, somehow expecting an adverse reaction from him, but he simply reciprocates your stare. Taking in the information and storing it. 

He, on the other hand, ends up ordering a traditional breakfast sandwich– fried egg (sunny side up), bacon (not too crispy), and provolone cheese all on a croissant. 

“Breakfast for lunch?” You ask teasingly after the orders are placed and the waitress takes your menus. He smiles at you, small and endearing before he reclines more comfortably in his seat– gaze unwavering from yours. 

“I skipped it this morning because I was in a rush to get to work. I hate doing that, though, because it throws off my entire day when I don’t have breakfast.” Interesting, you think. You’re usually one to skip breakfast anyway, with how demonically early you have to get up to be ready for your shift at the hospital. 

You don’t answer him, just stare. Which is probably odd, maybe unnerving, but you still haven’t been able to quite comprehend the fact that he’s real. And seems just as interested in you as you are him. Especially with the way he meets your stare without any sort of shame. When the food arrives you’re pleased to see the vast arrays of colors that decorate your plates. You never expected for food to be so colorful. It’s fun. 

Ichigo runs a knife down the center of his sandwich, drags the serrated edge across the ceramic plate and you watch as a gooey bright color seeps from its center. Rangiku taught this one to you too, but the name is escaping you right about now. 

“What color is that?” You ask before you can reel the question back in, before you can think of whether he would even know it. But he looks up at you and then back at his plate. 

“This one?” He gestures with his knife to what you presume is the egg’s yolk, having seen it before but always assuming it would be a muted grey. You couldn’t have been more wrong. You nod to urge him to go on and he thinks for a moment, running the color wheel through his head like you have been doing all week and says, “it’s yellow.”

You’re dying to ask him if he’s seen it before. If colors began to make their debut in his life long before you met each other. But with a question like that comes talk of love– past love, maybe even pained love. Has his heart ever been broken? You’re not sure if you want to know. You’ve seen heartbreak on Rangiku when you two were teenagers. It wasn’t pretty. It scared you into believing that maybe a world in color wasn’t worth it. 

“That’s not what I thought egg yolks would look like,” you laugh, shaking your head and sitting back in your seat. Your sandwich hosts an array of colors as well. The red you knew already, it’s in the name. But the green of the pesto is what surprises you when you lift the food to your face. 

“Have you never seen colors before?” The question gives you pause, a squirming uncomfortable feeling starts to root around in your stomach because the implication is all you hear. The underlying question rings, have you never been in love before?

“Have you?” Slight defense in your tone, but mainly curiosity. A burning red begins to blossom up his neck and tinge the tip of his ears. He realizes the hinting nature behind his own question once it was thrown back at him. He’s embarrassed. 

“Uh, yes.” The squirming feeling rises to your chest, threatening to ink your heart with murky emotions. “Obviously never like this. Not until I met you.”

You nod and clear your throat. You shove some of the sandwich into your mouth and take a larger than necessary bite to avoid saying anything. To avoid having to say something when you didn’t know what. It’s not fair to feel this way. You had lives before each other. Lives without each other. And you’ve known him for all of 8 days, but there’s a seed that has been planted and is growing at a rate you have no control over. Maybe it’s your soulmate bond. Or maybe you’re just hopeless. 

“We were together in high school,” he starts, unprompted by you, but feeling the overwhelming urge to explain. “Broke up in college, the distance kinda drove us apart since we went to different universities. It didn’t end badly or anything, though.”

“Do you still talk?” You’re jealous, you realize a second too late. The question flies from your head and you suddenly feel like you’re being intrusive. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

Your cheeks are warm, your hands slightly clammy, so you take another bite out of your sandwich. 

“Not really,” he shrugs. “We share mutual friends since we’ve known each other for so long. She’s actually engaged to her soulmate. She met him not too long after we ended things actually.”

Oh, you feel kind of bad now for asking something so private. But he doesn’t look dejected or bitter when he says it. Mostly indifferent, but you’re not sure if it’s a mask or if he truly means it. 

“You?”

Your head whips up to look at him. Heart fluttering because you forgot this conversation started with you. You were too caught up in his past to remember what even brought it up. 

“Um,” you fidget in your seat, feeling awkward now, which is probably how he felt. The seat too hot to sit in. “I dated a guy a few years ago and nothing really came of it. Not anything colorful, anyway.”

He hums, finally biting through his sandwich. Yolk smears across his bottom lip and you want to wipe it clean. The yellow is much more transparent on his lip, the skin there dusted with red. And you want to kiss him. So badly it’s sort of jarring. But you don’t, obviously. He catches you staring when he looks up. A tension that was not here before enveloping the entire table and you wish you could take a photo of him at this exact moment. His jacket is still on, his hands cradling the sandwich between long fingers, and his brown eyes sucking you into him. But it’s not that you’re dying to capture. It’s the sunlight that beams through the wide window you sit beside. The autumn rays bouncing off of his hair and the orange absorbs the light like it is meant for him. Like the sun is his. And you’re helplessly orbiting him. 

For two weeks, meeting him once your shift ends and during his lunch hour becomes routine. Weekends are a trickier battleground since plans had already been made in advance and therefore much tougher to align your schedules. But lunch is simple. Your text threads now consist of options of what to try next. Some new while others are old favorites you want to share with each other. 

You also find that sharing with him is terrifyingly easy. From family history to embarrassing high school experiences to your drunken escapades with Rangiku. It is all divulged in a single hour with a table separating you and food as your only other company. But sometimes the topics are tougher to navigate. When Ichigo told you that he lost his mother at a young age forcing him to step up and help his father care for his younger twin sisters it was over two bowls of soup– yours tomato bisque and his french onion. But most times they are much lighter, like when you find out he’s not a big fan of sweets. You had offered him a bite of your brownie and he physically recoiled. He had a tendency for physical reactions, most of the time to express disgust which you teased him relentlessly for. You caught the both of you by surprise one afternoon when he scowled at something you said, your thumb coming up to smooth out the creases that formed between his eyebrows whenever he did that.

Touching him also comes just as easy as everything else. He’s always moving pieces of hair from your face and you developed a quick habit of holding onto his arm whenever the two of you walk through crowded streets or busy restaurants. Your first kiss is actually shared at a crosswalk. The temperature that day dipped into something brisk and chilly. You were sleepier than usual so you found comfort in resting against him and allowing him to take the lead to your destination. In your state of half paying attention, you tripped over a chunk of lifted cement on the sidewalk as you were about to cross the street. But he caught you with strong arms around your waist. The sleepiness that was weighing down your eyelids disappeared with a gust of wind and suddenly your face was pressed into his broad chest. Your heart had probably stopped because you could no longer feel it beating in your chest when you looked up at him. The world had seemed to slow down, your mind filtering out everyone but him. You’re not sure who made the first move. It’s hard to remember when all that clouds that memory is the perfect brush of his lips against yours. And then he was pulling away before you could even register that the kiss had happened. He was blushing again, finally asking if you were okay and smiling when all you could do was nod at him. The alarming noise of the crosswalk signaling for you to hurry and cross the street was the only thing that tore you from that moment. Because you swear you could have kissed him forever. 

And kissing him is all you want now that your day shifts have turned into overnights for the week. You didn’t realize you could miss someone so badly until you and Ichigo started functioning on opposite schedules. You ache for him. Your soul throbs to be near him. And it does feel like losing a limb when you’re not together. The string of fate is taut and ready to snap from how terribly you yearn for him. Zeus is a bitch for carving humanity in half. 

Still, Ichigo finds ways to make you smile. Oftentimes staying up later than you know he’s used to. Or even offering to drop off food on his way home from work while you get ready to start your shift for the night. You take him up on it one night, no longer bothered by the idea of inconveniencing him because you just want to see him. He shows up on your doorstep with some takeout. His nose is tinted pink from the cold and hair windswept from walking from the parking lot to your apartment. 

“I picked up some food from that Thai spot you’ve been mentioning. I guessed a little on what you would want.” He holds up the bag, the smell already warming you and your stomach grumbles as a result. He chuckles at the sound as he strides into your apartment, toeing off his shoes near the door before bending over to kiss your cheek. You’re still in your loungewear, and you initially felt self-conscious about not changing for him but he doesn’t seem to pay it much attention. Instead gazing around your apartment with acute fascination. There are signs of you and Rangiku all over the place. An organized mess of diy projects half started and miscellaneous knick knacks you and her find whenever you go thrifting and have to buy. 

You also started experimenting with color, buying unnecessary amounts of blankets or decorative pillows or wall art simply because you enjoy the colors schemes. There is a mirror lying on your dining room table, painter’s tape lining the edges with some tentative strokes of yellow framing the outer corners. 

“You paint?” He places the takeout on the bar counter that separates the kitchen from the living room, staring curiously at the project on your table. 

“Not exactly,” you laugh, not wanting to call whatever smears of acrylic on glass painting. “I saw someone do this on TikTok and I thought it would be a good way to learn colors. There are so many shades of just one color when I walked into the crafts store a couple weeks ago I thought my head was gonna explode.”

You remember trying to find the yellow that resembled yolk, but instead fell face first into a color called mustard that you couldn’t stop yourself from buying. There were about twelve other colors you left with that day, your wallet not the happiest with you but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

“What’s this supposed to be?” He asks innocently, head tilted to the side as he takes in the wobbly paint. His eyes are narrowed as he scrutinizes it, it’s his thinking face which you’ve grown quite fond of. You smile as you watch him, finally feeling more like yourself than you have these last few days.

“I’ll serve us our food and then I’ll show you the video I’m talking about.”

He joins you for dinner, but when the time comes for him to leave it’s still too soon. You even contemplate calling out just so you could spend the rest of the night sitting on your couch with him. But he’s far more responsible than you are, level headedly telling you that you should probably go in and that Saturday his day is free. An excited feeling flurries around your chest because this is the first Saturday you’ve had available too, so you promise it to each other. A new motivation simmers under your skin as you go about the rest of your week. Knowing that by the end of it, you and Ichigo will have more than just an hour together. 

“Gin is picking me up soon,” Rangiku shouts from her bedroom so you can hear her in yours. She has luggage rolled out by the door, the apartment having turned into her extended closet as she packed for her getaway trip with Gin. Somewhere tropical. 

“Lucky you,” you say as you walk into her room. She’s still throwing things into a small backpack when you do. “Having a sugar daddy to whisk you away to fancy places.”

She rolls her eyes at you, throwing a stray sleepshirt at your face. “He is not my sugar daddy, he just likes to spoil me.”

Her smile brightens at the thought of him. And before you would get jealous of the far off lovey look on her face, but you are starting to think you look the same whenever you think of Ichigo.

You’re going to a pumpkin patch with him today, the leaves all sorts of pretty colors and you wouldn’t trade some beach vacation for it any day. 

“You’ll have the apartment all to yourself this weekend,” she says, cutting your thoughts in half. You don’t miss the suggestive tone in her voice. Your cheeks are heating in response. “Any fun plans?”

“Just hanging out with Ichigo later today. He’s taking me to pick out a pumpkin that we’re probably gonna carve. Maybe make some dinner together.” You try to keep your voice light and level, occupying yourself by unplugging her charger from the wall beside her bed since it’s the one thing she never fails to forget. 

“Just hanging out,” she nods, sitting on the edge of her bed with a sly smile on her face. She takes the charger from you, but not her eyes from your face. You hate that you know what she’s thinking. Because it’s been whirling around in your brain, the fact that you two will be alone together. In your home. Just the two of you. Your mind has wandered too many times to even count and your body flushes in response. 

“That’s the plan,” you shrug, hoping she lets the conversation end here and sitting beside her.

“I sure as hell hope not. It’s been fucking forever for you and you deserve some head, at least.”

“Rangiku!” Your entire body is burning and you’re not the type to shy away from conversations like this, but Ichigo makes you feel so oddly shy and you don’t want to fuck up whatever you have with him by being too forward. 

“It’s the truth, bitch. You’re overworked and under pleasured,” she laughs, your face scrunching up at her.

“What is wrong with you?” 

“You love me,” she giggles and hugs you to her chest, totally pleased with herself.

“So there must be something wrong with me then?” You joke, wiggling from her tight embrace and getting up from her bed. There’s a knock on the door that interrupts her retort and her eyes twinkle at the sound of it. “Go get your man,” you sigh exaggeratedly, barely hiding your own happiness for her. 

She squeals and gets up from her seat, practically skipping towards the door and leaving you alone. You do an additional once over of her things, making sure she isn’t forgetting anything important. Not like it matters much when she can buy whatever she’s missing wherever they land. 

“Oh, hi,” you hear her greeting rise in pitch, sounding surprised which doesn’t make any sense. 

“Hello.” Oh god, it’s Ichigo. His familiar voice matches the surprised tone of Rangiku’s. Panic is rising in your chest, afraid of what nonsense will come from her mouth. You practically run out into the hall, ready to stop the train before it wrecks itself. 

“You’re early,” you say breathlessly, glad that you had the foresight to be up and dressed by now– hair done and up in a claw clip. 

“I am?” You check your phone for the time, and yeah he’s about an hour early, but you can’t complain because you’re more than happy to see him. Less excited about the unexpected introductions you now have to do. 

“Just a little, but that’s okay.” Rangiku is smiling between the two of you, eyes even more sparkly than they were before, this time with something you should be slightly worried about. “This is-”

“Rangiku,” she finishes for you, holding out her hand for him to shake. “And you must be Ichigo.”

He takes her hand firmly, and you almost want to tease him for reverting into the shy side of him. He’s sometimes reserved, but him meeting Rangiku and being a little speechless makes you chuckle under your breath at him. 

“I am,” he clears his throat, finally walking over the threshold once Rangiku moves out of his way. “I’m assuming I’ve been talked about.” 

He slides his eyes in your direction, a hardened glance that has a playfulness behind it. One that sends a shiver down your spine involuntarily. 

“Mmm, in various degrees,” Rangiku adds, not missing the way his look made you react. Ichigo’s eyebrows raise, inquisitive and asking for more information through his expression.

“Nothing crazy,” you explain because it really hasn’t been anything crazy, Rangiku just likes pushing your buttons. He hums in response, not saying anything to her amusement. He has a small bag in his hand that you missed when he initially walked in, placing it onto your dining room table that is now clear of the mirror that you were painting. 

“I bought carving stuff from that store you like in downtown,” he says as he starts unbagging the items he bought. You notice a tube of paint rolling in the bag, sneaking an arm under his and plucking it from the plastic.

“What’s this?” You’re twirling the paint between your fingers and looking for the name, it seems like a shade of green but very light.

“I saw it and thought of you.” He feigns nonchalance, shrugging one shoulder and flicking his eyes over the other to find Rangiku smugly staring from the kitchen. “It’s sage green.”

You find the label name as he says it, running a finger over the word sage and already thinking of what colors it would pair nicely with. It’s sweet that he thinks of you, buys things that remind him of you. Your chest goes tight, and it should be uncomfortable but you’ve never felt more at ease. 

“Thank you,” you smile fondly his way, wanting to lean over and kiss him, but restraining yourself since you have company who will very much ruin the moment. He nods, and you can tell the same thought is running through his head because he steps towards you before stopping halfway. 

Not too long later, Gin stops by to grab Rangiku for their trip. As they are walking out she makes sure to call over her shoulder, “you kids have fun, but don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” And you almost strangle her for being so ridiculous as she winks and then scurries away into her soulmate’s arms. 

Ichigo sighs once you two are alone, visibly relaxing now that Rangiku is gone. His hand finds your waist almost immediately, and you hadn’t realized how tense you were until the warmth of his palm is staining your skin through your sweater. 

“Come on,” he says, bending slightly at the waist to whisper against the shell of your ear. Goosebumps tighten your skin and you suppress a shiver, eyes blinking slowly. “These pumpkins aren’t gonna pick themselves.” 

You snort out a laugh, elbowing his side and he grunts like it actually hurt him. “You’re lame.” 

Picking out the perfect pumpkins proves to be a stressful process. Ichigo is pickier than you would’ve assumed, his eyes scrutinizing each one. You decide to part ways to choose your own. And when you reconvene he has managed to find the most perfect one, it’s smooth all the way around, the shape almost cartoonishly pristine. Like he drew it himself and molded it with his fingers. It’s a good size too, not too big and not too small. 

You, on the other hand, pick out two pumpkins. One humongous and hard to carry. It’s slanted to the left and dotted with pimpled skin. The other is the complete opposite, tiny and cute with a long stem sticking out the top. 

“We agreed on one each,” he narrows his eyes, sticking his choice under his arm in an attempt to help you with yours. 

“This one is so small it hardly counts,” you argue, trying to swat his hand away to show him you can carry it yourself, but it’s up and out of your arms before you can fight him off. He makes the pumpkin look like a normal size with the way he holds it against his chest with an arm wrapped around the circumference. You’re upset that he makes it look so easy, but your body heats up when you recognize how broad he is. Wishing it was you in his arms instead of those damn pumpkins. 

“It 100% counts.” He walks over to the little old lady under one of the tents set up on the outskirts of the field. You move to pull out the cash in your wallet to pay her since his hands are full, but before you can wrestle it from the bottom of your purse he’s already handed her money with the pumpkins securely in his arms. 

“You’re so impatient, y’know that?” 

“I’m not impatient,” he argues back, shifting the pumpkins in his arms and heading towards the car. “Now hurry up, my fingers are frozen.” 

At the apartment, the pumpkin carving is a disaster. He’s hopeless when it comes to any kind of creativity. Every time you cut into the thick skin he swears he has no idea what you’re trying to make and your stomach hurts from laughing so hysterically at all of his faces of frustration. 

“It’s literally just a face, Ichigo,” you breathe heavily to even put your breaths from laughing at him. 

“A weird one,” he grumbles, grabbing some seeds and pulp that you scraped out when you first started and tossing it at you. The cold wet strings stick to your neck and sweater and you gasp from the feeling. When you turn your face to look at him, he’s hiding a laugh behind his hand. His shoulders shake from the restraint and you’re positive your expression is only fueling him.

You lean over to grab a fistful of the squishy contents, cringing at how gross it feels but then repaying the gesture by throwing it at him. He tries to dodge it, but it lands right on his collarbone and shoulder, one of the seeds finding its way into the hair behind his ear. His eyes are wide when he meets your eyes, a glint of something devious in them and your instinct is to run. But he’s quick, and his hand already finds some more and as you’re jumping from your seat he hits you right across your torso. 

“You’re making a mess,” you scream over your shoulder, using the chair as a barricade to separate you two. You make a fast break to the right, grabbing whatever is left of the pumpkin insides and raising your arm. 

“For the record,” you exhale on a laugh, “you started this.” 

The pulp flies from your hand and in his direction. His reflexes are faster than you imagined them to be because he dodges with ease. A squeal leaves your throat as you spin and run in the opposite direction. He’s chasing you all around the apartment as you throw the decorative pillows you had lying around the living room at him to keep him away. 

You’re out of breath. The air in your lungs fighting against every laugh and scream you steal from it. You barrel into your bedroom, kicking the door open with your side and stumbling on your carpet. When you look back at him, he’s cleanly jumped over the couch, now only arms distance away. You have no time to shut your door, but you also have no intention to. You’re tired and panting. Your bedroom is completely dark as you run further inside of it. The sun set probably an hour ago, time taken from you like it only does when you want it to slow down. 

Your guard is down. Your chest heaving from the lack of oxygen circulating and you’re in his arms anyway. He’s wrapped them around your middle, fingers digging into your sides to keep you from wigging out of his embrace. 

“Are you done?” His voice is rugged and heavy, dipping lower as he also tries to catch his breath. Your thighs clench in response with a will of their own and your stomach twists when his hot breath fans across your neck. You kick out your legs half heartedly, stubbornly not wanting to admit to him that you have given up the fight.

Ichigo’s grip tightens, and you feel the expanse of his chest fill against your back when he inhales deeply. He tickles your sides, pulling out a surprised laugh from you as you squirm and try to get away from him.

“I’m done!” You shout between laughs, pulling at his fingers with your hands. “I promise! I'm done!”

“You won’t run away from me?” He asks, fingers pausing but his hold is still as tight. 

“No, I won’t,” you sigh, pressing most of your weight into him. “Pinky promise.”

You hold up your pinky, not even sure if he can see it in the darkness of your bedroom. He loosens his arms and your feet fall flat on the floor. You turn to face him, pinky still in the air and you can just barely make out his features. His orange hair is one of the only things visible so that’s what you focus on. He wraps his pinky around yours, your bodies still flush together. 

You tilt your head up at the same time that his bends towards you. His nose brushes the slope of your own, and you share a breath. One that’s stuttered and charged. 

“Can I-,”

“Yes,” you gasp, tugging on his pinky and slotting your lips together. His are soft and taste like original Chapstick. You briefly wonder when he put some on because they’re smooth like it’s been freshly applied. You grab hold of his shirt, fisting it and refusing to let him go. Not this time. You want him completely uninterrupted. You want to kiss him until your lips swell and your cheeks burn. 

His arms are around your waist again, his hands twisting your sweater between his fingers and you are so firmly carved against his body you can feel his abdomen tense against your torso. 

He tries to take a step towards your bed, the intention clear enough, but when you try to follow suit your foot catches on the edge of your shaggy rug. Neither of you are paying enough attention to regain your balance. The kiss breaks and your bodies are stumbling backwards and landing on the soft rug with an umph. He somehow twisted his body in a way so that he’s not resting most of his weight on top of you, instead you’re laying side by side, limbs entangled in each other. 

There’s a heady moment of silence, one that still lingers with fresh desire but is tinged with a relief that’s comical. He breaks the silence first with a chuckle. It’s pressed into the top of your hair, the vibrations rattling around your skull. It has you joining him, a surprised laugh of your own bubbling up from your chest. 

“You’re always tripping over yourself,” he says, the hand that used to be caught in the fabric of your sweater slipping beneath until he’s touching bare skin. 

“You usually do a better job of catching me,” you tease, brushing some of his hair from his forward. His bangs have grown some since you first met and he looks even more endearing when he’s unkempt. 

“I was kind of distracted,” he whispers, his forehead knocking against yours as his hand slips deeper beneath your clothes. You will your body to relax, fight the shiver that’s threatening to tense your body and just feel his hand exploring your exposed skin. 

“Doing what?” You crane your neck so that your lips are merely a centimeter apart again, nails lightly scratching through the hair on the back of his head. 

“This.” And he’s closing the distance again, his lips now tasting like yours. The strawberry lipgloss you swore was gone by now still taints the taste of each open mouthed kiss. You slide your tongue against his bottom lip, asking for more. You sense that you catch him by surprise because his lips part but around a deep groan. One that has the hair on your arms standing and your hips rolling forward against his. 

He moves to your neck, hands becoming desperate in the way that they map out your frame. He rolls so that he’s hovering over your body— tongue licking at the space just above your collarbone. Your head lulls to the side to give him better access, your eyes closing instinctively when he sucks tenderly at the skin there. 

The black that overwhelms your vision frightens you though, for once not used to it after so long of it being your only companion. You nudge him so that he’s sitting up, and your heart aches when you can’t see his eyes. Or the look of concern you know that’s there. 

“Wait,” you rise to your elbows, your voice only air with how breathy you sound. He doesn’t move, just waits patiently for you to say something else. Worried that something is wrong. But instead of reassuring him you worm out from beneath him, arm rising above your head as you twist your torso to reach the lamp that resides on your bedside table. 

The room is immediately filled with a golden glow when you tap the base. The colors that you thought were beginning to fade flooding your senses to remind you that it’s true. That you aren’t dreaming this. Or having some expertly wild delusion. That your soulmate is here and offering you a kaleidoscope of new beginnings. 

“I wanna see,” you explain, hand coming up to rest on his cheek. “ All my life I’ve been living in shadows. Let me see you.” 

His eyes soften, irises like melted chocolate. He understands you. Better than anyone ever has before. It could be proof of the bond that’s destined to tie you together. Or proof that Ichigo is someone like no other. He has a presence that you can no longer live without. And you are terrifyingly in love with him. You don’t have to know what love is like to know what the feeling that clouds your senses is. It makes you want to run but not away from it, straight into its embrace without the fear of uncertainty holding you back.

You pull him in for another kiss. Less rushed, but purposeful. He takes his time undressing you, eyes lingering and stalling on every new exposed inch of your skin. You thought you’d feel the prickling of self-consciousness whenever this moment came, but you have never felt more self-assured. He kisses his way down your body, lips paying special attention to the spots that make you whine. That makes your fingers curl against his arms. 

He’s stripped down to his underwear and is now towering over your completely naked form. You reach for him, wanting him impossibly close, but he grabs your wrist to stop you. His eyes burn with an unwavering desire and you could explode just from the heat of his gaze, so you don’t understand why he’s stopping. When you open your mouth to question him, when you rise to your elbows to ask him if he’s okay, he stops you with a large hand against your stomach to push you back down onto your back. 

“How do you like to be touched?” It’s innocent within itself, but the circumstances are anything but. The shyness you assumed was far away is creeping into your brain as you fail to answer him. 

“I-, just touch me,” you say, hoping that it’s enough to urge him to continue. But he leans over so that his face is just over yours, eyes even more intense with the reflection of the golden light. 

“No,” he says firmly, brows furrowing like they always do when he’s frustrated or thinking too hard about something. “Teach me how to touch you.” 

Your eyes flutter close, heat that couldn’t get any hotter flaming throughout your core and you toss your head back against the carpet. Your chest rises with a broken inhale, your mind glitching momentarily at his words. 

“Fuck- uh, okay,” you swallow, finding his wrist and wrapping your fingers around it. You place his hand at the base of your neck, pushing it down to feel the weight of his palm there. You hear his breath hitch, too busy focusing on the feeling of his hand moving across your skin to see it for yourself. 

You drag it down further, using the confidence that’s simmering somewhere within your blood to guide his hand across your breasts. 

“Squeeze,” you pant when his fingers envelope the sensitive skin. Your nipple is already pebbled beneath his hand and you moan when he follows your direction. There’s a trembling vulnerability to this moment. A comforting one that forces you to keep going. 

“Like this?” He asks when he squeezes again, taking his thumb and dragging it over your hardened nipple. 

“Mmm,” you hum, not able to do much else other than enjoy him. But you tighten your fingers around his wrist once more to push him down even further. Straight between your parted legs where you already feel the slick begin to gather and wet your inner thighs. Your breath halts in your throat, stuck against the walls of your trachea as his fingers slip between your folds. 

He moans with you this time, parting your lips and gathering as much of your slick as he can on his fingers while you limply hold his wrist. You take your other hand and slide your fingers between his, touching yourself alongside him when you focus his fingertips against your clit. 

“P-pressure,” you stutter, hips canting to meet his firm circles. “Just like that.”

Your head is swimming with lust, a sickeningly warm pleasure caresses your veins as you lose yourself. You’re no longer concentrating on guiding him, perfectly content in leaving him alone to learn your body on his own. He moves his fingers down to your entrance, fingertips prodding at the opening without dipping inside like you so badly want him to. 

“Ichigo,” you sigh with enough need that has him looking up at you inside of where his fingers meet your sex. “Please.”

His shoulders slump forward and his chin falls towards his chest. If you didn’t know any better he’d look like he was in pain. The muscles all over his body pulled taut and tense. He’s slipping two fingers inside of you then and you clench harshly around them. You’re unable to breathe properly, not with how he curls them upward in search of the spongy tissue you know is there. You force yourself to keep your eyes open and trained on him, unwilling to lose every frame of him he is giving you. 

His other hand moves over to palm over the tent in his briefs, harshly rolling the heel of his palm against his cock and guilt pulls in your chest at the sight of it. There’s a dark spot forming where his tip is and your mouth waters at that thought of how he might taste in your tongue. But you can’t focus on it for too long when Ichigo manages to press against your swollen walls, using that motion to drag his palm over your clit at the same time. 

“Oh,” your head falls to the side, neck no longer able to hold it up as he focuses entirely on forcing you to the edge. His fingers are targeting every nerve ending that’s there, and there’s a fuzziness clouding your vision as he drives you towards your release. You can barely note from your peripheral that he’s pulled himself from his boxers, his long fingers wrapped around his cock and stroking himself at the speed with which he’s touching you. 

The sight has your heart racing and your clit throbbing in anticipation. Your hands are gripping the tresses of the rug at your sides, and your moans are rising in pitch the closer you get to your release. Your thighs close around his wrist when he groans your name roughly. You vaguely comprehend that it’s a plea for you to come. But the tone scratches at your brain and before you can understand the pressure that’s built in your gut, your back bows off the floor and your vision spots with noisy mosaics of color. All you can hear is your own voice catching in your vocal chords and the brief gasp of his name as waves of unadulterated pleasure wash over you. 

He doesn’t stop until your back is safely pressed onto the floor again, his fingers slowing inside of you before he’s pulling out altogether. You wince at the emptiness, blinking your eyes back open and wondering when you allowed them to close. 

You’re satisfied and your limbs are so heavy. Your brain is mostly mushy endorphins and the first signs of sleepiness are beginning to make an appearance when your eyesight goes wonky. 

It’s not until you see him fully, and the blush that’s coating his skin. The blossoming redness that stains his cheeks all the way to the tip of his weeping cock that your walls flutter again with the hopes of feeling him inside of you. 

“Let me,” you sit up and reach for him like you did earlier, this time solely wanting to hold him in the palm of your hand. He’s sticky from the precum that’s been dripping from his head. And your mouth waters again with the need to wrap your lips around him. It’s like he can sense where your thoughts have taken you because he’s laying you back down with a hand to your shoulder.

“Next time.”

“But-,”

“Next time,” he promises, stealing any retorts from your lips with a heated kiss. His tongue swipes into your mouth and you nearly forget how wound up he must be. Every kiss is punctuated with a rumbling sigh straight from his chest. He's maneuvering the two of you onto your sides, pillowing your head on his bicep as he continues to mold your lips together. You automatically hook your leg over his hip, his cock slotting between your thighs and slipping easily through the mess of your pussy. 

“Shit,” he pauses, panting against your mouth when he pulls away. You whine for him to continue, body screaming for him to bury himself inside of you. “I don’t have a condom.”

The white noise that was raging in your ear drums dials down and you breathe out a small laugh. You meet his gaze and you see the apprehension there, making you kiss the tip of his nose and rub a thumb over his heated cheek. 

“It’s been a while for me, so I’m clean,” you explain, your heart thudding against your ribcage. “I don’t have one either so if you want to wait we can, but if you’re comfortable…”

You let your sentence trail off, still stroking his cheek with your thumb as you wait for his response. 

“I am too,” he starts, breathing gentle puffs across your face. “Clean.”

“So then, fuck me, Ichigo.” You grip his hair between your fingers and gently tug it. His entire body shudders at the action and you grind down so that his head catches your entrance. He hugs you to him, face moving to bury itself in your neck as he thrusts into you. You can tell he meant to go slower, that he meant to take his time inching his way into your cunt, but your patience is wearing thin. And so you match his thrust with a roll of your own and in one motion he’s seated between your walls with a stuttered groan dampening your neck as his grip on your hip becomes bruising. 

Your sweaty bodies stick to each other as he continues to drive in and out of you. You’re sensitive from your first orgasm, so being full like this saturates every thought and feeling and function that should come naturally. His pace is rhythmic, every drag of his cock perfectly timed with each exhale. You drop your forehead into his shoulder, losing sense of yourself because you can only think of him. And his strong frame and soft lips and thick cock. 

It’s too much. There’s a sharp tug in your stomach, a warning that you’re about to come again. Your fingers unconsciously strengthen their hold on Ichigo’s hair, and you smear a kiss across his shoulder and wherever your lips can reach. 

“M’gon-,” the words are punched from you when his thrusts harden, his hips smacking against you in rapid succession. 

“Cum with me,” he barely grits out between a clenched jaw. “Fuck, please.” 

“Ichi,” you moan, high pitched and shattered. This one is harder than the last, instead of colors gracing your screwed shut eyes, it’s just white. Pure, untainted white. 

He's pulling out of you suddenly and with hardly enough time to aim his cum anywhere. Instead it rushes out in hot spurts all over your pussy, the temperature covering your sensitive clit and jolting your hips back in surprise. His arms are securely around you as he comes down. As you both breathe in jagged breaths of air to compensate for all the ones you lost. 

When you open your eyes, the colors are too bright for you. The tan planes of his shoulder and the vibrant orange of his hair greet you first. Your body sags in his embrace, hand rubbing soothing circles onto his back as he finds his way back to you. 

He stretches against your body when he finally grounds himself into this reality, his hands smoothing over your hair and thigh as he moves back to peer at you. His eyes are drunken and hazy. His lips are reddened and rosey. 

His smile is broad and amused when he gets a good look at you. An entertained little laugh tumbling from him. 

“What’s so funny?” You pull on his earlobe after you pinch it between your thumb and finger. 

“You have a dried pumpkin string on your lip,” he laughs again, plucking it from your bottom lip and showing it to you. 

“How?” You scrunch your brows together in confusion. Only then seeing the bits of pumpkin that you threw at him earlier still clinging to his collarbone and dried on his skin. 

“I can’t believe you threw pumpkin insides at me,” you playfully pout, biting your lip to hide your smile from him. 

“It was payback,” he grins, cradling your cheek in his hand until his fingers massage parts of your neck. 

“For?”

“For waiting so long to bump into me at Starbucks.”

[dum-puppyyy]

It's 4am, you're staying over at a friend's place with some other people after a long night out. As things wind down, you head into the extra room to get ready for bed, and it doesn't take you long to pass out once your head hits the pillow. Shortly after, someone else comes in looking for a spot to sleep, its Me you're Dominant. I whisper out your name, and shakes you a bit trying to ask if I can share the bed with you. No response. I try again, still nothing. Seeing as this is my only other option besides the hardwood floor in the living room, I strip down getting ready and slip into bed with you, trying one more time to wake you up and ask if it's okay, with no success.

After a while laying next to you, I start thinking about turning over and wrapping My arm around you to get closer. I knows it's probably a bad idea, but we have been flirting and cuddling off and on tonight, so it shouldn't be too much of a shock if you woke up, right? As I get closer under the covers and brings My arm around you, I realize you aren't wearing any clothes. I hesitate for a moment before leaning into it instead and embracing you, feeling your skin against Mine. It doesn't take long before My mind is racing with dirty thoughts, I feel myself starting to get hard pressed up against your ass and quickly back up in case you feel it. You haven't moved since I got in bed with you though, and you're still softly snoring, so I figure maybe it wouldn't hurt to go a bit further.

I starts tracing My fingers over your body, seeing if you react.

Nothing.

You're still laying on your side facing away from Me, so I slowly works My fingers in between your legs, pausing anytime you make a sound or move. They work their way up towards your pussy, closer and closer, until they're spreading you open to circle and probe the entrance. You let out a soft moan, causing Me to stop for a moment and imagine what you could be dreaming about. Being touched, being played with, being used…it turns Me on even more since you have no idea what's actually happening to you.

I keeps gently rubbing My finger in circles, adding a bit more pressure until you start to get wet. It covers My fingers and makes it easy for Me to slide it further up towards your clit. You shift again, another soft moan, so I hold My fingers there until I can tell you're still asleep. Then I slowly starts to move, just enough to stimulate you, My finger tensing and releasing to make you feel a throbbing sensation under your clit. I slides My finger back down and starts to push it inside this time. You sleepily moan but I don't stop, I keep going until My finger is all the way in, then I hold it there to see if you wake up.

A minute goes by, two minutes, nothing…so I starts to carefully rub inside you, following the textures with the pad of my fingertip. Over your ridges, along the folds, rocking back and forth and playing with the pressure to test how much I can get away with. Pulling it out, then slowly pushing back in, My fingers are fully exploring you, without you even knowing. I notices how wet you've gotten now between My other fingers, dripping down and spreading all over your thighs which are still sandwiching My hand. It feels so hot all over down there, and I start to think about how much I want to shove my Throbbing cock into you, if you would wake up or not, if I even care if you do anymore. Your body clearly wants this, it wants to be fucked, it wants to be used.

I slowly pull my finger out and reaches down to touch myself, covering the end of my shaft with your juices so I can slide in easily. The tip moves to the back of your thighs, and slowly starts to slide between them, towards your now wet and messy cunt. I start to push inside…causing you to shift your leg a bit and softly moan, and I resist the urge to slam the rest of the way in to make sure you're still asleep instead. It feels so good to slowly push into you, feeling you squeeze around Me, as I imagine you dreaming about being fucked while I fill you up. You start to moan more, causing Me to stop and wait several more times until I am all the way in, and I hold it there so you can feel my cock twitch and throb inside you.

After a while I start to move in and out slowly, your moans get a bit louder and happen more often, but that doesn't stop me anymore. I know you're about to wake up, but it feels too good to stop, and you won't be able to resist in your sleepy daze. I reach around and covers your mouth with one hand, while the other arm wraps around your neck and pulls you against me. I start to pound into you faster, feeling you start to push back with every thrust as you wake up like a needy little, who wants more. You don't even know what's happening yet but you want to cum so bad, it's all you were dreaming about and now it's all you're thinking about, isn't it?

I takes my hand off your mouth and starts roughly groping your tits while I am fucking you. Then i reach down to start rubbing your clit, lightly at first then adding a bit more pressure with every thrust until you finally tip over the edge, holding you tightly against me so i can feel your body squirming against mine. As you're cumming, you finally realize the situation, and don't know if it's the fear or pleasure making it feel so good. Your body feels paralyzed and you want to struggle to get away, but at the same time you love everything about it. You have no idea whose hands are all over your body, whose cock is sliding in and out of your pussy, but you're squeezing around it and pulling it back in anyway because it feels so good. You don't want it to stop.

I keep fucking you with the same rhythm, giving you no breaks, until all you can focus on is the feeling of my cock pumping in and out of you, over and over until your mind goes blank. Your body is moving on its own now, you're curving your back and grinding your ass back against me so I can hit the perfect spot. You don't care anymore, and you have no choice now but to be a good girl and lay there, letting me use you for as long as I want. That's exactly what you want too though, you're just an obedient little that craves being used.

Over time you hear my breath and moaning growls start to build up by your ear, turning almost feral. I pulls your hips against Me with one hand as I pushes in as deep as I can go, causing you to snap out of your trance and let out a cute little yelp from the pain. The other hand wraps around your throat and tightens, and you let out a muffled groan of satisfaction as you feel me throb and pulse inside you again. You feel me start to fill you up from deep inside, and the warmth spreads as I slowly start to slip out. You feel my cum dripping down your thigh, onto the bed, but you just lay there silently and wait, processing what just happened. Only when i pull you back leaning into you ear and tell you how good my babygirl felt and how you did a good job before snuggling into you while pushing my cock deeper inside you, do you relax as you realize who it is inside you.

omggggggg this is sooo hottttt I love to imagine getting woken up by c0ck deep inside meeeee😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

(Btw yes this is an invitation for more people to send thr34t5)

[btnclmrttn]

@perpetuallyobsessed my friend I've been put on 3rd main at the nursing home and it have me idea while thinking of you

Out like a Light(Saitama x Nightshift!Reader)

CW/TW: None

~~~~

No matter the distance, the journey home from work couldn’t be any longer. Particularly on a third shift. Trying not to speed while also trying to beat the daylight before your body decides to be a stubborn prick and say “oh, light means awake. No sleep”

Work was such a kick in the ass, you’re too tired to even attempt to unwind. Hopefully you got it in you to at least attempt to stretch or crack a couple bones before putting yourself in a coma.

Saitama would be getting up to start his day in a few short hours. Not much time between then to actually mingle with each other, unless you walk in as he’s just getting out of the bathroom. He’ll stay up with you for a little then.

Your mind is more impatient than your body as you fumble half-mindedly through your keys, passing through each one multiple times. Now they all look the same. Sometimes forcing your eyes to blink resets your perceptions. Not much now. With your luck, the door before you is unlocked and opened from the other side.

There’s Saitama, fully pajama’d and looking about hammered. His tired eyes look more sunken than usual. His resting expression is heavier. Like his brows hand low themselves, making a half-squint crease his face.

“Welcome home,” he says, contrastingly happy-sounding.

"You up already?" you ask, confused

"I've been up a while," he says, letting you in, then returning to the futon and taking a seat criss-cross

You shut the door, then set your bag down to start taking off your jacket, "How long is a while?"

"Since..well since you left."

You freeze mid-zip, "Huh!? Saitama, are you nuts???"

"Maybe," he responds, a little smile gracing his face.

"That's not good for you dude...why did you?"

"You’re probably right," he watches you hang up your coat and start undressing from your dirtied work clothes, "You sleep most the day, and you're up late. I miss you, you know."

"Aw, I know, Saitama," you reply, feeling a bit guilty, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, ____. I just want to sleep a night, er day, with you. I figured if you could stay up all night, I could too.”

“Well, good job, honey...but don’t mess up your own schedule.”

He rests his face in his hand, sighing, “It didn’t start getting to me until about 4. It was weirdly peaceful, though. Something about the quiet is kinda relaxing.”

“It is,” you respond, “And most night shift people have the 4am problem, too.”

“I fit right in. Too bad monsters attack during daylight. I could be a Hero of the Night or something.”

“Maybe you could be. They could change your hero name to that.”

“Oh yeah, that’ll be the day...are you gonna take a shower now?"

"Ah...I'll do it when I wake up," you say, tossing your dirty clothes in the hamper. Taking out a larger shirt of yours, you put it on on to be only modestly nude. Too cold to be ass-naked.

“Ok.”

Saitama rubs his eyes and flops backwards onto the futon. You attempt to be quick to the bathroom with brushing your teeth, washing up just a little with a rag so you don't feel dirty. Fixing whatever the hell happened to your face. A lazy arrangement of your hair so it doesn’t look just as you walked in when you wake up.

Your poor boyfriend couldn't make it that long. He's passed out when you come out, even if it was only just a couple more minutes you were in there. A sigh of content quietly brushes your lips. How loved you feel knowing he just wanted to just have just a little longer with you than he usually gets. Not half bad for a boy with a typical bedtime of 10pm. 

Yeah, it would be cool if there was more night duties for heroes. Hero of the Night...eh, doesn’t ring well with him in particular.

You double check that you locked the door before going over to close the curtains completely. Saitama might find some true appreciation in the pricey black out curtains now that he’s sleeping a day like you. When you crawl into bed beside him, he’s roused a little when you lay your head on his chest. You’re locked into a close-cuddle embrace with his arms. You hear him mumble your name, so sleepily it sounds about drunk, before a kiss is pressed on your forehead.

Again, he’s out like a light.

[youredreamingofroo]

a bit of a message talking about inactivity and my possible hiatus. I dont know if this counts as a cw but i talk about depression here and there at the beginning (nothing graphic) and as usual, its a rant

im gonna be straight honest rn, i'm probably not gonna be active on tumblr for these next few days, ive been super up and down depressed and im just unmotivated and too tired to do anything, im still gonna check in here and there but dont expect me to reblog or reply to many posts, if at all. This could mark the beginning of a hiatus, but with mood swings and up and down depression, i could be back, active as ever tomorrow. Ever since ive uninstalled Sims 4, i did feel a weight lift off my shoulders, but simultaneously made me depressed due to the lack of... well... doing something, i dont... really know how to put it into words, its just something in my brain that i just cant explain, i guess a good way to put it is playing sims 4 gave me the motivation to stem off into other mediums, blender for example, gave me something to do, something to learn, and while i can still use blender, i just get progressively slower and slower at doing stuff in it because of my limited resources, some scenes i want to do require specific outfits and i dont have the facilities to make those outfits... i mean i probably do but i just dont feel motivated to do all that. I still play other games, ive been playing a lot of slime rancher 2 and have been trying to branch out to other games (indie games and bigger games), I want to post gameplay but if youve seen me rant about tumblr before, one of my biggest gripes is just how fucking annoying it is to upload images, so i just get completely unmotivated to post images/gameplay especially if its just some silly post. if uh if anyone is still reading this, ill be honest, i havent even been motivated to write about WAS at all, probably havent touched the planning doc in about 2 weeks. This... 'spiral'... has been noticeable for me for the last week as my sleep schedule gets swapped around from sleeping at night and awake during the day... to sleeping during the day and awake at night, this is all my fault, but its also just something that happens rotationally for me, i go from sleeping VERY early in the evening (6PM at the earliest) and waking at VERY early times in the morning (4AM at the latest) to sleeping VERY late in the morning (6AM at the earliest) and waking up late in the evening (3PM at the latest), i dont really know what causes the shift, but it happens, and i often blame myself for it even though i dont know what causes it...

anyways sorry, this will probably mark a very iffy hiatus, like i said ill be active but not... super active, i didnt check tumblr at all yesterday/monday, so thats kind of the pattern to expect from me depending on the day. In the meantime... i might try to get back into older sims games, ive mentioned this before, but i do have sims 1 on my laptop so maybe ill post stupid little gameplay posts from there (granted i havent played in like... a month 😐). I'll probably put up a poll after this post for people to vote on which sims game i should play- i KNOW i did it once before but im probably gonna do it again cuz i cant find the post and i have over 1000 posts 😭

if you read thus far, thank you for sticking around, if your a random person who read this for no reason... thanks? if your a follower of mine and cant understand where im coming from with this lengthy post, see yourself out or deal with it 🙃 otherwise, thank you all and i will be lurking about

[batsinurbelfrey]

Big emo thoughts about Dai post vvv

Ya know- I spend so much time agonizing over if I am being a good and proper pet owner to Dai. I do my absolute best to do everything right by her and go the full distance for her always, and I know my worrying about it even is likely a sign that I'm FINE- but it still Haunts me. Sometimes I look at her and wonder "have I given you the best life that you could have, are you happy" But something happened this morning that......while it is NOTHING NEW- really finally made something shift into place in my head. at 4am Dai had a reverse sneezing fit, it lasted about 5-8 minutes on and off. its fairly common for small dogs, and not something to be too worried about, as they will usually work through it. HOWEVER, its very very scary for the Dogs. [they can't breathe!! and they don't know why!] Mainly you just need to sit there with them and comfort them [sometimes gently blowing in their nose will help but not always] I woke up to the sound of it and lept out of bed to help [she sleeps at the foot of the bed usually kuz I'm a RESTLESS sleeper] it WAS a longer one and I felt so bad for her but we just did what we could to get through it. after that was all done, I turned the lights back off and scruffed her fur and gave her a lil kiss, and then got back into bed, once I did she got up and came to curl up against my chest. it took her a while to feel safe enough to put her head back down and try to sleep, but eventually, she did and slept through till morning. this is something she does Like Clockwork after these episodes, and also when she has nightmares [cries out and shakes and yelps in her sleep until I wake her up], she always comes up and pushes herself against my chest to settle herself back down. I've always found it really sweet and always makes me wanna Cry a bit [ /pos ]. but today I was REALLY thinking about it, about what it Says. I know lots of dogs and cats that run off and hide when they feel scared or uncomfy, I feel like that's the "default" animal response. But Dai comes to Me. I make her feel safe, being close to me brings her comfort and calm. She Trusts me. And with that said, maybe I need to stop raking myself over the coals wondering if I'm good for her. maybe that says everything I need to hear-

[bimboviolence]

TELL ME YOUR HCS AND THOUGHTS ABOUT JACK I’m intrigued and my brain is still rotting over him because he’s just so!! EXPLODES

This is rlly long but a very fun way to spend my lunch break, thank u. And ur so right. Ur maybe talking to the Most -explodes thinking about Jack- person on earth rn so ur in the right place

VERY GENERAL ASK so I will tell u some general headcanons about how he is

I think he is such a singularly minded person who gets tooootally absorbed and fixated on whatever he’s currently researching/wants that he really doesn’t care to notice the world around him. He handles the pie business, but he only really cares about it enough to keep it running as a front so he can do what he really wants (GAIN MAGICAL OBJECTS, GAIN POWER, ACHIEVE ULTIMATE FORM). He’s been like that since his parents died and he took over, it’s just a means to keep money coming in and make him a big name in society. The managers he hires handle a lot of shit themselves, if you’ve worked there long enough you know that when he gets in one of his focused states he’d rather you just forge his signature on an order form or other document than knock on his door and bother him. Newer managers who deign to knock absolutely get that door swung open with a ferocity and screamed at for bothering him with something so trivial. He’s lucky everyone’s so afraid of him so nobody really tries to pull any shit with signing for things lol, they basically run the business for him and it’s rare for him to know what’s going on with it all. When he’s in a really bad state he can stay locked in that office for days at a time, he honestly rarely sleeps in his own bed and when he does it’s usually during the day, fully clothed and just collapsed onto his bed for a quick two hour nap and then right back to it. He usually falls asleep at his desk when he sleeps at night and wakes up routinely at 4am when the first factory shift workers start showing up.

The workers who only see him in the factory see him as this sullen, bored, really hot tempered guy who they all avoid eye contact with (not like he’s even looking at them tho). The only workers who see him acting like himself are the ones he takes on his expeditions, even tho he’s still dismissive and crabby towards them out of impatience he’ll talk about things to anybody next to him (he talks At people not To them) and show off when he’s excited about shit (“yeah I couldn’t get this big rock off it but it’s still pretty cool right??”). Workers who have been there longer know how he is, they take pride in excelling in his intense tasks cause they’re all violent adventurers themselves, but newest workers are the ones who’ll ask him to help them. There’s a big difference between that baker who said ‘AVENGE ME JACK’ as she died and the one at the end who begged for him to save her. He assumes they know it’s every man for himself, and while he expects them to help him because that’s what he’s hired them for, he wouldn’t expect them to save him either. You know what they say, No risk no reward! He is not careful with his life. It’s fine, he’s fine!

The unfortunate thing is he will pour himself entirely into getting a new prize for his collection, spending weeks to months on research and obtaining it, then once he’s got it he props it against the wall, stares at it/fools with it for a few days to weeks, pays attention to his business a little bit more, and then that emptiness returns. Then he’s gotta crack open a book and find a new thing to get his hands on, and the cycle starts back up. I think his most toxic desire is that wishing star, cause once he gets it in his head that he could go God Mode, literally everything else becomes unimportant. That’s why he just started wasting his artifacts (tossing everything into his bag without care and smashing shit he wouldn’t need, dropping the crystal ball and shattering it the second he didn’t need it) and letting everyone die, he treats this as the end of his lifes journey and he’s either obtaining his ultimate wish or he’ll die trying. Which :\ he did. (His power trippy lack of care for anything in his life other than obtaining god status is a big part of my writing for him and my s/i OC aghhh)

[i-cast-teatus-deletus]

Re cars: This is something I've only passingly thought about so far and I am SO grateful you brought it up.

We have sort of the opposite issue of you and Large Bastard: I am the tallest at 173cm/5'8", and our guys getting teats deleted are 168cm/5'6" and 152 cm/5'0".

We have multiple cars available, loosely falling into "low-ish 4-door sedan," which I can drive but are not super comfortable for me, and "small-ish 4-seat SUV". The SUV is a slam dunk for taking the taller one to and from, but I am unsure what to do about the smaller one if I drive. I suspect the lower car would be easier for him, but if I drive it will for SURE not be easier for me. This will require some thought, luckily we have time.

Re hotel room: I had been debating getting a hotel room, probably the closest suite-style place to wherever the surgery is being done, for maybe the day night before (to make getting there on time easier since I don't need to be psychic to know our wake-up time is going to completely incompatible with my second shift work schedule and 4am work night bedtime and literally anything to make that morning less awful will be to all our benefits) and maybe a day or two after anyway. The logic here prior to reading how hard that drive can be on anesthesia is that one of them is in the bedroom furthest from the bathroom—like, opposite end of the house furthest—and while walking is good, I was worried that might be too difficult for a day or two after. The other option is dislodge EVERYONE to give the person recovering the closest bedroom, which sounds like a bad time.

It'd increase sleeping space, too. One of them sleeps alone in a queen-size bed, so no problem there, but the other shares a (split) king with me. If we get a hotel room, they could have 1-3 days with a full or queen bed to themselves (and so could I, though hotel beds are usually WAY too soft and I end up with my back and neck messed up.)

The other logic is the cats, the SMALLER of which is about 8 kg/17ish lbs and the other is still getting bigger every single day and is threatening to be like 14kg fully grown. They are significantly more motile than a dog, and I am concerned they will be a problem the first day or two. Not that they would deliberately hurt anyone, but they are used to being able to jump up on anyone they please at any time.

If we have a close-after followup (like 3-4 days) I may just cave and do that and go home after the followup appointment, but we'll see. I will admit that I am not extremely excited about that idea, but I'm unsure if it makes sense to drive back out twice if it's close together.

It's hard because I've had major surgery as an adult, but it's 15+ years in the past, and I don't remember the drive home being all that bad, but I lived like 20ish minutes from the hospital on rural back roads, not 90+ minutes of highway driving.

ALSO, thank for the advice on open heart surgery. It'll be nice to look at something besides mastectomy resources because genuinely, reading blog posts from cis women who had mastectomies for cancer is like THE worst part of this whole thing.

[chainsawmascara]

Ama: 2, 9

HOW DID I KNOW SOMEONE WOULD ASK THESE

2. Preferred method of non-physical self destruction: Sleep Deprivation and Overworking Myself. Often with a heaping side order of taking care of everyone else while neglecting my own needs as I grind myself to the bone in the realm of career or peer advisory.

I just escaped the clutches of a two month fibro flare up where I couldn't lift my head and literally needed help crawling to the bathroom. Zero exaggeration. Complete Hell. Caused by lack of sleep/forgetting to eat in favor of working fifty 8-12 hour shifts at bizarre hours (sometimes getting home at 1:30am and having to wake up at 3am/4am to take the train back to work again), taking care of a toddler, cleaning the house, taking care of my friends and their crises, being On Call for everyone I know to catch an Uber at any second (when i had a babysitter on deck already/easily acquired) - often carrying a full oversized tote (thatidesigned) full of self care items for the spiritual body; physical body; and creative self.

I call it my Cleric Bag.

Technically this is supposed to be non-physical, however, the destructive behavior is the thought process preceding the action. It's adopting the responsibilities of others, pushing inhuman amounts of pressure on myself, and willfully ignoring my physical well-being/stress level so long as I can care for everyone else's.

I wouldn't say it's my favorite, necessarily. It's the one I default to by my very nature. I did a lot of self reflection and emotional healing to work through that during the two months I couldn't leave my damn bed.

9. Do you cry? Why or why not?: It takes a lot for me to cry. I'd say much of the reason stems from youth - needing to be the strong one for emotionally unstable parents, not showing weakness towards those who sought to harm me in one way or another, (modeling some coping mechanisms from early game squall leonheart at a very young age - we worked on it this past year or two), and living primarily in a situation of Crumble/Allow A Single Crack and It's Over in a number of ways most of my life.

I analyze things. Rationalize them. Extract emotion from the equation to view situations objectively more often than not. I also have anxiety, so I've run through whatever is happening in my head to play a mini mental film au where I do break down as if watching myself already. These mini films are entirely mental, I don't say it out loud or physically act it out. No literal crying about a hypothetical.

As for crying at media rather than personal life experiences - also extremely rare! It has to be something I connect with at my very core, which isn't easy to find! Final Fantasy VIII is the only thing off the top of my head. OH WAIT when I was pregnant, at 2am every night I'd start crying about that time in 2019 people were cyberbullying the official cinnamonroll Sanrio Twitter account. It was not during 2019. Maybe the ending of Yu Yu Hakusho from how formative it was?

Crying about media isn't a thing I do 98.4% of the time (to be generous in the other direction).

On average, I cry maybe five times a year. This year is an anomaly given the mental breakdowns I had due to the pain itself and falling apart at the bathroom sink crumpled on the floor trying to reach the water/soap while singing "I'm going to be okay" over and over to myself a few times a day. The addition of being in that pain, fearing it won't end, and fearing the effect it could have on my child inspired a number of breakdowns.

I haven't had a flare up like this in, goodness, 9 years or so? I forgot how bad it could get.

Tl;dr: I don't cry often primarily due to an analytical/rational approach to situations and childhood trauma (that has been worked through! But is also the reason for the first half! Whoopth).

I certainly can go on about myself, huh?