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frannyzooey · 1 year

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Short Days, Long Nights: 7

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Series Masterlist

a/n: Thank you endlessly, as always, to @mourningbirds1 for being so patient and kind with me, and for guiding me in the right directions when I'm stuck. And to @the-ginger-hedge-witch for reading this through and reassuring me it's not the 9 page garbage that I wanted to delete. Enjoy! ❤

“Just let me –” he starts, frowning in frustration when you jerk your hand away, reflexively tightening your fist into a ball to cradle it against your chest.

“It’s just –” He sighs, a long tired thing that only older men have mastered. “I’ll be fast. You won’t even feel it.”

“I’ve heard that before, Miller,” you say without thinking, and his head jerks up, his eyes narrowing.

“Bullshit, honey,” he replies, reaching for your hand again. You give it to him, making him tug a little to unfurl it into the palm of his hand. “Wasn’t me you heard that from.”

“No, you’re right,” you agree, giving him a small, knowing smile. “Not you.”

He winks, pressing his thumb into the base of the sliver to see if it will present itself and you hiss in pain, letting out a whimper.

You know you’re being absurd, but you can’t help it.

It’s just a sliver, and in the grand scheme of things, you have been subjected to much worse. Much worse. But it was huge and unexpected and buried itself in your palm so deep that it brought instant tears to your eyes and that – those tears – were what made you feel the most fragile.

When was the last time something that happened to you made you cry?

Once you started, you couldn’t stop.

His eyes flick up to your face, his brow knit with gentle concern and his thumb strokes the heel of your hand, making it blossom open for him. You keep your eyes fixed on the movement, willing the tears that blur your vision to stop – but they won’t. A hot trail slips down over your cheek, another one following it and you feel so foolish and embarrassed you tilt your head to the side, trying to hide your face.

“Hey.”

His hand comes up, gently nudging your face back to him and he wipes the small drop resting on the curve of your cheek away. “I promise I’ll be gentle. We can’t let it sit in there, okay? Don’t want to get it infected.”

You nod, taking a breath.

Steeling yourself, you let your hand relax in his and shift your eyes to focus on anything but the sight of your palm: the leaves on the trees, dappled with sunlight. The winding vines in the garden, reaching their way towards the sky. The weather worn deck, with its dried out planks and its rickety stairs and then you’re looking at the railing, the source of the sliver, with a shudder.

“Stay still,” he murmurs, low and focused.

His hands are so big in comparison to yours, and his fingers brush the surface of your palm with more delicacy than they look capable of. He presses again into the skin at the base of the sliver with his thumb, his eyes flicking up to your face for a moment before dropping back down to the task at hand and when he digs the tip of his knife into your skin, you clench your eyes shut.

“Breathe, honey,” he rumbles.

You do, a deep inhale as he works quickly to peel the skin back just enough to grab the wood and then he’s sliding it out; his knife tossed onto the ground next to him.

Blood seeps slick into the cracks of your hand, a small pool gathering in the center of it and he’s ready for it with a clean piece of cloth, pressing it into place.

“You seem like you’ve done this before,” you say, balling your hand up around the fabric.

He works a spool of gauze open, motioning with a jerk of his chin for you to give back your hand.

“Taken a sliver out?” he asks, eyebrows raised. “I don’t think I even feel them anymore. My hands are pretty rough, always have been. I used to have to do it all the time for –,” he pauses, his expression falling into something more solemn and you wait for him to continue the sentence, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stays quiet for a moment, his jaw shifting subtly under the scruff of his beard. “I’ve had plenty of em’ before. You get used to it.”

Working quickly to wind the gauze around the width of your hand a couple times, he secures it in place and before you can take your hand back, he’s bending to press his lips over the top.

This – this is what you were talking about. Not the deft competency in which he removed the sliver, but the care infused in the action. Like he had practice soothing frayed nerves and touching with gentle hands, had practice in the softness it required. This life wouldn’t have taught him those skills.

The heat of his mouth is a fleeting thing against your skin, his whiskers brushing the cup of your palm and he pulls back, giving you a smile.

“You okay to keep going?”

You test your hand, flexing your fingers a couple of times and nod, standing up. “Yea, I’m good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies easily, sliding his knife back into the holster.

Making your way over to the garden, you kneel beside it and start on the task you were headed for before you got the sliver. Weeds have snuck in, worming their way between the plants and you work diligently, ignoring the catch of your bandage on the stalks. The pain radiating from your palm throbs, a pulse beating in time with your heart and you frown, frustrated.

You should be used to pain by now, you scold yourself.

Joel’s gone back to what he was doing when he heard your yelp of pain and you glance over at where he squats next to the base of the deck, checking for rotted wood with an obviously trained eye. His movements are precise, his hands feeling along the splintered wood with a practiced, deft touch and the comment he made about slivers comes back to you.

In comparison to yours, you can’t imagine everything that his hands have been through and done, but you do know some of the things they have and thinking about it, you feel another hot wash of embarrassment at your previous tears.

You think about all the infected Joel has killed without a thought, all the people he’s probably done the same to just to survive. He’s told you about some of them with zero regret in his voice and you know it to be true, because what was there to regret? They would have done the same to him. You don’t begrudge him of his choices, but rather admire him for them. That same ruthlessness is responsible for keeping you alive for this long, and you wish you only had a fraction of it.

The pile of limp, broken foliage grows beside you, dirt crammed under your fingernails as you keep going and the ground is cool and crumbly, letting the weeds slip through easily.

The tears came instantly when that wood pierced and embedded itself in your skin, and the shock of them startled you just as much as the pain did. When was the last time you allowed yourself the luxury of crying? No point in it because it wouldn’t help your situation; no one around to soothe and reassure you but the damp cover of your pillow in your old, shitty QZ apartment; no use in letting the pain seep into your chest deep enough to seep out through your eyes because it did nothing for you.

You used to think that leaving yourself soft was a strength — a sort of quiet, delicate resilience in the face of harsh realities — and while you still think there was something admirable in it once, you know it’s more foolish than anything now. Softness is seen as a weakness in this world, and you tried for so long to bury your vulnerabilities and your hurt but the last couple months have unearthed those dormant feelings. You wonder if it bothers him.

The act of him pressing his lips to your palm takes on a new meaning: how long until he gets tired of having to care for you like a child? How long until he decides that he’d be better off with a partner of equal footing?

He hasn’t said anything to make you think that, but self doubt always wins over logic, and your anxiety easily dismisses the ways in which he has only indulged you. While you’ve been here: allowing you to pick and choose the chores you can stomach, tucking your face into the crook of his shoulder to help you sleep, working out that sliver without so much as a disappointed frown. The way he’s always done it: shielded you from violence as much as possible while on the road together, never making you be the one to kill unless you had to.

The sun shines bright above you, sweat damping the roots of your hair and you get to the edges of the weeds; the bandage already blackened with dirt, the edges of it slightly frayed. Pulling the rest, you gather the pile in your hands and walk them over to the edge of the woods, dumping them there.

You can feel his eyes tracking you, and afraid that if you look up and see pity in them that you’ll start crying again, you avoid looking back as you pass him, heading back inside.

—

You had been in a bad mood since he patched your hand up and unable to figure out why, it bothers him. Worry pulls at the edges of his thoughts, nags and picks at him as he works, and he skates carefully around the edge, giving you your space.

Several sections of the deck have rotted, and while he didn’t have the lumber needed for repairs, he took what he could from where he could spare. Busying himself with the task, he is surprised at how much of his skill comes back to him. His hands move of their own accord; the familiar actions of ripping out nails to pull up boards, sawing them to fit the sections he needs, hammering them back into place. Much more pleasant than anything he had ever done on work duty in the QZ, his hands knew this and it was nice to do something that he hadn’t taught them how to do out of desperation.

He grips the source of your sliver, the warped, dry railing to the side of the deck stairs and tugs it off with more force than needed. Even as rotted as it is, waste isn’t a concept and he mentally saves it for tinder, tossing it into the grass.

You had been off since you woke up this morning; images of you cycling quickly through his mind: the solemness to your expression, your unusual quietness. It got worse after the sliver, your back to him as you worked in the garden and then avoiding his gaze before wordlessly passing him to head inside the cabin. He doesn’t think you were crying, but he frowns, unsure.

Picking up one of the large tree branches that fell in the storm, he measures it along the section where he needs it and then cuts it to fit. A tricky job to nail it into place by himself, he gives it a tug when he’s done to test its strength, and deciding it needs a few more nails to hold it in place, he goes in search of more.

He looks for you on the couch when he walks inside, hesitating for a second when you’re not there. Coming to find you, he peers into your doorway to see you curled up on your bed asleep, your bandaged hand resting in a loose curl under your chin and his expression softens as he lingers in the doorway for a moment before letting you be.

Rummaging through the drawers in the kitchen, he finds a small box of nails and pulls it out; a silent longing for deck screws and the wide aisles of a hardware store on a weekend morning. Sunlight streams through the open window, the beam catching on the amber liquid in the whiskey bottle and it glows, inviting and warm.

Looking at it for a moment, he gets an idea and snatching it off the counter, he goes back outside.

–

It’s late afternoon when you wake up from your nap, Joel lightly shaking your shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, his voice husky and low. “I wanna show you something.”

The dense fog of disorientation that comes with every midday nap makes you slow moving, his hand finding yours to lead you outside to the deck, and when you see what he’s set up, your first true smile of the day curls along the edges of your mouth.

“What’s this?”

“You seemed like you weren’t having the best day, so I…..well, I did what I could.” His hand scrubs the back of his neck, his eyes on your face and in another first for the day, his expression looks unsure. “It’s not a lot, but I thought it would be nice?”

He’s brought the blankets from the couch outside, draping them over the wooden bench on the deck, along with a couple of ratty throw pillows for cushioning and a table is set up next to it, with canned fruit from the pantry next to some meat that he’s cooked. To the side of the plates rest two small glasses.

“Hungry?” he asks, motioning for you to sit.

Eating together in companionable silence, the meat is flavored with herbs that you had grown, a small delicacy compared to the bland, unseasoned flavor that you had been tasting for months now and you tell him so, smiling inward at the obvious pride on his face. He takes the dishes when you’re done, setting them to the side and you watch as he walks down the stairs, taking in the new railing that he installed this afternoon. Touched, your eyes follow him down to the bank, where he kneels by the water and wondering what he’s doing, you smile when he turns around with the bottle of whiskey in his hands, coming back to join you.

Pouring two drinks, he then sits down, handing the bottle to you.

“Here,” he says, curving the grip of your injured hand over the ice cold glass. It soothes the dull, throbbing ache instantly and your body relaxes against the bench, your cheek coming to rest on his shoulder. Handing you your glass, the two of you watch as the sun sets.

Color streaks across the horizon, sunlight barely hanging on in the glimmers of white that touch the ripples in the water and you take a swallow of your drink, savoring the cold, thick slide of it down your throat.

“Your hand feel better?” he asks, lifting his arm for you, tucking you into his side.

You nod, grateful for him and everything he’s done and guilt for the way you’ve been acting today creeps up into your chest. “Thank you. For all of this. I’m sorry I haven’t been very –”

He shakes his head, silently cutting you off. “Hey, no. Don’t gotta be sorry. We all have bad days.”

You fit yourself closer to him, taking another drink and when your glasses are empty, he refills them.

“I’m glad the sky cooperated,” he says idly, tucking you into his side. The whiskey has made you loose and pliant, content. You hum in agreement, the drink softening the edges of your mood, but it doesn’t make it disappear entirely. The worry that’s sat inside you all day is still there, and before you know it, you’re voicing it aloud.

“Am I too soft?”

Your lips brush against his flannel, the words so quiet that if it was his right ear that was facing you, he wouldn’t have been able to hear them.

“What?” he asks, looking down at you.

“Today, when I got that sliver.” You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, squeezing the cold bottle in your hand and you keep your gaze down, ashamed. “When I cried about it.” Your eyes come up to meet his, searching. “That was crazy, right? I mean, who does that? Over a sliver.”

He shrugs, setting his glass down before reaching out to touch you. His hand curves over your cheek, his thumb following the line of your cheekbone and then it drifts down, squeezing your shoulder in affirmation. “I don’t know. It was deep, I bet it fuckin’ hurt.”

You laugh at his blunt response, placing your drink between your knees to take his hand in yours. Pulling it close, you brush your lips across his knuckles, giving them a kiss.

“Why are you worried about bein’ too soft?” he asks, and then it’s your turn to shrug.

“I just….I can’t stop thinking about it. About being a burden to you, and I don’t ever want that, you know? I want to be useful and strong, and I feel like –”

His frown deepens, his expression turning serious as he shifts to face you. “Hey. You could never be a burden, okay? Look at everything you’ve done.” He motions towards the garden. “I couldn’t have done that. I didn’t even think it was possible to do that, it never even crossed my mind as something we could do and then you did it.”

He pulls you closer to him, his mouth dropping down next to your ear.

‘Look at it, honey,” he murmurs, making sure you’re looking at the garden. “You did that.”

Your vision swims with tears, his words soothing the restless waters of your worries just like he soothed your hand today.

“Maybe before you had to be tough, but not here. Not with me. I got you.”

You look up at him and he kisses you; tears sliding down your cheeks when you shut your eyes. His tongue slides against yours, his thumb streaking damp over your cheek where he’s wiped the tear away and you deepen it, pouring your gratefulness directly into him. Dusk settles around the two of you, the world a wash of muted darks and the familiar chirp of crickets is a background to your shadowed figures; pressed together, before pulling apart.

“Is this how you used to court ladies before everything happened?”

“Court?” he asks, offended. “How old do you think I am?”

You laugh over the end of his question, setting your glass to the side. “Oh stop. You know what I mean.”

The edge of his mouth lifts as he looks out at the water. “I mean, it’s nice isn’t it? Romantic?”

“Joel Miller,” you sigh with a smile, shaking your head. “A born again romantic.”

“Now hang on, honey,” he stops you, and you laugh again, the sound floating into the darkness. Taking a quick sip from the now warming bottle in your hand, you pretend to hold it out for him before you pull it away and then you’re scrambling to set it down on the boards by your feet while he leans into you with a grin, pushing you down onto the bench beneath him. You fight against his strong grip, the weight of his body pinning you down and his mouth finds the crook of your neck, burying his face there as you laugh underneath him.

He peppers kisses along your skin, your laugh slowing as it slips into something softer and lower and when he looks up at the change of sound, you lift your head for a kiss.

–

Clothing peeled off and tossed onto the floor, he guides you down onto his bed and chases the soft embrace of your body as it curls around him. His mouth tastes everything it can reach: the round of your shoulder, the delicate skin over your ribs, the crease of your thigh. His knees ache as he kneels on the worn carpet beside the bed, dragging your body closer to the edge and then he’s tasting the very heart of you; slick and salt weeping on his tongue.

His hooded eyes watch from between your thighs as you arch, his hand mapping the curve of your hip before sliding over your belly and up, his palm seeking out the weight of your breast. The skin there is petal soft, molding to his greedy touch and his mouth matches the need in his hands, his tongue delving deeper as his hand squeezes. Your gasps sound so pretty in the dark, so sweet yet filthy and he forces your legs open wider with his shoulders, pressing his face tighter against you.

“Fuck,” you whine, your fingers threading into his hair and when you start to rock your hips against his mouth, a low, insistent heat gathers at the base of his spine. His cock throbs against his thigh, two thick fingers slipping inside you to stroke with a crook and when you come with a wordless cry, he ignores the protest of his knees and quickly crawls back up onto the bed.

Caging you in, he settles on top of your body and for a moment, relishes the way you feel beneath him.

Dazed and pliant, warmth held in your hooded eyes, a smile curled at the edge of your mouth - you look so soft underneath him. It makes him want to protect you, shield your body with his and ward off everything that seeks to hurt you – but it also makes him hard, knowing the softness is just for him.

His, and his alone.

He kisses you breathless, waiting until you’re restlessly grinding against each other with need and when he pulls back to guide you onto your stomach, you automatically try to rise to your hands and knees, but he splays his hand over your back, pushing you back down. You stretch out on the bed, the strong inside of his thighs pressing along the outside of yours when he straddles you from behind and the stiff weight of his cock drags along the curve of your ass, his hands reaching beneath you to tug your hips up.

Leaning forward, his mouth follows the dip of your spine, his teeth catching on your shoulder blade before he soothes it with a kiss and his hand works itself between you and the mattress, seeking out your clit. He grins against your skin when he finds it, the weight of his body draped over your back and then he’s notching himself against your entrance, groaning when he feels how wet you are.

“You take me so fucking well, honey,” he says, his lips dragging over your shoulder blade as he presses inside with a relieved groan that sounds loud over your whine when your back arches to allow him deeper. You take him down to the base, the squeeze of your cunt unbearably tight in this position and he already knows he isn’t going to last long. The plush give of your ass fits the hollow of his hips, his fingers working your clit in firm, competent swirls and when you clench around him, he shoves in deeper; the weight of his body a rhythmic grind on top of yours, his torso flush with your back as he strokes, strokes, strokes.

“Harder,” you moan, turning your head as far as you can underneath him and he nods, widening his knees for purchase. His hand drifts down to grip your hip, and he obeys, forcing the air from your lungs with each push inside.

Your strength arouses him; your blatant need. You’re soft hearted – so soft, softer than he could have ever imagined – and somehow the contrast of that paired with the way you’re arching beneath him and begging for more makes him almost lightheaded with lust.

He loves that way you’re both.

Innocence preserved, while begging to be filled.

Tender and sweet, while begging for it harder.

He can give you both – protection and his body. Take care of every need you have.

“Like this?” he says, taking pride in your inability to answer him. “See honey, you’re not too soft. Someone so soft couldn’t take it this hard.” His words are punctuated with a grunt, as fucks into you harder. “Wouldn’t let me fuck ‘em all the ways I want like you do.”

His praise makes your eyes slip shut, a shiver rolling through your body as it goes straight to your core and you arch your back to take him deeper.

“That’s my good fuckin’ girl,” he groans, breathless above you. “You’re so fuckin’ good for me. So good.”

Your hands fist the sheet, your mouth open in a pant and slick pools between his fingers underneath you, your thighs tensing between his. He keeps going, burying his face into the nape of your neck to whisper endless praises and the grind of his hips slows down, but he forces himself deeper, stretching you around him. He can’t stop his hips from seeking out the tight fist of your slick cunt, his nose filled with your scent and when he feels you come underneath him, his stomach tenses with his own impending release.

He wants nothing more than to bury himself deep and come inside you, his hips automatically following the urge of his cock but he knows he can’t. Christ, he can’t.

“Where do you want it?” he asks, his hips grinding, grinding, grinding.

“Oh god –” you cry, your voice hoarse. “In my mouth, please, in my mouth.”

He’s quick to pull out, his strong hand guiding you onto your back and you’ve barely slid into place with your face beneath his cock before he’s coming with a groan, one hand braced on the wall as the other works with a slick, rapid pump.

Moonlight floods into his bedroom, shadows pooling in the dips and valleys of the bed and his spend glimmers milky white on your skin, pooling in streaks. When you lift your hand to push it into your mouth, the edge of your bandage gets in the way and he watches as you tug it gently off your hand, tossing it onto the floor.

The skin underneath is raw and exposed, the wound still fresh and watching as you use your other hand to clean your face with lingering sucks, he bends to press a kiss to the spot he carved out earlier; your palm fitting his mouth just right.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction

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whoreish-behaviour · 11 months

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Head Scratches

AgedUp!Neteyam x Human!Reader

Fluff/Self-indulgence lol

You lifted your hand to stifle the laugh wanting to leave your throat, lips brushing your palm as you grinned.

Neteyam was kneeled next to where you were sitting at your desk, his bright eyes widened and his chin tilted to the side as he watched the lazy ball of fluff on your computer screen.

Your cat's equally large eyes were looking up at the camera, ears erect and tail swishing gently behind him.

You cheerful mood was caused by Neteyam, who seemed to be mimicking every little head tilt and ear twitch of your cat - the fluff of his tail brushing your ankle from where it was curled around it.

'Paskalin, he can see me no?' Neteyam's braids swayed softly as he turned his gaze to you before returning back to the screen, ears perking up higher as your giggle echoed again.

'No, it's a video from back home.' You then pointed to the background, your old apartment and bedroom in view.

In the video, your hand could be seen reaching out, the cats purr loud through the speakers as your fingers scratched gently under his chin and then up behind his ears.

'He really likes head scratches and his fur's super soft'.' You spoke fondly, the video coming to an end and a black screen replacing it.

'Do you miss him?' Neteyam turned fully to where you were still facing the computer.

You then felt your chair being turned as Neteyam grabbed the armrest, pulling until your knees were on either side of him - his head still managing to be higher than yours from his kneeling position.

Your cheeks flushed as his obvious show of strength but you nodded nevertheless, eyes unable to hold contact from his intense stare.

'Mhm. Come.' Neteyam didn't even wait for you to agree before he threaded his hands under your arms and pulled you to his chest.

You held your breath slightly when he stood to his full height, the sudden distance from the ground making your stomach drop slightly.

His oversized hands then came to your thighs, pushing them to wrap around him slim cut waist as he left your private lab - footsteps quick as he carried you to the exit.

'Here Yawne.' Neteyam's voice was light as he handed you your breathing mask, watching patiently as your strapped it to your face - still not questioning where he was taking you.

Once you were ready, you rested back against his chest - hearing the seal door open and then shut as Neteyam stepped out, before his feet carried him on.

You watched the trees and greenery go by, eyes threatening to shut in relaxation as the steady heartbeat of your mate matched his footsteps.

'No sleeping Paskalin. Not yet.' Neteyam chuckled, hand coming up to gently rub your back but it only further soothed you.

'Where're you taking me?' You mumbled.

'Somewhere we can rest.' You didn't question him again, opting to just ride out his kindness of carrying you.

Soon enough, you both slowed to a stop and you had to hold back a whine when Neteyam kneeled again, you still tight his grasp.

You were still getting used to being handled like a doll.

'I won't drop you, I tell you this every time.' You laughed quietly at Neteyam's statement, resting you whole body weight as he leaned back against a tree - large hands bringing you with him softly.

With your head rested just under his chin, Neteyam then reached out and gently took your hand, fingers massive in comparison as he pulled it up until your hand was resting just under his pointed ear.

You smiled when his hand left yours, understanding the message clear as day.

Like muscle memory from back home, you gently scratched behind his ear - fingertips dragging to just under his jawline and then back, constantly rotating.

With your head still resting against his chest, you could feel his purr coming before you even heard it - laughing lightly at the familiar sound.

'Your just an overgrown cat 'Teyam.' Shifting up more so you were tucked further under his chin, forehead rested against his neck - you sighed when he only pulled you closer.

'Only for you Yawne.'

Kofi <3

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blue-and-grey-army · 1 year

Text

- - C A R A M E L - - 2

2. Fuzzy

Genre: BTS, Idol AU, poly au, BTS x reader, OT7, OT7 x reader, Idol BTS, Dom BTS, sub reader, angst, fluff, eventual smut

Warnings: BTS x reader, very subby reader, innocent reader, power play, eventual smut, sexual and non sexual domination, a lot of skinship (but like lots) excessive pet names, sexism, anxiety, insecurities, possessive behavior, maybe BTS x BTS etc..

…

“You can…what?” Namjoon kept pressing you, as his hold on your hair relaxed a tiny bit, enjoying the way your eyes were softly glazing over and your lips were slightly open. What a little treat you were.

“I…I can, sir” you whispered softly, completely relaxed and somehow comfortable with the way his grip remained grounding you. You almost forgot what were you nervous about. Why were you worrying so much, if they are all so nice and seemed to have this magic power over you?

You just wanted to obey. To follow each and every one of his words until he would tell you otherwise. You wanted for him to think you were good, to be proud of you. Was it his voice? Or the way he formulated his sentences?

The truth is the boys had been keeping their eyes on you ever since they met you that first time a couple weeks ago. Much discreetly, so you wouldn’t notice, but they were still there, spending way more time on the little cafeteria just watching your everyday routine. Namjoon and Hoseok had decided to wait, wanting to meet the little treat the boys were talking so much about in person. But the other were always there watching you work. The way you were so respectful and obedient, making sure you followed your managers orders perfectly, practically melting when you were given some approval or attention. It was as if you were craving for it. Always willing to please.

And the praise…

They could see right through you. How you would get all flustered and shy and when you were praised, but they could see how much you enjoyed it. How you were so terribly eager to do things right and get a gentle head pat from your nice coworker or the way she would coo at you when you were good. And the way you would melt, with a cute little blush decorating your face and a hazy look. Oh, you were so perfect for them, and you weren’t even aware of all the potential you had to be their cute little sub!

But they also noticed the way you would get so focused on your tasks that you would forget to eat. You had to be constantly reminded of your break times. Your hair would always fall out of place and you had to be redoing your messy bun many times through the day. They barely saw you seeping a tiny bit of water in a whole day.

And of course they couldn’t take that. Thats why you were here.

Namjoon’s firm stare softened at you as his lips curved into a smirk, as he chuckled softly and Jin had to hold a moan from escaping his lips. You were already addressing them by titles? Oh, you would truly be so fun…All the boys were completely entrapped looking at you and your reactions. They knew you liked the way Namjoon was practically manhandling you. How you were so so relaxed and calm, in comparison to when you entered the room. And the most observants of them could see how you were thighs were slightly clenched, showing you were actually as affected as them.

“I meant for you to say what were you able to do, but I guess that works too” Namjoon chuckled and left your hair, but kept a firm hold on your shoulder to make sure you didn’t forget his words and presence. And you were not planning on it. “Why don’t we sit, so we can talk more comfortably?”

You nodded softly as he started to guide you towards the big couch. You were about to lower your gaze, but stopped yourself immediately. You didn’t want him to be disappointed of you so soon! You held your head high, looking at the taller male, and before you could notice you were already sitting with him on your side. Jimin was quicker than the rest and, with a cocky smile, he sat beside you. Way closer than it would have remained professional, but you didn’t really care at this point. You were more worried about the seven pair of eyes that seemed too interested in you.

“Oh dear, what is this?” Jimin was now holding your hand, were there was a small bandage you had improvised that morning before your manager had came bearing the news.

“I-it’s nothing! I just got a small cut while I was…” you tried getting your hand away from his grip, in hopes to hide the ugly bandages that was stained with coffee, but his fingers only tightened around your wrist and your breathing hitched “I was…umm…I was…”

“You were what?” Taehyung’s deep voice sent chills down your spine, as your eyes moved to him, nervously. “What was so important for you to ruin that pretty skin of yours? Go on, answer”

Ruining your skin was his job…

“I was just slicing some chocolate and I cut through my nail, it’s not too bad…Mgh!” A moan went right out of your lips as Jimin started unwrapping the bandage and the pain surprised you.

The room froze all because of that small little sound that came out of you. Jungkook could feel the crotch of his pants tightening as hundreds of images started going across his mind. You, wearing some pretty lingerie that would be already ruined because of how wet he would make you with just his words and…he needed to stop before his wood was unbearable. And the other boys were in pretty similar situations. And you weren’t making things specially easier, because you started stuttering and apologizing nervously.

“What are you apologizing for, pretty? If it hurts, is normal for you to express yourself!” Jin’s hands were now resting on your thighs as he was kneeling in front of you, and he held the smile that started tucking his lips as he felt your muscles tense under his touch. “Keep going Jimin, we need to change that bandage as soon as possible. I would hate for your wound to get infected under our care…”

“That’s really not necessary! I can change it when I get home!” You tried to disuade him, also making your biggest effort to hide the way his hands on your legs were affecting you. They were resting on your mid thighs, palms hot even against the fabric of your pants, but something deep and warm inside your belly wanted them to go higher.

“Oh really? Do you have the right supplies for it on your home?” Yoongi asked you with a raised brow and his cat eyes staring at you almost made you faint, cheeks flushed.

“I…No, I don’t, b-but I have to go buy them anyway, since my landlord didn’t give me a first aid kit! I just keep forgetting…” you started rambling more to yourself than to them, but they heard you clearly, and they didn’t like it.

Jin’s hands gripped your thighs firmly, and you yelped. His hands only tightened at your reaction, and he manhandled you until your legs were open. Your eyes widened and you tried to free yourself and stop him, but his hands clasped your thighs in place, his eyes turning harder and staring at you so intensely you thought he was reading your mind. “Open them”

“B-but…”

“If I have to repeat myself, I swear you will regret being such a bad girl” his voice was a small whisper, but it made you want to drop to your knees for him “Now be good, and open your legs.”

You obeyed slowly, opening your legs for him. But your speed didn’t seem to satisfy him, because he pushed your legs open with a swift movement and got himself between them, only a few centimeters separating your faces. His hand got closer to your face, and his thumb freed your lip from your teeth. You didn’t even realize you were biting it, until his finger swiped softly against your flesh, pulling it softly with his nail.

Why did you want to suck it?

“What a pretty pair of lips you have, huh? Too pretty to have you chewing on them…” his words, his touch, it was all sending you into a cloud like state. You felt just so safe and warm.

So fuzzy…

“Pretty indeed…now, why don’t you just let Jiminnie take care of that wound while our Hyung keeps you distracted?” You barely register Hoseok’s voice, and they seem to notice it.

Were you already entering subspace? That idea made them happy.

“And you better not hide those sounds…it would not be good to keep the pain all bottled up, would it, cute thing?”

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redflagshipwriter · 3 months

Text

Hi, it's Tim (just Tim)

Masterpost

Chapter 1

“Hey!” Tim protested as his feet left the ground. He was manic from lack of sleep, so out of it that he hadn’t even noticed Superboy bursting into the building. In his defense, he’d been concentrating.

“Sorry!” Kon took them up high, holding Tim to his chest. “It’s going to blow.”

Tim struggled like a cat, cranky and disoriented. Then he remembered that things would go very badly for him if he fell from this height. He relaxed into the hold and pressed his cold cheek against Kon’s chest. He let out a sigh, vaguely aware of the sound of Kon’s heartbeat. “I had it under control,” he grumbled. “I almost had that. It was a simple bomb.”

“Very cool if true,” Kon said, stopping and angling to look down at the building he’d evacuated Tim from. “I should have asked if you knew how to disarm bombs, but honestly-”

There was an explosion below them. Tim went limp, annoyed but resigned to losing a source of information. There had been a cache left there from Ra’s’ people. It was gone now. He would have had it too, would have had the time to search the building if Kon hadn’t swooped in and carried him off.

“There wasn’t much time,” Kon finished belatedly. He frowned down at the building and the ash floating upwards. The top floor was now open to the elements. It stayed structurally sound, though, and didn’t fall.

“Why were you here?” Tim asked, annoyed and not hiding that from his teammate. “How did you even know?” He hadn’t called for any backup.

“I heard the ticking,” Kon said simply. “Are you alright?”

Oh, come on. He was not seriously getting babied like this. Hadn’t he proved himself enough? Tim mashed his face into his friend’s chest and groaned. Kon’s heart rate picked up.

Wait. What? What was Kon nervous about?

“I’m fine,” Tim said slowly. He lifted his face to look at the underside of Kon’s defined jawline.

…He wasn’t in uniform, he finally realized. He was in his civvies, and Kon didn’t know who he was. No wonder he’d assumed Tim needed a rescue.

That realization soothed his wounded pride, at least. And it was kind of nice, if he was honest, to be in someone’s hold. He knew Kon was strong, of course he did. But Robin couldn’t lean on his teammate like this. Robin couldn’t let Superboy carry him around. It would undermine him as a leader.

…Tim Drake could enjoy this while it lasted. And he kind of wanted someone to be nice to him right now so he could turn his brain off. It had been a really long week.

Against his best judgment, Tim felt his heart rate slowing down and his muscles melting in relaxation. Kon was sun-warmed and his cologne smelled good. He was holding Tim casually in a sort of hug with one hand around Tim’s thighs and one on the small of his back. It was comfortable. He felt …small. He felt small and safe. Kon was huge in comparison. It was weirdly soothing.

Some part of Tim’s subconscious started to analyze what that said about him. He pushed the self discovery away. He was warm and he knew that there was no way Kon was going to drop him. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

Speaking of, Kon had been frozen for an oddly long time. Tim was probably making him uncomfortable. “Sorry,” he apologized. “You can put me down now.”

Kon started. “Right!” He cleared his throat. They bobbed up and down in the sky over a suburb two hours outside of Gotham for a moment. “Where, ah, where’s good?”

“Bed,” Tim said unthinkingly.

Kon wheezed.

“My bed,” Tim corrected, amused at how awkward Kon was. That didn’t seem to help. “I’m exhausted. I presume you have a long day of heroics planned, you don’t have to actually take me home. You can just put me down anywhere.” He sort of regretted he couldn’t give Kon shit for this without doxxing himself.

There was no way he was actually going to let Kon take him home. Bruce would lose his mind.

It would be funny to subject Kon to Brucie Wayne. But Kon didn’t really deserve that.

“Are you- do you live near here?” Kon was struggling.

Tim huffed a laugh into his friend’s chest, melting like a cat. “I live in Gotham,” he drawled. “Bit far for you. You can just put me down.” Even as he said it he clenched his fingers a little around the edge of Kon’s jacket. It didn’t mean anything. It definitely didn’t mean that he wanted to stay here.

“Oh.” Kon was obviously disappointed. “That’s- I’d take you home but Gotham is a no fly zone. Is there uh- how are you traveling? Do you want to go to a train station? Oh- do you know why there was a bomb there? I could take you to the police station to make a report.”

Wow. Was Kon always like this with civilians? Tim didn’t remember him being this awkward. He was usually pretty smooth, honestly.

“No need for a police report,” Tim decided. “Batman’ll handle it.” That wasn’t strictly true– he would eventually make the report– but it was close enough for Kon’s purposes. “Ah…” He paused as he realized he might, uh, not want to go home right away. He’d told Bruce he’d be at a friend’s house overnight. If he showed up early a few hours after an explosion, he would be getting the third degree. “I think I want to get a hotel, actually. Do you know where one is around here?”

“I can do that, yeah. Are you sure you’re good?” Kon finally started moving through the air. The thickly muscled arm around Tim’s lower back worked its way up to his shoulder blades so that Kon could carefully cradle the back of Tim’s head in his hand and protect him from whiplash. Jeeze, his hand went basically all the way around Tim’s head, ear to ear. Tim simultaneously wanted to push back into the hand and to not move from where he was comfortably pressed into Kon’s pectorals.

“Hey?”

Oh. He’d never answered. And Kon didn’t know his name. “Tim,” he muttered drowsily. Holy shit, was this what people felt every night? This was why they slept regularly? Would he sleep every night of his life if he could do it pressed full-body against someone big and warm? Dick absolutely could never know.

“Tim?” Kon sounded confused.

“Yeah, thas my name.”

“...You’re falling asleep.” Kon sounded delighted by this. “Tim, am I that comfy? Are you so cozy?” he teased.

It was serious business, so Tim forced up the effort to scoff. “Of course I am,” he said. This was probably how everyone felt. “You’re big and warm and you smell good. And I haven’t slept in like, 49 hours. This is inevitable.”

“...You really remind me of someone right now,” Kon said.

It was, uh, probably himself. Tim did laugh at that. But he chose not to answer.

Bruce would kill him if he gave away his secret identity, so there was nothing safe to say. It was a little funny, though.

“You’re not curious at all?” Kon prompted him. A thumb started working lazy circles into Tim’s scalp and it felt so good. “I mean, I usually get a bit more reaction when I save someone. More- wow, it’s Superboy!” He imitated. “You’re so cool and handsome and mysterious. Can I get your autograph and phone number?”

Tim made a pfft sound. “You’re not that cool,” he grumbled. “And I already said thanks. I’m not here to inflate your ego. You’re a regular guy.” He was a good Titan, for sure, and a helluvan ally to have. But he was no Nightwing.

“...That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” Kon actually sounded choked up about it. “Marry me, man?”

Tim patted blindly at Kon’s chest. His eyes were closed. He didn’t remember closing them. “No way,” he rejected. “But feel free to keep petting my head.”

“You need to get somewhere comfortable, so not for much longer.”

Tim made a sound of disgust.

“...Not to be a creep, but I will absolutely keep doing that if you invite me into your hotel room.” Kon sounded like he regretted speaking the instant the words were out of his mouth. “Ignore that,” he said hurriedly. “You don’t know me, so that’s super weird. And of course you wouldn’t feel safe to do that.”

That made him laugh. He’d slept in the same room as Kon a dozen times. “I feel plenty safe,” Tim said. He gave into his impulse and nudged his head into the hand that had stopped petting him.

“Wow,” Kon muttered. He swallowed. His heart was going crazy fast now. “Yeah, okay. You have a hotel you like? Cheap? Expensive?”

“I do not care at all,” Tim said, basically out of it and drunk on skin contact. He roused enough to remember– “Actually, go to the Wayne one. I don’t have my credit card with me.”

“...So you want to go to an expensive hotel without money?” Kon clarified.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed blearily. Obviously. If he went to a non-affiliated hotel, they wouldn’t have a reason to give him a room on credit.

Kon was obviously confused, but he obliged. Tim sighed about it, but he condescended to stand on his own power and walk into the lobby. He didn’t want to do anything. He’d lie down on the floor if it wouldn’t get back to Bruce in an hour. The public was so tedious.

Kon followed a few steps behind. Tim made eye contact with the woman behind the desk at reception and tipped his head to the side. He wondered how gauche he’d have to be. He kinda hoped she recognized him.

Her eyes went wide for an instant, and then her professional mask slammed into place. “Good evening,” she greeted. “How may I help you?”

Great. “Hi,” Tim said. He resisted the urge to lean on the counter. He was crashing hard. All the adrenaline was gone from his body. He couldn’t go to work now, not without catching a serious Bruce lecture. The only thing left was to listen to his body. “Can I get an executive suite, thanks.”

“Of course,” she agreed immediately. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. “As for payment– to your family account?”

“Yes, thanks,” Tim said. “That’s perfect.”

She looked at him again and her lips twitched. It was probably amusement. “Just a moment.” She printed something and then held a set of keycards to some kind of scanner. “Here you are. You’re on the top floor.”

Great. Mission accomplished. Bed next. “Thank you.” Tim nodded and shuffled to the elevator.

“Uh-” Kon hesitated a moment and then Tim heard a rustling of fabric. Oh. Right. He’d forgotten the room cards.

“Thanks,” he said again. He hit the up arrow and stared at the distorted reflection of Robin and Superboy. Superboy’s head momentarily became enormous and then slimmed to hilarious proportions when he shifted on his heels. Tim mentally calculated how long it was going to take to ride the elevator all the way up there. “It would be faster to fly,” he said mournfully. He had never let Kon carry him before and it was a decision he stood by. It wasn’t very impressive to get carried to battle. But he wasn’t unaware of how convenient it made life.

Kon snickered. “Where’s the stairwell, baby?”

Baby? Tim full body jerked at that appellation. He lifted an eyebrow in disbelief.

Kon gave him a toothy grin. “Never mind, I see it. Can I pick you up?”

On the one hand, it was a transparent attempt to show off. Kon was clearly dying to show off his superior physique and impress. Tim generally shot that shit down hard. That asshole didn’t need his ego inflated further.

On the other hand, it turned out that he liked being babied. “Go for it, big guy.”

Big blue eyes darted over Tim, clearly calculating, before he turned and offered Tim a piggyback ride. Tim sort of mourned the chest-to-chest contact, but he kinda got why Kon might not wanna do that anymore. It had been an emergency hold.

He was right, though, it was much faster than the elevator. Kon got him to the hotel room in a swift and smooth ride and unlocked the door without even putting Tim down. He went to the bed- and then came to a jerky stop. Tim hummed and leaned forward to see that Kon’s face was red. Like, bright red.

‘...Did he plan to dump me on the bed and then realized what that would look like?’ Tim held in a snicker. He was starting to think that Kon was talking out of his ass when he bragged about all his romantic and sexual experience. It was cute, honestly.

“Here you go,” Kon said in an extremely strained voice. “I uh, you wanna turn on the TV?”

Tim climbed down and reached up to pat him on the shoulder. “Go for it.” He sure wasn’t going to be watching. He shucked his shoes, tossed his watch on the bedside table, and then starfished out on the bed with a pleasing whumpf.

“Wow,” Kon said again, voice low and fond. “Uh- here’s a soccer game. That cool?”

He made a thumbs up without lifting his head. He vaguely heard the sounds of cheering and electronic whooshing. The bed depressed next to him as a Kryptonian superhero gingerly sat. The weight displacement moved Tim downwards and towards a warm leg. After a few seconds, that hand was back in Tim’s hair.

He could have purred.

Kon pulled his fingers through Tim’s hair and down onto his neck. Then again. And again, and then Tim was waking up to muffled light through curtains. He lifted his head, disoriented. Where’d his friend gone? The T.V. was off. His phone had come out of his pockets sometime in his sleep and was under his leg. Tim fished it out and squinted at the time.

“....Ten hours,” Tim said, impressed with himself. He levered himself up. The breakfast buffet was probably open now, and that meant he could grab life-giving carbs and his first hit of caffeine. He swung his feet off the bed- and noticed something written on the hotel stationary.

Kon had left his phone number. Nothing else. Just the number. Tim already had it from his, uh, background check. But he’d never messaged Kon that way.

He pursed his lips and thought about it as he grabbed the keycards and shuffled to the dining room.

Kon liked him. Kon liked civilian him, crabby and demanding Tim Drake-Wayne. Kon had been his personal taxi and tried to impress him and- in retrospect- been adorably into him.

Huh. He opened up a message. “Hi, it’s Tim,” he said to himself as he typed it up and hit send. “You get home okay?”

#timkon #red just tim #dc fanfic

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gravidwithlore · 3 months

Text

Imagine being pregnant with and giving birth to an uncommon/rare elemental:

(This got a lil long so I put it under a read more so I dont clog up anyone's dash)

-Helium (or idk some other super light gas) elemental baby that's so light you're belly expands but never feels heavy. In fact as they get bigger you feel the baby start to rise and float within you, your growing breasts, still filling with very heavy human/mammalian milk, are the only thing weighing the front of your belly down. By the time you're due you have to wear heavy boots and clothes to keep you from floating off the ground. When its time to give birth, your base instincts tell you to use gravity to allow your baby to be born downwards, but the baby refuses to cooperate with you, continuing to float inside of you. It's only when you invert your position, piling every pillow you own under your hips until it feels like you're going to somersault back on yourself, does your baby begin to move upwards. Easily floating up through your birth canal, to be caught mid-air by its other parent. Empty, gravity returns to you in full, leaving you feeling heavier in your own body than you did while you were overdue and pregnant.

-Elementals of heavier gases in comparison seem much more in line with human nature, but of course you can feel the difference right away. Despite them technically being an air elemental, you felt the weight of them even before conception, your elemental partners sperm adding a new, but not entirely unpleasant weight in your womb. When that tiny bundle of cells begin to multiply you can feel the shift in weight practically day to day. By the time you're just beginning to show you've already gotten a belly sling to help spare your back. You always carry low, the baby always low on your hips and weighing down the curve of your belly. You carry so low that by the time its, well, time, it catches you by surprise bc you never experience your belly dropping because its always been that way. You hope the weight and gravity will help your baby slide right out, but it doesn't take long to realize that's not quite the case. Your belly has dropped so low, the baby so heavy for an air elemental, it can't move from the base of your low hanging belly to the passage from your womb. Its only once you or your partner lift your heavy belly up, does your baby flow down out of you with ease. Weak and tired from labor, your partner helps support your arms so you're able to hold your heavy elemental newborn.

-Glass elementals are a strange combination of strong and fragile, and their offspring will be no different. They're especially fragile in the womb as their still forming and growing in their super malleable state. You're so very careful, tiptoing through your every day life before you even have so much as a bump. Once that curve makes itself known however you're placed on bed rest almost immediately. A curved and swelling belly is a belly that can bump into things, be bumped into, strangers without warning or permission pressing their hands in too hard, not knowing just how fragile and precious your cargo is. Even you have to be so very careful and gentle when you run your hands over your increasingly warm belly, lest you accidentally dent your most precious creation in its molten and malleable stage, forming in your womb like the most intricate blown glass sculpture. When you start having Braxton Hicks, there's an immediate worry about the tensing of your belly over your glass baby. The local wizard/potion maker is called for to put you on a special dose of muscle relaxers. It should go without saying, but pushing is out of the question. When labor truly starts your dose of muscle relaxers is significantly increased and you take strong sedatives to prevent you from trying to push on accident. You're tied up, arms pinned and legs bound in birthing position to prevent you from moving the wrong way, you're bed, your room, your entire house padded and cushioned to the extreme to prepare for your child's arrival. Your contractions, even at their strongest point, are extremely weak to prevent any damage to the baby, cooling down from its malleable stage as it exits your body, the glass hardening but still extremely fragile. You're barely conscious through the process because you're so sedated, but it takes days, possibly even weeks, for your glass elemental baby to be born, all so very worth it to hold their (extremely well wrapped and padded) bundle of joy.

-A lava elemental, also so heavy from the moment of conception, your belly immediately a source of warmth, you feel like you're carrying a furnace long before you start showing. This baby also carries low from the beginning, the slow lethargic movements of your child can shift the shape of your belly for hours from a single kick, rather than a few seconds like the kick of a human child would. Its ability to contract and expand itself also changes the shape and size of your belly every few days or so, leaving acquaintances (who aren't aware of your child's half-elemental parentage) confused on just how far along you are. Your partner, from the very first month, rubs a special lotion over your belly to prevent the heat from hurting you, and soon they begin to use it to lube up your insides as well, liberally fingering it into you to make sure you're well prepared when its time to bring your child into the world. By the time you go into labor, you practically need to be guzzling water 24/7 in order to prevent the lava baby from overheating you, any drop of sweat that runs down your belly sizzling into steam, the low low base of your belly hotter than a frying pan. Your partner more dutiful than ever in liberally slathering the burn prevention lotion over you and most importantly inside you. Between the volcanic heat of your child and your equally (literally) hot partner stretching you full enough so they can lather your cervix in the cool lotion, you've never felt so overstimulated in your life. When labor finally arrives, your scalding hot waters breaking, the baby flows so quickly through your canal, startling you with its speed, you can't help but begin to feel relief that it will be over soon. But when you begin to crown, and the baby's head first meets air, they begin to lose their fluidity as the outside of their molten skin begins to cool and form a rock-like external layer. To crown took only a minute or so, the rest of the birth takes hours, days even, as your partner continues to apply the lotion to as much of your poor human nethers they can still access. You're grateful they had to foresight to begin using it inside of you as soon into your pregnancy as they did, the lotion preparing your birth canal to handle to heat of your molten child even when your partner can no longer reach in to apply it with the baby stuck in there. Each push only moving it in tiny increments, if it moves it at all, each push causing the baby to harden and become heavier as its exposed more and more to the air. Thanks to your partners attentive and loving care, you make it through the birth with the only burns being on your hands, too excited to hold your newborn to remember to protect your bare human hands. Exhausted, slicked in sweat, dehydrated, shivering as you begin to feel cool for the first time in months, you can finally hold your elemental baby, who is, for your protection, swaddled in a silvery protective fire blanket.

-Sand elementals, abrasive and rough and constantly moving inside your womb as if a whirlwind had stirred them up. They're often active in the womb and in the few moments they settle down it feels like your insides have been attacked by sandpaper. When your water breaks, the onset of labor seems like relief. But then your belly feels heavier and even lower than it did before, all that sand no longer suspended by the waters of your womb. Soon your child begins to trickle out of you, and you hope this is a sign of an easy birth. And in a way it is, you don't seem to have to deal with a heavy head and wide shoulders battering its way through your insides, but the birth is long. Instead of coming out as one large mass as most babies do, your sand elemental baby trickles out as particles of sand, choosing to form itself fully outside of the womb. But its hard to know when you're done giving birth, even your body seems confused. Once you're sure you pushed out all the sand, even your body sure, its contractions beginning to weaken, more sand begins to trickle out of your nethers. Not all of the millions of pieces that make up your child are in a hurry to join the rest it seems. It feels like its days, maybe even a week, until its all out of you, you're insides feel like they're scraped raw. All you can do is hold your almost whole bundle of child as you leave your legs spread and hope the rest of it is born soon. Exhausted and almost sick from worry and your bodies confusion over whether to keep contracting or not, your sand elemental baby begins to move, its wailing cry sends a tidal wave of relief through your body, now sure that your child has been completely born.

-The movement of a storm elemental baby inside the womb is unparalleled. Not only are they constantly kicking and moving in there, but your womb has become the container of an entire weather system. You can often feel the movements of gathering clouds, the rumble of thunder, pitter patter of rain, even jolts of lightening can shock your fingertips when you attempt to rub and soothe your belly. On the flip side, sometimes you can feel the warmth of the sun peeking through the clouds after the storm, pleasantly soft breezes, when your child finally settles down it feels like going outside on a perfect and clear day. As your child gets bigger and closer to being due, miniature weather systems begin to manifest around you as well. People can tell you're not trying to be cute when you say "Baby wants (insert craving here)," the gathering storms clouds and rumble of thunder above your head and from within your womb make it absolutely clear baby really does want that craving. The underlying threat of what happens when your craving is not met makes them hurry to meet baby's demands as best as they can. Labor itself isn't much more complicated than it would be for a human baby, except of course for the major thunderstorm swirling above your head. Punctuating your screams with deafening thunder, lightening shocking the people supporting you through birth, wind and rain whipping at them, drenching you to the bone and making it hard for everyone to see what going on. As soon as the baby leaves your body, you're swept over with relief, the storm disappearing in a moment leaving everyone around you blinking in momentary confusion. As you child your child against your rain slicked skin, they begin to take their first cry. Despite the fact that you're already drenched, and the baby is a storm elemental, your partner opens up an umbrella to protect you both from the light rain shower that begins to drizzle over your wailing newborn.

#my ramblings #nbpreg #mpreg #fpreg #nbpreg birth #mpreg birth #fpreg birth #birth kink #pregnancy kink #fantasy preg #monster preg

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kimetsu-no-yaiba-writings · 8 months

Note

HIHI! Im not really good at requesting things so I apologize in advance of this seems weird😭 odd request but!1!1 could you maybe do Rui with a s/o that’s a lunar moth demon? Like has the wings and antennas of said moth and stuff :)

Hiya Anon! (^○^) First off I want to thank you for requesting, especially something so fun!

Please don't apologize either, I'm more than happy to write your request ☆ If you have anymore please send them my way!

I just hope that i've done your request justice....

Also as I've written quite a bit I'm gonna stick these headcanons under a 'Keep Reading' line which I hope you don't mind.

Rui x Luna moth Demon S/O - Headcanons:

To Rui, you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his long life - Your just absolutely stunning!

Even before you both started a relationship – back when you first met each other, where you were injured + caught in his web and he was going to eat you 😊 – you held a ethereal beauty that soothed him yet made him yearn

…….he did threaten to eat you a lot at the beginning of your friendship, although now he threatens to eat you in a joking manner

Big beautiful pearlescent green wings that shimmer when you move – covered in a soft fuzz and a gentle dust – the crescent moons on your wings winking each time you move.

Your bottom wings have these beautiful twisting tails too which happen to trail on the floor alot so you have a tendency to stay above ground so they don't get damaged

Rui does help you keep them intact and healthy

Your antennae sit comfortably on your forehead just above your brows, resting on your head when not in proper use - as if your letting them relax

They happen to be as equally as soft as your wings, and feathered out elegant – the colour a mellow yellow, slightly dull in comparison to your wings

Of course Rui doesn’t touch your wings or antennae too much, he knows both are delicate – that and your sense of smell is incredibly sensitive due to your antennae…

Your eyes are stunning too, a beautiful shade of (E/C) that have the amazing ability to see everything around you in hyper detail

It just also happens that due to your amazing eyesight you happen to be a bit light sensitive…..

Although funnily enough, light is something that grabs your attention quickly? You just have to investigate it at all costs

Does that mean Rui has to constantly be vigilant for unusual light sources? Yes

Also your eyes glow – like a cat’s – when light is shone at them

Has this accidently scared members of the spider family? Yes! Have any of them learnt not to shine lights around so you don’t accident scare them? No

Honestly each and everyone of your features are beautiful to Rui

You differ so much to him and his spider qualities - although his eyes do the glowy thing too (which is terrifying! Why did spiders have to have the glowy eye things too?!)

Your method of hunting is fascinating too.

Completely different to his hunting.

Soft clicks leaving your throat in odd patterns to confuse your prey (and predator) as you lead them off on a wild + intoxicating dance before devouring them swiftly

Hiding away above in the forests canopy, your eyes that see all analyzing everything about your prey from the way they stand to the sound of their blood + heart rate

You can go months between eating - Lunar moths lack mouths completely and survive of off their own body fat - although you eat ALOT when you finally do need to eat which Rui happily provides for you

Your blood is also moth-like! Instead of a deep crimson its a deep and haunting blue - Although if you were to ever get injured to the point of shedding blood, Rui is personally hunting & killing the thing that harmed you down

Rui does like to spoil you

He always manages to find - or maybe make? - the finest fabrics and furs for you, everything is suited to your tastes and wants

The fur is always soft and warming due to your obsession with warmth and keeping it locked in your body

The flesh you consume is only ever hunted by his or your hand - Rui only ever does this for you

Your bestowed his love and affection for all of time

His small smiles and feather soft kisses - Cold lips brushing along the apple of your cheek in a sign of affection as you walk together with hands holding

Soft and gentle hands upon your face, appendages and body

Your the only one who he whispers compliments and praise too

The only one he'll ever shed tears for - In sadness, anger, lust and happiness etc.

You are his love

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny rui x reader #kimetsu no yaiba rui x reader #demon slayer rui x reader #rui x reader #anime x reader #x reader #rui #kny rui #kimetsu no yaiba rui #demon slayer rui

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saltylandland · 1 year

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You don’t mess with food!

David gets an appropriate reaction from his shenanigans.

The past couple of days have been a whirlwind for this vampire coven. Not only did their sire and half bat seem to fixate on the newest arrivals to their Santa Carla, but the boys have also since found their mate in one of the three Emerson siblings. Funny how fate works like that.

After being given the green light from Max, the boys have been successful at luring both you and your brother Michael to the cave. Although, most of that credit would go to Star really. Michael follows her around the boardwalk like a man possessed, and their sweet little mate, all too entertained by the situation at hand, follows after.

Unfortunately that entertainment didn’t last long.

Seemingly having more of a backbone than their brother, which was fair considering there was no pretty girl on the line, they didn’t hesitate to respond negatively to the hazing. Smacking the shit out of both Michael and David for putting their lives, as well as theirs and Stars, on the line for a pissing contest.

Unfortunately neither David nor the rest of the boys considered how much their mate was willing to tolerate, liking their reactions too much to let up.

It all came to a head when Marko brought the rice over. Having relaxed a bit after smoking most of Paul’s blunt, something that would usually be a death sentence for anyone else, they let Paul drag them onto his lap, his hands tapping happily against their sides.

After bulking at Paul’s dining habits, you go to join your brother on the couch. As you approach you couldn’t help but notice movement in Michael’s food, they were, they were maggots?!?

You screeched at your brother, and after looking at his food, he went to spit out the food while you slapped his back before he could choke. All around you there were jeers and laughter, with a reddening face you pointed at the discarded rice box only to find just rice spilled on the ground.

Your fury was only heightened as David claims ‘no hard feelings, hm?’

No hard feelings?!?

If you weren’t fed up enough, David goes to offer noodles, which were worms, adding more laughter and jeering. With that you threw your hands up and proclaimed ’fuck this’ and you stormed out of the cave.

The boys really didn’t like the sound of finality in your voice.

—

With a nonchalant nod, Marko practically sprints after you, after giving over the wine. All of them were collectively unnerved by your absence. But right now, David couldn’t afford ruining the mood, having to finish the task given to him by his Sire. He assures himself that you just need time to cool off, despite the nagging anxiety in his chest.

It was almost laughable how easy it was to get Michael to drink the blood, in comparison to their mate. But, David mused, at least he seems to be easy to adapt and conform. That was a good sign as a potential coven member.

Bringing the wine to his lips, David goads Michael on. ‘Drink it’

‘David, they’re actually leaving’

Michael hesitates, so David goads him on further, starting to chant with his brothers.

‘David! They won’t listen to me! They’re really mad!’

Star tells him that it’s blood, he casts her a sharp glance, almost ready to finally break his resolve and force feed Michael the damn wine.

‘DAVID’

Luckily, Michael shrugs her off. Drinking from the wine eagerly. The celebration is uncharacteristically short, but seemingly a lightweight, Michael barely noticed. Passing him off to Star, she reads the situation and leads him away from the main cave.

Paul and Dwayne are out before David could leave, but he doesn’t hesitate to scramble after them.

Finding his mate arguing with Marko was as bizarre as one would think. Having the biggest temper out of all of them, Marko would usually shoot back guns blazing. But instead he looks like a panicked, kicked puppy. Seemingly knowing how grave their situation is. You were arguing with no one, Marko reduced to pleas that went on deaf ears.

Yelling your head off “fuck off!!! you don’t fuck with food!”

Immediately, the boys' heads whip to David and an underlying blame being cast to David as they look at him with an iciness they never would have before. It was getting increasingly obvious that if he didn’t do something drastic soon, he’ll be losing both his mate and his coven (or at least their respect).

Walking up to you, who was still raving, he tried his best to give a sincere apology, something he didn’t think he'd done since his heart was still beating.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #tlb dwayne #tlb 1987 #tlb fanfic #david tlb #tlb marko #tlb paul #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys fanfiction

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forgeofthenine · 5 months

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this is not a request, I'm just having soft feelings over a tiefling man and wanted to blurt it out somewhere and your blog seemed like a good place for tiefling feelings :') (but also if you don't want people to just come and throw their random HCs at you I'll understand that too, and you can just delete this!)

but I keep thinking about the first time Zevlor lets his tail wag (or fails to control it) around someone he has feelings for. him having always suppressed it for the sake of his role as the leader and his disciplined training for a hellrider would've taught him to control it, no matter how instinctive and natural it is. but I keep imagining him either stepping through a door and accidentally pumping into you, and his tail does a single swing before he can stop it, or you're spending time alone with him, and with only the two of you present, he's letting just the very tip of his tail rise off the ground and fall lazily, like a relaxed and sleepy cat would.

Omg yes Anon! I love other people's headcanons and ideas 🤩

I love the idea of stiff, respectable Zevlor slowly opening up more to you. The way he seems open and honest at first, but you only realise much later how he kept so much hidden, his tails enthusiasm included. I also love any comparison between tieflings and cats, it's all very accurate and correct. Tiefs are just humanoid cats with horns.

Having physical touch be the thing that makes him crack is so Zevlor coded too, man just needs some human touch for once.

#bri rambles #bri answers #bg3 zevlor

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krewekreep · 6 months

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After the Night Ends Chapter 2

1.4K Alucard X OC!Reader. Reader is non binary with a femme body. AU but contains lore from Castlevania & Castlevania: Nocturne. Takes place during the last episode and goes from there

Angst, Estranged Lovers AU, Soulmate AU, Alucard is a reclusive, flirtatious snarky brat. Not 18+ yet but following chapters may and will be properly tagged as such. Filler Chapter kinda Song: Beyoncé - Disappear

⋆♱✮☽🦇☽✮♰⋆ ⋆♱✮☽🦇☽✮♰⋆ ⋆♱✮☽🦇☽✮♰⋆

You couldn’t go anywhere because Alucard had neared you. You admittedly jumped at his approach, throwing your gaze quickly towards the ground. When you first met him you had had so much spunk and tenacity. You still did. But his love humbled you. You could do nothing more after time but climb into his lap, leaning your head into the crook of his neck. By this time he understood your moonlight tendencies letting you mewl low touching all over him until you’d nuzzle yourself against him to nap. He was your favorite resting spot. Whether his chest, back, thighs, arms, lap your head had fallen asleep basically anywhere it could’ve with him. Physical intimacy was your love language.

The touch of his palm to your head relaxed you. You opened your eyes to his piercing yellow ones. “Adrian…” you spoke again. As if a prayer, an amen. His name was peace and prosperity. Home and hospitality. He was all you wanted, all you had had, and what could you say to him now. Mute, trembling, awe struck. “Rise up my love.” My love. You shuddered in his grasp to which he chuckled half heartedly. He didn’t quite mean love the same as he had when his face lit up or blushed. How he would whisper “my love” over and over in the crook of your neck as his moans caught in his throat. When he’d call out to you because you slipped or hurt yourself. A sharp “My love!” followed by his hurried rush to your side. Your hand in his, dwarfed in comparison. His nails elongated, curved and sharp. “Please don’t let me do all the talking.” He threw defeated. “My love…” fell from your lips dazed. You closed in without a second thought wrapping your arms around his preserving, wide torso, head on his suited chest. “My life how I missed you…” a sob broke through. “I missed you so much!” You clasped onto him so tightly your breasts began to hurt. His arms were delicately at your side. You nuzzled into him wishing you could disappear back to the castle and explain everything. You looked up at Adrian who while definitely loved you seemed…uncomfortable. You stepped away as quickly as you had leapt towards him adjusting your clothing and emotions appropriately. You guessed it wouldn’tbe such a happy reunion. No, you were happy. It simply wouldn’t be easy and for god knows how long you’ll be catching up to the She-Beast Erzabeth. And too there were much bigger concerns of Erzabeth. Everyone still confused bristled at his denial of you. Defensive and protective they knew you entirely different from he. And who was he to reject you so easily.

“Well,” Richter threw haphazardly. “You two can explain all of this at a later time. We must move forward and defeat Erzabeth.” He thought his attempt to lead the group would very least get Maria and Annette to agree. But Annette especially kept a cautious eye on both of you. You knew she of everyone would likely feel the most betrayed…and by the reception you’ve garnered maybe lying…maybe all this wasn’t worth it. I should’ve stayed away. How absolutely dumb of me. You scoffed throwing your head back incredulous. Maybe it naive to assume it would be a romantic sweeping reunion…but now it felt as if all was nothing. Unbeknownst to you Alucard took you in with a rake in his heart. How you let your hair grow a bit past your shoulders, more kept than you ever had back then. How you smelled tired, lonely but yearning. How the top of you smelled of magnolias and cedar wood. He was obsessed with catching any signs of aging. While not aged visually beyond a 25-30 year old, the weather of time was hidden in the small creases of your eyes and smile line. The bunch of your brow finally indented permanently—as he always told you it would if you didn’t check your propensity to scowl. He felt compelled to just…watch you. As he had in the shadows and windows when you grew familiar enough to meander about. He had no real reaction. Seeing you meant everything and nothing. He couldn’t even be solemn. Nor forlorn. He was indifferent. Grateful you were alive and for what it seemed well…but that confirmation only too angered him. Subdued him. Removed him as he grew long out of spite and resentment. Before, when he could only miss you pathetically. Then after when he could only hate you pathetically. Once he could feel no more, he submitted to his eternal slumber lamenting much of what felt had mattered before didn’t…and so laying down to rest felt easy, if not final.

“We would be remiss to fork on towards her as,” looking towards Alucard for agreement. “We are incredibly unprepared to face the breadth of her. It would be suicide.” Your band of youngins look over you. You mentally adopted all four (including Eduard) and while traveling you grew closest to Annette. Richter and Maria were dear to you too, incredibly. But her story of enslavement and eventual freedom struck a deep chord with you. While your complexion was lighter than Annette’s, you favored closer to Drolta had her ancestry been more overtly mixed. You were of a wandering, diverse group. You and your blood kin were definitely darker than large portions of your ever migrating community. The equal stares from people similar to you, yet from else where unknown gave you a strange sense of familiarity and understanding, until it was nothing for you or others to tip your head or smile in acknowledgment in passing. Oftentimes you wished them blessed journeys and safe arrivals. Only because for you, especially after you were alone, it mattered to see others like you. A reminder that yes while lonely you were connected to something. And maybe they too were wishing you the best as you moved forward…

“Belmont,” Alucard throws as a response to you. Richter perks up alert as if a student caught. “Yes…uh, sir???” Everyone else looks to him sighing but Alucard stiffens next to you. Previously, in another time you suppose, he’d fall out in laughter. Or, as the tease he is, lead Richter further into acknowledging him as an authority figure. What would be to his immense amusement had he told Trevor—right. Although you saw Trevor in Richter, it was enough removed. You thought that even had Trevor been young his ruggedness would shine through (along with his five o clock shadow). You’d never say but a couple of Belmont’s had crossed your path. None you ever spoke to, but in the evolving noise of bars where people need bad deeds done a bellowing drunken voice could be heard. And every time you slipped through crowds towards the door you sent a glance that direction. Always a mass of brown hair, sun worn skin, and jokes for days. Alucard…could only see Trevor in Richter. Of course, more clean cut maybe even overtly less reckless or over confident. But Belmonts’ always carry their weight with pride. Their shoulders extended as a shield with a prepared but leisurely stride. How Alucard wishes to tell Trevor of his descendant’s blooming Belmont bravery. But he sets on, “Are you aware of anything you’d like to tell me?” Alucard is boring holes into Richter. Richter shuffles uncomfortable, defensive grabbing for his whip instinctively. Annette and Maria follow standing protectively at his side. For you, you see the amazing kids so young, daring, and loving of one another. Your heart swells with parental pride. “That…” Alucard’s eye sight drifts to the bridled whip secure to the nervous boy’s side. “Have you…discovered something.” You knew exactly what he was inquiring about and so did Richter. “Yeah I guess I uh..” he rubs the back of his head again nervous. “I met my grandfather…Juste.” An aura of cosmic blue crackles off his whip which only you and Alucard notice.

“I see,” Alucard without a word turns about face walking in the opposite direction of the eclipse and Erzabeth. “None of you are ready.” They all gasp. Completely confused by to them, a strange but beautiful man, who also was being weird to their newfound loved one. Richter prodded the destination of Adrian who without breaking a beat said: “My castle.”

⋆♱✮☽🦇☽✮♰⋆ ⋆♱✮☽🦇☽✮♰⋆ ⋆♱✮☽🦇☽✮♰⋆ ⋆♱✮☽

#x black fem reader #castlevania #black fem reader #alucard castlevania #alucard x reader #alucard #castlevania x reader #castlevania nocturne #adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes #dhampir #dhamphir x reader #my sad little white fox

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tenkobitch · 1 month

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𝓕𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓹

Kazuha Kaedehara x GN Reader

Genre(s): Fluff, friends to best friends, etc.

A/N: Kazuha is such a nice guy... This is why I keep writing for nice/shy guys! They're the best!

You often wondered if your friends ever thought about you as much as you did with them. During special occasions, like birthdays and anniversaries, you'd be thinking about what kind of gifts your friends would like. During the holidays, like Christmas and the like, you would contact your friends and try to round them up for a small gathering to help them all relax. After some time, you realized that you were the only one making an effort to actually get things your friends liked, and you did things that they wanted to do. But none of your friends seemed to take the same time and care to plan out things for you. Except for one person...

Kazuha

You met the wandering samurai on one eventful day. You were tasked with unloading all sorts of materials onto The Alcor - a ship owned and managed by The Crux.

As you were bringing up a heavy box of medical supplies up the ship's ramp, you suddenly slipped on a wandering leaf, almost taking the supplies with you. You expected to be on the ground whilst everyone else was sprinting to save the medicines and such. But before you could hit the ground, you landed roughly against someone's arms.

That was Kazuha, an angel in disguise.

Ever since then, he has taken great care to contact you through letters and through personal visits, making sure you were feeling well or he would offer his assistance. The white haired male would always show up unexpectedly, bringing you gifts from the lands he had visited. You were sure he was an actual angel, given the way he spoke poetically and moved oh so gracefully whilst giving you a great amount of care and attention.

But he genuinely cared.

He was someone that you didn't think you'd meet in your entire lifetime, but here he was. You realized how much he had done for you, and continued to do for you, while your other friends had only given miniscule amounts of attention when you were around them. You were going to tell Kazuha how much he meant to you.

So, you wrote a letter, writing about the most memorable moments with the gentle male, and telling him how much his actions meant to you in comparison to your other friends.

Once you were finished, you rushed to see him at the docks. He sent you a letter, telling you when to expect him back to Liyue. So, you waited patiently for him and his crew to arrive back from their adventures.

When he finally showed up, you quickly grabbed his attention. He jumped over the ship railing and made his way to you through the small crowds of people. You shifted back and forth from one foot to another, eager to give your letter to Kazuha.

As the white haired male came closer, he gave a small bow of his head and greeted you.

“To what do I owe the pleasure? It's quite lovely to see you here to greet me.” Kazuha spoke with a small, grateful smile. You shoved the note towards him, too nervous to say anything without embarrassing yourself. He smiled, opening the letter carefully and reading the contents quickly. He looked back at you, back at the paper, then looked back at you. You smiled nervously, waiting for his response, if he had any. You expected to receive a grateful nod, or even a thank you because you knew he'd at least be nice about your efforts.

What you weren't expecting was to receive a strong hug as the samurai held you for a couple of seconds. You hugged him back, patting him awkwardly on the back before he pulled away. You tilted your head questionably, wanting an answer to this sudden action.

“Was there a reason for the sudden hug?” You asked as Kazuha regained his senses. You knew that he was quite grateful for your letter, as he always was for everything you did for him, but you still wanted to hear him say what he was thinking. He looked away in embarrassment as he spoke once again.

“I've never had anyone give me a beautifully written letter such as yours before. I am rather speechless. I don't know how to show you how truly appreciative I am of your kind words,” the white haired male said before gathering the courage to face you again.

“So, all I could do was show you my gratitude through a comfortable gesture. I hope I did not startle you, or make you uncomfortable. I merely wanted to share my happiness.” He smiled as he waited for you to respond. You were left empty headed, with nothing to respond with. He had rendered you speechless. So, you did all you could think to do.

You hugged him, and he reciprocated.

After you welcomed him back to Liyue, you both spent the rest of the day at a dinner place, hoping to create more beautiful memories with another. You laughed and confided in one another, leaving no room for tension to reside. You had a wonderful time with him, and you both said your goodbyes until the next day.

You talked more and continued to be friendly with each other. And as the days passed by before his next expedition, you both considered yourselves best friends, never letting each other forget the other.

That's how you managed to spend the rest of your days.

*Bonus*

“When are you supposed to leave next, Kazuha?”

“I will leave at dawn tomorrow.”

“Remember to write-”

“I will remember to write you letters. You will send me letters as well, won't you?”

“I would if I knew where you'd be!”

“I guess we'll figure that out next time I leave.”

“It's a deal!”

A/N: I wrote this because I needed something else to post. Let me know if you enjoyed it!

#fanfic #genshin impact #kazuha #kazuha kaedehara #kaedehara kazuha #kazuha x reader #kaedehara x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #genshin impact fanfics #fluff #friends to more #best friends

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karikarasuno · 2 years

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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.”

#ichigo kurosaki x reader #ichigo kurosaki fluff #ichigo kurosaki smut #bleach fanfic #bleach smut #happy belated birthday aman #I love you #kari’s writing🔆

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