#deathberry100

[sequencefairy]

Moonlit Chaser

Ichiruki. Smut. Written for @deathberryprompts‘ weekly drabble theme. This week’s theme was ‘wait’. 115 words. 

Beneath him, Rukia’s skin is moon-silvered; her eyes gone diamond bright. Her hair falls against his pillow like raven’s feathers. Her breath hitches, and she bites her bottom lip. Ichigo slows, and Rukia arches against him, seeking friction, her heels drawing up along his calves, as if she could pull him further inside.

“Wait,” Ichigo says, breathless and Rukia raises one eyebrow. Ichigo ducks his chin, dropping his head to mouth along her shoulder. Rukia clenches around him, and Ichigo hisses in a breath. “Okay,” he says, “okay.”

This time, when her breath hitches and she says his name on a sigh, he doesn’t stop, and topples them both over the edge; softly, gently, sweetly.

[deathberryprompts]

Hello friends!

Welcome to the weekly ichiruki drabble theme for Deathberry Prompts!

Each week, I will post a prompt (usually a word, or a short phrase, or an emotion) and then it’s up to you!

Write a drabble based on the theme presented and I’ll share it with all our followers.

Normally, a drabble is 100 words exactly - but you should take that as a guideline, more than an actual rule. If the prompt speaks to you and you write something a lot longer? That’s awesome! If you get yourself down to exactly 100 words? That’s also awesome!

Once you’ve written your drabble, post it on your blog and make sure you do the following:

Mention @deathberryprompts

Tag #deathberryprompts and #deathberry100 within the first 5 tags

I’ll roll up all the offerings into a rec post each week as well as reblogging them throughout the week.

This week’s prompt is:

Zeal

Happy Ficcing!

-  @sequencefairy

[stacinadia]

For @deathberryprompts​!  Also on AO3.

It’s been a while since I wrote one of these, so when I saw the prompt Youth, I wanted something where Rukia pondered what it would be like to be a human girl.

Prompt:  Youth Rating:  G Characters:  Kuchiki Rukia Warnings:  None Summary:  Rukia wonders what it would be like to be a human girl. 

**********

Rukia sat with Orihime, Tatsuki, and their friends at lunch, listening to them talk and laugh about class and summer plans and especially boys, pausing occasionally to take a few bites of food.  The atmosphere surrounding their little group was light-hearted and fun.  And Rukia had never felt that her world was so vastly different from theirs more than at that moment.

Her own childhood was anything but carefree, mostly just trying to survive with Renji and the other kids in Inuzuri, pretty much just hiding and stealing food.  Every one of those kids had died, except for Renji and herself.  Then there was the academy and being adopted into a noble family and becoming a shinigami, and there simply wasn’t any time for fun.

She closed her eyes and wondered what it would be like to have a life in the human world like these girls had, only worrying about silly, simple things and not just merely surviving.  

She glanced over at where Ichigo and the other boys were sitting.  If she was living in the human world, would she be giggling over Ichigo and whether he had noticed her like Orihime was at the moment?

She nearly jumped in surprise when she noticed that Ichigo was looking back at her.  Would he be saying something similar about her to the other boys?  Would she want him to?  She was startled to realize that her answer was yes.  She looked down, hoping that she wasn‘t blushing.

Even though she lived for at least a century and a half, she was still considered young for a shinigami.  Maybe she still had a chance for a bit of fun, at least when she wasn’t on duty or at the Kuchiki manor.

She turned back to the other girls and went back to listening to them.  Ah, the joys of youth, she thought with a smile.  I think I’ll start enjoying them, too.

[woodrokiro]

Jammed Window (fic)

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: Rukia planned many things for the night before her wedding; she did NOT plan for Ichigo to barge into her quarters. Written for @deathberryprompts‘ “time.” 

Rukia planned many things for the night before her wedding: taking care of some last minute paperwork for her captain, catching up on her reading, drawing a nice hot bath. Some “her” time, if you will.

She did not–absolutely not–plan on Ichigo barging into her quarters at 10:36 in the evening.

She stares. “Ichigo, what–”

“Yo. We gotta go.”

He heads straight to the window and starts to fiddle with the latch. Suddenly remembering the the cup of tea halfway to her lips (frozen in middair due to the interruption), she quickly sets it down and gets up, bewilered. “Is everything okay? Is there something going on in Karakura–”

“What, like a hollow? Hell no, you know I could’ve taken care of that.” He stops fiddling to give her a look. “I’m getting you out of here.”

She’s at a loss for words. “Excuse me?!”

“You know: eloping, running away, cold feet–well, I guess that would just involve you and not an outside party, huh? Anyway, I’m helping you cancel your wedding.”

“…Ichigo.” After a moment of complete and utter bafflement, she lets out a sigh. “We’ve been over this before–”

“Jesus, what the hell’s wrong with this window? Byakuya locking you in or something?”

“The window gets jammed. These are the division quarters, I don’t even live with Nii sama anymore–” She shakes her head, remembering priorities. “As I was saying, we’ve talked about this.”

“Yeah? Remind me again.”

She grits her teeth, stifling the urge to smack him because while he is purposefully playing stupid this is… A delicate issue with both of them and she really needs to be the mature one here considering the other is trying to escape through a broken window when there’s a perfectly good door he just went through. “We live in two separate worlds–”

“So we’ll live in the same one. The living one, for now. Might just be easier to lay low from Soul Society for awhile.”

“Okay, fine, but what of our aging differences? You’ll grow old and die and I’ll practically be the same age and you’ll be the dirty old man married to a twenty year old!”

He looks at her like she’s the crazy one. “We’ll ask Urahara for a favor and a few gigais at different ages. Might be creepy, having the extra ones sit in a box in our attic but… And when I die, you can just rejoin me at Soul Society. Things will boil over by then.”

“What if–what if we have children? We’ll just leave them in the living world on their own?!”

“Woah now, Rukia, we aren’t even living together yet. Children? You are moving just a tad too fast for me.”

“Ichigo, I’m serious!” She huffs and hates the way Ichigo’s eyes twinkle before he turns back to screwing up her window even more. “This is no small thing! And… And what about Renji?”

“Renji will be fine. He’s our friend and he loves you and he wants you to be happy.”

“Then why can’t you feel the same way?”

He stops his handiwork and turns slowly to her. Rukia keeps her eyes trained on a point to his left as he walks her way, afraid to look him in the eye.

He’s a hand-width away from her when he gently tucks his forefinger and thumb under her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“Because you’re not happy,” he answers quietly.

She blinks, trying her best to keep the sudden (stupid) tears at bay. “How do you know?”

There is a silence as he searches her face, before he frees his hand.

“I just do.” He shrugs, childishly, like he knows the sky is blue or that fire is hot or that he is completely head over heels in love with Rukia Kuchiki and that she feels exactly the same and that he has never not known all of her.

He strides back to the window as he leaves her there completely amazed as always.

She waits a moment before she joins him.

“As usual, your timing is absolutely horrid,” she states dryly, pulling open the window with an experienced tug.

He grins. “Yeah, well--being on time never was my style.”

He holds out his hand and she takes it.

[shoujocara-blog]

Magnets (I don’t wanna see the end begin)

@deathberryprompts theme [wait]

“I don’t wanna see the end begin,” Rukia whispered as Ichigo reached for her hand. The coldness in her palm gravitated with ease to his warm one.

“It won’t happen. I won’t let it.” His eyes lit against the sunset rays that burn in the far end of the horizon. Rukia always hoped that ‘tomorrow’ is just the spaces where Ichigo’s hand fit, his determination lying beneath.

Dusk always seems to threaten the present, but their fastened hearts couldn’t let go of themselves. They’d been rescued to heal the world of what��s to come.

Only do they know who waits.

[bougiebyakuya]

it takes, and it takes

wrote this at 1am for @deathberryprompts / the prompt is ‘wait’ / 853 words (much longer than i intended) 

i.

He feels the slow burn of ice before he sees her, a lightening storm—a hurricane (it’s consuming, it’s coming…it won’t wait for him to catch his breath) of panic sends his thoughts spiraling into a single phrase—I’m too late, I’m too late, I’m…

Renji grabs his arm, stilling his storm for a single second. There is something that Ichigo recognizes burning at temperatures beyond celsius in his friend’s eyes. Renji has never looked so serious in his entire life, Ichigo decides with dread curling around his throat, nor has he ever looked so terribly sad.

“Wait a minute Ichigo” Renji says, voice low in timber, his tan skin looks usually pale and his mouth is pinched unfamiliar tight line, “There’s something you need to know”

ii.

Rukia’s bankai is a marvelous thing, there isn’t anything that quite compares to the enchanting destruction that it brings in a single inhale. Ichigo remembers the first time he had the opportunity to witness it, remembers the rush of adrenaline that barreled through his veins when he saw her transform into something that words could not quite describe, remembers the pride that overtook him in that moment—watching his mentor (his Rukia) look so fearsome. He’s never seen someone look so formidable before.

iii.

“The hollow” Renji begins on a shaky exhale—he sounds so exhausted  (Renji—the annoyingly valiant, determined little prick that Ichigo has known for ages it seems—sounds weak, Ichigo can’t decide was it more disturbing…the sound of his voice or the look in his eyes) “It got her, she was trying to protect Ichika and it got her right before she unleashed her bankai”

“What are you saying Renji?” Ichigo didn't mean to sound so cruel but he was so unbelievably angry, Renji was supposed to protect her—he promised he’d protect her

“Once her bankai melts…” Renji looks like he can’t bear to finish the sentence, not when tears are stinging his eyes, not when reality threatens to finally settle in, “She’ll be gone”

Rukia’s bankai is a terrible thing…

iv.

Ichigo doesn’t ask how long he has, he can’t know the numbers—can’t know the minutes  or the second. He doesn’t want to wait for Rukia to die.

He walks over to her, feet slick against remnants of ice as he approaches her cautiously and with his heart in his throat.

She looks beautiful, Ichigo thinks, she is unfrozen down to her shoulders (Ichigo tries not to see the pool of crimson that bleeds through her chest—glaring at him through her layer of ice) and she still looks so alive—she looks like she can make it. 

Rukia smiles at him, why is she smiling? Ichigo wonders as his heart clenches at the mere sight at it. Why is she smiling when she is only minutes away from breathing her last breath?

“Long time no see Ichigo” Rukia greets him conversationally, as if her life isn’t slowly slipping away

“Rukia” Ichigo feels the pain rear inside, can already feel himself begin to drown

“How foolish am I?” Rukia speculates with a puff of air, “A captain of the Gotei 13, taken down by a mere hollow”

“Rukia” Ichigo repeats, reaching for her with outstretched palms and his fingers brush against her cheek, “You idiot”

She doesn’t look offended, which is a first and Ichigo can’t seem to find amusement in the situation. Instead, she looks so unspeakably sad that Ichigo is left searching for the words he can say to comfort her.

The ice recedes past her collarbone…

“I’m glad to see you” Rukia admits, “I was afraid that…

“You don’t have to say it” Ichigo stops her, “I’m here aren’t I?”

A part of Ichigo knows he is being selfish, keeping Rukia’s last moments for himself instead of sharing them with her family but he can’t bring himself to care—not when she’s slipping farther out of reach.

She chuckles, “You always come right on time, you have a knack for it I think”

“Not this time” Ichigo shakes his head, “I was too late” (Just like he was too late for his mother, he never imagined he’d be too late for Rukia too)

Rukia looks a him with tired eyes—she must be exhausted, she has to be, “You’ve saved me plenty of times Ichigo, but you cannot save me from death. No matter how adamant you are”

“I know” Ichigo chokes, it’s getting harder to speak, to think, to breath, “I just…”

He can’t finish his sentence, not when he’s running out of time—not when the ice is nearly melted past her heart…

Ichigo only has seconds now

“Rukia” He’s frantic, never did he think he would have to say something to her one last time, “I…I…

“You don’t have to say it” Rukia repeats his earlier words, she smiles reassuringly, “I know”

“Wait” He begs her, as she closes her eyes, blood is dripping from her now—marring her snow with the veins of crimson, “Rukia…

Wait…

Wait for me….Rukia

Next time, I promise I’ll save you….

[fiercyy]

to call for hands from above

Summary: Rukia’s life, 50 years onward.

Partially inspired by @deathberryprompts ‘release’, the song Heartbeats by José González and my own saltiness. This probably should have been a chapter fic, but I do not have the time sooooooo…

Also, hi yes, I do not acknowledge canon so I won’t even write post-canon fix-its apparently. They bum me out. Have a canon divergence instead:

. .

Fifty years After, Rukia stops visiting the living world.

She is a captain now, with innumerable responsibilities. Not to mention the weight of the Kuchiki name; a load her brother has slowly begun to share with her.

She fills her days with paperwork, training, a standing appointment for tea with Kyoraku-Soutaichou and Shinigami Women’s Association meetings. She fills her nights with dinners with her brother, drinks with Renji, Rangiku and Nanao, anything to pass the hours and the quiet.

. .

i.

Tatsuki Arisawa shows up on the roster of Academy graduates and Rukia drafts her immediately. If there’s one thing that her year in the living world taught her, it’s that one can never have too many friends around.

. .

ii.

“Do you remember how you died?” Rukia asks, with little sensitivity, over ice cream.

Tatsuki, with her mouth full, shakes her head, “I hope it was awesome though.”

Never one to concern herself with the details, Tatsuki considers herself satisfied with how it all turned out. She lived a good life, became a prize fighter, had a nice girl. She was middle aged when she died, but she doesn’t feel cheated. This life is as good as any. She feels worse for the people she left behind. She doesn’t know who she worries about more; Ichigo or Orihime.

Discovering she’d been right about Rukia all along was nice.

“Do you remember how you died-? AH SHIT,” she grips her head, “Brainfreeze.”

“I was a baby.”

While massaging her temples Tatsuki grunts, “Well that’s a huge bummer. Don’t tell people that.”

Despite herself, Rukia laughs.

. .

iii.

Sex adds an element of complexity to relationships that she finds wholly unnecessary. Men can be so emotional about it. But a woman has needs.

And when you’re a captain, your pool narrows considerably. Conflicts of interest, gossip, hero-worship: all things worth avoiding in a bedmate.

In the end, she picks a fellow captain. A comrade, not a friend. They respect each other enough to be upfront about what it is. It’s sporadic but it’s good; an exercise in stress relief and banking flames.

Neither of them makes more of it than it is.

Rukia is not looking for a partner.

He has his own issues to work through.

. .

iv.

Rukia has become a good teacher. She selects her protégés for their fire and spirit. Many of them have risen through the ranks and she couldn’t be prouder.

Occasionally she’ll write recommendations, and she is never more brimming with smugness than when another captain writes back to tell her that her faith was well placed.

Tatsuki says she’d make a great motivational speaker. From what she can gather, this is apparently a profession in the living world. Just talking to people and telling them how to live their lives? She supposes she would be good at that. She’s had a lot of practice.

. .

v.

One day, Byakuya makes an appointment with her. This is an odd occurrence, not because they never spend time together, but because they live together. He would see her later for dinner.

“Nii-sama, is everything alright?”

He nods and gracefully moves to her personal sitting area. She follows, confused.

“Is this an urgent matter?”

“Not at all.”

He stands until she invites him to sit, as is customary. She calls for Kiyone to make tea, then takes a seat across from him.

They are long past the stage when Rukia feels uncomfortable around him. She understands him far better now and he has made an immense effort to do the same.

“I came here because this is an official matter and I felt this setting would be most appropriate. Over the past few years, I’ve given you more and more responsibilities to prepare you, as my heir.”

“Your guidance and trust have been greatly appreciated, I am honoured by it.”

“When you were promoted to Captain, I had something commissioned for you. It is deservedly yours, as it should have been long ago.” Byakuya places a cherry wood box on the table. It’s so smooth that it shines and gleams in the light. Her name, in full, is written in ornate characters on the lid.

Rukia flips open the gold latch and opens the box. Nestled on a bed of pure, white silk is a kenseikan. Three perfect white ridges. She runs her fingers along each peak and looks up at her brother with wide eyes. “I- I don’t know what to say.”

Byakuya stands and walks around the table then kneels at her side. The panic of unknown variables and unfamiliar territory makes Rukia’s heart flutter. “Allow me.” He takes the kenseikan and begins to braid it into her hair. Yuzu used to practice braiding hers and Karin’s hair. This feels just like that; like family, familiarity and home.

She respects her brother, always has. She loves him, has for many years now. She has grown comfortable with him. But this is something new. This is normality, this is intimate and real. This is the final mark of his acceptance. This is a welcome that she has never expected, never could have dreamed up.

She feels the tears burning in her eyes, but her smile is wide. And when he’s done and pulls away, she can see him clearly.

“Thank you Nii-sama.”

“You are very welcome, Rukia.”

And Rukia feels it.

. .

vi.

Rukia relearns lacking dignity.

Alone in Soul Society, she allows herself to be the way she was in the living world, in Rukongai. She allows herself to be gruff and impatient and silly. She tells jokes and draws all of her officers birthday cards by hand. Her characters have become famous. Kiyone and Tatsuki tell her that they pass them around the division like trading cards. Kiyone is the first to collect a full set.

. .

vii.

She asks Renji to give her a tattoo.

She spends half a day, lying on her stomach as he takes a stick and poke to her back.

“Mine are about all my battles,” he tells her, with the needle in his teeth as he dabs at a painful bit where it’s started to bleed. “Yours is about you.”

He only laughs a little when she whines at the pain.

Rangiku, who holds her hand through most of it, laughs a lot.

. .

viii.

She has a good life. She’s surrounded by people who love and respect her. On her own merits, for herself. She has work worth doing. A world to shape. People to lead. She has followed her dreams and ambitions, and they led her here.

Her life is not empty without him, it’s not. It’s full to bursting with purpose, light and love.

But sometimes.

In the dark, in a bed that is empty except for her, she wonders. In the morning, when she wakes up alone and has no one to kiss goodbye. When she has a quiet moment in the park and a breeze lifts her hair just right and she can practically see him in the distance. In battle, when she can hear his voice and feel him at her back.

She wonders what might have been.

What if she had let him love her? What if she had stayed? What if she had taken him with her? What if she shared her life with him?

She does not often second guess herself, but somewhere in the living world there is a human boy who always gave her pause.

Her life is good and full. But having him would be so much better than not having him.

. .

And you, you knew the hand of the devil And you, kept us awake with wolf teeth Sharing different heartbeats In one night

.

.

footnote i.

Fifty years after the war, Rukia stopped visiting the living world and this is why:

It was a warm summer day, the pavement swam under the sun’s scrutiny. Ishida was the one to call her. He had retired from the hospital and spent his days with his family or sewing dresses and costumes for loved ones and on commission. His hands were just as steady and capable as they always were, despite his age. Though, his glasses had slowly thickened over the years.

“How are you?”

“I’m well, how are you? How is everyone?” She didn’t mark his brusque tone as anything out of the ordinary, that was just Ishida.

“…Everyone is fine,” It was in the pause that she found something to worry about. “You should visit. Today. Before three o’clock.”

She hesitated, “I have a lot of work to do, I don’t know that I can get out to the human world before then.”

“Make time,” he told her.

The fear manifested in her chest like an anchor pulling her down, the air left her lungs in a gasp. “Ishida, what’s happened?”

“I can explain when you come.”

She left that very minute. Kiyone was left in charge.

She bolted through the senkaimon and did not bother with a gigai.  They met at the entrance to the hospital. Ishida’s wrinkled expression was grim and familiar. He gestured for her to follow. He led her through the white halls, the milling doctors, nurses, patients and families, before stopping at the entrance to a third-floor ward.

“What’s happened?”

He must have seen the fear in her eyes.

“Rukia,” he had never before called her that, “It’s Ichigo.” She moved to shove past him, but he stopped her. “He’s been here for a while. We’ve been thinking about how to tell you-“

“What have you been keeping from me?!”

“-Today is a good day, that’s why I called you. He’s having a good day.”

“What does that mean? Then why is he here?”

Ichigo was 67 years old, any manner of horrible things could have befallen him, weakened and wizened as he’s become. She saw him. She just saw him. When was that? A few weeks? Maybe a few months. She couldn’t recall but she just saw him. He had to be fine.

“He’s sick, I just wanted to warn you before you saw him.”

For fifty years she had tried to keep a respectful distance. What was it for? So much time wasted.

“Take me to him,” she said imperiously. “Right now.”

Ishida obliged.

He had his own room. Yuzu was sitting beside him in a faded brown leather chair. Rukia was glad that he wasn’t alone. They were chatting quietly and he had a smile on his face. Relief washed over her body like a warm shower.

“Ichigo.” It hadn’t been that long since they’d seen each other, but she’d missed him. She took her place on his other side and smiled down at him.

His hair had faded into a peachy white fuzz, his eyes were milky with cataracts. But the folds of his face couldn’t conceal the man he was. If anything, they were just his teenaged scowl lines made more prominent.

She could shake herself. Death wasn’t the end for them. She had to remember that.

“Rukia,” he smiled, “Been a while.”

“Yes, how are you feeling?” the knot of anxiety was loosening now that she could see him. He was fine. He seemed fine.

“As good as can be expected.” He smiled up at Yuzu, who was not looking reassured.

“It’s good to see you Rukia-chan.”

“You too Yuzu.”

“Why are you dressed like that?” asked Ichigo.

Rukia quirked a brow and looked down at herself. She supposed he meant why wasn’t she in a gigai, but she didn’t always have the time.

“You look like you’re playing dress up, midget. I mean, unless you got promoted twice and didn’t tell me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re wearing a captain’s robe,” he said like she was the one being an idiot.

Rukia didn’t know what to do. She glanced back and forth between Yuzu and Ishida helplessly. Something was very wrong.

. .

footnote ii.

Dementia, she learned later, was a horrible human disease. It ate at the mind until there was nothing left.

It was explained to her that sometimes he was out of place in time and sometimes he didn’t recognize anyone at all.

For months she returned to the living world as often as possible. It was an immense strain. She was caught between feeling guilty that she couldn’t visit more often and never ever coming back again.

Because more and more often, he stopped knowing her face. As he grew weaker, he grew more confused. His mind was failing him. He would have fits of anger and frustration that she would quell as best she could, but sometimes she felt like she was making it worse.

She wanted to be there for him. She wanted to be his partner.

But she had other responsibilities that yanked her back.

She was considering taking a leave of absence, but then she visited the living world one last time.

. .

footnote iii.

Ishida said this could go on for years yet. She wondered if dying sooner was what was best for him. He’d have a life waiting for him. He’d be healthy, he’d have his full faculties. Here, life was cruel. There was no end in sight. He was out to sea, far from the relief of shore.

But for today, he was alright. Today was a good day.

“You saw Tatsuki on the roster huh?”

“Yes, she’ll be graduating soon. I’ll tell her you say hello.”

“I miss her, she’s been dead for 20 years, send her over for a visit when you can?”

“Of course,” Rukia promised, willing to deny him nothing. “You’ll be upset, she’s looking a lot better than you.”

“Most people are, these days.”

“Well, you were never that handsome to begin with.”

“Hey, I did alright.”

Her hands found his. “Passable at best.”

They lapsed into a companionable silence.

“Do you ever think of dying now? Of skipping this part?” she hated herself for saying it, but also wondered if anyone else had asked him if he wanted the option. “We agreed you should stay because you deserved to have a life. This isn’t living, this is waiting. This is disappearing. This is exactly what I wanted to spare you.”

“Nah,” he said, sighing a gust of 67 years of breath. “I think I’ve gotta see this thing through.”

“I understand,” she didn’t, not really, but that may have been because she loved him.

“You don’t have to watch, you could-“

“If you finish that sentence I’ll put you out of your misery now,” she growled, without thinking. How dare he? But that was out of bounds.

“I don’t want you to watch. I want you to see me as the man I was.”

“You’re still that man, the same man you’ve always been in my heart.”

“I’m not. You think I don’t know how you feel when I don’t recognise you? Let me paint you a picture.” His tone was light but she flinched nonetheless. “It feels like the person who knew you better than anyone else in the universe suddenly doesn’t know who you are. It feels like talking at a wall. Like no matter what you do it won’t leave an impression. It feels like you’re on fire and no matter what you do, nothing helps and you can’t breathe and living hurts. Except-“ And here he took her hand in his and squeezed it as tightly as he could, which wasn’t much. “Except I dealt with it for hours. I could fight to fix it. I can’t drag this out for you. It’s a disease, there’s no fighting it. Only waiting.”

Ichigo touched her face and it was the first time she realised that she had been crying.

“I’ll still be waiting, here or there, it doesn’t work like that. I can’t just stop-”

“Let me go. I’ll find you, I swear I will. When this is all over I am going to come back to you.”

“I don’t understand why you have to go through this,” she drew that hand to her mouth and held it there. “Please.” She didn’t know what she was praying for.

“Thank you, Rukia, for giving me this life. For giving me this time. Wait for me a little longer?”

“Please don’t make me go.”

“It’s not up to you.”

“Well it’s not up to you either! What was this all for?!” she demanded, “Am I your partner or aren’t I? You can’t have it both ways.” She was screaming now. “I don’t need you to be brave for me, you idiot! I’m plenty brave. I love you and you need me!”

“Rukia, please-”

“Ichigo, I can stay. I can help you, I don’t care if you don’t remember me. You shouldn’t have to be alone. I don’t want to leave you!” Kuchikis do not get hysterical, but it was a near thing.

“What did I tell you? Your opinions are hereby rejected.”

That was ten years ago.

.

.

One night to be confused One night to speed up truth We had a promise made Four hands and then away

. .

ix.

She’s been grooming Tatsuki.

She’s a powerful woman with raw talent and the instincts of a prize fighter. Rukia enjoys training her. It’s like directing a tornado or a hurricane. “Again.” She commands. With a twitch of her wrist, Tatsuki’s zanpakuto flies into the air and plants itself twenty feet behind her.

“Every time we do this it gets more humiliating,” Tatsuki moans, “I feel like you’re trying harder. Were you not trying before?”

“She just wants to look cool while she kicks your ass,” Renji chimes in from the sidelines.

“That’s just not fair,” she pants, hands on her knees.

“If I’m making eye contact with you, it means you’ve improved.”

“Oh come on!”

“I could bring out the paperwork and read some of it over while we do this if that would make you feel better.” Rukia’s grin shows all her teeth. She smugly turns her nose up as she goads the other woman into battle. “Come on Arisawa, don’t you think you can hold my attention?”

“I’ll hold your attention alright…” she grumbles under her breath before picking up her sword and charging again. “Haaaaaaaayaaaaah— OW! OW! OW!”

Rukia pushes Tatsuki’s sword aside with the back of her knuckles, putting her off-balance. She then hits her directly in the funny bone.

“You’re the worst.”

At Renji’s snort, Rukia’s gaze cuts up towards him, “Glad you’re enjoying yourself, want to take a turn?”

“You want to pick on someone your own size? I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your squad.”

“What was that Lieutenant?” Given that the air in the courtyard lowers by several degrees, Renji does the wise thing and shuts up. Rukia’s disposition immediately shifts to sunny. To Tatsuki, she crooks her finger, “Come at me again, this time try to remember that you were a championship fighter and cover yourself when you strike.”

When she turns around there is a man in the centre of the courtyard. “Yo.”

A roundhouse kick would have knocked the wind out of her if Rukia hadn’t already lost her breath.

She goes from doubled over to running before she has the chance to think. Rukia collides with the man full force. She threads her fingers tightly into his orange hair and pulls from the roots, yanking him towards her in a passionate, feral kiss.

Eventually, she forces herself to pull away so she can stare at his face.

“I told you I’d come as soon as I could.”

Her life was full. She did not need him. She missed him. She wanted him so badly.

And now that he’s here, her world is complete.

. .

             To Call For Hands From Above, To Lean On

[saijspellhart]

Please Stay

Ichiruki

Weekly fic prompt @deathberryprompts - ‘Stay’

462 words

Ichigo couldn’t fathom how he ended up in this situation.

The night started with a myriad episodes of The Young Indiana Jones, then it ended with the movie Small Soldiers, and a very drowsy Rukia sprawled over his lap.

When he invited Rukia to join him for a movie night, he hadn’t expected her to drop a pillow across his lap and drape herself over it. He’d been a little worried that she’d notice something, but the pillow appeared to serve a well enough barrier.

Now, hours later, his back was sore from sitting in the same position for too long, but he couldn’t bring himself to rouse Rukia. Instead he stretched out his hand, snatched up the remote, and shut off the TV. The room became bathed in darkness and he chanced a longing look at the death god in his lap.

It was just his luck that her eyes blinked open and she murmured up at him.

“I should go back to my closet now.”

Cold panic raced down his spine. Without even thinking he gripped her shoulder and whispered, “Please stay.”

Rukia’s confused eyes searched his in the dark, and he was afraid of what she might see.

“Ok... fool.” She murmured after an eternity. Rather than settle back across his lap she moved the pillow aside and laid her head against his chest.

Rukia didn’t seem to have a problem drifting off to sleep, but Ichigo suddenly found it impossible. His mind began racing. Why did he ask her to stay? Why did he even say something so stupid? What the hell was he gonna do when she woke up in the morning?

For every one of her breaths that ghosted over his chin he swore his heart pounded a million times.

Just sleep. Sleep! C��mon, sleep!

Damn, he wanted to kiss her, but there was no way in hell he would. She’d beat the daylights out of him. Instead he clenched his eyes shut and tried to force sleep.

Suddenly small fingers intertwined with his larger ones. Ichigo’s heart skipped a beat. A moment later soft lips brushed against his, but they were gone as quickly as it happened.

His whole body froze in shock.

Did Rukia just kiss me?

He cracked an eye lid but all he could see was her curled up against his chest in the dark. Her face inches away from his own. Her eyes were closed as if nothing had even happened.

After intense internal deliberation Ichigo retaliated with his own kiss. He pulled Rukia closer and pressed his lips firmly against hers. His own kiss was raw, and deliberate, she would not be left wondering what happened. And if she chose to smack him, well it was worth it, he decided.

[ciebei]

Sola Mai

Ichiruki. Canon divergence. Angst.

For @deathberryprompts - ‘Release’. Ichigo’s schooling in the art of letting go.

370 words

_________________________________________________________________

His first lesson comes in June.

   It’s a serrated edge, one that scars and levies the skin; the riverbanks; the skyline (that bridge).

   His second, years after, and as the tar washes with cruor he begins to think it was fate.

   His third, and fourth, and- countless others-  come in summer. Again. If he sees a pattern he doesn’t pick at it.

His last; the final straw, is in the dead of winter. Karakura is silent in the dawn. He is wrenched awake by something wordless. A nagging presence. When he steps barefoot into their snowy front yard, she is already there to meet him.

   At first, the shock roots him to the spot. Five years had passed in a viscous slog. She leads him to the bridge.

“I have to let you go.” She says, hating the anger she sees spiralling upwards from his gut, collecting behind his eyes.

      “It’s been—“ He starts, spitting words, curling fists.

Her icy stare turns to slush; only for an instant, “I know it’s been a long time. It’s why I had to come and speak. It isn’t like I haven’t done this to my mirror a thousand times. It isn’t like you weren’t prepared, either, because we both knew that this moment was coming, Ich- Kurosaki.”

Her breath stutters; draws in a cloud of snow and mist, and she has to drop her head for she fears the weight of his grief will break something more of hers.

She turns instead to study the light dancing across Karakura river, slipping her arms across the cold metal, burning her cheeks against the winds.

“We have to move on.” She says, convincing herself that the water from her eyes is due to the weather.

          “We have to.”

Rukia doesn’t let herself turn. She knows if she did, as she had all those years ago, then she would crumble before him, and witness him crumble too.

      “Rukia—“ His desperate plea breaks above the wind, and even after all the years, the rawness of his tone strikes something guttural in her. “It’s Kuchiki,” she warns him, schooling her features and her voice and her posture into rigid, wintry stone.

“And we can’t see each other anymore.”

[kagohme]

Specks

For deathberryprompts: “Time”

Sometimes, it’s not about keeping up with the speed of the world. It’s also about the lapses in time. The quietness. The stillness. The little moments that may be overshadowed by the multitudes following immediately after.

But because time is precious, especially for them, wrought by the tragedies they’ve been experiencing since innocence was shattered, nothing is overlooked. They can’t afford to be. They’re the pennies we see on the ground, the crumbs scattered on the table from a delicious pastry, and the blurry pictures that were deleted.

For Ichigo, it’s Rukia’s legs swinging to and fro on the edge of the closet while she reads a manga she stole from him. It’s her bursting out in laughter — with a contradictory blush on her cheeks — after he enters his bedroom donning only a towel around his waist. It’s her cheating when they race each other home after school.

For Rukia, it’s Ichigo’s startled face when he opens a can and soda splatters all over him. It’s him trying his best to carry his little sisters with both arms and grunting from exertion. It’s him taking a bite out of her ice cream sandwich and grinning like a little brat afterwards.

Admittedly, these moments are put away during battles, tedious paperwork, and extracurricular activities. They’re put away when they’re angry at one another. They’re put away when life gets too much, and they sink into the confines of their room.

They do not disappear, however.

When Ichigo is listening to his teacher drone on about algebraic formulas, his eyes would slide over to an empty seat. He would see Rukia sitting ramrod straight with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes narrowed, trying her best to understand the lecture — or to not fall asleep.

When Rukia is out patrolling in the woods with her squad, her eyes would notice a riverbank. She would see Ichigo squatting on the edge of it, enjoying the breeze — or cursing at her for throwing his chocolate bar in the river after he insulted her.

The moments stretch far back to their early days together. During their rare hollow-less patrols, her strong, slender arms would be wrapped around his neck; his large, calloused hands would be holding her firmly around her thighs. He’d jump from building to building, and they would experience the sun setting and feel the warm hues gradually turn cool. 

It’s easy to forget the significant memories like Rukia giving him the power to protect and Ichigo saving her from execution. Their times in the rain. Their firsts together. Their nights. They’re easy to forget because they need to be forgotten.

But while Rukia is breastfeeding Ichika, the memory of Ichigo’s lost eyes after his battle with Ulquiorra in Hueco Mundo won’t appear. No. In fact, it’s Ichigo lying on her chest during a hot summer’s day, and she won’t remember how old they were or how it happened; she’ll remember how soft his auburn locks felt and how heavy and right he felt on her.

While Orihime massages his shoulders after a long day at the hospital, the image of Rukia unconscious after Grimmjow impaled her won’t appear. The image of her looking over her shoulder and smiling so beautifully at him will. He won’t know why she’s smiling at him; all he’ll remember is that she looked absolutely radiant.

It’s the power of time. The pace it goes. The memories it embodies. And the limited amount of mercy it gives to people.

[youlovelythief]

currents

summary: “You have to go, Ichigo.”

pairing: rukia/ichigo

notes: for the @deathberryprompts weekly theme “stay.” this vaguely happens parallel to “to want”  / 230 words

Rukia’s hand clenches white around the doorframe.  

“You have to go, Ichigo.”

He shakes his head, keeps his gaze on the ground. His orange hair shivers in the breeze, the moonlight gilding it silver.

“No. No, I’m not, I have—I have left you so many fucking times, Rukia, and look where it’s gotten us, look what we did, look who we are, Rukia, just—just once—let me stay.”

He looks up at her, shadows cast across his face, and Rukia Kuchiki, after twelve years of knowing him, finally learns how Ichigo Kurosaki begs:

Open-palmed and wordless.

The door slides open.

He smells like metal and mint, he smells like the moon, and he lands in her arms like a traveler, finally come home.

They sink to the floor with a sigh so deep from his lungs she wonders how long he had harbored it. He rests his cheek against her shoulder, relaxes the whole weight of him against her, and she welcomes him, caves her body to his. She scrunches her fingers into the shirt collar at the nape of his neck, pushes her face into his hair, eyes shut tight. Just as she can hardly imagine ever holding him like this before, she can now scarcely imagine letting him go.

The night air washes over them, pulls at the edge of their shadows like the ocean tide.

[sequencefairy]

Remnant

Ichiruki. Timeskip feels on a Tuesday morning. Written for @deathberryprompts weekly drabble theme. This week is 'vanish'. 100 words.

Afterwards, her indecision plagues her. Rukia had looked up at the last moment, and Ichigo’s deer-in-the-headlights gaze is burned into her memory. He had been looking down at her, and she’d heard his breath catch as their eyes met, just the same as she’d felt her heartbeat trip over itself. She could have, so easily, lifted onto the balls of her feet and swallowed up his last goodbye, but she hadn’t – and why not? Rukia thinks she’ll never know the answer. So, she vanished before his eyes, melting away like so much snow in the heat of the summer sun.

[deathberryprompts]

Hello friends!

Welcome to the weekly ichiruki drabble theme for Deathberry Prompts!

Each week, I will post a prompt (usually a word, or a short phrase, or an emotion) and then it’s up to you!

Write a drabble based on the theme presented and I’ll share it with all our followers.

Normally, a drabble is 100 words exactly - but you should take that as a guideline, more than an actual rule. If the prompt speaks to you and you write something a lot longer? That’s awesome! If you get yourself down to exactly 100 words? That’s also awesome!

Once you’ve written your drabble, post it on your blog and make sure you do the following:

Mention @deathberryprompts

Tag #deathberryprompts and #deathberry100 within the first 5 tags

I’ll roll up all the offerings into a rec post each week as well as reblogging them throughout the week.

This week’s prompt is:

Youth

Happy Ficcing!

-  @sequencefairy

[stacinadia]

For @deathberryprompts​!  Also on AO3.

It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these!  But when I saw the prompt Underneath, I knew I had to do something with Ichigo’s cool image and the protector underneath it!

**********

Title:  Underneath Rating:  G Characters:  Kurosaki Ichigo, Kuchiki Rukia Warnings:  None Summary:  There’s another boy underneath the cool image.

**********

Ichigo Kurosaki had always had an image to maintain.  He’d kept a scowl on his face most of the time and had acted as though he didn’t care one bit about anything except for his sisters, appearing too cool for softer emotions.   And he’d kept up that image since the death of his mother years before.

Underneath that image, though, was a boy who cared very much about his family and friends and eventually everyone in the three worlds.  A boy who brought flowers to a dead spirit to cheer her up.  A boy who wanted to protect everyone.  A boy who actually had a radiant smile which only a few people actually saw.

Rukia considered herself extremely lucky to be one of the few able to see this hidden side of Ichigo.  She’d seen right through his “cool” façade not long after meeting him.  And then, he’d started protecting his friends and Karakura and even her, and she’d been amazed by him.  It hadn’t been long before she’d started to fall for the orange-haired kid.

And as he covered her face with kisses while gazing upon her with soft eyes that only she ever saw, she felt that she was the luckiest girl, indeed.

[woodrokiro]

Sheet Thoughts (fic)

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: “Ichigo leans down and he’s not sure he’s ever seen anything more beautiful.” Written for @deathberryprompts‘ “underneath,” and this head canon I had a few months ago (http://woodrokiro.tumblr.com/post/159884918601/ichigo-is-one-of-those-boyfriends-who-literally) . M for mature situations.

Ichigo leans down and he’s not sure he’s ever seen anything more beautiful.

And look, he’s seen ones before… WELL. Not up close like this–but he hasn’t been above being blinded by a picture of one suddenly pushed in his face by Keigo, but like… Those were… This one is so cute.

It’s pink. It’s flowery. It’s so disgustingly shoujo pretty but Ichigo doesn’t mind, nope, not one bit. He swears there might be sparkles surrounding it and he’s going to confess that honestly if it was a shoujo manga protagonist he would be that jackass to die for it versus any rival sempai vying for its love and really he’s not usually that guy, everyone.

“Ichigo…”

And? He shouldn’t be surprised, but he is? He’s heard love poems, sonnets and monologues about lovers’ beauty and yeah maybe he’s read Romeo’s monologues about Juliet so many times he has them memorized but that’s neither here nor there it's just that he guesses he’s never really understood it until now, not really how men can go falling over themselves like that one Elton John lyric about kings and vagabonds or whatever and h o n e s t l y this has him thinking about war and terrible things that have gone on in history and he thinks maybe Yhwach or Aizen would’ve reconsidered a lot of their evil life choices and chilled the fuck out if only they saw Rukia’s–

“Ichigo!”

Her whispered hiss shakes out of his life altering moment of not knowing whether time or life is even real. He looks slowly, dumbly up the flat valley of her stomach, the lace clad mounds of her breasts (holy shit he hasn’t even gotten started on her breasts), the graceful length of her neck to see Rukia staring impatiently back.

“…What?” He very intelligently responds. She shifts, gets up on her elbows to glare down at him better. Ichigo clutches tighter at the thighs sandwiching his head in an almost defensive reflex.

“Is everything… Do you…” She struggles for words as her frown gains a sense of unease. “I mean. Goodness, Ichigo, you’ve been down there and silent for minutes.”

He looks down again–nope, bad idea, he’ll be rendered incoherent and incapable of proper conversation with every glance he takes and he’s just going to have to get used to it.

“… I can’t stop staring.” He finally answers, and it’s the truth.

She huffs and wriggles. He notices that–very uncharacteristic of Rukia Kuchiki–she's focused on a point over his head.

“Well… Okay. Is something wrong with it–”

“NO YOUR VAGINA IS PERFECT,” Ichigo near bellows without thought, and Rukia shushes him with a hit of her knee against his head to remind him that his sisters and father are very much asleep down the hall.

She’s smiling, though, and while he’s about as conservative about their romantic life–perhaps even moreso– Ichigo can’t help but smile back because yeah, it is.

She is.

Before he has the chance to contemplate the workings of that, about red strings of fate and destiny and how lucky he was to meet his soul mate across dimensions of life and death– he ducks his head back down and tastes it and well goddamn.

This is it. This is how Ichigo (happily) dies.

[lucyditty]

When You Leave

leave

When you leave, remember to bring a meal --- or a snack. In the fridge, behind the leftover curry and next to the almost empty carton of eggs, is a freshly made bento for two. In the pantry, above the counter, is a juice box and straw. Do not go hungry; eat well. 

When you leave, remember not to leave the window open. Because in the summer, humid air begins to travel without the aid of seaside winds or a summer breeze. Do not worry about missing the scent of the peonies and marigolds that line the streets along the train tracks. We can stop to admire them for as long as you would like.

When you leave, remember keep one light on. In the room above the front door that faces the street. Keep the switch up and watch the incandescent light hum to life. Do not worry about the money. Do not worry about being wasteful. Because when daylight begins to grow shorter and shorter, and the darkness creeps closer and closer, that light will guide you back.

When you leave, remember to wait for me. Remember to slow down at the front and stop in front of the street. Do not wonder so that you are too far. Do not wander too far so that I can no longer see you. Walk at a pace that I can follow, walk so that I am by your side. If you walk too fast, you might disappear. 

When you leave, do not disappear. 

Do not go from my sight. Do not go somewhere I can not see. Because if you go, where are you going to? Who will eat the bento made for two? Or the drink the juice box in the pantry? If you go, who will stop to admire the scent of summer blossoms? And sit in the summer breeze? Where is it you are going---!

--- where is it you are leaving me?

If you must leave, please leave something for me. Because when the light is off, I cannot see. 

When I leave, I will remember to leave door unlocked. Because though I know you are gone, maybe --- someday --- when I return, “I am home” will be met with a “welcome back”. 

When you leave, remember to leave the door open for me. 

I have an issue with not using proper nouns when I write... I’m not sure why I dislike it so much when writing short drabbles.... insp: [x] [x]

For @deathberryprompts weekly prompt