#sobbing sobbing sobbing dissolving into mush

[chericos]

Hooked -> k. choso

nsfw drabble

cws; no plot, inexperienced!choso, dom!reader, implied fem!reader, reader has vamp teeth, biting, blood, unprotected sex, breeding(oops), overstimulation, multiple rounds, yeehaw!(cowgirl), slight teasing, praising, light aftercare, use of pet names(; baby, sweetheart, pretty, good boy, etc), very cute and sweet ! undercase as needed (sometimes its just ugly ok,)

1.6k; unedited

Freak ‘by Doja Cat

“Just— just go slow ok?”

God. You still don’t know how you did it. How you got your—insanely hot—neighbor withering underneath you.

His body spread across the expanse of your queen-size bed. Head thrown back as he lets out whines while you litter his body in featherlight kisses. Choso’s body jolts as you place your glossy lips on his thigh, a sticky pink stain smeared on his pale porcelain skin.

He twitches.

“are you excited, pretty?” He tilts his head up at the sound of your voice. You glance up at him, staring directly into his rich aubergine colored eyes. His glossed over eyes and pinched brows made you smile.

He’s so cute when he’s needy.

“p-please, I—” he cuts himself off with a gasp as you give a tentative lick to his tip, lips curving up into a smile as you feel him tense beneath you. With a light blow, you move back, your hand taking its place to slowly stroke the length of his shaft as you shift to hover directly above him.

“please what hmm..?” you lean down to press a kiss against his eye, then nose, then cheek, all the way down from his jaw to attacking his collarbone. Flourishing his pale skin in bruises of reds and blues.

He was such a gorgeous canvas.

“I— fuck!” A string of whines leave his lips as your teeth sink into his flesh, his hand flying to his mouth at the sound. you pull back, gaze focused on the bite mark you left. You watched as small drops of blood started to leak. Your tongue carefully glazes across the expanse of his shoulder. His cock twitches in your grasp, beads of pre-cum drip down to sparingly cover your lithe fingers.

Tears welled in the corners of his tightly shut eyes, the salty liquid streamed down his cheeks. You can still hear the sounds of his pathetic whimpering. “Aww… I’m just teasin’ cho,” you coo at him, using your free hand to pull down his hand from covering his pretty moans.

You lean forward to kiss him again—much harder than before. Desperation makes kissing feel so pleasurable, so good. You feel so damn good. His mind is a blank slate, your tongue dissolving his brain to mush. Rebuilding and rewiring his consciousness to crave you and your affection until the end of time.

You pump him twice as you sit up completely to get better access. The absence of your body makes him needy again, his hands reaching out to find purchase in some part of your body. Pre-cum dribbles pathetically from the tip as you guide his cock to your pussy, you lean back and slam your weight down onto him with full force. He slides with little resistance. His hands grip harshly on your hips as he bottoms out. A high-pitched mewl escaping him as he cums at the impact, your walls sucking him in with a vice-like grip as he shoots a load into you. His cock still hard as he fills you

“ah!—m’sorry… sorry, did-didn’t mean to…” Choso babbles. He’s sobbing at the pleasure, fat tears rolling down the sides of his face and leaving a damp spot on your satin covered pillows.

“s’ok baby, you’re doing so good for me”, your smile is hypnotizing as he locks his eyes with you. Your eyes glossed over in a lust filled haze, thumb stroking his cheek to collect the stray tears.

After a few minutes you give a slight roll of your hips to ease him in more. Feeling him twitch so deeply in you causes a moan to be ripped from your throat. You start your pace off slow and rhythmic. barely easing off of him before thrusting your hips back down. It’s leisurely, calm and steady. An appetizer compared to what’s to come.

The pace picks up, erratic bounces with the focus nothing more than to make you both feel good. "fuck, p-please, not too fast- i can't! ngh-” Choso whimpers breathlessly, going dumb from how good you're making him feel. He looks up at you through hooded eyes, head spinning. He mumbles incoherently, begging for you to stop, telling you that he's too tired and that he can't take it anymore even though his cock is still hard and leaking, flooding your insides with his cum almost continuously.

you don't listen to him. instead you ride him faster, rising up until his aching tip is the only thing inside you then slamming your hips back down to fuck yourself on his cock. he lets out a choked sob, keeling forward with every bounce.

"please, please, please—”he doesn't know what he's begging for.

he stretches you out so good. his cock heavy and pulsing inside you, ready to fill you up again despite choso's claims that he can't anymore.

"baby, please i- ah! you're ridin' me too good, m'gonna...gonna cum again.” he whines deliriously, feeling as if he'll pass out at any moment

He’s practically sobbing into your neck, tears streaming over the purple marks he left on your collar bones as he cums deep inside of you.

Your pace doesn’t let up. His back arched into you. Instinctually thrusting up into you, as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

Your hands snake their way back to his face, giving a small squeeze to his cheeks before patting on them. A silent plea for him to open his mouth. As soon as he does, you shove two fingers into the back of his throat, pressing down on his tongue, grazing against the lower teeth, and remaining still there, causing saliva to accumulate in the cavity and a small dribble down the corner of his chin. Effectively choking him.

“You’re making such a mess, cho~” you tease unabashedly, like it was nothing but his fault. Choso focuses his eyes back on you. The cat-like smirk on your face at seeing him turn into a mess at the palm of your hand. It’s maddening.

“feelin’ so good that you’re drooling huh?” You know he’s too fucked up to respond, the constant stream of tears and the soft sounds of his light choking enough of a sign. But it’s so fun to toy with him.

"Hummmm, fuck!" Choso murmurs tearfully, calling your name afterward. His voice sounds so low, so choked up that you need to lean in even closer.

———

He's lost count of how many times you’ve made him cum. he’s overwhelmed, sensitive like you wouldn’t believe. He can barely think, his cock throbs and aches as you ride him relentlessly.

He was a complete and utter mess, his hair matted. His face covered in a mixture of sweat and tears, his cheeks permanently stained pink. His mind is filled with nothing more than your name and how good you’re making him feel. It’s addictive.

His thighs were shaking, legs weak as he gasped. His breath was ragged and labored, lungs burning— throat raw from the constant screaming and crying. He was barely able to string together a coherent thought, his words reduced to incoherent whines and moans, his words were slurred and sluggish, tongue heavy in his mouth. "M-mm..mm-more, plea-please, please, pleaseplease.." he managed to choke out, his body convulsing as his balls constricted, he was so close. "need—need to,ahh!—cum, p-please, pleasepleaseplease—“ he begs.

“Such a good boy… you gon’ cum, pretty?” There’s a sadistic lilt in your voice. Choso knows you’re only asking him questions he can’t properly answer.

“Mhm—!”

But he gives in anyway.

“That’s it— gonna fill me up hmm? Go’head pretty, you can do it.” You slam your hips down, taking him all the way down to the base with complete ease. Your body collapses into a shiver. You both cum at exactly the same time, moans and whines resonated the room as you slow down your pace to a complete stop.

You both rest there. Shaking and panting as you try to collect what little you both have left of yourselves.

You pull off of him, his fat tip still leaking. His body shudders at the cold air, already missing the warm feeling of your wet wall surrounding him. Small drops of cum drop out of you.

“You ok baby?” you ask in a soft voice. His eyes are closed but you see him nod his head. His voice was too hoarse to speak. “Ima’ get up and clean you up ok? I’ll be right back sweetheart,”

Choso feels the weight of the bed shift as you get up and walk to your bathroom. He hears the sink run for a while before it shuts off, listening for your footsteps to walk back towards him. “hey cho, I just have a warm cloth, jus’ gonna wipe you off ok?” He mumbles out a small ok before you begin to carefully wipe around his thighs, taking extra care to lightly massage them as you work your way up to his abs.

It’s a soft and intimate moment, no words being shared yet you still felt connected in a way no words could describe. Once you were down wiping him down you got up once again to place the washcloth and bowl of(now cold) water into their respective places. You barely get your legs off the side of the bed before Choso is grabbing at your wrists. A dark look in his eye that makes even you nervous. There’s a pregnant pause before he speaks up:

“can we go again..?”

He had finally gotten a taste of you.

And boy, was he hooked.

[wandasaura]

Hello love! How would all 3 react if R were to call her safeword? I bet it'd be all fluffy aftercare, I'm in the mood for that

˚⋆｡°౨ৎ both wanda and natasha take r’s safeword very seriously, it’s one of the only things that was discussed in detail in regards to your sexual relationship. everything else came up in a more natural way, but keeping r safe and comfortable was their main priority and absolutely non negotiable, so when things started to get kinky and had the means to push r’s boundaries, they implemented the traffic light system. r was good with checking in with them, and they were equally as mindful of never going too far, but there was one time that she needed to call her safeword and as soon as she did, both of them stopped what they were doing and made sure that everything was okay. ౨ৎ °｡⋆˚

That night hadn’t been out of the ordinary, you’d fallen into a scene with your girlfriends naturally, and had been enjoying it for the most part, that was undeniable as Wanda teased you about the wetness between your thighs. Your witchy lover had you bent over the edge of the bed, a new strap secured around her naked hips and buried in your core, while your softhearted assassin watched from the corner of the room, a teasing smirk on her lips and a mischievous glint in her green eyes as she fiddled with the tassels on the edge of dark red whip.

“Sound so pretty for me.” Wanda nipped at your earlobe, her front pressed up against your back, pebbled nipples dragging up and against your skin. You arched up into her touch, eyes pinched shut as you fished the bedsheets. She’d been working you over for hours, no inch of your body left untouched. Her mouth had done wonders on your nipples, her fingers had searched the deepest parts of your core, and her strap had been coated with your saliva before it even touched your desperate folds. “Gonna cum for me? Yeah, are you gonna let go?”

“Cat got your tongue?” Natasha teased when all you managed to do was whine, grabbing fistfulls of the bedsheets as you scrounged for the words to beg. “Answer Mommy, detka.” Her footsteps were drowned out by the sounds of your moans and Wanda’s heavy breathing, the redheads bottom lip caught between her teeth as she threw her head back.

By this point of the night, your body was exhausted, your brain was mush, and every touch to your skin felt like needle pricks. What sent you over the edge was Natasha cracking the whip against your thighs. She’d done it a handful of times throughout the night, but this time was different, and the second you felt that lick of pain on your already worked over and sensitive skin, you sobbed out your safeword, dissolving into tears on the bedsheets.

“Red!” Wanda will never forget how her heart sank into her stomach hearing you so defeated. She pulled out quickly, not even bothering to detach the strap from the harness before she was crawling up onto the bed beside your body, grabbing your face in her careful hands and forcing your eyes on hers.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. We’re all done, all done.” She kissed you softly, not even minding whatever Natasha was doing as she left the bedroom in a hurry, her footsteps echoing through the hallway just outside of your bedroom. “What do you need? Hmm?” She brushed her fingers through your knotted hair, peppering kissing into your hairline.

“Too much.” You strained out, your voice hoarse and weak as you rested against her.

“Too much?” Wanda cooed, “Alright, good job telling us. Such a good girl.” Wanda helped you up into the center of the bed, easing you out of the silky scarlet lingerie you’d been haphazardly dressed in. Your clothes ended up in a pile on the floor to be dealt with later, and all of Wanda’s attention was on you as she stroked your back and kissed your face wherever she could reach. “You did so good for us. So so good.”

When Natasha returned, she was holding a glass of water and an unscented lotion, wearing the same worried frown as Wanda.

“Have some water, baby.” Natasha leaned over the bed, careful not to jostle your body more than necessary. Wanda helped you take a couple of sips before you batted her hand away, too tired to hold your head up to continue taking small drinks, though your throat felt better from the little you did consume. “Turn over for me.” Natasha instructed carefully, voice still laced with dominance, wanting to ease you down gently. You were still heavy in subspace, still clinging onto their instructions and praise, and you obeyed without complaint, burying your face in Wanda’s neck, letting your body go slack against her front.

Natasha was gentle as she rubbed the lotion over your bottom and the back of your thighs, the cold sensation shocking your overheated body, but a welcomed sensation despite the temperature. You hummed against Wanda’s neck, disappointed when Natasha backed away and set the lotion down on your dresser when she was satisfied with her application.

She joined you in bed afterward, settling in next to Wanda, laying her hand on your waist and rubbing gentle circles with thumb that cause goosebumps to rise on your skin. You grumbled quietly when Natasha laid her head down on Wanda’s shoulder, her red hair tickling your cheek as it fell. Wanda laughed softly, brushing Natasha’s hair away from your face before she went back to combing her fingers through your hair. “Just relax baby, let us take care of you.”

˚⋆｡°౨ৎ they’re always soft with you, but god they’d be so gentle and attentive, and i’m sure they’d run you a warm bath the next morning when you had the energy to get up from bed and clean yourself off. and i’m sure throughout the rest of the day they’d be sure to check in and give you all the cuddles you wanted ౨ৎ °｡⋆˚

[hazbincalifornia]

A short piece to go with the video. Stolas worries about Blitz being able to handle a Goetian child, even with the protection spell. It bleeds into his dreams.

The stars glittered. Stolas watched.

Stories echoed through millennia, the past and the future dancing in time, and he watched. Watched, learned, and shared what he was tasked, lost himself in the infinity of the cosmos.

Watched as they coalesced into the starry, brightly glittering form of the imp that had long since stolen his heart, a curve evident around his middle as he watched Stolas watch him from within the moon that held them apart. Blitz's head tilted, one hand resting on his stomach as he rippled at the edges. Shaking. Unstable, as a glow emanated from within and his free hand rested on the inside of the wall that held them apart.

Stolas reached for him, fingers splayed, but the moment his fingertips met the cool rock, dust bloomed on impact and Blitz froze as his glow brightened, cracks emerging on both his belly and the surface where they touched.

"No, no, no no no-" Stolas's eyes widened as Blitz plummeted, diving after the moon as the surface dissolved with a splash into the endless ocean, leaving him... leaving him...

There was no face upon the living constellation, but Stolas swore that it stared at him as the glow became a supernova and his darling collapsed upon himself milliseconds before Stolas was able to make contact, the child within too much for both Blitz and itself. The stars that made them darkened and went black, crumbling into ash as Stolas desperately tried to pull them back together, pulling already-cold shaky handfuls of wet mush against his chest before the sobs even had a chance to escape him.

Bent double, he reached for whatever he could grasp, but it slipped through his fingers, icy water soaking him as he crumbled and let the water take him.

[puffpasstea]

Here it is! The very frequently requested denial blurb. Sorry about the wait. Hope it’s what you guys wanted!

AS ALWAYS FEEDBACK IS MUCH APPRECIATED!

Warnings: smut, Dom!Harry

—

Harry could tell that she wasn’t able to hold herself up anymore. Over the course of the last half hour, he’d basically done whatever he could think of to her body. He’d been in the mood to experiment a little with different sensations, from slapping and pulling to pinching and bruising, there was hardly any part of her body that was left untouched by him. She’d started out determined to be good for him and to just take whatever he felt like giving her. But after putting up with all his twisted games, and even managing to hold her orgasm when he edged her several times, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up with him. She was marked up from head to toe, her skin tingling, sweat dripping down her body, tears pooling into the bed sheets, and her muscles felt like mush. Her face sunk into the mattress as Harry continued to thrust into her. She would’ve fallen completely flat on her stomach if Harry hadn’t placed his arm underneath her hips to keep her close to him as he chased his own release.

His movements were getting faster and sloppier, so she knew he was close. She just needed to hold on a little while longer. But as Harry gave her sensitive cunt a particularly strong thrust, she whined and jolted forward reflexively moving herself away from him and effectively ruining his orgasm at the last moment.

“F-fuckkkk!! N-no!” Harry’s protests morphed into a groan as the pleasure turned into pain and his cock twitched, causing a mess underneath him. “Shit! Son of a-” He threw his head back, squeezing his eyes shut and attempting to breathe through as his ruined orgasm subsided. 

She knew she was in deep trouble when he stayed there, completely still for several moments, his chest flushed and rapidly rising and falling as Harry waited to gain control of himself again. 

“What the fuck did you do that for?!” He finally spoke, wasting no time to pull her by the hips back to him.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Really, it wasn’t on purpose! I-” she screamed as she felt him place the vibrator he’d used earlier back on her sensitive clit. “Nooo- Please, wait! I promise I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry!”

He leaned forward to whisper darkly in her ear. “I don’t fucking care. Shut the fuck up and take it.” His breath was hot against the side of her neck.

The pain was now turning into pleasure. Harry could see her limbs shake and her hips jerk to keep the friction between her and the vibrator going, he waited until he was sure she was on the edge then abruptly pulled away.

“Nooooo! Why? Harry! Please-” She whined, stuttering, unable to finish a single sentence with tears spilling down her face. 

“Now you know how I felt.” He smiled.

“Please, Harry. Please touch me? I- I haven’t been allowed to cum all night and-”

“And what? You think you’re entitled to? You just have to cum all the time?”

“N-no. That’s not-ugh. No.” Her already scrambled brain was struggling to focus in the face of his smug forwardness. 

Harry pressed the vibrator back between her thighs and listened to her moans proudly. Once again, he saw her hips buck up, and immediately moved the vibrator away, watching her cry out as the knot in her stomach dissolved.

She was positively inconsolable now, openly sobbing in frustration as Harry stood there, laughing to himself and shaking his head. He tossed the vibrator to the side and using his fingers now, gently rubbed her clit while using his other hand to pump a finger between her wet folds. 

Her crying slowly stopped as he worked her up. She began to pant and whisper incoherently. Harry was sure she was calling his name. A moment later he thought he heard her chant “thank you, thank you, thank you” over and over again, following it up with “yes, please don’t stop, right there…” Her polite enthusiasm made Harry smile. He felt her walls clench around his finger and instantly pulled out, moving both of his hands away from her. She screamed out a very desperate “pleaseeee!!!” before slamming her fists into the mattress repeatedly as she sobbed.

Harry chuckled and walked over to her to plant a soft kiss to her forehead. “C’mon, good girl. Knock it off.”

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

I Saw You Trying, My Love

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: ok so this is long, and angry. It all happened because I really wanted to explore the headcanon that Wilhemina would be very possessive and very jealous if she were in a relationship. How would that relationship work? Could it work? I hope you’ll enjoy this piece, lovelies <3

Word count: ~ 8 200   

“And what do you think you’re doing?”

Wilhemina’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and angry.

You ignored her. You kept shoving the contents of your wardrobe into your bag.

“I said, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I heard you the first time,” you snapped. You threw one last pair of socks – your favourite, fluffy and glittery – into your bag and gave it a shake. “I thought you’d have figured it out by now.”

You zipped up your bag and stomped past Wilhemina out of the room you had shared with her for the past two months. She must have realized how serious you were, by then, because she followed close behind you. She had never done that before when you had had a fight. She was too proud to run after you like a desperate child. Usually she would let you walk off and wait for you to blow off steam. But today, the sound of her cane followed you down the stairs and into the living room as you went around it, grabbing items you would need – your book, your glasses, your phone charger. Wilhemina’s watch. You threw that back on the couch when you realized what it was.

“Has your brain turned to mush? Where do you plan to go? You have nowhere to go to, Y/N.”

Wilhemina positioned herself in the doorway, blocking your way, both her hands gripping her cane. You came to a halt in front of her and scowled.

“I’m not a baby, Wilhemina,” you retorted, your face mere inches from hers. Your words were thick with anger. “I’ll get along just fine without you. Actually, I’ll be better off without you. Now move.”

She stood her ground, glaring back at you.

“What are you gonna do?” you hissed. “Uh? Lock me up? Bring me food once a day, torture me? Are you going to lock me up in here until you break me and turn me into the obedient pet you wish I were?” You paused to take a breath. “Is that your plan, Mina, my love?” You all but spat the last two words at her like a curse.

For a second you recoiled. You hadn’t meant to do that, turn a term of endearment, a promise of care and tenderness whispered so many times before to soothe and comfort and reassure, into poison. But on second thought, you were glad you had. She deserved the sting.

“I don’t –“she started, but you interrupted her.

“For God’s sake I have the right to spend time with my friends! Not all my life revolve around you, Wilhemina! You cannot keep me with you every minute of every day like a fucking dog!” A fresh bout of fury rose to your head and took control of you. “I can spend time with other people, I can enjoy myself without you! But what I can’t stand is you snapping at me and calling me names every time I so much as smile to someone else! I’ve had enough.” You lowered your arms in defeat, shaking your head at her. “I’ve had enough. I’m leaving. Move.”

Wilhemina’s face was hard and angry, her jaw clenched tight, her poise proud and dominating, but her eyes – you had always been able to tell what she truly felt by looking into her eyes. They were your favourite thing to stare at, not only because it was so easy to get lost in them, but because they were the key to understanding her. The key that opened the safe where she hid herself when she did not know how to communicate or thought she had to lie to keep herself safe. Her eyes were always, always honest. Especially with you. You took one look at them now and then had to look away before your resolve left you.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To Maggie’s place.”

Wilhemina scoffed bitterly. “Why, of course. Right into the arms of the daft prostitute.”

“Mina she’s my best-friend since high-school,” you growled, raising your free hand to rub your forehead in frustration. “Please don’t insult her.”

“And what a friend indeed. Always so eager to please, so eager to have you all by herself so that she can lay her dirty little hands on your arm or - ”

“This is what best-friends do!” you roared.

Wilhemina didn’t even flinch.

“Why don’t you screw her tonight?”

“Alright, you – you know what, I’ve had enough.”

You pushed past her, and you must have been too brutal, or maybe she had been unsteady to begin with; in any case, she dropped her cane, and her knees gave way. She winced as she braced herself for the fall, for the pain – but you wrapped your arms around her waist to support her, and held her against you. “I’ve got you,” you whispered into her hair.

Time froze. Silence fell. You closed your eyes, nuzzling your nose in her hair. What were you doing? Leaving her? Ridiculous. As if you could live without her. You pressed her closer against you, feeling like you could burst into laughter at your own excessive behavior. This was just like any other fight you had had with Wilhemina before, nothing you could not mend. Leaving this house, leaving this woman, had never been an option. It would mean leaving your heart. Leaving a part you wouldn’t – couldn’t – survive without.

You dropped a kiss on her forehead and were about to pull away. To cup her face and kiss her mouth and laugh with her at how stupid, how childish you were.

But then you remembered. All the times she had gone too far. All the snapping and the hurting and the possessive, jealous, unhealthy behavior. Earlier this afternoon she had slapped one of your coworkers and friends for “standing too close to you”. It was the first time she had used physical violence. The last straw.

You knew where it all came from, the insecurity and the fear and the pain. But that did not make it acceptable.  

Gently, you let her go, picked up your bag and made for the front door.

“Y/N?”

She followed you down the corridor, stopped a few inches away from you as you turned the key in the lock. You felt her hand brush your elbow, but she did not touch you. Somehow it was this, her hesitation, that broke your heart.

“Don’t come after me,” you told her over your shoulder.

“Y/N don’t you dare –“

You opened the door, ignoring her, closing your eyes against the setting sun and the tears that were starting to pool. Wilhemina’s voice rose behind you again, not angry anymore, but shaking, and terrified. She was terrified.

“Y/N don’t you – “

You slammed the door behind you and ran down the driveway to your car, afraid you’d turn back and fall into her arms if you stopped for one second.

It hurt. It felt like your heart had been torn out of your chest. You opened the door of your car with shaky hands, sobs wracking your body, barely seeing anything through your tears.

You didn’t remember much after that. You must have driven all the way to Maggie’s. Knocked on her door, with your bag in one hand and sobs bubbling out of your throat. She must have let you in, asked you, were you alright, was Wilhemina alright – perhaps she hugged you. Certainly she made you some tea, for Maggie was one of those people who believe tea can make everything better. As if you had not irremediably broken what you cherished most.  

You must have drunk your tea, to please Maggie.

The bed in her spare room was big and comfortable. The sheets smelt of fresh peaches. You spent the rest of the evening cocooned in their warmth, alternating between dozing and sobbing into the pillows. When night fell, Maggie brought you dinner on a tray. She sat beside you as you swallowed what your stomach could hold. And then she asked you what had happened.

You hadn’t been able to tell her yet. You’d thought that, perhaps, if you kept it a secret, your leaving Wilhemina wouldn’t be real. You would be able to go back home and find her there waiting for you. She would rise when she’d hear you come in, and she would smile that fond smile of hers and wrap you up in her arms and kiss you slow and sweet. Somehow, all of your problems would be gone.  

It didn’t work like that. You knew it didn’t. But still, you couldn’t help but hope.

Maggie didn’t believe you, at first. She gawked at you, then narrowed her eyes and scrutinized your face. She was naive, Maggie. Very romantic. She believed love was stronger than everything else. She had spent five minutes with you and Wilhemina and proclaimed with tears in her eyes that she had never seen two people more in love. It simply wasn’t possible for you to be without Wilhemina, and for Wilhemina to be without you. You would cease to exist. The world would explode.

But then, as you dissolved into tears again, unable to finish your story as you desperately clang to her, her face fell. She let out a small “oh” that sounded so surprised, so final, so defeated. It rang in your ears like a bell mourning death.

You didn’t go to work the day after. Nor the day after that. You knew Wilhemina would be at Kineros, knew she was too hardworking to even consider taking a day off. Hell, Wilhemina could be dying of pneumonia, she would still drive to work and sit at her desk and boss everyone around. Throwing snarky comments like knives at frightened employees, making sure everyone was doing their jobs. You could picture her, sitting straight and proud in her chair, with her cane leaning against her desk and her hair tied in that high ponytail you loved so much, for it accentuated her sharp cheekbones. Had she taken off the photograph on her desk? Of you and her, on a sunny day in the countryside a year ago, a few days after you had started dating. Your hand on her cheek, your teeth on her chin, her eyes half-closed and crinkled up with laughter.

You wouldn’t have gone to work even if Wilhemina hadn’t been there. There was no point anymore. You had never really cared for the job anyway. The only thing that had made life interesting had been Wilhemina.

So you spent hours in bed until the sheets no longer smelt of fresh peaches but of your sweat and tears. You went for a run with Maggie. You tried to keep yourself busy, read a book, watched movies, cleaned Maggie’s house. You knew you couldn’t spend the rest of your life at Maggie’s, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

It became harder to get up in the morning. Harder to fall asleep at night. So you daydreamed and thought of Wilhemina. To soothe the pain of her absence. You thought of her face in the morning, still soft from sleep. That magic moment when she would wake and those big, brown, doe eyes of hers would meet yours and smile. How deftly she would do her hair, ponytail always perfectly centered. How sometimes, while she waited for the water to boil for her tea, she would stare out the window and get lost in the view.  

One day it struck you how often Maggie did touch you. She was a very touchy-feely person, had always been: she would pat your shoulder or hold your hand or stroke your arm or kiss your cheek. It was innocent, she behaved like that with everyone. But now you realized how it must have looked to someone as insecure as Wilhemina.

Maggie was beautiful. All blue eyes and soft strawberry blond locks and pink cheeks and pretty flowery dresses. She was soft, and selfless, and very kind, and everyone adored her. She taught French at the University. Had a fiancé, wanted to start a family. Exercised every day. She was normal and healthy – more than that, she was perfect in every way. No rough edges, no high walls, no back pains that kept her up all night, no early appointments to the doctor’s, no days that could be ruined by one glance at her reflection in the mirror. Maggie had found her place in the world and the world cherished her.

And yet – and yet how brighter Wilhemina shone in your head. She was a lighthouse, Maggie a candle. How much more precious and rare Wilhemina was. There were a million things in her that singled her out as one of the most fascinating person you had met. How she could make a witty comment on something the likes of Maggie would never notice in the first place. How she would stare right into the eyes of whatever scared her and defeat it with patience and determination. How deeply, how fiercely she loved.

On the eighth morning without her you woke up completely panicked and haunted by the knowledge that she was hurting on her own. She would never tell anyone she needed help, she had never allowed anyone but you to see her vulnerable. She would push on through her days as if everything was perfectly fine and go back every night to a dark, cold, lonely house where everything would remind her of you. Did she get enough sleep? Was she even eating? It seemed likely to you she would use food deprivation to punish herself. Eating the bare minimum to make it through the day without collapsing.

You asked Maggie to check on her. She drove to your house one evening and came back in a sour mood. Oh, Wilhemina was just fine, she jeered. Her usual pleasant, cheerful self. She had opened the door, taken one look at her, and sent her off with a scoff. Maggie was so angry she spilled most of her drink on the floor. And despite it all, you couldn’t help but smile.

In the morning of the tenth day, after Maggie had gone to work, you came downstairs and slumped on the living room couch. It was a beautiful, sunny day, so you had opened all the windows and the front door to let the draft in. You prayed the fresh air would take away some of the ache in your chest. Or maybe a murderer would walk into the house and put an end to your misery.  

You were starting to doze off when you heard a knock on the front door. You started, and sleepily called out “It’s open”.

Silence, as if whoever stood outside hadn’t quite made up their mind to come in yet. You yawned, scratched your head. The sound of a cane tapping on the floor filled the hall.

For a second you felt you were about to faint. Then your body sprang up, eyes wide-opened, heart pounding in your ears.

You sat down on a nearby chair facing the door. Ran a hand through your hair, straightened your clothes. You waited.

Tap. Tap. The sound of her cane brought tears to your eyes – for how you had missed it. Not so much the sound itself but the promise that came with it, seeing her, being with her. Love and happiness and everything that mattered in the world.

The tapping stopped. You raised your head. Your racing heart leaped out of your chest straight into her hands, like a fledgling that had left its nest too soon and flew back trembling and terrified to the safety of home. How stupid you had been to leave at all.

She stood in the doorway more beautiful than you remembered her, because so painfully missed, so hoped for, so loved.

She looked tired, but fine – not exhausted, not starved, not over-worked. Thank God. Some of the tension that had been building in your shoulders vanished. You searched her face for signs of emotions and truth behind her facade, but could find none. Even her eyes were inscrutable.

For a few, agonizingly long seconds you both stayed silent, glaring at each other, both of you too proud to lower your eyes or look away first. Then Wilhemina took a breath and opened her mouth, and your body leaned towards her in expectation.

“Your productivity at work this past week was astonishing,” she said.

Right. You straightened in your seat, and crossed your legs.

Wilhemina waited, but as no answer came from you she added: “Do you intend to get fired?”

“If you’ve come here to scold me, you can leave now,” you mumbled. Your hand started rubbing circles on your knee. “I’m not interested.”

Another pause. You picked a book on the coffee table and stared intently at it. The silence was painful. From the corridor came the ticking of the clock hung on the wall. You could just make out Wilhemina’s purple shoes and pale ankles out of the corner of your eye.

When the silence became intolerable, you tilted your head just enough to shoot her an angry glance and snapped: “Why are you here?”

Wilhemina tapped her cane threateningly on the floor. That didn’t faze you. Not anymore.

“I’m here,” she said in that low, slow voice she always used when she was mad, “as your superior and as Kineros Robotics’ HR manager, to remind you that you have a job and that you are expected to actually show up at your workplace.”

Was she getting enough sleep? Only now did you realize that she was leaning on her cane a bit more heavily than usual. Was her back hurting her? Did she even take her pain medicine? On several occasions before she had refused to, as a form of punishment against her disability. You had had to coax and beg for her to finally agree to swallow the pill.  

“I expect you to answer me when I talk to you.” Wilhemina’s voice, sharp and angry, brought you back from your thoughts. You glanced up at her again.

“Yes, Ms Venable.”

“If you do not go back to work tomorrow I will have to dismiss you.”

“Yes, Ms Venable.”

“Your unjustified absence is quite simply intolerable.”

“Yes, Ms Venable,” you repeated.

Another pause. You had no idea what you were feeling anymore. Anger and irritation had subsided and been replaced by a sort of numbness that still had an aftertaste of want. You stared at the book, your fingers still rubbing circles on your knee as you listened to the ticking of the clock in the corridor.

Wilhemina spoke, and this time her voice wavered on the last word. “When are you coming back?”

She meant to work, of course. You lifted your head, met her eyes. She meant come home.

“I’m not coming back,” you answered, keeping your voice casual to hide the fact that your heart was breaking yet again, small pieces drifting away and colliding with each other.

“What do you want me to do?” Wilhemina cried, her eyes widening in exasperation. “Crawl at your feet and beg for mercy?”

She barely ever raised her voice. Her anger and contempt were always expressed in a dangerously slow and low tone. A high, raised voice meant she felt cornered. It meant her self-control was slipping away. It meant her facade was breaking.

You leaned towards her in your seat, hope seeping in your veins.

“How about you start by apologizing to Pat?” you said, as casually as before.

“Who’s Pat?”

“My co-worker and friend you so kindly slapped in the face last week. And to Eva, whose fingers you threatened to clip off one by one because she had the audacity to touch my hand. And to Maggie. You called her such terrible names when all she did was being there for me. Do you see the problem, Mina?”

Your little speech had made you angry again, bad memories flooding your brain, so it was a surprise when her nickname slipped out of your mouth. It seemed to quiet her for a second. Her shoulders relaxed. She even took a tentative step towards you. But then her face hardened again, and when she spoke her voice was back under control.

“I will do no such thing,” she snapped, tapping her cane on the floor. “All those idiots you mentioned had it coming.”

You sighed and slumped back into your seat. You knew what she was doing. Suddenly you were brought back to the first time she had allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of you. It had been one evening in the second week of your relationship. She had had a bad day, and her back was hurting her, and the only way she had found to express that – the only way she had known how – had been by snapping at you for overcooking the pasta. You had been about to snap back, when an apology had slipped out of her. Soft and unexpected. You had fallen silent in surprise. Her hands had started to fidget, and she had looked angry with herself, couldn’t meet your eyes, couldn’t find anything more to say, couldn’t stop fidgeting. So you had hugged her, run her a bath, made love to her, brushed her hair until most of the tension had left her body.

Snapping was her way of protecting herself, you knew that. But still – it hurt, and you had had enough.

“Well then, please, leave,” you mumbled, closing your eyes and raising one hand to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“So you can be in the delightful company of Maggie the Cat?” she snapped.

“Oh for God’s sake, Wilhemina,” you sighed, but she didn’t seem to hear you.

“Sweet, sweet Margaret,” she sneered, taking one more step towards you, her hands shaking. “With her sweet maiden face and her cheerful disposition. So charming, so lovely. She’s part of that disgusting group of radiant fools who will lead the world to its demise with their shallowness and their stupidity.”

You jumped to your feet. “Maggie is my friend,” you growled, planting yourself a few inches from her, your whole body hot with anger. “If you loved me as you claim you do, if you had an ounce of respect for me, you wouldn’t say such things about her!”

Something on her face changed at your words. You couldn’t tell what exactly, but a feeling of dread suddenly came over you.

Wilhemina tapped her cane on the floor, raised her chin and hissed, “Maybe I don’t. Love you, at all. Maybe I only used you for company.”

You took a step back, reeling as her words echoed in your head. You knew she was lying. What you two had shared had been too strong to be fake. She had trusted you with things and parts of herself she had never told or shown anyone before. She had let you love her and trusted you would not hurt her.

In a better world you would have been able to control your anger. You would have taken a few deep breaths to calm yourself and put your hands on Wilhemina’s shoulders and told her for the hundredth time what she obviously still needed to hear – that in your heart, Maggie did not hold a candle to her. That Maggie was your friend and you loved her, but not the way you loved Wilhemina. That you would go to Hell for her and beat Lucifer’s ass if it meant keeping her safe.

But this was the real world, where battered souls keep hurting each other. Anger burnt in you like a fire and filled your brain with smoke until you could no longer think. Only fight back.  

“Maybe I did, too,” you snarled.

You saw her hesitate. You saw her snarky retort die on her lips as she took in your words. And for a moment it felt great. To know you could still affect her, still peel off her layers and press the pads of your fingers on bare skin. But you had only ever stroked before; never scratched.

The tap of her cane on the floor surprised you, for it sounded weaker than usual. It did not bounce off the walls but fell at her feet like a weak preemie and died.

“If you do not show up tomorrow at 8 then don’t bother coming back at all,” Wilhemina commanded. “Kineros will do just fine without you.”

She was staring at something above your left shoulder, and she was breathing too fast, as if she were trying very hard not to cry. When she felt your gaze on her face she briefly shifted her eyes to yours. She blinked, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Mina,” you started, taking a step towards her. She raised one hand to stop you.

“That will be all,” she said, and wiped the tear away.

You let her turn on her heel, walk down the corridor and close the front door behind her. You stood as if petrified in the middle of Maggie’s living room, until something in you broke. You grabbed the book on the coffee table, hurled it at the wall, and screamed.

When Maggie came home that evening, she walked into your room with a moody, “What happened to Virginia Woolf?” She waved the battered book at you until you turned and she saw your face.

“Oh, babydoll, what’s wrong?”

She held you as you sobbed and wailed. She stroked your hair and whispered sweet-nothings to calm you down. It only made you cry harder, for it reminded you of all the times Wilhemina had comforted you. How she, too, had held you close and tried to find the right words to stop your tears. But Maggie was taller and stouter. Her body did not fit yours as Wilhemina’s did. When you eventually took a long breath in through your nose, her perfume smelt wrong. Too sweet, too floral.

You didn’t show up at 8 at Kineros the day after. It had been hard to care before, now it was simply impossible. You stayed in bed, wishing you could disappear into the sheets. You ignored Maggie’s encouragements and reproaches. You didn’t care.

Maggie brought you water and food, which you nibbled at mechanically. Time passed. You dozed often, but never slept.

Time kept on passing. You waited. You weren’t quite sure for what.

On the third day your phone rang. You reached out for it, and accepted the call without looking at the screen.

“Hello?” you mumbled, your voice raspy from disuse.

“Oh, Y/N?” said a familiar voice. “I thought you were dead.”

“Jeff.” You closed your eyes. “Look,” you started, “I know I haven’t – “

“What have you done to Venable?” Jeff cut you off.

Your eyes opened. “What do you mean?” you asked, your grip on your phone tightening.

“She hasn’t shown up for the past three days.” There was a loud noise at the other end of the line, then Jeff’s voice again. “Last week she was even more bitchy than usual, and now she’s gone. I don’t know where the file I need is, I missed all of my appointments and what’s worse, we’ve run out of coke. I can’t be a genius if I’m not high. Y/N?”

You barely heard him call your name. You could barely breathe from fear.

“Y/N, you still here?”

“Yeah, I –“ You swallowed around the lump in your throat.“Are you sure she’s not at Kineros?”

“I’m at Kineros, Y/N, and Venable isn’t,” Jeff answered, annoyed. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I won’t let your sapphic affairs ruin my company.”

“I – “You stood up on shaky legs. You had to move, you had to do something to keep the panic at bay. It wasn’t like Wilhemina to miss work. She’d rather die than shun her responsibilities. And three days in a row? Something must have happened to her. Your brain started making up all kinds of dreadful scenarios in which she had been hurt, hit by a car, abducted, in which she had locked herself up in her room without food or water, jumped from a bridge, bought a plane ticket to some faraway country where you would never find her.

“Y/N?” came Jeff’s voice, interrupting the mad race of your thoughts.

“Yes, I – “You forced yourself to take a deep breath. “Venable isn’t my responsibility,” you heard yourself say.

“Look, Y/N,” Jeff retorted, his voice growing angry. “You’re expendable, Venable is not. We need her. I don’t care what you do, but you better make sure she comes back tomorrow.” And with that he hung up.

For a few seconds you stood petrified with your phone still pressed against your ear. And then you jumped into action. You dressed, grabbed your handbag, flew down the stairs and in your haste nearly collided with the door of your car. You forced yourself to drive under the speed limit on your way to your house. Dying wouldn’t help.

Part of you realized that it felt good. The life pumping into your veins again. You felt like you had finally woken up.

You parked on the sidewalk in front of your house, too impatient to maneuver your car up the driveway. You ran to the door and knocked on it. You closed your eyes as you waited, panting. You sent a prayer to whomever you could think of – please let her be okay. You didn’t care how mad you were with her anymore. Just, let her be okay.

The door opened. You looked up.

Wilhemina was wearing an old, faded lilac sweater and a pair of black cotton shorts. Her hair was down. She had no make-up on. When her eyes met yours, her face didn’t harden or fall or change at all; she merely held your gaze, as if she were too tired or too numb to react.

“You’re here,” you breathed out in relief. You could have burst into tears of joy at the sight of her alive and safe.

“I only own one house,” she said dully.

“Right, of course, I know.” You scratched your head nervously. “Er, Jeff called. He’s, er, worried about you.”

Wilhemina watched you unblinkingly. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. It was all you could do to stop yourself from collapsing into her arms and kiss her senseless.

“He said you haven’t been to work for three days,” you tried.

“And why,” she said, “do you care?” There was no trace of animosity in her voice. In fact, there was nothing at all. No emotion. No life.

“He asked me to come check on you.”

Shit. You could have slapped yourself. Wilhemina’s face did harden, then, and she made as if to close the door, but before she had time to you cried out: “No, wait, that came out wrong. Please.” You held up a hand. Wilhemina waited. “He told me you hadn’t shown up in days, and I got worried. That’s why I came. Not because he asked me to.”

She watched you for a few seconds more, then lowered her gaze. Her left hand came up to fidget with the hem of her shorts. She looked so small in those clothes, so young and so fragile. Tears stung your eyes. You blinked them back.

“Can I come in?” you tried.

Her eyes met yours. Please, you begged her in your head. Please, let me in. Please, give us this chance to make it right. Your heart was beating so fast it was starting to hurt.

Eternity passed before she finally – oh what bliss! – stepped aside to let you in. You brushed past her, got a whiff of her perfume mixed with the faint smell of sweat. She ran a hand through her hair nervously, leaning slightly away from you to close the door.

The house was exactly as you had left it, and yet it looked so different. Quieter, somehow, and a bit battered, as if it had just come back from the battlefield to rest and mourn its departed friends. Your footsteps echoed loudly down the corridor as you walked to the living room. You took off your shoes and shoved them in a corner. To make a point. That you didn’t mean to leave until you had talked things through.

Wilhemina stopped in the doorway and waited.

“Um, thank you,” you mumbled. “For letting me in.” As if it weren’t your house, too. But that wasn’t the point.

Wilhemina nodded. Silence fell. You looked around the room nervously, at a loss for words.

“Are you okay?” you finally blurted out. Wilhemina glared at you. “Right. Sorry, stupid question.” You swallowed hard. “Have you, um, have you eaten? I could make something.”

“Who am I to stop you?” Wilhemina answered flatly. “We both know how you need to keep yourself busy when you’re nervous.”

“It’s not about me,” you countered. “I was wondering when you last ate, that’s all.”

She held your gaze for a few more seconds, then proceeded to walk around the room to rearrange things – a candle on a shelf, the cushions on the couch, anything. You watched her, noticed the slight shaking of her hand, how tightly she was gripping her cane. Her hair fell over her eyes as she leaned forward. She briskly pushed it back.

When there was nothing left for her to tidy, she sat on the couch and opened a book.

You stared at her profile, your hands twitching at your sides. Wanting nothing more than to reach out. Sit by her side. Hold her close. Sink into her warmth.

You cleared your throat, and went into the kitchen.

It did help, having something to do with your hands. It relieved some of the ache in your chest. You were too preoccupied to be creative, so you settled on frozen Yangzhou fried rice and an endive salad. Substantial, but easy to eat. In case she was feeling as nauseous as you were.  

You were cutting the endives when you heard Wilhemina call from the other room. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Alright,” you called back, trying to catch a glimpse of her through the door. “It’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”

You listened to the sound of running water as the rice thawed out. Thought of the right words to say. Part of you wanted to forgive her without further ado and pretend nothing had happened. But that would only buy you more time. Until the next insult, the next fight. Anger swelled in you like a wave as you remembered Pat’s perplexed face, lifting a hand to his cheek where Wilhemina had hit him. His own outburst, “What the hell is wrong with her?!”, Wilhemina’s cold, unreadable expression. The fear in her voice when you had slammed the door behind you.

You closed your eyes and sighed. The only way you could think of to make things right was to have Wilhemina truly, fully open up to you. Convince her that sharing her fears with you would be better than lashing out on other people. Make her realize, and trust, that there was nothing you wanted in the world more than a future with her.

You turned off the heat under the rice and sat at the table as you waited for Wilhemina. Half an hour had passed since she had disappeared in the bathroom. She loved to take long showers, but she hated being late even more. You had told her she had twenty minutes; any other day, she would have made sure to be ready in fifteen.

You waited ten more minutes before you started to get truly worried. You walked to the foot of the stairs and called out her name. There was no answer. You called out again, louder. Silence mocked you.

You hurried up the stairs, your heart in your throat, and knocked on the bathroom door. “Mina? Are you alright?”

And still there was no answer. And you were starting to grow angry again, at her silence, at her shunning you, when you heard it. Faint and muffled, but unmistakable. A sob.

You opened the door and rushed into the room.

Wilhemina was sitting on the floor with her back against the tub and her face hidden in her hands. Her wet hair was dripping on her lap, soaking the purple bathrobe she was wearing. She must have dropped her cane, for it lay on the floor under the sink a few feet from her.  

You rushed up to her and dropped on your knees.

“Baby,” you called, reaching for one of her wrists, “what happened? Are you hurt?”

You tried to gently pry her hands away to get a look at her face, but she didn’t let you. If anything, she stiffened and buried her face deeper in her hands.

Her shoulders shook as she tried to stifle the low, painful sobs that wracked her frail body. You gently brushed her hair back as you waited for her to calm down, not daring to wrap your arms around her, but dying to offer her comfort.

Eventually her sobs turned into sniffles and soft hiccups, and you asked her again what had happened.

“I dropped my cane,” came her answer, weak and muffled. “As I was getting out of the tub.” A shudder ran through her.

“I’m sorry,” she went on. “This…” She lifted one of her hands, then, to gesture at her body, and you caught a glimpse of her face, red and coated with tears. “You deserve so much better than this. Please, go back to Maggie.”

You blinked at her words, at the pain and anguish they expressed. How had it come so far? How blind had you been? Not to realize how insecure she was, how convinced she was she could never be enough. To the point that she had agreed with herself to let you go.  

You shook your head sadly. “But Maggie’s not the one I want.”

She let out a small, pitiful noise at that, and dissolved into tears again. This time, you didn’t think. You scooted over and gathered her into your arms. She sank into you, her hands coming down to clutch your shirt, her face pressing against your chest. There was no restraint anymore. No trying to stifle her sobs or hold back her tears. She let it all out, sobs shaking her body as she sank deeper and deeper into you, as if she were desperate to make one, to leave herself behind and become part of you.  

Her sobs grew louder, and she seemed to have lost all control on her breathing, a gasp in and out and out again without inhaling. She was working herself up in quite a state, so you did the only thing you could think of to help her calm down. You tipped her head up. Captured her lips with yours.

Her mouth was wet and hot and salty, but you didn’t care. You wanted so much more of it. It tasted like home, and love, and safety. You had missed it so much, kissing her, feeling her. Your hands came up to cup her face, fingers pressing on her drenched cheeks as you pulled her closer, humming softy into the kiss.

It did quiet her. Her breath hitched, her shoulders tensed, but then she was kissing you back fervently, as if her life depended on it. Maybe it did. You didn’t know anymore. You were only aware of the sweet warmth of relief coursing through your veins and making your head spin. And of something else, something that ached and throbbed – want. It frightened you, this level of want. Your whole body was burning and tingling with it. It wasn’t so much lust as merely wanting to hold her. To feel her again. Love her freely and endlessly.

Again it hit you how stupid you had been to think you could ever live without her.

When you broke the kiss for air, she let out a whine and immediately chased after you. She was still crying, hiccups rippling into your mouth, drenched skin rubbing against yours. She circled her arms around your neck and bit down on your lower lip, hard, as if to mark you hers. A vampire bite, to contaminate your blood with hers and make sure you and she were the same.

After a while she broke the kiss and slumped into you. She was practically sitting on you now, arms tight around your neck, face buried in your chest, hip digging into your lap. You ran a hand through her hair as you rubbed circles on her back, humming a soft lullaby as a few last tremors shook her body.

It had started to rain outside. You suddenly became aware of the patter on the roof. You leaned your head on top of Wilhemina’s and closed your eyes.

“I didn’t mean it, you know,” came her voice, raspy but soft. “What I said the other day. I do love you.”

You hummed, dropped a kiss on her hair. “I know.” A pause. “I love you, too. Of course I love you.”

She let out a shaky breath, then sat up. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. You leaned in to kiss her burning eyelids. You kissed her forehead, a magic kiss, to soothe the throbbing in her head.  

She met your gaze, bit her lip. You gave her a smile.

“Come on, get up,” you urged.

You waited for her in the living room as she cleaned her face, dried her hair and dressed. She put on the pajama set she always wore when she wasn’t feeling confident: baggy pants and a shirt that was too big for her. It didn’t cling to her body. It hid her body completely from view.  

You managed to convince her to eat some of the rice. You ate in silence, watching her as she chewed and swallowed. She was sitting perfectly straight in her chair, head held high, eyes on her plate. When she was done, she delicately dabbed her mouth with her napkin, which she then folded on the table.

You waited. She stared at her empty plate for a moment, and then frowned.

“Look,” she finally said, “this is hard for me. I don’t know where to start.”

You nodded. “I know. That’s alright. Take your time.”

“I don’t usually… talk – “Her voice faltered. She glanced up at you, eyes dark and still rimmed red. You smiled in encouragement.

“Your friends,” she went on. Paused. As no other words came out, you got up from your seat, kneeled in front of her, and reached for one of her hands.

“I don’t hate them,” she said very quietly, staring down at her plate.

You couldn’t help but scoff. “You have a very peculiar way of showing it.”

Her lower lip quivered and her brow pushed up as if she were about to start crying again. You gave her hand a squeeze.

“Hey, none of that. Talk to me. What really bothers you about my friends?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed hard. You waited. When she opened her eyes again, they were shining with tears.

“I – “She shook her head, let out a sad laugh. “I don’t – “Her voice cracked. Her eyes met yours. “Please don’t – “

“It’s okay,” you whispered, bringing your free hand up to cup her cheek. ”I’m staying. I’m listening.”

A tear dropped from her eye, crashed between your thumb and index; and then she inhaled shakily and it all came out of her at once, words stumbling out like a panicked mob out of a room on fire.

“I’m afraid you’ll find someone better than me. All those kind, healthy people, I’m afraid you’ll truly see them one day and realize you could have so much better, so much more.” A breath out, as her face crumpled. “I don’t – I can’t – “A sob pushed out of her throat, and her breath hitched, and when she tried to inhale again she let out a noise as if she were choking. “I don’t – I don’t think I can ever be – be enough for –”

“Okay, you’re okay,” you cooed as her breathing grew frantic. “Mina, you’re okay.” She shook her head, her body slumping as fresh sobs tore their way out of her throat. “Hey,” you breathed, blinking back your own tears. You let go of her hand to cup her face.

Her cheeks were burning. You ran your thumbs over her cheekbones, catching her tears as they fell.

“Mina, I know you’re hurting,” you whispered. Your voice broke. You cleared your throat. “Baby, I want to be here for you.”

She nodded, hiccupping as she tried to wrestle her emotions back under control. One of her hands came up to wipe sloppily at her nose.

“Let’s move to the couch, ok?” you suggested. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

She didn’t let go of your hand on the very short way to the couch, her palm clammy against yours. She always did that, always had to be touching you: her ankle pressed against yours, her hand resting on your arm or on your waist, her shoulder brushing yours.

You sat down, and she hesitated before she snuggled up to you. She rested her head on your shoulder and reached for one of your hands in your lap.

There was a quiet moment, silence only broken by Wilhemina’s sniffles, and then you shook your head and teased, “What am I going to do with you?”

You felt her stiffen against you. “Because it’s such hard work and you never do a stroke of work,” she snapped.

“Mina,” you warned.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

You dropped a kiss on her head. “Okay.”

You wrapped one arm around her shoulders and drew her closer. Automatically your hand started playing with her hair.

“You know,” you went on, “it’d have been easier if you had just told me how you felt instead of taking it out on my friends.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do. From now on, you be honest with me. Whenever the bad thoughts come, whenever you feel like you could never be enough, you tell me. It doesn’t have to be with words, if that’s hard for you. We can decide on a code. Like this,” you poked her hip, and she jumped and let out a chuckle,” or this,” you leaned in, blew raspberries on her shoulder, “or this,” you stuck out your tongue and licked her cheek.

“You’re gross,” she laughed. She raised one hand to keep your face away from hers, but you dodged it and gently blew into her ear.  

“Y/N.” She had meant to sound firm, but laughter rang in her voice.

“I’m sorry, was that supposed to be a threat?” you teased.

“I think the real question is, what am I supposed to do with you.”

“Um.” You pretended to think that through.”Love me.” A kiss on her shoulder. “I think love me is good.”

She looked up at you with a wistful look in her eyes. Her hand came up to touch your cheek. She smiled, soft and tender and fond, the smile she only ever gave to you. “Love you is good,” she whispered.

Her eyes flicked down to your mouth. You leaned in to kiss her, pouring tenderness into her mouth. When you pulled away, she let out a soft sigh as if she were about to fall asleep.

She rested her head on your shoulder again and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s alright,” you whispered back.

It still rained outside. You listened to the patter on the roof. Leaned your head on top of Wilhemina’s.

She fit so snuggly against you. She made you feel entirely safe, entirely you. You drank from her warmth the solace you had not been able to find in the peach-scented sheets or in Maggie’s reassurances and embrace.

After a while, you felt her nudge her nose on your shoulder. She drew a shaky breath, and asked, “So you’re not leaving?”

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability and fear in her voice.

“Um, no,” you answered. “I’m giving you a second chance.” A kiss on her forehead. “How long I’ll stay is entirely up to you. And Mina, please believe me when I say I hope you’ll give me reasons to stay forever.”    

“I’m not sure I’ll be content with forever,” she said.

You rolled your eyes. “Of course you’re not.”

She shifted against you, moved her head to plant a lazy kiss on your neck, draped one arm loosely around you. Her hand slipped under your shirt and she dragged her nails on your skin, across your belly, down the curve of your waist.  

And then you felt it. A poke, on your left hip. Like a question.

You grinned. “Just like that, my love.”

[haikyuucute]

Can I request jackhammering with bokuto please 🥺👉👈?

Prompt D6: Jackhammering

Warnings: Smut, reader’s a little bit of a crybaby

—

Bokuto Koutarou was a force to be reckoned with.

You knew this from the moment you met him and watched him play on court— how he had this boundless energy to him and unmatchable stamina.

You also knew this the closer you grew to him, after having to put up with his bone crushing hugs and how he had a way of tackling you every time he saw you.

But you definitely learned just how powerful he was when he became your boyfriend and your relationship was taken to a more physical level.

And Bokuto Koutarou was more than a force to be reckoned with than you originally thought.

No... he was a fucking animal.

You held onto your bedsheets for dear life as he fucked into you. He had you on your side, elbow hooked under your knee to keep you nice and spread wide for him as he fucked you from behind.

Every sharp thrust of his hips against your ass resonated throughout the room as he thrust into you at an inhuman speed.

And if it wasn’t for the fact your mind had turned into complete mush, leaving you a babbling, incoherent mess— you would’ve been sure your boyfriend had actually gone feral.

”Bok-kun!” a shrill and broken cry of his name left your parted lips, fingers digging almost painfully into your bedsheets as you continued to hold on with everything in you.

He groaned throatily next to your ear at the way you cried for him, and he peered down at your scrunched up face.

This was always his favorite sight— seeing you helpless on his cock while he held you always did something to him and— oh, were you crying already? He wondered briefly as he watched the stray tears slip from your eyelids.

You were always so easily overwhelmed by him— his power— his strength— his stamina— that you always ended up dissolving into tears. And although the sight was frightening the first few times you were together, always making him think he was hurting you. Now however, he was used to it.

Instead, the sight only proved to encourage him.

His arms held you even tighter as he sped up his thrusts even more, until you were sobbing, body jerking violently with every thrust that if it weren’t for his tight hold on you, you would’ve tumbled off the bed.

“Pretty girl,” he grunted, kissing away your tears, “My pretty girl.”

You sniffled, choking on your ragged breaths. You were going to cum soon and yet after all this, all the energy you knew Bokuto was using up, you knew the moment you both came, he’d be ready to do it all over again in just a short while. And though you could barely keep up with him most of the time, you’d let him go for a second round- third- fourth— however many it took until the animal in him became docile.

And with another few rough and hard thrusts, you came with a scream of his name.

—

Taglist:

@yams046 @thirsthourdemon @basicallyberry @badboysdoitbetter2 @mizuchan24-blog @unlikelytigerqueen @savemesteeb @nyeom-nyeom @masako55 @curiouslilbeast

[whataboutmyfries]

Hey there anons! both of these requests were really similar, so i just mushed them both together to write this, I hope you don't mind :)

For those of you who don't know what this is referencing, part one to this fic can be found here!

characters belong to the lovely @lumosinlove as always!

~

Logan’s teeth were chattering as he stood by the car, the tears drying on his cheeks creating tracks of salt. Leo sniffed a little as he helped Finn unclasp Logan’s bike from the boot, his own eyes a little red from the long talk they had had in the car.

Logan’s bike shorts were no barrier against the crip, gryffindor air and Finn wordlessly threw his coat around Logan as the three of them walked to the house. Leo silently wheeled the bike into the garage, the gentle blanket of night a comforting presence around the gravity of the conversation they’d had.

“Just a minute sweetheart, you can go ahead if you’re getting too cold.” Finn said, his voice raspy from the tears. Logan shook his head, shifting closer to Finn’s side. The redhead wrapped an arm around his partner’s shoulder as the two of them waited for Leo to join them. It didn’t take too long for him to do so, and he tangled his fingers with Finn’s as they walked indoors.

As promised, Leo immediately wrapped Logan up in his comfiest hoodie, pressing a kiss to his forehead and leaving with Logan’s phone in hand to find a charger for it. Finn walked right into the kitchen and got started on the hot chocolate.

Leo wasn’t too long, and was back before Logan could so much as begin to process his evening. He tucked Logan into his side, almost as though he couldn’t bear the thought of having him out of sight. The lump in Logan’s throat only grew. He’d been horrible to the both of them, and here they were, taking care of him like they were the ones at fault. He didn’t deserve this.

But boy was he grateful.

The tears slipped free before he could stop them and he turned his head into Leo’s shoulder. Leo just tugged him gently into his lap, wrapping his arms around him tightly, pressing kisses to his hair, his temple.

“Hush baby,” Logan heard the subtle way his voice shook with emotion. “I’ve got you. You’re home now. You’re safe.”

The words were whispered onto over-warm skin, over and over; and Logan knew it was just as much for Leo’s own sake as it was for his. The two of them just sat there in comforting silence, interrupted by Logan’s quiet sobs and Leo’s shaky breath as he tried his best to slow his tears.

Finn walked in on the two of them that way, and he made his way to the coffee table, setting the tray of mugs down. He joined the two of them on the couch, stroking Logan’s spine and twining his fingers through Leo’s.

Logan sat up, wiping the tears away with the back of his hand as he reached for him mug of hot chocolate.

“I—I don’t even know where to start, I was so horrible to you.”

Finn shushed him. “All of us said things we didn’t really mean, Lolo. It’s okay.”

Leo nodded, his thumbs stroking circles onto Logan’s thighs.

“I know, but I walked out. I broke our promise.”

“Lo, it’s alright. What matters is that we found you, and you’re home now.”

“Speaking of, how the hell did you even find me? I didn’t even know where I was.”

Leo huffed a laugh, barely avoiding spilling his drink all over him and Logan. “You left your location on dumbass.”

Logan frowned. “Yeah….but my phone died just as I was about to navigate home, and I walked for a bit after that too.”

Leo and Finn shared a sheepish look. “Well, we may or may not have gone to your last active location and driven around every street around the area.

Logan had to try very very hard to not dissolve into tears for the umpteenth time. But his voice cracked as he set his cup down and said, “I don’t deserve you. Either one of you.”

Both his boys set their cups down on various surfaces and held him close, and in that warm, comforting embrace Logan decided he knew what it was to be truly, deeply, loved.

“You really scared the shit out of us today Tremz” came Finn’s muffled voice from Logan’s shoulder. “Promise me you’ll never pull any shit like that ever again.”

Logan squeezed them, trying to pull them closer, like he could merge their souls together, if only he tried hard enough. “I promise. It won’t ever happen again, I swear.”

Leo pulled away just a fraction, cupping Logan’s cheek and the fat tears rolling down his face made Logan’s heart crack in his chest.

“Lo I—I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared I—”

Leo gave up trying to finish his sentence and leaned forward to capture Logan’s mouth in a kiss. The kiss tasted of salt and sorrow and steadfast love, Logan knew he’d never get enough of this. Of them.

He felt a warm hand at the nape of his neck, tangling in the hair there, stroking carefully, and he pulled away to give Finn a kiss too.

“Thank you both. For everything.”

Finn’s eyes twinkled. “There’s nothing to thank us for darling.”

Leo kissed Finn’s cheek, pulling him closer. “You two want a movie to go with that hot cocoa?”

Logan chuckled. “You’ve just about read my mind nutty”

Finn laughed. “Disney movie marathon it is!”

The three of them settled closer together on the couch wrapped in warmth and love and each other, and Logan sighed happily, knowing he’d always come back to this, no matter what.

[vannahfanfics]

Live

Category: Romantic Fluff, Angst

Fandom: Fairy Tail

Characters: Lucy Heartfilia, Gray Fullbuster

Requested By: FlyingPegasus7 (Ao3)

The air echoed with screams, explosions, and the rumbling roars of dragons as Gray dashed through the cracked cobblestone streets of Crocus. The earth rumbled beneath his feet, making his steps unsteady. He fumbled over the ground as it heaved and writhed, the road beneath him fissuring at a rapid rate. As the earth in front of him hurled up a good two feet, Gray screeched to a stop to avoid tripping over the suddenly raised ground. Hastily, he skirted around the risen section of the street to resume his feverish pace, lest he become prey to the dragon skulking through the buildings behind him. 

Gray rounded the corner and pressed against the brick, pausing to catch his breath. His chest heaved with gulping breaths to suck in as much oxygen as he could as quickly as possible; after several minutes of sprinting, his body was becoming deprived, and his vision fuzzed gray around the edges. As he peered around the corner of the building, he blinked rapidly to force the blurry image to clear. The ground trembled underneath him, and the quake slowly rose in intensity as a horned head rose over the roof of an apartment complex. Poison dripped from its jaws, which were also encrusted in ice from Gray’s feeble attempts to overpower the giant lizard-like monster. As the acidic substance puddled on the building and the road, the hard surfaces dissolved into mush. Thankfully for Gray, the massive beast shambled off in the opposite direction. He breathed a small sigh of relief. 

He then growled and slammed his fist into the brick wall. The harsh surface shredded the skin of his knuckles, and blood smeared crimson against the mute red. What the hell am I doing?! Running away with my tail between my legs… This isn't how a mage of Fairy Tail should act! he cursed self-loathingly. Still panting slightly, he peered around the edge of the building to watch the wisps of smoke rise from the dissolved building. He said that, but what could he do against such reckless strength and hate? His fist slowly uncurled as his clenched muscles comprehended the sheer depth of his powerlessness. 

Gray gasped as a chorus of frightened screams pierced the air. Instinctively, he turned his gaze heavenward to see massive blob-shaped objects falling to earth. The had been expelled from the body of the dragon circling the city. The ground rumbled beneath Gray's feet as a handful of them crashed into the nearby buildings and streets with sickening splatters. One of them collided with the apartment building against which Gray was taking shelter. The ice mage cried out and lunged forward as the roof split, sending bricks and wood beams tumbling towards him. He landed flat on his belly on the cracked cobblestone, covering his head; dust, wood bits, and brick chunks rained over him, coating his dark cloak in white powder. Somehow he escaped significant injury. 

Gray pushed himself onto his elbows with a small huff and shook his head to clear the debris from his dark blue hair. As he slowly dragged himself to his feet, the half-destroyed building shuddered and groaned behind him. Water gushed from a burst pipe, rapidly forming a puddle next to the mage that lapped at the toes of his shoes. Gray turned around, brushing the chalky dust from his clothes, just in time to see a dragonoid form clawing its way out of the rubble. Gray's eyes blew wide as it snarled at him to bear razor-sharp teeth and a forked tongue. 

As the creature leaped at him with a demented screech, Gray reacted on instinct and used the water beside him to freeze it within an ice wall. Its black form scowled at him from within the transparent, ridged block of ice. Before it could use brute force to escape, Gray dashed off the side street and back onto the main road. Half a dozen of the beasts prowled through the buildings, bending streetlamps in half and overturning café tables with savage headbutts. One of them took notice of his presence and hissed, jumping down from the awning it was ripping apart to shamble towards him.

Gray back-pedaled with frantic gasps, his ice magic swirling around his hand. Suddenly, the small dragon crouched down, and its slimy back bubbled grotesquely. Gray barely had time to throw himself into an alleyway as several white pointed spikes shot out of the creature's body and rocketed toward him. They collided with the brick wall above his head, burying themselves a foot deep and sending cracks rippling through the surface. 

If one of those hits me, I'll be impaled! he thought before jumping on top of the dumpster and freezing the monster as it nosed into the alley. Two more of its brethren came climbing over the ice wall, screeching while Gray skirted around the corner. 

I have to pick them off one-by-one! he thought as he dashed through the labyrinthine array of alleys. If I let them overwhelm me, I'm dead! It was all well and good in theory, but much harder to exercise in practice. The creatures were tenacious in their hunt for the ice mage, and obviously preferred pack pursuit. As soon as Gray encased one of them in ice, three more would replace it, shooting the white spears at him. The constant guerilla warfare was daunting, and Gray soon bordered on exhaustion. Several of the spikes had grazed him, leaving bleeding and burning abrasions over his chest’s bare skin (because at some point he'd flung his cloak to the wind). After another attempt to overpower the small dragons only to become outmatched, Gray collapsed against a dirty alley wall, sliding into a crouch and applying pressure to the small tear in his side.

"Fuck," he whispered softly as his unfocused eyes spied the trail of ruby-red droplets betraying his location. The dragons would sniff him out in due time; he could already hear the scrapes of their claws against the street and their high-pitched weals rising in volume. "Have to get out of here," he groaned and used the small ledges in the brick to haul himself into a standing position. Using the wall to bear most of his weight, he half-limped, half-jogged deeper into the alley, just as a hulky form blotted out the light seeping in from the street. The dragonoid's screech bounced in the small space, ringing in Gray's ears like a death knell. 

Gray's eyes widened as a disheveled blonde girl darted into the alley ahead of him, ducking behind some silver trash bins. A few seconds later, one of the monsters skittered by the alley’s entrance, snuffling like a boar as it passed. Gray watched, frozen, as Lucy peered out into the street to ensure it had left before exhaling deeply. When she turned around, she caught sight of him. 

"Gray!" she hissed and darted over just as he slumped against the wall. Her hands fluttered around his wounds but never touched, not wishing to pain him accidentally. "You're hurt…"

"It's nothing. They just grazed me." Gray looked frenziedly over his shoulder as the metallic bang of a trash bin falling on its side clanged in the passage behind him. "We gotta go." He grabbed her hand and tore away from the wall with a grunt. A smear of blood marked the place where he had leaned against the brick. For the sake of not alerting the nearby beasts to their position, Lucy stifled her protests. After taking fervent glances down both sides of the street, Gray pulled her out into the open, intending to take shelter in the half-destroyed bakery a few yards down the road. We need to regroup. Fighting these things on our own is a suicide mission! If I could find Juvia or Erza or anybody, we'll stand a better chance…! 

"Gray, look out!" 

Lucy's blood-curdling scream cleaved through the night air like a blade. Something knocked into Gray and sent him staggering a few paces to the left on unsteady, wobbly knees. He whipped around as he crashed into a brick wall, and then time slowed down to an agonizing pace. He watched the air warp around the razor-sharp spikes as they sailed towards Lucy, who still had her arms outstretched from pushing Gray out of the way. He watched the blood explode from her skin as the jagged points made first contact, biting into the meat of her shoulder, thigh, and abdomen like carnivorous beasts. The air vibrated with Lucy’s high-pitched, agonized wail that seemed to last hours in Gray’s roaring ears. Ruby liquid painted the cracked cobblestone, grotesque abstract artworks that only the disturbed would find beautiful. Gray watched, wide-eyed and frozen, as Lucy landed on her belly in the road, unmoving with the blood slowly pooling around her in a shining red lake. 

“N-no,” he gurgled suddenly. A hard lump made it challenging to speak and release the choking sobs bubbling up in his body. He staggered towards Lucy, but his legs had gone numb. With a haggard cry, he fell on his hands and knees. Those also failed to support him, making him flop uselessly onto his belly. Groaning in agony, he forced his battered body to move. His fingernails cracked as he scraped them harshly against the cobblestone in an attempt to gain enough traction to drag himself forward. His muscles screamed in protest, but Gray managed to crawl a few feet forward where Lucy lay. The blood saturated his skin and clothes, hot and sticky and reeking of iron. Gray pawed at the girl, rolling her over onto her back, and nearly fainted with relief when he found her barely clinging to life. 

“Guh… Gray…” Her whisper was but a ghost of a breath. Gray hauled himself to a sitting position with a pained cry. After a few seconds of panting and fighting back the darkness encroaching on the edges of his vision, he settled Lucy’s head into his lap. 

“Lucy. Lucy, you’re gonna be okay,” he croaked. He stroked her dirt-caked, frazzled blonde hair with trembling fingers to brush it away from her pale, sweaty face. “We’re gonna get you help, Lucy. We’re gonna get you help.” She blinked slowly, barely able to keep her eyelids open to gaze at him with hazy, unfocused eyes. 

“You can’t help me.” When she uttered that, Gray shattered. With a low, mournful moan, he curled over her body. The blood leaching from her wounds filled his breaths with the disgusting metallic tang and his skin burned where the red liquid smeared over it. “You can’t help me,” she repeated in a quiet, tired sigh. Tears poured from Gray’s eyes, dripping down onto her ghostly white face and neck. 

“No. Don’t say that, don’t say that,” he began babbling nonsensically. “Help, gonna get- gonna get help, Lucy, don’t die, don’t die!” His violently quaking hands struggled to cup the small frame of her face. “Lucy… Lucy, I love you… Please, don’t go, don’t leave me, I love you, I love you!” His mind began to swim with fierce regrets. I should’ve told her sooner. I shouldn’t have let it end like this! I should’ve done something, I should have saved her! It should have been me! It should have been me! “Lucy… Lucy…” he crooned in broken whispers as the light faded from her eyes and her body grew still with death. The ground trembled with a rising quake, and in the near distance, Gray heard the unmistakable hiss of a dragon. 

He didn’t care. He continued to cradle Lucy’s body, lamenting every bit of warmth that slowly faded from her skin. His body began to bounce with the intensity of the dragon’s weighty steps. He didn’t care. 

What can a man do in such a moment, aside from embrace death? 

Reality splintered. Gray had the odd sensation of floating in space as time warped around him into fractured, unfocused momentary blips. Voices echoed around him, but he couldn't understand any words. Gray closed his eyes, feeling like his entire being was falling apart, and then-

There he was, standing in the middle of the street again, holding Lucy’s hand. Gray’s hazy mind couldn’t process what had just occurred; it only became dominated with the incredible urge to act. He whirled around and tackled Lucy to the ground, causing her to squeak in surprise. In the next second, several of the white spikes sailed overhead. They crashed harmlessly into the nearby building, sending the brick wall crumbling. Without hesitating, Gray slapped his palm down and blasted a massive ice wall in the direction the spikes had come from. There were a few pained squeals, and then nothing, nothing aside from the rumbles of the ongoing war around them. He looked down to see Lucy gawking wide-eyed at him, her chest heaving with gulping breaths. 

“Gray, I… I…” Her hands roamed her body, searching for the grievous wounds but finding her skin unmarred. She swallowed thickly and then whispered, “I died.” A hard lump formed in Gray’s throat. He couldn’t force out words, so he just nodded forlornly. Lucy’s fingers dug deep into the meat of his upper arms as tears flooded her eyes. “And you… And you…” Her eyelashes fluttered, sending the droplets coursing down her cheeks- cheeks rosy with the flush of life, not pale white with the oncoming of death. “I love you too.” 

Kissing in the middle of the battlefield probably wasn’t the best idea, but Gray went right ahead and did it anyway. 

His lips smashed against Lucy’s in a fierce, passionate, emotional kiss. Lucy’s fingers carded into his hair, scraping her nails over his scalp as he ravished her mouth with a tenacity. She fought for dominance for a few seconds, but soon yielded to the waves of passion rolling off the ice mage, allowing herself to be swept up in the tsunami. When she sighed wantonly, Gray took the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth. The hot muscles swirled ardently in a feverish dance, spreading a warmth and love that Gray had never known through his body. It lasted only a minute or so, but to the impassioned mages, it might as well have been an eternity. No matter how much they wanted to ignore the rumbling and roaring around them, they could not ignore the fraught dangers of their reality forever. 

As Gray pulled away from Lucy, he grabbed her by her upper arms, hauling her into a sitting position. He pressed another searing kiss to her forehead and then cupped her face. 

“After this, I swear on everything that I’m taking you on a damn good date,” he promised. Lucy blinked, then smiled warmly, for she heard the unspoken order hidden within the vow: live. Gray stroked her cheeks with his thumbs to catch the tears that leaked out of her eyes. 

“I’m looking forward to it.” You live too, her eyes beseeched. He pressed his forehead to hers, confirming their promises with a single glance. 

Live, so I can love you properly.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork​ @searchfortheonepiece​

[annoyedfanfiction]

Perception

qui-gon jinn x reader

He found you, as he had expected, in the Tower of the Whills. The sun had long set, moonlight glittering in the kyber that had once been yours.  “Padawan.” You jumped. That was unusual, but then again, nothing about this night had been normal. You crushed something beneath your foot before you folded your legs beneath you. “Master.” Your response was hollow, eyes empty as you looked up at him.  “Would you care to explain why I learned from Mace that you have applied to study under a new Master?” Your posture went from slumped to stiffened, and you cast your eyes away.  “I didn’t mean for it to be this way.” The kyber gleamed brightly, and Qui-Gon wondered, briefly, what wave of your emotion you had hidden from him.  “That is not answering the question,” he said, flatly.  “There is someone who needs you more than I do,” you told him, finally looking up. “I have seen it.” You paused, a rough cough snarling from your throat, and Qui-Gon wondered at the deep sorrow in your eyes, the tears the shadows almost concealed. “You have another who is your destiny. And I cannot be your Padawan any longer.” “You have barely three months of training left,” he insisted, not daring to take a seat on the floor beside you, as he had done so many times. “Am I so insufferable you cannot bear to even live out your Trials under my guidance? Have I wronged you in some way?” “No!” You staggered to your feet, and his brow furrowed at your unsteady legs, but you flinched away from him before he could steady you. “You have been nothing but an exemplary Master. But our paths must separate here.” The scratching rose in your throat again and you smothered it with a small cough. Still, Qui-Gon frowned.

“I see you have made up your mind,” he stated, but did not turn to leave. “But tell me one thing, if not as your Master then as a friend, are you ill?” His sharp eyes examined you carefully. The pallor in your cheeks and dark circles beneath your eyes that he had considered exhaustion when you first returned to the temple. The sweat now beading on your forehead, legs trembling beneath you. You looked at him for a long moment, then produced a small jar from your robes.  “I want you to have this,” you told him, placing it in his larger hands. “Tea, from Proserpina. I hope one day you can drink it without feeling the hurt I have caused you.” You cleared your throat again, and moved to slip past him, but he blocked your path.  “Padawan,” he murmured, making you look back up at him, “(Y/N), please, you must be honest with me. Are you ill?” “There is nothing to be done for it.” You could feel it welling up in your throat, but there was nothing you could do. You tried to force it back, keeping your mouth adamantly closed, breath held tight in your chest.  “What do you mean?” he asked, and for a moment you thought there was almost panic in his voice. “(Y/N)?” Your vision of him flickered, and you didn’t even try to stop him as he steadied your shaking form this time, determined that he would not see the petals. They would surely give you away. Had he said your name again? His hand was on your forehead, then he was lifting you up. Your hold cracked, and you convulsed, throwing yourself forward to choke out the flower. A full flower - six petals all in place, black and veined with red. You could almost have laughed, staring down at the trace of his home you’d dropped at his feet, but your strength did not hold up to that, and your eyes finally closed. 

“What’s wrong with them?” Qui-Gon’s voice rattled with unease as your eyes battled open. “They didn’t tell you?” You could feel Vokara raising her eyebrow. “No.” His response was taut and brief, ready to snap at the first sign of change. Vokara hesitated. “You can tell him.” Your words came out more as a low growl than a sentence, jolting the two into realising you were awake. “I think it would be best heard from you,” Vokara replied, moving over to help you sit up. You glared at her, and she shrugged. You glared harder. She walked out. You met Qui-Gon’s gaze, and sighed. “(Y/N).” Concern, hurt, fear warred in his eyes. “Padawan, please.” You averted your eyes, toying with the sheet that covered your legs. “It is a disease unique to the Proserpine,” you explained, eventually, low enough that you almost wondered if he would hear you. But Qui-Gon had always had sharp ears and eyes. “When part of our amygdala shuts down due to an overbearing emotion, it triggers an influx of corsuccuxin that causes a plant to grow in our lungs.” You raised your eyes to meet his, and, for the first time in your partnership, Qui-Gon wasn’t sure what you were trying to make him understand. “Officially, it’s called Hanahaki disease, but on Proserpina it is known as Cupid’s plague. It’s basically death by unrequited love.” “Surely something can be done?” You looked at him long and hard, then gestured for him to take a seat. Despite his placid expression, you could feel the nervousness through your Force bond. “There are two ways to treat it.” Vokara entered, bustling over to hand you a cup, filled with a mushy, red substance. “Corcertoxin leaves,” you held up the cup, “ease the pain and slow the plant’s growth. Returning to Proserpine will lengthen my life. But neither of these is a cure – at most, I will have six months to live on Proserpine.” “(Y/N).” Vokara gave you a sharp look. “The full truth.” You sighed, tiredly. “There is a cure,” you admitted, slowly. “An operation, to remove the flower. I will not be having it.” “What?” Qui-Gon demanded, frowning. “Why ever not?” You coughed, spitting a flower into the bucket Vokara had handed you. When you looked back at him, tears had broken onto your cheeks, your stoicism flooding away. “By removing a Hanahaki flower, you also remove the patient’s ability to love that person,” Vokara responded, calmly.  “How great can this person be if they don’t even love you back?” Qui-Gon huffed, bitterly.  “I don’t know.” Your voice cracked, eyes fixing on his. “How great are you?”

You dissolved into a coughing fit, spitting out another flower, then Vokara shoved the cup of corcertoxin mush into your hands. It soothed your scratched throat, though the thick, gluggy texture left much to be desired. “Really?” Vokara demanded, once you’d recovered your breath. “I mean, I always questioned your taste, but seriously?”  “Ouch, tell us what you really think, V.” You gestured vaguely in Qui-Gon’s direction, still avoiding his eyes. “Besides, did you not recognise the flowers?” “Oh, no offence, Master Jinn,” she said, briefly, “You’re not a bad choice in yourself, but–” she turned back to you, “–he’s your Master.” “I know!” You threw your hands in the air. “Has been for a while now!”  “I hate to interrupt,” Qui-Gon commented, dryly, cutting Vokara’s response off. She turned to him. You just dropped your head. “But I’m afraid I’m missing something.” “I don’t think you are,” Vokara said, leaning against the wall. “No, I think I am,” he insisted, and she raised an eyebrow. “If Hanahaki is death by unrequited love, why does (Y/N) have it?” She stared at him, jaw dropping. Your head whipped around to mimic her expression. “Oh, I’m so gone,” she said, finally, hurrying out and slamming the door behind her. You heard the head medic – her Master – shout something about quiet. She stuck her head back in. “The brain only acts on its perceptions, Master Jinn.” And disappeared again. Qui-Gon looked back at you. You dropped your eyes.

“Padawan.” His voice was as gentle as his hands when he reached out, cupping your cheek. “I’m sorry, Master.” You pressed your hand against his. “I’m so sorry. I did not mean for you to find out this way.” “You did not mean for me to find out at all,” he corrected, sternly. “And that put your life in danger.” “I will not force you to act like you love me, merely because of a fact of my biology,” you retorted, bitterly, not looking at him. “And I will not let you die thinking that I don’t love you,” he countered, insistently. “Padawan, (Y/N), please.” He tilted your chin up, forcing you to look into his ocean-blue eyes. “I have never lied to you. And I would not. Certainly not about this.” You felt him open your bond, and made no move to stop him, as love and fear and sorrow pulsed through the Force. “And what of the Code?” You didn’t know why you asked – the Code had never been your Master’s forte, after all. “The Force is not governed by the Council’s Code.” You had heard those words before, of course, but they rang deeper now. “It has told me all I need to know. What does it tell you?” You let your gaze sink into the welling pools of his eyes, let your mind fall into the Force, humming with all that was new and old and not yet in place. “That this is what is meant to be,” you murmured, eventually. “There is darkness coming and we must find our own light.” He smiled, gently, steady beside you, even as you shook. “It will be alright, Padawan.” He brushed the first tears from your cheeks, simply wrapping his arms around you when you sank into him, shuddering with sobs. “You are safe.”

[fallinnflower]

Day6 Reaction: Bad Habits/Coping Mechanism

slight angst, request: “could i maybe request like how would the day6 members react when they found out that their s/o has a bad habit of coping with stress” 

WARNING: misuse of alcohol

“Y/N, come on,” one of your friends says, a hint of exasperation in their tone. You attempt to stand upright at their request, but once again your knees become weak and you crumple to the floor. It doesn’t occur to you that you’re the only one laughing. 

The semester has been rough. You’d thought the fall of your final year in university would be easy, but it’s anything but — you’re always working in one way or another, and you feel as though you hardly have time for a breather. You have one night a week to go crazy and let loose, so that’s damn well what you do. You drink until you can’t see straight, can’t even form a sentence, because how else can you avoid thinking about your GPA? 

Somewhere in the back of your mind, as your friend pulls you out of the club and onto a bench outside, you hear them on the phone with your boyfriend. The thought of him brings a smile to your face, even in your heavily inebriated state. 

“Okay, thanks,” your friend from before says, before sitting on the unoccupied side of the bench with a sigh. “He’ll be here soon.” You hum contentedly, and drift off to sleep. 

JAE

You wake up to find that you’re already in your apartment complex’s parking lot. You flash Jae a goofy smile, but he doesn’t even look your way until he’s at your side of the car. 

You whine when he turns on the lights in your apartment, because it hurts your eyes. Jae doesn’t say a word. You protest at almost every turn, and get nothing from him — even when you playfully push at his arm while he tries to offer you some painkillers, all he does is sigh,

“Y/N, please.” You take the painkillers. It doesn’t seem like a big deal. 

Once he’s gotten you to down those and some water, you start drifting in and out of sleep. Usually when you’re drunk Jae will cuddle with you, but tonight he stays at the end of your bed. You wake up at one point, thought you can’t be sure what time it is, and see him with his face buried in his hands — his glasses sit on the bedspread beside him, and his hair is extremely messy. You frown, preparing to tug him down beside you so he can get proper sleep, but that’s when you hear the sniffle. 

It’s watery, and you suddenly realize he’s crying. Jae doesn’t cry, not for anything. You stay sitting up, hand reaching for him, and after a moment’s pause you finally tug at his sleeve. 

“Jae?” You ask, and your voice is hoarse. You probably yelled a lot in the club, unnecessarily. He looks at you with dark, red-rimmed eyes. He seems so tired. 

“Jae, what’s wrong?” 

“You can’t keep doing this,” he says. Your heart skips a beat. 

“What?”

“I know you’re stressed out, Y/N, but you can’t—” He breaks off into a sigh and drags his hands through his hair. “Never mind. I can’t talk to you like this.”

“Like what?” You ask, watching him put his glasses back on and stand up, heading for the door. There’s a pit in your stomach; you feel like you’re going to vomit. His eyes pierce yours even in the dimly lit room, he lingers in the doorway. 

“Drunk. We’ll talk in the morning.” With that, he cuts the lights and closes the door. You don’t sleep very well that night. 

SUNGJIN

When Sungjin pulls up to the curb and gets out of the car, you instantly spring to your feet. He runs to catch you before you can eat shit on the sidewalk, and you’re too busy giggling to notice the crease of his forehead when he quietly thanks your friends. He gently eases you into the car, and his knuckles are white the whole drive home — not that you notice, with your eyes shut the whole time. 

Sungjin gives you a piggyback ride up to your apartment, though he’s not laughing at your little jokes or reacting like you expect him to when you blow into his ear. He helps you change into pajamas, wipes your makeup off for you and even brushes your teeth for you, but he never once meets your eyes. You aren’t anywhere near sober, but you feel as though something is wrong nonetheless. 

That night, Sungjin lies down beside you — but he avoids touching you. For a while, you do the same, until eventually you can’t take it anymore. You turn to him, wrapping your arms around his bicep and pressing your cheek into his shoulder. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, softly. Sungjin let’s put a long, slow breath. He keeps staring up at the ceiling. 

“Go to sleep, Y/N. You’re going to have a bad hangover.” 

After a moment’s Sungjin gently takes your hand in his, squeezing it lightly. It’s enough to reassure you that he’ll be there in the morning, and you’ll get your answers then. 

YOUNG K

You know Brian is upset the moment you get into the car. He buckles you in and starts driving, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to break up the silence. There’s no music playing. 

“I’m worried about you,” he says, finally. You laugh and go to poke his cheek, but miss and tap the side of his nose. 

“Pfft, why? M’fine!” He casts a sidelong glance your way and sighs. 

“How much did you drink?” That makes you pause. He’s been asking this almost every time he’s come to pick you up, and you definitely tried to keep count—

“Dunno,” you reply, shrugging. 

“This is really bad for you,” he says. 

“Well—”

“It’s bad for me, too,” he says. “I’m always worried about you when you’re out. What if I don’t wake up and get the call from your friends? What if something bad happens?”

He pulls into your apartment’s parking lot, and you stare at him with big eyes, already forgetting the trajectory of the conversation. Brian passes a hand over his face and looks away from you. 

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you inside.” You oblige, though his quietness and lack of smiles as he helps you get ready for bed aren’t lost on you. Usually, Brian enjoys getting to baby you a little bit, but he seems tired. You wonder why that is. 

When you stir from your sleep in the night, you find the other side of your bed untouched — Brian is asleep on the chair in the corner of your room, as far away from you as he can be while still sharing a space with you. Your heart sinks. 

Belatedly, his words drift back to you, piercing your heart. It’s hurting me, too. 

WONPIL

In the moments during the drive that you’re awake, you notice Wonpil is breathing weird. You don’t think much of it, can’t really because your brain feels like mush — at least, you don’t until he finally pulls into a parking space and suddenly bursts into tears. Inebriated as you are, you’re still extremely worried, immediately sitting up to try and help him. 

Bad idea. You immediately feel nauseous and dizzy, and have to squeeze your eyes shut to try and recenter yourself. By the time you’re feeling steady again, Wonpil is wiping at his cheeks and breathing funny again, sniffling all the while. 

“Won—”

“You promised,” he sniffs, wiping at his eyes again. You stop short of grabbing his sleeve, confused. “You promised you would stop, but you just keep doing this every weekend—“

He dissolved into tears again, and you feel your heart sink. Had you promised? You can’t remember. 

“I can’t— I don’t like seeing you like this—“ Every statement is punctuated by a brief sob, and you feel horrible. 

“Pili...” 

“Stop,” he says. “Just stop. Don’t say anything if you— if you’re just going to do it again.” As you watch your boyfriend cry, you wonder how many times you’ve had this conversation. Has he cried like this before? 

“Sorry,” you whisper, and he sniffles and shakes his head. 

“Let’s go inside. We can— we can talk in the morning.”

DOWOON

You’re pretty used to Dowoon being quiet, though it usually isn’t so tense between the two of you. Dowoon seems like he doesn’t even want to look at you, and not in the shy way he had done when you first met — now, he seems almost ashamed. 

“Dowoon-ah,” you whine, and he shifts in the driver’s seat uncomfortably. “Are you ignoring me?” 

“No,” he replies, meekly. “I just don’t know what to say.” You sit up straighter in your seat, ignoring the sudden bout of dizziness. 

“What do you mean?” The clicking of the turn signal is the only sound as your boyfriend collects his thoughts, and your heart begins pounding. 

“I’m worried,” he says. “It’s not healthy to drink so much. But I don’t want to be overbearing.” You feel your heart sink as he makes the turn into your apartment complex, still not sparing you so much as a glance. When he finally does park, he stares at his hands on the steering wheel, his brow gently puckered. 

“I know you’re stressed,” he continues, finally. “I know that’s why you do it. I want to help, but I don’t know how.” He looks at you, and his eyes seem so sad— suddenly, you feel tears pricking at the corner of your own. 

“I’m sorry, Dowoon,” you sniff, and he quickly swipes at your tears with his thumbs, cradling your face. 

“Don’t cry,” he says. “Please don’t cry. We can talk later, just please don’t cry. I don’t want to upset you.” 

Eventually, you calm down enough to go inside, where Dowoon does every possible thing he can think of to make you feel better until you eventually fall asleep nestled into his side. 

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Fear the Reaper

For the first time in a long time, as Loki looks down at your broken body on the ground, he feels afraid. He had made a promise to you once. A promise that he wouldn’t let this come to pass.

But here you were and he could feel the anger burning through his body. The fury roiled through him unchecked, his hard-won control and discipline crumpled as he hit his knees in the rain. His feral screaming brought the battle to a crashing halt. The sobbing screaming wave of magic that swept over the field disintegrated enemy soldiers like they were nothing. Dissolving them into a mush of blood and so much spoiled meat.

Medical surges forward, putting you on a stretcher. Putting you on machines meant to keep you alive. You had saved his life. He’d promised you he’d be safe. He promised you he’d come home to you. He had broken his promise to be safe and his risk had almost killed him. Would have killed him if at the last second you had not shoved him out of the way.

Thor puts his daughter in his arms and Loki looked down at the newborn. You should have been home with her. You should have been safely in bed with Nova in your arms. Instead, you followed him. He doesn’t know how to face that you may never open your eyes again. He doesn’t know how to tell his daughter that her mother is dead because he got her killed. 

The baby fusses and he bounces her gently and paces to quiet her. The fussing becomes a frustrated wail and Loki feels tears sting at his eyes, “Please, darling,” he pleads, “I know I’m not mummy but I’m trying. Please don’t cry.” Tears slide down his cheeks and he cuddles her, desperate to comfort her somehow. Desperate to be able to ask you what she needs because you know. You always know. You know what everyone needs because you care enough to learn to read them. 

A nurse finally takes pity on him and brings him a bottle to feed her and he does, crooning nonsense as she quiets and eats and then drifts off to sleep again. In the quiet of the room, your labored breathing is all he can hear and he counts the breaths. Afraid that the next might be the last. “Y/N,” he says softly, holding your hand and stroking your knuckles, “I’m sorry, please don’t go.” He’s hoping against hope to tie you to this life. “It’s Nova, I’m afraid,” he said, “She’s been telling me she simply won’t have it if you don’t open your eyes and hold her. And you know how my princess is.” He chuckles and looks at the tiny bundle in his arm, “She always has to get her way.”

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispers, brushing a kiss across your lips. “Please, my love. I need you to fight one more time. I need you to stay with me. I need you to Stay with Nova.” Loki feels the chill that creeps into the room and clutches his daughter closer to his chest. “No. No. NO!” he cries, “Please. Take me instead. It isn’t her fault.”

In the quiet, the machine that’s monitoring your heart starts screaming. He screams and touches your face, clutching his crying infant and still pleading to the empty air. He can’t breathe and he can’t think. All he can do is collapse into his brother’s arms, still pleading. Still telling Death that it isn’t your fault.

[anenddarysden]

My entry for the Warframe Macabre Premier Contest 2018! 

The galleon was a derelict floating high in the orbit of the first planet. Attempts to hail the ship were met with an eerie silence, broken only by the sob of a low-frequency distress beacon. Static scratched at the empty vault of space, and very little could be discerned from the guttural voices it carried. The Grineer were difficult to understand at the best of times. Still, some progress had been made once the dialect had been recognized: “Liberate mae- liberate mae. Liberate mae!” The message repeated, looping over and over. It came as a surprise to Tudk, that the Grineer still remembered the language of the Creators, though they did not use it in common parlance and most could not force the syllables through the degraded mush of their minds. The fact that one had chosen to record a distress call in such terms spoke of a certain degree of madness, or delirium. Liberate mae. Save me. The message did not offer specifics, but Tudk could guess. With their decrepit machinery and dirty, chugging engines, the Terminus was not the first Grineer ship to loose life support out in the black, nor would her crew be the last to suffocate on their own breath. Ultimately it didn’t matter. All indications were that of ghost ship, so Company procedure was to strip it for salvage. Everything had value. Even the greasy components of a galleon could be sold for a profit – usually back to the Grineer themselves, for they were rarely able to grasp the workings of anything beyond their own outmoded technology. Tudk lowered the box-like helmet over his head and sealed it, feeling the subtle change in the engines as the Christi came up alongside and initiated docking procedures. A muted thud rocked the bones of the ship. “Umbilicus sealed, Captain Tudk.” Hoisting toolkits and thermal lances, the salvage team walked onto the galleon. The ship was dark and in a state of deep freeze, the rust-colored walls glistering with frozen condensation. Despite the bone-chilling cold, however, Tudk was surprised to discover that life-support was still operational, albeit at minimal power. Atmosphere was reading nominal. It wasn’t asphyxiation that’d killed the crew. Tudk’s heavy bootfalls echoed in the corridor. To his rear, someone had already fired up a plasma cutter and applied it to the conduits that ran the length of the hall, throwing a rooster tail of sparks that caused the shadows to leap and float in phantasmagoric patterns. Tudk palmed the comm on his chest. “Jhon, you getting anything on the crew?” “Negative, Captain.” The Grineer weren’t known for ambush tactics; if any had been on board, they’d have come to investigate by now, so Tudk remained comfortable with his original assumption. The ship, a derelict. The crew, lost. To what, however, Tudk was admittedly curious to find out. Radiation levels were dirty, but that was normal for a Grineer vessel of this size. Tudk pressed deeper into the confusing warren of bulbous, vaguely organic architecture. A veteran of many such ships, however, he kept his bearings and steered a course for a the bridge. The cover of a maintenance hatch lay in the middle of the corridor and steam fogged on Tudk’s helmet as he passed under the open vent, leaving a thin sheen of oil. He was glad he didn’t have to breathe it. He found the first body crumpled in the corner by an access panel. The Grineer had been taken unaware, terminated by something that’d punched through his spine and crushed his beating heart to pulp. A dark puddle of blood had drained onto the floor, glistering with a thin mantle of ice. Tudk was no stranger to corpses, either, but the brutality of the kill left him uneasy. He unlocked the door and stepped through. With the exception of the massive, floor-to-ceiling viewport on the far wall, the bridge was a strictly utilitarian affair. The ship’s slowly decaying orbit had brought it around to face the dark-side of the planet Mercury, which hung, rusted and barren, less than a thousand miles away. Tudk set his toolkit on the ground. He’d found the rest of the crew – the command staff, anyway. Grineer corpses littered the bridge like confetti, crumpled and sprawled and draped amidst gallons of spilled blood. Tudk swallowed the knot in the back of his throat, unable to shake the feeling that something had been playing with them, like a cat tossing the corpse of a mouse. His comm gave a squelch that nearly startled him onto the ceiling. “Captain Tudk?” He slapped his comm, his heart jackhammering against his ribs. “This is Tudk. Go ahead, Decima.” “I’ve found the crew – what’s left of them, anyway. Looks like most of them tried to clump up around the mainframe.” “Any survivors?” “None. There’s as much on the floors as there is on the ceiling, if you get my meaning, sir.” Tudk got her meaning very well. There was a soft, furtive clunk from the overhead vents, exactly like a fan settling on its bearings. He paid it no mind, carefully stepping over the frozen lakes of blood to the command console. His gloved fingers worked to bring the security holograms online. If he was lucky, the aging technology would have caught the intruder on file – information that was liable to sell for quite a bit of money. “Sir?” Decima’s voice was hesitant. Tudk could almost hear her chewing the words. “I’ve been listening to the transmission and I think the Company made a mistake.” “Go on.” Tudk pressed a button on the console and the bridge lights flared, first yellow, then a dull orange. Jittery holograms sputtered out of decrepit emitters mounted high on the walls, rendering the galleon’s occupants as they had been recorded in life. One of the holograms passed through Tudk’s chest, making him feel as though he’d been brushed by a ghost. “They thought it was repeating Liberate Mae – ‘Save Me’– but I don’t think that’s it,” said Decima. All around him, the holograms moved about their daily tasks, their movements growing more and more agitated. Rifles were unslung. Orders were barked to underlings. Something flashed through the bridge doors before they could close. A cloud of pixels fountained into the air and dissolved, falling exactly where blood gathered in heavy beads. “Here, listen. Can you hear it?” She played a scratchy copy of the distress beacon back to him, filling his helmet with the screams of the dead as their final moments played out around him. Grainy orange specters appeared to rise from the bodies lying dead at the top of the stairs, lifted up by shafts of pure energy impaled through the back – leaving them to hang like fish writhing on the tip of an Ostron spear. Inside his glove, Tudk’s fingers were icy cold with sweat. He pressed the console and the twitching image slowed to half speed. Something appeared at the top of the stairs, something humanoid but certainly not human, floating a half meter above the floor. Tudk had never seen anything like it. Lithe and small, adorned with trailing ribbons and armor reminiscent of the vanished Orokin and their gilded halls. It hung there suspended, bobbing up and down. Alive, but not living. A Grineer lancer stumbled across the floor, trying to hold his entrails inside, and collapsed at Tudk’s feet – collapsed through him to cling at the console, dragging a clumsy hand across the buttons. The Thing at the top of the stairs tilted its blood-spattered head to the side, regarding the act with a kind of demented curiosity. “It’s hard to make out, but it’s not ‘liberate mae’,” Decima continued nervously. “It’s 'liberate tutemae'... followed by something that I think is ‘ex inferis’,” her voice overlapping with that of the dying Grineer at Tudk’s feet. Liberate tutemae ex inferis. Save Yourself from Hell. Tudk knew now what had lurked at the top of the stairs, blood pouring from claw-like fingers. There had been rumors, but nothing substantial. Nothing more than Quill-whispers- but they weren’t rumors, were they? No, it was something more. Myth given flesh. Legend turned to terrible reality. They were awake, they who had journeyed beyond the universe and returned from the place the Orokin called Hell – the hollow soldiers in twisted frames, things of such unholy beauty that even the stars wept. The Betrayers. The Twisted. The Tenno. Tudk lifted shaking eyes back to the top of the stairs. His heart stopped and fell coldly into his stomach. The hologram had suddenly gained a twin, formed not of lasers and embered pixels, but of bone-white limbs spattered with the blood of those it had killed. Parts of it glowed with cold turquoise light, light that glistened on the curtains of blood that’d poured down the stairs. Not a derelict. It had been waiting here all along. The paused hologram suddenly timed out- -and the Tenno lunged with a harrowing shriek.

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

Let The Flames Begin (Chapter 12)

After the three of them all successfully climbed the ladder, they stood on the decking just outside the door and the first thing that hit them was the smell. Charlene covered her mouth with her hand and she tried not to heave as the brothers cast wary glances to each other. They knew that smell, the smell of death. Merle knocked loudly on the door of the treehouse but there were no groans or shuffling on the other side. Daryl didn't know what was worse, the biters or the fact there were dead bodies inside that weren’t walking around. Daryl grabbed the handkerchief out of his back pocket and walked around to behind Charlene, tying it around her face to cover her nose and mouth. It wouldn't stop the smell completely but it would help. She smiled, but when she realised he couldn't see it she gave him a little nod.

“Wait here, me and Merle are gonna check out inside,” he said firmly as he readied his bow. She nodded again and watched them slip inside. She knew she was safe on the decking. The dead couldn't get up. The treehouse was pretty big, not the kind she remembered from her childhood, and it was high up. She could see over the walls at this height, watching as a few stragglers roamed the streets below. She knew they couldn't get her though, they probably wouldn't even know they were here with the high walls around the house. But still, it was creepy being out here on her own and every little noise was making her jump. She scurried off inside, she hadn't heard anything in there so she hoped that there weren't any biters. She wandered around the living area, trying not to look at the family pictures that decorated the place. It made her chest feel tight. There was an open door off to one of the sides and she walked in, hoping to see Daryl or Merle. But inside she was greeted with the sight of a decomposing body of a young boy lay lifeless on a bed.

It felt like her heart shattered, like she had been winded as she glared at it. She could just about make out a gunshot to his head, he only looked about six and she felt her eyes filling with tears. Try as she might, she couldn't move. Her feet were rooted to the spot as her heart broke. She knew the new world was harsh, she knew a lot of babies and kids didn't make it. But seeing it like this was a smack in the face.

“Shit girl, I told ya to wait out there,” Daryl lamented as he gripped her arm and pulled her from the room, standing in front of her to block the view of the boy. She looked at her feet, her eyes welling with tears and Daryl had to squeeze his eyes shut to quell his own emotion. It had been a fucking shit show in here. He and Merle had found a whole family in various rooms. It looked like the dad had taken them all out and then himself, most likely an act of mercy. Daryl couldn't even imagine having to do that.

He watched her warily as her chest heaved, glaring at the floor as she fought her tears. He didn’t really know what to do, what to fucking say. This was just the way it was now, but he wished it wasn't just to get her to stop being so upset. Merle walked in the room then, glancing to the girl and then Daryl, his shoulders slumping.

“Shit girlie, ain’t so good at listenin’ huh?” he sighed, it was obvious what she had seen with her emotional state. She didn't even reply, just shook her head. She fucking regretted not listening now, she should have stayed out there like she was told. Merle walked over to them and clapped Daryl on the back.

“Take her to the guest room we found. I’ll clean house,” he muttered tensely. Daryl was glad his big brother was taking the lead on this one. He was glad he could sit this one out, glad the girl hadn't stumbled into the room where the body of a baby was, no more than a year old. Daryl felt like he had been punched in the gut when he had walked in that room and he knew Merle had seen it all over his face.

Daryl was still holding her arm and he lead her to the guest room where there were no bodies. He let go and watched as she sat on the bed, removing the bandana with shaky hands before she burst into tears. She lowered her head into her hands as small sobs shook her body and Daryl swallowed thickly. He didn’t know how to comfort a woman, especially with something like this. He walked over, crouching in front of her so he was eye level, his heart breaking for her.

“M’ sorry ya had to see that Tiny,” he frowned, it was all he could come up with. He couldn't tell her it would all be okay because he didn't know if it would be. He couldn't offer up anything more than those few words. She sniffled, wiping her eyes before she looked at him and he almost fell flat on his ass. Those bright green eyes so shiny with tears, looking so devastated. It was hard to look at her like this.

“I’ll...I’ll be okay...I just need...a minute…” She sobbed, hiccuping a little as she tried to calm down.

Daryl didn't even think as he wrapped his arms around her, letting instinct take over and guide him on what to do in this situation. He felt her relax as she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his neck as she cried some more. He could feel her tears soaking his skin and he stroked her hair soothingly, hoping to ease even a tiny bit of her pain.

“Ya still wanna stay here? We can leave if ya want,” he said quietly, his hand stroking her long brown hair, enjoying the softness of it.

“Merles gonna...he's gonna take care of it?” she asked softly, sounding so much like a small child that it made his heart constrict.

“Yeah,” he replied, not wanting to think about his brother removing the dead bodies from the place.

“We can stay,” she whispered against his neck, making him suppress a shiver. She knew they needed the rest, being cooped up in the cab of the truck had been hard on all of them and she knew the boys needed a good rest for once. If the bodies wouldn't be here, she could try and deal with it. Daryl held her a little longer, letting her just get it all out. Lord knows she needed to.

When her crying subsided he moved away, looking at her carefully as she wiped her eyes, cheeks flushing. She looked embarrassed about her little breakdown and he felt bad. She didn’t ever need to feel embarrassed about anything with him. “When I ask ya to do somethin’...it's for a reason alright? Next time just...fuckin’ listen to me, please,” he lamented with a frown. She nodded, looking at him as she felt bad. He looked so worried about her.

“I know, I’m sorry. I just don't like being left on my own. I get freaked out,” she admitted as she toyed with her hands. Daryl heaved a sigh, he didn't want to leave her on her own either but sometimes they didn't really have a choice, like this.

His legs started to ache with being crouched for so long and he stood up, moving to sit next to her on the bed. She scooted closer, resting her head on his shoulder and he tensed for a moment. She held her breath, waiting to see if he would tell her she was being too much, to tell her he was uncomfortable like they had talked about. But instead, he slowly relaxed as they sat together.

“Will you being staying in here with me?” she asked quietly, turning her big hopeful eyes up to him. His breath caught in his throat as his insides turned to mush. He was pretty sure his bones had dissolved and he was waiting to turn into a puddle on the floor.

“Ya want me to?” he rasped, he really hoped she did. He was getting used to being next to her when he slept, how it for some reason seemed to comfort him, made him relax knowing she was safe and right there with him. She nodded looking down as she nibbled her lower lip.

“Then I will,” he replied, trying to ignore the swarm of butterflies that erupted in his belly.

It was stupid, it wasn’t like they hadn't shared a bed before, yet every time he always felt nervous, like it meant something more than what it did. She wanted him there because she was scared, nothing else. He made her feel safe and in turn, she slept well. That was all she wanted him there for. He tried to remind himself that and push his feelings to the wayside. Hope was useless, there was no place in his life for it before all this shit, and even more so now.

“Thanks Daryl,” she smiled, feeling better already.

“Ain't nothin’,” he said gruffly as he stood up, making her head fall from his shoulder. She frowned a little, glancing at him even though he wasn't looking at her. She could sense a shift in his mood and she didn’t know what she had done to upset him this time. She had come to learn his moods would swing pretty fast, much like his brother's. So she opted to stay quiet about it, maybe he was upset about all this too.

“Gonna go see if Merle needs any help. Stay here, and fuckin’ listen this time,” he grumbled before he left the room shutting the door behind of him. She just blinked as she looked at the door where he had just been stood, wondering what was going on inside of that complicated head of his. She admired Daryl, he was a good man and he looked after her even though he had no obligation to. He was handsome and even funny when he wanted to be. Sometimes she wondered if he would ever like her the way she liked him, and then times like this she remembered he probably saw her as a burden. An inconvenience. He felt for some reason he had to take care of her. He probably saw her as weak and pathetic and it made her frown. She didn't want him to see her as some helpless damsel in distress that needed saving. To see her as nothing but baggage, it worried her when she thought about it, worried that one day the brothers might tire of her being around and just leave her in the dust. She hoped they wouldn’t, at times they seemed to care. But their moods give her whiplash and sometimes she had no clue where she stood with them.

Maybe if it was safe here she could ask them to teach her things. Merle had already taught her a few things with a knife but she wanted to learn other things too. Being separated from Daryl had jarred her, it opened her eyes to the fact that anything could happen in the blink of an eye. She wanted to be prepared. What would happen if she got lost on her own? She knew for a fact she wouldn't make it. She didn't know anything. The boys were smart, they had all the skills needed to survive the end of the world and she hoped if she asked nice enough, that they would teach her those skills and hopefully prolong her life if it ever came to it.

She kicked off her boots feeling worn out from all the crying, laying down in bed. She dozed off and didn't even hear Daryl coming in hours later. He sat on his side of the bed as he pulled his boots off, casting her a glance. He felt bad for snapping at her. He hated his stupid brain and how he lashed out every time he got scared or confused about shit. He had helped Merle with the rest of the bodies, thankful that the baby and kid had been taken care of before he helped. Merle opened the windows hoping to get the place aired out, to get the stench of death out of the place. They had tossed the beds over the sides too and Daryl was shocked that Merle even got rid of all the pictures and evidence a family ever lived here, clearly for the girl. He lay down on his back with a deep sigh. Why did he always have to fuck up, push her away like this? She would get fucking sick of his temper soon enough. He just couldn't figure out why she always seemed to gravitate towards him. The only thing he could think of was what he could offer her. Safety. Part of him was happy to do that for her, fuck, he wanted to keep her safe. But the other part hated how she only wanted him around for that. He felt like his brain was melting so he closed his eyes, hoping to fuck he would get some sleep.

Taglist; @risingphoenix761 @daryldixonandfrogs @arlaina28 @divadinag @keeperofwonderlandus @jodiereedus22 @easnuppa @fand0m-fiend @txladyj-blog

[talesfromtheindigoghost]

Good Intentions: Entry 4

The noise ringing through my mind was like trying to tell someone you were on the phone with about a movie, only to get tired of explaining and just held the phone up to the TV.

Screams of the thing in front of me’s regret rang through my skull, a hateful symphony of slammed doors and shattered lives pounding to the melody of a poorly tuned violin accompanying a macabre dance. Every demon I had imagined when I started shampooing my hair had made itself known to me with desperate hunger and empty hatred.

Before I could even begin to think of an appropriate way to react the thing closes the short distance from the door to the tub and sends me slamming against the freezing cold porcelain with an unintended shoulder tackle.

You ever get that moment of panic when you’re in the shower? That sudden sense of dread that convinces you that you’re about to slip and break your neck at any given moment? It’s usually inspired by dropping something or not feeling as completely sure footed as you expected to in that half a moment that feels exactly like leaning too far back in your chair and realizing you’re teetering over the edge.

My inspiration let out a horrifying and meaty screech as flecks of toxic bile and tar flew out of its dish water oatmeal mouth. An uncomfortably thick and hot mound of quivering mush violently ripped open, only to clamp down just as suddenly onto my shoulder. The dull pressure shocked me far more than any tooth or claw ever could, the thing’s obsessive jaw, or what’s passing for it, suddenly becoming a gross tourniquet as it kept me pinned against the wall.

I have no idea who I’m so furious with, whose very existence drags me to the depths of hell and its boiling lakes of rage. I can feel every bit of the thing that used to be someone’s grudge, every idle thought of dark violence or worse tightens its inhuman vice grip as I let out my own howling screaming. I hear the bone in my arm splinter before I start to feel it a solid moment later.

The radio static in my skull hisses louder, an ear piercing electronic squeal resonates through my mind until the picture comes into the view. I can hear the person this thing used to be sobbing into a glass of water after their final meal. I can taste all of the chemicals and poisons the water washes down. I can feel myself swallowing my own hatred, seething from the very depths of my soul that my death poisons someone else with regret.

The crushing creaking of my arm snaps me back to reality with a sickening pop. I hear something heavy and wet slap against the edge of the tub.

I’ve been through a lot of physical traumas in my life. Fifty times back and forth, after all, I would say it’s downright reasonable to assume I have. They were always relatively quick and painless. Slow and quiet. The kinds of things your mind doesn’t like to let itself dwell on for too long or else it’ll just ruin your day. My point is that I’ve experienced pain and shock before.

I’ve never experienced losing an arm.

I don’t care for that shit one bit, now that I think about it.

We scream together, the noises blurring together with the crashing red river pouring out of where my arm used to be. I found myself lost in that indescribable haze of death I had gotten so familiar with over the years. Blindly feeling my way through the darkness and confusion of being confronted by the monsters of our mistakes, like a starving beast that stumbled into the open back door of a butcher’s shop during payday.

Whoever the person this thing used to be had died alone. I know his life story the moment I sink my teeth into its neck in sheer desperation. His poisonous entitlement flood my mouth with tar and the deep, hateful taste of his woeful sexual frustration. I chew through waterlogged grey flesh covering my prize, the demon’s intruding desires to flay and gnash the skin of the women that denied him.

I feel everything within me become violent disgust. I live through every excruciating moment of the person this thing used to be’s life and turn around to see reality coming to splash ice water down my exposed spine. I experience the sensation of being a monster. I feel the warm blood pour over me as I end lives after I’ve violated them. I feast on their fear as they beg me for mercy. I grow drunk on the power of denying it. I crave more, I demand more. I deserve more. They should be grateful that I they had the opportunity to make me feel good.

I feel my pride and power melt away as I read the letter from someone who knows what I am.

I realize that even in death this monster can’t help but violate people.

My stomach growls and I remember my hunger.

I bite through the thin, pathetically weak vine of black licorice and feel its entire body go limp and slide away from me. The haze of death lifts like rain clouds after a storm and lets the shining sun and rainbows of euphoria fill me with an inner sense of peace and balance as I understand that this accursed demon will no longer torment the innocent.

It felt great, right up until I noticed that I was being pulled down by the dissolving blackened carcass that no longer pinned me up against the tiles. It took me half a moment to understand that I no longer had an arm to catch myself before I fall and break my neck on the side of the bath tub.

I close my eyes as the second half of the moment is spent accepting what was about to happen.

I never remember how I get here. Not at first, at least.

It’s always the same, yet it feels like it’s the first time this has ever happened.

At least, I thought so at first. I’m not alone this time. The person that thing used to be had taken its place on the ground beside me, both of us climbing to our feet in front of that gaudy gated community and its obnoxiously overstated security gate.

I look up from the jarring sight of my whole, intact arm and notice that Peter is already on his walkie talkie with a look that shows he’s just as surprised to see me as I am to be here. My gut tenses, the lead weight of anger yanks my guts into my knees and spills the contents of my heart from my mouth in a bloody and furious geyser of righteous ire.

“What in the fuck are you doing here?”

I roar at the pathetic monster whose sins had just torn my arm off and broke my neck. I don’t even feel myself hesitate from marching up to Peter’s desk and slamming my fist down on top of the golden “Ring For Service” bell situated right in front of the nervous man awaiting a response on his radio.

“What in the fuck is he doing here?”

Peter stammered and fumbled over his words, his eyes darting back and forth between the monster and I in apparent confusion, weakly shirking the responsibility of an answer through halfhearted shrugs and another plead into his walkie talkie for someone to come to the gate.

I’m so insulted at the notion that this monster, this vile and unforgivable creature, is even allowed to approach what appears to be heaven. I’m so angry that I don’t even care that we’re both still completely nude and, even further unnoticed, whole and human once more.

Not even the soothing hymns floating serenely through the golden breeze, lighting up the clouds softly with its love and profound purpose could distract me from the overwhelming indignation of knowing the monster responsible for every single one of its horrific life experiences that I had been made to relive was being entertained the opportunity to plead for entry into what I can only assume is a peaceful eternity.

Peter and I were so caught up in this sudden, unexpected confrontation that neither of us had noticed the sorry excuse for what may be considered human trying to jump the shimmering gold fence. It wasn’t until I saw it wobbling and threatening to bend forward under the murderer’s weight that I understood just how flimsy and decorative the fence itself was.

Whatever either of us were about to say or do was violently interrupted by the sound of three rapid gunshots as the monster’s chest exploded outward into a spray of meaty confetti across the clouds and its head simply ceased to be.

In the blink of an eye he, and any evidence of the scene that had just unfolded vanished. Out of sight, and just as suddenly, out of mind.

I turn just in time to see a cowboy proudly slipping a golden six-shooter back into an ornate fast draw holster around his waist. He shoots me a wink and tips his ten gallon hat with a knowing grin, the ringing in my ears easing and fading into an easily dismissed memory of annoyance. It’s easy to see that Peter is just as stunned as I am at how abruptly this situation has been forcefully diffused

I find myself holding my hands up in uncertainty, an unease I don’t think I’ve ever felt in the times I’ve been here. I take a bit of comfort in seeing that I’m not the only one here that’s uncomfortable as the tall, intimidating law man steps forward with both hands resting confidently around a huge, audacious belt buckle in the shape of a shining star emblazoned with a flaming sword.

“Well howdy there, fellas.”

Peter stands up straight and adjusts his suspenders and name tag, coughing lightly in an attempt to find his bearings with a stern, yet frazzled face.

“It took you long enough. I specifically asked you to try and be here before either of them got here.”

It wasn’t hard to see how little this towering cowboy cared about punctuality with the casual, yet shockingly firm way he clapped a hand onto my shoulder in near perfect time with the gate swinging open to welcome us both.

“You and I need to have a talk about the mess you’ve got yourself into, son.” His words hit me like a series of left hooks and dazzling footwork, sending me into a stumbling stupor and making it all the easier for the strange figure with all the charisma and commanding presence of the toughest sheriff in all of the wild wild west.

I manage to break the trance for a moment as we approach another office just beyond an unrecognizable wall of clouds that the obnoxiously golden gate were built into. I can’t seem to get the words out but thankfully stopping in your tracks with an expression of confusion is fairly universal, even here.

“Right, I’m gettin’ ahead of myself. Introductions.”

Before I know it, his strong and powerful hand is gripping me in a handshake that overwhelms me with its command for respect. The kind of strength that makes a man tremble in awe and question every single one of his life choices.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, I’m a fan of your work. You can call me Michael.”

--

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[supersunkern]

Fuck it, I can’t concentrate on anything right now cause I’m so worked up cause of Trauma. I’m going to just get all my thoughts here  So here’s a creative piece on my garbage grandparents.  TW below for self-harm and abuse mentions. 

Also I specifically looked up how to do a “read more” for this reason, so please don’t click on it if this is going to trigger or upset you. I just want a place to write this down 

I guess his ears were better than I thought. 

My arm was the first thing to start shaking, followed quickly by my leg, until they were bouncing, like a ball against the sidewalk. My cheek stung. My dinner lost all flavor and turned to cold mush in my mouth. 

“Why don’t you try saying it again?” he snarled. 

“Asshole!” I said, louder this time, to prove I wasn’t scared of him. But I was already crying. 

He slapped me again. The rest of my body was shaking. My grandma squawked. I didn’t catch who was in trouble here. 

“You m-missed my good s-side” I stammered out. I couldn’t hold my fork anymore. His only response was a condescending “yeah, sure” and he went back to eating. 

I sat there, biting my lip till I tasted blood, my whole body shaking like a tree in an autumn breeze, ready to lose every one of my leaves to the cold, merciless wind. 

I cleared the table like normal, and after dinner I left.

I put my headphones on and blasted music. It didn’t matter what. As long as I couldn’t hear anything but the sound of angry drums and throaty vocals.  I had been crying the whole time, but once I was out of the house I allowed myself to sob. I walked and I wept, leaving my tears with the dew forming in the grass. I walked until it was dark, then I walked more. I wanted to get all the bad feelings out. I wanted to leave them on the road to be hit by passing cars. But these feelings were like cockroaches, maggots, plagues...they were impossible to dispel. 

So I settled for walking until I stopped sobbing, until the anguish, fear, and anger had dissolved in a cold numbness. 

They were watching TV. Grandma looked up when I came in, but I didn’t look or say hello. I kept my headphones in. 

We all knew. It was My Fault. There was nothing else to say. 

I crawled up to my room and curled on the bed. I reached for my lighter and flicked it on. I watched the liquid flame dance, the way it dispersed the air around it into the heat. It was beautiful. Simple. 

I tested the metal part with my thumb, and when it was hot enough I turned it off. Then I pressed it against my arm. 

Searing pain shot through my body. My eyes teared up. I bit into my blanket so that I didn’t scream.  Eventually, the pain stopped. 

So I did it again. And again. And again. Until my arm was covered in clumsy little squares that marked my punishment. 

I was foolish. I thought I deserved this. 

Later, when he asked “What the hell is wrong with you” I should have answered “You are”

You

You 

You 

...asshole. 

[akaluan-dark]

Shattered Eclipse Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | ????

((Okay, so I know some people have be pretty interested in seeing Shattered Eclipse, the variant of Dragon Eclipse where Uryuu doesn’t go back in time.

I’m not actively working on it at the moment, but I DO have somewhere around 7k words written for it. If I do keep posting this story here, it’ll probably end up being a case where I get basically “a chapter” out of pieces, mush it all together and edit it, then throw the combined pieces onto AO3 and FFNet. Which means the pieces on tumblr will end up out of date because I do change quite a bit in these longer pieces when I edit them.

Anyway, this story is pretty dark. This segment isn’t so bad, but next segment is... yeah. Not good. It was never meant to be very long, either, but we’ll see how that works out.))

Ichigo surged to the fore before Aizen could even blink. He didn’t bother allowing Uryuu’s bow to dissolve into his sword, but rather bared his teeth at the monster and called out, “Bankai! Enshroud the world in a moonless night, Kakure Ichigo!”

As the power rose around them, Ichigo took that mental side-step, inviting Uryuu forward. They settled, together, as Uryuu wove his ransoutengai loosely about their body’s limbs and drew back their bow, a black arrow flashing into existence and coursing through the air.

Ichigo snarled, as he darted under Aizen’s retaliatory strike, bow flowing into sword and blocking the blow. With Uryuu’s strength added to his own, his arm didn’t even quiver, and he snarled in Aizen’s face as he kicked the other away.

“Where’s all that vaunted power now?” Ichigo asked, as he darted after Aizen, forcing his sword back into a bow briefly so Uryuu could aim and fire another Getsuga Tenshou straight into the monster’s torso.

“I will admit to some surprise,” Aizen said, as he struck again, sword singing as it clove the air. “You work so well together, one might even think you had hope to defeat me!”

“We will defeat you!” Ichigo roared back, as he lashed out with his free hand and grabbed Aizen’s sword, a trickle of blood running down his palm from the edge. He sneered in the man’s face, at Aizen’s dumbfounded expression, and thrust forward with his sword.

They danced across the sky, cutting and striking at each other. Uryuu lurked in the background, manipulating their reiatsu to resist Aizen’s blows, to force the other to constantly exert more and more effort. And whenever they had a moment, Ichigo forced his sword into a bow, and Uryuu shot a black arrow at Aizen.

It was wearing on the man, they could tell. Their tag-teaming was coming smoother, with Zangetsu having to step in less and less as they continued to fight. The Getsuga arrows were everything they had hoped — Aizen, in his hubris, had allowed the first to land, and blood still marred his right shoulder, even though the wound had long closed.

(*The Ginto,*) Uryuu murmured, as he hardened their reiatsu to resist another of Aizen’s strikes.

Ichigo grunted in acknowledgment, and reached back with his left hand to pull one of the tubes free of Uryuu’s belt. He didn’t do anything with it, not yet, merely held it ready as he felt Uryuu feeding a trickle of their power into it in preparation for its use.

“Your foolish defiance will end here!” Aizen proclaimed, as he retreated momentarily and raised a hand to the sky. “All your strength is worthless against kidou!

“Seeping crest of turbidity. Arrogant vessel of lunacy! Boil forth and deny!”

Ichigo grit his teeth, as he gave way before Uryuu’s prompting. The Ginto erupted into black light in their hand, and he felt muscles straining as Uryuu pulled his bow to a full draw.

“Grow numb and flicker! Disrupt sleep! Crawling queen of iron! Eternally self-destructing doll of mud!”

The Ginto-empowered Getsuga Tenshou arrow lanced forth from their bow, leaving a slash of pitch black in its wake.

“Unite! Repulse!”

Aizen’s eyes widened in shock, as the arrow pierced his torso. Blood dribbled down the corner of his mouth. The power gathered around his hand flickered, wavered, as the man choked out the last of the incantation, “F-fill with s-soil an-and know your own powerl-lessn-ness! H-hado nin-nety, K-kurohi-hitsugi!”

“Shit!” Ichigo shouted, as huge black boxes with leaning spears atop them began to multiply around them. He remembered when Komamura had been hit with a version of this, and how Aizen had said it was barely a third of its strength without the incantation.

Frantic, he glanced around, looking for an escape and finding none.

(*Ichigo!*) Uryuu’s sharp voice cut through his panic, even as Ichigo felt his left hand going for one of the remaining Ginto. It snapped to life as Uryuu forced it open, shedding bright green light over the darkening world. (*Ginto sever the bonds of reiatsu!*)

“Right!” Ichigo slung the bow over his back as if it was his sword, and switched the Ginto to his right hand. They had no time for finesse, not when the space remaining around them was growing smaller with every second. With a shout, he poured everything he had into striking out, cutting through walls and severing spears as quickly as they appeared.

Sweat dripped down his forehead. The Ginto was dragging through the kidou, shattering pieces of it haphazardly, and he could feel the weight of power pressing in on them, fluctuating constantly.

Finally, with a shout that Uryuu echoed, the two of them pulsed their reiatsu as high as possible, making the Ginto flare nearly white with power as the kidou shattered into a million fragments around them, exploding outwards in a rush of power and unchained destruction.

Ichigo bit back a cry of pain, as shards dug into their shared body, gouging wounds that they couldn’t defend against. So much of their power had been directed towards the purpose of escape, of destroying the kidou they were trapped within, that they had nothing left to defend with.

They stayed on their feet through force of will alone, and Uryuu clumsily wove the ransoutengai over their entire body, supporting it with puppetry. Blood dripped into their eyes from a gouge across their forehead, and Ichigo clumsily wiped it away, squinting through the pain and dispersing fragments of reishi to find Aizen. Even as damaged as they were, they *couldn’t* give up, not when they had come this far, fought him so well, *wounded him* the way they had.

(*Oh.*) Uryuu said, as they finally spotted their enemy, a rush of relief flooding them at the sight.

Aizen was on his knees, wounded gravely by both the ginto skewered through his chest and the shards of exploding kidou, and Urahara, his face set in a snarl of concentration, was applying… something… to the traitor. The more Urahara worked, the less inhuman Aizen looked, until he looked no different from the smug bastard that had taunted them so long ago, as he left Soul Society through a negacion.

They were both viciously pleased to note that the ginto remained even through the change, the lingering black reiatsu that clung to it lashing out any time Urahara attempted to pull it free, until the shopkeeper finally gave up and just let it be.

But finding that their battle was over, the fight won and the monster defeated — if not killed, but perhaps that would come later, and they both hoped they were invited to the execution — their energy flagged. Adrenaline started to flush from their system, and the sting of their wounds blossomed into sheer *agony* as the world dimmed and flickered around them.

Ichigo groaned softly, as Uryuu allowed their body to settle onto the broken ground. He just… wanted to sleep. That sounded like a wonderful plan.

“Ishida..? Damn!” Urahara’s voice broke through the gathering fog in their mind, and Ichigo forced their head up slightly to squint in Urahara’s direction. The panic in the man’s voice was… concerning. But… he could deal with it later. Apologize for failing. For falling, on that rooftop in Hueco Mundo.

“Hold on, kid. Don’t die on me now, damnit!” Urahara snarled.

A rush of healing kidou rippled through their body, and Ichigo sighed at the relief it brought. As the pain eased off a bit, he felt the call of sleep rising up, until it was all he could do to cling to consciousness.

“Shit, just hold on. I’m going to get Inoue.”

Inoue? But… she was in Hueco Mundo still. Wasn’t she?

He just… wanted to sleep.

Uryuu slipped away. The ransoutengai faltered. Failed. Leaving Ichigo to slump over on the broken ground. It was… uncomfortable. But he was just… so tired.

He closed his eyes.

||||

“*… I reject!*”

||||

Uryuu swam to consciousness, feeling worse than the time his father had pushed him to his limit, and then *beyond it*, in order to reawaken his powers. His entire body ached, and he felt too tired to even force his eyes open.

But… the longer he rested, the better he felt, though nothing seemed to touch on that bone-deep weariness at his core. It made him just want to go back to sleep, to sleep and sleep until nothing hurt and he could just pretend that this was just a figment of his imagination.

The ground was uncomfortable under his body, and Uryuu tried to gather up the will to move, knowing that he’d regret not doing so if he fell back asleep at this point.

“Don’t you dare move!” Inoue’s voice cut through his thoughts, deflating what little will he had gathered. She sounded… worried. Terrified and barely holding back tears. “Don’t you *dare move!* I almost… I almost… NO! *I refuse to lose you too!*”

At her panicked declaration, Uryuu finally managed to force his eyes open, and shifted his head until he could see Inoue through the glowing golden dome that she had erected over him. Her palms were pressed tight against it, tear tracks stark upon her pale cheeks and her eyes red from crying.

“Inoue..?” Uryuu forced out, as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. He was just tired, just needed sleep… wasn’t he?

“Don’t you ‘Inoue’ me!” she practically yelled at him, her voice breaking halfway through as she choked on a sob. “When I arrived, you were almost *dead!* *I almost couldn’t heal you!* You… you *idiot!* If Kuchiki-sama hadn’t agreed, and wasn’t so fast, *I wouldn’t have made it!*”

At the Captain’s name, Uryuu shifted his head slightly, trying to spot the man. He wouldn’t have thought that Kuchiki Byakuya would agree to ferry anyone anywhere, no matter the emergency, but if Inoue was speaking truthfully…

He spotted the Captain finally, sitting on a piece of ground that had been thrust upwards during the combat. The man looked worse for wear, missing his haori and nearly all of his left sleeve, while the rest of his shihakushou was torn and tattered. Blood dripped from open wounds, already drying in place if the slight expression of distaste on Kuchiki’s face was an indication. Urahara was moving around the other Captain, his hands glowing green with healing kidou, though he kept glancing over his shoulder and towards Uryuu as he worked.

“Everyone..?” Uryuu managed to force out, wondering what else had happened while he was apparently unconscious.

“They’re fine,” Inoue told him through her tears. “Even… even Tatsuki and Chizuru and /everyone/, even Kurosaki-sensei! So just… just get better!”

Uryuu sighed slightly, allowing his eyes to slip closed once more, and hoped that he wasn’t going to regret falling asleep once more. But even with Inoue’s healing, even with the energy flowing into him, exhaustion was clawing at his mind and dragging him back down into the darkness.

The last thing he heard was Inoue’s terrified cry of his personal name.