#{ But still. I'm sure you can imagine how that would settle in a child/teen's mind. }

[chronosbled]

{ Let it be known that John Wick, along with may other characters, was a very big inspiration for me when creating/building upon Dickson’s character. A lot of the tricks John preforms and the skills he possesses are also things that Dickson can do and will show off when he deems necessary otherwise he’s about as harmless as a newborn puppy. }

#☣ [ ' Eʋҽɾყσɳҽ Lσʋҽʂ A Vιʅʅαιɳ. ' ] - ✡ Dιƈƙʂσɳ Gҽɾαʅԃ Rҽɠιɳαʅԃ Sιɱɱσɳʂ ✡ #☣ [ ' Hαυɳƚҽԃ Ⴆყ ƚԋҽ ɯσɾԃʂ ყσυ ʅҽϝƚ υɳʂαιԃ. ' ] - ✡ Hҽαԃƈαɳσɳʂ ✡ #{ Seeing as to how Dickson was used as a hitman before he was old enough to officially work with his grandfather... it works out perfect. } #{ He was trained to do a lot of tricks and hone his skills. } #{ He couldn't afford to lose. } #{ Especially not when he was still young. } #{ It was pretty much life or death. } #{ Even though he couldn't die to begin with. } #{ But still. I'm sure you can imagine how that would settle in a child/teen's mind. }

[internet-sadass]

I Can't Wait For You To Knock Me Up (Fox Mulder x female reader)

Blurb: In which Mulder discovers he has a breeding kink, all because you asked him to massage your stomach.

Warnings: smut, breeding kink.

A/N: not my finest work but certainly one of my horniest. I'm so ill about Mulder rn, he is rotting my brain. yes, the title is MSI lyrics. I may be cringe but at least I am free.

You tossed over onto your side yet again, hoping that switching position yet again would relieve your pain. Even after taking a painkiller before getting into bed, you still felt the pain radiating from your lower belly all the way through to your back, making it feel like you'd pulled a muscle. It almost felt like something was inside your womb, clawing around, tearing at your sensitive walls.

"Hey, hey, what's the matter? You've been turning over and over for an hour now." Mulder's voice was gruff and slightly hoarse from waking suddenly. You felt his breath against your neck.

"Sorry I woke you." You mumbled, hoping he didn't enquire further about why you were tossing and turning. It was too early in the relationship, you felt, for you to be open about basic bodily functions. As much as you knew Mulder would probably be understanding and mature about it, you couldn't be absolutely sure. Other men you'd dated had recoiled when you mentioned the fact you were on your period, or had pretty much kept their hands off you until you'd finished your monthly bleed.

"Can't be nothing if you're still awake at this time." Mulder rubbed your arm, obviously more awake than you thought he was. Nothing was getting past him, even at 3:34 AM. 

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you worked up the courage to tell him.

"It's my period. I've got really bad cramps." You said, feeling like a pre-teen asking for a pad for the first time: totally embarrassed about your body doing what it was supposed to do.

There was a sigh from behind you and then a short chuckle.

"I guessed it might have been, but I didn't want to just ask you in case it seemed rude." 

It was your turn to sigh, this time in relief. You shifted yourself to press back against Mulder.

"Can I do anything to make it hurt less?" He asked, pressing a kiss against your shoulder.

"Could you...could you rub my stomach? That always seems to help." 

The warmth of Mulder's hand settled on your lower stomach, right above where your womb was ragging war on itself. He pushed the hem of your vest up and spread his palm across your womb, before starting to rub circles over your skin, applying just enough pressure to reach the cramping muscles.

"Is that good?" 

You gave a contented 'mm-hmm' as you felt the pain ease with each circle of his hand. Mulder took that as a yes.

Mulder kept on massaging your stomach, waiting until he was certain you had dropped off to sleep before he dared stop. He listened to your breathing slow and felt your body relax, all the tension leaking out of it. You were totally at peace. He, however, was not. 

He was achingly hard, the stiff length of his erection pressed against the small of your back, a light sheen of sweat across his forehead. It took all his willpower to not rut against you to relieve some of the tension. 

The cause of Mulder’s throbbing predicament was the thought of his seed filling up your womb, making it swell with his child, seeing your body soften and become even more irresistible to touch and play with. As he rubbed your stomach, he imagined it bulging out more than it was, feeling his child's tiny kicks and squirms underneath. He thought about how everyone would then know that you and him were together, that you were his girl and his girl alone. No more having to grin and bear other agents trying to chat you up. They'd know, and they'd keep away. 

The idea of getting you pregnant had never really crossed Mulder's mind, not even when he dutifully rolled a condom onto his length every time you two managed to have sex amid your busy schedules. He'd always use protection out of habit and because it was the right thing to do, as he didn't want to burden you with a child you didn't want. But now, as he felt precum collect on his crown and smear over your back, the desire to knock you up grew so strong he knew he had to see if you would let him pursue his fantasy. The idea of you begging him to fill you up, to put a baby in you, made him leave the warmth and comfort of the bed to pump his cock in the bathroom until he came over the same palm that had comforted your aching womb. 

***

"F-Fox - ah, slow down! - what's gotten into you?” You managed between the desperate, open-mouth kisses Mulder was giving you as he practically tore your blouse off and started attacking your skirt. Yanking your skirt off, he tore your tights and panties down in one swift motion, leaving you hobbling awkwardly as you tried to free yourself from the tights stuck at your feet.

"Mm, I just need you right now. Sick of looking at you all day and not being able to touch you properly." Mulder slurred out, as if he were intoxicated merely by kissing you. He steered you into your room, pushing you down on the bed and taking the chance to finally remove some of his own clothes, leaving his tie and his shirt on but open and loose. 

"I-I moved the condoms into the drawer, second one down." You mumbled as Mulder pressed your knees up to your chest, settling himself between your thighs. His tip was red and impatient, dribbling precum down his shaft. You'd never seen Mulder get this worked up about fucking you. He was normally all about taking things slow, drawing out the process of burying his length in you and working the pair of you to climax. 

"Can I please go without? I wanna feel you properly. Fill you up." Mulder said as he leaned over you, his face flushed and hair already a mess. 

You had to think for a minute about the fact that Mulder, who normally put a condom on unprompted, was asking if he could enter you entirely unprotected.

"You trying to knock me up, Agent Mulder?" You teased, sliding yourself down the bed ever so slightly so his tip caught on your slit.

"M-maybe." If his face could have gotten any redder, it would have at that point. "Can I?" 

Grabbing his tie, you pulled him down for a kiss. 

"Go ahead. I want you to fill me." 

***

Every overexcited thrust Mulder gave made your thighs strain, your legs propped over his shoulders. He was ploughing into you relentlessly, dragging his shaft in and out of your gummy walls, hitting up against your cervix. His thighs and hips collided with your ass, filling the room with loud slaps that you knew your neighbours would hear. He was mumbling praises and curses, telling you over and over how much he loved you and couldn’t wait to see you pregnant. You couldn't do much else but moan as he fucked you harder than he ever had before.

Mulder felt his end coming far quicker than he wanted, but he was in no position to slow his pace down to delay his climax. His balls tightened as his seed spurted out his slit in thick arcs, filling up your womb and then your cunt. You gave a soft moan as the heat spread throughout your insides, your body happily accepting your lover's offering. You felt some spend dribble out from your entrance despite his cock still plugging it up. Groaning, he withdrew, watching as his cum dripped out of your full and puffy lips. He flopped onto the bed next to you. 

You rolled over to look at a very exhausted yet content Mulder. He was smiling at the ceiling with his eyes closed, panting. 

"It'll probably take more than one time to get me pregnant. You know that, right?" 

Mulder opened his eyes and turned his head to face you, still smiling.

"I know that." He reached a hand down to rub circles on your lower stomach again. "We'll just have to keep trying until we succeed." 

#fox mulder #fox mulder x female reader #fox mulder x reader #fox mulder x you #mulder x reader #mulder x reader smut #mulder x female reader #mulder x you #mulder smut #the x files #the x files fanfic

[tenthgrove]

Omg imagine la squadra with a teenage teammate 👀 (platonic obvs but I'm 18 and I wonder how they'd act with a team member that's a lot younger than them) cause I hc them as being in their late 20s early 30s ‼️

Okay I love love love this idea! I decided to go for the approach of a younger teenager, someone around 14 or 15 years old, and make them someone who is keen to prove themselves and be respected, but still has all the fears that would be natural for someone in this situation so young, hidden beneath the front they put on.

La Squadra Interacting with a Younger Teammate

Formaggio- The prospect of La Squadra’s next recruit being a kid is actually quite appealing to Formaggio. He doesn’t get much respect from the rest of the team, but he hopes a teenager would be more impressionable, more easy to wow. As soon as the newcomer is through the door Formaggio is already pulling out his cool uncle act. He’s always begging to show them something cool (usually just some random thing he shrunk) or tell them a gruesome story from the job. He totally forgets how naturally weary they’re going to be as someone who recently moved teams. When he finally realises how uncomfortable he makes them, he feels very guiltridden and backs away. But then one day, by pure accident, he makes them laugh. Genuinely. Things ease up a lot after that.

Illuso- Since he isn’t particularly good with kids, Illuso thinks it’s best to just treat them the same as he does any other teammate. This doesn’t go well, their interactions clunky and awkward as the newcomer is unsure how to respond. Eventually, Illuso realises too and decides he’s going to have to change tactic. What do teenagers like? Mischief? While the idea of taking the kid around the mirror world to wreck havoc on the base is tempting, it would not go down well with Risotto once he finds out. What else is there? Gossip? Yes, that could work. When Illuso finds himself alone with the kid with nothing else to talk about, he starts telling them all the dirty secrets he’s collected about his team over the years. There’s nothing age innappropriate, but it’s enough to break down the image the kid has of La Squadra as humorless, intimidating adults. The others soon notice a change in the kid’s behaviour and congratulate Illuso for helping them settle in, however it was he managed to do that. Well, that certainly wasn’t Illuso’s intention, but he’ll take the applause anyway.

Pesci- The arrival of the newcomer marks a big change for Pesci. He’s no longer the youngest of the group, both in age and in experience. While he’s glad to lose the associated teasing, it fills him with a sense of responsibility he isn’t quite ready for. Being the youngest in the group gave him a slight feeling of immunity for all his fuck-ups, both real and percieved, and that’s gone now. Worse, he sees this kid and he sees someone far newer to the game than he is yet somehow still able to face it with more courage than he does. The kid scares him, really. It feels like he is the junior member of the dynamic they have together. Then one day he finds their phone in the front room. He knows the others have a habit of pinching things like this for mean-spirited jokes, so he puts his anxiety regarding the kid on hold to go up to their room and give it back to them. He didn’t expect to find them crying there. He rushes up to them immediately, patting them on the shoulder nervously to offer some comfort. He asks them what’s wrong. “Everything. I’m scared.” At the end of the day, they really are just a child.

Prosciutto- The second-in-command doesn’t have time to mentor the newcomer to the same extent he does with Pesci, but he’ll still keep an eye on them whenever he can. Any of those violent idiots could teach them to kill, but Prosciutto’s going to make sure they learn to carry themselves right as well. For one, they need to get rid of those grungy hoodies and jeans they insist on wearing. He supposes he’ll just have to take them shopping. Overall, he can seem quite harsh on the kid, but he has their best interests at heart. He wouldn’t be paying them any mind at all if he didn’t have faith in them to go far.

Melone- As is only natural with his stand, Melone is good with kids. Teenagers are a different matter, and with little concrete memory of the whirl of heartbreak and emotions that were his own teen years, Melone isn’t as sure of himself as he would like to be. So he takes the experimental method, observes how their reactions to certain interactions in order to figure out the best way of keeping them at ease. It’s overall a good approach, and Melone becomes one of the earlier members of the team who the newcomer opens up to. The only issue is the others. They do not trust him. So, Melone takes it upon himself to prove himself. He makes a point of adjusting his behaviour, abandoning some of his more unsavoury habits for good, and not just in the kid’s present. The others are surprised, but pleasantly so. Melone is thankful to the newcomer for improving his standing with the team in general.

Ghiaccio- He is not happy. He knows about other teams getting actual children dumped on them, but he never thought it would happen to them. It makes him absolutely furious; the last thing this team needs right now is some petulant brat to take care of. Ghiaccio will give them the cold shoulder for a long time. Eventually, it takes Risotto dragging him into his office and point-blank asking what his problem is to make him reconsider. Ghiaccio drags his heels, insists he needs nothing to do with the newcomer, but then Risotto reminds him how young Ghiaccio was when he got trapped in his life. That changes things. That evening, as Risotto watches on silently from the doorway, Ghiaccio approaches the newcomer in the sitting room. “Hey… kid… do you like video games?” he asks uncertainly. The kid perks up, surprised to hear such an offer from Ghiaccio of all people. They accept. Ghiaccio invites them to play with him often after that. Risotto doesn’t need to ask him.

Risotto- Well, this is interesting. Risotto finds the kid hard to deal with because of how much he sees himself in them. They’re pretty much the same age he was when his own life went to hell. Risotto may have trouble facing the newcomer, but he’ll do it anyway for their sake. He wants to do what he can to make their own youth easier than his, if only by a fraction. For them, he’ll let down his walls and be a confidante. He’ll let them be honest about their fears with him, and he’ll comfort them to the best of his ability. He doesn’t want them to end up like him. He doesn’t want them to lose their humanity.

Sorbet and Gelato- “Sorbet, that’s a baby.” “Christ, you’re right.” Sorbet and Gelato may be devoid of sympathy towards a majority of humanity, but they at least have it in them to feel sorry for a kid. Especially a kid dumped into the closest thing the couple has to a family. Truth is, Sorbet and Gelato have long desired a child of their own, but never truly believed the opportunity would present itself. They know taking in a scarred teenager a few years off from adulthood will never truly take the place of a child to call their own, but if this is the closest they can get, they’ll take it. So yeah, congratulations kid, meet your new group assinged fathers. Sorbet is the more realistic of the two, the one who reluctantly accepts the need to prepare the newcomer for mafia life. They develop a dynamic somewhat comparable to Pesci and Prosciutto, with Sorbet becoming the primary mentor for the child when Risotto is too busy. Gelato is the one who really tries to baby the kid, trying to keep them away from their work as much as possible and always fussing over them whenever a mission can’t be avoided. The kid might be reluctant to accept it, but it is what they need. At least once in a while.

#la squadra #jjba golden wind #formaggio #illuso #pesci #prosciutto #melone #ghiaccio #risotto nero #sorbet and gelato

[kae-karo]

I'm sending you two of these bc I can so for the ship part of the ask, chiluc please!!!! :D

THANK U EPI i was hoping i might get some ships soon lmao and we all know how much i adore chiluc >:}

when I started shipping it if I did:

i actually saw this post (x) by @samijen (wonderful artist u should all be following them!!) that turned me onto it and then this post (x) which turned me onto childe calling diluc 'firefly' which is now up there as one of my fave hcs lmao. i rb'd the first post from them back in early feb lmaoooo

my thoughts:

love love love it's the enemies to lovers spice but i especially like the flavor of 'one of them is absolutely fascinated with the other, one of them detests the other with a burning passion (literally lmao)'. so much fun to write and work through how exactly they'd ever come to be romantically involved, and they're both individually such complex fun characters to play around with that it makes the whole thing more interesting

What makes me happy about them:

honestly i just love childe being all moon-eyed over diluc, thinking he's the prettiest thing he's seen since the first time he laid eyes on a weapon, fully love at first sight. and i love diluc's begrudging kind of love (hi i'm working on a ch(aeya)luc fic rn so this is something that's been on my mind lmao). like, wanting so badly to detest him only to find the pieces of him that are much softer, much gentler, that are earnest in a way that he can't help but appreciate, that are deeply caring even if the way he expresses it either pisses diluc off or sets him on edge. it's the progress and healing of it, i think?

What makes me sad about them:

they'll never have a canon interaction 😭 nah i mean that's fine lmao but i'd be interested to see how the creators would set that up and/or execute it lmao. but truly what makes me sad, esp right now with the story i'm working on, is that there is probably a grain of self-deprecation that lives inside childe for a very long time - that he is fatui, and diluc will never care for him the way he cares for diluc (if he's self-aware enough for that) or just the painful pining, the knowing that he's...broken, in a sense. that he's not built right, that the abyss messed him up, so maybe diluc is right to hate him, or at least not to love him. and for diluc, it's probably selfish. warring with the idea that he should hate the fatui, especially this one. a harbinger. maybe even hating to see the world in shades of gray, that childe could have bloodlust alongside doting on his siblings. it's definitely an intense process for them to get together no matter which way you slice it

things done in fanfic that annoys me:

i actually don't think i've read chiluc much? so i can't say anything on this front lmao

things I look for in fanfic:

again, haven't read much, but maybe i'll talk abt more just what i like when i'm writing then? i really do like childe being almost a little ignorant in the same way he is in canon? like oh yeah i tried to kill you but we're still besties right? that energy, but directed at diluc. and i like diluc fighting a bit with his feelings, for sure. finding childe annoying definitely lmao

beyond that, i think they're very kaeluc in the sense that they could fall into a super emotionally intense but totally teen-rated sort of fic or go full smut and i'd be happy either way

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:

kaeluc and zhongchi!

My happily ever after for them:

diluc has already acquired vigilante status, just needs to drag childe into the mix. i could see a 'offloading my morals to my husband' scenario, where childe accompanies the darknight hero and is just like 'can i murder them, firefly?' 'no murder' 'just a lil scratch, maybe?' '...fine' like that would be some chef's kiss content - mostly cause i think diluc would never be happy trying to fully settle down. he'd have to be actively working to protect people to be happy. and i think childe would get restless as well, though his is more just a bloodthirsty need-to-fight kind of restlessness

who is the big spoon/little spoon:

childe is very often the caretaker in his family so i imagine his default is big spoon, and diluc rarely gets taken care of At All so i'm sure he's startled but begrudgingly agreeable to being the little spoon. that said, there are almost definitely nights where the dynamic is switched, probably bc childe had some kind of abyss-related nightmare or something to that effect

what is their favorite non-sexual activity:

sparring for sure. childe keeps diluc on his toes, makes him work to hold onto his skills and improve them, which like...frankly most people can't keep up with him, so it's a refreshing thing for him. and childe is just THRILLED to get to fight, even if he promised no bloodshed. it's a win/win for them both, especially when it ends with one pinned beneath the other and out of breath and- well, you get the idea

send me genshin ships/chars to talk abt or rank!

#genshin #genshin impact #chiluc #childe #diluc

[shi-daisy]

Snowed In

Well this it folks, my last Ulquihime Week entry for this year. As always it's been a joy to participate and see everything that all of the other users have created, and that those who host the event take such care to plan our ship week. I had a blast and I'm looking forward to doing this again next year. Till then however, let's all keep on making content for our otp!

Ok so onto the story, today's theme is Winter/Warmth and I really didn't know what to do, until I remembered I have a whole AU I could use and stuck with that. For those who haven't read my entries from previous years the Reunion AU basically had Ulquiorra and Orihime meet again after a few years, Orihime ran off from her wedding with Ichigo and Ulquiorra is now human(along with the other Arrancar). At this point in the time the two have been dating for a month. Hope you like!

@ulquihimeweek

Ulquihime Week- Day 6: Winter/Warmth

Snowed In

"For the last time Tia, I'll ask her but that dosen't mean she'll say yes." Ulquiorra repeated over the phone for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

His friends had all told him to invite Orihime over for Christmas dinner, and while he wasn't too keen on the holiday he knew his woman was. This would be the first time he would be asking her to spend an event with him and his 'family' and while he might deny it, Ulquiorra was nervous.

"Schiffer, of course she'll say yes. That girl is quite taken with you."

"I'd like to think so, but still, don't be disappointed if she declines."

"Yes, yes, I am ready to accept a negative answer. Still, I wanted some civilized company this year."

He could tell she directed her angry tone at Nnoitra. From over the phone Ulquiorra could hear them bickering.

"If ya don't want me to eat the cookies. Don't leave em on the table!"

"Those were freshly baked! How are you not burned?!"

"Cuz I still have Arrancar-like skin."

"Fool! Your hands are red! I have to go Ulquiorra. Our gigantic toddler has injured himself again."

"No surprise there. I shall see you later."

He arrived at the cafe soon after his call ended, yet he knew things weren't right. Orihime usually waited for him outside, but despite the closed sign in the door, she was nowhere to be seen. Ulquiorra rushed into the cafe, immediately upon entering he heard a loud noise.

"I know language was never your best subject but I think the sign on the door was pretty easy to read Kurosaki!"

"Inoue, just let me explain everything."

"I told you to fuck off!" Orihime angrily took off her arpon and walked away. Ulquiorra headed towards her. The second she saw him, her anger subsided.

He dared to look at Kurosaki. The redhead was no longer the headstrong teen he had met six years ago. His hair was shorter, and while he's grown taller, Ulquiorra thought he looked less intimidating.

"How- How are you here? You died."

"I got better." Ulquiorra answered sarcastically. "Now, I believe you heard the woman. She's not interested in speaking to you."

Ichigo didn't seem keen on backing down, his surprised stare turned into a glare. "You don't get to decide for her anymore, Ulquiorra."

"Oh just shut up already, Ichigo! I don't owe you shit! Tatsuki picked up my stuff a while ago, I've kept away from you and your kin, and paid back what I owed to you father. Aside from those unresolved matters we have nothing else to talk about!"

"I think leaving one's own wedding and then vanishing for two months is something to talk about! You never gave me an explanation for that."

He'd never seen Orihime so enraged, her pale face turned red and she was clenching her fist so hard her arms shook. "You want an explanation?! Fine! I left because just as I was going to get Kenpachi-san to walk me to the altar, I found you and Kuchiki-San! Then you kissed her! When we were young I thought you were in love with her, but since you proposed to me and made me feel as if I was the one you wanted, my worries faded. Imagine how I felt at that moment! I gave up NASA for you, scholarships, internships, my own damn college ambitions all went down the drain! All because I wanted to be with you, and look where the fuck that got me!

So there's your bloody explanation! Now scram!"

There was a small moment of silence before Kurosaki left. The second he was out the door, Ulquiorra hugged Orihime close. "Let it out."

Orihime didn't want to cry over it anymore, but her body betrayed her. She shook as she cried, her sobs echoed in the small cafe and the only solace she could find was the warmth Ulquiorra's hug provided.

As he held onto her, Ulquiorra checked an alert on his phone. There was a snow storm coming to Naruki.

"Woman, it's likely we won't be able to reach your apartment in time. Would you like to accompany me home?"

Orihime stopped crying after hearing that. "Yes. I'd love to go with you."

"Good, I've sent a message to Szayel, he should be coming to pick us up before the storm gets worse."

"Okay."

Orihime stared at Ulquiorra's face for a moment. When she first saw him again after all these years he looked just as he did the day he turned to ash under her touch. Now, he seemed so different. His hair was longer and styled, he often wore leather and dark make up, and even facial jewelery. She also noticed he began doing those things when the two began dating. Maybe it was an effort to become more human like for her.

"Ulqui, are you sure it's okay for me to come home with you? I don't want to bother the others."

"It's no bother, they were all hoping to see you again." Ulquiorra cleared his throat, as he often did when he was nervous. "Actually they were insistent that I brought you home for Christmas celebrations next week."

She blushed. "Really? I'd love to go! Spending Christmas alone is not much fun. I would be happy to spend it with your family."

He sighed in relief. "I'm glad."

"You sound nervous, did you think I'd decline?"

"Well, yes. But that's not why I was nerveous. It's just the others can be quite a handful. I don't want them to overwhelm you."

"I'll be fine, I love hyper groups of people. Besides you and I can have some alone time later."

"That I won't mind."

Szayel arrived at the cafe slightly later than expected. The sky was already darkening, and the road was icy. He drove slowly but made sure to calculate the time properly.

"Inoue-san, I hope you don't mind, Halibel has prepared a room for you, along with clothes. It's likely the snowstorm will keep you from going home tonight, perhaps even longer."

"That's fine. Thanks for telling me Szayel. I'll be sure to not cause any trouble."

"Oh sweetie it's no trouble at all, we are all looking forward to having you around. Ulquiorra has told us so much about you!"

Ulquiorra, Who had been dozing off in the front seat, was now wide awake and glaring at Szayel.

Orihime laughed at the scene before her. "Does he? What has he told you?"

"That he enjoys speaking to you, and that you have a lovely aura, and that you look very pretty in a sundress."

By now Ulquiorra was a blushing mess, he hid his face under the hoodie of his coat, but Orihime has already seen it. She smiled and blew a kiss in his direction. "Well I think he looks good in black clothes."

Ulquiorra caught the hint. Black was what he always wore, meaning Orihime always found him to be cute. He smiled, this time without covering his blush.

***

Her arrival had been met with hugs, greetings, an enthusiastic snuggle from the family's pet.

"Kukkapuro's no stranger to cuddling new people. He won't leave you alone for the rest of the night." Stark drowsily told her as he tried to get Kukkapuro to move. The hollow puppy ignored him.

"That's okay, Stark-san. I don't mind."

The sleepy man nodded and went back to his favorite spot, on the lap of his boyfriend. Szayel rolled his eyes and let him sleep.

She smiled at the scene, it reminded her of the times she'd act overly affectionate and Ulquiorra would be either unimpressed or dead quiet. Strangely enough she didn't mind.

"Orihime! Can you come to the kitchen? I need your help!"

She followed Halibel's voice to the kitchen. The older women had baked a new batch of cookies and wanted her opinion.

"You're the star baker after all." She told her.

The woman's tone was so sweet Orihime couldn't bear to tell her she hadn't finished culinary school.

She took a bite, savoring the sweet yet salty ginger cookie. "These are great! You're an incredible baker, Halibel-san."

"Thank you, it means a lot coming from a professional. There is something I'd like your help with."

"Anything."

***

"Are you going to chose a movie already?!"

Ulquiorra glared at Nnoitra, who had probably been banned from the kitchen.

"I am not choosing anything until the girls come back with the food. Have some patience Jiruga!"

"I am plenty patient!"

"I agree with Ulquiorra, you have a short fuse. Now be quiet." Szayel snapped.

"Tch. If I'd know you were going to be so moody I would've spent the week with Tesla and Cyan."

"Tesla might've been your fracción but I think even he knows you shouldn't be around a newborn." Stark mumbled in his drowsy state.

Ulquiorra chuckled, as he remembered the little bundle Cyan had given birth to a week ago. He didn't consider himself the baby type but that had been disproven the moment he was allowed to carry the tiny child.

"Maybe you and Inoue will produce a cute baby one day."

Ulquiorra almost fell off the sofa. "Nnoitra if you don't shut up I will disembowel you!"

Szayel shushed them both and pointed down to a sleeping Stark, but by then it was too late. The pair began bickering and Kukkapuro howled along.

***

"See? It's always like this. Can't get some quiet until bedtime."

"Don't worry. This'll warm them up!"

The girls walked out of the kitchen with cookies and hot chocolate. "Settle down! We're here with the treats! Ulquiorra you can pick a movie if you'd like."

He nodded and began browsing. Orihime gave everyone a cup of chocolate and cookies. Once her boyfriend had picked a movie, she sat down with him and their treats.

It didn't take long for the others to fall asleep. According to Ulquiorra this was a common occurrence. 'They'll be asleep before the second act ends.'

The couple was snuggling together covered by a thick blanket, they had finished their sweets and once the movie ended they would be going to bed.

"Hey Ulqui."

"Yes, love?"

"Thanks for tonight. I don't know how badly things would've gotten if I hadn't come with you."

Seeing Ichigo had soured her day greatly, and walking home alone in the freezing cold to cry herself to sleep would've been twice as hellish. Thankfully her boyfriend was there to dry her tears and make her smile again.

"You're welcome woman. I shall always be here for you, so whenever you feel like the world is falling apart remember to lean on me. It is now my eternal duty to keep you smiling."

She giggled and nuzzled close to him. "Thanks Ulqui. You're really sweet." The beating of his heart was lulling her to sleep, but Orihime resisted, she wanted to see the end of the movie. "I have to repay you one day for all the kindness you've given me. Feels like I'm only taking."

"No, you're mistaken. It is I who's repaying a debt to you. Back when I was a hollow you brought joy into my life again, and since then I've thought that one lifetime won't be enough to repay you."

"Then you better be with me in every other lifetime."

He wouldn't refuse such a request. Ulquiorra looked down at Orihime, their gazes met and he knew this was the perfect moment to do as he had planned for so long. He leaned down to press his lips against hers, a soft kiss which caused them both to blush. They both tasted of chocolate and ginger cookies, still it was perfect.

"I love you." He whispered only for her.

Orihime caressed his cheek and smiled. "I love you too."

They stayed like that for the rest of the night, tangled in a warm embrace as the snow continued to fall outside.

#uhweek2020 #orihime x ulquiorra #Ulquihime #orihime inoue #ulquiorra shiffer #Day 6: Winter/Warmth #reunion au

[dragonbat2011]

Reaching Out ‘Til We Reach the Circle’s End—Chapter 6

For earlier chapters: https://dragonbat2011.tumblr.com/post/621379453957865473/reaching-out-til-we-reach-the-circles-end-toc

(Or read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326794?view_full_work=true)

Rumple had known that his cover wouldn't hold up for long, but he certainly hadn't been expecting a confrontation this soon. He knew exactly the kind of man he had been, the same man he still was, deep down. And that man had learned early to tamp down any show of spirit, any display of temper, any hint of anger or resentment. That man cringed and groveled and kissed boots, hating himself for it, but knowing that it kept him alive and it kept him and his son safe. At least, it had until now. "I'm here to help," Rumple said. "Truly." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the contract. "A pledge of good faith?"

His younger self was still frowning, but he reached out and gingerly accepted the rolled-up scroll. As he unfurled it and began to read, his eyes widened. "How did you…?" His voice trailed off and his eyes grew hard once more. "So, you do mean to take him."

Rumple blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, no," his younger self said, his voice cracking a bit. "I saw the way you looked at him last night, for all you tried to hide it, and I wondered, but with this…." He shook the contract for emphasis. "Only three people knew that this document existed: myself, Fendrake, and my wife Milah. And she was lost to me years ago. I'd thought her dead, but if you've come here to—" Abruptly, he turned away. "We were happy together once," he said bleakly. "Before I was called to the front. Before I… Well, never mind that. I've heard tell that when a love dies, the lovers may well move on to another, but when they do, they often to gravitate toward those who remind them in some way of their first. Well, even I can see the resemblance, but you'll forgive me if I'm not flattered."

He could scarcely believe the turn this conversation was taking. "I-I'm not—"

"While things were never right between me and Milah after my return," his younger self continued as though Rumple hadn't spoken, "I know she loved our son. She'd never have left him if she hadn't been abducted. And I suppose, once she was free, she decided that she'd have a better life without me, so she never returned. And, I surmise that she's found h-happiness with you." Rumple tried to pretend that he didn't hear the sob in his younger self's voice. "Well, how can I blame her? For trying to do better and for wanting our son with her? But since she's been gone, Bae has been everything to me. And if you're thinking that now you've voided that contract, I'll just settle down with someone new and have another child to replace the one you mean to carry off, then you have no idea what it means to be a parent!"

It was a good thing that the band of ruffians who'd accosted her yesterday had been so unnerved by Rumple's little display (or so excited by the acquisition of her pendant) that they hadn't noticed her earrings. And an even better thing that she'd removed them before approaching the tavern last night and had the sense not to wear them in the open today. Unlike her pendant, the earrings weren't magical, but they were eleven carats worth of the finest emeralds Oz had ever produced. Zelena knew that if she needed to, she could sell them, but she'd need to find the right time and the right buyer.

With bandits about, it certainly wasn't going to be safe carrying large amounts of coin. And the sentry's reaction to her innocent queries had told her that a stranger looking to sell something as valuable as those gemstones was certain to arouse suspicion. She'd need to find someone who wouldn't ask too many questions. Or better yet, make the acquaintance of someone trustworthy who could handle the sale, perhaps in return for a cut of the proceeds. One thing was certain, though: she wasn't about to hand them over in exchange for tourist information or the privilege of looking up some information that ought to be common knowledge! Were there no schools in this Frontlands place? Were there no libraries—libraries open for any to peruse without having to petition some ducal flunkey for permission?

Well. Once she learned the way of things here, she had no doubt that her fortunes would take an upturn. She just needed to find her mother and show her that there were other ways to acquire power without becoming royalty!

Dismay rolled over her. She didn't have any sort of power right now, thanks to that Charlotte wench. But perhaps there was a way to get the pendant back. Or perhaps there was some other way to regain her magic. For pity's sake, she'd been using magic before she could walk; surely losing the pendant couldn't take that away from her permanently! Well. She could think about that after she'd found what she sought. Meanwhile, it was clear that she wasn't going to last long without some local currency; bartering hours of washing dishes for dinner and a room for the night was only a stop-gap.

She realized that she was fast approaching a market stall with a number of clearly serviceable-but-not-new garments dangling from its awning. Thoughtfully, she removed her cloak and approached. "I was wondering whether you'd be interested in buying this off me?" she asked with a hopeful smile when she caught the owner's eye.

In an earlier time—though later than this one—Rumple might have laughed aloud and at length at the sheer ludicrousness of his younger self's imaginings. As it was, he couldn't quite keep back a guffaw as he exclaimed, "What?"

"No," his younger self said, flushing a bit. "Please, don't play the fool. And don't think you can play me for one either. You've been a bit too familiar with things—and people—with which you've no reason to be. And what rich relation chooses to neither stay at lodgings befitting his status, nor make his presence known to those he seeks, but chooses instead to bed down with animals? And any fool can see you've a greater interest in Bae than you do in me. So, if you haven't come to take him from me, then why are you here?"

"To save him," Rumple replied, looking his younger self dead in the eyes. "And save you from losing him, I hope."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that if they haven't already lowered the draft age to fourteen, they'll do so in the next three months."

His younger self's eyes when wide and near-soundless cry escaped him as he half-doubled over. "You're certain?"

"I am. So, if you mean to flee with him or send him away, now's the time."

It was the wrong thing to say, and Rumple realized it the moment he saw his younger self's eyes narrow once more, and his face twist again in uncharacteristic rage.

"Send him away?" his younger self repeated. "With you, you mean? So, you are here to take him!"

"No," Rumple insisted. "I'm here to protect him! And you."

"Why? If you are my uncle, why magically appear now? You might have learned of my existence somehow, though how you could have known to make inquiries and track me down is puzzling, since you wouldn't have even had my name as a starting point. But if you're here to protect Bae, then that would mean you knew about him before you even came here. How? Who are you?"

"I told you," Rumple said, holding his hands up in a placating fashion, more than a little unnerved by the hysteria in his younger self's voice. "I'm—"

"No more lies! No evasions! I-want-the-truth! Tell me!"

"I'm you!" The words erupted from his throat and were past his lips before he even realized he'd answered. There was no way to call them back now.

For a moment, both men looked at one another, with near-identical stupefied expressions. Then, his younger self took a staggering step backward, stumbled, and nearly fell onto his stool. The look on his face could now best be described as stunned disbelief, as he tilted his head inquiringly toward his houseguest.

"I'm you," Rumple repeated more gently, nodding as though to confirm his words. "I'm you."

The cloak fetched two silver and Zelena strongly suspected she'd got the worse end of that deal. Still, one coin not only gained her access to the guild records, but even the services of a youth named Gragur who was presented to her as an apprentice clerk.

"I'm sorry, Goodwife," the teen said, coming to her table with an armload of scrolls. "There is no Princess Ava in the Northern Kingdom, presently. I even thought, well, not all spellings are standard, so I checked to see if maybe she spelled it with an 'E' or even an 'I'; pronunciations vary, too. But apart from the dowager queen Eva, daughter to Count Humboldt of the Eastern Escarpment Lands who married into their ruling house two generations ago, there's no Royal of that name there now."

"Dowager queen?" Zelena repeated. That couldn't be right. Ava… or Eva, no matter how one spelled it, had been a princess, but she'd become queen of Leopold's kingdom, not her own.

"Apparently, she's well-liked," Gragur said, unfurling another scroll. "At least, some of the minor nobility, them as hopes to curry favor with their higher-ups, have been naming some of their daughters after her. But as yet, no princess."

"Well… well, what about King Xavier of Eagle's Peak?" Zelena asked testily.

Gragur shook his head. "The king of Eagle's Peak is his Majesty Henry II, whom some call the Eagle's Talon." He frowned. "I believe…" He unrolled another scroll. "Yes, his third son is named Xavier, but he's unlikely to be crowned king with two brothers ahead of him and both with heirs of their own. Oh!" He pointed to another entry. "The crown prince, Francis does have a son by that name. Might he be who you mean? If so, it seems as though you're a bit early."

Zelena started to glower, but whatever retort she'd meant to snarl died on her lips. "A bit early," she repeated in an undertone. "A bit… Gragur?" She asked in a rather different tone of voice, "Do the merchants here treat with other realms? Might you have records from those lands as well?"

The youth nodded. "It's not as frequent, Goodwife. Finding passage between worlds is a costly affair and magic beans used to be far easier to procure. It does happen periodically, though."

"Could you show me any records you might possess here from Oz?"

Twenty minutes later, Zelena was stumbling out of the hall of records, her stomach churning as she felt as though she might faint. Although Gragur hadn't been able to provide detailed maps or genealogical tables, as he had for the kingdoms of the Enchanted Forest, he had shown her a trade agreement that had been signed between the Duke of Tower Cliffs and the Gillikins of Oz, just 'two years ago,' according to the young clerk. At first, Zelena had been annoyed. The Gillikin land was, ironically enough, Oz's 'northern kingdom'. And they had no business entering into trade agreements with anyone without clearing them with her first! She'd started reading the agreement to find out the names of the individuals who had brokered it, resolving that she would have quite a bit to say to them on her return—Oh. Of course. In this time, she wasn't yet the ruler of Oz. How could she have forgotten? She smiled a bit at her own folly, as she read on. But then, she'd come to the last paragraph, and the line, 'Signed and dated in the fifth year of His Majesty, King Pastoria of Oz,' and her smile dropped. The fifth year of... Pastoria? The name was vaguely familiar from the history lessons learned at her adoptive mother's knee. But his reign wasn't recent. He hadn't sat on Oz's throne since— Her blood suddenly ran cold. There had to be some other simple explanation for—

"Are you certain that this is only two years old?" she demanded. "It hasn't been misfiled?"

Gragur blinked. "I-I don't see how it could have been, but I'll inquire," he'd said. A few minutes later, he returned, escorting a woman some ten years Zelena's senior to her table.

"You're most fortunate, Goodwife," Gragur said, smiling. "I've the honor and fortune to present to you Mistress Ilona, one of the signatories to the agreement before you."

The richly-attired woman looked at her curiously. "I'm not sure why it's a concern to you, Goodwife, but yes, I was in Oz nearly twenty months ago and that trade agreement has been quite the boon to his Grace's armies. We may yet see the ogres routed by winter, if the shipments continue."

Zelena forced herself to smile, as she pushed back her chair. Then she bolted, pretending she didn't hear those two calling after her.

A bit early, Gragur had said. He'd spoken truer than he could have guessed! She was more than two hundred years early! She knew nothing about this period of history and nothing about her earlier antecedents. Her knowledge of her family tree began with Cora and she had no idea of the names of her grandmother or grandfather, let alone anyone who'd come before that.

She didn't even know her father's name; it had never been important before. But if she'd come this far back in time, then any chance encounter, any word she spoke, any action she undertook might somehow interfere with any one of the crucial meetings that needed to take place among all of the ancestors whose lineage she would bear. If she—even accidentally—killed one of her great-great grandfathers… If she paused to talk to her great-great-grandmother and inadvertently delayed her, so that she never met the man she should have wed… The slightest error, the slightest misstep, and she might erase herself from existence.

She'd gone back in time to change her past, but it had never occurred to her that in so doing, she might obliterate her future! And she couldn't very well ensure that her ancestors' lives continued unmolested when she had no clue who they even were!

She wanted to scream or sob or... she didn't even know what. But perhaps, she could figure it out on her long walk back to that inn. Because going by the way he'd reacted yesterday, it was very likely that she'd find Rumple in that area. And while she wasn't fool enough to confront him when he had his magic and she had none of her own, she knew that if she could discover his specific whereabouts, if she could discern what he was planning... Then she might yet be able to turn things to her advantage.

The temperature was beginning to drop, and she wished she still had her cloak, but she pressed her forearms to her sides and gripped her elbows as she turned to begin the long walk back to Pen Marmor.

#ouat #ouat fanfiction #char: rumpelstiltskin #char: zelena #char: fendrake #divergence au #papafire

[dxmedstudent]

Have you ever had some periods in your life where you felt pressure to grow up really quickly (i.e. be in relationships etc)? I'm nearly 20 and I kinda feel that way, I really want to focus on becoming the woman I want to be and shaping the type of life I want to lead before entering any potentially heavy relationships but I feel there's this massive narrative that I would be a latebloomer/infantile. Do you have any advice?

Hello, that’s a very interesting question, so you’re probably going to get a long answer. Please bear with my waffliness, hopefully my answer will cheer you up. I think growing up is immensely difficult, because you’re going through a huge change. Now, I know we technically become adults at 18, but did any of us really feel like grownups at 18? I certainly didn’t! Even into my early 20s, I still felt like I’d just left school! It was only in my mid 20s that I fully realised I was a proper grownup. And that’s scary, because suddenly you realise it’s your life to muck up however you wish. Until then, your life is pretty much laid out for you, and you’re waiting for it to really begin. The weirdest (and most freeing) feeling I remember from that time was looking down at my body and realising “this is me. I’m not going to get any taller. I’m not going to get any skinnier, probably. I’m not going to get prettier. I’m not going to get healthier. But it’s OK.” And I realised that a lot of the things that I hadn’t liked about myself when I was a teenager weren’t so bad, after all. I was OK, and that was enough. After the tumultuous time that is our teens, your 20s is a time when you really grow into being an adult. But it takes time to really get to know yourself and what you want out of life.

It can be hard when you compare yourself to your friends. For example, I was still in university on my second degree when some of my friends had gotten jobs, moved out and bought cars. A couple had even settled down. You know, grownup stuff. Meanwhile, myself and my other grad med student friends were living in student accommodation or with our parents, doing homework, and feeling a bit like our teens had gone on for way too long. You feel financially insecure as a forever-student. And a bit left behind. I personally gave quite a few clothes and things to charity because I didn’t want to feel like I was the same person as when I was in school. We reminded ourselves that we were working on our goals. Some of my friends felt very conscious of their ages, many still do. But my motto tends to be “If I am doing something I love, then that time is not wasted. You never feel that time passing is a problem.”  So the key is to do what you love. Things that make you feel happy, and like you are advancing your life.Eventually, I moved out, got a job doctoring and stressing even more, paid bills and rent, bought a car and started worrying about planning for the future. Put more effort into looking after myself, and planning my career. And it didn’t really feel like it changed anything. I mean it did; life’s more complex and stressy when you take on “adult responsibilities” and the first year of doctorhood is like a yearlong panic attack. Bt once you get used to it, you realise that grownup life is overrated. You’ll be surprised at how not-different you feel even if you have all or most of the “grown up” milestones ticked off. The thing is, milestones such as these used to be something we hit earlier. You finished school (if you were lucky enough to study at all, not all my grandparents finished secondary school!), you got married, you had kids and settled into grownup life. Western terms, the expected order for the last few generations has been school - > university  - >job - >house - >marriage - >kids. But give the financial sitation Millenials are left with, these things don’t always work out. We’re more likely to go to university than previous generations, which tends to correlate with a delay in settling down or having kids; it’s just easier to do those things once studies are out of the way, so lots of people wait. Having a house, or a job nearby is hardly guaranteed, so we all end up renting for longer than previous generations.  You get plenty of people in the UK who are in their late 30s before they can afford to settle down in the traditional sense of the word. What I’m trying to say is that it’s not just you; our generations are acting differently, because the forces acting on our lives are different. So we have to be flexible in how we view adulthood. Most of my friends span between the mid 20s to mid 30s, with myself somewhere in the middle. By now, all of us have very different lives. Some got married young, a few have a child or two. some are in committed relationships, others are single. Actually, amongst medics I know, a lot more people are single than I ever expected. And for the most part, they are perfectly happy, with fulfilling lives. TV does not prepare you for the fact that your 20s or 30s isn’t like a romcom. Like on TV everyone just sort of meets people without any effort, and gets into longterm relationships, and everything ends happily ever after. It’s just not like that. Some of my friends have been trying so hard to be in the right relationship. For so many years. They had it all planned out; the guy, the kids, the house, all by 25. It just didn’t happen, but not for want of trying. It made me realise that there’s really no point in adding extra stress to ourselves about this, because it’s kind of outside our control. If you want to date, date, but please don’t force unnecessary arbitrary timeframes on yourself. Because feeling pressured risks settling just to get it over with. And when you know people who’ve settled or who’ve divorced by their mid 20s or early 30s it reminds you that you have to be really sure you’re in the right relationship. Getting married definitely isn’t just something to tick off your list.  But also a reminder that you can’t predict everything that will happen; I’m sure those people didn’t see t coming. So worrying too far ahead won’t help. We can only take things one step at a time and hope for the best. Just today I was having a Whatsapp coversation with my former roomates and besties about how pressure to date coming from family is frustrating, because sometimes it’s just not a priority for you. My friend, let’s call her Squirrel, to give her due credit. She said something very wise:  “ I’m really grateful to have a job that’s meaningful, and friends and interests, think if a person comes along to share that with great, but I don’t think it would be good to force it just to tick boxes.”And I think we all agreed, because we viewed dating pretty similarly. Personally,  there have been times when I have been more committed to dating (and when you like someone doesn’t it just feel like it’s all you think about? XD) , and there were times when it was literally the last thing from my mind. Just like my friend said. And that’s true for most of my friends. Like, sitcoms don’t prepare you for the fact that sometimes you’re just happy to chill and don’t really feel the need to look. And that when you do look, your reasons might not be like they are on TV. TV has a lot to answer for in how it depicts being single, especially single women.  I’m going to focus on single women who date men here, purely because the dominant narrative mostly ignores LGBT dating. Single women on TV are either bitter and angry or sad that they can’t get a man, or labelled too dysfunctional to be able to love. But in reality, people have lots of reasons for being single, just as they have lots of reasons for being in relationships. The more stuff you go through, and the more your friends go through, the more you realise it’s nothing like TV. Being single, dating, being in a longterm relationship; all of these can be either happy and content, or miserable depending on the circumstances in your life at that time. Sometimes we feel the need for companionship, and there’s no harm in meeting new people and seeing if anyone clicks; I’m not here to denigrate dating, or “looking for the one”, or wanting some casual fun. If it’s what you want to do, and many of us do.  If you want to meet someone, then logically, you have to make an effort at some point. If you don’t feel the need for it right now, then you don’t have to do it right now. I promise you as someone who has spent a lot of time single, for the most part nobody cares. The older you get, the more you realise that people aren’t overly invested in what you do, not even your friends. Sure, I’m ecstatic if my friend is dating someone she likes, and I’l be the first to cry at a wedding (God I love weddings. The merest hint of my friends actually being happy makes me weak). But does it actually affect me if they are single; no, we just chill together. And if they have a cool guy, then we chill together in a group. Our teenage years are so full of judgement (like, I, a grown woman, still have hangups about music of all things, because of teenage girls), but when you reach adulthood and you get out of the claustrophobic school environment, you realise other people don’t really care as much as you feared they would. Any ‘friend’ who does judge you for being single is not a great friend. But I promise, they will be few and far between.  I will grant you that family pressure can be real; my friends and I were discussing this in the context of parents wanting have grandchildren. Some of my relatives are incredibly pushy about the issue, offering to set me up with randoms they’ve picked out (er… no thanks) and generally constantly asking me about when I’ll get married, even at the most inopportune times imaginable. Like, they can be ridiculous. So I’ve NEVER told them ANYTHING about my dating life. I just smile and say “We’ll see.” and wonder to myself if they’d even get invited if I get married. People tend to view the age of 30 (or 25) as a kind of deadline by which to have achieved all your dreams. It really isn’t! So go for what you want to do now, and just remember to evaluate your priorities once in a while. These are my simple rules:1) don’t leave anything you value as essential in last place.  2) You choose what is important to you. 3) The order of priorities can change at any time; go with your heart. 4) don’t wait til everything is perfect in your life, in order to do the things you want to do.  Because it’s easy to get wrapped up and not realise that what you want has changed. If you ever feel that being in a relationship or having kids has become more important, then bring it up a few levels in priority.  Now, we all know that there’s a sort-of time limit on having kids, but 20 is not it. So if it’s something you really want, then don’t leave it til your late 30s to start dating. But otherwise, just do what you want to do now. If you want companionship, just see where meeting people for fun goes. If you would rather focus on work, then do that. But remember that if kids or a relationship are really important to you, you may have to prioritise them eventually, in order to stand a chance at having them happen. For some people they are an extra. For some they are essential. For some, they are the last thing they want! Only you know how much things matter to you.Think about what you want out of life, and take little steps towards achieving it bit by bit. As long as you’re working towards the goals that you value, then your life will be an interesting journey that you’ll enjoy along the way. I hope your journey is awesome  :)

#askdx #ask dx

[actualyuuri]

I LOVED the way you wrote Yuuri's anxiety attack. I'm big on h/c. So could we possibly have another of those? Somewhere cold, and when Viktor eventually finds him he's shivering. Viktor takes him home and warms him up but when Yuuri starts coughing and sneezing later flustered Viktor goes into full care taking mode. And thank you so much for all your wonderful writing

Thanks so much!! I’m glad you liked it! :D

Inadequate

Length: 3k; Rating: teen+ probably;

Warning: heavy mentions of anxiety / anxiety attacks;

Summary: Yuuri messes up at a competition and Victor finds him cold and alone.

Read more of my fics here!

It was the salchow that got him.

(Not even a quad, but a triple in a combination.)

His knee bent awkwardly against the ice, but it wasn’t nearly as painful as the audible gasp from the crowd around him, the concern, the pity, the embarrassment. He gets back up, sure, but it doesn’t go away—the aura following him for the rest of his free skate, even one of the judges giving him a pitiful ghost of a smile.

And each look, each void praise after he has put his skate guards on is like another icicle settling itself in his chest, expanding and contracting until they’ve chipped away at his organs, until it’s all he can feel, until there are holes in his lungs and an airiness to his thoughts, as though they’re being sucked out of him. As though he’s collapsing inward, a disaster with a desperate desire to cause as little collateral damage as possible.

So he breathes.

(But it doesn’t work.)

(Like he’s broken—broken.)

He breathes, and he sits.

It’s cold, too cold, and he hasn’t even changed out of his costume yet, had just put a black jacket and sweatpants on and made his way out of the rink to the nearest desolate alleyway, needing to escape the people, the noise, the pity, the pity, the pity. Because that’s the worst part, isn’t it? The comfort? Years and he’d never grown used to it, years and Celestino’s old words still ring true: he’s his own worst enemy.

Celestino, of course, had meant it on a mental level, but Yuuri interprets it both mentally and physically. He sees how his thoughts pick away at him piece by piece, sees how he can do nothing to stop it, but he also sees his leg collapsing, sees that knee brushing against the cold ice with the entire world watching.

He tugs the jacket tighter around his shoulders, because he’s freezing here in Moscow, because he’s too embarrassed to make his way to the hotel, to do anything. The street isn’t even well lit, and part of his mind is afraid, but he chastises that part too, because it isn’t fair. Isn’t fair that he was born this way, cowardice engraved in his mind like a birthmark, imperfections blazing on his skin like brands.

The salchow. The anxiety.

(They’re all components of something greater.)

He breathes.

(It still doesn’t work.)

(And if his lungs won’t work, if his legs don’t work, if his mind doesn’t work, then what does? Then what’s his purpose?)

He thinks of Victor.

Thinks of the look on his face after the routine. Critical. Objective.

(But even Victor had pitied him, and Yuuri thinks that that may be the worst part.)

There’s a sort of collapse to each futile breath, a shake crescendoing into a shiver, eyes shut tight, blood rushing to his face, his body’s effort to keep him alive, chastising him for sitting in the cold like this. But the air kisses his skin, burns in a way that he feels he deserves.

Sometimes it’s not his breathing, it’s the aching. Starting his stomach and working up to his torso, even his arms are tired, limping by his sides, but his head is the worst. He’s not sure if it’s the thoughts or the stress or the ice but there’s a pounding behind his eyelids, like a drumbeat. Consistent. Rhythmic. Dependable. Harrowing.

He breathes.

(Except he doesn’t this time.)

(It doesn’t work, and he’ll die here, won’t he?)

A pathetic whimper escapes his lips as he leans back against the brick wall, stones cold even through his jacket and costume, nipping at him, and the alley is dirty—covered in muck—and he removes his hands from it, a retching sensation trying to work its way up into his throat but losing power in his stomach, instead just leaving him with a dizziness that makes his skull feel lighter than it had before.

And there’s the taste of salt in his mouth. Blood or tears, he can’t tell.

A shuffle of footsteps.

Yuuri is coated in the protective shadows of the building behind his back, but he shuffles farther away from the path anyway, farther into the darkness. A figure walks past.

Silver hair.

Unmistakable.

Doesn’t see him.

Victor. Victor, who Yuuri had let down again, who Yuuri would keep letting down. Who had flown to Japan to coach him, who had spent time with him, who had encouraged him, who had convinced him that he could do great things only to watch him fail over and over again. Only to watch him fail a triple salchow.

A triple salchow.

(Not a quad, a triple.)

A jump that Victor could do in his sleep.

He lays down on his side, curls up, ignores the muck, clutches at his knees and tries to hug them to his chest, but the left one still hurts and that only reminds him, only makes the breaths come quicker, every fiber of his being begging him for oxygen. Stop it, stop it, he chastises himself, because this is pathetic, this is what younger skaters do after flubbing, this is what children do. He should accept the defeat, accept his failure for what it is.

Then the figure returns, pausing at the corner of the alleyway. “Yuuri?” It’s quiet, muttered, but then it rushes forward. “Yuuri!”

“Go away,” Yuuri begs, backing up. “Please go away.”

He needs to go away, has to. Because he’d already disappointed Victor, and this will just make it worse, make it so much worse, make Victor’s image of him drop to the point of irreparability. Yuuri isn’t sure he can take that.

But his coach ignores him, kneels down and grips his shoulders, eyes darting back and forth between Yuuri’s own, which are downcast, wide. “Yuuri, look at me.”

He doesn’t.

Can’t.

Wants to, but can’t. The shame is overpowering, like a parasite.

“Yuuri,” Victor repeats, a warning in his tone.

He does.

And then he breaks.

(Snaps, fractures, cracks.)

And he’s clutching Victor, or more specifically clutching Victor’s trench coat, his hands fisting the fabric. Victor shifts closer, and Yuuri buries his face in his shoulder, because he can’t be seen, can’t be seen, because if he can’t be seen, maybe this will be anonymous, maybe Victor will forget that this is Yuuri, the student who had just failed him miserably. Maybe, maybe, maybe they can pretend that this isn’t real.

There’s a shushing, a hand on his back. It reminds him of his mother and he cries harder, the tears unashamed now, the breathing wracking his entire body, each exhalation making him convulse, body shifting closer to Victor’s. “Yuuri, you’re okay,” Victor is mumbling. “You’re okay.”

He wants desperately to stop, wants desperately to pick himself up off of the ground, brush off his knees and walk back into the rink, pretend as though nothing had happened.

(But he’s not Phichit.)

(He’s not Christophe, he’s not Yurio. He’s not Michele or Sara or Mila or Georgi or JJ or any of them.)

“I know,” Victor is mumbling, and Yuuri realizes he must have said some of that out loud, but he’s not sure what parts, and he’s not sure why Victor is still here, why he’s sitting in a dirty alleyway with him. “I know you’re not. And that’s good.”

His bones ache, sink.

Victor picks him up, one arm underneath his knees and the other around his upper back, cradling him. Like a child, Yuuri thinks bitterly, but he’s still crying into Victor’s shoulder, is still dressed in his costume, is still miserable. “You’re freezing,” Victor tells him. “I’m taking you back to the hotel room.”

If he wants to argue, he can’t. If he wants to move, he can’t.

His teeth chatter.

His hands still grip Victor’s jacket, knuckles paling and fingers reddening. There are words, English or Russian he can’t tell, the syllables muffled and tying together in his mind. But they’re getting closer to the hotel, now, and Yuuri struggles in his arms, lands on his feet and collapses back onto the ground in a sitting position. Victor seems to understand what he wants, helping him back up and wrapping an arm around his shoulder to support him instead of carrying him.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri whispers to him.

Victor doesn’t seem to hear him.

There’s a door, then bright lights, then Victor is saying something to someone, then he’s still, so Yuuri stills, too, clinging to his coat. “We’re in the elevator,” he tells Yuuri gently after a moment. “Almost there, okay? I told room service to bring hot tea.”

“Hot tea,” Yuuri repeats dreamily, imagining that. His rugged breaths slow, still abnormally quick but less desperate and more defeated, eyes still producing a steady stream of tears, anxiety still nipping at the corners of his mind, at the edge of every thought, accenting them, coloring them, inescapable.

With that, he shudders again and stops trying to hide, lets himself sink against Victor, both arms around his side, ugly emotions bearing their heads. When the doors slide open, they sound far away, but Victor steps through them with ease, speaking too-quiet words once again.

A bed.

Soft sheets, a pillow underneath him. Something lifts him up, and then the sheets are on top of him instead, cold to the touch. He shivers, bringing his hands to his lips and breathing on them, desperate to regain sensation. Somebody else’s fingers cover his own, warm, so warm, but Yuuri can’t bring himself to open his eyes, buries his face in the pillow instead, tries to recover control. He grasps at the fingers desperately, tries to steal some of the heat.

“Was it the jump?” Victor asks.

That brings back the tears, brings back the wheezing.

It’s hideous, and he’s hideous, but Victor is touching him anyway, a hand on his back. He’s still holding Victor’s other hand, and he feels like he should let go, but he doesn’t. “Yuuri, it happens to everyone.”

A lie.

He hates the feeling of Victor lying to him, hates the feeling of Victor having to try and comfort him. Turns on his side, tries to escape his touch despite the physical serenity it provides. “Not you.”

Victor sighs, shifting closer and continuing to rub his shoulder.

This time, Yuuri doesn’t pull away.

Because his hand works his shoulder blade, fingers digging into it, and Yuuri could cry with how good it feels, how perfect it is, the tension and stress dissipating from that spot, his body melting into the sheets. “Please…” Yuuri starts, the word cut off when he bites his tongue, chastising himself.

“Please what? Tell me.” His accent is thicker than usual and Yuuri blinks, fresh tears staining the white sheets.

“Please keep doing that,” he whispers pathetically, hating every word as it comes out of his mouth, losing himself in Victor’s touch.

He doesn’t see the nod, but he can imagine it. “Do you want to talk?”

Yuuri doesn’t answer—doesn’t know how to answer.

Victor’s other hand joins the first, leaving Yuuri’s fingers, moving to his other shoulder, and Yuuri’s breath catches, body starting to catch up with his mind, exhaustion starting to kick in. “Listen, Yuuri,” Victor starts, sounding unsure. “I know I’m not… You should know that you can talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Yuuri tells him, because there’s not. They both know what had happened. They both know why Yuuri is here, now, a pathetic mess in his hotel room bed, and they know why Victor is sitting beside him, wasting his precious time massaging his shoulders in a stupid attempt to make him feel better when he should just leave.

Victor clicks his tongue. “I disagree. I think there’s a lot to talk about. For one, you should know that I did mess up jumps.”

He turns at that, still curled on his side, just enough to check Victor’s eyes to see if he’s bluffing.

There’s a smile on his coach’s lips, gentle, reassuring. “What, did you think I landed every jump all the time?”

Yuuri nods, faces the pillow once again.

“I don’t,” Victor says. “I never have. In fact, that exact same thing has happened to me on a triple salchow in practice.”

“In practice,” Yuuri repeats, though he does have to admit Victor’s words are working, does have to admit that his breathing is starting to return to normal, the worst of the panic attack over with. Now he’s just left with a general feeling of depression, a despair that is heavily set in his heart and lungs, like a reminder.

“Of course, I messed up a quadruple salchow in a competition,” Victor adds.

One of his hands leaves Yuuri’s shoulder, and Yuuri is about to protest until Victor’s fingers weave through his hair instead, stroking it back and out of his face, the motion repeated and done slower each time. Yuuri shifts closer to him, head bumping against Victor’s thigh, and purses his lips, turning his head so that he can breathe instead of having his face pressed against the sheets.

Victor’s words are quiet. “Yakov wanted it to be a triple—but I was young, and I refused. My first attempt at a quad in a competition, and I’d failed it miserably.”

“That’s different,” Yuuri responds, sniffing.

“How?”

“You’re Victor Nikiforov,” he reminds him, then sneezes. “Your mess-ups are better than most people’s successes.”

Victor laughs at that, and his hand moves slightly lower to the hairs on the nape of Yuuri’s neck. “That’s not true.”

Yuuri meets his eyes again, indignant. “Of course it is.”

“Why’s that?”

He can’t tell if Victor truly doesn’t understand what he means or if this is just some roundabout way of trying to make Yuuri feel better. “Because when you fall on the ice, it’s not a defeat. It’s a mistake, and you learn from your mistakes, get back up, and everybody is rooting for you twice as hard as they had been before.”

Victor smiles at him.

(Smiles.)

Yuuri doesn’t understand the look of amusement on his face, wants to wipe it off. This isn’t funny, this isn’t a joke to be made fun of.

“Repeat that,” Victor encourages.

“I said that when…” he starts, then realizes what Victor means and shuts his eyes with frustration. “It’s… No, I was talking about you. It’s different for me.”

Victor sighs and pushes on his arm. “Move over.”

He does, and Victor lays down beside him, Yuuri’s head now a few inches away from his shoulder. Victor’s hand had pulled away from his hair and Yuuri embarrassingly isn’t sure if he can handle the loss, so he gives him a look that he hopes Victor will interpret correctly. Luckily, the other man seems to understand, resuming the comforting gesture.

“It’s the same for you, Yuuri,” Victor mumbles. “Exactly what you said. It’s not a defeat, it’s a mistake. And mistakes can have positive outcomes.”

Yuuri searches for an argument, a comeback, but falls flat. He blames it on his exhaustion, but in reality he realizes that Victor had just made him outplay himself. He’s not sure if he’s pompous or a genius. Both, perhaps.

Then there’s a knock on the door, and Yuuri burrows underneath the blankets while Victor answers it. Then, his coach is helping him sit up, handing him a white mug. “It’s hot,” he warns.

It’s soothing, burning, and Yuuri hadn’t realized that his fingers were still trembling until he’d tried to hold the cup still. Victor watches him carefully, eyebrows drawn together. Yuuri sputters a bit at the first sip, and there’s a hand on his arm instantly, supporting him. He tries again and gets a better mouthful the second time, eyes falling shut with pleasure.

“Good?” Victor guesses.

Yuuri nods, taking a longer sip, heat spreading all the way down to his toes.

“Take it slow,” his coach urges.

When half of the cup is gone, Yuuri sets it on the nightstand and curls up underneath the sheets again. In an instant, Victor is back by his side, hand on his hair, and Yuuri takes in a sharp breath, emotions threatening to run rampant. “Victor?”

The reply is almost silent. “Yes?”

“Is it okay if… Could we…?”

Victor cuddles against him, chest flush against his back.

“Thank you.”

Victor doesn’t answer, just wraps one arm around his torso, hand splayed on his abdomen, making gentle, circular motions. “Do you want to shower? Or do you want more tea?”

“Shower,” Yuuri answers. “But not yet.”

“Not yet,” Victor agrees. There’s a pause. “You know that I wasn’t upset about your performance today, right?”

Yuuri doesn’t believe that for a second.

“Yes, as your coach I was disappointed by the fact that you missed the jump, but I wasn’t upset about your performance. You skated your heart out, and your interpretation score reflected that, Yuuri. I couldn’t have been more proud.”

He turns around in Victor’s arms and hugs him tight, burying his face in the other man’s neck. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.” It only takes a second for the tears to come back, but they’re for a different reason this time, and he swipes desperately at them, not wanting to ruin Victor’s clothes any more than he already had.

“Don’t thank me,” Victor says, pulling Yuuri on top of him so that his head is resting on his chest, keeping both arms around his back, clutching him tight.

“Thank you,” Yuuri just repeats, eyes drifting shut.

He showers a few minutes later, but when he climbs back into bed, Victor instantly climbs in beside him, resuming their earlier position without a word. He kisses Yuuri’s hair, lips lingering there. “Goodnight, Yuuri.”

Yuuri answers with a yawn, shifting on top of him.

And for the first time since the salchow, he doesn’t feel inadequate.

#(idk how to tell u this anon but u might be masochistic) (jk ofc) #yuri on ice #victuuri #victuuri fic #victor nikiforov #katsuki yuuri #anxiety #anxiety tw #tw: anxiety #iwrotethis #anonymous #prompt #sorry if this is bad btw i wrote it kinda fast