#as are all the other Observations I made. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nashyuck · 3 days ago

Text

Dangerous

(Idol x reader, hook up, nda, tds3, foreplay, oral sex, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names, obsession)

Summary; Imagine the face y/n made when she realized an NDA was right in front to her face. What was a first-time VIP Nctdream experience, turned into amazing sex with Jaemin.

warnings; mature content MINORS DNI!

_____________________________________________________________

Ticketing for Nctdream was the most stressful experience. Y/n spent all of her lunch break anticipating how ticketing would go, as she is a high school teacher who had a whole class during ticketing. To her surprise, she was able to get VIP tickets to Nctdream, for both her and her best friend.

"Talk about stressful, I'm surprised that none of my students questioned the random movie day on a Tuesday"

"Those should be the last of your worries, we're literally seeing our men in 1 month," Ali said, she and Y/n had originally met at an Nct cup sleeve event years back and remained close friends.

FORWARD TO A MONTH LATER

"oh, I'm so anxious, they'll be able to see us, what if I get called backstage"

"oh lord if you get called backstage jaemin will get the best head ever" Ali added as she and Y/n laughed.

Making those comments was normal amongst the two, as it was all for shit and giggles not that they actually believed that they would be given the chance to jump any of the dreamies bones.

Upon arrival at the venue, Y/n and Ali were given early entry as they obtained VIP access.

"OH MY GOD, Jaemin is so fucken hot" y/n whispered to her friend. Not wanting for the others to hear.

______________________________________________________________

Jaemin was never attracted to any of his fans, and he never considered hooking up with any of them. Unlike his members who liked to hook up with women at every stop during tour. They claimed that it was for stress relief.

That was until he spotted a girl in the crowd looking at him and turning to whisper something to her friend. He was curious as to what the gorgeous woman with the top so low whose tits were basically out for him to see had possibly said to cause her friend to giggle.

Throughout the concert, he couldn't help but be drawn to this woman, to his luck during Poison performance he was placed right in front of the beautiful girl.

Making eye contact with her the whole time drawing her in, causing his eyes to go dark and be filled with lust. She smiled at him biting her lip and observing Jaemin's movements. He felt himself start to harden. Eternally grateful that they were given a 3-minute break for an outfit change.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"bitch jaemin was basically fucking you with those eyes girl," Ali said.

"All alright let's not be dramatic, in my defense he was set in front of us and the song was giving fuck me vibes" Y/n was undeniable that Jaemin would ever even consider letting her jump his bones.

The rest of the concert was a blur, y/n only remembers crying and dancing. The concert had ended, y/n and her friend got their belonging and headed towards the exit as they were stopped by security and guided to an empty room.

"This is starting to scare me, why are we still here is 12 AM," Ali said as she felt extremely sleepy and anxious.

A man who appeared to be part of the TDS3 work crew entered the room. He was wearing a TDS3 merch shirt, some sunglasses, and a baseball cap.

"Someone has requested for a conversation with you" the man said looking straight at y/n.

"That being said your friend will be dropped at her chosen destination, however, we ask for you to remain in this room, till he arrives and speaks to you about paper work" the man continued.

Ali felt unsure, leaving y/n behind in an empty room waiting for a guy who was a stranger felt worrisome.

"I'll be fine," y/n said insuring Ali that she'd be okay.

After Ali's departure, 5 minutes later the door opened and a tall muscular man appeared in front of y/n.

"Jaemin......... I'm not understanding why am I here?"

"Don't worry baby, I will explain everything and we can set boundaries together" Jaemin's smile was contagious and comforting.

He set various of papers on the table sitting across from y/n.

"darling have you ever signed an NDA?" jaemin questioned.

"I haven't but I've heard about how NDAs work"

"if at any point you feel uncomfortable, please let me know and we can stop, I will make sure you get home safe and no further contact on my behalf will be given," Jaemin said grabbing y/n's hand.

after 10 mins of reading the paper work, y/n knew exactly what the purpose of this was. She had two options, not signing the NDA and missing out on amazing sex with Jaemin or signing the papers and letting Jaemin do whatever he desired with her body.

Y/n did what any other horny woman would have done, she signed the papers and gave them to Jaemin with a smile on her face.

"Looks like you're coming home with me tonight princess"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ride to his hotel was quiet, Jaemin didn't say much but kept his hand on y/n's thigh. Pushing it closer and closer to her core. Causing y/n to heavy breath.

In the blink of an eye, y/n was on her knees begging for jaemin to let her touch him.

"So desperate for his dick, look at you basically salivating and I haven't even taken off my pants"

His eyes were dark and full of lust.

"I knew you'd be desperate but never imagined how turned on you'd get just by being on your knees".

he was so attractive, how can one not get turned on.

"On the bed now, and on your way there take off all your clothes, tired of seeing those on you"

Geez was he so hot as her observed y/n undress leaving nothing but her panties.

"look at those tits, I know you wore that shirt on purpose to get my attention, well guess what it worked," Jaemin said undressing and hovering over y/n. God were his lips soft, and easy to bite. Tongues fighting for control, causing a mess.

Jaemin shifted his lips to y/n's neck, down to her chest, nipple, stomach, and finally her inner thighs.

"You can be as loud as you want baby, my next-door hotel neighbors are the members and I'm sure those assholes are fucking a fan as we speak"

Jaemin's kisses were soft but felt like fire on y/ns skin.

"fuck please Jaemin"

"let's not be greedy baby" Jaemin said as he removed y/n's panties to get a clearer view of her body.

"look how wet you are, bet you taste just as good as you smell"

he was a tease, brushing his fingers against her fluids. He loved hearing her gasp and whine for more.

"fuck baby you taste so fucken good, so addicting, how am I supposed to continue the tour without this pussy"

he continued to eat her out, inserting two fingers.

"FUCK JAEM........."

"that's right baby cum in my mouth" those words sent y/n over the edge and she came all over Jaemin mouth.

He lifted himself up, licking his fingers and smirking at the mess he caused just with his mouth.

"want daddy to fuck you, baby? want me to cum inside you, to claim this gorgeous body of yours"

He was so fucken attractive, the same person who goes on stage as does aegyo for millions of fans, has the most dirty mouth and thoughts. He was so hot!

He hovered over y/n aligning his dick with her hole.

"If you want me to stop just tap me or tell me, okay darling"

Y/n nodded giving him the signal to enter.

As they both gasped, y/n squeezed around Jaemin.

"Fffucck baby, keep doing that and I'll cum fast"

he started off slow but continued to increase his pace, his thrust began to feel rough hitting all the right spots making y/n see stars.

"JAEM you feel so good" y/n whined

"you like that huh, you like it when I'm fast and rough"

"Yes Yes Jaem cumm inside me please"

He was rich enough to impregnate a woman so he never worried about an accident happening. The thought of a mini jaemin was his dream, however, all prior girls were scared of that type of commitment despite knowing his wealth.

"So tight FUCK" jaemin moaned as he released inside of y/n.

"If you're scared of getting pregnant we can run to the store for a plan b but if you're like me who doesn't give a shit and is ready for a baby quit your stupid job and go on tour with me"

"you don't know me, why would you even consider having a baby with me" y/n claimed.

"for starters, you're gorgeous and I can't imagine myself ever being so addicted to another pussy besides yours, you smell and taste so good, I can fuck you all day and night''

"I will consider it," y/n said checking her phone, it was 2 AM. Jaemin and her had been fucking for 2 hours.

#nct smut #jaemin #jaemin smut #nct dream smut #nct dream #jaemin x reader #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct imagines #nct angst #nct dream angst #jaemin angst #jaemin hard hours #nct hard hours #nct dream hard hours #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #kpop imagines

157 notes · View notes

eatmyheartoutjpg · 1 day ago

Text

𓇻 𝗦𝗠𝗢𝗞𝗘𝗗 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦 ˢᵉᵛⁱᵏᵃ ˣ ᵍⁿ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ;; Shortfic. Romantic, Established Relationship. You don't smoke, Sevika does. She likes to tease you about this fact in a more intimate way. 𝘼/𝙉 ;; I have written TOO much Ambessa and Silco fics recently.. and I also should pop back onto the wagon of headcanons b/c these short fics are taking me out

11.28.24 Masterlist

The Last Drop was alive with its usual chaos: drunken laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional fights breaking out in the far bootjs.

But your attention wasn’t on the noise or the dimly lit crowd. It was on Sevika.

She was sitting close, leaning back in her chair with that signature air of confidence, her metal arm draped casually over the back of the seat. In her other hand was a cigarette, the small ember casting a faint orange light across her sharp features.

She exhaled a steady puff of smoke, the scent sharp and familiar, and it curled around you in lazy tendrils. It made your eyes water ever so slightly.

“You’re staring,” she said, her tone amused as she raised an eyebrow at you.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I’m not staring. I’m observing.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sevika leaned forward, her smirk growing. “And what exactly are you observing?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way her intense gaze made you feel nervous. “I don’t get how you can smoke so much without keeling over. Doesn’t it ever bother you?”

She laughed, low and rough, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Bother me? Nah. But I bet you wouldn’t last two seconds.”

Your nose wrinkled in response. “Not my thing.”

“Not yet,” she countered, her smirk widening as she took another slow drag. She exhaled deliberately, the smoke curling between you both as she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “Maybe I’ll teach you.”

Your eyes narrowed, but your heart skipped a beat at the proximity. “And why would I want to learn?”

“Because,” Sevika said, shifting her chair closer so your knees almost touched. “You’re curious. Don’t lie.”

Before you could reply, she held the cigarette to her lips, taking another slow inhale. Then, in a move that was both unexpected and intimate, she leaned forward, cupping your chin gently with her metal fingers as her lips brushed against yours. You barely had time to react before she exhaled the smoke in your face, aiming for your mouth. Your eyes watered as it was too close to your face, curling into your senses. Her lips lingered int he same position, just enough to make your head spin.

You held back the urge to cough in her face, instead opting to wrinkle your face in discomfort.

The sensation was overwhelming. The warmth, smoke, and Sevika all at once. When she pulled back, you were left blinking, your breath caught in your throat.

“See?” she murmured, her smirk practically dripping with satisfaction. “Not so bad, is it?”

You coughed lightly, waving a hand in front of your face. “Not bad? You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” she replied, leaning back in her chair, clearly pleased with herself. “But you didn’t pull away.”

You glared at her, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. “That doesn’t mean I liked it.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” Sevika said with a chuckle, her deep voice laced with amusement.

From that moment, it became a game for her. She seemed to delight in pushing your boundaries, finding excuses to involve her cigarettes in the most teasing, intimate ways. She’d hold one to your lips, her touch firm yet gentle, watching with a smug grin as you reluctantly took a hesitant puff under her watchful gaze.

“Relax,” she’d say, her tone low and enticing. “It’s just smoke. Breathe it in.”

On other occasions, when the two of you were caught up in the heat of the moment, she’d take it further. She’d inhale deeply, then pull you into a kiss that was deep and deliberate, the smoke transferring between you as her lips moved against yours. The combination of her intensity and the lingering taste of tobacco was dizzying, and you hated how much it made your heart race.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” you accused one night, breathless after one of her smoky kisses, the smell of tobacco was the only thing you could recall.

Sevika smirked, her gaze heavy-lidded as she exhaled the remnants of her drag. “What can I say? Watching you squirm is the highlight of my day.”

Despite her teasing, there was an undeniable tenderness in the way she handled you. She was careful, always watching your reactions to make sure she wasn’t pushing too far. And when you’d finally had enough of her antics, you’d push the cigarette away with a grumble, only for her to chuckle and pull you into another kiss—this time free of smoke, just the warmth of her lips and the taste of her lingering grin.

Over time, you began to notice how much these moments meant to her. What started as playful teasing became something deeper—a way for her to connect with you in her own unique way.

It was in the way her hand would linger on your jaw, her thumb brushing your cheek as she held you close. It was in the rare softness of her gaze when you shared a laugh, her usual sharp edges melting into something almost vulnerable.

And it was in the way she’d murmur, after one of her teasing kisses, “You’re lucky I like you this much.”

“Lucky?” you’d reply, grinning as you leaned closer. “I think I’m the one putting up with you.”

Sevika would laugh, her lips curving into a rare, genuine smile as she pulled you against her once more. “Keep telling yourself that.”

And though you’d never admit it out loud, you were starting to think she might be right.

ˢᵉᵛᵉⁿ

#arcane #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane fanfic #arcane series #fanfiction #fanfic #headcanon #gn reader #cute #arcane season 2 #arcane season two #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika #arcane sevika #sevika arcane

155 notes · View notes

archivequinn · 22 hours ago

Text

What's your secret, envoy?

emperor geta x fem!reader

18+ only! MDNI

Summary: Desperation drives you to the gates of the Roman Empire when your brother is dragged away to fight as a gladiator in their blood-soaked arenas. With nothing left to lose, you strike a perilous bargain with the cunning Emperor Geta—your freedom and future in exchange for your brother’s life. But what begins as a desperate ploy turns into a tangled web of intrigue, betrayal, and forbidden ties. You never imagined that the ruthless emperor would become more than an adversary—and that the most dangerous risk of all would be losing him.

Chapter 1: Flare of Fire

You're in the castle. But it's not just any castle. It's the grandest, most magnificent fortress in all of Rome. The walls are made of solid marble, etched with intricate designs and adorned with golden ornaments. The halls echo with the sound of footsteps, and the air is heavy with the scent of incense and wine. Within the castle, there are dozens of rooms, each one more lavish than the last. The main hall features a ceiling painted with scenes of ancient Rome, while the floors are covered in intricate mosaics of animals and mythical creatures. The dining hall is fit for an emperor, with a long, polished table that can seat fifty guests, and a massive fireplace carved from black obsidian. And of course, there are countless bedrooms, each adorned with silken sheets, plush pillows, and tapestries depicting epic battles. The outer walls are twenty feet high and ten feet thick, made of solid quarried from the mountains to the north. It is a place of power and luxury, and only those who are worthy may enter.

You know all this because you've been trying to get in here for a long time. You did a lot of research, reading, talking to countless people, studying drawings, observing.

You close your eyes, reliving a memory of which you can't remember how long ago it was. Surrounded by isolation, so shortly after you lost your family and your brother was captured as a gladiator.

“How harmful can a barn full of straw be?” your friend said. “Straw can't hurt you. It won't harm you. In fact, it helps you to eat, it helps the animals to eat. Right?”

You knew where this was going.

“But what if you are standing in that straw-filled barn with a lighter in your hand, a spark, a little breeze of fire, will turn it into your grave. And these harmless straws will be the cause of your death.”

The straws here were our thoughts. No matter how bad the thoughts were, as long as they remained thoughts, they were harmless. All of us, even those who are not depressed, have thoughts of self-harm from time to time, thoughts of hurting someone else when we are angry. We are human beings and these are our instincts. Our straw.

And what was our fire? To put our thoughts into action.

If you do what you think, that would be your spark. You were holding a lit match in a barn full of straw. It was either going to go out or it was going to fall out of your hand and set the place ablaze.

Emperor Geta is standing in front of you like a violent storm that could cause the apocalypse to break at any moment. “Caracalla?” he growls. When you hear his full and annoyingly calm voice, you are brought out of the memories and back to the present reality, you are really standing in front of him. You're looking at Emperor Geta, a faint sneer curling his lips. “He is my twin, yes. But we do not 'run together', as you put it. We rule the empire together, but that is where our similarities end.” He takes a step towards you, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper.

“Caracalla is a weakling. A fool who spends his days chasing after servants and slaves, indulging in every vice known to man. I, on the other hand, am a true emperor. Strong, ruthless, and unyielding. My word is law, and any who cross me will suffer the consequences.”

You take a deep breath and the words you've rehearsed for so long dance out of your mouth.

“Your Majesty, I have been sent as an envoy from a distant kingdom to bring you an important message from my king, a message that was given to me to be delivered to you and your twin brother Caracalla, but…”

“No need.” Emperor Geta narrows his eyes suspiciously at your mention of distant kingdom. “It's just me,” he says curtly, “speak your message.” He gestures to a nearby table, and a servant quickly rushes over to pour him a goblet of wine. He takes a long drink, never taking his eyes off you.

You take a few steps and look out from the terrace. You take a deep breath, careful to not let your guard down in the face of his power, to hide how afraid you actually were of him. “It's about the gladiators...”

Emperor Geta raises an eyebrow at your mention of gladiators. “Go on,” he says, taking another sip of wine. “I am listening.”

“You are going to free them.”

A dark chuckle rumbles in Emperor Geta's throat at your proposal. “Free the gladiators?” he repeats incredulously. “What nonsense is this? The gladiators are our property. They exist only to fight for our amusement and profit. To free them would be to throw away a valuable resource, one that has brought us wealth and power beyond measure.” He takes another swig of wine, his eyes flickering with contempt. “Your king must be a fool if he thinks I would ever agree to such a ridiculous proposal.”

“But you have not yet listened to what is being offered to you in return, Your Majesty.”

Emperor Geta sets down his goblet, his gaze fixed on you. “And what do you propose in return?” he asks warily.

“My king will give you what you need most in exchange for freeing all the gladiators. Information. You may be rich enough to get worlds, you may have an army of hundreds of thousands of knights. But how sure are you of their loyalty to you? All of them, really, even the servants who wait on you at night while you sleep, how much do you trust them? I know something very important about the people closest to you, and my lips are sealed.”

Emperor Geta eyes you suspiciously, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his throne. “What information?” he demands. “And how can I be certain that you will keep your word and not use this knowledge against me?”

“You can't be sure, you have to take some kind of gamble here.” This time you feel like you have the advantage and you grin, but you know that Emperor Geta is very clever.

Emperor Geta regards you skeptically, his expression inscrutable. “Very well,” he says finally. “I will consider your offer.” He stands up from his throne, towering over you like a giant. “But be warned, ” he says, his voice cold and menacing. “If I find out that you are lying to me or attempting to deceive me in any way, you will regret it.”

You fix your eyes on his brown eyes, are you afraid of him? Maybe. But will your fear stop you? No. If he knew that your brother was the one you really wanted to save among the gladiators, and that you were actually a simple villager and not a envoy sent by a king, he would kill you right now. You're sure of it.

But you don't back down, You're almost sure you fooled him by pretending to be noble. “You don't have much time.”

Emperor Geta narrows his eyes at your sense of urgency. “What do you mean?” he says, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword.

“You must inform me of your decision before tonight's game. That is my king's order.”

Emperor Geta glowers at you, his hand still hovering over the hilt of his sword. “I do not like to be rushed,” he growls. “But fine. I will make my decision before tonight's game.” He turns sharply on his heel and strides back towards his throne. “You may leave now,” he says dismissively, waving a hand in your direction.

As you leave the throne room, you are acutely aware of the weight of Emperor Geta's gaze on your back. You could stand up to him, but you were not stupid enough to get yourself killed. How far beyond your limits could you go to save your brother?

You breathe a sigh of relief as you finally step out into the sunlit courtyard, and make your way towards the edge of the city. As you pass through the bustling streets, your thoughts wander back to your brother, imprisoned in the gladiator pits and forced to fight for his life. You vow to do whatever it takes to save him, even if it means making a deal with the devil himself.

The villagers are ready for the gladiator battle in the evening, everyone goes to the great arena. You look at yourself in the mirror, do your hair, put your pearl crown on your head, the only precious thing your mother left you, and put on the dress you made for yourself from quality and shiny fabrics left over from the dresses you made for some rich noble clients.

It's time to hear the emperor's final decision.

As you approach the throne room, you hear the sounds of muffled voices and clinking glasses coming from inside. You take a deep breath to steady your nerves before knocking on the door. “Enter,” comes Emperor Geta's imperious voice from within.

You push open the door and step into the dimly lit room, your eyes adjusting slowly to the flickering torch light. Emperor Geta is seated at his throne, flanked by his bodyguards and courtiers. He regards you coolly for a moment, before finally speaking.

“I have made my decision,” he says, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. “I will release the gladiators, but only on the condition that you divulge the information you claim to have about those close to me.”

“I'll only say that if it's just you and me in the room, no one else.”

Emperor Geta narrows his eyes suspiciously, studying you intently for a moment before nodding. “Very well,” he says, waving away his attendants and courtiers with a flick of his wrist. Once the room is cleared, he gestures for you to approach.

“Now then,” he says, leaning forward on his throne. “What is this information you claim to have?”

A friend of yours, working in the palace under the emperors' orders, heard something she shouldn't have heard, something that would change the fate of Rome. You kept it a deadly secret in your heart until your brother was captured by them. Now this deadly secret would either be your antidote or your death sentence.

You take a deep breath. “Your brother, Your Majesty. He wants to kill you.”

Emperor Geta's eyes widened in shock at your revelation. “What?” he demands, his voice rising in anger. “Caracalla wants to kill me? How do you know this?”

You can see the fury building in his expression, and for a moment you fear for your safety. But then he seems to regain control of himself, sinking back into his throne with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“If what you say is true,” he says finally, “Then my brother has crossed a line that cannot be forgiven. I will deal with him myself.” He looks up at you with an intense gaze. “I am grateful for your warning, envoy. You have done me a great service.”

“Now will you release the gladiators as you promised?”

Emperor Geta nods slowly, still lost in thought. “Yes,” he says at last. “The gladiators will be released. Consider it a gesture of goodwill from me to you,” He stands up abruptly, his eyes fixed on some distant horizon. “But know this, envoy. If what you have told me is false or if I ever discover that you have betrayed me, there will be consequences. Severe consequences.”

Your heart beats so fast it seems to pierce your ribcage, you didn't think for a moment that it would work, but you had no choice but to take the risk. You had one shot and you won it, gaining Geta's trust is the key that will unlock the door to saving your brother. The only thing you have to do from now on is to do whatever it takes to make sure that the lie you told and who you really are doesn't get out, otherwise there is no chance for you and your brother to be saved.

Geta looks at your face, studying you from head to toe, as if waiting for an answer from you. You feel as if he is looking into your soul, as if he can tell you are lying by the slightest gesture you make or the rhythm of your breathing. “Do you understand what I have said, envoy?” he asks you in a soft but threatening voice. You just nod your head and take a step back to leave.

“I haven't told you that you can leave yet,” he adds, as he takes two steps towards you and closes the distance between you. He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifts your head slightly, looking into your eyes, his amber eyes penetrating your soul. “You still haven't told me your name, envoy.”

After taking a deep breath, you open your mouth, but Emperor Geta runs his thumb along your lip. His gaze slides slowly from your eyes to your lips like a sharp knife, and you feel like a lion waiting to hunt its prey, and you are the gazelle he is about to hunt.

“I will continue to call you envoy, you have my word, the gladiators will be released. After you prove that the information you have given me is true.”

You avert your eyes in surprise, this is definitely not what you expected and things are not going the way you wanted. How could you prove any of this? “But that's not what we agreed...” you whisper, surprised at how weak and quiet your voice sounds.

Geta grips your neck with a condescending look, as if he's setting you up with the simplest equation in the world. “What did you expect me to do, kill my brother on the word of a envoy I don't even know where she came from and her king?” He grins as he shakes his head.

“But I have nothing to prove it...” you whisper again, desperately.

“There are other things you can prove.”

You try to figure out if he's playing a game in his sentences again or if he's trying to imply something, you feel like a trapped mouse, you feel your hands freezing cold and sweat running down your forehead. Finally you lift your eyes and meet his eyes. “What kind of things?”

“Your loyalty to me. Can you prove it?” He looks at you with eyes asking something he already knows the answer to.

‘’How can I prove my loyalty to you, Your Majesty?’’ Geta moves closer to you, closing the few inches between you, tightening his grip on your neck and gently running his thumb over your jugular vein, which is pumping blood like crazy. “Everything I say and everything I ask of you, you will do without question or doubt. Every word that leaves my lips will be your seal.’’

You nod timidly, Geta's lips curl upwards, he loosens the hand holding your neck and holds it out for you to kiss. When you grasp his hand with both of yours, the cold metal of his rings against your skin makes you flinch. You gently press your lips to his hand, you can feel the smile on his face grow even bigger.

“Now, you can go. But wait to hear from me. If it's true, you'll get what you want, but remember, if it's not true, I'll get what I want.”

The hours dragged on, the days felt like weeks, even months. Day after day you wait for news from Emperor Geta. And waiting for fear was worse than fear. All this after you had lost your family and were the only one left to save your brother. The day the Roman knights took him captive, you thought all hope was lost. Despair kills a person, but vain hope makes them crawl.

Your friend Atia, who served as a cook in the service of the emperors, brought you news of your brother from time to time. “He was not in the arena today, maybe tomorrow...” Every day you were waiting for bad news from him, and every day you were sinking deeper and deeper.

The news that would brighten your dark hopes, trapped within four walls, came again from Atia. While serving Emperor Caracalla's meal, she overheard a conversation she shouldn't have. It was a conversation about how Macrinus had tried to persuade Emperor Caracalla to assassinate his twin brother Geta and rule the empire alone. Macrinus was very manipulative and clever, he was like water. He could easily take the shape of any situation he found himself in. He was looking for an opportunity to take his place in the Senate, or even to become the new ruler of the Roman empire, and he was playing with Caracalla like a puppet master plays with a puppet. Caracalla was easier to persuade than Geta. Geta was Macrinus' biggest obstacle.

Atia was in the right place at the right time, she could no longer bear the burden of the news she heard that would change the fate of this empire, so she told you. And you had to come up with a plan, a perfect plan, to save your brother in the midst of all this chaos. Whoever you begged for help, people rejected you, saying that dealing with evil twins would get you nowhere.

You were alone, all alone. Every time you remain silent in the face of evil, the goodness of the good diminishes a little more. Because to remain silent in the face of great evil is to be complicit. Sometimes injustice comes because we refuse to give up our comfort. Because we turn a deaf ear to the moans of those who are hurting so that we don't get hurt.

Life is made up of stories. Good stories, bad stories, happy stories, painful stories... And life is not always just one of them. In every story there is as much joy as pain, as much hope as despair, more remedy than despair. You either live these stories and keep them to yourself or you choose to tell them. The news that would change the course of your story came a few days later, Emperor Geta finally wanted to see you.

When you enter his room, you notice that he is standing with his back turned, looking at the gold embroidery on the wall, and you think that his dress and crown look more splendid than ever. But you can't tell if this is because he has grown more powerful in recent days or because you see yourself as less than you really are. The servants close the door after you step inside, and you are startled by the sound of the door slamming.

“You were right,” he says quietly, slurring his words. “Caracalla has a plan to kill me, but it's not his plan. He's just a puppet.” You expect to hear anger in his voice, but it sounds more like frustration. As he turns around and walks back to his throne, his eyes meet yours for a second, and you see the disappointment in his tone in his eyes.

“How did you find out?” you ask, genuinely curious. “There are still dozens of guards and servants here who are loyal to me. And they are doing the best they can with the job I gave them. Don't forget that everything that is said inside this palace is somehow known to me. Whispers are heard like screams, your small steps shake the ground like earthquakes and my little birds tell me everything.”

You can only nod, a small glimmer of hope rising inside you. If Geta knows what you told him is true, he will keep his promise to you and release the gladiators. But before you can even smile, Emperor Geta sits on his throne and looks you in the eye.

“What I don't understand...” he says, grabs the arm of his throne with his hand and starts rubbing it. “How you and your mysterious king could have gotten this information. There are things that don't fit in what you say, envoy.”

He waits for you to answer for a few seconds, then takes a deep breath and continues. “Your king must have a lot of confidence in you to send you to the distant Roman Empire without bodyguards and knights, or you must be a good enough warrior to defend yourself on your own. It's strange that he wasn't worried about any trouble on the way. You could have been robbed, kidnapped by bandits or captured.”

He emphasizes the tone of a few words mockingly, gnaws his lips for a moment and then draws the sword of the guard standing next to him. The sharp sound of the sword is enough to make your ears prickle, and as Emperor Geta walks towards you you think, “Okay, it's over. Now he's going to slit my throat, he knows everything.”

Sometimes you had to be very unhappy to be happy. Sometimes you had to let yourself go down to see the bottom. And sometimes you had to come close to death to feel alive.

You wish it were painless as you feel the sword pressed against your throat, the last thing you see before you close your eyes are the light brown eyes of Emperor Geta. You can feel the jugular vein in your neck becoming prominent and pumping your blood frantically for your life. Everyone and everything around you is blurring, you can't stop your legs from trembling rapidly, no longer responding to the commands of your brain. And Emperor Geta's hot breath hits your face like a desert breeze. “Tell me, who are you? Who sent you here? Do you work for Macrinus?”

The tears slide down your cheeks, one after the other, skipping down your chin and hitting the floor like bombs, and no matter how hard you swallow, the lump in your throat won't go away. Your mouth dries up and your hands sweat as if you have been without water for days in the desert. Your whole body is burning and freezing at the same time, yet not as cold as the cold, sharp tip of the sword.

“My brother...” you say at last. Emperor Geta frowns, tightening his grip on his sword as he waits for you to continue. “He is my only family, the only one I have left... To save him...” You take great pains to choose the right words. “He was captured, fighting for his life every day among the gladiators and waiting to die every day. I was ready to do anything to save him. If it means I have to die to save him, I will do that too. Please, I may have lied about where I come from or who I am, but what I said was true.”

You get on your knees and take his skirt in your hands and kiss it. “Your Majesty, I beg you, I've already lost everyone, I've lost everything, I can't lose him. I can still smell my mother's scent at home, I can still hear my father's voice. If I lose my brother, I will have no reason to live. Punish me, but let him live.”

Emperor Geta cannot hide the surprise on his face as he looks down at you, obviously not what he wanted or expected to hear. He thought you were a spy, perhaps a collaborator, and he was ready to kill you. But he pauses. “Aren't you afraid? Aren't you afraid to die?” he asks.

“I am afraid, God knows I am terrified. But isn't that what sacrifice requires? If sacrifice was easy, it wouldn't be a real sacrifice.” you say as you wipe your tears on your arms and lift your head up to look into his eyes.

“You are ready to give your life for your brother and my brother is ready to kill me...” he whispers.

His words of sorrow remind you of the words of a frightened child waiting to be loved, behind the mask he actually wears. Geta throws the sword across the room and turns around. “All right, envoy. I'll let you go. Go away with your brother, live the life you want to live.”

“And what about you?” you ask, do you really care about him? He is one of the reasons why your brother is trapped here in the first place, why do you feel sorry for him? Even worse, why do you worry about him?

“I don't know,” he says, as if he's trying to dodge the question. You know he has something in mind, men like Geta always have a backup plan.

“I promised you my loyalty, if there is anything I can do for you...” you say, not sure how to finish the sentence.

Geta looks out, at the great Rome. You see his hand trembling as he holds the curtain. Is he afraid too? Sure, why wouldn't he be? The sword that's just been placed against your neck could at any moment be placed against his by his brother. Wondering if there's poison in every meal he eats, lying in bed at night with no guarantee that a dagger won't suddenly plunge into his heart, that scares the hell out of him.

He says, “Macrinus has to die.”

He closes the curtain and walks slowly towards you. He rubs his thumb gently over the neck where he had just held the sword. “He is the smartest man in Rome. He can easily manipulate anyone, everyone. That's why anyone I send to bring him down can turn on me in an instant. I need someone who can do this for me. Someone who has complete loyalty to me.”

He brings his face closer to yours. “My brother is sick, a child who needs care and affection. I love him, I've always loved him, I can't hurt him. I can never let him be harmed. He's the only family I have left. And I want the head of the person who made him think of killing me.” He slides his hand up your neck and cups your face, his thumbs wiping away the tears under your eyes. He leans down slightly to look into your eyes. “Can I trust you, envoy?” he asks, desperately.

Despair. Fear. The feeling of emptiness and nothingness. These are feelings from which it is difficult to extricate yourself once you are caught in them. It feels like you've fallen into a well with no water in it and you're sitting with your face buried in your knees. It feels like you are the most meaningless being in the world, like you are the only one having a hard time.

You know this feeling because you are this feeling, you have been fighting your worst enemy for weeks, despair. And the person who got you out of it was the same person who got you into it, how ironic could it be? Isn't the antidote to snake venom made from the venom of the snake? Geta was struggling for his life like a wounded and suffering animal. He wants you to lend him a helping hand, but if you take it, the consequences could be dire. You could die trying to carry out his plan, or worse, all your efforts to save your brother will be in vain and you may not be able to save him.

His piercing gaze fixes on you as he leans forward slightly, revealing his striking almond-shaped brown eyes. They are so dark they almost look black, but they hold an intense warmth that draws you in, and there is a subtle golden glow that seems to shimmer in the sunlight.

“Yes, Your Majesty, I will help you.” Your voice sounds confident, but also timid.

Emperor Geta smiles, for the first time. His smile is mesmerizing, revealing perfect white teeth that shimmer in the light. His lips curve up at the corners, crinkling the skin around his eyes and making them sparkle with joy. But most of all, you could see hope in his eyes.

It was the relief of finding someone he could trust, a glimmer of hope that he had found a safe harbor. Maybe he was clinging to you for dear life, he didn't know if he could trust you, but it seemed he had no choice but to do so.

“If you do this for me, I will drown you in gold. As many servants as you want, as many jewels and houses as you want. You will have everything you want for life with your brother, envoy.”

You shake your head and hesitantly raise your hands, place them on his. “Accept this as thanks for saving my brother. And I fulfill my promise of loyalty to you.”

His gaze softens, perhaps for the first time in his life someone is helping him for nothing. Without expectation of power, without expectation of recognition, without wanting to rise to a position of importance. His gaze shifts from her eyes to your lips.

“Where have you been all this time?” he asks, his voice so low and full that only you can hear it. “Are you really want to save me after I've caused you so much pain?”

“You and I... Your Majesty. We're not so different.”

“But you are different. You have something I've never seen before, I can see the courage in your eyes that bursts out in flames. There is no courage without bondage, I saw it in the eyes of all those gladiators. What I see in your eyes is different, there is something I can't make sense of.” Each word makes your heart beat faster, and for a moment you are angry with yourself for being so attracted to him. You realize that despite the great sacrifice you will make for him, he is still an Emperor and you are just a peasant. And you cannot ask for more. When he brings his face closer to give you an unexpected kiss, he makes you feel like you're holding a match in a straw.

‘’And what was our fire? To put our thoughts into action. If you do what you think, that would be your spark. You were holding a lit match in a barn full of straw. It was either going to go out or it was going to fall out of your hand and set the place ablaze.’’

But there was something you didn't know yet. Even if that lit match fell out of your hand and set the straw on fire, someone was about to enter your life to be your rain. And this was none other than Emperor Geta.

ao3 link Let me know if anyone wants to be on the tag list <3

170 notes · View notes

violentdelightsandviolentends · 2 days ago

Note

hi !! i was thinking about logical by olivia rodrigo when she sings "said i was too young i was too soft, can't take a joke can't get you off" and it got me thinking of rupert campbell black x younger!reader getting into a huge argument about something and he says that to her in the heat of the moment and then maybe they end up having make up sex idk

thank you <33

February Sky.

The highs are so high, but the lows are so low.

rupert campbell black x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. age gap. angst. so much use of the word darling. this might be a tiny bit toxic, but...

word count - 2.3k

authors note - title taken from logical by olivia rodrigo (which fits him so well, by the way). thank you for this request, erica!! it works so beautifully. I tried not to make it too toxic, but I think rupert is a tiny bit toxic, regardless. oops. and yet we love him anyway.

masterlist. inbox.

“What’s the matter?”

You’re curled up in the armchair by the fire, cup of tea warming the palms of your hands as the flames warm your toes. You’re still wearing your ballgown, hair still pretty in its updo and makeup still perfectly done.

“Darling,” you hear come from the kitchen, where he’s no doubt pouring himself a whiskey.

You stay quiet, taking a sip from your mug and sitting in your frustration.

Rupert appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame and taking in the sight of you. The first thing he observes is how cosy you look. The second thing he observes is how annoyed you look.

“Darling,” he repeats, walking over to kneel in front of you. “What’s the matter? Did you not have a good time?”

You’ve gotten very good at picking your battles with Rupert. Sometimes, you let go of whatever’s bothering you to save yourself the aggravation of an argument. Other days, much like today, you just can’t seem to keep a lid on your anger.

“I was having a good time until you made me feel stupid in front of everyone.”

“W-what? What are you talking about?”

You look down at him, his wide eyes staring up at you with genuine confusion painted across them.

“When I told that story about the horses, at the dinner table. I saw that look you gave Bas. It was like you were laughing at me, not with me.”

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel stupid. You know I wouldn’t do that.”

“Do I? You did the same thing a few weeks ago at Lizzie’s. You so easily undermine me when I’m speaking with a look or a laugh. That’s all it takes, and you don’t even realise.”

“Darling, I’m just joking with my friends. I’m not sure why you’re taking this so personally. It’s a non issue that you’re making into an issue.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Well I could argue that it’s not fair that you’re telling me that I make you feel stupid. That’s an accusation that’s not fair.”

He gets up, moving to stand by the fire with his glass in his hand.

“I feel like you’re just dismissing me,” you say quietly, squeezing the mug tighter in your hands.

“Because you’re acting like a child.”

“You’re treating me like a child,” you retort quickly, sitting up straighter in your chair.

“Look, darling. Maybe this is just our gap in life experience rearing its head. You’ve got a lot to learn, and sometimes it shows.”

“You know, our age gap only becomes a problem when you make it a problem. You want a sweet, young girlfriend until she acts her age, and then it’s an issue.”

“Because you can be so mature, and then all of a sudden you’re throwing a tantrum like a child,” he fumes, placing his glass down on the mantelpiece and folding his arms over his chest. “You’re young and you’re soft, I’m not oblivious to that. But sometimes you can’t take a joke - or sometimes you miss the joke completely. It’s not my fault if you twist that into me making you feel stupid.”

You put your mug down onto the side table, willing yourself not to get upset. You stand up so you’re no longer below him, still keeping a distance between the two of you. Breathing in deeply, you exhale shakily in an attempt to keep yourself and your composure together.

“You’re acting like my age is something that came up later, Rupert - and that’s not true at all. You knew how old I was when we met. You knew I was significantly younger than you.”

“Yes, I did. Maybe I just wasn’t aware of how often it would come up as a point when we argued.”

He leans against the fireplace wall, sharp features illuminated by the light of the flames. All that can be heard are the sounds of wood crackling and two sets of lungs heaving for breath.

“You’re making me feel like I’m insane,” you burst suddenly, sick of biting your tongue. “You’re acting as if everything is all my fault. When will you take some responsibility, Rupert? When will you hold your hands up and say ‘do you know what - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done it’, hmm? Why do I always have to apologise?”

“Darling-”

“No, I’m sick of it. One minute, you’re telling me our age gap doesn’t matter because we’re in love and I’m mature and intelligent and everything you need - and the next minute you’re treating me like some sort of virginal lamb that doesn’t know the difference between left and right. Make up your mind, because you’re making me dizzy.”

“If you’re so sick of it, why are we doing this? If you are so sick of it, you know where the door is, darling. I’m not forcing you to stay here.”

That’s all it takes for the tears to start falling, hot and heavy down your cheeks. Your sadness seems to be uncontrollable, stemming from your chest and humming through your veins. You’re surprised you’re not turning blue, a perfect personification of sorrow.

You stand your ground and cry in place, refusing to move to him for comfort. Eventually, he breaks first, unable to watch you sob any longer.

“My darling,” he soothes, striding across the space to wrap his arms around you. “My sweet girl.”

His nicknames only make you cry harder, burying your face in his crisp white dress shirt and undoubtedly getting makeup all over it. He doesn’t care, one hand gripping the back of your neck while the other wraps around your waist to pull you closer.

“That was really mean,” you blubber into his chest. “Do you actually want me to leave?”

“No,” he reassures, rocking you in his arms gently. “No, darling. No. God, that’s the last thing I want. Honest.”

“Why did you say it then?”

Your voice is muffled, face still pressed against him. He smells so familiar and masculine and Rupert that it only makes you cry more.

“I… I don’t know,” he confesses, squeezing you tighter. “I shouldn’t have. You know me, I- I say things I don’t mean when I’m angry.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Your fingers are gripping the back of his shirt, holding on for dear life.

“I know, darling. I know.”

You sniffle as you pull back slightly to look up at him, surprised to see his eyes teary and glistening.

“Do you love me, Rupert? Because, because- if you… if you really wanted me to leave… you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

“Sweet girl,” he breathes, cradling your face in his hands. “Of course I love you. The fact you even have to ask breaks my heart. I don’t want to you leave - I love having you here. And god forbid, if something bad did happen between us… we both know we wouldn’t stick around and pretend that this is something it’s not.”

Part of you knows that he’s good at this - saying exactly what you want and need to hear. The rest of you is stupidly relieved, letting his words wash over you like a balm on a scrape.

“I didn’t like it when you laughed at me tonight. One, because it made me feel stupid, and two… because I don’t want people to doubt us. You know what they’re all like. They see the tiniest crack and dig their fingers into it until it’s a gaping wound that they can all gossip about.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” he murmurs as he sweeps his thumbs back and forth across your cheekbones. “I shouldn’t give them any ammunition. I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t realise it would upset you so much. There was no malicious intent on my part, I swear - it was just a joke between friends. You know Bas adores you.”

“I know,” you half chuckle. “He tells me every single time he sees me.”

“Exactly,” Rupert grins, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “But no one adores you the way I do. I can promise you that.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his middle and resting your head against his chest. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, meaning you can feel his warm skin against your cheek, comforting and familiar.

“Rupert?”

He hums, encouraging you to continue.

“Will you stop bringing up my age when we argue? I don’t ever mention that you’re older than me, but you’re so quick to call me young or inexperienced or a baby.”

“Yes, darling. I’m sorry that it seems like a focal point for us - it’s not, I swear.”

“You kissed me.”

“Hmm?”

“You kissed me, that day in the garden. Not the other way around. You made the move first. I’m not some innocent girl chasing after you because I’m naive and too young to know any better.”

“I know that. I kissed you because I thought you were the most magnificent girl I’d ever met. I still do.”

He tightens his arms around you, gently rocking you like a child again.

“I don’t want to argue anymore,” you mumble, sighing deeply.

“Neither do I, darling. We’re finished with the arguing now. Promise.”

Rupert takes half a step back, to give him a better look at you. You still look beautiful, even if you do have mascara running down your cheeks and lipstick smudged across your face.

“I love you,” he murmurs as he leans in to kiss you.

“I love you too,” you manage to mutter against his lips, kissing him back as hard as you can.

He kisses you carefully, methodically, as if he’s worried he’ll spook you and you’ll take off running. He’s keeping you close, hands gripping your hips to plaster your body to his. You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging the dark locks with a little too much force, which he doesn’t seem to mind.

Rupert walks you both towards the fire, lips never parting from yours. His hand finds the back of your dress, pulling down the zip in one smooth movement. It falls to your feet, kicked to the side in disregard. He sits down in the armchair and pulls you with him so you’re straddling his lap, legs on either side of his hips and arms thrown around his neck.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers, fingers tracing patterns up and down your bare back.

You press kisses into his neck and down his chest, the hair there tickling your face as you do it. Your hips have slowly started to move against his, both of you out of breath as the stakes get higher and higher.

He undoes the zip on his trousers, smirking when you whimper at his knuckles brushing your wet core. He pulls them down just enough to free himself, not worried about getting completely undressed.

“I want these off,” he instructs, pulling at the waistband of your underwear. “Now, darling.”

You wiggle them down your legs, kicking them off one foot in the direction of your dress. You’re fully naked in his lap, while he’s still wearing his shirt unbuttoned with his trousers halfway down his thighs. You both look debauched, more scandalous than you could ever imagine. You wish for a moment that you had a mirror, desperate to watch the way you need each other.

You take matters into your own hands and line him up, sinking down slowly so you can savour the stretch. It burns just right, the slight ache a welcome intrusion.

“Shit, darling. That’s it. Good girl.”

Tangling your fingers into the back of his hair, you start to wind your hips up and down - gently at first, and then with more vigour. Rupert lets his head loll back into the chair, exposing that gorgeously tanned neck of his. You nip at it with your teeth, grinning when he groans all low and slow.

He cups your tits, squeezing and pinching as he begins to buck his hips to meet yours. You’re determined to do all the work yourself, but he can read your body language like a book, whether you like it or not. He knows you’re getting tired, but will point blank refuse to admit it.

One of his hands slinks between you to rub firm circles onto your clit, both of you moaning when you clench down around him. He can tell you’re almost there, just needing the tiniest push to throw you over the edge.

“There we go, good girl. My good girl. All mine.”

That’s all you need, back arching and legs shaking as you reach your climax. Yours triggers Rupert’s, the most delicious groan leaving his mouth as he comes. He looks like a Greek God, all chiseled and glistening in the firelight.

Burying your head into the crook of his neck, you breathe him and try to calm your pounding heart. You can feel his heart battering against his chest where it’s pressed against yours, bodies tangled together in the armchair.

The two of you catch your breath for a while, revelling in the warmth of the fire and the company of the other. Eventually, Rupert carries you upstairs, murmuring sweet nothings into your ear and stroking your hair as he does it.

I was wrong, earlier, you think as he tucks you into bed and immediately climbs in next to you, plastering himself to your back. No one could love me like Rupert does.

i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again, even if I sound like a broken record…

reblogs are gold dust to writers!! reblog the fics you read and enjoy, and your favourite writers will keep writing them for you!! it really is that simple!! <3

148 notes · View notes

violetren · 1 day ago

Text

I know its technically A definition for empathy but I don't think spotting/recognising emotions in others is in and of itself always empathetic. Sometimes its just situational awareness.

For that reason I do think Weiss got a lot of her early practice dealing with Jacques' temper and learning to recognise what level of drunk her mother was. On the less traumatic side her family butler whom she seems to have known most of her life is all seven dwarves at once and there was probably some learning curve for learning which voice is angry/happy/dozy and so on, and whether its sounding that way because its directed at you or something situational.

So in that sense yes, kinda, Weiss's awareness of the emotions of others does come from how she had to survive and navigate her family.

Where it goes beyond awareness and into empathy I do think happens around the time she gets to Beacon. She takes the first step long before team RWBY is a thing in her life just by deciding to go to Beacon, and deciding she doesn't want to be her father's version of a Schnee.

Jacques is a coward and an asshole and has grown complacent in the wealth he married into, but he did manipulate, and cajole, and worm his way into being head of the richest family in Remnant that we know of. At some time in his life he was likely similarly capable and practiced at noticing emotions as Weiss, in order to manipulate them. Although I don't think Weiss has fully realised her skill, she has already decided to avoid doing things like her father and so is already disinclined to use her skill to manipulate in the way he would.

Then team RWBY does come on the scene. It's around now that I think Weiss starts to become cognizant that she has a skill, and its because for the first time she's actually kinda bad at it. She doesn't have as much experience with the more positive end of the emotional spectrum and so can be suspicious of it, waiting for the more common negative emotions she is used to and still responding to them when they aren't there. Which she gets berated for, she is called cold, she gets told she isn't helping, she gets told to loosen up and give people chances.

So now Weiss sorta knows she has a skill, and has some people to model positive uses of it. She sees that it can be more than just an observational skill for survival it can be a tool to build community, provide comfort, nurture others. Now Weiss has the puzzle pieces she was missing. Now she actually starts to behave empathetically. Now its about emotions and feelings, helping to acknowledge or nurture, instead of behaviour signals to identify and brace against. And once she starts I do think the fact that she knows loneliness and pain help her develop this at a slightly faster rate than some, because where others might flounder she can always reach for what she wishes someone had told her, but that only gives her a small leg up when it comes to comfort. She still has to do the hard yards learning to share and cultivate more positive emotions, and learning how to actually start a dialogue with someone who is going through it. And bit by bit she does.

When it comes to talking about Weiss I think there is a lot of talk about her walls coming down, and sometimes it can feel like kind of a passive thing, where the rest of team RWBY came in and slowly dismantled them, and I don't love when that happens RWBY helped, but Weiss still made choices, she had agency in the process. Weiss chose to practice kindness, and in doing so started honing her empathy. It's there from the moment she decided to follow Port's advice and went off to get Ruby a cup of coffee. She ultimately chose to embrace her emotions even if it risked making her more vulnerable, because it was an emotionally richer and more fulfilling way to be than what she had known. In doing so she began to achieve that initial driving goal of reclaiming what it means to be a Schnee back from her father.

Its not as much as a conscious choice as I am maybe making it sound like. I don't think she woke up one day and thought "I'm gonna put my skill points into understanding instead of manipulating" I think its more like the seed was there, it just finally found the conditions that would allow it to sprout.

And ultimately, yeah OP is right Weiss should be recognised more for her emotional awareness and empathy, because whether she knew she was doing it or not, she put in the work to develop her empathy. She could have refused to open herself up and turned that observational ability into something maladaptive and manipulative, the fact that she didn't is one of the most beautifully compelling things about her character.

Weiss is so deceptively emotionally aware and empathetic it needs to be recognized more. She was the one who first recognized when Blake was spiraling back in Beacon and called her out for it. She was the one who was there to be Yang's shoulder to cry on in Mistral and help her understand why Blake felt the need to leave. She was the one who saw how the way they treated Ruby was hurting her in the Ever After. The more you look for it the more you see it. Both on and off the battlefield Weiss is always the one there to support others sight unseen because she knows hurt and loneliness.

#i ended up having thoughts and feels #and it quickly became easier to put them in main post than tags #weiss schnee #rwby #rwby meta

547 notes · View notes

verstappenf1lecccc · 1 day ago

Text

“Trust, Love, and Protection”

Warnings-: unwanted advances unwanted touching!

protective and supportive toto with a hint of fluff otherwise this is angst and is based off a serious topic.

The bright lights of the Las Vegas Grand Prix were blinding as they illuminated the night sky. The buzz of excitement filled the air, a constant hum of engines roaring, the thrill of high-speed racing, and the glitter of Hollywood flashing in the distance. It was a weekend of glitz and glamour, and everyone was there — from international celebrities to famous athletes and high-powered figures in the racing world.

But for her, standing on the edge of it all with her husband, Toto Wolff, and their son, Jack, the overwhelming attention was starting to feel more suffocating than exciting.

While Toto had always been protective of her, there was something about the sheer number of admirers at the Las Vegas GP that made her uneasy.

The fact that her husband was such a high-profile figure in the Formula 1 world meant that all eyes were constantly on their family.

That, in itself, wouldn’t have been a problem, but the way some people particularly certain men looked at her made her skin crawl.

As the evening wore on, she found herself growing increasingly uncomfortable.

She was used to the occasional lingering glance, but tonight, it seemed as if every other person was trying to catch her eye.

She could feel the weight of their gazes, like fingers brushing her skin, and it made her want to shrink into herself.

She had been trying to keep it together, to put on a brave face for her husband, who was occupied with the team, the sponsors, and the whirlwind of the weekend.

She wanted to be supportive.

She wanted to enjoy the moment.

But it was hard when so many men were treating her like a trophy on display rather than a person.

Her discomfort reached its peak when an actor a D-list one at that approached her.

He was slurring slightly, clearly tipsy, with an overbearing grin on his face as he leaned too close.

“Hey, you’re Toto’s wife, right? You’re even more hot and slutty up close,” he said, his voice dripping with lust.

She forced a smile, trying to be polite, but his hand brushed against hers.

She instinctively pulled back, but he wasn’t having it.

He leaned in too close, his hand now resting on her waist in a way that felt far too intimate. She stiffened.

“I’ve seen you around,” he continued, oblivious to her growing unease.

Her stomach turned.

She opened her mouth to say something to tell him to back off but just as she did, the crowd around them shifted, and she couldn’t spot Toto anywhere.

“Don’t be shy, darling,” the actor continued, his eyes scanning her in a way that made her want to shrink into herself.

“You know, I always thought you were more beautiful in person. Maybe we should hang out sometime, just the two of us, I’ve got a big hotel room booked if you get what I’m saying”.

Her pulse quickened.

She felt trapped, helpless.

As the actor’s hand slid a little too low on her back, her body tensed with disgust.

She could feel her skin crawling, and all she wanted was for Toto to show up and pull her away from the situation.

“I’m sorry, I think I need to go check on Jack,” she said, her voice a little too tight.

The actor blinked in surprise, momentarily taken aback, but he quickly raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright, no harm done.”

The discomfort was still there, the feeling of being objectified, of being looked at as something to be taken, not cherished.

She wished she could just disappear, wished that Toto could take her away from all of this.

She quickly found Jack, who was standing by the barriers, playing with his toy car, quietly observing everything.

He was unusually quiet, which was strange for the usually lively little boy.

He looked up at his mother, his innocent eyes full of concern.

“Mummy, you okay?” Jack looked up at her, sensing something was off.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” she lied, kneeling down beside him, forcing a smile she didn’t feel.

“Just a little tired.”

But Jack wasn’t convinced.

His sharp eyes were always able to tell when something was wrong.

After all he was his father’s son and always knew when something was up with his mother. As she stood up, he grabbed her hand, his little fingers curling around hers.

“You don’t look okay, Mommy,” he said softly, his voice full of concern.

“Are you sad? Did something happen you can trust me mummy I won’t tell I swear” his little voice spoke.

Y/N blinked rapidly, trying to fight back the wave of emotion that suddenly washed over her.

She forced herself to smile at him, but it felt hollow, like the weight of the world had pressed down on her chest.

Jack tilted his head, clearly not buying it.

“Mommy, why do you look like you are going to cry?” he asked, his tiny voice filled with confusion. “Did someone make you sad?”

Toto had been nearby, talking to a few sponsors, but as soon as he heard Jack’s voice and looked between his son and his wife, noticing the subtle shift in her demeanour.

His own heart tightened as Y/N’s smile wavered, the cracks showing through as the tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over.

He hurried over to them, his face a mask of concern.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked, his deep voice soft yet filled with urgency.

Before she could answer, Jack spoke up, his innocent words piercing through the air.

“That man, Mommy he made you cry. That actor.”

Toto’s expression darkened immediately.

He looked at her, hurt flashing in his eyes. “What actor?”

Her eyes widened.

She hadn’t meant for Jack to say anything. She’d hoped to shield Toto from what had happened.

“I—” she began, but her voice faltered.

Toto’s gaze never left her, his concern growing more intense. “What happened? Who was it?”

His protective instinct kicked in.

He hadn’t known she’d been dealing with uncomfortable advances all night, and the thought of someone making her feel this way especially in front of their son drove him to the edge of fury.

She looked away, trying to avoid his gaze, but he cupped her face gently, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Tell me, darling. I need to know.”

Jack was still holding her hand, now glancing up at his father, sensing the tension in the air.

“It was that actor… the one who kept touching her, Daddy,” Jack added, voice small but firm.

Toto’s jaw tightened. He turned back to his wife, his voice lower now, softer.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” “Don’t hide from me, darling,” he said softly. “Tell me what happened.”

“I didn’t want to cause a scene, Toto,” she whispered, her voice shaking as the emotions she’d been bottling up came to the surface.

“I didn’t want to start any drama. I just… I wanted to get away from him.”

Toto’s jaw tightened, his protective instincts roaring to life once again.

He gently kissed her forehead before looking down at their son.

“Jack, go with your aunt, okay? I need to talk to Mommy.” Jack, sensing the gravity of the situation, nodded quietly and ran off to join their family friend, not fully understanding but sensing his mother’s distress.

Toto didn’t waste a moment. He pulled Y/N close again, his arms enveloping her tightly as he held her against his chest.

Toto’s heart broke at the vulnerability in her voice.

His hand gently wiped away her tears, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

“Darling,” he said softly, “I trust you, I just don’t trust them. You’re my everything, and no one-no one —should make you feel this way.”

She gave him a small, sad smile, trying to hold back the tears.

Toto stepped forward, pulling her into his arms. “Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured against her hair, rubbing her back in slow, soothing motions.

But the tears didn’t stop. Y/N’s sobs were quiet but heavy, the kind that you couldn’t hold back anymore, no matter how hard you tried.

Y/N hiccupped through her tears, trying to compose herself, but the feeling of being violated, of being treated like an object, wouldn’t leave her.

Toto gently cupped her face, tilting her chin so she would look up at him.

“You don’t have to protect anyone but yourself, darling,” Toto said, his voice firm but gentle.

“I’ll make sure we leave this place as soon as you’re ready. You don’t have to be here if it doesn’t feel right.”

She let out a shuddering breath, the weight of the night lifting slightly as she melted into his embrace. Toto was her safe place. His love was her anchor.

“You know that jealousy doesn’t suit you,” she said, voice quiet. Toto chuckled softly, kissing the top of her head. “I like to see you smile more, not cry.”

Y/N sniffled, her heart swelling with love for the man who always knew exactly how to comfort her. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Toto let out a breath of frustration, but his expression softened.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Toto replied, his hand gently caressing her back. “I’ll always protect you, Y/N. Always.” “I’m sorry, darling. I should’ve been more attentive. I was too caught up in all of this… all these people… but I should’ve been with you. You should’ve never felt alone.”

He took a deep breath, his voice unwavering.

“I will make sure nothing like that ever happens again. Not on my watch.”

And as the lights of Las Vegas sparkled in the distance, Y/N realized that in Toto’s arms, she was safe.

The world could throw its distractions, its unwanted attention, and its people at her, but as long as she had him and their son by her side, nothing could take away her peace.

Jack tugged at his father’s hand.

“Daddy, Mommy’s really sad. Can we take her home?”

Toto nodded. “Yes, Jack. We’re going home. Right now.”

He pulled his wife close to him, wrapping his arms around her protectively, and he whispered into her ear, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner. But I’m here now, and I will always protect you. Always.”

With a final glance at the chaos of the event around them, Toto guided his family through the crowd, their son Jack happily holding his mother’s hand as they walked to their car.

Toto stayed close to her the entire way, his eyes scanning the surroundings, his hand never leaving hers.

He was determined that from this moment forward, she would never have to feel like that again.

As they climbed into the car, Toto turned to her, his voice soft and sincere. “I love you more than anything. Don’t ever feel like you have to hide things from me. I’m here for you, always.”

She smiled, feeling the weight of the night begin to lift. “I love you too.”

And for the first time that evening, she finally felt safe.

#f1 imagine #f1 scenario #f1 x reader #formula one #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff fic #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x reader #angsty toto Wolff #toto wolff #toto #mercedes amg f1 #f1 fandom #f1 fic

116 notes · View notes

shantechni · 2 days ago

Text

Natsume's Fear of Thunder

I'm gonna be honest, this can hardly be considered an analysis. It's more of a "sporadic and unnecessarily deep observation" of how Natsume's astraphobia has been presented in the series over the years, both in the anime and in the manga. So, please for the love of God take all of this with a grain of salt.

Yes, I'm using the term "phobia" very loosely, but I'm not about to get into that rn. Natsume has an irrational fear and strong dislike of thunder, that's an undeniable truth.

Before I dive in, I'd like to briefly explain why, of all the little bits of information Midorikawa has given us about Natsume, this one is the one to ceaselessly bump around in my brain like a DVD logo. This series is not in the horror genre (it's serialized in LaLa DX after all), but it does get suspenseful, and pretty disturbing depending on whatever topic it touches or the types of situations the characters may find themselves in. I don't fault anyone, particularly Natsume, for growing up with valid fears and preconceived misconceptions about most youkai; they can sound scary, they can look scary, and they can do some scary stuff if they really feel up to it.

That's why I'm so fascinated to see Natsume develop and still harbor an irrational fear for something like the everyday phenomena of storms. He's landed himself in all sorts of trouble and has come face to face with many beings, both natural and supernatural, who didn't have his best interests in mind, and yet the clap of thunder somehow keeps its spot on the list of things that has him scared stiff.

Aight, spoilers for both the anime and the manga beyond here, you've been warned👏🏽

Our first introduction to Natsume's fear is near the beginning of chapter 42, when he and Tanuma accidentally stumble across Taki's home while seeking shelter from a sudden shower. He questions how Nyanko-sensei ended up at her home as well and the youkai, much to Natsume's visible dismay, cheekily explains:

That doesn't end up happening since the rain remained light until its swift end, and the mention of Natsume's fear is glossed over rather quickly to save him the embarrassment, but it's an interesting mention made by Midorikawa nonetheless since it adds another layer to whatever image the audience has of Natsume and the series itself. Nyanko-sensei, having been around this kid long enough to know a lot of his vulnerabilities and insecurities (even the ones his dreams unwittingly reveal to the youkai), has seen and grown accustomed to a side of him that the audience had yet to be formally introduced to for once.

Right about now, you may be wondering how the anime adapted this scene. It didn't💀.

While the start of the episode (S3 EP5) is a one-to-one recreation of the chapter with virtually the same dialogue and scenery, any mention of Nyanko-sensei following Natsume to pick on him when it thunders is nonexistent and entirely skipped over so the gang can go straight to cleaning out the storeroom.

Most fans who have read the manga will tell you how notorious the anime is for excluding some of the characters' lines or scenes that take place in the manga, or just straight up rearranging or changing up those same factors. Sometimes those alterations work wonders, and other times they leave more to be desired, mainly if you know what happened in the manga counterpart of the episode. This such example is one of the times that'll leave people scratching their heads and wondering what warranted getting rid of a scene so insignificant that it'd have no effect on the plot of the episode whether or not it stayed. The only answer I can think of for that is the directors likely wanting a smoother progression of events to make for a viewing experience better tailored for an anime episode rather than a manga chapter.

Or, they genuinely didn't have enough space in the episode to squeeze in that little bit, which I highly doubt, but what would I know, I don't work for them. At the end of the day, we didn't get to see that scene in the episode.

After some more anime switcheroo shenanigans go on behind the scenes, along with an original episode pulling a retcon during a lightning storm, we receive our next moment in a surprising scene from the anime team in S3 EP10 (adaptation of chapter 28). Though the scene itself is short and not exactly an example of Natsume's astraphobia, I feel it should still be included because of its relation.

The chapter originally starts with Natsume and Nyanko-sensei searching for a tree that was struck by lightning during a storm the night before. However, the anime makes an addition of their own by rewinding time to that very night and showing Nyanko-sensei excitedly watching the storm take place while Natsume is tied up with his homework.

Nyanko-sensei goes on to tease him by suggesting that he doesn't want to watch the storm because he's scared, but Natsume dodges the youkai's mocking and begins to tell him to close the curtain before a crack of lightning cuts him off and illuminates his room.

Not only does Natsume not simply deny Nyanko-sensei's claim of him being scared, but his reaction to the thunder is seemingly more sudden than Nyanko-sensei's. Both of these points could subsequently lead the audience to interpret this entire sequence as the anime's first acknowledgement of his phobia, and it'd make for a very intriguing choice on the anime team's behalf after taking their ommitance of the previous scene into consideration. It could be a stretch though ngl, I tend to stretch like crazy, it makes sense to close a curtain when a pet is being noisy—

Finally moving on from S3, we eventually reach the most overt instance of Natsume's astraphobia, and potential origin or exacerbation of it, in the S4 finale (adaptation of chapter 46). This three episode arc is a largely intimate and heart wrenching one as it focuses on Natsume's journey to revisit his childhood home before it gets renovated by its new owners, a task he initially denied himself the permission of doing before realizing Touko and Shigeru would never deny him something so personal. Of course, he wouldn't be Natsume if he didn't attract a youkai along the way, and he's being pursued by one that seeks to feed on the tragic memories he formed while staying with the Aoi family, who was strongly implied to be the first family (if not, one of the first families) he was taken in by after his father's passing.

One of those memories shown to the audience is a younger Natsume relaxing in a shrine while memorizing where his childhood home is located, all in the hopes of gaining more discernible memories of his father and no longer being a burden to Miyoko and her parents.

Unfortunately, he falls asleep at the shrine and consequently loses track of time before having his slumber disturbed by a violent boom of thunder. He's so frightened by the ordeal that he can't even bring himself to rush back to the Aoi family's place, and his exhaustion puts him back to sleep until he's eventually found by some of the neighbors who went out searching for him.

The anime, with the natural strengths it has over the manga, goes the extra mile by not only keeping this portion relatively untouched, but further setting up the scenery and depicting just how rapidly the area goes from peaceful to turbulent. The character animation and voice acting make for a splendid combination and do a wonderful job of capturing this image of a helpless childhood version of Natsume.

What comes soon after this scene is a depressing sequence of events on its own, even more so when we can see he's still reeling from the storm and believing he caused the Aois to get into trouble by not getting back before dark. The adults obviously don't fault Natsume for getting stuck in the storm, but he doesn't see it that way in his shocked state.

The way Miyoko reacts by throwing her frustrations onto him doesn't help either.

And so, after aimlessly running off in his last unsuccessful attempt to find his childhood home, the memory fades away with a somber note as his present self recalls the moment he finally stopped calling for his long gone father.

Now, one could argue that Natsume had his fear of thunder prior to his time with the Aois since we don't have much reference material to work with when concerning his short period of time with his father, and they could be right for all I know. It's common for children to be startled by loud noises and bright flashes since they just aren't quite accustomed to those loud noises and bright flashes being customary for weather disturbances. Natsume, who we know grew up to be pretty sensitive to the things that go on around him, may have been one of those children who felt apprehension anytime a bad storm rolled in, and his father may have been the one to quell his fears back then. So, if we go with the conclusion that his fear didn't originate here, then this scene likely could've aggravated it. But I'm personally leaning a bit more towards the concept of this being the cause of it (partly due to how appealing that conclusion is to the obsessive part of my brain).

His initial reaction to the thunder is seemingly one of surprise rather than fear, and his behavior suggests that he's more concerned with making it back down the mountain before the thunder halts his progress. Although he's seen trying to talk himself down and fails to do so with how relentless the thunderstorm is proving to be, he doesn't need to have preexisting fears or anxieties over thunder to resort to calming himself down.

The dialogue differences strike me as something to consider too, but they're likely irrelevant.

Setting aside everything I just ranted about in the above paragraph, I should specify that I'm not simply pointing to the storm scene as the singular root cause for his future woes. Many psychological problems often aren't so black and white that someone can definitively point to one person or thing as the sole reason for the existence of their psychological problems. And phobias obviously don't always develop as a result of going through or observing a traumatic event; people can grow to fear or strongly dislike something merely by its association with an unpleasant memory or stressful situation. I know I'm starting to stretch hard rn, and this part of the post is getting awfully wordy, just hear me out—

Going back to that aforementioned short period of time with his dad, it's plain to see just how innocent of a time that was for Natsume. He was playful and affectionate with his dad like many children growing up in a healthy environment would be at that age. He doesn't even appear to have an awareness of youkai (if so, only slight enough for it to not become a problem for him just yet). We're shown later on that he would commonly draw around the house too, as evidenced by the nearly two decade old pieces of artwork his father never removed from the kitchen area and closet.

Natsume even proceeds to make a comment about this childhood version of himself likely being the mischievous type for him to run around drawing on surfaces without a care in the world.

He undeniably had his own troubles at that stage of his life though, with one of those troubles being his mom and the empty spot left behind by her passing away. Apart from his heartwarming portrait of a family with both parents, he's also shown lamenting to Miyoko after the death of his dad about not being able to remember his mom. We've seen with those two examples that her absence indeed left an impact on him early on in his life, but he doesn't stay too broken up over her considering how little he got to bond with her, and he doesn't openly despair about the loss of his dad until his growing sense of loneliness and longing becomes too much for him to smooth over.

The point I'm trying (and admittedly struggling) to make here is that after moving in with Miyoko and her parents, the worries on Natsume's plate increased tenfold and weighed him down far more than he was willing to accept at first. Suddenly, this kid had little to smile about in life, taking a glance at his only picture of his parents causes grief and envy to flare up in his chest, he's afraid of being a burden to those who took him under his wing, he's eating less than Miyoko because he's concerned with coming off as too greedy, he feels responsible for Miyoko getting picked on because of his relation to her, he's still learning the way back to the Aoi family's home, and now he's surrounded by all of these weird creatures that apparently no one else can see.

Suddenly, he's no longer that carefree toddler we saw sitting on his dad's lap as the two of them watched over his late mom's garden.

I feel moderately certain about Natsume's experience with the storm, coupled with this pivotal and devastating shift in his life, being the plausible cause for him developing his irrational fear of thunder as a child.

After this arc, we aren't greeted with another scene featuring or centered on his astraphobia until chapter 85 (which doesn't appear to be adapted in S7 judging from the PV😭), and it focuses on Natsume, Tanuma and Taki viewing a limited exhibition at an old inn that has a deep history with youkai. Not too long after the owner engages in conversation with Taki, Natsume and Tanuma briefly comment on how peaceful the inn is making the both of them feel, and a sudden lightning strike cuts through the tranquility of the inn.

It catches everyone off guard and, unsurprisingly, has Natsume frozen in place as Tanuma asks him and Taki if they're alright.

Much like Nyanko-sensei's first time mentioning Natsume's fear, the moment doesn't last long as the gang soon realizes they'll have to spend the night at the inn while they wait for the sudden storm to pass.

By this point in the manga though, Midorikawa has evidently decided to make Natsume's astraphobia a recurring element of the sorts. She could've easily left his astraphobia as another facet of his that we get to see once or twice and never again since it's not serviceable to the story as a whole, but she's started using his phobia as an additional means of displaying his discomfort in any given situation. Having a thunderstorm suddenly appear during a moment of serenity, immediately after Natsume tells Tanuma the place is making him feel strangely good, was a brilliant move of jarring him. And it works especially well here as a sign of the looming threat that'll find its way into the inn over night and slowly creep upon the group the longer they remain there.

Midorikawa pulls this same stunt again to slightly greater effect in chapter 117, where Natsume, Tanuma and Nyanko-sensei happen upon the Kisaragi Manor and find themselves taking part in a ritual for summoning youkai.

It starts with the trio meeting up in the evening to view the bamboo lanterns, but a woman claiming to be in search of a mansion requests their help to find it before it gets too dark, as well as to avoid getting caught in a downpour should the drizzle grow heavier. While Tanuma shows interest in the ritual, and the people they meet are treating them somewhat cordially, Natsume is disconcerted by the arrangement they've found themselves in. He's surrounded by five women he's never met in his life, is once again in an unfamiliar place that feels weird in Nyanko-sensei's own words, and is thrown for a loop by everyone's enthusiasm with the idea of meeting youkai rather than being put off by them.

The group isn't even a minute into their summoning ritual when a huge boom of thunder shakes the room and causes a power outage, sending them into a brief stint of darkness until Hitomi relights the candle.

While waiting for the candle though, Natsume answers Tanuma's question by for once admitting that he's bothered by thunder, leading to Nyanko-sensei characteristically picking on his phobia by calling him a chicken.

Again, the moment is subtle and restricted to one corner of the page, but it sticks the landing. Instead of using the lightning or thunder as a sign of things to come as she's done before, Midorikawa uses them here as an integrant of an already somewhat concerning scene slowly veering towards being disturbing. In addition to selling just how uncomfortable of a situation this is for Natsume, it also depicts how far along he is in his friendship with Tanuma to be honest about an irrational fear we know he'd rather not speak of.

Alas, chapter 117 was our last time seeing thunder scare Natsume, at least until the next time Midorikawa chooses to use his fear to her advantage, unless the anime miraculously surprises us with its own original take as we've seen it isn't afraid to do. What we've been given so far though is plentiful in comparison to many other plot points or quirks that get reused or called back to far less than this one. I won't throw a tantrum if his never gets referenced to or utilized again (which I doubt will happen knowing Midorikawa's writing), but I eagerly anticipate seeing it again should it reappear.

It's captivating to watch this minor detail frequently make it's way back into the story somehow, to the point that it eventually cemented itself as a miniscule yet effective way of shedding different shades of light on the many complexities of Natsume.

81 notes · View notes

stormz369 · 1 day ago

Text

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 30

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, NSFW, MDNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: Talia is ... not a great mom. Luckily Reader is! Fluff, some hurt/comfort, some big emotions and intense conversations, more fluff, and holiday themed Wayne family shenanigans!

wc: 4.2k

Chapter Selection

“I don't fully understand what you've done to make that girl so loyal to you, but it is impressive. Well done, Damian.”

Damian breathed slowly, forcing a calm, emotionless exterior. “Mother?”

“The girl who tried to tell me she was ‘just doing Jason a favor by doing his father a favor’ by being your emergency contact at school.” Talia smirked. “Someone obviously warned her about me, and yet she was willing to lie to my face for you. It was almost believable too. Almost.”

Damian stayed very still, hands held behind his back, posture perfect, face blank. Talia observed him, frowning slightly. “What is not at all believable … is you pretending you don't care about her too.”

He clenched his jaw, tilting his head ever so slightly; “... I don't know wha-”

“Don't lie to me, Damian. This girl means something to you. What?”

He slowly met his mother's firm gaze; “... She's Todd's girlfriend. She has a bigger heart than is good for her; she is no threat to anyone.”

Talia raised an eyebrow, “... And what is she to you?”

“... She is kind.”

Talia frowned a bit, leaning forward to examine his face for any hint of his true feelings. Moments passed before she pulled back to her full height, a dissatisfied look on her face. “... Be wary of that girl, Damian. Kindness is the wrapping, but what you will actually receive is weakness. … I will allow you to stay, but this is the final straw. Your strange affection for those animals was one thing, but this… If you still wish to live here, you must get yourself under control before I am forced to bring you home for retraining.”

“I understand. I will not disappoint you, Mother.”

She nodded once, looking him over again. “... Bruce is treating you well?”

“Father is good to me.”

“And the others?”

“... They have accepted me as family. … They are also kind.”

She nodded. “... Very well. The League is watching you, Damian.”

He nodded once before she turned to leave. “... Goodbye, Mother.”

Talia finally left Gotham, and Jason and I prepared for Thanksgiving at the manor. Jason's Thanksgiving traditions started the day before, so on Wednesday afternoon we headed over. Alfred invited us in, hugging Jason tightly. We tossed our overnight bags in his room, and Jason led me down toward the kitchen. I brought down two large tupperwares full of ma'amoul cookies I had made for everyone.

Alfred was standing by the counter, mixing something, and Jason and I washed our hands. He took a seat at a large table where there were some washed vegetables. I sat beside him, and he grinned; “ever since my first Thanksgiving at the manor, I've helped Alfred with some of the holiday meal prep work. Mostly cutting veggies and stuff.”

“Cute~” I chuckled, kissing his cheek. “Can I help?”

“If you'd like, but if you want to just sit with me, you can do that too.” He smiled softly.

“I'd like to help. I hate to feel like a mooch.”

Alfred chuckled, bringing over another cutting board and knife. “You could never be a ‘mooch’, dear girl. You are our guest.”

“Thank you, Alfred, but still. If my mother heard I was invited over for the holidays and didn't help with something she'd be incredibly cross with me.”

He chuckled, nodding once. “Very well then. Master Jason knows what needs to be done.”

I nodded, and Jason offered me the bowl of potatoes. “You wanna peel and cube potatoes?”

“Works for me!” I got started, and moments later Dick, Tim, and Cass peered into the kitchen. “... Hi guys?”

Tim frowned, stepping forward and circling me. He seemed to be examining me for something. “... Look at me.”

I frowned, but turned to look at his face. He peered into my eyes, frowning deeply. “... What?”

“... Well, she doesn't appear to be possessed, and she's definitely not a zombie.” He turned to the others.

“What?? What's going on?”

Jason frowned deeply, giving Tim a pointed stare; “explain.”

Dick piped up; “did you really manage to lie to Damian's mother?”

“... I mean, I survived.” I shrugged.

“And she believed your lies?”

“No, she did not.” Damian piped up, entering the kitchen. He pushed a chair close to mine and sat down; “however, she said it was almost believable.”

I froze, clenching my jaw. Fuck. What had I done? “... I- is she taking you away? Jason said she might…”

Damian shook his head, hesitantly squeezing my wrist. “She said I can stay, for now.”

I slowly released my breath, dropping my potato and peeler. My hands were shaking, and my vision blurred. I rested my elbows on the table and pressed my palms to my forehead, trying desperately to calm down.

“… Good…” I barely heard the strained, sharp approximation of the word that I managed to force out. My pulse was thrumming in my ears, and I could feel my heart beating much too fast. My face was hot and wet, and my breathing was strained.

Tim cleared his throat awkwardly; “... H- hey, it's ok. She's gone now.”

Jason gently rubbed my back, and I felt Damian shift closer. “... Sister? … Why are you crying?”

I kept trying to control my breathing; “... I … I just can't lose ya, kiddo … i- if she took you away because of me, … I don't know what I'd do…”

A gentle hand pressed between my shoulder blades, and Alfred leaned over me, setting a cup of tea in front of me, along with a soft white hankie. “Breath, Miss. … Miss Talia did not take Master Damian. We will never allow her to take him against his will.”

I slowly nodded and he rubbed my back a few times before stepping away. I shakily reached down for the cup. Dick and Tim awkwardly smiled at me.

“Yeah, what Alfred said.” Tim nodded.

“Yeah, finders keepers - Damian's our problem now, she doesn't get to take him back.” Dick chuckled.

I carefully sipped my tea, smiling weakly. I didn't know how he knew, but Alfred made it exactly how I liked it. Once I set the cup down, Damian took my hand, squeezing tight. I turned toward him, a bit surprised by the determined look in his eyes. “I will never leave you, Sister. I promise... Not unless you tell me to go.”

I sniffled softly and nodded. “I will never send you away, baby brother.”

Before I could open my arms to offer a hug, he leaned in to take one. Dick and Tim stilled, staring like toddlers at the zoo as I wrapped my arms around him and kissed the top of his head.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Tim fumble with his jeans pocket, trying to covertly get his phone.

“Do it and I end you, Drake.” Damian growled softly.

I giggled, stroking his back gently. He pulled back and I reluctantly released him. I saw the boys shift toward the doorway, and I looked over. Bruce smiled awkwardly, and I hesitantly smiled back.

“B, tell me you saw that.” Dick pleaded softly. Bruce nodded once.

Damian scowled, pushing his chair back a bit. I chuckled softly, going to the sink to wash my hands again. “Don’t make a big deal, Dick.”

“But it is a big deal! I mean … seriously, Damian, where did that come from?”

Damian shoved past them to escape the kitchen and his brothers’ questions as I returned to the table, peeling the potatoes in front of me. “And that is exactly why he doesn't usually do that. So, once again, please, don't make a big deal.”

Dick sputtered a bit more as Alfred ushered them all out of the kitchen. As the man headed into the pantry, Jason leaned over to kiss my shoulder; “good job, mama~”

I blushed a bit, hushing him softly. “Jay!”

“What? Damian can't hear me. And you've made it very obvious, you care more about him than his actual mother. I know he insists you're ‘Sister’, but that's just because he knows his mom would lose her mind over being replaced.” He smirked a bit, whispering; “you and I both know, whether we call it that or not, you're being his mama. And you're doing a damn good job of it too.”

I blushed more, smiling into my chest. “... How so?”

“Last time Talia came to check on him, he was withdrawn and broody for a month after. This time she's been gone for a day and he's already socializing with the family. That's all you, ma.”

I smiled softly, finishing cubing the potatoes. “... You're a sweetheart, Jay. But you shouldn't give me credit for his progress. He does the work, he fights for it tooth and nail, I just provide a safe space. Just like I do for you.” I leaned in to kiss him gently; “you both work so hard to heal from your pasts; to be better and do better…”

His cheeks and ears turned pink as he leaned in, whispering; “you make it possible.”

I dried my hands and cupped his cheeks, whispering back; “you do the work. I just make sure you're safe and taken care of while you do it. It is so much easier to sit in your trauma and just accept that that's how things are now. Fighting your demons is painful, and complicated, and incredibly brave. You are fighting an enemy that doesn't tire, doesn't fall back to regroup, doesn't even die. And yet you have pushed them back. You’ve told your demons that they do not own the territory of your mind, you do. You've made remarkable progress, and you should be proud of yourself. Don't ever give away the credit for your victories; they are yours, you earned them. I'm just here to support you in the fight.”

He blinked a bit, hugging me tightly. “... Damn, baby girl. … Ok.”

I smiled softly, tilting his head up to kiss him gently. He sighed happily, kissing back. A moment later, Alfred cleared his throat from behind us.

Jason jumped back, blushing bright red as Alfred spoke in an intentionally calm, measured voice; “if you two are done with those vegetables, I believe the others are starting a movie in the family room.”

Jason cleared his throat, nodding. “Y- yeah, thanks Alfred.”

We brought the veggies over and Alfred offered Jason a bowl of popcorn. He gently gripped my elbow, gesturing for Jay to go, before offering me a small piece of paper. “My mobile phone number, Miss.”

I blinked a bit, taking it. “Oh… thanks. … Why?”

He chuckled; “you said it yourself, Miss. You are here to support them. … Young Miss Barbara and I have been the only members of the support team for quite a while; it will be nice to have a third teammate to work with.”

I smiled softly. “I see. Then I look forward to working with you, Alfred.”

He nodded, offering me a large bowl of popcorn. “Master Bruce mentioned you'll be providing medical care.”

I nodded, gathering the cookies I'd brought before taking the bowl. “That's right, once I have the necessary training.”

“... It is a big job, taking care of the Waynes.”

“It’s not a job to me, Alfred, it’s just love. … The trick is loving people the way they need to be loved. The way they’ll accept love. Jason is … so brave, and kind. He’s good to everyone but himself. He needs someone to be good to him. Someone to tend to his wounds, to chase away the nightmares, and be a safe port in the storm. I can do those things for him. Damian needs space to be a child. Someone he can trust to take care of the responsibilities, and just let him experience being young. And I can do that for him. … It’s not a job to love them, it’s my greatest pleasure. And it’s an honor to be someone they trust, especially when they have been punished so harshly for their trust in the past…”

He smiled warmly, nodding. “Exactly, dear girl. Love is not a mere emotion, or empty words. It is action, and loving the Waynes, loving them well, … it takes a certain fortitude. Fortitude I believe you have.”

“Thank you, Alfred. … I won't let you down.”

“Oh, you mustn't do this for me, Miss. There must be something inside you calling you to serve.”

I chuckled softly; “not to worry, there is. Obviously I love Jason and Damian very much, and the others, … they've all been such good friends to me. I was taught to take care of my friends. … The world is not always the beautiful, bright place we were promised as children. But I know how to make candles. And if my candles aren't enough to push back the darkness, I can make more. If there still aren't enough candles, I will build a bonfire. And if that’s not enough, if the darkness presses in anyway, … I will lasso the sun if I must.”

Alfred smiled at that. “... I believe you would, Miss. … Go now, enjoy the movie.”

I nodded, smiling softly. “Thank you, Alfred.”

I headed to the family room, taking a seat on the couch between my boys. Damian stared at the tupperwares in my hands intensely. “... What did you bring?”

I chuckled, offering him one of them before setting the other on the table. “This one is just for you, and the other is for everyone to share.”

He slowly opened the tupperware, grinning. “... You … made ma'amoul?”

“You said your mother used to make them for you during the holidays. Your holiday traditions are just as important as the rest of ours.”

He held the tupperware to his chest and leaned against me for a moment, mumbling; “... Thank you, Sister.”

I smiled softly, running my fingers through his hair. “You're very welcome, baby.”

I was woken in the morning to Dick playfully pounding on Jason's door with both fists and singing; “Waaakeyyyy waaakeyyyy! You two better not be nakeyyyyy!”

Jason groaned, grasping blindly at his bedside table. He got ahold of his alarm clock and threw it. Dick cried out, startled, at the noise of it crashing against the door, making me giggle softly. Jay's arms pulled my back against his chest as he grumbled softly; “... Fuckin’ Dick …”

“... Hm ... Think his parents named him that on purpose?”

After a moment of silence, Jason snorted softly, burying his face into my neck. “Dork …. Ughhh, ’s too early… wha' time is it even?”

I chuckled, grabbing my phone to check the time. “... 9am.”

He growled, pulling me closer. “... Mh. … Much too early.”

A soft knock on the door drew a more aggressive growl out of him. I laughed, calling out; “yeaaah?”

“Dick was supposed to get you for breakfast.” Duke called through the door.

“Thanks Duke, we'll be down soon. Start without us, ok?”

“Kay.”

I slowly turned over to face Jason. He sighed, opening one eye. “... Now that's not fair.”

“What?” I frowned.

“You got startled awake just like I did, but you’re already fully recovered and you look like a goddess. Meanwhile I look and feel half-dead.”

I giggled, running my fingers through his hair. “Aw, but you look cute all sleepy like this~”

He grunted softly, blinking slowly. “Oh do I?”

“Very cute. Plus, your voice sounds extra amazing in the mornings~ that's truly unfair.”

He smirked softly, kissing my forehead. “Mh~ ... Let's blow off breakfast. Just stay in bed and cuddle all day.”

I chuckled, stroking down his chest. “But I'm hungry … plus, you know Dick or Steph will come knocking if we're not down there soon.”

He sighed, stroking my hip. “... Yeah … ok, fine.”

We slowly disentangled, getting dressed for the day. Jason had told me family holidays were always a casual-clothes affair at Wayne Manor, thank goodness, so we ended up at breakfast surrounded by sweatpants, joggers, and pj's.

Dick grinned, already done with his food by the time we came down, and watched us eat. I blinked a bit; “... Dick?”

“Hm?”

“... Ya good?”

“No, I'm not good. You aren't eating.” He frowned.

“You're staring.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “He wants to start on the tree, but we don't start the tree until everyone's had breakfast.”

“... I see. Well, stop staring and I'll eat.” Dick sighed, his leg bouncing uncontrollably.

We all finished breakfast, and Dick practically herded the group to the family room. I looked around, frowning a bit. “... Is Bruce not joining us?”

“Ah, he's in the cave…. Bruce doesn't do much on holidays. Especially Christmas, so … he doesn't do this part of Thanksgiving.” Tim smiled weakly.

“... Why?”

“... He misses his parents.”

“Oh. … Well that's super sad.” I frowned.

Dick shrugged. “It is what it is. He'll be up for dinner though.”

I nodded slowly. Dick made us all sit in a semi-circle on the floor around a large pine tree. The tree had been set up at some point in the night after our movie, and I hoped Alfred hadn't been made to lug it in on his own.

“Now,” Dick grinned, surrounded by plastic tubs; “as most of you know, there will be other trees in the ballroom and foyer, for the Christmas gala. But, the family room is our room, and as such, this is our tree. Where the other trees will be elegant, themed decorations, fit for the public eye, this tree, our tree, will be the gaudiest, ugliest, least public-appropriate Christmas tree in all of Gotham! As Bat-family tradition, the youngest present family member will provide the first ornament on the chopping block.”

Damian rolled his eyes affectionately, standing. He approached a tub and removed the lid, selecting a cardboard and construction paper star. It had clearly been a child's craft project; the points were uneven, the glitter was half gone, and there was a small photo of Batman and one of the Robin's in the center. “I present the ugliest ornament in the Wayne Family Collection; made as a present to Father by one Jason Peter Todd for his first Christmas at the manor, age 12.”

There was a round of applause as Damian put the ornament on the tree and Jason bowed dramatically. I giggled, watching everyone take turns presenting their bid for the ugliest ornament in the collection. There were some truly hideous options, and a few I wasn't sure were meant to be kept past the Christmas they were made for. Finally, Dick gestured for me to stand.

“Now, as this is your first Christmas with our family, tradition dictates that you act as our judge.”

“Judge?”

“If you would.” He gestured to the tree. “Which decoration is the absolute worst in the Wayne family collection?”

I looked them over, chuckling softly. “... This is a no hurt feelings contest?” Everyone agreed. “And what does the winner get?”

“Bragging rights, and the offending item is finally thrown away.”

I chuckled again. “I see … ok, well … this ceramic mouse has incredibly unsettling eyes …” Tim pumped his fist. “Buuut, the name of the game is ‘ugliest’, not ‘unsettling’, so … I think I will give it to Cass.”

I pointed to the popcorn garland Cass had put up. What little popcorn remained was mostly flattened, and had been spray painted white and yellow, creating a poor illusion of fresh buttered popcorn. Cass smirked, bowing while the others groaned and clapped.

“Thank you for your service to our family, Judge.” Dick shook my hand, grinning. He ripped the ‘garland’ off the tree, dramatically handing it off to Cass who threw it in the trash. “I hereby declare this tree ready to decorate!”

We spent the afternoon eating snacks, watching seasonal movies, and taking turns adding ornaments, lights, and other decorations to the tree. Periodically Dick went up and rearranged things, he was apparently unusually particular about ornament placement. By the time we were done, it had the strangest assortment of decorations I had ever seen. Craft projects, tinsel, lights, vintage, modern, every color and theme imaginable, it was all there! It was everything Dick's speech had promised; ugly, gaudy, and not at all something the public would expect to see at Wayne Manor.

Once our movie was done, Dick called us all back to the tree. He made a few more adjustments, circling it slowly. “Well done, team! This is by far the ugliest tree we've ever done! You should all be proud of yourselves for your efforts. … But, it's not complete just yet.”

He pulled out a selection of velvet boxes and opened the first one. “Let's see … looks like Duke is first this year!”

Duke grinned and took the box, popping out a glass sphere ornament, about the size of his fist. It had a pearlescent finish, and his name painted on it in black in an elegant cursive font. He found a spot for it -one of the spots Dick had so carefully constructed during his ornament rearranging all afternoon- and sat back down. Dick opened the next box, and Stephanie was called up to put an identical ornament, this one adorned with her name, on the tree. One by one everyone put up an ornament with their name on it, until there were four boxes left.

“As we all know, Babs is with her dad today. She will add her ornament when she visits tomorrow. Alfred will be in after dinner to add his, and Bruce will come in when he's feeling up to it. … So, that just leaves…” he held a box out to Jason; this one was adorned with a red bow.

I tilted my head, curious. Jason had already put up his ornament. He turned to me, beaming, and offered me the box. “This one is for you, my love.”

I blushed bright red, slowly taking it from his hand. I popped it open, and there it was; an ornament, identical to all theirs, with my name painted in a swirling cursive font.

“I … I don't know what to say …” I blinked, trying desperately not to tear up.

Tim chortled; “oh no, we broke her!”

Damian shushed him, scooting closer. “You don't have to say anything, Sister. Just put your ornament on the tree.”

I chuckled softly, carefully removing it from its box, and stood. Dick helped me find an empty spot for it, and I delicately hung my ornament. He grinned, offering me a tight hug. “Welcome to the family, little sister.”

I got a glass of water before heading up to bed. Dinner had been incredible, we'd played some games, and the house was finally settling in for the night. I put my glass in the sink and made my way up the stairs, going down one hallway and then another, slowly making my way toward Jason's room.

“Father?” I heard Damian’s soft voice around the corner.

“Yes?”

“... Do you know any lullabies?” I could barely hear the whispered words.

“Of course?….”

“... Ok.” After a brief silence, Damian walked briskly past me, staring at the floor in front of him. Bruce turned the corner and watched him go, a confused look on his face. We made eye contact and I hesitantly smiled.

“... Bruce, can I ask you something?” Damian’s door snapped shut at the other end of the hall.

He sighed; “... yes?”

“What did Damian just ask you?”

“If I know any lullabies.”

I shook my head; “those are the words he used, but … that’s not what he was asking.”

“Fine, why don’t you tell me then, since you’re so smart? What was my son asking?” He snapped.

I bit back the sharp retort on the tip of my tongue. This was for Damian, I had to be gentle; “... As I’m sure you know, Damian struggles to request things. He’d rather die than suffer the humiliation of asking for something he desperately wants if there’s any chance he’ll be denied. Most especially when he views his desires as childish, or inappropriate. It’s much easier for him to ask a question that is designed to guide you to make an offer. … So, when he asked if you knew any lullabies …” I trailed off, hoping to let Bruce fill in the blanks.

He frowned deeply; “... he wanted me to offer to sing one?”

I nodded, smiling softly. “Exactly.”

“... He’s fourteen…”

“When he was a baby, his mother taught him to kill. She gave him no chance to be a child. Now, here, he is allowed to be whatever he wishes. It is perfectly rational, healthy even, for him to seek the childhood experiences he didn’t get at the traditional ages. And seeking them from you implies that he views you as a safe person to be vulnerable with.” His shoulders fell as he sighed. He looked so defeated. “… It’s not too late Bruce, why don’t you go prove him right?”

I smiled softly, looking up at him. He seemed so unsure of himself; like a new father worried about holding his baby wrong. “You’re welcome. … Go take care of your son.”

Bruce blinked a bit and nodded, rushing toward Damian's room. He stopped beside me to mutter; “... Thank you.”

He smiled a bit and went to knock gently on Damian’s door. I continued down the hall to Jason’s room, knocking before I slipped inside.

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Taglist (open):

@jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona @mystic60 @iwannabealocalcryptid @morstuavitamea-a @frosty--giants @arisa191 @prized-jules @phoenix666stuff @dinonuggysandhuggus @anuttellaa @whore-of-many-hot-men @cottage-worm @v1ckycheesue @roastyyytoastyyy @sarakmec @thestarcatcher7297 @stupidlyunhinged @mishkapi @mermaidgirl-11

#fanfic #fanfiction #jason todd #dc fanfic #dc #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #first person pov #wayne family adventures #no y/n #chubby reader #multi chapter fic #Can I Get Your Number?

117 notes · View notes

gallusrostromegalus · 2 days ago

Note

Ulquiorra Cifer didn't think about Tousen much at all until he was out on the roof of Las Noches, practicing his second release, and meets the man, sitting alone with his face pointed up at the sky, and he asks Ulquiorra the most peculiar question:

"Are there any stars tonight?"

This was a peculiar question on several fronts:

This sounded like an invitation to engage in a social conversation, a bewildering activity under the best of circumstances, but particularly-

-with the shinigami Lords, and especially Lord Tousen who kept the same social schedule as a reclusive mountain hermit and was always extremely businesslike with a disregard for levity that Ulquiorra thought was refreshingly professional, so

-to hear him ask about the presence of stars was distressing in both that Ulquiorra hoped the man wasn't about to reveal a heretofore unseen saccharine side, and-

-worse, Ulquiorra wasn't actually sure about the existential quality of stars in general.

The arrancar became aware that he was running out of the socially acceptable time frame in which to respond to an Inquiry, and in his haste to avoid causing offense to his commanding officer, slipped up and answered honestly.

"...I don't know."

Tousen frowned, confused. "... you don't know?"

"No Lo- Mr. Tousen." Ulquiorra corrected himself, remembering the myriad corrections other Arrancar received. Perhaps this would divert the flow of this interaction.

"... what's stopping you from knowing?" Tousen asked, head slowly tipping sideways, intently listening at Ulquiorra.

The Arrancar was silent for a long time, glaring up at the sky.

"Mr. Cif-?" Tousen started to ask.

"I can see several thousand points of light in the night sky whose static position indicates but does not exclusively confirm that they are very large lights and extreme distance away." He started. "Many of these lights are recognizable from one night to the next, by consistent color, position and movement."

"Well, that certainly sounds like stars." Tousen nodded. "...so what makes you unsure?"

Ulquiorra was silent again for a long time, but the shinigami waited patiently.

"...My eyes are unusual."

He then failed to elaborate.

Tousen made a small waving gesture to encourage him.

"When I first became aware as the being I am now, I could only see." Ulqiorra finally spoke. "My mask wasn't so much a mask as a cocoon that encased my entire body. I could see, and sometimes feel if something made a particularly strong impact with my body, but. If anyone ever spoke to or called for me, I would not have heard. I did not smell, I did not taste, I did not eat. I was... entirely alone, inside and out."

Tousen frowned sympathetically at him.

"It was wonderful." Ulquiorra sighed. "Everything was beautiful. Everything was clear. If I could see it, it was real. If I could not, it was not. Back then, the stars were real.

"Eventually, I came to the corpse of a giant tree, something more real than anything else had ever been and I... I tried to embrace it, this thing of such wonderfully indisputable existential nature- and it broke the mask encasing my body, and I became 'Ulquiorra' as I am now."

"So... since you became an arrancar, and your senses expanded, the stars don't seem real anymore?" Tousen tilted his head, puzzling.

"I- no. It's not the stars that have changed. It's the nature of what is and is not real." Ulquiorra muttered. "- and it wasn't breaking my mask that changed it. The nature of reality changed when I met Lord Aizen and the others and suddenly there are things that everyone acts like are real but there's no tangible or objective proof of them- like "Loyalty", or The So-Called Soul King Lord Aizen is so opposed to! They all talk about them like they're real observable things but there's nothing- Why are you laughing?"

"I'm sorry- You're so correct it's funny." Tousen apologized, trying to stifle the shaking of his shoulders.

"Why is my being right funny?" Ulquiorra grumbled, eyes narrowing.

"It's not that important. Tell me about the stars." He smiled, patting the roof beside him, indicating Ulquiorra should sit beside him.

With a resigned sigh, Ulquiorra sat down beside the Shinigami.

"Its frustrating to no end- I feel like I'm going mad sometimes when Lord Aizen goes on his monologues about the throne of heaven- I mean, he has a perfectly good chair right here, what does he want with one in another dimension?" Ulquiorra huffed.

"I'm not sure either!" Tousen bared his teeth in a way that only sort of resembled a grin. "As far as things that only sort of exist- You do know that just because something is intangible, or only exists as a social construct, that it's still real, right? For a given value of Real, at any rate."

Ulquiorra stared blankly at him. "What."

Tousen sighed deeply. "Just because a thing is only perceptible to some senses, doesn't mean it's not real. Our senses are quite limited really- only a narrow range of sounds are audible, we only have chemoreceptors for a handful of chemicals- even your eyes can only see a very narrow slice of the full spectrum of light."

Ulquiorra huffed. "I'm aware. But they're still demonstrably real- A hollow with the power of invisibility will eventually bite me. And if it doesn't, then what does it matter to me if it's real or not?"

"Perhaps you would like to know if the invisible hollow is real *before" it bites you?" Tousen asked, resting his cheek on his knuckles and listening at Ulquiorra with interest.

The Arrancar made a low rumbling noise and looked away but didn't disagree.

"The trick is that things that are not immediately perceptible can be inferred by the effect they have on the world around them." Tousen explained. "If nobody had ever told me about the moon, I might have lived in ignorance- it's not like I can hear or smell it, and it's too far to touch. But I might have deduced it's existence by the way it causes tides, and how it changes the behavior of animals with its phases."

"...Hm. Much to think about." Ulquiorra muttered, desperate to get out of this conversation, but didn't get up. They passed sometime in nearly companionable silence, Ulquiorra staring up at the stars.

"...You can't see the moon." Ulquiorra realized. "You're not effected by Aize-MPF!" Ulquiorra was suddenly tackled by Tousen, hands over the Arrancar 's mouth in an exceptionally dangerous maneuver- but something about the fear in his expression made Ulquiorra hesitant to bite his fingers off. The shinigami listened to the night around them, reiatsu unfurling like the wings of some great beast, before he slowly let go and sat back.

"-my apologies, but even discussing suigetsu is a dangerous business." Tousen sighed. "Trust me, I'd know." He laughed darkly.

"-but you'd know if someone else was under the effects of Suigetsu?" Ulquiorra demanded, sitting up and grabbing the shinigami's shoulders. "I- I know only some of us are- certainly Barragan, and I think Hallibel too- but Starrk isn't! I don't know why, but I heard Aizen telling him that he wanted Starrk to 'see me exactly as I am', whatever that means-"

"asshole." Tousen grunted, untangling himself from the Arrancar. "-not you, Aizen. You're worried he's gotten his hook- AUGH!" The shinigami yelped , falling back and clutching his shoulder.

Ulquiorra stared as Tousen struggled to sit up again, an uneasy feeling growing in him, like the hole in his chest was growing.

"I thought perhaps Aizen had left me alone so I could deliver reports to him with my eyes unaffected, but..." He watched Tousen, panting with pain. "...there's something else going on, isn't there?"

"I can't talk about it but- yes, I think I can help." Tousen nodded, starting to undo the buttons of his coat. "Have you ever seen my back before?"

"...No." Ulquiorra frowned.

"Good, good- try to imagine what you think it looks like. You don't have to say, just think about it until you have a firm concept." Tousen nodded. "Got it?"

"Yes." Ulquiorra said, bewildered, them even moreso when the shinigami turned his back to him and dropped his coat.

"Does my back look about how you expected, or different?" Tousen asked, voice strained with an emotion Ulquiorra couldn't quite identify.

"Different." Ulquiorra stared, the sickening sensation growing to almost intolerable levels at the sight of the mutilated flesh- nails pounded into Tousen's spine, characters hapazardly craved into his shoulders. "Very different."

"Then you are not under the influence of Suigetsu." Tousen sighed with relief, pulling his coat back on. "I can't talk about it but- there are hidden depths to Aizen's depravity."

"I see." Ulquiorra muttered, still not getting up. Despite having his question answered and Tousen unable to discuss it further, it somehow felt wrong to leave just yet.

Another wordless void between them, filled only with Tousen's pained panting and the incessant desert wind.

"There are many thousands of what I am now reasonably sure are stars out tonight." Said Ulquiorra and the barking noise Tousen made was somewhere between joy and agony.

"...Thank you, Ulquiorra." Tousen smiled weakly. "Thank you. You have no idea what that means to me."

"... would you like to hear the rest of the report, Sir?" Ulquiorra asked, unsure why, save for a peculiar notion that it was the correct thing to offer.

"Please?" Tousen asked, still pained.

"...there is a very large but non-discrete band of light and shadow spanning the sky from the northwest horizon to the southeast one. It is not quite directly overhead, but if it follows it's normal trajectory, it will pass over us in half an hour..."

AEIWAM Question: What do the various Espada Think of Tousen? Follow-up question, will they, the bunch of dumbasses that they are (because Aizen made them for loyalty, not thinking), declare him their unquestioned leader once Aizen, Gin and Urloquia fork off to see the cosmic taffy pull (also presuming that Barrigan winds up face down in a ditch per canon)?

Bless you for asking this, I needed something to chew on. I'm going to answer these one at a time because the post would be insanely long, and how the thought of him Before the Battle of Karakura Probably:

---

Aaroniero and Arruruerie are SURE they've met before, and that they owes the man a debt of gratitude.

It's possible, they suppose. They have consumed and absorbed the memories of so many hollows that maybe they remember the face from a hollow he killed.

At least, that's what they hope is going on.

But they have Nightmares. Not of being pursued by Shinigami but of being the Shinigami in hot pursuit. Dreams of walking through a city, surrounded by humans that adore them. Names and Faces- Rukia and her dipshit older brother, Jushiro with the nice couch they sometimes pass out on after long nights- if Jushiro's husband wasn't already there. ...Memories, of meeting each other, and falling in love. How it felt as natural to look up to her as it was to gaze at the moon. How waking up to him felt as natural as the dawn. Memories of being married by Captain Ukitake, after Tousen had done them the inexplicable favor of organizing the whole party and acquiring wedding rings. He loves organizing things for people. Ukitake had smiled. Especially weddings. I just hope it's not guilt from the one he didn't get to. His husband had frowned.

That's impossible, of course. They know who they are, how they arose from the vile muck in the shadowy pits of Hueco Mundo. They never stood in the sun one late afternoon, to marry, not with how it burns.

...and yet.

There's no harm in being polite, right? They don't mind locking Glottineria in it's scabbard with an audible click when he comes into the room, to affirm lack of hostilities. Or giving him the cup of tea Aizen gives everyone at his insufferable meetings afterwards- it's not like they can drink it! ...And if sometimes, when they've been working late in the lab studying the effects and causes of Hollowfication, when Tousen gets tired and starts to call them "Kaien" and "Miyako"-

-Well, what's the harm in answering in the voices he expects to hear?

#aeiwam #an elephant is warm and mushy #bleach #bleach fanfic #ulquiorra shiffer #kaname tosen #sorry this posted without the end for some reason #I think its fixed now #please say nice words

342 notes · View notes

yeonmuse · 3 days ago

Text

MINI SERIES | YANG JUNGWON

CAN YOU HEAR MY HEART?

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : Jungwon falls for an antisocial girl with a passion for music and a love for the stars.

GENRE, fluff, slow burn , smau

( 𝐁𝐚𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ) : I honestly have no idea where this came from I just thought of anti social Jungwon and Anti social reader coming together and this is where it got me

Next Part | Series Masterlist JOIN TAGLIST

Who is she?

Jungwon spent years perfecting his craft, spent years further building his experience and techniques with his cinematography skills. Since the age of nine he had always found delight in having held a camera in his hands, by the age of 16 he experienced his first movie that opened his eyes into the world that was cinematography girl interrupted, though the movie itself was gruesome and somber it was one which he favored for its overbearing cinematography, the color grading and timing of every scene pulled the audience in and forced them to feel everything that the protagonist herself had experienced. Age seventeen his parents gifted him a camera for his birthday, a camera which further sparked his love for film and cinema. He and his friends would find themselves making short films or every log of their lives, though it became even more serious for Jungwon when a short film made by the seven of them won their towns film festival and earned him a full ride scholarship into any university of his choice.

She didn’t like people, she never liked people because they made her far too nervous for a multitude of listed reasons. From the age of six to eight children always proved to be rude, mean and annoying. She’d simply want to make friends though the endless bullying and teasing pushed her further and further from that goal. She simply ghosted her way through the entirety of her middle school years until the time to attend high school had come, it was then that her view on people had only worsened, she sat in silence nearly every day having to observe the bullying, countless fights, the endless number of attention whores and line upon lines of men that simply wanted to get into the pants of her and the many other young women that attended the school. Simply put high school took the cake for the most hellish and torturous years of her school life.

The only ongoing thing in her life that helped her dissociate her way through were the stars she’d see from her window growing up, though as she grew older the stars stopped showing up and slowly faded from the sky, and by the time she turned sixteen it was as if they ceased to exist. Now here she is alone yet again, this time without her parents or younger siblings to fall back upon, as they had been hours, and states away.

A sigh spilled past her lips as her gaze scans the campus of her new home for the next four years. She gave a silent prayer that things here would be different from high school, that some were all older and much more mature, that things wouldn’t be the same. Boy did the lord completely disregard that prayer, because it was a near carbon copy, the only difference being more people knew how to mind their business.

Jungwon eyed her curiously from afar as she stood in the courtyard for what felt like hours just staring into the void. Hundreds of girls on campus and yet his eyes just so happen to fall upon her, her who felt the moment anyone’s eyes fell upon her in classes, her who wouldn’t even want anything to do with him nor anyone else on campus.

It would continue on like that for months on end, Jungwons eyes somehow finding her amidst the overwhelming crowd of others, like a magnet of attraction they always found her. Whenever he’d look at her her head always seemed to be lost within the clouds, she always seemed so distant and distracted. Everywhere she went she wore those headphones and kept her head down as if she wanted to go unseen, but he saw her he always saw her.

Jungwon was someone that had never found interest in anyone other than himself or the same six friends he had known for the last seven years. Needless to say they themselves forced themself into his life but they had always been there ever since and he never felt like he needed anyone else. He never yearned for love nor for his heart to fiend for anyone. He had never desired sex, or the touch or kiss of another because he felt it to be impractical. Growing up he always had eyes on him, though it was attention that by him always went unwanted, but for some reason, here and now he finally experienced what it was like to yearn for someone's attention, for someone's gaze to fall upon him.

For 2 months he continued on this way, hoping that she would one day look his way but she never did. It frustrated him, so much so that he couldn’t even focus on his film making, he of all people? Any time he’d try to focus he wondered what it would be like to talk to her, what did her voice sound like? What was it like to see her smile? What kind of music did she listen to? He’d thought about asking around campus and endless amount of times but he never built the courage, he told himself that this was just a passing phase, that it was simply his mind yearning for some sort of muse, but it did nothing to lessen the ongoing fever of her that lingered every time she walked by.

Then one day, she walked into the library while he had been working on a project with his art study group and he took the chance to slip away without anyone noticing. His eyes curiously drank her in as she piled books into her arms.

She noticed him staring, she always noticed him staring, but what was she to say to him? She dreaded talking to people, dreaded talking to guys even more. With unspoken words she finally turns to face him and as her eyes meet Jungwons something within them sparks a flame. Realizing she had finally been looking at him, that he now fully had her attention his eyes widened almost instantaneously.

“Um.” What was he thinking? He didn’t even know what to say to her. “Hey so I’ve been watching you all this time because for some reason you interested me and I find you pretty? Will you do a film with me?”

“Jungwon, what are you doing? We need to hurry and finish this before tomorrow.” His unspoken words had gone interrupted as his given group called him back to his place at the camera. Jungwon mentally cursed, not knowing if this was an opportunity that he would get again.

“Jungwon..” his name melted on her tongue like cotton candy, her soft voice breaking the silence as she stood alone yet again. Though for some reason she felt slight disappointment.

Weeks had passed since Jungwon saw her again, he had gotten a taste of what it was like to have her look at him, to have her eyes on him and he yearned for it. So when given the opportunity he would force himself to talk to her, even if he didn’t know what to say.

Every day he’d find himself trudging through the aisles of the library, hoping to see her and eventually he did.

“Hi, I'm here to return my books.” That was the first time he heard her voice, a voice that made his ears melt, a voice that he wanted, no he needed to hear more of. If anyone were to view things from the outside they’d think him to be crazy, even he thought he was crazy, obsessing over some girl he had never even had the courage to approach until now. He didn’t understand why she had such a pull on him, and as much as he tried to dismiss the curious feeling and aching instinct to be close to her he couldn’t. Without thinking he pulled a random book from the shelf and stepped beside her at the opposing checkout.

“Oh Jungwon, are you checking out more books for your project? I thought you guys finished up yesterday?”

“Yeah we did, but you know I can never seem to stop the ideas from flowing.” Jungwon felt butterflies burn the pit of his stomach as he felt it again, her eyes on him.

For a moment her eyes did fall upon him, she was curious, curious as to who he was, what he and the other students had been doing in the library yesterday. Why did he approach her yesterday?

“Oh yn, have you met Jungwon?” Chaewon the library assistant seemed to notice her curious gaze and decided to break the overbearing tension that seemed to be pouring from the both of them.

“You’re always in here so maybe you saw him yesterday, he’s a film major, they’ve actually been looking for someone to help with choosing scores and soundtracks for one of their bigger projects, maybe you can help them since you’re good with music?” Her eyes widened and she glanced back and forth between her and Jungwon. At that moment she prayed that the ground would swallow her whole. She gave Chaewon a pleading look as if to ask her not to say another word but chaewon simply returned her look with a look of confusion.

Chaewon was the only thing close to a friend that yn had, ever since she started frequenting the library the girl had always been there. No matter how many times yn had tried to mind her business and avoid conversation Chaewon never stopped trying. Slowly but surely the girl found herself opening herself up a bit more to Chaewon.

“Do you really? We’ve been trying to find someone in the music department for months now that can match the vibe of the film and we’ve had no luck, if it's not a problem we could really use your help.” She hates the way he looks at her, expectantly, his soft eyes so full of hope that she might say yes. She felt her heartbeat quicken and her temperature rise as she froze on the spot. She always avoided people but now she had no way of avoiding the conversation at hand.

“Maybe?” That was enough, Jungwon didn’t need to hear anything else.

“Here's my number, if you do decide that you’d like to give it a try then you can text me? I’m always in the film room really late but I can swing by your dorm to get you if needed.” Hearing those words her soul completely left her body. Him? Come to her dorm.

“No! I mean- no it's okay i'll meet you in the courtyard? The big tree where the senior event planners usually sit?”

Chaewon couldn’t help but feel like she was missing something between the two of them but knowing yn she thought that maybe she was just feeling a little nervous or awkward talking to Jungwon. Both yn and Chaewon watch as Jungwon disappears from the library.

“He didn’t even sign for the book- ” Chaewon holds the book in her hand before looking down and reading the title.

“The kissing booth. Since when does he make romance films?” Chaewon shrugs and makes her way from behind the counter to put the book back in its rightful place, leaving the girl alone to drown in her thoughts.

The entire walk back to her dorm yn couldn’t stop overthinking and panicking. She couldn’t not show up because then she’d look like a bitch, but if she did agree to it then she would risk having to speak and be around groups of people which she completely dreaded.

Jungwon on the other hand couldn’t stop looking at his phone from the moment he had given her his number. If this were any other day he couldn’t care less about his phone. There had been many times heeseung would complain about his messages going unread or him having missed his calls since he was always working on some sort of project. Right here right now though, his eyes would shift to his phone every 5 minutes. An hour went by and he finally heard the ding of his cellphone. He blankly stared at his phone as he read the message sent by an unknown contact. What should he say?

Jungwon couldn’t help but chuckle at her panicked text, she was cute. He had gone from not even knowing her and not talking to her to wanting to only hear and see her talk. With a smile on his lips he responds to her panicked messages “meet me at the magnolia tree”

#enha #enha fics #enha au #enha smau #enha fanfic #enha fake texts #enha fanfiction #enha jungwon #yang jungwon #jungwon x reader #jungwon fanfic #enhypen jungwon #jungwon #enhypen fanfiction #enhyphen fanfic #enhyphen x reader #enhypen fic #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader

72 notes · View notes

lilacxquartz · 9 hours ago

Text

stuck halfway;

mr. gap x f!reader x mr. silvair

plot: while on the run from mr. scarletella, mr. gap helps you hide, but then you find yourself in quite the pickle with extra company to boot — themes: one shot, smut, p i v, oral, accidental f!reader, mmf/threesomes, dub con — w.c: 1.8k — a/n: mr. gap fans assemble, we’ve all had this thought haven’t we? dubcon warning as a precautionary measure but it is otherwise implied consensual, just the situation is a lil bit sus

masterlist • ao3

While on the run from a machete-wielding madman, you made a few turns down a long and winding corridor that spanned through the apartments in a maze-like labyrinth, and just up ahead, that tell-tale crimson glow threatened to meet you halfway through.

Your eyes locked onto the walls, desperately searching for an out, and just as luck would have it, you saw a big enough opening to easily fit your form. Mr. Gap predictably was already lurking in such murky depths ready to mess with you, only to be pushed off to the side, involuntarily sharing the darkness at your side instead.

Mr. Scarletella successfully strolled by, pausing in his tracks halfway through, only to continue moving forward once he determined that you were nowhere in sight. This left Mr. Gap to help you (begrudgingly) travel through the walls, maneuvering you around all sorts of nooks and crannies until finally, you ended up somewhere else entirely. While your relationship with the strange wall-dweller was rocky from the beginning, he had unintentionally become a lingering ghostly guardian of sorts, watching, observing, and ready to intervene whenever something sinister threatened to hurt you.

Yet, try as you did to leave the void, you barely managed to get halfway through, leaving one half of you still stuck in the walls, with the other half of you dangling on the other end. Your legs thrashed in frustration on Mr. Gap’s side as your palms on the other half pushed hard against the wall in an attempt to tear yourself out—yet the attempts seemed to be futile at best—leaving you properly stuck.

Mr. Gap tried his best to get you out of his territory with what felt like annoyed pushes against your form, his hands pressing hard against your thighs and digging into the soft skin that would do anything but budge. Beyond the barrier of the walls, you could just barely make out, “are you ####?” to which you could only assume was him asking if you were stuck.

With a reluctant call, you confirmed his suspicions with a “yes”, hoping that he would continue to try and force you out, but no matter how much he kneaded and pushed, he couldn’t quite get you to move forward even a single inch. Mr. Gap frustratedly then seemingly gave up, but then you started to feel as his annoyance turned into curiosity, his hands beginning to feel around your skin just below your dress, pushing it up and finding your—your—!

Feeling immediately flustered, you kicked your leg towards him in protest which succeeded for maybe a minute before you started to feel as he moved around you, locking you into such a position that meant you could no longer squirm around as much, returning his hands right back to where they were before.

You narrowed your eyes as you felt his fingertips delicately and almost gingerly, creep over towards your sex, touching up the sensitive skin that made up your lower body. Seeming curious about your reactions, his fingers traced lazy strokes around the area, perhaps finding it intriguing that your legs spasmed and twitched involuntarily.

You remained frozen all the while, furiously blushing on the other side as you soon succumbed to a flustered mess, and just as your luck would have it, your ears perked up at the sound of footsteps closing in.

“Please, please, please don’t let it be Mr. Scarletella,” you thought to yourself on a repeated mantra, whispering out the sentence like a desperate prayer.

Not noticing the red glow, you warily flicked your eyes up, only to be met with the tilt of Mr. Silvair’s curious head tilt. He branched out one hand, tweezing your chin with two fingers, lifting it up to study your overwhelmed state. The pads of his fingers ran across the rouge of your cheeks, as though studying you.

Seeming to form something in mind, he took the opportunity to prop your mouth open so that you met his gaze and then, with his other hand, he closed his fist, leaving two pointed fingers open before slipping the pair in between your lips, pushing them as far in as possible as if to determine just far he could reach before you would react.

All the while, Mr. Gap worked on exploring your other stuck half, building up a radiating wave of unexpected pleasure that coarse throughout your body. Mr. Silvair used your partially occupied state to idly coax you into complying with him, withdrawing his fingers from the space, prompting you to close your mouth in the process, yet not quite being allowed to do so.

He tapped your lips with his index finger, saying a mysterious word while gesturing at his own mouth, before opening it and revealing another new word. He repeated such a demonstration twice, communicating with you to keep your mouth open, not closed, appearing to be pleased when you complied.

Mr. Gap seemed to pause as you reached something that felt like it was close to your peak, but not quite, communicating through the muffled barriers of the separating walls to Mr. Silvair. Their conversation however was largely lost on your ears, as only certain snippets could be made out. It seemed like they were both agreeing on something…?

Pulling back a little, Mr. Silvair looked down at you again with his lips curled into a sly smile. He tilted your chin up to the angle it was in before, snapping his fingers right above you to keep your attention before fumbling with his tattered clothes, revealing his half-erect cock. With a wary eye, you observed as he took himself into his hand, rubbing the tip against the cusp of your lips, watching and feeling as it grew to its full size from the contact.

He then slipped his throbbing length into your still-open mouth, pushing just far enough for you to feel his shaft rest idly on your tongue, tilting his head off to the other side in curiosity before withdrawing. It seemed that he liked the sensation, but his greater curiosity was your reaction over his own.

Communicating something beyond your comprehension once more, Mr. Silvair barked out some sort of instruction to Mr. Gap, with the request not remaining a mystery for too long as you quickly found yourself full of a different kind of sensation. It was sudden, but somehow not too unexpected as you felt Mr. Gap gain entry into your sex from behind, pushing forth with slick ease into your sopping heat.

Unlike Mr. Silvair, Mr. Gap didn’t wait around to surrender to the new sensation, feverishly bucking right away and holding onto wherever—whatever he could—his fingernails digging crescents into your skin in frenzied want. He rutted at a crazed pace, his movements delivering as almost sloppy and erratic, lacking complete control as if consumed by lust. Such hurried thrusting into your core left you feeling further overwhelmed, milking out rolling moans and whimpers from the slip of your lips, catching Mr. Silvair’s attention once more.

Once again, he slipped his cock back into your mouth, this time pushing in as far as you could physically take him, feeling as the tip of his length kissed the back of your throat, flooding you with such a sudden fullness that you could barely contain your gagged reaction, resorting to tapping onto his legs in a silent plea for him to let you breathe.

Allowing you to do so, Mr. Silvair clawed a hefty lock of your hair as you recollected your senses, grappling your head into a slightly suspended angle before guiding himself back in. The combination of slightly applied pain in combination with the stifled moans and cries appeared to tickle something within him, evident by how he seemed to enjoy using your mouth to milk out all sorts of interesting reactions. Once locked into it, however, he settled on something closer to a steadier pace, guiding your head at a smoother rate.

But then his eyes fluttered as the pleasure rose and his movements succumbed to something sloppier than he would have liked, taking on and off moments to better readjust himself. In an attempt to retain a semblance of some control, he couldn’t quite do so, letting out a frustrated sigh instead. Mr. Silvair then squeezed his hand tighter against your scalp, tugging the ends of your hair in a way that bordered almost unpleasant while keeping your chin locked under his other hand. Quickly, rapidly, he fucked himself into your throat at a less-than-composed momentum, surrendering shamelessly to his erratic desperation, his control slipping away with each bucking spur.

On the other side, Mr. Gap was long lost to the bliss that he found himself buried within, determined to drive out his release as well as your own. He slammed himself relentlessly against your form, impaling you with his girth. His end was near and you could feel it, clamping your hands right around Mr. Silvair’s legs, gasping as you choked back a cry, feeling his cock twitch and empty itself into your soaked cunt—feeling as Mr. Gap, despite straining himself post-climax—still tried to push through to ride out the orgasm, falling limp only out of exhaustion.

Although, as if still enticed, Mr. Gap returned his fingers to where they were before, enjoying the odd little reactions that your legs would signal, allowing you to unbeknownst to him, catch up too. Perhaps it was the situation that you found yourself in that left you so overwhelmed and hot, to begin with, but you couldn’t help like this was the best that you have ever felt. Warm, radiating, and tingling sensations flooded within you, rendering you completely and utterly spent, but also relaxed.

Mr. Silvair soon caught up too, shooting thick white ropes of his load into your throat before slowly pulling out, leaving webbing saliva and cum alike to coat your chin upon his retreat. He looked down at you almost clinically, seeming to form even more thoughts in his mind before tucking himself back into clothed concealment.

Much to the curiosity of all three of you; such a state of deep relaxation seemed to allow you to at least slip out of the hole in the wall, allowing you to land rather clumsily on your hands and knees. Mr. Gap peered through, his face appearing to be extra red and disheveled, for the time being, too out of it from over-exerting himself to properly protest against your sudden absence.

Mr. Silvair however seemed to have something else in mind, studying you with that same tell-tale head tilt that now left you both wary and even… aroused? Picking you up and steadying you at your feet, you tried to latch onto him for comfort which he did not pick up on, instead gesturing for you to follow him along to somewhere else entirely, leaving you wondering what on earth he could be planning next.

70 notes · View notes

cheshiresense · 1 day ago

Note

I’m loving all the parts of your Ichigo & Starrk time travel AU! This is a bit random and would take place some time down the road but I had a thought that Starrk probably still has the scars from when Shunsui almost killed him rigjt? So I was wondering if some combination of TBTP!Shunsui recognizing the kind of blades that would’ve left those scars (his zanpakutou is pretty unique after all) and maybe Katen Kyokotsu sensing her own “mark” on Starrk would result in Shunsui guessing a few things if he sees those scars. Or maybe it’s at a point in the timeline where Starrk and Ichigo have already revealed the time travel thing to a few people but not many details and Shunsui ends up putting more pieces together on his own.

Ooh yesss I do love a good scar reveal. For a scene like this, I'd prob go with the second scenario. I imagine Starrk's a pretty private person and also not one to be stripping down in front of just anyone lmao so there has to be a good enough reason. (I actually have a different ready-made one that would fit a time travel reveal scene that I've already hinted at previously but I think I'll write that another time, so we're going to use this one instead.)

This would take place maybe a year or two down the road, and because Shinigami elites are generally not idiots (most of the time), especially the ones Starrk and Ichigo have grown close to, I imagine Shunsui, Ukitake, Shinji, and Kaien (and prob Lisa) have pooled their observations and guessed that Starrk and Ichigo are from the future and have Experienced Some Shit, possibly under Aizen, possibly under some other major big bad that was bad enough to necessitate time travel. And time travel's hardly something just anybody can throw around so most likely there's some divine intervention involved. And once they've come to these conclusions, they decide enough is enough, leaving the fate of Soul Society and possibly the universe on two people who look like they're running themselves ragged trying to save them all is ridiculous. If nothing else, they're friends and family, and it's not right to just leave that burden to them.

I'm also going to throw Kisuke into this group because 1) Kisuke's observant as fuck and Ichigo's actually really bad at staying away from this one mad scientist who created him and weaponized him and pointed him at the enemy but also followed right after him because to Kisuke, Ichigo is everything from moral compass to magnum opus to greatest sin to the person he owes everything to, and he'd more or less handed over his entire soul into Ichigo's possession very early on. So even a hundred years in the past was never going to prevent Kisuke from gravitating to Ichigo who doesn't flinch from him or his reputation and looks at him like he's more than just a Rukon street rat turned assassin turned Shinigami in a captain trenchcoat who has no idea how to be a captain on a good day. (And everybody knows that once Ichigo is attached to you, it's all over, you're never going to be rid of him again, and more than anything, Kisuke has always just wanted someone to want him to stay.)

And 2), there's no better place for secret meetings than the Study Chamber under the Soukyoku Hill, Aizen doesn't know about it, and the Quincy might but with the place buried under enough seals to avoid all detection and probably withstand a siege, even they can't get in to spy. I want to say Kisuke and Yoruichi are a package deal so she should be around, but I also headcanon that they sort of drifted apart for a while after Yoruichi forced Kisuke out of the Second and onto the captaincy doorstep (which made the fact that she threw her whole life and career away when Kisuke was accused of treason that much more meaningful tbh). So for now she's not around, but she does still hang out with Kuukaku, and while it is very helpful that all these people are regular guests at the Shiba compound so nobody is going to get suspicious if this particular group is absent together from time to time because people would just assume they're holed up at the Shibas' for another party or something, Yoruichi is going to notice sooner or later that they're very much not at the compound when they're missing, so she goes looking for whatever fuckery Kisuke has gotten up to this time, and that'll be her way into this time travel adventure, so to speak.

But all of this is actually just to say, healing hot springs for the win, you gotta be naked in a Japanese onsen lmao and guess who's about to have a midnight rendezvous 😉 let's all thank Urahara Kisuke for reinventing such a convenient trope.

-0-

It's nearing two in the morning, and after the staggering revelations earlier, everyone is asleep.

It wasn't as if they hadn't already expected the time travel, but to have it confirmed, and to know now that the reason for it had been the near-total annihilation of all three realms at the hands of a race nursing a thousand-year-old grudge, one thought to be largely extinct but has actually been hiding in their walls - almost literally - and biding their time until their king's awakening--well, let's just say Shunsui isn't going to be able to walk down a street without wondering how many hidden eyes are watching him from the shadows until the Wandenreich has at least been dug out of the woodwork for all to see.

(It's also perhaps a little more… off-putting for him than the others, though perhaps that's his pride speaking. Shadows are supposed to be his domain, and yet he's never sensed anything amiss in all the long years he's lived in the Seireitei.)

There had at least not been too much of a fuss about bringing them into the loop. Shunsui had admittedly thought they would have to at least argue back and forth about it a few more times, if only because no matter how much Ichigo likes to deny it, the family resemblance is uncanny, whether in appearance or personality, and a Shiba is nothing if not stubborn once they've set their mind on something. Ichigo is exactly the type to refuse outside aid in the name of better protecting the people he cares about, has yet to understand that ignorance does not always mean safe, or outgrow that inexplicably instinctual mindset of his where he seems to believe that he must take on all burdens by himself instead of allowing others to help shoulder those burdens with him.

But then they'd confronted the boy, and while Ichigo had scowled up a storm and tried to bluster his way out of it at first - kid really is a terrible liar - he'd also capitulated far sooner than any of them had expected. In the end, he'd crossed his arms and scowled some more before deciding with the finality of someone who wouldn't budge any further, "Fine, but we wait for Starrk-san."

He'd smirked at them then, still displeased considering the topic of conversation, but vaguely triumphant nonetheless as he'd eyed Urahara and Hirako and Kaien in particular. "It's why you cornered me when you know Starrk-san's out on a mission and isn't due back 'til late, right? Cuz you think you might be able to wear me down by nagging me to death, or worse comes to worst, you can figure it out by watching my reactions. But you won't get anything out of Starrk-san if he doesn't want to say, and he's hard to read even when he's actively emoting."

He'd snorted then, mockery softened by a reluctant sort of mirth. "Joke's on you, he's the reasonable one."

Which, to be fair, had been Shunsui's opinion. Starrk really is frustratingly, delightfully difficult to read, and this is coming from Shunsui, who's always found most people easy enough to figure out at a glance. Case in point, most of the things they'd pieced together for themselves had been clues Ichigo had inadvertently given away, not Starrk. And even then, if Starrk doesn't want them to know, no matter how many well-reasoned conjectures they lay at his feet, he probably wouldn't say a word.

But by that same token, it must mean that the hints he'd started dropping over the past few months could only be his way of encouraging them to ask without directly giving the game away, without giving them any hard evidence or firsthand testimony that would condemn himself or Ichigo, just in case the people they've chosen to trust fail their expectations and choose to hand them over to the government instead of trusting them in return.

To Shunsui, that had basically been an open invitation to sit down for a chat, and Ukitake had agreed with him, but they'd been outvoted - sometimes, he thinks with some amusement that the younger members of their little group don't seem to have eyes for anyone except Ichigo - so he'd let it go since he'd thought there wouldn't be any major issues with trying it this way first either. After all, he doubts Starrk would've shown his hand without Ichigo's agreement. It's just that they'd probably have to jump through a few more hoops if they went to Ichigo, what with the kid's knee-jerk reflex for keeping them at a distance no matter the cost to himself. And he'd been correct, more or less. It's just that they'd had fewer hoops to jump through than Shunsui had anticipated, but he's hardly about to complain.

"My plan was to force Aizen to out himself somehow and then take him down in front of everyone," Ichigo had continued, oblivious to the dawning look of horror on his cousin's face at the sheer lack of regard Ichigo clearly had for his own wellbeing, or possibly for the excessive margin of error implied in every sentence. "And then, you know, hopefully do the same for the Quincy, although I guess they'd be harder to draw out, so maybe we would've had to go to them? But anyway, Starrk-san's the one who's been saying practically from the beginning that we need more people."

He'd made a face then, reminiscent of children everywhere who'd been lectured by a parent for doing something potentially reckless and stupid, but there'd been a grumpy sort of acceptance there too that had lent maturity to his features.

"'Wars can't be won alone,'" Ichigo had audibly quoted with a rueful sort of twist to his mouth, as much to himself as to them. "'And this is their home. If they want to fight for it, let them fight. They're strong enough to make a difference. Besides, there's nothing worse than only being able to stand by helplessly while something you love disappears in front of you.'" He'd huffed and scrubbed a hand over his face, and then he'd just looked tired. "Well, he's not wrong."

He'd looked at them all again, gaze firm. "So if you really wanna do this, fine, but we wait for Starrk-san."

They'd waited. It wasn't as if anyone had actually wanted to exclude the man anyway, couldn't even if they did since he and Ichigo were clearly a package deal. And Shunsui's of the opinion that anybody who can consistently convince Ichigo to stop and look around and realize he isn't as alone as he often seems to believe is someone Shunsui definitely wants onside.

Ichigo had told them that Starrk had been expecting a confrontation sooner or later, and there were only so many places for it to happen if they didn't want anyone else finding out, so if Starrk got back and found their shared apartment empty, he would know to check here.

Sure enough, an hour after, a reiatsu signature - usually so carefully tucked away but one that Shunsui had pressed into his own memory from the very first time he'd had the chance to really feel it - had flared politely right outside the door before wisping away to nothing again, and a moment after Urahara had flashed away to let him in, Starrk had ghosted in, still in his Shihakushou with the wooden case containing his Zanpakutou slung over one shoulder and an exhausted air about him, but the silver-blue gaze he'd swept over them had momentarily felt like the fangs of a beast locked around their throats.

He'd looked to Ichigo, who'd grimaced but nodded, some wordless conversation passing between them, and only then had all those predatory edges been folded away again, leaving only the quiet unassuming man people still barely looked twice at despite the fact that he'd graduated with honours just as impressive as Ichigo's had been, and had even been promoted to lieutenant on Unohana's personal recommendation straight out of the Academy. But most Shinigami saw Fourth Division and looked no further, blind to the power concealed behind Starrk's reserved apathy.

(In contrast, restlessness had stirred beneath Shunsui's skin at the sight. He'd wanted to feel that reiatsu again, to taste the corrosive bite of it against the endless abyss of his own, to revel in the reminder that neither of them could overwhelm the other. He'd wanted to see more of the wolf lurking behind Starrk's eyes too, wanted this man to know he had no need to hide any part of it, not from Shunsui, not when he had the same kind of monster residing in his own soul. But that was all still too much, too soon, and so he'd locked it all behind his teeth once more, waiting for the day he wouldn't have to anymore.)

Starrk had sighed and run a gloved hand over his mouth before wandering over to join them. "Alright, let's talk. What do you want to know?"

That had been five hours ago. The conversation had lasted until midnight before they'd all decided to retire for the night and continue in the morning.

(Ichigo had looked positively agonized at the prospect. Starrk hadn't looked much of anything, mainly because he'd been half-asleep - or doing an excellent job at pretending to be - for a good hour and a half by that point.)

They'd opted to stay in the Study Chamber. Urahara had had more than enough futons to go around, thick enough that they wouldn't feel the ground underneath, and there were bathroom facilities and even a kitchenette included in a sectioned off corner. He and Yoruichi had certainly outdone themselves.

Urahara in particular. He'd invited them to use his hot spring too if they wished - a derivative of Kirinji Tenjirou's very own hot springs, less effective and fast-acting than the originals, only able to speed up recovery, but also far less dangerous - perfect for soaking in after a tough spar or a hard day or anything that results in moderately serious injuries. A veritable work of art.

Still, Shunsui had been more preoccupied with the way Starrk's eyes had lingered on the hot spring even as they'd all headed off to eat something and wash up before going to bed. In that split-second moment, the normally inscrutable man had looked adorably like a cat with a patch of sunlight. It shouldn't have been so attractive, but Shunsui had found himself unspeakably charmed all the same.

Ten minutes after everyone else's reiryoku had levelled out with deep slumber, and Shunsui had likewise tamped down on his own and smoothed it out to mimic sleep, he'd heard the faint rustle of Starrk's futon being pulled back, and then the whisper of footsteps padding their way towards the hot spring.

A better man than Shunsui would probably not have followed. But if that had ever been an option, he'd thrown it out the window from the first time he'd almost drowned in the shattered devastation of Starrk's soul and still decided to go after him.

He'd known since they'd met that there was some kind of connection between himself and Starrk.

He'd known for nearly as long that something about himself made Starrk uncomfortable, at best, and hurt him on a soul-deep level at worst.

He'd known with every interaction they'd had after that - every moment Shunsui could spare to track him down without making it seem too obvious that he was doing it on purpose - that Starrk wanted him to stay away just as much as he wanted him to stay, and Shunsui had taken shameless advantage because he himself had also been unable to do anything less, because he'd looked at this man and the desolate void inside him and couldn't bear to leave him alone.

(Because every moment with Starrk had filled something in Shunsui's own heart that he hadn't even known had been missing until Starrk had slotted into his life so neatly, so easily, that it had felt like he was always meant to be there.)

And he'd known for months, ever since time travel had become the most likely explanation for Starrk and Ichigo's origins, that there was no way Starrk hadn't known him in another life, and known him well, because that was the only thing that explained it all with perfect, horrifying sense.

A better man than Shunsui would not have followed, would've given him space. But a better man wouldn't have reduced someone's heart to a grief-stricken ruin either, cut so deep that it had carved that anguish straight into their very soul, so Shunsui figures that since a future version of himself has already sunk about as low as he possibly can, he might as well keep going and see if there's anything at all that he can do to fix what another him - still him, in the end, with a mere hundred years and change between them - has so clearly, carelessly, cruelly broken.

One of the things that had been revealed earlier had been Ichigo's background, because they'd all noticed the flashes of Quincy and Hollow in his reiatsu. Kaien had broken three sake cups and almost Urahara's face, and even by the end, he'd still looked murderous enough that Shunsui had almost pitied Shiba Isshin's foreseeable future. But Ichigo's ancestry had led to Starrk's, whose reiatsu may be as inherently dangerous as Shunsui's but has never read as anything less than perfectly Shinigami. They'd all been curious for a while, because Starrk was the kind of old and powerful that very few people could get to, and none that could and still remain unknown for so long, but there'd also been no Coyote Starrk in the Gotei 13 until this version who'd time-travelled had arrived in the Seireitei.

Starrk hadn't beaten around the bush. He'd pulled open the front of his Shihakushou and bared the web of scars below his collarbones, slightly branched out but thick and concentrated over his sternum in a distinctly circular mass.

"I'm not a Shinigami," He'd said calmly, plainly.

"You kind of are," Ichigo had mused, even as he'd glowered death eyes at them all when Starrk wasn't looking.

Starrk had shaken his head. "There's no name for what I am. I just evolved enough to fix my own soul."

He'd placed a hand over the scarring, and his gaze became distant enough that Shunsui's hands had twitched with the urge to reach out, even while the others had gaped, visibly shocked because it's one thing to have a soul like Ichigo's, one ultimately man-made, cobbled together from hope and desperation and a scientist's gamble; it's another entirely to realize that Shinigami have perhaps been looking at Hollows the wrong way for as long as any of them have existed.

(Because all Hollows are ultimately the product of the Shinigami's failure to save them in time, though most don't view it that way anymore, if they ever have. Because the possibility of a Hollow saving themselves has never even been a thought exercise in anyone's mind.)

Shunsui hadn't cared. No, that wasn't entirely correct. He'd been just as stunned as the others at this revelation that overturned millennia's worth of ironclad beliefs. But he'd been far, far more perturbed by what he could see of a second scar on Starrk's chest that bisected the circular one, faded just enough to indicate that it wasn't a very recent injury, but still deep and ragged and vivid enough to show how lethal it had been, how fatal, and-

And Shunsui had seen enough- dealt enough damage with his Zanpakutou to know the kind of wounds his blades left in their wake. And as if that wasn't enough, Katen had murmured in his mind, terrible and possessive and ruthlessly final, "Yes, his is a life we claimed for ourselves."

Shunsui had been almost relieved when Starrk had blinked back into the present and pulled his Shihakushou back on properly before continuing in a sedate tone, "We concluded that this is the final step for a Hollow, that they're allowed a chance to become whole again. It's just that even the strongest Hollows usually only survive for a few hundred years before something kills them, or they just don't have the power levels to climb that high, especially in the time they have."

He'd smiled then, but there'd been no humour in his expression, only infinite emptiness. "I survived, and I'm strong. So I guess this was my prize."

Nobody had really known what to say about all that, though Urahara had done an admirable job of recovering, and then an even more admirable job of pretending he didn't immediately want to whip out one piece of equipment or another and start scanning Starrk for data. They'd moved the conversation back to more information on the Quincy instead, although there would definitely be more questions in the future. But it'd been a lot to take in, and everybody had needed time to digest.

Now, hours later, Shunsui waits a bit before getting up as well and quietly making his way to the hot spring. He isn't surprised when he finds Starrk already rising from the water and reaching for a towel, evidently prepared to leave.

"Don't go," Shunsui says before he can think better of it, and he doesn't mean it as a demand or order, but he doesn't take it back either when Starrk goes still, water sluicing off of him - all tanned wet skin and strong shoulders and lean muscle for miles and now is really not the time - half turned away, and it's only because of that that even with the steam, Shunsui notices the conspicuous scar left by a stab wound in Starrk's back, just left of the spine.

This time, he doesn't need Katen to say anything at all.

Perhaps he'd dropped his conscience in a ditch on his way here, because he repeats, can't stop himself from repeating, "Don't go. I don't mean to chase you away. It's more than big enough for the both of us, isn't it?"

He pauses, reaches for a hat he'd left behind on his futon, and settles for shrugging out of his clothes instead. "…I'll stay on this side."

He slides into the water and forces himself to wait. When Starrk slowly sinks back into the hot spring, Shunsui very carefully doesn't react to that either.

The silence that settles over them is less tense than one might expect. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Starrk slumps against the edge of the hot spring, eyelids drooping. He has his hair tied back in a bun to keep it out of the water, and it's rare enough that Shunsui can't help taking a few extra looks.

Then again, that's nothing new. Starrk has always drawn his eye. Ukitake likes laughing at him for it.

"Does it bother you?" Starrk speaks up abruptly, unexpected enough that Shunsui almost startles. "That I'm a Hollow."

Shunsui wants to say that this man is so far from everything he'd ever thought even the most advanced Hollows could be that a part of him simply can't reconcile the disconnect. The rest of him…

"You're the same person now as you were before you told us what you are," He points out. "I don't think anything else matters."

Blue-grey eyes slit open, not quite looking in Shunsui's direction, not quite not, expression utterly indecipherable.

"…Did my future self think differently?" Shunsui ventures, but that can't be right. He can't imagine any version of himself who would think that way, especially one who'd lived even longer than he has. Still, his mind flashes back to the scars on Starrk's body, hidden beneath the water now but seared into Shunsui's memory like a brand, and he can't help coming up with increasingly depressing scenarios.

But Starrk blinks, and his focus finally hones in on Shunsui, genuinely surprised, and Shunsui releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"No," Starrk says after a beat of studying him with that too-perceptive gaze. "You've apparently always been more open-minded than most." He cocks his head. "But you were staring, so I thought…"

I always stare at you, haven't you noticed? Shunsui wants to blurt out, but he swallows it down with only a little effort. Too much, too soon.

After tonight's revelations, after all the speculations he's pieced together bit by bit over the past few months about their past-future relationship, maybe it will always be too soon. But Shunsui's never been in the habit of admitting defeat without even trying, and this time is no different.

"Something is bothering you though," Starrk tacks on, still watching Shunsui through narrowed eyes, and Shunsui wonders if the man realizes how much he looks like he's stalking prey in moments like this.

It should be unsettling, being on the receiving end of such a gaze, and it is, a little, but Shunsui's grown used to it too, grown to appreciate it even, to the feeling of being seen, of being known, and still being wanted.

(Because that's the one thing that's never been in question. Because however much Starrk sometimes reacts like Shunsui's very existence pains him, or how much he sometimes makes Shunsui feel completely bare, every sin and secret laid out for judgement, he's also never looked at Shunsui with anything less than the sort of quiet devotion the tide holds for the moon, or the stars for the sky, or dawn for the horizon, steadfast and eternal. Is it any wonder Shunsui can't stay away?)

"Is it this then?" Starrk asks next, and the water sloshes a little as he straightens up, revealing his scarred chest to tap a finger against the near-horizontal scar cleaved across it, right through where his Hollow hole had presumably still been at the time of the injury. Seeing it in its full gruesome glory now, Shunsui can tell that this wound had to have nearly cut the other man in two.

He feels a little at a loss for words, then sighs and fesses up. "Maa, I suppose I'm just a bit curious." He tries to keep his tone light, but there's really no two ways to say it. "…I did that, didn't I?"

Starrk levels an arch look at him. "Well, you didn't." He slouches back into the water, and somehow, he actually looks a bit amused. "I'm long over it, Taichou-san. We'd just met, and we were enemies at the time. You did what you had to do. We both did. It was war. If it makes you feel better, I gave as good as I got."

Shunsui snorts. That does actually make him feel a bit better. At the very least, this is preferable to the progressively dramatic betrayal scenes he'd been thinking of. He doesn't like the idea of his future self almost killing Starrk, but at least it hadn't happened after they'd become friends.

It does mean he has to reshuffle a few things on his mental timeline though, and across the hot spring, Starrk glances at him again and seems to understand.

"I guess we didn't get around to talking much about Aizen," He muses, then reveals, "We mentioned that before the Quincy became a problem, it was Aizen you all fought. Aizen set up his base of operations in Hueco Mundo, sought out Hollows from all over, and created an army of artificial Arrancar out of them to serve him, using that Hougyoku Ichigo was talking about earlier. I was part of that army."

Shunsui blinks at that revelation, and it's on the tip of his tongue to ask what Aizen - in his quest for world domination - could've possibly offered a man who didn't even like fighting to secure his allegiance. Then again, Shunsui's willing to bet at least a little hypnosis had been involved to ease the way. Aizen doesn't seem the type to bank on genuine fealty without including insurance.

The question stalls in his throat though as Starrk lifts a hand out of the water--his left, the one with the vivid burn scar stretched over the back of it. That isn't something often seen either. Starrk almost always has gloves on. He stares at it for a moment before letting it fall back beneath the water.

"The ten most powerful Arrancar in his army were called the Espada," Starrk explains. "I was the Primera. The first."

"The strongest," Shunsui nods. That sounds right, especially if Starrk had been sent to fight Shunsui.

Starrk shrugs noncommittally and says nothing else, leaving Shunsui to mull over the new information for a minute.

"Ichigo-kun warned us earlier," Shunsui eventually says. "About being Hollowfied by Aizen's Hougyoku. That turning into Visored stunted any chance of growth, and that you weren't even halfway through the Blood War before Lisa-chan and the others' power levels had degraded to barely that of a seated officer's."

Hirako had been grim-faced at the news. Lisa had looked ready to march out and rip Aizen's head off right then and there. Honestly, Shunsui had shared the sentiment.

"Then wouldn't it have been the same for Aizen's Arrancar?" Shunsui continues, watching a puzzled frown furrow at Starrk's brow. "They were granted power by the Hougyoku. Shouldn't it have stunted them too?"

Starrk nods, still frowning. "Yeah, it did. Grimmjow was furious when he found out." He blinks, and then realization strikes. "Oh, you mean me."

Shunsui hums a confirmation. Why in the world would he mean anyone else?

Starrk shakes his head. "I was the exception. Aizen found me last, out of most of the Arrancar. Definitely last out of the Espada. But even then, I was already more powerful than all the others, so he gave me the Primera seat." A corner of his mouth quirks with a cynical sort of mirth. "I didn't want more power, and he certainly wasn't about to give me more. I suppose it was fortunate. I don't think even Aizen knew back then that the Hougyoku would cause stagnation."

Powerful enough to have risen to Arrancar on his own, Shunsui muses, and he has to marvel at that, has to admire it. That kind of strength - mental even more than physical in some ways - isn't something just anyone can possess. Evidently. The only natural Arrancar in the known worlds. The only one to repair his own soul. What an extraordinary accomplishment. Except-

"I'm sorry it took so long," Shunsui says softly, because he knows Starrk is around the same age as himself, and if he was still an Arrancar by Aizen's war, then he could only have spent all the centuries before in Hueco Mundo. Even if he'd had companions there, Starrk would've outlived them all. "It must've been lonely."

I'm sorry nobody could help, because no Shinigami would've known to help. Perhaps most wouldn't have been willing to even if they'd known. I'm sorry I couldn't help.

For a long moment, Starrk is still enough to resemble a statue. Then a scoff of something that could've been laughter if it didn't ache so much claws its way out of his throat. He doesn't lift his gaze from where it's fallen blankly on the shifting surface of the hot spring. "No need to be sorry. I'm used to it."

Used to it. Used to being alone. Used to being left behind.

Shunsui doesn't think he's only talking about those long years in Hueco Mundo anymore, not when he's avoiding eye-contact again, not when Shunsui can suddenly feel the bleak despair radiating from his soul again.

"There's nothing worse than only being able to stand by helplessly while something you love disappears in front of you."

Not for the first time, Shunsui feels an acute desire to have a nice long talk with his future self and ask exactly how much of the agony rippling through Starrk's reiatsu can be placed directly at his feet.

(It isn't as if Shunsui can't understand. Even disregarding all other circumstances, the fact that they'd been at war would've meant that there could be no guarantees.

But still.

Still.

Couldn't he have tried a little harder? Didn't he know better than anyone the pain of being the only one left behind, the way it lingers like a slow unending bleed you're forced to carry until the day death finally deigns to take you too?

Shunsui at least has Ukitake, has Yama-jii, has Retsu-senpai and Sasakibe-san too, has Lisa-chan and Hirako and Kaien-kun, even has Nanao-chan to watch over in his brother and sister-in-law's stead. And in the future, maybe he'd lost them all, but it also sounds like he'd still had one to staunch the bleed, still had Starrk, right to the very end.

Then, who did Starrk have after Shunsui had died?

Isn't the answer obvious? Isn't Starrk still bleeding right now?)

A heavy sigh jolts Shunsui out of his thoughts, and his hands sting from where his nails have dug into his palms, fortunately out of sight. On the other side, Starrk clambers to his feet, water sloughing off his frame as he turns to get out of the hot spring.

The steam obscures his face this time, but even if he could see it, Shunsui thinks it would be one of those times again where he wouldn't be able to read him at all.

"Don't think so hard, Taichou-san," Starrk says, voice as calm as a blanket of snow over a cemetery. "It's not your job to save me."

I can't be saved anymore. I don’t want to be saved.

Shunsui's out of the water and next to Starrk before either of them can blink.

Too much, too soon, a part of him warns, but this time, he throws caution to the wind, reaches out, and closes a hand around Starrk’s wrist.

Starrk freezes, the pulse under Shunsui’s fingers jumps, and for a moment, time seems to stop.

They must look ridiculous, dripping wet and naked, and yet Shunsui barely notices, and Starrk has probably noticed everything but.

"It's not my job, that's true," Shunsui says without letting go, staring at what he could see of the other's face. "And I don't know if what I'm doing is meant to save you. But if you think I'll just let you go to your grave after all this is over, Ichigo-kun is apparently not the one we should've been worrying most about after all."

They had made a mistake, Shunsui realizes. He had made a mistake. Because looking at Starrk and Ichigo--at Starrk who was so steady and composed all the time, and then at Ichigo who was so much more transparent in his misery, in his fury, in his determination to achieve his end goals no matter the cost to himself, that it was almost instinct for everyone to focus their concerns on him. Because for all that Ichigo was reluctant to involve them, and reticent on the best of the days, he was at least also loud about it, and therefore was that much easier to help--to know they need to help.

Compared to him, Starrk has always shown himself to be the rock in a storm that even Ichigo clearly clings to. He has never been anything less than an ocean of serenity, but perhaps they should've remembered that no ocean is calm beneath the surface.

…No, it's Shunsui who should've remembered. He has literal unparalleled insight into Starrk's soul, feels the ache of it regularly, even if not all the time, except he'd just… not forgotten, that's impossible, but he'd been trying to fix it in his own way, with tea and conversation and countless attempts at coaxing out even just one more smile, except he can never tell when he might be going too far, pushing too fast, wanting too much, always feeling a bit like he's standing helpless in front of a skittish cornered animal too hurt to accept any kind of affection, and so perhaps as a result, Shunsui's ended up failing to show Starrk just how far he's willing to go instead.

Case in point, he's still holding onto Starrk, touching him, skin warm against Shunsui's own. Shunsui would've thought he'd be shaken off by now, possibly tossed into a wall out of reflex if nothing else, but Starrk hasn't even attempted to pull away. His pulse is calming again, but Shunsui can feel the tension in his arm, and he's staring down at their limbs with a lost expression.

Shunsui tightens his grip and runs his thumb along the inside of the other's wrist. He feels more than sees the shiver that runs through Starrk's body, for all that Starrk still hasn't moved. But the lost expression on his face also retreats. It leaves exhaustion-bruised eyes and enough sorrow thrumming through his reiatsu to smother the breath from Shunsui's lungs in its wake, but at the very least, he also finally looks up to meet Shunsui's gaze.

"…I don't know what you want from me, Shunsui," Starrk says wearily.

It's the first time he's ever used Shunsui's name. Shunsui only wishes he wouldn't sound so unbearably sad when saying it, but he'd take what he could get.

"That's easy," Shunsui replies, catching that pale mercurial gaze and holding it. "I want the same thing you've asked of Ichigo-kun. I want you to live."

A long silence follows before a rough sound spills from Starrk's throat like shattered glass.

"'Easy'," Starrk echoes, shoulders shaking, with laughter, with tears. But his eyes are dry, and he's the farthest thing from amused, and his soul feels like it might swallow itself whole just to cease its own existence. So this time, Shunsui lets instinct guide his hands and doesn't let himself second-guess it--in one swift motion, he tugs the other man into his arms and wraps him in a hug like he's wanted to ever since Starrk's soul had grasped for his own like he was drowning and Shunsui was the only one who could pull him to shore. Who could convince him to come ashore.

Starrk collapses against him, shuddering like he might fall apart with even just one more word, one more breath, one more touch, but Shunsui only draws him closer, holds him harder, and refuses to let him go.

#bleach #kurosaki ichigo #coyote starrk #kyouraku shunsui #shunstarrk #ichigo & starrk time travel verse #myscrap #welp this got wildly out of hand #damn it's so fucking long #i hope you like it i guess?#also i just realized it's less your second scenario and more a combination lmao

97 notes · View notes

eicee · 2 days ago

Note

Will forever be grateful for this post and your writings crab! I usually read this every know and then! Really recommend and read crabdrables blog!! Sorry for the VERY late thoughts but taking L's left and right irl lol Onto some of my personal thoughts:

Relating very much with reader's unending cycle of self-doubt and hatred that may stem from themselves and from family too.

Ain't exactly an academic achiever expect when college but please for the love of find time in social life to or you'll kind of end up with reader here. Asian things lol.

Speaking of Asian things, reader's parents love language here is more on actions and less on verbal. This alright but kinda toxic when its something one thing only. Reader craves to of validation through words too. What's one action can be interpreted as another; example

Academic validation you'll find in majority of families unfortunately something reader thought that they should do for majority of their life but their is life outside school too.

Pleasing for other people is what person's identity will get themselves killed literally and metaphorically, it shows that reader is drained from what all happened in their life.

Reader really giving it all, as they think it would be make it or break it on the military.

Sad with reader that even if they joined the 141, their feelings of doubt and emptiness is still their and not easily those feeling be swayed easily.

Reader be yearning and wanting to be part of the 141 fam yet really made them out of place at the task force at first.

Calling "kid" by the 141 pulled me some of my heart strings, reader for sure was touched by their endearment thought they are still processing what the 141 say.

Reader's mind and thoughts be really damaged, so deep in their mind that they forgot the positive interactions with the 141.

Not the reader overhearing the string of Gaz' words and reader walking away not hearing the whole convo. Gaz seeing through reader and worried mother hen.

Ghost be the terrifying lt yet softie understanding big bro here.

Soap the ever social butterfly yet respecting social boundaries for reader.

Dad!Price ain't giving up reader that early. Yearning for someone like Price wanting to understand and talk to like reader here.

Reader may not feel that they have place in 141 but they already are, they are just in denial and still on process.

Reader be shocked that Price finds them.

Price be observant due to years being in the military.

“Something on your mind?” Price asks that lead to conversation his understanding that led to Reader's opening up even when they cried earlier.

Price be knight in shining armor and Papa bear that is ready to defend anyone and especially 141 and that includes the reader. "Violence and timing." as Price known quote.

Reader be awkward on calling Price's first name and sharing what on their mind is.

Price despite reader's doubts on their place on 141 still reassures and knows that reader is in the right place. That not anyone could replace reader as they already carve into 141's hearts.

Price giving reader more credit as he sees that reader worked their ass off hard and well.

Not the joked that turned to not joked with hugging and effing Reader still protecting their parents and Price horrified with the silence and revelation.

Captain with his words about obligation and not love for sure hit Reader's head like a truck.

Price really giving the words that Reader crave and wanted to hear for their whole life, did gave them hope and made them less empty.

Papa John Price gave hug that Reader may not realized that they need it.

Reader felt seen and appreciated for who they are. Reader be stuck and with their found family as long as they can (forever).

Hiii Crab so happy to see you write outside of our rants/idea chats and my fellow delulu cod enjoyer! Would love to request Platonic!141 + Reader (sorry if this is long and somewhat confusing lol). You can do headcanons, drabble or whatever you comfy for. An idea that popped in my head kinda semi personal: Civ or 141! Reader though has parents and family is the reader is quite something else. Reader despite having somewhat normal upbringing still feel empty; they shouldn't be feeling this numb and empty deep inside of them. The reader craves the love that they give but couldn't or lack of receiving it back, though they don’t expect it or selfishly want it. Just someone who understands them even in their deepest darkest secret or flaw then boom cue the task force 141 unexpected yet welcoming to their life and maybe the one that the Reader can lean and let them be vulnerable on (finally).

Take your time on doing this Looking for to your other writing genuinely -Cee, your fellow Soap delulu

GN!Reader & 141 (Mostly Price)

Warnings: Slight angst Ships: None. A/N: This absolutely ran away from me and I do not at all regret it, hope you enjoy, Cee!!! Words: 3549

Almost your entire life had been a cycle of self doubt that also started to churn and twist into self-hatred. You blamed yourself for the feelings. Afterall, you had a relatively normal upbringing. Two parents who were both present in your life, both of whom worked so that you all had food on the table and a roof over your head. A luxury that very few had.

The least you could do for them is follow the path that they wanted to put you on, no matter how much you didn’t want to do it. Because you loved them.

So you excelled in your education, studying hard to try and impress your parents– to make them love you just as much as you loved them for everything that they did for you for your entire life. They wanted you to do all three sciences despite the additional workload it would add to your already stretched thin time? Then you would do them, take any extra classes after school in order to keep up with the work and not lag behind any of your peers.

There was no such thing as a social life, either, not when you had homework and projects due. Friends were few and far between. Generally, most people left when they realised how hyper focused you were on your grades instead of social interaction.

Did a classmate get a higher grade than you on a test? Well obviously you didn’t study hard enough, you just needed to dedicate more time to school even though school was all you had.

Did you get the highest marks in the class? Good, that was what was expected of you. Why didn’t you get full marks? You were better than that. You would do better because you loved your family. They showed it in their own way, of course, by encouraging you to study harder and get better grades. That was their love language, and yours was doing as they asked without a second thought. Because, at the end of the day, you were lucky to have an upbringing like you had. You would ignore the hollow void clawing at your chest because you had no right to feel that way– not when you had a roof over your head and parents that loved you(?).

It was when you came top of the class with full marks in a recent test, you came home with a beaming smile on your face and proudly showed the test to your parents. They took the papers from your hands, flipping through your work with critical eyes, before handing the papers back to you.

‘Well done, we’re so proud of you.’ That was all you wanted them to say to you. That was all you needed to hear. To know that they loved you.

‘Your penmanship is terrible.’ Was what you got instead. When you tried to point at the big 100% in green pen, you were waved away. ‘How are you expected to get a job when you write like a child? I’m surprised the teacher could even read your answers’.

After several years of balancing a work and educational life and paving a way for a line of work that you didn’t want for parents you should have been grateful to have, you decided that enough was enough.

No matter how hard you worked, no matter how high your marks were, they would never be proud of you. They would never return the love that you had for them until you nearly killed yourself trying.

Spending your entire childhood, teenagehood and all of your current adulthood trying to please your parents predictably would damage one’s psyche. You had no friends, family who had never been devoted to you as you were to them, and high grades serving as the foundations to a prison-like future.

You dropped out of University. The only option forward that you saw was joining the army in the vain hope that the empty feeling inside of you would dissipate when you actually did something that you believed was more worthwhile than any University course.

So you threw yourself into the military, working harder than all of the other recruits and training at every chance you could.

Your skills and determination became widely recognised amongst your peers. It took several years, but you eventually caught the eye of none other than Captain John Price.

Impressed by your willpower that not many soldiers possessed, he offered you a place on the 141.

Naturally, you agreed. You believed that being part of such a well renowned and respected team would finally beat back the lingering self doubt and emptiness that had curled itself around your heart.

It didn’t. If anything, it made it worse.

You were invited to join the 141, sure, but they had already established their own relationships between each other, had already bonded into a close knit group, and you were simply an outsider. Yes, you had been hand picked by Price himself, but that didn’t mean you were part of the team. They had their own inside jokes that they told to one another, leaving you feeling left out on most days.

And you felt… lacking around them. Ghost was stronger, Gaz was faster, Soap was smarter (he was a demolitions expert for crying out loud!), and Price was almost all of those rolled into one. They all complimented each other as a team. Meanwhile you felt like a spare tyre, a master of nothing and barely a jack of any trade.

Despite how you felt about it all, they all called you ‘kid’. Regardless of age gaps between yourself and the rest of them, the nickname stuck mostly because you were the newbie. It came as a surprise that it wasn’t spat with vitriol as your peers before had, but it was in fact said with… an affection you couldn’t quite place.

You couldn’t ignore the hole in your chest that had been chipped at over the years, forming a gaping maw that no reassurances could really mend.

Doubt lingered in the back of your mind, chipping away at your sanity as you prepared for the worst. How long would it take before they realised you weren’t good enough?

You were so deep in your doubts that you didn’t realise that you had been distancing yourself even more than before until you overheard a conversation in Price’s office a few months down the line.

“-- they don’t belong on the team.” Gaz said as you passed Price’s office and your heart dropped. It was only the tailend of what he had been saying but you had gotten the gist. You wanted to stay, to listen to the conversation more and listen to what your team had to say about you, but you didn’t. What you were going to hear were likely things you had already told yourself right from the start. You keep walking on, ignoring the sting of tears burning in the corners of your eyes. The blood rushing in your ears prevented you from heating the rest of the conversation.

“-- not only are they acting like they don’t belong on the team, but they’re acting like they’re not good enough.” Gaz continued, sighing in frustration.

“Maybe they need more time.” Ghost rumbled in reply, “Let them come out of their shell a little bit. Best not rush these things.” He was talking from experience, after all.

“Aye… maybe I can invite them out for drinks or sommat? I wouldn’t want them getting transferred before we got to know them a little more.” Soap had been the one that had tried the hardest to get close to you but had also tried to give you space so as to not suffocate you with his personality.

“They won’t be getting transferred.” Price said with conviction, tapping his desk, “I chose them to be part of this team and this is where they’re going to stay. Let me have a word with them first.”

“Aye, sir.”

— — — — — —

You found yourself in the smoker’s shelter outside the main building. It was late enough that most of the soldiers had gone to bed or off to do their own things elsewhere so you doubted that you would be bothered for a little while. Just enough time for you to get your thoughts together. Your tears had dried in your eyes a few minutes ago, making them sting in the cold air. You didn’t need to look in your reflection to know that you probably looked like a wreck– entirely unbecoming of a soldier of your apparent status.

You didn’t want to get transferred. Despite your distance with the 141, you didn’t hate them. Far from, actually, you held a great deal of respect for each and every one of them. It was just that you felt like you didn’t have your place amongst them. Not good enough to be associated with them.

“Bit late to be out here in the cold, chuck.” A voice startled you out of your thoughts– one that you would recognise anywhere from the low rasp of a smoker's lungs.

“Captain.” You croaked, wincing at the patheticness in your voice. There was a scuff of boots as Price came closer, leaning into your line of vision with a furrowed brow which only furrowed more as he took in your dishevelled appearance.

“Something on your mind?” He asked kindly, perching on the arm of the bench to give you some personal space. He left his question open, allowing you any chance to steer the conversation how you wanted to. There was no judgement for catching you at your lowest, no disgust at your red rimmed eyes— just polite understanding and a non verbal offer of pleasant company.

“Why did you pick me, Captain?”

The question made him tilt his head, a frown beginning to tug on his features. You were worried you had insulted him.

“What brought this on, huh? Someone say something to you? Need me to have a word with them?” He straightened his back, scowling. Whilst you felt like you didn’t have a place in the 141, you could never deny the shield of protectiveness that Price held over his team. You remember in the back of your mind the day that some General who thought he was hot shit had the audacity to undermine Soap as nothing more than a ‘yappy dog’ when offered the Scot’s demolitions expertise. Price had appeared almost out of thin air and almost ripped the General a new one and things would have escalated into a fist fight had Laswell not intervened. It wasn’t as though Price didn’t think his own soldiers were capable of defending themselves, but he couldn’t care less about punishments aimed his own way over that of his Sergeants and Lieutenant. It was just a surprise that the protective streak extended over you, too, despite your distance to your teammates.

“I’ll sound stupid.” You mumbled, looking down at the ground as if expecting him to chastise you like a child. He didn’t.

“I’ve had my fair share of stupid over the years. Try me.”

“... and ungrateful.”

“I once had a guy punch me in the face two seconds after I took a bullet that would have killed him.” Price countered with a cut off chuckle once he remembered what was probably a mission long finished and cleared his throat. “C’mon, tell Captain what’s on your mind.”

And he sounded so sincere when he said it. Sounded like he genuinely wanted to hear what was going on in your head– that he was willing to waste what was already his important and limited time on someone like you.

“Sir—”

“John.” Price corrected gently, crows feet more noticeable at the corners of his eyes scrunched up when he smiled, “We’re off duty, you don’t need to be so formal.”

“... John.” You echoed, finding that you really didn’t like saying that. It felt like calling your teacher by their first name in primary school or a classmate’s parent other than their last name.

“Now, c’mon, tell me what’s on your mind. Might not be a therapist, but I’m better than bottling it up.” You wondered in the back of your mind how often Price did this. Sat with his soldiers and talked with them, offered them a listening ear to hear their vents and fears. You couldn’t help but feel honoured to be one of the few he willingly offered said time to. Your silence stretched on as you thought of the words to say, how to phrase what you wanted to say without sounding unappreciative of the opportunity that Price had offered you when he requested you join his team.

“I don’t feel like I belong here.” You blurted once the silence had stretched on for long enough to border on uncomfortable. John’s face fell and you quickly realised how bad that sounded and rushed to correct yourself.

“No, no, wait, let me explain–” the Captain closed his mouth to allow you to continue speaking, but you could tell that it was hard for him. “I just… you could have anyone better than me, you know? I’m not a demolition expert. I’m… I’m not the best Sniper. I’m the slowest on the team, pretty sure I’m the weakest–”

“Nope.” Price interrupted, finally breaking the bubble of your personal space as he took a proper seat next to you on the bench but still respecting the distance enough to keep a few inches between you. “Nope, not lettin’ you say another word.”

“But–”

“Nope.”

“Cap–”

“No.”

“But you could have anyone better—“

“But they wouldn’t be you.” He deflected easily. Far too easily. He leant back on the bench, crossing one leg over the other as he folded his arms over his chest. His fingers twitched and you could tell he was itching for a cigar but didn’t light one out of respect.

“Alright, sure, I can ask Laswell to give me one of the best soldiers in the SAS and have them brought here tomorrow. They could be the best of the best, top of their class, better than you and maybe even better than me. But that’s a bit of a stretch.” He winked and earned a weak chuckle from you. “But they won’t be you. I don’t pick just on skill alone, kid, I pick based on how I feel people would fit into the team. I chose you because I knew that you’d be perfect.”

“As for not being a demolitions expert, let me let you in on a little secret. I’ve no fucking clue about demolitions, either. And you don’t have to be on the team to be the ‘best Sniper’. You’re better than most, and that’s what’s important. As for being the weakest– did you or did you not bodily lift Gaz in a fireman’s carry during training the other week while he was trying to act as an injured civilian? Quite dramatically, might I add. Swooned and everything.”

You remembered that practice mission. Quite fondly, actually. Gaz was a civilian and , after being struck by a foam bullet from Soap, had dramatically screamed in agony and crumpled to the floor. When you had lifted him up and over your shoulders, the bastard continued to wail something along the lines of telling his non-existent spouse that he loved them and that his money be given to his equally non-existent children. Soap got in another shot to the man’s head, knocking off his cap in the process. Distracted as you were trying to haul your teammate out of the danger zone, you couldn’t help but laugh thinking about it now.

“Last time I checked, Gaz is somewhat heavier than a sack of flour. Don’t tell him I said that, I’ll hurt his feelings.” Price was right, you supposed. You were more than capable of carrying Gaz over your shoulders, maybe even Soap or Price himself if the time called for it. Ghost you weren’t so sure about, though. The man was a walking mountain.

“What I’m trying to say is that you have to give yourself more credit. You’re more than good enough to be on my team. I chose you for a reason.”

You… did not expect that sort of reassurance from Price. You had hoped for something along those lines, yes, but perhaps with a thrown in criticism or three. You waited for a ‘but’ that never came. The man snorted beside you and when you gave him a quizzical look, he waved off your concern.

“Shit, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think the next thing out of your mouth would be that your parents never hugged you as a kid.”

Your silence made him slowly turn his head towards you. It would have almost been comical if the situation wasn’t. His face crumbled and a wounded sound emerged from his throat.

“Sometimes they did!” You rushed to defend the people that raised you. “And they gave me food and shelter, clothes when I needed them–”

“Fucking hell. No, that’s what they’re supposed to do because they’re your parents. What about telling you that they were proud of you? That they loved you? I saw your records. Top of your class in not just your training but in your education, too. Triple sciences, mathematics, all of it. They had to be proud of you for that? My parents would have killed for me to get even a passing grade in my GCSEs.” You looked down at the ground and it was Price’s turn to have his eyes fixed on you.

“They were proud of you, weren’t they?” He asked again, leaning forwards so he could catch your eye, his own filled with concern. “Kid?”

“I don’t talk to them much anymore.”

Price inhaled sharply and he leaned back again, looking around and clenching his jaw as if fighting back his anger. His fingers twitched again. You admired his self control as he was still yet to grab a cigar that you knew he kept on his person. Usually in his breast pocket while his lighter was in his right pocket.

“Listen to me.” The Captain said, a more stern edge to his voice now that he had gathered his thoughts together. “Whatever your family said to you— how they treated you? Forget it. They showed you obligation. Not love. They didn’t want what was ‘best’ for you, they wanted bragging rights. What you’ve achieved– here, in bootcamp, in university and in school, is something to take pride in– no, no, look at me.”

Your gaze had trailed to the side so you avoided looking at your Captain in the eyes. He noticed and clicked his fingers to gain your attention back on him.

“Don’t look away from me because I want you to listen to what I’m gonna say and I want you to look at my face as I say it.” Your eyes met his blue ones, “You should be proud of everything that you’ve achieved in your life. I’m sorry that your family never told you that and I’m sorry that I haven’t said that enough to you since you joined 141.”

You opened your mouth to say something– to argue or disagree but he shook his head.

“No. It’s my turn to speak now. I’m proud of you. I am so proud of you. Everything you’ve done and everything that you’re yet to do, I will always be proud of you. You’re an exemplary soldier and I knew the moment I saw you that you would be a perfect addition to the 141 and you have proved me right time and time again. You belong on this team just as much as the rest of the boys. Do you understand?”

So many words– proud, proud, proud. That’s all you had wanted to hear for so many years from someone whose opinion mattered to you. You wanted to be seen and Price, this godsend of a man, had seen you and more.

“Kid, do you understand me?”

You nodded once and then realised that Price wouldn’t have been able to tell through your shaking. Tears blurred in the corners of your eyes and you nodded again, not trusting your voice in case it shattered.

“What do you need from me?” Price’s voice was oh so soft, like he was talking to a frightened fawn. He could see how much his words had affected you and it clearly broke his own heart.

“A hug.” Your bottom lip wobbled and his face softened as he opened his arms, twitching his fingers to urge you closer.

“I can do that.”

You leaned into him and he quickly wrapped his arms around you, drawing you in close. You could smell the lingering scent of his last cigar. The smell of his office and cleaning oil. You felt his chin on the top of your head and felt how his chest rumbled as he spoke.

“You’re part of the 141 whether you like it or not, alright? Me and the boys want you here for as long as you want to be.”

At that moment, for the first time in your life. You felt wanted. You felt appreciated and you felt seen.

have a request? send one in!

#eicee personal #eicee rants #eicee writes #call of duty #platonic x reader #john price platonic #platonic task force 141 #cod mw2 platonic #platonic relationships #platonic

164 notes · View notes