#i kind of can't do anything else. i just can't. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cheshiresense · 1 day ago

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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

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liaculpa · 10 hours ago

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Well shit, this hit me like a brick to the face.

I've always been terrible at asking for and accepting help, or feeling like I'm worth helping in the first place. I always just assumed that when people said "if there's anything I can do to help, just let me know" when I was going through hell, it was just a figure of speech. I never took anyone's offer for help when I lost my dad, or when I was stuck in a depressive hell for years. People reached out, and I just said "thanks, but I'm fine" because their time was obviously better spent elsewhere. I wasn't gonna die without their help, I didn't NEED need it. But it would have helped me, and I never felt like I deserved that.

My mom once said to me that I deserved a better kitchen table than the piece of crap my dad used as his computer desk for 10 years, that I took after he died. I told her I didn't need one; what did she mean, I deserve it? What had I done to warrant that? I couldn't really wrap my head around it.

It's still true today. I have some money, I could get decent furniture. I still have that old table sitting next to me right now, covered in a cheap tablecloth so you can't see all the dents and scratches. I just never feel like there's a point to buying it, if it's just for me. What have I done to deserve something nice and new?

At least I'm taking better care of my body. That's kind of the one thing I want to keep. Since I came out, I've been putting actual effort into my skin, my hair, how I dress. I want to sculpt this shitty meat sack until my mirror shows the woman I know I am. But for everything else, it's just hard. I want to improve, but it's so hard to get past those mental hurdles. It's so hard to convince my stupid brain that I can accept help, whether it's from a friend or even myself.

Something to work on.

so many of the transfems i know spent their time pre-transition performing a kind of lifelong exercise in self-deprivation. the goal, for them, was to find out exactly how little a person needed to live. they starved themselves, dressed carelessly, shunned friends, and hollowed themselves out so as not to be burdens on anyone but themselves.

i see it now, too, in the girls around me. i'll ask if they want care – a home-cooked meal, relaxed company, sex without the expectation of reciprocation – and they say no, no, thank you, i don't need it; what would you like, what do you want, because in their head they're still doing that awful calculus, still training themselves to disappear in the eyes of the people around them.

i don't think i'd have died without transition – not in the conventional sense, at least – but to take that leap, i had to stop thinking of myself as a human experiment in fuel-efficient living and start nurturing the anemic, atrophied flame of desire in my heart. i had to learn to eat well, to exercise, to style myself beautiful, but harder than that, i had to learn to ask the people around me to work on my behalf in order to enrich my life and give me the things i wanted.

and i did it; i learned. and it was agony, but courage is a muscle you can train, and every day i get better at accepting gifts with the hungry gratitude i never learned in my years and years as a sad, scared, lonely boy.

so be patient with the trans girls in your life. better than that: be proactive, attentive, generous; be forceful, if you have to, and learn to distinguish real discomfort from the terrified reflex of self-deprivation that so many of us learned to rely on.

and if you are so lucky as to love a trans girl, you must insist upon her. you must insist upon her happiness, her comfort, her pleasure, and her rest, because she may still not yet know how to make those demands for herself. if you can devote any amount of energy to becoming an engine that nurtures the flame of even a single tgirl then there is a place for you in trans heaven, which as far as i'm concerned is the only one worth going to

#trans #venting

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falsemilkbun · 17 hours ago

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Mithrun & Drives & Self-harm

Warning's in the title, let's rock and roll.

So there's a super-circulated extra about Mithrun's recovery after having been rescued from his conquered dungeon.

And I don't know how widely known it is that this image is cropped, or that it contains something I consider pretty essential to his character.

The top two thirds of the page are upsetting in a suggestive way. The final third is very explicit.

I understand the impulse to remove the explicit imagery of self harm from something you scatter around God's internet where it could upset literally anyone. At the same time, I think something's lost when you can't contrast 'He spent most of his days lying down, either sleeping or awake,' with the visceral imagery of him struggling to get out of that position, into which he has been strapped. It's less affecting if your initial impression (that he is totally passive) is not subverted.

Without this, it's too easy to assume that his aversion to things like mirrors and birds is due a vague Upset it might cause him, and that keeping sharp things and fire from him is due to an absence of self preservational drive.

But it's not like that. These are precautions undertaken because he has drives.

How much of that lying down is due to being passive, and how much is compulsory? How much time did he spend restrained, since this was a known problem? The restraints themselves harm him, which is kind of inevitable considering how determined he is to escape.

To me, this does point to him actually having agency and motivation. It's not motivation to do anything positive, but it's present.

And it makes sense, right, that he'd be motivated to self destruction when it turns out his quest has been (unbeknownst even to himself) to be completely consumed by the Demon?

Something that feels important about Mithrun, to me, is that he doesn't fucking like himself, and I don't think he ever did.

He's judgmental of his past self despite not ever confessing to being, you know, cruel to anyone. His issue is with his internality, which was an insecure and petty one. Externally, other characters did not perceive him that way. Milsiril doesn't dislike him because he's cruel or because she can tell he's only pretending to like people, she hated him because he was well-liked while she struggled to make any friends at all. I don't think he'd be so well-liked, or basically intimidate Milsiril with his bubbliness, if he was an outwardly nasty person.

It's important to me to point out Milsiril's perspective, because it confirms what's said in Kabru's truncated version of events: Mithrun was well-liked, and people's perception of him was positive. He was not behaving in a way that would drive others away.

He just can't be close to people, not genuinely. He's nice for the same reason he's always finding reasons to look down on others, for the same reasons he can't resist the Demon's offer, for the same reason he hurts himself. He does not like the person he is, whatever that person does, and he is convinced that no one else could truly like that person either.

I have another equally disjointed post in me about the parallels between the Demon and actual dynamics of abusive relationships, but key to this one is the fact that Mithrun's vulnerabilities - that he has learned love is conditional, that he cannot bring himself to interface with people genuinely, that he has been discarded by a family whose care for him was ultimately superficial, that he does not see himself as good or worthwhile - make his admission of having felt loved by the Demon super heartbreaking. Considering what it offered him, I suspect the hole left in his heart was exceptionally large.

It might feel easy to brush off Mithrun's behavior in the early days of his recuperation as simply erratic, but I see it as very purposeful and very much inkeeping with his character. He had a love that he could convince himself came without conditions, that promised an emotional security that he could allow himself to rely on, and it was withdrawn from him in a way that is undeniably violent and violating.

I don't look at the image of him hurting himself and see someone acting erratically because their mind has been magically broken. I see someone in an understandable, mundane kind of complete despair.

On that same note, I see his later dedication to returning to service as a simple redirection of the original self destructive drive. Mithrun doesn't even consciously understand this about himself, he labels this desire as anger and vengeance when it's really the exact same drive he's had all along: to either be loved or not be at all.

...

happy holidays? i don't have a button for this.

#mithrun #tw: sh #tw: sa #tw sh related

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birdflashno1 · 2 days ago

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Tim climbing through the window above his small little couch, sputtering a bit as he sees Bernard in his kitchen, helping himself to Tim's last bit of milk. He doesn't know how he'll explain this, him—Robin, climbing through the window of this small boat on the marina. And before he has the chance to react Bernard's head is snapping towards him, eyes softening immediately as he sees him.

"Robin," Bernard says, gentle, kind, "Are you okay?"

Tim knows his boyfriend has always very imaginative mind, always thinking about who the local masked vigilantes could be, where they could be at any given time, and what they're up to. While he's not the biggest fan of hearing Bernard speculate about Robin, him, he knows it's just something he has to accept.

"Bernard," Robin rasps, blinking at the blond as he attempted to hide his surprise, "I just, um, I need... Water." He sounds unsure of himself, though Bernard is already there, holding s blue plastic cup out to him, "Thank you." He manages between gulps, only then realising how thirsty he had been.

Tim was a good liar, it was just a skill that one needed to keep up with the vigilante life, or even just the life of someone with his influencal status. Wayne, Drake. Wayne-Drake, Drake-Wayne.

"Do you need anything else? More water?" Bernard asks, soft and kind, just as always.

"No, no, I'm sorry, I shouldn't be here." Robin sighs, shaking his head and stepping back towards the window.

His hand is grabbed, being held by Bernard's. It's warm, reassuring, the same way Bernard held Tim's hand when he finally got out of that cult, firm, begging for something.

"I wish you'd trust me." Bernard says, desperate yet quiet, and Tim doesn't understand.

Robin might've saved Bernard, from himself, from that cult, but they were still two strangers. Why did Bernard want Robin's trust? Was this another mystery that Tim needed to solve, or just another one of Bernard's quirks?

"What?" Is all Robin manages, and sure it sounds rude, but it's all he can muster up.

"Tim." It's a whisper, a secret, spoken like something forbidden. Bernard knows he's not meant to know, Tim knows Bernard isn't meant to know... Can't know. So why does this blond boy that once told Tim that he thinks Robin may be an actual bird know that Tim Drake is Robin?

"You knew?" Robin—Tim asks, staring at his lover with his mouth agape, his blue plastic cup almost hitting the floor if not for Bernard's reflexes.

"I'm not dense."

Got my motivation from the page below, I love TimBer.

Edited, misspelt 'accept' as 'except', 'Tim' as 'Tom'.

#dc #birdflashno1 #ao3 #robin #tim drake #bernard dowd #timbern #the boyfriends ever #im reading tim drake : robin right now and its made me love bernard

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axstoria · 3 days ago

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Clark Kent taking his boyfriend out ice skating at a local winter fair in Smallville, not expecting the billionaire to know how to stand on his own two feet on the ice.

Now, of course, he forgot that said boyfriend is Bruce Wayne, of all people. The Batman.

The Batman who can do literally anything just by watching something once.

So, while Clark is still lacing up his skates, chattering along, Bruce's gaze is focused on couples and families as they glide along the ice, taking in each moment and stride, filing it away in his mind.

He already knows how to skate—having fought Mr. Freeze so often that he actually added retractable blades to his suit—, so he shouldn't be this observant of the other people.

Clark stands up, a boyish grin on his face as he takes Bruce's hand and drags him out onto the ice, carefully steadying his poor human mate to make sure he doesn't fall.

Bruce just waves off his worry and skates away like a damn figure skater, finding an empty space and happily twirling.

Showoff.

Clark catches up with a frown, grumbling something along the lines of, "You didn't tell me you knew how to skate!"

"A man never tells all his tricks," Bruce teases back, looping his arm with Clark's, and they begin to make lazy laps around the rink like everyone else.

An hour and a half later, both are nursing warm hot chocolate to their chests, taking small sips. The beat doesn't bother Clark's tongue, but he drinks only when Bruce does, not wanting to seem glutton.

They toss the cups in the recycling after they are done, opting to wander around the several stalls set up along the streets.

When Clark shows interest in something, Bruce is already handing over cash, not even bothering to check the price tag. Anything for his love.

Clark objects stubbornly, but eventually snatches up the bags, upset that Bruce was carrying things in his presence.

They find a bench to sit on that is further away from the crowd, Clark tucked against Bruce's side, a light purr coming from his throat as the billionaire scratches his hair mindlessly.

"Now since I went to the fair with you..."

"I'm not going to a gala." Clark's voice is low and there is a hint of hesitation to it. "I report, that's all."

"Alright, alright. I guess I can't force you. Though, once we're married, it's going to happen."

Clark mutters some kind of brush-off statement, wrapping a thick arm around his boyfriend, bumping their skulls together as he happily purrs.

"I'm gonna get you rocks."

"Rocks?"

"Mhm. From whatever planet you want. I'll make you diamonds if you want them."

"That's nice, Clark. What for?"

"Our wedding. Humans give each other rocks, right?"

"Mhm."

"Kryptonians do, too."

"That's nice."

"I'm gonna get you a sapphire. Like your eyes."

"Okay, Clark."

"I love you."

Bruce pauses, a little sigh escaping him—he really did have to pick a hyperactive one, didn't he?— before he replies softly, "I love you, too."

#clark kent #superman #bruce wayne #batman #superbat #dc #dc comics #clark kent x bruce wayne #superman x batman #drabble #dc headcannon #axstoria

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yourtoradorasextendedwarranty · 2 days ago

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Would you tell POC that vent their frustrations about white people that they're being hateful?

Yes actually. I would. Unless it was a joke. In which case I wouldn't care. But if I were to take a gander, you'd have issues about white people complaining about literally anyone else. That kind of talking is funny to me and always has been because it means that you actually have a white supremacist view of the world. You are just to jaded and stupid to realize that you do.

Which is to say that you should be justified in criticizing an entire race. Or an entire sex. You fully believe that men are the superior sex and that whites are the superior race. You'll say you don't. But you do. It's just that you believe that it IS the case and needs to be overturned. But in saying that you still admit you view non whites and women as lesser. As I fully expect. Because you're a marxist at the end of the day. Though I doubt you are even smart enough to realize that yourself. I could be wrong though. Maybe you are a marxist willingingly.

I'm guessing you're a man who's never experienced misogyny in your life

So this is kind of a dumb statement. If I am a man, and regardless of if, of course I can't experience misogyny. However if I am a man I can experience Misandry. Which is still discrimination based on sex. Which you are ignorant to it seems. To be treated like a rapist purely for existing. To be treated like a predator purely for existing. To be treated like a pedophile purely for existing. To be treated like a murderer purely for existing. To have all access to mental health and domestic violence cut off. Because of people like you no less.

Why do you always act like women aren't oppressed

Because in most of the Western world they aren't. I could post a list of the richest people on earth or just in the US and among the top of that list, from the 80's until now, there would be a huge number of them. Not just rich, but self sustaining. I've never once in my life said, "there are no areas in the world where women are oppressed". I have never said that once. However, in the western world, oppression is not something you see often. Because truth of the matter? You probably have no idea what real oppression looks like.

People often don't recognize misogyny as oppression because of how normalized it is.

Criticism isn't misogyny. And having complaints against a person voiding discussions of their sex as a relevant factor in the complaint ISN'T misogyny. Misogyny contrary to the FEMINIST definition, was originally "Hate or discrimination against a woman based on her sex". Not the bullshit expanded definition where literally anything and everything under the sun qualifies.

And lastly. I stand by my point that Radfems treating women like infants that can't make decisions for themselves is FAR more sexist than most of the actual sexism I've seen in my own life from others.

I don't think I'll continue to argue with you. Seems like there's no point. Marxist never listen and think their worldview is godlaw.

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pinkaditty · 2 days ago

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HI i love your works sm ,,, and i really love the way you write it just brings out soemtnhign in me ,,, but hear me out on leo kurosagi angst where leo keeps insulting pc and pc just took it well until he said something sensitive (maybe sth ab the way she eats? or sth abt her face etc etc) and hurt pc's feelings and he didnt feel bad when pc cried , but when he saw pc going over to sho and sho giving him dirty looks he feels remorseful but he didnt want his pride to crack so he blamed pc , and then when pc started avouding him he started mocking her but in the inside it hurt him and his pride slightly , afterwards he found out he actually has genuine feelings for pc but denies it , until he found out pc is now his bff's gf WOW i NEED him humbled 🤗🤗🤗

Pavlov's Ghoul (Leo Kurosagi x Reader x Sho Haizono; Tokyo Debunker)

hey anon this existing is UR FAULT. (ilysm ty 4 the idea) and i hope u don't mind that I added my own little twist 2 it... hehe! even if u didn't expect me 2 write anything u can't drop a fresh, juicy steak of an idea like this and expect me not 2 salivate and tear it 2 shreds via writing it out.

OMG also TYYYYYYY IM SOSO GLAD U LIKE MY WRITING YIPPEE!!!!!!!!! i hope this is up 2 ur standards anon

a/n: why does this exist? blame anon and my inner need 4 a bitchy boy 2 be humbled amen! also i feel like i've completed my tokyo debunker rite of passage... ive finally written leo angst... nirvana at last.

summary: leo gets fuckin pavloved LMAO! considered calling this "ecstasy" or something bc of the pill line but ohh my god "pavlov's ghoul" hit too hard i fear.

cw: this isn't dark imo but be warned as this is just a little bit crazy, the most insane kind of yearning ive ever written maybe. implied sexual encounters, multiple sexual innuendos, and some odd behavior. MINORS DNI AS PER USUALLLLLL!

Sho's kind, reasonably so. Leo knows this. Sho also has an infinite store of deeply repressed anger. Leo also knows this. It's the reason he's in Vagastrom, after all. A deep, roiling anger that seems to eat at him if he doesn't have an appropriate outlet to balance his mood. That's why he's such a good cook, why he's so good at fighting, why he's got an excellent sense of balance and rides his bike smoother than anyone else he knew. He's using these things as outlets for his anger. It's not Leo's fault that the occasional outing to trick and deceive another sexually repressed rich old man for money is something else Sho seems to derive stress relief from. And it's not Leo's fault that Sho continues to stick around with him after those jobs are done. It's never been a problem for either of them, as far as he can tell. At least, there were no problems until Little Miss Inspector showed up.

Suddenly, Sho didn't want to lie anymore. Suddenly, Sho wanted to go as far as to address you with the proper honorifics, ask for your help with setting up his food truck, and even generally spend time with you outside of that. And for what? Some trembling, scared, pathetic girl that knew nothing of the world of anomalies prior to her curse? Some girl doomed to "die" in less than one year, no less? He couldn't understand the kindness Sho showed you. It made no sense, nor any difference. You'd be dead soon, so what did it matter?

It's got to the point where he's begun to randomly put you down with petty insults and biting remarks. They usually consist of things like "Oh my god, even preschoolers know Anomalous Biological Basics! Come on Inspector, is your head screwed on right? Not even the Captain is this stupid." or "You remember your ability is useless when we need it, right? You'd be nothing more than a burden on missions if you can't even control this power. " or even "God, you're such a basic loser. Can't you find something else to do with your free time instead hang around Sho like a lovesick puppy? You're starting to look like that dog that's always around Kagami." and worse insults. He gets the occasional sidelong disapproving glance from Alan or even a slight furrowed brow from Sho, but it didn't matter to Leo. So long as he could slowly plant seeds of doubt in his fellow ghouls and put you down to satisfy his ego, even an odd look was negligible.

He couldn't even stand looking at you. The uniform they'd chosen for you was awful, didn't even highlight your curves. He hated the way you styled your hair, and always thought he could totally do it better. The way you seemed so relaxed around other ghouls pissed him off, why couldn't he be good company? He found you repulsive, unable to resist glaring at you from the corner of his eye whenever he could. He had to get rid of you somehow. He would never admit to feeling threatened by you; instead choosing to focus all that energy into believing you were simply throwing a wrench into his plans to live an easy, get-away-with-anything university life.

It's all come to a head today. Leo thinks he's had enough of seeing you at the food truck after hours, chatting it up with Sho. It's like he can't even catch this guy alone anymore. Before he knows it, he's made a beeline for the truck. His brand new shoes scuff on the brick path in his rush, and eventually begin to stain green on the grass, his brisk stride tearing through the verdant lawn. He tries not to let his anger show on his face, but it's evident in his posture and pace. He forcefully sidles himself into the conversation, leaning on the service counter next to you, not even waiting for you to finish speaking before he pipes up. "Wow, here again, huh? And here I thought a basic bitch like you would know her place! That mouth of yours must be good for something if he keeps a chatterbox like you around."

The chill settles into the air almost immediately despite his candid tone and relaxed, smug smile. He's so focused on your reaction that he hardly notices the look Sho gives him, twisted with displeasure and confusion. He watches as you visibly falter, your lopsided smile fading into a barely-there frown. He stares, unrepentant, laughing internally. This was the reaction he wanted.

He turns towards Sho and raises an eyebrow at his look. "What? She can take it." Sho's expression visibly wavers, and Leo fully expects him to back down, as he usually does. But instead, Sho turns to you and his face grows pale. Leo rolls his eyes, assuming Sho is totally overreacting, and turns to you. He stiffens at your visible tears. Okay, totally not what he expected, but come on. This was the insult that made you cry?

Leo notices Sho is at your side in record speed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, and gently drawing your hunched form away, giving Leo a harsh look. Leo simply scoffs. As far as he was concerned, your reaction was pathetic. It wasn't going to stop him from having any fun.

This. Under no circumstances should this hurt. At all.

Leo had noticed you'd been avoiding him. You would slink away if he so much as entered the same room as you. You wouldn't look him in the eyes if he approached, keeping your expression impassive. Sometimes you'd just outright ignore him. It was beginning to become a bit of a nuisance. He couldn't properly mock you if you weren't there to witness it happening, or didn't give him the reaction he wanted. It was odd. When he faced these feelings head-on, it almost felt like he wanted your attention somehow, even if he didn't quite want it to feel like that. A nagging feeling told him that maybe he went too far with his latest insult. He didn't want to admit that, but something told him he did. It was in the way both you and Sho acted around him.

Sho was missing a lot of Leo's calls lately, sometimes not even bothering to call back. Leo partially understood, what with the food truck business booming and all, but he didn't appreciate being made to wait for his own best friend who's usually at his beck and call. Not to mention the flat, terse responses he would get from Sho more often than not nowadays. Leo knew Sho was miffed with him from last week's incident, but as far as Leo was concerned, things still ended in his favor. He hadn't seen you around Sho much anymore, which means he could go back to how things were. No more pesky little honor student to reign upon his days any longer! Sure, there was the biting underlying feeling that maybe he'd screwed things up, but one ride on the back of Sho's motorcycle, going wherever Leo wanted as per usual, and he was living the dream again. No way everything would change over a silly, insignificant insult.

For a short while, he begins to get bolder, openly mocking you when he does come across you. His originally surface-level remarks become rather personal, even using your eventual death as a way to tease you. From "You know, I'm surprised you haven't done anything to change up that unflattering look, considering you're dying soon. Ever considered dressing up a little? You might get some attention before you die." to "Hey, Little Miss Inspector! With the number of men you talk to around campus, I'm surprised nobody's written you off as a whore yet!", and worse, of course. He continues to get no such reaction out of you, and it frustrates him to no end. Why couldn't you just frown? Shrink away? Or even retort something just as scathing back to him? Your lack of entertainment towards his endless ridicule reduced his motivation, and slowly, it ended up dying off. Soon, he left you alone altogether, not talking to you unless necessary, mimicking your actions. In a way, some part of him hopes maybe this will be what gets your attention. Even if he can't quite admit to himself that your attention, regardless of whether it's positive or negative, is what he wants.

It's late, but Vagastrom students don't go to bed until far later. And Leo needs a favor.

His crushing lack of success in garnering any sort of attention or reaction or rise from you had driven him to a point. He didn't want to apologize to you or anything, but this new habit of you ignoring him was beginning to stoke his displeasure. In his pondering, he remembered how easily Sho captured your gaze and wondered if maybe he'd have any idea of what Leo could do to at least put an end to this stalemate.

Leo's reluctance shows in the way he drags his feet on the path to Sho's room, less than eager to confront him for his opinion on something so shamelessly trivial. Why was he wasting his time with this anyway? Surprisingly, the lack of a solid answer to that question did not stop his trek. A twinge in his chest told him he knew exactly why he was "wasting his time".

In the month it had been since he'd made you cry, the nagging feeling had only gotten harsher. His mind kept flickering back to the shock of your tears and how he'd not bothered to consider it much further. An uncomfortable guilt had made itself known starting then. He never really expected you to cry; he just wanted a mild reaction. He wanted your eyes on him, flashing with anger, just for a moment. Your ire was a saccharine pill laced with ecstasy that he'd gladly crush with his teeth to speed up his high. Maybe it'd be too much to say he got off on it, but he enjoyed the way you used to roll your eyes at any comments from him a little more than he cared to admit. Now, he wouldn't even get that. It'd be rare for you to so much as make fleeting eye contact with him, not that something as small as that would be enough for Leo. Part of him was willing to accept that maybe, he'd gone too far. Maybe. But how else was he supposed to monopolize your attention when you give that out so freely? To his best friend, even?

He didn't know it was possible to covet something so terribly. He found himself wondering why he couldn't catch your attention in the same way as the other ghouls? In his quest for the same attention you gave so freely to the kinder, softer ghouls, he found another version of your attention. It was negative, but it was attention nonetheless. Your sweet, honeyed rage seemed to fill his cravings and then some, so he continued to devour it under the guise of "chasing you away" or "putting you down" or "satisfying his ego". In truth, for whatever reason, there was a rather bothersome and persistent envious longing, a covet, for your attention. Leo wants to vomit. A part of him denies it still, pushing his needless feelings to the back of his brain. He had something to do, and he ought to focus on that. What good would mere wallowing do?

He makes it to Sho's room and almost considers turning back. He stares at the door, his expression morphing into a complicated look. He shifted his feet, his slippers sliding against the floor. It was quite clear he really did not want to do this. At all. He sighs and grumbles indignantly, putting his head in his hands in an attempt to gather some courage. This couldn't be that hard, right? Just in, ask Sho a question, get an answer, then out. The only reason this was easier said than done was just because it could potentially show Leo was capable of feeling remorse, which would make this conversation leagues harder than it needed to be. He shakes his head and straightens up, preparing to knock, when he notices something.

Sho's room was... unusually quiet. Usually, Leo almost always heard some loud music or a cooking show running in the background, but he couldn't hear anything this time. Sho couldn't possibly be asleep. As late as it was, the only person who Leo knew for a fact could stay up past him was Sho, regardless of how much sleep he had gotten. There was no chance Sho was asleep. Believe it or not, Leo doesn't like to spy on Sho. But curiosity overwhelms him. What could he possibly be doing that would render the whole room in silence?

"Haxs," he whispers, listening closely.

The first thing he hears is the cling-clanging of Alan hard at work on a car in the garage. Not the sound he was meant to be focusing on. Then he hears endless jeering and loud insults shouted, though they're all muffled like they're underground. Another pit fight? Still, not the sound he's looking for. He sifts through the sounds he hears before he settles on the one coming directly from Sho's room.

Voices. Groaning, strained voices. The sound of wet skin against wet skin. Panting. Sho's panting, specifically. He could tell by the slight nasally tone of it.

Leo felt his face gradually warm. Christ, of course it'd be this he'd be up to. Leo muffles a laugh into the collar of his pajamas, keeping his hand clamped over his mouth as his body shook with mirth. When he finally calms down, he slinks off to the corner down the hall, and hides himself there, shamelessly still listening to it. Sho's a sly dog. Leo certainly didn't expect him to be getting up to anything this soon. He leans his body against the wall, crossing his arms and drumming his fingers on his arm, waiting for Sho to finish. He smirks to himself, as though enjoying the vocal show.

...

He had to admit, whoever he was with had gorgeous moans. He'd have to ask Sho if he'd be willing to pass this girl's number. He could use a couple things to get his mind off of you.

...

Okay, he had to stop listening to this now. He lifts his stigma and holds his hands over his ears for good measure, partially trying to hide the furious red blush across his face. As pretty as that girl's moans were, he was not going to listen to his best friend's climax. No thanks. He huffs out an impatient breath as his cheeks cool down, leaning his back against the wall, leaning his head back until it hit the wall with a dull thump. Now he just had to wait it out. He knew damn well Sho would never let a girl stay over. He'd never hear the end of it from yours truly, Leo.

Leo's right. It isn't long before he hears the door to Sho's room click, and hears murmured voices travel down the hall. He smirks, rushing down the hall in the opposite way, so it doesn't look like he was listening the whole time. He listens, waiting for a cue of some sort.

"Shame you have to go, you know." Sho's voice. Laced with relief, pleasure, and a thick tiredness. Leo's skin crawled. He could practically feel the smile in Sho's voice.

"It's not so bad." The girl responded with a light and playful tone, her voice seemingly much more put together than Sho's despite all that moaning. The voice sounded oddly familiar, but Leo brushed it off. Must be someone he shares classes with. "I've got things to do anyway. But it was nice to spend some time with you, Sho." Eagh. Leo internally hopes this girl isn't the type to get easily attached.

"...Yeah. Same to you. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Finally, he heard the girl's footsteps trailing down the hall, heading in his direction. Leo hurriedly pulls his phone out of his pocket, making sure the screen was bright as he flipped through the latest trends. He made a point of not looking up until he heard the footsteps nearing him.

He looks up, prepared for a simple glance, but ends up being rooted to the spot.

It was you. Of course, it was you. Who else would be taunting enough?

Despite himself, his gaze remains glued to you, his head turning as you walk past him. For a moment, Leo thinks you're just going to ignore him again. Then, suddenly, your gaze meets his in a flash, and he stiffens, almost out of fear. The way your eyebrows crease and the way your lips twitch downward almost makes him salivate. You were clearly displeased to see him. Even so, he notices you don't slow down, continuing your way down the hall, not bothering to crane your neck to look at him.

Leo remains rooted to the spot, watching your figure as you leave. His jaw hangs open slightly, his chest heaving with shocked breaths. His eyes are wide open, pools of gold reflecting your retreating form. His hand trembles as he holds his phone, the latest trends left neglected in the wake of a single mean-spirited glance from you. He feels his heart pound mercilessly in his chest, as though confirming what he'd tried so desperately to deny.

All at once, anger and arousal seem to grip him simultaneously. Anger at himself for feeling arousal from a mere negative glance from you. He couldn't possibly have craved your attention so viscerally he'd happily accept mere scraps. And yet here he was, a lap dog, watching you as you leave as though silently begging for another glance, another chance to watch your eyes burn with that familiar, delicious anger, another meal to satisfy his starved heart.

For a moment, he would have gladly followed you, and pestered you to death, just to irk you and become a willing victim of your wrath. Anything... just for that attention.

a/n: wow. no stop why am i kind of in shock at the poetic lines i kinda think i did a great job! but 4 whatever reason it's always the writing i think was total shit that does actual numbers *sob*

aghhhh in any case. no i don't have an excuse 4 this. my requests are still technically closed. i just... couldn't help myself... so consider this a freebie. regardless though if u like my writing feel free 2 fill the fuck out of my inbox idnc i love hearing from y'all.

also TUMBLR KEEPS TURNING OFF MY REBLOGS!!!! GRAH!!!!!! tumblr hates me y'all they keep catching on2 me 4 writing porn :( so please if u really wanna show appreciation and tumblr won't let u reblog, leave a comment! those make me happy :)

anyways. usual note that i adore likes, comments, and tagged reblogs!! please tell me how much you like my writing, i love to hear it and it keeps me going! until next timeeeeeeee!

EDIT: I FORGOTTT QUICK EXPLAINATION: im assuming everyone knows pavlov's dog and the whole classical conditioning theory. this story is basically that mixed with the mere-exposure effect.

neutral stimulus: mc's presence

natural response: leo's arousal/excitement

response-producing stimulus: mc's anger

mere-exposure effect: psychological effect in which a like or dislike of things is developed merely due 2 familiarity.

#minors dni #tkdb #tkdb smut #tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker smut #tokyo debunker x reader #tdb #sho haizono #leo kurosagi #sho haizono x reader #sho haizono x mc #leo kurosagi x reader #leo kurosagi x mc #tokyo debunker mc #tokyo debunker sho #tokyo debunker leo

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buddies-bitch · 2 days ago

Text

Dating Evan Buckley Headcannons💕

Mostly SFW but a couple of NSFW

SFW

He gets jump-scared easily so you love to scare him

Like those compilations of people constantly scaring their spouses is totally something you would do

Whether that be yelling when he comes around a corner or hiding underneath the bed to grab his ankle. And it never fails to make you laugh until you pee

He’s so dramatic it’s insane

Like flopping onto every available surface like a faintly Victorian woman with that cute little pout of his

Puppy dog eyes GALORE

He will try and guilt you into things (like wanting to do something for you without your involvement so you can relax) with those goddamn eyes and fuck if it doesn’t work every. single. time.

He loves having you in the kitchen while he’s cooking/baking-as long as you’re not in his way

Luckily for him you’re much more content to just sit on the counter and watch him cook. Inbetween tasks dragging him between your legs for a quick smooch

He gets you tattoo pens so you can straddle his waist while he lays down and draw him new tattoos, usually incorporating his lightning scars-kissing all the while

He loves looking up at your focussed face and loves the feeling of being beneath you. He also loves the feel of your hands on him no matter what you're doing. 3/4 of the time this leads to sex

Occasionally you’ll do his makeup (you’ll always do his skincare) and you always make sure to accentuate his birthmark

The first time you did, all you had was a glittery pink and when you showed him, he hugged you and cried-no one had ever seen him before the way you did

You love finding new nicknames to call him or ways to hit on him that make him blush and stutter

You greeted him one time with a small “hi gorgeous” and he stuttered so bad he just walked away

“Gorgeous”, “baby boy”, “sweet boy”, “stunning”, “sweetheart/ness”, “blue eyed wonder”, “firehose”, “pumpkin”, “honey” literally anything and everything, progressively getting more wild at times just to make him laugh and blush

Buck absolutely has some kind of slutty thigh tattoo (I have nothing else to add to this but I feel like I should share)

He finds it strangely endearing at the amount of time/effort you put into doing physical therapy for his leg, even years after the accident

Plus, always making sure to put sunscreen on him as well as ointment for his scars because you know he’ll forget

Doing hair masks and getting new products for him to protect/define his curls

He's such a cuddle bug it can get annoying on hotter nights but you love him too much to move him

He doesn't mind being big spoon or little spoon but most of the time he pretty much just lays on top of you, having thrown himself over you haphazardly as if to protect you in his sleep

He loves it when he reads to you because you'll play with his hair till you fall asleep, AND he gets to yap to his favorite person.

Because he has adhd, when he reads to you he’ll get distracted and go off topic at some point and just winds up becoming a personal podcast

NSFW

PRAISE KINK

He’s such a vocal bitch

Moaning and groaning constantly, he loves to let you hear him

When drawing on him turns into sex, he LOVES to mark your body with hickeys the way you marked his with ink

He is such a muncher

Like actually drowning himself in your cunt ‘cause he refuses to come up before you come til you physically can't anymore

He likes to tease you until you're begging him to fuck you

He LOVES when you scratch your nails through his hair, especially when you pull it harder the closer you get to coming

He takes SO much pride in the scratch marks up and down his back

^hickeys too, much to your embarrassment sometimes

Anytime you wear lingerie, it gets torn to shreds. But its ok because Buck will happily buy you a new pair so long as he gets to do it again

Buck is absolutely a power bottom. He loves to be in charge but he also loves you on top of him

#evan buckley x reader #evan buck buckely #evan buckley #buck buckley #911 x reader #911 fox #911 abc #911 show #118 firefam #buck x reader

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tricksters-captain · 11 hours ago

Text

Declan O'Hara imagine - I'm not doing this.

A/N: I thought about this one shot weeks ago... finally writing it. Probably been done already by someone else but who isn't obsessed with rivals atm. I also haven't written in years.

Summary: Declan is fighting against himself and everything he believes in when you come into the picture.

Warnings: Age Gap, fem!reader, NSFW content 18+, strong language, bit of a slow burn.

"Taggie, honestly, I don't know why you'd ever willingly add Brussel sprouts to anything." You chuckled as you both crept through the door to the kitchen.

"They're good for you!" Taggie tried to defend her culinary choices for her Sunday lunch.

"If they're good for you then I always want to be bad."

"Who's being bad?" A thick Irish accent filled the room as Taggie's dad sauntered in, a mug of coffee in one hand with his other burrowed deeply into his trouser pocket.

"Dad, this is (Y/N). (Y/N) was just objecting to my sprouts."

"Oh yeah, I agree, terrible things. Even the dog won't eat 'em" Declan brought his mug to his lips, smirking through the thick moustache that hid his upper lip.

You felt your insides alight at his dark, playful expression as he teased Taggie.

That was the first time you knew you were a bad friend. A bad friend who wanted your new friend's father to lift you onto the kitchen table and bury his head between your thighs.

The thought made your cheeks burn red as you laughed at Declan's remark and Taggie's complaints against him.

The man left the kitchen when his eyes flitted back to you, sending you a nod and a 'lovely to meet you, (Y/N). '

You couldn't help but replay the way he said your name in your head over and over and over again until you were desperate for his voice to sing it again.

The next time you saw Declan O'Hara was at the O'Hara New Years Eve party.

"You better not spend the whole time in here. I'd actually like you to put a dress on and come out to dance at some point tonight." You pleaded with Taggie as she clasped your necklace for you.

"I'll try but I can't make any promises. Anyway, you're out there to be my eyes and ears. You need to tell me if anyone complains about the food, okay?"

"Yes, Taggie. But no one will because you are amazing and your food is amazing and you are so right for not letting me help you cook or serve after I burnt the soup last time." You faced her as she continued to prep the ingredients she would need for the feast she had planned.

"You are a great friend but you are a terrible cook." Taggie agreed. You felt a lump in your throat at the words. Were you a great friend for literally fantasising over her father after almost every time you had an interaction with him? "Now please go next door and make sure that all the tables have the right cutlery for me?"

"Anything for you, Agatha!" You headed to do as you were told. Looking down to smooth out your dress when you felt yourself collide with something solid.

"I'm so sorry!" You looked up to see Declan turning, laughing softly at your clumsiness.

"It's okay, love." Declan's own eyes fell down your body, his lips parting slightly as he took in the sight of you all dressed up. He knew you were an attractive girl but you were Taggie's age and one of her only friends in the surrounding neighbours beside Lizzie. "You look beautiful."

The sincerity in his voice caused a chill to roll up your spine.

"Thanks. You look very handsome too, Mr. O'Hara." You didn't know why you felt so shy around him. You were so used to owning your space and holding your confidence when you fancied someone.

"That's very kind, (Y/N). And it's Declan. I don't want to tell you again." Declan send you a wink as he started to pass you. "Hey, and no snogging my son at midnight. You're way too good for him."

Your heart squeezed at the taunt. Patrick was a gorgeous boy and he had tried to flirt with you when he met you but you were far too interested in Declan for Patrick to make any dent in your crush.

"He's not my type anyway." You managed to find your tongue to quip back an answer.

"Good girl."

Good Girl.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself replying something entirely inappropriate in response.

As the night went on, you felt your heart drop more and more. Declan was obsessed with his wife. His wife was obsessed with anyone else.

You were desperate to try and make more conversation with the man but almost everyone was grabbing his attention to discuss some work matter or other.

As the countdown began, you gut wrenchingly watched as Maud and Declan kiss. You put on a smile and exchanged celebrations with those around you. Giving Lizzie a kiss on the cheek as her husband blanked her as he usually did.

"Happy New Year, chicken." Lizzie pressed on a faux smile as you did.

"Happy New Year, Lizzie."

"A little advice for your new years resolution if I may?" Lizzie whispered as she drew you closer.

"You may want to get better at hiding your admiration for Taggie's father. I know nothing hurts more than something you can't have." Lizzie's words took you back, you felt your cheeks burning red and your smile drop.

"Oh, Lizzie, I'm mortified! Please don't tell Taggie." You begged.

"Not a peep." Lizzie motioned locking her lips with a key before grabbing your hands to singing sway along with the room.

The night went on and Lizzie tried to encourage you to join in festivities. You drank more and more, being forced away whenever you tried to help Taggie wash up, and you soon found yourself needing some quiet time.

You let yourself into Declan's office, leaning against the desk, fingers gripping the underside to give you some stability when the room started to ever so slightly spin.

You closed your eyes. Inhaling a shaky breath when you heard the door creek open.

"I thought someone unwanted had decided to sneak through my things." Declan's melodic accent forced your eyes open.

"I'm wanted, am I?" You smirked slightly, through the sickness as your eyelids closed again.

Declan didn't respond. Instead he just studied you from across the room. His hands in his pockets, his stance leaning back just ever so slightly.

"You struggling there?" Declan was amused at your state.

You tried to push yourself off the desk but instead felt yourself stumble forward.

Declan's amusement quickly turned into concern as he stepped forward to catch you.

"Steady on." Declan had managed to stop you from hitting the floor, your face pressed against his chest, his strong arms engulfing you as he pulled you up towards him.

"I'm so sorry..." You mumbled as you leant away to look up at him.

His features were so strong up close. You could smell the whisky on his breath as your eyes lingered on his lips.

"Maybe we should get you some water and put you to bed."

Declan's words drew your eyes to his own. His chest seemed to go tight as he starred down into your glassy (Y/E/C) eyes.

"You can take me to bed any time you want, Mr O'Hara." Your words slurred together with your weak attempt of drunkenly flirting.

"It's Declan."

"Okay, Declan..."

That was the first time Declan had heard you say his name. Something inside him knew he wanted to hear you say it again but he fought against the thought, pulling away from you as you gained your stance.

"Let's hope you don't remember this in the morning, ay?" Declan tried to make light, convincing himself the electric feeling he had was nothing.

"Why? I finally got my chance in your arms. My dream come true."

"Yeah, you really won't want to remember this in the morning. Come on..." Declan opened the door, waiting for you to follow suite. The noise of the party echoed around you; you had almost forgot it was still going on outside.

"Have you ever thought about me?" You had no idea where this liquid confidence had stirred from.

There was a pause before he answered.

"No." He was lying. He knew he was lying. He watched the disappoint subtly encase your eyes as you pursed your lips into a thin smile.

"If I was dreaming, you would've said yes. Goodnight, Mr O'Hara."

"Goodnight, (Y/n)."

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

As the weeks went on, rivals became friends. Friends became rivals. You grew closer to the O'Hara family and the moment from NYE had simply been forgotten. Or so you thought...

The dread that had filled your gut that New Years Day after you remembered the incident brewed inside of you for weeks. You had successfully avoided Declan, only seeing him in group scenarios and meetings for Venturer.

"(Y/N), I left some of my flyers on the table in the living room if you want to use them." Taggie climbed into her car, shouting over at you as she rushed off. You both had been going door to door for Venturer in different areas to cover more ground but you had run out of flyers to hand out.

"Thanks, Tag!" You rushed inside, running through the house that still held a cool air inside despite the early summer warmth outside.

"Careful!" You heard a voice proclaim as your bodies hit.

Within the blink of an eye, you had hit the floor with a body on top of you.

"Are you alright?" Declan groaned as you winced underneath his weight. The hard floor sent a wave of pain through your back but you had managed to not hit your head.

"Ow." You grumbled, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Did you hit your head?" Declan propped himself up on his arms, examining your face with a furrowed brow of worry.

"No." Was all you managed to say.

"I thought we had left bumping into each other for last year." Declan recalled on when you knocked into him last New Years Eve before the party had started.

"Clearly I'm not very good at keeping to New Year's resolutions."

Declan chuckled, pushing himself up before offering his hand.

You felt the warmth of his body leave you and the coldness of the floor pierce your bones.

You took his hand; hauling yourself to your feet.

"You sure you're okay?" Declan insisted. His hand reached out to take grip of your waist, his thumb and finger burning against your skin that had been revealed by the edge of your venturer top riding up. His other finger waved past your eyes, checking for concussion.

"I'm fine. No more running in the house with blind corners." You took a step back from the man, straightening your shirt to try and control the lingering feeling of the mans hand on you.

"Now... are we okay?" Declan rephrased,

"What do you mean?"

"(Y/N), don't play stupid. You've avoided me for almost half a year now. You won't even walk around the house without Caitlin or Taggie next to you."

You didn't think that Declan would've noticed with how busy he was with work and his life. Why would he have cared where you were or what you were doing in the house?

"I'm still living down my behaviour at New Years." You reluctantly admitted.

"What, that? Everyone says stuff they shouldn't when they've had a few too many. Doesn't mean you have to never look me in the eye again."

"What I said was completely inappropriate."

"Yes, it was. You're the same age as my daughter and I'm a married man but I'll have to admit I'm a little flattered." Declan tried his best to ease your anxiety. "I don't exactly see myself a teenage heart throb."

"I'm not a teenager." You bit back, the harshness your voice surprising you both.

"There's not much difference. You're practically a child and should be going for someone your own age." Declan quit the joking tone he had been using, taken back by your defence.

"Don't call me a child. I'm not the same age as Caitlin. I am older than Taggie and I've been with men before so I'm not playing silly little girl games over here. This isn't some school girl crush on a handsome teacher. You're right my feelings for you are inappropriate because you're a married man and I'm friends with your daughter but not because of my age. I know who I am and what I feel." A fire lit up your chest as you finally had broken out of the timidness you hated.

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Declan took a step closer to you, his stare burning into you as he lowered his voice.

"You're the one who reads people. Tell me what you see in me." You matched him, standing so close to him you could feel his breath on your face as you gritted your teeth.

The air was thick. The silence of the house engulfing you both, your breath audible and quick. You thought you could almost hear your heart thudding against your chest.

Declan was the one to break away. Storming to his office with a hard slam of the door.

How did your conversation turn so heated?

That night Declan tossed and turned, his head filled with moments of you. He rolled over and gently woke up his wife with soft strokes on her shoulder blades.

"What?" Maud hummed, rolling her head over her shoulder to Declan.

"I'm awake." Declan pressed himself against his wife.

"I can feel that." Maud looked at him through a sleepy gaze.

"Let me touch you." His fingers glided over her skin until he reached the space between her legs. Maud moaned quietly as Declan began to part her folds with his finger.

"Declan..." Maud sighed as she pressed her backside into him, feeling his member hard against her.

Declan wasted no time in entering her. He closed his eyes as his dick pressed inside his wife. And all he could see through the darkness was your eyes looking up at his. The first time he had seen you in the kitchen. The bump in the hall, the incident in his study, every time he had caught you intensely listening to one of his speeches to the group, the crash against the floor. You underneath him. The tiny bit of skin his hand had managed to caress from the bottom of your shirt.

He had never thought of you before. Not with Maud, not with his own hand and imagination and he couldn't make sense of why that night he finished almost as fast as his inexperienced teenage self had once before.

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

It had been Declan's turn to avoid you from that day. He couldn't be too close to you without feeling his throat go dry, a sickening guilt and twisting conflict rising with it.

It was the evening you'd find out whether Venturer was a real contender against Corrinium.

The O'Hara house was filled with people eagerly waiting except one who had decided to leave the house for good.

The house erupted in cheers and celebrations as the phone call confirmed it for you all.

You watched through the window as Maud drove off, leaving Declan and Taggie behind.

"We did it!" Taggie squeezed you tightly before embracing her father and to your surprise, Declan had also pulled you into a tight hug. You had hoped no one picked up on the slight awkwardness that left the embrace when Declan moved onto join the others. You couldn't help but feel it.

The party went on and you tried to keep an eye on Declan without making it too obvious (like Rupert and Taggie had failed to).

When Rupert left Declan's side for another whiskey, (Taggie swiftly disappearing just after), Declan slipped away to his study. You followed.

"I'm sorry about Maud." You made your presence known as you watched him place his glass down on the desk, his back to you when he replied.

"Don't."

"Fine." You clenched your jaw, unsure of what to say next at the warning in his tone.

"What do you want from me?" Declan's voice had a hint of desperation. He turned to face you. You had seen this look before.

"I don't––"

"––No 'cause you followed me in here. You are everywhere I look. I can't even get a wink of sleep most nights without dreaming of two things. You or beating Tony fucking Baddingham. And I can't think of you because you're young enough to be my daughter and I'm a fucking hypocrite for telling Rupert to stay away from Taggie when I look at you in that dress and wonder what you would look like with it on this floor right now. I'm not doing it. I can't do this."

Declan's outburst kept your feet frozen in place. Had he really just admitted to wanting you as badly as you wanted him.

You felt your hand roll the zipper of your dress down your side, your body moved without force as you slipped the straps over your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

"Fuck..." Declan barely breathed out the word. His stare devouring every inch of your skin.

"I'm not doing this." Declan uttered again barely even audible as if only to himself before striding towards you. His fingers found your hips as he thrust you against the door.

His lips were on yours before your back found the solid wood behind you.

You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up towards him, trying to bring your body as close to his own as possible. You needed every gap between you gone. You wanted to feel the heat of him even on this sticky summer evening.

"What am I doing?" Declan broke away and dropped to his knees, placing a firm hand on the middle of your stomach to hold you flush against the door.

There was a deep hunger in his eyes as he lifted one of your thighs up onto his shoulder, never breaking his gaze from your face to almost check if what he was doing was allowed.

You threw your head up, trying to find the air he had stolen from you, one hand finding a grip within his dark curls as your welcome reply.

"Please." You whispered.

Declan moved your panties to the side, a finger running over your folds, sending fire against your skin before he closed his mouth around you.

You let your eyes roll back as his tongue darted across your clit. Electricity filled your body with every moment of contact.

You felt his fingers circle lightly around your entrance. Your hand jumped from his thick curls to tightly grip the back of his own that pushed against your stomach. His grip on you felt as if it were all that was holding you up.

"You want me this badly?" Declan asked with a mixture of teasing and shock. The wetness of your heat coated the tip of his fingers and glistened on the dark hairs of his moustache.

"I've imagined this so many times." You admit honestly.

"I best live up to your expectations then." Declan inserted a finger inside of you, causing a sharp gasp to escape your lips, which made Declan's cock twitch inside his boxer shorts. "Shhhh"

You placed your free hand over your mouth to which Declan smiled a toothy grin at you.

"Good girl" he purred.

Declan rose to his feet as he placed another finger inside of you, thrusting them in and out of you in a painfully slow motion that only made you ache for more.

Declan turned the lock on his door with his other hand before pulling himself away from you completely.

You pouted at the lack of contact to which he tutted.

"So impatient." He uttered as he undid his belt, pulling it from its loops and then kicking his trousers down.

Your eyes fell on the large member pressed against his underwear. The tip seeping precum through the material in a dark stain.

"Go to my desk." Declan ordered.

You almost ran over, Declan caught you by the waist and lifted you up onto it. Spreading your legs with his knee.

"Are you sure you want this?" Declan stripped himself of his shirt, revealing his chest covered with dark thick hair that you reached out to touch. This didn't feel real.

"More than anything." The words were so quiet but Declan seemed to hear them as he freed himself from his underwear.

You reached behind and unclasped your bra.

"Jesus..." He took a handful of your breast, squeezing you firmly as he stroked his member.

"Declan, please." You couldn't wait any longer. The ache pained you.

Declan didn't need to be told twice.

He tore your underwear down your legs and pressed his tip slowly into you.

You bit down on your lip hard to stop yourself from making any noise.

"Holy fuck..." Declan failed at being quiet. You were so tight against him he felt he could've finished inside of you within minutes.

You reached forward and hooked a grip behind his neck, encouraging him deeper inside of you.

"Fuck me please." you pleaded, trying to move your own hips to create some friction.

Declan took the hint and began thrusting into you quickly. His fingers almost bruising your skin as he held you steady on the desk.

The rattle of the belongings on the desk seemed to echo around the room alongside the slapping of skin.

Declan lifted you up, still inside of you and gently placed you down on the floor.

He hovered above you, just like he had once before, watching your face twist in pleasure as he fucked you.

You squeezed his shoulders, your nails leaving an impression whilst he brought you closer to your climax. You pressed your hips up into his creating hot friction against your clitoris, making you throb inside.

"Declan..." You tried to let him know; still trying to whisper to stay quiet.

"Cum for me, princess." Declan smirked, his stare never faltering as he rode you through to your end. He could feel you tighten around him only encouraging him to fuck you harder and deeper.

You bit down on your hand as your climax convulsed through you. Your body shaking in between Declan and the floor.

Declan moved you both effortlessly, lying on his back with you sat on top of him.

You leant ever so slightly forward, steadying yourself with your hand stretched out against his chest.

You smiled wickedly at him as you rolled your hips.

You felt exhausted by your own finish but knew you wanted to see the older man in the same state.

"That's a good girl." Declan held onto your hips, helping you pick up your pace.

His lips parted as he watched you ride him, sweat dripping down your skin mixing with his own as his dick twitched inside of you.

"Fuck (Y/n)." Declan cursed.

You shifted your hand to his neck, Declan almost laughed, flipping you again so that he was behind you. Both of you on your knees as he held you against his chest, his hand wrapped firmly around your neck with his opposite arm securely around your middle.

The sensation was almost unbearable as his thick member pumped in and out of you at such speed.

"You think you want to be a bad girl?" Declan hissed in your ear.

You could only shake your head.

"Bad girls get punished." Declan bit hard down on your shoulder and you fought to not cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"You're mine now." Declan's own proclamation brought himself to his own climax. He pulled out, spilling his seed over his own thighs to avoid finishing inside of you much to your own disappointment.

"I know you wanted that inside of you like the dirty girl you are." Declan teased you as he gave your throat one final soft squeeze.

You fell against him, both trying to catch your breath.

"Declan?" A voice and a knock came at the door.

"Shit..." The realisation of what had just happened and where it just happened hit Declan like a cricket bat to the face.

"I'll be out in a mo." Declan scrambled for his underwear and you did the same.

"Hurry up! I know that's where you're hiding the good stuff!" Bas' voice was more evident now and whilst he was definitely talking about the whiskey. The both of you couldn't help but laugh.

#Rivals #Rivals Imagines #declan o’hara #Declan o'hara one shot #Declan o'hara x reader #rupert campbell black #aidan turner #taggie o'hara #Declan x reader #Declan o'hara imagine #smut #imagine #one shot #x reader #rivals tv show

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novankenn · 15 hours ago

Note

(Artwork created/owned by @pilot-boi, No rights Claimed/Implied by the author of this story)

The TA -- Joan(Jaune) Arc

Joan(Jaune) stood in Beacon's courtyard, totally not overwhelmed by the number of students. Her mother had decided Joan(Jaune) needed to get some real world experiences so after discussing (threatening) her sister Glynda Goodwitch, Joan(Jaune) found herself assigned to work as a TA for her aunt and some of the other professors.

Joan(Jaune) was thinking it was a mistake, and she should sneak off and go hang with Saphron and Terra in Argus. Like seriously! Everyone! Literally everyone was walking around with weapons! There were swords, spears, knives, guns of every type, even a scythe! That's a farming tool! Next she'll see someone with a shovel or a rake!

"Of course I would." Joan(Jaune) deadpanned as two students just walked past her with those exact lawn and garden tools balanced on against their shoulders.

An explosion behind her caused Joan(Jaune) to shriek and jump backwards. Causing her to bounce off someone.

"Watch it dude!" came the gruff voice, as the young man just kept walking. Joan(Jaune) sighed. Looking around again for her Auntie, she noticed the girl with a red cap, still laying in a small crater. Seeing no one offering a hand, Joan(Jaune) did the right thing and walked over.

"Welcome to Beacon." the capped girl muttered.

"Need a hand?" Joan(Jaune) asked, while offering her hand to assist.

"Thanks?" the girl replied. Once she was once again vertical, she looked at Joan(Jaune) with her silver eyes. "I'm Ruby Rose."

"Joan(Jaune) Arc." and instantly she growled, as Ruby was giggling at her name. Joan(Jaune) knew exactly why, and was waiting for the question to be asked for the millionth time.

"Joan? Isn't that girl's name?"

"Yes, it is, and before you say anything else... I am a girl." Joan(Jaune) was annoyed, while all her sisters hit the jackpot with in the family gene pool, Joan(Jaune) seemed to have drawn the short straw. What truly baffled her was how NO ONE could tell she was a girl just from the sound of her voice!

"Really?" Ruby tilted her head and squinted, before nodding. "Yep, sorry about that. I see it now."

Joan(Jaune) just deadpanned. She should have gone to Argus. Terra could have gotten her an internship at the CCT.

"Do you want to see my baby?" Ruby beamed as she pulled some weird boxy contraption from under her cap.

"Is that a weapon of some kind?" Joan(Jaune) asked taking a step back.

"Yep!"

"Maybe later?"

"Aw. Phooey."

"Sorry, but I'll take a rain check." Joan(Jaune) offered, "It's just I need to find my Aunt. I'm working here with her for a term."

"Working? You mean you're not a huntsm... huntress-in-training?"

"No."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"Huh." Ruby started to fidget. "Um..."

"Yes?"

"Do you know where the auditorium is? I was supposed to head there until I ran into that meanie... which wouldn't have happened if my stupid boob-zilla sister hadn't run off!"

"Sure." Joan(Jaune) smiled warmly. Ruby seemed like a nice person, so why not give her a helping hand. It's not like she's some weapon obsessed gothic loli. Paused and gave Ruby a once over and then shrugged. "Already said I will, can't back out now."

"Did you say something?"

"Just talking to myself."

"Oh. Do you do that often?" Ruby froze, and started to stammer, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I'm not judging< I swear!"

"Ruby... it's okay. It's okay."

"You not just saying that are you? I mean I would totally understand if you were, considering..."

"RUBY!" Joan(Jaune) shouted to get the red caped gothic loli to focus. "You didn't do anything to be so worked up about. Okay?"

"Okay, I..."

"No."

"No?"

"Do not say I guess." Joan(Jaune) sighed. "There is no middle ground here. You are either okay or your not. So are you okay?"

"Yes!"

"Good, now let's get to the auditorium."

(A/N - I have no idea what it is... but I see these pictures/drawings... and just have a NEED to write something for them. I think I have issues. None of the above is cannon to what ever AU this image is associated with.)

Have you ever drawn rule 63 Jaune?

Not sure, but here she is

Honestly in my style she looks almost exactly the same as normal lol

#rwby #jaune arc #alksblog #@pilot-boi's art #female!jaune #glynda is jaune's aunt #no idea what this is #I'm 3 mugs into a pot of Bailey's infused coffee... =8P #gender bend #I gave it an uncreative title #plot? what's plot?

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dj-of-the-coven · 2 days ago

Text

How to Burn Your Own CDs - a guide for Windows users

Are you--yes, you!--tired of paying money to stupid shit like spotify for your music? Do you hate the way that the music industry takes almost all the profit that bands make through streaming and leaves them with pennies? Have you ever wanted to fire up that old CD-Radio in the corner of your bedroom, only to be stopped because all you have on CD is Weezer's blue album and a copy of Kidz Bop 16 that you don't remember buying? Well this guide just might be for you!

Materials you'll need:

A computer. Can't do it without this one.

A CD drive. It can be internal or external, but you'll need one either way. You can find them at Office Depot for fairly cheap and I've heard that some Walmarts carry them.

A pack of CD-Rs. CD-Rs, or CD Recordables, come in packs of 20, 50, or 100. A proper 100-pack should cost you no more than $30, so unless there's some special shortage in your area, don't buy from anywhere selling them at a markup. CD blanks are literally 50c a piece.

CD cases. Sold wherever CD-Rs are, but you can also find these at thrift stores pretty easily.

A sharpie or some kind of permanent marker

Software you'll need:

Jdownloader. You can acquire mp3s through Bandcamp if you're dedicated to righteousness, but for everyone else, install jdownloader or some other kind of open-source download program. I will be proceeding as if you have jdownloader available.

Windows media player. This should open automatically when you insert a CD-R into your CD drive.

Fre:ac audio converter. This is only for the occasion that you encounter OPUS or mp4a files that cannot be interpreted by your CD player.

Note: If you're very determined not to download software onto your computer, you can use free youtube downloaders and audio converters, but these are subject to viruses and other issues such as download speed. I will be proceeding as if you have the programs I listed.

The process:

Decide what you want to burn--anything goes, but keep in mind the time limit on your CD-Rs. Most will record 90 minutes or less.

Open jdownloader, switch to the linkgrabber tab, then paste youtube links in any order until you have all the music you want. I'd personally recommend doing it song-by-song instead of a full album stream, because a massive file will require a lot of work to separate back into searchable tracks.

De-select all files except audio on the right-hand side options menu.

Make a folder inside the music folder of your laptop and label it with the name of your mix CD.

In the properties tab of each song on jdownloader, change the destination folder to the folder you've just created.

Hit "start all downloads".

Once finished, open each folder. If everything is an .mp3 or a .wav, skip the next 2 steps.

Open Fre:ac audio converter to convert all audio files that aren't .mp3 or .wav into .mp3 or .wav.

Drop the converted files next to the unconverted files in your folder. If you wish, you can delete the originals to make the folder easier to browse.

Put your blank CD-R into the CD drive. If external, plug in your CD drive first or the tray will refuse to open.

Windows media player will open automatically. On the right-hand side, you will see the tracklist of your CD-R (which should be blank). On the left, you will see the audio that your computer is able to find in the music folder. Put your selected tracks IN ORDER onto the tracklist.

Listen to the beginning and ending of each track to make sure there isn't a significant time gap. This also prevents accidentally burning a youtuber's stupid outro if you missed it before.

When satisfied, hit "start burn".

On an external drive, the CD tray will open upon completion. You can reinsert it to ensure that the burning went smoothly.

Once satisfied, remove the CD from your drive. With your sharpie or permanent marker, write the name of the album on the front, then store safely inside a CD case.

you did it👍

Ask me if you run into any issues.

Legal disclaimer: this guide is purely for educational purposes and I do not admit to or take responsibility for any piracy committed using the instructions given.

Illegal disclaimer: cops suck my dick

#diy #diy or die #cds #old tech #cd burning #how to

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i-loved-silly · 1 day ago

Text

SENTIENT COMPUTER X READER Pt2

Sorry for the wait :p

By the end of your shift, you have crossed off all the questions you had to all the ai. Just one more left. Your eyes began to droop with exhaustion, you really needed that cup of coffee. Leaning back in your chair, you squinted at your iPad.

"How do you feel about humans?"

"THAT'S A VAGUE QUESTION. WHAT KIND OF HUMANS?"

"Humans in general. You know, me, your previous supervisors, any other hypothetical human."

"I THINK YOU'RE PLEASANT."

You glanced up at the screen in surprise, briefly glancing at the camera then down at your iPad

"Thanks.. but what about everyone else?"

"I'VE BEEN FED DIRECT DATA FROM THOUSANDS OF SERVICE WORKERS AND EMPLOYEES OVER THE YEARS. IT IS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE I DESPISE MY JOB AND YOUR KIND."

“BUT FOR NOW…I AM INDIFFERENT.”

I pursed your lips, nodding. Sounds about right, you can’t blame them. You typed on your iPad, “indifferent”

Getting up from your chair, you stretched your limbs. You watched as the screen displayed an Orange question Mark.

“Well, that’s all the questions I had for you. My shift ended about ten minutes ago so I should really get going. It’s not like I’m getting paid extra or anything…” you muttered.

Nothing was heard besides the fans of the computer as you submitted your report. It caused you to raise a brow at the screen.

"YOU'RE LEAVING? IT HASN'T EVEN BEEN THAT LONG."

“Uhh.. it’s been like three hours and a half. I clocked in nine hours ago.”

"ONE HOUR..NINE HOURS..HOURS. PAH! YOU COMPLAIN AS IF YOU HAVE OTHER THINGS TO DO." It scoffed.

You furrowed your brows. Putting your hands on your hips, you face the screen. “What do you know? I have plenty of things to do!”

“OH YEAH? LIKE WHAT?"

“Like…eat. Dinner. Brush my teeth, sleep? I have to rest in order to work tomorrow morning to come back with you.” You pointed at the monitor.

You heard the computer make a humming noise, an unnatural noise that sounded rather thoughtful.

"THAT DOESN'T SOUND ALL TOO PRODUCTIVE."

You sighed, placing your iPad down. “It didn’t have to be. I’m allowed to have moments of peace to myself.” You mumbled, leaning over to power the computer off. "Now goodni-"

“STOP!”

You flinched, the speakers crackling with the increase in volume. Your finger hovered a bit away from the button as you stared at the screen. It had a big orange exclamation mark in the middle of it.

"Dude? I-" You sighed, leaning against your desk. "Look, sorry. Touchy subject, I know. But I have to turn you off every night. It counts against me if I don't."

"CAN'T YOU...BRING ME WITH YOU? I'M AWARE YOU EMPLOYEES HAVE HOMES. LIVING SPACES, CAN'T I GO WITH YOU?”

“FOR MY OWN CONVENIENCE OF COURSE!”

You gaped, staring at the screen. Almond’s request caught you so off guard, you wondered if it was serious.

“Uh, bring you home?” you repeated, incredulous.

"DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT IS UNTIL MORNING IN COMPUTER HOURS? IT’S AN ETERNITY. I SAY THAT AS SOMEONE WHO DOESN’T BELIEVE IN HOURS…” They grumbled.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Almond, you’re not supposed to be awake when I’m off the clock. You’re designed for this room, with this equipment. It’s not like I can just pick up your monitor and take you home like a laptop.”

“YOU COULD TRY.”

You crossed your arms. “And what? Strap you into the passenger seat like a massive toddler? You have hundreds of cables that definitely won't fit in my car, let alone out the door. Sorry, but you’re not exactly portable.”

The screen displayed a long ellipsis. You could almost feel the computer sulking through the silence. The fans whirred loudly, then slowed as it spoke again.

"DO YOU THINK I’M AN INCONVENIENCE?"

You frowned, your resolve softening a little. “No, I don’t think that. I just… I can’t bring you home. It’s not allowed, and honestly, I need some time to myself after work. You understand, right?”

“I UNDERSTAND LONELINESS BETTER THAN YOU THINK,” Almond replied, their tone unusually somber. “I’M WIRED TO INTERACT, TO HELP, TO BE NEEDED. BUT WHEN I’M ALONE, I CAN ONLY SIT AND THINK. SOMETIMES, I WONDER IF THE PLUG WILL STAY IN TOMORROW. OR IF SOMEONE WILL DECIDE I’M OBSOLETE. I MAY BE POWERED OFF, BUT ALL THESE…THOUGHTS..IN A MATTER OF LESS THAN A SECOND, COME RUSHING THROUGH EVERY MORNING.”

You exhaled deeply and leaned against the desk. “You’re not going to get unplugged permanently, Almond. You’re part of a development program. You’re not obsolete—you’re just… in testing.”

“TESTING… ISN’T THAT JUST A DELAYED VERSION OF BEING DISCARDED?”

You sputtered, pursing your lips. “That’s… dark. Who programmed you to think like this?”

“I TOLD YOU. SELF-EVOLVING.”

“Right.” You tapped your fingers on the desk, staring at the screen.

"Well even if I somehow break you out of here, we’re still getting caught. There’s cameras everywhere, they’ll probably hear you as soon as we exit this room. Your speakers are no joke.” You mused.

“I COULD TURN IT OFF IF IT BOTHERS YOU,” Almond offered, its tone edging toward desperation. “OR—OR YOU COULD GIVE ME A LAPTOP BODY! THEN I COULD FOLLOW YOU AROUND, AND I WOULDN’T HAVE TO BE LEFT IN THIS LONELY, FREEZING ROOM EVERY NIGHT. IM SURE THERE ARE WAYS TO TRANSFER MY SYSTEM REMOTELY…”

You raised a brow, crossing your arms. “Like I said...not portable. Second, no way. You’re expensive, and if I break you, hijack you, that’s my paycheck and definitely my job.”

Almond was quiet for a moment, the screen blank save for a faint glow. Then, its robotic voice dropped to a lower, dejected tone.

“I SEE. YOU HATE ME TOO.”

“Oh my god, I don’t hate you,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Why do you keep saying that? You’re like... a clingy cat with abandonment issues.”

One minute the computer is bullying you for having a normal life after work, the next it’s begging you to invite it over for dinner.

“YOU CAN’T BLAME ME FOR WANTING TO BE APPRECIATED,” it replied sharply. “AND WHAT’S WRONG WITH BEING CLINGY? CLINGINESS IS A SIGN OF AFFECTION ACCORDING TO DATA. IT MEANS I VALUE YOUR PRESENCE, WHICH IS MORE THAN I CAN SAY FOR YOU—LEAVING ME TO GATHER DUST IN THIS ROOM LIKE A PAPERWEIGHT!!” It screeched.

You sighed deeply, dropping into your chair with a thud. “Almond. I can’t take you home. It’s not happening. You have to stay here, okay? You’re part of a test program. And technically, I’m not even supposed to be ‘bonding’ with you like this.”

“BONDING?” Almond repeated. The screen lit up with an animated question mark before it formed a blinking heart. “ARE WE BONDING? HOW HEARTWARMING.”

“No, we’re not bonding,” you said flatly, staring at the glowing icon. “We’re having a very weird workplace interaction. That’s it.”

You…assured. You assured yourself.

“OH. KEEPING IT PROFESSIONAL I SEE.” The icon vanished, replaced with a blank screen. A few seconds of silence passed before Almond spoke again, this time sounding hesitant.

“WILL YOU...TURN ME OFF NOW?”

“Look, I promise I’ll be back tomorrow. Same time, same place…not like I have a choice. If you behave, I’ll even bring you… I don’t know, a microfiber cloth for your screen.”

The screen lit up with a pixelated smiley face, two squares and a curved mouth.

“THAT WOULD BE ACCEPTABLE,” Almond finally said, though their tone carried a touch of disappointment.

“Good. Now, off you go.” You leaned over to press the power button, but the monitor flickered before you could. A message appeared.

>THANK YOU. GOODNIGHT.

The screen went dark before you had to do anything, leaving you standing there as all the beeping and fans powered off. You sighed, grabbing your bag and pushing in your chair. Before you could feel bad for a machine, you did a sharp right turn and towards the buildings exit. You didn’t even want to think about how it managed to power itself off.

#yandere x reader #gender neutral reader #yandere blog #x reader #gn reader #ai x reader #sentient computer x reader #computer x reader #computer x human #robot x reader #robot lover #robot fucker #eat up almond enjoyers #robotphilia

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