#it was not supposed to move it was powered down | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

onlymexsarah · 2 days ago

Text

Burning Flames VI || Eris Vanserra

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!reader Summary: Since you became High Fae there were only two things that scared you: your deadly power and your attraction toward the male you should hate most after Tamlin, Eris Vanserra. Warnings: Suggestive, slight smut(?), language and my english :) A/n: Sorry for the waiting, but thank you for your patience! I'll see you at the end of the chapter, and if you want to be added to the taglist just let me know🫶🏻 Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3- Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

Your back was pressed against some wall. His fingers felt like a ghost's touch on your neck, tracing immaginary lines all over your collarbone while everything inside you were on fire.

His scent was the only thing you could smell. Honey, burned wood, maple. He felt like the fire that kept you warm during the cold winter nights, like the sound of falling leaves in a autumn day, like a welcome breeze under the summer sun, like the perfume of a flowery meadow in spring.

His hot breath crashed against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "Tell me to stop, Little Flame."

Your eyes shut closed. Why would you want it to stop when it felt so heavenly?

As an answer you locked your hands behind his neck and brought his body toward yours, making you officially presseded between the wall and him.

His lips rested against the sweet spot behind your ear and you bite your lips to prevent any unholy sounds to leave your mouth. He started to slowly kiss your neck as one of his hands went into your hair, and tilted your head to give him more access, while the other grabbed firmly your waist, pinning your hips against the wall.

If his lips hadn't been enough to drive you crazy, his leg making its way between yours surely was. "This is all I dream about since the day I met you." he whispered with a low, rasped voice. He bite your neck, sucking the skin between his teeth and making you grab his hair tightly as your head fall back against the wall behind you. "How would you taste..." his leg moved between yours, putting some pressure against your pulsing core, and this time you didn't hold the moan that grew in your throat. "The sounds you would make..."

Mother boils you.

His voice, his scent, his body. You could get lost in all of it and you would be eternally happy. It was so right being in his arms, pressed against his as your bodies were one. It felt as right as the stars shining during the night. As the sun rising at dawn. As the sun warming the day at its peak. As the sun seeting during dusk.

You were a torch and his mouth travelling down your neck, claiming every bit of it, was the spark that set you on fire. You wanted to burn, and you wanted to burn with him. His hair in your hands felt like they had always supposed to be there; his hot breath against your skin made you believe that no clothes or blanket would keep you warm again. His hands felt like they were shaped to be on your body, while him...he had been made to be with you.

Your head started to feel lighter, the air around you becoming colder with each breath. He stopped abruptly his movements and grabbed your hair tighter, as if he was holding it for his life. He brought his face away from your neck, and as you opened your eyes you were met with two golden pounds staring already in yours.

Eris.

Seeing him cleared something in your mind, and all of it suddenly felt more real. His hands were still holding you, and when his gaze softened you melted.

"I don't want to wake up." He whispered softly, as if he was afraid to speak too loud. "This is the only time I can be with you."

You furrowed your eyebrows, tilting slightly your head. 'Waking up'? You were very awake, and the male in front of you was exactly where he needed to be.

You brought a hand on his cheek, caressing the line of his face softly. Cauldron, he was so beautiful. If someone had asked you what perfection looked like, you would describe Eris, since there wasn't a single thing about him that hadn't been touched by the Mother herself.

"I am with you." You softly said while you gently pushed one of his curls away form his forehead. "We can be together whenever we want."

And why wouldn't you? There was nothing to stop you from being with him. His eyes hold the door of your home, there was nothing in the world that could keep you away from it. From him.

His narrowed his eyes, and you swore his gaze was burning right inside your soul. "You're here." he sounded surprised, like he had never seen you before. His fingers untangled from your hair and caressed you cheek, almost urgently, like you were doing to disappear at any moment.

You leaned in his touch as you let out a soft chuckle. "Why wouldn't I be?"

It was such a stupid question. You had always been with him. You had been with him from the moment you were born, you had been with him in all the past lives and you still would be with him in the nexts.

His eyes darkened. His fingers traces the line of your jawline, slowly, as if he was memorizing every inch of your face. They moved towarch your chin, then your lips, and you slightly parted them as his thumb caressed your lower lip.

"Oh, Little Flame..." he was so close now that you felt his breath on your mouth. "So many reasons, and it's just a matter of time before you'll remember them."

Then he did something that completely shocked you. He brought both hands on your cheeks, and tilted his head upward, placing a soft, warmn kiss against your forehead. Your hands fell from his face to his shoulders, keeping him there, against you.

Your eyes closed as he kept his lips pressed against your head. This. You wanted this. You wanted him.

"I will make this right. I will kill my father so that he will never be able to hurt you. I will kill everyone who'll want to harm you. I will burn everything that will stop you from being happy." he brought his lips away, and his eyes met yours again. "I had been a monster, and I still will be one if it means protecting you. I swear this on my court, the only good thing I had in my life before you. And you and me are going to share it one day. Side by side, we will make it blooms with all the goodness that my father had crashed during the centuries. You'll have everything of me: goods and bads. It will all be yours."

Your breath was short, your heart was racing in your chest. His voice, so full of determination made it impossible to feel even a sheer of shame for wanting that monster. For wanting everything of him.

"Tell me you want this, Little Flame." he whispered, his face leaning a inch closer to yours.

Then, as you opened your mouth to answer him, everything went black.

***

You gasped for air as you opened your eyes and quickly sat up. Where were you? Everything was dark. The surface under you was soft and you swore that was silk the material touching your bare legs.

Town house. Velaris. Night Court.

Your still asleep mind quickly worked all the basic informations that you needed to calm down.

Where was Eris?

You had been together a moment ago, you swore you could still smell his scent in your nose. The sensations you were feeling were so similar to the one of winnowing, but no. It was a dream.

You were dreaming.

Of Eris.

It had felt so real. His touch, his voice, his smell. The feeling of his hands holding you felt like impressed in your body, and for a moment you shivered from the lack of it.

"Tell me you want this."

Cauldron, what were you going to say to him?

You swore you had been about to tell him something, but you couldn't remember what.

What would you answer now?

Gods, if only you knew that.

Your hand brushed back your hair as you sighed. He had offered you his court. Him. Would you have taken it?

In the dream you knew you would have. But in the real world? If Eris came to you and offered to you his whole being, what would you do?

Are you even listening to yourself? Eris? Offering you what?

The voice in your head scowled you like a child, and a wave of embarassment grew inside you. The dream really fucked you up. Even losing time to think about it was proof of your foolishness.

You had been training togheter for threee weeks now, and you had gotten kind of used to his presence. You had considerably improved with your powers, and somehow, at some point, you and Eris had even started to joke.

But, unfortunately, joking didn't come easy for you the next time you saw him. As soon as you saw his eyes the memory of the dream struck you and you had to hide your face with your hair in order to not let him see the deep blush that was forming on your cheeks.

The worst thing was that if before you just found him attractive, now everything he did made your head going dizzy. Like he moved his fingers to produce fire, or how his voice would lower when he gave you instructions.

You hadn't realized that he was behind you until his velvet voice said something in your ear you didn't catch, and the flames you were controlling over your hands exploded, burning some trees around you.

"That, I think Kallias would mind." snorted ironically Eris behind you, pointing to the trees.

You rolled your eyes as you quickly stepped away from him, having noticed that the closer you were the more flustered you got. "It was your idea to train in the Winter Court this time."

His eyes studied your movements, and you knew that he had noticed the distance you were keeping that day, he knew that something was wrong, and, oh Mother, you hoped he couldn't know why.

"You have enough control now, it doesn't matter where we train." He said with calm voice you knew he used when he was studying something. "But today you seem...distracted. Is something on your mind?"

Cauldron, it had been just a dream. He didn't know about it. He didn't know that everytime your eyes fell on him you felt a strange pull inside you, like the memories of his hands, lips and body on yours were still imprinted in your mind.

"Nope, all good." you quickly replied, waving a hand in the air and facing the snowing landscape again. "Must be the dinner. Azriel made me try a new spicy food."

'Must be the dinner'? Was this really the best thing that went in your mind?

Thankfully he dropped the subject, but it didn't go unnoticed his amused smirk.

You were so lost in your thoughts, mostly of him pushing you against the nearest tree, that when Azriel arrived you didn't even asked Eris the question that you were suppose to.

***

Everything was a mess. Nesta had been captured for the Blood Rite, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. Eris had been captured by Briallyn and Rhys and Feyre had made a bargain to die togheter.

Eris had been captured.

By that bitch of Briallyn.

You tried hard to control the deafining song of your blood running wild in your veins. You would kill her. You would kill Briallyn for everything that she did, and you would make her suffer.

"Az can't go alone. We need you, Cassian." Feyra's voice was a low whisper over the rage that was building inside you.

Cassian, that bastard, had the nerve to esitate and then say, "Let him die."

"Screw you!" You jumped on your feet as you said those words, facing Cassian as if you weren't three feet shorter. You wouldn't let Eris die, and if you had to fight Cassian then it was better for his wings to be fireproof. "Eris is your ally, what kind of General are you if you let your allies to die?"

Cassian's eyes flared with rage that you were sure matched your own. "Your sister had been captured for the Blood Rite and you worry about some asshole who would be better off dead anyway?!"

You lift your chin higher, staring at the Lord of Bloodshed right in the eyes. "When my sister will come out alive from the Blood Rite, and she will, she'll only feel ashamed to be with someone who left everything crumble out of sadness for her disappearence."

Your words found their marks as Cassian winced under your gaze. People often forgot that Nesta was your twin, not vice versa. Every sharp behaviours she possesed, you had them sharper.

"Y/n." Feyre's warning tone made your head snap toward her.

"What?" you spitted out as your whole body tremble , begging you to take action and save Eris.

Rhys shifted shlightly in front of his mate, as if you were the threat at her life.

If you hadn't burn down his entire office few days ago he wouldn't be so caution around you, the voice in your head scoffed in your mind.

You couldn't have helped yourself. When Nesta told you and Feyre that the baby would likely kill your little sister, and that the whole Inner CIrcle knew about it and voted to keep Feyre in the shadows you had stormed inside Rhys' office and reminded him that while you were training with Madja to how use your power to heal, destruction came pretty easily to you if he dared to make choices for Feyre again.

"Maybe the Made dagger we gave him will grant him immunity from the Crown. If he's carrying the dagger, if they haven't unarmed him, it might shield him against another Made object." Feyre tried to reassure you with a calm voice, and somehow you felt even more sick.

You were showing everyone that you actually cared for the Heir of Autumn, the same male they all despise, and a wave of embarassment run all over you. It wasn't enough to calm the boiling blood inside you, but at least it made you take a step away from Cassian.

He was a mated male whose mate had just been captured in the middle of the night, you couldn't really blame him for not caring about anything else.

And we'll just pretend that this realization means nothing? A voice in your mind said sarcastically, but you shut it down before any following thoughts could come with it.

"There are plenty of other methods to get him to talk." Azriel's said darkly, and that sick sentation was back in your stomach.

If Briallyn did so much as touch him you would kill her with your bare hands, making her regret to be born in the same world as you were.

"I'll go with you." you said to Azriel, not leaving room for any arguments in your voice.

Amren scoffed beside him. "Stupidly honourable, but even if Cassian and Azriel are training you, you are no fighter girl. You can't even control your fire."

Your eyes snapped at her, and with a lazy smirk on your lips you rose your right hand, palm up toward the ceiling and let a fire as big as your face appear on it. "Can't I?"

A gasp escaped her mouth as Cassian widened his eyes. Amren narrowed hers as she studied you cautionly. "How?"

"I trained." You said with a little shrug, as you let your fire taking different forms over your hand. "With the same male that you are willingly letting in our enemy's hands."

Amren sneered a 'foolish girl' while her eyes shifted toward an unsurprised Feyre and Rhys, understanding that twice she had been left out of their secrets.

"Why?" Cassian asked beside you, looking at the flames on your hand. "He did nothing to deserve your trust."

You bit the inside your cheek, holding your tongue before you snapped back some comments that would only cause more troubles.

"He saved my life during the war with Hybern." you stated seriously, knowing it was time for them to know the truth. The way Azriel's eyes widened slightly made you understand that Rhys had just told him about your bargain with Eris, not the entire story. "I was with Elain when Hybern's soldiers found us. I told her to run while I stayed behind to buy her time...they were going to kill me if it hadn't been for Eris." You looked back at Cassian, your chin always high as you dared out the words that had been hunting you for months. "I know that in your shared history Eris had never proven to be trustworthy, but in ours shared past he did, and I'm going to repay the debt I own him."

Had you revealed too much of your thoughts? Had you looked like a stupid, naive girl obsessed over a male? You didn't care. Eris was in danger, and something warm inside you needed to save him, even if you were almost sure he would have never done the same for you.

"Be quick. Don't go near Briallyn for any reason." Rhys intructed you as you summoned the fighting leathers that Cassian had gifted you after three full weeks of training. "Y/n, follow their instruction and don't let emotions cloud your judgment. Eris might depends on your clear mind more than we can imagine."

You nodded before stepping beside Azriel and let him winnow you on the other side of the continent.

***

Eris was nowhere to be found in the lands surrounding the queens' castle, and you swore if you didn't find him before a week you would start to burn every piece of that castle until you found him.

You talked with a human merchant that was arriving just from the palace, and you weren't ashamed to say that you had used your High Fae's beauty to make him tell you if he had seen any 'new Fae male' around. He told you that a redhaired Fae male had been dragged to the castle the night before the last, and your stomach twisted at the word dragged.

Images of Eris hurt, bloody and chained flashed through your mind. You would make Briallyn pay for what she did.

"We'll wait here until they leave the castle. Then trail them from the cloud clover." Azriel instructed you with a dark tone that matched your face.

But no one went in or out of the castle for days. No one walked even close to it, the gate had stayed shut down closing the citizien in and the rest of the world out.

Cassian and Azriel patrolled the sky while you made sure to cover every inch of the ground surrounding the castle.

"Briallyn has to know we're here." Cassian said has he alit, his latest aerial survey completed. "You think she's waiting for us to make a move?"

"The place is guarded with as many wards as the House of Wind. If Briallyn is moving Eris, we'll be better off catching him then." Azriel said calmly, while shadows whispered in his ears.

"If he's still alive..." you murmur while you lit a little fire to keep all the three of you warm during the night.

The thought of Eris' death had placed roots in your head as soon as you had left Velaris. Your whole body froze everytime you remembered that you had no proof that the redhead still breath. You could feel his precense inside the castle, your whole soul knew that he was there, but maybe you were just sensing a body. A lifeless, cold, death body.

The thought of Eris' body turning cold felt unnatural, sending shivers of wrongness through your spine. Eris was warm, always radiating warmness to whoever was around him. He could never be cold. You would forbid it.

"I have every reason to believe he is." Azriel's voice woke you from your throughts.

You rose your eyes from the fire to him, and found two hazel pounds already looking at you. Studying you. "How? You said yourself that your shadows can't get inside the castle."

Azriel's stoned face stayed silent for a while, as if he was reading right through you. What was the spymater seeing was above your knowledge. For a moment you felt like an opponent that he was studying to understand her secrets, but true was that you hold any, even thought Azriel's gaze suggested otherwise.

"If Eris was dead, I have the rights to believe that everything would be different." You furrowed your eyebrows, not following his paths of thoughts. "This conversation would have never existed in the first place."

You braced your arms around your legs as your fingers played with the fire in front of you as you used to do when you couldn't sleep when you were a child. "Let's hope you're right."

I'll find you Eris, you are not alone.

***

Four days.

Four fucking days and still nothing of Eris.

"Four fucking days." Cassian hissed from where the three of you monitored the castle, echoing your thoughts. "We've been sititing on our asses for four fucking days."

"It's seems you've forgotten how much of spying is waiting for the right moment." Azriel said as his blade met yours. He had decided to keep training you during those days, both to occupy time and to make you ready for a fight situation. "This one was sloppy. Ground your feet better on the ground. People don't engage in their evil deeds when it's convenient to you."

Fighting looked like a second nature to Azriel as he changed conversation between you and Cassian as if you were trying to disarm him at every possible occasion.

"You would think that Beron would be worried after his son hasn't returned for days." You said between your breaths as Azriel changed from a defensive position to an offensive one. "instead here we are, only three of us looking for him."

"Beron likely knows what is happening to Eris." snorted Cassian crrosing his arms. "He might even see a lot of opportunities to have his heir under the command of the Crown."

Anger rose inside you before you could even notice it. Was there anyone in this world who cared for Eris? His mother probably, but she had been under Beron's talons too long to even do something in order to protect him.

He has you now, your mind said on its own.

Silently you accepted what had long grew inside you. If Eris had no one who cared about him, then you must be dead, five feet under ground. Caring for him didn't mean trusting him blindly. Didn't mean that you would give him the moon on a string if he asked you to. It meant that if a bitch of a Queen took him then you would rip the whole Phrytian apart to find him.

"Control your anger." Azriel commaned as you noticed that your strikes had become harder. "Let it control you and you are dead on a battlefield."

Before you could answer Cassian shot to his feet. "Someone's leaving the castle."

Azriel didn't wait any second before grabbing your waist and launching into the skies as Cassian followed you. Your arms locked behind Azriel's neck as your eyes skanned the ground from the cover of clouds that now hid you.

"I don't see a prison wagon." Cassian said over the wind as you watched the small caravan leaving the eastern city gates.

You were gratefult for a moment that your power made impossible for you to feel any kind of cold, or the chill air would have you trembling like a leaf.

Azriel's gaze remained on the earth below. "They don't need one." he said with quiet venom.

Something inside you stirred, like a string attached to your ribs, and you new who you would see before your eyes landed on him. You suddenly hold your breath, and there, riding at the front of the party, side by side with a hunched, small figure, was Eris.

You almost jumped from Azriel as soon as you saw him. You needed to know if he was alright, you needed him to know that you were there, for him.

"Stupid asshole." Cassian snarled. "She snared him with the Crown."

"No," Azriel said quietly, and you swore his hold grew a bit tighter around you and his tone become apologetically. "Look at his left. He's still got the dagger at his side. If he was in her thrall, he'd have already handed it over."

No.

No. No. No.

"So possessing another Made object does protect him against the Crown." Cassian accusation set in the air and your ears started to ring. "Traitor."

No.

You refused to believe it was true.

Eris would have never betrayed you. Any of you. Not when Briallyn was everything he stad against to. Not when allying to Briallyn meant leaving his father on the throne of the Autumn Court.

"There must be another explanation." You said, and hated how your voice sounded weak. "He must be playing along. Making her believe he is under the Crown's control."

"We follow them. Capture Eris now and we might not get anything out of him. We trail them and learn how far this betrayal goes, if there is any." You had the feeling that he added the last part just for you. "See who they're meeting with. It has to be important, for them to leave the safety of the castle."

What if Briallyn had promised Eris to overthrow his father? What if he had found another, more convenient, alliance in her? What if everyone had been right, and he had just been manipulating you?

As you followed the caravan for three days those thoughts eat you alive. Sometime you were sure that they were wrong, and Briallyn was indeed controlling Eris. Other times you wanted to bury yourself alive to have thought that you could have trusted him.

There was a flicker inside you that you couldn't understand what was, but sometime a voice would come out of it, telling you to run. The voice was so similar to Eris' that you thought you were really going crazy if you had started to hear his voice in your head.

But the worse part was when you were sleeping, because you would dream of him, glassy eyed, looking straight in front of him not matter how many times you yelled his name.

You could not see a inch from your nose. It seemed like you were in the middle of a cloud, making everything around you blurr and grey. Your thoughts were slow, your breathing hard, and walking felt like trying to go through a block of jelly.

"Run."

A voice echoed around you, but you could not see where the person was.

"Run away as fast as you can."

Eris.

Eris was somewhere close to you. "Where are you?" you asked back, trying to follow whatever the string inside you was.

"She will kill you." he said, and this time a flicker of red hair appeared among the clouds. "If you are lucky, she'll only kill you. If not, she'll make me handle you over my father, and he'll make me watch."

His voice sounded hollow, as if he had repeated those words so many times that they had lost meaning. You had no idea what nonsense he was talking about, but you'll be damned if you wouldn't reach him this time.

As you were close enough you saw him. His eyes were vacant, looking at something in front of him. His posture straight, like a soldier waiting for orders.

A sigh of relief washed over you.

Eris was there. You had found him, and you had no intention to let him be taken away from you again.

With your right hand you grabbed his, while you brought the left one on his cheek and make his gaze fell on you. "Look at me." You said firmly. "I'm here. Look at me, Eris. Tell me you recognize me."

His amber eyes met yours, and you knew that the world might start to end now, but you would never look away from his eyes if it meant freeing him from the Crown's control.

"Go back to Velaris." he sounded almost pleading, but his eyes stayed vacant, as if he was seeing right through you.

Your hold on his hand and cheek thightened. "Only if you come with us."

You would not leave him. You could not leave him. His mind was being controlled, he was under the control of a Made object and it was a good damn think that the Cauldron had Made you too. Had given you Made powers.

You could beat the fog around him, even if momentarily.

You closed your eyes and concentrated on the burning flames inside you. You called to them, urging them to grow and grow until there were enough for you to pull them out.

Your eyes flushed open as a bubble of fire had created around the two of you, keeping the fog outside while around you the forest come into view.

"I hope your mind is a bit clearer now." You smirked slightly as you saw him blinking quickly, waking up from whatever dreaming state Briallyn had put him through.

"You're here." his tone was surprised as his eyebrow furrowed, trying to understand what was happening. His hands quickly grabbed your waist, as if he didn't believe that yes, you were actually in front of him.

Should you ignore the butterflies that appeared in your stomach as his hands grabbed you? Definetly yes.

"For someone who lived five hundred years you get surprised too often." You commented with an amused smirk.

He matched your amused grin for a moment, then his face darkened. "This is a dream."

You watched him confused. "Is it?"

"The mat-" he stopped mid sentence as his eyes buried holes in yours. "The bond created by the bargain is making this possible." he said slowly, as if his throat had suddenly gone dry. "But it doesn't matter. I cannot fight her, Y/n. You have to go away before she find you. She knows you're here."

"We are not leaving without you." you stated firmly, almost offended that he suggested otherwise. "Can you not walk away from her so that we can take you?"

He shook his head. "I breath only because she commands so. I cannot do anything without her permission." Flickers of anger appeared inside you again. "Promise me something."

You nodded, and you ashamely knew that if he kept looking at you with that intensity you would have done anything he wanted.

"If it comes to me or you, you chose yourself, and don't make the same selfless, foolish choice that I would make."

Absolutely fucking not.

"No. I'll find a way to not let it come to that." it was your turn to shook your head. "You saved my life, remember? It is time for me to do the same."

"Yes, Little Flame, I save your life, and I'll do it again a thousands time." You were going to cry. Or kiss him. Or maybe both. "She controls minds, not emotions. So spare me the pain that your death would bring on me."

You had not time to process his words as he pushed you away from him, right outside the bubble of fire and into the fog.

A/N: Are we all seeing the parallels between the two of them? Two dreams in the same chapters, I hope you liked the idea🫶🏻 next chapter we'll get some action from our Eris and our reader! Also, YOU ARE SO MANY WTF?! When I started to write this fic it was just an idea I had in my head and that I wanted to share, and now you all want to read more?! Thank you all for reading this, let me know if you liked it and what you wish to see next🫶🏻

taglist: @adventure-awaits13 @blueeclipsepaperstudent @huffleruffplant @azysmate @bia-wayne-west @babypeapoddd @lady-targaryens-world@sourapplex @ghostwritermia @asteria33 @pinklemonade34 @tell-me-a-poem @speedypersonawhispers @historygeekqueen @webvics@paliketerson @lizzytish82 @tincanhat @marrass @acourtofmoonlightandstars @yasmin-oviedo @ghostwritermia @marly500 @kabekusa @gamarancianne @butterfix @itsxchar6 @iowaladynerd @that-girl-reading @kitsunetori @rcarbo1 @username199945 @giana1508 @homeslices @yasmin-oviedo @impossibelle @

#eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra fic #eris vanserra #burning flames #autumn court #acotar #acowar #rhysand #cassian #acomaf #azriel #night court #velaris #elain archeron #nesta archeron #feyre archeron #inner circle

225 notes · View notes

mostly-marvel-musings · 2 days ago

Text

Drunk words, sober thoughts

A/N: Another entry for the amazing @elixirfromthestars ‘s Writing Challenge. Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you’ve enjoyed reading this!

Pairing: Logan x F! Reader

Warning: 18+ fluff. Drink responsibly kids.

Prompts used: 🥪 ✩｡⋆⸜ "Do I need to remind you that we're not actually married?"

Hugh Jackman/Logan Masterlist

Haze.

That was all your brain could comprehend. How you’d gotten yourself to this point was still obscure. But a rapidly diminishing rational part of your brain was sure your drink had been spiked.

It wasn't how the evening was supposed to go. Not at all. You were on a mission, albeit it was your first official one, it couldn't have gone any worse. The team carried out their respective tasks flawlessly while you - the rookie, were going to be in big trouble once they'd realized you had screwed up.

Deep down you were hoping Logan - your pretend husband for the evening would come and find you, rather rescue you. As you were cornered by a few men that were way too tall and burly to escape, you vaguely felt the comms from your ear been taken off, your limbs felt like jelly.

Were you being kidnapped? Where were your teammates? More importantly, where was Logan?

Any attempt to protest was silenced when they taped your mouth, taking you away from the banquet hall and towards a deserted alley. Before the men could shove you in their car, you felt their grip on you loosen, the familiar chink of metal claws being unleashed and a fight ensued.

It must've ended pretty quickly, or you were experiencing time gaps thanks to the drugs coursing through your bloodstream, but you felt a light but persistent tap against your cheek and a concerned looking Logan Howlett in your line of vision.

"Are you alright, bub? Y/N? Can you hear me?" he called, worry clear in his baritone.

"Mm?" You shook your head in a violent no, quickly realizing it was a bad move as your world shifted, making you dizzy.

You closed your eyes tight and tried to pull yourself together, failing to do so while Logan caught up with the rest of the team. They deciphered you'd had more than your fair share of alcohol given your state, and decided it was best to get you home. Logan had also picked up a smell that was definitely not your regular alcohol, probably the reason why you were so out of it, he'd realized. The team was concerned but probably not as much as the man before you.

A comforting mix of steady hands and a scent that was distinctly Logan enveloped you and lifted you off the ground and into a car.

"Ay! Look it's my husband!" You exclaimed loud enough to make Logan pull a face as he helped fasten your seatbelt.

“How are drunk are you?” He gave you a glance as the car pulled away from the venue, his brows furrowing when he saw you lean over to his side with a lazy grin on your face.

“Can I kiss you?”

“A lot, okay.”

With a firm grip on your shoulders, he made you lay back against the car, letting the back of his hand against your forehead that was slightly warm to touch. He was relieved to have found you before anything worse could happen, especially when your powers were compromised. Unbeknownst to you, Logan had developed some what of a soft spot for you. Not that he'd ever admit, but he found himself drawn to you more and more each passing day. For someone so seemingly fearless, he was terrified of confessing his feelings towards you.

It wasn't long until you found yourself in Logan's arms once again, this time with him carrying you up the school stairs towards your bedroom.

"I mean you could've carried us all the way across the threshold. Wait through the main door, did you—" You giggled mostly to yourself but with Logan and his sharp hearing, it was hard to ignore.

“Do I need to remind you that we're not actually married?" He mused with a faint hint of a smile on his rugged features. Unable to stop his chuckle at your adorable little pout, he gently set you down to your bed, hovering above you for a minute too long.

“We can’t leave the bed now. The pillows have accepted us.” You sighed dreamily, patting the place next to you for Logan to join.

Under any other circumstances, it would’ve been impossible to resist your offer, but you weren’t the right state of mind, and Logan was nothing if not a perfect gentleman.

“Get some rest, kid. You’re in for one hell of a hangover tomorrow.” Logan let his thumb caress the soft skin of your cheek, his eyes mapping your beautiful features.

He’d already made a mental note to get proper meds for you to help get the drugs out of your system. Just as he was about to close the door behind him and leave, he heard you mumble something else. He would’ve let it go, but the words that came out of your mouth nearly made his heart stop.

“What was that, bub?”

“Love you, Logan..” you mumbled against your pillow, clutching one tightly to your chest as sleep took over finally.

“Love you too. More than you’d ever know.” He smiled, finally saying it out loud, albeit not to you directly, felt good. He walked happy knowing you probably shared the sentiment.

Like they said, drunk words, sober thoughts.

#logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fluff #logan x reader #james logan howlett #wolverine imagine #wolverine x reader #wolverine #logan xmen #logan howlett oneshot #logan howlett x you #marvel fanfiction #writing challenge #mostly marvel musings #elixircinema

113 notes · View notes

thepenultimateword · 19 hours ago

Text

Types of Confessions : Public Confession

CW: Murder

“I love you!”

For a moment, the entire street seemed to go quiet. Cameras whirred from behind blockades. Nervous feet scraped the asphalt as police shifted, attention briefly moving from Supervillain to the battered hero who had just thrust their way into the line of fire.

Supervillain could only stare, the edge of their knife pressed to the Director’s throat. Just a smidge more pressure, and he’d bleed like the pig he was.

But there was Hero, breathing hard, hair sweaty and ragged in their face, costume in tatters. Supervillain had sent several of the syndicate to hold onto them until this business was over, but apparently they didn’t compare to a legal power user when they really wanted something.

“Don’t do it,” Hero said, stumbling forward another step. They were bleeding through one leg of their leggings. “You do it, and every officer here shoots you down. Or they catch you and dissect your brain until they figure out what went wrong. Why you can still hurt people.”

Supervillain raised their brow. “And if I do stop? What? Mr. Director here forgets I ever threatened him?”

Hero took another step. “I made a deal. I-if you stop. We can leave. Together. They won’t stop you. You don’t have to be trapped in this city anymore. You don’t have hide.”

Supervillain could feel the director’s shoulders relax a little. He was confident that Supervillain would take this out. Exchange all his bitterness for a happy ending.

“This is my magnum opus,” Supervillain said. What I’ve built my career on. You want me to give it up?”

“I love you!”

“Why should that matter?”

Hero choked.

The director stiffened.

“This isn’t about me. This is about you. This is about us. And everyone this city exploits. And crushes. And pushes under the rug. This place is supposed to be some sort of powered utopia but it’s a scheme. And I like it better when I’m the one behind the curtain.”

“Please. Please I don’t want to lose you.”

Supervillain’s heart pounded. Hero’s words only now just soaking in. They didn’t make a difference. But they felt warm in their chest. Hopeful. Grateful. Regretful.

They might never get the chance to actually kiss them. To hold them. To go on a date with them. To tell—

They could do that part. They’d intended to never say it, but well…

“I love you too.”

“Supervillain…” Hero sounded pleading. They knew it wasn’t the sort of ‘I love you’ that expected longevity.

“We could always do both.”

“Supervillain, no wait— I don’t even know if I— This isn’t how—”

They gazed directly into Hero’s eyes. “Save me, my hero.”

Then they slit the director’s throat.

#so this was supposed to be jsut cutesy stuff #but then somehow this happened?#I’m imagining it’s a world #where all the powered individuals have been placed into one city #and they all are supposed to have implants or something that suppress their abilities #only those who are assigned as heroes can legally use their powers #but the system itself is very bad #supervillain somehow is able to surpass their implant without being a legal power user #their goal is to get rid of the director of this project who has been oppressing the city #and manipulating those who can legally use powers #but somehow the hero and the supervillain meet and fall in love #🥺#but anyway #yeah #hopefully my next few confessions will be more fluffy haha #February confession challenge #creative writing #writblr #love confessions #hero x villain #snippet #drabble

63 notes · View notes

thethreefaes · 4 hours ago

Text

The hunters fell back and cried out as the sword burst into flames. The last they saw that they’d also faced down the dragon’s fire.

There was a feeling of pride and amusement creeping back into the cold fae. Watching with a cruel grin as the chief brought just as much fear into the hunters as she did.

It was easy after that. The hunters keeping their heads down. Cowering under his gaze. Kiara walking down the line and taking each name as it was spoken. She would much prefer killing them here and now. But with seven new deals and names in her command… her power grew. A fair trade she supposed.

“You will not move from this spot until the sun sets.” Kiara motioned to Hiccup.

“We leave and none of you are to ever follow or come near his territory. I’ll know if you do.” Kiara walked back to Hiccup and Toothless practically dragging Lyra. The forest fae drained and weak. She helped her sister onto the dragon. Nodding for Hiccup to as well.

“I’ll keep my hand on Toothless so I may guide you through the shadows. We are returning to her nest.” She kept an eye on the former hunters as she called the shadows forward. Walking besides Toothless as they disappeared from the village.

Altair lifted her head as the group returned. Growling and warbling in worry. She could smell the blood. Kiara didn’t seem to mind her own wounds. Ignoring them to tend to Hiccup and Lyra.

“Well done, chief. Survived a battle and brought fear to the hearts of your enemies.” Kiara brought a warm cloth and another vial over to Hiccup. Lyra was beside him and raised a shaky hand to try to heal him again. Kiara smacked it away with a sharp look at the girl. Lyra pulled her hand to herself and kept her gaze down.

“We’ll talk about how you broke your command later. For now, sit there and let your magic recuperate and heal your own injury.” Kiara handed the vial to Hiccup. Replacing the cloth he had with the warm one.

“Drink. It’s bitter but the potion with speed up your healing.”

“Hiccup!” Lyra ran up to the chief, an excited grin on her face.

“Are you busy? I have something to show you!” She took his hand and pulled him towards Altair and Toothless.

“You know how last month the lightning strike caused the large forest fire?” Stopping in front of the dragons the fae all but buzzing in excitement. If her wings were visible they’d be fluttering.

“I did a thing!” She couldn’t wait to show him.

#~dragonmasterhiccup #~cold beginnings #~rp thread

219 notes · View notes

247-diaperboy · 2 days ago

Text

The sheer volume of it was staggering, a fortress of fluff that dominated the room, a monument to my supposed incontinence. It was a joke, a prank, taken to an extreme, a visual representation of my life spiraling out of control. I had messed up, sure, but this? This was too much.

"Yes, I understand, you only wet yourself once," he began, his voice laced with a sugary sweetness that set my teeth on edge. "Maybe it was just an accident," he conceded, but the glint in his eyes told a different story. "But we need to be cautious."

I stared at the mountain of diapers, my frustration mounting. It was an overreaction, a power play disguised as concern, and I was the unwilling participant in his twisted game. It wasn't an accident. It was a way for him to take control.

Why are you doing this to me? I asked, my voice tight with barely suppressed anger, as I gestured towards the diaper mountain. I demanded, my voice rising slightly, a challenge to his authority. It was time to push back. To reclaim my control over life and being a man not a baby forced to wear and use diapers.

He simply smiled, a condescending, knowing look that sent a shiver down my spine.

"Precautions, baby boy," he purred, his hand reaching out to pat the top of the diaper stack. "We need to be prepared. For anything."

"For anything?" I retorted, my voice laced with sarcasm. "Or for your need to control every aspect of my life?"

The air crackled with tension, the unspoken battle of wills hanging heavy between us. He was in charge, he had the power, and this? This was just another way for him to remind me. And, to make sure that I never forgot who was in charge.

Don't you think this is too many diapers I ask?

All he said is not enough if you ask me. My mind was in a fog as he said this to me. Not enough how long did he plan to keep me in diapers? Was my life as a man over?

His next words sent another cold chill through me as he told me to strip my clothes off and lay on the bed so daddy can get you changed.

I spoke up and told him I do not need diapers, and you cannot make me wear them. All he said is my house my rules. It is either diapers or you can move out.

He had me. I was new to this area I had NO money saved up and just started my job. I had no place to go.

He looked me in the eye's and said what's it going to be? Wear diapers like a good boy or live on the streets?

My heart sank as I slowly removed my clothes and excepted my fate and the fact that I would be wearing diapers for at least 2 or 3 months, maybe longer depending on how long it takes to save for my own apartment.

I looked him in the eyes and said I will wear the diapers like a good boy. All he said is good boy. Let's get you changed into a nice soft diaper.

I lay on the bed feeling emasculated as he rubbed baby powder all over the diaper area. Once that was done, I was told to lift up as I did, he slid the diaper under me. As I set back down on it I noticed hos soft it was and noticed that it made a loud crinkling sound.

He slowly pulled the diaper between my legs and fastened the tapes. Once that dreaded ordeal was over, he slid a pair of plastic pants up my legs. I looked down in shock as I sat up. However, he wasn't done yet.

Next thing I know he is pulling a babyish printed t-shirt over my head. I was in utter shock as he told me to lay back for him. As I did he pulled the back between my legs and snapped it on.

I questioned why he had me in such a babyish shirt? All he said is it is a onesie not a shirt, it helps keep the diaper from sagging when it is wet, and the plastic pants will keep the diaper from leaking on any of the furniture.

So here I set in a diaper and baby print onesie with no choice but to except it and live with it or live out on the street.

#diaper community #diapered boy #fiction

114 notes · View notes

waves-realm · 1 day ago

Text

Gym motivation || Iwaizumi Hajime

You always liked watching Iwaizumi workout. It was mesmerizing—the way his muscles flexed and stretched under the weight, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he pushed himself harder, the sharp focus in his eyes. And now, years later, after he had carved a career out of fitness and sports science, watching him train in his own gym was an entirely different kind of experience.

Because now, you got to be part of it.

“Alright, sit,” Iwaizumi says, dropping into a push-up position.

You grin, already moving to straddle his back, your weight settling over his strong frame. His muscles twitch slightly at the added pressure, but he barely hesitates before he starts. Smooth, controlled movements—like you weigh nothing at all.

“Still too easy?” you tease, resting your chin in your palm.

Iwaizumi huffs, but there’s a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

You shift your weight slightly, adjusting your position, and he grunts at the change in balance. His arms flex harder, veins popping against his skin as he continues his reps. Your fingers absentmindedly trail over his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin, the power beneath it.

“Enjoying the view?” he asks, voice steady despite the strain.

“Very much.” You don’t even try to deny it.

After he finishes his set, you hop off and watch as he moves to the bench press. This time, you’re his spotter, standing at the head of the bench while he lies beneath the bar. His arms extend, lifting the weight effortlessly, but you stay close, hands hovering just in case.

Not that you think he needs it.

His gaze flickers up to yours between reps, and there’s something almost playful in his eyes. “You’re supposed to focus on the bar, not my face.”

“I am focused. Just not on the bar.”

Iwaizumi lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head before racking the weight. He sits up, sweat dripping down his temple, and you hand him his water bottle. He takes a sip, then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks at you.

“You should train with me sometime,” he says, wiping the sweat off his face with his shirt—giving you an absolutely unfair glimpse of his abs in the process.

“I am training,” you counter, gesturing to yourself. “Moral support is a very important part of the gym experience.”

He rolls his eyes, but you don’t miss the small smile that tugs at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. You just wanna sit there and look pretty while I do all the work.”

“Exactly,” you say, beaming. “And you love it.”

He doesn’t argue. Instead, he reaches out, tugging you closer by the waist until you’re standing between his legs. His fingers drum lightly against your hip as he looks up at you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I do,” he admits, voice low. “But if you’re gonna keep distracting me, I might have to start making you work out with me.”

You pretend to consider it, then shake your head. “Nope. I think I’ll stick to my role.”

Iwaizumi chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your stomach before standing up. “Fine. But if you’re gonna sit there looking pretty, at least count my reps.”

You grin, hopping onto a nearby bench to continue watching him train.

Best gym session ever.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader

79 notes · View notes

yudrein-aile · 2 days ago

Text

happy birthday Kishiar

The shackles around Yuder’s wrists are heavy and and cold enough that he’s starting to lose all feeling in his fingers.

“Yuder Aile, in the matter of Kishiar la Orr’s death, how do you plead?”

“Gu—“

“Not guilty! The accused pleads not guilty, and I’d like it to be noted down that I personally do not hold him accountable for my death.”

The judge sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Were Yuder capable of moving his hands in such a manner, he might do the same.

“If the accused cannot control his familiar, the court will be forced to remove any biased influence.”

“I wouldn’t call myself a biased influence, considering it is my own murder my dear master stands trial for.“

Kishiar la Orr smiles, outwardly pleasant, but Yuder knows well from existence that it is anything but. The revenant leans back in his chair – the position already fought for as nobody quite knew where to put the murder victim turned familiar, somewhere between evidence and witness.

“Yuder Aile,” the judge starts again. “How do you plead?”

Kishiar does not move, but even with the shackles around his wrists, Yuder feels the magic Kishiar sends his way. The warmth of the power Yuder is used to contrasts oddly with the tint of death now accompanying it.

Yuder had killed Kishiar; he’d done as told and this was the penance he was supposed to reap.

“Not guilty, Your Honor.”

Kishiar would not let him go like this.

#yuder aile #kishiar la orr #turning #kishiyu #터닝 #fanfic

38 notes · View notes

ajedisith · 24 hours ago

Text

Damian is a key character for the SpyxFamily story moving forward. He had the fourth most panels after the main three in 2024. Endo focused quite a bit on Damian so far, from his developing friendship with Anya, strained relationship with his father/family, deep connection with Emile/Ewen, and positive interaction with Loid. This leads me to believe that he will have a bigger role in the upcoming story arcs. Afterall, he is the son of the supposed villain of the whole story. And I do believe Anya and Damian are the central dynamic of this story, at least for now and how Endo set it up 100+ chapters in.

Although him and Anya are not yet friends, they are on their way to a friendship. Their relationship grew a lot from him being a very mean bully, to him sabotaging some of his chances at personal happiness in favor of Anya’s comfort. He is the first person in the whole story to hear about Anya’s telepathy from Anya herself. That’s a huge deal. I believe it foreshadows that he’ll learn the truth and they will be the only two to know about her telepathy for a while before anyone else finds out (ie. his friends, Becky, etc).

Moreover, I find it interesting that Damian first interacts with Loid in a setting where he is both vulnerable due to his father’s looming presence and guided upward by Loid’s encouraging comments (regardless of how fake they were because they may be more genuine later on). Damian is left with a positive impression of Loid and it’s likely he will have more interactions with the Forgers that will leave him wishing he could have that for himself.

Endo also emphasizes both Damian’s strained family dynamics and stabilizing friendship with Ewen and Emile.

His dysfunctional and depressing home life is meant to be a contrast to Anya’s peaceful and fun one, illustrating that found family can be just as powerful as a “real” family. Damian and Anya find themselves in these contrasting environments and, as we’ve already begun to see, they will play an important role in the pair’s dynamic moving forward. Damian craves Anya’s family dynamic, a present father figure like Loid, and loving mother like Yor, while Anya understands Damian’s desire for his father’s approval, because she herself doesn’t know for certain if Loid actually loves her. She mostly thinks about two things — operation strix and Sy-On boy because deep down she wants Loid’s approval and love.

Damian’s friends are one of the few stabilizing aspects of his life. They are a constant, reliable part of his life and their presence humanizes him and creates a space for him to grow as a person instead of the machine that it sometimes feels Eden Academy wants him to be.

It’s always fun to speculate about the future story, so if I’m wrong, that’s totally okay! I love hearing about what other fans think of the future Damian and Anya, so please do share your thoughts!

#spy x family #damian desmond #anya forger #damianya #loid forger #yor forger #donovan desmond #sxf manga #tatsuya endo #manga

27 notes · View notes

loganbcrnes · 2 days ago

Text

Blooming Embarrassment

Logan Howlett x fem!reader x Victor Creed

no warnings. just fluff

The Xavier Institute was a place of peace and healing, or at least that’s what everyone kept telling you. The walls were sturdy, the beds comfortable, the food edible—most of the time. It was supposed to be a refuge for mutants like yourself, a safe haven after the nightmare endured at the hands of an anti-mutant organization. Yet, for all the safety it promised, it had presented an entirely new problem: Victor Creed and Logan Howlett. It wasn’t fair for two men to look that good. Victor was tall, broad, with a sharp grin that promised nothing but trouble. Logan, the same height, carried the same raw presence. The way they moved, all lethal confidence, had your heart beating wildly every time you caught sight of them. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing happening. Flowers. From your feet. Your powers were mostly useful—controlling animals, growing plants—but when flustered, they took on a life of their own. The moment nervousness, shyness, or embarrassment struck, flowers sprouted beneath you like a fairytale curse. Which was why speaking to either of them had been successfully avoided. Until today.

————————-

Heading to the kitchen for a late-night snack, you see him. Victor Creed, standing in the hallway, arms crossed, watching your approach with something that resembled mild interest. Shit. Turning back would make it obvious you were avoiding him. Instead, you take a deep breath and keep walking. Maybe if you just keep your head down— “Hey.” Oh no. Glancing up, you meet his amused golden eyes. “Uh. Hi.” Victor tilts his head, examining you like a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “You’re new.” “Been here a while,” you mumble. “Just… quiet.” “That so?” He takes a lazy step toward you, predatory by nature, even when he isn’t trying to be. “Figured you were a ghost or somethin’. Always see ya walkin’ by, but never hear a peep.” The size difference feels overwhelming. “I just… keep to myself.” He smirks, about to say something else—when it happens. Flowers. Right at your feet. Bright pink peonies bloom in an instant, curling around your ankles, vibrant against the dull hallway floor. Victor’s smirk falters as he glances down, then back up at your face. “What the hell?” “Nothing!” you squeak, before promptly turning and fleeing in the opposite direction.

————————

An afternoon in the mansion’s living room should be relaxing. Ororo sits beside you on the couch, flipping through a book, while Kurt lounges in a chair across from you, happily munching on a chocolate bar. The quiet hum of conversation fills the air, a rare moment of peace in a house full of chaos. It’s nice. Comfortable. Then Logan walks in. You don’t notice at first, but Ororo does. She glances up from her book, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Here comes trouble.” Kurt chuckles, following her gaze. “Ah, ja. Our dear friend is about to have a moment.” You frown, confused, until a familiar voice speaks up. “Didn’t expect to find ya here, sweetheart.” Your stomach flips. Logan strides in, casual as ever, a towel draped over his shoulders from what was likely an intense training session. He smells faintly of sweat and soap, his damp hair curling slightly at the ends. The sight alone is enough to make your face burn. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay— Flowers. Dainty white lilies and tiny purple violets burst from the floor beneath you, creeping around your ankles like they were always meant to be there. Logan pauses mid-step, eyebrows raising. His lips twitch, eyes darting from the flowers to your mortified expression. “Huh.” Ororo elegantly places a bookmark in her novel, watching with open amusement. “Fascinating.” Kurt barely suppresses a laugh. “A most unique reaction.” You want the earth to swallow you whole. Logan takes a slow step forward, deliberately closing the distance. “So, what kinda flowers ya think I’ll get if I—” He reaches out, nudging your chin up with a single finger. Sunflowers. Bright, golden, utterly betraying you. Kurt actually snorts. Ororo hides her grin behind her hand. “Oh, this is delightful.” Logan chuckles, stepping back. “Gotta say, darlin’, you’re makin’ this real fun for me.” You bury your face in your hands. “I hate this.” “No, you don’t,” Ororo teases. You do. (You really don’t.)

—————————

A few days later, Victor approaches with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Got somethin’ for ya,” he drawls, holding out a bouquet of wildflowers. The gesture alone is shocking enough to leave you speechless. “Figured if you’re gonna be sprouting these things, might as well bring my own.” You stare at the flowers, then at him. “You’re messing with me.” “Always.” He grins. “But I do wanna take ya out. Walk in the woods, just us. What do ya say?” Despite yourself, warmth spreads through your chest. “Fine.” The next evening, you walk together through the dense forest, the cool evening breeze rustling the leaves. Victor is surprisingly quiet at first, the usual smugness replaced by something more contemplative. Occasionally, his arm brushes against yours, and every time it does, your heartbeat picks up. You brought carrots for the deer, and when a small herd appears in the clearing, you both watch them with quiet appreciation. Victor chuckles as one nudges your hand for more food. “They like you.” “They’re animals,” you point out. “Of course they do.” He watches you carefully, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, his smirk returns. “Bet if I tried real hard, I could make ya bloom right now.” You scoff. “Not happening.” “Oh yeah?” He steps closer, his voice dropping an octave. “What if I—” “You wouldn’t.” “I would.” You jab him lightly in the ribs, laughing—until you suddenly find yourself pinned against a tree, Victor’s large hands gripping your wrists. His sharp grin fades just a little, his gaze darkening as he studies your face. “Y’know, you really are somethin’ else.” The teasing drops away for just a moment, leaving something more raw, more real. You barely have time to react before he crashes his lips against yours, rough and consuming. His grip tightens, the heat of his body pressing against yours, overwhelming in the best way. Your breath hitches, and just as expected—flowers bloom wildly at your feet, spiraling up the bark of the tree behind you. Wild roses, soft petals brushing against your ankles, betraying every emotion swirling inside you. Victor pulls back just enough to see the display, then smirks against your lips. “Knew it.”

———————

Logan’s low growl echoed across the room as he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, a smug grin plastered across his face. “So, you’ve been avoiding me. What’s the deal, sweetheart? You’ve been making flowers grow like it’s your job every time we talk.” You shifted uncomfortably, your cheeks blazing with heat, and, as always, you felt the telltale tingling in your feet. Sure enough, delicate white blossoms began to bloom at the edges of your shoes. You swore you could hear him chuckle under his breath. “I—I’m not avoiding you,” you stammered, trying to hide your embarrassment. "It just happens." “Oh, I know. You’re trying to keep your cool, huh?” Logan’s voice dropped a little, teasing. “But these flowers sure are a giveaway.” Your feet were now covered in a carpet of white petals, the bright flowers seeming to mock your every move. You wanted to disappear, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel drawn to his attention. “You know, I think I’d like to see what happens if we keep talking,” Logan continued, stepping closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He leaned down slightly, taking in the sight of your feet, the flowers blossoming like a spring garden in full bloom. “I’m warning you,” you mumbled, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The situation was too ridiculous, and yet, Logan’s presence was somehow reassuring. “If you keep teasing me, you’re going to be covered in flowers too.” Logan raised an eyebrow, his lips curling upward. “You think I’m scared of a few flowers, sweetheart? I’ve fought in wars, but nothing scares me more than a shy, flustered woman with flowers growing at her feet.” You rolled your eyes, trying not to let the heat creep up to your ears, but it was useless. The teasing was working, and you were getting more and more embarrassed by the second. “Fine,” Logan said suddenly, reaching behind him and pulling out a small bouquet of vibrant, wildflowers. “I figured I’d bring you some of your own kind.” He grinned like a cat who had just caught a mouse. You stared at him, wide-eyed. “You—brought me flowers?” “Yeah, figured it might get me some points,” he replied, his teasing tone softening just enough to show he was being sincere. “I might have teased you about these flowers, but I kind of like the way you make them grow.” He handed you the bouquet, his fingers brushing yours as he did, sending a spark of warmth through your chest. You took the flowers, your heart pounding, and glanced at Logan. “You’re really persistent, huh?” “I am,” he agreed with a wink. “But I like the challenge.” His smile widened as he stepped a little closer, his presence intoxicating. “So, how about we get away from this garden of yours and go grab dinner? Maybe you can show me what happens when we’re not standing around all awkward.” Your breath caught, and you almost wanted to say no, but the way his eyes were fixed on you made it impossible. “Are you asking me out?” He chuckled, low and rich, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Wouldn’t be much of a date if I didn’t.” “I don’t know, Logan…” You feigned hesitation, despite the butterflies swirling in your stomach. “I might get nervous again. And you might have to put up with more flowers.” “Then I’ll make sure we’re sitting somewhere with plenty of room for your garden to grow,” Logan teased back, his voice turning softer as his hand brushed against your cheek. “Just say yes, and I promise we’ll make it worth your while.” With a deep breath, you smiled, the air between you both thick with anticipation. “Alright, fine. Dinner sounds good.” Logan’s grin widened, and as he leaned in closer, you felt your heart race.

41 notes · View notes

adrift-in-thyme · 12 hours ago

Text

Febuwhump Day 10: Magic Exhaustion (Time & Hyrule)

Read on Ao3

CW for blood, injury, and torture

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

Breathing itself is laborious now. Movement is nearly impossible. The thought of fighting, laughable.

Time leans against the wall of harsh, grating bricks and chilled damp. The ropes around his wrists have gnawed away at his flesh, speckled it with deep splinters. He has not helped himself much in that arena, he supposes. Too many desperate attempts at escape, too many times that new bonds have dug into skin abused by his own methods of wriggling free.

They have secured his ankles too now. Such a precaution is unnecessary. His strength to resist has all but fled. To even sit upright is a task most arduous.

He inhales. Air scrapes through his throat. His stomach churns. The darkness swims treacherously before his fleeting gaze.

The gag pulled tight between his lips tastes of musty cloth and metallic blood. The room wreaks of dark sorcery and pain.

Any moment now they will return, ravenous for more. Any moment now his ears will brim with the muffled sounds of his own screams.

Little good they do. To sit in stoic silence garners a beating. To thrash and cry out leads to laughter and mocking.

Either way, more of his magic drains away beneath the clawed fingertips of his captors.

To lose all magic is a death sentence for one such as himself. Time knows this for certain.

“You must be cautious,” a great fairy had murmured during his first adventure when Din’s Fire and Nayru’s Love had rendered him void of power. Navi had been near to tears by the time he managed to drag himself to the fountain, blood on his lips and whirring in his ears. “You are not like other humans. You are like us. Magic is at your core. It encompasses your gentle spirit. Little fairy boy, do not use up that which gives you life.”

He had nearly done it again years later when a beast had deprived him of his eye and a deity had marked him as his own. By the time he had dragged himself home to Malon, he had hardly known his own surroundings.

She made him promise two things that fateful day. One he has managed to keep. The other shattered beneath his grasping hands weeks ago.

Though…was it truly? It was not his decision to bleed himself dry.

That knowledge does not negate the guilt pooling in his gut.

But the door is sliding open now on screeching hinges, and there is no longer time for gloomy pondering. Time stiffens as much as his aching body will allow. Wearily, he lifts his eye to the form silhouetted by the lantern light that dances outside the cell.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

A familiar face smiles jovially down at him. Small eyes narrow in a perpetual squint despite the spectacles perched atop a beakish nose. A thin visage to match wiry limbs, cloaked in a tangled beard of brown; bony hands featuring the distinct scarring of magical flame — these features are imprinted ferociously upon his mind. Too often, he has watched those eyes gleam as he squirms beneath the agonizing spell. Too often, that face has blurred beyond comprehension behind the tears that flood his vision.

“It is easier,” the man purrs, “when you are awake.”

The times when they have extracted his magic while he was unconscious have been few. Yet, Time can recall them with nauseating intensity. The pain had been immeasurable, the fear even more so. He had awoke with a start and a scream, fighting blindly until they pushed him back against the wall so fiercely he had seen stars.

He supposes it is easier when he is awake. As unpleasant of a thought as that is.

“Well…”

The man moves forward. Clammy fingers grasp Time’s chin. He leans forward, forces his head up, then side to side, peering at him as though he is a specimen pinned beneath a microscope.

“You aren’t quite at death’s door yet. I believe we can get a bit more out of you before your heart stops beating.” He chuckles. “I tell you, you are a tough one. The others died long before this point. You are greatly helping my research.”

What his research entails, Time hasn’t a clue. He never made it far enough down these curving halls of darkness to find out where he is and why. The statement turns his insides cold anyway. He longs to jerk out of the grasp. He longs to rise and run, far from here, leaving nothing but flame behind him.

“Alright, then. Let’s get started!”

The man retracts his grip. Rubbing his hands together with practiced eagerness, he steps back, ushers the forms standing behind to step forward.

Time watches as they surround him. He can never quite make out their faces. He isn’t certain that they even have any. They are dark, shapeless, fierce. Hungry. Their touch is like ice. Their relentlessness unending. No matter the offense, their punishments are always severe.

He flinches back as they reach for him, and that alone is enough. Talons stab mercilessly into the space where his heart still flutters stubbornly. Power streaks through his veins with more force than it has since the last time he slipped their clutches. And when it retracts, his soul comes with it.

His vision whites out. His back arches, mouth opening to release a scream stinging ears cannot hear. Bones screech and muscle pound. His head feels full to bursting.

He tries to kick out at them but his limbs are clumsy, unwieldy. They do not follow his commands. Laughter echoes. They dig deeper, take more. And more. And more. Until he is gasping, choking on the air he cannot garner. Until the weakness of before has spread, tingling in its numbness, and engulfed him in its agonizing storm. Until he goes limp.

The talons leave, then. Satisfied at last, he supposes, when he can give them no more. Ruby liquid rains down in their wake. Time sags against the wall, gazing forward and seeing nothing. There is a gray haze hovering now, an emptiness where once there was warmth and familiarity. It screams of danger. It weeps. It envelopes him in a bitter embrace and begs that he make it stop.

If only he could.

“Good, good!” The man chortles. “That will tide me over for a few days at least! But don’t worry. You’ve got enough magic left for one more draw I think.” He kneels, hand on Time’s shoulder. Cocking his head, he smiles. “So, we’ll be back soon. I’m sure it grows lonely in here, doesn’t it? You magical folk get lonely very fast, I’ve found.”

He gives his shoulder two good pats. Then, with a neighborly wave, he and his companions are gone.

The door screams shut. Time crumples, trembling, onto the hard ground. When the gray turns to black, he does not resist it.

…

It is those cursed hinges that drag him back into some semblance of awareness. Somewhere within him, panic stirs. Embers of a fire long smothered sparking alive. He tries to move. But he is heavy, leaden, secured to the floor by bindings unseen.

They will despise him for not attempting to rise. They will scratch at his face and kick his back and stomach, they will bite and punch at limbs and ligaments. There is nothing he can do, however. Not now.

…how long has he been suffocating?

Long enough, it seems, for the terror to shatter the endless deafening nothingness. Long enough for the pressure within his chest to expand until it crushes him.

Fingernails scrape desperately against unforgiving stone. His eye flutters open, quickly filling with tears that burn. Sparks of light and dark dance before him like the flickering flame of a racing bombchu.

He is drowning. He is dying. And he cannot die.

He needs to tell Malon that he loves her again, needs to hold her, to kiss her, to feel her touch.

He needs to tell Twilight how proud he is, tell Wind the same. He needs to encourage Wild. He needs to give Warriors a hug.

Time chokes on the air that evades him. Somewhere, footsteps pound. They are thunder to his ears. The storm of incoming death.

Somewhere, someone speaks. Frantic, angered tones that assault him from all directions.

There are hands on him, terrible grips that he struggles vainly against. His existence is in bleary flashes of incomprehensible sensation and matter. His thoughts have narrowed to fear and flight.

He cannot calm the fear. He cannot entertain the flight.

Leave! He longs to shout. You have taken everything! Why should you come back for more?

He is turned onto his back. Shards of pain shoot out like Ganondorf’s electric attacks. Fingers find his neck and travel along it, feeling for something. Time reaches up, grapples with the slender wrist.

“Link!” The voice is soft, gentle, even in its panic. Like fairy dust and the forest. “Link, calm down! It’s me! It’s Hyrule!”

Hyrule.

He blinks, rapidly, trying to clear the film enough to make out the pile of brown curls, the hazel eyes in a sun-tanned visage. He can’t see more than a vague outline. But he knows that voice. Knows it in his very soul.

Even now, shriveled and drained, shrunken and dried as his magic is, it cries out to a brother of a deeper sort than even blood or choice.

Time stills. His already weak grip falters. His hand falls to his side.

“Traveler,” he tries to say but his throat is tight, his gasping thin, and nothing except a hoarse whine makes it out.

Gently, Hyrule shushes him. Warmth blossoms at his fingertips, glides through Time’s veins. A spell as fiercely determined as it is excruciatingly soft. He practically melts beneath it.

“It’s okay,” the hero murmurs amongst a backdrop of hushed and concerned voices. “Just hang on. You’ll be able to breathe freely soon. I promise.”

Already, his words cement themselves as truth. As the spell works, Time feels the pressing ache begin to flee.

Seizing lungs soften. Rigid muscles relax. His vision clears enough that he can see Hyrule’s shadowed face.

“Where…” he whispers, hoarse and haggard. Exhaustion drags at him. Relief makes it far heavier. One more step and he will plummet.

It has been far too long since he was secure to do so.

“Gone.” It is Twilight who replies to the question he lacks the strength to to complete. “They won’t touch you again.”

Hyrule grasps his hand and squeezes. Weakly, Time squeezes back.

“I’m so sorry we didn’t find you sooner. I’m so sorry for what they did.” The traveler’s voice cracks amidst the words, shatters like delicate pottery. The terrible levity of his captors’ sins lays heavy and poignant in it.

If he had the strength, Time would assure him that the guilt is not his to bear. Nor does it belong upon the shoulders of the others. That nothing could have been done.

Yet he can offer them nothing in this moment. Now, he loses his grip. Now, he fades into the darkness and the warmth of a brother’s spell.

“But you’re safe now,” Hyrule says from very far away. “You’re safe.”

#febuwhump 2025 #febuwhump day 10 #blood tw #injury tw #torture tw #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu time #lu hyrule #lu chain #trin writes #thought about picking on hyrule with this prompt #but i like exploring the magical side of the other boys too #especially time

22 notes · View notes

anystalker707 · 6 hours ago

Text

I <3 making pretty boys cry

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x [gender-neutral] Reader Summary: Anakin cries when you blow him Tags: drabble / Anakin's pretty whimpers / teasing him / edging / dacryphilia

MASTER LIST

The Jedi code was extensive, descriptive, and strict, but it never stopped exceptions, and Anakin himself was a great one, ever since the beginning. He was supposed to be many things, but none mattered the moment he was with you, away from prying eyes. Sometimes, when you were lucky enough, you would manage to slip away because spending nights in the Temple was too risky, within the sense of so many powerful Jedi that could sense your connection as easily as one could notice a sudden breeze.

It was a cheap motel in the lower levels of Coruscant, but it was more than enough if it meant the two of you could be together without worrying about anything beyond the closed walls of the bedroom. Not even ten minutes had passed since you two entered the room, and Anakin’s pants already echoed through it, punctuated by soft whimpers.

A pretty pink dusted Anakin’s cheeks as he looked down at you through half-lidded eyes and blown pupils, hands pressed to the wall, each by a side of his hips. Fuck it if the floor would stain your pants and leave marks on the knees, you just couldn’t waste any second by moving to the bed or the couch, much busier with continuing to mouth the outline of the bulge that strained his pants, keeping your eyes on his face as much as you could.

“You’re so hard for me, baby,” you mumbled, easily earning yourself an adorable whine. Anakin’s cock visibly twitched when your fingers grazed the waistband of his pants, so you took a few more seconds than you planned to start tugging it down, letting it grind along his length, and when you did the same with his boxers, he let out another breathy moan. “So pretty. Look at you.”

Pearls of cum glazed the flushed tip, enough to ease your hand’s motions as you wrapped it around his cock and pumped him slowly, feeling every vein, every pulsation. Your eyes followed attentively as another bead escaped his tip, rolling down your thumb’s knuckle.

“Please,” Anakin’s breathy plea cut through your thoughts, and you glanced up at him again, wishing you could swallow the moans straight from those soft plush lips, but you focused on busying your mouth with something else right now.

Anakin was sensitive, and you never had the opportunity to have him often enough to cure that sensitivity away, which was far from bad. He was responsive to every little touch, craving everything and anything from you, and who were you to deny?

The tangy, salty taste was more than familiar, spreading on your tongue as you licked a stripe from the base to the tip before going back down, tracing the vein. Up again, your tongue reached the underside of his tip, snatching a higher-pitched moan from Anakin as his hips bucked forward. You could only imagine how painfully needy he was after only being palmed and mouthed through his pants for so long, only now getting the friction and contact he ached so much for.

Your tongue swirled around the tip before closing around it, and Anakin’s breath fell completely out of pace when you finally took him in your mouth. First, deep throating, then bobbing shallowly. Even if he tangled his fingers in your hair, it was mostly for leverage than to fuck into your mouth, because he obediently kept his hips in place when you held them against the wall.

“G’nna cum,” Anakin whined, cock twitching, leaking more, thighs quivering. How adorable. A sound of frustration followed after you pulled away, and cold air replaced the warmth of your mouth; he almost folded over. He looked down, eyes glazed, as he observed you nuzzle into his crotch, in a way you mouthed at his balls lightly. It felt so good, but he didn’t want to cum like that, he needed you, he needed you to have every drop.

“Mmph, please,” Anakin repeated. He hoped he could hold back.

“What’s it, baby?” You raised your eyebrows lightly, heart fluttering when you caught the sight of a tear finally escaping his eye and trailing down his cheek. Your thumbs rubbed circles into his hips, soothing and demanding all at the same time.

“Need your mouth ‘round me,” Anakin babbled. The words ran one into another, his small voice breathy and whiny. He exhaled shakily, another tear escaping his eyes as his cock twitched painfully.

“Oh, poor little thing,” you whispered, kissing his tip while wrapping a hand around the base of his cock. “‘M gonna take care of you.” You took him into his mouth again, cock heavy on your tongue, throbbing even more when you hollowed your cheeks. Something similar to a sob escaped his lips, and it didn’t even take long before he came, salty bitter cum coating your tongue as you kept working your mouth around him, despite the soft sobs that still escaped his lips, muffled by his palm.

#anakin skywalker #x reader #x female reader #x male reader #anakin x reader #star wars #darth vader #hayden christensen #james kelly #lorenzo di lamberti

20 notes · View notes

fioredeciliego · 11 hours ago

Text

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟓

𝐖𝐂: 𝟒.𝟗𝐊

ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲, '𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔢

The morning sun cast long golden streaks across the training grounds, glinting off the steel of swords clashing in rhythmic strikes. The sound of metal meeting metal filled the air, accompanied by grunts of effort and the occasional bark of instruction from the combat instructors.

Minjeong was in her element.

She moved with practiced ease, her blade a seamless extension of her body as she sparred with one of the knights. Her footwork was precise, her posture balanced, every strike carrying controlled force. There was an effortless confidence in the way she fought—fierce, fluid, untamed.

And Y/N was staring.

She hadn’t meant to. She had only planned to observe for a few minutes before heading to her own lessons. But something about the way Minjeong moved held her captive, like watching a force of nature unfold before her.

Y/N’s gaze lingered, tracing the way Minjeong’s muscles flexed with each movement, the glistening sheen of sweat on her skin catching the sunlight. The sweat slicked over her toned arms, trailing down her exposed collarbone before disappearing beneath the fabric of her training attire. Every time she parried an attack, the powerful contraction of her muscles was on full display, a mesmerizing dance of precision and raw strength.

Her loose strands of hair clung to her damp forehead, framing the sharp intensity of her focused expression. There was a fire in Minjeong’s eyes, an unwavering determination as she adjusted her grip, her fingers curling tightly around the hilt of her sword. Y/N watched, transfixed, as Minjeong exhaled slowly, her chest rising and falling in the brief pause between clashes. It was strength and grace, wrapped in a warrior’s poise—utterly captivating. The fluid precision of her strikes, the way she commanded the fight with effortless grace—it was impossible to look away.

Minjeong blocked an incoming strike, stepping forward and knocking her opponent off balance. As the knight stumbled, she twirled her sword in one hand and turned slightly—just enough to catch sight of Y/N standing at the edge of the training grounds, watching.

A smirk tugged at Minjeong’s lips.

She dispatched her opponent with one final, swift movement, sending them sprawling onto the dirt before she sheathed her sword and strode over to Y/N.

“See something you like, Princess?”

Y/N blinked, her entire body stiffening as warmth crept up her neck. She had been caught—completely, undeniably caught. "What?" she blurted, her voice slightly higher than intended.

Minjeong tilted her head, that knowing smirk still in place. “You were staring.”

Y/N scoffed, crossing her arms in a feigned display of indifference, though the blush in her cheeks tell a different story. “I was observing. There’s a difference.”

Minjeong hummed, stepping closer. “Oh? And what exactly were you ‘observing’?”

Y/N’s gaze flickered to the sword at Minjeong’s hip, searching for an excuse. “Your form,” she said quickly. “It was… adequate.”

Minjeong chuckled. “Adequate?”

Y/N lifted her chin. “Yes. A little reckless, but effective, I suppose.”

Minjeong leaned in just slightly, lowering her voice. “You know, if you wanted a closer look, all you had to do was ask.”

Y/N’s breath hitched for just a second, her face growing noticeably warmer. She took a half-step back, suddenly hyper-aware of how close Minjeong was. "I—you're—" she floundered, before quickly clearing her throat and forcing herself to roll her eyes. "You’re insufferable."

Minjeong grinned. “And yet, you’re still standing here.”

Y/N turned sharply on her heel, intent on leaving before Minjeong could fluster her any further. “Enjoy your practice, Minjeong.”

Minjeong watched her retreat, her smirk softening slightly. The teasing had been instinctual, but something about the way Y/N had looked at her—eyes lingering a little too long, lips slightly parted—stuck with her.

She exhaled, shaking her head before turning back to the training grounds.

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

The evening air was crisp as Minjeong made her way through the castle halls, a small bouquet of flowers clutched in her hands. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was doing this—only that she had overheard the maids whispering about Y/N’s particularly stressful day and, before she knew it, she had found herself picking out flowers from the royal garden.

It wasn’t a grand gesture. Nothing too elaborate. Just a handful of delicate white and blue blossoms, freshly plucked and wrapped in a simple ribbon. And yet, as Minjeong neared Y/N’s chambers, she felt an unfamiliar nervous energy settle in her chest.

Taking a steadying breath, she knocked lightly on the door.

“Come in,” came Y/N’s tired voice from the other side.

Minjeong pushed the door open to find Y/N seated at her desk, hunched over a stack of parchment. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her usual composed demeanor replaced by weary frustration. She barely looked up as she ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. “If this is about another report, I—”

She stopped mid-sentence when she finally glanced up and saw Minjeong standing there, flowers in hand.

Y/N blinked. “What… is this?”

Minjeong shifted slightly, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I heard you had a rough day.” She extended the bouquet toward Y/N, looking away as she added, “Thought this might help.”

For a moment, Y/N just stared at her. Then, slowly, she reached out, taking the flowers gently from Minjeong’s hands. The petals were soft beneath her fingertips, their fragrance light and calming.

“You brought me flowers,” Y/N murmured, more to herself than to Minjeong.

Minjeong cleared her throat, crossing her arms in a defensive manner. “Don’t make it a big deal.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a small, amused smile as she studied Minjeong. “I’m just surprised. You don’t seem like the type to do… things like this.”

Minjeong huffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”

Y/N chuckled, standing from her chair and bringing the flowers closer, inhaling their scent. “They’re beautiful. Thank you, Minjeong.”

Minjeong, caught off guard by the softness in Y/N’s voice, found herself unable to look away. There was something about the way Y/N cradled the bouquet so delicately, the way her exhaustion seemed to fade, even if just slightly. The way her fingers traced the petals, as if committing their texture to memory, sent an odd flutter through Minjeong’s chest. Y/N had looked so worn down just moments ago, but now there was a lightness in her expression, a quiet appreciation that softened the tension in her shoulders. It was rare to see her like this—unguarded, gentle.

Minjeong’s gaze drifted lower, taking in how the candlelight flickered against Y/N’s skin, casting warm shadows that highlighted the delicate angles of her face. For a fleeting moment, an image surfaced in Minjeong’s mind—Y/N standing at the altar, dressed in ivory, holding a bouquet just like this. A wedding. Their wedding.

Her brain immediately screeched to a halt.

Her entire body tensed, heat creeping up the back of her neck. What was wrong with her? Where had that thought even come from? This was just a small gesture—nothing more. Absolutely nothing more.

She shook her head, face heating up as she mentally scolded herself. What was wrong with her? This was just a small gesture—nothing more. Absolutely nothing more.

She shrugged, turning toward the door. “Just… get some rest, alright?”

Y/N watched as Minjeong made her swift exit, the usual confidence in her stride slightly faltering making her blink in confusion. Minjeong had looked almost nervous, and that alone was enough to intrigue her. She twirled one of the flower stems between her fingers, inhaling its scent once more. There was something undeniably sweet about this—Minjeong, bringing her flowers, trying and failing to act nonchalant about it. She looked down at the flowers again, a smile lingering on her lips.

Maybe today hadn’t been so bad after all.

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

The arrival of Lord Lee and his son, Mark, had sent the castle into a flurry of activity. Servants bustled about, arranging grand feasts and preparing lavish guest chambers. The council had assembled to receive them formally, but Minjeong had remained on edge since the moment she heard his name.

She didn’t like Mark.

She had never liked Mark.

And when he arrived, all charm and easy smiles, she liked him even less.

The moment the formal greetings ended, Minjeong had tried to pull Y/N away, eager to discuss matters in private. But before she could, Mark slid into the space beside Y/N, offering her an infuriatingly perfect smile.

“It’s been far too long, Princess,” he said smoothly, taking her hand and pressing a light kiss to the back of it.

Minjeong’s eye twitched.

Y/N, ever the diplomat, simply smiled. “It’s good to see you again, Lord Mark.”

Mark’s grin widened. “You look even more radiant than the last time we met.”

Minjeong scoffed audibly, crossing her arms. “That’s enough.”

Mark turned his attention to her, still annoyingly unbothered. “Princess Minjeong,” he greeted, his tone friendly, but there was something in his eyes—something smug.

Minjeong narrowed her gaze. “Lord Mark.”

Oblivious—or perhaps intentionally ignoring Minjeong’s growing irritation—Mark turned back to Y/N. “I must say, I was quite disappointed when I heard the news of your betrothal.” He leaned in slightly, voice dipping into something more playful. “I was rather hoping I’d have a chance to win your heart myself.”

Y/N laughed lightly, shaking her head. “Fate had other plans, it seems.”

Before she could say more, Minjeong stepped between them, her presence radiating unmistakable tension. “Yes, it did,” she said, her voice laced with finality. “And that fate happens to be me.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “So protective.”

Minjeong’s jaw clenched. “We’re to be wedded. I’d say that gives me every right to be.”

Y/N sighed, placing a hand on Minjeong’s arm as if to ground her. “Minjeong—”

But Minjeong wasn’t done. She turned fully to Y/N, her voice lower now, frustration seeping into her tone. “Do you enjoy letting him flirt with you?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Mark chuckled, stepping back slightly, clearly entertained. “Minjeong, relax. It’s just a little harmless fun.”

Minjeong turned on him, eyes flashing. “It’s not harmless when you’re doing it in front of me.”

Y/N, sensing the tension about to escalate, spoke up quickly. “Minjeong, it’s nothing. Mark is just being friendly.”

Minjeong let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “Friendly? That’s what you call it?” Her voice dropped lower, quieter but no less intense. “You’re mine, Y/N.”

The words hung between them, heavier than either of them expected. Even Mark looked taken aback, though he quickly masked it with another grin.

Y/N swallowed, heat rushing to her face. “Minjeong—”

But Minjeong, realizing what she had just said—how possessive it sounded, how raw it had been—stepped back abruptly.

Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Y/N staring after her, heart pounding.

Mark smirked, his voice teasing but not unkind. “Well, I suppose I’ve overstayed my welcome.” He bowed slightly toward Y/N. “We’ll talk later, Princess.”

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

The garden was bathed in the golden hues of the late afternoon sun, a soft breeze rustling through the neatly trimmed hedges and vibrant blooms. Y/N had sought refuge here after a long morning of meetings, hoping to clear her mind amidst the serenity of the castle grounds. The scent of roses and fresh earth filled the air, grounding her in much-needed peace.

That peace, however, was short-lived.

“Princess,” Mark’s smooth voice cut through the quiet, and Y/N internally sighed before turning to face him. He stood there, ever composed, his princely demeanor as polished as always. “I thought I might find you here.”

Y/N offered a polite smile. “Lord Mark.”

He stepped closer, his expression easygoing but with an unmistakable glint of something else—something calculating. “I must admit, I’m still surprised by your arrangement with Minjeong.” His voice carried a light chuckle, as if what he was about to say was merely harmless banter. “You deserve someone who can match you, after all.”

Y/N’s smile faltered slightly. “Minjeong is more than capable.”

Mark tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Oh, come now. She’s impulsive, reckless—hardly fit for a political union, let alone a queen. You, on the other hand, are intelligent, refined. You deserve someone who can complement you, not drag you into unnecessary conflicts.”

From the balcony above, Minjeong stood frozen, her grip tightening on the railing. She had been watching over Y/N absentmindedly when she saw Mark approach. Something about the way he moved, the calculated charm in his expression, made her uneasy. She hadn’t planned on interfering—until now.

Beside her, Aeri and Yizhuo exchanged knowing looks.

“We should go down there,” Aeri muttered.

Minjeong was already moving.

Back in the garden, Y/N’s expression hardened as she turned fully to face Mark. “If you think Minjeong is unfit, then you clearly don’t know her at all.”

Mark blinked, his confident mask slipping just slightly. “I was merely pointing out—”

“No,” Y/N interrupted, her voice firm. “You were trying to plant doubt. But let me make something very clear, Prince Mark.” She took a step forward, her gaze unwavering. “Minjeong is strong. She’s a skilled warrior, a capable leader, and someone I trust completely. She challenges me, yes, but she also understands me in a way no one else does.”

Minjeong, having just arrived at the entrance of the garden, halted mid-step, her breath catching at Y/N’s words.

Mark, clearly taken aback, let out a short laugh. “Well, I didn’t expect you to be so—passionate—about this.”

Y/N’s expression didn’t waver. “I won’t entertain anyone who speaks ill of her.”

A heavy silence followed, and Mark’s smile faltered for the first time since the conversation began.

Minjeong, standing just a few feet away now, smirked.

“Well, well,” she drawled, stepping fully into view. “I do believe I arrived at the best part.”

Aeri and Yizhuo flanked Minjeong as they strode confidently to Y/N’s side. Mark blinked, shaking off his surprise, before his expression twisted into something smug.

“Well, Princess,” Mark said, eyes flickering back to Y/N, “I suppose you won’t be so… brainwashed once your mothers hear my father’s proposition.”

Minjeong’s smirk wavered, her fingers twitching at her side, but before she could respond, Mark turned on his heel and began to walk past them.

As he did, he made sure to bump shoulders with Minjeong in a petty attempt at dominance.

But instead of Minjeong stumbling, it was Mark who lost his footing, staggering slightly before catching himself.

A beat of silence.

Aeri let out an ungraceful snort, quickly covering her mouth as her shoulders shook with mirth. Y/N tried—really tried—to maintain her composure, but a giggle escaped before she pressed her lips together, attempting to stifle the sound. Yizhuo, however, had no such restraint, releasing a high-pitched laugh that echoed through the garden. But it was Minjeong’s laughter that was the loudest of them all—rich, unabashed, and entirely amused as she threw her head back, reveling in the moment.

Mark’s face burned red as he scowled, straightening his coat with unnecessary force. “Enjoy it while you can,” he muttered before storming off, his dignity trailing behind him.

Minjeong grinned, watching him go. “That was satisfying.”

Y/N chuckled, nudging her playfully. “Jealousy looks good on you.”

Minjeong huffed, crossing her arms. “I wasn’t jealous.”

Aeri and Yizhuo snickered behind them, and Y/N simply shook her head, a knowing smile on her lips.

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

The heavy doors of the council chamber swung open as three parties entered—Minjeong and Y/N walking side by side, Lord Shin-Il Lee and Mark following closely behind, and the four reigning queens already seated at the head of the grand table. The air was thick with expectation, a quiet tension settling over the room as everyone took their places.

Minjeong dropped into her seat with an unimpressed expression, arms crossed over her chest. She had no interest in whatever nonsense Lord Lee had to say, and her patience was already running thin. Y/N, ever composed, kept her posture straight, a neutral expression masking her thoughts. Meanwhile, the four queens—Taeyeon, Tiffany, Irene, and Seulgi—watched the nobleman and his son with intrigue, waiting to hear what had brought them here with such urgency.

Lord Shin-Il Lee wasted no time. He stood, clearing his throat before speaking with the practiced confidence of a seasoned politician. “Your Majesties, I first wish to extend my gratitude for granting us this audience today.” His voice was smooth, calculated. “I come before you with what I believe to be a better solution for the future of both Argoriath and Mindor.”

Minjeong arched an eyebrow, already skeptical.

Lord Lee continued, his gaze sweeping over the room before settling on Y/N. “It is my firm belief that the most beneficial course of action is for Princess Y/N to be wed… to my son, Mark.”

Minjeong’s fingers curled into fists beneath the table.

A brief silence followed his words, the weight of the proposition settling over the room. Y/N remained still, but there was a flicker of something in her expression—something unreadable. The four queens exchanged glances, their intrigue shifting into something more guarded.

“I believe this proposal is the most beneficial course of action for all involved,” Lord Shin-Il Lee declared, his voice smooth and confident. “With Mark wed to Princess Y/N, the alliance between Argoriath and Mindor remains strong, but without the need for full unification.”

Minjeong’s jaw tightened. “So, what you’re suggesting,” she said slowly, voice edged with barely contained fury, “is that I step aside?”

Lord Lee offered a practiced smile. “Not at all, Your Highness. In fact, quite the opposite. You would remain the sole ruler of Argoriath, as you were meant to be. Y/N and Mark would rule over Mindor, keeping both kingdoms independent yet allied.”

Y/N stiffened beside Minjeong, but before she could respond, Mark leaned forward, ever the politician. “It’s a logical solution,” he said smoothly. “This way, nothing has to change too drastically. You won’t be forced into a marriage you clearly don’t want, and the balance of power remains intact.”

Minjeong scoffed, her eyes flashing. “And you conveniently get to rule a kingdom in the process.”

Lord Lee sighed, as if speaking to a stubborn child. “This is about what is best for the kingdoms, Your Highness. With this arrangement, we can proceed with the treaties as planned without forcing a full integration of Argoriath and Mindor.”

Y/N’s grip tightened on the armrest of her chair. “And what if I refuse?”

Mark’s expression remained unreadable, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Then we find ourselves in a complicated situation, Princess.”

Minjeong exhaled sharply, forcing herself to remain seated. Every fiber of her being screamed to throw Mark out of the room, to refuse outright—but she knew she couldn’t make a rash decision. Not yet.

Y/N turned to Minjeong, their eyes locking. The silent question hung between them.

What do we do?

Y/N inhaled deeply, forcing herself to stay calm. “I don't believe that to be possible” she said curtly.

Lord Lee inclined his head, an almost mocking smile. Minjeong could see the satisfaction in his gaze. He thought he had won.

Not if she had anything to say about it.

Before the four queens could deny his request, Minjeong shot up from her seat, fists slamming onto the table. “Absolutely not! Are you out of your mind? Do you really think I’d let Y/N marry that—” she gestured wildly at Mark, “—that pompous, incompetent, over-polished excuse of a Lord?”

Mark raised an eyebrow, looking more amused than offended, but Minjeong wasn’t finished. “He wouldn’t last a week ruling a kingdom! He probably can’t even make a proper decision without his father whispering in his ear! Y/N and I will be wedded, whether he likes it or not.”

Y/N sat frozen in place, utterly speechless as Minjeong grabbed her wrist and pulled her up, dragging her toward the exit with determined strides. The room fell into stunned silence, save for the barely contained snorts coming from Tiffany and Seulgi. Irene looked completely flabbergasted, her mouth opening and closing as if trying to process what had just happened.

Taeyeon, though visibly shocked, quickly composed herself, standing as she turned to the nobleman. “I apologize for my daughter’s, ah… passionate reaction,” she said smoothly, though there was a faint twitch at the corner of her lips. “However, let me be clear—Minjeong and Y/N’s union is final. Y/N will not be marrying Mark.”

Irene, finally regaining her composure, straightened in her seat. “Queen Taeyeon is correct. This matter is not up for discussion.”

Lord Lee’s expression darkened, but he remained silent. Mark, meanwhile, simply chuckled, shaking his head in amusement.

As Minjeong stormed out of the chamber with Y/N in tow, the last thing Y/N heard was the sound of Seulgi’s barely muffled laughter and Tiffany murmuring, “Well, that was entertaining.”

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

The moment Minjeong dragged Y/N past the castle doors and into the open courtyard, the sky cracked with thunder, dark clouds rolling in faster than either of them had noticed. The first droplets of rain hit the stone paths, cool against the warmth of the lingering afternoon, but Minjeong was too lost in her frustration to care.

“I can’t believe them!” Minjeong seethed, her grip on Y/N’s wrist tightening slightly before she let go, running a hand through her already tousled hair. “Who do they think they are, trying to decide our fate like we’re pieces on a board?”

Y/N exhaled, rubbing her wrist where Minjeong had gripped it, though the touch hadn’t been painful—just desperate. “It’s politics, Minjeong. They were always going to try to manipulate the situation.”

Minjeong turned to her sharply, her eyes stormy like the clouds overhead. “And you? You were just going to sit there and let them?”

Y/N narrowed her gaze, folding her arms over her chest. “I was going to handle it.”

Minjeong let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, really? Because from where I was sitting, it looked like you were considering it.”

Before Y/N could snap back, the rain came down in earnest. A sudden downpour soaked them both in an instant, cold and relentless. Y/N gasped at the sudden chill, her dress clinging to her as she glanced around for cover. Minjeong grabbed her wrist again, but this time gentler, pulling her toward the stone archway of an abandoned garden pavilion at the edge of the courtyard.

They stumbled inside, breathless, the storm crashing down around them. The scent of wet earth and rain filled the air, the heavy droplets pounding against the stone roof above. Y/N brushed wet strands of hair from her face, shivering slightly as she turned to Minjeong.

“Well, this is great,” Y/N muttered, wringing out the sleeves of her dress.

Minjeong huffed, crossing her arms as she leaned against one of the stone pillars. “At least it’s quiet out here.”

Y/N eyed her warily. “Are you going to keep sulking or actually talk to me?”

Minjeong scoffed. “I am talking.”

Y/N sighed, stepping closer. “Minjeong.”

Something in her tone made Minjeong finally look at her, and for the first time since storming out of the council chamber, her anger wavered. Y/N wasn’t just frustrated—she was tired. Of the politics, of the pressure, of the constant back and forth. And Minjeong, for all her bluster, understood that better than anyone.

Minjeong ran a hand over her face, exhaling slowly. “I just… I don’t like when people try to take away my choices.”

Y/N studied her for a moment before nodding. “Neither do I.”

The rain continued to pour around them, a curtain of silver separating them from the rest of the world. Minjeong glanced at Y/N’s soaked form, her lips parting as if to say something, but she hesitated.

Y/N, however, didn’t. “You really weren’t going to let them take me away, were you?”

Minjeong met her gaze, something raw flickering in her eyes. “No,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Never.”

A rare moment of honesty.

A heavy silence followed, broken only by the rhythmic drumming of the rain. Minjeong shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her gaze flickering toward Y/N’s lips for the briefest of moments before snapping back up. She swallowed hard, trying to shake off the warmth creeping up her neck.

Y/N tilted her head, watching her closely. “Why do you care so much?”

Minjeong hesitated, gripping the pillar beside her like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. “Because…” she exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Because it’s you.”

The words sent a strange warmth through Y/N’s chest. She wasn’t sure what she had expected Minjeong to say, but the sincerity in her voice was something she couldn’t ignore.

Y/N took a hesitant step closer. “Minjeong…”

Minjeong stiffened, like a startled animal, before quickly masking it with a scoff. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like you’re figuring something out.” Minjeong muttered, looking away as if avoiding Y/N’s gaze would somehow make the moment less intense.

Y/N hummed, amusement flickering in her eyes despite the tension. “Maybe I am.”

Minjeong let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “You’re insufferable.”

Y/N smirked. “And yet, here we are.”

Another roll of thunder rumbled in the distance, and Minjeong sighed, finally giving in to the moment. “We should wait for the storm to pass.”

Y/N nodded, settling against the opposite pillar, still watching Minjeong like she was some puzzle she was only just beginning to solve. And maybe, for the first time, Minjeong was starting to let herself be figured out.

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

The rain showed no signs of stopping.

Under the stone archway, the storm raged on around them, the steady downpour forming small rivulets along the cobblestone path. The cold had begun to settle in, creeping through the damp fabric of their clothes, making every breath visible in the cool air.

Minjeong, still leaning against her pillar, shifted her gaze toward Y/N. She hadn’t noticed at first, too caught up in her own thoughts, but now it was impossible to ignore—the way Y/N trembled slightly, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her breath uneven, small shivers racking through her frame.

Minjeong hesitated.

She wasn’t good at this—offering comfort, being gentle. But the sight of Y/N shaking, biting her lip to keep her teeth from chattering, made something tighten in her chest. An unspoken pull, impossible to ignore.

With a reluctant sigh, she moved, lowering herself onto the cold stone bench beside Y/N. The distance between them was small, yet it felt like an entire battlefield.

Y/N glanced at her in mild surprise, but before she could speak, Minjeong shifted even closer, her arm hesitantly draping over Y/N’s shoulders. The contact sent a jolt through both of them. Minjeong’s fingers grazed against the damp fabric of Y/N’s dress, cool to the touch, yet the warmth from their proximity was immediate.

Y/N stiffened for a brief second, then exhaled, her body instinctively leaning into Minjeong’s side. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” Minjeong murmured, voice quieter than usual. “Just… stay still.”

Y/N sighed, closing her eyes briefly. “Much better.”

Minjeong let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her chin rested lightly against Y/N’s damp hair, the scent of rain and something distinctly Y/N filling her senses. The moment stretched between them, heavy yet fragile, the storm outside serving as nothing more than background noise.

Then Y/N shifted slightly, her cheek pressing against Minjeong’s collarbone, sending warmth spreading across Minjeong’s skin. Their breath synchronized, slow and deep, as if the world had narrowed to just the two of them.

Minjeong swallowed, her pulse unsteady. She could feel every rise and fall of Y/N’s chest, the soft rhythm of her breath against her neck. Her gaze flickered downward, her heart hammering as her eyes fell to Y/N’s lips—slightly parted, inviting, impossibly close.

Y/N’s fingers, resting lightly against Minjeong’s wrist, curled slightly.

Neither of them moved away.

They leaned in, inch by inch, breaths mingling, tension coiling so tightly that it was unbearable. The air between them crackled, charged with something unspoken, something inevitable. Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut, and Minjeong’s did the same, their lips just barely brushing—

“Your Highnesses!”

The sharp call of their names shattered the moment. They jolted apart instantly, hearts pounding, faces burning.

Within seconds, two butlers came rushing toward them, large umbrellas in hand, their expressions a mix of panic and relief.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” one of them huffed, struggling to catch his breath. “You’re both completely soaked—come, let’s get you inside before you catch your death!”

Minjeong cleared her throat, quickly standing and putting more distance between herself and Y/N. “Right. Of course.”

Y/N, still pink-cheeked, tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear, nodding. “Yes, we should… go.”

As the butlers shielded them with umbrellas and led them toward the castle, neither dared to speak of what had just almost happened.

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ; 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

#wlw #aespa #aespa x you #aespa x reader #aespa x fem reader #aespa x y/n #aespa winter #winter #winter x reader #winter x fem reader #kim winter #kim winter x reader #kim minjeong #kim minjeong x fem reader #kim minjeong x reader #aespa minjeong #minjeong #minjeong x reader #minjeong x fem reader

31 notes · View notes

mushroom-words · 3 days ago

Text

Honey, You're a Golden Star || Sirius Black

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Sirius Black x GN!Reader Words: 1188 Note: This has been rewritten and reposted from a previous blog. This has never been my favorite work, but I think rewriting it has improved it a little bit. Warnings: None. There's some making out, but that's about it. Very light petting.

Harry Potter Masterlist 🍄 Ultimate Masterlist

MAGIC PULSED THROUGH the air and filled the newly furnished apartment. It vibrated with happiness and a beautiful light that neither natural nor artificial illumination could cast. The pleasant thrums of energy mingled with the joyful laughter and conversation which celebrated what was apparently a momentous occasion.

Moving out of your parents’ home was a difficult decision for you to make. Especially when it meant that you would be, at least in part, leaving one world to join another. Trading a traditional one for a magical one. But it had been a necessary choice. Saving up had been the most difficult part of it. You’d barely had enough for you to get your own place.

Moving into the flat with your boyfriend, however, was far scarier. Yet you had done it. With the help of your friends and their enviable powers. You couldn’t be happier.

Lily raised her wine glass. “To our friends, for taking this big step in their lives,” she smiled.

“To (Y/N) for being brave enough to take on Padfoot alone,” Remus amended with a hearty chuckle.

“Without magic,” James added.

Peter grinned. “It’s admirable, really. I don’t know how you do it.”

Your head tossed back in light peals of laughter. The friendly jests had become just another part of this life that you’d grown to love. It was teasing that you knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that was only good-natured and filled with nothing but love for their friend. The group had been linked at the hip since they were eleven, when they’d all attended their first year at their wizarding school.

You shared a similar friendship with Lily. You had grown up as her neighbor and best friend. The two of you were in the same class until she had received her own acceptance letter when she turned eleven and left to attend Hogwarts. That was where she had met the boys. She had been the one to later introduce you to Sirius Black.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’re all hilarious. Really witty, the lot of you.”

He took a sip of his wine. Despite the wry drawl in his voice, his eyes glimmered with the deep fondness he had for all of them. He couldn’t very well hide the small smile that teased his lips. You smiled and stepped into his side, wrapping an arm around his waist as you held your wine glass in your other hand. He slung his over your shoulder and tugged you closer.

Lily smiled sweetly at you. She then rolled her strikingly green eyes and nudged James. “Be nice,” she scolded. “This is supposed to be a celebration. Don’t be nasty.”

Remus chuckled. “You’re right, you’re right.” He cleared his throat and raised his glass in the same manner as Lily had. “To our friends, Sirius and (Y/N), for taking this next step—for moving towards independence,” he said.

James huffed. “I don’t know how I feel about this independence thing.”

“James!”

“All right, all right,” he chuckled. “To our friends.”

“To our friends!”

The sun had long since kissed the day goodbye by the time everyone decided to take their leave and give you a chance to settle in for your first night in the flat. In its place was the moon, shrouded behind gloomy clouds and rain that danced against the windows in a peaceful pattern.

You glanced towards the kitchen to make sure the well-used wine glasses were being cleaned. The sponge swirled each glass before the soap bubbles were rinsed down the drain. It was only a small display of what you knew magic could do, but it amazed you nevertheless.

Your eyes drifted to where Sirius sat beside you on the couch with your legs slung over his lap. He was distinctly focused on the program playing on the TV that he had first mocked when he was first introduced to the “Muggle box with moving pictures.” His gaze was like the light first breaking through a storm, and his dark curls fell to frame his sculpted face in his typical end of the night style.

Sirius had no right being as utterly, devastatingly beautiful as he was. But he was all yours. Your northern star to guide you through the dark. The thought made you smile.

Sensing your stare, he turned his head and smirked. “I know I’m beautiful, love, but you can’t just admire masterpieces for free.”

You immediately rolled your eyes at him. He always had this air of arrogance surrounding him, but you knew how sweet he actually was beneath it. It made it all that more enticing to you. Sirius knew he was good-looking. He also knew the effect he had on you. But it was those moments where his real personality shone through that had the butterflies still fluttering around in your stomach.

Playing along, you leaned up to kiss his cheek. “There. Does that cover my fee?”

“Hardly,” he scoffed. “I need about a hundred more of those.”

“Let’s negotiate.”

He raised a brow at you, but before he could say anything more, you had pulled him in for a proper kiss. Your fingers turned his face to yours, your lips melding together gently. You dared to tease him with the tip of your tongue. It would rile him up, and that was one of your favorite things to do.

Sirius rose to the bait, just as you knew he would. His hand ran up over your knee and squeezed your thigh. He pushed forward to deepen the kiss, enticing your mouth to open more to let him in. Your hands weaved into his hair and twisted the silken curls around your fingers. You pulled soft grunts from the back of his throat every time you would tug the wild strands.

When you finally broke the passionate connection, Sirius had moved you down onto your back and settled between your thighs. A hand held your leg in place as it hooked comfortably over his hip. You smiled and bumped your nose against his, closing your eyes and taking in his scent and his presence.

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing your forehead.

“I love you.” You opened your eyes again, and your breath was immediately stolen by his smoldering gaze. You bit your lip. “So… does that cover my fee?”

Sirius chuckled softly, his fingers stroking your leg lovingly. “Just about. But I think you’re still a little short there, love.”

“You’re insatiable,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes again. But you gingerly scrape your fingernails across the back of his neck, smiling at the way he shivered and nearly purred, melting into your touch.

Your hips tipped up to rub against him just faintly. “It is our first night together in our own place.”

Sirius hummed and rocked his hips forward. You gasped softly and let a small moan slip past your lips. His gaze darkened at the noise. He had always known just how to get you right where he wanted you. Using it to his advantage was his best game.

“So let’s go break in the new bed.”

#harry potter #marauders #harry potter x reader #marauders x reader #sirius black #sirius black x reader #gary oldman #🍄.ffn

38 notes · View notes

elioas-diel · 17 hours ago

Text

gally the maze runner

🎀!who has a (not so little) crush on you

🎀::(first image, on the left) full creds to: estherscanon on pintrest!

🎀:: A/N: my trade marks are back!! i’ve really gotta update my last two posts - i still haven’t put my watermark on it yet.. haha whoops😭

this was requested by lovely: @rainydaydream-gal18 i hope you like it!

thinking about! gally who has a little crush on you ♡

🎀:: includes, glader!gally, how i think he’d act if he had a crush on you, fluff, headcanons, and you!

-🎀-

thinking about!gally before he knew he liked you, who gets frustrated - at the fact you’re on his mind too much. he’d grumble obscenities under his breath whenever he caught himself looking at you or thinking about you as he zones out, when he really should be focusing on his job

thinking about!gally before he knew he liked you, who unconsciously pushes himself harder when you’re watching or near him.

if its when he’s in the fighting pit: he’d roll up his sleeves to the point his muscular arms are bulging out the tight shirtsleeve - making up excuses when asked about it by his friends, saying things like:

“they just feel better when I go to land a punch - no biggie,” (but it isn’t a “no biggie,” those muscles are far from that and he knows it - lets just hope you realise it too)

he’d pull off more tactical moves and stronger throws of his fists.

or if its a normal day of building: he’d take things out of gladers hands, even shoving them out of the way, just so he’d be in your field of vision.

“gally- wait you just said I was positioned here a few minutes ago!”

“not anymore - go and help out, somewhere else shuck-face,”

thinking about!gally before he knew he liked you, who suddenly snaps/scoffs at you randomly. If you’re too close - at the teasing jokes you make, you know what? even at the sound of your voice.

you know and he knows that he doesn’t mean it, after all your good friends, but it starts to confuse you. which only makes him snap back even more.

its almost comedic.

but really it’s just a defensive mechanism to him - a barrier he puts up to help push down bubbling feelings that keep arising in his chest.

-🎀-

gally who thought he was pretty good at keeping his emotions in line, finally ends up cracking when he lets himself sit with his thoughts.

-🎀-

thinking about!gally who now knows he likes you, suddenly becomes ticked off by any guy who gets your attention - he might throw some shade or a sarcastic comment at them but shrug it off when you mention it.

though, if the glader you were speaking to, ever brought it up - he’d go and make a scene out of it.

pushing at gally’s chest a glader steps in front of him, “what the hell dude, what’s your deal?”

shoving the male in front of him slightly he scoffs back, “you wanna find out slinthead? c’mon keep pushing me, dude.”

thinking about!gally who now knows he likes you, does everything in his power to avoid you - whats he supposed to do with these feelings now? why does he keep acting out?

he doesn’t remember any trace of knowledge that taught him how he’s supposed to go about, whatever this even is!

while this existential crisis occurs in his brain, his demeanour does not show any signs of panic. His body seems to just run itself - his expression serious, and his body just a teensy bit more tense when he’s around you, whilst his consciousness suffers inside.

-🎀-

gally who isn’t the type to easily admit his emotions - finally admits that he likes you when his body takes full control and crashes his lips into yours.

this wasn’t how his little declaration of love was supposed to go - but all thoughts of worry slip away when you feel your body melt into his.

gally honestly was never going to get his way by expressing his feelings through his words so maybe his actions might show much he likes you?

but the funny thing is the fact you always knew - you had always liked him - from the moment you met him - but there was no way in this world you’d ever admit that. so imagine how relieved you felt when he finally made the first move.

at the end of the day though, you were as stubborn as he was, maybe thats what makes you so crazy for each-other?

-🎀-

17 notes · View notes

cheshiresense · 2 months ago

Note

In the Ichigo & Starrk time travel 'verse I'm just picturing Ichigo registering for the academy like "I'm Ichigo. From the rukongai. No last name" and then kaien popping up like "he's a Shiba!!!" And the people there looking at each other and whispering like "ohhhh he wants to be independent and not rely on his family name!! How sweet!!!" and then Ichigo just sighing. XD

LMAO with his luck, this is exactly what happened.

Meanwhile Starrk's over there in the corner filling out his application forms and thanking every god he wants to beat up I find it rly funny to imagine he has this passive-aggressive grudge against Mimihagi for a variety of reasons that he in no way, shape, or form resembles any of the five big clans. But it would also be really funny to me if people at the admin desk looked at him, and then looked twice, and then looked thrice, and then be like "You sure you're not a Kyouraku?", because let's face it, he really does look a bit like Shunsui. Like it's not immediately noticeable the way Ichigo is with the Shibas, but if Starrk and Shunsui showed up and claimed they were blood-related, probably no one would doubt it.

And at any other time, people might not think of the possibility, but there just so happens to be a Kyouraku relative - even if she's just a bastard - attending the Academy at the moment, and all the teachers and staff are always made aware of any clan children in their halls. The Kyouraku Family isn't one of the Big Five, they're a Lower Noble House and also not a Shinigami-oriented clan, more politicians and scholars and even artisans than soldiers, but they're old and prestigious and the highest-ranked out of all the Lower Noble Houses, so the Academy paid attention when one of them decided to become a Shinigami for the first time in centuries. She ends up being a disappointment with none of her cousin's talent or charisma or wit, and the Eighth Division captain hasn't pushed hard enough for them to really show her any favouritism, but they've still kept an eye on her to make sure the bullying doesn't get too bad and she doesn't fall too far behind, lest they bring her family's wrath down on them, because it doesn't seem like most of her clan cares about her but who even knows with nobles and the things that set off their sense of pride.

But that means Starrk's looks immediately ring a few bells when he shows up. Of course, he denies it; unlike Ichigo, he really doesn't have any relation to the Kyourakus, although even back in their own timeline, a few people had made that mistake when they didn't know he was a Hollow, had thought he was some Kyouraku relative Shunsui had dug up to help out, because not everyone who goes through the Academy becomes a Shinigami, sometimes they're clan members who go home afterwards to guard the family and continue their own training there, plus with Starrk's strength and skill set - 1) powerful, and 2) sharing quite a few similarities to Shunsui's so it's not even just their looks - it had actually been more far-fetched to a lot of people for him to have just been some random nobody than to be a member of this powerful clan.

But no, no blood relation, just a quirk of fate. Still, the Academy notes his name down and makes sure to keep more tabs on his progress than they would an average Rukongai student. And alright, the teachers can be overly biased or overly indifferent depending on the student but they're not actually stupid, and yeah, for a while, it's Shiba Ichigo who takes up all their attention because Ichigo blows all the other students out of the water and skyrockets straight up to a category of genius nobody's ever seen before, even more impressive than his lieutenant cousin and slated to graduate in a year. It helps (Ichigo: "No it fucking doesn't.") that Kaien is constantly buzzing around making sure Ichigo is treated like a prince befitting of a Great Noble House so no one dares make his life difficult. Well, Koyonagi would probably dare, but fortunately (Ichigo: "No it fucking isn't."), he likes Ichigo enough to not hamper him in any way, even if he does come up with all sorts of annoying tasks to heap on Ichigo "for extra credit" (Ichigo: "For his own entertainment.").

Starrk in the meantime is about as entertained by all this as a passively suicidal grieving widow war vet can get, and he makes no effort to hide it every time Ichigo comes to hide in his room and bitch to him about it, because really, it's partly the kid's own fault for not knowing subtlety even if it shoots him in the face. It's harmless enough anyway so long as Ichigo doesn't stand out more than he already has, so Starrk doesn't see a problem with kicking back and enjoying the show. Right up until the novelty of a prodigal Shiba starts wearing off on the Academy teachers because it's not like they've never seen geniuses before even if this one is a little more unique. So the turn their attentions elsewhere and suddenly realize that the guy who might be another bastard Kyouraku and spends more time asleep than awake have some really interesting grades when they look at them altogether at the end of term. Average in everything—so average it's suspicious, meaning Starrk either has the weirdest luck in the universe or he's literally calculating everything he's doing in class to make sure he always falls within a very specific range. Koyonagi had already noticed of course, and he's checked all the boxes that would jump Starrk up to sixth year starting next semester, but the other teachers catch on quickly enough too, and then they also start taking a fourth and fifth look at him.

Now it's Ichigo's turn to be Very Amused. Shouldn't have laughed at his suffering, huh? Karma's a real bitch.

Starrk is Not Amused, but also he can be just as stubborn as Ichigo, even if it's in the opposite direction. Ichigo very stubbornly isn't willing to be held back, he can do more as an official member of the Gotei, and slogging through six years at the Academy is just wasting time. If he has to graduate in the least amount of time possible and thereby be seen as a genius anyway, he might as well put himself out of his misery early and get that out of the way right off the bat. At least then, by the time he graduates, some of the shine will have hopefully worn off for the masses after they've gotten used to him.

Likewise, Starrk very stubbornly isn't willing to be anyone's show pony. Ichigo isn't either, but Ichigo's solution is to just ignore the fact that he sort of is, for the sake of exempting himself from fatal boredom. In contrast, Starrk 100% doesn't mind going to lectures when nobody can stop him from sleeping through them anyway, and he always turns in his homework on time and never fails his tests either so the teachers can't complain. The training sessions in the practical courses are more annoying but he doesn't usually have to do much there either, especially once he's jumped to the sixth-year courses where the teachers teach less and more often pair them up for spars or take them to fight very low-level Hollows they've captured instead. And since he's been noticed now, he doesn't care about maintaining average scores anymore because once you finish your spar or kill your assigned Hollow, you get to sit around and do nothing until everybody else is done, which suits Starrk just fine.

Koyonagi calls him to his office a couple more times, but as Starrk expects, the man grows increasingly bored with Starrk's lack of a reaction to anything he says. He even pokes at him from the "bastard Kyouraku abandoned in the Rukongai" angle, which almost makes Starrk laugh, because from a hierarchical standpoint, and to all these proudly intolerant Shinigami, even an unwanted bastard disowned from a noble clan would already be several steps up from what Starrk actually is.

There's no substance to this insult anyway, because Starrk really isn't a Kyouraku, and what does a Hollow care about noble blood or lack thereof? Koyonagi takes his shot in the dark and misses, and maybe he sees the amused pity that even Starrk can't quite hide this time, because the man's own eyes go flat with displeasure, for once probably aimed more at himself than Starrk because men like Koyonagi don't like making such crude mistakes. He dismisses Starrk and never calls him back again, although Starrk thinks that might have something to do with Ichigo, who hasn't been best pleased for a while now about Koyonagi harassing Starrk in a way that's completely different from his own harassment, and everyone knows - or will soon discover once again - that it's all fun and games until Ichigo puts his foot down. Either way, Koyonagi gives up trying to make Starrk prey, and Starrk chats his way past the Academy chefs one evening to make a spicy mentaiko udon just for Ichigo as thanks.

So in the end, they both think that's the end of that. Ichigo still has his fair share of secret admirers and envious onlookers and background sycophants looking for an easy ride into the Gotei, but his prickly disposition wards off most of them, and Starrk's flat, indifferent gaze from over Ichigo's shoulder - like he could bury you tomorrow and forget you ever existed the moment it's done - scares away the rest.

And Starrk is likewise acknowledged as another genius, but he's so unmotivated about doing anything with that genius that most of the other students don't really notice, and it's hard for even the teachers to make a big deal out of it. Eventually, they stop trying to galvanize him into displaying more of his abilities, if only to catch a squad's attention, and just let him do what he wants. Geniuses, what can you do? Each one is quirkier than the last.

So that's the end of that.

Except-

Quietly, in the background, possibly Koyonagi's roundabout way of revenge, possibly just the Shinigami's inexplicable attachment to all things bloodlines and pedigrees, the Academy comes to the enlightened conclusion that Starrk must be a Kyouraku. Maybe a branch member who doesn't want attention - seems very Starrk - or he really had been disowned, or there's some other circumstance they're not aware of, but nobility is full of drama so it could be anything. Whatever it is, they collectively agree that this assumption must be true, and over the course of the passing months, it becomes an acknowledged fact that nobody really talks about.

Starrk is lazy, but he's not unpleasant to be around. Who doesn't like an intelligent student? He's also polite, always patient when teachers flag him down for yet another chat despite refusing all opportunities to show off a little, and the Academy chefs adore him because that man can cook - his future wife will be very lucky - and he always has time to trade recipes with them. And on the occasions where some of the youngest students who'd shared classes with Starrk back in the first term approach him with questions on one subject or another, Starrk would frown and sigh a lot, but he would also sit down and answer them one by one, indulgent in a way people wouldn't expect just by looking at him.

If he really is a disowned bastard, well, privately they think that's the Kyourakus' loss, but it also means that it's probably a pretty sensitive topic to Starrk, as these things tend to be, so it's better not to throw it in his face. They're not Koyonagi after all.

(They don't understand for quite a while to come why Koyonagi always rolls his eyes and leaves the room whenever they talk about it amongst themselves.)

To be fair, they really can't be wholly blamed for coming to this conclusion despite all lack of solid evidence and testimony.

First of all, Starrk really does share a physical likeness with the Gotei 13's very well-known Eighth Division captain. Their builds are different - one broad, the other lean - but they're both tall with high cheekbones, and they share the same colouring, grey eyes and brown hair and light skin. In that, Fujiwara's the exact same way, and she is a Kyouraku branch member. It's just even more obvious with Starrk because he's male, plus a few of the Academy teachers have been around long enough to still remember Shunsui before he'd grown his hair out, and Starrk resembles that version even more.

Secondly, and this was less conspicuous, but the teachers had even dug out some of Kyouraku Shunsui's very old, very dusty papers from his Academy days for comparison.

In terms of personality, the two are almost complete opposites. One flamboyant, the other solemn. One outgoing, the other reserved. One a flirt who socializes enough for ten, the other would rather stay in bed and sleep the day away. It's just that Starrk is surprisingly good with people when he tries, and some can recall that even Kyouraku Shunsui had had his moments of quiet contemplation, which only puts more stock in the familial tie theory.

But it's in terms of mindset that really drives it home for them, because when it comes to the way they look at the world, they sync up to an almost frightening degree.

They unearth the captain's old papers from the library archives, and it's been years, centuries, but Shinigami don't tend to change much. If anything, Kyouraku Shunsui’s essays read more immaturely than Starrk’s, but the foundational reasoning from both men is solid.

They review them, and then they look at Starrk's again, and Starrk might leave questions blank on homework and tests but he's never skimped on answers when he does turn them in, and a lot of those questions are essay topics - similar enough even between Kyouraku Shunsui's generation and the current one to make a fair comparison - about hypothetical situations on the battlefield, in a fight, if you meet an ally, if you meet an enemy, if you have to choose who to save, if you have to choose who to let die—what would you do?

The respective responses are evidently written by two different people, well-debated and well-presented, but at the same time, even hundreds of years apart, their opinions and strategies and perspectives and choices on almost every single topic are near-interchangeable.

(They can't have known that Starrk had spent seven years at Shunsui's side, watching him lead, watching him fight, watching him wage a war and command his soldiers and protect his people to the best of his ability... and ultimately fail. They can't have known that he'd spent one final year leading the gutted remains of a Gotei in Shunsui's name to the best of his own ability... and also fail in all the ways that had mattered. They can't have known that even before those years, the two of them had met across a battlefield and crossed minds as much as blades, and even then, they hadn't felt like strangers to each other.)

[AUTHOR INTERRUPTS TO SAY I actually didn't want to mention Starrk's Zanpakutou like this because I have a whole thing planned out for it, as in I was insane enough one day and spent an entire afternoon creating a Bankai for him, but I also think some of you guys have probably guessed at least a bit of what his Zanpakutou looks like since I've dropped a few hints in previous snippets, so whatever, I'll just confirm its sealed form now. I guess this officially makes this snippet not part of the AU though cuz I originally had him not revealing his Zanpakutou until like a year after he graduates, post-time travel reveal. And going forward, he'd be meeting Shunsui differently here since originally their first meeting is at one of Asuka's tutoring sessions. But whatever, you can just go with whichever version you like best. Anyway, let's get on with my increasingly off-topic snippet lmao, sorry Anon.]

And last but most definitely not least, even disregarding everything else, Starrk's Zanpakutou alone is simply a Glaringly Obvious Sign From The Heavens. It's not that people from the same family always share similar Zanpakutou, but it's not exactly uncommon either—just look at the Shibas, they all have elemental Zanpakutou, and the newest one will probably go the same way; the Kuchikis have katanas with identical guards and always a white hilt or sheath; and not a single member of the Feng family that's passed through the Academy has ever left with anything but a wakizashi.

It's especially hard not to make certain connections that lead to the most obvious conclusion when everybody knows that Kyouraku Shunsui is the only Shinigami in living memory to wield a Zanpakutou that exists as two separate blades in its sealed form.

And now there is another.

The first time Starrk had finally removed his Zanpakutou - his entire Zanpakutou - from that wooden case he always carries around over one shoulder for a Zanjutsu assessment compulsory for graduation, the entire room had first gone dead silent, then burst into an uproar. Thankfully, it was a private assessment so there'd only been Starrk and several teachers inside.

They'd all thought they'd seen his Zanpakutou before - after all, he has to use a weapon in his Zanjutsu classes - but apparently, he'd always only taken one blade out for training.

A katana and a wakizashi, a daishou pair, each with a pale gold hilt, a darker gold sheath, and a blue-grey rectangular guard decorated by a sun design. Almost exactly like Kyouraku Shunsui's tachi and wakizashi, with their dark blue hilts and gold rectangular guards decorated by cherry blossom petals.

The meaning of it all could not possibly be clearer. At this point, if they're not family, they would have to be the kind of soulmates you would only find in one of those ridiculously sappy unrealistic romance novels.

(They can't have known that sometimes fate likes its jokes a little too much, and its favourites have always been the butt of them.)

Miracle of miracles, the pseudo-secret of Starrk's Zanpakutou doesn't leak right away. Starrk obviously doesn't want the attention for one reason or another, and the teachers have no real cause to spread it around so they don't. For one, they like him enough to cater to his very simple wishes, and for another, this man is clearly going to be a very powerful Shinigami one day, very likely to snag a captaincy sooner or later, and every noble clan is the same—if Starrk really is disowned, once the Kyouraku Family gets wind of what he can do, he won't be for much longer. And on top of all that, Starrk seems to be friends with the Shibas' most recent pride and joy; that's a connection that will get him far even without his own clan's backing. The Academy doesn't have much to do with the goings-on in the Gotei 13 or the government or the courts of aristocracy, but there's no need to make enemies when they don't have to.

Then comes the day Kyouraku Shunsui himself comes around for a visit.

This in itself is not new. The only career Shinigami from the Kyouraku Family isn't one to throw his weight around too much the way a lot of the other clans like to do for their kin, but he still checks up on his cousin two or three times a year, which in their opinion is already pretty admirable considering Fujiwara is not only from about as distant a branch as one can get, but also illegitimate, out of favour with her clan, and... well, painfully average in a way that means they all have to wrack their brains for compliments every time the captain shows up to ask about her.

Fortunately, for the first time since he'd taken up a position at the school, Koyonagi had done them all a favour and assigned her a tutor capable of working miracles, and so they can very happily and very honestly tell Kyouraku Shunsui all about the leaps in progress Fujiwara has made over the past several months.

The captain listens with a smile that's equal parts amicable and unfathomable, nodding in all the right places. He thanks them for their hard work even as he rakes a discerning eye over them that has them all sweating internally, but at least he also seems willing enough to not make things difficult for them now that Fujiwara is thriving under Shiba Ichigo's protection.

And that should've been it. That would've been it if Akabane Shiina, head of the Kidou department and arguably Starrk's favourite because he actually stays awake in her classes - he's certainly her favourite if the way she gushes about his gloriously tricky projects to a very resentful audience in the staffroom is anything to go by - suddenly bursts out just as the captain is making to leave:

"Are you not going to ask about your other relative?" She demands, her voice gone strident with righteous indignation. "Is it because he really was disowned and cast out into the Rukongai? But he is still better than Fujiwara!"

Shiina has no eyes for anyone without talent in Kidou. She doesn't have a problem with Fujiwara, and in fact, out of the four combat forms, Fujiwara is best at Kidou, although that might not last with the way she's catching up in all the other fields under Shiba Ichigo's tutelage, and Shiba Ichigo is notoriously slow at Kidou so he can't teach her anything in that area. But even on her own, Fujiwara's competency in Kidou is enough to meet all graduation requirements, and she'd even done fairly well in the fourth-year course Shiina had taught last year, certainly better than all her other subjects. However, she doesn't have the kind of flair for it that Shiina values.

Starrk does. And Shiina apparently does not appreciate her favourite pupil being dismissed out of hand just because he's considered one step lower on the social ladder than Fujiwara. Sure, Starrk is far more talented than Fujiwara; he's the last person anybody needs to worry about when it comes to graduating. But that's just all the more reason he deserves at least passing acknowledgement from a captain. And yet Kyouraku Shunsui can show concern for a neglected bastard but not a disowned bastard? Don't make her laugh.

Her temper has always been a straightforward creature, and so she ignores her colleagues' frantic squinting and meets Kyouraku Shunsui's gaze head-on when he pauses and then turns back, except he looks... entirely puzzled.

"Other relative?" The man echoes, looking genuinely baffled. "Did my clan send another child to the Academy? Maa, I wasn't informed. And Asuka-chan hasn't mentioned anything to me either."

A moment of silence follows. Shiina glares suspiciously at the pink-clad captain, who waits her out with the same unflappable calm Starrk pulls out whenever Shiina gets too excited about a Kidou seal and babbles for half an hour straight.

And she's supposed to believe these two have no relation to each other?

"He is not a child," She finally says. She doesn't know how old Starrk is, but it's very obvious he has at least several hundred years under his belt. He makes her feel young sometimes, and she's almost four hundred years old. "He came here from the Rukongai, with Shiba Ichigo."

She watches the way Kyouraku's eyes flicker as he takes in this information, but he doesn't emote anything except mild curiosity.

"Ah, I think I've heard a few things about Ichigo-kun's companion," Kyouraku muses. "Coyote Starrk, wasn't it? Also slated to graduate by the end of the year? But I'm afraid my clan definitely doesn't have a branch family by that name."

Well obviously, if he'd been disowned. He'd probably picked it for himself.

Kyouraku smiles a bit at whatever expression has crossed Shiina's face. It should be a scathing one. It feels scathing.

"But now I'm curious," Kyouraku continues, one hand reaching up to tilt his hat up. "For everybody-" His gaze sweeps the room, making everyone straighten in their seats. "-to think he's related to me of all people—we must be very obviously alike in some way."

Shiina scoffs, unimpressed. In some way? Try in every way.

But, at least he hasn't been ignoring Starrk on purpose. Mentally, Shiina grudgingly returns the 50 points she'd docked from him earlier.

She's about to interrogate him about what he's going to do about his curiosity - so help her, if he finds out Starrk really is family, then lets Starrk know that he knows now, and then rejects him for being disowned, captain or no, she's going to make him pay - when one of her colleagues, Koyonagi's gopher actually, because the man himself couldn't be bothered to show up, so as always, he'd sent his nominal vice-department head, interrupts.

"Are you certain you’ve never met?" The man blurts out like he can’t help himself. Especially now that Shiina’s fielded the hard part, and Kyouraku hasn’t taken offense. "Surely you've discussed his essays at least!"

Kyouraku arches an eyebrow. "I can't say I have. But what makes you say that?"

The Zanjutsu teacher flounders. The sixth-year Philosophy teacher is less unprepared and simply pulls out a folder, only about a third full, but they still have a little over a month to go. At least it lets the teachers spread them out a bit instead of having to read them all at once at the end. It was the original reason for the meeting today before Kyouraku had dropped by—going through some of these papers while their workload is still relatively light.

There is an essay question assigned to every student at the beginning of their final year at the Academy. Unlike all other assignments, this one must be completed in order to graduate whether or not your grades are up to par. Students have the whole year to finish it, but it can be handed in anytime.

It's long been said that the the essay question is something Yamamoto Genryuusai himself had come up with, originally posed to his two personal students hundreds of years ago, and unlike all other topics where the details would at least be switched up from year to year, this one has never changed since it had first been included in the curriculum.

To defend honour or to protect life—which should a Shinigami of the Gotei 13 choose to uphold? Why? Which would you choose? Why?

There is actually no correct answer. So long as the paper is written with some thought put in, it’s an automatic pass. But every year without fail, the lieutenant of the First will come by and cart the whole pile away. Nobody can say for sure what happens to them.

Nevertheless, most students choose honour for both parts of the question. Whether they believe it or not, they at least know the politically correct answer, the safe one. Some of the more outspoken students - usually Rukon stock - might choose honour for the first part but argue life for the second part.

Kyouraku Shunsui had been the only one in Academy history to have chosen life for both parts, and now, Coyote Starrk and Shiba Ichigo have joined him.

Shiina watches as Kyouraku wanders back over to peer down at the two essays the Philosophy teacher lays out on the table. She watches as the captain smiles, appreciative and a little amused, as he scans Shiba Ichigo's paper—a fierce discourse on the importance of friends and family, of prioritizing comrades even if it means breaking the law, of doing right by them even if it means discarding the honour of the Gotei or your own honour as a Shinigami because there's no honour in abandoning your loved ones.

And then she watches his gaze move to the other paper, and she watches as his smile fades and his expression goes still. His hand comes up again to tug down the brim of his hat but he never looks up from the essay—a succinct dissertation on doing everything possible to preserve the lives of those in your care, because the duty of a Shinigami to the Gotei 13 is first and foremost to protect the people who depend on them, to shield the world they all reside in, to stand between danger and the realms they have been charged with safeguarding.

—What does honour matter when you cannot protect what you have sworn to protect?

—When you make the choice to step on a battlefield, you are choosing to do all in your power to seize victory, because anything less is an insult to those who have placed their trust in you, a threat to those who rely on you, and a broken oath to those you gave your word to protect.

—When you make the choice to kill, because taking a life is in itself an evil act, you are choosing to carry the necessary sins that will be demanded of you in battle so that others will not have to.

—When you make the choice to protect, you are choosing to discard your honour, because honour will not protect your people. It will not protect the world. It will not protect anything save your own sense of righteousness, and what is that worth if all you care for is gone?

—To be a Shinigami means to shoulder the weight of countless souls. In essence, it is a promise to protect life to the very end, and if honour is the cost, then it is a small price to pay.

Shiina has read Starrk's paper several times already. She had even made her own copy.

She thinks he will make an exceptional Shinigami.

Nobody says a word even after enough time has passed for Kyouraku to have read the paper twice over. What little Shiina can still see of his shadowed face is utterly inscrutable.

When he finally stirs, straightening up to look around, there's something new in his eyes, some emotion Shiina can't place that remains even as he murmurs, "I don't suppose you know where-"

He stops when - as if on cue - a familiar reiatsu signature in the distance rounds the corner of the hallway leading to this room.

It isn't Starrk's reiatsu. He's hard to sense on a good day. But everyone has felt Shiba Ichigo's reiatsu at least once. Boy isn't subtle. He has the skill to hide most of it, but spikes of emotion or even just when he's distracted can bring it out sometimes, and his reiatsu - like that first shocking plunge into ice water that robs you of all breath right before any other sensation hits - isn't one people tend to forget.

And where Shiba Ichigo goes, more often than not, Starrk is there as well.

Shiina checks the time. Classes are out. It's Friday. Chances are good they're together.

Several feet beyond the door, the reiatsu signature comes to an abrupt halt. A few seconds pass, two muffled voices murmur something back and forth, and then footsteps resume, heavier this time, before three brisk knocks are heard.

The head of administration - the one with the highest rank in the room, bar the Shinigami captain - clears his throat, glances at her glower, glances at Kyouraku's perfectly genial expression, and then calls out like a coward, "Come in!"

The door swings open, Shiba Ichigo stalks in, and sure enough, Coyote Starrk shuffles in after him, hands in his pockets, and his bag and the wooden case containing his Zanpakutou slung over one shoulder. His face is so impassive it could've been carved out of marble.

Shiina docks 100 points from everyone in the room. Except Starrk of course.

But even she can't help staring at this meeting that somehow feels like it's been a long time coming.

Starrk's gaze rises. Kyouraku's gaze jumps straight past Ichigo. Their eyes meet, and for just a moment, all of time seems to shudder to a halt.

Silence stretches... and snaps.

"Hey, what's everyone staring at?" Ichigo cuts in irritably, waving the sheaf of papers he's holding in one hand. "We're supposed to hand in our waivers for the assessment on Monday, right? What's the hold up?"

He shoots a look to his left where Starrk and Kyouraku are still standing there staring at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist. He's already scowling, but he scowls even harder at the sight.

"Good afternoon, Kyouraku-taichou," He greets very pointedly.

Kyouraku blinks, and Starrk turns away, busying himself with digging out his own papers from his bag. The moment passes, and Kyouraku turns to Ichigo as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, "Ichigo-kun, what a coincidence. What are you here for?"

Ichigo's gaze bobs between Kyouraku and Starrk again before he shakes the papers in his hand once more. "Starrk-san and I have our second Hohou assessment on Monday. It's the one where they drop us off in an arena full of Hollows, and we have to get out using only Hohou. But we have to assure the school we won't blame them if we get killed, so-"

He brandishes the waivers again and finally looks back at the teachers in the room. "I actually don't know why we have to do this. I asked Matsumoto, and she said she doesn't have to fill out any of this stuff."

The admin head coughs delicately. "It's for clan members, Shiba-san."

Three things happen at once:

Shiba Ichigo, predictably at this point, snaps, "I'm not a clan member!"

Coyote Starrk stops halfway through pulling out his own waivers.

And Kyouraku Shunsui goes back to staring at Starrk, although Shiina thinks he doesn't quite know he's doing it so blatantly.

"Shiba-san, your cousin has already had your name changed to indicate official entry into the clan," The admin head says placatingly. "And he assured us that it was with your approval."

Ichigo glares, clearly all set to spend the next hour fighting this new information tooth and nail. "That doesn't mean-"

"Ichigo," Starrk finally speaks up, but he doesn't say more than that. It doesn't seem like he needs to though because Ichigo breaks off, still scowling, but he also glances back at Starrk, who only arches an eyebrow in return.

Ichigo grumbles something under his breath before slapping his papers down on the desk in front of the admin head. "Fine, whatever, I'll go beat him up later. Starrk-san?"

Starrk meanders over, his own waivers already tucked away again. There's a slight slouch to his frame, his gloved hands are back in his pockets, and he doesn't loom, even stopping a foot behind Ichigo, but when he turns his attention on the admin head, the man almost visibly squirms under that blue-grey gaze.

"I'm not from a clan," He says mildly.

As one, the entire room sans the students and the Shinigami captain turn to look at said captain. A moment later, even the students turn to follow their line of sight.

Kyouraku stares back. Or rather, he meets Starrk's gaze again, dark and intent, searching.

Ichigo snorts. The tension breaks.

"This again?" Ichigo glances at Starrk again. "I thought that rumour went away months ago."

"I thought so too," Starrk agrees in bland tones. He looks from one teacher to the next, and even Shiina ducks her head a little when his gaze sweeps over her.

Another beat of silence ensues before it's Starrk's turn to heave a sigh.

"I'm not from a clan," He repeats in that quietly implacable way of his, and even though there's nothing threatening about him, not in his voice, not on his face, not in his posture, not even in his reiatsu, something in their hindbrains stills like cornered prey anyway.

"I am not a branch member," Starrk continues without much inflection. "Or an illegitimate child, I have never been disowned, and whatever else your... very healthy imagination has come up with," For a split second, he looks almost amused. "I can assure you, I am not that either."

He stops. He needn't have gone on because Shiina definitely believes him this time, or at the very least, she believes he genuinely believes he isn't a Kyouraku.

Except then Starrk also turns to the side where Kyouraku is observing everything in silence. Grey meets grey once more.

"This Taichou-san," Starrk says, looking at the captain in question. His face is unreadable. "Is Kyouraku Shunsui of the Eighth Division, right? Then he should be able to confirm—I am not a part of his clan."

Another moment of silence passes. Shiina catches the way Ichigo's expression has gone grim, although for what reason, she doesn't know.

There's been something off about this whole situation from the start. Why those two couldn't have gone away and come back later is beyond her. They'd clearly sensed Kyouraku inside even before knocking.

"It's true, as far as I'm aware, we really aren't related," Kyouraku says after a few seconds of studying Starrk some more. His eyes don't move away even as he speaks, and his tone is... strangely gentle. "And this should be our first time meeting."

Starrk's gaze slides away at almost the exact same time Ichigo reaches out and snags the sleeve of Starrk's Shihakushou, tugging him forward and around, which just so happens to plant him between Starrk and Kyouraku.

"So is there anything else?" Ichigo says loudly. "Or can we go?"

There's a moment where most of the teachers seem to have forgotten why they're there in the first place. Shiina huffs and decisively takes over.

If she could have her way, she would've already ejected Kyouraku from the room. Maybe they really aren't blood-related - what are the odds though? - but she's pretty sure there's something going on between them anyway. Them and Ichigo.

Whatever, it's not her business. Since both parties have said so, everyone else will just have to accept it.

But now that they've reached this point...

"Come here, I need to tag your Zanpakutou," She says briskly, taking out a box as she beckons them over. "The second Hohou assessment bans the use of Zanpakutou. You'd be surprised how many Zanjutsu-focused students try to cheat anyway, so all Zanpakutou have these attached to them before the assessment begins."

She shows them the tags with seals inscribed across the surface. They're nothing fancy, akin to nametags, but they do their job.

"We don't like separating Zanpakutou from their wielders once students reach their fifth year," She explains. "And all Shinigami are encouraged to get used to carrying their Zanpakutou with them at all times anyway. This way, you'll be able to take them in with you, but we'll know if you unsheathe them."

She takes out three tags and flares her reiatsu, watching half the seals light up before holding them out. "There. Loop the string around the sheath before tying it over the hilt, and then I'll finish locking them. They won't affect your Zanpakutou in any way, and you can still unsheathe your swords anytime. Try not to do that until after the assessment though. There's not much time on Monday to redo the tags, and you'll get marks docked off if you use them during the test."

Ichigo nods and grabs a tag first, head dipping as he reaches for the katana at his waist. Then he jerks back up again, wide-eyed, but Shiina isn't paying any attention to him anymore as she looks up at Starrk.

Starrk blinks at her once, slowly. His expression doesn't shift from its indifferent lines, but after a few seconds, something about his eyes thaws, the corners crinkling briefly with the faintest of mirth.

"You're a bit... petty, Sensei-san," He murmurs in a voice pitched so low only she and Ichigo can hear.

Shiina shrugs unrepentantly. She still can't be 100% sure Starrk isn't a Kyouraku no matter what the man himself believes, but she is sure that either way, it's the Kyouraku Family's loss.

If Starrk isn't a Kyouraku, then it doesn't matter, although knowing nobles, they'll probably be at least a little disgruntled that their unique dual-wielding Shinigami is unique no longer, and it's even someone from Rukongai who's manifested a daishou pair.

And if he is a Kyouraku, an ugly secret the clan had erased so thoroughly that even the only remaining heir of the main branch wasn't told, then Shiina wants them to know, wants to rub it in their faces, wants to shout, Look what you missed out on! Look what you lost! He's no less special than the only Shinigami you've produced!

So sue her. Maybe she's been a little bitter about Starrk receiving no offers from the Gotei divisions beyond the generic ones most students get because there are always unseated cannon fodder positions needing to be filled. Technically, it's Starrk's own fault for utterly failing to stand out in any way, but Shiina doesn't mind blaming everyone else for being blind.

She doesn't know what all Starrk can do, but she is absolutely certain he is far, far more powerful than he's let on. His Kidou work alone is magnificent, and someone like that can't possibly remain in obscurity. Anyone who looks down on him for his circumstance of birth or lack of background will regret it. This is just the first step.

Starrk huffs out an exasperated breath but doesn't refuse her little scheme because obviously she's his favourite teacher. He takes the tags, and then reaches up to twist off the cap of the wooden case.

One could hear a pin drop in the subsequent silence as Starrk retrieves his katana and wakizashi in one fluid motion and lays them out on the desk in front of him. The nearby lamp light catches on the katana's hilt for a moment, making it shine, like sun on sand. With deft steady hands, he attaches a tag to each blade, calm even with a sea of eyes on him.

Shiina slants a look to the side through her eyelashes and suppresses a very satisfied smile.

Kyouraku Shunsui looks like he's been hit over the head with a hammer. She's willing to bet it's a rare look on him, even for someone with a reputation for making a bit of a fool of himself in public whenever he drinks.

He looks stunned now, stunned and... and something else, the same something he'd shown after reading Starrk's paper, except in his distraction, it's far more noticeable now, even if just for a few seconds.

Wonder, Shiina thinks, and doesn't know what to think of it.

"Sensei-san?" Starrk prompts, tilting his blades towards her.

Shiina gives herself a mental shake before finishing up with the tags, Starrk's first, then Ichigo's.

"That's done then, you can go," Shiina tells them. "Have a good weekend. Don't be late on Monday."

Ichigo breathes a sigh of relief, looking reenergized, while Starrk nods at her, nods at the other teachers, and even inclines his head in Kyouraku's direction, before they both turn to go.

"I should get going too then," Kyouraku says, smiling once more and as affably composed again as ever. "Wouldn't want to overstay my welcome."

Shiina stoops down to put the box of tags away just so nobody will see her roll her eyes. By the time she sits up again, her colleagues have seen the captain off, and she silently wishes Starrk good luck with that one. Still, she doesn't regret waving his Zanpakutou in the man's face. She does dock off another 20 points though because she's decided she doesn't much like Kyouraku, especially when he's in Starrk's vicinity.

"Hey!" The Philosophy teacher suddenly calls out, flipping through the papers on the desk. "Where did Coyote-san's essay go?"

Everyone spends a minute looking for it. Shiba Ichigo's is still on the table.

Shiina glances at the door and lets her lip curl. Minus 100 points. She's never met anyone who's hit the negative hundreds so quickly in her life.

The others realize it too soon enough, and the admin head eventually sighs. "It's fine, we have a few copies anyway, and it's not the first time we've lost an essay."

"So... he's not a Kyouraku then?" Someone else pipes up.

An uncertain hush falls over the room. No one is convinced, Shiina included.

"Just..." The admin head waves a weary hand. "Treat him as we always have. It doesn't hurt to be cordial to a future captain, noble or otherwise."

Everybody agrees, and that's that.

-0-

Ichigo has never felt so awkward in his life. He finally understands what being a light bulb means, and these two aren't even dating anymore. Yet. Again. Whatever.

Still, he obstinately makes sure he walks between them. It's not much, but it's probably better than inflicting all of... Kyouraku on Starrk right away. The past twenty minutes had been awful enough. Not many had noticed, or if they had, they probably hadn't been able to pinpoint exactly what was wrong, but Ichigo knows Starrk.

Knows him well enough to tell that the man isn't in any way as put-together as he seems on the surface. Knows too that he's probably thinking about crawling into bed or walking into a lake or disappearing into the sands of Hueco Mundo and just never coming out again.

Ichigo doesn't know how to fix it though, doesn't know if this can even be fixed. The last year in their own timeline had answered him with a resounding no. So all he can do for now is stay close and make sure Starrk is never alone in these moments.

No one is talking. Ichigo wouldn’t usually mind, but the silence this time is tense. It’s also rare to have Kyouraku around and not have any conversation going. The man isn’t actually that chatty most of the time, even if he is a people person, but for there to be something interesting in his immediate vicinity - and Kyouraku is interested in Starrk, even Ichigo can tell that much - and yet choose to remain silent? Ichigo doesn’t like it.

They get all the way to the entrance of the staff building before Ichigo cracks.

“So what were you here for today, Taichou?” Ichigo asks. “Uh, if you can say, I guess.”

Shunsui glances over at him, glances past him, then back. “Maa, it wasn’t anything special. I was just asking about Asuka-chan's progress. You’ve done a good job with her.”

Ichigo flushes a little. “I didn’t do much. She just needed some confidence.”

Kyouraku hums, amused but warm somehow. He's always been good at that. “We’ll agree to disagree then. I’m grateful either way.”

Ugh, this was not what Ichigo had wanted. But he ends up nodding stiffly, and thankfully, Kyouraku gets the hint and drops the subject with a chuckle.

But that also means he has time to glance at Starrk again, like he's checking for a reaction. Unfortunately for him, Starrk is currently impersonating a statue, and he hasn't looked at Kyouraku once since they'd left the meeting room.

It's only when they step outside that Starrk finally stirs. He turns to face them, eyes on Ichigo, features carved from stone. "I turn off here."

Ichigo blinks. Oh, right, but- "You're already going back to the dorms? Fujiwara and Matsumoto want to go out for dinner."

Starrk nods. "I know, you mentioned it yesterday. I won't go. Give me your bag, I'll take it back for you."

Reflexively, Ichigo hands him his bag, but he also tacks on, "You can come too, they're definitely expecting you to."

Starrk shakes his head. "I'm tired, I'll probably just turn in early."

Ichigo opens his mouth to argue, but... to be honest, in Starrk's place, he probably wouldn't want to be inflicted with Matsumoto's energy either. Fujiwara's taking after her a little too much for comfort these days, and Gin is probably going to be there too, and nobody wants to put up with Gin when they're already feeling bad. Of course, Gin always looks sour-faced around Starrk instead of the other way around. Ichigo is pretty sure it's because Starrk has a way about him that makes the suspicious brat feel like the man's constantly catching him red-handed or something every time Starrk so much as looks at him, which is hilarious, but it also means Gin tends to either avoid Starrk whenever possible or needle him when it isn't. Starrk doesn't usually care, but it isn't exactly what anyone would call a good time.

"Okay," Ichigo says instead. "Just make sure you eat something first."

"Mm," Starrk says, very obviously not agreeing to anything. God, Ichigo is surrounded by people who are going to worry him into an early grave. On the other hand, can it be called an early grave when he probably should've died something like ten years ago?

...Wow, that's depressing. Best not to think about it too hard.

"Go have fun," Starrk says before Ichigo can press on the point about food. Sometimes, it's like Starrk forgets he's not just a Hollow anymore. Ichigo had heard that Starrk had transcended hunger even as an Adjuchas because his reiatsu had done the "eating" for him—and then some. And even after reaching the peak of a Hollow's evolution, he's still never needed as much of any kind of food as regular Shinigami, but that doesn't mean it's healthy either for him to eat nothing.

"Don't stay out too late, don't drink too much," Starrk continues, and Ichigo is distracted enough by this to drop the previous subject.

He rolls his eyes. "Okay, Dad. You know it's a Friday, right?"

Also he's not a teenager anymore, he doesn't say, because he's still mindful of Kyouraku's presence behind him.

(His human body had died as a teenager though, at the ripe old age of seventeen. Some days, it feels like he's still aging at the pace of a human, all grown up and as jaded as an adult can get. Other days, when Kaien acts like an annoying big brother around him, or when Starrk fusses over him in that weary, gentle way of his, Ichigo feels exactly like the kid he would be if he'd been born in Soul Society.

He's still not sure how to feel about that. It's weird, always, but... not always bad.)

Starrk raises his eyebrows. "Matsumoto has a makeup test at noon tomorrow. Ichimaru has an early shift in the morning. Fujiwara has an appointment with her advisor at nine, and you-" A wisp of amusement actually makes it all the way onto his face for a moment. "-have remedial Kidou lessons with Koyonagi at ten."

Ichigo immediately scowls. "It's not remedial lessons! That bastard just doesn't know how to butt out of my business!"

Starrk hums noncommittally, but Ichigo's on to him. That's his I'm laughing at you on the inside because I'm secretly an asshole hum.

"How do you even know all these things?" Ichigo grumbles, because honestly, even when Starrk comes to hang out with them, he spends at least two-thirds of the time napping instead of paying attention to anything going on around him. Ichigo hadn't known they'd all be so busy tomorrow.

Starrk just gives him a blank look like he doesn't understand the question. Ichigo rolls his eyes again and gives up.

"It's not like I was planning on staying out that late anyway," He huffs. "We'll be fine for tomorrow."

Starrk nods and says nothing else. Ichigo doesn't have the words to describe how much he likes that about the guy. Unlike Kaien, Starrk says his piece when he feels strong enough about something to actually make his opinion known, but the rest is up to the other party to decide for themselves, for better or for worse. Unless of course you're bleeding a river with your insides hanging outside and trying to insist you can totally still fight.

Healers. They're somehow all carved from the same terrifying, unbending mold. The day Starrk meets Unohana, the Gotei 13 may never know peace again.

Starrk slings Ichigo's bag over his shoulder as well, and then his gaze finally skates past Ichigo to the man waiting patiently on the side while listening with shameless interest.

"Kyouraku-taichou, I'll be taking my leave," Starrk says, polite and formal as he bows his head, as an Academy student should before a captain, and it's- it's wrong, it's all wrong.

Ichigo doesn't really count the first time he'd met Starrk as their first meeting, which means that for as long as he's known this man, it has always been as a package deal with Kyouraku, right up until that final year. To this day, he has no idea how those two had happened, but it's not like 80% of the people he'd known and befriended hadn't been his enemies once upon a time too, so he has no room to judge.

The point is though, from Ichigo's perspective, Starrk had always followed faithfully in Kyouraku's wake, in his shadow, at his shoulder, hunched over the same desk and working long into the night or decimating a battlefield on Kyouraku's command, with eyes for no one else, even when - in the early days - enemy Quincy had mocked him as the Captain-Commander's tamed mutt, and their own allies had disdained him for being Ukitake's substitute. But likewise, while Kyouraku had forged ahead to pave a bloody road through the enemy ranks because there was no one else to do it for them anymore so he'd had to do it for everyone else, it was always Starrk he'd looked back at, always certain that he would only ever have to reach out and there Starrk would be, and no matter what anyone had said about lingering loyalty to Aizen or potential spy for the Quincy or even a Captain-Commander with such an unsightly weakness, Starrk had been the only thing Kyouraku had refused to hear a single dissenting word about.

They'd orbited each other and stood as a unit at the helm of the Gotei 13, and to see them like this now - separated by death and time and memory - even Ichigo aches at the sight. There's barely five feet between them but it might as well be a canyon.

Maybe Kyouraku can sense something of it too, because he tilts his hat down until it casts a shadow over his eyes, like he can't bear to look, but at the same time, his gaze remains glued to Starrk like he can't bear to look away either.

"Aa, I'm glad to have met Ichigo-kun's most mysterious friend at last," Kyouraku says, voice as laidback as ever, eyes anything but. "You've never come along with the others when Ichigo-kun is training Asuka-chan in my backyard."

It isn't quite a question, but Starrk blinks slowly and replies, "That's usually late afternoon. I prefer taking a nap."

Kyouraku smiles a little, and the curve of it is almost sly. "My division grows the most beautiful cherry blossom trees in all of the Seireitei, and they're just starting to bloom. It's a good place for a nap while you wait for your friends to finish up."

Starrk's brow furrows faintly. "...It would be disrespectful to intrude. I'm just a student."

Kyouraku waves a dismissive hand. "And I'm the captain. I can do what I want. And letting someone sleep under a tree is hardly an earth-shattering allowance."

Starrk blinks again before giving the impression of a shrug without actually moving his shoulders. "Thank you for the offer. I'll keep it in mind."

Even Ichigo has to hide a wince at the flat tone. But Kyouraku only smiles some more. "Good. You can come by anytime."

Starrk nods, a graceful dip of his head that lets his gaze fall away as he directs his next words at Ichigo, "I'll see you when you get back then." Then once more at Kyouraku, "Have a good evening, Kyouraku-taichou."

And then he's gone without so much as a blur left behind. Ichigo doesn't understand why they don't just give Starrk an automatic pass for Hohou when the guy uses Shunpou like he's teleporting, and then he remembers that most likely no one else has actually seen him use it yet with this kind of proficiency.

He turns back to Kyouraku, then falters. The man is staring after Starrk, smile nowhere to be found, which Ichigo had expected, but there's also an unsettling air of loss about him, heavy as a funeral shroud. And then, in the next second, Ichigo suddenly finds himself on the receiving end of a dark, ruthless, calculating gaze that Ichigo's only ever seen on the future Kyouraku, on the Captain-Commander at his best, at his worst, his blades stained with lifeblood, his shadows come alive with abyssal hunger.

All the hairs on the back of Ichigo's neck stand up, and a chill runs down his spine. He will honestly never understand how Starrk could look at this particular monster time and time again and never even seem to notice the threat, had always walked in Kyouraku's shadows like they were an embrace and not a bottomless void of remorseless avarice. But Ichigo's also faced down plenty of things just as scary as Kyouraku Shunsui, so he only needs a moment to re-center himself and beat back the instinctive lurch of alarm in his gut.

It's easy to forget, most of the time, just what this man is capable of.

They end up staring at each other in silence, and for a moment, it almost seems like Kyouraku might finally push for some answers. Ichigo knows he hasn't been the most subtle, and there are a handful of people out there nowadays who have their suspicions about him, but so far, none of them have approached him about it.

Kyouraku looks like he's about to. For a split second, he looks like he dearly wants an explanation, and he won't much care either what he might have to do to get it.

Figures, a part of Ichigo thinks wryly even as the rest of him goes tense with a guarded sort of apprehension. It would be Starrk-san who brings this out in him.

But between one breath and the next, Kyouraku blinks, blinks again, and the strained tension pops like a balloon as the monster disappears back into the shadows, and Kyouraku is casually adjusting his hat like the whole stare-down hadn't happened at all.

Ichigo feels his eye twitch.

"Well then, I should be heading off too," Kyouraku declares, and his gaze is feather-light when he glances at Ichigo once more. "I suppose I'll see you at Asuka-chan's next tutoring session. Perhaps I might see some of your friends too, hm? The more the merrier of course, so don't worry about any noise complaints. It's good to be livelier when you're young."

"Uh-huh," Ichigo says very dryly. Internally, he sighs and makes a mental note to do his best to convince Starrk to come with him next time.

Of course, he'll be first in line to beat Kyouraku up if this all turns into (more) heartbreak and (more) tragedy, but...

He's not actually so oblivious that he doesn't know Starrk might still only see a cliff's edge that he'll be more than happy to take a swan dive off of at the end of all this. He talks a good game, and after a year of practice, he's gotten a lot better at hiding his grief. At the very least, ever since they'd come back in time, Ichigo hasn't been able to pick up much more than a haze of melancholy from Starrk that comes and goes at irregular intervals.

He doesn't know how to fix it, doesn't know if it can even be fixed. But he does know that if anyone can pull Starrk back from that cliff, it's this man in front of him.

And Ichigo's lost enough people. He doesn't want to lose Starrk too.

So he'll keep an eye on this relationship, make sure Kyouraku doesn't overstep, and make sure Starrk isn't letting Kyouraku overstep, but otherwise, he doesn't think it's a bad idea to help it along a little.

He fervently hopes he's making the right choice.

Kyouraku takes off with a last friendly nod, and Ichigo also hurries away to meet up with Fujiwara and Matsumoto.

For now, everything will keep another day.

#bleach #kurosaki ichigo #coyote starrk #kyouraku shunsui #shunstarrk #myscrap #ichigo & starrk time travel verse #ok lbr out of the entire bleach cast who else would make the most sense to have two blades for their Zanpakutou in sealed form?#like even in canon Starrk was a dual wielder from the start (Kubo sure understood his audience when he threw him and Shunsui together lmao)#technically you could argue that even as an arrancar the “sealed state” of his Zanpakutou was already two “blades” him and Lilynette #because his power was never sealed in the swords that either of them had those were basically just decoration #so in this AU once he evolved enough and his soul was whole enough to produce a real Zanpakutou ofc it would manifest as a daishou pair #anyway this was fun to think about #and again it doesn't exactly fit with what i've written so far for this AU but you can just go with whichever version you feel like lol #also did i create yet another OC out of the blue? yes yes i did. i suppose we'll see if i do anything with her. fingers crossed for no lmao #i was going to make her a katori but then i was like cross be a little less obsessed with shunsui not everything has to tie back to him #so i just made up a name but who she is and what's her background idk tell me wat you think of her i guess #i do headcanon starrk is a natural at kidou because both kidou and ceros are basically reiatsu manipulation when it comes down to it #and starrk could fire ceros instantaneously all damn day from any part of his body without moving a single finger #i think that that control and skill would translate to kidou

272 notes · View notes