The Hand That Rewrites Fate (An Orihime x Multi Story)

Starrk lay sprawled on his pile of pillows, eyes closed, hands resting behind his head as Lilynette dozed next to him. The room was quieter than usual. Normally, Orihime's soft voice would be weaving tales from the human world, or Lilynette would be boasting about her supposed superiority over every other Arrancar. But today, it was just the two of them. Orihime had gone to visit Harribel, and Starrk couldn't help but feel the emptiness more than he'd expected.

He shifted, rolling onto his side to stare at the wall. When had his den become so... lively? When had he gotten used to her presence, to the way she filled the space with warmth just by being there?

He huffed out a quiet sigh, thinking back to that conversation. The one where she'd told them everything. Her plan to escape, to take down Aizen, to free herself from this wretched place. At first, it sounded ridiculous. A pipe dream. A fantasy born from desperation. But the more he listened, the more he realized it wasn't just a childish wish. It was a carefully crafted plan, laid out piece by piece by a girl who wasn't nearly as naive as she appeared.

He almost felt guilty for assuming otherwise. For thinking that her bright smiles and gentle words made her weak. She wasn't weak. She was just... kind. And in a place like this, that kind of strength was far rarer than raw power.

He remembered how Lilynette had jumped on board right away, practically vibrating with excitement at the idea of sticking it to Aizen. It wasn't that simple for him. Sure, he didn't like Aizen—never had. The man was cold, calculating, treating them all like disposable pieces on his grand chessboard. Starrk hated that. Hated being forced to follow orders just because he was strong. He never wanted power. All he ever wanted was peace and companionship—a quiet life where he didn't have to hurt anyone or be hurt in return.

But that peace was shattered the moment Aizen dragged him and Lilynette into this war with his false promises and fake smiles.

And yet... as much as he hated the way things were, he never cared enough to change them. Never cared enough to try. It wasn't worth the effort.

But Orihime cared. Enough to risk everything. Enough to lay her heart bare to him and Lilynette, knowing full well they could have turned on her and delivered her head to Aizen on a silver platter.

And despite how reckless that was, it struck a chord within his hollowed heart.

He still wasn't sure why he agreed to help her. Maybe because she was right—no one deserved to be a prisoner, especially not a kid with a heart too big for her own good. Maybe because she reminded him of Lilynette—the way she pushed through the darkness with nothing but stubborn hope and a smile. Or maybe because she was the first person, aside from Lilynette, who made him feel like his existence wasn't just a curse.

He opened his eyes, glancing at the doorway where she usually appeared. It was strange to think that, despite being human, Orihime was the first person since Lilynette to make him feel something beyond apathy and weariness.

He grunted, shifting to lie on his back again, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling. He never wanted to get involved in this mess, but now that he was, he couldn't pretend he didn't care.

Maybe it was because Orihime wasn't like the others. She didn't look at him with fear or contempt. She didn't see him as a monster or a weapon. She just... saw him. The way she smiled when he spoke, the way she praised him for his strength without making him feel like it was a burden—she treated him like a person. Like family.

He glanced at Lilynette, her face buried in the crook of his arm, drooling on his sleeve. He smiled faintly and patted her head.

If anyone asked, he'd deny it, but he felt something shift inside him the first time Orihime let him use her lap as a pillow. When she ran her fingers through his hair without hesitation, soothing him to sleep as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It reminded him of something long lost—a feeling of belonging he thought he'd never find again.