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zzencat · 3 months

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A Peek Into Your Future Person’s Midnight Thoughts (NSFW) - Timeless ⏳

From left to right. It’s the one you can’t take your eyes off of.

Batman wouldn’t get this info out of ‘em. What are they thinking about when they text you good night? These are the fantasies they’re too shy to share. No spiritual identities were revealed. (Minors DNI)

Note: This does not necessarily have to align with your kinks. This is what your future person wishes they could do to you.

Must do before you choose: Clear your mind. Time is now patient and still. Close your eyes, inhale deeply, fill your chest up to the fullest, feel the soft air brush up against the ridges of your nose. Breathe out. You may now begin.

——————————-

Pile 1. ‘Yeah? Say that again. I dare you.’

straight up strength kink. trapping you between their arms (thank you kim mingyu for the inspo and energy)

you could share a (huge) height difference with this person and it makes them want to protect you

they either have a muscular build or are very much taller than you. a lot of fs in this pile have both. especially working out the arms.

they like to see you feisty so that they have a reason to conquer yo ass

HEAVILY thinks about pushing you against a wall (a beige-colored wall, in particular) in a hotel room and fucking you against it

the type of person to edge you so much that you start crying

this person may have given you hints or will you give signs of their kinks before, so you will get the idea that they have a brat taming kink

will purposefully try to piss you off to get you all hotheaded and feisty. they really want to test your limits so that you “try” and “teach them a lesson” or “intimidate them” with a finger to their chest and everything—like “just bc you’re bigger than me doesn’t mean you can keep pissing me off.” it’s laughable for them bc this is what they wanted. they’ll let this build up for a little more, keep trying to rile you up…UNTIL it explodes and they finally show you who’s really in charge. you may or may not of like this but you’ll be blushing like crazy lmfao

they tend to go for types that are too easy to overpower physically. it’s even cuter if you’re shorter than them and very obviously can’t take them down

fantasizes about holding you down/keeping you stationed while going down on you

this person might be hairy. think of a human to werewolf transformation. a good 50% of you will encounter someone completely clean shaven, sophisticated looking, keeps composure so damn well, but has reallllly freaky desires and fantasies. you wouldn’t be able to tell. the hints are subtle tho and will come up in their everyday actions towards you. (example: cleaning up after you or watching out for you, holding you close when a stranger approaches…i’ll add more in the points of interest 🤧)

holy shit…listen, if this is a sibling of someone you know, they’ll def fantasize abt fucking you with said sibling(s)/family members around, sneaking around the family house, doing it in risky places and times (have mercy!!!) — ex: cupping your mouth while they go down on you or tease you like “you don’t want them to find out, do you? keep quiet for me”

they’d love to hold your jaw in place and make you look at them while they pleasure you

wouldn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed for making you moan too loud. if youre at an event, they get off on people hearing you — doesn’t matter if your parents or the elderly hear it

this person really gets off on the idea of having sex in public. they’re a true exhibitionist :)

(expanding off my previous point) most of the fs in this pile don’t get…jealous?? like very “look but don’t touch” type of person when it comes to you; they know people don’t dare to compete with them. this person is very confident in where they stand in your life. if you ever suggest bringing in someone to watch you guys, they would be okay with the idea. now, a very small percentage are extremely possessive in this pile, but the idea is the same. i’m not ignoring them but only mentioning them slightly bc the small percentage want you to at least be aware that they’re capable of feeling extreme possessiveness (reminder: not the same as jealousy). as long as people know that you guys are together (and it’s been made obvious) and don’t try to cross the line or make passes at you, pile 1 fs is confident enough and typically doesn’t feel the need to prove more

^^ but i will say that some subtle signs of jealousy include trying to look superior to other “threats” to your relationship

stay with me now. they fantasize about you trying your best- whatever that means ?!?! bc of the height difference, if you get sassy with them or even get annoyed at them, all they do is just smirk and make it known that you’re just a doll to them (to keep it very vague w you).

honestly this person would be down to take you anywhere. for some reason, they always want people to know you guys are fucking so they think about doing it in public a lot. this person could work on just simply having nice slow sensual sex in the bedroom tho. i think it’s just cuz they crave the thrill and it’s a fat ego boost. but cmon…it’s nice to just have some chill loving sex once in a while (i’m nudging their spirit abt it)

you guys could be TOTAL opposites and have an enemy-to-lovers trope going on. OR extremely similar feisty, fiery personalities. some people here have a fwb or ewb kind of relationship w them already OR one of you has fantasized abt it

they could honestly give you a whole list of what they like and want to do to you but would rather show you (they’re pretty impatient). they need to know you’re wanting- no- craving the same thing- that you want them as much as they want you

points of interest: teasing to NO end (in bed and out); has a habit of calling you pet names (even when not in a relationship w you) or nicknames; tall; height difference; possible mbti: very VERY estp, entj, a tiny bit of estj vibes; your front or back against the wall; take you down - chris brown; backshots; hands behind head, “try it. i dare you”; “you’re not that strong” (idk who- either you or your person says this in hopes to rile the other up); tickle fights or play fighting that leads to…other things 😏; a friend’s sibling, unexpected or forbidden relationships; going down on you in a closet at a family vacation home (?!?! damn)

——————

Pile 2. ‘Treat me like your doll.’

you or this person could be a switch, but regardless, you will have many chances to take charge

the bondage is too obvious in this pile. they also may have body image issues

this person could be sub-leaning tbh. probably struggles making eye contact with you during the deed or just in general (w/ you or people)

wants to please you and be used by you

masochistic as hell

someone here struggles with very obvious self esteem issues, but through this relationship and learning how to trust and be vulnerable, you will both heal each other on a deeeeeply emotional level. you will make this person feel comfortable in what they fantasize about and this will be reciprocated

for some in this pile, like a good 45% of people, your fs may have dealt with sexual guilt growing up. (for a second, i felt like saying more but it’s safer for me to keep it vague for their sake.) this is reallll vague, so i’ll try to word it more carefully…the guilt can come from a plethora of things…

yk what would be beneficial for them? if you pleasured them while making them look in the mirror

this person is pretty shy with expressing their sexual desires. for many, this could be their first time, or just extremely inexperienced (but they feel embarrassed to admit that)

listen, the emotional sex will be insane. crying, lots of love—if you’re into dacryphilia, this will be your jam

trust is so important for them. also looking at each other’s eyes while going at it

deep long kisses that fade into sloppier, more desperate and needy ones (coming from more of their side)

idk how to explain this kink but it’s like…getting off to something you can’t have? they’d feel guilty about touching themselves to the thought of you (during the time you’re not yet dating each other) and that mental image would spiral into picturing you standing in front of them and just watching them get off to you while they’re on their knees. they see you as someone to be worshipped. they’ll be begging and possibly crying for you to let them cum

yk the deeper i dig into this, the more emotional it gets. i think this person is a huge people pleaser and has found it hard to be loved in this life time. but no worries, bc this relationship will help you both connect and become vulnerable. as long as you’re confident in yourself and carry a normal to high self esteem, you should be great in the relationship

mommy/daddy kink (it doesn’t mention who will be what but it’s def gonna be something they’ll be shy to confess), loves praise, collars (being collared), being your pet

this person would thank you for touching them. they could get pretty poetic in bed when edged for hours and under so much exposure

they def have the ability to be more dominant, but you’d really have to reel it out of them; they’re afraid of messing up

on the other hand, degradation will work wonders on them as long as you soothe those wounds later. praise and degradation will change this person’s life lmfao, as long as your timing is right

they’ll touch themselves thinking about soft and sensual, sensitive and teasing sexual acts, like mutual masturbation or if you use your hand to get them off while peppering their jaw with kisses

very sensitive person so their has to be a lot of trust between you to unlock the…freakier stuff (which is why i’ll cut it short. this is all they’re giving you for now 😎🤚)

points of interest: pinkie promises, very in tune with their feminine energy, “you’ll be here forever, right?”, very soft person with an insane sex drive, shy, doesn’t ask for much- just wants you to be there with them, quietly existing, kinda reminds me of those emo kids who date and kiss in the corner (but you guys will be engaging in no such cringe, esp not in public), shyly clings onto your hand, HOODIES hoodies hoodies, cool toned filters on pictures, matching clothes or accessories- i’m getting one person has a lock and the other with a key, collars with a heart on it, likes when someone gets possessive over them, will unintentionally spill their thoughts and ideas and then apologizes for rambling…i feel like a lot of you in this pile relate to them a lot…like very similar in personality or smth…lot of similarities (even subtle or suppressed parts of your personality), i really don’t think you’d be able to tell they’re a secret freak (maybe thru the way they dress but by personality, prob not), very artistic people- whatever art form they love or seek comfort from, you will find this very attractive and unique

- very small note: i realize that i don’t feel the need to correct the commas and make them semi-colons to show the list. i think it’s their energy being very forgiving and that they don’t care if you mess up (lowkey it’s bc they’re used to being hurt 😞). very unlikely to call out your mistakes. they just want you to be there with them, to love them of their flaws. they will undoubtedly do the same. they just don’t want you to leave them.

———————

Pile 3. If you look at them, you’ll laugh.

ok right of the bat, you guys are unarguably the most “nontoxic”, healthy, but also vanilla relationship out of the piles 😂😂

this person doesn’t have too many crazy ideas or thoughts when they think about sex tbh. they also don’t watch porn or at least are not addicted to it. very vanilla person with a normal sex drive

they prob get off like once or twice a day but sex to them is a bonding activity with you filled with laughter and some jokes (which both of you could work on if you want to ever engage in more kinky and dark stuff, esp since it could be hard for you to get serious and in the mood)

^^ like if you’re being handcuffed and you’re ticklish, this person will tickle you (unless you like this being done, it could mess with the sensual moment a bit 😅)

very gentle person. thinks about caressing your body

very affectionate and wants to tend to your needs. the last thing they want to do is have you in tears after sex (unless it’s happy tears)

they’re mostly serious with sex when they’re touching themselves alone (if you’re not physically there)

if you’re doing long distance, they’ll wait to have sex w you rather than touch themselves

don’t get me wrong yk they’re down to doing the freaky stuff too- but i think you guys are so in the “best friends” laughing with each other all the time, it could get unserious real quick 😂😂 if you’re okay with that, things should be ok for you ��

open to engaging in all sorts of kinks and sexual fun, but they prefer it to be with you and not with another person involved. not that theyre judgmental of it, they just don’t want to have sex with others watch you guys or having another person/people involved. they prefer it to just be the 2 of you

so much laughing, too many good vibes, they’re completely enamored by you

you could share a similar personality to each other, but weirdly, without disrupting the balance

just touching your skin and cuddling for hours = sex for them

points of interest: EXTREMELY LOYAL; can’t see anyone in this world but you; loves what you think are your flaws; massaging your feet; caressing your body fat; will go wherever you want to go and they’d plan the trip too if you’d like; very kind person—so nice that they could try to help everyone- they don’t look at these as bad things at all; animal person; they’re as warm as they look; it would take a long time to piss this person off bc they’re that understanding; they could come off as too positive and naive tho, if you’re like “don’t you see that person was trying to scam you?” and they’d shrug, pull you close with a grin and be like “it’s okay. they probably needed that money. i don’t mind 🙂‍↔️”, very precious soul, not into polygamous relationships

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Teddy Note: Sorry guys I forgot my little ending speech so I’m going back to add it here- THANK YOU for taking the time to read this. I hope your day is going smoothly and if not, no worries, we got tomorrow. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. I love that saying when any reader says it. Energy can seriously follow you if you dwell on it too much, while thinking about it negatively. Again, thanks for joining me on my readings if you’re new here :)

Have a good one guys. Teddy out 😎👍👍

#tarotblr #tarot reading #intuition #pick a pile #pac tarot #pick a card #daily tarot #18+ tarot #tarot blog #divination #spirituality #pick a picture #pick a photo #free tarot #intuitive

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mellowwillowy · 8 months

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𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

Feat: Riddle, Leona, Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, Lilia Bonus: Floyd, Jade, Jamil, Rook, Epel, Malleus

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle’s face was almost as red as his hair, not out of anger but rather…

[Oh my gooodddd, stomp those tiny feet again, Riddle! Give me that pout~]

Really… should he do it again? Out of nowhere? Well, let’s take a walk to where you clicked then…

[Yaahhh!! So cuteeee!!!]

Well at least you didn’t think him badly for being angry out of nowhere… whoops, he wasn’t supposed to idle like that.

Ahh, why are you moving on to another character? Cater? That good for nothing? The naughty ADeuce duo? He's almost turning from red to green in envy!

Leona Kingscholar

Leona was supposed to be ticked to the brim but definitely not with you. His ears are red from your nonstop rambling while you keep on poking his avatar right on his ear.

[I wonder how it feels like to play with his ears, ah, maybe I should help you clean it too?]

Don’t. Twitch. Ears. Else the player might notice this and question this one new idle.

[Thinking back, I kinda wanna try stepping on his tail like Yuu too~]

Don’t. Swish. Tail. What? Is he a masochist or what? Well, if it’s for you then he wouldn’t mind it.

Wait wait, why are you checking out Ruggie and Jack now? Hey, what do you mean Ruggie has cuter ears and Jack has a fluffier tail? Why do they look so proud? Are they asking to be minced?

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul might break out of the avatar restraint now. You’ve been talking about how you want to squeeze the kid him, round and plump, you quoted.

Why did you find his past appearance adorable?

[Honestly, I kinda want to lift him and his hiding spot and boil him as a takoyaki filling]

Now that made Floyd and Jade snickered. Azul was internally panicking but his avatar did not show him breaking a single sweat.

[Or maybe gather all his ink whenever he cries]

For your pen?

[But I do think squeezing his plump octomer form is the best~ Oh well, he had lost all those baby fats]

And back to how you ramble about his round self again. This was supposed to be disheartening but why was he blushing?

Wait wait, don't look away from him, no! Why are you going to Floyd? And Jade too? He knew Floyd won your heart but allow him to worm into your heart at the very least. Please let one of his three hearts rest in you!

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim was nodding non-stop at your ramblings, or should he say, wishes. He was really happy that you were taking him as your magic lamp!

[And then, I want you to lace my body with lots of glitters, made of gold!]

No hard task, he just had to grind all that gold into some sort of fairy dust for you!

[Oh! And I want to try swimming in a pool of golden coins like Uncle Scrooge! I wonder if it'll hurt and uncomfortable as I think...]

He was in the same boat with you. You'd have to be careful when diving into the pool! But you can try sleeping on it though you should be careful, just in case the coins swallow you whole!

[And a carpet ride every night~]

Roger that! Tell him more of your wish, will you?

Eh? Why do you stop wishing? No! He will guarantee you that he will make it all come true! Please do not doubt him! Ah... it's because you two are in a different dimension? Screw this barrier that separates you two then.

Vil Schoenheit

Yes, he knew he was unworthy of your praises but he couldn't help but enjoy bathing in it!

[Look at your hair... and that make-up! Wow... truly is the fairest one of all!]

Oh please, no matter how much you compliment him, he could never compete with you beauty-wise! You would always be the true fairest one of all!

[Aha! Look at those heels too, contribute a lot to your height, and make you look so pretty!]

Even a prominent actor like him can't cover his natural reaction which was the growing blush on his face!

Eh? Rook? What does he have to do with him? Too in love with his words more than the beauty in front of you right now? No no no, you must look at him only and no one else!

Idia Shroud

If anything, he was glad his hair did not turn pink! From the way you kept on poking his avatar and patting his head, it made his heart tickled. He was no longer stuttering because the system wanted him to, but because he himself was nervous!

[Oh, show me that one illustration... Kyaaa! Why must you be so cute biting on your sleeve??? It's so inviting!!!]

Ah? That one? He couldn't help but feel embarrassed as you zoomed into his face and examined his hair. Truly, this was too much for his heart!

[Oh oh, and your masquerade costume is so pretty! It makes you look so pretty ffs!]

Ah, it was pretty uncomfortable to wear but he's glad he didn't take it off, not like he can do that anyway. The system won't allow that after all.

Everything feels nice so why are you changing character now? Wait wait! Have you checked his other card? No no no, why is that little shortie fae here? Don't close on him, please! He might want to try hacking your phone soon!

Lilia Vanrouge

Oya? You'd like to dress him up? Kukuku, looks like green and pink would work well on him~

[And... I think we can try curling his long hair, can we change the hue from red to pink like a color wheel?]

...Curling his hair didn't sound bad. Maybe he should try it sometimes and see if it suited him.

[Oh! And I'm gonna hang him upside down like the bat he is! My cute little bat, let's fist-fight!]

You really are an enigma huh? One moment is a sweet and docile lamb then the next moment you are a bull. Hm? Malleus? Why talk about him so sudden? Didn't you say he is your number-one favorite from Diasomnia? So why are you looking at someone else now?

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒:

Floyd Leech

God of Shrimpy~ Keep on poking him, he loves it! Ah, you love his teeth? And his droopy eyes? And his laugh? Hehe, you really love everything about him huh?

So why do you even bother looking at the others? He's going to hug you tight for this silly!

Jade Leech

Ah, he is quite the gentleman, no? Hm? You'd like to keep him as your butler? Why that is quite the generous idea that you allow him to manage your daily life~

With a small dose of love potion in your daily tea every day, he's bound to have you in his arms soon, well, if he ever finds a way to pull you into this twisted wonderland.

Jamil Viper

It truly is an honor to be considered as someone reliable (from babysitting Kalim) and acknowledged as an attendant who could shield you from any danger, truly. He is ready to put his life in line for you so why?

Why are you saying that there's someone else who might fit the position as your attendant more than him? And that person being that slimy eel no less!

Rook Hunt

Ah! This is amazing! To be able to charm you with his words and let him worm into your heart is truly a blessing! Would you like him to write you a poem detailing your beauty?

No no, mon chèri, you shouldn't grace those who are unbefitting of it, don't you think it's a waste to spare the other your grace? Allow this hunter to save you from that trouble.

Epel Felmier

H-huh? You want to dress him up? Naturally, he hates being treated as a doll, a girl no less! But... the idea of you helping him dress and helping him with makeup... he can do this. It is your way of gracing him after all...

Huh? You want to dress Lilia up too? Why? Because he's cuter? Oh no, there's no way there's someone who is prettier than him, look at him, look at how pretty he is in this dress!

Malleus Draconia

If anything, he will always hear you compare him and Riddle to the 'Queen of Heart' and 'Maleficient' from your world. You will praise him for being able to stand on the same level as the actress' beauty which makes him feel giddy.

But boy is he sulking when you start rambling about Riddle and the big-headed Queen. You will dote on him and Riddle back and forth.

Can't you just dote on him?

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affableramen · 24 days

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Big spoon: Wriothesley, Capitano, Dottore

Little spoon: Neuvillette, Alhaitham, Pantalone

Wriothesley, Dottore and Capitano contain spicy parts.

Wriothesley

Big spoon. This man is anything but submissive. He is the one to start touching you at the intimate moment.

Wriothesley loves a good amount of physical touch. Be it a cold autumn evening or snowy winter night he’d very much like to have you pressed close. His muscular chest is so hot, it almost burns your skin, and you find yourself craving still more of his warmth.

You like the smell of bitter coffee mixed with leather coming from him. The rough, but passionate touches of his calloused from the fights hands.

Wriothesley has a habit of sleeping naked, and every inch of his hot burning skin is felt by you.

“Come here”, the duke doesn’t ask, he orders. You climb into the sheet and pull the blanket while staring at him expectantly. “Turn around.” When exposing your back to him, you feel hot breath blow against your hair. “You smell delicious.” He is not a beast, he doesn’t want you scared, so Wriothesley gently, gingerly snakes his hands around your waist and pulls you flush against his chest.

“You like that?”

“You certainly are very warm, my duke”, you respond playfully.

“Then we should cuddle more often.”

Capitano

Capitano is a big (in all ways) man, with big hands that are surprisingly very gentle to the touch. It is his bed routine to climb into the sheets and hold you close until the both of you drift away to sleep. His long obsidian hair tickles the sensitive skin of your back.

If Pantalone is a tsundere, trust me this man is even more tsundere. Cap is strict, reserved and collected, and it is usually an accident, a word slipped from his mouth that you hear a compliment. He is more a man of action. You know that he needs you because of his body language. He is very perceptive, he is wary of the world around him, and he is very good at physical touch. And that being said, the cuddles Capitano gives you are just perfect. They are full of heat, passion and affection, of course.

He has a habit of sleeping naked, so you are aware of every part of his body touching you even if this was not his intention in the slightest.

“Hmph…” he grunts. “Don’t move too much.”

You giggle to yourself, knowing damn well that he is already flustered. And you are flustered too.

Neuvillette

Monsieur Neuvillette is a solitary and private person. It’s rare that he gives out affection. But with you, he is ready to put some efforts into a sustainable relationship. However he is a small spoon. He is too shy, too reserved and too introverted to hug you first. And let’s be honest - he is quite used to you being the one who initiates activities.

The morning and night cuddles are very important for monsieur Neuvillette. He might even think that something is wrong between you if you do not snake your arms around him in the bed. He is very aware of your moods and reaction, and he memorises things about you quite often.

Being a little spoon Neuvillette likes the feeling of your proximity. The hands that wrap around his waist, given the height difference between you. He likes sensing your breath on him through the fabric of nightwear. You touch him incredibly gently and he responds with equal gingerly stroke over your fingers.

“It feels nice”, he says quietly, embarrassed admitting. “Would you have objections to falling asleep like this every night?”

He is very soft.

Alhaitham

Alhaitham is a small spoon. But not because of submissiveness, rather of his cold, detached nature. He was grown by his grandmother and grew up surrounded by books. He knows nothing of good doze of affection. And you were the one who taught him that.

Alhaitham is not touchy-feely, he prefers his inner world and intuition above everything else. That being said, he will pull you into deep physiological conversations quite often. But you are the one who makes him grounded. You bring him back into the reality with your soft hands.

As the two of you lie in bed before sleep, you spot him reading his book as usual. You gently remove the book from his fingers, getting a surprising reaction on his face.

“Oh?”

“Let’s cuddle”, you do not let him finish the sentence. “I’m feeling lonely tonight, while you are one muscular man in my bed.”

“Don’t beat around the bush. What do you want?” He asks, his tone not rough, but irritated.

You slowly snake your arms around him, and Alhaitham lets a quiet huff of satisfaction.

“Don’t need to be so gentle, I’m not a porcelain doll. Hug me tighter.” Unlike his usual attitude, he asks you.

You do just as he says, your chest flush to his back as you wrap your hands around his chest, and your legs around his hips.

“This is not better than the book I rejected, but pleasant still.”

You playfully push him.

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Fine, fine. Just tonight, I’ll be yours.”

Dottore

Big spoon. When is in love, he is a yandere. He will pull you to his chest as tight as possible and will not let you go. He will make sure you are his. Dottore will bite your ear, sucking the wounded area gently as his hands roam over your shoulders, stomach and hips. This man is entirely touch-starved and with you he wants to compensate the pleasures he denied himself in due to his tough scholar responsibilities.

The faint scent of mint is coming from him. You love it when he is close. He always smells refreshing. Though Dottore is not one to be soft with words, and his declarations of love are often blunt, the softness in his night touch when the both of you prepare to sleep, tells a different story. You love the subtly feeling of him being vulnerable when you’re in private.

“What, are you cold?” Dottore asks half-mockingly, noticing your goosebumps.

“It’s getting freezing in the evening.”

“Is this body alone not enough to heat you?” He whispers into your ear and then, what seems to be gently, takes your hand in his.

“My, you are freezing indeed. My apologies.”

Dottore grabs the edge of the duvet and pulls it up, the biggest part of it on your body.

It’s incredibly difficult for him to conduct his emotions properly, and you understand it perfectly. You do not ask for more. He genuinely wants you in comfort, otherwise his indifferent nature wouldn’t even bother.

Pantalone

This old man is a little spoon. You should never expect open attraction from him, especially the physical touch. He won’t reach out to press you close to his chest. No, no, no… He is both lazy and cold for it. A banker that is nearing menopause is expected to be nothing but an incredibly aloof and grumpy bastard. Even to his lover, his heart will melt only after considerable amount of time, that is if you’re lucky enough.

However, when he finally gives in, pushes away all his righteousness and indifference, he becomes a very soft old man. As the two of you lie in the bed prepared for sleep, he suddenly breaks the tranquil silence with his velvety, sultry voice.

“Hug me.” You find yourself dumbfounded. “I said, hug me”, Pantalone repeats. “Please”, he says quieter. You wrap your hands around his waist gently, listening to his calm, gentle breath. Judging by the movement of his body and a pleased sigh coming from his lips, he enjoys such intimate proximity with you immensely. He pulls the fuzzy blanket over the both of you, so afraid that his cold fingers might disturb you.

“Didn’t know you were the little spoon”, you say, happy with how things are. Pantalone responds with a grunt, obviously irritated or, perhaps embarrassed?

“No… Just sleep already.”

This is such a tsundere thing of him to say.

Yes, Pantalone’s definitely a small spoon.

#fatui #pantalone x reader #genshin x reader #pantalone x you #reader x character #anime x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x reader #dottore x you #dottore x reader #wriothesley x you #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x reader #capitano x reader #capitano x you #wriothesely x reader

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dyaz-stories · 4 months

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JUJUTSU BOYS + PDA

how the jjk boys are when you're in public with them

including: gojo, nanami, choso, yuuji, megumi, maki

word count: 3.6k (500-600 words for one character)

cw: intended as canon compliant, established relationships, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, kissing, public demonstrations of affection, can't think of anything else tbh

a/n: been reading some fics in this format so wanted to try my hand at it again. it's been years since I wrote short pieces like that, so I hope you'll enjoy them!

GOJO

Gojo has no concept of personal space, and that is something you had to get used to since you started dating — if anything, since before you started dating. Even when the two of you were at a more flirtatious stage, he’d always be leaning towards you to talk to you, face inches away from yours, hands on your hips if he needed to move past you, arm casually around you if you were sitting next to each other. It was all the better if it flustered you.

None of this has changed, except that he’s much more extra about it now. Holding your hand while walking? Nah, that’s boring. He’ll have his arm around your shoulders, even if it’s not convenient given the height difference. He’ll also try to put his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, pout if you tell him not to do it. If you’re waiting in line with him, he has both of his arms around you, is resting his chin on top of your head, and wants nothing more than for you to lean back into his chest, relaxing into his embrace. You can both be doing totally unrelated things — you’re reading and he’s checking his phone — but you’re slotted against each other, and that’s how it is ideally for you.

You’re waiting for him to show up to your date when you feel yourself surrounded by familiar arms, and then his cheek is pressing against yours as he surveys the book you’re holding in your hands.

“Whatch’ya reading?” he asks, breath warm against your cheek.

“Just doing some research on emerging curses,” you say with a shrug as you close it and put it in your bag. “So, did you want to check out that new bakery?”

He hums in reply, and you wait for him to move so you can start walking.

He doesn’t.

“…do you plan on letting go of me?” you ask after a while, turning your head to look at him.

He pouts at you, inches away from your face.

“I haven’t even gotten a kiss yet…”

“We’re in public, Satoru,” you say, feeling your face heating up.

“So? Let ‘em stare. They might as well, if you ask me.”

You want to roll your eyes — one day, you’ll have to talk about that exhibitionist streak of his — but in the meantime, you just have to crane your neck a little to peck his lips. They’re soft, as always, and he follows greedily when you pull away, his hand coming up to tilt your chin up gently as he presses more kisses on the corner of your lips, then on your cheek.

“You’re impossible,” you say, badly hiding your laughter. “Let’s go, or we won’t make it to closing time. You’re late, by the way.”

He lets out a heartbroken sigh, but finally frees you, keeping his arm around your shoulders as the two of you start walking towards the bakery. He keeps his strides short, so you don’t have to run to keep up with him, instead allowing you to keep a comfortable pace.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m just too good at my job, they can never get enough of me.”

“Aw, poor darling,” you say. You grab his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and bring it to your lips to press a kiss on the back.

He lets out a cough that doesn’t do much to disguise the fact that he’s getting flustered, and you grin, satisfied. Two can play that game.

Fortunately, neither Satoru nor you have any intention of forfeiting any time soon.

NANAMI

Nanami is a private man. There is no reason for the whole world to know his business, and he doesn’t feel the need to put his relationship on display for everyone to see. His softness for you is still plain to see in how gentle his voice gets when he speaks to you, in how carefully he chooses his words, in how fond his eyes are when he listens to you tell him about your day. He knows you like him holding your hand, though, so he’ll indulge you, especially when you’re walking by his side through crowded streets.

That is for practical reasons, of course. First, it just wouldn’t do to lose sight of you. Second, people tend to steer clear of him, his serious expression and his broad frame, and that means they realize quickly to steer clear of you. It has nothing to do with how soft your hand is in his, or how the way you use your thumb to stroke his skin sends shivers down his back.

“That’s a lovely restaurant,” you comment, eyes drinking in the elegant decor while Nanami is examining the menu.

“It had excellent reviews,” he answers, not going into details as to the great lengths he’d gone to in order to ensure that this date was as perfect as humanly possible.

“I’ve been in the neighborhood so many times, and I had no idea this was here,” you say. The place is very small, only a handful of tables, all of them now filled. You’re sharing an alcove with Nanami, creating some distance with other customers.

“There aren’t many tables available, so they don’t advertise much,” he explains as he sets the menu down. “But they’re known for their excellent cuisine.”

You give him a smile, then lean closer to him to kiss him on the cheek. Your lips linger just a little too long, and then you move them close to his ear, which is already turning quite red.

“Thank you for planning all that,” you say sweetly. “It looks wonderful.”

He clears his throat when you pull away, avoiding your eyes.

“Of course,” he answers, voice wavering imperceptibly. “Anything for you.”

And you know he means it, too.

Under the table, his hand finds your leg, large palm easily covering your knee while calloused fingers carefully rub your calf. You bite your lip, welcome the warmth that spreads in your body. You know Kento well enough to be sure that that’s as far as he’ll go, that he wouldn’t dare to do anything more in such a public setting, and that makes you enjoy the intimacy of the gesture all the more.

Later that night, while the two of you are walking out, his jacket is around your shoulder at his insistence — “It’s cold outside” — and he’s getting ready to call a taxi.

“Kento?”

He lowers the phone to look at you, and you push yourself on your tiptoe, hand closing around his tie to pull him down towards you.

It’s late at night, he tells himself. There’s no one around, he tells himself. That’s why he closes his eyes and allows himself to melt into the kiss, regretting it when you pull away too soon and catching himself before he grabs you by the hips to get you closer to him.

“I had a great evening,” you say. “Should we take this to somewhere more private?”

How much more merciless can you get?

“Certainly,” he says. “Just give me a second.”

There is nothing he can deny you.

CHOSO

Choso cannot wrap his head around what he can and cannot do around you. The rules for what is proper, what is acceptable, have shifted so much since he was last around, and he would die before he embarrassed you — or worse, before he did something that would make you push him away. He knows that you wouldn’t, and yet the fear is like a weight that tugs on his heart every time he thinks about it. He walks by your side, glancing at your hand that’s freely hanging between the two of you, and though he brushes his knuckles against yours, he just cannot bring himself to do it. It’s to the point where it’s the only thing he’s thinking about — and he just can’t do it.

Then you see something that catches your eye and you grab his hand and pull him with you in that direction, and he thinks his heart could just fall out of his chest. You make it look so easy, so natural, being with him coming as easy to you as breathing, and he couldn’t possibly ask for more. It takes him many other tries, many other dates, before he can take your hand in his. When he does, you glance down in surprise, then grin at him, and kiss his knuckles softly — and he’s so happy he could die.

“So,” you say, sitting on the park bench, knee pressed against his while you’re leaning into him to show him your phone, your hair tickling his neck, “that’s the movies they have on tonight. Think we should call Yuuji to ask him what to watch?”

“Hm,” Choso says, not really focusing on anything you’re talking about, not when you’re this close to him, “isn’t— isn’t that the one franchise he’s always talking about?”

You burst out laughing, then rest your head on his shoulder.

“No offense, babe, but there is no one in the world I’d go see a Human Earthworm movie for. Even if this one is supposed to have romance in it,” you shudder at the thought, “I’d like to go see something actually. You know. Watchable.”

Choso’s mind is going in overdrive. You’re so close, and he knows he should have gotten used to this by now. He isn’t usually like this, but some passers-by are looking — not necessarily being judgmental, though there was an old lady earlier who scoffed and shook her head, but… looking.

“Then I don’t know if Yuuji is going to be much help,” he manages to say as you keep scrolling on the cinema’s website.

“That’s fair,” you sigh, standing up from the bench, and even if he can now think again, he misses your warmth and your smell right away. “Well, maybe we drop the movie and just go get something to eat, what do you say?

“Sounds good,” he answers, standing up after you.

Hesitantly, almost clumsily, he reaches for your hand, fingertips brushing against your thigh as he does, then tightens his grip around your palm, ensuring that it wouldn’t slip away from you. You give him a fond smile, then take a step to get closer to him, and kiss him gently. His breath hitches, and his eyes dart around the mostly empty park.

“T-there’s people around,” he says quietly, and he hates that you step back to look around.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

He takes your hand to pull you with him, and you follow him through the grass as he finds a more secluded spot, behind a tree.

“There,” he says, and you chuckle at how satisfied with himself he sounds.

“Oh Choso,” you coo, leaning against the tree while you grab his shirt to pull him down towards you. His mouth is warm, eager, and his cheeks remain a fierce shade of red as he kisses you back insistently.

You would have missed the beginning of the movie anyway.

YUUJI

The thing about Yuuji is that any type of public demonstration of affection feels so natural coming from him. It’s almost never meant to be suggestive, it’s not something he thinks through, it’s just something he does. You’ll be sitting with Nobara when he appears, and he just puts his arm around you while talking to her, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You’re walking with him when he lifts his head up like he’s forgotten something, and what he forgot was to hold your hand, silly him.

If you walk by him while he’s sitting, he’ll grab your hips to pull you in his laps, fingers rubbing circles on the skin of your arms, absent-mindedly playing with your fingers as he holds your hand. After all, why wouldn’t he? He doesn’t even realize that it flusters you, and it just feels so natural for him to show his affection like that. He’ll look at you with stars in his eyes while you speak, not seeming to realize that his face is so close to him while you’re sitting in his lap.

No one pays attention to it anymore. You arrive just as Nobara is starting the movie — she’s putting on an action movie, thank you very much, even if Gojo just bought the collector edition of Human Earthworm 4 for Yuuji, with the director’s cut — and with all the students crammed in the room, including Panda, who’s taking most of the space on the couch, there’s nowhere left for you to sit.

“Come here,” Yuuji says cheerfully, waving you towards the armchair where he’s found his spot, “it’s about to start.”

You glance around the room for a reaction, but no one is paying you any mind. You walk over to him, perching yourself on one of the arms, legs over his. He doesn’t seem puzzled by it, just puts an arm around your waist casually.

Of course, you end up still sitting in his lap eventually, just slipping in it at some point in the movie. Can you be blamed? He’s warm and comfortable, and he wraps both arms around you so he can tuck his chin in the crook of your shoulder, nose brushing against your cheek when he turns his head. Not that he seems to notice how it makes your pulse quickens, eyes focused on the movie.

“What are the themes even supposed to be,” he mutters under his breath, eyebrows knitting together in annoyance.

“’Military good’?” you suggest quietly as a guy gets blown up on screen.

“The first half of the movie was about military bad,” he protests. “They can’t just act like that never existed.”

“Would you two shut up,” Nobara shouts from her spot, “or Maki will come beat you up!”

The two of you pipe down, knowing the threat is very serious and not one to take lightly.

When the movie ends, everyone gets up, stretching, but you’ve gotten comfortable against Yuuji’s chest, and you don’t feel like doing that just yet.

“That was terrible,” Yuuji comments, and you let out a brief laugh. Gojo has somehow made a cinephile out of him, and you love how worked up he gets over that stuff.

“Yeah, we should have been watching Human Earthworm 4 instead,” you say.

“Exact— oh, you’re making fun of him.”

You giggle, then tilt your head to kiss him. For a second, he freezes, eyes going wide. Kissing is the one thing he rarely initiates — but when you do, you get to see his gaze soften, before his whole body goes soft. His hold on your waist tightens — and then a pillow thrown with impressive precision hits him, and only him, on the ear.

“Not in public,” Maki shouts from all the way into the kitchen.

“Hey,” your boyfriend protests, “I’m not the one who—”

“You’re such a traitor,” you gasp, struggling to pull yourself free from his arms — but it’s no use against his strength, and he refuses to let go.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says. “Now, where were we?”

You might have been at fault for the first pillow, but that second one is all on him, as far as you’re concerned.

MEGUMI

Megumi is a private guy. He can be affectionate in public, but there is a side of him that he only wants you to see. He especially doesn’t want any of your nosy friends, or worse, his adoptive dad to see how he can be around you. They would never stop teasing him after, and he doesn’t think he could live with that.

Or that they could live with that. Because he’d kill them.

It does annoy him that he’s supposed to deny himself because of them. If it was up to him, he’d spend most of his time alone with you, preferably in a small house in the middle of a forest with no one around, no curses, no sorcerers, no nothing. That, sadly, isn’t an option though, so he has to find his own way to do things.

“Don’t move,” he says sternly. “You have something on your face.”

You roll your eyes, but tilt your head up towards him, as he carefully runs his thumb under your eye, then over your cheek, blowing on it once it’s done.

“What was it?” you ask.

“Just an eyelash,” he says with a shrug. “You’re good now.”

You study him, waiting for him to give something away, but he doesn’t, just staring at you with the same expression he always wears.

“Should we get going?” he asks. “I thought we were supposed to catch a movie.”

“Sure,” you relent. “We should get moving.”

The streets are quite full at this time of the day, and you have to step aside frequently to let people pass, sometimes losing sight of Megumi. Eventually, with a sigh, he grabs your hand, pulling you with him as he walks, sending murderous glares to anyone who stays in his path.

“You’re going to get lost at this rate,” he mutters as he pulls you with him.

“I mean, worst case scenario we meet back at the theater,” you say, and you grin at the offended look he gives you. He notices it, but doesn’t answer, a light pink dusting his cheek as he glances away.

He hates the idea of being away from you on a day that’s supposed to be about the two of you — but since he refuses to say the quiet part out loud, you get to tease him all you want.

To be fair to him, having Megumi as your scary guard dog does make it much easier and much faster to reach the theater. He gives you a pointed look when you get there, and, to your regret, lets go of your hand quickly, though his touch lingers there a second longer than necessary.

“Should we get a couple seat?” you ask innocently as you approach the register.

Megumi glares at you once more while you give him a sweet smile.

“It’s better that way, right?” he says, clearing his throat. “Otherwise strangers might have to share one.”

“Sure,” you nod, not even bothering to hide your grin. “It’s just more practical, right?”

“Right,” he says stiffly.

Even once you are in the couple seat, he keeps a thoroughly appropriate distance from you, one that you might find a little hurtful if, at the end of the commercials, he didn’t fake a yawn to put his arm around you, in the least smooth way known to man.

“You know you can just do it,” you say quietly as the lights turn off, resting your head on his shoulder. “You don’t have to go through all that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles.

Reaching for his face, you tilt his head towards you, and push yourself to meet his lips for a sweet, soft kiss. For the first time since you’ve stepped foot outside, his whole body relaxes into yours, and he stops trying to pretend.

“You had something on your lips,” you whisper when you pull away.

He snorts, then quickly goes back in to steal one more kiss from you before the movie starts.

“Liar,” he says.

As if he’s one to talk.

MAKI

Maki isn’t a demonstrative person as a general rule. She does compliment you without hesitation, words falling from her mouth so genuinely that it never fails to fluster you, but physical demonstrations of affection don’t come easy to her, maybe because she received so little of it as a kid. She does it sporadically, and she does very much enjoy teasing you, loves knowing that she can get those reactions out of you.

It’s the more spontaneous gestures that get to you though. She’ll kiss your forehead after a battle that left you bruised, a way of comforting you. She’ll pat your head after you managed to pull an impressive move during training. On one occasion, when you got injured, she carried you in your arms to Shoko, demanding that you be taken care of right this instant. She’d been the one to get flustered after that, hiding her face in her hand in embarrassment when it was brought up later on.

It might not come easy to her, but she does love it when you do it — when you show her your love in that way.

“You’re late,” she scolds you when you reach her for one of your dates, needing to take a second to catch your breath because you’ve been running since getting out of the subway.

“Sorry,” you say between deep breaths, “there was an emergency.”

Worry flashes on her face immediately.

“A curse? Were you hurt?”

She reaches for you, tilting your face towards her as she examines it, then study your body to make sure you weren’t injured. You let her, surprised at first, then endeared.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she frowns once she realizes how soft your gaze has become.

You grin, then push yourself closer to kiss her. You don’t care that you’re in public, and though it wouldn’t have occurred to her to do it, neither does she. The kiss is sweet, gentle. I’m alive, you’re alive, it says. No need for more.

“See?” you ask cheerfully. “All good. Now, I’m pretty sure you were going to buy me dinner…”

She clicks her tongue, but she’s grinning. It’s nice to see her so at ease, so relaxed. It’s a side of her you’d never see within the walls of Jujutsu High, nor on a mission. You’re the only one that can bring it out of her, and man do you love it.

“I’m buying? Again?”

“I did almost just die.”

“Nice try, but you told me you were fine.”

“I’m fine now,” you insist, “but…”

“Well, I was disowned by my family, so I don’t have money. You’re buying.”

The two of you keep bickering, but, as you walk, you reach for her hand. She pulls away at first, years and years of reflexes kicking in instinctively, and once she realizes what you were doing, she’s the one who takes your hand in hers. She holds it delicately, careful not to break it — to be fair, her strength would probably allow her that.

It’s so sweet and light, being out there with you like that. So normal. She hopes it never ends.

You squeeze her hand, and she lets you guide her across the street, content with just following, knowing that she can trust you to fill in her shortcomings in the relationship, like she does it for yours.

The sky is grey, the forecast said it might run later tonight — Maki’s planned an umbrella, she’s sure you didn’t think of it — but as far as she’s concerned, the day is as beautiful as it could possibly be.

this is my first time writing for... pretty much everyone here except gojo lol. i hope you enjoyed it and that the characterization wasn't too off, but any feedback is welcome! if you want to support me and my writing, please reblog/leave a comment or send me an ask, i'd love to chat! i'll see you later for some more jjk writing ^-^

you can find my gojo x reader work here

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rodolfoparras · 14 days

Text

The art of tardiness

Pairing: Unspecified Male Character x Male reader

cw: 18+, possessiveness, anal fingering, anal sex, top male reader, bottom male character, age gap, morning sex, writing on skin, feminization (hole referred to as cunt)

Synopsis: sometimes calling him yours just isn’t enough

There were times you were sure that your boyfriend was dating two different people.

One was the young man who’d swiftly tuck his tail between his legs at the smallest comment made about his relationship. That man could admit that he lacked experience compared to his much older partner, could admit he probably wasn’t his partner’s ideal type with his scrawny frame and short height, and he knew that even if his boyfriend were to look past those things, the people around them would never do it.

Then there was the rabid dog in the shape of a young man, that barks and bites at any potential threat, such as hostile comments made about his relationship. He’d look you straight in the eye and tell you not to make comments about a relationship you know nothing off, hell he’d get in a physical altercation if you provoked him enough.

And then of course there was the desire to bite the hand that feeds him, devour his person down to the bone so he wouldn’t have to share him with the world. He or rather you were pretty good at keeping this desire at bay but sometimes you just couldn’t contain it especially early in the mornings, when he looks like a sight to behold with his lazy smile bleary eyes, thin white sheet doing nothing to cover up his naked body.

You want to keep him in bed, mark him up, make him cum over and over again til all he can remember is the feeling of your cock

Unfortunately things aren’t that easy, especially when he has to get ready for work in half an hour, but stubborn as you are, you don’t let him go, dead set on marking him up as much as possible.

At first he’s too lost in bliss to notice what you’re doing, letting you suck and nip on the sensetive skin while desperately clinging onto your body, that is til you bite down hard enough to draw blood and the man jerks in place, wide eyed and suddenly too aware of what you’re doing.

“No marks” he says, even goes as far as to scruff your neck, as if you’re nothing but a disobedient dog to him “I have work, remember?”

“Please?” and you know that you must sound rather pathetic but honestly you couldn’t care less, especially not when you notice that a couple of marks have already started to bloom on his skin.

“So goddamn possessive what am I gonna do with you huh?” He says, while keeping a vice like grip on your neck “Should I let you write your damn name on my forehead? Would that make you happy hm?” He says gaze much softer as his thumb strokes your neck.

Even though he hadn’t intend to do so, his words gave you an idea and you immediately find yourself reaching for the night stand, hand blindly rummaging through the drawer.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” He says, brow raised but it doesn’t take long before realization strikes him “Absolutely not,”

You turn to the other man , practically giving puppy eyes. This time you do feel a tad bit of embarrassment but not enough to give up on this battle.

“I can’t go out like that,”

“You won’t,” you immediately say “I’ll do it somewhere you can cover it,”

“Jesus Christ kid,” he sighs out and pinches his brows but despite his words you know that his resolve has crumbled.

You’re quick to grab the first best pen before straddling his waist, the late night escapade having left him in nothing but a thin white sheet covering the most sensitive part of him but you can still feel you cock head rubbing upon the cleft of his ass as you settle down.

“Cheeky bastard” he breathes out, fully aware of where your mind’s gone to.

You only hush him response, muttering how you have to be focused before you attempt to put the marker to his arm.

But before you can do that he grabs ahold of your egg wrist, a firm look painted on his face “promise me it’ll wash off,”

“Promise,” you say with a shit eating grin on your face.

And as you proceed to put the marker to his skin, you realize that you’re at loss of ideas on what you could write on him. It’s like you wanted to do so much when the idea first struck your head but sitting here you almost feel overwhelmed by all the options that you have.

You play it safe at first, writing out your name just below his pec, a move that has the man squirming beneath you.

“Tickles,”

“Sorry,” you say, not an ounce of sincerity in your tone as you draw another scribble on his forearm. It’s you and him- well it’s supposed to be but your artistic skills only allow you to draw two stick figures holding hands.

For a moment there are no words exchanged as you continue draw on his skin. You do a couple of doodles here and there, some ridiculous other more scandalous. You even write some words on his skin- some being your name others being lewd quotes, everything done within range where he’d be able to hide it beneath his clothes.

“This enough for you kid?” He says, when the majority of his chest is covered in little scribbles.

He probably didn’t mean anything by those words. But the ugly monster residing inside couldn’t help but take this as a challenge especially when he says that as he lays naked in your shared bed, soft smile on his face, the scribbles of your name clearly showing under the rays of sunlight protruding through the bedroom window.

Instead of responding to him you grab ahold of his wrist, black marker writing out the letter M on his skin, bold and big, just within the range of where he can pull on a shirt if he wishes to hide the word. The letters I N E are soon added in place, big bold and curling around his underarm.

The word mine now lays written on his forearm.

But you don’t stop there, eyes flicking over to his furry stomach that looks awfully bare before you take a marker to it and start writing your initials all over it. This time around the skin isn’t as forgiving, straight lines turning jagged from coarse hair and faded scar. Not that you mind and neither does the little monster residing inside.

You continue writing on him, covering as much skin as he allows but truth be told you don’t know how his clothes will be able to cover up some scribbles, not that you plan on telling him that right now.

And he doesn’t seem to care that much as his gaze carefully follows your movements, breathing growing heavier and heavier with each second that passes.

At some point you feel the need to get closer to him even though you’re practically sitting ontop of him, swiftly shuffling around til you’re slotted between his thighs, carefully drawing a line from the crevice of his knee down to the groove of his left thigh.

He continues to watch you with attentive eyes, as you add a triangle to the end of line, the marker reaching dangerously to where his balls lay hanging between his thighs and from where you sit you can smell his musk hitting your nostrils, can feel his thighs clench beneath your fingertips , can now see the way the black arrow is humorously pointing straight to the furley ring of muscles.

It’s impossible not to reach out to the spot between his legs, a curious finger swiping over his sensitive skin and pulling a gasp out of him“Hah!”

Your eyes flicker up, cock twitching at the sight of the man who already looks so wrecked before looking back to the marker in your hand, moving it back and forth til the line on his thigh grows in size, doing anything just to busy your mind because you’re supposed to draw on him not fuck him, remember that?

But it’s not long before your attention is back onto his burning heat, a glob of spit landing onto the sensitive skin before your finger circles his now wet rim.

“What are you-“

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before you slip the tip of your finger inside, watching the way he jerks in surprise, the sudden movement jacking up the straight marker line, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“Jesus Christ kid,” he breathes, voice dripping with both arousal and amusement as you continue to sink your finger inside of him.

“This alright?” You ask, and push til you’re knuckles deep before giving an experimental curl of your finger.

Another gasp escapes his mouth, hips bucking up into your touch “ hah -now you ask?” He says, but despite his words the man nods at your question.

That’s all it takes for you to work a second finger inside, this time coaxing a hiss out of him,“easy there kid going to break me,”

You can’t help but chuckle at that”Think you’re giving me too much credit pretty,” you say but decide to move your fingers at a much slower pace, watching the way his body once again relax onto the sheets as contented hums escape his lips.

You continue curling your fingers inside while drawing onto the man; circling birth marks and scars you find pretty, drawing arrows across every inch of skin while watching the way he twists and turns in the sheets with every brush of your fingertips “so fucking pretty like this drives me crazy “

At some point you stop drawing on his skin, turning all your focus to the fingers buried inside him.

You don’t even notice the way tears have started to gather at his eyes, nor the begs and please continuously escaping his mouth, too entranced with the sight of his hungry hole practically swallowing up your hand.

It’s only when he grabs ahold of your wrist that you snap back into the present moment, now noticing how you’ve left the pen to bled out on the white sheets, and how the ink on his skin has already started to smear.

The gruesome monster inside tells you that you need to find another way to mark the man.

Within moments you’re grabbing ahold of his legs, pushing his knees up to his chest til his cunt is on full display, not wasting another second to line your cockhead up with his entrance before pushing inside him.

“Ah fuck! Insatiable dog,” he barks out, not having expected you to do that but that doesn’t stop him from practically clamping onto you as you bottom out: heels digging into your ass and nails digging into your back as you start driving up into his hungry cunt.”mpf fuck just like that keep going kid“

Who’s insatiable now? You think to yourself, a strangled chuckle escaping your lips as you continue to thrust into his tight wet heat.

It doesn’t take long before you’re setting a steady pace, thrusting so erratically he’s practically choking up on the moans that are trying to escape his lips, bed frame frantically rocking against the wall every thrust of your hips.

“Ah! Fuck! Going to - hah going to kill me,” he says through choked sobs, hands madly clawing at your back as if he’s losing his footing on this world.

And as you look down at the beautiful mess he makes, you can’t help but notice the shadow of a bulge showing on his stomach, right below the spot where your initials lay.

Once again you feel the zealous monster within you take the steering wheel, hand pushing his legs past his ears, before drilling into him.

“Say it “ you grunt out, hands keeping a vice like grip on his thighs, pushing his legs so far back you’re sure you’ll split him in half if you keep it up “Come on come on say you’re mine”

At first he’s at a loss for words, barely even able to catch his breath with the way you’re erratically thrusting into him but eventually he manages to respond to you.

“Yours yours all yours fucking fuck I’m cum-“ he splutters out, hole erratically clenching down onto your cock before he cums in hot thick white streaks, across both his and yours abondmen “‘m sorry ‘m sorry” he slurs out, while he continues to shamelessly fuck himself back onto your cock.

Something about that sight is enough to triggering your own orgasm

“Fuck!” You cry out, eyes squeezing shut before youre hit with hot blinding pleasure.

The world around you blurs out, ears ringing loud as you continue to ride out your high before you eventually slump down beside the man.

“Jesus Christ,” you say, ears still ringing loud, world barely coming into focus. “That was-“ you begin but trail off once you can’t seem to find the right word for it.

A laugh rumbles through the older man’s chest, his big hand cradling the back of your neck before he says “got that right kid,”

You look up at him only to be left speechless at the sight.

See people always said that a relationship with someone so much younger than him would ruin him. You’d hear it over and over again while eavesdropping on whatever conversation he was having about this “sudden” relationship.

You never really understood what they meant until you saw him sprawled out on your bed, gaping hole stuffed full with your cum, and every inch of his skin covered in your initials.

At least they knew he was yours to ruin.

Yours

Yours.

That little insatiable monster that can't seem to find rest rises to life again, coaxes you to slot your lips against the older man’s, tongue slipping into his mouth and licking along every nook and crevice, leaving the taste of you behind for anyone that would dare kiss him.

It takes one more kiss before he prys himself away from you, and walks over to the bathroom on shaky steps, the sight of his inked ass is the last thing you see before the door closes behind him.

You slump back into bed with a smile on your face, the taste of him still lingers on your lips, the previous string of events practically burned into your iris and for a second it all feels like a dream that is before you hear your name being shouted behind the bathroom door followed by a string of angry words “why won’t this shit wash off,”

Oh well…

837 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 1 month

Text

pretending as always — ryomen sukuna.

"Sukuna." you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "Do you ever think about us? About how things used to be?" He didn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if the answer was written somewhere in the shadows. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost resigned. "Things change. People change." "I know, I know." you replied, your fingers tracing the outline of his hand resting on your waist. "But I miss it. I miss us. The way we were before… everything."

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: angst, toxic romance, hurt/no comfort, cheating, unhappy marriage, crying, hurt, sadness, pain, character death, grief, unhappy ending, depictions of broken marriage, depiction of grief, depiction of cheating, depiction of death, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of misery, mention of loneliness, cheating husband! sukuna, long suffering wife! reader;

WORD COUNT: 10k words

NOTE: the thought bubble says 'things change, people change.'; the playlist for this chapter alone was just so angsty. like from i'm not the only one to glimpse of us, i really went through it writing this. i decided to write only one sad fic because i feel like putting out casual, together and thirty nine almost at the same time was just really criminal of me to do. so i hope you enjoy this, though!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 900;

if you want to, tip! <3

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ANOTHER HUFF RELEASES FROM YOUR MOUTH. You don’t remember how many you’ve smoked today. But you were sure that it was beyond one pack. This was the only time you could be alone, to think for yourself. To have control. The control you’ve been craving for years and years, one that you will never truly have again. You didn’t need someone to see you out here, to tell you no, to worry about your health. You didn’t need that. Not right now. You needed to be alone. You needed silence.

You sat on the balcony of your lavish penthouse, gazing out at the shimmering lights of Tokyo. The city was alive, vibrant, a testament to the empire your husband, Ryomen Sukuna, had built. He was the man behind the biggest conglomerate in Japan—a titan in the world of business, feared and respected in equal measure. And you were his wife.

Once upon a time, you had been someone too. A doctor with a promising career, surrounded by friends, fulfilled by the life you had created with your own hands. Your days were spent saving lives, making a difference, and your nights were filled with laughter and tenderness with colleagues who had become family. You were driven, passionate, and proud of the work you did. But now, as you sat in the lap of luxury, the woman you once were seemed like a distant memory.

Now, you were just his wife.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love him—you did. You loved him more than words could express. Sukuna was everything to you, and being his wife brought a kind of happiness you hadn’t known was possible. Yet, there was a gnawing emptiness, a void that had grown over the years. As much as you loved him, as much as he adored you in his own way, you knew the truth.

Ryomen Sukuna was not a man who could be kept down, not even for you. He was a force of nature, unstoppable, always striving for more, always looking beyond what he already had. His ambition was a double-edged sword, driving him to unimaginable heights but also pushing him further away from the simple life you sometimes yearned for.

There were nights when he didn’t come home, when he was out sealing deals or attending extravagant parties where you were merely an accessory. You’d watch him from a distance, surrounded by admirers, his presence commanding attention wherever he went. He thrived in that world of power and influence, and you knew that no matter how much he loved you, that world would always be his first love.

You tried to be content with the life you had with him. After all, you had everything most people could only dream of—wealth, status, and the affections of a man who could have had anyone but chose you. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had lost yourself in the process. You weren’t the doctor anymore, the woman with her own dreams and aspirations. You were simply Mrs. Ryomen Sukuna, a title that came with its own set of expectations and sacrifices.

As the night grew darker, you wondered what it would take to feel like yourself again. Could you ever reclaim the life you had before Sukuna, or had you given up too much to ever go back? And if you did, would you lose him in the process? It was a question that haunted you, even as you curled up in the luxurious sheets of your bed, waiting for him to return home. You loved him. But sometimes, love wasn’t enough.

Your husband was a man to love—eccentric and electric, a living embodiment of wonder wrapped in the form of a man. His presence was magnetic, a force that drew people in, leaving them captivated by his every word, his every move. Ryomen Sukuna was a personality larger than life, his energy palpable, his enigma undeniable. He filled every room he entered, his laughter loud and contagious, a stark contrast to his own brother, Jin, who was quiet, composed, and unassuming.

Where Jin blended into the background, Sukuna demanded attention. Everyone who met him felt the spark, the electricity that seemed to radiate from him. He was unpredictable, always a step ahead, always thinking of the next big thing. His mind worked in ways that left others in awe, trying to keep up with the whirlwind that was his thoughts and ideas. Loving him was like holding onto a storm—thrilling, dangerous, and consuming.

But for all his vibrance and charm, Sukuna was still a man of cold realities. His work came first, always. No matter how much you wanted to be his priority, the empire he built was what he poured most of his energy into. He was often distant, consumed by the responsibilities that came with being the man at the top. Days would pass where you barely saw him, where his presence in your life felt more like a memory than a reality.

Yet, when he did give you his time, it was genuine and honest. Those rare moments were when you saw the man beneath the mask, the one who cared for you in his own complicated way. His touch was real, his words sincere, and in those fleeting minutes, you felt the depth of his love, even if it was buried under layers of ambition and duty.

There were nights, though, when he would come to bed, slipping under the covers beside you, and in those moments, he was truly yours. Those were the times you held onto, the nights where the world outside his office door ceased to exist, where the only thing that mattered was the feel of his warmth next to you.

His arm around your waist, his breath on your neck—these were the small, intimate moments that made the loneliness bearable. In the quiet of the night, Sukuna would pull you close, and for those few hours, he was just a man who loved his wife, not the untouchable titan he had become during the day.

But as the dawn approached, you knew he would slip away again, back into the world that demanded so much of him. Those nights were a bittersweet reminder that while he was yours, you would never fully have him. Still, you cherished them, holding onto the hope that maybe one day, the man who captivated the world would find his way back to you, not just in the shadows of the night, but in the light of day as well.

If you tried slyly, you could sometimes extract details about his life—small, fragmented pieces of the puzzle that was Ryomen Sukuna. A hint here, a passing comment there. But even after so many years of marriage, he wouldn’t budge.

He was a vault, his thoughts locked away in a place you couldn’t reach, no matter how hard you tried. There were times you sat across from him, watching his expressions, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was going on behind those sharp eyes, but he was impenetrable. You didn’t know what he was thinking half the time.

And as the years passed, you began to realize a painful truth: you didn’t know this man anymore. He wasn’t the man you fell in love with, the one who had promised you the world with that charming smile and infectious energy. That man was a memory, fading with every passing day. The man you were married to now was a stranger, someone who wore Sukuna’s face but carried a weight and distance that hadn’t been there before. He was no longer wholly yours, not anymore.

But when he was—on those rare occasions when he let you in, when the walls came down just enough for you to feel the warmth beneath his cold exterior—those moments were everything. His exterior remained hard, a shield against the world and perhaps even against you, but in the quiet darkness of your bedroom, he softened.

The bed you shared became a pure and sacred shrine, a place where the outside world couldn’t reach, where only you and he existed. In that space, the burdens he carried were set aside, and for a fleeting moment, he was just a man, your husband, the one who still held pieces of your heart.

The warmth of his body against yours, the way he would pull you close as if you were his anchor—these were the moments that reminded you of the love that still lingered between you. It was as if, in that bed, time stood still, and the distance that had grown between you disappeared, leaving only the two of you, as you once were.

And though those moments were few and far between, they were enough to keep you holding on, hoping that perhaps, one day, the man you fell in love with would return to you, not just in the night, but in every aspect of your life together.

You lay beside him in the dark, feeling the weight of the silence between you. His arm was draped over your waist, his grip firm but gentle. It was one of those rare nights when he was fully present, when the business world he ruled seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you. You turned slightly, your face inches from his, searching his eyes for something—anything—that might bridge the gap that had grown between you.

"Sukuna." you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "Do you ever think about us? About how things used to be?"

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if the answer was written somewhere in the shadows. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost resigned. "Things change. People change."

"I know, I know." you replied, your fingers tracing the outline of his hand resting on your waist. "But I miss it. I miss us. The way we were before… everything."

His eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, you saw something flicker there—regret, maybe, or a trace of the man you once knew. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that familiar unreadable expression.

"I’m still here. I always have been." he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I never left. And you know that."

"Physically, yes, I know. But I just….It’s just." you murmured, a hint of bitterness creeping into your voice. "Sukuna, it’s like I don’t know you anymore. You’re not the man I married. You’re not the man who promised me the world. And I don’t know where he is. And I want him back.”

He didn’t flinch, but you felt the slight tension in his arm as he pulled you a little closer. "The world isn’t what it used to be. It won’t ever be what it was, you know that." he replied quietly. "And neither am I. And you know that too. But I’m still here. I’m still your husband.”

You sighed, feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "But when you’re here, like this… it’s different. For just a moment, it feels like nothing’s changed. Like it’s just you and me, the way it used to be. I wish we could stay here, like this, forever."

He didn’t respond right away, but you felt his grip on you tighten, his thumb brushing softly against your skin as if to reassure you. "This bed, our bed…." he said slowly, his voice rougher than usual, "it’s our sanctuary. It’s the one place I can forget about everything else. But you know I can’t stay here forever. Not when the world calls me, not when it needs me.”

"I know that." you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. You needed him too. You needed your husband. And he will never see it. Not even when he tries. "But I can’t help wishing you would. That maybe, just once, you’d choose me over everything else. Like you used to.”

He was silent for a long moment, his breath warm against your hair. When he finally spoke, there was a softness in his voice that you rarely heard. "If I could, I would. You’re the only thing that keeps me grounded, that reminds me I’m still human. But I can’t give you all of me. Not anymore. I have things to do too.”

You closed your eyes, letting the tears fall silently. "I just wish… I wish you’d let me in, Sukuna. I want to know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. I want to know the man I’m sharing this bed with."

He didn’t answer right away, and you knew he wouldn’t. Instead, he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead in a rare, tender gesture. "I’m here now, you know?" he whispered. "Let’s just… stay in this moment, just for tonight."

You nodded, unable to find the words to say anything more. You clung to him, holding onto the warmth of his body, the rare softness of his embrace, knowing that when morning came, he would be gone again—pulled back into the world that demanded so much of him. But for now, you had this, and it would have to be enough.

It sounds more romantic than it actually is in reality. What you shared with Sukuna was far from the idyllic love story others might imagine. It was a volatile existence, a solitary one. A lonely existence. There were no whispered secrets in the dark, no playful banter or stolen glances across the room. There were no soft gazes filled with unspoken affection, no tender moments that lingered long after they ended. With Sukuna, you got the raw, unfiltered version of him—a man stripped of any pretense or facade.

Sukuna was not a man of many words, and that held true even during the most intimate moments between you. He was silent, his focus intense, his mind seemingly elsewhere even as he was with you. There were no sweet nothings exchanged, no promises of forever whispered into your ear. He was a man of action, not words, and even less so when you were in bed together.

Yet, despite the lack of verbal communication, there was one thing he always maintained—eye contact. His gaze never wavered, never strayed from yours, and in those moments, you saw something in his eyes that you rarely saw anywhere else. His eyes were earnest, and that sincerity was the closest thing to vulnerability he ever allowed himself to show. It was as if, in those brief moments of connection, he was telling you without words what he couldn’t bring himself to say aloud.

But even that small comfort was fleeting, a temporary solace in a relationship that often felt more like a battle than a partnership. You loved him, but it was a love laced with pain and longing, a love that left you feeling more alone than ever. Because while his eyes might have been honest, they also held a distance that you couldn’t bridge, a reminder that even in his most vulnerable moments, Sukuna was still just out of reach.

So you took what you could get—the warmth of his body against yours, the rare tenderness in his gaze—and tried to ignore the aching loneliness that gnawed at you in the silence that followed. Because at the end of the day, you knew that this was the only version of Sukuna you would ever truly have. And for better or worse, you had to make peace with that.

You lay there in the quiet aftermath, your body still humming from the intensity of it all. But as the warmth began to fade, reality seeped back in. The silence between you was heavy, filled with all the things left unsaid. There was no gentle touch, no soft embrace to pull you closer. Sukuna remained beside you, but there was a distance, an unspoken barrier that kept you apart even when you were lying inches away from each other.

This was your life—a series of fleeting connections punctuated by long stretches of solitude. You had learned to navigate this existence, to find comfort in the small moments, even if they were far from the grand romance you had once imagined. But it was a lonely existence, one that often left you feeling hollow, as if a piece of you had been carved out and left behind somewhere along the way.

There was no pillow talk with Sukuna, no lingering in the soft afterglow. Not like it used to be, when you greeted the morning light talking and talking. The man beside you was not one for such things. He was not the type to reach out and hold you close, to whisper sweet reassurances that everything would be okay. He simply wasn’t built that way, and you had long since stopped expecting him to be.

Instead, there was just the raw version of him—the man who was silent in his love, who showed it in ways that were hard to decipher, in ways that often left you questioning if it was there at all. His love wasn’t gentle or easy; it was fierce, consuming, and at times, almost indifferent. But it was there, hidden beneath layers of responsibility, power, and the iron will that had made him who he was.

Sukuna’s eyes were the only place where you could see that truth, where you could catch a glimpse of the man beneath the exterior. Even during sex, when his body was moving against yours with a deliberate intensity, his eyes stayed locked on yours, never wavering.

There was something disarming in that gaze, something that spoke of an honesty he couldn’t express any other way. It was in those moments, brief as they were, that you felt a connection, a thread of intimacy that tied you to him, even if it was fragile and frayed.

But as much as you clung to those moments, they were never enough to fill the void. The bed, which had once felt like a sanctuary, now seemed more like a cold, empty place where two strangers shared space but not lives. You would turn to face him, hoping for something—a word, a touch, anything to bridge the gap—but he remained still, his mind already miles away, lost in thoughts you could never reach.

And so you would close your eyes, trying to hold onto the fleeting warmth of his body next to yours, trying to convince yourself that this was enough, that you could live with the silence, the loneliness, the distance. Because at the end of the day, he was still the man you loved, the man who had once promised you the world.

But that promise had faded, just like the warmth that now ebbed away in the cold, empty silence of the room. And as much as it hurt, you knew that this was all there would ever be—a man you could never fully have, a love that was always just out of reach, and a life lived in the spaces between what was and what could have been.

You cry a lot about how life has let you suffer this way. The tears come in waves, usually in the quiet hours of the night when the weight of it all feels too heavy to bear. You cry for the life you thought you would have, for the love that feels like it's slipping through your fingers, for the man who promised you everything but gave you only fragments. The pain of it all has become a constant companion, a dull ache that lingers even in your happiest moments, because you know, deep down, that things will never be what you once dreamed they could be.

You knew about the women. You’ve always known. The whispers that reached your ears, the subtle changes in his demeanor, the way he would smell of a perfume that wasn’t yours. You knew about the women he took to hotels, the ones he wined and dined in the finest restaurants, the ones he spoiled with gifts and attention that you used to believe were reserved for you alone. You knew about the strip clubs, the fleeting kisses at bars, the meaningless trysts that filled the void you couldn’t seem to reach.

But knowing and seeing were two different things.

The image before you feels like a knife to the gut, twisting with a cruel precision. She’s beautiful, laughing at something Sukuna has whispered into her ear. They’re sitting too close, his hand resting on her thigh as though it belongs there.

His expression is relaxed, the mask he wears with you completely gone. This is who he really is, you think to yourself. You could feel this bitter realization curling in your chest. You feel like you were going to be sick.

For a moment, your legs threaten to give way beneath you. The restaurant is dimly lit, the low hum of conversation and clinking silverware suddenly drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears. You’ve been here before. It’s one of his favorites—one you thought was yours too, where he used to look at you with that same easy smile.

Your heart hammers against your ribs, urging you to flee, to turn away before the pain can deepen. You take a step back, and then another, the darkness of the entrance swallowing you whole as you move further from the scene. It’s as if you’re in a dream, your body moving on autopilot, one step after another, until you’re out on the street, the cool night air hitting your skin like a jolt.

You keep walking, eyes unfocused, the city lights blurring into a haze of colors. The truth is, you don’t know where you’re going. All you know is that you can’t stop moving. Because if you stop, if you allow yourself to think, to feel, the walls you’ve built around your heart will collapse, and you’ll be left with nothing but the agony of what you’ve lost. Or perhaps, of what you never truly had.

You knew everything. And yet, you pretended as always, especially when he came home. Because he always did. No matter how many nights he spent in the arms of someone else, no matter how many times he broke your heart with his affairs, he always came home to you. And you clung to that, as painful as it was, because it was the one thing you had left—the knowledge that, for whatever reason, he chose to come back to you.

And you pathetically clung to that, as painful as it was, because it was the one thing you had left—the knowledge that, for whatever reason, he chose to come back to you. That he'll always choose to come back to you. And only you.

The sound of his key turning in the lock was your cue to slip the mask into place, smoothing out the cracks in your facade. You could hear the soft rustle of his coat as he shrugged it off, the faint smell of that foreign perfume clinging to the air. It was like a slap in the face, but you swallowed the bitterness down, forcing yourself to stay calm.

“Hey.” he called out, his voice casual, as though nothing were amiss. As though he hadn’t just spent hours with someone else.

“Hey.” you replied, keeping your tone light, as if you hadn’t been waiting in silence, wondering who he was with, what she looked like, if she made him laugh the way you used to.

He stepped into the room, his gaze brushing over you, taking in the sight of you curled up on the couch with a book in your hands. It was a scene of domestic tranquility, one you’d perfected over the years. You’d become a master at hiding the turmoil beneath the surface, at pretending that everything was fine.

“How was your night?” you asked, the words slipping out easily, as if they weren’t laced with the weight of unspoken truths.

“Busy.” he replied, moving toward you. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him, to savor the warmth of his presence. This was the part you held onto—the part where he came home, where he chose you, if only for a few fleeting hours. “Did a lot of meetings. It was dull. Like always.”

But even as he pulled away and headed to the bedroom, you couldn’t help but feel the coldness seep back in, the emptiness that settled in the pit of your stomach. You knew he’d be gone again tomorrow, off to chase whatever thrill he found in the arms of someone else.

Still, you clung to that tiny thread of hope, the one that told you he would return. Because as long as he came home, as long as he kept choosing you, there was a part of you that could pretend—pretend that it was enough, that you were enough. You knew that you were tearing yourself apart. Apart from this man. But you were stuck. You didn’t know how to get out. Not when you can’t bear separation.

It was a cruel cycle, one that left you feeling shattered and hollow, but one you couldn’t break free from. You pretended because it was easier than confronting the truth, easier than acknowledging that the man you loved was also the man who was tearing you apart. You pretended because you wanted to believe that, despite everything, there was still something left between you, something worth holding on to.

Because as much as he hurt you, as much as he used other women to fill whatever void he was running from, you knew one thing with absolute certainty: he loved you. He might have been distant, cold, and unfaithful, but that love was there, buried beneath the layers of deceit and betrayal. It was a twisted, painful love, one that hurt more than it healed, but it was real. And that’s what made it so hard to walk away.

He loved you, and it hurt you. It hurt because that love wasn’t enough to stop him from seeking out others, from indulging in pleasures that had nothing to do with you. It hurt because that love didn’t protect you from the heartache, didn’t shield you from the loneliness that came from sharing a bed with someone who was only half there.

But it was love nonetheless, a sick, unadulterated, gut-wrenching love you can never truly escape even if you wanted to. and you clung to it with everything you had, because without it, you weren’t sure who you would be anymore.

So you cried, and you pretended, and you waited for him to finish his shower, knowing that when he did, you would smile, you would act as if nothing was wrong, as if your heart wasn’t breaking a little more each day. Because you loved him, too, and that love was the only thing holding you together, even as it threatened to tear you apart.

The stairs creaked with every step, and you quickly wiped the tears from your cheeks, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You knew the routine by now—how to mask the pain, how to put on a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the steps, and you braced yourself, slipping into the role you had perfected over the years. He’d gotten out of the shower and dressed.

Sukuna walked back into the living room, his presence filling the space like a storm cloud. He glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable as he walked in front of you. You could still smell the faint scent of a perfume that wasn’t yours, the remnants of a night you knew all too well. It was as if he was mocking you. It was as if he wanted you to know. But you didn’t say anything. You never did.

“Did you have dinner yet?” you ask him, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. “There’s still some soba I made for dinner.”

He hums in response, reaching for your hand, his touch warm but somehow distant. “Maybe later, I’ll heat it up myself. Let me stay here with you for a bit.”

You nod, pretending to be satisfied with his answer, even though you know it’s a lie. “Okay, that’s fine.”

You make some space for him to sit beside you, but instead, he lowers his head onto your lap, his body stretching out along the couch. The gesture is familiar, almost comforting, but tonight, it feels like a weight pressing down on your chest. You feel the bile rise in your throat as he closes his eyes, humming softly to himself, as if this moment is as peaceful for him as it is tormenting for you.

You force your fingers to move, to edge along the tips of his fuchsia-colored hair, the strands soft beneath your touch. The motion is automatic, a habit born from nights like these, where you pretended that everything was still okay. But as you purse your lips into a tight line, trying to keep your composure, you feel the tears threatening to spill over, the pain clawing at the walls you’ve built around your heart.

Not now, you tell yourself. Not now. You can’t break, not here, not while he’s with you.

You swallow hard, pushing down the surge of emotions that threaten to rise to the surface, and speak in a voice you barely recognize as your own. “You worked hard.”

He opens his eyes, his gaze meeting yours in the dim light of the room. “So did you.” he whispers, his tone soft, almost tender.

His words, if they were meant to comfort you, only deepen the ache inside you. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, forcing a small, hollow smile as you continue to stroke his hair. Because that’s all you can do—pretend that this moment is enough, that his presence here is enough to make up for all the nights he’s been away, all the lies you’ve told yourself just to keep going.

He closes his eyes again, sighing softly, and you watch him, your fingers never faltering in their gentle rhythm. And as you sit there, with his head in your lap and the soba cooling on the kitchen counter, you realize that this is what you’ve become—someone who is willing to live in the spaces he leaves behind, someone who clings to the small moments he offers, even when they’re built on a foundation of lies.

“I missed you, Sukuna.” you whispered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

“I know.” he replied to you, in a tone that knows. A tone that reveals it all. He knew that you know, you weren’t a fool. You were too smart for it. And yet, here you are. With him, his lying, selfish self, loved by you. “I’m here now.”

You nodded, knowing that was the most you would get from him. “I’m glad you’re home.”

He didn’t respond, but you could feel the tension in his body slowly easing, his breathing becoming more relaxed. You knew this was as close as he would come to letting you in, and you tried to take comfort in it, even though it wasn’t enough.

You lay there in silence, your hand still resting on his chest, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing. You wanted to say more, to tell him how much it hurt, how much you wished things could be different. But you knew it wouldn’t change anything. He would always come home, but he would never truly be yours.

So you stayed quiet, pretending for him, for yourself, for the fragile love that still tied you to him, even as it slowly unraveled. You pretended that this was enough, that the fleeting moments of closeness were worth the nights spent alone, the tears shed in silence, the knowledge that he would never be wholly yours.

And in the dark, as you lay beside him, you let yourself believe the lie, if only for a little while. Because sometimes, pretending was the only thing that kept you going.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

EVERYTHING CHANGED WHEN YOU HEARD THOSE WORDS. The doctor's words echoed in your mind as you drove home, your knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel. "A few months, at most," he'd said, and you'd nodded, thanked him even, before walking out of the clinic in a daze. The sky outside seemed unchanged, the world continuing its indifferent spin, while inside you, something had irrevocably shifted.

When you finally made it home, you sat down, the weight of everything settling onto your shoulders like a heavy blanket. The familiar surroundings seemed distant, like you were seeing them through a fog. The elegant decor, the soft lighting—everything was perfect, just as it always was, but it felt like a set piece now, like something you were watching from afar.

You tried to think of what you should do next, what anyone would do with such news. Should you cry? Scream? But nothing came. Instead, a strange sense of calm washed over you, like the stillness after a storm. Maybe this was it—God's way of freeing you from this misery, this life you’d never truly lived.

A miserable existence, that’s what it was. A life spent in the shadow of Ryomen Sukuna, the man who was everything to everyone, and nothing to you. The man who had captured your heart and soul, only to lock them away somewhere deep inside, where they withered, starved of the love you so desperately needed. You’d given everything to be his wife, to play the part in the perfect narrative he’d constructed, and in the process, you’d lost yourself.

The relief that bubbled up inside you was unexpected, but undeniable. You wouldn’t have to suffer much longer. No more pretending, no more aching for a love that would never be yours. No more nights spent staring at the ceiling, wondering why you weren’t enough. Soon, it would all be over. You wouldn’t have to endure this life, this love, for much longer.

You decided then and there—you wouldn’t tell him. What would be the point? He was a man consumed by his empire, by his power, and you were just another piece of his world, another part of his success. Telling him would only disrupt the perfect narrative he had written for himself, and you couldn’t bear to see the indifference in his eyes when he realized that your story was ending.

No, you would continue to be his wife. You would play your part until the very end, letting yourself fade quietly from the narrative, just as you had faded from his heart. And maybe, when it was all over, when you were gone, he might feel something—a twinge of regret, perhaps. But that didn’t matter. Not anymore.

In the stillness of your home, a peculiar sense of peace enveloped you. The silence was heavy, but it was a silence of your own making, one that spoke of an end and a release. You had loved Sukuna with a depth that was both profound and consuming. Your love for him was a force that had shaped your days and your nights, driving you to care for him in ways that went unnoticed and unappreciated.

But as you faced the reality of your impending departure, a bittersweet calm settled over you. The weight of your unrequited love, the fatigue of constantly giving without receiving, was finally lifting. You had poured your heart into a relationship where your love was met with indifference and infidelity. You had tried to make him see, tried to make him understand, but in the end, the love you gave was never truly reciprocated in the way you had hoped.

Now, as the days dwindle and the finality of your situation becomes undeniable, you found a strange comfort in knowing that the end was near. The thought of liberation from a love that had only ever been one-sided was both heart-wrenching and soothing. You were tired of the endless cycle of giving and waiting, of hoping for something that would never come. And in the quiet of your home, you felt a sense of relief at the prospect of being free from this endless cycle of emotional exhaustion.

That night, when Sukuna returned home, you greeted him with a facade of normalcy. Despite the heavy burden of your knowledge, you smiled at him with a warmth that belied your inner turmoil. You continued to dote on him, serving him his favorite dishes with the same loving care you always had. Every gesture, every touch, every look was a continuation of the role you had played for so long.

You carried on as if nothing had changed, maintaining the pretense of a happy, loving wife. Your actions were deliberate, a final testament to the depth of your love and the extent of your sacrifice. You wanted to give him one last glimpse of the love he had taken for granted, to remind him of what he would be losing, even if he would never fully grasp it until it was too late.

You went through the motions of daily life, engaging with him, listening to his stories, laughing at his jokes. The facade was not just for him, but for yourself as well—a way to preserve a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos of your emotions. You wanted to leave him with the memory of a wife who had loved him deeply, who had cared for him until the very end, despite everything.

In the quiet moments alone, after he had gone to bed, you would sit in the darkness, feeling the weight of your impending departure. You would reflect on the years you had spent loving him, on the moments of joy and sorrow that had shaped your relationship. And as you faced the end, you found a strange sort of solace in knowing that you would finally be free from the constraints of a love that had never truly been mutual.

The peace you felt was not without pain, but it was a relief nonetheless. You had loved Sukuna with all that you were, and now, as you prepared to leave, you took comfort in the knowledge that you would soon be free from the sadness and longing that had defined your existence.

Sukuna looked up from his plate, his gaze lingering on you with a mixture of curiosity and concern. He could see a flicker of something in your eyes that he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“You seem... unusually happy tonight,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of both surprise and suspicion. “Is something going on?”

You met his gaze, a faint smile on your lips that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s been a long time since we had a dinner like this, just the two of us.”

Sukuna’s brow furrowed as he studied you. “Yeah, it has. We’ve been so wrapped up in our own worlds that it’s easy to forget what it was like before everything got so complicated.”

You nodded, your fingers nervously twisting the edge of your napkin. “I’ve missed this—being with you like this, without all the distractions and complications. It feels like a rare moment of normalcy in the chaos.”

Sukuna’s expression softened, but there was an edge of concern in his eyes. “You seem more at peace than usual. Is everything okay? You’ve been acting... different lately.”

You hesitated, the weight of your secret pressing down on you. “I’ve just been reflecting on things. It’s strange how time changes everything, how we lose sight of what really matters until it’s almost too late.”

Sukuna’s gaze grew more intense, his unease palpable. “Reflecting on what? You’ve been acting like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “It’s just... I’ve been thinking about how we’ve lost touch with each other. How we’ve let life get in the way of what really matters.”

Sukuna’s eyes searched for yours, trying to grasp the depth of your words. “Are you saying there’s something wrong? Something you’re not telling me?”

You looked away, your smile faltering. “It’s not about something wrong. It’s about realizing that sometimes, we need to appreciate the moments we have, even if they’re fleeting.”

Sukuna’s confusion deepened, his concern growing. “You’re scaring me. Why are you talking like this? What’s going on?”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, your heart aching with the weight of the truth you couldn’t reveal. “I’ve just been feeling... reflective. It’s hard to explain, but I’m grateful for these moments, even if they’re all we have left.”

Sukuna reached out, his hand gently grasping yours. “Are you trying to tell me something? You’re acting like this is a goodbye.”

You pulled your hand away, the pain in your chest almost unbearable. “It’s not a goodbye. It’s just... a realization. I want to make the most of the time we have, to cherish these moments together.”

Sukuna’s face fell, his worry evident. “You’re making it sound like something terrible is happening. If there’s something you’re hiding, you need to tell me.”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to smile through the tears that threatened to spill. “It’s not about hiding anything. It’s about acknowledging that even when things are difficult, we can still find moments of happiness. I wanted tonight to be one of those moments.”

Sukuna looked at you with a mixture of sadness and confusion, his frustration clear. “You’re not making any sense. Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

You stood up from the table, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze any longer. You smiled at him. And even at that moment, he noticed. He noticed it didn’t go up to your eyes. “I can’t. Not yet. I just needed you to understand that despite everything, I’ve always cherished our time together.”

Sukuna watched you with a heart heavy with concern and regret, as you walked away from the table. "Do you still want some wine?"

"No." Sukuna whispers under his breath. "I'm fine."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

YOU WERE GOOD AT PLAYING ROLES. Sukuna didn't suspect a thing. You continued playing your part, showing up at events, smiling when required, and being the perfect wife that the world expected you to be. He remained oblivious, too wrapped up in his own world to notice the subtle changes—the way your laughter had lost its warmth, the way your eyes seemed distant, even when you looked directly at him.

He carried on with his life, his empire growing ever larger, his influence spreading like wildfire. And on the side, there was her—the woman he met in secret, the one who made him feel alive in ways that you no longer could. He didn’t care to hide it anymore, not really. He knew you knew, but in his mind, it didn’t matter. You were his wife, his possession, and that was enough.

The restaurant was bathed in a warm, subdued light, its cozy ambiance a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Sukuna's heart. He sat across from his date, his smirk easy, a deliberate mask concealing the turbulent emotions beneath. His eyes roamed lazily over the flickering candlelight, his drink half-empty, the conversation flowing smoothly. It was supposed to be an escape, a fleeting distraction from the complexities of his life.

The phone buzzed on the table, its vibration slightly jarring against the relaxed hum of the evening. Sukuna glanced at it, a shadow of irritation crossing his features. He almost ignored it, but a nagging instinct—something primal and insistent—prompted him to check. The screen lit up with an urgent message, and as he read the words, his smirk faltered, replaced by a sudden, unsettling pallor.

His hand trembled slightly as he answered the call that followed.

“Mr. Sukuna, I’m terribly sorry to interrupt your evening. There’s been an emergency. Your wife—she’s collapsed and has been rushed to the hospital. The situation is very serious. You need to come immediately.”

Sukuna’s mind reeled, struggling to process the gravity of the message. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, a cacophony of fear and disbelief. “What? No, that can’t be right. Are you sure? What happened?” His usual bravado turned into worrisome, strained whispers. “My wife was healthy when I left her at home.”

“Yes, I’m certain. She was rushed in a couple of minutes ago. The doctors are doing everything they can, but it’s critical. Please come to the hospital right away.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving Sukuna staring blankly at his phone. The realization of what he had just heard began to sink in, each beat of his heart echoing with a growing dread. Without a word, he stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“Suku? What’s going on? Where are you going?” Her face is a mask of confusion and concern. “Suku–”

“I—I have to go. It’s an emergency.” His voice barely more than a whisper, laden with panic.

He didn’t wait for any further questions or explanations. His mind was a chaotic whirl of thoughts as he left the restaurant, the cool night air doing little to calm the storm inside him. The drive to the hospital was a blur, the city lights streaking by in a disorienting haze. Every turn, every red light seemed to stretch time, amplifying his growing sense of dread.

Inside the emergency room, the atmosphere was clinical and cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the evening he had just left behind. The cacophony of beeping monitors and hurried voices created a symphony of chaos that matched his inner turmoil. He pushed past the reception desk, barely acknowledging the questions they asked him. All he could think about was reaching you, seeing you, and holding onto whatever fragments of hope remained.

“Sir, you need to wait here. We’re in the middle of an emergency procedure.” The nurse said firmly, as Sukuna tried to approach.

Sukuna’s eyes fixed on the form lying still on the gurney, a sight that twisted his insides with a profound ache. The resuscitation efforts were intense, a desperate dance between life and death. He felt a profound sense of helplessness, the cold efficiency of the medical staff contrasting sharply with his own emotional chaos.

“Please, I need to be with her. I have to—” His voice breaking, a raw plea. “Please let me through—”

“Sir, we need to focus on the procedure. You can’t be in the way.”

Sukuna was forced to retreat, his heart sinking as he slumped against the wall, his fists clenched in frustration and fear. The minutes dragged on, each second feeling like an eternity. He stared at the closed doors of the emergency room, the gnawing fear that he might lose you forever consuming him.

In the cold, stark hallway of the hospital, Sukuna felt his world unraveling. The veneer of control and dominance he had always relied on was gone, replaced by a gut-wrenching vulnerability he had never before experienced. He was left alone with his thoughts, confronting the painful truth that he had been given a chance to face his own failures and regrets.

Everything they could, they tried—but it wasn’t enough. He could see it in their eyes, in the frantic movements that were becoming more desperate by the second. He shouted at them, his voice rising to a roar, demanding they do something, anything. He wasn’t used to feeling powerless, wasn’t used to being afraid. But in that moment, as he watched you lying there, unmoving, unresponsive, fear gripped him in a way it never had before.

He couldn’t lose you. Not like this. Not now, not when he’d taken you for granted for so long. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. You had always been there, always been his, and he’d never truly appreciated it. And now, as he watched the life drain from you, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—genuine, bone-deep terror.

When the nurses finally stopped, when they turned to him with those solemn expressions, he knew. They didn’t have to say a word. He pushed past them anyway, falling to his knees beside your bed, his hand grasping yours, still warm but lifeless. You were slipping through his fingers. He didn’t want to free you — not yet. He needs you. He still wants you.

“Don’t do this, not yet.” he whispered, his voice breaking, something it never did. “You can’t leave me. You don’t get to leave me.”

But you were already gone. The silence in the room was deafening, and for the first time in his life, Ryomen Sukuna felt utterly and completely helpless.

Sukuna stayed by your side long after the nurses and doctors left the room, long after the machines were turned off, and the sterile, mechanical sounds faded into an unbearable silence. He gripped your hand tightly, as if somehow, by sheer force of will, he could pull you back from the brink, undo what had just happened. But the truth was inescapable—you were gone.

The world outside continued to turn, indifferent to the agony that churned inside him. Sukuna, the man who had always been in control, who had never feared anything or anyone, was now paralyzed by a fear so intense it consumed him. He had never imagined a moment like this, a moment where he would lose something so irreplaceable.

Memories flashed through his mind—moments he had dismissed, overlooked, or taken for granted. The way you would smile at him when he came home, the quiet dinners you shared, the way you had always been there, even when he hadn’t deserved it. He had grown so used to your presence that he never considered what it would be like without you.

He had thought he could live his life as he pleased, that you would always be there, in the background, silently enduring whatever he put you through. But now, with you gone, the enormity of his loss hit him with full force. It wasn’t just that you were gone—it was that you were gone because of him. He had driven you to this, with his neglect, his infidelity, his arrogance.

His chest tightened, and for the first time in years, Sukuna felt the sting of tears. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried—if he ever had. But now, the tears came unbidden, a raw and overwhelming response to the pain that was tearing him apart. He had lost you, and it was his fault. There was no one else to blame, no way to undo what he had done.

He thought about all the things he would never get to say to you, all the apologies that would never leave his lips. He had always believed he had time—time to make things right, time to explain, time to finally show you that you mattered to him. But now, that time was gone, and with it, any chance of redemption.

Sukuna stayed there, holding your hand, until the nurses gently told him that he had to let go, that it was time to say goodbye. He didn’t want to—he wasn’t ready to. But he knew there was no choice. Slowly, reluctantly, he released your hand, feeling a cold emptiness settle into the space where you had once been.

As he walked out of the hospital, the reality of his life without you began to sink in. The thought of returning to his grand, empty house—one that had always been a symbol of his success, his power—now felt like walking into a tomb. You were no longer there to greet him, no longer there to fill the space with your presence.

And for the first time, Sukuna understood what it meant to be truly alone. All the wealth, the power, the women—none of it mattered anymore. The one thing that had truly mattered was gone, and he was left with nothing but the echo of his own regrets.

As he stepped into his car, the weight of your absence pressed down on him, suffocating in its intensity. He had never been afraid of anything before. But now, as he faced a future without you, he was terrified.

Sukuna sat in the driver’s seat of his car, the door still open as if he might somehow find the strength to run back into the hospital and reverse what had happened. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white, and the first sob broke through his defenses, ragged and harsh. He slammed his fists against the wheel, the sound echoing in the empty garage, the pain in his chest mirroring the bruising force of his punches.

Each hit was a release, a desperate attempt to rid himself of the unbearable grief and regret that had settled over him like a heavy fog. Tears streamed down his face, blurring his vision, and he felt a profound sense of helplessness that he had never known. He had always been in control, always been the one to dictate terms, to manipulate situations to his favor. But now, as he sat there, he was powerless, unable to change anything, unable to bring you back.

In the midst of his torment, memories began to flood back—painful, vivid recollections that he had buried under layers of indifference and self-absorption. He remembered the way you would spend hours in the kitchen, cooking meals with a dedication that went beyond mere obligation. You had always taken care of him, preparing dishes that you knew he loved, ensuring the fridge was stocked with his favorite foods.

He could picture you now, in the kitchen of your shared home, chopping vegetables, stirring pots, your face focused and serene. The way you’d hum softly to yourself, the warmth of the kitchen contrasting with the coldness that seemed to have crept into his heart over the years. Every meal you made was a labor of love, a testament to the care and consideration you had for him, even when he had taken it all for granted.

And then there were the times you’d prepare extra food, stock the fridge with ready-made meals, knowing that his schedule was unpredictable, that he might be too busy to eat properly. You’d filled the refrigerator with care, making sure he would have something to sustain him, even when you couldn’t be there.

He should have noticed the subtle changes in your routine. The house had been unusually pristine lately, the surfaces spotless, the floors immaculate. It wasn’t like you to maintain such a high level of cleanliness without a reason. It was as if you had been preparing the space, ensuring that everything was in perfect order, as if you were orchestrating a smooth transition for him, even after you were gone.

The closets were tidier than usual, the clothes organized and neatly hung. He realized now that you had cleaned out your own belongings with quiet efficiency, not because you were preparing to leave in the conventional sense, but because you wanted to spare him the burden. You had sorted through your things, reducing the mess he would have to deal with, thinking ahead so that your death wouldn’t leave him grappling with the physical remnants of your life.

The laundry was always done, the baskets emptied and folded with a care that went beyond routine. You had taken care of it all, ensuring that he wouldn’t be confronted with chores and tasks that might remind him of the void you were leaving behind. The house had been more than just clean—it had been meticulously arranged to make his life easier, to ensure that the practicalities of your absence wouldn’t add to his grief.

In the midst of his grief, the realization struck him with the force of a revelation. You had been planning for this moment all along, your every action a carefully orchestrated preparation for the inevitable. You had thought of everything—how the house should be, how his daily life should continue without disruption, how he might cope with the void you would leave behind.

And yet, despite all your foresight, he had been so absorbed in his own world, so blind to your quiet efforts, that he hadn’t seen what you were doing. He had been wrapped up in his own needs, his own desires, oblivious to the depth of your sacrifice.

Now, as he sat there in the car, the weight of his regret felt almost unbearable. You had given him a gift of love so profound, so selfless, and he had only realized it in the harshest of moments. He had been given a chance to appreciate you, to see how deeply you cared, but it had come too late.

The house was prepared, the chores managed, the meals cooked—all to make sure that your departure wouldn’t add to his burden. And all he could do now was mourn the loss of someone who had loved him so completely, while he had remained unaware of the full extent of their care.

The realization hit him with a crushing weight. You had been preparing him—preparing him for a future without you. You had known, on some level, that your time was limited, and you had tried to make things easier for him, to ensure he wouldn’t be left entirely lost when you were gone. You had left behind a legacy of care and love, even in your absence.

The tears flowed more freely now, each one a testament to the depth of his regret. The sight of the empty kitchen at home, the pristine rows of shelves, the meticulously arranged pantry—all these things that once seemed so ordinary now felt like a poignant reminder of the love he had squandered. You had been his rock, his constant, and he had never truly valued it until it was too late.

Sukuna’s sobs grew louder, more desperate, his grief palpable in the confined space of the car. He felt as if he were drowning in a sea of his own making, surrounded by the memories of what he had lost and the realization of how profoundly he had failed you. The realization of your love, the sacrifices you had made, and the undeniable truth that he had only seen it all now, when it was too late, was a torment unlike anything he had ever known.

He sank forward, resting his head on the steering wheel, letting the tears fall harder than before, his body shaking with the intensity of his emotions. He wished he could turn back time, could undo the mistakes he had made, could tell you how much you meant to him. But all he was left with was the crushing weight of his actions, the echoes of your love, and the empty space where you once were.

751 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 7 months

Note

wearing spencers clothes🤯🤯 the boy would not be able to focus!!!! i love all of your work btw!! you're single handedly encouraging me back into my marauders phase❤️

Then my scheme is working ! Thanks for requesting babe :)

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Spencer has to force himself out of bed so you don’t wake up to him staring at you. Also, so he has time away from you to get himself together.

He’s never felt so much like skipping before. As soon as he’s in the kitchen, full to bursting with the knowledge that you’re asleep one room over, his smile is unshakable. It’s embarrassing, honestly, he’s like a high schooler. You can’t see him like this. He starts going through the kitchen to see what’s not expired. Ketchup, hummus, bread, muffin mix (too risky), mattar paneer (not a very good breakfast), eggs. Spencer can work with eggs. He has to double-check that he has both salt and pepper, but he’s good to go.

He pops bread in the toaster once he hears you moving around, a giddy flare of anticipation shooting up through his middle. You’ve never stayed over before, and Spencer didn’t have any time to prepare. He only has one hand towel, which you seem fine with sharing and he’s going to pop in the washing machine as soon as you leave, and only one toothbrush. He feels bad that you have to brush your teeth with your finger. If you deem him worthy of a next time, he tells himself, he’ll be ready then.

He hears the quiet padding of your footsteps but forces himself not to turn around until you say, “Morning.”

Your voice is stretched with sleep, and when Spencer turns around he can see it still lingering in your face. Your eyelids are droopy, weighted down, and your hair looks like you’ve tried to run your fingers through it but couldn’t quite get it to behave, and you’re—that’s his sweater vest. You’re wearing his sweater vest.

He must be staring, because you look down at it, your expression going sheepish. “Sorry, is this okay? I know you’re sort of particular about germs, but I didn’t want to just come out here naked, and I really didn’t feel like putting on my jeans…”

Spencer shakes his head quickly. “No, it’s fine.”

All the stuff you’d done last night, and you think he’s going to be fussy about your germs on his clothes? This is a completely different kind of upset. You’re—you look—well, you look like something Spencer dreamed up. You look like comfort and sweetness and Sunday morning.

“Okay, thanks.” You smile. Spencer thinks that if he were hooked up to a transducer, you’d actually be able to see the rush of dopamine to his brain. “It’s lucky you’re so tall, this fits me like a dress.”

A small dress, but sure. “I also have a disproportionately long torso,” he blurts. “My legs aren’t as long as they should be for my height, so my shirts and vests are longer than average.”

You nod like everything he’s just said made perfect and socially acceptable sense. The toast pops up and Spencer jolts a little, remembering to push the eggs around in the pan a bit.

A little smile tilts your lips, and you lean back against the counter behind him. “Are you making us breakfast?”

“Mhm.”

The smile spreads, your eyes going soft. “That’s so sweet of you,” you say warmly. “Thanks, Spence.”

“I can’t really cook,” he warns you. “I mean, I can usually do eggs, but only scrambled and even then I might…just don’t thank me yet.”

A little laugh spurts out of you. It reminds Spencer of the fountain in front of his work, of water sparkling in the sun. “Okay,” you say, “do you want any help?”

“It’s probably best if whatever happens is undeniably my fault.”

You laugh again. He wonders what he can do to make that keep happening.

“Fair enough.” You push off the counter, headed towards the door. “Do you get the newspaper?”

For a second, Spencer’s too busy watching you go to remember if he does. “Y—yeah. It should be here by now,” he says.

He hears the door open, and then, “Perfect.” You come back brandishing the rolled-up paper, discarding the rubber band in his trash bin. “Do you mind if we do your crossword? You seem like you’d be so good at that.”

Spencer actually stopped doing the crossword years ago—the pop culture references he didn’t get, and the rest were too easy—but he’ll do it if it might impress you.

“Sure, let’s try.”

“Okay.” You grab a pen from the coffee table, spreading the paper open on the countertop. “Wyoming’s state sport, five—”

“Rodeo,” Spencer says. It takes him a beat to realize he cut you off. He turns, grimace in place and apology on his lips. “Sorry.”

But you’re grinning. You shake your head a little bit, pride or admiration or a bit of both, and write it down. You push a piece of hair away from your face. Spencer’s eyes get caught on the wool of his sweater vest where it brushes your collarbone.

“African river to the Mediterranean, four letters. That’s the Nile, right?”

The garment seems to shift with every tiny movement. Sliding atop your shoulders, moving about your neckline, the soft material skimming your ribs. Under the counter, it has to be bunched underneath your thighs.

“Spence?”

“Hm?” He forces his gaze up. “Yeah, the Nile.”

“Thanks.” Your eyes linger on him a second too long before you bend back over the paper, a knowing smile playing on the corner of your lips. “Okay, and eagle claw in five letters is talon, right? Oh, um, eggs.”

Spencer’s brow wrinkles. “How many letters?”

“No, Spence.” You laugh, sliding out of your seat. You tug his sweater down a bit as you walk over, the band at the bottom hugging your thighs. “The eggs. Your eggs.”

He turns, registering the smell of smoke before the sight of the crispy, blackened eggs in his pan. “Oh.”

You reach past him, elbow bumping his as you switch off the heat. Spencer moves the hot pan away from you quickly. He scrapes his sorry eggs into the trash bin, setting the pan in the sink.

“Sorry, I got distracted by the crossword,” he tells you, and though he suspects you catch the lie you’re kind enough not to call him out on it.

“It’s fine.” You shoot him another of those brilliant, beaming smiles, taking a piece of cold toast from the toaster. “I love toast. Do you have any butter or jam or anything?”

Spencer winces. “Not really…”

You laugh, giving his arm a reassuring pat. “No worries. I’m down for a trip to the store if you are.” He nods sheepishly, and you press your lips together, thoughtful. “I think I might change first, though.”

1K notes · View notes

midnightwriter21 · 1 year

Text

demon slayer hcs: hashira men w/ a tiny SO

characters: fem!reader x tengen, sanemi, rengoku

warning: suggestive content

AN: i’m writing this from the pov of someone that’s short af. like 4’11 (cause that’s how tall i am lol) enjoy~

TENGEN

god he’s so hot

let’s get straight into the gross shit huh?

i just KNOW

that this man is NASTY

size kink size kink size kinkkkkkkk

dawg is huge

his one hand can almost wrap around ur entire waist

manhandles u all over the place

yes please

anyways now that we’re done with that-

he will make fun of u

juuuusssstttt a little bit

but its all fun and games

will never take it too far

takes things out of your hands just to hold them over his head

likes to see u jump to reach it

high five?

his hand is all the way up

arm straight

high five him in the face if u get fed up

won't hurt him anyways

he'll prob think its funny

will also do that shit where he looks right over ur head and is like "has any one seen y/n?"

carries u around

u don't remember what it feels like to have ur feet on the ground at this point

he’s doing push-ups?

sit on his back

100% will bench press you for fun

you’ll be walking past him

you blink and all of a sudden ur in the air

calls u stupid corny nicknames like “short stack”

SANEMI

now this man

his ego is through the roof

size kink?

uh yeah

will tease the hell out of u

putting stuff on the top shelves so u can't reach

and don't think he's gonna give in and help u

oh no he likes to watch u struggle

now i think sanemi LOVES a fiery woman

but give him a lil too much attitude?

he's throwing u over his shoulder and walking off

and he's gonna remedy that situation dw

remember i said size kink?

he's about to remind you just how much bigger than you he really is

will RUIN u

protective!!

doesn't matter if ur a slayer or not

still not as strong as him

and to sanemi

smaller=more breakable

now don't get it twisted

dude does NOT think ur weak

cmon you really think the mf Wind Pillar would be with someone totally weak?

absolutely not

again. u don’t have to be a slayer

there are different types of strength bae

he's just gonna keep an extra close eye on you thats all

RENGOKU

i am so soft for him

literal sweetheart

can't reach something?

kyojuro is already handing it to you

or picking u up so u can reach it

he's not gonna tease you about your height

he's the one showering you in complements

telling you how you're perfect the way you are

never wants you to feel annoyed or insecure about your size

he's a lil more protective too

don't get caught climbing the countertops to reach something

cause he's pulling u down with a

"honey that's dangerous! what if you fell and hit your head?"

like kyo

baby boy

u realize i had a life before i met you right?

ur a professional countertop climber at this point but he does not care

don't do it again

also he's teaching you to fight if u don't alrdy know how

just in case he's not there to protect you one day

best teacher 10/10

won't bend down to kiss u tho

he likes that you have to get on ur tiptoes and balance urself against him to reach his lips

thinks its cute

he's so boyfriend

#anime #demon slayer #tengen uzui #tengen x reader #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #shinazugawa sanemi #tengen #rengoku #sanemi #hashira #hashira x reader

4K notes · View notes

rninies · 7 months

Text

✮ a measure of his love

౨ৎ gojo satoru x reader. fluff, gn!reader, short reader (because im short) — wc: 761

notes. self indulgent because !!!

gojo satoru is a tall man. like, an insanely tall man.

that’s one of satoru’s most annoying traits, you could say. he takes pride in the fact that he’s taller than you, and will not miss a single day to make fun of you for that.

to add to that, most of the cupboards in his apartments are pretty high up, so whenever you come over, you always have to grab a chair just to get a glass or ask satoru to come get it for you (though you’d rather do the latter because satoru takes five minutes just teasing you about how you can’t reach the cups).

today was no different. satoru had asked you to come over because he misses you and wants to cuddle with you (same excuse every time, but you find it cute). you complied, of course, because it’s been a while since you guys have spent any alone time together — satoru has been super busy with jujutsu high lately.

you are currently on satoru’s couch, his long arms wrapped around your body as a movie plays on his television. satoru wasn’t even paying attention — he was too focused on trying to not fall asleep and was quite literally holding your hostage.

“toru, can you let go?” you asked, trying to pry his hands off of you. “i want to grab a cup of water.”

“no way. i’m comfy already,” he replies, snuggling his head deeper into your chest.

“toru i’m serious! i’m really thirsty,” you exclaimed, and satoru eventually lets go with a huge sigh. “thank you.” you stoof up, stretching your limbs.

“fine, but hurry.” satoru orders, and you nod. you seem to have forgotten how high up the cupboard is because once you were in front of it, you stared up at it, a dejected look on your face.

right… the cups i use are on the highest part of the shelf. you thought to yourself sadly, grabbing a chair and dragging it over to the cupboards.

“why’re you taking so long?” satoru asks, appearing behind you. you screamed, jumping.

“what the actual fuck, toru?!” you exclaimed, holding a hand over your chest. “you scared the shit out of me!”

satoru laughs, making you frown. “what? did you not hear me walk?”

you shake your head. “no!” after taking five seconds to calm down, you sigh. “anyway, can you help me grab the cup on top?” you point at the white cup with flower patterns on it (satoru had bought it for you because you were staring at it for ten seconds straight). a mischief look appears in satoru’s eyes, and you know exactly what he’s thinking. “don’t you dare pick me up, you hear? don’t even try i- hey!”

satoru was already lifting up by your waist, making you eye level with the cup you were pointing at. “this is easier, no?”

“in what world is this easier?! isn’t this just more work for you?” you asked in disbelief, actually surprised that he finds this much more easier than just grabbing the cup for you. when he doesn’t reply, you sigh and grab the cup, tapping his arms to let you down.

he doesn’t, though.

“what are you doing? let me down!” you exclaim, looking at satoru who looks like he is holding back a laugh. “why are you laughing? let. me. down.”

“no it’s just-” he pauses, letting out a laugh. “it’s weird seeing you this tall. i’m so used to having to look down when talking to you.”

“wha-?!” you almost choked on your own spit “what? i am not that short, toru!”

“oh, but you are.” satoru hums. “i mean, compared to me, you’re only able to see my chest when standing in front of me, right?” he teases, and you can’t help but become embarrassed because you know he’s right. “see? i’m right.”

“oh shut up!” you whined, covering your cheeks with your hands, careful to not drop the cup.

satoru lets you down gently, but still holding you tightly in his arms. “you’re like a cute little gremlin.”

“what the fuck? a gremlin?!” you are staring daggers at him, but satoru only smiles at you. “can’t believe i’m dating a literal giant who does nothing but tease me about my height every day.” you had to wiggle your way to the water dispenser because satoru just wouldn’t let go.

“but you love this giant, do you?” satoru asks, resting his head on top of your head.

taking a sip from your cup, you smiled. “yeah, i do.”

taglist: @planetnini @xintre @kyoghurts @sad-darksoul @iminlovewqr0w (send an ask to be added!) <3

1K notes · View notes

snaileer · 11 months

Text

Call to My Bedside

When Danny wakes up with shackles around his wrists and chains pinning him to the wall, he’s not all that surprised to see his mother in front of him.

And no, he doesn’t mean Madeline Fenton, although he wonders if he’d be surprised by that either and really, what does that say about his life?

But no, he’s not all that surprised to be staring into the eyes of Talia Al Ghul right now.

Even if his heart stops at the sight of her.

Immediately, he tries to stand, shoulders pulled painfully behind him as he tries not to let her loom over him.

This is a woman he barely remembers, through no effort of her own, but that’s what happens when you left a kid to be trained by strangers before he’s whisked off to America against his will at age 5.

Really she was lucky he remembered her at all.

She crouches down slightly to make up for their height difference, face softening too quickly to be real, “I am Talia Al Ghul. Though you may not remember, you are my child-“

“I remember.” Danny cuts her off, trying to keep the anger from making his eyes glow. He does remember, he remembers enough to know that it would be dangerous for them to know he has powers.

He settles for glaring at her.

For a second it seems she just watches him, but the kindness drops from her face as she straightens.

The slap catches him hard enough to jerk his head to the side, chains rattling behind him as he unsuccessfully tries to catch himself.

Instead, they go taut behind him, leaving him to jerk sideways, breath rough by the surprise of the hit.

“Do not interrupt me, child.” Her voice rings cold in the air.

Danny doesn’t bother to lift his head, instead keeping his eyes pinned to the grimy floor. Had he forgotten how unforgiving this place was? What it was like?

“Look at me.”

Danny kept his eyes downwards. He didn’t want to look at her. He wanted to go home.

“Look at me, or suffer the punishment,” She said, voice steely.

He slowly lifted his head, eyes meeting hers.

“Good. You know who you are then, child? What place you are meant to hold in this world?”

Danny doesn’t answer, only glaring.

She barely blinks but her eyes sharpen in warning.

Danny grits his teeth, “I’m Danny al -Al Ghul, heir to the Demon’s head of the League of Assassins-“

The second hit is just as hard, but Danny is better braced for it.

“Your name is Danyal Al-Ghul, you are my blood and the blood of Batman, your heritage dictates a higher quality of discipline than this and you will show it.”

Everything in Danny’s being rebels against the name. He hasn’t been Danyal in years. And he refuses to go back to it.

He straightens his back, ignoring the ache of his shoulders as he snarls at her, “My name is Danny, Danny Fenton. I haven’t been your precious heir in years, and you can’t make me now.”

They couldn’t and he wouldn’t let them, not when he had the power to-

Talia idly pulls something from behind her and he feels the blood drain from his face.

It’s a picture of him, Tucker, and Sam, next to it is a larger grid of images, each making his heart drop further in his chest.

Sam. Tucker.

Jazz. Mom. Dad.

All of them in cells. Chained.

Hurt.

His family, his family-

“Did you think we would not know of your gifts? Would not know how you would think to leave us? You clearly do not remember as much as you think you do.”

Danny can barely hear her over the static rushing in his ears.

She grabs his face roughly, “We are the League, child, and you are one of us. You may have thought you were like them, but we are better. Meant for better, and you will not be allowed to squander the gifts bestowed on our bloodline through you. Until you can make the right choice yourself, as your blood, we will make them for you.”

Danny looks into her eyes, the certainty behind her words, and he feels a gaping emptiness open inside him. The kind that knows it’s not going away.

He wants to go home. He wants to see his family, and his friends. He doesn’t care that his parents don’t know his secret, that he’s just barely getting a handle on it himself, he just doesn’t want to be here. Not again. Please, not again.

Talia releases him, and he lets his body droop, sinking into himself as he crouches over the ground, the restriction of his arms keeping him from even fully curling around himself.

“Remove the chains, he will not be going anywhere,” Talia says, her shadow falling over him in the dim light of the doorway.

Danny barely moves as the cold metal falls away from his wrists.

And he knows she’s right.

He won’t be going anywhere. Not as long as his family is in danger.

—

The first months were hard. Harder than Danny remembers. Maybe his five-year old self had just had it easy.

He doesn’t now.

“Again!” His instructor shouts, bamboo staff coming down on the back of Danny’s knees.

He doesn’t let himself stumble. Not anymore.

At least his Arabic is getting better, he can understand it completely, as if he’d never forgotten it -as if it’d been his mother tongue- and he can speak it smoothly again, though shallow. You can’t even hear his American accent anymore.

Danny hasn’t spoken English since that first week, when they’d beaten it into him every time he’d tried.

When they’d beaten him for not understanding fast enough. Not reacting fast enough, not responding fast enough, to a language he didn’t know, hadn’t known for years now.

They’re right about one thing.

Pain is an excellent teacher.

“Again!”

He moves fast enough to dodge the bamboo stick this time, body shooting forward against his opponent.

Dodge, lunge, feint, block, swipe, block, block, block-shit-block, reach-

His back slams against the stone floor of the courtyard, knocking the breath out of him.

The instructor doesn’t step in. He won’t.

Not even when his opponent’s hands clamp around his throat.

Danny struggles, trying to use his inhuman strength to pull the arms away, but that inhumanity has waned since he’s been here, drained like the rest of his energy.

He feels the weight begin to build in his skull, he can’t breathe, he doesn’t have much longer, what can he- Danny forcefully moves his arms away, fighting instinct, instead pulling his legs up and rolling, just as they’d drilled into him, the change in leverage giving him the break he needed to be free as he stands-

The bamboo slams into his back, knocking him forward, “Again!”

Danny rolls with the momentum, ignoring the new throbbing in favor of dodging his opponent’s grappling fists.

Dodge, lunge, dodge, swipe, dodge, dodge, hit, swipe, block, forward, dodge, block-

Danny breathes through the sweat dripping down his skin, the way his ribs creak with every breath, the way his muscles feel numb and disconnected. None of it matters.

He just has to win.

He doesn’t have any other options.

He never did.

Not really.

This is why they brought him here.

Why he was born.

He has to win.

Danyal twists the arm of his opponent back until there’s a sickening crack.

“Again!”

A new opponent flies towards him with fists already raised.

He doesn’t have any other option.

He never did.

——

The next time he sees Talia is just before the ceremony to his next stage. She is waiting in his room when he walks in.

“Mistress,” He greets, bowing his head, feeling phantom pain bloom on his cheeks. It’s the only thing that makes him call her that.

“Danyal, your training is going well,” She says, voice idle in that meandering sort of way. This isn’t why she’s here.

“I will improve,” He says anyways. Because he knows he’s not meeting their standards yet, knows they’re disappointed by the heaviness in his bones that weighs him down and drains his energy.

She stands, making Danny go stock still as she approaches, featherlight touch on his chin as she tilts it upwards.

English drifts from her lips, “You have his eyes, his cheekbones…” her eyes drift down again, and it still doesn’t feel like she’s even really looking at him, “My chin and my jaw…not like Damia-“

Her hand drops.

Danny can’t figure out the change but he can feel it. Hesitantly, he asks, in Arabic still, “Talia, why… are you here?”

The steel returns.

“The bat is dead. You are the last of his power,” She says, then pauses. She seems torn about saying more.

She doesn’t, exiting silently as Danny stares into the air, unmoving.

His… birth father… was dead?

A man that was a great enough warrior to impress the Demon’s Head. Impress Talia.

A man… he didn’t even know the real name of.

It’s not like the Bat was anything more than a name to him.

A name he had to live up to.

Danny sighs and turns to his drawers. He has a training ceremony to prepare for.

——

Danny doesn’t resist the arms that hold him back as they swipe a broad slash across the skin of his back with the whip, simply letting himself curl inwards around the pain before he’s dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

He pulls himself back up just soon enough to see the next person dragged in and thrown in front of him.

The handle of the blade is pressed into his hand.

It wouldn’t be hard.

It should be hard. Right?

Killing a man whose crimes he doesn’t even know should be hard. It’s meant to be hard, right?

Danyal wishes he doesn’t know how easy it will be to fall into it.

But he can’t keep doing this. Collecting scars because he’s clinging to morals that aren’t even his.

He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep doing any of this.

He has to.

Danyal slices the edge of the blade across the man’s neck.

The cut is clean. Deep.

He’s dead in less than a minute.

Danyal’s own blood continues to flow.

——

Danyal doesn’t know what’s happening. One minute he’s training, trying to push past the exhaustion lining his bones, and the next the entire west side of the courtyard is in flames, crumbling down the side of the mountain.

Danny runs through the rubble of the passageways, searching for the source, searching for reasons, searching for… he doesn’t know, but he knows he can’t be caught doing nothing.

He doesn’t find anything except ruins.

Danny is called to meet Ra’s Al Ghul two weeks later. His grandfather. The Demon’s head.

The man doesn’t even look at him.

Danny stays kneeling all the same, better safe than beaten again.

“Are you familiar with Red Robin?”

Danny inclines his head, just barely, “I… can’t say I am…Great One.”

The following hum is derisive.

“He is one of the Bat’s… followers. Recently, he has proven himself to me. His ruthlessness is impressive, his ability to pursue his goals: admirable. He would make the perfect heir,” Ra’s says and he must know it makes Danny’s heart drop, why else would he say it, “Do you know what Timothy lacks, Danyal?”

Danyal stays quiet, eyes tracking the grit of the floor.

After a pause, near silent footsteps enter his vision, “You are the culmination of his mentor’s blood and my own, blessed with the gifts of the Lazarus pits, and yet-“ the cape swirls as Ra’s turns away, “Yet it is squandered by the mistakes of your upbringing!” He yells.

Danyal clenches his fists, willing himself silent.

The air of the room falls level again, “I grow tired of your mediocrity, Danyal. You will advance, or I will stop wasting my resources keeping your baggage alive.”

Danny’s head whips up before he can think better of it, meeting Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes where they stare down at him.

“Do not mistake my past grace for mercy, Danyal. Mercy makes men weak. There is no room for weakness, and we are here to purge it from this world. Do not forget that.”

“Of course, Great One.” Danyal’s heart pounds in his ears, fear jumping across each beat sporadically, “I will do better.” He tries to fill his voice with confidence.

He’ll do better.

He has to.

Ra’s looks at him, then turns his back and waves a hand dismissively, finally allowing Danyal to stand and leave.

He feels Ra’s’ eyes on his back the entire time as he leaves. And no matter how much he wants to, he doesn’t stop in the hallway. Even once the door is closed, he continues forward.

In his mind, Danny stops and heaves a breath through the grief crashing over him.

In his mind, Danny is a million miles away, at home, with his family around him, happy and safe.

In his mind, Danny rushes back into Ra’s al Ghul’s grandiose throne room and attacks him with the sword he’s forced on him, not stopping until he’s free or dead.

In reality, Danyal breathes out with false calm and moves on.

He has training to get to.

——

Danyal can feel the pressure of the Leagues- of Ra’s’- expectations pushing down on him.

It’s not new.

But he doesn’t let it weigh him down anymore. He doesn’t have that luxury.

Instead, he uses it to push himself harder, farther, pushing until he reaches those expectations.

And surpasses them.

And keeps going.

He won’t-can’t stop. So he keeps going.

Moving up, learning, training, getting better, faster, getting stronger.

Getting weaker.

Danyal ignores the strained whisper of his core in his chest in favor of aiming at the target in his scope.

An Ethiopian politician, making a name for himself by drafting new acts supporting the build of a dam on the Nile River.

It would endanger the lives of thousands in Egypt, cutting them off from the water that has flowed through their country for millennia.

It would never make it through the legislative ruling without him.

This is their duty. To cull the disease. To burn away the parasites killing the world. The ones feeding off excess.

Danyal pulls the trigger and starts packing the gun away.

His hands move with robotic precision, even without his guidance. No, his eyes and his focus are elsewhere.

Instead, Danny stares at the newspaper laying damp on rooftop gravel, eyes scanning every detail, every line.

May 7th of 20XX. Over a year.

Alien invasion recently. Superman.

New hero in Russia.

Multiple car crashes in Pakistan. All survived.

None of it really matters to him, not really, it doesn’t tell him anything interesting, nothing he needs to know. It’s not even an American newspaper.

But…It’s the closest he’s come to freedom in so long. In almost two years.

Is it bad that what he calls a taste of freedom is knowing how long it’s been since he’s been free?

The rifle case clicks shut beneath his fingertips and he stands without so much as a lingering glance at the newspaper.

Danyal leaps off the roof, scaling down the side, ignoring the way his legs want to collapse beneath him as he lands in an alley.

He heads towards the rendezvous, job finished. Efficient as always.

Exactly as is expected of him.

———

It is several months more that he begins to realize there may be something truly wrong.

He’s training-fighting, losing- with the Lady Shiva. If Red Robin could beat her, Danyal must as well.

He’s fairing… okay.

They’ve been engaging for a while now, for a fight, a minute at least, maybe two.

He feels his breath rough in his chest, his face slick with sweat, his body buzzing with adrenaline and the push to do better-

His heart squeezes, seizing up tense and frozen for just a second, his body following in surprise-

There’s a sword through his stomach.

Danyal tries to focus again, to swing his sword, like he’s been trained, but everything feels… loose.

The sword is removed from his stomach, wet blood sliding down his tunic. Cold floor beneath his knees, had he fallen? No, he had to stand, get up, get up, get up. Get up!

Please, you have to get-

There’s hands on him, moving him, the hallways are too dark, -get up, you have to get up- he can’t tell where they’re going. No they’re not dark, his eyes are closed, he pries them open, gasping for breath as the pain in his stomach tears deeper.

Please, he just wants to go home.

Darkness still clouds his vision, but the people carrying him barely glance back as he groans.

His eyes flicker shut, too heavy to keep open as he tries to focus on anything but the pain, on not bleeding out, on please don’t let him die here, not here, please.

They enter another door, letting him stumble across steps farther and farther down.

When they reach the bottom, it seems as though every sound is sucked out from the room. An eerie silence thick in the air.

It forces his eyes open, just a squint, darkness prickling at the edges of his vision.

He barely catches a glance of cave walls before he feels himself thrown forward.

And familiar green fills his vision.

Panic surges.

Pain in his stomach. -His hand. The button!-

Green water surrounding him. -The portal is on!-

Liquid fills his mouth when he tries to scream. -There’s no sound between dimensions.-

It feels like burning acid running across every nerve of his open wound, creeping into his pores like tar covering a dying animal.

But it doesn’t feel like death.

He would know.

It feels a little like life.

He doesn’t want it.

He doesn’t get a choice.

He never does.

It feels like a thousand screaming souls, begging for justice and for freedom, just as he is.

They shout and yell at him to do something, to fight where they can’t, why can’t they, they’re so helpless, angry at their helplessness, angry at their inability, angry angry angry

Their pleas fill his ears, louder with each passing second.

He’s angry, angry, angry- how dare they, how dare they- he could win, they can’t stop him, they deserve it-who’s they?- he’s going to kill them, they can’t stop him-

Frigid humid air stings against his skin, no longer submerged, and green fog tinges everything.

But he-they- need to fight, kill them, stop them, do something, do something because they can’t- fight!

Danny lunges at the first person he sees, an assassin in all black at the edge of green waters.

His fist nearly collapses his skull. It doesn’t stop him.

There’s another and Danny lunges again, ignoring the sword that slashes towards him, grabbing it and snapping the metal with one hand, the other around the ninja’s neck, gripping, cracking, breaking-

Something heavy hits him over the head, the world staticking for a second as his hand loosens, a body dropping to the floor.

Hands reach at him, pulling, holding, restraining, and he fights with sharpened claws and fangs and burning fists of glowing energy and hands ripping hearts from their chest- until there’s so many bodies around him and restraining him, that it actually slows him down.

Enough to realize his powers are flowing easily once more, surprise cutting through the fog in his mind.

He stops actively pulling against the arms holding him down, his cheek now pressed painfully against rocky floor.

Where is he?

A nauseatingly familiar voice fills the room, “You managed quite the damage, Danyal,” Ra’s al Ghul stands in front of him, when Danny is able to lift his head and look, “Perhaps there is still potential hidden behind your weakness, the capabilities of your rage is akin to my first venture into these pools, so many centuries ago.”

The smile on Ra’s’ face sends twitches down his spine and confusion pools in his gut, “What…?” he murmurs, head still murky, but a bolt of fear races through his chest, and he forces his words into the League dialect once more, “What happened…? I..-“ His voice is small, and slowly he feels the assassins holding him release his arms and back away. He pushes himself upright to his knees, finding less strain in his muscles, in his bones, than he has for nearly two years.

“You failed your training, little Al Ghul,” A voice, Lady Shiva, speaks from his right. Her sword is still red.

Danyal’s eyes jump to hers, the memory rushing back- blood, the sword, falling, the water- his hand grips the side of his tunic even as his head snaps to the side, finally seeing the green waters lurking just next to them.

The Lazarus Pits, his training says.

Ectoplasm, his core whispers.

He looks down at the hole in the fabric of his tunic, any bloodstains around it all but gone. There’s not even a scratch.

The rest of his clothes are still layered with blood.

And Danyal knows it isn’t his.

He stands, watching as other league members file in, dragging away the bodies surrounding them.

There are too many to count.

He doesn’t even try.

Ra’s Al Ghul steps forward, drawing his focus once more.

He eyes Danyal critically, “Walk with me, child,” He says, already turning away with robes moving gracefully.

Danyal hurries to move with him, one step behind as they trail through the halls and corridors, slowly moving farther and farther up through the compound.

Finally they step out from an arch, the gentle late afternoon sun lighting up the sky with colors. Just enough light to see clearly, not enough to blind or burn.

It would’ve been a perfect afternoon to die on.

Instead, Danyal catches the sword thrown towards him with surprising grace. Ra’s face is filled with dangerous curiousity as he speaks, “Attack.”

Danyal doesn’t question it. Doesn’t wonder why Ra’s remains unarmed, doesn’t question if he might hurt him. He just acts, lunging forward at the command with nary a second thought.

“Starting today, you will train with me. Each week,” Ra’s speaks as he easily dodges and blocks Danyal’s hits, forcing him to take a new approach each time.

Danyal nods, “Of course, Great One.”

Ra’s knocks him to the ground, standing over him with sword drawn, “Call me Grandfather, Danyal. You’ve earned it.”

Danny’s heart squeezes.

He nods, “Of course Grandfather.”

——

After that, things change. Ra’s Al Ghul keeps to his word, calling for him each week, sometimes no more than a few days apart.

All too quickly it becomes a part of Danyal’s routine. The brutal training sessions of Ra’s beating him down and letting him up only to do it again.

He wishes he had it in him to question the Demon’s Head, but he doesn’t, so when Ra’s tells him to attack, even when unarmed, even when Danyal should rip his throat out with one use of intangibly, Danyal listens and attacks him.

Months into the now singular training, Danyal realizes that he hasn’t left this compound in a while, there hasn’t been a spontaneous move, or travel for a new master.

It’s just been… Ra’s.

He feels more stable, more stationary than he remembers being in so long. His youngest years had been the same routine of constant movement from base to base, compound to compound. And then he had lived.. in America, and had a single home, a house he knew the direction to from anywhere in town. For so many years, he been able to settle in one place.

Only to be uprooted once more, thrown back to everything he’d left behind, everything he’d-

Danyal enjoyed knowing where he would return to at the end of the day. The sense of familiarity that came with the same room, the same bed and halls, day after day, week after week.

Maybe that’s why it catches him by surprise when Ra’s calls for him at the base of a landing pad, jet idle behind him.

Danyal allows a nearby assassin to pass a pack into his hands, clearly full of materials.

For a moment, Danyal wonders where they are going? What new training awaits him at the other end?

Then Ra’s steps aside, dangerously graceful as ever, and reveals the bay of the jet to be not empty, but filled by assassins, each standing at command.

Danyal looks to Ra’s once more.

“An Al Ghul does not only follow, Danyal,” He says with a sharp smile as he approaches, laying a heavy hand on Danyal’s shoulder, “An Al Ghul leads. And as you are my heir, you must learn to command the respect of our members.” The hand squeezes on his shoulder, making him look up, meeting Ra’s in the eyes, “By any means necessary.”

Danyal looks away, looking back at the assassins waiting for him, for his command.

He’s not ready.

He has to be anyways.

The hand on his shoulder feels like lead as he steps out from under it, filling his voice with power he doesn’t feel, and sending the squadron scattering to new assignments.

Flight, equipment, weaponry, information, planning, infiltration, execution, all of it, it’s all on him to control.

Danyal turns back to gauge Ra’s’ reaction, only to find him already halfway gone, the sight of his retreating back the only response.

Okay, he’ll do this.

He can do this.

He has to.

What else can he do?

——

He takes to leading missions with the hand of a natural.

It’s easy.

Send these people here. These people here. Block every exit, erase every loose end, don’t leave any witnesses. Finish the mission.

Their missions are for the betterment of everyone, they are fixing things, getting rid of corrupt leaders, people unworthy of what they have, everything they’re doing is for a reason. It has a purpose.

He has a purpose.

So he ignores what’s behind every number he sends for each job. Ignores the calculation behind every call to secure the exit that has five private guards. Ignores the number behind the perimeter assignment because he knows the building has a late hour maid present each night.

They’re just numbers.

And he’s good at this.

At least he’s good at this.

He kills the first person to question an order.

They don’t question him again.

Everything runs smoother when they don’t question him.

It’s easier this way.

It’s always easier.

——

He’s traveling again. Spending more hours sleeping in hotels and safe houses than any bed he might deign to call his.

More and more time goes by, bit by bit, hour by hour, each filling his body with sand like setting concrete.

Slowly, Danyal feels it begin to wear on him. The exhaustion of the missions, his own body weighing him down with every strike he takes. Refusing to react with the speed demanded of him to succeed.

Danyal pushes past it. It doesn’t matter. This is his duty, it is all that is expected of him and he will do it. Even as he finds himself clutching his chest in the dark of a mission, blood still leaking from his target below him.

He forces himself past it, eyes flickering, steeling himself, then wiping down his blade and leaving, muscles tense and bones shaking.

He makes it as far as the car waiting in the near abandoned parking garage below, his chest continuing to tighten, heart erratic beneath his ribs. Danyal grunts, pain lacing up his arm, struggling not to stumble as he staggers into his seat with a near gasping breath.

He pulls himself together, his words as confident as he can make them as he speaks to the assassin in the drivers seat, “Call Ra’s Al Ghul. Bring me to him. Now.”

Danny feels his heart twitch in his chest, his hand flickering in his vision, or is it his vision that’s flickering, he can’t tell, still the cold leather soothes him, heart pounding louder louder, yelling, screaming in his ears, angry so angry so angry, rage rage rage, fix it fix it fight fight fight for us fight! Don’t let it go, never let it go, revenge, make them pay, they have to pay-!

He comes back with a gasp and a burst of pain across his shoulder, adrenaline and fury still coursing through his veins in equal measure.

His hair is wet, green liquid dripping down his face in sluggish trails mixed with foreign blood. It lays plastered on the curves of his face, framing his eyes as he stares up at the Demon’s Head.

The same malicious smile sits on his face, “Welcome back, Danyal.” The words are tinged with expectance.

Danyal pauses, collected his words around his tongue like a lead weight in his dry mouth, “I- Why was I put in the Lazarus pit again?” Danyal can only hope he’s showing the right amount of deference to even be allowed such a question.

“You were brought to me collapsed, and your heart failing you. The Lazarus pits provided a temporary solution,” Ra’s says, his eyes sharp, “But it is temporary. This problem will not be allowed to continue.”

“Of course, Master,” Danyal pulls himself to his knees, “…I believe it’s because of my accident-“ Danyal pauses, this is closest he’s come to actually telling them how he got his powers, what it did to him-, “There was electricity, and the shock, my heart was-is damaged. I don’t know why it’s getting worse-“

Ra’s hums, “The body can be fixed, child. The mind cannot. This,” Ra’s places a hand on his back as Danyal stands, “is merely an obstacle to our goal.”

“I will not fail you, Grandfather.”

“I know, child.” His words are a guarantee, an assurance to Danyal.

He will prove that the confidence placed in him is not mistaken.

——

It is barely months after that second time that Danyal once again feels his body’s failings encroach on him.

His heart beats off pattern, falling out of rhythm more with every passing day.

Danyal takes a deep breath, willing it to calm himself.

He will not let this stop him. He is an Al Ghul. He is capable. He is strong, and he will not be held back by his own body.

Danyal turns his focus inwards, ripples traveling along the surface of the ectoplasm in his core he’s left untouched for so long now.

He lets the ectoplasm submerge him, turning his form ghostly, his eyes sharper green than they’ve ever been before.

Danyal lets his feet lift off the ground, just for a second, weightlessness enveloping him, the buzzing of the world a background in his ears.

Then his toes touch the ground again and Danyal snaps into movement towards his closet. He puts on his usual league clothes over the old hazmat suit, feeling the layers lighten as he covers them up. Until it feels as though he’s only wearing the league clothes, and his white gloves stare in his face.

Slowly, he removes them, staring for too long at the green lines like cracks trailing up his arm.

Danyal turns away.

He has work to do, he can’t let himself be held up with small feelings like that.

As Danyal travels the halls, every step an effort to remain flat on the ground, he feels the ectoplasm within him roil, coursing faster and stronger than he ever had before, even in the Ghost Zone or in A-.

It revitalizes him and Danyal arrives to Ra’s Al Ghul’s training with bold confidence filling him.

Ra’s greets him an enigmatic smile and a challenge of his strength.

Danyal meets him kind, dodging every lunging, swiping every parry, light on his feet like he hasn’t been in years now.

Their fight lasts longer than any other they’ve had, his muscles able to hold up stronger in this form, his stamina infinite as the ectoplasm he draws from without any need for breathing or rest.

Ra’s Al Ghul is impressed even as he holds Danyal beneath his boot, his sword pressed to his neck.

Glowing green sluggishly leaks from the scratch.

Danyal pays it no mind.

Instead he stares at the small cut on the crown of Ra’s’ head, a single crimson red droplet crawling down the side of his face.

Danyal did not win. But he didn’t loose either.

Satisfaction fills him in a rush, carrying him through even as they reengage.

——

Danyal strives to reach his goals, to hit every target set out for him, beat every opponent put against him, to reach the expectations and the potential that the Demon’s head sees him.

To make himself worthy to be here, to stay.

And he knows his weaknesses hold him back, make him vulnerable, put everything-one- in danger.

So he stops being vulnerable. Stops letting his body, his weaknesses, dictate his capabilities.

Faster and faster his store of ectoplasm drains within him.

And Danyal makes himself stronger and stronger, short exposures of the Lazarus pits to keep it from stopping him.

He can’t stop.

So he keeps going, keeps training, fighting, growing- when had he gotten tall? When had he gotten older?

He keeps working, to be better, to be the best.

And as he approaches the Demon’s chambers weeks later, he is surprised to hear yelling.

More than that, he is surprised to hear Talia’s voice be the one yelling.

He pauses outside the door, eyes narrowed and body resting on the edge of invisibility.

He does not want to know the punishment for eavesdropping, nor for interrupting them… and yet…he hasn’t spoken to Talia, not truly, not since she told him the Batman was dead. Barely seen her except beside the demons’s head in ceremony as he stands at the edges of a room.

It has been entirely too reminiscent of his childhood.

Danyal’s ears prick up as the volume increases once more.

“You cannot ask me to bring him back to use him for-!”

“I do not ask for anything, Daughter! He belongs to the League! And the League to me! It was a mistake to allow you to keep-“

Ra’s’ voice drops too low to be heard through the door, muffling the rest of his words.

Danyal steps back from the door, standing in the hall with questions blooming in multitude.

Moments later, Talia Al Ghul steps through, a force of fury in every step. She catches sight of him immediately, and when Danyal makes eye contact, her eyes are filled with worry, stress, regret, a thousand what-ifs and plans and concerns.

Somehow he knows none of it is for him.

He bows slightly, and she passes by him without a word.

Danyal watches her hair flow as she retreats further and further down the hall until he finally turns around to enter the room.

Ra’s Al Ghul is waiting for him.

He gives no indication that he knows Danyal heard him, so Danyal doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t make the mistake of thinking that means Ra’s doesn’t know.

He always knows.

His training continues.

For days, and weeks, and months more, he continues.

But even a ghost cannot lie to himself forever.

——

When Damian wakes up with chains around his wrists and the familiar feeling of harsh metal beneath his knees, he is not surprised to see his mother standing in front of him.

He wishes it were only his mother.

Instead, his grandfather stands in front of him as well, eyes staring down at him with impassive judgement. Damian feels his spine straighten against his will, the feeling of ‘never good enough’ creeping through his limbs.

He glances at his mother behind Grandfather’s looming form. Her face is uncharacteristically open, the barest hint of tension evident in her jaw, her eyes almost brighter with the concern hidden behind them.

Damian forces his eyes away as Grandfather begins to speak.

“You’ve wasted your time with your father Damian,” he starts, “Letting your training go to waste as the league continues to work to better the world.”

Damian wants to sneer, a scowl forming on his face, “The league does nothing but hurt innocent people. My time as Robin has saved hundreds.”

Grandfather’s eyes sharpen, “And I see it has taken your discipline as well.”

Damian grinds his teeth, “Anything I have learned, I learned from my Father and my family,”

“Your family?” Grandfather says, his tone almost mocking as he raises an eyebrow, “You are an Al Ghul-“

“I am a Wayne too!” Damian says, straining as he rises to his feet, “I am Damian Al Ghul-Wayne! Just as you wanted me to be! And it is my choice to be a hero, to be Robin, and I stand next to Father and the others with pride!”

Grandfather’s glare intensifies, “Do not interrupt me again, Damian. You will not be exempt of the consequences.”

Damian stares him down, fear pressing against his insides with a scream too familiar to his youth.

He turns away with a click of his tongue.

Shame whispers at his cheeks.

Grandfather waves a hand blithely as he turns his back, “Bring him.” He pauses at the door, “He remains bound.”

Damian watches his Grandfather leave, his eyes drifting sideways to his mother.

“Mother, why am I here?” He demands, tone sharp and clear. He tries not to let show how lost he is.

Mother steps forward, laying a gentle hand on his face and the other at the crook of his neck, cupping his cheek as her eyes soften. Regret sits behind them.

“Mother.” He says again, pulling slightly away from her hand, “Why am I here?”

She sighs, stepping back, “The Demon’s Head has need of you.”

Then he watches her leave as well, and Damian finds his arms and hands grabbed as assassins unchain him and push him forward.

He reluctantly lets them lead him through the unfamiliar halls of wherever they are, just a few paces behind his mother.

They stop in front of an open doorway, and when Damian is dragged in front, the sight he is met with brings confusion over anything else.

In front of him is a young man, no older than Todd or even Drake, laying asleep in a hospital bed with a heart monitor attached to him.

The beeping that fills the room is shallow and unsteady, much like the boy’s breathing. His hair is dark with speckled streaks of grey and a natural paleness in his skin.

Worse than that is the IV Damian can see tucked into the crook of his arm, tube trailing up to a bag.

Slowly feeding Lazarus water into his veins.

Damian whips his head around to look at his mother, only to find her staring disdainfully at the boy in the bed.

It only serves to confuse Damian more.

What had this man done to cause his mother such ire?

“Take the sample.” His Grandfather’s voice commands. And Damian feels the arms holding him shift to a more secure grip, pulling him to his knees even as he fights them. A man in a white coat approaches him, and Damian fights harder when he notices the syringe in his hand.

The sting of the needle is dull against the fear crashing through him as his grandfather watches.

His mother looks away.

Finally, Damian jerks as the hands he now knows are Ubu’s release him, still hovering close as he is dropped. He is surprised to see that they actually took blood, rather than dosing him with something. Sedative or worse.

Damian scowls at his grandfather, but he simply looks unconcerned as the assumed doctor moves forward to take a second sample, this time from the boy laying in the bed.

“Why am I here, Grandfather?” He asks, eyeing all parties critically.

“Haven’t you realized, Damian?” His Grandfather asks with a mockingly raised eyebrow, “His heart is failing, and the Lazarus waters can only fix so much by the nature of his defects. Your brother needs you, Damian,” Grandfather says, voice serene, “And you are going to help him.”

Damian barely has a moment to process his words before the hands are pulling him back once more, he yanks his arms from their grip, “Grandfather! What are you- let me go!” Damian turns fully to incapacitate the assassins, only to have Ubu pull his binds harshly sideways and give the servants leverage enough to actually tame his movements.

“Who is he?! Mother!” Damian turns to her, unsurprised to see her turning a blind eye once again, “Mother who is he!? What is Grandfather talking about?! What are you doing!?” The assassins pull at him again, successful in getting him through the doorway as he struggles.

Just before the door closes, he hears the Doctor speak to his grandfather, and his response.

“The boy is a match Great One.”

“Good, prepare Danyal for surgery. As soon as possible.”

The surprise is enough that the door closes in his face and he is dragged back through the hallways.

He stands as much as he can, walking at pace, refusing to allow them to disrespect him by letting them drag him.

He glares at Ubu as he shuts the door of his cell between them.

Once he knows he is alone, Damian takes a better register of his situation. He is still in his Robin uniform, so that means he was out with the family- he has a brother- they’ll be looking for him. He believes he’s on a boat, the rocking, the design of the doors and walls- a brother!- he has to make sure he can be found. Grandfather has plans for him-why tell him now- he doesn’t seem to be listening to Mother’s decisions- his brother’s name is Danyal- he might be in danger-they both could- how is he going to get out-

Damian stops.

He readjusts his clothing, feeling the minute shift once more. There’s something between the collar of his suit.

Slowly, Damian runs his hand along the fabric, finding a small bump he recognizes as a tracker.

One of his own bat made trackers. But how..?

Mother.

Damian scoffs to himself. Of course, he should have known she would never show such an obvious display of affection without reason. She was still largely loyal to Grandfather, but Damian was not so naïve as to think she did not care for him at all.

The vibration of the tracker is rhythmic beneath his fingers, the only solace he gets.

His family is coming.

He knows it.

He just hopes it’s fast enough.

——

Perhaps Grandfather’s first mistake was taking him as Robin, when his family was always the most on edge, the most prepared, the most connected.

Or perhaps his first mistake was training Bruce Wayne in the first place.

Either way, Damian watches from the other side of an observation window as his Grandfather and Father engage in a fight racked with fury on both ends.

Richard jostles him, bringing his attention back into focus.

Right.

His newest brother.

He mumbles an explanation to them, words slurred as they leave his mouth. But he knows they heard him. The shock-caution-suspicion painted across their faces could mean nothing else.

Perhaps his Father was under a curse. Surely there was a limit to how many unknown children one person could have in a single lifetime?

All the same, once freed, he moves to help Drake and Richard remove the boy-brother, Danyal- from the operation table next to him, stepping over the doctors knocked unconscious at their feet.

Reluctantly, he allows Drake to support him under one arm, the anesthesia still weighing down his eyelids.

They rush through the halls like a bull, both him and Drake separating to fight off more than one assassin. Even Richard has to set down Danyal to join the fight at least once.

But finally, they make it to the Batplane idling next to the hull.

The moment they are onboard, the plane starts to move away, but his Father is still on board.

Still fighting with Grandfather as they burst through the doors, fists and weapons engaged in equal measure.

Father dodges sideways, blocking hits until he reaches the rails, then he jumps over without hesitation. And just as Damian is about to shout for him, arm reaching out futilely, Richard blows past him.

He is leaping out of the open cargo door with just as much surety as his father leapt, a cord tied around him, and with perfect precision, he watches Richard catch his father at the extension of his swing.

It’s a perfect demonstration of their partnership.

And Grandfather is left scowling out at them from the ship.

His mother stands alone and calm on the upper deck, watching.

Damian turns his attention to his family.

And to Danyal with them.

——

Returning to the cave is less of an affair than Damian may have expected from such a mission.

His father is-has been- silent for most of the flight, staring at the body of Danyal with blank eyes.

Even Drake and Richard conspicuously cast a glance back every few minutes. Damian controls himself from doing the same. He is not so undisciplined as to be as obvious.

Still, the tension only rises the longer Danyal continues to remain asleep. Even by the time Damian feels the last of the anesthesia leave his own system, Danyal is unchanged.

Damian is certain his grandfather would not choose someone so sickly to be his heir, someone so incapable of protecting themselves in this state. Surely there was a reason he was kept, a reason he was allowed this weakness when Damian was-

Regardless, Damian didn’t trust it. The others could get pulled into this invader’s lies all they wanted, Damian would be there to stop him, he was sure of it.

Still, he watches Pennyworth dote over him in the medbay, Father laying him down on a medical bed with harried care, removing his cowl with barely a thought.

Damian ground his teeth, did they not understand that this was an operative trained by his Grandfather? An assassin with no attachment to them that was favored enough by Grandfather to warrant Damian being-

Damian turned to his locker, glad to replace his weapons stores and feel the weight of his sword at his side once more. It would be a pain, but he would have to find a way to receive a package from his mother if he wanted his other sword back.

It was merely a replica of one of his betters but the desire remained.

He watched from the corner of his eye as the family began to gather in front of the Batcomputer, the screen’s light casting shadows on them even in the artificial cave lighting. Finally, they were going to be doing something.

Damian approached, lingering at the edge where he could still see through the curtains of the medbay.

“I’m not the only one who noticed a suspicious lack of life threatening wounds right?” Drake began, turned away from the console with one hand still on the keys, “I mean, there was that first surgery cut, but that was the same as on Damian. It certainly wasn’t enough to necessitate Lazarus water being entered directly into this kid’s bloodstream.”

Damian scowled, “He was like that before they attempted this. Grandfather said that there was something wrong with… Danyal’s heart, said that I would be able to fix it.”

Father cast another brief look at the medbay, Pennyworth’s shadow still moving within. “I’ll have Agent A call Leslie. Robin,” he turned towards Damian, “Did Talia or Ra’s mention anything else to you? Where .. he’s been this whole time?..Why you didn’t know of his existence?”

Damian shook his head, “No, only that he was my brother and that the pit water was being used to fix him somehow. That I was needed to save him.”

Father hums, turning back with pensive silence.

“B, we don’t even know how long this kid’s been there, he’s older than Damian,” Richard pleads. And it makes Damian duck his head with clenched fists. Who was he? Why was he so much more favored by Grandfather?

Why had they told him he was the firstborn of mother? Of father?

“He could always be a clone with advanced aging, we know Talia is capable of it, she’s done it before,” Drake adds. But the theory sits uncomfortably with all of them. Something just not quite right.

“But then why did they need Damian?” Richard says back.

Father grunts.

“Is it really…” Richard starts, “I mean, we have to consider that she actually kept it secret again. Even from Damian.”

“But B wasn’t even with Talia before that, Damian was the first time they… y’know.” Drake says, a grimace on his face at the end.

Father hums, “But I’d fought Talia before. And I had trained with Ra’s.”

“All it would have taken is one DNA sample, right.” Richard says with a sigh, carding his fingers through his hair, “Well, we might as well-“

There’s a slight clatter on the medbay level, silencing everyone as their heads snap to the sound.

When nothing follows, Father motions them all to head up, flanking the room.

Damian is the closest, entering first. No sooner does he notice Pennyworth laying on the floor before he feels a hand slip around his neck and another quickly snatch the sword at his side. Within seconds, Damian feels his back pressed against another body, the cold steel of his own sword stinging at his neck as he stares into his Father’s eyes.

Except his father is not looking at him, he’s looking at the person holding him.

Danyal.

“Where am I!? Who are you!?” The voice behind him demands, the vibration buzzing against him with the familiar staccato of Damian’s native league dialect.

His family shares a weighted look, clearly hesitant to say anything. Already Damian can see the way their fingers twitch towards weapons and utility belts.

The steel at his neck tightens, “Tell me now or I slit his neck and deliver your bodies to the Demon’s Head myself.”

Father’s stance tightens, anger pulling at his gloves even as he forces himself to put his hands up in surrender. When he answers, it is in the League dialect, “We’re not a danger to you, Danyal,” the blade doesn’t so much as twitch, “Put down the swor-“

Stephanie Brown’s voice rings out across the cave, “Hey, Kate and I just finished patrol and-“

Damian doesn’t pay attention to the rest of the sentence because the moment Brown starts speaking, his assailant’s group loosens just a bit, accompanied by a low, broken whisper of, “English?…”

Damian immediately jabs the flat of his arm up, putting the blade farther from his neck as he begins to grapple with him.

In the blur of movement, Damian sees his sword coming at him, throwing his body back with a barely a second to spare, feeling the supporting hand of Richard on his back as he joins their combined front.

Danyal now stands alone in front of them, stolen sword extended in warning.

And now that Damian can see his face, he knows why his family was hesitant… Danyal’s eyes flicker a bright Lazarus green.

“What do you want from me? Why am I here?” he demands once again.

His Father steps up, “I don’t know how much know about me: my name is Bruce Wayne,” There’s barely even a flicker of recognition, “But you might know me better as Batman.”

The eyes widen, eyes scanning them with fervor before narrowing with suspicion and denial, “The Batman is dead, the Demon’s Daughter told me so herself.”

Drake steps forward, “She was wrong. He came back-“

Damian rolls his eyes, “Clearly Mother must have told you. Do not be stupid.”

Danyal’s brow furrows, silently mouthing the word ‘mother’ beneath his breath.

“I don’t-“ He cuts himself off with a grimace, hands tightening on the shaft of the sword, “I don’t believe you, what-“

“What happened? Did we bring back the demon spawn, why are you all-“ Brown bursts into the room, words already filling the air. Only to stop when she sees Danyal.

He raises the sword at them again, noticeably less stable as he supports it with two hands, “Who are you!? Why am I here!? Tell me-“ He grunts again, putting a hand to his chest, “Tell me, now! I-“ the sword drops, Danyal using it to support himself like a cane. Father steps forward, hands extended. It only serves to make Danyal lift his head to glare at him.

“Stay back-“

“We’re only trying to help-“

“I said-“ Danyal grunts, hand clenching at his shirt as he drops to his knees, “Stay- Stay back- I’m-“

The sword falls from his hands with a metallic clatter on the stony ground, Danyal gasping for breath.

“Back- off..” He whispers, the English falling from his lips with desperation as he curls in on himself.

Father rushes forward the moment Danyal’s body goes limp, lifting him onto the medical bed as the room bursts into motion. Richard is grabbing medical equipment as Drake helps father with providing CPR as Brown moves to get Alfred, all of them quick to jump to action.

Damian slowly steps forward, picking up his abandoned sword from the floor.

He turns it over in his hands, making sure it is unharmed from the ordeal even as he watches his family rush to help each other.

Just what had Grandfather been doing to Danyal?

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/snaileer/752878745769181184/call-to-my-bedside-part-2?source=share

#the way I literally was just going towards that last scene #and just had to get there #this got so obscenely long but I love it #dpxdc #dp dc #Danny phantom crossover #league of assassins #Talia Al Ghul #Damian Al ghul #Danny Al ghul #Danyal Al ghul #Ra’s Al ghul #Batman

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