#to have something to make up for his weakness.

[lokis-army-77]

Sweet Treat

older!Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 3.4k

It's hot out and you see your older neighbor mowing his lawn. Lucky for you he invites you inside for a sweet treat.

Warning: 18+ I will block you if you are under 18 or have no age in your blog. oral (f receiving), p in v, fingering, like the slightest amount of food play, 40s eddie, 20s reader, fem reader, just a bit of cum eating

Thank you to my beta readers @munson-blurbs, @lofaewrites, @emma-munson and @littlexdeaths

Masterlist

It was sweltering outside, like hell was no longer a fictional place made up by religion but real, and its flames had reached Hawkins. The sun beat down on you so intensely that you thought your skin was melting. 

You berate yourself for thinking that taking a walk outside in the middle of summer would be anything but awful and yet you're here.

Sweat dripped from your forehead as you finally made it back to your home, but instead of going straight inside something stopped you in your tracks.

Your neighbor, or your hot older neighbor, had started mowing. The sound of the motor roaring to life caught your attention, and the sight of the 45-year-old without his shirt on kept it. 

The sun shining onto his sweat-soaked skin made him look ethereal, like a god on earth. It made your mouth water and your nerves vibrate. 

He caught your eye a moment later and waved, you waved back and then made yourself look busy by checking your mailbox, nothing was there. You didn't want him to know you were gawking at him. 

It must not have worked because as soon as the mower had turned on, it turned off and you heard your name being called in that deep timber.

You walk down your driveway, closer to where he sat on his machine.

"Hi, Mr. Munson," you greeted with a smile.

He sighs, "Thought I told you to call me Eddie."

You respond with a giggle, "I know, I just do it to aggravate you."

"Ah, so you think you're funny?"

"Oh, I know I am."

Eddie just chuckles at that, shaking his head. 

Reaching a hand up, you wipe the sweat from your brow. 

"Sure is hot." 

"It is. You wanna come inside, I've got some cold water and a bit of butter pecan ice cream if you want any." He offers.

You wrinkle your nose, "Butter pecan? That's such an old man flavor." 

"No, it isn't." 

"Yes, it is. The only people who eat and enjoy butter pecan are over the age of 40." You enjoy the banter that usually flows between the two of you. It makes your stomach flutter and your knees weak. 

He just rolls his eyes. "Well then, Sweetheart, I think I have just a bit of chocolate in the freezer with your name on it."

You finally walk up next to him as he stands from the mower. "Don't I just feel special."

Eddie looks at you smugly. “Ladies first.” He gestures for you to walk in front of him and you oblige. 

There’s a swing to your hips that you hope catches his attention, especially with how much skin is exposed from the workout shorts you were wearing. You hear him cough, clearing his throat and you know it worked. 

“Door’s unlocked,” he calls as you bound up the stairs. 

Upon entering the house you’re hit with a blast of cold air. The AC was definitely turned down as far as it could go, it felt almost like a freezer.

Eddie enters only a moment after you, letting the door slam closed. He glides past you, a hand barely grazing our hip as he does. You follow him closely. 

It's bright enough in the kitchen that he doesn't bother flipping the light on. He heads straight for the fridge. 

Your eyes rake over him, taking in the flex of muscles as he bends to open the sliding freezer door. The way his arms bulge when he rummages through the depths had your mouth watering. 

Giving a long sigh, Eddie stands up straight and turns to you with a pint of ice cream in hand. 

“Looks like it's just old people ice cream if the princess is alright with that.”

“Oh, it's princess now?” You ask, taking a seat on the barstool next to the kitchen island. 

Eddie shrugs, “Fits better since you're apparently too good for the best ice cream known to man.”

“I am not.” 

He scrunches his face, you think it's cute. “I beg to differ.”

“I'm not, I'll eat your ice cream, no problem.”

“So you aren't going to complain that it's for old people?” He asks, settling at the counter next to you.

“Just open the carton.” You give his arm a slight shove. 

He does as you say and pushes it closer to you before offering a spoon. 

You take it and thank him before scooping a tiny bit of the sweet treat out. It's cold on your tongue and you hate to admit it but it was good. 

“S'good isn't it?”

“Eh, it's okay.” You say, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being right. 

Taking another scoop, this time you bring the spoon slowly into your mouth, lapping up the ice cream in a more sensual manner as you make eye contact with the other man. Just barely, you can see his pupils dilate taking you in.

“You’ve got a little-” Eddie makes a vague gesture to the corner of his mouth.

Giggling a bit, you fein ignorance of the ice cream you let collect at the corner of your mouth. “Here?” you ask as you wipe at the opposite side. 

And just as you thought he would, Eddie reaches over and smoothes his thumb over your lip, collecting what was there. Your breath hitches when he brings his thumb to his mouth and licks it clean. The sight of his tongue wetting the digit and the glisten of saliva in the light had your legs clenching. 

You want him to do it again. 

So, with another bite of ice cream, you make what you’re doing more obvious, letting the spoon paint the white treat over your lips. You know what it must look like, salacious and borderline inappropriate if your mind was in the gutter, which is where you know Eddie’s is at that moment.

He takes a deep, shaky breath, “Fuck-” He’s surging toward you before you can even comprehend it. Soft, plump lips connect with yours. You freeze in shock for just a moment, then you kiss him back. 

The spoon in your hand drops to the counter, rattling loudly. You reach your arms around his neck and pull him into you. Eddie slips his tongue between your lips and lets out a groan. He tastes like butter pecan and something you can’t quite place, something you can only describe as Eddie. 

You can’t get enough and just when you start to wrestle your tongue against his, he pulls away and creates a space between the two of you. 

A hand rubs over his face and he sight. “We can’t be doing this.” His tone is reluctant.  

Furrowing your brows, you ask, “Why not?” 

Eddie looks at you and flits his eyes from your kiss-swollen lips to the dismayed expression in your eyes. “Are you serious? I’m too old for you.”

“Last I checked, 45 wasn’t that old.”

“Sweetheart, I have tattoos older than you.” He shakes his head.

“Eddie, I’m a grown adult who knows what she wants and to put it frankly, you have been at the top of that list for quite some time.” You pause to examine his expression. His brow is cross and he’s gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “Is it my consent that you need? Because you have it.”

“God, this is probably a bad idea,” he whispers to himself and then he's on you once more. His large hands squeeze at your waist until they find their way under the fabric of your tee. Your own hands cling to his shoulders, keeping yourself balanced so you don’t fall off the bar stool.

Eddie bites your lip, tugging it lightly when he pulls away. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you. How long I’ve wanted to have my hands on you, to feel you.” He says, breathless. 

He kisses down your neck, sending a shiver down your spine and a tingle wherever his lips meet your skin. 

“Eddie-” You moan. 

“Hum?” 

“I want you to do more than kiss me.”

That stops him in his tracks. He pulls away for a second time and you can’t help the whimper it brings out of you. 

“You’re sure?” 

As much as you were grateful for his concern, it was really getting in the way of you trying to have him fuck the daylights out of you. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” You pull him in for a deep kiss before whispering against his lips, “So, are you going to fuck me or am I going to have to take matters into my own hands?”

The smirk he gives you is cocky. “C’mere, Sweetheart.” He grabs at you, pulls you from the stool, and moves you to the island countertop. He wastes no time in ridding you of your shirt and bra. 

His tongue licks a long, wet line from the side of your neck down to the elastic waistband of your shorts. 

Slowly but surely, he begins to pull the fabric down Your legs. He stops in surprise when He sees you aren't wearing anything underneath. 

A deep chuckle vibrates in his chest. “Did you know this would happen, Sweetheart?” He left an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of your thigh. “Hum? Plan to seduce me with those short fucking shorts only to not have any panties on?”

Shaking your head you mumble out “No.”

“It sure does look like it, princess.” Eddie teases you with his fingers, using them to spread you open gently. His eyes glaze over with lust. “Fuck, baby… so pretty and wet for me.”

The sudden rush of arousal washes over you, leaving your skin flushed and your cunt fluttering around nothing.

He leaves wet kisses all over the sensitive skin, moving from your apex to your thigh, right where the artery was. Taking the plush meat there into his mouth, he sucked, soothing his tongue over where his teeth bit down gently. There was no doubt a mark would be there when he pulled away. 

You watch him, elbows planted on the counter to prop yourself up. Just looking at him makes your heart beat faster. 

“Eddie,” you moan as you widen your legs. 

He hums against you as he sucks his way back to your center. With lidded eyes, he looks up at you just as his mouth attaches to your clit. 

Choking out a gasp, you let your head fall back between your shoulders. 

Eddie’s hands wrap around the back of your legs, gripping them firmly and guiding them over his shoulders. The noises coming from where he was connected to you had butterflies fluttering in your stomach. He'd only just started but it felt like with every even suck and precise lick of his tongue, You were melting into a puddle around him. 

Soon your arms became weak and you had to lay flat. Your hands had a mind of their own as your body writhes under Eddie's expert mouth. His hair quickly fell from the loose knot that kept it out of his face when you ran your hands through it. 

You could tell Eddie liked it too much, hips bucking into nothing When you tugged on the salt and pepper strands. His moans sent vibrations through you. 

“Eddie, fuck, Eddie- you feel so good,” you can't help but babble when you feel two thick fingers begin to penetrate your entrance. 

There's an audible pop when he releases you from his mouth. “Yeah? Imagine how good my cock's gonna feel, Sweetheart.” He removes your legs from his shoulders as he begins to stand.

Tilting your head, you gaze at him. Following down his nose, over his wet lips, down along the tattoo of a sneak that started at his shoulder and curled down his bicep. With him closer now, you could see more of those tattoos littering his skin and the trail of hair that led from his navel down. 

You clench around his fingers at the thought of whatever was hiding behind those basketball shorts. You wanted it, needed it, inside of you. 

Eddie's fingers massaged into you, the calloused pads pushing into your soft insides. “Right there!” You pant when he pushes into a particularly sensitive spot. “Right there! Don't stop!”

He doesn't, he keeps a strong steady pace with his fingers hitting the mark every single time. It had your toes curling and your head swirling with pleasure. 

Unknowingly, you clamped your hand over your mouth as you began to moan.

Eddie pushes your hand away. “Don't cover those pretty moans, wanna hear how good I make you feel.”

Nodding, you keep your hands away. Occupying one by gripping your breast and the other, slipping it down to massage over your clit. 

The added stimulation makes your legs snap shut and your body goes ridged. You were hurled over the edge so fast that your vision was almost white. 

Eddie kept his fingers pumping into you despite the added obstacle. You could hear the wet sound growing louder as your body shook with release and your lungs cried out. 

“That's it, princess, give it all to me.”

“Eddie-” you cry out to him. “Feels- ah fuck, I feel so good.”

He hums in approval.

“You make me feel so good.”

Eddie pulls his fingers from your dripping cunt and licks them clean. “God, you're delicious. Put that ice cream to shame.” 

He pulls you by your hips down the counter, closer to him, and places a firm kiss on your lips. You'd never liked the taste of yourself before but that salty tangy mixed with the sweetness of Eddie's tongue had you melting and wanting for more.

You want to feel him inside of you. No, it's not a want, it's a need. A need so strong you think you might cry if you don't have I'm in the next five seconds. 

Pulling away, you give Eddie a look. One so filled with lust and longing, you know he won't be able to resist.

“What is it, princess?” He asks, moving back in to kiss marks on your neck. 

Your fingers tug on his hair and you sigh. “I need-”

“What do you need?”

“I need you to fuck me.” The buck of your hips punctuated every word.

“S'that right, Sweetheart? Need me to use this pretty cunt?”

You groaned, nodding excitedly when he started backing up. As he did so, he knocked over what was left of the ice cream. It was melted now and its contents flowed onto the counter.  

Eddie smirked as he took the carton and instead of sitting it back up, he poured it onto your skin. The splashes of the now liquid dessert were cold on your hot skin. He gives you a salacious wink before lapping up what he had tipped onto you.

“Eddie!” You gasp, surprised by his actions. 

He paced you no mind, cleaning the stickiness from your skin, and pulled back. Acting as though nothing had happened, he began tugging at the drawstring of his shorts. 

The outline of his cock was impressive, you had always imagined it would be the biggest you'd ever had. And as his shorts and boxers fell from his hips down his toned legs, you were proven right. 

Saliva pooled in your mouth at the sick of him. Long and thick and stood at attention. Your eyes flicked from the flushed tip of his cock to his eyes and then back down again a few times before he chucked. Asking “See something you like?” 

“Yeah…” you were breathless just looking at it. 

Anticipation begins to build, your heart beating faster as he lined himself up. Your legs spread wider, letting Eddie nestle in. He gives the sensitive skin a tap with his cock before sliding it through your slick folds. 

“Ready, baby?” 

“Yes, please.”

As he enters, there's a slight pain. He's thicker than anything you've ever taken and the new stretch has you burning.  He isn't even halfway inside before you start shaking and mewling in ecstasy.

Eddie's fingers have your hips in an iron grip. He looks out a long moan once he bottoms out. There is the sensation of being filled to your absolute max.

Your walls are contracting around him, trying To pull him in deeper. 

“Fuck. That's it, baby, taking me so well. So proud of you.” 

You keen into his praise. Hips bucking and back arching. 

“Need more,” you plead and he obliges, rocking his hips into you, starting slow before going into an almost inhuman speed. pleasure is all that you feel, all that you know in this moment.

With every thrust, you saw Eddie lose just a little more self-control until he was feral, pounding into you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Feel so fucking good baby. Yeah, that's right, this pussy was made for me, wasn't it? God dammit.” He'd lost his filter, saying anything and everything that came to his mind. 

You were loving it. No man had ever been so vocal with you before and it was such a turn-on to hear every grunt, moan, and whimper.

There's a flutter in your stomach that you know all too well. You're balancing on the edge and are so close to toppling over. 

“Eddie. Eddie. Eddie!” You've run out of words, all you can manage to say is his name. It's like a prayer on your lips. 

“I know, Sweetheart.” He tuts, voice out of breath. “Can feel you squeezing me. God, you’re so fucking tight.” His fingers grip your hips harder. “Need you to cum for my baby, can you do that?”

You nod frantically. “Yes, yes, yes,” you say as his thrusts continue, finally giving you that last little nudge you need to fall. 

With eyes rolling back in your head and a ringing in your ears, you cum. Harder than you ever had before. You're so lost in the feeling that you can't hear yourself screaming rapture. Every feeling is intense like hitting a raw nerve but it's so enjoyable.

Eddie's thrusts slow to a stop before he reluctantly pulls from your warmth and tugs himself to completion.  You can feel the warm ropes quickly cooling on your stomach and breasts when you finally come back to reality.  

“God dammit.” Eddie rasps. 

You can't help but laugh, “My thoughts exactly.”

Fixing your eyes on your stomach. You take a finger and collect Eddie's cum onto it. He watches you with wide eyes as you bring the finger to your mouth. It's not your favorite taste but you moan nonetheless.

“Thanks for the sweet treat, Mr. Munson.” Your face heats up over what you've said.

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head at you before giving you a fond look. Even though you were spread out on his kitchen counter covered in drying cum, you'd never felt more comfortable. You can see when Eddie hesitates ever-so-slightly before he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

It was sweet, you thought. You nod giving him the go-ahead. 

He pulls you up by the hand you give him and his mouth is on you in a tender kiss. Much too tender for what you had both finished doing. 

His hands massage into the sides of your face and neck and your own slide into his hair, tugging the fallen strands at the nape of his neck. 

When he pulls away, you follow him hot wanting his lips to leave yours. He gives you a quick peck before stepping back. 

You pout but he soothes you. “I'll be back. Gonna get a cloth to clean you up.” 

It only takes him a moment to return to you, warm rag in hand. It feels nice to have all the sweat and other fluids wiped from your skin, it feels even nicer with Eddie the one doing it. 

A yawn escapes you when he’s finally done and helps you off the counter. 

“Tired?” He asks. 

“Yea-” You were cut off by another big yawn, it brings involuntary tears to your eyes. Rubbing your eyes, you sigh, “I guess I better get home.” Bending down, you reach for your clothes that had made a home on the floor. 

“Or,” Eddie stops you, “You could stay here.” 

 The statement was more of a question with his hopeful look and light tone. 

You can’t help the blush that makes its way onto your cheeks. “I think I’d like that.” 

“Good. Now leave those there, I have something more comfortable you can wear.” 

[6esiree]

How They React To You Not Wearing A Bra

Imagine Alastor, Lucifer, Husk, Vox, Adam, and surprise, surprise, Sir Pentious and Saint Peter notice you’re not wearing a bra underneath your shirt? You’re not in a relationship with any of them, btw.

Alastor:

When you showed up to one of Charlie’s meetings with no bra underneath your shirt, Alastor immediately noticed, his ears falling flat against his head as you took the only available space on the couch next to him. The room was cold, and it was evident in the way your nipples peeked through the thin cotton material, teasing him from his peripheral vision, almost.

“Hey, Al, is everything alright?” You whispered to Alastor, your eyes flitting down to see him pulling his dress shirt over his crotch.

“Yes, now, listen to Charlie, darling,” Alastor responded curtly, his face forward, set on ignoring you for a reason that was unknown to you. “It’s rude to interrupt.”

His tone definitely got to you, so you did just that, listening to Charlie babble away. Meanwhile, Alastor was doing everything he could to conceal his growing erection, from buttoning the rest of his coat to crossing his legs. But he couldn’t stop stealing glances at your perky breasts, eventually manifesting out of the room without a goodbye to relieve himself, feeling utterly weak.

Lucifer:

The day Charlie’s dad was supposed to visit the hotel just so happened to align with laundry day. You made sure to wear something loose but also presentable, not worried about your lack of bra underneath…until Lucifer started to personally introduce himself to everybody, your nervousness making itself known through your shirt. How fantastic.

“Hi, hello! You must be—“ Lucifer started, but then he interrupted himself with a squeak, his face at level with your chest. “I, uh—it’s nice to meet you too?”

“Oh, wow! You’re Charlie’s dad, huh? Did she warn you that I was a hugger?” You said quickly, panicking, bringing him in for a hug to preserve what little dignity you had left. “Yes, yes—nice to meet you.”

Before any of the other residents could notice your hardened nipples, Lucifer’s face was buried into your chest, peering down through your lashes to see him staring up at you with a dazed look. You offered him an apologetic smile, completely unaware of the fact that he was secretly enjoying being in between your breasts, his pants getting just a little bit tighter.

Husk:

If there was anybody who could care less about what you were wearing, it was Husk. That’s what you told yourself as you approached the bar, tugging at the bottom of your shirt, stretching it so he wouldn’t see your lack of bra underneath. Of course, the man immediately noticed your discomfort, but he didn’t say anything as you sat on the stool in front of him.

“Just give me a beer,” You said, neglecting to offer him the usual pleasantries. Husk hummed, placing the beer in front of him instead of sliding it to you. The bastard.

“Thanks,” You mumbled, flinching as your nipples hardened upon feeling the cold counter. Husk’s pupils dilated, but besides that, he hid his surprise quite well, averting his eyes with a ‘Uh-huh, yeah, of course.’

When you sat back down, you tugged at your shirt again, completely missing the way Husk readjusted himself behind the bar. A slight blush dusted his cheeks as his fingers shakily tucked away his erection, all while he continued to steal glances at your breasts, tail slightly whipping at the sight of your nipples peeking through the thin material. God, did he feel like such a pervert.

Vox:

You walked into the Vee’s shared living space, carelessly plopping down onto the couch next to Velvette. She looked up from her phone with a smirk, her eyes teasingly raking over your chest. “Letting the girls breathe, I see.” You would have responded if Vox hadn’t suddenly showed up, paling as he sat down next to you. Fuck, wasn’t he supposed to be away at a meeting?

“What are you doing here?” You asked him, folding your arms over your chest, trying to hide the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Well, hello to you too,” Vox replied sarcastically, turning around to look at you. “Meeting got canceled—oh, are you cold?” He said, a wicked smile taking over his initial annoyance.

When you folded your arms, you actually pulled down your shirt, the already thin material displaying the outline of your breasts. “You weren’t supposed to be here,” You mumbled sheepishly. “Hey, we’re all adults,” Vox told you, turning away. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to look, however, storing the sight of your hardened nipples in his hard drive for later.

Adam:

The last thing you ever wanted to do was go braless around Adam, but most of your laundry was in the washer. You made sure to wear the loosest dress shirt you had for work, but even that wasn’t enough, his eyes bugging out of his head as you stepped into his office. Fortunately for you, Adam didn’t tell you anything…until he decided that he’d had enough of your supposed teasing.

“What the fuck did I do to deserve this?” Adam asked you, pressing himself against your back, his hands sliding up your body.

“Sir, what are you talking about?” You squeaked as he groped your breasts. “This,” He hissed, feeling the lack of padding underneath your shirt. “I can see them, you know? Ah, fuck, they’re so pretty.”

Adam’s pointer fingers traced the outline of your soft nipples, your thighs clenching together, but not at his ministrations. His erection was unashamedly poking at your ass through your skirt. Maybe going braless around the angel wasn’t such a bad idea, you thought, especially as he kicked open your legs from behind, his pants falling to his feet with a thud.

Sir Pentious:

Oh, Sir Pentious. He was so sweet and innocent. You looked up at him in amusement as he chucked off his coat and draped it over your shoulders, purposely neglecting to fasten the buttons. If he did, he’d risk brushing over your nipples, hardened from how cold it was in the parlor. A simple ‘thank you’ would have sufficed, but you decided to tease him a bit first.

“How’d you know I was cold?” You giggled, sliding your arms through the oversized sleeves, leaving the coat unfastened.

“I, uhhh, well,” Sir Pentious stammered, his eyes nervously darting across the room. “I saw your…” He started, but then he thought about something else, “…arms littered with goosebumps! Yesss! That is why.”

Of course he’d tell you a lie in lieu of the truth. You approached Sir Pentious, looking up at him through your lashes as you wrapped your arms around his torso in thanks, your breasts pressed up against him. If the serpent wasn’t blushing before, he certainly was now, his heart beating rapidly as he tried to focus on anything else but the feeling of your hardened nipples.

Saint Peter:

With an iced coffee held against your chest, you approached the pearly gates, feeling slightly nervous as you saw the back of Saint Peter’s head. You decided not to wear a bra for once, which you were starting to regret, especially as the angel turned around at the sound of your footsteps, the smile on his face falling almost instantaneously.

“Hey! I, uh, came over here to drop off your coffee,” You said, holding it out for him to take, but he was too busy staring at the way your nipples peeked through your robes. “Peter?”

“Oh my goodness, I am so, so sorry,” Peter quickly said when he snapped out it, looking away as he went to grab the drink, missing entirely like the fool he was. “Thank you very much—oh, oh my.”

You gasped, a blush crawling up Saint Peter’s neck as his hand landed on your breast, tentatively squeezing the soft, warm flesh, realizing it wasn’t firm and cold like an iced coffee should be. Horrified, he tried to pull away, but you didn’t let him, introducing his other hand to your neglected breast instead. “We can’t—“ Peter started, but when you let out a soft moan, he immediately folded.

[httpiastri]

NSFW alphabet – op81

author's note: hello again, rushed to finish this after quali today. mclaren second row lockout heck yes !!! anyways idk what i think about this one, first time posting something abt oscar in many months?? hope u enjoy tho :)

nsfw content below !! minors dni !!!

a – aftercare (what he is like after sex)

oscar is the biggest sweetheart after sex (when isn't he, though?). so so so gentle and caring for your every need. he'll be forcing you to drink some water, making sure you're cleaned up properly, helping you out with soothing lotions if your skin is sore.

lots of lots of kisses! forehead, nose, cheek, temple kisses, and especially little pecks on your lips. he loves having you rest on his chest after it all, fingers brushing along your skin or tangling in your hair. and there will be so many praises, "you did so well" and "you felt so good" and "you look gorgeous right now, did you know?"…

b – body part (his favorite body part of his and also his partner's body)

oscar has a thing for collarbones. they're like a magnet to his lips; his lips are automatically drawn to them. he loves to brush his thumb along them, seeing you shiver when he places fleeting kisses on top of them, and most importantly leaving little lovebites for only the two of you to see and know about. oscar is also in love with your breasts, no matter how big or small they are.

can't believe i almost forgot to write your eyes… i will get back to this later but your eyes are definitely one of his favorite things about you. watching you blink up at him innocently, watching your eyes flutter closed, watching them roll to the back of your head… oh he's smitten.

on his own body, he really likes his thighs. if he got to choose, he would have you sitting on his lap at all times. 24/7, no matter the occasion. the sight of you getting off just by riding his thigh is one of his absolute favorites, he loves flexing his muscles under you and guiding your hips down onto him.

c – cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

since he's a fan of your boobs (well, everything in the chest area, to be fair), he loves to pull out and spill his load over your breasts. he won't do it every time, but he savors the chances he gets. totally has a few pics of you with his cum all over your chest, dripping along your collarbones, saved for the moments when he misses you the most.

d – dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of his)

maybe not a dirty secret per se, but oscar has a little submissive streak... he sure does love begging a little, pouting and whining to get what he wants. and i mean, who could say no to these eyes looking up at you?

e – experience (how experienced is he? does he know what he's doing?)

well oscar went to school for longer than a lot of other racing drivers, and boarding school for that matter, so i think he's been able to get quite a bit of experience. he knows a lot, but it's more important to him to get to know you and what you like. his prior experience doesn't matter as much as the experience he gains together with you.

f – favorite position (this goes without saying)

oscar thinks you're the most gorgeous thing ever so you bet he doesn't want to spend even a second not getting to look into your pretty eyes. anything where he can watch your face contort or relax, and your eyes squeeze shut or blink up at him, makes him so weak. he loves a classic missionary, especially if he gets to hike one of your legs over his hip and especially if you put a pillow under your lower back because he knows you love it. and when you're enjoying himself, he enjoys himself, too.

seeing you ride him makes him a little crazy though, but don't expect him to keep his eye contact with you during it; his eyes will be firmly glued onto your boobs as they bounce up and down, he can't help it.

g – goofy (is he more serious in the moment? is he humorous? etc.)

oscar is a soft giggler during sex. he isn't overly serious but not overly humorous either, just a good mix. he's low laughs when you're whining for him, playful coos as reactions to your impatience, and a lot of "baby, let's not get ahead of ourselves, okay?" with teasing smiles. he's just not scared of a little humor because sex doesn't have to be so strict to him; it's just a cozy time you spend together and he wants you to be as comfortable and relaxed as you can.

h – hair (how well groomed is he? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

he's no naked rat, but he likes to keep things neat. a bit trimmed, not super short but also not long. though i also feel like he definitely adjusts to your likes and what you find attractive.

i – intimacy (how is he during the moment? the romantic aspect)

sex isn't just fucking to him; sex is lovemaking. he loves to be romantic with it. celebrating birthdays or anniversaries in your bedroom with little candles everywhere to set the mood, rose petals in a heart on the bed, with a cozy bubble bath after. and even when it's not a big occasion, he's very soft and romantic. he has a few playlists he loves to put on, he knows exactly what to say to get you in the mood and where to press his lips to draw out your oh so sweet sounds. oscar is all gentle touches and soft glances.

j – jack off (masturbation headcanon)

that one time when you accidentally walked in on him jacking off because you came home early from work/school, he was so extremely flustered – but he also found it very arousing. when you asked him if you could help him out, he couldn't help his hasty nods and the way his heart skipped a few beats in his chest. watching you settle on his lap, your hands starting where his had left off, fingers brushing up and down along him teasingly... from that day, he replays the image of you giving him a handjob in his mind whenever he does it himself, and he loves to get your help whenever he doesn't have a lot of time but needs to get off before a race etc.

k – kink (one or more of his kinks)

marking. 100%. he'll be lowkey and casual with it, not really saying much about it, but after a while you come to the realization that he leaves quite a lot more lovebites than anyone you've been with before. the inside of your thighs, your hips, your ribs... but especially your chest area. they won't usually be where anyone can see, because he likes to keep your sex life private, but there have been occasions when he's been a bit extra riled up (or jealous) and he just couldn't back from leaving trails of hickeys down your neck. he just adores the thought of you having a physical reminder of who you belong to, even if they fade after a while.

l – location (favorite places to do the do)

your bedroom is the #1 favorite, but he's okay with other places too. he especially likes your bathtub, especially when the lights are dimmed and you've got some pretty candles spread out in the room (and downed a few glasses of wine possibly).

m – motivation (what turns him on, gets him going)

oscar loves lingerie. if you wore any lingerie, he would be turned on instantly. he just can't help it. i also feel like he's the type to just get turned on from mundane, domestic things. like, seeing you cooking? watching you do your nighttime routine? it's a reminder him that you're there, you're real, and you're his. there's nothing hotter than that.

during the actual lovemaking, he gets a little crazy whenever you say his name. especially when you're about to come and his name slips from your lips in the form of a breathless whimper and he can feel your insides contract around him. it could make him come instantly.

n – no (something he wouldn't do, turn-offs)

nothing where there's even the slightest chance that you'll injure yourself. nuh uh. he also dislikes things where you won't be able to easily quit if anything were to happen, like bonding. the idea of you being tied up when the fire alarm goes off or you get a panic attack makes his skin crawl, it's his worst nightmare.

o – oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

i don't think he has anything against receiving it, but it won't happen unless you initiate it. he's very certain about not pressuring you in that way; he knows it's not always your favorite thing to do and he respects that.

i see him as someone who loves to give it, though. especially if he can take his time with you, rile you up with soft kisses and gentle caresses of your skin.

p – pace (is he fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

oh i totally see oscar as more slow and sensual. as we've covered already, sex is lovemaking to him, and he's in no rush. he wants to enjoy every second of it, and make sure you do too. foreplay can last for an eternity with him because he loves preparing you for what's to come.

q – quickie (his opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he'd rather take his time with you and do it properly. if he really needs to blow off some steam, he'd rather just jack off or have you help him out if you don't have any time. if you're going to have sex, he wants to not be in any rush, and he wants to have time to properly take care of you after.

r – risk (is he game to experiment? does he take risks? etc.)

he's definitely open to experiment. he might want to try more things than he's willing to admit; even though he's fully comfortable with you by now, something still makes him a bit nervous about talking to you about it. he wants to find a 'good opportunity' to bring the idea up, but it might take him some courage to do it. he'll be very gentle, shy eyes blinking at you, voice soft… "only if you're okay with it, of course!" and "you really have to tell me if you don't want to. you have to promise me", maybe even making you pinky promise that you indeed do want to try the thing.

he'd be over the moon if you insinuated it, though. anything you're up for, he's automatically up for, too.

s – stamina (how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?)

i think his stamina is quite good. when i say that he loves taking his time with you, i mean it in that way, too; he can go on for hours. if he needs to take a break, then he'll start focusing on you and making you feel good instead. neither of you will ever get tired, he just keeps on going until he's satisfied.

t – toys (does he own toys? does he use them? on a partner or himself?)

i wouldn't say he's the biggest fan of them, but he doesn't have anything against them, either. he's much happier if he gets to be the person to make you feel so good. though, the thought of you using your toys on yourself when he's not around really gets him going, and if anything, he's okay with you using them on yourself even when you're together. (fic abt osc watching you use your vibrator hereee)

u – unfair (how much he likes to tease)

not as much as some other people (*cough cough* his teammate *cough cough*) but he does enjoy it. he really likes teasing fingers dragging up and down your ribs, fleeting kisses all over your skin, brushing your hair away from your face as you're waiting for him to do something.

he does it in a gentle and sweet way that should be interpreted as just cute but it makes you furious sometimes? because he can be so slow it's infuriating and you want him to just get on with it already. he'll be pretending to think things through or fiddle with a belt, and you'll just go crazy because he should be touching you but he's just finding a bunch of excuses to keep you on your toes. he loves to see you squirming and whining beneath him, holding your hands away easily with a 'tsk' when you try to release some of your tension yourself since he's so goddamn slow. (blurb ish on this topic hereeee)

v – volume (how loud he is, what sounds he makes, etc.)

a lot of heavy breathing. i see him as a groaner, but he's not overly loud with it. he lovesss to talk you through it, though. "are you ready? is this okay? tell me if i need to pause. that feels so good, you're doing so good."

w – wild card (a random headcanon)

oscar LOVES praising you. it just happens naturally because he thinks you're doing so well and he loves you so much, he must tell you. "that's perfect, love. i love it when you do that. god, you feel so good. look at you, taking me so well. and looking so beautiful while doing it? there's no one as good as you..."

x – x-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

just a bit longer than average but it's the thickness that makes him stand out. even after being together for a long while, it takes you a good amount of foreplay to stretch out for him, and it still feels like he's splitting you open once he finally slips fully into you.

y – yearning (how high is his sex drive?)

nothing too special i'd say, he loves a good few rounds but he enjoys a sweet, romantic night of another kind just as much.

z – zzz (how quickly he falls asleep afterward)

a sleepy boy in general but most of the time, he gets a little energy boost out of sex instead. he will be the last to fall asleep pretty much every time, which is also because he just wants to enjoy the moment for as long as he can before eventually falling asleep. he adores having you in his arms after doing his aftercare routines, drawing little shapes into your skin as you start to fall asleep. once asleep, though, he sleeps so well & heavy. it'll take three alarms and you bribing him with kisses for him to actually wake up before 1pm.

[snaileer]

Call to My Bedside - Part 2

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/snaileer/733019972168761344/call-to-my-bedside

Danyal wakes the next time with a weight to his limbs. From the moment he opens his eyes, he realizes he is not where he is supposed to be.

This is a medical bay, but it is not in the league, the constant twittering of League doctors monitoring his health is suspiciously gone. No shadows on guard outside the door.

The most glaring thing though, there was no Lazarus Water in his veins.

Perhaps Ra’s had decided he was no longer worth the expense, had decided-

No.

It was something else. That wasn’t an option he would consider.

Danyal tested the feeling of thin metal on his right wrist. Handcuffs, not shackles. It was odd.

But again, this wasn’t the league.

But he’d need to go back before Ra’s became angry. Danyal couldn’t fail.

He glances to the door as it opens, an old man-the one from before- and a younger, slender man standing just behind him.

Danyal stays still, his breathing even, forcing his heart to stay at a constant, stable rate. He watches them, analyzing.

The old man blinks, “It’s good to see you’re awake, young sir-,” He steps into the room, left foot a second slower, old weakness?- English accent, in Europe? the man behind him follows- stiff posture, rib injury, core focused strength, gymnast, combat trained and familiar- Richard Dick Grayson, Nightwing, he’s in America, Batman- “You gave us quite the shock earlier, myself especially.”

Nightwing watched Danyal warily, he saw him as a threat, and by the angle of his feet, a threat to the older man. He remembers now, he’d attacked him before, Nightwing was here to prevent it again.

They are heroes.

He was a part of the League of the Assassins.

He doesn’t fit here, could never.

Danyal considers the merits of speaking English, he wants to, deeply, and perhaps it would even benefit the situation; but his chest clogs with fear before he can even compose a sentence. It’s been too long anyways, the League dialect is easier.

“How long have I been here?” Danyal says, still not moving enough to even jostle the cuff at his wrist.

Nightwing sighs deeply, “We rescued you and Damian from a League of Assassins boat yesterday.” The words of the language are stilted, either by unfamiliarity or awkwardness, and who’s Damian? There’s a pause, “Do you know who I am?” Nightwing asks, caution in the words.

Danyal takes a deep breath, finally sitting up, despite the rattling of the chain on the cuff, “You are Nightwing, Dick Grayson, correct?”

Nightwing nods, his eyes briefly flitting to the elder man, “And you?”

Danyal’s eyes narrow, trying to find the trap, “I am Danyal Al Ghul, Heir of the Demon’s head, Blood of the Batman.”

Danyal watches the eyebrow of the old man tick up in his peripheral.

Nightwing pinches the bridge of his nose, “God I can’t believe Talia did it again,” He murmurs under his breath. In English. And Danyal would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to hear the language again, even just a little.

“Perhaps it would be best to bring Master Bruce back from his meeting,” the old man says pointedly. Danyal ignores as he changes and resets the IV attached to him, familiar with the autonomous care. With or without his consent.

“I’ve already notified him, he should be here soon.”

“Very good. In the meantime,” he turns to Danyal, “I am Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne family butler. It seems I did not get the chance to introduce myself the last time you were awake.”

Danyal can’t help but blink at the almost joking tone Alfred says it with, knowing that Danyal had been the one to knock him out. It makes his lip twitch, and he silently huffs, surprising himself with the action.

The amusement vanishes as the door opens once more, footsteps barely audible in the second before.

The man standing there is large, tall and broad shouldered, strong- dangerous, calloused hands from training- his eyes stay glued to Danyal, blue and steady amidst the square jaw and sharp features, black hair tussled like he’d been rushing, just like Dad always-

Danyal feels his jaw wire shut, back straightening.

The thin chain of the handcuff jingles in the sudden silence.

This he remembers. This is Batman. The Dark Night of Gotham. The Detective.

The source of every expectation Ra’s Al Ghul has ever placed on Danyal.

He feels his face try to screw into a sneer, because he hates him and everything he’s done that has ever affected Danyal, but his face remains still. Controlled. Because there’s nothing he can do about it anyways.

Batman had introduced himself before.

As another name. A civilian. His training forces him to remember it.

Bruce Wayne.

It means next to nothing to him. But the man doesn’t stop looking.

It’s Dick that speaks next, “Danyal, this is Batman, Bruce Wayne, your father.” The smile is at odds with the weary tone of the words, “He was there when we saved you and Damian a few.. yesterday. God that feels like longer.”

Saved? The sentiment makes him want to scoff. He doesn’t, because Batman’s eyes already narrow with Nightwing’s words, and Danyal doesn’t need to make it worse.

A thousand more questions rush through his head. Each one bitten back with practiced force.

Instead he dips his head briefly, aiming for a show of respect, whatever that might mean here. However little he means it. Danyal can adjust regardless.

“Hn.”

Danyal lifts his head. That was the only response?

They uproot him entirely, chain him, throw him into unfamiliar waters where everything-everyone- is in new danger and all he does is grunt?

Danyal bites his tongue hard, letting his head lift, carefully non-defiant. He’s not quite sure his eyes get the message because he can feel the glare from them.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred pipes in, tone sharp.

Batman sighs, but the set of his shoulders changes, no longer so heavily lined with suspicion.

“What do you know about why Damian was-" There’s an even sharper cough from Alfred. Another sigh, “Fine. What has Talia already told you about me?”

Danyal glances between them, purposefully keeping his eyes from jumping down to the metal around his wrists.

No one else speaks.

“I know that you are Batman, the Dark Night of Gotham. You are also the detective, great enough to impress the Demon’s Head, Ra’s Al Ghul. The Demon’s daughter informed me you were dead.”

There’s a slight twitch on Batman’s face. “I survived Darkseid’s attack, although it led to me being lost in time and assumed dead for nearly a year,” Batman’s eyes flick across the room, almost considering, “Red Robin was responsible for my return just over a year ago.”

Red Robin. Timothy Drake. The one Ra’s favored. The second source of expectations placed on Danyal.

And he was lost in time? What did that consist of, what did it mean for Batman? Did it matter if it didn’t affect Danyal?

“I see.” He says. Silence lingers. They still expect him to speak. He hedges his bets, asking something he actually cares about, “Why am I here, Batman?”

The question seems to be expected and yet still strike with surprise.

“I… regrettably, did not know you were… present at the league. I do not believe in their methods and would not have left you there had I known.”

And that makes it all okay. Danyal wants to scream. But he narrows his eyes instead, only more suspicious, “And why were you there then?”

“We followed the shadows that had taken Damian. He told us who you were.”

Danyal pauses, leaning back slightly. They were willing to answer his questions, to actually talk with him. Of course they were, they were meant to be heroes.

But it had been so long since he’d actually talked with anyone other than Ra’s, and their conversations were a battleground of expectations and tests.

He fights with his conscious knowledge of this and the habits that have been beaten into him so thoroughly.

“Who is… Damian?” He asks, watching their reactions for the answer.

All three seem surprised by the question. But not angry. Of course not, he reminds himself.

“You’ve mentioned him several times like I am supposed to know who he is.” He had barely been told anything since his forceful return, and any knowledge he had from before stopped at Dick Grayson. And then Timothy Drake.

Danyal had purposefully ignored the hero world he had lived in-

He forces his eyes up to meet Batman’s, noting the hesitance in the set of his shoulders.

“Damian is… your brother. He was.. Talia’s son, before he came to me just a few years ago. He was raised in the league.”

Danyal blinks, anger disbelieving in his chest. Is that what she did?

“When.”

There’s no response, save a twitch of Batman’s eyebrow.

“When,” Danyal says again, his breathing controlled, “Did he come to you? How old was he? How long ago?”

They seem to pick up on the way Danyal’s tone has changed. Good for them.

“Nearly three years ago. He was ten.” Batman answers, voice rough. Tinged with curiosity and unfulfilled questions.

Danyal breathes deeply, his heart rate picking up against his wishes. Icy rage flares.

The beeping of the machine at his side matches the pounding in his chest, uneven, unbalanced, uncontrolled.

Keep it under control. Keep it. Under. Control.

Control is power. Control is strength. Control is the only thing that will ever be enough.

He breathes deeper. Holding his breath. Once. Twice.

The beeping is steadier with each tone.

“Danyal?” An old voice asks beside him. It’s Alfred. The butler.

Danyal shifts his jaw from its clench, “I am fine.” His eyes slide back into focus, still on Batman, “Damian is your son then.”

Batman nods solemnly, a heavier sigh through his chest, “Talia and I have had an… interesting relationship. But I loved her. Once. She has never failed to make me regret it.”

That was why she had visited him. Her words. What she had almost said. Talia had wished he was Damian, wished he was Bruce. Just not Danyal of course. The weapon she discarded for a better version. One she could love.

One who would be heir.

Batman continues, “Talia is Damian’s mother, told him he would be my heir, as I’m sure you were but-” Batman stops, looking at Danyal as confusion flicks across his face, “You weren’t.”

“I was never told I would be heir of the Batman, only of the Demon’s head.” This, at least, Danyal is familiar with, “That’s the only reason they needed me: to be their weapon made from the Demon Head’s enemy.” Danyal breathes, “A weapon does not have parents, and I have never been more than a weapon to them, crafted for the league’s purpose. For Ra’s.” 

Ra’s is the reason Danyal is alive at all. Is the only reason he has survived the league, but he is also the reason Danyal had to, no- has to survive.

Danyal drops his eyes, tired, so so tired, like he always is. Unerringly, his eyes find the shine of the metal around his wrist. Arm held carefully still to keep from jostling it, even as his other hand has found its way to his lap.

“You can’t really believe that,” Dick says, disbelief in his own voice, unsurety in the frame of an unfamiliar language.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe.”

And it doesn’t. It only matters what he can do. That’s he’s strong. He just has to be strong enough. Ra’s is the reason Danyal suffers, has always been, and Danyal will never let him escape that.

Silence lasts. Danyal quickly grows tired of it.

Luckily, Batman breaks it, “Why were you exposed to the Lazarus waters?” He asks, voice rigid and flat once more. 

Perhaps the casualness is getting to him because Danyal manages to lift one lip in a slight sneer, “The only reason anybody uses the Lazarus Pits.”

The Batman stays silent, clearly talking about the unorthodox method of exposure they had resorted to.

Danyal sighs this time, serious, “My heart is damaged. Electricity. The pits are a short term solution for it. Grandfather had said he found a long term one.” Danyal doubts it matters now. Whatever care his grandfather’d had was fragile, dependent on Danyal’s performance. 

The palm of his left hand tingles sharply.

Would this be enough to tip the scale against him? What would he lose for being here? Who would he-

Danyal looks into Batman’s eyes, “Am I to be a prisoner here?”

The man glances over him at the two on the other side, Danyal doesn’t follow it, nor the silent conversation he’s sure is happening.

Instead, Danyal focuses his ears, senses sharpened by training, by the pits, by his accident… and turns his attention to the person hiding in an alcove above them.

Low breathing, higher pitched, the scent of sword polish and hair gel. The person was small and armed.

“You’re not a prisoner… but if you leave.. you’ll be in danger,” Batman says, voice deep, “We can’t let that happen.”

So either be followed or don’t leave. What great options.

Danyal tries not to scowl, not to show any inflection at it, “And do I have to stay here? In your…. Cave?”

“It might be difficult to move- uh.. the medical things-” Nightwing starts, but Danyal cuts him off by swiftly removing the IV tucked in the crook of his elbow.

He presses his thumb against the small well of blood as he looks forward.

Alfred shouts, jolting towards him, “Master Danyal! That is hardly sterile-“

Danyal’s eyes snap to him the moment the title leaves his mouth, heart stilling for a second, commands in his eyes. Alfred falls still.

Danyal lets it fall away the next second, barely two beats missed. The beeping starts again.

“I see.” Alfred straightens, stepping forward slowly to turn off the IV and coil it, removing other monitors, “Another one for the dramatics then.”

Nightwing steps up, hands out placatingly, “There’s..mm really no need, Danyal, uh-” He glances back to Batman, “Of course you can leave the cave-,” the next words are in bright clear English, “I’m sure there’s already a room picked out for you.”

“Right you are Master Dick,” Alfred says, “Young sir, do you need any help moving?” He directs to Danyal.

He wants to rip his hand from the metal cuff. Snap the thin chain to pieces.

Instead he looks to Nightwing, then Batman, “The restraints?” He says, voice as empty of want as he can make it.

The click of the key in the lock echoes in his ear and it’s only through practiced calm that Danyal does not immediately jerk his arm away from it. Instead, he calmly retracts his hand, bracing slightly against the bed as he turns and plants his feet on the floor.

The others have already moved out of his way, watching intently, waiting for him to fall- to fail.

Danyal straightens his legs. He stands. He breathes. He controls his heart. He walks forward.

He does not fall. He doesn’t have the option to fall.

“I can go now.” He says, looking at them. His knuckles are white on the edge of the bed.

Nightwing looks at Batman once more. The man grunts, then turns from the room in a way that he can only imagine would perfectly flare a cape.

Danyal’s feet feel like they’re filling with cement. Nightwing stares at him expectantly. Danyal understands expectations- but these ones, it leaves him helpless and-

“Follow me then, dear boys,” Alfred says, stepping in front smoothly, already moving towards the door, “We can go upstairs, I’ll start on a meal and Master Dick can show you the rooms.”

Nightwing goes next, leaving Danyal to follow not quite behind him, the angle purposeful to keep him in sight.

Nightwing casts a wary glance to him every few minutes, continuing a light chatter with Alfred. Danyal stares forward, taking in the cave from his peripheral - computer, showers, training mats, an unfamiliar shadow watching him, armory, swords, knifes, suits, cars and vehicles lined up on platforms, a t-Rex, giant penny, a glass case- Danyal lets his eyes linger on the shadow, never faltering his steps.

His neck itches at the attention.

He looks forward. Nightwing is looking at him again, snapping forward the moment Danyal’s eyes narrow. Good.

The steps are slightly narrow, dark, but they come out to a warmly lit study. Dark wood, papers, books on shelves, a portrait on the wall, pictures on the desk, three black hair boys, another of only a single with stiff posture, a ballet dancer- they keep walking. The door-clock- closes behind them like the clamping of an artery.

Nightwing and Alfred’s conversation continues in smooth, low-toned English. Danyal blinks, slowly, slower than he needs to, for a breath of a second relishing in the almost familiarity of it all, the dissonance from the last three years alone enough to well emotion in his chest.

His eyes open. He continues after them.

“This is where I’ll leave you, I’ll be up with some food some young sir,” Alfred says abruptly, turning towards a swinging door that reveals a glimpse of a stainless kitchen.

“So…” Nightwing says, swinging his arms a bit at his sides, “uh… I can show you the room you can sleep in, yes?”

Danyal’s shoulders tighten, rising from a subconscious millimeter slouch. He nods stiffly.

His heart remains under control. Always under control.

“So this is the Wayne Mansion, you can go for food any time, uh…” There’s an unsure pause as they start up the stairs, “You can meet the rest of us soon maybe, a correct introduction to Damian…depends on Bruce really… he can be … over …over.”

Nightwing looks at Danyal properly, “I’m usually better at this, most of the bat kids know the League dialect but… I haven’t exactly practiced it.”

Danyal stares at him. He doesn’t want to hear the sound of the League’s twisting words, he wants to leave. He wants to find his family, protect them, get them as far away from Ra’s al Ghul and the league as possible. He wants to go back to Ra’s convince him to let his family go if Danyal stays willingly. Wants a blade strong enough to run the man through and-

“I know you are probably stressed and this is all unfamiliar but … we want you to stay… you won’t be hurt here. This is different than the league, you’re safe.”

Danyal scoffs, not bothering to stop it, he hasn’t been safe since the day he tripped over a wire and died.

Nightwing doesn’t seem surprised by the response.

“This can be your room,” He says, opening a door in the hallway and gesturing a wide arm to Danyal. “The rest of us are just down the hall.”

Danyal steps in, looking around, counting exits, tactical advantages, possible listening devices- He turns around, giving Nightwing a stiff nod, “Thank you for the room.”

Nightwing still stands at his door, “Anything else I can help with for you?” He says.

Danyal considers staying silent, obedient, but he hates hearing the language at every turn, he never wants to hear it again, the words they forced in his mouth, ripping away what was in their place-

“Can you just speak English?” He says, realizing too late how weak it sounds, “You don’t have to use the league tongue, I can-English is.. fine.” Fine. Better. Familiar. A remnant of a family he’s almost certain he’s lost now.

Nightwing barely quirks a brow, eyes flicking over him.

“Can do,” He nods, “Well then… Welcome to Wayne Manor, Danyal.”

And he closes the door behind him.

'It’s just Danny, please.' He wants to whisper to the silence. But he’s grown too used to shadows and it catches in his throat.

He goes and sits on the bed. Staring out of the window. A window he can’t leave from. Where would he go? He doesn’t have anyone, they’re all in danger because of him. He can’t leave.

He’s trapped.

Always trapped.

Bound. Stuck to one place. One thing.

Emotions well in his chest, in the back of his throat, thick and dark and painful. He wants to cry. He can’t. Emotions constrict around his lungs.

And Danyal sits, staring at the wall, wishing he could cry. But the emotions just twist themselves until they’re tight enough, heavy enough to fall down, settle back like a layer of heavy chainmail over his insides.

Danyal turns on the bed, facing the wall.

It’s empty tan-beige. Neutral colors. No personality. Temporary.

This is familiar to him. This he can do.

Danyal stands again, he strips down his tunic, his shin-guards and pants- notes the lack of his typical weapons- methodically placing it on the dresser. Not his dresser, he already has one, painted blue with yellow stars back in-

Danyal gets in the shower, glad to find soap there, contemplating not using it, not wasting the energy. He watches condensation develop on the glass walls, water droplets collecting until they finally rush down the glass.

His finger lifts, already wanting to trace the letters he knows. Three lines, an H. One. i. Or e, he could write hello. Or ghost. Mom. Dad. Jazz, Sam, Tucker. Write it in English so he wouldn’t forget the way they were meant to be spelled, let the water wash it away.

His fingers ache where they’d been broken for it. For tracing letters in dirt or on mirrors, in the foggy glass at night. A break for every word.

Danyal can see his hand shake, inches from the glass. Pain and fear a leech on his bones.

He drops the hand. Turns to wash away the soap and get out, towels left on the counter.

He doesn’t even glance at the mirror as he goes out.

His tunic is where he’d left it, neatly set on the dresser top… but…

Danyal opens the drawers, changing into the boxers, the next one is dress pants and collared shirts, but in the third-

Rough denim scuffs against his fingertips.

They’re dark wash jeans, fancy and nothing like the ones his mom would buy on sale from the thrift store but…

He doesn’t let himself debate it further, he has to wear clothes and no one is here to tell him which. They put them here so they should expect him to wear it- it could be a test but he doesn’t care, let them do what they want if only to pretend the jeans are stiff from ectoplasm stains instead of fresh starch.

He chooses a white t-shirt, ignoring the collared shirts and polos that are probably meant to go over it.

He breathes, letting his shoulders drop, tilting his head back with his eyes closed, pretending for only a second that he’s getting dressed for school. Jazz is across the hall getting her books together, Sam and Tuck are on their way to walk together, his parents are already downstairs working.

'See?' He wants to say, 'I’m still the same person, nothings changed!'

The metal of the door knob clicks and Danyal’s head snaps towards the sound.

There’s nothing. Danyal doesn’t trust it, eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes the tall double doors.

“I know you’re there!” he calls out, fists ready, “Open the door and show yourself or I will!”

There’s a harsh tutt behind the door before it swings open, revealing a kid standing there. Short, black hair- hair gel-, dress slacks and shirt hiding multiple bladed weapons-

“Clearly I meant for you to know I was here, I am not incompetent,” The kid scoffs. So Nightwing wasn’t lying about them all knowing the league dialect…. Yet somehow, it sounds different coming from the kid, familiar in a way that makes Danyal's skin burn. He looks irritated, arms crossed in front of him even while his eyes wander over the room and Danyal with curiosity. And judgement.

Danyal rolls his eyes at it, “Did you need something from me, or did you just want to stand there looking like a hair gel commercial?”

The boy’s face goes red impressively fast, “How dare you-” he moves- and a knife is flying at his face, Danyal dodges, catching it in a second, shifting to throw it back but stops, half way extended. He looks at the hilt, there’s a League marking engraved on the bottom no larger than a droplet.

Danyal's eyes flick up to the boy still standing in front of him, glaring him down.

That’s all it takes before the boy jumps forward, another knife in his hand.

Danyal blocks it, twisting the arm as he drops his own acquired knife to his other hand and lunges forward.

The boy flips over his arm, and Danyal doesn’t let his surprise show as he reaches to grab the second knife he’d forced the kid to drop.

The boy tutts at him again, “So this was who Mother replaced me with? Street rabble?”

Danyal blinks, Mother? Then it clicks.

So this was Damian. The child the demon’s daughter wanted, beloved by all. Treasured. Preserved.

Danyal grits his teeth against the bitter taste in his mouth. He lunges forward, already expecting the larger dagger Damian uses to block him as he’s forced to retreat.

Danyal doesn’t stop, continuing to press him, “The Demon’s Daughter is no mother of mine,” he spits as he slams a kick against Damian’s elbow, blade dropping once more. Danyal cuts a shallow slash across Damian’s left cheek before dropping his own stolen knives.

He doesn’t stop though, continuing to push Damian back- Damian swerves to the side, grabbing his arm, flipping him, Danyal retaliates, grabbing the others shirt and taking him with him.

He catches his feet a second before the other, using it to pin him face to face with Danyal’s arm at his throat, “Maybe if you were good enough, you wouldn’t have had to be replaced at all and I never would have been forced to be here, this is your fault. I was free,” He grits out, teeth bared, “You got to live these last three years because I paid for it, and you’re angry because they don’t want you!?”

There’s something startling in Damian’s wide eyes, “What are you talking about?” He snaps, “I am Damian Al Ghul, Heir to the League, Ibn al X-“

Danyal slams him harder against the floor, cutting him off. Green simmers, almost boiling, under his skin. He grits his teeth harder against the sharp pain through his chest.

He leans closer to Damian, snarling, his grip bruising, “You don’t even know what you escaped, what Ra’s really wanted with you, do you? What being heir means. You’re nothing more than a -”

Damian jerks his head upwards, colliding with Danyal’s forehead and knocking him back with a grunt. Danyal’s grip loosens momentarily and Damian pulls free.

He slams a palm strike into Danyal’s front, pain lancing through his chest as he gasps, heart convulsing.

He moves through it by force, both rolling off each other with violent hands.

They stand opposite each other once more. Blood drips from the cut on Damian’s cheek. Danyal’s ragged breaths join Damian’s in the silence. He can hear footsteps on the stairs. His heart clenches in his chest painfully. There’s barely enough Lazarus water in his veins to keep it pumping for a week, less if he keeps this up.

The door flings open with a slam, both of them turning to look.

Batman stands there, battle calm in his eyes.

Damian turns fully at the sight of his father, but Danyal doesn’t shift from his stance.

“Father, I-“ Damian starts, but Batman just lifts a hand, silencing him.

“What. Happened.” Batman says, looking straight at Danyal, not even a question. A demand. Green tinted steel shoots up Danyal’s spine and he does nothing but glare back at the man.

Batman doesn’t break eye contact, “Damian.”

“I was determining if he was a threat. He is from the League, Father,” Damian says  shortly, standing tall despite the blood on his face.

Batman looks between them briefly, and oh what a picture they must make.

Two kids, both born in the same cage, one trying to claw his way out of the chains and the other trying to fight his way in.

Exhaustion washes over Danyal, and he drops his fists, letting them hang by his sides.

Batman hums, barely a sound, but a muscle twitches in Damian’s jaw.

“Father-“

“Go Damian. Now.”

Damian looks back at him, not-quite-hate in his eyes, before dropping to a crouch to grab the knife closest to his feet with one hand and turning to leave.

Faced with Batman’s sole attention, Danyal lifts his chin defiantly, daring him to take action, to punish him, to do something that he can predict, can defend, can justify the anger he feels when he sees him.

“I know it was different in the league, but here, this is not acceptable.”

Danyal half-scoffs. He finally steps out of his stance, “I could leave.”

“That’s not-” Batman pinches the bridge of his nose, voice like gravel, “I am trying to protect you, the manor is not the league. I understand what it must have been like to be raised like that, but you can’t hurt others, no matter what teachings you’ve had. I can guarantee you won’t be hurt here, I won’t let-”

Danny huffs a dry laugh, “You won’t let?” He steps forward, rage bubbling back up, “Hurt me? I’m not worried about me, Batman. You can’t stop him. Ra’s is going to get what he wants, and as long as that is me, everyone around me is in danger, I’m dangerous. I'm a weapon, a weapon of your enemy. You can’t fix that, can you?”

“We can protect ourselves-”

Danyal scoffs again, “Because you’ve done such a good job of that already? Don’t forget, all of this is because of you, they wanted you, and now they want me because of you, Batman. You.”

Something stricken shoots through the man’s face before it flattens. Batman nods and steps back, a hand on the doorhandle, “Don’t leave.” Is all he says, before the door clicks shut.

Danyal feels the walls closing in on him like a cell.

He looks to his left.

The bathroom door is open. He can see his reflection in the mirror, any condensation gone.

Danyal stares.

When he had been younger, back in- before. Danyal would stand in front of a mirror and pick out parts he thought looked like his parents. Like a Fenton. His shoulders were from Jack obviously. His eyes and hair  too. His jawline was from Maddie, his hands from Jack, and the love of engineering and planning from Maddie. He had the same legs as his mom. Same voice as his dad, always loud. If he didn’t look too hard, he could almost convince himself he was really their kid, their son.

But he could never quite place his tanned skin, or the texture of his hair. The shape of his eyes and nose. Always just a little bit wrong.

What had pretending done but put them in danger?

Danyal turns on his heel, flicking the lights off and putting a glass soap bottle on the door handle.

He knew he’d wake up regardless… but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Danyal rubs his chest with the heel of his palm as he lays down on the far side of the bed, his back to the door, staring out at the city beyond the window glass.

How close would he come to freedom before he’d have to give it up again?

And he knew he would.

For his family, he would give the Demon’s Head anything.

Everything.

If that’s what it took.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to pretend he would fall asleep.

———

Bruce runs over Danyal’s words again and again during the flight.

'This is because of you, Batman,'

He flicks a switch.

'You.'

The landing gear lowers.

'You can’t fix this.'

He can see the way the shadows of the forest twist around the clearing.

'Dangerous.'

Wheels touch grass. Batman lands at the coordinates, just on the side of the field in front of the woman waiting for him.

'Because of you.'

He breathes.

“My Beloved, how are you?” She greets him as he descends the ramp.

Bruce says nothing. He cannot even begin to fathom what he would say if he did.

Instead, he stares at her. A woman who had once meant so much to him, whom he had nearly thrown away everything for. And who had nearly done the same for him.

But she hadn’t. Wouldn’t. And it had hurt him, but he had recovered.

And then she hurt him again.

She had stolen and lied to him in his vulnerability.

And still, he had found himself loving her.

Had allowed her to continue hurting him. Again and again. Out of a vain hope that she would change. Because he thought that he could change her. That she would change for him.

It was foolish. It was senseless.

Yet he found it just as impossible to stop.

And so she had hurt him again.

“Talia.” Her name grated against his heart, “Why did you not tell me I had another son?”

“The boy is no more yours than he is mine, Beloved,” She says with a roll of her eyes, as if explaining a basic fact, “He belongs to my father. And to the league.”

Bruce is silent. He notices a slight bruise forming on her left cheek.

Talia’s face is tight, “Do you not care about the son I have given you? Has Damian not satisfied you?”

Bruce feels the leather of his gauntlets stretch over his clenched fists.

“I deserved to know,” He near growls, “Just as I did Damian, just as I did with Jason. You cannot continue to keep my children from me-“

“If it was not for that boy, you would not have met Damian at all,” Talia snaps.

Bruce blinks. Hard.

“His return brought Damian into your arms, you should be grateful.” She spits at him like an accusation, “Damian is ours, Bruce. From our love. That boy was made before we truly knew each other, before we understood each other as we do now. He was borne of nothing more than my father’s obsession. Damian is our son, not him.”

“His name is Danyal, Talia!” Bruce bellows, “He is a child, and he is a person! Just like you, and me, and Damian, and he deserves more than to be written off as one of Ra’s al Ghul’s projects! He deserves better than this!” Than us, he doesn’t say. Deserves better than him.

Talia straightens from already perfect posture, “I made a choice Bruce, for Damian. To protect Damian. I knew our son was never meant to bear my father’s hands, he was never meant to be what Danyal is.” Talia pauses, eyes sharp on him, and he can see when she chooses her next words. Already knows they are meant to cut him, to hurt him. He steels himself and listens anyways.

“Perhaps you should ask him where he’s been all these years I’ve supposedly kept him from you, Beloved.” She says coyly, stepping forward.

“What are you talking about.”

She takes another step, “The truth of the matter is that Danyal could have gone to you any time he wanted. He chose not to. Chose to stay away.”

He stays silent.

“Oh- Did the boy not tell you?“ Talia says, barely hiding the falseness, “Danyal was living in America before he returned to his rightful duty. Almost didn’t work, but…” Talia hummed, “His gifts were fortuitous in the end. A risk well calculated, my father’s doing I suspect.”

Talia almost seems blaisé as she talks about it, but he can see the way it irks her. Her father had tricked her. Somehow. Or had manipulated her into some choice she hadn’t known about.

Batman says nothing, analyzing, taking in clues.

“Beloved,” Talia sighs, “Surely you must know, the boy must return.”

“And surely you know: I can’t let that happen.”

Talia glowers at him.

“It’s him or Damian, Bruce, you must choose, just as I did.”

“No.” Bruce growls.

“You cannot have both,” She snaps at him.

Batman stands firm, staring her down, resolute.

“You invite his anger on them both,” She snarls, “You save no one.”

Batman ignores the words. He has made it his job to make sure that’s not true. He’ll die before it is.

“Fine.” She snaps again. But she lingers for a few seconds more. The lines of her face softening.

“I remember I once loved that same unbending drive.”

It feels odd to hear her confirm something he’s not sure ever really existed.

Then Talia turns away and walks into the forest. Shadows contort and reform around her at the edges of the clearing. Slowly emptying until there’s nothing left but the trees and the grass and him, standing alone at the center of it all.

He turns to leave.

He won’t choose between his children.

He climbs the ramp.

He will protect them.

He sits down in the pilots chair, flicking switches and gears.

All of them.

Engines roar to life below him.

He will not fail.

And yet… he cannot forget her words. Twisted they may be, and just as easily lies.. but, her irritation at her father’s plans… he had always been good at telling when it was real.

'Living in America… chose to stay away,'

Living in America?

Had he been secluded at one of their bases here? Had it even been close?

Had Danyal been just miles away, suffering,  and BruceDanyal  hadn’t known?

But it felt wrong. What Talia had said sat like a jagged puzzle piece, poking and prodding at him, not quite fitting the theories he threw at it.

‘Returned.’

Did she only mean returned to the League’s home base? Closer to their original strongholds in Asia?

It didn’t make sense. She would have crafted the words differently, to drive her point home.

She’d said ‘supposedly kept him from you’ like she hadn’t. Like she hadn’t kept Danyal hidden, the way she had Damian. It didn’t add up.

She could have just been lying. Bruce didn’t think she was. It couldn’t be that simple. No, there was something specific about the way she’d phrased it all, like she was telling him a secret. Like it was something Ra’s had hidden. Like something was hiding.

Batman narrowed his eyes, staring out at the landscape in front of him as it rushed past.

Whatever it was, whatever she wasn’t telling him, Batman needed to figure it out before it came back to hurt him or his family. Danyal included.

Then there was the rest of it.

The ‘gifts’ that Talia had mentioned.

He knew Danyal had been forced to interact with the Lazarus waters, but he didn’t know to what extent. What it had done to him.

It’d had an effect on him, that much was clear by the acid green of his eyes when he stood off against them in the Batcave. And earlier when Bruce had first interrupted the fight with Damian.

He didn’t even think Danyal had noticed they were glowing then. Too defensive to think about it. Or perhaps he was used to it.

How many times had he been submerged? Had been so injured that Ra’s saw fit to put him in?

How many times had Bruce not been there to protect him from it?

Even if he was only acting out of defensiveness… was that not Bruce’s fault too?

That he still felt unsafe in the Manor. That he didn’t know if Bruce would act the same as Ra’s, as the League.

And Danyal was right, he was responsible for the pain the league caused him, for them hunting him. If he had never let himself be pulled into Talia’s web- or if she was to be believed… even before that.

When exactly? When had Batman become enough of a threat that Ra’s had decided to use him? Was it because he had refused to be his heir? Or before that? Before or after Dick? Jason?

He doesn’t even know how old Danyal is. How long Batman had let him suffer because of h-

“I do hope you aren’t planning to brood like this with your children around, Master Bruce,” Alfred says, cutting through his thoughts, “I don’t believe your pride would survive the repercussions.”

Bruce glances at the monitor Alfred has decided to call from.

“Hn.” Bruce grumbles.

Alfred is right, his children would tease him mercilessly for ‘brooding’ as they called it. If only Dick at least, who hasn’t missed a chance to do so since he’d been a freshly christened Robin.

How would Danyal fit into that? Would he grow to tease like the others? Or remain stoic like Damian?

“I’ll be approaching in 30 minutes, A.” He says. ‘Will Danyal be there?’ He doesn’t say.

Alfred says nothing in response. The engines fill the silence.

He grits his teeth, he just wants to know the situation, to stay updated, he wants to know if something’s happened or anything’s changed.

He sighs, forcefully loosening his jaw, “Who’s going out tonight?”

“Mm, I believe Miss Brown and Master Tim were discussing going together. Master Thomas is in bed, as is usual, though he did mention he’d be out early.. and I believe Madame Cassandra is staying in. She seems to have found a new project.”

Batman hums in confirmation. He wants to know what Cass had found interesting. More than that, he wants to know if Danyal was okay, Damian too.

“It seems it circles around our newest resident, though she hasn’t shown herself to him yet. Master Dick also seems to think the young sir is his duty as much as Master Damian had been.”

Batman feels his lips tug downwards as he grunts in response. Damian’s first year with them was… a regret. His own absence was devastating. He’d have to find some way to assure Dick that Danyal wasn’t his responsibility this time, that he could still be his own person. Perhaps he should encourage Dick to return to Blüdhaven. Affirm the family would be alright without him.

Batman sees Gotham’s cloud of smog come into view. The bay follows soon after, and the buildings next.

“I’m coming in now.”

“Very good sir.” Alfred answers, nodding in his peripheral before the call clicks off.

When the Batplane arrives to the cave, Alfred is nowhere to be seen. The other’s suits are missing as well, meaning they are already out for the night.

Batman doesn’t pause more than to look around, already heading to the Batcomputer with determined steps.

He enters his access codes, running through his security checks unconsciously, mind spinning on theories and clues.

He picks apart his and Talia’s interaction again and again, trying to pull everything he can from it and put it into his report file. Maybe if he can just read over it again, remember something else, maybe it will be enough to protect Danyal, maybe it will be enough to stop Ra’s, maybe it will be enough understand why Talia did this to h-

A gentle hand slides over his just as his finger goes to slam the enter button of the keyboard.

He looks over his shoulder, already recognizing the feeling of stitching against his suit.

Cass looks at him meaningfully. Her gentle hand shifts into a lean against his arm, the pressure a comfort. She stares up at the Batcomputer and reads through his writing piece by piece.

Bruce waits for her. He knows she struggles with so many words. Knows that she gained more from watching him type it than she will from reading an exact account but the details will be helpful anyways.

She nods to him, fingers tapping lightly against his arm as she thinks it over, scanning and rescanning the document.

Cass has been developing fidgets recently, small twitches of movement that don’t serve a purpose than to let her move.

Bruce wants to smile every time. He’s pretty sure they’re on purpose, but still.. it’s freedom for her.

She nudges him, reaching for a button across the keys. It flicks to a camera screen a second later.

The one in Danyal’s room.

Bruce feels a twinge of guilt at the disappointment Cass aims at him before they both refocus on the image.

The empty image.

Danyal is not in the room, and Bruce feels his eyebrows scrunch as he goes to pull up the other camera feeds to locate him, make sure he hasn’t been taken-

“Downstairs.” Cass says.

Batman gets a half turn around, checking the cave for a foreign presence, before Cass stops him again.

She points to the screen, drawing his attention to a bottom square.

Danyal stands in the hallway of the manor, staring at the portraits on the walls.

He feels a light tap on his shoulder in parting before Cass’s presence at his side disappears silently.

He stares up at the figure of his son standing in the hallway, mind still whirring about possibilities and clues and lies and secrets.

Danyal continues to stand in front of the portrait for another minute, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side.

He rips his eyes away from the portrait, turning down the hallway and ducking into the kitchen.

It’s empty when he gets there. Then again, the whole mansion had seemed empty. Aside from the ever constant, ever familiar feeling of eyes weighing down on him.

Danyal considers making himself food.

He considers jumping out of the window and seeing how far he could get.

He wonders if their cabinets have something he’d know and could do himself or if he’d be hopelessly lost.

He wonders how long it will take for the Demon’s Head to find him. Wonders what he’ll do when he does. Wonders if his-

He stops himself short.

“May I offer you some tea and snacks, young sir?”

Danyal turns slightly to face the old butler-Alfred- who’d entered behind him and nods.

Can he even say no?

Alfred gestures to a chair set up by the built in breakfast nook.

He sits. Even as the domesticity of it all throttles his heart in his chest. The way they must eat together every morning, appear together in every photo, smiling. A family portrait. Batman’s family. Batman got to keep his. But Danny’s is tra-

Danyal breathes purposefully, staring down at his hands, clenching them tighter.

Suddenly a hand reaches across his vision, pressing a button on an ancient looking miniature TV sitting just tucked into the kitchen corner.

It flickers to life on some random news channel, low mindless chatter softening the air.

Danyal feels his shoulders lower slightly, just barely, as the silences retreats. He glances up, expecting to find Alfred there staring at him, questioning him, why he’s acting like this, why he-

Alfred’s back is to him. The man busy at the stove with the tea kettle.

“I hope you like lemon ginger tea,” the man says, getting a small jar from a cupboard, “It’s been quite a bit since I’ve had the opportunity to make some.”

Danyal doesn’t quite trust it, still watching the man warily. He doesn’t understand why they would welcome him into their house, Batman or no, he was a threat to them. He was nothing but a threat.

“How about something to eat?”

Danyal watches the man move over to the fridge.

Something moves in his peripheral and his eyes jump to the side.

Narrowed eyes comb over the fancy china case against the wall. But he can’t see anything odd. The glass is clear, refracted reflection shining back him over the china. A dark phone sitting on the ledge. Dark wood pressed against the wall. He doesn’t know what he saw.

Alfred sets a small plate down in front of him with a light clatter, immediately turning back as the tea kettle begins to screech.

The movement makes a small carrot tumble off, rolling across the counter to Danyal.

He stares at it.

He breathes in, out, in out, in out in out too fast. Too fast-

A finger rolls to a stop in front of him and he can only stare at it as strong arms grip and pull him back, keeping him restrained.

Granite counters blend until they are stone floors.

He can’t look away from it. Confusion bleeds in with denial and regret and bloodthirsty stubbornness.

“Look at me, boy.”

Danny’s head is jerked back by his hair, forcing his eyes up to his instructor.

The man glares down at him.

“I have taught warriors better than you by a thousand, and you dare to try to escape under my hand?”

Danny tries to grin, barely managing a crude sneer, coppery blood in his teeth, “You should have kept a better eye on me, you fucking nutcase.”

His eyelid flicks closed automatically as cold gunmetal rests against it.

“Say that again.”

Danny swallows his regret, in for a penny in for a pound. He juts his chin up, forcing the man to follow the movement with his gun.

“What, were you dropped as a bab-” His open eye strains to see his instructor’s thumb press down the hammer of the gun. A warning.

He can feel his hands shake under the assassins hold. His throat burns.

“You scared of a chil-?” He barely has time to register the hand moving before the butt of the gun slams into his nose with a sickening crack.

Pain floods his face. He gets half a shout out before his chin is grabbed by unforgiving hands.

He stares into the man’s cold eyes.

Danny says nothing. Too focused on trying to breathe when his nose is filling with blood and his mouth is clamped nearly shut.

“Better.”

He resists the urge to spit in the man’s face as he steps back, straightening and waving a hand to the assassins. Even without their hands on him he can feel their presence looming behind him.

Danny drops his head, curling in on himself as much as he can, trying to ignore the feeling of blood as it slides down his face.

His eyes are left to stagnate on the finger thrown to the ground in front of him.

Pale skin stands stark against dark floors, contrasted by blood and dirt marring it. He can see the calluses and small scars.

He doesn’t understand.

He might.

He doesn’t want to.

“You are not the only one I can punish to get my point across, boy.”

He looks closer at the finger. At the nicks of careless knives and tools, of a hand that had cradled- no- please no-

“The oaf was very insistent it be him.”

Danny snaps his head up, fear striking through his chest, “No! Please-“ he catches himself, “Please don’t hurt them! They don’t- Hurt me, just me! They don’t deserve it, they didn’t do anything-!”

Sharp eyes stab into him. Fury behind them.

“Hurt me, Master Shrike, just me. Please.”

There’s a pause as the man continues to stare down at him before he lifts one lip in a sneer, “Do you think you command me, child?”

Danny freezes, “I don’t- I- No, Master. I don’t.”

“Then why,” Shrike near growls, “Do you beg me? Why do you plead like you have a right to ask for anything?”

“I don’t-” 'I don’t understand,' he starts to say but he’s cut off by Shrike’s boot hitting his face. He’s learned by now when not to dodge. He can’t give them another reason to hurt his family.

A second kick lands.

“You will be quiet!”

Danny waits for a beat, then slowly pulls himself up from the floor, not lifting his eyes.

He can still see his father’s finger on the floor.

“You do not command me. You are a tool! A weapon in the Demon’s hand! I choose to act, to punish or break you! You do not act, do not speak until you are to be used!”

Danyal stays silent.

He wants to scream, to fight back, they train him and they train him but he can’t fight back because if he does- his eyes flick to the bloodied finger.

He can let them. For his family, he can let them call him a weapon, can let them say he has no will. He can do this one thing.

He’s not giving up, he tells himself. But for his family’s safety, he can let them think he is. Just this once.

Danny stops, eyes shutting for just a second as he bends into a kneel, holding his hands up in front of him.

There’s a pause, cruel satisfaction radiating off the man in front of him.

Danyal licks his lips, steeling himself, “I am ready for my lesson,” Danny forces the words out, “Master Shrike.”

He doesn’t bother to look up and see the man’s sneer.

“Good.”

He sees the kick coming.

He still doesn’t move.

He stays still.

The world moves around him. Voices. Muttering. The sound of dishes, water being poured.

There’s a carrot.. orange and bright in front of him.

His heart is beating too fast. His eyes sting.

Calm down. Control it. Control it. Stop, stop-

A tea cup clatters in front of him.

“Sir Danyal, are you quite alright?” He hears someone ask. Alfred. It’s Alfred. Batman’s butler. He’s not-

He tries to speak, ‘I’m fine’ he tries to say. But his throat constricts. He simply nods, staring down at the carrot.

A freaking carrot.

It’s ridiculous.

He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s. Fine.

Danyal takes a deep breath. He breathes out. Silently.

He does it again.

He holds it until his heart slows down, stops stuttering from beat to beat.

He breathes out.

He reaches for the tea, ignoring the eyes on him-always watching him- ignoring the way his hands shake.

He drinks the tea. Let’s it burn his throat and distract him.

He breathes.

Alfred does not turn to look at him. Staying busy at the sink with dishes that already look clean.

He is thankful.

He breathes.

Low murmurs fill impenetrable silence. Danyal drags his eyes over to the small TV.

His breath stops.

A banner of words crawls across the bottom of the screen.

‘DalvCo factories shutting down after mass destruction.’

He tries to tear his eyes away.

‘Four buildings exploded just after midnight on Saturday in downtown Chicago, Elmerton, and Red Lake. 12 workers dead. Police have not caught the perpetrators.’

And they won’t.

Danyal can recognize a message.

He knows what it means. Who is sending it.

He tries not to let it show how his mind begins spinning. Churning out plans and strategies- If an attempt had cost his father a finger, what would they do to them now, because of Danyal?- he had to fix this.

He looks down to his shaking hands. He stops them. And the tea in his cup stills.

He stops. Pauses. He eyes Alfred still at the sink without looking up.

He places it just on the edge of the counter. Then turns away and lets go.

The cup falls.

It shatters against the floor. Danyal jumps up from his seat at the same time Alfred turns around.

“What’s happened?” He says, already hustling over with a towel. “Are you hurt?”

Danyal steps away and around him, towards the door.

He almost bumps into the display case until the reflection of light off the phone catches his eye. A small ballet sticker sits on the back of the case.

His hand moves before he can think and slips it into his pocket. He looks at Alfred.

“It’s no trouble, Young Danyal,” Alfred says as he crouches over where Danyal had been sitting, “I’ll clean this up and get you more. You can help me prepare for breakfast-“

Danyal considers knocking him out, so he can’t stop him, or alert anyone, but a body is more suspicious. Instead he paints his face with fear and steps out of the room as quick as he can.

He turns down the hallway, trying to remember where he’d walked from the cave.

Mere hours ago.

He goes the opposite direction, following a halls as far to the outer edges of the mansion as he can, typing in Vlad’s number with nervous hands as he goes.

He makes a final turn before he opens a window, glances backwards, and jumps out.

He lands in a roll, already running. His finger presses call and he listens to the phone ringing as he runs.

Once. Twice. He swipes branches out of his way. Three times. Four. Five. Six.

‘We’re sorry the number-‘

Danyal hangs up and presses again.

He doesn’t stop running.

He just has to protect them. He has to warn Vlad. Warn whoever he can. Tell someone.

It rings again. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. Six- ‘We’re sorr-‘

Danyal presses it again and runs faster.

If he can get caught by the League maybe Ra’s will overlook it. Maybe he can still protect them. He can fix this. Please just let him fix this.

‘We’re s-‘

He tries again.

And Danyal continues rushing through the woods, wishing his feet would carry him faster, further, higher-

The sound of his steps pounds in his ears. The phantom feeling of eyes on his back.

He slams his finger down on Vlad’s number again, letting the dial tone drown his heartbeat out.

Once. Twice. Three times, Frick! Vlad pick up! Four- the speakerphone clicks.

“Vlad!”

There’s barely a pause, “DANNY!?”

Danny nearly trips, his heart stuttering dangerously, hopefully.

“Dani?…” He says, then jolts to his senses and continues running, a glance thrown behind him, “Dani, how do you have Vlad’s phone, are you okay? Have you been to Amity?”

“Danny, where the hell are you!? I’ve been looking all over for-“

“Dani, you have to listen okay, there’s dangerous people after me- after us-“ Danyal jumps another log, scaling a small stone wall, “You can’t fight them, you have to run, they’ve got my family, Tuck, Sam-“

“Danny wait no listen to me-!”

“You can’t fight them! You can’t, okay!?” Danny scans his eyes back and forth frantically as he runs, mind spinning, calculating how he’s going to get out, away, controlling his heart rate as much as he can, “You have to promise me! Just find Vlad, get out of Amity. Warn him- I couldn’t - my parents- you have to-“

“Danny, listen to me!” Dani yells, stopping him in his tracks.

“Your parents are out, Danny,” She says, voice rushed, but his ears barely hear it. “They escaped, they called us weeks ago to start looking for you- Danny, they’re out.”

She goes quiet. Waiting for Danny.

His parents were-

Danny draws in a deep breath, standing stock still in the middle of the trees, stolen phone still pressed to his ear.

He couldn’t believe it.. they were-

Something clangs against a tree behind him and Danyal whips around ready to-

His head blossoms with pain.

Everything goes dark.

This is included in my one-shot collection(for now) on Ao3, under same name. The collection is Things that Could Exist by Snaileer.

Tags:

@thecrystallabyrinth @isnt-that-grape @riverdancingwerewolves @mimblizzy @chaos-deimos-et-eris @miraculousandmore2 @mys-tia @jitteryjuttury @moonlight-opal @nerdypaintbrush @thedragonqueen1998 @luminanightfall @cowarddragon @cyrwrites @kamireadsmcu

[thesassypadawan]

Pay Attention (Knight Anakin x FemPadawanReader)

Summary: Why do council meetings have to be so boring? Why does a certain knight have to be so distracting? No wonder you’re finding it so hard to pay attention.

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because of all the lovely smut. Naughty thoughts, misuse of the force…and Ani’s phantom tongue. Padawan Reader is of age.

Notes: So...part 2? Anyone interested?

A little something for 🐇 Anon! It was truly a pleasure to write this! I had a lot of fun with it, cannot not emphasize that enough!  Hope you like it, bun, and to see more of your lovely requests in my inbox! 💗

‘Angel, do you really think now is the best time for this?’ The all too familiar voice came through the bond. The faintest of smiles forming on your face as you realized how loud your thoughts were.

You hadn’t meant for your mind to wander. Yes, you knew the importance and necessity of the council meetings. Of going over the details and breakdown of your latest mission. But…did it have to be so boring? And did he have to be so distracting?

Tilting your head slightly, you stole a quick glance at Anakin. Eyes gleaming a bit when you saw the way he was sitting. Leaning back, his long legs casually spread open. A bump starting to…he adjusted his robes. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Returning to your delightful little daydream, you easily get swept up in it once more. Images of climbing into his lap, grinding yourself against his…

Suddenly, you’re startled when a phantom hand brushed your thigh; cupped your pussy. And your gazes locked once more, his blue orbs sparkling mischievously. ‘Really, then maybe I should enlighten you. Teach you a little lesson for not paying attention.’

Invisible fingers rubbed back and forth over your folds, teasing lightly at your clit. Rolling, pinching it before they slipped into your core. Pumping steadily, curling in a way that had your knees feeling a tad weak. Yet you still remained calm and collective on the surface. ‘Ani, don’t…’

‘Don’t what?’ Those digits abruptly disappeared, replaced by what felt very much like a mouth. A mouth which devoured your heat greedily, accompanied by a tongue that lapped hungrily. Forcing you to swallow down your moans, your stance becoming progressively unsteady.

Phantom hands grasped your behind firmly, holding you still. ‘Do something like this?’ While that tongue wrapped around your sensitive bud, sucking it harshly; teeth nipping at it occasionally. Only making the coil in your stomach grow tighter with each passing moment. ‘Or…’

Tongue plunged deeply, tracing out his name in your slicked hole. The urge to tug at his sandy curls, to buck your hips against his handsome face so strong. But with no one there, you had to settle for your fingers twitching uselessly at your side. Your walls fluttering frantically, pricks starting to form at the corner of your eyes. ‘Please, I…’

About to tip into sweet oblivion, all the invisible appendages vanished from your body. Leaving your hand flying to your mouth, trying to muffle the small sob that escaped from your lips. As your legs gave out and you sunk to the chamber floor. Tears streaming down your face, cunt spasming around nothing.

Immediately the meeting came to a stop. Your master calling out to, reaching for you. Instead you heard another voice above you and felt a different pair of arms haul you back to your feet. “It’s all right. I can take her back to your shared quarters. I promise to take good care of her.”

From the sounds of it, your master reluctantly agreed. Muttering words that you could barely make out in your blissed out state. The fog of pleasure setting in, clouding your brain.

All you were truly aware of was Anakin’s big hand coming to rest on your back, your arm being flung over his broad shoulders. Followed by you being led somewhere, his lips pressing to your ear. His voice low and filled with malice. “Naughty girl, cumming in front of the whole council. I think I’m going to have to teach you a second lesson today…”

You attempt to protest but are silenced…by the phantom hand squeezing your overstimulated pussy again.

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @cacti5539, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen

[delulustateofmind]

Welcome Home (Drabble)

Summary: Azriel just resting between your thighs 😎

Warnings: A bit filthy, Soft!Azriel, Oral (F! Receiving), No plot just smut, shadow daddy a little pussy drunk, unedited

** Minors don't interact under the cut **

"I missed you so much, baby," Azriel purred against your lips, the exhaustion from his week-long mission etched on his face. His kisses were gentle, each a soothing balm to the days spent apart, and his hands settled firmly on your waist, tugging you closer as he led you to the bedroom. You tried not to smile between kisses, knowing that his long missions often left him in a tender, soft mood.

All he wanted was to love you, his pretty little mate, who was conveniently wearing a dress he could easily pull the hem up as he laid you gently on the bed. His touch was needy and hungry as he slipped your dress up to your waist, a hitch in his breath as he spread your legs.

"No panties? Baby, you're too good f'me," he groaned, his voice thick with desire as he settled between your thighs. He pressed soft kisses along your inner thigh, each one sending shivers through you. "So beautiful," he murmured between kisses, his breath warm against your skin, each word a tender caress that quickened your pulse.

Azriel was obsessed with your pretty cunt, the way it was already glistening for him as he brought his soft lips to your clit. Earning a soft moan on your lips as he gently kissed your soft folds. His big strong scarred hands spread your legs wider as they harshly gripped your thighs, ensuring he was holding back from devouring you. Azriel could taste your arousal, that sweet nectar from the gods that he thrived on, that he would look forward to on these missions.

"Azriel" You whimpered, your voice weak with desire as he was gently just kissing around your heat. As if hearing your pleas, Azriel's tongue was diving eagerly into your warmth. Your breath hitched at his every touch. You tried squirming or lifting your hips, but Azriel still held his meal, his blessing from the cauldron.

You looked down to see his pretty golden eyes half-lidded. Those gorgeous long eyelashes fluttering shut, and his moans that were filled with a mixture of adoration and desire that made your heart race.

"Ah…Azriel…baby…right there," you babbled, the words spilling from your lips in a breathless rush. But he didn't hear you; he was too drunk on your sweet nectar, devouring you like a man starved. His focus was entirely on you, each flick of his tongue and press of his lips sending waves of pleasure through your body, making you arch and gasp beneath him.

Azriel didn't seem to care by the way your body bucked and shuddered, by the deep and raspy noises that escaped your throat. His fingers soon joined his tongue, spreading you open wider, searching for that one spot that would make you jump and quiver.

Azriel would alternate between sweet slow kitten licks around your clit, piling on the pressure that would have you gasping for air. The build-up was agony, the promise of reaching your high just out of reach. From those sweet kind licks, he would move on to something more relentless. Leaving you arched wildly, thrusting your hips into his face, your back arching off the bed as the climax was fast approaching.

Azriel's lips smacked as he lapped hungrily at your juice. Every touch, every curl of his fingers sends waves through your body. The pleasure blinding you, ensuring that you were seeing stars, robbing you of all sense of the world but the need for release. The coil within you tightened and loosened with each one of Azriel's movements, each flick of the tongue, and thrust of the finger had you losing yourself in ecstasy.

You swore under your breath, pressing your fingers through his dark silky curls, urging him on as you pushed closer and closer to climax. His tongue worked in harmony with his fingers as he would moan, the nails of his free hand that resided on your thigh digging in as he kept your legs spread open for him. Bucking his hips into the sheets. Azriel drank your juices that were currently streaming down his pretty face. With a final, deep thrust of his fingers and a swirl of his tongue, you cried out his name like it was a prayer made for him.

"Azriel...I..oh gods" you whimpered as you reached those waves of bliss. Your nails dug into his hair, your hips bucking involuntarily. Azriel relished every last drop of your orgasm, his tongue greedily lapping up your juices.

"Gotta clean up your mess baby," He moaned against your wet folds.

As your legs began to shake less, Azriel finally pulled away, slowly, removing his fingers from your messy cunt. Azriel's face was slick with your essence as he looked at you with a lovesick grin as he began to unbuckle his leathers.

[poppy-metal]

after the whole patrick lending you to art for forgiveness ordeal…… you are so unbelievably embarrassed. it’s bad enough patrick knows what you’re like, what you really want from a man, but now art knows? art, who you’ve spoken to maybe 5 times, knows the lows, knows how far you would degrade yourself to make the man you love happy. art, a mere stranger, knows that when you’re used your pussy gets soaking wet. when you’re disrespected you squeeze like you’re afraid he’ll leave. and being the kind warm person he is, he smiles at you, he waves at you like you’re friends. like you know anything about the other except for what they feel like on the inside. and god, he hadn’t even used protection. he came inside you in front of your boyfriend, and now he was free to roam the halls and smile and wave and come up to patrick and hang out and you got so quiet and so flushed it was like you were the third wheel. what really got you was how much you liked it. you liked being used. you wanted art to fuck you as hard as he needed to forgive patrick, you wanted him to hurt you. but something about it left a craving, a lingering desire. he didn’t like you like you liked him. you wanted him, him, but the only reason he did it that night was to get back at patrick, to set things right. you understood why he was so mean, but the docile and nagging part of yourself wanted to be so good he had to be nice. nice, kind, warm art. the art patrick got. you wanted that.

patrick, ever observant, knows exactly how you feel. knows you want more, but don’t know how to ask. knows art wants more, because once they’re reconciled, best friends talk. started off as a joke over beer, asking would it be so bad if it happened again? decided it wouldn’t be bad. it would be really really good. and maybe it would be even better if it happened again and again and again.

so they pull you into arts bedroom, saying they wanna “talk”, but they mainly talk to each other about you. you sit between them, cheeks burning, as patrick palms the squashed fat of your ass, as he’s allowed to do, while art gently pushes your hair away from your neck and breathes there, as you didn’t know he was allowed to do.

“patrick told me you’re embarrassed about what we did. is that true, baby?”

baby. you shudder and look to patrick, panicked, but he only smiles. he raised his eye brows and on command you answer.

“yes.”

“i’m really sorry about that. aren’t i, pat?”

“mhm. he wants to make it up to you. you don’t have to be embarrassed you know.”

their hands and mouths moved like magnets closer to your skin, patrick pawing at your thigh and ass as arts nose brushes your throat as he kisses your collarbone.

“ok,” you say, barely over a whisper.

“ok? ok what?”

“ok. make it up to me.”

such a brave command in such a weak voice. they both laugh, and the air tickles your neck.

they are going to take good care of you. their good little girl

im gonna bite you like im really gonna do it im gonna bite you im gonna sink my teeth in you

brain short circuiting actually head empty just patrick holding your thighs to your chest so art can eat slowly at your cunt like the slut he is - flashing those blue eyes at you. like hes cataloging your expressions, finding what places he has to tongue at to make your thighs twitch, your toes curl.

patricks not a bystander either. he bands one thick arm beneath your knees to keep you in place, his other hand reaching up to cup your jaw - turn your head to his so he can see you too. "you like my friends tongue on your pussy?" when your chest heaves and your eyes dart away he grins and leans in, "you dont have to lie. i think it's fucking hot."

then his tongue is in your mouth and you're opening for him, splitting your lips to let him inside at the same time arts tongue parts your lower lips to lap across your entrance. you cant help how your cunt squeezes, trying to drag him inside. he pulls back.

"can i eat her ass?"

you gasp when patrick lets you go. chin wet with spit from his thorough tongue fuck of your mouth. it isn't lost on you how art didn't bother to ask you, he asks patrick. that makes you squirm. arch back into patricks hard body which rumbles with a low laugh.

"you're gonna make her fall in love with you if you do that. she loves having her ass played with. think she'd be happy if i just fucked that hole and didn't touch her pussy at all."

art is gripping his cock through his boxers. squeezing the head. "fuck." his eyes finally meet yours and he licks his lips. "you want me to?"

as much as you do love it, its still embarrassing to admit. its such an intimate place. even now you can feel your rim clenching like its shy. shy but eager for the attention.

"o-okay." you tell him. and patrick reaches down, thick hands spreading your cheeks till all of you is exposed. wet cunt still open from the work art put in with his mouth, the seam between your asscheeks spread to reveal your little twitching hole. it winks repeatedly at arts stare. "please," you whine, the humiliation making you run hot, burning burning burning between them. you cover your face with your hands when art starts to lean in, pink lips parted, face flushed, blonde locks wild around his head like a halo.

his cherubic beauty is what makes the act so fucking lewd. and when the touch of his tongue flutters against your tight hole you cry out, high and whiney.

"aw," patrick says in faux sympathy. you know he doesn't actually feel bad. you can feel the hard length of his dick at your back. he loves when you're embarrassed. thinks its cute. "you're gonna make her cry, art."

you hear art moan, feel the vibration of it between your cheeks that patrick is keeping spread wide - his tongue is lapping at your rim steadily, soft coaxing licks that has the furled muscle relaxing for him. hes evil, theres nothing cherubic about him at all, you decide. hes the devil.

"little babies gonna cry cause her ass is getting tonguefucked -" lips press against the side of your head. gentle. "all your secrets are out now, baby. we both know what a fucking pervert you are. open your eyes and watch art lick your hole, c'mon."

and like the puppet on strings you are, you listen.

[heizlut]

Mine, All Mine

ꕀ cw: slight exhibitionism

ꕀ tags: bratty sub fem!reader, hard dom!geshu lin, creampie, cockwarming, marking, humiliation if you squint, rough sex

ꕀ nsfw under the cut

ꕀ m!list here

ꕀ a/n: @glitteryshlong this one’s for you bestie😚

Being Geshu Lin’s girl could be hard at times considering he asked you to keep the relationship a secret, stating something about how ‘If enemies knew about you, they’d use it against me.’ and ‘I’m the general. I can’t appear weak to affections.’

The first part you could understand, but the second made you roll your eyes. Since when was loving someone considered weak? But as stubborn as he is, you couldn’t change his mind with words. Gods, how you’ve tried. But… You could provoke him.

It was a silly thing to do, going around in your medic uniform with the skirt rolled at the waist to the point of barely covering your perfect, round ass, the top few buttons of your shirt left undone to expose the swell of your breasts peeking through.

Strutting through the base as you went about your own business, tending to those who needed it and going as far as to make lunches for the soldiers. Your pretty heels click against the ground as you walk, the sway of your hips was hypnotizing to the soldiers as you passed by.

Handing off a couple bento boxes to some soldiers with a pretty smile, “Here you go. Be sure to eat your fill. Can’t have strong men like you feeling weak in battle because you weren’t able to eat enough~”

The two men gawk down at you before smirking, one speaking up, “Well would ya look at that. What a sweet thing you are doing this for us~ What’s the occasion?” You just give a small smirk back, your words dripping like honey, “No reason. Just felt like helping out a little extra around here.”

The two soldiers chuckle, the other of the pair speaking up this time, “It’s always a pleasure whenever we get to see you, hun.” Their eyes trail over your body hungrily, and you flash a smile, “Glad to hear it~”

You strut away, tossing your hair over your shoulder and holding your head high. Peeking to the side, you spot Geshu Lin surrounded by a few soldiers, practically seething at what he’s just witnessed. His eyes trail over your form with a snarl, taking in the bounce of your breasts as you walk and the way your skirt hugs your ass.

You just give him a little smirk, to which he gives you a dangerous look as if to tell you that if you kept this up, you’d be in for it big time. But no, you weren’t about to drop the act. Instead you fed fuel to the fire when you gave out your last bento box to another irrelevant soldier, placing your hand on his chest acting all cute when he thanked you for the meal, leaving the poor man as a blushing mess as you walk away.

That was it. Geshu Lin was done with whatever the fuck you thought you were doing. With a low growl, he excused himself from the gathered soldiers who were speaking with him, pushing past them to march over to you.

If you weren’t trying to keep up this petty bullshit as you continued to strut through the base and back towards the medical center, you would’ve run like hell. The look in his eyes was one of a predator as it closed in on its prey.

You picked up your pace, trying your best to maintain your facade but no one could match the speed of the general. His strong hand grips your wrist and tugs you towards an unoccupied side of of the building outside.

Geshu Lin pins yours wrists above your head in one hand, pushing you against the wall with a snarl as he leans close to your face, “What in the hell do you think you’re doing, huh?” You play innocent, giving him pretty little doe-eyes, “I don’t know what you-ngh!”

His forceful grip on your jaw with his free hand cuts you off, “Drop the act, doll, and answer the damn question.” Geshu Lin’s hot breath fans across your lips, his golden eyes glowing with rage. Before you can answer, a soldier appears around the corner where the two of you stood, clearing his throat.

Geshu Lin run his tongue across his teeth before releasing you, turning his attention to the soldier, “What could you possibly want right now? Can’t you see I’m busy?” The soldier stands there with a sheepish look on his face, “Uh. Apologies but this is urgent. We need you in the meeting room. It seems like we have another Tacet Field incident near Desorock Highland.”

Geshu Lin huffs out a breath of annoyance but nods, “I’ll be there shortly. Gather everyone else.” With a quick nod, the soldier hurries off, glad to be away from whatever he just witnessed. Turning back to look down at you, Geshu Lin gives you a pointed look, “You’re coming with me.” Before you can even ask why or protest, he has his hand around your wrist once again, pulling you along with him.

၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.

The meeting room was empty, yet to be filled with soldiers awaiting orders from the general. Normally, this would piss Geshu Lin off, always expecting his men to be ready and waiting, especially if there was an emergency. But right now, he didn’t care. It allowed him to move forward with what he had planned for you.

Sitting in his usual seat at the head of the table, Geshu Lin pulls you towards him, causing you to stumble slightly off balance, “What the hell, Geshu?” He rolls his eyes and places his hands on your hips, giving them a little squeeze, “Watch the damn attitude and don’t even think about questioning me.”

His hands slide over you ass before giving it a harsh smack, making you yelp in surprise, “After the shitty little act you pulled earlier, I can’t say I’m in the best mood. Now strip off your panties.” Your eyebrows raise and you open your mouth to protest, only leading to another slap on your ass, much harsher than the last. “Take. Them. Off.”, Geshu Lin growls out.

Gritting your teeth, you do as he says, sliding the flimsy material off. He snatches it from your hand and grips your jaw, squeezing just enough to force your lips to part before stuffing the panties into your mouth, “Taste yourself. I bet you got so wet acting like a whore for everyone else.” You knew better than to go against him when he was like this, but that didn’t stop you from narrowing your eyes at him.

Ignoring your pointed look, Geshu Lin undoes his belt and pants, freeing his hardening cock and stroking it slowly as he kept his eyes on you, “Since today you want to act like a desperate slut, you’re going to be a good girl and keep my cock warm during this meeting.”

Your eyebrows furrow, as if to ask if he was actually serious right now. He only answers your look with a deadpan expression as his thumb rubs over the tip of his cock, “I’ve never been more serious in my life. Get on my cock. Now.”

His harsh words and demeanor made arousal spread through you. He really was hot when he got a little mean with you… You go to straddle him, facing him, but he stops you, clicking his tongue, “Ah-ah, nope. You’ll be facing everyone else since you want to be so... performative today.”

Arousal and shame surge through you at his words, but you comply. Turning away from him as you straddle his lap, his cock pushing against your wet entrance almost has you cumming right then and there as you ease yourself down.

But you take too long for his liking and his hands grip your waist and pulls you down on his cock, drawing a muffled moan from you and a groan through gritted teeth from him, “It’s better to hurry when you know the rest will be in here any second.”

Geshu Lin’s cock throbs inside of you and the sounds of footsteps can be heard approaching the room. Mercifully, he removes the now thoroughly soaked panties from your mouth and puts them in the small pocket of your uniform. He nips at your ear as he speaks in a whisper, “Try not to make any noise, doll, and don't you dare even think about cumming without my permission.”

As soldiers begin to pile into the room, many look confused as to why one of their favorite medics was there and also sitting on their general's lap. But they weren't exactly complaining since now they had something they found particularly delicious to look at as the general droned on.

Under their intense stares, you shift slightly on Geshu Lin's cock as heat rises to your cheeks, causing him to squeeze your hips as a silent warning to keep still. It takes everything in you not to whimper softly at the warning, especially when his cock twitches every once in awhile inside of you.

Geshu Lin looks to his soldiers before speaking with his usual cold and commanding voice, "I thought this was urgent. Now speak up so we can figure out how to deal with this fucking mess." One of the soldiers quickly speaks up, "Y-yes, sir. There's a new tacet field near Desorock Highlands. The people near there have been struggling greatly with the tacet discords that are pouring out of it."

As the soldier continues on, Geshu Lin's hands begin to wander across your body. His fingers trailing up your thighs under the table, gently squeezing the flesh, making sure you stay compliant under his touch. Your cunt clenches around his cock as you bite your lip, making Geshu Lin huff out a strained, breathy chuckle.

The soldier pauses, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "Sir? Is something funny about this?" The others have their eyes on both you and Geshu Lin, questioning and curious. A hint of a smirk crosses his features, "Of course not."

He reaches up with one hand and moves your hair over your shoulder, exposing your neck, his lips grazing the exposed flesh as his eyes stay locked on his soldiers in a frightening display of dominance, "But maybe our lovely medic has something to add?"

The soldiers shift in their positions, trying to hide their arousal at such a suggestive sight. Your cheeks flush hot under their scrutiny as they wait for you to speak. Geshu Lin's hot breath teases along your skin as he speaks in a low, husky voice, "Go on, doll. You were so friendly with all of them earlier. Don't act shy now~"

You shift on his cock once more, your insides squeezing his length again when his hand that was still on your thigh, begins to softly trace over your clit, "I-I can provide medical assistance at the s-site-ngh..." The soldiers eyes widen at the noise that came from you, some biting their hand to restrain themselves.

Geshu Lin's smirk widens as he presses his finger against your clit, making you let out a hiccuping gasp, "What a good girl you are, always ready to help when needed..." The soldiers stare wide-eyed with flushed cheeks as they begin to finally understand what could be happening under the meeting table out of their view.

Their eyes trail over the swell of your breasts peeking through the top you purposefully left unbuttoned earlier today, watching as they move in time with your quick breathing. One feeling bold, "accidentally" drops his pen and begins to bend down in hopes of catching a peek at what was going on under there, but Geshu Lin's golden eyes snap towards him. His voice a low snarl, "Leave it."

The soldier freezes in place, but slowly straightens back up, trying to avoid his general's threatening gaze. Silence falls over the room, only the sound of your heavy, strained breathing can be heard as your pretty pussy leaks all over his cock and dripping down and making a mess on his pants below. His narrowed eyes scan over the others, watching carefully as they stand there almost too afraid to even breathe too loud lest they face his wrath.

His lips curl up in a cruel smirk, satisfied that no one would dare to try to pull something like that again. His eyes trail down to your trembling form in his lap, trying so hard to keep still and not reveal more to the others.

Geshu Lin's finger resumes in teasing your clit in a slow, torturous pace as you squirm against him. Looking back to his soldiers, he speak in a commanding tone, "We move out tonight. Now get out of my sight."

The soldiers move quickly out of the meeting room, grateful they wouldn't have to restrain themselves at the lewd sight of you struggling in their general's lap. The second the room was cleared out, Geshu Lin grips your hips, standing quickly as he forces you to bend over the table, making you gasp from the sudden movement.

He thrusts forward, hard and deep, not even giving you the chance to regain your senses. He grips your hair with one hand, tugging your head up towards the door that had been left open just a crack as he leans down towards your ear, speaking in a low growl, "Such a whore. You fucking liked that, didn't you. Sitting all pretty and squirming on my cock while my soldiers practically fucked you with their eyes."

Each word he speaks is punctuated by sharp thrusts as his thick cock abuses your dripping hole over and over. "Ngh! G-Geshu, please!", you cry out as your pretty tits bounce with the force of his cock fucking into you, threatening to spill out from their confines. Ignoring your pleas for mercy, he bites down on your neck, marking you with his teeth with a husky groan, "Take my cock like the slut you are."

Lewd moans fall easily from your lips, your cunt squelching along his girthy length as you go dumb on his cock. Geshu Lin huffs out a laugh as he continues to mark up your skin, leaving purple marks as a testament to his possessive love for you, "Come on, doll, tell me who's fucking this slutty hole, huh? Say it."

"G-Geshu -ngh f-fuuuuck....", you moan out, your eyes rolling back as drool begins to slip from your open mouth. His smirk looks more like a dangerous snarl as his cock throbs hard inside of your twitching, squelching hole. He lets go of your hip only to deliver a resounding smack to your ass, making you cry out, "Say it again. Scream my fucking name."

His aching balls slap against your clit with each thrust, driving you closer and closer to orgasm as you babble his name between whorish moans like a desperate prayer. Your cunt clenches tight around his thick length as you cum all over his cock. Clear liquid squirts out of your hole, dripping down his balls and to the floor.

Geshu Lin snarls at the feeling and the sight, releasing his grip on your hair to hold your hips with so much force it was bound to leave you with bruises as he picks up his pace.

Without his fingers tangling into your hair, you fall limp against the meeting table, your breasts squished against the wood as they bounce. Your own drool begins to pool against the table as you're fucked mercilessly by the general you called your boyfriend.

Geshu Lin's eyes roll back at the sight of you, his pretty little girlfriend all dumb for him. His balls tighten and he grips you a little tighter as his flesh slaps against your sore ass, "You're going to take all my cum. Let it fucking drip out of you and down those pretty legs of yours." With one more sharp thrust and shuddering growl, ropes of thick cum spill out of his cock and into your cunt.

His cock throbs and pulsates as he rides out his orgasm. His silver hair sticking to his sweaty forehead as his broad chest heaves with shallow breaths. Your legs shake as they struggle to keep you standing in your pretty heels, only Geshu Lin's hold on your hips keeps you steady. He slips his softened cock out of your spent hole, golden eyes watching in satisfaction as his cum leaks out of you.

A sharp gasp sounds towards the cracked door, catches his attention as his eyes snap up. There stands a soldier who had been peeking in on their little encounter, his cock in his hand as his own release dribbles down his fist. Geshu Lin's lips twitch into a dangerous smirk as the soldier quickly tucks himself back into his pants and begins to turn away to flee the scene.

Geshu Lin clicks his tongue, making the soldier freeze, "Come here, soldier." The soldiers eyes widen, practically shaking in his boots as he obeys the general's command, his eyes quickly looking down at your fucked out form, your upper half still laying against the table. Geshu Lin grips your hair and pulls your head up gently, making you look at the soldier with dazed eyes.

His golden eyes look to the trembling, flushed soldier, "Go on, thank our pretty medic for giving you a show." Heat rushes to the man's cheeks as he stumbles over his words, "Th-thank you..."

Too fucked out to even process Geshu Lin's perverted display of dominance over you, you only let out a soft whimper. Geshu Lin's lips form a small smirk, "You're dismissed." The soldier practically runs out of there as his thoughts swirl rapidly.

Geshu Lin wraps a strong arm around your waist as he pulls you up, cradling you in his arms as he sits back down in his seat, cooing softly against your hair and pressing sweet kisses to your temple, "My pretty girl. You're mine... All mine."

၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.

After that day, the soldiers were almost too afraid to even look at you, even when you treated their wounds and greeted them as you crossed their paths. They knew better than to act too friendly with you and you knew better than to pull a petty stunt for attention again lest you all face the wrath of the fierce general. They now knew you were his girl.

Geshu Lin didn't need to announce it with words, his display was more than enough to send a clear message: She's mine.

၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊

a/n: safe to say, reader's mission was a success🥴

[starsofang]

wip saturday because i never have stuff done for wednesdays

Simon wasn’t partial to humans. You’d think with him being a guardian angel to many over the centuries, he would grow to like them. Really, it wasn’t that he disliked them, but more so couldn’t empathize with them like other angels could. Some were weak, some were selfish, some were burdening. All of them, though, were on borrowed time, and that was exactly where he came in.

There wasn’t ever a human life that Simon did not keep protected. All of his subordinates, as he called them, lived long enough to see their hair turn gray and their skin mold into wrinkles and age lines. Not once had a human died young under his watch, and he planned to keep it that way.

It seemed the gods held his professionalism to their advantage. Now that his previous subject had passed of old age, he was tasked with a new one. A more challenging one.

You, a high risk. Normally, people of your kind that had a doomed fate from birth were paired with angels who specialized in that. While Simon was practically one and the same with the others, he typically requested humans that wouldn’t be a pain in his ass.

You were different, though. Something about you compelled Simon to take on the task of being your guardian angel, and he was curious to find out what it was. You didn’t seem like you’d give him trouble at all. You were simply unfortunate in the hand of life, and he was determined to turn it in your favor.

for those wondering, i am in fact making the guardian angel!simon drabble an actual fic because i have no self control. it was too good to pass up. so this is a lovely (or not lovely) sneak peek of what i’m working on :p

[cherryredstars]

Hi cherry darling! I adore you so much I’ve been a huge fan of your work! I was wondering if I could request something absolutely nasty for Miguel? 😋

If you’re okay with it, can I request for our man to get his dick milked? I need him twitching, whimpering, begging, in tears and given NO mercy at all. On all fours with a bucket underneath him to fill to the brim like a cow. Reading your 'The Game' fic revealed something inside of me I never knew existed 😩 tsym for all these delicious writings, please take the time you need babes 😘

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x gn!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Prostate Massaging/Milking, Overstimulation, Dom!Reader

A/N: I think about this request regularly.

Unedited

For a man who likes his peace and quiet, he can not shut up.

Every second a new sound is coming out of his mouth. Everything completely incoherent. It's a weak babble, a poor attempt at a Spanish sentence, a whine, a whimper, the occasional sob, a slurred repetition of please, please, please!

Slightly enduring and completely pathetic. Just how you like it.

You hum your acknowledgement, your hand continuing to slowly pump his angry cock. It's hot and swollen from overuse, his flared tip a permanent shade of purple-red. Every now and then he makes a weak attempt to thrust into your hand, either to gain more pleasure or escape it.

He's splayed over your spread lap, his arms flexing as he clutches a pillow to his chest for strength as you massage the sensitive gland inside of him. His body jumps with each spike of pleasure that runs up his spine like lightning, and his muscles have been spasming since his third orgasm. His brain is ground down to nothing, your hands and their magic are like sandpaper to his nerve endings. Leaves him to your complete mercy, forfeiting control over his body.

He clenches tight around your fingers, your muscles locking against your thighs. His spine collapses, and you whisper encouragement as you fasten your hand around his cock. Miguel lets out a deep noise, and you remove your hand from his cock as he convulses, your fingers pressed hard against his gland.

His cock twitches horribly as he releases, the sound of his cum splattering against the floor filling the room. He misses the half-full container under him entirely. You sigh in disappointment, the sound reaching Miguel's ears despite the ringing. He whimpers, a warbled, repeated apology spilling from his lips.

You make a displeased sound, your hand returning to his cock and squeezing the sensitive length until he jumps from the mix of pain and pleasure.

"Do it again." You command, your hand stroking him again. "Correctly, this time."

[ahqkas]

Mattheo with a stubborn gf!reader who hates to be proven wrong. Like she argues with people but when it comes to her bf, she doesn’t have the argue with him and it makes people stumped

-🧚🏾‍♀️💗

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

YOU WERE KNOWN FOR YOUR FIERY SPIRIT AND STUBBORN NATURE, NEVER BACKING DOWN FROM AN ARGUMENT AND ALWAYS STANDING YOUR GROUND. it was something people admired about you, even if it occasionally led to heated debates. your fierce determination and unwavering confidence made you a force to be reckoned with at hogwarts.

but when it came to mattheo riddle, things were different. the short tempered slytherin had a way of disarming you that no one else could manage. it was a fact that left your friends and classmates confused and intrigued. how could the girl who never conceded to anyone so effortlessly relent when it came to her boyfriend?

it happened one afternoon in the slytherin common room. you were engaged in a spirited debate with lorenzo berkshire about the merits of a particular quidditch strategy. voices were raised, and hands gestured wildly as you both tried to make your points. the other slytherins watched with a mix of amusement and anticipation, waiting to see who would come out on top.

"you don't understand, enzo," you insisted, your eyes flashing with determination as you tried to prove your point. "the wronski feint is only effective if the seeker knows exactly when to pull up. otherwise, it's a complete disaster."

enzo shook his head, equally adamant. "but that's precisely why it's such a high-risk, high-reward maneuver. it’s about pushing the limits and taking chances."

just then, mattheo walked in, his presence immediately pulling attention towards him. the boy sauntered over, a curious smile playing on his lips as he observed the heated exchange. he leaned against the back of the sofa, watching the two of you with interest.

"and what does mattheo think?" blaise asked, nudging his friend with a knowing grin. "surely, he has an opinion."

mattheo glanced at you, his gaze steady and confident. "i think," he began slowly, "that both strategies have their merits. but it ultimately comes down to the skill and instincts of the seeker."

you opened your mouth to retort, but something in mattheo's calm demeanor made you pause. there was a quiet authority in his voice that made you reconsider your stance. with a sigh, the fight left your eyes as you relented from the argument. "fine," you muttered, crossing your arms. "maybe you're right."

the common room fell silent, and all eyes turned to you in shock. enzo blinked, clearly taken aback by your sudden concession while the win of this argument fled from his mind completely. "did she just . . . agree?" he asked incredulously.

mattheo's smile widened, and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him. "it’s all about perspective," he said lightly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. you leaned into him, feeling a warmth spread through you. despite your stubborn nature, mattheo had a way of making you see things differently. his calm confidence and unwavering support made you feel safe enough to admit when you were wrong, something you rarely did with anyone else.

later, as you walked through the castle corridors with your boyfriend by your side, you couldn't help but reflect on how much he had changed you. he had taught you that it was okay to let your guard down and that being proven wrong wasn't a sign of weakness. it was a lesson that had made you stronger, and it was all because of him.

"you know," you said, glancing up at him with a smile, "i still think i’m right most of the time."

mattheo smirked at that, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "of course you do," he replied, his fingers intertwining with yours. "my clever girl."

[slut4thebroken]

Teacher’s Pet

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x reader

Summary | After months of trying to earn your professor’s praise, he finally gives you an opportunity to prove you deserve it.

Warnings | Smut, dub con, blackmail, coercion, humiliation, anal, bondage, praise, creampie, degradation, inappropriate use of fear toxin.

Words | 6.2 k

Notes | Started this a million years ago. Finally got the motivation to finish it cause of @hllywdwhre ‘s fic that I proofread lol. Also ty to the post that gave me the fear toxin idea 🙏🏻

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

In honor of the one year anniversary since the start of my Cillian hyperfixation <3

Dr. Crane was one of the most strict and unforgiving professors at Gotham University. He graded harshly, didn’t tolerate late or incomplete work, and no one would ever dare be late— if they were, they just wouldn’t show up because an absence was better than his response to tardiness. He didn’t have any favorite students, just some that he tolerated slightly more than the rest. That was what you hated the most. 

You’ve always been the favorite student for every single teacher you’ve had, whether they said it out loud or not. After the first couple of weeks, you figured he’d just be harder to crack than the rest. But after almost two months, you were starting to get frustrated. Nothing you did ever earned you any sort of praise. You were always early, always the first to turn in assignments, participated in class, paid attention— you were the perfect student. But he never seemed to recognize that. What made you snap was when he gave you a B on your latest essay. 

Lightly knocking on his office door, you tried to control your nerves and push down the nausea— You’ve never had to talk with a teacher about a grade before…

“Come in.” He called out. So you opened the door and hesitantly stepped inside. He glanced at you quickly, then did a double take once he realized it was you. “Close the door.” He said, resuming what he was doing. You took in a quiet, deep breath and closed the door before walking over and sitting on the chair across from his desk. 

“I’m assuming this is about your essay?” He asked, not even looking up from his work. 

“Yes.. You gave me a B, I was hoping to understand why.” You said tentatively. 

“Did you not read my notes?” Of course you did. But it still didn’t make any sense. 

“No, I did, but-” He finally looked up at you with a sigh. 

“Then you should understand why I gave you that grade.”

“This essay was practically perfect.” You argued, holding up the stapled together pieces of paper, marked up with red ink. 

“Clearly not if you got a B.” He raised his brows and you clenched your jaw, trying not to get too upset or emotional.

“Dr. Crane, I’ve aced every single test and assignment, I’d hardly say this is a fair grade.” You frowned. 

“Your argument was weak and biased.” Your lips parted in shock at the bluntness of his criticism. “And your previous assignments have no impact on my grading. If you’d like them to though, I’d be more than willing to grade them again to see if I missed anything.” 

“It- it wasn’t… I spent weeks on this.” 

“And yet… You still weren’t good enough for an A.” He said, making your stomach churn. Especially because he didn’t even say ‘your essay’ he just said ‘you.’ Looking down at the papers in your hands, you scanned them quickly as if it would magically give you the answer. “Review my notes for the next essay. Maybe you’ll do better.” 

“What is your problem with me?” You snapped, looking up at him again, watching his brows raise slightly. “Have I done something to offend you?” 

“I don’t tolerate entitled students who are used to being the teacher's pet. Whatever previous, unearned success and praise you're used to receiving is of no concern to me. It is not my fault if you came into this class expecting to be treated differently for doing the same thing as every other student.” 

“I- I’m not.. entitled. I just like my work and effort to be appreciated and not.. given a B.” 

“You want me to tell you that you’re such a good girl, turning in everything on time— as expected— and doing well on your assignments— as expected.” The faux praise, as well as the condescension that laced his voice, made your cheeks heat up instantly. 

“No, but,” 

“Then I think we’re done here.” 

The next day, you almost considered not going to class, but you’ve never had an absence on your record and you’re not about to start now. 

“We’re going to deviate from the lesson plan a little and talk about something else today; fear. Specifically, fear of rejection.” Your mouth dropped open at his words and if you had any doubts that this was because of your previous conversation, they quickly disappeared when he made eye contact with you.  

“There are a few different causes, can anyone give me an example?” This would’ve been the time where you raised your hand. But that apparently wasn’t necessary because he called on you anyway, making you freeze. 

“Um, I— I’m not sure.” You said nervously, sinking back into your chair a little. 

“There’s a perfect example right there; anxiety and social comparison. Too anxious and insecure to answer a simple question. Who else can give an example?” You stared at him with wide eyes that quickly started burning with tears. Now you felt even more stupid than you would’ve, had you just answered him and potentially gotten it wrong.

Class dragged on slowly. He talked more about causes, what it looks like, how it affects performance— especially in school— and various treatments. 

You couldn’t have been more relieved when he finally dismissed the class. You rushed to pack your things and stood up, quickly making your way to the exit. 

When he called your name though, you froze, praying you heard him wrong. “Stay back for a moment.” Your peers gave you sympathetic looks as you turned around and slowly made your way back over to his desk. 

“Yes, professor?” You asked, voice strained. 

“I hope you found today's lesson helpful.” You gritted your teeth and gave him a dry smile. 

“It was… inspiring, Dr. Crane.” You said plainly, trying to control your tone. His expression was only becoming more and more amused. 

“I’m glad. Though I didn’t see you taking notes.” That made you falter. 

“I- I was,”

“Great. Let me see them.” You looked away from him and shifted your weight awkwardly. 

“See them?” 

“Did you not understand?” Your face flushed with anger and embarrassment at his patronizing tone. 

“I did. I just wasn’t aware that notes were something you needed to see.” 

“If a student isn’t paying attention for the entirety of my class then, yes, notes are something I need to see.” You swallowed thickly, trying to come up with a response, and he watched you intently as he waited.  

“Look, professor, you’ve made your point, okay? I don’t think you need to continue humiliating me.” You said quietly, not looking at him. He let out a heavy breath through his nose and you watched in your peripheral vision as he took off his glasses, setting them down. He slowly rounded the desk and you couldn’t help it when you instinctively took a step back. 

“That’s a shame. I had hoped this lecture would’ve been helpful, but since you clearly weren’t paying attention, maybe I need to try another method.” 

“I- I was paying attention…” You muttered, keeping your head down. 

“Really? Then why don’t you tell me some of the ways one can overcome a fear of rejection.” He leaned back on his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. The feeling of his eyes on you almost made you shiver and you took a quiet, deep breath before lifting your head to look at him again. 

This is an easy enough question. You can probably figure out the answer if you just use critical thinking since he was correct about you not paying attention. 

“Um… cognitive behavioral therapy?” You waited and when he didn’t out right humiliate you, you assumed that was a right answer and continued. “Exposure therapy. Self esteem enhancement… Emotion regulation?” 

“Anything else?” 

“…You said “some.’” You muttered, briefly looking away from him again. 

“I did, didn’t I?” His tone made it clear that he didn’t care about what he previously said. 

“Um, I- I’m not sure…” 

“Feel free to use your notes.” 

Fuck. 

When you looked up and saw the almost smug expression on his face, you finally snapped. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry that for one day, I couldn’t pay attention after you humiliated me in front of the entire class.” You spat, clenching your jaw as soon as you finished speaking. The longer he stayed silent, the more uncomfortable you became under his gaze, making you look away from him awkwardly. 

“Tell me why this shouldn’t affect your grade.” You knew his question was rhetorical, but you still tried to defend yourself. 

“Dr. Crane,” You started, but he raised his brows, silently warning you to not talk back. 

“I’ll see you later today during my office hours.” He said as he packed up his belongings. 

“But,” 

“Five pm.” He didn’t let you continue as he walked toward the door. All you could do was stand there and watch him leave. 

At 4:30 you paced around your dorm, debating what to do. At 4:35 you decided not to go. At 4:40 you changed your mind. At 4:50 you were pacing outside his office. At 4:55 you finally knocked, feeling like you could throw up at any second. He called out for you to enter, so you hesitantly opened the door and stepped inside. 

“Close the door and sit down.” He didn’t even look up from what he was working on. You closed the door quietly, then made your way over to the chair in front of his desk. You tried to sit there patiently, but he wasn’t saying anything. Your leg bounced incessantly as you picked at your cuticles, over thinking more and more with each tortuous second that dragged on. 

“Professor?” You finally asked. 

“You’re early. I told you to come at five and I need to finish this.” He still didn’t look up from whatever “this” was and you were quickly growing angrier. 

Was this some kind of mind fuck? Making you sit here, stewing in nerves that were only getting worse? You weren’t sure how much time had passed because you didn’t want to check your phone and give him another opportunity to chastise you. But after a while, he finally sighed and gathered the papers, setting them in a pile on the side of his desk. 

You forced yourself to stop bouncing your leg and place your palms flat on your thighs to keep from fidgeting, trying to exude confidence you were severely lacking. 

“I’ll admit, I’ve been struggling to decide what I should do with you.” Immediately your stomach churned, getting even more anxious. “I could have you removed from my class, but that would be a lot of paperwork.”

“Professor,” 

“I’m speaking.” He said harshly, making your mouth immediately close. “However, that does mean I’ll have to put up with this for another few months… So the paperwork might be worth the hassle.” You tried not to cry at the thought. You need this class to graduate— getting dropped from it will set you back a semester unless you add another course to your already heavy schedule for next semester. You waited, not sure if he was done talking or not. After another few seconds you decided to try again. 

“Please…” You said hesitantly, waiting for him to snap at you again. When he didn’t, you continued. “Please don’t drop me, professor. I need this class to graduate.” He stayed silent, eyes dragging over your body as you did your best not to squirm. He still hasn’t said anything… Is he going to drop you anyway? With tears in your eyes, you tried again, “Please… Please I- I’ll leave you alone— I won’t bother you about grades anymore, I swear, just please don’t drop me.” You all but whimpered, feeling even more pathetic now. 

He sighed and took off his glasses, then set them on his desk before leaning back in his chair a little, still studying you. 

“I’d still have to put up with you in class as well though.” 

“Please! I’ll sit in the back and not talk— I’ll do anything, just please don’t drop me.” You cried.

“Anything?” You stiffened a little at the dark expression that suddenly took over his face. Would you really do anything? You wouldn’t mind fucking him if that’s what he’s implying— despite his off putting personality, you’ve always been attracted to him.  

“Y-yes?” You said, unsure.  

“That didn’t sound very convincing and I’m not going to force you so I’ll just go through with the drop request,”

“No! I will— I’ll do anything… Please.” He continued studying you, probably trying to gauge if you were telling the truth or not. 

“Fine. We’ll call it an internship of sorts. You’ll come with me to Arkham Asylum every Friday and help me in whatever way I may need— no questions asked.” 

“I- I don’t know if I’m qualified for that.” 

“Good thing it’s not an actual internship then.” He sneered, the patronizing tone making you blush. 

“What will you have me do?” You asked quietly. 

“It’ll be easier to just show you instead. Give me your essay and after Friday if I’m satisfied with your performance, I’ll change the grade.” Your heart practically skipped a beat— all you have to do is go to Arkham with him for a day and you’ll get an A? You’d be stupid to say no. So you retrieved your essay from your bag and handed it to him. “Good. Six pm, do not be late. I’ll meet you in the main lobby to take you to my office.” He said sternly. 

Since you left his office, your heart has been pounding. You weren’t sure what to wear so you just decided on a skirt and blouse that were professional, but still mostly casual. After that, there wasn’t much else you could do. You were too anxious to focus on literally anything so you just sat at home, overthinking. Friday rolled around and you left at five, just in case anything happened, and arrived at 5:25. So you sat in your car, waiting anxiously and watching the clock on the dashboard. You were too scared to even listen to music. At 5:55 you decided to go in, worst case you’d just have to wait five minutes for him, but you figured it’d be better to be early— even after what happened during his office hours. 

It was only a minute before six when he showed up. The second he saw you, he gestured for you to follow, so you trailed after him on wobbly legs. When you arrived in his office, he closed the door and told you to sit in the chair across from him as he sat behind the desk. 

“I want to make sure that we’re on the same page and I have your consent for anything that happens here.” The way he worded that made you nervous, but you chalked it up to the fact that you were already overcome with anxiety.

“Yes.” You tried to sound sure of yourself, but you were having doubts. What would he make you do? Would it really be worth a better grade?

“Good. Take this.” He picked up a small paper cup from his desk with one pill inside and handed it to you. 

“…Why?”

“There are certain aerosol drugs that are administered to patients sometimes. That will keep them from affecting you.” He explained calmly, easing your nerves a bit. So you took it from him and swallowed it, waiting for what was next. “Follow me.” He stood up again, this time holding a briefcase, and you followed him out of his office. He led you down some hallways before stopping outside of a door and unlocking it, gesturing for you to walk in. 

There was a small table in the corner and two exam chairs with restraints on them, one of which had stirrups. Other than that the room was bare. The door closed loudly, making you jump and turn around. 

“Sit.” He ordered, walking over to the table and setting the briefcase down before walking toward you. 

“Why?” You asked skeptically. He just stood patiently and watched you. You suddenly got hit with a wave of dizziness and stumbled to the chair to sit down. The dizziness quickly turned into exhaustion and you could barely keep your eyes open. When you started falling forward, he quickly moved closer to catch you, then leaned you back against the chair. 

Your head hurt like hell and you forced your eyes open to find that you were now laying on the other exam chair, thankfully not with your legs in the stirrups, but with the restraints on your wrists. You don’t even remember falling asleep. 

“The effects should wear off soon. I apologize for using that, but I figured you wouldn’t willingly let me restrain you and I didn’t feel like fighting you.” 

“What… what was that?” You asked through a breath. You could slowly feel yourself getting less and less foggy. 

“A drug.” He said, in the most annoyed and patronizing tone you’ve heard from him so far. 

“Why?” You whimpered, closing your eyes again because they still felt so heavy. 

“If you’re going to ask stupid questions then I’m just going to gag you. I already answered that.” You heard some rustling noises and his footsteps, then a hand was running along your cheek, startling you and making you open your eyes. “You remember our agreement?” You nodded hesitantly. It felt like your heart was about to beat out of your chest with how hard and fast it was pounding. “Be a good little girl and if I’m satisfied, I won’t drop you. I might even change the grade of your essay.” You didn’t need the reminder, but the way he said the first part was making your stomach flutter. 

“I have to say,” he removed his hand from your cheek and moved down to place it on your leg, just above your knee, “I prefer the sluttier skirts you wear to class than this.” He teased the hem of your skirt with his fingers, making you tremble. “Next week wear something shorter. And a more flattering top.” You figured by ‘more flattering’ what he really meant was more revealing. All you could do to respond was nod. 

“Good. Let’s begin.” 

He reached for the zipper of your skirt on your hip, making you stiffen. 

“What the hell are you doing?” You asked, beginning to panic again, and he paused with a sigh. 

“If you don’t consent, that’s fine… There is still the matter of your seat in my class.” He said coyly. “If you want me to let you go, just say that. I’ll fill out the paperwork first thing Monday morning.” 

“No,” You choked out. “No.. please.” You felt like you were on the verge of a panic attack. He shushed you softly, staring at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. 

“Relax. If you consent to this, you’ll keep your seat in my class. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” You nodded, looking up at him with teary eyes. “Good girl… Now be quiet and let me do this.” His tone was significantly darker and all you could do was tremble as he unzipped your skirt, then pulled it down your body before discarding it on the floor. 

“I’ve been working on a new form of a drug.” You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a strangled whimper when he grabbed your leg and placed it in the stirrup, then used the restraints to keep it in place. “We’re going to try it together.” He grinned wolfishly and did the same to your other leg. 

You heard his footsteps as he walked across the room for something, then back over to you, now wearing a latex glove on his right hand, holding a small bottle in the other. 

“Remember, you can withdraw consent at any time…” You couldn’t though. Because you would be dropped from his class and set back months. 

His hand landed on your thigh, making you jump a little, and he started slowly dragging it up. Once he was close enough, he brushed his thumb over your clothed mound, forcing a quiet sob from you.  

“You probably thought this was going to go in a very different direction, didn’t you?” He asked teasingly, making you blush. Truthfully, you didn’t put much thought into your undergarments because you were too busy worrying about your actual clothes and what he was going to make you do. You cried out when he suddenly ripped the lace off your body, feeling the burn of the fabric pulling too hard against your skin. “Ready?” He asked, almost eagerly. 

You saw now that the bottle was a clear liquid and when he squirted it onto his fingers, you assumed it was lube. As soon as his finger brushed your asshole, you stiffened. 

“Wait!” You rushed out, chest heaving as your heart pounded in your chest. “I- I’ve never…” 

“You’ve never done anal?” You almost thought he was going to give you sympathy. “Good.” You couldn’t even get another word out before he was pushing a finger in, making you tense up as you whimpered in discomfort. “Tell me when you start to feel it.” 

“Feel what?” You said through a breath, trying to relax around the intrusion. Even though it wasn’t as bad as you were expecting, your heart was pounding even harder and faster in your chest, and your breathing grew ragged. “Dr. Crane,” You whimpered, suddenly a million times more anxious than only a moment ago. 

“Already?” He checked his watch, “That was fast. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Anxious.” You said quickly, letting out a strangled whimper when he forced another finger inside. “M-my heart is pounding and it feels hard to breathe.” 

“That’s good… Anything else?” 

“My hands are clammy… and it feels like I'm sweating a little.” 

“No visual or auditory hallucinations?” 

“What?” You choked out, eyes widening. “W-why would I have that??”

“The drug we’re testing is my fear toxin. It’s a hallucinogenic that targets the amygdala and releases stress hormones, causing a fear response in the brain.” He explained, only making you feel worse. “So far I’ve tested it two ways; administered intravenously and in aerosol form.” 

“I don’t understand..” You said quietly, trying to calm your breathing a little. He let out an exaggerated sigh and forced a third finger inside you. 

“I guess I should really expect you to.” He almost sounded.. disappointed. The realization made the twist in your stomach even worse. “Let me dumb it down for you. In its most potent form, it causes visual and auditory hallucinations of the subject’s worst fear.” If you weren’t currently on the verge of a panic attack with three fingers in your ass, you probably would’ve rolled your eyes at his tone. 

“Now I’m testing it via rectal administration. The concentration is about the same, but the effects shouldn’t be as strong. At least, that’s my theory.” His fingers continued fucking you slowly, occassionally spreading apart to open you up more. Despite the amount of anxiety you were currently feeling, you could just barely feel your growing arousal.  

“W-why would you want the drug in this form?” You asked, gasping for air between words. 

“I’m a doctor. Why wouldn’t I experiment?” He asked rhetorically. You bit your lip and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on the anxiety rather than the arousal, but it was only becoming more difficult. A choked moan escaped you when he suddenly dragged a bare finger through your folds, spreading the evidence of your arousal. “Are you enjoying this?” His voice sounded unnervingly clinical. 

In response, you bit down harder on your lip and shook your head, denying it. You could practically feel his eyes on you, studying you closely. 

“I knew you’d be perfect for this.” He suddenly said, and you bit back a moan because he almost sounded proud. “You’re just pathetic enough and desperate for my approval to willingly become my little lab rat, and now look at you… Leaking onto my hand as I finger your ass.” He chuckled wryly. A dark blush took over your face and you whined quietly, but the flutter in your stomach was unmistakable. “I bet you want my cock also… Don’t you?” 

You let out a choked sob and turned your head, trying uselessly to hide yourself. When he suddenly pulled his fingers out, you whimpered quietly at the sudden loss. 

“Look at me.” He demanded, in a tone that left no room for argument. As if you were in a trance, you turned to face him and opened your eyes. “You want to keep your seat in my class?” He removed the glove and tossed it aside, then worked on unbuckling his belt and opening his pants. 

“Yes.” You whispered shakily. 

“And you’re willing to let me fuck your ass to ensure that happens?” He pulled his already half hard cock out and started stroking slowly as you gaped at it. How was that supposed to fit inside you?

“I- I’ve never..”

“It’s a yes or no question.” He sighed impatiently. “I fuck your ass or you leave and I fill out the form Monday morning.” 

“I… I’m scared.” You whimpered, looking nervously between his face and his cock. 

“That’s the whole point, darling.” Right. Because he was testing his fear toxin. You blushed furiously at the new pet name. “You have three seconds before I fuck you, then fill out the form anyway.” 

Your stomach dropped at the threat and when he raised his brows, you blurted out, “Yes.” Tears were brimming in your eyes and he stepped closer, but didn’t line up yet. He just used his free hand to gently rub your thigh. 

“Yes, what?” Your bottom lip began trembling when you realized what he wanted from you. “Say it. Beg your professor for it.”

“I- I want…” You let out a strangled sob and squeezed your eyes shut again, making his hand stop moving on your thigh to grip tightly in a silent warning. “I want you to fuck my ass… Please, Dr. Crane.” You whimpered. You’ve never felt more humiliated, but at the same time… you were only becoming more aroused. Your cunt ached to be filled, and your clit was practically throbbing.

“Good girl.” When you let out a choked moan at the sudden praise, he chuckled quietly. “Open your eyes. I want you to watch.” He demanded, lining up. Only after your eyes fluttered open, did he finally apply some pressure, entering you with little difficulty. 

“Fuck- You’re so tight.” He hissed, moving his hand to your other thigh and squeezing almost painfully. Your breath and all of your sounds were caught in your throat as he pushed in deeper, not stopping until his hips were flush with your ass. “Tell me how it feels.” He said breathily, not moving yet. 

“Big.” You whimpered, barely able to get the word out. 

“Does it hurt?” You shook your head, trying to steady your breathing, but the overwhelming feeling of being stretched as well as the anxiety still weighing heavy on your chest made it feel almost impossible. “You look like you’re on the verge of a panic attack.” He sounded uncharacteristically dulcet.

When he reached for your shirt and unbuttoned it to expose your bra, your breathing picked up even more as your heart started pounding even harder in your chest. He pulled your bra down below your breasts and groped you eagerly, showing little regard for your pleasure with his rough, almost painful touch. 

“Your heart’s beating so fast. Is my little lab rat still scared?” He cooed, very obviously mocking you. 

“Professor..” You whimpered, staring up at him with glossy eyes as you struggled to cope with all of the overwhelming feelings, both physically and emotionally. He shushed you softly and brought his hands back down to rub your thighs, trying to soothe you. 

“I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to take it.” He said plainly. “You try to resist at all and I’ll keep fucking you until I finish, then you won’t have to bother showing up to class on Monday. Do you understand?” 

You nodded reluctantly and he moved his hands to grip the tops of your thighs. He slowly dragged his hips back, then forward again, forcing you to feel every inch of his cock stretching you open. It didn’t… hurt. But it definitely wasn’t the most pleasurable thing you’ve ever experienced. 

When he suddenly sped up, you cried out and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on taking deep breaths. He was grunting and moaning quietly with each thrust, clearly enjoying this far more than you, and you couldn’t help but open your eyes again to watch him. His grip tightened on your thighs, making you whimper, and you watched his mouth fall open in a silent moan as he closed his eyes. 

“Fuck…” He said breathily, letting out a low groan before opening his eyes again. “I didn’t account for transdermal administration” He almost sounded amused again, but you could barely focus on his words. “The effects are far less than what you’re feeling, I’d assume. It almost feels like adrenaline, rather than fear. Next time we’ll try it intravaginally to see if your reaction is the same or more like mine.” 

You almost forgot that this wasn’t a one and done. You have to let your professor do what he wants with you every week for the rest of the semester…

“And I think I’ll try the other forms of delivery on you as well. Not so much for an experiment… I just want to fuck you while you’re hallucinating your greatest fears.” His lips curled up into a small smirk at the thought of that. “I can’t wait to hear you scream and cry for me.” He cooed, but his tone was far from comforting and your anxiety was only getting worse as he continued sharing his future plans for you. 

He started bucking into you rapidly and his sounds got louder, clearly getting closer to his release. You could even feel yourself just barely starting to inch toward the edge. Your moans caught his attention and a pleased look took over his face. 

“You like this, don’t you?” You let out a choked moan and bit your lip, trying to quiet your sounds. “It’s either that or misattribution of arousal... but that seems less likely.” Even though you knew his guess was correct, you were still going to convince yourself that it was misattribution of arousal instead because that was far less humiliating. When he started rubbing your clit, any chance you had of keeping quiet was gone instantly. His moans got louder too when your body tensed up, tightening around his cock. 

“Oh god— Dr. Crane, please.” You sobbed, feeling the arousal steadily taking over the anxiety that had settled in your stomach. 

“What do you want?” Now that he asked, you realized that you don’t even know what you want. You wanted the overwhelming anxiety and stretch to stop… but the thought of him pulling out and ending this almost brought tears of desperation to your eyes. His fingers sped up on your clit and your back arched off of the exam chair as an involuntary mewl escaped you. 

“Please let me come.” You whimpered pathetically and he let out a quiet chuckle in response to your brazenness. 

“How curious…” He murmured, gaze dragging all over your body. “I’ll admit, I figured some part of you would enjoy getting to please me, but I never imagined it’d be to this extent.” He said amusedly and your blush darkened in response. “You want to come?”

You were nodding eagerly before he could even finish. “Please.” 

“How about this— I'll raise the grade on your essay… or I’ll let you come.” You could see the barest hint of a smirk on his lips and you let out a frustrated sob, squeezing your eyes shut. “Well?”

“Dr. Crane…” You whimpered, bottom lip trembling as you tried not to cry. When you opened your eyes and stared up at him through the tears, his smirk widened. “Please..” 

“Should I choose for you?” 

“No…” You sobbed, looking away from him and biting your lip. The whole point of this was so he’d change the grade… You can’t give in to the pleasure now that you’re so close to finally getting what you came here for. “I- I want you to change my grade.” Your voice was barely a whisper. As soon as he got your answer, he removed his hand from your clit to grab the top of your thigh again, bucking into you rapidly as he chased his orgasm. 

“We’re going to have a lot of fun together, my little lab rat.” He was clearly satisfied with your choice and while part of you was almost crying from frustration… another part couldn’t help but revel in the fact that you pleased him, even if it was at the expense of your own pleasure. 

His hips snapped into you rapidly, the force of it almost pushing you up the exam chair, but the restraints on your legs kept you mostly in place. As he focused on his impending orgasm, you were practically mesmerized. He looked so… pretty. The pleasure in his expression was obvious and there was a faint blush on his cheeks. His normally pale blue eyes were darker as he took you in, studying every tiny reaction to his ministrations. 

When he suddenly pushed forward all the way and stayed there, you let out a whine of displeasure, knowing whatever pleasure you might’ve been feeling before was about to disappear. But the choked moan he let out as he closed his eyes made you almost forget all about it. His hips bucked forward sporadically as his cock twitched inside you with each rope of come that shot out, filling you up.  

Finally his sounds quieted into heavy breathing and his body went still. You waited anxiously for what was next, not sure what to expect. Opening his eyes again, he watched as he slowly dragged his hips back until his cock slipped free, forcing out a quiet hiss from him and a whimper from you at the sensitivity. 

“Push it out.” His voice was raspy and still thick with arousal. When you pushed his come out, he let out a low groan as he watched, bending down a little to get a closer look. “Good girl.” He cooed, making you whine as the words went straight to your cunt that was still aching with need. 

“You can remain here until the effects wear off. I want to see how long that takes.” He said, almost clinically, while checking his watch. Your eyes stayed on him as he tucked his cock back in his pants before collecting the lube and discarded glove. 

“Are you going to let me go?” Your voice was quiet and timid as submission still heavily clouded your mind. He looked over at you again, almost surprised by your voice. He glanced at the restraints before dragging his gaze all over your body for a moment. Finally, he smirked a little and went back to what he was doing. 

“Soon.” You sighed in response and stayed quiet. As you breathed deeply, trying to ignore the arousal still lingering in your stomach, you noticed that the anxious feeling was starting to subside a little. Your heart was still beating rapidly, but now it was hard to tell if it was from fear, adrenaline, or your own unsatisfied arousal. 

“I think it’s wearing off.” You told him and he checked his watch again. 

“What are you feeling?” He finally walked back over to you and stared at your face with an almost impressive level of professionalism, given the circumstances. 

“My heart is still pounding, but my breathing is better. And I don’t feel very nauseous either.” 

“Next week I want to test this again so I have a control group to compare these results to. It’ll be the same thing, but I won’t finger you for as long and I won’t fuck you until after it wears off.” He reached out and gently grabbed your chin, angling your face up to look at him as he stepped closer. “Of course… that’s assuming you still want to keep your spot in my class…” He trailed off, making the statement sound like a question instead. 

“I do.” You said quickly. Especially after this… you were desperate to stay enrolled in his class, but you were also— as much as you didn’t want to admit it— desperate for more after he gave you this small taste. 

“Good girl.” Your cheeks heated up instantly and he patted one with his hand before stepping back again. “Keep being my little lab rat and I have no doubt you’ll pass my class… maybe even with the grade you think you deserve.” 

[fleurriee]

oh my god i need a-z alphabet of aemond or whatever it is. foaming at the mouth for this man fr

inspired by @moralesluvr & their a-z

again, more than likely ooc aemond but aren't most fics of him??

this was written over a period of months at sporadic times & i haven't read it through so...

affection — how affection are they? do they show affection?

aemond is not an affection person - i mean, do you know how he was brought up? the only affection he's ever really been shown is when his mother stood up for him that night he lost his eye. so, it's definitely safe to say that affection & aemond do not go together. until he met you, at least.

you're not overly affectionate yourself, but there were certain things you'd do that would make him tense up a little - like, stroking his arm, touching his hand, giving him little compliments, etc. at first, when you'd do these to him, he'd want nothing more than to run away and forget it ever happened... but, the more you did it, the more he got used to it, and the more he craved it.

of course, when you finally get to a point in your relationship where aemond started showing affection back to you, he would only ever do so in the privacy of your chambers, when only those in view were the two of you. it wasn't that he was worried he would come across as weak - he didn't want people to know you were his upmost weakness.

eventually, too, both his mother and heleana are allowed to see these little special moments between the two of you, but that’s all.

bye — what do they do when they need to leave? how are they feeling?

aemond is a busy man, especially when his older brother takes the throne. so, more often than not, the two of you need to part, which is something he hates. he hates not knowing where you’ll be, what you’ll be doing, who you’ll be with — and it’s not a possessive thing, it’s a worried thing. he always worries something bad might happen to you, someone might do something to get back at him.

the first thing he does is reassure you that he’ll back as soon as he possibly can, worded in a way that doesn’t allow him to promise that he won’t be long, because he knows he will be. he takes your face in his hands when he utters these promises to you, looking straight at your eyes so you can see the sincerity. he places gentle kisses all across your face, smiling a little to himself when he hears your giggles. that sounds alone is enough for him to go on.

cuddles — do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?

aemond cuddles in a way that keeps you safe. when you’re in bed, he’ll lie on his back with you lay right next to him, arm draped on his front whilst his goes behind your head. he likes to way he can play with your hair between his fingers, combing it through and soothing you; he likes that he can feel you moving with his every breath as you lay upon his chest. it constantly reminds him that you’re there, that you’re real.

there’s also the times when the two of you have a somewhat free day, spending it together in the silence of your chambers reading your separate books. more often than not, you’re sat apart, trying to concentrate, but then there’s the moments when aemond just needs you that little bit closer. he’ll be sat in his chair, unable to focus with his mind constantly drifting back to you, so he gestures you over. the position isn’t exactly a completely comfortable one, but you’re close, and that’s all you care about. you’ll be sat on his lap, both arms around your middle as he carries on reading, you head on his shoulder. it just makes the silence all the more beautiful for him.

domestic — how domestic are they? do they want to settle down?

aemond can come across quite domestic, but maybe that’s just because he knows eventually, the two of you will have no choice but to be so. and, he tries, at least more than his brother did with heleana. it’s always the little things — holding your hand in a gentle grip when leaving a carriage, making sure you don’t lose your step; pulling out the chair for you and pushing you back in at feasts.

like i said, it’s his duty, so he knows he wants to settle down. but, there was a time when he never thought he would because he couldn’t find anyone who would want to settle down with him, something he attributed to his missing eye. and then, he met you, and you didn’t care he had something missing. in that moment, he knew he was ready to finally begin his duties.

equal — how much effort do they put into the relationship?

aemond likes to give back as much to you as he can possibly try. of course, at first, he didn’t know how to properly do what you do to him — how is it that you’re able to make him blush when he’s never done so before; how is it that you’re capable of causing his heart to beat at rapid pulses?

aemond simply wanted to make you feel as loved as you made him feel. what type of husband would he be if he couldn’t do that for his very own wife? so, until he could finally figure out what got your heart racing, he’s definitely thinking of different ways to make you fall more impossibly in love with him.

fiancé — how are they in an engagement?

when aemond finally warms up to the idea of possibly being in a marriage alliance that could make him happy, he somehow turns it into the perfect betrothal.

he makes sure to spend as much time with you as he possibly can whenever he’s free, learning all your likes and dislikes, what your favourite hobbies are, etc. not only does he want to know everything he can about you, but it also helps to know how to best make you smile.

if he learns that you like to read, best believe he’s spending time with you in the library, the both of you talking about your favourite books; if you like to embroider, he’s definitely asking heleana if you can join her, making even sitting in silence with you as you converse with his sister.

aemond wants to make your life as easy as he can, and he knows that by reassuring you during your engagement that you’ll be safe and even potentially happy with him is just the first step.

gentle — how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?

how is it that aemond can be both gentle and aggressive? to anyone looking in from the outside, he’s a rock, as hard as stone and the only expression you’ll find on his face is a smirk. he’s willing to prove himself to anyone — show how much of a warrior he is now that he’s practiced almost as much as he’s breathed.

but to you, behind the privacy of your chamber doors? it’s almost like he’s trying to handle a butterfly. he’s so nervous that maybe his rough, calloused hands will be too harsh on you, that his attempt at a smile might look a little too like a smirk. but, he tries, and that’s all you can ask of him.

hugs — do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?

aemond is not a hugger. he finds it almost too intimate, too uncomfortable. when you first tried to hug him, all he felt was tense and stiff. none of it felt right.

now, he’ll give in to a hug on certain occasions, like when you’re upset — especially when you’re upset. the moment he sees your teary eyes and quivering lips, he’s instantly wrapping you in his embrace, forgetting all about the fact that on a normal day, he’d hate it. but, he knows you need comforting, and he’s willingly to do just about anything to make you feel better.

aemond’s hugs, despite not being used to them, feel like a protective circle, more so when you’re in need of comforting and he’s using the tightest grip he has on you. it’s like he needs you to know that he’s there, that he’s close by, that his body is always going to be entwined with yours.

i love you — how fast do they say the words?

it takes aemond forever — i’m talking years. again, though, can you really blame him when he’s not even sure what love actually is? he wasn’t shown barely even a smidge growing up — how’s he supposed to know that’s what he’s feeling every time he looks at you?

but, even when he finally figures it out, you best believe he’s keeping that secret to himself for a while longer. the idea of you not feeling the same way, of you feeling repulsed, of you laughing at his face for even thinking such a way is such a terrifying thought for him, he’d be to worried to ever confess.

when he eventually does, however, he’s not even aware he’s saying the words until his mind fully focuses on the expression you’re giving him. the two of you were in bed, you lay on top of him, your finger mindlessly running circles on his chest after spending your time intimately together. you were telling him about your day, how happy you’d been to spend it with heleana and how she always manages to make you feel young again, when the words just flew through him mouth.

needless to say, after that moment and the way you so lovingly reacted to it, aemond loves to whisper it in your ear.

jealousy — how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?

aemond doesn’t like to admit, but he gets jealous more often than not. he’s fallen far and hard, and the idea of you ever falling for someone else, or someone trying to, it scares him.

he keeps his cool as best as he can, clenching both his jaw and his fists, hoping that the lord who offered you to dance at the feast won’t try to pull anything that will make him want to break his neck.

and, he’ll just stew in his jealousy until the whole things over. he’ll never take it out on you, because he knows you couldn’t exactly say no when a lord asks you to dance. and, he knows he’ll never have to courage to do what they can — he can’t dance with you in front of everybody, but he sure as hell can when your in your chambers, and you’re always there to reassure him that you’d take him over any lord for the rest of your life.

kisses — what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?

for the longest time, aemond’s kisses are just pecks, and only across the back of your hand. when he started to get bolder the closer your relationship became, he’d peck your cheeks, your forehead. he was scared when he first kissed your lips, again just a peck, but after that first time, his hands cupping your face in such an intimate way, he couldn’t help himself. his kisses are still soft, but there’s a greediness to it, one that shows how starving he is for more of you.

aemond fucking loves it when you kiss his scar — he’s never felt so much love in his entire life. the way you never try to pressure him to take the patch off, your thumbs stroking soothingly against the white mark before placing such a gentle caress of a kiss against it? god, he’d do anything for you when you do that to him.

little ones — how are they around children? how many do they want?

aemond isn’t the best around children, never really know how best to act, or what to say, or worried he might come across as some monster just from the sight of him alone. but, when heleana had the twins, something in him changed. he cared for them unconditionally, allowing them to pull on his hair and climb on him just because they were bored. being an uncle made him realise that maybe one day he could do the same with his own children.

he would want as many kids as you would allow him — he’d definitely want to be the next jaehaerys when it comes to all his heirs. he couldn’t think of anything better than having a big family with you, uncaring as to whether they were all boys, all girls or a mixture of both. aemond would want boys for the longest time, teach to be fierce warriors and have them protect your family, but as the time got closer, he’d secretly start wanting a girl, who he’d raise the same and love all the more.

morning — how are mornings spent with them?

mornings with aemond are rare. more often than not, he’s unfortunately called for some business or counsel meeting he really couldn’t be bothered for, having to leave your warm embrace for a cold welcome somewhere else.

but, on the rare occasions where he somehow managed both the old gods and the new to allow him a free morning, you spend it stuck against one another, allowing yourselves more time to sleep in.

night — how are nights spent with them?

nights with aemond are either spent with the two of you wrapped in bed, on the chairs by the fire — but, either way, the two of you are full of conversation. it can be spent with whatever you’ve done during that day, or how you’re thinking of spending the next one.

aemond always makes sure someone has your fire going and a bath reading before either of you arrive there. he likes it when you have baths together, facing the window as you just look out at the sky. you could be spending it in silence for all he cares, as long as it’s just the two of you, he doesn’t care.

open — when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait to reveal things slowly?

it would take aemond so long to open himself up to you, even when it came to the little things about him.

in order to do so, he felt as though he needed to know more about you first — about whether you would even be worthy of nothing all the ins and outs of him. and even then, when he finally understood you completely, it was nerve wracking for him, coming clean and being vulnerable with anyone.

aemond definitely took his time opening himself up, too, in the sense that he wouldn’t unload everything onto you at once. he would just subtly mention something he hadn’t told you before whenever it felt right in the middle of a conversation — and one thing he loved about you, was that you never made a big deal out of it. you just took the information in with a small smile on your face and carried on.

patience — how easily angered are they?

like i said before, this man gets jealous easy, and the same goes for his anger.

we all know what aemond is like and the shit he's been through, so is it really any surprise?

but he's good at hiding it - he does that smirk of his and his eyes narrow dangerously. to anyone else but you, they'd just think that was his resting expression.

however, when others take it just a little too far?? with you?? yeah, they're dead, the blood of the dragon comes out in him for sure.

he tries not to maim them too much for your sake, but he's definitely fed a few people to vhagar because they insulted you.

quizzes — how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention in passing or forget everything?

aemond remembers everything.

he doesn't talk much; her prefers to listen, so he's very attentive with you. during your courting days, when you were getting to know one another more properly, he'd learned everything about you and made sure to keep it all locked within a little safe in his mind.

he'll remember all dates you consider important so he can do something special for you; he'll remember your favourite book so he can make sure you always have a spare with you; he'll remember your favourite flowers so he can spoil you rotten with them.

the list is simply endless with this man.

remember — what is their favourite memory of your relationship?

the day he finally revealed his sapphire to you.

it was one of his biggest worries; you'd not long been married, and you were getting along so well, he was terrified that the moment you laid eyes on it, you were going to run.

he couldn't stand the idea of you leaving him, of thinking him less than because of his scars.

but, it happened in the spur of a moment type of way - you'd wanted to see all of him for a while now but you didn't want to push him, and whilst the two of you were kissing heatedly in your rooms, one of your hands repeatedly got stuck between his eye patch and his hair. without even realising what he was doing, aemond took it off.

the silence was deafening as you gazed upon him, all of him, and aemond swore he could feel his heart in his throat.

all of that changed when you smiled at him as you always had done, filled with such love and admiration, and you carried on like nothing happened.

aemond knew from that moment on there was no other explanation other than you were put on this world just for him.

security — how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?

aemond targaryen? protective? they're basically synonyms.

fr though, all aemond is thinking about is where you are and whether you're safe, but not in an overbearing, possessive way. he just knows that you're his biggest weakness, and it's probably painfully obvious to everyone else.

when you're apart, aemond always makes sure you have at least 3 of his most trusted guards with you at all times, even if you're only spending the day in the library.

when you're together, aemond's protective in the little ways. it's important to him that you're always on his good side, allowing him to see where you are and who else is nearby in case they try anything; if you're a little bit in front of him, he'll have his hand on the small of your back, for his sake more than yours, but if you're standing next to one another, he asks you to put his arm through his, the comfort of your presence giving him ease.

aemond knows you're not an overly protective person, but he absolutely adores it when you stand up for him, defending his honour when you hear someone slander him, be it for his looks or his demeanour. he loves how angry and protective you get over him, and he wouldn't want you to do anymore than that.

try — how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts?

aemond's a 50/50 guy when it comes to stuff like this.

you mean a lot to him, and he'll do almost anything to put a smile on your face, so long as it's just between the two of you.

he won't want to do anything too extravagant or adventurous; the most it's gone has been when he took you flying on vhager for the first time.

he likes to keep it kind of low key. he make sure you have several bouquets of your favourite flowers in your rooms for you; the cooks have prepared your favourite breakfast, dinner and deserts; and he'll make sure he spends the entire day with you, clearing off anything else he needs to do and shoving it away for another day.

ugly — what are some bad habits of theirs?

aemond is big on silent treatment.

he didn't talk about any of his feelings when he was younger, and unfortunately, it's something he ended up taking with him as he grew older.

you know he tries his absolute hardest to not give you the silent treatment, but when it's been engrained within your brain your entire life, it's easier said than done. he knows you hate it, and it's something he's definitely trying to work on for you.

another thing would be his anger towards others. with you, he never gets angry, because how could he ever get angry at his sweet little wife? but with others, he's brutal.

it's another thing you hate when he does, the way he so callously beats and maims others for something you wouldn't think deserve such a punishment.

vanity — how concerned are they with their looks?

aemond's not exactly concerned, but he is cautious.

when he looks at you, all he sees are the stars in your eyes and the goddess far above within your features. and standing next to him, he knows it has to be such a sight.

he's always been one to take care of his hair - it's just his eye.

he doesn't like the way it stands out so brutishly against your shining figure, dark and cruel.

of course, the start to changing his way of thinking happens after he reveals his eye to you, and he realises that it only matters what you think, no one else.

whole — would they feel incomplete without you?

oh, yes.

beforehand, aemond never wanted a wife, he never wanted a family, he just simply wanted to protect his family like the dutiful son he was.

but once you've fallen into his dark embrace and he's finally gotten a taste of what marriage life is supposed to be like, aemond can't imagine anything any other way.

xtra — a random headcannon for them!!

aemond loves it when you take care/pamper him.

it's something he struggled to admit to himself, let alone to you, but once you're past that barrier, it's one of the things he looks forward to at the end of his day.

you'll have a bath prepared for him, dismissing the maids because no one takes care of him like you do, and you'll help wash him sensually, cleaning his hair and massaging his shoulder of all the knots built up.

he loves it when you play with his hair - washing it, brushing it, stroking it, you name it.

it just makes aemond feel so loved.

yuck — what are some things they wouldn’t like, in general or in a partner?

when your courting started, one of the most important things to aemond was that you got on with his sister, heleana.

he wasn't entirely bothered if you didn't get on with his mother because he knows she can be intimidating sometimes, and he definitely didn't care when it came to aegon.

but with heleana, he needed it to happen.

for aemond, it spoke a lot about the other person. if they didn't like heleana, for whatever excuse they may come up with, there had to be something wrong with him, they had to have been a bad person somewhere inside.

definitely off-putting for him.

zzz — what are their sleep habits?

he's a light sleeper in every sense.

he feels the wind coming through the open window? he's awake. he hears a rustle from outside his doors? he's awake. he feels you move slightly against him in your sleep? he's awake.

aemond is never really fully asleep, but it does get better once you start to sleep next to him.

he's always made sure you sleep the furthest away from the door, a habit he'll never get rid of for your safety.

he likes to have you as close to him as possible, wanting to feel your skin against his own for his comfort, no matter if it's the hottest summer known to man.

[aakeysmash]

first meeting: college!sukuna and f!reader

content: smut (degradation, masturbation (feet are involved for f), m oral, light slapping (1), manhandling, spit), a little bit of crack, i love yuuji and he's my metphorical little brother okay (he's 9), reader has siblings because i said so, also bigbro!sukuna

It’s not the sound of the sheets rustling that wakes him up, but an ass pressing on his groin. Not like he can complain about not sleeping much; the pretty moans still reverberating in his skull are a testament to that.

He hears a yawn before feeling two hands searching for his warmth. He lazily obliges and scoots a little bit next to the body he has next to him. He lets these roaming hands touch his body, trying not to cringe. He’s not fond of physical contact if it’s not on his cock, and having someone grab his bicep while sighing dramatically about how strong he feels makes him want to puke. But you’ve got to give ‘em what they want before taking what you want.

He curses in his mind. He broke the first rule: never let a chick sleep in your bed after you fuck her. His head is killing him, the sun entering from his bedroom window making him squint. He must have fallen asleep. He remembers everything from last night: whoever says alcohol makes you forget stuff is just weak. One of the guys he shared the complex he lived in threw a goodbye party since he was moving out, and he wasn’t one to refuse free alcohol. His ex-almost-roommate invited a bunch of people from college, and Sukuna remembers that there were a couple of girls that didn’t stop whispering to each other while looking at him, chuckling behind their hands and blushing. One in particular was pretty, dancing and smiling at everyone before focusing her gaze on Sukuna and never leaving it. A classic. He played her game a bit, and she twirled when he asked her to, acting innocent when he asked her if he could lick salt from between her boobs before taking a shot of tequila. Boobs that turned out to still be salty when he licked and sucked her nipples an hour later, and twirl she did, but this time on his dick, the innocent act all gone. He fucked her like he owned her, and she got fucked like she wanted to be owned by him.

“‘Morning, ‘Kuna,” a whisper in the quiet of his room. Sweet, sweet voice whose hands are now traveling towards his hardening cock. He looks at the clock in front of his bed and makes sure to not roll his eyes too obviously, opting to grab her ass to make the process of riling her up faster. He has to leave for practice in 30 minutes, but a blowjob will do.

His hand travels to her front, expert hands finding her clit immediately. He barely touches it and she trembles in his arms, already panting. So responsive. He smirks. This will take less than he anticipated.

“You’re wet already? You’re such a slut,” he groggily says in her ear. She moans. She likes that shit. His fingers find her opening, making sure to take some of her wetness before focusing on making small little eights on her bundle of nerves. “Spread these legs and shut the fuck up. The whole dorm already knows you’re enjoying yourself, you made sure they heard you last night,” he points out, biting her lobe. She opens her legs like the smart girl she is, and whines every time his middle finger catches on the hood of her sweet button. She babbles something along the lines of so close, so close, but right now he pays it no mind. “Don- don’t you dare stop-” another moan. Sukuna dips both his middle and ring finger in her opening, grinding his palm on her clit, feeling her arch her back against his chest. He knows his stuff: he’s degrading, demanding, evil, but he likes his women pleased thoroughly. Her pussy is squeezing him hard, when he suddenly registers what she said and gets away from her, bored. It’s not the first time some random girl thinks she can make him do whatever she wants just because she made him cum the night before. Which is not even completely true, because he always pulls out, even wearing a condom, and finishes with his hand. There’s no way a bum who lets a stranger fuck her is becoming his baby mama. He’s too young to deal with future college dropouts. 

She starts complaining, saying how he’s so mean, ‘Kuna, you’ve been doing this all night, please let me cum, I’ve been so good to you, but Sukuna just manhandles her and gets her on the floor. He seats himself in front of her, grabbing her hair roughly and positioning her head right in front of his standing dick. She yelps, forced to look up at him and his red irises. Her eyelashes flutter, her mouth opens a bit, and she gets wetter. He’s so big and strong, his arm flexing from how he’s making her strain her neck, looking down like a king does not even toward a servant, but toward a roach.

“You’re not going to tell me what I can and can’t do, bitch,” he starts saying, glaring at her menacingly. “And I remember you cumming quite a lot yesterday, actually,” he adds smugly, and she shuts her mouth. She did cum a lot. He never missed the chance to make her scream his name. “Now start sucking, I’ll let you get off on my feet. You should be thanking me, I don’t usually let brats like you stay a second time.” 

He then squishes her cheeks with the hand that’s not in her hair, making her pucker her lips. She looks at him with wide eyes, like a deer in the headlights. She’s quite literally hanging off his every word. He’s so sexy. I can’t let him be upset with me, or he won’t let me see him again! I want to be his girl so bad. 

“Open up,” he tells her, and she doesn’t need to be told twice. She’s equally aroused and scared. She sticks her tongue out, getting her hands behind her back and her feet under her ass. Obedient little thing. Sukuna goes to spit into her open mouth, but he makes sure to miss and spits on her cheek instead. She flinches, but she doesn’t move.

“Oops,” he grins, then collects his saliva from her face and slips his digits past her lips, choking her with them. “Swallow,” he commands.

“But-” she tries to speak, and he responds by pressing down hard on her tongue and making her gag.

“I said swallow, whore,” he repeats, rougher this time. She makes sure to listen to him, starting to tear up. He gets his fingers out of her mouth and lightly slaps her cheek with that same hand. 20 minutes left.

“Good girl. Now suck this cock,” he orders. She doesn’t miss a beat, bobbing her head up and down. He pushes her head down how he pleases, and she starts grinding on his foot. The only sound that can be heard inside of the room is the obnoxious slurping she’s making to accommodate his length inside her mouth. He’s big, girthy, with a pretty black band on the base she’s never quite reaching, and he tastes good, so good. Almost like yesterday after cumming he scrubbed himself clean in an extra meticulous manner. Almost self deprecating, almost as if he wanted to remove his skin as a whole. Almost as if he regretted fucking a stranger just for the pleasure of it, again. But like most things about him, it’s only ever going to be an almost. Even for himself.

It’s so humiliating, choking on his dick while desperately trying to find relief, but she has to do it. She has to. His imposing aura doesn’t make her do anything that he doesn’t want to be done. Also, sucking the cock of one of the hottest guys on campus is a major turn on for whoever gets to do it, and she’s not passing up the opportunity to tell her friends from her hometown about it. She’s been at this college just two weeks and she already achieved this? They’re not going to believe their ears. 

She doesn’t know that she’s not special: he’s known for fucking random girls, but they still flock to him like moths to a flame. Maybe it’s his bad boy aura, or them thinking they could change him, but the only real fact is that he’s still fucking and they’re still getting their hearts broken. Not like he gives a single fuck, anyway. As long as he gets an orgasm out of it.

“Hollow those cheeks,” he grunts, and she obliges. He’s getting bored, her head game isn’t that strong, and at this rate he’s never going to cum in time. He looks at the clock again. He has 5 minutes. This girl is sure taking her sweet time, and he’s pretty sure she already came 2 different times from how wet his foot is feeling and how she’s losing momentum again. Disgusting. Nasty whore.

He concentrates on feeling at least a bit of euphoria, making his orgasm nearer. He’d fuck her throat, but he doesn’t feel like it this morning since his head is still hurting a bit, and whatever he decides to do is law inside of his room. He’s about to nut, and he knows her jaw must be hurting, but it’s not his fault he lasts long. They never complain about it when they’re getting pounded, either. 2 minutes.

Suddenly, someone knocks at his door. He rolls his eyes and ignores it. Then, another three knocks. His eye ticks. Time slows down for him: he sees the girl at his feet widening her eyes and hazily looking up at him. He has a quick realization: he was about to cum and now he’s not going to. Then, a slow one: he’s pissed off because of the quick realization. He acts as if he didn’t hear it, again, and the girl opens her mouth again, but whoever is on the other side must be pretty persistent, because they start knocking and this time they don’t stop.

Now he’s not only pissed off, he’s angry. Who the fuck disturbs him on a Saturday morning?

He scowls, scoffs and then stands up. “I’m fucking coming,” he loudly says. He almost hears someone say fucking finally, but he’s not sure of it. He gives them the benefit of the doubt.

He doesn’t spare the girl on the floor a second glance before getting her out of the way by her hair and putting on a pair of sweatpants. She tumbles, not sitting prettily anymore. She looks disheveled and a bit out of words. He senses she didn’t get the memo since she hasn’t moved from her place. She’s pissing him off, too. He hates dumb bitches.

“Dress yourself up. You have ten seconds before I open this damn door and let whoever the fuck is here see you like this,” he coldly says. She tries to respond, and he loses all his patience.

“Ten, nine, eight…” he starts counting fast. She wobbles over her dress as fast as she can and pulls it on her head, trembling, mascara from last night still on her cheeks, a bit of her spit on her chin. He’s so scary when he’s mad. Sexy, too, but really fucking scary. She finds that she’s not able to look up at him anymore, almost bowing while she brushes her hair with her hands. He’s not a king anymore, he’s a tyrant.

“But ‘Kuna, I thought we-” 

He snickers, then stops looking at her again. “Girl, I don’t even remember your name. There’s no us. And stop calling me like that, it’s so fucking annoying.”

She feels like crying. She realizes that the degrading persona in the sheets wasn’t an act, he’s like that in real life too, and she gave it to him like he was special. Like she was special.

He slams the door open and instantly feels a punch on his naked chest. Huh?

“Ew,” you say surprised, jumping back, cleaning your hand on your jeans and making a disgusted face. He raises an eyebrow.

“Ew? Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?” he curses. Who do you think you are?

You stretch your lips, giving his figure a once over. He’s half naked, gray sweatpants low on his hips, very tattooed. A really big contrast with the color of his hair, which is a bright pink. He’s tall, and very strong if his bulging muscles are an indicator of that. You guess he’d look scary if you weren’t slightly upset.

“I’m your new neighbor, if you can call it that. They told me I’d find you here, and I guess I found you,” you tell him trying not to sound too bitter about the fact he so obviously ignored you while you were knocking.

“No shit,” he answers, completely uninterested.

You tell him your name, stretching your hand to shake his. “Hope we can live peacefully for the next couple of years, yeah?” you say, trying (again) to be nice, forcing yourself to smile a little. 

He looks at your hand without bothering to extend his, keeping his arms crossed. He looks utterly disgusted. ”Bye,” he says and he goes to turn back inside his room.

This guy is rude. You don’t do well with people who are rude for no reason whatsoever.

“Well then, I would’ve said I’m sorry for accidentally punching you since I was just about to knock again, but I’m more sorry for my hand who touched you,” you remark, not smiling anymore and glaring at him. 

He raises his eyebrows. Oh, he really doesn’t like you, and he doesn’t even know who you are. Disturbing his peace and acting entitled? Hell no.

“Be grateful you still have a hand,” he growls, glaring at you just as hard.

“Be grateful I let you know I’m moving in without throwing all your shit out of our bathroom, bitch,” you immediately respond. 

He chokes on a laugh. 

“Yeah, sure. There’s no way they gave me a girl as a new roommate, stop using excuses. Did we fuck? Are you here to tell me I’m a big meanie for not contacting you again?” He juts his bottom lip out, like he’s mocking a toddler. “Get the fuck out of my face,” he tells you, starting to close the door in your face.

“No, dumbass, I wouldn’t touch you with the hands of another girl, imagine what I’d do with mine. If you don’t get your shit out in 3 minutes you’ll be washing yourself with hand soap,” you wittily remark.

“‘Ku- Sukuna, who’s that?” You hear from the girl inside of his room.

“Oooh, a girl. Is she the one who put the stick up your ass? Pegged you real good huh?” you ask him, fake smiling.

He looks pissed off to the max.

“Shut the fuck up. Both of you. You, get the fuck out of my room,” he says to the scared girl, “You, we’re done talking, I hate pretentious bitches like you,” he adds giving you a disgusted once over.

He doesn’t expect you to just stare at him, though, and it takes him off guard. He’s confused: not everyday someone tests his patience so hard first thing in the morning and even manages to react like nothing happened. It makes him want to murder you and your stupid attitude.

“Bro, you’re like, so fucking annoying. Whatever, little miss princess who orders everyone around and pretends that they should listen, too,” you tell him, unblinking.

Suddenly he’s all up in your face, towering over you, and you have to pretend that your breath doesn’t hitch. Finding yourself two centimeters from someone’s nose was not on your today’s bingo list. Much less if the person in this situation is more than 200 pounds of pure muscles. 

“What the fuck did you just call me?” He grits through his teeth. You can smell a bit of a smokey undertone in his breath, like he’s not a big smoker but still a smoker.

You get even closer, effectively touching your nose with his. He might be scary and the fact that he has a pair of tattooed eyes under his real ones is kind of freaking you out, but you’re not going to let a guy step on you on your first day of college. This should be one of the best years of your life, dammit.

“I called you a princess. Is that pissing you off, princess?” You repeat. He goes to shove you away but you’re faster and get away on your own.

“3 minutes, asshole. That’s all you have,” you say while walking toward the room close to his, not looking back. You feel his gaze on your back, and you flip him off before slamming your door closed.

Now alone, you start organizing your stuff to make space for the bed frame that should be arriving in a matter of hours. The lady at the reception told you that you’d have a male “roommate” and you planned on asking him for help, but there’s no way you’re asking anyone anything if they’re that big of an asshole.

You hear a light knock on your door and you almost jump out of your skin, startled, until you hear a foreign voice calling for you.

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

You open the door and almost faint. “Oh my God, he shrinked,” you whine.

The pink haired kid you find yourself facing looks confused. 

“Shrinked?” he says pensively. Then he must see how you’re glaring at him kinda meanly, and he gets it. “Oh! You must’ve encountered Sukuna. I’m Yuuji, his brother, nice to meet you,” he clarifies while rubbing behind his ear and smiling gently at you.

You’re so relieved by this piece of information that your demeanor changes radically.

“Well, I must say you two look identical. Minus the fact he’s a total asshole,” you tell him, rolling your eyes and relaxing. He chuckles while nodding, and you keep on rambling. “I’m sorry for not being nice immediately, but it’s been a long day. You know, moving in and all…” you try justifying yourself, smiling sheepishly.

“Sure, I get it. I just wanted to see who’s gonna be here for the next year. If you need a hand with anything don’t hesitate to knock on my door!” he says excitedly. He looks like a softer version of the beast of the man you just came across, and he radiates puppy energy. You can quite literally see his metaphorical tail shaking and his big puppy eyes blinking happily. 

“Oh! You live here? I thought this was supposed to be a dorm for college students,” you ask, curious.

“Yeah, because it is. Big bro convinced the principal or whatever to make me stay, though. I wouldn’t have had a home to stay at, anyway,” he shrugs. You widen your eyes: these are not things you tell a stranger about. This kid is either too naive or too used to things like these. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, like this is a recurrent conversation for him. Like it’s basic knowledge for anyone that comes across him and his brother.

“Oh. I’m sorry for- prying?” you try saying, embarrassed, before changing the topic. “My door is always open too, you know. I have siblings, I don’t mind being interrupted from time to time since I’m used to it. Maybe we could play together? What do you like to do in your free time?”.

He looks at you with big brown eyes. He’s serious for three seconds, and he looks older, wiser. You can feel the way you’re starting to sweat, when he breaks out in a big smile.

“I like you. I don’t mind talking about the way I lack a family, but it’s nice when people act interested in more than that, you know? I like-”

“Brat, how many times have I told you to not bother people with your yapping?” you hear a deep voice saying from outside your door. The child in front of you lowers his metaphorical puppy ears, turning to look at whoever called him.

“But she’s nice! She asked me about it!” he responds. You hear footsteps approaching your bedroom.

“Who are you even talking-” Sukuna stops mid sentence, glancing at your still standing form, then raises one side of his upper lip, almost like he’s snarling. You reciprocate with a scoff of your own.

“Her? Nice?” he says mockingly. 

“Wouldn’t even have guessed you were brothers by the way he has manners you clearly lack,” you respond, glaring at him. He clenches his jaw and you think he’s trying to reign in his temper in front of his little brother, but that must be your impression, because the next thing he does is get him in the air by his collar. Yuuji trashes a little bit, but Sukuna is too strong, and at one point he just gives up.

“Let’s go. You’re not talking to her anymore,” he says to his mini counterpart, beginning to turn around while dragging him behind his back.

“But she asked me to play with her! Come on, bro, I’m bored when you’re not here,” Yuuji says while pouting. In all of this you just stood next to your open door. You almost pity the little puppy, he genuinely seems like a good kid, and maybe it’s the big sister in you but you’d hate your little brother to be bored and sad while doing nothing.

“If you help me set up my room, we can play aaaall day,” you suddenly say, getting out in the hallway and winking at the smallest of the two. Sukuna stops dragging his little brother and snaps his head toward you.

He narrows his eyes. “You little-”

Yuuji manages to free himself from his brother’s hold and comes running in front of you.

“Deal! Deal!” he responds excitedly, then gets into your room and starts unpacking by himself. You chuckle, then smile to yourself: he makes you miss home.

“If you so much as crumple his shirt, consider yourself a dead woman,” you hear Sukuna’s breath on your neck. Your hairs stand and a shiver runs down your back.

“Sir yes sir,” you say, gulping loudly. It’s not until you hear him walking away that you turn around.

“Yo, big guy, did you manage to free the bathroom from your ugly 3 in 1 body wash?”

He flips you off, then gets out without saying another word.

[estellan0vella]

Art of the Not-So-Graceful Swoon and Serious Conversations ❀ includes: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, Toji, Megumi, Yuji, Yuta, Toge & Nobara (Requested as SMAU but I did it as a written piece because I didn't think an SMAU was the best way to approach this topic)

CW: DISORDERED EATING MENTIONED

You stand in the middle of the kitchen, feeling dizzy. The room spins slightly, and you grab onto the counter for support. Satoru Gojo, your boyfriend, is sitting at the table, casually munching on some snacks. He looks up and his expression shifts from playful to concerned in an instant.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asks, standing up quickly.

You try to nod, but the movement makes your vision blur. You haven't eaten properly in days. The constant struggle with food has taken its toll, and your body is finally giving in. Before you can respond, your knees buckle, and you collapse.

"Hey! Y/N!" Satoru's voice is filled with panic as he rushes to your side.

The world goes dark for a moment. When you come to, you're lying on the couch, a cool cloth on your forehead. Satoru is kneeling beside you, his eyes wide with worry. He brushes a stray hair out of your face, his touch gentle.

"You scared me," he says softly. "What happened?"

You take a deep breath, feeling weak and embarrassed. "I... I haven't been eating much," you admit, avoiding his gaze.

Satoru's expression shifts from concern to something deeper, a mix of hurt and understanding. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, his voice gentle but firm. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

You feel a lump in your throat. "I didn't want to bother you," you mumble. "I thought I could handle it on my own."

He sighs, sitting down next to you. "You don't have to handle everything alone. I'm here for you. Always."

Tears well up in your eyes, and you quickly wipe them away. "It's just... it's hard," you confess. "I struggle with food. Sometimes, it's like my mind just won't let me eat, no matter how much I want to."

Satoru takes your hand, squeezing it gently. "You don't have to fight this battle by yourself," he says softly. "We can figure this out together. But you need to eat, okay? Your health is important to me. You are important to me."

His words hit you hard, and you finally let the tears fall. Satoru pulls you into a gentle hug, holding you as you cry. His presence is comforting, his embrace warm and safe. After a few moments, you pull back, feeling a bit lighter.

"I don't want to be a burden," you whisper.

"You're not a burden," Satoru insists, his eyes meeting yours. "You're my partner. We support each other. That's what a relationship is about."

You nod, feeling a mix of relief and fear. "I'll try," you promise. "But it's going to be hard."

"I know," he says. "But we'll take it one step at a time. Together."

He stands up and heads to the kitchen. You watch as he prepares a simple meal, bringing it over to you. "Here," he says, offering you a small plate. "Just a little bit to start. We can work up from here."

You take the plate, your hands shaking slightly. "Thank you," you say, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.

Satoru smiles, sitting back down beside you. "We'll get through this," he says confidently. "And I'll be right here with you, every step of the way."

You nod, taking a small bite. It's a small victory, but with Satoru by your side, it feels like the beginning of something better. The road ahead is uncertain, but you're not alone. And for now, that's enough.

The room spins around you, the edges of your vision blurring into a hazy fog. You've been pushing yourself too hard, neglecting meals, telling yourself you’ll eat later. But later never comes, and now the toll it's taken on your body is undeniable. Suguru's voice, usually a comforting hum in the background, seems distant and distorted. You can barely make out the words, your mind struggling to keep up.

"Suguru, I…" Your voice trails off, weak and unsteady. You reach out, trying to grasp something, anything to steady yourself, but your fingers find only empty air. The last thing you see before everything goes dark is Suguru's worried face, his eyes widening in alarm as he realizes what's happening.

When you come to, you're lying on the couch, a cool cloth pressed to your forehead. Suguru is kneeling beside you, his hand gently stroking your hair. His expression is a mix of concern and relief as he notices your eyes flutter open.

"You're awake," he says softly, his voice steady but edged with worry. "How are you feeling?"

You try to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forces you to lie back down. "I'm okay," you manage to say, though even you can hear the strain in your voice. "Just… dizzy."

Suguru's brow furrows. "You fainted. Do you know why?" His tone is gentle, but you can sense the underlying worry. He's always been attentive, always noticed when something was off. And you know you can’t hide the truth from him.

"I… I haven't been eating much," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's just been hard lately."

He nods, his expression softening with understanding. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asks quietly. There's no accusation in his voice, only concern. "You know you can talk to me about anything."

"I didn't want to worry you," you confess, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "I thought I could handle it on my own."

Suguru sighs, his hand never stopping its gentle movements through your hair. "You don't have to handle everything by yourself," he says. "I'm here for you, always. Please, don't shut me out."

The sincerity in his words breaks down the last of your defenses, and the tears you've been holding back spill over. "I'm sorry," you whisper, feeling the weight of your struggles crashing down on you. "I just… I didn't know how to talk about it."

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "It's okay," he murmurs. "We'll get through this together. But you need to take care of yourself. Skipping meals isn't the answer."

You nod, wiping at your eyes. "I know. I'll try. It's just… hard."

"I know it is," he says, his voice filled with compassion. "But we'll take it one step at a time. We'll make a plan, and I'll help you stick to it. You're not alone in this."

His words are a balm to your aching heart. For the first time in a long while, you feel a glimmer of hope. With Suguru by your side, maybe you can find a way through this. You take a deep breath, letting the warmth of his presence fill you with a renewed sense of determination.

"Thank you," you say, your voice steadier now. "For being here. For understanding."

Suguru smiles, a soft, reassuring smile that makes you feel like everything might just be okay. "Always," he promises. "We'll face this together."

And with those words, you know that you're not alone. With Suguru's support, you're ready to confront your struggles, one step at a time.

You’re standing in the kitchen with Kento Nanami, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mixing with the aroma of the breakfast he’s prepared. The sight of the food—crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, perfectly toasted bread—makes your stomach churn. It’s been days since you’ve had a proper meal, but the anxiety that knots your insides at the thought of eating is stronger than your hunger.

“Are you alright?” Nanami’s voice is calm, but there’s a hint of concern in his eyes as he sets a plate in front of you. You nod, forcing a smile. The last thing you want is to worry him.

“I’m fine,” you lie, your voice barely above a whisper.

He watches you, his gaze steady and unwavering. You can feel the weight of his worry, but you’re determined not to let it show. You pick up your fork, your hand trembling slightly, and take a small bite. It feels like a rock in your stomach.

“You haven’t been eating much lately,” he says softly, sitting down across from you. “Is something wrong?”

You shake your head, the room starting to spin slightly. “I’m just not very hungry.”

Nanami’s eyes narrow, his expression unreadable. He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. “You need to take care of yourself,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “Skipping meals isn’t healthy.”

“I know,” you murmur, but even as you speak, your vision blurs. You can feel yourself slipping, the edges of the world fading to black. The last thing you see is the alarm in Nanami’s eyes as he calls your name.

When you come to, you’re lying on the couch, Nanami kneeling beside you. His hand is cool against your forehead, his expression a mix of relief and worry.

“Thank goodness,” he breathes, helping you sit up slowly. “You fainted. When was the last time you ate?”

You look away, shame flooding through you. “I… I don’t remember,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

Nanami’s sigh is heavy with frustration and concern. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his tone softer now. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you bite your lip, trying to hold them back. “I… I’ve been struggling,” you confess. “With food. It’s hard to explain. I just… I can’t bring myself to eat sometimes. It’s like… this fear, this anxiety, it takes over and I can’t…”

Nanami pulls you into a gentle embrace, his arms strong and reassuring around you. “You don’t have to explain everything right now,” he murmurs. “But you need to know that I’m here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

You nod against his chest, the tears spilling over now. It feels like a weight has been lifted, just admitting the truth. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I’m always going to worry about you,” he replies, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Because I care about you. We’ll get through this together, alright? But you have to let me help you.”

You take a deep breath, nodding again. “Okay,” you say softly. “I’ll try.”

Nanami smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “That’s all I ask,” he says. “One step at a time.”

You lean into his embrace, feeling a glimmer of hope. It’s not going to be easy, but with Nanami by your side, you know you can face whatever comes next.

You wake up feeling a familiar tightness in your chest, the kind that has been gnawing at you for days now. It's the hunger, or rather, the lack of desire to eat. You drag yourself out of bed, your limbs feeling heavier than usual, and head towards the kitchen where Choso is already busying himself with breakfast.

He looks up and smiles when he sees you, his dark eyes warm with affection. "Morning," he says, flipping a pancake with practiced ease. "I made your favorite."

You force a smile and mumble a greeting, avoiding his gaze. The smell of food wafts through the air, and instead of making you hungry, it churns your stomach with anxiety. You know you should eat, but the thought of putting anything in your mouth makes you feel nauseous.

Choso sets a plate in front of you, pancakes stacked high, syrup glistening. "Eat up," he says cheerfully, sitting across from you with his own plate. You pick up your fork, but the sight of the food blurs as your vision starts to tunnel. Your head feels light, and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

"Are you okay?" Choso's voice sounds distant, concerned.

You nod, but it's a lie, and before you can stop it, everything goes black.

When you come to, you're on the floor with Choso's worried face hovering above you. "Hey, hey, stay with me," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "You fainted."

You blink, trying to make sense of what happened. The memory rushes back, and shame floods your system. You struggle to sit up, but Choso's hands on your shoulders keep you steady.

"Easy," he says. "Take it slow."

"I'm sorry," you whisper, feeling tears prick at your eyes.

"Don't apologize," he replies, helping you sit up and then moving to sit beside you on the floor. "But we need to talk about this."

You nod, swallowing hard. "I know."

Choso sighs, his hand reaching out to take yours. "You've been skipping meals, haven't you?"

You don't trust your voice, so you just nod again.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, his tone gentle but with an edge of frustration. "I could have helped."

"I didn't want to bother you," you admit, looking down at your intertwined hands. "I thought I could handle it on my own."

"You don't have to handle everything alone," he says, squeezing your hand. "Especially not something like this. I love you, and that means I want to help you, even with the hard stuff."

You take a deep breath, the words you've been avoiding finally coming to the surface. "I’ve been struggling with food for a while now. Eating feels like a chore, and sometimes I just… can't."

Choso's eyes soften, and he shifts closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Thank you for telling me," he says quietly. "But we need to make sure you're getting the nutrition you need. Fainting isn't something we can ignore."

"I know," you say, leaning into his embrace. "I want to get better. I just don't know how."

"We'll figure it out together," he promises. "Maybe we can see a nutritionist or a therapist, someone who specializes in this. But for now, let's start small. Can you try to eat something? Just a little?"

You nod, feeling a flicker of hope. "Okay. I'll try."

Choso smiles and helps you to your feet, leading you back to the table. The pancakes are still there, a little cold but still inviting. He cuts a small piece and hands you the fork. You take it, feeling a bit more steady with him by your side.

As you take your first bite, Choso watches you with a mix of concern and pride. "We'll take it one step at a time," he says. "I'm here with you, always."

You nod, chewing slowly, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, things will get better. With Choso by your side, you know you won't have to face this struggle alone.

The room spins as you clutch the edge of the counter, your vision blurring and darkening at the edges. Your head feels light, and your stomach clenches painfully, reminding you of the meals you’ve skipped over the past few days. Sukuna's voice is distant, an echo in the back of your mind, as you try to focus on his face, but your body betrays you. The last thing you see before everything goes black is his eyes widening in surprise.

When you come to, you’re on the couch, a cool cloth on your forehead and Sukuna’s face hovering above you, etched with uncharacteristic concern. His crimson eyes narrow as he sees you stir.

“You fainted,” he says flatly, though you detect a hint of worry beneath his usual gruffness. “What the hell happened?”

You try to sit up, but Sukuna’s large hand gently presses you back down. “Take it easy,” he commands. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

You close your eyes, a wave of shame washing over you. You’ve been struggling with food, your relationship with it complicated and fraught with anxiety. But admitting this to Sukuna, of all people, feels impossible. You don’t want him to see you as weak.

“I… I haven’t been eating much,” you finally whisper, your voice barely audible. “It’s been hard.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you dare to open your eyes, expecting to see disappointment or anger. Instead, his expression is unreadable, a mix of frustration and something softer that you can’t quite name.

“Why?” His tone is demanding, but there’s a gentleness there too, hidden beneath the surface. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“It’s complicated,” you say, turning your face away. “I just… I can’t. Sometimes, it feels easier not to eat at all.”

Sukuna’s fingers tighten around yours, not painfully, but with a firmness that grounds you. “You need to eat,” he states, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Your body needs food. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

You know he’s right, but the fear and anxiety that grip you make it hard to accept his words. “It’s not that simple,” you protest weakly. “It’s a struggle every day. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Try me,” he says, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “I might surprise you.”

You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “It’s like… there’s this voice in my head, telling me I’m not good enough, that I don’t deserve to eat. And when I do eat, I feel guilty. It’s a vicious cycle.”

Sukuna’s eyes darken with a mix of anger and sadness. “Whoever put those thoughts in your head is an idiot,” he says bluntly. “You’re more than good enough. And you deserve to take care of yourself.”

He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you in an awkward but comforting embrace. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he murmurs. “I’m here. We’ll figure it out together.”

You feel a tear slip down your cheek, and for once, you don’t try to hide it. Sukuna’s words, rough around the edges but sincere, start to chip away at the walls you’ve built around yourself. Maybe, just maybe, with him by your side, you can find a way to heal.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “For being here.”

“Always,” he replies, and you know he means it. In his own way, Sukuna is offering you a lifeline, and for the first time in a long while, you feel a glimmer of hope.

You find yourself sitting on the edge of the bed, your vision swimming slightly. The room around you feels oddly tilted, and you blink rapidly, trying to clear the haze. Toji notices something is off immediately. His sharp eyes, always so perceptive, narrow with concern.

"Hey," he says softly, crossing the room in a few long strides. "You alright?"

You force a smile, nodding even though your head feels like it's filled with cotton. "Yeah, just... a bit dizzy, that's all."

He kneels in front of you, his large hands cupping your face gently. The warmth of his touch is reassuring, but it also makes you acutely aware of how cold and clammy your own skin feels. "When was the last time you ate?" His voice is firm, but there's a layer of worry that he can't quite hide.

You avoid his gaze, your eyes drifting to the floor. "I... I don't remember," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toji's frown deepens. He stands up abruptly, heading towards the kitchen. "Stay here," he orders, though there's no real harshness in his tone. You hear him rummaging through the cupboards, the clatter of dishes and the sound of running water.

You try to stand up, but the world spins violently and your knees buckle. Darkness creeps in at the edges of your vision, and you barely register the sensation of falling before everything goes black.

When you come to, you're lying on the couch, a damp cloth on your forehead and Toji sitting beside you, his expression a mix of anger and fear. "What the hell were you thinking?" he growls, though his hands are gentle as they brush a strand of hair from your face.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. "I didn't mean to..."

"Didn't mean to what?" he interrupts, his voice rising. "Didn't mean to scare the hell out of me? Didn't mean to starve yourself until you passed out?" He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "You need to eat, okay? You can't keep doing this."

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I know. It's just... hard."

Toji's expression softens. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I get that," he says quietly. "But you have to try. For me. For yourself."

He reaches over to the coffee table, grabbing a bowl of soup he must have prepared while you were unconscious. "Here," he says, handing it to you. "Start with this."

Your hands tremble slightly as you take the bowl. Toji watches you, his gaze intense but filled with a deep, unwavering concern. "You're not alone in this," he reminds you. "I'm here. We'll get through it together."

You take a tentative sip of the soup, the warmth spreading through your body. It's comforting, not just the food, but his presence, his support. You meet his eyes, seeing the determination there, and it gives you strength.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice breaking.

Toji shakes his head. "Don't thank me," he says firmly. "Just promise me you'll try. Promise me you'll let me help."

You nod again, this time with more conviction. "I promise."

He smiles, a rare, genuine smile that lights up his face. "Good," he says, wrapping an arm around you. "We'll take it one step at a time. Together."

You lean into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart, and for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope. With Toji by your side, you know you can face this battle. One day, one meal at a time.

The room spins as you struggle to focus on Megumi's voice. He's talking about something—you're not quite sure what—his words blending into a distant hum. You nod, hoping it's the right response. Your stomach twists uncomfortably, not out of hunger but from the anxiety that has been gnawing at you for days. You haven't eaten much; the thought of food makes your throat tighten.

Megumi glances at you, his expression softening with concern. "Are you okay? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine," you manage to say, but the words feel heavy, forced.

The next moment, the world tilts, and you feel yourself falling. Megumi's eyes widen, and he lunges forward to catch you just as darkness overtakes your vision.

When you come to, you're lying on the couch, a cool cloth on your forehead. Megumi is sitting beside you, his brows furrowed in worry. His hand is warm against yours, grounding you in reality.

"Hey," he says softly, "take it easy."

You blink, trying to shake off the fog in your mind. "What happened?"

"You fainted," he replies, his tone gentle but firm. "I think you haven't been eating enough."

Your heart sinks. You've been careful, trying to hide your struggles, but it seems you weren't as successful as you'd hoped. You look away, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Megumi squeezes your hand, his grip reassuring. "You don't have to apologize. I'm just worried about you."

You take a deep breath, the weight of his concern pressing down on you. "It's just... hard sometimes. Eating, I mean. It feels like... like too much."

He nods slowly, his gaze never leaving your face. "I get that. Everyone has their battles. But you don't have to go through this alone."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "I didn't want to burden you."

"You're not a burden," he says firmly. "I care about you. If something's wrong, I want to help."

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. "It's been tough lately. I don't know why, but the thought of eating just makes me anxious."

Megumi's expression softens even more. "It's okay to feel like that. But we need to find a way to get through this together. Have you talked to anyone about it?"

You shake your head, a fresh wave of shame washing over you. "No. I was too scared."

"Then let's start now," he suggests. "We can look for a therapist, someone who can help. And in the meantime, I'll be here for you. We can figure out small steps to make it easier."

His words offer a glimmer of hope, a promise that you're not alone in this fight. You nod, feeling a bit more grounded, a bit more hopeful. "Okay. That sounds good."

Megumi smiles, a rare sight that warms your heart. "We'll take it one day at a time. And remember, you can always talk to me. No matter what."

You squeeze his hand back, grateful for his support. "Thank you, Megumi. Really."

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "We'll get through this. Together."

As you lie back, his hand still holding yours, you feel a sense of relief. It's not going to be easy, but with Megumi by your side, you're ready to face the challenges ahead.

You’re walking beside Yuji, your boyfriend, through the bustling streets of Tokyo. The sun is high, casting a warm glow over the city, but you feel cold and lightheaded. It's been days since you've had a proper meal, your struggle with food overshadowing even the most basic of needs. Yuji, ever cheerful and kind, chatters about his day, but his voice seems distant, like it's coming from underwater.

You try to focus on his words, on the excitement in his voice, but your vision blurs. You tell yourself you’re fine, that you just need to push through it. But your body disagrees. Suddenly, the ground seems to rise up to meet you, and darkness swallows you whole.

When you come to, you’re lying on a bench, Yuji’s concerned face hovering above yours. His usually bright eyes are clouded with worry. "Hey, hey! Are you okay?" His voice is frantic, a stark contrast to his usual calm demeanor. You can see the panic etched in every line of his face, and it breaks your heart.

“I… I think so,” you manage to croak out, though you don’t feel okay at all. Your limbs are weak, and your head feels like it's stuffed with cotton. Yuji helps you sit up, his hand steady on your back.

“What happened? You just collapsed,” he says, his voice softer now but still edged with concern.

You hesitate, looking down at your hands. How do you explain this? The guilt, the shame, the constant battle with your own body? “I… I haven’t been eating much lately,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yuji’s eyes widen in shock. “Why? Why haven’t you been eating?” His tone is gentle, but you can hear the underlying worry.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “It’s… it’s hard to explain. I’ve been struggling with food for a while. Sometimes it just feels easier to not eat at all.”

Yuji is silent for a moment, processing your words. Then, he reaches out, taking your hand in his. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this,” he says softly. “But you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here for you.”

His words are like a balm to your aching heart. You’ve been carrying this burden alone for so long, it almost feels strange to have someone else share it. “I didn’t want to worry you,” you confess, tears welling up in your eyes.

Yuji shakes his head, squeezing your hand gently. “You don’t have to protect me from this. I want to help you, but I need you to let me in. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”

You nod, the tears spilling over. “Okay,” you whisper. “Thank you, Yuji.”

He smiles, that bright, reassuring smile that you love so much. “Let’s go get something to eat, then. Just a little, if that’s all you can manage. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

You nod again, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. With Yuji by your side, the battle doesn’t seem so daunting. Together, you can face this. Together, you can find a way through.

As you walk towards a nearby café, Yuji keeps a protective arm around you. It’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel safe, grounded. You know this is just the beginning, that there will be many more challenges ahead. But for the first time in a long while, you feel hopeful. With Yuji beside you, anything feels possible.

The day begins with a subtle sense of unease that you can't quite shake off. Yuta notices, of course—he always does. His concern is evident in the way he hovers around you, a gentle presence that never feels overbearing but always attentive. You've been struggling with food for a while now, and although you try to keep it hidden, Yuta's perceptive nature makes it impossible to completely disguise the toll it's taking on you.

By midday, the dizziness starts to creep in. You ignore it, pushing through the fog in your mind and the weakness in your limbs. Yuta suggests lunch, his voice hopeful and encouraging, but you shake your head, offering a weak smile. "I'm not really hungry," you lie, trying to convince both him and yourself. He doesn't push, respecting your boundaries, yet his eyes betray his worry.

Afternoon comes, and the world starts to blur at the edges. You're sitting on the couch, trying to focus on a book, but the words swim on the page. Yuta is nearby, engrossed in some task, but you can feel his occasional glances, each one a silent check-in. You stand up, intending to get a glass of water, but the room tilts violently. Your vision darkens, and before you can call out, your knees buckle.

The next thing you know, you're lying on the floor, Yuta's frantic voice calling your name. His hands are gentle but firm as he helps you sit up, his face pale with fear. "Hey, hey, look at me," he says, his voice steady despite the panic in his eyes. "Are you okay? What happened?"

You blink, trying to clear the haze from your mind. "I... I don't know," you stammer, though you both know it's not entirely true. The truth is, you've been skipping meals, pushing yourself too hard, and now your body is paying the price.

Yuta's expression softens, a mix of relief and concern. He helps you to the couch, making sure you're comfortable before he speaks again. "You haven't been eating," he says quietly, not an accusation but a simple, painful truth. "I can tell. And now this... It's serious."

Tears prick at your eyes, shame and guilt welling up. "I'm sorry," you whisper, unable to meet his gaze. "I just... It's hard. I don't want to worry you, but—"

"But I am worried," Yuta interrupts gently. He takes your hand, his grip warm and reassuring. "I love you, and I hate seeing you hurt yourself like this. You don't have to go through this alone."

His words break through the wall you've built around yourself, and the tears start to fall. Yuta pulls you into a hug, holding you tightly as you sob into his shoulder. "It's okay," he murmurs, his voice soothing. "We'll figure this out together. We'll get through it."

You nod, the weight of his words a small comfort amidst the storm of your emotions. It's not going to be easy, and you know the road ahead is long and filled with challenges. But with Yuta by your side, his unwavering support and love, you start to believe that maybe, just maybe, you can overcome this.

As you sit there, wrapped in his embrace, you feel a flicker of hope. It's fragile, like a candle in the wind, but it's there. And for now, that's enough.

You're walking down the busy street with Toge Inumaki, your boyfriend, as the sun begins to set. The air is filled with the sounds of chatter and the distant hum of traffic. Toge is by your side, his presence a comforting constant. His unique way of speaking in rice ball ingredients has always been something you've found endearing, a quirk that makes him special.

But today, something feels different. You haven't eaten properly in days, struggling with your relationship with food. The world around you starts to blur, and you feel a wave of dizziness wash over you. You try to steady yourself, but your vision goes black, and you collapse.

When you come to, you're lying on the pavement, Toge's worried face hovering above you. His usually calm eyes are filled with concern, and he's holding your hand tightly.

"Salmon," he says, his voice shaky.

You try to sit up, but he gently pushes you back down. "Tuna mayo," he continues, his words conveying a depth of worry.

"I'm okay," you manage to croak out, but the weakness in your voice betrays you. The truth is, you're not okay. You haven't been for a while now.

Toge helps you sit up slowly, his arm supporting your back. "Kelp," he says softly, pointing to a nearby bench. You nod, and he helps you over to it. You sit down, feeling the world still spinning slightly.

He sits next to you, his hand never leaving yours. The silence between you is heavy, filled with unspoken words. You know you need to explain, but you're not sure where to start.

"Toge, I... I haven't been eating," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. His grip on your hand tightens, and you see the pain in his eyes.

"Mustard leaf?" he asks, his tone a mix of confusion and concern.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "I've been struggling with food. It's been hard for me to eat. I didn't want to worry you."

He looks at you, his expression softening but still filled with worry. "Salmon," he says, a hint of frustration in his voice. He cups your face with his hand, his thumb gently brushing your cheek.

"I know," you whisper, tears starting to well up in your eyes. "I'm sorry, Toge. I didn't mean for it to get this bad."

"Tuna," he says, shaking his head. He pulls you into a hug, his embrace warm and reassuring. You cling to him, feeling the weight of your struggles lifting just a bit.

After a few moments, he pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes. "Bonito flakes?" he asks, his tone gentle but firm.

You nod, understanding what he's asking. "I need help. I know that now. I can't do this alone."

He smiles, a small but genuine smile that reaches his eyes. "Kombu," he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. It's his way of telling you that he's here for you, that he'll support you through this.

You lean into him, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. It's going to be a long journey, but with Toge by your side, you feel a glimmer of hope. You know that you're not alone, and that makes all the difference.

As you sit together on the bench, the world around you starts to feel a little less overwhelming. Toge's presence is a reminder that you have someone who cares deeply for you, someone who will help you find your way back to a healthier place. And for the first time in a long while, you believe that you can do it.

Extra Addition: Nobara Kugisaki

The world around you starts to blur as you sway on your feet, a wave of dizziness crashing over you. Your stomach has been a hollow pit for hours, gnawing at you with a persistent ache you’ve grown accustomed to ignoring. You’ve managed to keep your struggles with food hidden from Nobara, convincing yourself that you can handle it. But now, as you stand in the middle of her living room, the edges of your vision darken, and you know you’re about to faint.

“Hey, are you okay?” Nobara’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp with concern. You try to respond, but your knees buckle, and the floor rushes up to meet you.

The next thing you know, you’re lying on the couch, Nobara’s frantic face hovering above you. Her hands are trembling as she pats your cheeks, her eyes wide with panic.

“Wake up! Come on, open your eyes!” she demands, her voice shaking. “What the hell happened?”

You blink up at her, the room slowly coming back into focus. “I’m... I’m okay,” you croak, though your voice is weak and unconvincing.

“Okay? You call that okay? You just collapsed!” Nobara’s face is a mix of anger and worry, her usual confident demeanor replaced by raw fear. “You scared the hell out of me!”

You try to sit up, but Nobara gently pushes you back down. “No, stay there. You’re not moving until you tell me what’s going on.”

There’s no escaping it now. You take a deep breath, your throat tight. “I haven’t been eating much lately,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been... struggling with food.”

Nobara’s eyes widen even more, if that’s possible. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice is high-pitched, almost shrill with worry. “I could have helped! We could have figured something out together!”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you mumble, feeling the weight of your secret lifting but replaced by a different kind of heaviness — guilt.

“Bother me? Are you kidding?” Nobara’s hands are still trembling as she cups your face, her eyes searching yours. “You’re not a bother. You’re my partner. We’re supposed to look out for each other.”

You see tears welling up in her eyes, and it breaks your heart. Nobara, who always seems so strong and unshakable, is crumbling in front of you. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, reaching up to wipe away a tear that escapes down her cheek.

She sniffles, trying to compose herself. “Don’t be sorry. Just... don’t hide things from me, okay? We’re a team.” Her voice is softer now, the panic giving way to determination. “We’ll figure this out together.”

You nod, feeling a strange mix of relief and shame. “Okay. Together.”

Nobara takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm herself. “First things first. You need to eat. I’m making you something, and you’re going to eat it, even if I have to feed you myself.”

You can’t help but smile at her intensity. “Yes, ma’am.”

She gives you a shaky smile in return, brushing her fingers through your hair. “And we’re going to talk about this, really talk about it. We’ll get you whatever help you need. But you’re not going through this alone, got it?”

“Got it,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the blanket she tucks around you.

Nobara stands up, a new determination in her step as she heads to the kitchen. “Just stay there and rest. I’ll be right back.”

As you lie there, waiting for her to return, you feel a sense of hope you haven’t felt in a long time. Nobara’s reaction, her over-the-top panic and fierce protectiveness, shows just how much she cares. And for the first time, you believe that maybe, just maybe, you can overcome this with her by your side.

[llamagoddessofficial]

You don't have to read this, but I've been thinking about ways to escape that situation. I would consider this a test run because we don't know their hunting strategies. Instead of focusing on running away, I would focus on understanding their patterns, as we know they are Mafia workers who search for people, and we don't know what kind of roles they have in their search. I'm considering whether or not to tell Dust about something, but I'm worried that he or my home might be bugged. If I do decide to tell him, I'll write a note explaining my reasons and wait for Horror to watch over us. While I wait, I'll inspect the garden for any weak points in the walls and observe the usual guard shift times. I might also pretend to have trouble sleeping and ask for some sleeping medication. I know Nightmare would attempt to help me, but he can't be available 24/7, and he won't be there every night, and I would ask for some sleep medication. And when it's Horror's turn I will dump the appropriate amount in his food or drink to mask the drugs when adding drugs to food or drink, I would use sugar to mask the taste and spices to cover up the smell. He is the main person hunting us down, and it's frustrating for Killer and Dust because they primarily used him to track us from the beginning. I will use the tough fabric of our curtains to tie knots and cut them to make a makeshift rope. Then, I will hail the nearest taxi, pay in cash, and instruct the driver to take us to the docks. I would take a boat tour to travel to the other side of the lake assuming that we live near one. They usually don't ask for ID, but I would choose a cheaper one just in case. I would be willing to pay extra if they do ask for it. Once I reach the other side, I would go to one of the destinations and start my new life without them.

An admirable attempt, to be sure. And there's a genuine chance you could get some distance away before they find you, which is no small feat. But there are some pitfalls you might have overlooked.

Guard shifts overlap. Nightmare has been in the game long enough to know the common breaks in armour. He's not just keeping you in; he's keeping his enemies out.

The boys might be dumb, but they're not stupid. They're incredibly observant. They would be able to tell that you're watching the guards.

Nightmare will be able to smell mounting anxiety about an escape attempt.

Where would you get the cash for the taxi? Additionally, you are really throwing the dice by getting a cab from outside Nightmare's home. Good luck finding a driver that isn't on Nightmare's payroll. In fact, good luck finding anywhere in the city where there isn't anyone loyal to Nightmare. There's a reason Dust was so agitated by Nightmare liking you... there's a reason he told you you can't leave.

You're gonna need a lot of fucking sleep meds to knock Horror out for any significant amount of time.

Horror is the fastest at finding you, sure. But if he's out of action, Nightmare will happily take his place on the hunt. And that isn't a good thing for you.

Also... perhaps the biggest issue.

You know food is sacred to Horror right? Incredibly sacred. To him, it's synonymous with love, with care, with connection. Food sharing in the Underground was how you told someone you valued their life. And accepting food was how you expressed the ultimate vulnerability. Horror doesn't accept food from just anyone.

Not only did you tamper with his food, you offered it to him under false pretences. You took advantage of the fact that he cared for you enough to eat/drink whatever you offer. I hope you realise you've absolutely shattered his trust.

He will never believe you, or let his guard down around you, ever again.

You monster.