#cw not respecting boundaries | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alexiroflife · 3 months ago

Note

Can you maybe write a drabble abt y/n who is really really bad at accepting kindness or was emotionally abused/neglected in their past

jjk men when you react poorly to their affections...

cw: angst, mental health struggles, mentions of generational & domestic trauma

-> hello all, thank you guys so much for all the sweet messages and the patience while i've been MIA. i really hope you enjoy what i've been working on for you! just a heads up, some of these are longer than others dependent on the scenario (and because i don't know when to shut up), but i hope i've done this request justice! i love you all and hope you're having a lovely weekend! <3

gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna

satoru gojo: hesitation to touch!

satoru's first instict before and after he discovers that he has fallen in love with you and worked to make you his is to clobber you with physical affection. he is ever the passionate man when it comes to his feelings, which have come around to him rather suddenly amid his weighted occupation and past experiences with unnurtured, trampled love. when he feels himself drawn to you for the first time, his lack of personal awareness in terms of others' space shines through, and he is attached to you at the hip.

satoru wants to throw his arm around you, hold your hand, guide you to the side by your waist just to catch a glimpse of how it feels for his hands to be pressed to your lovely frame, even if it is for just a milisecond.

as the two of you progress past a boundary of friendship slowly and mutual interest is made evident, satoru's affections shift and his desires double, triple, quadruple what they were before. he watches you with dazzled starry eyes, hands seeking to grab you up and pull you into him so that he can sprout kisses all over your beautiful face, down to the shoulders that support your neck and the legs that keep your body standing.

and satoru surely does try to expand his sense of affection directed toward you once you have gotten into a relationship after what he feels has been so long, but he can not help but notice how indifferent you are to all of it. satoru has never known you to be a mushy person, for when it comes to hugging you or kissing a cheek, you tend to shy away from him. he does not take it personally at first. he has known you long enough to understand that you have never been a woman of affection, and unfortunately he does not stray against your general preference. nevertheless, as satoru's love for you grows hand in hand with his physical needs, he begins to have doubts, fears, suspicions.

in truth, satoru does not know or understand the extent to which you avoid affection. it is not that you do not desire to be loved by the man in your life, or that you do not wish for him to express his love in the particular manner that he chooses to. you adore satoru, and you can see how he struggles to hold himself back when his eyes light up with that desire you know so well by now, the desire to hold you and wrap you up close. it pains you especially when you catch wind of how he deflates when you turn him down, his hands falling back down to his sides from a rejected invitation to his chest, and his glossy lips pressing together in a tired smile displaying both his desire to respect you as well as his poorly hidden disappointment.

while remaining understanding and desiring to make you happy, satoru begins to bring light to the conversation as time goes on. when he asks you about it “causally" after hours of thinking of the best way to approach you, you brush him off once more.

“you know i’m not a touchy person, satoru,” you would tell him. “that’s all it is.”

and god, does satoru want to believe you and move on with all his heart- he wants to be okay with your boundaries, to push aside his own to ensure that he does not offend you, and while it kills him he would hate to make any move that would bring you to resent him or anything associated with his touch.

but he just can’t.

he does not want to completely admit that it is partially because he craves the feel of you more than anything he has ever wanted in his entire life, for the main reason he is concerned is because he knows you are hiding something from him, something big.

his suspicions only manifest into truth one day when he reaches past you to grab something on the counter as you stand beside him, and due to your focus on your own task at hand, you are startled by the motion. you subsequently flinch slightly, a poor habit of the past reviving momentarily due to your uncertainty and distraction.

you feel the air around you immediately tense and it registers what you just did. when you slowly turn, you catch the look of pained horror on satoru's features as he slowly lowers his hand, having forgotten completely what he was initially doing.

"i-" you go to explain yourself, but no words come out. you realize that there is no painless way to describe your actions, why you flinched, why you never want to know what it feels like to be touched by a man who loves you because the last one who claimed he did lied, took advantage of your trust, and weaponised his physicality in the worst possible way.

you shudder, stepping back subconsciously. "i'm sorry, i-" you shake you head and look down to the floor. "i don't know what came over me."

"...(y/n), did you think i was gonna hit you?"

you can't even register his words. they go through your head like a harsh breeze. "no," you're quick to say. "...i just-"

"then what was that? why did you-?" you hear the silence rise after he cuts himself off. you imagine his mind whirring, his heartbeat pounding. you hate to make him feel this way.

he attempts to move closer to you, which you allow since he does not approach too quickly. "you understand that i would never- never hit you. right?"

his question lingers as your brows draw together and the lump in your throat hardens, the topic sensitive enough to send you spiraling.

he ducks slightly to try to catch your eye. "(y/n)? you know that right? please tell me you do," he pleads softly.

"i do," you mumble. "i don't think- i know you-"

"baby, can i-" he reaches instinctively for your hand then quickly retracts. you watch as his fingers curl his hand into a fist at his side before swiftly releasing. "wh- i'm so sorry. i just- why-" he struggles to find the words as you stand before him like a child preparing to get scolded. "why did you flinch like that?"

and he sounds so broken by your action, so completely defeated that you can feel the shakiness of his voice rattle your bones.

"did... is someone... hurting you?"

christ, satoru can only manage to keep the building fury within him at bay, as he wants to be present for you to understand what you're going through in your head, but the very idea of someone laying their hands on you makes an inexplicable rage rush over his body.

you take a deep breath in, sensing his growing panic. you knew that you would have to come face to face with your past one day, now that you are moving on and experiencing love in a manner you never got to before. you belittle yourself for allowing the signs to slip so soon, but you have to give satoru a little credit. you know he has been antsy about your hesitation to touch, and you doubted you were going to get away with the petty excuses you'd been coming up with for much longer.

"(y/n)?" the white haired sorcerer asks again with impending urgency.

"no, no one's hurting me," you assure him quickly. "i'm sorry toru, i didn't mean to freak you out."

"please don't apologize," he begs. "i just need you to help me understand what just happened. i don't want to pry, baby, but seeing you flinch like that isn't something i can just let go."

"i know," you gulp, voice shrinking.

"hey..." the consolation in his low voice urges you to look back up at him slowly. his brows are drawn together and his eyes search yours, soon darting all over your face and taking in every detail. "what's wrong?"

and in the moment you know he knows. he's piecing together every moment you've awkwardly gone rigid when his arm has carefully pulled you into his side, every time your mouth turns with nerves each time he goes to kiss your temple, every time you have rejected his advances not because you don't want them but because you're afraid they aren't real, that they will be weaponized against you, that they are a mask for some darker intention.

you know satoru's spirit. you know that he would destroy the very world you inhabit for you as long as you're safe and protected. you know that what you feel is true love, unconditional love. you know that. you see that. he shows you that, but your traumas leave you petrified. shadows of the past lurk behind his very frame and threaten to tear apart everything good you are slowly building.

"it's not you," you tell him after a moment and he is still with silence, sensing a confession, an explanation that he has longed to hear. "it's never been you."

"then what is it, baby? what's been going on?"

"i can't-" you struggle to find the words as the memories begin to choke you. you sputter. "i- i haven't had- you're the first-"

"(y/n), breathe," he instructs softly and you do. though he isn't touching you, you feel the security of his presence wrapping around you as if you were tucked in a safe embrace. "it's okay. you don't have to force yourself to tell me anything if it's too hard for you."

"i know, but-" you shake your head at yourself as if disappointed in your own actions. "i just- i know you want more from me. we've been dating for almost two months and i barely kiss you, i barely let you hug me, we haven't even had sex-"

"that stuff doesn't matter to me, (y/n)."

"yes it does, satoru. i see it all over your face. you're getting impatient with me, i know you are."

"don't do that," he tells you. "i'm not upset with you for taking your time. i realize affection is something that you're not comfortable with, and that's okay."

"but it's not okay for you. you want more- you need more-"

"i need my girlfriend to be okay," he interjects as he holds your gaze. "i need you to feel safe. i don't ever want you to feel like you owe me anything, (y/n). you don't. i love you whether i'm touching you or not and that will never go away. yes, my love language is different from yours, but that doesn't mean i'll ever get tired of you. sure, it's hard sometimes, but i'm okay. your wellbeing means more to me than anything else, you understand that?"

you swallow hard, overwhelmed. "it's not that i don't want-"

"it's okay."

"but i don't want to leave you hanging."

"(y/n). it's okay."

"...my ex... he..." you find yourself stumbling over your pending confession once more, straying from satoru's gaze to make what happened to you feel less raw, less real. and satoru studies you, dreading what is to come, heartbroken for what he has begun to discover without you even having to say it. "...when we were together..."

your brows twitch as something comes to life in your head, and satoru immediately knows to turn your attention away by speaking up after prolonged moments of weighted silence. "it's okay, (y/n)," he echoes for a third time, and this time you hear the sheer sadness dripping in his soft tone, the admiration of your strength, his guilt, his love, his patience, his fury. "you don't have to say it. it's okay."

"i just don't want you to think i don't love you..."

"i don't think that, baby. i know you love me. i love you too, so much."

and there comes the break in your exterior, the crack in your voice, the vulnerability that overshadows you. your mind revisits the betrayal, the fear, the hatred of the past and how it haunts you, how it is engraved in you, no matter how much closer you come to healing.

"but i don't know how to love you the way you need."

"all i need is you, (y/n). nothing else."

satoru sees it written all over your face and his heart is sinking. he wants to help you, support you. he wants you to know that everything will be alright as long as you lean on him, as long as you know that he is not the same and would never take advantage of your trust, of your affections, of your soul and your love.

he'll kill him. he'll kill whoever hurt you, whoever's abuse tore you apart and made you shrink into yourself, shrink away from confidence and certainty and true affection. he'll tear him apart, destroy him from the inside out for his crimes against you, for tainting your past so terribly. for dimming your light and making you hurt.

but before that, he needs to be there for you. he moves to do so in the best way he can, stepping forward and opening his arms to hold you. he doesn't think, forgetting about your hesitation with physical intimacy for the sake of wanting to protect you, so he's moving in until he catches your eye again.

he sees the way you hold yourself back, how panic subconsciously swirls in your eyes. he freezes, looking over you slowly in realization before dropping his arms to his sides quickly. "i'm sorry, pretty. i don't mean to cross your boundaries. i just..." he doesn't know what to say, words seeming to fail him when he concludes that he has no idea how to help you. "i'm so sorry."

you know he is apologizing for everything you've experienced, for not understanding why you are the way you are, and for not knowing how to be there for you all at once.

you think way back to when you and satoru first met. to the times you spent getting to know each other through work. the times he would make you laugh unexpectedly with his stupid jokes, the times he would begin to hover you despite having to tend to the first years' training, the times you would catch him staring shamelessly only for him to subject you to endless flirting. the times he'd reach for your hand, only for yours to tense in his until he'd awkwardly release it, sensing your discomfort. the times you would still when his lips met your cheek. the times you'd dodge him simply to avoid the painful interaction of watching him reel back sadly when you'd step away from his presence, scared not of touching him but of what may happen if you allow him to fully cross that line.

you think back to every time satoru has proven himself a completely different person from your ex, and yet the trauma of being with him overpowers what you have been blessed with.

you look up at your boyfriend desperately, apologetically, gratefully and find that you have nothing to say either. you can see his internal struggle, how distant he becomes despite still standing so close to you. he's so afraid of triggering you or hurting you, so he keeps his hands to himself, though they itch to seek you out.

your ex had made you so uncomfortable with touch that the memory of his began to plague any desire to feel satoru's.

and satoru is not him.

the two of you stare at one another, and for the first time you truly see the greatest sorcerer of the modern age before you. all of him. all the good that he is, the love he has to offer, to empathy he has for you, and the inviting warmth he emanates.

you feel something shatter inside you as an urge to be wrapped into a tight blanket of security washes over you. satoru's familiar cologne sinks into your senses, his glassy blue eyes silently willing you some sense of peace, even if he can't be the one to provide it. the man you love towers over you with no intention to go and yet no expectation of contact, and you melt.

you fall apart for the man that he is for you and the terror that he will never be.

your body is reacting before your mind can think, and satoru has no time to be shocked when you carefully step into him and push your body against his, curling your arms to your chest as he surrounds you and pulls you in.

your body shivers, scared of its unearthed wants until it registers the foreign sensation of gojo's snug embrace. he does not hug you too tightly, but instead lets you sink into him as his embrace follows. his fingers secure over your sides and his chin falls to your shoulder, your hearts hammering into one another's.

when you do not involuntarily jerk away, your brows curl together and your eyes glaze over. you register the firmness of his frame and how gently it cradles you, how safely you are tucked away into his scent, his protection, his anguish for all that you have been through.

you whimper at just how raw satoru's love feels for you in this state, as you see now that you have truly escaped what you have been dreading for as long as you can remember.

satoru feels that he can hardly breathe, overwhelmed by you and all that you have shown him with such little words. he hates how selfish he has been, for now he sees you wholly. he understands now, and he especially understands how big it is that you have found a desire for a hug, for him to hold you for as long as he has been.

so he savors it. he takes you in and keeps you close, wordlessly thanking you for trusting him and leaning on him when you needed to the most. you're so soft, so shaky that he crumbles on the inside.

you are everything. this moment is everything. for you, for the both of you. satoru can feel you begin to cry as a weight lifts from your shoulders, and his eyes water as he quickly follows suit. he knows that you will push away from him soon, that you will retreat once you register what you are doing, but that is okay. it's more than okay. this in itself is a ginormous step for you, a step toward seeing how much you mean to him and how fiercely he will protect you.

so he continues to hold you in silence, thumbs caressing soothingly over your shirt. he lets you feel him as he feels you. it is tender, it is peaceful, and it is finally safe.

suguru geto: emotionally disconnected!

for quite some time, suguru has noticed something about you.

normally, he would not consider himself the type to pry or press matters that he knows are out of his control or have nothing to do with him, but considering how deeply this has been impacting every aspect of your lives, he knows he can not go on without saying something anymore.

the black haired man would like to consider himself to be an emotionally mature person. when the two of you have issues, he's the first one to want to sit down and talk them out. when something is bothering him, he will wait for the proper time to approach you about the topic. he does not tend to overthink, for he sees things as they are and addresses them accordingly.

that having been said, suguru is not the most emotional person in the world. due to his prioritization of making sure things happen when the time is best suited for the situation, he still has a tendency to allow things to pile up internally. when he eventually sits down to discuss things, it is after they have been swarming his mind for at least a couple of days. he doesn't exactly see this as a problem, for he is occupied with work and his daughters as well as his relationship with you, but his self-awareness reminds him that putting things off is not always the healthiest habit, no matter how in tune he is with what he feels or how clearly he sees things.

and due to these habits that he has long been adjusted too, he always expects himself to be the "less available" partner when in a relationship. not because he does not want to open up, but because of how his tendency to put things off can be perceived. suguru knows how his behaviors can come off, and he knows that a part of his emotional maturity is understanding where he falls short. however, when the two of you first got together, he never would have expected to be the one struggling with your inability to be vulnerable.

suguru admires your strength. he admires your grit, your determination, your selflessness, and your drive. those traits of yours are just a few that initially drew him to you in the first place. you are strong, almost offensively so, and you do your best to support the family that the two of you are growing together. nevertheless, your strength can often meld into a painful tendency to block out not only emotion, but the entire world around you.

you are often so quick to offer logical or physical solutions. when suguru asks you to sit with him to talk something out, you present every rational reaction to an emotional problem. when he tells you that something has been bothering him, you offer to distract him by pulling him into the bedroom and shedding your clothes. though suguru does not overthink, you subconsciously make it seem as though he does when he presents you with some you are just emotionally incapable of understanding.

you turn your head away when you notice suguru holding onto something in his mind, you keep your lips sealed tight when mimiko or nanako approach the two of you with teary eyes in search of a little emotional consolation, allowing suguru to do all the talking as you sit one of them in your lap, and above all you never - never - allow yourself to feel disappointment or sadness or anger or shame if anyone does something that agitates or hurts you.

you never allow yourself to feel, fronting as though nothing can harm you or pierce your veil of strength that suguru would describe more so as an impenetrable wall.

suguru never considered himself to be excessively emotional, but in knowing you, he feels the most emotional he ever has been by comparison. you are impossibly indifferent, self-reliant, stubborn, and oh so emotionally unavailable. suguru loves you dearly and everything you do for your family, but he can not help but feel as though he is in a relationship with an unfeeling robot from time to time. with someone who chooses to evade with humor and sex and philosophy instead of just feeling.

suguru has known you for a long time, and he has noticed this about you from the day you met. you don't talk about your family, you don't talk about your past, you don't talk about feeling happy or sad, you simply act. you go about your day to day in a haze, brushing off things that happen to you like they are nothing. like you're afraid that the second you let one emotion in, you'll lose yourself or you'll be punished.

and the jade eyed man wishes he could understand why. he wishes you would open up to him and show him a piece of you that you've been hiding away. he wishes that he could sit down with you and actually have a meaningful, emotionally rich conversation, but you shut yourself off from anything remotely resembling such. you distance yourself, and it kills suguru. it makes him hurt for you, makes him wonder who could have possibly hurt you to the point where you condition yourself into believing emotion is the enemy.

as frustrated as he is with your habits, he is more worried for you than anything. he worries for your sanity as well as his, and for how much longer he can go on pretending like this is okay for you to do.

he decides one day, after having pushed it off for longer than he's held off on anything, that he will attempt to sit down with you and have a conversation. the girls are left with manami and miguel as suguru treats you to a day out over the weekend.

after a few hours out to lunch and shopping, suguru takes you to a nearby park that the two of you often visit with the girls. you take a seat on a bench by the trail, dancing trees shading you from overhead as streams of sunlight pour through the leaves. it's a quiet, warm day. things have finally calmed down after a few hectic weeks, and suguru is confident that he has picked the right time and place to speak to you.

"today's been really nice, sugu," you say absentmindedly as your head rests against the dark haired man's shoulder. his arm is stretched out behind you, resting on the back of the bench as he tilts his head to kiss yours.

"i'm glad you've enjoyed it," he smiles lightly. "we both needed a day for ourselves, don't you think?"

"hell yeah we did, work's been a pain in the ass," you chuckle.

suguru almost perks up, wondering if you are about to complain about your job or discuss how it has made you feel. "yeah?"

"yeah, but nothing i can't handle obviously."

your dismissal is so swift that it almost would have been impossible to notice if suguru hadn't known you so well and for so long. he sighs, deflating slightly as he looks over your head. "by the way... while i have you, angel," he starts. "i wanted to talk to you about something."

you have never been a fan of those words, of the anticipation that comes with it. what could suguru possibly want to discuss that he couldn't have mentioned before? why did he have to make an ordeal out of it by taking you to the park to talk?

those are the first thoughts that come to your mind, and you are quick to mention them. "oh?" you turn to lift your head and meet his gentle eyes. his fingers absentmindedly trace your shoulder as he watches you, preparing himself for what he knows will come. "you wanted to talk to me at the park?"

and there you already go, attempting to find reason in his behavior. "i thought it would be nice to get a change of scenery and treat ourselves."

"but you just said you wanted to talk. you did all this to lead up to that?"

he sighs. "(y/n), i just wanted to have a nice day with you."

"and you are. we're having a great day," you assure him as if it is so obvious. "but you also want to talk, so why don't we just talk? you don't have to make a thing out of it if you have something to say, you know?"

you shrug dismissively, as if none of it is a big deal, and it drives suguru crazy. he hasn't even begun to speak on what he wants to share with you, and he can already feel you anxiously pulling away despite you trying to appear so nonchalant.

there is a brief moment of silence as you wait, watching him expectantly. suguru nods to himself, pursing his lips momentarily before looking back at you and forcing himself to proceed with the dwindling hope of getting through to you.

"so what's up?"

he smiles knowingly, gently. "well..." he begins. "...i've been thinking about some stuff that's been worrying me."

"worrying you?" you echo.

"yeah. some stuff that i've noticed about you for a while now."

"me?" you repeat with a slightly uncomfortable chuckle. "what did i do?"

"it's not really... something you did, it's more so something you do."

you raise your brows up at him, astounded. "as in consistently."

"yes, angel."

you can feel yourself growing defensive as you process his words. "alright, then what is it? i can help clear it up for you if you misinterpreted something."

"i didn't misinterpret anything, (y/n). i've been thinking about this for a while."

"okay, what is it?"

your responses are so quick. you're eager to get to the point so that you can quickly denounce his claims, defend yourself, drill a hole in his head with the logistics of why his emotions are the issue and not you.

suguru can feel it brewing, can hear it in your tone. he's trying to practice patient so his frustration take control of the conversation, before he can allow your unavailability to stunt him.

he waits a few more seconds, giving you a cautious look before proceeding. it's now or never, he thinks. "i get nervous even thinking about bringing things up because you're always so quick to react like nothing matters to you."

"what?" you scoff a laugh. "what do you mean nothing matters to me? why would you think that?"

"let me finish," he heeds. "maybe i could have worded that differently, but you... (y/n), you've always been so strong. you've always proven to everyone that you're strong, but at the cost of some of your humanity."

"i don't undertstand."

"then let me finish talking."

you brows narrow and your body stiffens. suguru catches the first signs of you closing yourself off, leaning away, shutting down.

suguru waits for you to indicate that you are willing to continue to listen, and you give him a little toss of your hands upward as if to tell him to keep going, to tell him that there's no reason to pause because you are unbothered.

"every time i try to talk to you about something i feel, and everytime something happens to you that warrants you to be upset, you just brush it off. you pretend all the time like everything is okay when it may not be, and it's been hard to ignore lately. especially since we're both stressed from work-"

"i'm not stressed. i'm fine-"

"see, you're doing it now. and i told you to let me finish talking. it's like you can't help yourself."

you bite your tongue quickly, almost stunned by his boldness.

suguru lets out another sigh. "i'm sorry, angel. i'm not angry with you or anything, i'm just frustrated. you're always trying to prove to the world that you can handle everything that comes to you, and i get having to portray yourself one way to everyone else, but with me and the girls...? it gets exhausting. i don't want you to feel like you have to pretend with me. i want to stand beside you and i want to spoil you and love you and support you, but you make it damn close to impossible to do that when you don't let me in. you don't let me see you. and because you dismiss your feelings, you end up dismissing mine. and even the girls' sometimes. i know you don't do it on purpose, but you should know that it's a big thing."

"i'm not pretending, suguru," you frown when you decide that he has finished speaking.

"you are-"

"this is why i need you to come to me with these things the moment you think of them. you've been sitting on this and i haven't even been able to clarify so that you don't stress over it anymore."

suguru closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "(y/n)-"

"i'm sorry i never talked you about it before, but i'm just not an emotional person. we have different love languages, that's all. it's not that i'm pretending things don't bother me. they just don't. i don't stress over things like you might, and that's okay! sure, i can try to be more sensitive to what you think, but this is just a misunderstanding. that's all. c'mon, you really shouldn't yourself about this. i can see why it's exhausting you, you've got yourself all up in a bunch about it."

then you're laughing softly, as if it's all a joke. as if suguru is simply overthinking and you never do anything wrong. as if your own boyfriend hasn't studied you inside and out, known your tics when you hide something that bothers you, how you throw yourself into being present and hardworking to mask your fear of reality, of the things that keep you up at night when you think that suguru is asleep.

suguru's patience wears thin. he's done this dance with you a million times before and he doesn't want to do it any longer. he's tired. he's yearning for you and you just aren't there.

"i can't do this with you, (y/n)," he admits, slipping his arm from behind you. you watch him anxiously, confused. "i can't keep letting you do this to me and to yourself."

"but i'm not doing anything?"

"you are! you do it without even thinking. how can you not see that?"

"why are you raising your voice at me right now?"

"because i-" he sucks in a breath and runs his hands over his face. "i've watched you do this forever. we're getting old. i want to spend my life with you, and the girls love you, and you are truly an amazing person and girlfriend, but... it's like that's all you try to be. you're trying to put up this perfect front and it's building a wall between us. you're a human being. you're supposed to feel things. when you acting like you don't, it kills me. it really does. i have no one to talk to, no one to connect you. i don't know where you are."

"suguru, what are you saying?" you panic. "i'm right here. i always have been."

"you're physically here, but your mind is always somewhere hiding. i've seen the glimpses of you that hide away and i want to see more of that, but you just won't let me. and that habit makes you so absent... i mean, you're throwing logic at me whenever i talk about a bad day or feeling like we don't do enough together outside of taking care of the girls and going to work."

he takes in your face, watching as it drops into something he hasn't quite seen before... shame, insecurity, timidness.

his voice mellows out. "are you understanding anything i'm saying? i'm not overthinking. i'm tired."

you don't respond. you dissociate.

suddenly, you're eleven years old sitting at the dinner table with your mother as she stands over you with a hand pressed to the surface and a finger pointed a centimeter away from your face. your face is turned down as she berates you, calls you ungrateful for speaking up about feeling as though she was overreacting over a small mistake you had made.

how dare you, she'd say. i am your mother and you're the child, she'd day. because i said so, she'd say. don't talk back to me, she'd say.

and after she'd reacted that way enough throughout your childhood, emotionally manipulating you into feeling guilty for expressing your thoughts and your feelings at such a young age and training your brain to associate negative fragility with feeling, you trained yourself to slip away from expression, from your own emotion, and from your own boyfriend's.

emotion is weak, you would tell yourself. everything can be handled by a rational solution. no need to trouble yourself with the weight of pitying yourself or others.

you watch the past twenty six years of your life flash by as friendships fall by the wayside while you continue to climb higher into success, void of connection, empty.

until you met suguru.

he made you feel safe, feel seen, and it scared you, so you pushed away mentally. you found ways to financially and physically make him happy. when he presented you with an issue, you provided the best and only solution you know - to brush it off. to let things go. to avoid any possible resemblance of emotion.

you realize you are becoming your mother, and your chest caves in.

"(y/n)?"

suguru's warm palm holding your cheek pulls you out of your trance. you blink up at him with shrunken pupils, and the dark haired main sees that something heavy has dawned upon you.

you finally wake up.

"are you okay, angel?"

your mouth moves to speak, but you can't think of anything. it all comes rushing back to you, the aches in your heart that you have numbed for so so long. the depths of your love for this man and for your family, and how you can not afford to lose them.

your nose flares, and your brows slot downward in disbelief. "i didn't know i was doing that all this time."

"i know, babe," he whispers, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "i know. i just couldn't keep that in anymore. we can't go forward like this. you can't go forward like this. more than its destroying me, its destroying you."

your eyes scatter wildly about, as if you're searching for yourself, searching for an explanation for the behaviors you adapted. suguru grows concerned as he watches you.

"(y/n), are you okay?"

"i just didn't know. i'm sorry," you whisper in a hushed voice, your eyes stinging with angry tears. the emotions come so quickly. you try to push back, but the decades of suppressing them has set them loose.

you're no longer in control.

"angel," suguru coos, shocked. was he too harsh? he's never seen you like this before, so naked before him. "i didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"no, it's not that. i just didn't know," you sniffle. suguru turns to you completely, his other hand reaching your face as he cradles it softly and looks into your eyes.

"you don't have to keep saying that. i heard you, i understand. it's okay."

"it's not okay. all my life i thought i was being better and i'm just not."

"better than what, beautiful?"

you shut down again, shaking your head and turning away from an authentic confession, an admittance of your anguish. this time, however, suguru doesn't care. you've shown him enough for him to understand that this isn't your doing but a curse placed upon you by someone else, a pattern that is continuing its cycle.

"alright, it's alright," he accepts it and shuts it down the second a tear breaks past your lash and shoots down your cheek. he can see you battle yourself, angry at your own sensitivity and angry that you've done this to your own mind, to him.

he ducks in to kiss your damp cheek, nose dragging over your skin as you hold your breath, trying not to cry.

"you can cry, angel. it's okay. i'm here."

you hate yourself for the muffled sob you let slip, for the shattered exterior, for how long it took for you to get here. you're twenty-six years old, so afraid to cry that you would rather choke yourself, and you hate it. you hate everything about you. you always have.

and yet, it's impossible to when the man you love peppers kisses over your face and assures you that you can be free like this, that you can cry like this and he won't punish you, embarrass you, or deem you ungrateful.

and most of all, he won't stop loving you.

kento nanami: stranger to unconditional!

nanami is a man who believes he was made to spoil you.

truthfully, he does not even consider his actions spoiling, for he was raised to treat the woman he loves like a goddess gracing earth. he doesn't realize how rare his treatment is either, or in fact how rare of a man he is in general.

he's an incredible cook, he cleans the house without having to be asked, he brings home things you mention wanting to try in brief passing, and he asks for absolutely nothing in return. he listens to you when you speak, educates himself on the things that you are passionate about, he gives you massages when you're tense, and carries you up the stairs when you're tired

beyond the things he does for you is the authenticity of his feelings for you and how he believes you deserve to be treated. you've never met a more mentally, financially, and emotionally secure man. he is everything you could have possibly asked for and more, and you're so confused as to how someone like him chose you.

he always says that he is the lucky one, that he would cross oceans to find you over and over again, in this life and the next. he tells you that you are the only woman for him, the person he wants to marry, to start a family with, to end his life with. he looks at you and sees his entire world and it humbles you. his love humbles you as much as it emboldens you.

you should bask in the love he has to offer. you should savor the treatment he gives you, the little and big things he does for you, and is willing to do for you. you should ask no questions, accept his care and the fact that you are loved by him and move on, but something in you simply can't.

nanami is so perfect to you that it makes you feel as though you don't deserve it, as if he is doing too much for you. while being in a relationship with kento has made you the happiest you have ever been, a part of you feels as if you are going to sabotage it. you aren't sure how, but you know that it starts with every favor he does for you.

he cooks nearly every night after work, despite long, exhausting days. he allows you to spend his money on whatever you like as long as it is within a proper budget that still allows him to pay bills on time and get groceries (and with nanami, that was never an issue). he sits and listens to you ramble about nonsense for hours on end as he rubs your feet or strokes your hair, and in between each act of service, you ask yourself if you truly deserve all the good that nanami gives so willingly.

you internally panic, feeling indebted to the endless princess treatment. fears flood your mind about if nanami is truly happy, if he feels as secure and cared for as you do, if you're not doing enough to show him that you care or that you're thankful.

it's not that you don't do things for him. in fact, you do things for him all the time, but in your mind you begin to convince yourself that it is not enough. you have to work to earn this praise, just as anyone has to work for anything in this life. you have to win his love, which in the back of your mind you know he exchanges unconditionally, but you refuse to entertain the thought.

you tell yourself that it is too good to be true, that he will leave if you don't step it up and make him feel just as loved and then some.

nanami, of course, instantly notices when you start to wear yourself thin doing little things for him. you start waking up earlier than him to make him breakfast before work on top of the lunch you already pack for his day. nanami thanks you sincerely when he walks in on the huge spread you've made for him to eat within the span of twenty minutes, but is then quick to tell you that you don't have to do anything like that for him again.

"why not?" you frown.

"because you know i don't really eat a big breakfast during the week, honey. besides, it's too much for you to get up so early to do something like this," he smiles warmly down at you and you deflate. "but it was perfect. thank you for thinking of me. i love you."

he seals his declaration with a soft kiss to your lips that should have dispelled the disappointment gnawing away at the back of your head, but it didn't.

you scrap the breakfast idea, telling yourself that it was stupid and that you know better once he has left the house. you elect to explore other options. better options, you decide. something well suited for the vision of perfection you call your fiancé.

suddenly, you're making desserts, you're setting out his clothes for the work day, you're organizing his side of the closet and his drawers, you're dusting every crevice of the house, you're drawing baths for him every night, you're running to pick up his favorite takeout so he doesn't have to cook, you're dolling yourself up in the most extravagant lingerie you can find, and more, and more, and more.

now, of course, kento says something about you doing things for him when you do it a healthy amount. he is always incredibly grateful, showering you with love to demonstrate so and yet subconsciously informing you that you don't have to do these things for him. you never listened when it was an ordinary amount of spoiling, for you want to show him your appreciation and your love... but after a week of watching you double - then triple the amount of things you are doing for him, things that he deems to be completely unnecessary, he grows concerned. he's mentioned it a couple of times now, but you don't listen. you've drowned yourself in these thoughts of making it up to him, though you don't exactly know what you're making up for anymore.

all you know is that you love your fiancé and you don't want him to leave you. you don't want him to think that you're taking advantage of the things he does for you, that you aren't doing enough for him in return, so you push yourself to forget about your needs and engulf yourself in his. though, you're not fulfilling just his needs anymore. you're tricking yourself into overworking your mind and body and into doing favors nanami has never expected or asked from you before.

the blonde does not know how to approach you about it, for you're in so deep only after a week that you've blocked him out while claiming to take care of him.

he only finds that he is able to catch you early on a saturday morning, when he feels you shuffle next to him. he stirs awake, blinking through blurry vision to see that it is once again still dark outside as you rise.

the brown eyed man furrows his brows, seizing the opportunity to stop you by reaching his arm out behind him and blindly grasping for your wrist. when he successfully finds it, he feels you jolt against the mattress.

with a deep inhale, nanami turns over his shoulder, slipping his bare arm over your torso. he feels that you are sitting upright and is quick to block you from standing. you look down at him with wide eyes, a nervous smile dancing on your lips.

"ken, what are you doing? go back to sleep?" you whisper.

"darlin'," his sleep-coated voice grumbles out. you peer down over his messy blonde tendrils spilling into his face as his eyes open to slivers, the gleam of his iris shining up at you. "come here, come back to sleep," he coaxes.

you almost fold until you recall that you have several jobs to do before nanami gets up. you can't afford to let yourself rest any longer, not if you are going to prove that you are worthy of kento's affection.

"i can't, i gotta get up, love," you say, leaning down to peck the crown of his head. nanami's eyes open a bit more when you mention having to get up, befuddlement clouding his sleepy brain. "i'll see you when you wake up."

"(y/n)," he calls you, keeping his arm around your waist as your hands go to move it.

"hm?"

"it's saturday."

"i know, honey."

"you've had a long week. you're up too early."

"ken, shhh, i'm okay. go to sleep."

your response is enough to make kento shuffle around. he moves to push himself up from the bed to sit upright next to you, his arm still curved around you as he turns on his side to face you. you begin to fret when he rises, worrying that your schedule for him will be thrown off.

he moves in to press a lingering kiss to your temple. "(y/n)," he mumbles against your skin and you shudder. "there's no need for you to be waking up at this hour."

"no, but-"

"go back to sleep with me. we can wake up in a few hours."

you want to. you want to so bad. you want to allow your body to sink back into him and sleep the day away curled into his arms, to wake up in the middle of the day to warm lips moving over your ticklish spine.

but you tell yourself that's lazy, that nanami would not stall in bed knowing that you needed tending to.

"i can't, kento," you say more firmly, though you don't have the strength to push him away from you.

nanami draws back, catching the outline of your precious face in the darkness of your room. "why, my love? what are you so eager to get up and do?"

"nothing, i just," you shrug. "i have this list of things i want to do."

"chores? honey, you've been scrubbing the house down since the beginning of the week. i don't think there's anything left for you to do."

"it's not chores, it's stuff for you," you defend. "i wanted to make breakfast again since you didn't have time to eat it all on monday before work."

"i told you that you don't have to do that."

"but i want to, and i wanted to take the car to the wash and to get it vacuumed. and then i was gonna go to the bakery to get you some of the bread that you love... and then-"

"and then?" he repeats, squinting. "there's more?"

"...yeah. of course there is."

kento shifts, moving to prop his back against the pillows and take your hand in his. "alright. what is this really about?"

you freeze. "huh?"

"you've been burning yourself out all week doing things for me. and you know i appreciate everything you do, you know that, but it's too much. i don't need you to do all of this stuff, (y/n). i never have, and i apologize if i'm offending you in any way by asking you to slow down, but i really want you to sit and relax. if i did something to make you think i needed you to run yourself ragged trying to cater to me, then i will evaluate that myself. was it something i said?"

your brows curl as you look down at your lap where nanami's hand is holding yours. "you didn't like anything i did?"

"no, it's not that," he shifts closer to you. "i'm concerned is all. you've been up at four every morning this week. i've hardly had the chance to sit down at talk to you because you've been so busy doing all these things and going to work."

"i thought you... wanted it all, ken."

"when did i do something to make you feel like that?"

"it's not like that. you didn't do anything wrong."

"then please help me understand?"

you turn to look up at him, chewing on the inside of your lip. "i guess i just thought that you deserved to be spoiled the way you do me. you deserve special treatment."

nanami visibly relaxes, tilting his head lovingly. "honey, you spoil me every day by being my fiancé."

"yeah, you say that, but i just feel like- i don't know, you're always doing things for me and it felt like too much. like you were going out of your way... and i felt bad..."

"you thought you owed me in return?" he asks and you nod solemnly. "(y/n), i would never treat you one way and expect to be given something in return. loving you isn't a job for me, it's who i am. it's what i love to do. i do for you what i believe you deserve."

"and that's what i was trying to do for you!"

"no, my love, you were working to pay off a debt that doesn't exist," he corrects you. "you do things for me all the time. that's enough. you don't need to go out of your way to pile all this extra stuff onto your plate for me. i don't want that from you. i don't expect that from you. i love you and i love taking care of you. please don't think of my love for you as conditional. i'm not going to stop loving you if you don't do a million things for me. i would never."

you swallow hard, embarrassed. "i know..."

"so then please don't do this to yourself again. you're exhausted. and i don't want anything you do for me to be out of obligation, because that is not the reason why i do anything for you."

"i'm sorry. i didn't mean to project my insecurities like this."

"there's no need for you to apologize, (y/n), i just want you to truly understand that you are everything to me. i feel your love and appreciation everyday without you having to try to show it."

"and i do love you, ken. i love you so much. i just want to make you happy."

"that should never be a doubt in your mind, sweetheart," he smiles, kissing the corner of your mouth sweetly. "i love you. we can talk about this more in a bit. come lay back down with me."

you find that there is no fight left in you as you nod and press your lips back to his. you let him drag you back down with him gently, laying your head against his chest as his hand smooths up and down your back, the other pulling your leg up over his torso.

you drift back into much-needed sleep with the reinstilled assurance that you do not need to work for a love you are deserving of and already possess.

choso kamo: can't take a compliment!

"you're so pretty."

"oh, no," you rush out a hasty laugh. "it's just because of the makeup i wore today."

choso frowns, perplexed by your response as he stares at you from across the booth you've settled into. you turn your head away the moment the compliment hits your ears, looking down with a bashful smile as you toy with your straw, swirling it restlessly around the contents of your milkshake.

he does not understand. you told him that you liked him when he first asked you out, that you were more than excited to go on a date with him. he does not think you're having a bad time, for the two of you have been chatting nonstop from the moment he picked you up to the moment you made it to the ice cream shop.

the brunette looks over your face and discerns that you are not annoyed or disgusted with him for saying such a thing. sure, he understands that he has never complimented you before due to the fact that you always make him so nervous. hell, his face was cherry red and his words were damn near unintelligible when he worked up the courage to even make a move. the only reason why he let himself blurt it out just now is because he couldn't hold it in. his heart had been hammering the entire day as he studied you, your facial expressions, your features, your cute outfit, your gorgeous hair.

and he knows it's not just the "makeup," as you said. he's seen you every day for months, now. he's seen you flustered and sweaty from training, barefaced and focused. he's seen you bloodied and bruised, limping to shoko after rough missions. and he's seen you dressed in your sorcerer uniform, professional yet fierce, and always so breathtakingly beautiful.

he knows you. he has seen you. his opinions about your beauty have never changed in accordance with what you're wearing or whether you put on makeup or not, so why would you say something like that? why would you think that he only deems you pretty when you're dolled up?

he exhales something that resembles a tense laugh, the corners of his lips tugging into a hesitant, awkward smile. he doesn't know what to say. how should he respond?

"what do you mean?" he asks. "what does makeup have to do with it?"

you pause, caught off guard by his blunt question. you aren't sure what to do, for no one has ever said something like this to you before. you find yourself in a completely unique situation.

admittedly, you did not mean to evade his compliment in such a way. the words were leaving you before you could think to say thank you, for you have never thought there to be any truth in comments about your beauty.

for as long as you can remember, being complimented by someone was always one of your worst fears. you know it's because you don't believe yourself to be beautiful, that you've spent too many childhood years bouncing around different environments, different schools, different people to find a solidified foundation of who you are, of what your identity is.

you've always looked around at other people and seen the confidence that you lack. you look around, and there's always someone different looking back at you, displaying something you feel that you should have but do not. boys were cruel, girls were exclusive, and you were an only child returning home to stare at your reflection in the mirror for hours on end, nitpicking every part, hating every scar, every pimple, each brow, every lash. you hate the image of you because you see something that you have not grown comfortable with, something you have convinced yourself is not the reflection of what society wants to see in women.

you have spent your life placing other people's lives upon a pedestal, and you neglect your own. you neglect nurturing yourself, treating yourself with kindness because you were raised to care for others. to see others. to love others. to want to be others.

so when you look at yourself, you don't see beauty. you see everything you are not, everything you can't be.

you have had crushes before, of course, but choso is the first to feel so real to you. he is kind, curious, caring, and honest. you admire him as a person as much as you admire his physicality. you look at choso and you find yourself in awe that he has taken interest in you. you try not to question it at first, to enjoy the gift that is his presence and conversation and smile, but the second that compliment leaves his mouth, you feel your stomach turning.

you picture yourself through his eyes and see the mirror that you stare into. from the horrible things you feel when staring into it, you deduce that choso can't possibly think you're pretty. you must have done your makeup very well today, you tell yourself. for if looking at yourself makes you resent your own reflection, then there is no way anyone else can look at you any differently. especially not choso.

but still, his reply unnerves you. it picks away at your brain and leaves you speechless. what can he possibly mean? what is he trying to tell you? makeup has everything to do with what he is seeing if he truly thinks that you are decent to look at.

you worry that he is messing with you or playing some kind of trick, that he is trying to get your hopes up only to completely shatter them when he reveals how he truly sees you.

but the longer you ponder the notion, the more you remember the kind of person he is. you can see it in his face, the genuineness, the innocent confusion. he meant what he said to you, and for some reason, that is a harder pill to swallow than believing you're unattractive.

"um, well i mean- makeup always makes everyone look pretty," you try to say, but choso only grows more perplexed.

"but i wasn't talking about your makeup. i was talking about you."

your eyes go wide and choso immediately thinks he has said the wrong thing.

"not that- not that i don't think your makeup is pretty. it is! you're very talented. i was just saying... what i mean is that i've always thought that you are very beautiful."

you feel your cheeks flush and your stomach swarm with butterflies as well as dread. he can't mean it, you think. he can't be serious.

the pale skinned man's skin flushes as well. "sorry if that's too much."

"no, it's not-" you are quick to say, looking up from your milkshake. you tense your shoulders, pursing your lips into a tight smile. "you're really sweet but you don't have to say those things."

"...why not? did i make you uncomfortable?"

"no, i just- i mean... i'm just not use to it, is all."

you look down again and choso furrows his brows. "really?"

you nod mutely, leaning over to take a large gulp of your milkshake from your straw.

"i find that really hard to believe."

you sputter, almost choking before lifting your hand to shield your mouth as you lean back, swallowing. "w-why?" you quirk your brow up at him, uneased.

his cheeks are still swirling with color as he answers as though it is the most obvious observation in the world. "because it's so hard for me to talk to you sometimes 'cause you're so pretty."

you glare at him incredulously, face on fire. "why are you saying this stuff?"

"because it's true? i'm sorry, (y/n), i'm really confused. you're sure i'm not offending you?"

"no- i mean yes- i," you stumble, burying your face in your hands. "i just don't really know... how to react."

after a moment further of watching you shield yourself away behind your own hands, choso leans forward, pressing himself against the table. "you don't believe me?"

you sigh, peering up past your hands to meet his gentle gaze. "i dunno," you murmur, letting your hands slowly fall back into your lap. your eyes flicker between choso's face and the table, unable to maintain contact. "i'm just not good with compliments."

"oh," the brunette says. "because... you've never gotten them?"

"not necessarily..."

"then you just don't believe them?" he asks again and you shrug.

"it's hard for me to sometimes," you admit. "sorry, this isn't really a first date conversation, is it? i didn't mean to dodge your compliment. i should've just thanked you and moved on."

"no, but... i want to know more about you. i want to understand this so i know for the future."

you perk up bashfully. "the future?"

choso pokes his lips to the side and brings his shoulders to his ears, flustering himself once more. "y-yeah... i really like you and i want to... keep spending time with you."

you feel an ache in your cheeks as you fight of a shy smile, continuing to avert his gaze. "i really like you too."

"good," he nods, dimples poking into his cheeks. "so can i ask again about the compliments? should i be more careful? i do want you to know what i think of you, but if you don't like it then i'll stop. i can show you in other ways."

"you don't need to worry about that. it's all me, not you," you tell him, surprisingly comfortable sharing so. "i've just always been weird about it. i don't know why."

"is there anything i can do to help with that? i think someone like you deserves to hear good things."

"choso," you chuckle as a nervous yet giddy smile takes over you. you're quick to duck your head in an attempt to hide it.

"i mean it. i think you're nice, and smart, and you're really dedicated to what you do, and you're patient. you always answer my questions even if they seem stupid," he rambles, craning his head forward while you shake your head, smiling. choso's heart jumps, for he can not fathom how the most stunning woman he has ever seen can shy away from praise in such away. "and you've got the prettiest smile-"

"okay!" you stop him, turning to look around to make sure that no one is listening. you lean your elbow on the table and cover your mouth with your hand. "okay, t-that's enough," you wave him off.

"it's all true though," he says sternly. "i mean everything i say."

"i get it," you giggle. "you can- you can stop now. please stop."

and he does stop, only because you asked him to. even so, he can't help but continue to be in awe of you and the person you are. he's grateful to spend time with you, to have his feelings for you returned, to get to buy you a milkshake and talk with you for hours.

he's enamored with you, but the thought of you not knowing your own worth, your own impact on him and everyone around you, hurts him.

and he wants to work to show you how beautiful you are inside and out as the two of you grow closer.

when your date concludes and you are called back onto the campus, the two of you are sad to part ways. you hug each other tightly, choso pulling away to grasp the back of your hand and lift it to his lips to kiss softly. he asks to see you again tomorrow, and you agree.

you walk away feeling as though you're floating, your cheeks still stinging when you feel your phone buzz. you're quick to pull it out from your pocket and open it to see a message from choso. you unlock your phone to read it, only to find a candid picture of you staring out of the window to your left in the booth the two of you had been sitting in. you can tell that you're in the middle of speaking, as your mouth is opened into a bright smile and your eyes are following something that distracted you. your eyes are lit with joy and your hand daintily clasps around the bottom of your milkshake glass. the sun is peering in through the window to illuminate your skin.

you're hesitant to look at yourself. the imagine surprises you, but what stuns you even more is the message choso attached to it:

cho :)

prettiest girl <3

toji fushiguro: doubting love!

in many ways, you would say that you hate toji.

you hate the way he talks, how crude he is. how he has the mouth of a sailor when discussing the most mundane things. you hate his snarkiness that slips into his tone whenever he feels an argument brewing, the way he is always so quick to mock you when you tell him about something he has done that has upset you because he fails to take most things seriously. you hate the way he rings you up like you're a hooker on his line that he can summon whenever he thinks its convenient. you hate how he keeps you around after, too, questioning where the hell you think you're going as you hurry to put your clothes back on and get out. you hate how frequently he has begun asking to see you, how working as assassins separately for shiu turned into a one-night stand, which turned into a regular tuesday, then into a weekend, and hell, almost a 24/7 affair.

you hate toji's stupid ruggedly handsome face, his comically massive build, his entrancing green hues, that damn scar across his lip that you feel dragging against your own mouth when you're trapped beneath his frame. you hate his hair, his clothes, his very personality.

and above all, you hate the way you love him. you hate the fact that you don't hate these things at all, but that you are addicted to them. to him, all of him, and yet you are smart enough to know that he is the last man on earth willing to settle down with another woman.

nevertheless, you still let yourself bicker with him. you still let him drag you out to drinks after work and then into his bed barely forty-five minutes later. you let him call you over time and time again, and you hate yourself for it so much that you would rather resent him instead.

it's unfair, how he can parade you around like it's nothing with no promise of anything more. he strings you along when it's convenient for him, when he's cranky or needy or whiny or bitchy. you've become his emotional support fuck and you hate it. you hate that you cling to these moments because you know that they are all you are going to get from him.

yes, you would consider toji a friend. you work with him, you see him often, and you've held conversations with one another regularly before having sex with each other came into play. he's just always there, so when the two of you breached the boundary of friendship on a lonely, rainy, drunken night, it didn't really matter.

at first.

but as time went on, toji began seeking more from you. offering more, wanting more, and hell, you had to suffer those consequences. you would be lying if you said that you didn't enjoy it when he called or texted you to ask for some company, but you hated the fact that this was the farthest the two of you would ever get. that he could use you whenever he wanted, oblivious to the fact that you were falling deeper for him with every moment you spent together.

and why would he care? why would toji stop for a moment to think about how you feel?

he is always so focused on what serves him in the moment that it completely blinds him from the way you will look at him when he's not paying attention.

and god, you hate how he got you. toji fushiguro finally reeled you in and trapped you, cursing you with a love that will never in a million years be requited. a widow, an absent father, a killer, and who you also convince yourself to be a whore.

it's easier to think of him that way.

but despite it all, you love him. you love his grit, you love his strength, his power, his drive to wake up every morning to make money in the most heinous way possible. you love his calloused hands that are two times the size of yours, his stupid grin that he tosses your way the moment he makes eye contact with you, and the filthy words he groans into your ear that grow more pleading with each night you spend together.

you love the silent, still moments when he invites you over to share takeout, and he is wordlessly chewing his food, staring mindlessly at race scores with a free hand rubbing your thigh under the table. you love when he is drifting off to sleep at the end of what felt like an endless night, gazing up at you with a subtle smugness in his heavy eyes. you love when he looks you over after missions to check for injuries when your focus is elsewhere, dropping a pack of bandaids or a bottle of disinfectant in your hand later that night without explanation if he detected anything.

you know that toji has his moments, moments where he is not cocky but thoughtful... and dare you say sweet.

but at the end of the day, toji is toji. he has too much baggage, to many other priorities to love you.

so you tell yourself that he doesn't, and never will. this consequently makes you turn cold to him, distancing yourself little by little until you can wipe him clear from your thoughts, from your heart.

you start ignoring his calls and texts. you start secretly asking shiu to keep your jobs staggered, far apart, scheduled on different days. you don't go out to drink with him, you duck invites to his place, and you move forward with trying your best to pretend he does not exist.

it has only been a couple days since you have instilled these new, isolating rules for your relationship with toji, not that there ever was one to begin with. you haven't been able to bring yourself to block him, for something inside of you tells you that is too harsh, especially since you haven't communicated with him about what you've chosen to do about the two of you.

instead, his notifications are on silent, and you find that once they are your world has fallen eerily silent. there is no loud laughter, no murmured intimate conversation, no heavy moans. just the grating sound of nothing, and your heart plummets further because you know that you are in too deep to forgot him.

one night after work, you decide to treat yourself to a drink. or two. or three. or, hell, who's really counting anymore? you surely aren't. since the bar you chose to visit was only a ten minute walk from your place, the rare option of your choice because you had always gone to the one closest to toji, you stubbornly choose to walk your drunken ass home. thankfully, the streets are rather busy as you stumble about, wobbling on your feet with an angry pout adorning your face.

your mind is buzzing, your heart aching, and all you want to do is pile onto your bed and knock out. you don't know how you made it back to your apartment in one piece, but you hurry to fumble with your keys once you reach your complex.

you trip to an abrupt hault, pushing out your body lip as you scrunch your eyes at your key ring when you feel a hand graze your back from behind.

you practically jump out of your skin, almost falling forward in fear. you clumsily whip yourself around, stepping back with wide eyes to see the very last person you wanted to see standing before you with an agitated look on his face.

you groan exaggeratedly, hunching over. "y're fuckin'kiddng me," you slur, rolling your eyes and turning back around on your heel. "go away. i dun'wanna talk to youu."

"what the fuck are you doin', girl?" toji throws his arms out as you move to step up the stairs to the lobby. "i've been callin' ya nonstop, shiu says you- woah woah, watch it-" he rushes behind you, settling his hand on your lower back to stabilize you before you could take a bad tumble. he looks down at you incredulously, only for you to muster up all your strength to shove at his shoulder.

"don'touch me. fuck," you grumble angrily, grasping the railing to help yourself climb up to the door.

"you're fuckin' shitfaced, doll. i'm gonna have to touch ya if you want to make it to your place alive."

"d'you rem'mber me askin' for help?" your voice goes up a pitch at the end of your question. you toss your head over your shoulder to glare at him as you grasp the door handle. "NO!"

you fling the door open and step inside, keys jingling furiously in your hand.

toji grinds his teeth together. "fuckin' hell," he hisses to himself before following you inside.

"stop followin'me y'creep!" you hastily make your way to the elevator, stamping your index finger into the up button while your whole body sways with the motion.

toji slows to a stroll as he walks up to you, tucking his hands into his pockets and surveying your appearance with lips pressed tightly together and brow cocked in judgment.

"as you can seeee, m'doin'perfctly fine withOUT your help," you say, tilting your chin up at him.

"yeah," he deadpans. "ya sure are, doll."

"and don't call m'that. m'not y'r dolly... little fuckin' plaything. leave'me alooooone."

"what the hell are you babblin' about?"

"y'don't care 'bout me. leave me alone."

"(y/n), why the fuck do you think i'm hanging aroud your place at twelve in the mornin'? you haven't answered the phone and you disappeared from work. i haven't seen you in god damn days. if i didn't care about ya, i wouldn't be tryin' to track you down in the middle of the night," he grimaces irritatedly. "i didn't even know you weren't home 'til i saw your drunk ass stumbling over here alone in the dark. the hell's wrong with you? y'know how dangerous that is?"

"shuddup," you scoff. the elevator door dings, opens, and you shuffle hastily inside. just as you press the button for your floor, toji is moving to step inside with you. you gasp and push at his shoulders. "no! get out, 'don't want you here!"

"yeah, figured that much," he rolls his eyes as he stumbles from your force. you shove at him again hard, sending him staggering back out into the hall. he looks up at you with big eyes.

"(y/n)-!"

you spam click the close door button as you stare him directly in the eye. the door closes shut in his vexed face, your free hand flipping him off.

you don't know why you are surprised when the elevator doors open on your floor with a ding and reveal his burly stance with folded arms blocking your way.

stupid fucking stairs.

you suck your teeth and shove past him. "fuckin'annoying."

"(y/n)."

you ignore him, but he is hot on your tail, crowding you when you get to your door and unlock it.

"(y/n)," he calls again as you trip into your space, kicking your shoes off and flicking the light on. your front door slams behind you, and you whip your head around.

"SHHHH!" you raise your finger to your mouth pointedly, referring to how disruptive the slam of the door may have been to the neighbors.

toji rushes toward you, hand reaching for your shoulder to keep you still and looking at him. your vision is so blurred, your red eyes struggling to picture him. when you finally stop, you make out his handsome face and the fire in his eyes.

perhaps if you were more sober, you would see the pain intermingled with the rage.

"why're youin m'house," you whine, tugging at the shoulder his is holding. "leavemealoneee."

"no. i ain't leaving you alone," the assassin orders firmly. "what's goin' on with ya? you don't like me now? is that it? that why you're bein' a brat and disappearin' on me like this?"

"fuck offfff, don'tdo that," you groan, rolling your head back on your neck.

"do what? what am i doing that you hate so much? lookin' out for you? huh?" he demands, growing more aggravated by the second. "what are ya so mad at me for?"

"THAT! Y'REPRETENDING T'CARE! STOP THAT!" you shout, yanking your arm away and storming off to your living room.

toji stands stunned for a moment, angling his brows with hands grasping the air where you just stood. "pretendin'? pretendin' to care?"

he knows he shouldn't be trying to get answers from you right now, for you're in an inebriated state and arguing with a you drunk was not going to get him anywhere.

still, he was hurt. you ghosted out of nowhere after almost a year of building the foundation with each other that you share now. he thought that meant something to you, but if you're so willing to throw all of that away along with him, then maybe he has been reading the entire situation wrong.

he needs to know.

so he follows you into the space, the space he's visited a hundred times over before. "what is wrong with you? why would you think i'm pretendin' to worry about you?"

"cause'i'm just oneeee thing, toji," you throw up your index finger, eyes rolling. "m'just one thing, and tha'sfineee, y'know, it's- it's fuckin- great, but'yneedto stop wastingmy time if that'sall i'mgonnaever be!"

your words slide into each other, making your drunken speech almost impossible to understand. toji squints, as if doing so to his eyes will help him hear you better. "one thing? is that what your drunk ass said, you think i think y're one thing to me?"

"DUH!" you drop your jaw. you huff, throwing your keys onto the ground to shuffle yourself ungracefully out of your coat. "y'don'tcare about myfeelings. y'don'tcare that- that there'smoree. there's more. you don't care."

"doll, i'm losin' my shit because i fuckin' know that there's more," he counters you, but you shake your head nonsensically, fighting to rip your arm free from your left sleeve. toji sighs, going over to you to help. "here, hold still."

"no," you curl your lips at him, turning to face the other way but toji follows, not letting you out of his sight. "stop! i donneed help-"

"yes you fuckin' do," he snaps, seizing either one of your arms. "relax, crazy. will ya relax for me, huh?"

"don'ttalk like that," you push against him, your coat dangling from your still trapped arm. "stop."

"yeah, i'm not gonna listen to ya right now. you're a mess."

"don'call me that! asshole!" you gape up at him and the sight is so amusing, it allows him to calm down a little and let a snort slip.

"hot mess."

"shudthefuckup."

"here, i got ya. keep your arm straight." he cradles your upper arm to slide the sleeve off until it drops to the floor along with the rest of the coat. you watch it do so with a grumpy expression. "see? wasn't so hard."

"screw you."

"so what's all this bullshit about me not carin' about ya?"

"go'homee."

you step to move around him, but he stands in your path, making you stumble into him. you curse incoherently under you breath and glower up at him.

you, however, are not met with a harsh stare any longer. his eyes have softened, the crease beneath them smoothing out as he looks down at you with his hand still holding your arm.

"why are you so drunk?" toji mumbles.

"why'dyou think. y're a prick."

"you care about me, dollface?"

"die."

"you had me worried," he exhales, his hand raising to graze your chin. your knees almost buckle, his touch sending you into overdrive, emotions hyperactive now that you register that the very reason you drank so much tonight is standing in your apartment.

and toji knows you won't remember half of this. he knows doing this is pointless, but he's missed you. and he sees you now, upset, concerned that he doesn't care and he's relieved. he's relieved that you've been losing your mind over him as much as he has been losing his over yours these past few days.

"tojiii," you curse, though your eyes flutter when his thumb strokes over your chin. "can'tdo this to'me. to'other girls."

"there ain't no other girls."

"liar."

toji exhales, admiring you. "it's just been you, ya idiot."

"stop- stop lying."

"i'm not," he smirks, and it annoys you. you push against him again and he chuckles lowly, tiredly. "let's get you to bed, baby."

you stop him. "are y'sure?"

he lifts a brow. "sure what?"

"you care?"

toji knows he is terrible at expressing his feelings, but he still wonders how you can even ask him that, as he's loved you since the moment he saw you.

he watches you blankly, eyes grazing over the first woman he's fallen in love with since his late wife, wobbling in a drunken stuper before him inspired by the irrational fear of being unloved.

he knows you two will have to revisit this conversation when you're sober, but he sees you and knows what you want and what he wants, what you need and what he needs.

what you feel and what he feels.

"care doesn't begin to describe it, girl."

you stare at him for a long time as your face morphs with almost sad relief. "oh i messed'up," you say quietly. "m'sorry, toj."

"alright, come on," he is quick to shut you down before you can get too emotional. the last thing he needs for you is to break down into tears before him. he knows for a fact that sober you would lose your shit if you did so, and he would suffer the ramifications of your humilition.

he bends down to scoop you up from under your legs. you inhale sharply, arms naturally tightening around his neck as he carries you bridal style to your room. you ramble nonsense under your breath as he sets you down softly onto your bed, which you immediately collapse into.

toji helps to adjust you more comfortably the second your face hits the pillow. "this alright for ya?" he asks, tugging your throw blanket over your shoulders.

you nod, eyes drooping. "yeah."

he hums. "you gonna let me stay til you fall asleep?"

you grunt, closing your eyes. "m'not sayin'yesor no."

the raven haired main chuckles, softly moving pieces of hair from your face. "stubborn ass." he leans down at kisses your forehead. "go to sleep," he mumbles.

"don'tell me whatta'do," is the last thing you say before passing out.

toji stays, sitting on the floor before your bed with his back pressed to the wall. his knees are bent as his forearms dangle over them, and his eyes have not strayed from you for a second since you've fallen asleep.

the assassin inhales and exhales slowly, mulling over the night's events and determining that he needs to work toward showing you how he feels rather than expecting you to know.

ryomen sukuna: too many gifts!

"kuna, i don't need all of this."

the king of curses slowly turns his head to look down at you as though you've declared some kind of war against him. his eyes slim menacingly, brows curling with inquisition. his arms fold across his chest, unamused.

"i dont believe i understand what you just said to me."

you see that he is taking offense to your comment and sigh. on your bed lay a pile of gifts practically forming its own mountain where you would sleep. flowers, chocolates, fragrances, and things you aren't even sure you can name lay in the heap, practically sparkling in all its grandeur.

sukuna is a man of physical things. sex and gift-giving. he has more riches than he knows what to do with tucked away in his temple, and while he has spent many a millenia basking in his glory, he much rather prefers to spend offerings on you now that you are nagging away at his life.

and of course he would never admit it, but he enjoys it. he anticipates the moments in which he gets to shower you with unnecessary treasures, adorning you in expensive clothes and jewelry, and gifting you things that he knows will bring a smile to your face. sukuna is quiet in his expression of love when he is not fucking you into a different dimension. quiet yet unbearably over-the-top.

sukuna is a king, and by association he considers you to be his queen. you are his woman, his pride, his passion. what is his is yours and what is not yours yet will soon be. everything you are to him can not possibly be uttered into words, for love is a human emotion and therefore not something that sukuna can admit himself to be capable of. but he looks at you and he knows, so he drowns you with material things, with whatever he knows your silly human brain to like.

and you do like it. you love it all, truly. every gift he has gotten you has at one point made you very happy, but it is too much. you're not a material person, you don't need all of these things. you don't need him to spend his fortune on you just for the sake of it.

it's become too much for you. too overwhelming.

"i'm saying i don't need all of this," you repeat yourself slowly, lifting your hand to his bicep. "seriously, you've given me enough. this is too much."

"too much?" he tchs. "must you always find something to complain about? never in my time spent living on this earth have i heard someone react in such a way to gifts."

"would you calm down? i'm just saying that you don't always have to buy stuff for me. it's not a big deal," you say.

"you hate everything i have brought."

"what? no! i didn't say- i don't hate things you buy me."

"clearly you do, or else we would not be having this ridiculous conversation."

"for the love of god, i don't hate them!"

"then what is truly the issue?"

"there's no issue. it's what i just said! are you even listening to me?"

"i am listening. that is why i am telling you that you are not making any sense."

"urghh!" you groan out, turning and waving your arm up to him. "whatever. it's all good. it's fine. thank you."

the salmon haired curse immediately detects the shift in your tone and mannerisms and refuses to allow you to walk away in such a fit. "where do you think you are going?"

"just out of the room."

"w are not done speaking."

"we must be, or else you would have actually hear the things i tried to tell you."

"enough," he orders firmly, eying you as you move to the bed. your shoulders slump and you turn back around to face him. "what is this, why are you suddenly unhappy? i have just brought you gifts. you do not normally react this way. i would have expected you to be more grateful."

"i really fucking hate when you do that."

"(y/n), do not start with me."

"you don't start with me!"

"stop this. now," he asserts, taking slow steps toward you. you huff, turning to look away with your hands planted on your hips.

the crimson eyed demon approaches you, eyes glued to you. "look at me."

"are you incapable of not being bossy?"

"you're testing my patience."

you snap your head up to look at him. "and you're testing mine." sukuna blinks, his lips curly slowly. "oh, and you're gonna start laughing again, great. every time i'm upset."

"what is troubling you, peach?" he asks you. "use your words instead of getting an attitude."

"for starters, i'd like it if you stopped fucking treating me like a joke?"

"i do no such thing."

"you're laughing. you always laugh when i'm upset."

"because you are so quick to dramatics. it is amusing."

"my feelings aren't for your amusement."

"your reactions, not your feelings."

"what the fuck ever."

"why are you angry."

"i wouldn't be getting angry if you weren't being such an ass."

"i elect to disagree."

you know he's teasing you now, and you know that this entire thing may be so stupid, but you feel so strongly about him listening to you. about understanding why you don't want his affection in a material way.

"speak."

"i was speaking before and you-"

"speak."

you exhale. "these gifts are too much for me."

"i heard that the first time. what i am failing to understand is your reasoning behind it."

"...it's not that i'm not grateful for it. i really am, kuna, but sometimes i just get overwhlemed. it's more stuff than i know what to do with, and i don't think you should have to go out of your way to do all of this for me."

"i do not do anything that i do not desire to do."

"i get that, but... i don't know. it's not gonna be something you'll understand. i just... want you to focus more on just existing with me and not on what to buy me sometimes."

"i get you things to show how focused i am on you."

"not one me. on existing with me. just being."

"i do exist with you. every day i am with you."

"no, not if you're too obsessed with getting me stuff."

"now you are the one not listening."

your brows pinch together as sukuna steps in until you are centimeters away from one another. you watch each other wordlessly before he turns his head to gesture to the things he has gotten you. "i connect with you here, then make purchases. the latter does not interfere with the former. this is a treat for me as much as it is for you."

"...how?"

"you are pathetic," he grumbles. "this is not my burden. i enjoy getting things for you, how much clearer must i be? i am not trying to purchase your affections. i already have them."

"...i don't think that-"

"but that is what you're assuming. that this is superficial to me. it is not. it is real."

you understand what he is saying even though he does not directly say it. this manifestation of his love is real. his love for you is real.

"...then..."

"if you would like for me to stop, then i will stop. i will only do so, however, if it is for good reason and not because you are doubting my word or because you've determined yourself unworthy of my pride."

he sounds almost as though he is intimidating you, as if he will punish you for thinking lowly of yourself.

"do you understand?" he asks and you nod mutely.

"yeah."

"then do you wish me to stop? is it no longer making you happy?"

you look down. "...no, you- you don't have to stop," you mumble. "but you could stand to reel it in a bit. i don't need piles of gifts every week, and i don't need this much stuff."

"it's the fragrances you've been looking at. and those damned chocolates you said you couldn't find."

"i know, and i love that. but i only need one of each. not fifty of each. other people may want some of this stuff too."

"i do not care about other human desires."

"sukuna, you're missing the point.

"fine. fine, i will deliver accordingly in the future and let other grubby human hands take things that could be yours."

you raise a brow. "will you?"

"you doubt your king once again?"

you smile mischievously. "i don't know, you have a habit of doing what you want and not listening to me."

"i do not answer to you."

"but you just did," you grin.

sukuna grunts, giving you a harsh glare. you chuckle lightly, leaning onto your tiptoes to stretch out your arms around the giant. sukuna indifferently opens his arms to welcome you in, presenting as though he is irritated with you.

"thank you for the gifts. really, i mean it. i appreciate it all," you say sweetly. "i love you."

sukuna only rolles his eyes. "you're a needy pain. your little human brain makes no sense to me."

"but you still love me anyway," you beam.

the king of curses peers down at you past his nose, a calmness catching his intimidating exterior. "i do not," he answers, but his expression and the way he holds you tells you otherwise.

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7nuh · 8 months ago

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MR. CRAWLING YANDERE HEADCANONS !

CW 𓂃 gn!reader, gaslighting, canon-typical violence

AN 𓂃 ik i said i'd have HCs for all of them but this ended up being too long so... 🧍‍♀️ also unedited bc i have an exam later ill be back to edit this later pls

Mr. Crawling is the protective type. He spends half of the entire game following you wherever you go and going through great lengths to protect you from the other residents of these cursed apartments. However, I can see how that protectiveness can get twisted in the long run when you remain completely helpless and unable to defend yourself. Mr. Crawling would have no choice but to step in and make decisions for you instead because he cannot afford to lose you just like that.

Out of all the homicipher men, mr. Crawling is the one who has the most respect for your choices and boundaries. He leaves when you tell him to, patiently guides you throughout this maze, and comforts you when you are upset— and he's never violent unless threatened.

Such a sweet and gentle guy would never hurt you intentionally. He loves you too much to hurt you.

That being said, though he'll never intentionally hurt you, he doesn't realize it whenever he's being possessive and suffocating you instead. After all, having wandered these halls for so long has desensitized him to violence and made him forget all his human memories. Simply put, his concept of love is warped in its own way. He doesn't understand nor remember how to healthily love another person by societal standards, but he (usually) means well.

He may not understand love but he knows one thing for sure— you're very precious to him. You're so full of life, so kind (to him), and so persistent to find your way home despite everything. Everyone else just kind of does their own thing around there... but you need him. You give him purpose and he's ready to give himself up for you in return.

But as much as he respects you, he knows you sometimes don't know any better. You almost got yourself killed multiple times despite his numerous warnings, and he's not confident you completely understand him just yet. So whenever he feels as though something got lost in translation, he won't hesitate to push you aside or cover for you in that instance. Thankfully, you can now regenerate your limbs.

You don't know any better. This sentiment becomes a mantra that repeats itself in his head over and over again. The two of you haven't made any significant progress on finding an exit, but you've almost died more than a dozen times by now. How are you supposed to survive without him?

What even is your home like? How can he be sure that you aren't going to get yourself killed over there too? Can he follow you there too to protect you? Can't you just stay here with him instead? Would that be so terrible? Of course he wants you to find whatever you're looking for...! it's just that...

The thought of losing you only intensifies his anxiety and over-protectiveness. Whether by departure or death, he cannot stand to be apart from you. Why are you so eager to leave this place anyway?

Mr. Crawling is gentle, but love can force him to be violent. He's not as cruel as the rest, but it doesn't mean he won't be when you're put in danger, especially when his possessiveness and overprotectiveness spiral out of control. He doesn't want to restrict you in any way because he loves and respects you too much to do that, but you just keep getting yourself in trouble. He overcompensates and goes overboard instead trying to protect you, even if it means killing someone.

And the thought of you moving on and forgetting him depresses him. He knows you had a life before this, but he wants a life with you in it. He'll be selfish just this once, but never again. He'll make sure you're safe here you so don't worry about that! Just don't leave him. Just stay with him, please.

It starts little by little. He starts telling you to rest more often and misleading you farther away from the elevator. Sometimes, when you tell him to leave you alone, he pretends not to understand you anymore. When he sees that dreaded green light from a distance, he tells you there is something malicious up ahead. In times like these, he's glad you're so blindly trusting of every word he says. It's difficult for him to watch your resolve break down, but it's for the best. When you're with him, you're safe and that all that's matters.

I can see some of the others like Ms. Bride and Mr. Silvair being in on it. Ms. Bride is very excited that her wedding garments will be used for their actual purpose this time whereas Mr. Silvair finds your unconventional relationship an interesting area of study. Whenever you find yourself 'lost' (escape from Mr. Crawling), they will redirect you back to him.

Eventually, you do give up. Maybe you even become more monstrous by the day and accept that you're better off here. He loved your persistence, but maybe he can show you giving up and that staying here isn't so bad. After all, you have him. He makes sure to be extra affectionate and cuddly after you give up <3

You'll learn to accept it, won't you? For him? Whatever's beyond those elevator doors can't possibly be better than being loved unconditionally and safe within his arms. You're even free to be yourself down here! You can be as violent as you want, and Mr. Crawling will happily watch you bludgeon someone to death on the sidelines with nothing but adoration.

Alternatively, if you do find your way home, he WILL follow you whether you like it or not. But if you don't want him there... well, do expect a few inconveniences. Whatever it takes to convince you to let him stay or to convince you to come back, really. Maybe like blood on the walls spelling 'me love you' and 'me miss you' or a cold pair of arms wrapping around your waist at night.

#homicipher #homicipher x reader #yandere x reader #mr. crawling x reader #yandere!mr. crawling #do expect a future drabble on the last bit

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bluebellles · 2 months ago

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"i'll take a quiet life"

gentle moments of reciprocating their affection

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, sfw

cw: varying relationship stages, brief callbacks to child experimentation (canon compliant), zayne’s describes a poor relationship with food, heavy on dragon sylus sorry i wish i could be different, ur down bad and a little embarrassing in Xavier’s but he’s worse, author is still settling into character analysis for these guys so pls forgive any ooc

Your hunting partner excelled in many ways. His skill in the field was both undeniable and terrifying, his ability to fall asleep anywhere concerned you as much as it impressed you, and his calm demeanor even in the face of the most stressful situations set your mind at ease whenever you fought alongside him.

The only area he truly lacked in, in your humble opinion, was in his ability to give a straight answer about anything to do with himself or his personal life.

He was, in many ways, a vault of information for everything from the history of wanderers to arbitrary and niche subjects that a normal person would have had to spend a lifetime studying to be able to reference as easily as him. If you had a question about nearly any subject, your walking encyclopedia of a partner likely had the answer ready to deliver to you accompanied by a yawn and that sleepy blink of his eyes.

Answers about himself, however, were much harder to come by. He never declined your inquiries outright, but he had a litany of creative and mildly infuriating ways to dodge the question. He was very adept at distracting you, often with food or confusing questions of his own. You once asked him what he did over the weekend and he pulled a bag of your favorite candy out of his pocket to offer to you, waited until you started munching on it happily, and then just said “and what about you?” as if he had already answered your question. You were also highly suspicious about the timing of his naps on the train to get to missions – always falling asleep right after you try making small talk about where he grew up or his family.

It's not like you didn’t want to respect his boundaries. He was probably just a very private person or a secret criminal and either way it was ultimately none of your business. It’s just that it was a little difficult to jump into battle alongside another person on a daily basis and trust them to have your back when you couldn’t even get him to tell you about his hobbies. Nothing to do with the way your heart sped up a little seeing him at his desk in the mornings at all. Completely sensible and utilitarian curiosity.

So, rather than continuing to pester him for answers you decided you would simply observe him to get to know him better. Admittedly, as far as subjects for study he was an interesting one. And very nice to look at.

You learned quite a bit about the sleepy man through your observations, jotting down everything you learned in a small, unassuming notebook you kept on hand during work hours.

For example, he spends an hour in the break room every day eating concerning amounts of convenience store ramen and reading random books about obscure subjects like 101 Facts About Wooly Mammoths and Dating Advice for Older Men. Always a different book, and he always manages to finish it by the time his self-imposed break is over. If anyone tries to make conversation with him during that time period, he will pretend to fall asleep. You’re honestly starting to believe he has narcolepsy or something. Or just very selective hearing.

Contrary to your initial assumptions, he also does have a sense of humor. All of his jokes are told with his usual flat affectation and could easily be mistaken for serious comments, but once you start to look so closely at him it’s easier to pick up on the subtle, teasing drawl at the end of his quips or the way his nose twitches a little with the effort not to smile when he’s messing with you.

You were in the middle of conducting a very serious investigation about his various micro expressions one night when the two of you stopped by a crepe stand on your way home from work.

You had already been to the crepe stand a few times a few times with Tara. It was a cute little business run by an older man and his son who had recently graduated from university. You had rambled to Xavier enthusiastically about how they were the only place that had your favorite combination of fillings and how you were craving something sweet, and he had only nodded and said “mh”, which you had learned to translate as enthusiastic agreement.

The owner’s son happened to be running the stand that day and was just as friendly and outgoing with you as always, winking at you when he asked if you wanted your usual. His easygoing smile had faded, however, with a quick glance behind you before he busied himself with making your crepe.

You turned around in confusion, only finding Xavier with the same mild, spaced out expression as always looking innocently off to the side.

A few minutes later, you dutifully hand over a delicious looking savory crepe filled with meat to the silver-haired man before looking over your own, practically salivating over the combination of fruits and cream. He stared it with what you had recently identified as confusion before looking to you imploringly.

“Not sweet?”

“Oh!” you flustered a little, realizing how presumptuous you had been in ordering for him, “Sorry, I just thought- you prefer savory to sweet right? I mean, when Jenna brings pastries in you always take a croissant instead of a donut-,”

You cut yourself off before you could start listing all the different ways you had been a total creep recently.

“I can get you a sweet one if you prefer,” you whispered out, trying your best to look completely unaffected.

A soft huff left Xavier’s lips, and you looked up to see that gentle half-smile he sometimes gave you and a very soft look in his eyes.

“It’s fine,” he assured you, “I do prefer savory things.”

The second half of his sentence, oddly enough, was accompanied by a very smug glance at the owner’s son who looked rightfully confused and possibly a little nervous.

Armed with your contrasting crepes, the two of you chose to stroll and eat, enjoying the gentle spring breeze that blanketed the evening as you walked. Absentmindedly, you mentioned the owner’s son again in passing, praising him for his skill in creating the perfect ratio of fillings. Xavier suddenly made a face you hadn’t seen on him before.

A tiny twitch of his nose, similar to when he was trying not to laugh, but followed by a miniscule pout before he took a rather aggressive bite of his crepe as if it had done something to offend him personally.

Your fingers twitched with the urge to whip out your little notebook to record this breaking update in your investigation but refrained for the meantime, tilting your head to the side and studying him closely.

“Is something wrong with your crepe…?”

He froze, glancing down at his food contemplatively.

“…Yes.”

“Yes?”

“I’m done,” he declared bluntly, turning to glare at your almost finished crepe with equal hostility, “Are you done?”

“I mean- I guess?” You blinked at him.

“Mh.”

Wordlessly, he took your crepe from you and ambled off to find a nearby trashcan. You took the opportunity to whip out your notebook to catalogue all the new data you had collected.

The nose twitch was multipurpose – sometimes indicating amusement and sometimes indicating… irritation? And the tiny pout. Did he have a stomachache? More information was needed.

You were so wrapped up your excited theorizing that you failed to notice the presence of someone coming up right behind you, peering over your shoulder to read the words you were jotting down.

“I don’t have a stomachache,” a deep voice rumbled directly in your ear, causing you to shriek and fling the notebook further down the sidewalk. It scraped against the concrete before flopping pathetically next to a storm drain.

You whipped around in abject horror only to find Xavier’s face two inches from yours, looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“That was not at all what it looked like,” you lied blatantly, eyes darting between him and the notebook.

“What did it look like?” he asked mildly, his face betraying nothing of his current mood. He was still close enough to you that you could count all of his individual lashes and make out a few tiny scars along his jaw.

“I’m not stalking you.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not.”

“Mh.”

Xavier didn’t press the subject, instead going over to retrieve the notebook. Mortification rolled over your entire being as he began rifling through the pages. You wished a car was driving by so you could throw yourself in front of it.

“It’s seriously not as creepy as it seems,” you sound delusional even to yourself, “I just wanted to get to know you better.”

While you were panicking and wondering how soon you could transfer departments, Xavier was staring down at the pages filled with your cute handwriting in contemplation.

It would seem that he had underestimated you once again.

Finding you in this lifetime, as a dying star well past its expiration date, he hadn’t been expecting much in the way of your relationship with him. It was simply an impulse he could not ignore – the honor of being close to you. He sought out your brilliance and would always endeavor to orbit around you but it was hardly even a thought in his brain that you would be drawn to him in the same way. Not when he was so tired. Not when he could only offer you a beautiful afterimage of what he had once been.

He should not have doubted you. In every life, you were always the only one to really see him. The only one to even bother looking beyond his blinding light. After so many years of existence and so many different identities, he only ever really saw himself through the reflection of your gaze. He was a fool to have assumed your soul would falter even if he was scattered across the galaxy instead of whole as he once was.

“Forgive me,” his voice was hoarser than his usually airy cadence, his gaze more focused than you were used to when he looked over at you.

Confusing as it may have been, you didn’t need your notebook to identify his current expression. When Xavier finally looked back at you, the way you had been looking at him all these weeks, it was impossible to mistake the devotion in his eyes.

Rafayel turned the conch shell over in his hands, letting out a thoughtful hum as he let his fingers dance across the spikes. The outside was a gradient of pretty blues that melted into a soft pink closer to the center. A small sticker with a price that had been hastily covered up with marker stuck to the side. The artist’s eye twitched minutely at the sight of it clashing against the otherwise pleasant color palette, already using a sharp nail to carefully peel it off.

“Isn’t it pretty?” you gushed a little, a self-satisfied grin tugging at your lips as you pointed at the shell as though couldn’t see it, “If you put your ear against it, you can hear the ocean!”

He let out a petulant scoff at this, eyes narrowing at the conch shell like it was guilty of scamming you and he was about to put it on trial.

“It’s lying to you, cutie,” he scowled a bit, as though the conch had advertised this gimmick itself, before pointing dramatically at the waves crashing right outside the glass of his windows, “and did you lose your vision or something? The ocean’s right outside if you want to listen to it so bad. …Maybe if you visited me more often you’d-,”

“No, shut up, I know,” you rolled your eyes and nudged him a little before brightening again, “but still – it really sounds like waves! Besides, I thought you could take it with you when you go on your trip for that client meeting. I looked it up. There aren’t any beaches nearby, the whole city is landlocked. I figured you might get homesick or something. Now you don’t have to!”

Rafayel stared at you. Things had been strange the whole morning, starting from when you showed up at his doorstep lacking any of your usual complaints about his antics and without any coercing on his part.

You had come to visit him of your own accord? You had looked up the geography of his business trip because you were worried about him getting homesick? He mentally scanned through all the elaborate schemes to get your attention he had acted out recently, wondering which one of them had prompted such a reaction from you. He had been so busy with a new series for a very annoying client the past few weeks and he couldn’t think of anything he had done recently that would have warranted this. So why?

“Besides, it kinda looks like your eyes, right?” You said off-handedly, only half paying attention as you adjusted a setting on your watch, casual as if you hadn’t just said something that made his already rapid heartrate speed into overdrive and the tips of his ears flush a pretty red.

Just when he thought he was starting to get a handle on this version of you, that he had figured out the proper tune to draw you closer, you decided to change the rules of the game again. He supposed he should have been used to it by now. Every version of you always managed to shatter his expectations as easily as you breathed. As unpredictable as the ocean, and just as beautiful to him. But honestly, what was a fish to do? How was he supposed to ever prepare for you?

“Are you trying to win employee of the month or something?” he scrambled a little, whipping his head to the side and trying to keep the squeakiness out of his voice, “I won’t be giving you a bonus for it. Just so you know.”

You scowled at this, glancing away from your watch and trying to swipe the conch shell out of his hands.

“Whatever. If you don’t want it just say that,” you huffed as he held it out of your reach, still without looking at you.

“Be quiet,” he sniffed haughtily, holding the shell up to his ear and pushing you away gently by your forehead with his other hand, “I’m listening to the ocean.”

“I thought you said-”

Insufferably, he hushed you and closed his eyes under the guise of concentrating so you wouldn’t see the softness of his expression. All he could hear was random ambient sound, not even close to the vibrant complexities of the sea that encompassed his birthplace. Even still, as he pictured you carefully rummaging through different shells at the pier market and comparing their hues to his eyes, he had never felt closer to home.

As much as he'd like to pretend he was the siren ensnaring you into his trap, he was well aware that that honor belonged to you. Regardless of the time or the place or the bodies you both inhabited, your song was a tune that could never be erased from the core of his being and one he would always walk towards willingly. How annoying.

For a man who lived his life with complete precision, who planned out every day with strict control and little room for superfluities, it was nearly impossible not to notice even the slightest changes in routine.

As such, every tiny alteration you made to his otherwise balanced life was meticulously documented and filed away. Not with annoyance or disapproval, as some might expect, but instead with the intention to figure out how to best accommodate for your whims without disrupting his own routines or, infinitely more abhorrent to consider, burdening your own carefree sensibility with his neuroses.

Pausing in the doorway to straighten out the shoes you had haphazardly kicked off on your way in. Making sure you had a glass of water next to your daily iced coffee so that you wouldn’t get dehydrated. Carefully holding onto your hand and keeping you steady as you insisted on walking across the side of a bridge rather than the sidewalk next to him. Despite the stoic expression and steadfast seriousness he exhibited while preforming these simple tasks for you, he did not consider them to be a burden. It was a privilege to bear witness the vivacity you brought into his world.

He was content, in this way, to watch you bulldoze through life with reckless abandon and dutifully reorganize the chaos you left in your wake. It was enough to feel the brilliance of your warm light soak into his cold skin. He would remain steady and controlled for the both of you.

You were, however, a little less content with this arrangement. Zayne was steady. Constant. A stone pillar for you to rest against when you couldn’t handle standing up on your own. You loved this about him, but he wasn’t infallible. Wasn’t impervious to desire and indulgence. You loved this about him too. You just wished he could learn to love it about himself.

You knew your boyfriend loved sweet things. It was something you often teased him about, mostly joking in every respect besides the potential cavities. To be honest, you found it endearing and loved to see evidence of the gentle, sweet man hidden beneath his frosty exterior.

The only thing that really concerned you about the doctor’s habit was that despite his propensity for baked goods and sugary candy, he didn’t actually seem to enjoy the process of eating them very much at all.

It was often during times of stress that he’d make a detour by the local bakery after a long shift. He would eat pastries as quickly as possible, a stark contrast from his usual habits that left little time for savoring the flavor. It almost seemed like an uncontrollable urge, a shameful impulse that he wanted to push through as quickly as possible. As utilitarian as one could be while digging into a strawberry shortcake.

Zayne was a tempered man, driven by the ideology that if he lost even an ounce of control, he wouldn’t be able to stop the spiral. He wasn’t someone who could integrate indulgence into his routine halfheartedly. There was no true enjoyment to be found from acquiescing to his desire, only a temporary slip that would be accompanied by unfulfilled resolutions to abstain in the future.

You disagreed.

The two of you had a nice, cozy dinner together every Friday after work. Usually consisting of takeout, often delayed due to both of your hectic schedules, and sometimes taking place on the uncomfortable wooden benches outside the hospital but you always made it happen without fail.

One night after a good meal with lighthearted conversation about your respective days, you retreated to Zayne’s fridge and returned with a miniature cake and an excited smile.

Zayne stared. It was a pretty cake, artfully piped cream and strawberries between layers of sponge cake with a delicate dusting of powdered sugar on top. His brow twitched minutely, mentally scanning through significant dates or anomalous recent events that could have prompted such an extravagance as you carefully removed it from the plastic bakery box.

“…What’s the occasion?” he finally asked with great reluctance, disappointed by his own inability to decipher what he was missing.

“Hm?” you blinked, setting out two dessert forks and keeping your countenance deliberately casual, “No occasion, it just looked good.”

He stared at the cake as if it held all the world’s secrets.

“Did something happen today?” he pressed on, carefully assessing your mental state as if expecting you to suddenly have a mental breakdown.

“I had a craving for cake, that’s what happened,” you shrugged, not waiting for him before digging your fork into the side of dessert.

He watched as you savored your bite of cake with simple contentedness, no hint of stress or shame about the enjoyment you took from a useless indulgence. Not giving in to any kind of uncontrollable urge or distracting from any kind of emotional need. Pleasure for pleasure’s sake.

“You aren’t going to make me eat this whole thing by myself, are you?” you pouted playfully at him, making the puppy dog expression that always got you an exasperated huff followed by the immediate entertainment of whatever you asked for, “It doesn’t taste as good if we aren’t both enjoying it.”

Zayne, as always, weighed out his options out. If it was for you, maybe it was okay. As always.

He picked up the fork and took a slow bite.

After that night you had decided this was now an inherent part of your weekly routine, showing up with brightly colored macarons, beautifully decorated tarts, and decadent chocolate creations depending on what caught your eye at the bakery. You started calling it your ‘mandatory sweet treat’ and continued the tradition without fail. Always eaten in tandem with a balanced meal and shared slowly over happy conversation. A celebration of your bond rather than a shameful impulse.

Zayne continued to tell himself that he was just playing along with your whims as usual. After all, how could it be wrong when you smiled so sweetly at him as you handed him his fork?

It wasn’t until one week, when you stumbled into his house flustered after an unusually difficult mission and no time to stop by the bakery before closing that he finally had to admit his own enjoyment for the activity.

There was a brief silence after dinner was finished that week. He stared at the cleared table as if expecting something delicious to appear out of thin air. When it didn’t, he cleared his throat and clasped his fingers together on the table with his usual sense of decorum.

“…No sweet treat today?” he asked ruefully.

You couldn’t contain your grin, whipping out your phone immediately to scroll through bakeries and ice cream parlors that stayed open late for sugar fiends like your adorable boyfriend.

Something had shifted recently. A tiny change in your dynamic that pricked ever so slightly at the center of his chest. Like everything else with you in this new lifetime, he tried his best not to sink his teeth into it and drag it forcefully out into the open. Used all his self-control to let you tend to it on your own terms and pretended not to notice.

In hindsight, maybe the first change had been after he showered in your apartment for the first time. He had taken a polite amount of your body wash, trying his best not to infringe on your hospitality like a normal, human house guest, but as the scent of it (the scent of you) rolled over him his pupils had dilated. Fingers clenching against the bottle with the minute tingle of claws that no longer existed trying to come to the surface.

Smelling like you, knowing if anyone else walked by they would associate him with you and you with him, fed that deeply hidden instinct he tried so hard not to bother you with. You had scarcely gotten over your disgustand he was going to do his very best to keep it that way, annoying and primal dragon brain be damned.

But still, just this once. Just this little thing would be okay, right?

Before he knew it he was drenching himself in the scent. Indulgent and greedy and marked by you.

When he confessed nonchalantly to having used your entire bottle of body wash, playing it off as a taunt and hoping you didn’t notice the faint flush of his cheeks, he expected your usual annoyance or scathing remark. Some sort of sly dig that he could latch onto and use to keep your attention on him. It was the game this version of you liked to play, and like every version of himself he was happy to indulge.

Instead, you had just hummed thoughtfully. Eyes a little distant as though ruminating over something in your head. The switch up made him tense just a little. Wonder if you could see through to the most feral part of him and if you would scorn him for it.

“You’ll have to give me a bottle of yours, then,” you said instead, eye contact oddly intentional for the moment, “to make it even.”

He almost jolted in place, clenching his fists at his sides for just a moment before relaxing.

She doesn’t know what it means. How could she? Swallow it down. Keep pretending that you can be human.

“Your negotiation skills have improved, kitten,” he speaks mildly, instead of pinning you to the couch the way he wanted to, “I suppose fair is fair.”

The second shift came in the form of a necklace, elaborately encrusted with bloodred rubies and sparkling diamonds. It rested in its glass case at an underground auction, the gleam of it against black velvet activating that familiar desire to possess and hoard away treasures so that nobody else could have them. He pictured it laying delicately across your neck and had to stop the rumble that threatened to emit from his chest.

He sprung it on you right before an undercover mission to gain intel about a powerful protocore, one of many he had sought out and curated to spend a little more time with you. Tried to feed you some line about how you needed to fit in with the wealthy crowd you were attempting to infiltrate that night.

He expected you to remark about the exorbitant tastes of the uber rich or fluster about the idea of accidentally damaging such an expensive item and try to force it back into his hands. Both reactions were equally endearing to him, as was everything about you.

Instead, you only looked at him with that same thoughtful expression, allowing him to gently drape it over you and fasten it while narrowly avoiding the urge to take a deep inhale of the back of your neck.

You examined yourself in the mirror, fiddling with the stones delicately, but your gaze was on his reflection behind you when you spoke.

“It’s pretty,” you spoke simply, your tone of voice one he hadn’t heard from you before. Something more gentle, not quite complacent but almost approving.

As if you were praising his tastes. Praising his hoard. Accepting his courting gift.

It was more difficult than ever to swallow that rumble back down again. The reaction was new, but you couldn’t possibly have understood the delusions you were feeding. Stay human. Keep letting her come to you. You already used up all your luck the first time around, you have to be more careful now.

His eyes scarcely left your neck for the rest of the night.

It wasn’t until days later that the final thread of his self-control snapped. The intel mission had taken longer than expected, and you were staying in his house to avoid the tedious commute from Linkon. A practical solution, he insisted to both you and himself, nothing to do with the primal desire to keep you firmly in his territory.

He could scarcely pinpoint how it had happened, but sometime during your quiet evening routine of reading next to each other on the giant, plush couch in his living room you had ended up curled between the couch’s arm and him. You weren’t pinned down by any means, but you were entirely engulfed by his larger frame. If someone were to walk by they would not even be able to see you beyond him.

Completely covered on all sides. Protected from threats. Guarded by him. Nothing could touch you tucked so deeply into his territory, surrounded by him and his hoard and completely at ease.

Despite his most sincere efforts, he couldn’t stop the rumble from finally emitting from his chest. Couldn’t stop the deep purr that vibrated throughout him and rolled over you.

He froze. Cut himself off from making any noise and, for a moment, even breathing. It was with great hesitation that he forced himself to meet your gaze. Fearful of the disgust and reproach that clouded your first meeting in this lifetime making a reappearance as you finally recognized the part of himself, he tried to keep buried for you.

Instead, that curious expression scanned over his face. Your head tilted to the side just a bit. Tentatively, you reached for his hair from where he was resting against your side and began running delicate fingers through it. His breath hitched. You glanced away from him, returning to your book but keeping up your gentle ministrations.

His purring started up again. A tiny smile twitched at the corners of your lips.

Caleb dutifully held the umbrella above your head as though he was getting paid for it, but you caught his gaze drifting to the puddles collecting near the sidewalk multiple times. Your mind drifted to rainy summer days when you were kids, sloshing around in puddles and competing to see who could slosh the most water at the other before Gran would poke her head out the front door to scold you both inside. Something twisted in your chest. Without thinking much further about it, you ducked out beneath the umbrella and took a flying leap into the nearest puddle, delighting in the small splash kicked up by your boots.

“You trying to catch a cold, Pips?” Caleb’s tone was shrouded in playfulness, the way it always was around you, but underneath it was a brief waver, a sharpening of his gaze that revealed the true panic he felt at even the possibility of harm befalling you under his watch.

The hypervigilance that couldn’t differentiate between a mild sickness and the sight of your battered, tiny body strapped to a white table.

“So what if I do?” you challenged him then, hopping to an adjacent puddle and trying to keep the intention out of your voice. He flinched, as if you had just said something absurd. Opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again before trying to adjust to something more casual. Teasing and relaxed instead of the phrenetic and overbearing mess he tried so hard to hide from you.

“If you get sick you’ll have to skip the congressman’s dinner, and I’ll have to go alone. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Right. An annual, stuffy dinner party where a bunch of government officials got together to talk about boring politics and pretend it was necessary to use four different forks for one meal. Half of them actively held grudges against Caleb for his unprecedented skyrocket to authority within the fleet and the other half thought he could be manipulated into granting them favors because of his youth. None of them deserved his time, you thought petulantly, not in the way you did.

“So come get a cold with me,” you rebutted, tilting your head to the side playfully, “Then we can just stay home and play video games all day instead.”

Caleb paused at this. You could practically see the cogs whirring in his brain as he tried to reconcile his pathological need for your safety with the temptation of staying inside with you all day, just the two of you, maybe curled up together on the couch as you ate snacks he would carefully prepare for you as he nurses you back to health, maybe sick with the same germs. His head tilted to the side like a puppy who had just heard the words walk, treat, and good boy in succession.

“…I bet we could even knock out a whole Lego set before we get better,” you sweetened the deal.

Caleb practically flung the umbrella onto the sidewalk at this, giving no warning before launching himself into the puddle next to you and causing a significantly larger splash. You shrieked in both offense and thrill and splashed him back, reveling in the delighted laugh the usually curated man let out. The grin on his face was a little more crooked and uncontrolled than his usual teasing smile, the shrewd look in his eyes when he looked anywhere besides you just the tiniest bit lighter. It wasn’t a lot, but you were grateful for any amount of levity you could offer to him. Listening to the sound of his unrestrained laughter, something in you settled just a bit.

For all his intelligence and capability, Caleb’s perception of himself was skewed by his self-imposed reluctance to ever look in the mirror. Caleb believed he was a feral wolf, with teeth too sharp to be filed down and starved by his trauma in a way that meant he’d never feel full again. So instead, he tried his best to show you a puppy. Docile and obedient without any appetite for vengeance or destruction. Someone who could curl up at your feet without you getting scared he’d sink his teeth into you the way he wanted to. You were the only one that knew he was neither.

Caleb was not the perfect, golden boy he spent so much of his life curating for you. He also wasn’t the cold, unfeeling weapon of destruction he desperately tried to hide away from your sight. He was something in between, childlike in his rage and his joy in equal measure. Calculating, certainly, and more than a little manipulative, but the end goal had always been to protect the both of you from a world that had never been as kind as he deserved. Caleb was not a monster, as he thought, or a perfect shield, as he so desperately wanted you to think. He was just a man, and once just a very scared boy. Just yours. And you would spend the rest of your life trying to prove that to him.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lads fluff #lads hurt/comfort #love and deepspace fluff #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #sylus x reader #caleb x reader #belle's bakery

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ollyissleepy · 2 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

pairings: platonic yandere!batfam x uninterested!male!reader summary: After being caught red handed stealing, (name) finds himself in the Wayne Manor, surrounded by his new family. (Name)'s disinterested in bonding is met with equally not caring siblings and father. As he spends his days alone, (name) realises his new family might care much more than he originally thought the did. cw: stealing, swearing, underage smoking, reader commits a crime a/n: look at him!! he's finally talking to someone who isn't Alfred!!! I'm so proud!!! proofreading? what's that? based on this idea I had

"And so we meet again. "Commissioner Gordon sits down across from the boy, setting paper cups on the table. "And all thanks to Batman."

"What would we ever do without him?" (name) sneered, taking a sip of the tea from one of the cups. "I confess to whatever you want to charge me with, by the way."

"There's no need for you to do that. Your father already handled everything." Gordon places a stack of paper on the desk, encouraging the boy to take a look at them.

(Name) clicked his tongue as he was reading over the papers. Bruce Wayne really did handle everything. The boy wanted to laugh at 'his father's' attempt at keeping up the reputation and sweeping everything under the rug. There's a knock on the door, and, after receiving permission from the commissioner, police officers enter the room.

"Somebody's here to take him home," a man dressed in uniform announced, his back straight and ready for the next orders.

Gordon waved the police officer away, signalling for the teenager to stand up. The two of them walk down the hallway to the front of the station. At the front, he met with the butler, his eyes scanning over (name) from the moment he came into view. Alfred and the commissioner exchange polite greetings.

"I hope he didn't give you much trouble," Alfred said, looking over the boy one more time, making sure he hadn't gotten hurt on the days he was alone in the city.

"Don't worry about it." Gordon smiles, placing a hand on (name)'s shoulder. "He was worse before you guys took him in. This time we even got to chat a bit." His voice sounded almost proud of the progress he made with the boy.

Alfred takes (name) to the car that he parked right at the front door of the police station. The boy wonders if he should sit in the passenger seat, next to the butler. He decides to sit in the back again, at the chance that the man is mad at (name) for giving him more work. Alfred sits down at the driver's seat, putting the keys into the ignition, not starting the engine. He turns his body around towards the teenager, his eyes filled with something (name) didn't quite recognise anymore.

"Please, don't run away like that. Ever." The butler's voice is low, but the sharpness of it doesn't reach the man's eyes. "We were all so worried."

"Worried? If it wasn't for that fool in latex, we wouldn't be talking right now." (Name)'s voice comes out sharper than the butler's. The boy's brows furrowed at the, what in his eyes is, a fake care.

The butler doesn't reply, just stares at the boy. He not only wasn't expecting (name) to speak like him that way, but he also wasn't informed that one of the vigilantes in the city was the one that brought him into the station. The older man felt his heart squeezing, knowing that the boy took his worry and care for (name)'s wellbeing as something that wasn't real. Wasn't true.

"Alfred—" (name) tried to speak, knowing that he took this too far.

Alfred didn't let him finish, turning around and starting the car. (Name) was left alone in the backseat, filled with regret over his own words.

The ride to the manor feels worse than the first one. Instead of a man at the driver's seat, who had one poor attempt at bonding, it was Alfred behind the steering wheel. The same man who had respected every boundary (name) had set. The man who made the boys short stay in the manor somewhat bearable. The teenager recognises that he should've voiced his frustrations in a different way. And most certainly, not by lashing out at an older man, who hasn't done anything to use him.

Alfred drives into the garage, parking the car between two others, each just as luxurious as the one he was driving. (Name) braces himself, taking a deep breath before leaving the car. The butler barely manages to make it to the side of the car the boy was sitting in when the teenager was already out of the vehicle. Alfred, after noticing that (name) doesn't need help getting out of the car, starts walking away. The boy doesn't let him go too far, grabbing his hand to stop him.

"I'm sorry." (Name) doesn't dare to look at the butler's face, too ashamed. "I shouldn't have said that. I know out of all of them, you would look for me."

Alfred smiles softly. Even though he still hasn't figured out the way (name)'s mind works, the butler is happy with the progress the boy seems to be making. The man puts his hand on (name)'s shoulder, squeezing it. The teenager's head shots up, surprised at Alfred's reaction to his apology. He was expecting many things: a cold shoulder, some shouting. Not this. Not the warm hand on his shoulder, not the smile on the butler's face. (Name) became even more confused when the man offered him some tea and cookies, acting almost as if he fully forgave the boy for his tantrum.

During their tea, Alfred had promised to show (name) where the library is located in the manor, hoping that the boy would have something to do and also to check if he was taught how to read. And that could help with finding potential tutors for the teenager, allowing him to gain any sort of education. Bringing the boy to the library, Alfred was watching carefully from the entrance, hoping to see what book (name) would reach for.

It didn't take long for the teenager to form a new routine inside the manor. Every morning he would come down to the kitchen just before Alfred, still persistent on making his own breakfast. He would eat in silence as the butler works on the breakfast for the rest of the family. After his meal, (name) would usually hide away in the library with a book of his choosing. The boy would end his day with a small dinner, which Alfred always complained about not being enough for a growing boy, just to hide in his room.

"Do you think I could get, like, a calendar or something?" (Name) asked during one of the breakfasts, looking for a better way to track the time to his legal age. His plans on leaving the manor didn't change; the teenager still wants to leave. This time he wants to do it legally and hopefully with more resources.

"Sure. I'll bring you one." Alfred smiled, looking from the food he was preparing for just a moment.

The following day, after yet another long day spent in the library, (name) returned to find a calendar neatly placed on his desk, just as the butler had promised. He circled the day of his birthday with a thick marker and hung it up next to the door. That way, every day, as he's leaving his room, the boy can cross off another day, bringing himself closer to the day he can leave.

(Name)'s routine didn't last long, as the boy found himself bored of reading. He decided to give it another go at exploring the manor, this time less anxious, aware that the worst thing he could encounter in the halls might be the residents.

The teenager feels much braver than the first time he was exploring the place, going as far as opening some of the doors. Most of them led to a few empty bedrooms or abandoned study rooms. That's when he stumbles upon a suspicious-looking grandfather clock. Not only did it appear to be much wider than the few (names) seen in his life, but the floor around him seemed to be pretty scratched up as if it had moved around a lot. The boy carefully inspects the clock, attempting to move it to the side. When that doesn't work, he stares at the face of it, the hands frozen. The time stopped at six fifteen. Looking at the clock hands, (name) wonders if some sort of mechanism moves the clock around the floor. The boy tries to play around with the hands when he notices that he could only move the minute hand; the hour cannot be adjusted. He brings both of the hands to the number six on the face of the clock. Then, he hears it. Some cogs are moving inside the grandfather clock.

(Name) stumbles back, surprised he actually managed to move the clock. As the object moved, it revealed a dark hallway behind it. The boy tilted his head to the side, staring down the corridor. He looked around to see if anyone could be lurking around. Once he was certain that he would only be seen by the cameras and whoever was watching them, he walked into the darkness.

It took a very long hallway and a few sets of stairs before the teenager managed to find out where the secret entrance led him to. He found himself in a vast cave that appeared to be located underneath the manor.

It wasn't just an ordinary cave. It was filled to the brim with all sorts of technology and weapons. All bat-themed, which (name) found rather odd. He didn't understand why his father not only had weapons inspired by Gotham's most annoying vigilante; the man also hid it all under the manor like some sort of sick fanboy. (Name)'s face is twisted with disgust the more he explores the cave. He stares at the main computer with multiple screens attached to it, labelling his father as a stalker in his mind.

He walks even further into the cave, already with a plan to mess with his father in mind. That's when he finds them. The costumes. One of Batman, Robin and the rest of the circus. All safely inside some glass boxes. (Name) grinned. His father is the one running the circus of vigilantes. It will make the rest of his stay in the manor even more fun.

(Name) decided to leave before his visit to the Batcave could attract too much attention. He walked past the desk with the computer, stopping in his tracks. Messing with them a little wouldn't hurt much, right?

Without giving it a second thought, the boy grabs all the random pens scattered round the desk. Nobody should really miss these particular ones, but the sudden absence of them would be rather annoying to whoever is working at it. (Name) makes sure that the papers aren't moved, just in case.

With the pens stuffed in his pockets, the teenager leaves the cave. He puts the handles of the clock the same way they were before he left that wing of the manor. (Name) put some of the pens in the library and a few in some of the studies. Making it look like they always were there. He also brought one to his room. A keepsake.

He started the next day as normal, with breakfast in the kitchen hours before the rest of the family woke up. Alfred walked in, looking at the boy with amusement. He leaned against the kitchen island right before the boy.

"So, pens?" The butler asked, chuckling.

The teenager laughed as well, grateful that somebody else in the manor found his little escapade to the cave funny.

However, there were people in the manor who didn't appreciate the joke. One of them was the boy, who looked to be (name)'s age. He stopped in front of (name) as he was walking into the library. His sharp blue eyes looked over (name), annoyance slipping through them.

"Pens? Really?" the boy with blue eyes asked, blocking (name)'s way.

"What pens?" the boy asked, blinking innocently.

"Don't play dumb. You know what pens."

"Well, the only pens I saw were the ones in the library. They looked unused, so I borrowed one," (name) shrugged.

"That's not what I'm talking about," the teenager with dark, messy hair snapped, narrowing his eyes.

"Then I have no clue what you want from me."

"You stole the pens!" The teenager pointed an accusing finger at him.

"What pens? I'm telling you, I just grabbed one from the library!" (name) protested.

"The ones from the cave, idiot!"

"What are you even talking about?" (name) asked, continuing to play dumb, his head tilted to the side. He knew he probably couldn't fool any of the vigilantes, but at least he could annoy the one in front of him.

"The Batcave! I know you went down there and stole the pens!" The boy in front of (name) said, his voice rising in frustration.

"Batcave? Sounds like a sex dungeon," he said, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Does Bruce have one in the basement? Gross."

The vigilante grunts with frustration. He stares at the boy as if debating if continuing to talk to (name) was worth it. Then, he storms off, disappearing deep into the halls of the manor. (Name) counted it as a win in his book.

During the next few days, (name) appeared to be on his best behaviour. Going as far as to not even look towards the corridor where the grandfather clock was located. He spends time with the butler, reads even more books at the library and avoids any and all contact with the rest of the residents. Luckily for the boy, nobody else came to complain about the 'stolen' pens.

(Name) keeps up with his behaviour for a couple of days. That is until Alfred mentions the manor being empty the following day. It seemed as if the butler was giving the boy a green light to mess with 'his' family some more.

As he walks into the Batcave for the second time, (name) isn't quite sure how he could inconvenience the vigilantes. He decides against messing with the computer, worried that they might send someone who wasn't just going to yell at him. The last thing the boy wanted was to get beaten up by a 'family member'.

He walks into the area with the costumes and finds gold. Not one, but two of the cases with Robin's costumes were open. He walked up to the one that looked like it belonged to a young teen. (Name) wonders if it belongs to the brat that had the audacity to mention his mother.

With a grin on his face, the boy grabs the mask of the robin's costume, hiding it in his pocket. He steps over towards the other robin's costume and does the same. (Name) doesn't touch anything else. Taking stuff from the entire family would attract too much attention. And picking on the robins seemed easy enough. Considering they were forgetful enough to not close the boxes their costumes were stored in.

As Alfred is distracted with cleaning on the other side of the manor, (name) sneaks off to smoke in the gardens. He finds a tree further towards the back of them and the pond. The one he had the pleasure of meeting that weird man the last time he went out for a smoke. Halfway through the cigarette, the teenager takes out the masks he took from the robins. He looks at them closely, even going as far as putting one of them closer to his face. He scoffs at the idea of being a pawn for a man dressed in latex. He finishes the cigarette, crushing it against one of the robin's masks. (Name) throws the masks under the tree, letting the boys look for it themselves. He takes the cigarette butt with him, preferring to throw it into a trashcan.

The next day, (name) picked up another book, getting comfortable on a bench with a good view of the door to the library. He began to read the first page when the youngest child of Wayne Manor passed by the room.

"Dirty thief. Be glad Father didn't throw you out like the trash you are," the boy sneered.

(Name) barely glanced up. He knew this was one of the Robins, but he had no clue what his name was. Damian? Daniel? Dominic? He had no idea.

"But that's exactly what I'm aiming for," (name) called after him, his eyes not leaving the book in his hands.

No other interactions happened for the rest of the week in the manor. (Name) had only one more trip to the Batcave during that time. He just went inside and stared at one of the cameras for ten minutes before walking out. Didn't touch anything, just walked in, stared and left.

On Saturday, as the teenager was walking into the garden, somebody called his name. The boy turned around, spotting Duke walking in his direction. (Name) leaned casually near the doorway, waiting for the teenager to catch up.

"I heard what you did in the cave. You must be good at stealing," Duke said.

"If you came here to nag me about it, then fuck off," (name) replied without hesitation, ready to walk out.

"No, I need your help," Duke said, lowering his voice.

"Oh? The ever-so-obedient Wayne child wants me to steal something for him? You do know stealing is a crime, right?" (name) smirked.

"There’s something I need you to get for me. A necklace. It belonged to my mother. I thought it was lost forever, but... I saw it a few days ago, and the person that had it didn't want to sell it to me." Duke spoke, glancing around worried somebody would catch them together. (Name) nodded, thinking.

"You’ve got patrol tonight?" (name) asked.

"Yeah, I do," Duke confirmed.

"You’ll turn off the cameras right before leaving. That way I should have enough time for me to leave the Manor and get far enough away," (name) said, piecing the plan together.

"Okay, I guess," Duke agreed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Good. After you're done with your patrol, lie to them. Make up something urgent. I know you can handle it. We’ll meet in the alley between the laundromat and the old Batburger on the 9th. We'll talk about the necklace there. Just to be safe," (Name) said.

"Thank you," Duke said sincerely.

"Don’t thank me," (name) shot back. "I’m not doing this out of kindness. I trust you’ll come up with a fair price for the job, Duke."

"I will," Duke promised.

"Great. Now get lost before someone sees us together and starts asking questions," (Name) said with a flick of his hand.

Hours later, (name) stands in the middle of his room. Dressed in black from head to toe, a hoodie in his hands. The boy isn't sure if he's making the right choice. Even if Duke had promised to make it worth it, he still had second thoughts. (Name) is used to working alone. By himself and for himself. The teenager had promised himself years ago that he wouldn't work for anyone, not wanting to repeat the mistakes his mother did.

The lights in his room flickered, the space going dark for a second before lighting up again. It was (name)'s clue to leave. It's no time to dwell on it. He should leave.

(Name) moves around the manor with confidence. Making it to the back door with his head held high. He knew that in case the butler would find him, he could lie about needing some fresh air.

The boy leaves the property in a similar way he did the first time, using an opening in the fence. He walks slowly, as rushing could bring attention. He was caught running away recently, and he wasn't interested in being caught again.

Waiting in the alleyway started to feel like an eternity. Perched up against the wall, hidden within the shadows, he managed to smoke the rest of the pack of cigarettes he had. (Name) starts to question if Duke will manage to get away from the rest of the circus. The boy sighs, throwing the empty pack into a dumpster nearby. Why did he agree to this?

Somebody jogged into the alley, boots splashing through a shallow puddle without slowing. The yellow accents on the person's suit caught the faint light from a flickering street lamp overhead, casting sharp shadows across their face. The mask was pulled low over their eyes, but that didn't stop (name) from figuring out who it was. Duke, finally. The tension in the teenager's shoulders said enough; Duke was nervous about the whole ordeal.

"(Name?)" Duke called out, glancing around.

"Took you long enough," (name) said, stepping out of the shadows. "Started to think you wouldn't show."

"Lots of work tonight, sorry," Duke said, rubbing the back of his neck. "We’ve got a few minutes before they start looking for me."

"Alright. What does the necklace look like, then?" (Name) asked, getting straight to the point.

Duke pulled a folded photo from his pocket, handing it over. It showed his mother, smiling warmly, wearing a delicate necklace.

"And where am I supposed to find it?" (Name) asked, eyes flicking from the picture back to Duke.

"At the pawn shop down the street," Duke said quietly. "The owner refuses to sell it to me. Something about it being too valuable to hand over to a kid like me."

"Alright then. Guess he won't be making any money off it," (name) said with a shrug. "His loss, really."

Duke didn’t say anything, just nodded, his eyes scanning the alley nervously, clearly worried the rest of the Bat-family might already be looking for him.

"Go," (name) told him. "I’ll grab it and bring it to the Manor. I’ll give it to you there."

Both of the boys go their separate ways; Duke returns to the Batfamily, acting as if nothing happened. (Name) walks through the alleyways, looking for the backdoor to the pawnshop.

Finding the right door wasn't hard for the boy. It wasn't the first time (name) sneaked into a pawnshop, and he knows the way shop owners secure the backdoors to places like this. The teenager takes his time opening the locks one by one, trying to avoid triggering any alarms.

As the last lock falls onto the ground, the teenager can open the door with little to no worry. He steps inside to the employee area, looking around for the electrical box. Walking up to it, (name) begins to turn off switches one by one, turning off the electricity in the shop. In complete darkness, he moves towards the main area of the shop. In there the boy can see much better, thanks to the street lights coming through the security bars.

(Name) stands in the middle of the shop, scanning the shelves for the necklace Duke wants. He spots it on the jewellery bust behind the counter. The boy walks over, making sure it's the necklace he saw in the picture. Once he was sure, he slowly took it off, trying not to damage it. With the necklace in hand, he turns to the counter, looking under it to see if there are any jewellery boxes he could put it in.

After some rummaging through the shelf under the cash register, (name) managed to find a box to put the necklace in. With the jewellery secure and hidden away in one of his pockets, the boy got ready to leave the pawnshop. He looked back at the cash register, remembering that he no longer had any cigarettes on him. With a sigh, the teenager returned to the register, taking out a few bills.

(Name) took his time returning to the manor. He had what he came out here for, so he didn't see the reason to rush. On his way back he stopped by a gas station, where he knew nobody would question him buying cigarettes.

The teenager walked back into the manor through the same door he'd slipped out of earlier. What (Name) didn’t expect was to find Alfred standing right behind it, waiting for him. The butler looked at the boy with disappointment as the smell of cigarettes was filling the man's nostrils.

"I went out for some fresh air?" (name) said, trying to sound innocent.

Alfred didn’t buy it. He waited for the boy to confess where exactly he was.

"Fine. I needed some time away from the Manor," (name) admitted, shifting uncomfortably. "But I returned, didn’t I?"

"Give me them," Alfred said, extending his hand. "The cigarettes. I know you have them. You reek…"

(Name) reluctantly handed over the pack, hoping that that was the only thing the butler caught up on. The jewellery box suddenly felt heavy in his pocket.

"Go back to your room," Alfred ordered. "And I better not catch you with a new pack."

(Name) runs off, taking multiple stairs at a time, just to get away before the butler starts asking more questions.

He moves towards his room, wondering how he could return the necklace to Duke. The boy needed to think of a way he could do that without being spotted. (Name) settled on sneaking into Duke's room before breakfast and leaving it there.

When (name) opened the door to his room, he learned that he didn't have to sneak in anywhere. There he was, Duke, sitting on his bed, waiting. The teenager appeared lost in thoughts, as he didn't look up when (name) opened the door. The boy stepped inside, a soft clack of the door heard behind him. The quiet noise was apparently enough to snap Duke out of his thoughts.

"Do you have it?" Duke asked, standing up from (name)'s bed.

"Yeah, who do you take me for?" (Name) tossed the small box with the necklace in Duke's direction, making sure he caught it.

Duke opened the box, his eyes widening when he saw the necklace, his mother's necklace, glinting under the light.

"Thank you," Duke said, his voice filled with gratitude as he suddenly rushed toward (Name), pulling him into a tight hug. "It means so much to me. I promise, this trip will be worth it."

(Name) froze, not used to physical affection. He stood there, awkwardly stiff, as Duke pulled away almost immediately.

Without another word, Duke dashed out of the room, leaving (Name) standing in the middle of his own, the silence settling around him.

The next morning, (name) walked into the kitchen, unsure of what the butler would do. Was he going to be punished? Has Alfred somehow found out about the necklace? With trembling hands, the boy worked on his own breakfast. He was ready for it to be the last meal he had with the man.

Alfred entered the kitchen, greeting the boy. He doesn't say anything else. He starts to move around the kitchen, just as he always does. Nothing about the way he acted had changed, and (name) didn't know if the butler decided to let it go or if it's just quiet before the storm. But then, the teenager finishes his breakfast, leaving the dishes in the sink. Not once he was stopped by Alfred, not even as he was leaving the room to spend time in the library.

(Name) settles on a bench, getting comfortable with the book he started the other day. The manor is quiet, as always, the rest of the residents are busy in their rooms. The boy gets absorbed in the book in his hands, not noticing somebody entering the library.

"Alfred was right about finding you here," Duke said as he approached. (Name) looked up from his book.

"Not much else for me to do," he said, lifting the book slightly to show it.

Duke sat down on the bench next to him, and for a moment, the library fell into a comfortable silence.

"I brought you your payment," Duke said eventually. "Told them my phone broke and asked for a new one. It's all yours now."

"Thanks, but..." (Name) hesitated. "My phone works just fine."

"Barely," Duke teased. "It looks ancient."

(Name) chuckled under his breath.

"Just keep it," Duke said with a grin. "Besides, Alfred was already planning on giving you one. Had a whole SIM card and a new number ready for you."

"Guess I won't be escaping the upgrade, huh?" (Name) joked.

"Nah, dude," Duke said, grinning wider.

He noticed the way (name) still looked a little unsure about the new phone.

"I could teach you how to use it," Duke offered. "They're pretty cool once you get the hang of it."

"...Alright," (name) said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

That day marked the first time that (name) not only didn't spend time alone in the manor but also was willingly spending his time with someone his age.

Duke told him everything he knew about his brother's new phone, making sure to put his phone number in it. He talked about getting a phone case, wondering which one would suit (name)'s overall look.

The two boys were enjoying each other's presence so much that neither of them noticed the butler watching them from afar. Alfred heard laughing when he was cleaning in the same wing as the library was located on and went in to check. That's when he noticed (name) and Duke, both hunched over the phone. He watched them for a moment, glad that the new boy finally was interacting with someone his age. The butler left before any of the boys noticed him, not wanting to disturb either of them.

Duke didn't stop at explaining how his brother's new phone works. He went out of his way to spend even a second of his time with (name). Interacting with him was easy since Duke also was rather new to the family and not always had an easy time fitting in. (Name) seemed to understand that.

Duke even managed to convince Alfred to take them to the city so they could spend time somewhere that isn't the manor. The butler wasn't sure at first. It took a lot of promises to be on his best behaviour from (name) that he agreed to drop them off at the mall.

"Have fun, young Master Duke (name)," Alfred said before driving away.

Both boys walked into the mall. Duke couldn’t help but think about the way the butler had addressed (name).

"Why doesn’t Alfred call you 'master'?" Duke asked.

"I asked him not to," (name) replied, looking around at the different shops.

"Why? Most of us just accept it as one of his weird quirks," Duke said, curious.

"Usually when people use titles instead of my name, they mean it in a derogatory way," (Name) explained. "It’s usually 'brat' or 'thieving bastard child', just different ways to make me feel small. 'Young master'... isn’t that much different. It strips me of my identity, in a way."

Duke nods, not picking up the subject again. He knew that if his brother wanted to talk about this more, (name) wouldn't hesitate to. Instead, he drags the boy over to one of his favourite comic shops.

The teenagers spent hours at the mall, walking from shop to shop. Duke fills in (name) on all the things he missed out on, as he was focusing on surviving and not being a child. By the end of their outing, (name) not only had new pieces in his wardrobe, but he also learnt so much about the world of normal teenagers that it made his head hurt.

(Name) ate in the dining room that day, Duke and Alfred his only companions. The boy didn't speak much, tired from the day of being in public. Duke, on the other hand, was talking the butler's ears off, telling him about everything they did and all the things they saw.

Alfred kept smiling, listening to Duke's story. He couldn't help but feel proud at the way these two seemed to have gotten close. He only left the room after both of them were finished with their meals. With empty plates in hand, he excuses himself from the dining room. Duked turned over to his newfound friend, a new idea for a hangout in mind.

"Next time I'm taking you to an arcade," Duke said with a grin. "I have a feeling you'd be good at the games there."

"Yeah, whatever you say," (name) laughed. "Though I might need a few days to recover from this trip."

"Aww, did the mall tire you out?" Duke teased. "Does the little baby need a nap?"

(Name) shoved Duke, laughing. As they joked, Duke spotted someone standing in the cracked doorway.

"Hey, Damian, what's up?" Duke called out.

(Name) turned to look, just in time to see the boy run off without answering. (Name) scoffs.

"And he called me weird," (name) muttered.

"He's like that sometimes," Duke said, shrugging. "Don't mind him."

The next day, as (name) was finishing making his breakfast, somebody entered the kitchen. The boy looked up, ready to greet what he expected to be the butler. Only for these words to be caught in his throat, noticing it's not Alfred but Damian, his youngest brother.

Neither of them said anything to each other, (name) barely looking at the younger boy. He hoped that if he ignored Damian hard enough, the boy would go away and not bother him.

"Good morning, (Name)," Alfred said as he entered the kitchen. "Ah, young master, you're up early."

"I was hungry, so I came downstairs," Damian replied.

"I could fix you something small if you'd like," Alfred offered. "I'm sure a snack before breakfast wouldn't hurt."

"Thank you," Damian said politely.

(Name) fully expected the boy to leave after that, not wanting to disturb the quiet routine he shared with Alfred. But instead, Damian moved closer, stepping right up beside (Name) and standing there, silently, as the butler began preparing his snack.

Brother bonding time didn't last long, with (name) finishing his breakfast in record time. All to avoid spending more time with the younger boy than was deemed necessary.

As he walks out, he doesn't notice the determination in Damian's eyes.

Something was telling Alfred that it wouldn't be the first time the youngest Wayne would be joining the two of them in the kitchen.

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