#i want him to know how loved he is

[buttdumplin]

Spoiling Kyle. He needs to know how loved he is.

cw: Gaz x reader, latine!reader, transmasc!reader, established relationship, bdsm dynamics, praise, spanish terms of endearment, reader's genitals are referred to as "cock," “dick,” and "pussy", oral & anal (Kyle receiving), please let me know if i've missed anything! word count: 3958

“Repeat the rules back to me, please.”

“I move and you stop, hands to myself,” Kyle responds, each word breathier than the last.

“That’s right, mi vida,” you smile down at him, hand gently caressing the curve of his ass, light fingers trailing over the seam of where his thigh meets the plush of his cheeks. He can’t see you with his face buried into the bedding under him, his ass high in the air for you, but the honey in your voice is enough to have him arching deeper. “Always so beautiful, Kyle.”

His thighs tremble with the force of holding himself still, thick muscle twitching, and the sweat along his back glitters in the low light of the bedroom. You can hear him swallow loudly before he speaks, “You’ll undress too?”

Your hands continue to roam, keeping touches light to test his stillness, “Would you like me to?”

Kyle nods as eagerly as he can with his face crushed to the bed, hands flexing open and closed in concentration. You keep an eye on him as you shed your clothes, using the moment to also pull your box of equipment for the night from under the nightstand and onto the bed.

“So good, speaking up, telling me what you want,” the warmth of your words has him practically keening, his cock hanging heavy between his thighs. You reach down to give him a slow tug with your hand and his breathing stutters, precum blooming and dripping to stain the bed. He arches just a tiny bit deeper as he feels you position your body behind him, not enough for it to count as movement, but to present himself more fully to you. “Want to spoil you rotten,” you breathe into his skin as you nip at his ass, inching closer to his hole with open-mouth kisses. 

You’ve only just started and already he’s so lost in the sensations, his body heaving with every breath, his lips parted for the little moans you pry from him. It’s a fucking blessing to have such a gorgeous man splayed out like this in front of you, and an even bigger gift to know he’s yours. Tonight, you’re determined to make him feel just how appreciated he is, how loved, how wanted.

“Color?” you pause, your mouth a hair’s breadth away from his sweet hole. The way it twitches makes your heart swell and your pussy drip.

“Green. Very green.”

You reward him with a slow lick, your tongue held broad against his flesh, and a guttural sound rips from his mouth. His cock is so hard you can feel the deep throb of it in your palm. When he quiets down a little, you give another lick. He shudders under you and this time you don’t wait for him to still. Lick after lick, your hand working his length, you take in every little sound Kyle makes. Every sigh, every whimper, every stuttered breath. You can’t help but smile against his skin, proud of the joy he’s getting out of this. 

Once he’s pliant under you, his body rocking gently to keep pace with your mouth, you begin to push your tongue into him. Half a laugh escapes him, and he instinctively pushes against you for more. He’s too fucking delicious to be punished for it, so you let out a little hum against him, appreciating the way he grinds into your hand.

“Don’t need to hold back, sweetheart,” it comes out jumbled, but you don’t care, you just need to delve deeper into him with your tongue.

“Can’t,” his voice raw, “Wanna feel you.”

You move your hand to cup his balls, gently squeezing and tugging, “You will. Not stopping at one.”

With that, Kyle relaxes further into the bedding, inching his thighs further apart to give you more access. Again, you push deeper, thrusting into him with your thick tongue and only pulling back out to swirl and caress. The slick sounds of your hand on his cock only get louder with the spit running down from your mouth and all the precum he’s producing. It’s lovely, the wet clicking of your touch and the deepening moans falling from his mouth.

You feel him stiffen further, so close to orgasm, broken sobs bursting out of him. So when his hand reaches around to press your face deeper into him, you take the instruction. Pushing your tongue as deep as it will go, you focus on stroking him all the way through, reveling in the way the man jerks and trembles under you. Kyle is loud as he cums, his moaning long and drawn out, drowning in the feel of your hand on his cock and your tongue in his ass. His ears ring a little bit from the force of his orgasm, the world muted around him, his panting the only sound existing. You gently remove yourself from him, letting him collapse on his side, knees too weak to support him.

“Color?” your own voice rough as you lick your hand clean.

Kyle lays there for a moment, not saying a word, eyes zeroed in on your mouth and fingers, heavy breaths moving his chest. 

“Kyle?”

“Green.”

“Thank you.”

He reaches for you, bringing you down to lay next to him. Taking care to cover the wet spot on the bedding with his own body, he pulls you into him, seeking your warmth in his glow. You cradle his head against your chest, peppering his forehead with kisses and compliments. 

“Did so good. What a beautiful boy. So lovely and sweet.”

He melts against you, letting the quiet take over for a moment. It’s a pleasant near-silence you both inhabit, the only sounds coming from your ragged breathing and the quiet static of skin brushing against skin. A giggle escapes you when you notice he’s still hard.

“Ready for the next one?”

Kyle nods. His hand snakes down your side, over the curve of your hip, staring at your visibly hard cock, but you stop him before he can reach your pussy. You giggle again at the whimper he lets out.

“Tonight is about you, precioso. We’ll get there later.”

He looks up at you with such hopeful eyes that you can’t help but kiss him. Those sweet lips greet you eagerly, following your motions in adoration, tongue peeking out to seek yours. He groans at the taste, his chest rumbling with affection. He’ll never get enough of you, of the taste of you. And when it’s combined with his? It’s evidence of you two coming together, how could he not love it. 

You break from his hold, your kisses drifting over his jaw and down the column of his throat. The quick little nips you give there have him gasping. With a dip to the side, you bring your mouth to the stretchmarks on his chest and shoulders, tracing the pattern with your lips, teeth gently scraping. Your path continues down, your tongue laving at the curve of his tits, mouth wrapping first around one nipple and then the other. You take your time there, sucking, biting, teasing with your tongue until you see his shaking hands flutter to clutch at the bedding, the stunted jerk of his hips rocking your body. His nipples are swollen and tender by the time you raise your head, and you can’t help but smile at him, reveling in his grunt as you reach up to roll his left nipple with your fingers. 

“Such a wonderful boy.”

Following the lovely trail of hair, you make your way down his body, kissing and licking and biting, savoring the salt of his skin. A compliment sprouts from your lips each time he makes a sound because he’s so good, so pretty, taking all this love so well. Kyle can barely keep his hands to himself when your mouth reaches his hip, his fingers twisting into the bedding, the warmth of his panting breaths hitting you. You nuzzle into the dip of where his thigh meets his hip and bite at the lush fat of his body, not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough for him to wish you had. One of his hands lifts towards you, and you freeze as it comes closer. The pause is enough for him to remember, groaning as he pulls his hand back. 

Kneeling between his legs, your elbows nudge at his knees to open wider, and he immediately obliges. You take a moment to look at him. He’s fucking stunning. His eyes are a little glazed over, moving over your body in anticipation. Those lips you love so much are swollen from your kisses, spit slick making them shine. All along his body, you can see little patches of raised bumps on his skin, temporary marks of where your teeth sunk in with love. His cock jerks at your attention, weeping precum. Little shivers wrack his body, the motion of his breathing making the sweat coating him glisten.

“How did I ever get so lucky?”

Before he can say anything, you bend to take Kyle’s length into your mouth, as deep as you can manage. A choked sound spills from him at the warmth of your mouth, his cock gently following the curve of your throat as you take him deeper. You lift up, gently suckling, to see a dreamy smile on his face. It doesn’t stay for long, his lips falling open with another moan as you continue to bob, tongue swirling around the tip every time you rise. Your hand wraps around the length you can’t reach, stroking in rhythm. When his thighs start quivering, you release him with a soft pop of your mouth, much to his dismay, please please please pouring from him.

“I got you, cariño.”

A quick reach into the box next to you and you’ve got lube to coat the fingers of your free hand. Kyle, knowing exactly where this is going, spreads his thighs even wider. Bringing his cock back to your mouth, you gently lick at the tip, refusing to waste a single drop. Your other hand moves lower, gently sinking a single finger into him. He stills, his breath catching, until you slowly start working your finger in and out of him. 

You keep your mouth on him as you work him open, gently adding a second finger and then a third when he’s ready. His hands flutter at his sides, clearly struggling to keep them to himself. Each moan he releases, each gasp and choked breath, makes your pussy gush with need. You might be leaving a little wet spot of your own soon. But when you look up at him, his head thrown back against the pillow, his shoulders shaking with the effort of holding himself back, you can’t seem to care about anything else.

When you finally feel he’s relaxed enough around your fingers, you curl them just a fraction, brushing against his prostate and making his hips jerk. You press a little harder and he clenches around you, his hips bucking up, thrusting deeper into your mouth. He mutters out broken apologies as you repeat the motion over and over again, unable to control his body anymore. You’d tell him his apologies aren’t necessary, that he’s free to take as much as he wants, but you’re too focused on sucking, giving his needy slit extra attention.

Reluctantly, you release him, the wet smack of his cock hitting his belly loud in the room. He lets out a long whine as you gently ease your fingers out of him. 

“Color?”

His answer is immediate and breathless, “GREEN.”

You can’t keep the smile from your face as you reach into the box again, this time pulling out your hand harness and the small blue dildo he loves so much, curved to hit his prostate. The smile Kyle throws at you in response is devastating, eyes soft and his bottom lip snagged on his tooth as he bites it. Strapping the harness into place, you straddle his thigh for a better angle. His eyes widen as you take your seat on his thigh, the position allowing him to feel just how wet you are for him, your cock throbbing against him. You wink at him, coating the dildo with a generous amount of lube.

You move slowly as you push the dildo into him, pausing every couple of seconds to let him adjust. Your other hand continues to work his length from root to tip, slipping down every now and then to cradle his balls as you know he likes. His hips rock the smallest amount, trying to take more, and you can’t find it in yourself to mention it. He’s been so good, so patient, he deserves to feel good. Once the toy is fully seated in him, your fingers curling beneath him, your blunt nails biting into the swell of his ass, you pause so you can both catch your breath. 

Kyle cups your jaw with one hand, turning you to face him, “I’m okay.” 

He strokes your lips, slipping his thumb into the warmth of your mouth. You suckle eagerly, rewarding him with a thrust of your hand, your wrist moving to make sure you hit his prostate. His whole body jolts with pleasure, your first couple of tentative thrusts hitting all the right spots. You know you’ve set the perfect pace when he lifts his hands to tease his nipples. Keeping your motions steady, you watch him writhe beneath you, his back arched in ecstasy, his head tossing from one side to the other, his tummy covered in the precum leaking out of him. One last check in and he replies with a chant of greengreengreen. You could cum untouched at the sight of him.

You scoot a little lower and bend, your mouth at his cock again, tongue running up the underside before allowing yourself to fully take him into your mouth. When you wrap your lips around him, you feel a hand come to rest lightly on the back of your head. He doesn’t push you or hold you, he just wants to follow the rhythm you’ve set, hand and mouth moving in tandem. Riding it out, he does his best to hold on, not wanting this to end even as you push him higher and higher towards a blinding orgasm. You glance at him quickly only to find him already searching for eye contact, unrestrained moans erupting from him. A grin breaks out on Kyle’s face as he lifts his knee to grind it against your soaked pussy, the pressure making you groan around his cock in your mouth and grind your dick against him. You both buck into each other, the sensations heightened. 

“Dámelo, mi amor,” voice whiney, practically begging him for his cum. 

He tenses at your words, you can feel him clenching down on the toy in your hand, his balls drawing up tight in warning. His grunts grow sharper, clearly holding himself off to make this last just a little longer. With a tiny twist to your wrist, you have his mouth falling open. You take him deeper into your mouth with a hard suck, and that’s all he needs. His cum floods your mouth, threatening to spill out the corners with how much he’s releasing, but you’re not wasting a drop. You’ve worked for this, you’re swallowing it all. You keep both your hand and mouth moving as he grips your shoulder to keep you from pulling away. You follow your orders, not withdrawing until he’s hissing with oversensitivity. 

Easing away slowly, you drop one last sweet kiss on the head of his cock. Kyle waits until you put your equipment aside to maneuver you over him, sitting up to wrap you in his arms and plant a heady kiss on your lips. You eagerly welcome his tongue, knowing he’s searching for traces of himself, loving the taste of his cum in your mouth. As his breathing evens out a little, and yours quickens with the intensity of the kiss, you break apart. 

“Good?” a little bit of self-consciousness creeps into you. 

“Heavenly,” he replies in between the kisses he leaves all over your face.

Encased in this bubble of intimacy, you both soothe each other for a while, hands lovingly running over skin, love-struck chuckles bursting out every now and then. Eyes lock a couple times as a check-in, joyful grins serving as affirmative answers. This could be the perfect end to the night, but Kyle has other ideas.

His touches, as calming as they are tracing patterns on your skin, wander lower. One of his hands makes it down to gently cup you. You want to tell him that you’re fine, that he doesn’t have to do anything, but a sharp hunger in his eyes silences you before you speak.

“This is still for me,” his tone possessive as he slides his fingers between your folds. “So fucking wet, so hard, just for me.”

You can’t stop him. You don’t want to stop him. You’ve been dying to feel his touch this entire time, and now that you have it, it’s rendered you silent.

Kyle smiles down at you, fully aware of what he’s doing, “Gotta work you open, tesoro. So you can take all of me.”

He strokes your cock between his fingers for a moment, enjoying the way you thrust against him before shifting to slide a single finger into you, and your eyes flutter closed. You start panting almost immediately, tongue darting out to keep your lips from drying. Watching you with rapt attention, he works another thick finger into your pussy, feasting on each twitch of your body. His hand is drenched in your juices when he finally adds a third finger, the loud squelching splitting his face with a boyish grin. 

He bends his wrist a fraction, bringing the heel of his palm to press against your dick, and you all but fall apart in his hands. You chant a soft don’t need it, don’t need it even as you grind into his hand, your nails digging into his shoulders. The grip he has on your hip is nothing short of encouraging, adding to the momentum of your rocking. You feel like he’s barely touched you and still your whimpering grows louder, your body too worked up from the pleasure you’ve given him. This is meant to be about him, and yet he’s whispering in your ear that he needs it, that’s right grind that sweet little cock against him, his teeth sinking into the flesh of your shoulder. That possessive marking sets you off. The fragile thread in you snaps, spreading a tortuous heat through your body, cumming so hard that your pussy clenches down on Kyle’s fingers and nearly locks you into place. Still, he keeps moving and curling his fingers as best he can, drawing out your orgasm until you’re trying to flee from his touch. 

“Thank you,” he says, placing little kisses on your cheek, “I needed that.”

You playfully shove at him and stick your tongue out, laughing at his silliness and lifting yourself off him. He quickly sneaks his fingers into his mouth, eyes closed tight as he practically growls at the taste of you. His cheeks hollow with the intensity of how he sucks your juice off his hand, his palm smearing the rest onto his chin. He wants to make a comment about needing to suck you off directly, but his mouth is too full to talk around.

Reluctantly, you break his private moment, “Still good for another?” You gently grasp his cock, hard again at the taste of your pussy, and give a tentative stroke.

He hisses, bucking immediately into your hand, “Won’t last long.”

“Don’t need to. Just gotta fill me up,” your strokes growing more confident.

His hands come down on your hips and he practically wrestles you into place on top of him again, eyes dark and focused, but he restrains himself a little as you pull back. You motion him to sit higher on the bed, help him settle so he can lean against the headboard comfortably. 

One last check in and green has you sinking down onto his cock, your pussy almost unbearably tight around him. He twitches inside you, and choked sobs ring from both of you as you try to adjust, his hands gripping tight at the plush of your hips, keeping you locked in place. You wrap your arms around his neck, blindly pulling him into a kiss with too much teeth but it’s too fucking good to stop. The press of his bush against your swollen dick has you moving, needing the friction. With Kyle’s help, you rock back and forth against him, keeping him nestled deep inside of you and still giving you both the motion you need. 

You don’t know exactly for how long you stay in that position, hips rutting and sweat pooling, your chests pressed to each other, breaths shared through open mouths. It’s too good to stop. Every time you pull your hips back you can feel his cock brush against yours, and you’d kill before letting yourself lose that. He’s of the same mind, dragging your hips back and forth as he leaves a trail of bites along your neck and shoulder. But the pleasure is quickly building in you both, and you know what he needs.

Without breaking your stride, you lean back enough to create space between you. A deep sound rumbles in Kyle’s chest in protest, but it dies when you slide two fingers into his mouth and press down on his tongue. He immediately devotes himself to coating them with spit, unsure of where it’s going but too excited to ask. When he’s done enough, you reach between your bodies to circle his nipple with your wet fingers. He jerks with a curse, hips moving involuntarily. You keep at it, pinching and rolling his nipple, moving to the other one for equal attention. His pace picks up, taking over your movements and rocking you against him. You bring your mouth to his ear, just enough to reach and not disrupt his rhythm, to whisper praise into his ear, tan lindo, tan dulce, taking such good care, taking you so well, what a perfect boy. Using the honed strength of his arms, Kyle stops your rocking and instead lifts you to bounce on his length, his hips rising to meet yours as he cums deep inside. He moans into your neck and reaches down to place his knuckles on either side of your cock, quickly jerking. This time he’s the one speaking, need this, need this, cum for me. His thumb gently brushes against the head of your dick and that’s all it takes. You writhe in his arms, and he bites into you again as he feels you pulsate around him, stroking you through your orgasm. 

Neither of you can bear to move as you catch your breath, soaking in the affection clear on both of your faces. You can even feel his smile as he kisses your forehead. You kiss every part of him you can reach, savoring as much as you can. The sweat on your bodies starts to cool when you finally break apart. 

“Thank you for letting me do this tonight,” you tell him, noticing his eyes are starting to droop with sleep just as yours are. You cup his face and bring him in for a sweet kiss. 

“Si algún día llego a decirte que no, corta conmigo de inmediato.” he says, the seriousness of his stare belying his laughter. 

[spaceistheplaceart]

more ford and mabel bonding because i said so :)

bonus ford under the cut:

[brainrotcharacters]

the easy grip on the knife. the leg over the seat. the hand over the other seat. the sassy "come get it" move. you know the bitch is smiling behind that mask even as he said the line.

[watchingwisteria]

listen there really was just something about how in the book, snow’s 3-page descent from hesitant lover boy to deluded mfer happens entirely in his mind. lucy gray gives him no indication whatsoever that she suspects him, that she’s going to leave or betray him. he’s just sitting quietly in the cabin waiting for her to return when that seed of calculated suspicion, which he has needed to survive the capitol, takes a hold of him and chokes the life out of any goodness left inside him. it really drives home your terror as a reader that “oh my god did he kill her? did she escape? what happened to her? why would he even think that?” in a way that when the movie had to adjust for visualization it lost some of that holy shit this guy has lost it emphasis.

[egophiliac]

tsum events really are just the best, huh

[littlelightfish]

Manga-Anime comparison:

BOMBASTIC SIDEYE

He's my package give it back

We added eyes and a Mickbell so he won't eat your soul!

This... I hold this close to my heart <3

[lotus-pear]

mourning black and the death of ideals

[yuwuta]

satoru physically withers and crumbles every time you return his belongings. he doesn’t know how to tell you that he can only accidentally on purpose leave his glasses on your nightstand, or his jacket on your couch, or his shirt in your laundry so many times before he loses his mind. every time you don’t take he bait, he folds into himself and wonders why you don’t love him anymore and it costs him $22.50 to hear ieiri tell him to suck it up and use his words because he literally has to buy her company (and drinks).

but when you do take the bait, when you do wear his things, satoru thinks it’s all worth it. he can’t explain why it does what it does to him. it’s a sinister kind of possession he wants to have over you, knowing you’re your own person, free to do as you please, but also knowing you’re caged in him. it’s a lovesick kind of gooeyness that melts his heart seeing you fumble with the sleeves of a sweater that’s too long for you. it’s the vision of you seeing you drowning in him—in his clothes, in his things, in him, in him, in him. he’s selfish, he wants to consume you in as many ways as possible, wants you to drown in him, would die happily knowing you were one tenth as enraptured by him as he is with you. he doesn’t know how or why or when you gained so much power over him, but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t want you to ever stop, so if he has to keep pretending to leave his clothes and bags and glasses around then so be it.

[technically-human]

Hey, don't cry. Ghost yuri, okay?

(Now that you know the girls, they need to meet the boys!)

[starry-bi-sky]

There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.

He has an older brother

He was dead

(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)

Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.

The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.

His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.

However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.

Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.

(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)

(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)

(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")

("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")

(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")

(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)

(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)

"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"

Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."

Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.

(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)

But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.

And he scowls even deeper.

And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"

Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.

He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."

The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.

Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.

Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.

His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"

There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.

Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.

Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.

There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.

Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.

Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.

Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)

His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.

Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."

"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."

The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.

Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.

Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.

Danyal kills each one.

The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.

"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.

A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."

"Danya!"

Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.

(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)

The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."

Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.

"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.

Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."

"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.

Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.

Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.

Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."

Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."

"...So be it."

Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.

More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.

It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.

Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.

His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.

But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.

It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.

Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.

In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.

"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"

"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."

That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.

He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.

"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."

Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"

"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."

Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."

"What if one of us faked our death?"

Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.

Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"

"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.

"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."

Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.

Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.

The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."

Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."

Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."

Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.

Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."

The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.

Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.

...Was mother ever going to tell him?

The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.

His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.

His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.

Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.

The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.

So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.

He has an older brother

His older brother is alive.

(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)

[bunnieswithknives]

AU based off Nature except I kept thinking about it too hard. Dales not a good dad, but its such an easy problem for him to throw money at, and what do you do when a part is damaged? Well, you replace it.

Basically an AU where Dev gets to experience medical trauma and realizes much sooner how much his dad doesn't love him

[afterthelambs]

In another (happier) world, I think Muhen would've been Akechi's Sojiro. Akechi would've lived above Jazz Jin just like how Joker lived above Leblanc. Muhen would've taught him how to make the drinks and close up at night. They would've bonded over music. And Akechi would finally have an adult looking after him. Because Muhen does care about him in-canon. He's the only character in the epilogue that mentions Akechi, he notices who Akechi spends time with, and he wishes to see him again.

It's so sad that Akechi assumes nobody cares about him or wants him around and yet this random jazz club owner does. Do you ever think about Muhen seeing Akechi at the Jazz Jin sometime in December, not knowing it would be the last time he ever would

[ducktracy]

there are a lot of evil people in the world and a lot of darkness in the world and so it’s very important for me to stress that now more than ever is the time to spread kindness and compassion. combat the evil by not only not partaking in it, but actively refuting it. destroy the notion that being compassionate or generous or kind to someone is uncool or embarrassing or even scary. be the change you want to see. start a chain reaction. positivity only breeds more positivity. do an act of kindness for someone so that that person who is too afraid to do it themselves can see you, realize that they’re not alone, and perhaps sheepishly follow your example. and then the next person who is too afraid but sees that person can do the same. when bad news comes out about bad people or horrible atrocities in the world it’s such an easy impulse to despair, and obviously it’s important to feel what you need to feel. grieve. be angry. be sorrowful. be empathetic. but dust off your pants and get up and be a part of a chain reaction that, no matter how small the scale, and spread compassion and love and care. all the reasons why you might not—“it’s hard! it’s scary! people will make fun of me! it’s useless because there’s too much evil!” are all grade A arguments as to why you should. you have no idea how many people you could inspire to do the same. even if it doesn’t get you anyway far, you can at least say you have the nobility of trying. please choose love and please choose life. you are worth loving and you are worth inspiring others to love

[ohrackham]

It is not what you do for me that makes me love you. It's your kindness. Your empathy. How much you care. Just being you is enough, Colin. I do not need you to save me. I just need you to stand by me. To hold me. To kiss me.

[daydreamerwonderkid]

I can't deny that there's a part of me that's absolutely delighted that each time Bruce unjustly went after Jason, the Batkids responded in kind.

This isn't my ideal version of the Batfam, but it does warm my heart seeing Jason's siblings stand up for him.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Lan Wangji Goes To Lotus Pier AU: Part 3: Enveloping Feelings.

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 4 (soon))