Requests CLOSED

mr. bedtime — @lazysoulwriter

interrupted — @rkkuna

18+ your cat can’t read the room and trots in anyway because she’s hungry.

aftercare with clark — @hearts4hughes

flinch — @luveline

you flinch during an argument with clark.

kiss — @luveline

kiss you better — @audreyownsdiamonds

husband!clark taking off his glasses to kiss you harder.

observations — @bruisedboys

your cute coworker clark overhears your conversation with lois, and takes it upon himself to get you some of your favourite things.

i just want you — @barnesdreamcatcher

you’re only in the early stages of your relationship with clark, but during your first sleepover, clark comes to a conclusion: you’re the one he wants. for life.

pregnancy — @prettyboytsum

best friend’s brother cousin — @marwrite

you’ve known kara since she crashed through your sorority house five years ago, spilling the truth about her superhuman dna; a secret you've guarded with ease. but then you meet clark kent- her sweet, shy, older cousin who knows your favourite cake from memory & folds your laundry- and suddenly, everything you believed about kryptonians shatters.

i’ve got you — @finelinevogue

clark saves you just in time, but you don't make him aware of the extent of your injuries.

the necklace — @404superman

18+ you get clark a silly little gift, a necklace with his ‘superman’ logo on it.

boyfriend headcannons — @fear-is-truth

mystery of love — @rosesaints

clark is light in ways the world doesn’t always notice. he makes breakfast for dinner, reads to you when you’re sick, peels oranges like his mom used to, and sunbathes on the fire escape like a houseplant that loves way too hard. he doesn’t say “i love you” until the light is just right and you’re wrapped up in him like a second skin, but he shows it every day in the way he stays.

clark kisses — @maiamore

18+

It wasn't even the fact that he'd recreated all of his students with alarming accuracy, spending an embarrassing amount of time trying to get Megumi's perpetually unimpressed expression just right. It wasn't the way he'd nearly cried laughing when he discovered how absurd cutscenes could become depending on who was involved. It wasn't the fact that he'd muttered, "Woahhh they call me ‘Your Majesty’ babe!" with the confidence of a man defending a doctoral thesis.

It was the way he'd made you.

He had approached your Mii creation with the seriousness of a sculptor commissioned to carve a masterpiece through the facepaint section

"No," he had said, frowning at the screen. "Your eyes aren't right."

"They look fine."

"They don't look as cute as you."

"You've been adjusting them for twenty minutes."

"They’re not cute enough, baby."

You had watched him restart over and over again after that.

He insisted the tiny digital version of you needed to be perfect. Every time he thought he'd gotten it right, he'd notice something tiny and start over again. You had eventually wandered away to make tea, only to return and find him still hunched over the console with narrowed eyes.

"You know I'm literally sitting right here, right?"

"You deserve accuracy babe."

"You make it sound like you're painting royalty."

"You are royalty."

After that, it should have ended there, but

It wasn't enough for the Miis to exist on the island. He wanted to see how everyone interacted. He checked friendships, he watched cutscenes, he read out the commentary like an overly enthusiastic sports announcer despite being the only one who cared about the outcomes.

Then he discovered relationship rankings.

"Oh?" Satoru blinked.

"What?"

He slowly turned the console around toward you.

"We're friends."

"...I would hope so."

"No, look." Your Mii and his Mii were listed as friends. Satoru stared and then his eyes widened.

"We can do better than that."

You snorted.

"You sound offended."

"I am offended."

Thus began his campaign.

He didn't call it a campaign, of course. He referred to it as "letting fate take its course," which would have sounded more convincing if he hadn't started checking their friendship status every few hours. You'd catch him lying across the couch with one arm thrown over his face, only for him to suddenly sit upright and grab the console with startling urgency.

"Good news."

"What happened?"

"We're Good Friends now."

"You look happier than when you got your paycheck, Toru."

"It means we're destined to fall in love!"

It escalated from there.

Whenever cutscenes involving your Mii and his Mii appeared, he watched with rapt attention, even when he’d already seen them. He narrated them under his breath. Sometimes he laughed. Sometimes he placed a hand dramatically over his chest like he'd just witnessed the greatest romance ever told.

You had never expected your husband, one of the strongest sorcerers alive, to become emotionally attached to tiny digital representations of people he already knew. Yet every night, he updated you on island developments with the same enthusiasm other people reserved for gossip from work.

Eventually, the inevitable happened.

Satoru gasped. "Oh my God!"

"What?"

"We're Ultra Friends."

You blinked.

"...Congratulations?"

"No, you don't understand."

"I think I understand exactly as much as I should."

"We're Ultra Friends."

He looked genuinely thrilled. Then he threw himself sideways across your lap.

"I think my mii is your mii’s favorite!"

"Well you’re my favorite in real life, so…."

"Yeah, but now it's official babe!" You laughed hard enough that your shoulders shook.

The betrayal arrived three days later, it was far too early in the morning.

He notices your friendship ranking changed overnight and got suspicious because how had he missed that? He'd checked the island before bed. He'd checked it while brushing his teeth. He'd checked it while waiting for instant noodles to cook. There was no way your Mii and Nanami's Mii had become Ultra Friends over his friendship without him noticing.

Then he keeps watching because, obviously, he needs answers.

And he tells himself he's not worried. Ultra Friends just meant they got along well. You were friendly in real life, and Nanami was a decent person even if he was annoyingly competent. There was nothing inherently romantic about being Ultra Friends. Satoru repeated that to himself three separate times while staring at the screen with the intensity of a detective investigating a murder.

Then the cutscene starts.

At first, it doesn't even register as dangerous.

Your Mii and Nanami's mii are talking like all his Miis do. Satoru relaxes slightly, slumping back against the couch cushions as he lets out a quiet breath through his nose. See? He knew he was overthinking it! Your Mii was just as much of a sweetie as-

Then your Mii pauses. Satoru straightens up.

"...Wait."

Your Mii’s cheeks streak pink as the background fades into a pastel hue. Satoru's entire body goes rigid. "No!" The realization hits him all at once. Your mii had fallen in love with Nanami!

Your mii.

The one he'd painstakingly edited multiple times because he wanted to get every detail right. The one he'd proudly shown you because, look, he'd even gotten your smile perfect. The one he'd watched become Ultra Friends with his own mii before cheering like his favorite team had won a championship.

Satoru stared at the screen in complete silence.

"...No."

Your mii admitted to falling in love with Nanami.

Then, with the horror of a man witnessing the collapse of civilization, he immediately shuts the game off. The click of the Switch powering down echoes through the apartment. You don't even have time to ask what happened before Satoru lets out a strangled noise and hurls the console across the length of the sofa.

Not hard enough to damage it, but hard enough to communicate his clear devastation.

The Switch bounces once against a cushion. Satoru turns toward you with an expression usually reserved for discovering a loved one has been replaced by an impostor.

"You fell in love with Nanami!"

"...What?"

"You fell in love with him."

The entire day becomes one long pity party after that. He follows you around the apartment and all day he asks increasingly absurd questions.

"Have you always liked responsible men?"

"Satoru." you chide.

"Did you ever think his tacky yellow tie looked nice?"

"Huh?"

"He probably has good credit or whatever that bullshit means."

"You are jealous of a video game, baby."

"I am ‘jealous’ of a homewrecker!” He curled up dramatically against your side on the couch. At one point, he actually mutters, "I knew I should've made him uglier."

Even after you reassure him over and over again that you are, in fact, married to him and not secretly harboring feelings for Kento Nanami, he still looks personally victimized by the entire ordeal. Eventually, much later that evening, curiosity gets the better of him.

"...Maybe I should check."

"You've been avoiding the game for six hours."

"Because I'm grieving."

"You threw it two feet away."

"It was symbolic."

He reaches for the Switch with the cautious energy of someone handling explosive material. He turns it back on and the cutscene resumes. Your Mii is still standing there with a crush on Nanami. Satoru makes another offended sound.

Then…he notices the options. "...Huh?"

You lean over his shoulder.

"What?"

Satoru reads the choices aloud.

One of them says:

You're imagining things.

Silence settled heavily over the living room.

He stared at it.

Then he pressed the button.

Your Mii paused on screen as if genuinely taking the advice into consideration. After a brief moment, she perked up almost immediately, admitting that maybe she had just been imagining things after all. Just like that, the crush vanished as though it had never existed in the first place. The problem that had consumed Satoru's entire day resolved itself with a single press of a button he could have chosen from the beginning.

Neither of you moved.

Satoru remained frozen on the couch with the Switch still clutched in both hands. You sat beside him, staring at the screen with an expression that slowly shifted from disbelief to something far more dangerous. The apartment was so quiet that the hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen suddenly seemed deafening.

Very slowly, you turned to look at him.

"...You mean to tell me."

Satoru kept his eyes fixed firmly on the screen.

"You spent an entire day accusing me of emotional infidelity, you threw your Switch across the couch, you followed me around the apartment asking if I secretly preferred financially responsible men."

At some point during the interrogation, Satoru lowered the console into his lap. His shoulders gradually curled inward beneath the weight of every accusation, his earlier confidence shrinking into something considerably smaller. He looked less like the strongest sorcerer alive and more like a child caught drawing on the walls with permanent marker. After another long stretch of silence, he finally cleared his throat.

"...In my defense, baby-"

"You had a button."

"It was a very emotional situation!"

You stared at him for another beat before the first crack appeared in your composure. A laugh escaped despite your best efforts to hold it back, quickly snowballing into something impossible to suppress. The look on Satoru's face shifted immediately from sheepish embarrassment to outright offense. He wilted against the couch cushions as though your laughter itself had become a personal betrayal.

He dropped forward without warning, burying his face into your shoulder as if physical proximity might somehow protect him from the consequences of his own stupidity. His arms wrapped around your waist, dramatic as ever, though the grip itself carried a familiar sincerity beneath all the theatrics. When he spoke again, his words came out muffled against your shirt.

"I got scared, don't you understand, sweetheart?"

The confession lingered between you, unexpectedly earnest after hours of exaggerated sulking and ridiculous accusations. His fingers tightened slightly where they rested against your side before he let out a soft groan of embarrassment. "I know it wasn't actually you," he admitted quietly. "I know it was just a game and none of it meant anything, but... I don't know. It still felt weird seeing a version of you choose somebody else."

Your laughter softened almost instantly.

"You jealous idiot."

"I know."

"You really thought I'd leave you for Nanami."

"I didn't think you'd leave me."He pauses. "...I just didn't like seeing a version of you choose someone else." You wrap your arms around him at that. "Good thing the real me has good taste." Satoru brightens immediately in response. "You think I’m in good taste?" He beamed.

 "You had a meltdown over a Nintendo game because you love me. So I’d say you’re at most a sweetheart."

"It’s romantic." He retorted. “No baby, it’s insane!” You replied. Satoru grins against your shoulder before glancing back down at the screen. "...I'm still keeping an eye on Nanami." You immediately start laughing again.

And Satoru, despite having discovered there had literally been an "you're imagining things" option the entire time, narrows his eyes suspiciously at Nanami's tiny digital face anyway.

Because some grudges, apparently, transcended reality itself.

a/n: i know this is a shorter wordcount but my ass is exhausted from life and exams, whiny toru def cheering me up tho :b

also i've rlly liked tomadachi life, i got addicted rlly fast and im ngl it gets boring sometimes but most of the time its rlly fun!!

divider credits!! @dividers-are-us , @cursed-carmine

you flipped a page in your notebook and underlined something that absolutely did not need underlining, just to have somewhere to put your hands.

“did you,” he started, sitting up straighter now, all his earlier ease draining out of him, “did you seriously just gojo me?”

“can we please get back to the agenda,” you said, addressing the room in general rather than him specifically.

nanami cleared his throat and tried to steer things back on track. “as i was saying, the eastern district has seen an uptick in curse activity over the past—”

“she gojo’d me,” satoru interrupted, loud enough that the whole table heard it, staring at you with the wounded expression of a man who had just watched his house burn down in front of him. “in front of everyone. she used my last name like i’m a substitute teacher.”

you still didn’t look at him. you clicked your pen closed, then open again, then closed, a habit you knew drove him up the wall, and said nothing at all.

“focus, gojo,” you said again, watching the way his whole soul seemed to leave his body when you said it a second time was a little more satisfying than you’d expected.

“okay. okay, everybody hold on,” satoru said, raising both hands like he was trying to talk down an actual hostage situation. “nobody move, nobody speak, something has gone horribly wrong here. she just used my government name. in public. on purpose.”

“that is your name,” nanami pointed out, deadpan, not even looking up from his own notes.

“not to her it isn’t! not in four years has she ever once called me gojo, and now suddenly, out of nowhere, in the middle of a staff meeting, she’s talking to me like i’m a stranger she met at the post office—” he turned to you again, voice climbing with real panic now. “okay, you know what, meeting’s over, everyone go home, thank you for coming, we’ll reschedule—”

“the meeting,” yaga said flatly, unimpressed, “is not over.”

“it is for me!” satoru stood so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor, then leaned across the table toward you, blindfold slipping further down his forehead, genuine desperation creeping into his voice. “what did i do. just tell me what i did and i’ll fix it. is this about the mission partner thing? it’s the mission partner thing, isn’t it. i can undo it. i can un-fix the fixing. i can grovel right here in front of everyone if that’s what this requires—”

you finally looked up to deliver the final blow with the sweetest, most devastating calm you could manage:

“i’m not sure what you mean, gojo. we’re in the middle of a meeting.”

that was the moment the room completely lost it. shoko was laughing so hard into her coffee cup that she had to set it down entirely, wiping at her eyes. nanami pressed a hand over his face like he was praying for the strength to survive this job for one more day. even yaga, who never smiled during meetings on principle, was clearly biting back one now, badly.

“that’s it,” satoru said, dropping back into his chair. “fine. that’s fine. be like that. see if i care. i am literally the strongest sorcerer in the world and i am being disrespected in my own place of employment, in front of my own coworkers, by my own—” he lowered his voice for the last part, leaning toward you like it was a secret, “—girlfriend, who apparently doesn’t remember that we live together and that i know exactly what cereal she eats and exactly what she looks like without—”

“gojo,” nanami cut in, exhausted, “please let the meeting continue.”

“see! even he can feel that something is deeply wrong here! the temperature in this room actually dropped! shoko, did the temperature just drop or was that just me—”

you allowed yourself the smallest, most private smile, tucked safely behind the cover of your notebook, as the strongest sorcerer alive continued to unravel in real time over exactly one syllable of his own last name, in front of the entire senior staff of jujutsu high, on a random tuesday morning.

by the time you got home that evening, satoru had clearly spent the whole day rehearsing something, because the second you walked through the door he was already there, hovering, almost vibrating with nervous energy like a dog that knows it did something wrong but isn’t sure what.

“okay so,” he said, following you into the kitchen, “i’ve been thinking about this literally all day, and i want to formally apologize, on the record, for the mission partner thing, and also i want to say, for the record, that what you did today was actually kind of terrifying and i need you to never do it again.”

“do what,” you said, setting your bag down like you had no idea what he could possibly mean, even though you absolutely did.

“you know what,” he said, sliding an arm around your waist from behind before you could even take your jacket off, chin dropping onto your shoulder. “the gojo thing. please. i’m begging you. never again.”

“it’s your name,” you said, echoing nanami from earlier, and you felt him groan directly into your shoulder.

“it is not my name when you say it like that,” he mumbled. “when you say it like that it sounds like you’re breaking up with me in front of witnesses. i had to sit there for an entire meeting wondering if this was it, if this was the day my girlfriend decided she’d had enough of me and was breaking the news.”

you turned around in his arms, biting back a laugh, and he immediately seized the opportunity to rest his forehead against yours, eyes closed like he was bracing for more punishment.

“so you admit you deserved it,” you said.

“i admit nothing,” he said, “except that i am deeply, deeply sorry, and that i will never again swap your mission partner without telling you first, and that if you ever call me gojo again in public i will actually die.”

“say please.”

“please,” he said immediately, no hesitation at all, pulling you in tighter like he was worried you might change your mind and use his last name right there in the kitchen just to torture him further. “please, please, i’ll do anything, i’ll even do paperwork, just—just be normal about it. call me anything else. call me an idiot, call me insufferable, i don’t care, just not that.”

“fine,” you said, finally letting the smile show. “satoru.”

the relief on his face was almost embarrassing, the way his whole body seemed to unclench at once, like you’d just lifted some enormous curse off him.

“thank you,” he said, dramatic as ever, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then finally your mouth. “never again. i mean it. that was the scariest six words of my entire life and i’ve fought curses that wanted to eat my ass.”

“it was one word,” you pointed out.

“it felt like six,” he said, and pulled you into a hug so tight it nearly knocked the breath out of you, laughing into your hair, all traces of this morning’s fight forgiven, or at least thoroughly overridden by how badly he never wanted to hear his own last name from you again.

You and Giyuu had always kept things... quiet. Not out of necessity, but because that's how Giyuu preferred it. He wasn't the type to flaunt his feelings or make a show of your relationship, and you didn't mind...most of the time. Sure, you'd tease him now and then, but your marriage wasn't something you shouted from the rooftops. You didn't hide it either, though.

People just never asked.

You were nothing like Giyuu in any aspect. Where he was brooding and silent, you were bubbly, always smiling, always drawing attention with your lively personality. Once you came into Hashira position, you'd gain the reputation of one of the friendliest and most outgoing but also one of the strongest.

People admired your skill, but they couldn't help but not ignore how you looked. You had that beauty to draw eyes, combined with your personality, it wasn't rare to hear other people say how you were one of the prettiest demon slayers.

No one knew your last name, though.

That might've been a clue-if any of them had stopped to think about it.

It was no secret that you spent a great deal of time around Giyuu, but most of the Hashira had come to the conclusion that you must pity him-some sort of friendly charity case. And Giyuu, in his usual way, didn't correct them. He never explained why you two were always together.

He let them assume and you let him.

But it was about to come out—whether you planned it or not.

The meeting started off like any other. You sat near Giyuu as per usual, not that anyone paid much attention to seating arrangements anymore. It had become routine. Sanemi barely spared a glance in your direction, too busy looking irritated by something else entirely, while Mitsuri flashed you her usual bright smile.

Rengoku was already there, greeting you with his boisterous energy. "Ah, good morning! You are looking radiant today as always!"

You smiled back at him. "Thanks, Rengoku."

Giyuu nodded in greeting but didn't say a word, silent as always and as still as air. You were used to it, though. His silence didn't faze you. Giyuu loved being near you in private, he was like a cat that didn't want to leave. But today, you did have something to ask, something that was going to definitely stir the pot.

When Ubuyashiki asked if anyone had announcements, you took a deep breath, preparing for the storm that would most definitely arise.

"Master Ubuyashiki, Giyuu and I would like to request a leave of absence for a week."

The other Hashira's eyes fell instantly upon you, curiosity written on their faces. Ubuyashiki smiled. "Of course. And for what reason?"

You grinned, your eyes flicking to Giyuu, who looked faintly concerned-he hadn't expected you to announce it, but you couldn't help yourself. "It's our anniversary."

There was a wave of shock around the room, though nobody said a word in that instant. Mitsuri gasped, eyes wide with wonder, while Sanemi shot you a look of utter incredulity. Rengoku's eyebrows shot up, for once, his grin faltered while he processed what you had said.

But Ubuyashiki didn't seem remotely surprised. As serenely as he always spoke, he merely inclined his head and said, "Ah, of course. Happy anniversary, Mr. and Mrs. Tomioka

Mitsuri's face had sagged. "W-what...?! Mrs. Tomioka?!"

Rengoku's eyes blinked, his confusion curled into laughter. "Wait—Giyuu's wife?! And all this time we thought you were just keeping him company out of pity!"

Giyuu's eyebrow twitched at the comment.

Sanemi huffed loudly, wrapping his arms around himself as if to shield the bruised ego within. "You've got to be kidding me. You're married? To him?"

Uzui leaned back as if he finally found the most amusing part of his day. "Tomioka's been keeping a pretty little secret from us this whole time, huh?" he said, raising an eyebrow in a smirk. "I gotta say, you are full of surprises. Bet you ain't as dull as we thought, Giyuu.

You tried to keep the laughter welling up inside of you contained, but Giyuu's expression was making you not to do so, he was getting embarrassed from the teasing. His face was stoic as ever, but you could sense him tense up. A hand laid stiff upon his lap gave a small jerk-a faint sign that all this attention set him ill at ease. You leaned forward and casually laid your hand over his, giving it a slight squeeze.

"Well, we didn't exactly hide it," you teased with a smile. "We just didn't tell anyone."

Sanemi grunted low. "You mean he didn't say anything."

Giyuu had nothing to say, his eyes on the floor. Moments like this, you knew he wanted to disappear. But instead of letting the others keep their teasing going, you turned the tables.

"Oh, don't look so surprised," you teased, moving in a little closer to Giyuu with a sparkle in your eye. "It's been years now. Giyuu's always been such a romantic."

Sanemi snorted, and Tengen let out a loud laugh. "Yeah, right. I really can't picture Tomioka being romantic."

You smiled, leaning your head against Giyuu's shoulder in exaggerated love. "He planned a whole week off for our anniversary. Isn't that sweet?

Mitsuri, the eternal romantic, squealed in delight. "Oh, my goodness! That's so adorable! How long have you two been together? Why didn't we know this all this time?!"

"Well," you said, "Giyuu's good at keeping secrets."

By this time Giyuu's face was a deep crimson color. his ears almost burned with embarrassment. You knew he'd most likely scold you later for being so casual about letting it all spill out, but for the time being you enjoyed your fellow Hashira's reactions.

Rengoku, still smirking, crossed his arms. "Three years of marriage, eh? That's awesome! I'm shocked we never put two and two together. How long have you two been a couple?

"Since we were in our teens," you said matter-of-factly. "We went through quite a bit together. He was always there to support me, even when I wasn't yet a Hashira."

The smirk on Tengen's face spread further. "So, how does it feel being Mrs. Tomioka? Got to say, I'm kind of curious. He's got that stoic brooding vibe going on, but I'll bet he's different when it's just the two of you, huh?"

Your beamed, and you shot Giyuu a sly look. "I don't kiss and tell."

That made the rest burst into a fit of laughter, though Mitsuri turned to you dreamily. "That's so romantic. I just can't believe that you were married all along..."

Sanemi rolled his eyes. "Romantic? It's impossible."

You laughed, leaning into Giyuu just a bit more, earning a barely audible sigh from him. You could tell he was trying to hold it together despite the attention, and you knew he'd probably scold you later for making such a big deal out of it. But for now, you were having too much fun with the moment.

Ubuyashiki merely smiled at the both of you, his calm and collected demeanor accompanied by an understanding sheen in his eyes. "I hope the two of you enjoy your week off together. It's well deserved."

You nodded gratefully to him. "Thank you, Master Ubuyashiki.

The other Hashira were still talking when the meeting wrapped up, still apparently in a daze from your marriage bombshell. Mitsuri darted over to you the instant the meeting was finished, her face shining with excitement.

"I have so many questions! How did you two meet? Who confessed first? Oh, I bet Giyuu's so sweet when no one's looking, isn't he?"

You laughed, dodging her interrogative attack. "It's a long story, Mitsuri. Some other time, I'll tell you."

With that said, before you could utter another word, Giyuu silently got up, tugging lightly on your sleeve. "Let's go."

You followed him out of the meeting room, the eyes of the other Hashira seemingly still on you well after you left. When they were outside and far enough away from their prying gazes, Giyuu let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"You liked that, didn't you?" he asked, his voice low but his tone gentle instead of angry.

You smiled up at him, slipping your hand into his. "Maybe just a little. But come on, they were bound to find out eventually. It was kind of fun seeing their reactions."

Giyuu sighed again but didn't argue. Instead, he squeezed your hand gently, and his expression softened just a little. "I suppose it wasn't unbearable."

You laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "See? I told you it'd be fine."

Giyuu said nothing, but the slight flush of his cheeks did the talking.

Do not copy, steal, modify use for AI, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

A small vibration interrupts you as soon as you have finished scanning the content pages and settled on the chapter to read first, Dick’s name flashing in a text message.

Want to come to the park with us? Weather’s nice. Jason, Steph, Barb and Wally are coming.

Nothing sounds better right about now, but the guilt of pushing your work aside again would eat you alive. Dejectedly, you settle on a “Can’t, at the library :(“ and dive back into your book. The writing is better in this one, so you actually work through the chapter at a decent pace. The sounds of the library fade, replaced by the soft, low music your headphones emit, sealing the small bubble you sink into.

-

Jason’s frown is immediate when he reaches the park and fails to spot you amongst the others, the second cup of coffee he brought proving obsolete in your evident absence. He doesn’t even sit down, standing behind Dick while Wally shields his eyes from the sun to properly see him. “Why do you look more grumpy than usual?” “Where is she?” Delighting in the petulant tone in his younger brother’s voice, Dick can’t help but snort at the nigh pout on his face. “She cancelled. Something about library and studying.”

“She’s working on her paper,” Barbara explains, but Jason barely hears the end of her sentence, already turned around on his heals and walking away from the group.

–

The sight of a coffee cup being placed in your peripheral vision makes you look up finally. The faint twinge in your neck from being hunched over is evidence of how long you spent reading and making notes. When you meet Jason’s eyes, you take your earphones out. “What are you doing here?” He snorts at that and pulls out an empty chair to face you before sitting down. “What? No hello? How are you? Thank you for the coffee?” You have the decency to give him a sheepish smile while reaching for the cup.

 “Thank you. But I thought you were at the park with the others?” The shrug you receive is non-committal; meant to soften the significance of his choices and deter from any deeper meaning one could read into them. “I just got bored.” Lie. “I wouldn’t survive that without you anyways, not Dickhead and Wally at the same time.” Less of a lie.

He places a water bottle and an ibuprofen on the table next, and this time you are sure your eyes reflect your gratitude. “You’re my hero.” He grins with a wink and opens the bottle for you while you unpack the pill, swallowing it down with a few sips of water. “And now? You want to suffer here with me?” He takes out a book and holds it in the air for a moment for you to see. “Keeping you company.”

Though, arguably, Jason barely registers the words he was reading, using his angle as an excuse to subtly watch you work. Every detail, every new facial expression, ingrains itself in his mind. The way you frown when you are concentrating on something, or how you chew your lip when trying to figure out how to phrase a sentence. It is oddly endearing to catalogue these things, you the object of his very own secret studies. He’s almost caught when your eyes suddenly lift to him, just so able to look back at his book. You haven’t noticed, carrying on like nothing was amiss.

“Dinner when I’m done? I’m craving summer rolls from that place downtown.” He nods without missing a beat. “Anything you want.” With a smile, your gaze returns to your books, and his stays on you.

––––

Level 2: Teamwork

Dick plops down next to you with a groan, hand on his stomach and head tipped back in bliss after the dinner Alfred prepared. It’s a rare afternoon with everybody in the manor; Bruce having convinced each of his sons to come. You were there because you’re friends with most of the others… and maybe Jason refused to come until your name was mentioned. When Dick slides sideways to lean most of his weight against you, you playfully shove at him but ultimately settle down and succumb to your fate of being used as a human sized pillow.

Everybody gathers on the remaining couches, Bruce in his armchair, Tim on the floor, Damian at the far corner of one couch so to not seem like he enjoys spending time with his family for once. It’s a curious sight every time you witness this mismatched family and how they care for one another more than they like to show outwardly.

When Jason’s joins as well, having helped Alfred with the dishes, you pat the spot next to you and he readily settles there, thigh brushing yours.

“How about a game?” Steph suggests after her five-minute food coma. Dick perks up. “Monopoly?”

“I refuse to play Monopoly with you anymore,” Tim grumbles half-heartedly. You remember the last time. Dick’s a cheat, and he Monopoly Incident last year still haunts you. He makes a scandalized sound, hand on his chest. “Not my fault you landed on my hotel.” “You stole money from the bank,” Tim looks about ready to lunge at his older brother. “Did not.” “Did too.” “Did not.”

“We could play Uno,” you interrupt their spat, earning a few grateful glances.

Soon everyone is gathered around the coffee table. It’s a brutal game, you don’t remember a deck consisting of so many Draw 4s. Steph and Damian were arguing about rules, Dick was slipping cards up his sleeve when he thought nobody was watching, even Bruce cheated and somehow always had a card to avoid having to draw. In the middle of the game, you tap Jason’s leg so he can discreetly look at your cards beneath the table. When he frowns at the sight, two of your remaining three cards Draw 4s, you subtly take one of his number cards to switch out for one of them, a scheme taking its course. If Dick – who just proudly yelled “Uno!” to Jason’s other side – can play dirty, so can you.

Jason seems to read your mind; you can see the faintest upwards pull of his lips even if the others don’t. Maybe because you keep looking at– you shake out of your thought when it’s your turn, placing down your Draw 4 and then watch Jason do the same, Dick’s face falling. Everybody breaks out in laughter, glad to see Dick lose for once.

What neither you nor Jason sees is Bruce watching you with a soft smile behind his cards. He saw the whole exchange of cards, but he also saw your lingering look and the way Jason gravitates towards you. Even now he was leaning into your space, the gap between him and Dick much larger than the one between the two of you.

He’s just glad to see Jason finally find happiness in life.

––––

Level 3: Ease

The gala was loud, pompous, and obnoxious. At least those are the words you’d use if posed with the prompt “describe Bruce Wayne’s soirées in three words.” The only upside seems to be the excuse to dress up nicely, and the fact that no matter how miserable you were, you can name four individuals that are even worse off than you.

Dick was able to mask his gloominess rather well with a charming smile and a few well-placed words in a conversation. Bruce’s golden child does not need much sweet talking to woo his opposite. It helps that he has years of experience on the others in these matters. Tim was less successful but played the part of the future Wayne Enterprises CEO by taking to important business partners and sticking by Bruce’s side. Damian you spot next, he seems as brooding as ever but you suppose the years of being trained by the league in plenty of matters included decorum at events like these. He elegantly avoided speaking to too many people by finding excuses to walk towards somebody new, only to turn halfway through the crowd when he’s out of sight.

Jason has resigned himself to a corner, an untouched glass of champagne in hand, and a frown on his face that steers off anybody even remotely interested in talking to Bruce’s lost and them resurfaced second son. But when has that frown ever stopped you from approaching? With parts of your dress in hand so you walk faster, your heels clack against the polished marble while you snake around the people separating you from the sombre figure by the fountain.

“Dance with me?” You hold out a hand when you stand before him, glossed lips pulling in a bright smile. Everything in you seemed to ease in you now, coiled muscles relaxing while your anxiety ebbs in his presence.

Jason raises a sceptic brow, eyeing your hand. “I don’t dance.” “Please.” It’s more a whine than a plea. Nevertheless, it works. The victorious grin on your face when his hand takes yours and you lead him to the dance floor has his signature glare replace the frown. You laugh and let him pull you into position. When the song changes, you move, almost immediately stepping on his toes. “I should have mentioned I don’t know how to dance.”

“I know you don’t,” he adjusts you without much fuss, but by the third time he takes your waist and lifts you just enough to place your feet onto his. It might seem goofy to the people around you but that doesn’t matter right now. The faces fade and it’s just you and him dancing. Well, him dancing and you following along.

The trance you find yourself in — neither of you talking but the eye contact disgustingly intense as Dick will recount later — ceases when the song stops and Bruce is called to make a speech. Your face heats up and you step back again with a small smile, turning to the front to listen and entirely missing the way Jason’s eyes linger on you with a fondness in them either of you only read about in those classics you read.

––––

Level 4: Deep Deep Denial

Barbara’s laughter echoes through your apartment on a rare day you two get to spend alone together. The wine glasses have been filled for the third time already, and a mindless reality dating show has been your source of entertainment for the evening.

“I mean— what does she see in him?” You huff. “That guy is all fake tan, muscles that scream I avoid food to look shredded, and his brain lack basic levels of intelligence.” Barbara snorts, “and yet he’s the best catch there. A tragedy for modern dating.”

The episode comes to an end when Barbara turns toward you and pauses before the next starts automatically. “Which one of them would you be most willing to date?” “I’d rather cut off my own leg,” you take another sip from your glass. “But if I’d have to choose… Thomas seems alright. At least he has actual hobbies that exceed going to the gym.” Her approving hum and the sense of ease you feel are cut short by her next question.

“What is your ideal type then? I mean, I’ve seen the people you dated, and they never follow a certain pattern…” You shrug, “I guess it varies. I don’t have a dream person.” “Everybody has the ideal version of a person they’d date.” You shake your head in amusement. “Not me.” The deflection does not seem to satisfy the red head and she pouts dramatically. “Try.”

“Fine,” you relent and set down your glass. “I suppose… I mean if it’s a man I’d like him to be taller than me, dark hair preferably. The eye color isn’t important as long as they’re kind. I don’t like overly muscly, but I like strong, you know? Something about knowing he can lift me up easily but would also eat two pizzas in one sitting with me just hits the spot. I also can’t anymore with dim men. Just have an interest, read books, have a niche thing or whatever. Just be— “

“Jason?” That makes you pause. “What?” “You’re describing Jason.” “No, I’m not.”

The look she gives you makes every argument you have die in your throat. Yes, you are utterly head over heels for your best friend. At least that he was that is something you can admit. But admitting to your feelings out loud would make them real. Now, they were simple fantasies, a small crush that will disintegrate sooner or later, not love. Love would feel different, surely. Is it not to be exciting and full of butterflies. What you feel beside Jason is neither. It’s warm, comfortable, safe. But surely that’s because you see him every day and he’s kept you safe on more accounts than one.

“Hello?” Barbara asks a little louder, eyes crinkled with quiet laughter. “Are you daydreaming about your knight in leather armour with a red helmet?” “Shut up.” You hide your bashfulness in your glass, hoping the wine serves a distraction from the wordless admission to your feelings. A futile thing to try with a trained detective. “I knew it.”

“Even so,” you grumble and start the next episode. “It’s a one-sided crush, no need to dwell on it.”

“If you truly think that crush is one sided, then you are blinder than I thought you are, babes,” Barbara mumbles into her glass, too low for you to hear over the intro.

––––

Level 5: Acceptance

It’s a rare occurrence for you to be woken up in the middle of the night, but the window sliding open and a loud thud is enough to make you sit up in shock and clutch the nearest thing you have as a weapon. Arguably, there is better things to defend yourself with than a half empty bottle of water, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

The weapon reassumes its position on your bedside table when you recognize the figure slumped against your wall. His name is barely a breath that leaves your lips, almost inaudible over the rustle of the sheets when you scramble up. A second body threatens to crumble to the floor when the stubborn fabric tangles with your legs, but you catch yourself. “Are you okay? What happened? Why are you here?” Hands hover around him, unsure where to settle. The grin on his face filters through the mechanic rasp of the voice modulator. “Nice to see you too. I need your medical skills.” His breath was ragged and he peels back his jacket to reveal blood seeping through his armour, staining the black at his side an even deeper black. “’S not too bad,” your worried contemplation must have been written on your face in that moment, Jason quick to placate. “Just a stitch or two, bullet’s out.”

These situations were never easy to you. You’re not even remotely trained in these things. Your sewing skills were mediocre in the first place, but suturing? His stubbornness to insist you patch him up was a thorn in your side. “Alfred truly proves better at these than I do, Jason.” No answer is expected, the argument recurring and always shot down with a simple “I don’t care.”

“My non-existent medical skills will not always suffice,” you grumble but retrieve the medical kit you keep for him regardless. The injury is not too deep, and you work in silence. It’s almost mechanical by now. Stop the bleeding, clean, stitch up, clean again, bandage. The same procedure each time. 

The next time you look up, convincing yourself it’s to check on him, his helmet is gone and your eyes are met with tired blues. You quickly look down again. Fuck. “Don’t stare at me.” with the last stitch done, you clean the blood off and bandage the wound.

“Can’t help it.” If you were to describe the cadence of the words, you could not. It’s as if your mind draws a blank, blacks out, erases the details of the situation so it stays as fleeting as it feels in that moment. When you look up, his eyes are fixed on your lips and your heart speeds up impossibly further. Can this induce a heart attack? Is this why you feel so hot all of a sudden?

Deeply buried in panicked thoughts, neither of you registers the gravitational pull that forces you to lean closer. Maybe it’s your sleep-addled brain or his exhaustion, but in the moment neither of you truly cares for the reason. You feel his breath fan across your lips, the very tip of his nose brushing yours. Just a millimetre closer and your fates would be sealed. You would both give in to the feelings you’d long accepted in yourselves but denied in the other. The crackle of his helmet makes you flinch back, the moment gone as quickly as it arrived with Roy’s voice cutting through the silence. “Red? You okay?”

“Yeah.” If Roy heard the small crack in the word, he doesn’t comment on it (yet). “I’ll meet you in a bit.”

Jason is gone a few minutes later and you’re back in bed with your pillow pressed against your face. So much for sleeping eight hours.

––––

Stage 1: Surrender

Jason has been avoiding you for the past three days and you’re beginning to get fed up. With anybody else, you’d give them their space, maybe send them a text that invites them for a talk and asks if everything is okay. But this was so unlike Jason that your insecurity morphs into anger. To have the audacity to spend most days with you, eating your food, sleeping on your couch, and getting patched ip by you, just to ghost you now? Yeah, no way.

After Tim confirmed for you that Jason was at home, you march over to his apartment building, used your spare key to get inside and then for dramatic effect, knock on his door loudly until he opens. Before he has enough time to compose himself and potentially close the door again, you push inside and start to go off.

“I don’t know who you think you are Jason Peter Todd, but I want you to know that you messed with the wrong person. Who the fuck thinks it’s okay to just drop off the face of the earth like that. Leaving me on read? You have a death wish. I have to answer your texts in five minutes, or you break down doors, and now you think I don’t get to hold you to the same standards?”

Jason was just staring at you during your rant, admiring your hair, your nose, the way your eyebrows scrunch together when you get angry. He so rarely gets to see you angry, he wants to savor every moment of this. Only when you step closer does he realize it’s his turn to speak now.

“I’m sorry.” “Sorry doesn’t cut it anymore, I want reasons.” With your hands on your hips, you stare up at him expectantly. Did he turn the heater on? He’s sweating. His breathing is faster, in tandem with his pulse. You make him nervous. You *fluster* him. He’s screwed.

“I can’t tell you.” That earns him a scoff. “Please, what possibly could it he that you can’t tell me? You told me about the time you landed in a trash container after jumping off a roof and showed me the surveillance footage, but this you can’t tell me?”

“Yep,” he nods, trying his very best to seem nonchalant.

“Jason,” you warn him and then it’s two minutes of simply staring at one another. It feels like an eternity. An era. An epoch.

“I can’t tell you,” he breathes again. It’s not for a lack of trying. His brain simply refuses to put the adequate words together in a way that could make sense to you. “Jason, I’m not leaving before I don’t know what I’ve done. If I can fix this, just tell me how.”

“You haven’t done anything.” Your anger simmers into frustration, it’s like talking to a wall. You hate secrecy like this. Usually, what people declare none of your business is something you do not pry about. They have a right to their privacy. But if it directly involves you and affects your friendship, then you see yourself having the right to know what happened.

You are about to say something else when all your senses are enveloped by Jason. You smell his bodywash, feel his warmth, and taste the mint toothpaste you steal whenever you sleep over. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up with the situation and realizes that Jason Todd is kissing you. As soon as it registers, however, your hands are in his hair, and you eagerly return the kiss.

It’s messy at first, charged with months of pining and impulse control shattering above your heads. Then it softens a little, just slightly, so you can catch your breath.

“I crave you,” Jason whispers against your lips, and you swallow his words, breath hitching. This was more than an admittance of love, this was two souls reaching out to one another, desperate to intertwine and merge. To bind their fates together.

This was Jason’s way of saying he loves you, of confessing to need you, to be dependent on your stability, your presence.

Once you pull back, you seize the moment to simply look at him. His pupils were dilated and his cheeks flushed. He looked younger than he already was, and you can’t help but utter the words he’d longed to hear since he met you.

“I love you.”

You didn’t answer with words. You answered with a flying sandal that caught him square in the forehead.

“OW! WHAT THE HELL?”

“YOU HAVE A BROTHER!” you roared, advancing on him like a demon who’d just learned Total Concentration Rage. “A whole-ass little brother! Sixteen years old! Sweet! Polite! Calls me ‘ma’am’ even though I told him not to! And you never ONCE mentioned him in TWO YEARS of marriage?!”

Sanemi blinked, rubbing the red mark on his head. “Genya? How do you even—”

“I met him at Shinobu’s! I was picking up nightshade for your tea—”

“You were what?”

“And there he was, sitting in the garden looking like someone kicked his puppy! We talked for two hours! He told me everything, Sanemi. Everything. How you scream at him, how you told him he’s useless, how you said he should just quit the Corps because he’s embarrassing.”

Sanemi’s face went through several ugly stages of realization and guilt before settling on defensive anger. “It’s complicated—”

“Complicated?!” You grabbed him by the front of his uniform and yanked him out of his chair so hard he stumbled. “You made that boy think you hate him! He apologized to ME for taking up your time when he was born! APOLOGIZED! For existing!”

Sanemi opened his mouth.

You slapped it shut with your hand. Literally.

“Not. Another. Word. You’re coming with me right now, and you’re going to fix this, or I swear I’ll poison every meal you eat until you’re begging Genya for forgiveness on your knees.”

He glared, but there was no real fire in it. He knew when he’d lost.

“Fine,” he growled.

You dragged him across the estate grounds to the Butterfly Mansion. Genya was in the same spot you’d left him, practicing reloading his shotgun with shaky hands. He looked up when he heard your stomping and immediately went pale.

“Uh, sis? Aniki? What—”

You released Sanemi with a shove that sent him stumbling forward, then immediately transformed into the world’s softest person as you hurried over to Genya.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you cooed, brushing dirt off his sleeve like he was five. “Don’t worry, baby. I brought him. He’s going to apologize properly this time. You just sit there and look pretty, okay?”

Genya’s face went scarlet. “I-I’m not—”

“You are,” you said firmly, patting his cheek. “Very pretty. Strong too. Don’t let this idiot tell you otherwise.”

Sanemi cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at his brother. “Genya—”

You cracked your knuckles loudly.

He flinched. “I mean… hey. You, uh… you look taller.”

Genya blinked.

You reached back without looking and smacked Sanemi upside the head so hard his hair flopped over his eyes.

“TRY AGAIN, GENIUS.”

“Shit, okay! I’m sorry!” Sanemi rubbed his skull, scowling. “I was… wrong. About everything. I said a lot of crap I didn’t mean because I was scared you’d get yourself killed.” He stopped, jaw working. “I thought if I pushed you away, you’d quit and stay safe. But I just hurt you instead. I’m a shitty brother.”

Genya stared, eyes wide and suspiciously wet.

You turned to him, voice gentle. “It’s okay to be mad, honey. He deserves it.”

Genya swallowed hard. “I… I don’t want to be mad anymore.”

Sanemi made a choked sound.

You raised your hand threateningly again.

He stepped forward quickly. “I’m proud of you,” he blurted. “You’re stronger than I was at your age. You eat demons for breakfast. I actually brag about you when I’m drunk. I just... I didn’t know how to say it sober.”

Genya’s lip trembled.

You smiled softly at him. “See? Told you.”

Then you turned and punched Sanemi in the arm hard enough to make him stagger.

“OW! WHAT WAS THAT ONE FOR?!”

“For waiting until I found out to say it, you emotionally constipated wind sock.”

Genya let out a watery laugh.

Sanemi glared at you, then looked at Genya, and something in his face cracked wide open.

He lunged forward and grabbed his brother in a hug so fierce it lifted Genya off the ground.

“You little shit,” Sanemi muttered into Genya’s hair, voice thick. “Don’t ever think I hate you. I love you, okay? I love you.”

Genya’s arms came up slowly, then clung tight. “Love you too, aniki.”

You stood back, arms crossed, pretending you weren’t crying like a baby.

Sanemi glanced over Genya’s shoulder at you, eyes red. “You hit me one more time and I’m fighting back, woman.”

You flipped him off.

Genya laughed harder.

(You still poisoned Sanemi’s tea that night. Just a little. For insurance.)

Missing an eye. Bandages wrapped around half his face like some half-assed pirate cosplay. Uniform torn and bloodstained in places they didn’t even bother to wash properly. Hair still stupidly perfect despite everything. Smile still stupidly bright despite everything.

You stare.

He stares back.

Then he opens his mouth and the first thing out of it is:

“I’M HOME!!”

Like he just came back from buying tofu.

Your eye twitches.

You cross the room in three furious strides, grab the front of his haori with both fists, yank him down to your level (he lets you, because of course he does), and scream directly into his remaining eye:

“YOU. UTTER. IDIOT.”

Kyojuro blinks (well, winks now, technically) and has the absolute gall to look fond.

“My gorgeous flame—”

“SHUT UP!” You shake him by the collar like a misbehaving puppy. “Do you have ANY idea how many funeral offerings I’ve had to politely refuse? How many times I’ve had to smile and nod while people told me what a ‘heroic death’ you had? I almost set the damn Ubuyashiki estate on fire just so they’d stop sending condolence fruit baskets!”

He tries to speak again. You don’t let him.

“And now you just waltz in here at,” you glance at the moon, “stupid-o’clock in the morning looking like you lost a fight with a lawnmower and half your FACE?!”

You finally let go of his collar, only to poke him hard in the chest with one finger.

“You lost an eye, Kyojuro! An entire eye! What am I supposed to do with a one-eyed husband? Start calling you ‘Captain’ and make you wear an eyepatch with a little heart on it?”

His shoulders start shaking.

You narrow your eyes dangerously. “Are you… laughing?”

“No!” he says immediately, voice cracking with the effort of holding it in. “No, my love, I would never!”

“You’re literally crying with laughter right now.”

“I’m crying because I missed you so much,” he tries, but the grin is splitting his face in half and ruining the solemn effect.

You make an outraged noise and turn away, arms crossed so tight it hurts.

“Unbelievable. I mourned you. I cried. I yelled at crows. I threatened Muichiro with a broom because he kept looking at me with those big sad eyes like I was made of glass. And you’re giggling.”

Kyojuro steps closer, slowly, like he’s approaching a very angry wildcat. Which, to be fair, he is.

“I’m sorry,” he says, softer this time. All the bravado drains out of him. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to think I was gone. I fought with everything I had to come back to you.”

You refuse to look at him. Your bottom lip is trembling and you hate it.

He reaches out, hesitant, and lays his big warm hand over your shoulder.

“I should have been more careful,” he continues quietly. “I should have come back whole. I hate that I made you worry. I hate that I made you grieve even for a moment. You’re allowed to be furious. You’re allowed to hit me with that broom you mentioned. Just… please don’t turn away from me.”

You whip around so fast he flinches.

“You think I’m turning away because I’m mad you’re injured?” Your voice cracks. “I’m mad because you almost didn’t come back at all, you flaming moron! You almost left me here alone without your stupid loud laugh and your stupid loud eating and your stupid habit of setting things on fire when you get excited about breakfast!”

Tears are running down your face now and you’re too angry to wipe them away.

Kyojuro’s eye widens. Then softens. Then gets suspiciously shiny.

He drops to his knees in front of you and bows his head so deeply his forehead nearly touches the floor.

“What are you—”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice thick. “I was reckless. I failed to protect myself for you. I failed to keep my promise to always come home. Please… forgive me.”

You stare down at the back of his golden head, at the way his shoulders tremble just a little.

Your temper is still roaring, but something else is roaring louder.

You drop down too, knees hitting the floor hard enough to bruise, and throw your arms around his neck so violently he almost topples backward.

“Don’t you ever,” you hiss into his hair, “do that again.”

He wraps both arms around you immediately, crushing you to his chest like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go even a little.

“I swear,” he whispers, over and over. “I swear. Never again. Never again.”

You pull back just enough to glare at his bandaged face.

“And this?” You gesture at the bandages. “This is ridiculous. You look like you tried to fight a tornado and lost.”

He huffs a watery laugh. “It’s not so bad. The eyepatch they gave me has a little flame pattern. Very stylish.”

You snort despite yourself. “You’re going to look like the world’s most enthusiastic arsonist.”

“Exactly!” He beams. “Perfect for intimidating demons.”

You flick his forehead.

“Ow!”

“Stop being proud of it!”

“I can’t help it!” he laughs, grabbing your wrist gently and kissing the inside of it. “I’m alive. I’m home. And you’re still yelling at me. Everything is right with the world.”

You try to stay mad. You really do.

But he’s looking at you with that big dumb golden eye, smiling like the sun itself, and the relief is so overwhelming it hurts more than the anger ever did.

You lean forward and kiss him angry, messy, tasting salt and smoke and him. He kisses you back like a man who’s been starving for weeks.

When you finally break apart, both breathing hard, you mutter against his mouth:

“If you ever scare me like that again, I’m divorcing you and keeping the custody of your brother.”

Kyojuro throws his head back and laughs as loud as always.

“Understood, my fierce wife.” He presses his forehead to yours, eye shining. “But you’d miss my cooking.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, burying your face in his neck so he can’t see you smiling. “I hate you.”

“I love you too,” he says cheerfully, arms tightening around you like he’ll never let go again.

You start looking forward to his little drawings, the terrible scribbles becoming a lifeline, offering comfort and reassurance in your blank spaces.

Iguro Obanai \\ Post-Traumatic Dissociation

Obanai is well aware of the things that you've been through and how they often plague you so much, you wish to escape reality.

He's fiercely protective of you because of this, absolutely ripping apart anybody that dares to poke fun at you or make you feel bad because of this.

He's there for you throughout all your episodes, handling them with the utmost care and observance.

When your triggers pull you into vivid flashbacks, leaving you frozen and disconnected from the present, Obanai notices the tension in your body and the way your breathing changes during these moments.

He keeps his distance at first, speaking softly to let you know he’s near, so as not to startle you. Kaburamaru often plays a pivotal role, curling against you to offer a grounding sensation.

“You’re safe now,” Obanai murmurs, his voice steady. He helps you find the present again with patience and quiet reassurance, ensuring you never feel rushed or cornered.

Kyojuro Rengoku \\ Dissociative Identity Disorder

In the midst of your struggles, one thing is for sure. Kyojuro absolutely loves.

Living with multiple distinct identities, you often feel overwhelmed by the transitions and the uncertainty they bring. You're worried at first that this would scare him away, but in true Kyojuro fashion, he surprises you pleasantly.

Kyojuro embraces all parts of you with his trademark enthusiasm, learning the names and needs of each identity with respect and care.

When you’re struggling with confusion or distress, he’s a grounding force.

“I’m here for all of you,” he says warmly, his gaze unwavering. Kyojuro ensures each identity feels valued, creating a safe environment where you can exist fully without fear of judgment.

Gyomei Himejima \\ Dissociative Trance Disorder

For obvious reasons, Gyomei is extremely observant of any shift or slight change in your behaviour.

So he becomes concerned when he notices that for some time at a stretch, you don't respond to him or any stimuli for the matter, don't move and in the most extreme cases, lose consciousness.

His enquiry into your these symptoms lead him to your disorder. He learns everything he possibly can about it, its symptoms and what he can do to help.

The next time you slip into a trance-like state, unable to move or speak, as though you’re frozen in time, Gyomei notices this immediately and springs into action.

He carefully moves you into his arms, ensuring you don't get hurt if you lose consciousness or suddenly come to.

“Breathe with me,” he says softly, his hands caressing your skin softly.

He never rushes you, sitting with you in silence until you’re ready to return. Gyomei’s hold creates a safe space for you to process and reconnect, his presence alone a grounding force in your moments of stillness.

Uzui Tengen \\ Fugue States

He always sleeps with his arms wrapped around you, like a python suffocating its meal.

So when he wakes in the middle of the night with you not in his arms, and quite frankly nowhere to be found, he panics.

He searches the house first then its environ where eventually finds you in the woods, looking utterly confused with no memory of how you got there.

He embraces you and takes you home, keeping an eye on you with extra concern.

Tengen’s initial concern shifts to proactive care as he learns to navigate these episodes with you.

He keeps a bright scarf or bracelet with your name embroidered on it to help others return you home if needed.

“You’ve had another grand adventure,” he’ll say with a teasing grin once you’re back home safe and sound, his humor never masking his genuine concern.

Tengen ensures you feel safe, no matter how far you wander, grounding you in his love and constant devotion.

Dissociative disorders aren't limited to the ones here, there are tons and tons more.

That being said, I thoroughly enjoyed writing this, everybody say thank you anon for requesting this. Also, I wrote a poem a while back that captures the experience of the Giyuu one for anyone interested.

You nearly knock him over as you scramble into his arms. He pays it no mind, quickly wrapping his arms around you tightly, placing a soft kiss to your hair as he rubs your back.

"I'm here now, it's ok"

Sanemi

Sanemi’s reaction is immediate and fierce, like he’s ready to fight whatever scared you, even if it was just a bad dream.

He watches you toss and turn, his usual scowl deepening, though it’s not aimed at you. He quickly reaches out, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you awake, his grip tightening when you jerk awake, startled and scared.

He pulls you against his chest, his hands gripping you tightly. "I’ve got you," he mutters. "Nothing’s going to get you. Not while I’m here." His warmth is almost overwhelming, but it’s exactly what you need to feel safe again.

He grabs you hips, pulling you into his lap to straddle him, one hand slips beneath your shirt, pressing against your back for skin-to-skin contact, while the other cradles the back of your head. He presses kisses from your jaw to your temple as he grumbles "I told you to stop reading those damn horror fables..."

When you eventually calm down, he’ll stay awake for hours, just holding you and glaring at the darkness as if daring it to come closer.

Obanai

Unbeknownst to you, Obanai often stays awake long after you’ve fallen asleep. On nights much like this one, he's up, his arm behind his head and the other on your back as he enjoys the secure feeling of your body laying on top of his.

His hand idly traces patterns on your back as you lie draped across him. But when he feels your skin grow clammy and notices the tension in your body, his hand pauses.

He reaches down, pulling your face up to examine your expression. He sighs when he realizes you're having a nightmare, the frown etched into your expression immediately giving it away.

He sits up properly, grasping your waist and pulling you up with him. He observes your expression for a few seconds longer before starting to shake you awake. "Hey...hey wake up" he tightens his hold when you jerk awake, dodging narrowly when one of your hands swing at him in panic.

"Bad dream?" he asks quietly, his voice low and soothing, adjusting his hold on you. When you nod, he holds you tighter. "You’re safe now. Sleep." His touch is protective yet tender, and he’ll continue to stay awake for as long as it takes to make sure you’re truly at ease.

Kyojuro

Kyojuro wakes up the moment he senses your distress, his senses attuned your every movement.

Raising his head from its position on your chest, he gazes up at your disheveled figure, your eyes wide and chest heaving.

"You are safe here with me," he says with absolute conviction. "I will always protect you." His optimism is infectious, and the way he holds you makes you feel like nothing bad could ever reach you again.

"My love," he says, his voice brimming with concern. "Did you have a bad dream?" He doesn’t wait for an answer before sitting up, pulling you into a tight hug.

He cradles your body, his large hands rub soothingly up and down your arms, the action almost magically transferring his warmth into you.

He’ll stay up, whispering words of comfort and love until you’re back asleep.

Tengen

One of his eyes peek open, its long lashes fluttering. He wasn't fully asleep to begin with but is now completely awake when he hears your whimper.

He gazes down at you, sprawled out on him and writhing in distress from a nightmare. His arm around your waist tightens as he pulls you up, muscles relaxing in relief when your eyes shoot open.

"Nightmare?" he asks softly, his usual booming voice raspy from lack of use. He places a large hand on your head, pulling you closer and pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

He frowns when you nod in confirmation. He holds your chin gently, tugging your head up so you make eye contact, staring at you intently with an odd look on his face for what feels like minutes.

He grins when you pull a face and laugh softly calling him a weirdo, relieved to have put a smile on your face again.

His lips ghost over your forehead once more before he pulls you back down with him. "Sleep pretty girl, there’ll be no more nightmares tonight. I promise."

He stays awake fully awake for the night, watching over you. His comforting presence enough to chase the nightmares away like he promised.

Hope you liked it! I'm glad you requested for Gyomei specifically, he's one of my favourite characters to write.

You hadn't meant to freak out, you didn't even know you were afraid of needles so you stayed calm at first. All your calm however flew out the window when shinobu whipped out her eight inch needle. (yes i looked it up, it's fucking real)

You jumped up, shoving everyone out of the way and making a mad dash for the door. The assistants fumble to grab you, your evasive skills proving top notch. It took a coordinated effort to wrestle you onto the bed, the assistants holding you down while shinobu tries to administer the vaccine as fast as she can, hiding her amusement as you screech.

Gyomei observes in surprise the whole time. He gets up walking over to your terrified form before ordering the assistants to release you. When they do, you immediately cling to him for dear life.

“Breathe,” he murmured, his voice calm and grounding. He wraps his arms around you, sitting on the bed, holding you steady. “You have endured worse than this.”

With his steady presence, you managed to endure the shot. It stung, but just like that Gyomei managed to turn another unbearable situation around just by being him.

“Thank you Gyo” you whispered afterward, your cheeks burning. You glanced around the room, the amused assistants quickly looking away when you glared at them. Oh you were so going to avoid them forever.

“It is nothing to be ashamed of, even the strongest have fears.”

Shinazugawa Sanemi

The second you jumped off the bed and bolted, Sanemi was the first to grab you.

“What the hell are you doing?!” he barked, crossing his arms as he pushes you back unto the bed. “You’re supposed to be a Hashira, not some scaredy cat”

You nod sadly at Sanemi's harsh words, gulping as you take in the sheer size of the needle.

"Will you please hold my hand?..."

He scoffs turning away "No."

“Just get it over with already. You’re embarrassing yourself and us.”

With a great deal of coaxing and reassurance from Shinobu, she eventually administers the vaccine and sends you on your way.

The second you step out of the room, Sanemi immediately grasps your hand and tugs you into his chest, cradling your head. A huge contrast to his cold behaviour from earlier.

"I knew you could do it..." he mumbles gruffly, scoffing when he looks down at you and your expression of betrayal, knowing exactly what you're thinking, He's a piece of shit.

"What? I have a reputation to uphold..."

"Seriously?..."

Tomioka Giyuu

Giyuu had been standing quietly near the window, leaning back on it, his ankles crossed. He watches the chaos unfold with his usual stoicism, painted with a hint amusement. When you finally stopped struggling long enough for the assistants to pin you down, he spoke.

“Do you really need five people to hold you down for this?”

You shot him a glare, your face red with embarrassment. “If you’re not going to help, then just shut up Tomioka!”

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. “I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s just a needle.” he shrugs stepping closer.

“Yeah, well, not everyone’s got emotions of steel like Giyuu Tomioka” you snapped, gripping the bed frame for dear life.

Giyuu blinked, his expression unchanging. “You don't need emotions of steel for this...just the regular will do...”

“Oh, yeah? Then come over here and hold my hand!”

To your surprise, he actually did, his hand cool and steady in yours. The room fell silent as he watched Shinobu administer the shot, his calm presence oddly soothing.

When it was over, he pulled his hand back and pats your hand softly.

“…Thanks,” you muttered, still feeling a little shaken.

He nodded once. “I'm always here for your meltdowns”

"Hey!"

Kyojuro Rengoku

Kyojuro’s laughter rang out the moment you tried to flee. “Ha-ha! Fear not, y/n You are strong and capable!”

“Then you take the shot for me!” you plead as the assistants pleaded with you to go back to the bed.

Kyojuro knelt beside you, his hands on his knees as he gave you an encouraging smile, the laughter gone. “This is but a fleeting pain, one that will pass as quickly as a spark. You’ve faced demons, this is nothing compared to that!”

“Easy for you to say,” you grumbled. “You’re not afraid...”

He lifts your chin up “Your fear is nothing compared to your bravery” he declared. “Now, sit tall and proud! I will hold your hand if need be!”

Before you could protest, he grasped your hand in his own, his warmth and energy oddly reassuring. By the time Shinobu administered the shot, his boisterous encouragement was all you could hear.

“Well done!” Kyojuro said proudly, giving your shoulder a hearty pat. “You have overcome this challenge with great strength!”

"Yes yes, thank you kyo"

Iguro Obanai

Obanai stood quietly in the corner, Kaburamaru coiled around his shoulders. He didn’t say a word as you ran for the door, nor when the assistants leaped after you.

It wasn’t until you were borderline attacking the poor assistants that he finally spoke, his voice low and unimpressed. “This is unbecoming...”

Your head snapped toward him, your eyes filled with sorrow and despair. “Have you seen the size of that thing?!”

His eyes narrow as he steps closer to Shinobu, peering over her shoulders to see the needle "let me see..."

His eyes nearly bulge out of his head as he takes in all eight inches of it. "Do I have to take that too..."

When Shinobu confirms, he pales. He eyes slowly meet yours, a small scowl forming on his face at your now smug smile.

He silently steps closer, taking kaburamaru off his neck and placing him in your lap before basically running out the door "You're on your own y/n..." you can barely hear him call as he makes his way down the hallway.

"Hey! what?! Go after him too! If I have to do this, so does he!"

Uzui Tengen

“Embarrassing?” Tengen cackles as he twirled one of his rings between his fingers. “No, no, this isn’t embarrassing. This is unflashy!”

You shot him a withering glare as you squirmed, casting shinobu a nervous glance. “You're not helping Uzui...”

“Oh, but I am,” he said, crouching next to you. “What you need is a lesson in bravery! Shinobu, hand me the needle, I’ll take the shot.”

She smacks his hand away with a deadpan look, he had already taken his.

Tengen leaned closer to you. “Listen, little butterfly. You’re ruining your image here. I know you can take it ok? just do it” He grins, squeezing your shoulder in encouragement.

“Just do it? Gee why didn't I think of that...” you muttered in exasperation at his stupid suggestion as Shinobu finally jabbed the needle into your arm, mid-distraction.

Tengen grinned. “See? I knew my presence alone would make it bearable. You’re welcome!”

"Shut up..."