fangirlgene

[fangirlgene]

⋆·˚ ༘ * CASSANDRA — she/her | california girl (i'm unforgettable) | infp | august leo | multifandom | raging bisexual |# 1 apple lover | woc | avid reader |

People have gotten into the mindset of consume, consume, consume, and don’t stop to appreciate all the hard work that is put into fanfics so that’s what this blog is, an appreciation for all my silly interests!

[junderthebatsignal]

Who Proposes at the Grand Canyon?

pairing: Dick Grayson x fem!Reader

summary: In Dick's defense, proposing is terrifying.

tags: Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Panic, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Comedy, Vomiting, Dick Grayson Is Not Having A Good Time

a/n: I saw this in a TikTok post about funny engagement stories and immediately thought of Dick

You had your date at the Grand Canyon planned for several weeks. The two of you had been busy and stressed with work lately, so you were looking forward to spending a quiet weekend together even more than usual.

The only problem was that Dick had been acting incredibly nervous all morning.

When your alarm went off at seven, he was already gone. According to him, he hadn't been able to sleep all night. At four in the morning, he had apparently decided to do something productive and cleaned half the house instead (carefully enough not to wake you). Things only got stranger after that. At breakfast, he burned his scrambled eggs so badly that the smoke alarm almost went on. A few minutes later, he reached for the sugar and somehow managed to pour salt into his coffee instead. When you pointed it out, he stared at the mug for a solid five seconds before dumping the whole thing into the sink.

You had asked him more than once what was wrong. Each time, he'd smiled a little too quickly and blamed it on the weather.

"The weather?" you repeated as the two of you loaded your bags into the car.

"Yeah."

"Dick, it's sunny."

"Exactly."

You narrowed your eyes at him. He immediately looked away. That was suspicious.

Dick Grayson was many things, but subtle was not one of them.

For the first hour of the drive, he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, checked his phone every few minutes, and nearly missed two exits because he seemed completely lost in thought.

At one point, you caught him glancing at you. Then at the road. Then at you again.

You figured you wouldn't get a real answer out of him, so you let it go. Turning your head, you looked up at the bright blue sky above you. Only a few fluffy clouds drifted lazily across it. A small smile tugged at your lips.

"Look at the sky," you said.

Dick's head snapped up so fast you thought he might actually break his neck. "Oh God, what's wrong with the sky?!" he asked, panic flashing across his face.

You blinked. For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. "Dick," you said slowly, trying not to laugh, "there's nothing wrong with the sky."

His shoulders immediately sagged with relief. "Oh."

A beat passed.

"Wait, why would you think something was wrong with the sky?"

Yeah, the whole drive had been weird.

When you finally arrived, the view was magnificent. The walking trail was surprisingly quiet, with only a handful of people scattered along the route.

Dick, however, wasn't paying much attention to the scenery. His hand was clammy in yours the entire time. You had never seen someone sweat this much without actually exercising.

After about thirty minutes of walking, you emerged onto a beautiful overlook. Almost immediately, you noticed a couple standing near the edge. You stopped in your tracks and grabbed Dick's arm, pulling the distracted man to a halt.

"Look," you whispered. "I think he's proposing." At that exact moment, the guy dropped to one knee. The woman immediately covered her mouth as he pulled a ring box from his pocket.

Good thing you were standing far enough away not to disturb them. Still, you couldn't help leaning closer to Dick and whispering,

"Who the hell proposes at the Grand Canyon? I hate it."

Silence.

You frowned. That wasn't the reaction you expected.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched the color drain from Dick's face. Instantly. His expression shifted from nervous to absolutely horrified. A strange choking sound escaped his throat.

"Dick?"

His eyes were wide. Very wide.

"Dick?"

Without a word, he dropped your hand, spun around, and sprinted toward the nearest bush. A second later, the unmistakable sound of someone violently throwing up echoed across the overlook.

You stared.

The nearby squirrels probably stared too.

"...Holy shit."

Maybe the weather really was getting to him, you thought.

Completely unaware that a engagement ring was currently burning a hole in his pocket.

[dissolved-g1rl]

Could I please have some wally having cuteness agression🤤🫶 or reader having cuteness aggression for wally because he's my meow meow

-🍎

apple of my eye ⋆.˚

You’ve been stuck on Wally's lap for the better half of an hour, not that you’re really complaining, he’s warm and a good kisser, but he really does have wandering hands. From cradling your cheeks in his calloused palms, to tracing the curves of your waist, and all the way down to grasp your hips. You're situated in his lap, doing your best to keep still, speedsters are known for being easily excitable after all. With your arms loosely draped around his shoulders, you pull away from his kisses for a heavy breath. Wally tries tipping his face up some more to kiss you but you turn your face to the side to avoid it.

"Hey, what's the big idea?" He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, cheeks flushed all the way up to the tips of his ears and probably down to his chest. Makes his freckles stand out more. "The deal is that you've totally sucked all the air outta my lungs." You try to chide, brushing his hair back firmly, he leans up into it like a stupid cat. “I’ll be gentle this time, promise.” Wally replies solemnly, wriggling his pinky in front of your face, quickly pulling it back just before you can bite it off.

You fall for his boyish charms, because who could withstand them? Wally starts off sweet, a little peck to the corner of your mouth, brushing your hair away from your face. But around you it's like his brain just turns to bubble gum, laying you down onto your own frilly sheets, sucking your tongue into his mouth and laving the inside of your mouth with his drool, once again stealing all the oxygen residing in your lungs. "Mmph--liar!" You turn your head away with a weak hiccup, breathing heavily like you ran more than you should've. "Sorry!" Wally squeaks, ducking his head to nuzzle your chest, he's a blur, and in the blink of an eye his big head is underneath your shirt, orange hair poking from the neck of your shirt as he rubs his cheek against your chest. He likes skin to skin.

"What is your deal?!" You're exasperated, lifting your shirt to reveal his head, pushing him away. But Wally just sees the frizz of your hair, the cute pout of your lips, and the furrow between your brows and swears his heart grows a size bigger. "The deal is that I love you!! My baby...my wittle snookums." Wally all but coos, smushing your cheeks together before you can make fun of him, he kisses your puckered lips with a loud Muah!

"I swear I've never seen anything, or anyone, cuter than you." Wally speaks as though it's a shame. You can't even reply because his next act is to wrap his arms around you and squeeze, his skin vibrates against yours and even makes you a little hot from the friction. "Wally!" You wriggle uncomfortably and he smacks another apologetic kiss against your cheek. "Were you trying to phase through me?"

"I just wanna be close to you." Wally mumbles, slumping on top of you, adjusting your hands to try and coax you into petting him. You oblige and he gives you another squeeze. Weirdo.

dividers by @lunardividers

a/n: thank you for the request, i hope it was sufficient ^__^

[preet-y]

my boyfriend’s boyfriend

Dick Grayson x f!reader x Wally West

in this dessert… you and your boyfriend Dick have a star in your very own homemade sex tape, who is all to eager to have some fun with the two of you. flavor: smut (+18), no plot contents: (3K+) Dick Grayson is slightly mean. dom!Dick Grayson, switch!reader, sub!Wally West. f!reader (reader has female pronouns and female anatomy), mfm threesome, oral (f! and m! receiving), piv. not proofread.

baker’s notes: this is my first time writing smut, and my first time posting my writing overall, so I’m nervy… I think the ending is a bit abrupt, forgive me because I should’ve been studying instead of writing this. I literally couldn’t bring myself to proofread this, because I would second guess and delete it all so if you see any spelling mistakes, no you didn’t. hopefully you like it!!

this fic contains smut, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

The camera flicks on, fingers covering the view. Between them your face is visible, tongue sticking out as you fix the camera on your tripod. When it's done, you grin, removing your hands from the camera lens and waving.

Your boyfriend takes the clapperboard you brought for occasions like these and says "action," from off the frame. On the clapperboard, in your neat writing, it reads My boyfriend's boyfriend.

"Today," you begin, referring to the camera, "we have a very special guest on our show."

You reach for someone out of frame and gently tug him closer. A blushing Wally West steps closer. He's dressed only in red boxers. You tug him close to you, his bare chest brushing your lingerie clad one as you grin at the camera.

"Isn't he the prettiest?" you ask to someone behind the camera. The answer comes as a soft hum from Dick. He adjusts the zoom, moving the focus closer to your faces.

You're seen cupping Wally's face, which is blushing in the most delightful way, and you plant a kiss right on the corner of his mouth. The crimson imprint of your lips stays behind as proof. "Such a pretty boy. I've wanted to do this for so long, I've had to beg Dick to let me do this."

Dick himself is busy moving the view of the camera along your bodies, lingering on your hands, splayed across Wally's bare chest, Wally's hands groping your ass greedily through the baby doll dress you wear.

Soft moaning sounds can be heard, and he points the focus back on your faces. Zooms in on the hot tangle of your mouths. Your hair is bunched up in Wally's pale hand as he kisses you with such passion that you're leaning back from the force, giggling from the ardor.

"Greedy boy," Dick's gravelly voice sounds louder than yours and Wally's because of his proximity to the microphone. "Pawing at my girlfriend like she's yours. How long have you been thinking about having her like this, hmm?"

Wally pulls away just barely to examine your body. The lust in his green eyes spills thickly in the air between you and is palpable even through the screen. He tugs his lower lips, slightly swollen from your teeth between his as he takes you in. Your smile widens at the attention, knowing you've chosen your outfit wisely: a sheer baby doll dress made of a tulle that does nothing to hide the scarlet lingerie set beneath. The little bows and ribbons that adorn the edges of your outfit just make you seem like a delectable cake he wants to dig his teeth in.

"Not my fault she's so sexy," Wally finally answers Dick, talking as if you weren't even in the room. It just makes you feel even hotter, a match that he lit with his voice and set over your skin. The flames of desire burn through you, only to pool low, making you drip.

Dick, knowing every single one of your tells rapidly clocks the feeling and moves the camera to your bare thighs, which you're subtly rubbing together. He lets out a mellow chuckle, knowing you'll start whining for touch just about now.

And Wally seems to fit right in with your dynamic, because he seems to understand that you need attention too, and in and instant, his hands have started to explore the new territory that's you again.

Dick moves closer with the camera, not wanting to miss any nuance from this. Wally has your back pressed against one of the bedposts of the fourposter bed, the velvet curtain softening the surface for you. His lips are moving all over your face and neck in wet, loud kisses. Your eyes are half closed, relishing the warmth of his attention, his kisses like the sun on your skin. His hands are just as fast in his exploration, one hand holding your head still by bunching in your hair again, while the other gropes around. He digs his fingertips in the plush of your hips, moves them up to slip under the baby doll dress you're wearing. Dick zooms in to capture the path his hand traces through the sheer tulle, moving up the dip of your waist and reaching the soft swell of your breast. You let out a fluttering sigh that the microphone barely catches. It rises into a soft moan as Wally pinches over your nipple, startling you with the slight spike of pleasurable pain.

It draws a chuckle from Dick, still not having stepped in frame. The sound draws your eyes to him, and the camera captures the hunger as it multiples when you see him. You bite your lips, moving your finger in a come hither motion at him as you whisper his name.

"Not yet baby, Wally gets guest privileges," he says. But his hand comes into frame from somewhere behind the camera and catches your finger, bringing your hand up for a kiss on your knuckles. All the camera catches is the soft sound.

You don't seem too distraught by this, and turn your full attention back to Wally, who is trying to undo the ribbon on the front of your dress in the hopes to get more access. But his hands are trembling, and you catch them in your own. "Baby, don't be nervous," you coo, guiding him to tug on one edge of the scarlet ribbon. It unravels and with it your dress loosens further, making it possible for him to lower it from your shoulders ever so slowly, and it falls softly to the carpeted floor at your feet.

He lets out a dirty whistle when he sees you without restriction.

Dick chuckles knowingly again. "She's a beauty, isn't she?" The attention of the two men makes you blush furiously, but you still relish the compliment, preening slightly at it.

Wally's knuckles move over your body, tracing a feather light path from the dip between your collarbones to your stomach, lingering between your breasts.

"Turn around, baby," Dick says in his commanding tone, and you rush to present your back to Wally. He's quick to move your hair aside to get an unobstructed view of your back. The camera glides over the expanse of skin, and finally settles on your ass, fully out thanks to the g-string you're wearing.

Wally moves his hand to the plumpness of it, and gives it a squeeze, making you feel even hotter. You feel his fingers, dipping along the curves of your skin, so close to where you ache for touch, and yet so far away.

He moves one of his hands away, and you almost complain until you feel a long finger slip between your heated skin and the pearl string at your back, pulling it slowly and then letting it snap back against your supple skin. It doesn't hurt, but it makes you whimper anyway.

Dick laughs at the show, enjoying your torment. You turn your head at him and scowl playfully. He's standing relatively close, so you can easily reach out for his chin and tug him in for a quick kiss. The balance of the camera slips, and for a few frames all that's visible is chaos among Dick's curses and Wally and your giggles, before he manages to focus it again.

In retaliation, he delivers a quick slap on your bare ass, making you squeal in surprise. You pout pitifully at him, but Wally is quick to deliver his sweetness to appease you.

He kneels down behind you and starts kissing the tender skin. You sigh at his softness, threading your hands between his luscious locks. "Oh, Wally baby. You're so sweet to me."

Wally just smiles against your skin. He gently maneuvers your to bend over the edge of the bed, and Dick moves stealthily to capture his moves. He wastes no seconds on pulling the gusset of your g-string — a shade darker of red from all the wetness there — aside and spreading you properly for the camera to capture.

The warm lights overhead make it clear how excited you are, the glint of liquid desire twinkling enticingly. Dick has but a second to capture it on camera before Wally's head is buried between your legs, making your moan loudly. Your back arches as you grip the satin sheets to channel all this insurmountable pleasure somewhere.

Dick moves again, finding a better angle to capture this moment, just above your head. His knees dip the mattress in front of you as he settles in to capture the elegant position of your tensed body and Wally's own blissed out expression from just eating you out.

You on the other hand have found the perfect dessert hanging just in front of your own eyes. The camera can see as you move your hand to brush over the bulge between your boyfriend's thighs through his jeans, just level with your face. He's quick to swat your hand away, making you pout for him.

He captures the beautiful expression, and with a sigh that tells one that this is not the first time this has happened, he utters a low "fine". You're quick to unbuckle his belt with urgency, and in no time you have his beautiful cock between your fingers.

You tap his stomach so he can angle his camera away from Wally, who's doing wonders down between your thighs to his own dick. You grin up at the camera, toying with him playfully as you try to retain your moans. "My favorite candy," you say, before taking him in your mouth as deep as you could without gagging. A particular move Wally does with his tongue makes you moan around Dick, which in turn makes him moan.

The camera becomes slightly less steady for a second, before Dick takes a deep breath in and focuses back diligently on the scene in front of him. He's not letting this beautiful shot go to waste. So he barely moans as you work him, more entranced by the way Wally was making you shudder and tremble.

He captures all your muffled whines, your surprised squeal when Wally pushes two fingers in you, the dirty slurping sounds he makes, the focused expression in his pretty green eyes. Focused to make you fall apart. And in matter of a couple of minutes, he has you moaning in delight. Dick moves the camera to your face. His cock was long forgotten, not that he minded as you closed your eyes, fingers digging into his thighs as you moaned Wally's name. The darkening flesh of your cheeks and nose, the disheveled hair, the deep arch of your spine, before you let out a shuddering breath and collapsed on the mattress.

Only then does Wally step back, standing up over your limp body. Dick moves the camera to his face, shiny with his own spit and your arousal.

"You broke my girlfriend," Dick says in a mocking tone. Wally just grins proudly, caressing your back.

You shift, rolling to your back, a satisfied smile on your lips. Your fingers reach up for the camera, and this time Dick gives it to you.

You disappear from the frame as you take the reins, sitting up, and focus the camera on Wally. "Look at this tasty boy," you coo. "Don't be fooled by his innocent face." You move your hand in frame to caress his cheek appreciatively, and he leans into it without complain.

Then finally does Dick enter the frame, looking over at you appreciatively once before his eyes move on to his friend. You let out a laugh. "Watch these two hotties make out passionately," you announce, and they seem surprised. "What, you really thought I was the only one getting frisky tonight? Go on, I know you boys have thought about it."

Wally and Dick share a look, then they shrug. The camera captures as they move as one, coming closer and finally they kiss. Their hands move over each other frantically, memorizing the sinewy muscle that covered them. "Yes," you say beyond the camera. "Wally get my Dick naked." You giggle at the unintentional pun.

Wally complies without question as Dick shoots you a look. You move the focus of the camera over every length of exposed skin, one pale and scattered with the prettiest freckles and the other sun kissed and familiar like a warm summer night. Both of them well adorned with pale scars. Your camera skill didn't shine as much as Dick's, but the sentiment was there, behind the shakiness and your comments.

You move the focus up as Dick is in the process of eating Wally's face off, tasting you on him. "The lion has captured the cheetah, and is now eating off his face," you say in a National Geographic documentary tone.

Dick and Wally immediately step back, looking at you with varying amounts of amusement mixed with annoyance. You giggle. "Sorry, sorry. I'll try to channel my inner sexy." When they still don't kiss, you whine loudly, nudging Dick's hip with your foot.

When they're back at it, you zoom in more, capturing the hot tangle of tongues. "Fuck, look at that. Two swords are fighting for dominance. Who will win?"

Dick pulls away again, saying your name with exasperation. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. That was the last one. I promise."

You angled the camera down to their hips. Both of them are in their boxers, and Dick is palming Wally through the fabric, making him whimper and tremble. You capture as Dick's nimble fingers slip inside Wally's boxers and pull out his cock. You suck in an audible breath, trying to get a good angle of it, but your boyfriend's thick arm his covering your view. So you swat him aside and ignore the low growl in his throat. Future you will deal with the consequences of your bratty attitude. Right now all that mattered was Wally and his pretty dick.

Your hand reaches out to touch him appreciatively. The contact makes him moan ever so softly, and a dribble of precum leaks from his head. You gather it in your fingers and angle the camera towards your face as you suck on your fingers. You close your eyes, relishing on the taste. "The perfect balance of sweet and salty. Eleven out of ten, Wally."

You turn the camera enough to capture him going red, before Dick cups his face and pulls his attention away from you. "Ignore her, she's trying to take away your attention."

You just giggle, not refuting the accusation as they kiss again. The scene of the two sexy men gets you going again, and your fingers slip between your legs, the camera going shaky again.

The next time they pull away slightly for air again, your eyes meet with Dick's, and you gesture at Wally. He seems to understand your message, and presses his friend down gently with his hands on his shoulders. Wally seems to get the message, and lowers himself to his knees.

You step up to get closer to the scene and whisper in Wally's ear. "Baby have you ever sucked a dick?" At the nervous shake of his head, the camera exchanges hands back to Dick, and it shows the two of you kneeling down in front of him. You gently guiding him along the actions, you hand on the nape of Wally's neck, whispering praises and offering soothing when it gets to much. All the while you press kisses on his cheek and shoulder.

Dick gives out a soft warning, and out of mercy, you pull Wally away from his cock and take his place. Dick lets out some sexy groans and moans as he comes, making Wally stare up at him almost in wonder.

You just grin, pulling away and sticking out your tongue to show your price to the camera.

Dick lets out a shuddering breath, caressing Wally's jaw gently.

Then you look at Wally and smile, kissing his cheek. "My sweet Wally. He's been so good to us, Dickie. His mouth works wonders, but what about him?" you say, gently gripping Wally's cock. He lets out a whimper, and you coo, kissing his temple. "I know baby. You need attention."

You start moving your hand at a faster pace, twisting your wrist expertly at the top and bringing it down to the bottom. Wally's moans rise in volume, and he quickly has to grip your wrist. "Wait!" he says in a panicked tone, making you laugh softly.

"You almost came from that, Wally baby?" you tease him, almost meanly. "I haven't even begun my fun."

Dick lets out a chuckle.

"Besides, I want you inside of me, baby. Can you handle that?" you tease, nipping at his earlobe. Wally looks absolutely terrified and thrilled all at once.

You lead him towards the bed, making him lay down gently. He swallows hard as Dick supplies you with a condom for you to slide on Wally's cock.

He helps you straddle him like a gentleman, before you sink down on his cock, made easy by the mix of both your arousal. Both of you let out a moan, as Dick steps behind you to capture his reaction.

The bed creaks nastily at the way you start to move, and Wally seems in a trance by the feeling of you around him. His hands reach up to cup your breasts, still covered by your bra. Dick helps him on that front, unclasping your bra and helping you take it off, before throwing it aside somewhere.

With your tits out, Wally stares a moment to admire them, green eyes gleaming. He leans forward, sitting up so he can give them the proper attention they need.

Dick on the other hand sneaks his hand down to slip between your legs, rubbing tight circles on your clit, helping you reach your own high. You moan loudly right next to the camera, a buzzing starting to invade your very being. All that tension gathers, and a well aimed upwards thrust from Wally’s hips breaks it, making you keen and clench as your high takes over you.

It doesn't take much for Wally to come. He does it beautifully. Both you and your boyfriend watch as a flush takes over his cheeks, intense and overpowering. His eyes shine, eyes half lidded, as he moans your name, before falling back on the mattress with a sigh.

You look over your shoulder at the camera and Dick, grinning. "And this is how you ride your boyfriend's boyfriend."

[yesiknowimshort]

love me… LOVE ME

he’s adored. he’s praised. he’s admired. he is gotham’s most eligible bachelor, a sex symbol, and he knows it.

but he doesn’t feel like he is. or rather, he doesn’t feel he should be.

sure, he’s good looking, he’s not blind… sometimes his nose could be smaller though, or skin a little lighter, or pores a bit tighter. he has flaws like everyone else! he only looks good in photos; it’s a trick of the lens. in the mirror, it’s not the same. he’s different. human. disgustingly human. ugly. inside and out.

but people don’t see him for what he is. they see a god, and although that’s the way he likes it, maybe that’s why they can’t love him. not really.

he’s so desperate for someone to love him, to know every part of him and love him anyway. though it’s a catch 22, for he’d never let anyone close enough to try.

he likes to keep the lights low during personal encounters, to hold his hand to his mouth whenever he’s not talking, to keep his arms crossed firmly in front of him, to never answer as many questions as he asks.

but you.

oh, you.

he craves your love like lungs crave air.

you make every mole seem like a sun kiss and every scar feel like a badge of honour. his rough calloused hands might as well be silk the way you hold them in yours.

at the end of the day this performance is all for you. the smile, the laugh, the shirt buttoned too low. it’s all for you to see him the way you should; a polished prince.

but of course it’s all in vain.

dick grayson, son of billionaire bruce wayne, can have everything in the world. yet, the only thing he wants is you. the one thing he can’t have.

why? you’ve seen too much, know too much, for him to even entertain the idea of being yours.

there’s the catch 22 again.

he wants you to love him, but he knows the real him is unloveable. the real him is not someone you can romanticise. the real him is not an image he can control the perception of.

he yearns anyway. it’s something he’s learnt to accept about himself -maybe the only thing. it’s an addiction at this point.

you make him feel some semblance of humanity that isn’t tainted by his insecurities. is it love? you sure trick him into feeling loveable, for a moment. he’s constantly chasing the high. if he were in a different body maybe the feeling would stick around.

he appreciates that you’ve stayed for as long as you have, but he knows it must be coming to an end. you’ve known him too long, soon enough you’ll see something you can’t ignore and you’ll move on.

he doesn’t think he ever will.

[karlamybeloved]

the idea of mark grayson being so nervous about proposing to you that he forgets everything he planned besides the ring, so when he gets on his knees he doesn’t ask “will you marry me” instead, he says—“please?”

(inspired by smth i saw on twt lol)

[ruelovestimdrake]

WALK EM LIKE A DOG

You grab Tim by his tie, dragging him behind you as your high heels click against the floor and god help him he’s into it.

“Wait-“

“I said follow me. You didn’t listen.”

And you’re still dragging him. Don’t help that man he’s exactly where he wants you to be. You shove him in an empty meeting room.

“You. You lied.” You back him to the wall.

“You let me handle them alone, you said you’d show up to the meeting, you did not.” You continue, a finger poking his chest accusingly. The tips of his ears go bright red.

“I wanted you to have your moment- it’s your project.” And he also wanted you at his throat but he won’t really say that.

“So you play me?”

“That’s not-“

You shush him with your index on his lips.

“Don’t cut me off, Drake.” He flushes further, letting out a little ‘mm’.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You try not to smile.

“What was that? Didn’t hear you.”

He drops to his knees, arms wrapped around your body, his chin on your stomach.

“I’m sorry. Won’t do it again. I love you, baby..” He murmurs, half lidded blue eyes staring up at you, so freaking desperate it has you biting your lip.

You grab his face, squishing his cheeks in the process, staring down at him before laughing, leaning down and kissing him despite the awkward angle.

He’s on cloud nine.

—————————————————————————

inspired by a clip i saw of a kdrama where the fmc drags a guy by his tie,, i thought it was so tim heh..

[remusfruitloopin]

Sirius calls it 'fucking'

Remus calls it 'shagging'

James calls it 'doing it'

Peter calls it yazoinking/sha-bamming/boinking/Skoodilypooping/going capital B beast mode/boom-baya-boom-bala/'really-in-depth-secret-handshakes'/woohooing/bow-chika-bow-wow/wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am/getting jiggly with it/doing the cupid shuffle/scary

[soulsforsales]

How the Batboys would react if you broke no contact (ft. brucie wayne, dickiebird, and jaybaby)

notes: they just miss you, okay? give ‘em a break!!! i also wanted to write Tim but I’m on my periods and got so lazy sorry guys^^

Bruce Wayne

Bruce is sitting in another Wayne Enterprises meeting, half listening to whatever the clients are saying, half repeating your words in his head.

you have refused to contact him after the last fight you two had. it has been five days—and yes, he’s been counting. every day, every minute, every second he has to face this torturous no contact phase. why won’t you just yell at him instead?

Bruce has tried distracting himself with bat business and new cases. he even tried meeting up with clients and attended three stupid meetings exactly like this one. yet, you’re always in the back of his mind.

you said he wasn’t allowed to call you unless you called first. that you needed space. that he never admitted his faults and you were getting tired.

that threw him off a lot more than he cared to admit. and although he respects your privacy, space and rules, his patience is running thin.

Bruce half-heartedly nods at whatever the man is saying when his phone vibrates. it’s embarrassing how fast he picks it up and what’s even more embarrassing is the way his chest tightens when he spots your name on the screen, a photo of you hugging a golden retriever and practically beaming stares back at him.

he’s getting up before he even realises it, leaving the meeting and ignoring every protest.

“hello? baby?” Bruce speaks as soon as he’s halfway to the door.

“hi,” your voice is small and tired, like you missed him as much as he missed you. “hope you aren’t busy—“

“not at all, angel,” Bruce cuts you off, shaking his head at no one. “can we talk? please?”

there’s a moment of silence from your side, making him swallow uneasily, “yeah. i’d like that.”

and just like that, Bruce feels better than he’s felt in the last five days. he smiles, already walking out of the building. “good. pick you up in ten.”

Dick Grayson

Dick is out with Wally at some shitty diner in Bludhaven, trying not to sulk as he dips his fries in ketchup and takes a bite. it was Wally’s idea. he thought it would be good for Dick to get out after he’d been holed up in your shared apartment ever since you two had a fight and you left. Wally had also been tired of listening to Dick rant about the same thing over and over but he doesn’t need to say that. he can just be a good, supportive friend right now. besides the food seems to shut up his best friend for at least ten minutes.

“i just don’t get it!” or so he thought.

Wally sighs, “i dunno man. she’ll call you back. you—“

“yeah. she always does.” Dick cuts him off, taking a sip of his drink, shrugging like he’s unbothered by the whole situation and hasn’t been checking his phone every five seconds.

“and when she does. don’t just pick up at once,” Wally suggests, leaning in, face serious. “let it marinate, y’know? let her see she can’t just get away with it.”

Dick nods, “oh yeah. no way. i am not picking it up, man.”

a minute later, Dick’s phone rings and it’s next to his ear before Wally can even blink. and he’s one of the fastest men alive.

“hello? babe?”

“damn.” Wally can’t help but shake his head, taking a huge bite of his burger.

Dick doesn’t seem to care, ignoring him as he shifts slightly so he doesn’t have to deal with the disappointed look on his best friend’s face. “yeah? yes! baby, I’m sorry. it was all my fault— wait—you’re coming back?! you are!?”

Wally just blinks and Dick smiles like a man who just won the lottery. “no, no, no. i’ll pick you up. i’ll be there. don’t you worry, sweet cheeks.”

Dick puts the phone down, getting up already. “We’ll have to cut this short—“

Wally scoffs, waving his hands dramatically, “dude!? seriously?”

Dick flashes him a grin, “you’ll understand when you’re in love too, my man.”

and with that, he’s sprinting down the road like everything is right in the world because you’re talking to him again. and yeah, that’s exactly how he it is for him.

Jason Todd

the apartment is empty. you left after yet another fight. it was jason’s fault, it always is. and even if it wasn’t—he should’ve stopped you. but no—his stupid pride got in the way.

you told him there would be no contact. he thought you were just angry. but now that it’s been a week of radio silence from you, he’s beginning to realise you meant that.

you told him you were getting tired of his antics and excuses. you asked him to spend more time around. to be there. to make you feel like you were more than just a place holder. and he’d snapped like you asked the world of him.

he couldn’t even blame you for leaving and asking for space. he deserved it. but that didn’t stop him from missing you. and that definitely didn’t stop him from calling your phone fifteen times before he realised you actually are ignoring him.

and yeah, he kinda deserves that too.

but why do you need space? why not fight it out instead??why leave him all alone and miserable???

Jason had rather have you angry and mean than not have you at all.

he’s laying on the couch now, phone face up on the coffee table in a quiet hope that you’d call him up. there’s something sad playing from the tiny bluetooth device you got him.

Jason might act all tough and strong but at the end of the day, he‘s just lying in his living room, listening to sad breakup music like some angsty teenager because his girlfriend established no contact.

he’s just about to pick up the phone and start looking through your pictures to hone the ache in his chest when it rings.

and he jumps. practically jumps into a sitting position and picks it up, palm going to his chest because of how loud his heart is beating.

god, he really, really hopes you aren’t going to break up with him.

“Jason?” your voice is like honey and velvet to his ears, going straight to his heart.

“hello? yeah?” Jason would like to cry and beg for you to come back and let him make it up to you but he holds back. for now.

there’s some shuffling at your end before you sigh. “i miss you.”

Jason breathes like the air didn’t quite make it to his lungs until now. “yeah? god, babe, i miss you too. so much. please come back. we can talk it out. i’ll fix it.”

“yeah, I’m coming back.” you admit, and Jason smiles, relief flooding him.

“yes. yes, please—no, wait, I’m picking you up. I’ll be there. okay? don’t—don’t worry. I’ll be there in five.”

he’s already putting on shoes by the time you hang up. and quietly promising himself to never let you leave ever again. he probably won’t survive losing you.

[kurogxrix]

Cinderella, better get you back home

Damian Wayne x ex-fiancée!Reader

IN WHICH you broke your engagement off with Damian because you didn’t want to raise children with a half-absent father and Damian couldn’t leave Gotham behind for you. A year after and a change of heart, he’s desperate to get you back home. or Cinderella, better get your ass home.

WC: 8.2k

WARNINGS: ANGST, hurt/comfort, ex-catgirl!reader, breakups, cheating (not from damian or reader), depression, alcoholism, canon deaths, suggestive/mentions of sex, reader is shorter than Damian, mentions of having children, stalking.

Loneliness greets Damian as he steps foot in the Bat Cave. The chilling kind that makes his bones grind together in discomfort, and carries a silence that Damian should’ve been used to by now. But he isn’t, and the only greeting he receives when entering the cave is the resounding patter of his dress shoes hitting the pavement. 

The exhaustion of the double life begins to catch up to him faster than he’s imagined. The type of tiredness that seeps deep into his bones and cries out every time he slips on the cowl. In the instances when his fists are bloody and the charcoal beneath his eyes bleed further down the cowl, Damian Wayne grieves your soothing hands. 

He reminisces of the soft palms that used to tend his aching muscles after long nights. It's an array of painful memories that grip him by the horns late after midnight, and sometimes when he's busy cuffing up a thief whose hair color resembles yours, his mind rushes back to the first time you’d kissed him. He'd worn the Robin emblem with so much pride back then, and his love ran so deep that he would have let you sink your claws right through his chest if you’d wanted to. 

The Batcomputer casts a dim light upon Damian’s frowning face, monitors turning to life upon the clock of a button. When he’s done, he stays sitting before the screens a little longer with the hope that someone is going to worry for him. The time at the bottom corner of the computer screens 03:40 when Damian ultimately shuts it down. There was no one left but him in the manor to worry about anyway. 

Alfred's long gone and Damian bears the scar like a fresh wound, he's yet to even accept his late father. It’s always hard to accept falling down from the summit. The blood son, a true Wayne, the young prince heir to the infamous League of Assassins and Wayne Enterprise. And despite all the titles that Damian had borne in his life, he still believes there was no better title than being yours. 

Your nemesis, your friend, your boyfriend, your fiance. Damian's existence orbits around you, It's fun to belong when everything already belongs to you. 

When you'd first met Damian, it hadn't exactly been love at first sight. Disdain ran mutual between the both of you. He was that bratty, arrogant, snobby boy who thought everyone had to play by his rules. And you were that annoying, over-the-top girl who did nothing but stand in his way. Rivalry quickly grew into friendship, despite how much Damian always denied it.

Then one random day, between the changes in the pitch of his voice and awkwardly growing limbs, Damian made the mistake of glancing at you. It was as if years of denial and restraint had suddenly slipped away, and there, standing in the middle of his door frame he would once grumbled about, he thought you to be the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid his eyes on. 

No more of that childish girl who’d try to better him at everything, no more of that bratty boy who  lived to prove that he was better than you. Then when you’d finally gathered the courage to kiss him because you knew he’d never have the balls, one clawed hand holding a death grip around the collar of his Robin suit, he’d practically melted against you.

His arms were laying stiff against his body and it took all of your restraint not to laugh into his mouth. You were only 17 then, but you’d already known that Damian was it for you. He wasn’t the best boyfriend, had never been and would probably never be, but he tried and he did it for you, and you loved him through and through. 

Unfortunately, all good dreams have an end. 

For years of your life, you were brought to believe that you’d been good for nothing but living off of scraps and that goddamn cat suit. Selina had taught you that Gotham didn’t need you as much as you needed it, so what’s a kid must do to survive? At 15, much to your disdain, Damian started teaching you there was more to life than just surviving. 

You didn’t need to live off of scraps, you could thrive alongside Gotham. And so you did, for the next 15 years as you stayed by his side. Protecting Gotham like he himself once couldn’t have even imagined the thought of. You’d been there with him through everything. Through his siblings leaving, through his father, through Alfred. 

You’d both been playing dress-up in costumes that carried responsibilities far too heavy for children of your age to bear. In the end, you’d grown tired of playing the same, tiresome game of heroes, and your priorities started shifting. Now, you wanted to play house. 

Sometimes when Damian lies awake late at night in the manor’s master bedroom, which he’d moved in shortly after Bruce’s passing, he imagines the feeling of your palms rubbing warmth back into his shoulders. He’d been sitting on the edge of Bruce’s king sized bed, staring vacantly into the wall like it would erase all the misfortune that had occurred in Damian’s life. He could still remember the heart aching sensation of your arms snaking around his neck, feeling the weight of your knees sinking into the mattress right behind him as you held him in your embrace. If he prays hard enough, he can still recall the temperature of your body against his as you pressed your chest against his back in silence. 

He’d only sighed then, but you’d known, like you always did when it came to him, that this grief was eating at him. You couldn’t undo the past, couldn’t go back and save Alfred and Bruce or even bring back Titus, couldn’t change his upbringing or his lineage, but you’d be there for him through it all. As the sobs wracked his body in a violent heap, you’d simply embraced him tighter. He could still recall the feeling of your lips against his tear-stained cheek. 

The grandfather clock chimes behind him as the door slams shut, a once-unusual silence falls heavy upon the manor. The walk from the study to Bruce's room is filled with ghosts in the form of picture frames, Damian keeps his head down during the entire walk to the bedroom to avoid meeting the familiar faces nailed onto the wall.

He walks a little faster when he knows he’s nearing that picture that Alfred had hung of you kneeled down, embracing Titus. 

That night like many others, sleep eludes Damian. And like all other nights, he finds comfort in bloody fists and charcoal coated eyelids. When he finally sheds his clothes for the night, he does his best to ignore your ring that you left on his bedside table, and he feeds his soul with that spicy tang of bourbon to knock himself out into a dreamless slumber.

—

Damian crowds your every thought as you lay on the sofa in your apartment. Below, Gotham bustles alive with noise. You can hear your neighbor yell at her husband through the thin walls, and for the fifth time this week, it slowly drives you crazy. You try to distract your mind to stop yourself from drifting back to Damian and the argument you last shared. 

But no matter how hard you try, the TV slowly drifts into static noise in the back of your head, and serves the sole purpose of illuminating the room in a faint cast. The kettle brewing in the kitchen drowns to the furthest part of your mind, and soon that damned scarf you'd been trying to complete for the past month slips past your fingers and onto your lap.

Your phone buzzes on the sofa beside you, and you have to fight yourself not to hope too hard. Damian’s most definitely not coming back, he said it himself. He'd chosen Gotham over you and your future, and yet, you couldn't rid yourself of the love you held for him. It burns as strong as it did since you were nothing but children.

Your neighbors are getting louder now, a baby whines and then all you can hear is the infant's wailing. Your phone buzzes again. 

It’s 7 notifications in when you finally decide to pick up the phone. You find that they’re all texts from the same guy. Carter Brooks, the rising Hollywood star that started hitting you up after reading the scoop about yours and Damian’s split. 

He’s a pretty handsome dude, sure he’s got nothing on Damian, but he’s got those silky blonde strands that could entice just about anyone to run their hands through. Oh, and you’d definitely not seen those abs in the trailer of his upcoming movie. 

It’s a painful minute that passes by as you stalk his socials and compare his pictures to your memories of Damian. You reread the messages from your notifications center without opening his chat yet. You end up concluding that he seems like a sweet dude, and moreover, he seems like he really wants to know you. You’re not sure you’re thinking straight when your thumbs press onto the notification and onto his chat. 

By the time your eyelids start to flicker shut and your thumbs can’t seem to keep up with your words, you find the apartment complex to have been slumbered into a quiet silence. What was supposed to be a quick text turned into a 3 hour conversation and a promise to let him take you on a date. 

When you finally drop your phone onto the coffee table and pull up the blanket to your nose, you notice that the noise from the other side of your wall has drowned out, and that it’s been 3 hours since you’ve last had a heart aching thought about Damian and your apparently wasted years. 

If Damian wouldn’t pick you, then you’d find someone who would. 

—

Plot: it's7 months after and you're dating someone new, Damian drowns himself in work and alcohol. He finds out that you got cheated on as much as the entire news and shows up in front of your door. You're already humiliated enough. 

Damian can physically feel his heart halt to a stop as he reads the newspaper that morning. Time passes in a fury, and it had already been 7 months since you’d ended things between the two of you and that Damian had chosen this city above you and your dreams. 7 months of fighting this urge to contact you, despite this persistent ache, Damian believes that you’re better off without him. You deserve far better than a man who has dragged you on a hell ride for years only to give precedence to the very thing that’s destroying him night after night.

 Damian knows he’ll crumble to his knees and beg for forgiveness in a pitiful act the second he sees you again. It is selfish and it is all the most pathetic but it’s everything that makes him your Damian. 

His fingers clench onto the newspaper so hard that he’s crumbling the paper all the way to the middle of the page. The sound of his dress shoes resound around the big office room in a continuous tap. He's carpeted the floor, and yet, anxiety bounces all around him. 

Emerald iris retraces the headline over and over again to find a flaw, a mistake, and yet all he finds is the sting of the truth. 

“Ex Mrs.Wayne reveals new relationship with star Carter Brooks with a passionate entrance!” 

The picture on the front page rubs him in all the wrong ways when he realizes that the smile you wear on your face is meant for another man. You look as ravishing as the day you walked out on him, even got your hair done and a new pretty black dress he knows you nagged your new boyfriend for. The thought makes him want to throw up. You’d never never have to beg a day in your life with him for such trivial things, he’d buy you everything you’d ever desire. 

It’s selfish, but the muscles in Damian’s neck tenses when he shifts his focus to him. He’s got his grimy right hand clad in your ringless left hand, and he’s sports the smile of an all victorious man. 

At some point, Damian’s office door opens without his knowledge. His assistant tells him something about a meeting and an hour that his brain shuts out as his eyes trail on your hand in that Carter Brook guy’s one. Damian doesn’t hear the door shutting behind her, and doesn’t notice the effort she’s put in her appearance today. He definitely doesn’t notice the way her smile falls when he doesn’t pay an ounce of attention to her.

Instead, he’s got his brain stuck on how the entirety of the article flaunts your maiden name like you hadn’t been Mrs.Wayne to the entirety of Gotham for years now. Sure, with the way things had gone by, Damian hadn’t really had the time to make it official, but to the eyes of the Gothamite, you’d been Mrs.Wayne long before he even kneeled before you. 

That evening, Damian didn't even wait until dinner to pour himself a drink. 

—

The relationship doesn't last very long. It takes you all your might not to scratch up his face as you find him with another woman in your home. It's nothing scandalous, you don't catch him fucking her in your own bed while you're meant to be at work. You don't find underwear that's clearly not yours in the washing machine while doing laundry. No, instead you find Carter cooking her a meal in your kitchen while she cozies herself in your spot, on your own goddamn sofa. She's got her eyes fixed on your TV while she watches some comedy Carter has been talking your ear off about.  

You're not surprised to find out how little it affects you to see her on your couch making herself at home. Sure, she's got that perfect voluminous blowout and a figure you'd have killed yourself for when you were 17, but the thought of Carter betraying you doesn't hurt as much as it should have. You don't have a hard time figuring out you've never really loved the man, and there's no need to assume that he's always felt the same way. 

The only reason you feel yourself getting wound up is the thought that for weeks, if not months, he'd been fucking that 2-dollar-whore on your furniture without your knowledge. You shudder thinking about all the times you've sat up in their mess, and it suddenly makes you even more mad knowing that he'd probably fucked you right after doing her in your own home. 

Nevertheless, Carter doesn't hear the sound of your heels clicking against the floorboard as you walk up to him. His little girlfriend surely does, but that frightened look on her face tells you she's not going to ruin your surprise entrance anytime soon. Carters too busy with his face shoved into the rosemary scented fumes above the stovetop to notice that the woman standing beside him isn't who he thinks it is, and when he turns to you with that bright smile, ready to sling an arm around who he thinks isn't you, you can see the exact moment his soul leaves his body. 

“W-wow there darlin’, someone came home early.” He's stuttering up his words as he's talking to you, sweating in a way that tells you it has more to do than with the heat of his cooking. There's a paleness to his face that wasn't there when he was cooking for two, now, he's got to plate the table for an extra guest he clearly wasn't expecting to see this early on tonight. 

“Jaimie here was helping me do inventory, y’know they've been making me do a lot of overtime lately.” You can feel the woman's eyes trailing you fixedly as you round up to Carter, he's got the audacity to lean in to kiss you as if he wasn't using your own apartment to play house behind your back with another woman. You waste no time dodging his stupid advances at calming you, pushing two palms against his chest to send him back. It's not enough force to send him toppling onto the kitchen island, but it's enough to have him trip over his own feet, back landing against the countertop softly. 

He looks shocked that you haven't killed him yet, and a part of him worries when his gaze catches against your array of kitchen knives, and most importantly that you haven't yet brought up the elephant in the room. 

The woman, who you've learned to know goes by Jaimie, ogles you like you've grown three heads as you walk through the kitchen and into the living room to sit on the sofa beside her. She notices the way you promptly ignore her and mistakes it for shock and heartbreak. Denial. 

Instead, you grab the remote from beside her and change the channel mundanely like you hadn't just caught your boyfriend and his apparently coworker “doing inventory”, as he says. You wonder if they've done it in your store room, and the thought makes you want to dump all of your produce in the trash. You can feel her stare burning holes into the side of your face, and for a second, you wonder if she feels guilt. Or shame. 

Probably shame. 

Jaimie opens her mouth to say something, but the look you cast at her is enough to shut her off. You don't need a half-assed excuse or an apology. You knew that she knew. Your relationship with Carter was all over the news when you decided to make things public only 1 month after you’d both started dating. Foremost, you doubt she's even an ounce sorry. If you hadn't caught them in your house, you doubt she'd have even a pretence of respect or shame in your regard. 

A minute of awkwardly tense silence passes by before you hear Carter sigh loudly in the kitchen, his work shoes clacking against the floorboards before you inevitably hear the door shutting behind him with a loud boom. Jaimie, who's probably trying not to kill herself with the embarrassment of being abandoned by Carter in his girlfriend's home, clasps her fingers together in an attempt at soothing her nerves.

The sight makes you huff as you turn your head to look at her, prompting her to raise her own back at you. “Need help finding the door, sweetheart?” Sarcasm rolls off your tongue as she stares you in the eye, and she doesn't even give you a second before she's shuffling off your apartment in her dainty heels, muttering apologies under her breath you're not really sure are even meant for you.

The door shuts close for the third time tonight and you allow yourself for the first time since you've entered your home to breathe. Even though you're not sad about Carter himself, there's this feeling that tugs at your chest as you think of everything that just went down. Your own boyfriend has been seeing this woman behind your back. They've been in your home and God knows where else. Has he been seeing her since you guys started dating? Since he's been texting you? Were you not good enough for him to be loyal to you? Were you not enough? 

Your inner turmoil lasts for a good 45 minutes as you stare into the now black screen of the TV, and you come to the conclusion that no, maybe, you aren't enough. Because if you were, you'd never have gotten cheated on, and more importantly, if you were, Damian would have never chosen a city that’s inevitably going to kill him too over the woman who has cherished him since before she even knew she did. 

The night ends with you writing down a list of things you'd spend your weekend doing. Deep cleaning, the food bank, and probably crying yourself to sleep. You end up booking a hotel room that night. You're not sure you want to sleep in your bed ever again. 

—

It doesn’t take long for your name to feature in the hottest scoop yet again, and the press wastes no time profiting from the scandal. Just a week from then, yours and Carter's face are plastered onto thousands of magazine copies that sell out by evening. You can't even turn on the TV without finding your names all over the news. There's this humiliating feeling burning at you through your gut the longer you think about it, now that your breakup went public, everyone knew that you weren't good enough of a woman to keep.

You're not sure what to do besides wallow in your pity and drown yourself in the endless articles written about the scandal, because one day you're sure you'll kill yourself worrying about what they're saying about you.

For the first time in an entire year, Damian Wayne feels something other than nothingness. Instead, he feels that youthful anger rise in his veins as he reads the daily scoop. The same anger he used to harbour at only 10 years old while other kids his age were busy scraping their knees falling down from swinging up too high and living up their childhood. 

Damian doesn't drink that night, the sight of your face on the headlines intoxicates him much faster than the bottle of whiskey sitting on his desk. How could anyone deceive a creature as dazzling as yourself? He would've never done this to you, Damian thinks to himself. He couldn't even bare the thought of betraying the same girl who had remained by his side even when times got rough and his tongue got loose. Back when he couldn't quite grasp the concept of friends and made sure to keep you at arms length, you were the only one who hadn't given up on him.

And when he'd grown confused between who he was and who he wasn't anymore, you helped him understand without ever making him feel weak for being vulnerable. You were the only person in this damned world that understood Damian further than he understood himself, and he'd ruined it. Just a year and a half ago, he’d gotten down on one knee and slid a ring on your finger, and then you’d grown tired of playing dress up. Tired of fighting crime in dark alleys, tired of patching up Damian after making him promise that he'd be careful tonight, tired of that dead look in his eyes after he'd pushed himself past his limit again.

He could still remember the feeling of your palm against his knee, stabling and soothing, as you bore your heart out to him. Your new dreams, a family, a home. A real, stable home. Children. He could tell it was all genuine as you spoke to him. The unusual furrow of your brows, the way your lips trembled as you spoke to him. It was selfish, something you'd both avoided speaking of in the past because it was still a scar that hadn't healed properly. 

And yet, as you sat before him, you'd chosen him to be part of this dream. You'd chosen him to better the wrongs of the people who'd walked this path before the both of you. Because you weren't your parents, and you'd be damned if you'd ever be like them. 

But he couldn't. He'd never repeat the same mistakes as his father had. Would never drag a child into the same path he'd been forced to take. And you being you, had never asked him to choose between Gotham and you, you wanted him to. You wanted to matter enough to him that it didn't come as an option but as a decision. But he didn't, and in the end Damian had lost the thing that mattered the most to him.

Somewhere along the line, the dreamless sleep began shifting into images of you playing in the sand with two toddlers that shared your features. And every single time he’d wake up, a part of him would grieve the life he never even had. He’s tried blaming it on his guilt, but deep down, he knew it was because he’d warmed up to the idea. 

No longer did the thought of having children into this fucked, twisted world repulsed Damian like it once had. No longer did the thought of beholding a family with you feel unattainable. No, because he'd grown and warmed up to an idea that once wasn't his. Now when he pictured the future, it came with a dream and the faces of two children plagueing his very thought. Damian no longer had anything to live by but his dreams, and you were in every single one of them. 

And yet, how do you ask the woman whose heart you've shattered and aspirations you've dismissed to start over? Damian's not exactly sure how, but that night as he tosses the newspaper into the hearth, he places the unopened bottle back into the cabinet. The car keys of the mobile that once belonged to his father burn in his pockets, but he's got a place to be, and a dream to save.

—

Humiliation still picks at you until morning. You haven’t been taking care of your hair, which now sits messy in your head, and you haven’t gone out to breathe in some fresh air besides your balcony’s in 4 days now. At first, it was because you hadn't needed to, now it was because you were too embarrassed to face the people. You’ve been ordering takeout ever since Carter left your home a disgusting reminder of his betrayal, and even facing the delivery guy felt shameful. 

You’re scared to turn on the TV or glance at your phone because you know they’re still talking about you. You know that your face is still on the cover page of all magazines and it makes you hate yourself that you’re known as the woman who's not enough, it eats you up until you make yourself throw up. 

On the other side of the city, Damian’s in the comfort of his father’s black Porsche. He’s got no worry beside your own because he knows that the media love him, son of the late billionaire playboy, the media craved him. He spent enough time last night reading the articles to know that you’re not as lucky. 

He’s already got his assistant dealing with the press to take them down, but he knows you well enough to assume that you’ve already read them all. 

On the passenger seat, he’s got a bouquet of your favorite flowers he hopes will be enough of a peace offering for him randomly showing after a year of no contact. He’s a fool, but he’s got dreams and a drive and he still remembers the way to your apartment like the back of his hand. He’s wearing that cologne you’d always jump on him for, maybe, because he’s a little delusional that it’ll make you want to kill him a little less. 

The sports car sticks out like a sore thumb in your neighborhood, and in seconds, the photographers crowding the entrance of your apartment notice him. One of them steps so close to him that Damian’s urging to knock that camera out of his hands. Flashing lights blind him in a way he knows will end up as yet another scoop by tomorrow morning. 

Damian pushes past them with a huff, grumbling under his breath as he ignores their questions about you and him. In the crowd, a news reporter that’s been camping by your apartment complex for a day now asks something about you two getting back together and his heart starts thumping a little faster. The glass doors shut behind him with the click of a lock and the security officer shoots him an exasperated look. 

Because it wasn’t enough that he had to stop these borderline maniacal reporters from entering the complex, now the one and only Damian Wayne just  had to show up at the door and shake up some more attention. 

He ignores the man and shoves a healthy amount of cash in his hand as he heads for the stairway. Damian’s learned since young that money ruled everything and everyone in Gotham, and he’d be doomed, because he was blessed with it. 

Carefully polished dress shoes drag him up onto your floor, he decides he’s too anxious to wait in the elevator. He’s impassive, but his act starts to unravel the second his feet draw closer to your door. Number 76, he remembers. He’ll never forget, never you. 

His hand moves faster than his brain, and before he’s realized, there’s two knocks resounding against your door. Inside the room, you’re at war with yourself by the time the sound reaches you. Perched against the glass, you feel the past year catch up to you in a flash. Downstairs, the money hungry, fame-hunting reporters are out to get you. You’ve lost the love of your life just a year ago over your own selfishness and yet, you can’t seem to be able to keep a man for the sake of it. 

There’s that heart-clenching sorrow that grips you so hard you can almost physically feel your chest caving in. Just a year ago, you would’ve never imagined that you’d have ever fallen this low. You feel like you’re constantly drowning in this black hole that’s pulling you back in no matter how hard you try to swim away. It’s something you don’t know the name of, or won’t name, because acknowledging that you’re not okay just makes everything so much worse. 

Another knock shakes you up from your spiraling as you finally turn your gaze away from the mass of people waiting impatiently for you below. You’re not sure who’s waiting for you at the door, but as long as it’s not Carter or that damned side piece, you think you’ll be fine. 

On the other side of the door, Damian’s hand tightens upon the bouquet as he hears the locks turning from inside. He thinks about how unsafe it is that you’re being guarded by a simple lock, and how safer you’d be at home with him, at the manor. Finally, the door pushes open, and Damian gets to witness the exact moment you realise that he’s anyone but who you could’ve expected to be knocking on your door. 

“Damian” your words fall short on your lips as you stare at the man before you. He still towers over you in that way that makes you go weak in the knees. He looks so put together, hair gelled back in those spiky little strands of hair you’ve always loved and his suit clinging to his muscular form. But amongst everything, you don’t miss the dark circles that cup the lower part of his eyes, or that almost exhausted look in his eyes. There’s a break in his normally perfect stance, and your heart races when you notice the slight hunch of his shoulders. 

Along your inner monologue, you notice the way Damian’s eyes stay fixed on you in all of his silence, and you unfortunately remember how dishevelled you look. Your hairs a real, unwashed mess on your head that’s got flyaways sticking up in all positions. The hoodie and sweatpants you’re wearing aren’t the most flattering piece of clothing as they swallow your figure whole. You revel in the fact that you’ve at least taken the time of day to shower and brush your teeth amongst your little self-depreciating ritual you had going on for the past days. 

“I’ve seen the articles,” You bring up a hand to brush your hair into place but his words stop you short in your movement. The pit in your stomach nearly triples in size and you’re sure that with a little more shame, it’ll burst out your body and swallow you whole. Embarrassment boils in your gut because you know that he’s seen the things that people are saying about you, and besides, the scandal in itself is nothing really to pride yourself in.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you Damian. You show up at my door a year after we split and now you’re here to make fun of me?” the words take him aback, and if you didn’t know Damian well enough, you would have missed the imperceptible way his eyes widened. 

“You don’t think I'm embarrassed enough already?” Damian opens his mouth to retaliate but he backs down with a pained expression, like what you’ve said was really the nail in the coffin. That gloomy look on your face invokes a feeling in Damian’s chest that he’s been used to feeling this past year. He can tell that you haven’t been taking care of yourself like you once prided yourself in, and it’s not hard to see how quickly the past year seems to be catching up to you.  

“I am not here for any of that” the worsts come out of his mouth with a coldness you didn’t know he could ever even mutter at you, and it makes me you feel even impossiblely more horrible than you already do. Damian can tell he’s losing this war but he doesn’t relent. “You’re aware that I would never ridicule you, no matter what the circumstances are.” 

There’s a flash of shame that washes over your features as Damian realizes he’s sinking himself further into the hole he dug himself in. This time, instead, he takes a minute to breath and thinks thrice before speaking. 

“I apologize.” it comes out weak, but you don’t break eye contact or interrupt him. You’ve always been so good to him, even when he didn’t deserve it. 

“I apologize for not choosing you when all you have ever done was put me first. I’ve never meant to make you feel undervalued, or second to anything.” Damian’s eyes never leave yours as he bears his heart out to you. You realize, with the way his hands hold a distant tremble around the bouquet, that he’s laid bare and vulnerable to you in a way he’s never been before. It’s new and different, and Damian Wayne hates different, but he pushes through because that’s his way of telling you that you’re far more important to him than his own discomfort. 

If it came to it, he’d change himself a hundred times just to have a chance at being yours again. 

“You’re my everything,” the way he whispers your name nearly brings you to your knees, but you manage to catch yourself before you can even move, and Damian still flinches all the same, ready to catch you. “And I never imagined how hurtful it would be to lose you until I did. 

You can see his lips parting as-if to start apologizing again, but this time you beat him to it. 

“No, it was selfish of me to ask that of you,” you’re wrong and you both know it, because you’ve never really asked anything of him, but Damian doesn’t interject because hearing your voice speak to him so softly after a year of radio silence soothes him. And deep down in his mind, the one that only sees  rights in your wrongs, he knows that you have been selfish. But you weren’t perfect, and Damian would always love you like you were. 

“I know how much it means to you Damian, I would never ask you to abandon Gotham for me” you know you’ve been selfish before, you’d never asked, but you had deep down expected him to stop along you. To allow himself to settle down with you without having to wonder if he’d come back to you injured or worse. You wouldn’t raise your children with a half-absent father, and Damian wouldn’t leave Gotham behind because at some point of his life, that was all he’d known. 

Normalcy as such had become so foreign to Damian that he’d alienated it from his future. How could he ever raise children and be Batman all at once? He couldn’t bear the thought of ever becoming like his father. He had to be better, and ‘better’ to Damian had once meant giving up on such dreams. 

“But I would, I would in a heartbeat for you, Hayati.” his voice drops an octave as he whispers that word he’d always call you by. Devotion swims in his pupils as the bouquet now hangs upside down in his grip, half forgotten. 

“But it’s not what I want, you need Gotham just as much as it needs you. I was upset because I couldn't look past my own selfish dreams to see your fears, but I see it now, I see you.” Damian knows he doesn’t deserve you, it’s something he’s thought about multiple times in the past, but to have you stand in front of him and say that you’d renounce on something you had hoped so hard for in a distant future ruins him. It almost makes him want to retrace his steps back home because you are so much more deserving of what Damian has ever offered you. 

“I’m not scared anymore, not when I think about doing it with you. There hasn’t been a night since you left that I have imagined a future without you and felt anything but agony” the apartment complex falls silent under his words. Behind you, the herd of reporters or photographers drown under the weight of his confession. Your eyes droop down to the floor because you can’t handle looking him in the eyes as he bares his soul to you. 

Silently, you allow yourself to bask in the words you’d spent hours praying to hear just about a year ago. Your victory comes with no dramatics or surprise party, but the warm words of a man you thought was going to haunt you for the rest of your life. There was no future for you if it wasn’t with Damian. So now, as he stands before you and confesses this change of heart, your words log in your throat, unable to escape. 

“So if it’s still something you dream of, I’d love to be a part of your future.” Damian whispers, and there’s a ball forming in your throat the more the seconds go back. The irrational part of you fears that somewhere along the line, he’ll change his mind again or regret ever agreeing to doing this with you. Damian doesn’t give you a minute more to spiral, he’s a man on a mission, and tonight, he’s bringing you back home. “Tell me what you want, I'll give you everything, Habibiti.” 

You don’t think about it very long, or very hard. The reasonable part of you hollers at the back of your mind, but it’s ultimately shut down by irrationality. Sure, he’s hurt you before, but you were no saint either. The thoughts of you and Damian happy, together again, completely overshadow the images of you crying alone in your apartment a week after the split. You think that for once, you’re allowed to be irrational to let yourself be happy. 

You've done a whole year of thinking and Damian’s done a whole year of drinking on your account, you’re not sure you can last another moment as the man you’ve pictured the rest of your life with stands in front of you, at your doorframe.  

Your resolve comes crashing alongside your heart, it feels like for the first time in forever, you can finally breathe without that suffocating feeling crushing your lungs. You choke down on a sob before you can even stop it, and Damian wastes no time catching you before you fall. 

Your arms lock around his neck with no hesitation, face stuffed in the crook of his neck like you’ve done a thousand times before. His arms wrap around your waist and the back of your shoulder, the bouquet falls from his hand with little to no care, and the petals scatter into your apartment. It’s the last thing on his mind as he relishes in the smell of you. For, he’d buy you a whole garden if you asked. 

Tears drip from your eyes and onto his skin, dripping down to the collar of his shirt. Damian’s lost in the feeling of you when he feels you muttering something incoherent against his neck. The hand resting your shoulder moves up to cup the back of your neck, gently pulling you off his neck. He tilts your head up to meet his insistent gaze, filled with a love you were once so used to seeing. 

“I just want my ring back,” the whisper sails across his skin and melts his tougher exterior like warm butter. You don’t miss the way the corners of his mouth tilt slightly upwards, and the hand on your waist tightens its hold on you. Damian doesn’t say anything and he stares you in the eyes, like he’s reading all the way through your soul, and you let him because for the first time in a year, you’re staring at more than just the memories of him in the form of photos you couldn’t get yourself to erase. 

—

The second you tell him you have no intentions in sleeping in your apartment that night, Damian’s quick to pack you a duffel bag of essentials. It feels so intimate being back in your space, things that are so mundane but feel so special that you’re allowing him back into this part of your life, like grabbing a handful of underwear from your drawer to provide for your stay with him. 

It makes him feel bashful like he’s 17 all over again. 

Once he’s done, he meets you in the living room using the entry mirror to fix yourself the best you can. You both use the fire exit at the back of the building to evade the curious crowd blocking the main exit. You barely make it to the car without being noticed, and the sound of your laughter as you run to the car to take cover from their evasive cameras nearly makes Damian trip in his steps. 

The ride back to the mansion is spent in silence, and for the first time in a year, silence doesn’t feel like a punishment for his wrongdoings. Damian can feel the burn of your eyes of the side of his face as you stare at him, he doesn’t comment on it or admit that he’s noticed you staring, but deep down, he relishes in the feeling. He hopes that soon enough, you’ll feel comfortable enough to connect your phone to the carplay again and blast your favorite songs Damian always pretended he hated. 

Once you arrive, Damian opens your door and walks in front of you to unlock the door, but his steps come to a halt when he feels your hand snaking in his empty one. He’s got your duffel bag on his other shoulder and you can almost repaint the picture of him carrying your stuff into the mansion when you’d first agreed to move in with him. It already felt like that was a lifetime ago.

The door unlocks with a twist of his key and his hand tightens around yours as he pulls you inside. The Wayne Mansion has lost all of its soul without you, there’s an almost eerie silence that falls onto the both of you as you step in. The house is dark and full of ghosts that haunt Damian’s every move. But with your hand in his, the voices finally quiet down before falling silent. 

All he hears is the sound of your breathing and his heart pounding against his ribcage. 

He drags you up to the bedroom and breathes a sigh of relief when he finally places your duffel bag on the bed. Emerald eyes follow you carefully as you sit down on your side of the bed like you’ve never left, familiarity picking at his chest. His eyes quickly shift from you and to the ring on his bedside table. Before Damian can even make a move, you’re sat up before him, asking him if he can bring you something to drink. 

He’s back just as quick as he left with a glass of water for you, and by the time he makes it back to the room, the sound of the shower resounds all the way until the hallway. 

The door’s closed and your clothes are still carefully folded in the bag, now at the foot of the bed. He’s not sure how far he’s allowed to push the limits with you, how much he’s allowed to see and touch now that you’re his again. He also notes that he didn’t even get the time to give you a clean towel of your own from the wardrobe before you rushed in, he guesses that you’ve already taken one, because you know where they are.

This was your house.

This Is your home. 

Damian’s not sure how long he’s spent standing up, staring at the bathroom door, but he quickly get answers to his questions as the door opens with a twist of the knob. His feet remain glued to the carpeted floor as he watches you emerge from the room. Your hair’s wet and clinging down to you, finally clean. Your skin is shining under the ceiling light and most importantly, you’ve got his towel wrapped around you. 

It’s nothing but a towel, but the sight of you wrapped up in his things nearly brings him down to his knees. A drop of water drips down your hair and down your cleavage and suddenly he's fighting a war with himself. You’re approaching him like a predator chasing its prey and he lets you, he needs you all up in his space before he loses his mind. 

In the corner of his eyes, Damian doesn’t miss the absent shine of the ring on his table. Before he can fully turn his head and investigate, your palm settles on the side of his face. You’re perched on your toes to reach him, and the sight of you smiling up at him does it for Damian.

The cold metal of your engagement ring cools his cheek and his resolve completely slips. You feel his lips on yours before you can even comprehend that he’s leaning down, and his hands are all up on you. Gone is that restraint he was trying so desperately to keep up since you’d embraced him at the apartment, Damian doesn’t care to be chivalrous when his top lip encases your bottom one. 

Your hand slides up to tangle in his brown tuffs of hair, earning you a brief huff. The movement causes the towel to unravel at the top and slide off your body unceremoniously onto the floor. Damian makes no move to help. The sudden chilliness makes you gasp in surprise as you throw an arm down to try and rescue your - his - fallen towel. Damian wastes no time shoving his tongue down your mouth, and suddenly you need both arms gripping his arms in order to keep yourself up. 

There’s nothing romantic in the way Damian’s tongue lapped against yours. Nothing sweet to a desperate man’s kiss. It makes you weak in a way that you almost forget that you’re bare in his arms, but the thought does little to bother you. Damian, on the other hand, is completely aware. His hands draw you in and explore your body like he hasn’t already mapped the area hundreds of times before. 

The clock ticks 00:00 by the time his suit joins his towel on the floor. Your legs bracket his hips and he’s completely lost in the feeling of you, it’s carnal, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You know by the strain in your lower stomach that you’ll wake up tomorrow morning with no regrets and a limp to your walk. Nothing matters anymore when you feel Damian’s fingers intertwine with your ring-clad ones, warm breath tickling your neck. 

In the end, the sheets are all crumbled and you’ve managed to push off the entire wall of decorative pillows to the floor. You end up on your back somewhere along the way, the bed groans, the frame bumps against the wall and Damian finishes with a deep groan that has your nails scratching at the expense of his back. 

The satin sheets welcome you back into its embrace when your arms fall limp back to your side. It's warm and it's soft and it’s the type of intimacy you grieved so hard when you were in the arms of another man, but now you’re back and Damian’s buried so deep you’re sure you’ll feel the ghost of him until tomorrow morning. 

By 00:47, you’re tempted to glance outside to make sure the Porsche hasn’t transformed into a pumpkin. It feels almost too good laying in his arms that you’re convinced you're living a fantasy. Damian’s chest heaves up and down under your palm, and for the first time in a year, you sleep tight in the arms of your lover.

-

A/N: guys if the plot is mixed up and makes no sense it’s because i genuinely be writing parts of different scenes all at once bye…

[robs-your-robins]

Dick Grayson back when The Discowing v neck stayed glued to his chest by the sheer willpower

Absolutely

[unfortunatewriting]

[honeysucklewatr]

18+ | dick grayson mocks you during sex btw…

his laughter is soft but broken, hands spanning up to grip your hips like handles. the kind of cooing that makes your stomach both twist and flutter. his heavy hips plunge into yours while you jerk away and gasp like you can’t help it. but he doesn’t let you get far at all. he’ll let you move just to drag you back by your ankle, both of you knowing you don’t really want him to stop. he pulls you back towards him with a low chuckle, fingers delicate as they descend between your legs.

condescending in his care, dick pouts when you whine and will remind you how much you’d beg for it. his words and his chuckles echo in the corners of your mind as he ruins you for the nth time.

“but you were so adamant on needing me before, hmm?” “you can give me another.” “take what you begged for.” “right there? god, you’re so precious.” “such a needy thing.”

you don’t know what to do with the feelings he’s creating.

he makes the same sounds as you just to amplify yours. mouth gaping at the same time as you to mimic and mock. he repeats the movements, the same defeating thrusts over and over until you’re a sobbing mess. his fingers rubbing tightly on the sensitive nub, not stopping even when you grasp at him and drag your nails down desperately. dick moans loud and proud with you and the sound is delicious to your ears. he fucks you deeper then, drilling like a man on a mission.

then he’ll kiss the tears on your cheeks, getting more worked up by the salty taste when a low groan slips his lips. but he’ll smile proud when you shatter, just to do it all over again.

guess who’s ovulating…

[heartz4angels]

healer!reader sucks mark off to heal him one time, & it was only because he looked like a kicked puppy and was on the verge of tears. he literally follows you around like he's fuckin' lost afterward, it gets so bad and irritating and now you're tempted to strangle him but you're scared he'll get off on that too. so now you just sort of deal with this freak who could easily just hold you down but he would sooner let you bash his head in then do that

both of you conditioning each other but it's not even on purpose. at least, it isn't on your end

[simplepon]

His birthday girl

tags ۶۟ৎ soft!mark, rough p in v sex, he's kinda mean with you, creampie, overstimulation, spanking, multiple orgasms, oral m receiving, oral f receiving, 7k word count, MDNI 18+ synopsis ۶۟ৎ mark's birthday was coming up, and you decide to come surprise him wrapped up in bows.

Mark’s birthday was coming up.

Your eyes lingered on the calendar, January 22nd circled in ink, as you bit your lip and tried to decide how to make the day special for him…

Maybe a romantic dinner-soft candlelight with wax, just the two of you. It felt dreamy, intimate. Or maybe a gift? one of the comic cons in Chicago was coming up… you could sneak away, find something he’d love-perhaps something Seance Dog–related, maybe get him a signed limited  cover!

With everything on his shoulders lately-the responsibility, the constant pressure, the looming sense that the world could fall apart at any moment-he hadn’t had much time to just be. To do normal things. To enjoy being young, and you both were pretty young after all.

However, a naughty part of you hidden, maybe the devil's voice lingered in your ear tauntingly, and not some wholesome thoughts roamed through your head, like…

What if you were wrapped up in a birthday present, literally just for him to tear those bows off you? 

His lips on your skin, his teeth grazing just the outer layer of the delicate fabric, his calloused fingers gripping your waist, and-

Then all of a sudden, that was the light bulb, that'd be a good idea…

You were lying beside him on the couch in his house, some random TV show playing in the background-something neither of you had ever seen before, just noise to fill the quiet as you both watched without really paying attention.

“Hey, babe,” you mumbled.

It took a moment before Mark’s brown eyes drifted from the screen to your face. A soft, absentminded hum slipped from his lips as he looked down at you. “Hm?”

“What do you wanna do for your birthday? It’s comin’ up.”

You smiled at him, and for a second he just stared-then realization hit, oh… right, his birthday.

He hummed again, more thoughtfully this time, then shrugged. “Y’know, I trust you, babe. Whatever you wanna do, I’ll love it either way.” He smiled, easy and warm.

Your expression turned mischievous. “You sure about that?” you asked, voice laced with playful suspicion.

His brows knit slightly, but then he smirked, leaning in in, he brought his lips close to your ear, his breath brushing your earlobe. “Why? Whatcha planning, sweetheart?”

You laughed softly and pushed him back playfully, grinning. “Secret. Guess you’re gonna find out next week.”

Mark made a mock-hurt face, and you couldn’t help but giggle. He ruffled your hair before pulling you closer, wrapping you up in a comfortable cuddle. The TV kept droning on in the background, but neither of you really cared anymore.

Now, though…you had an idea.

**

You bit your lip as you wandered through the lingerie aisle, the air thick with sweet perfume-notes of cherry and bubblegum drifting around you, your fingers brushed over different fabrics, carefully testing each one. Silk in black, soft pinks, pieces covered in lace some of it beautiful, but a little too much, you wanted something just right.. maybe something softer… velvety.

You moved to another section, scanning the options, but nothing quite clicked. What would Mark like? The light pastel blues didn’t feel right. The violets weren’t really your style either.

“Hey, ma’am! Finding everything okay?”

You turned to see someone about your age in a hot red colored store uniform, she wore a red lip stick and her hair in a sleek updo, smiling politely as she approached. You returned the smile, a little sheepish. “Yeah, I am-I’m just trying to find something my boyfriend might like for his birthday.” You sighed softly.

She smirked, giving you a knowing look, her fingers tapping thoughtfully against her chin. “Ah, I see… Well, there is this section over here…” she said, gesturing for you to follow.

Curious, you trailed after her and immediately, something caught your eye.

This section was different. The fabrics looked softer, smoother-silky, velvety, with delicate ribbon details. They had a subtle elegance to them, less lace, more intention.

“Yeah, we just got in this ribbon collection,” she said, leaning in slightly with a sly smile. “Trust me-wear something like this, and he won’t be able to take his eyes off you… might even want to unwrap the gift himself.”

You felt your cheeks warm, but your eyes were already scanning the display. And then you saw it.

A set designed like a bow-ribbons in a deep cherry red, soft and striking all at once, simple, but bold, the bows would wrap around your front, covering but not giving a lot to the imagination… It was perfect.

You picked it up, smiling as you turned back to her. “I’ll take this one.”

She winked and guided you to the register.

“Alright, your total is…” she began, but you barely registered the number just that it stayed safely in the double digits, and that was good enough.

You tapped your card against the reader, waited for the soft beep, and watched as the receipt printed, she placed the set neatly into a small goodie bag and handed it over.

“Have a good day,” she said with a grin.

“You too,” you replied, smiling as you stepped out of the store, the bag swinging lightly at your side. A warm, fluttering feeling settled in your stomach-anticipation curling softly through you.

He’s definitely not gonna take his eyes off on you now, but before you can think about that, you’ve a lot more errands to do today, and more plans to finish. **

The clock glowed 10:00 PM, its soft light the only thing cutting through the dimness of the room. Outside, the sky had settled into a deep, velvety navy, scattered with quiet stars, and the entire neighborhood seemed to have drifted off into stillness. No cars passing, no voices-just calm.

It was his birthday… and you hadn’t said a word about it all day.

Because why would you? That would ruin everything-ruin the surprise. And tonight, you were the surprise.

Your pajamas were somewhere on the bathroom counter, taking a slow breath, you finally slipped into the bow set, carefully adjusting each ribbon until it sat just right and when you lifted your gaze to the bathroom mirror, you froze for a second.

Wow.

The deep cherry-red fabric hugged your hips in a way that felt almost unfair, the satin catching the soft bathroom light with a subtle sheen, covering your pussy folds and the ribbons rested against your skin, delicate but intentional, each one tied in a way that felt both secure and just loose enough to tease. One gentle pull, and it would all come undone.

The top framed you just as precisely, soft strips of satin crossing and wrapping your nipples, covering what it needed to while still leaving plenty to the imagination. It didn’t just fit-it was presented. Like you’d wrapped yourself up on purpose, like a gift.

You turned slightly, glancing over your shoulder at the mirror to catch the bow at your back, fingers brushing it lightly, testing how easily it might come undone. A small, excited breath slipped from you.

Okay. Yeah. This was it.

You reached for your lip gloss next, twisting it open and smoothing the soft, reddish tint over your lips. It caught the light just enough-subtle, but noticeable, your lips pressed together once, twice.

Then you leaned in a little closer to the mirror.

Your hair fell in soft, clean strands around your shoulders, still fresh from the shower, smooth and slightly damp at the ends. You’d brushed it out carefully, letting it fall naturally, simple but pretty. The faint scent of your perfume lingered on your skin-light roses with a warm hint of vanilla underneath. Not overpowering. Just enough to be noticed if someone was close.

Very close.

You bit your lip, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as anticipation coiled warmly in your chest, trailing down into your stomach in soft, fluttering waves.

Tonight was going to be fun.

You stepped out of the bathroom quietly, bare feet soft against the floor as you moved down the hallway and toward the stairs. Debbie wasn’t home, which helped-no unexpected interruptions. And Oliver was out on a playdate, meaning the house was completely, blissfully empty.

Just you and Mark.

Exactly how you wanted it.

Right as you reached the bottom of the stairs, you heard it.

A faint thud from upstairs.

You stilled instantly, your breath catching for half a second before your heart started to pick up, quick and excited.

He was back.

Moving quickly but carefully-you slipped into the kitchen, making sure your steps stayed quiet against the floor. You hopped up onto the counter, settling yourself there, adjusting your posture just slightly, trying to look natural… even though your pulse was anything but.

Then-

The unmistakable sound of the window slider opening.

A soft scrape.

A pause.

Then it slid shut again.

Your fingers curled slightly against the edge of the counter as you listened.

Footsteps followed overhead, steady and familiar, pacing lightly across the floor upstairs.

“Baby?” his voice called out, slightly muffled by the distance, echoing faintly through the house.

You heard him moving around-something being set down, a shift of fabric, the quiet scuff of his boots against the floor. He was probably just getting in, not even suspecting a thing.

Your heart started to race.

Okay-pose. You needed to pose, you shifted slightly on the counter, uncrossing and recrossing your legs, trying to find something that looked natural but still… intentional. Your fingers flexed uncertainly before you placed your hands behind you, palms resting against the cool surface, shoulders subtly pulling back. Was that too stiff? Too obvious?

You adjusted again, angling your hips just slightly, then pausing.

No, no-stop overthinking it… but your thoughts kept spiraling anyway.

Should you look at him right away? Or pretend you didn’t notice him at first? Should you smile? Or-

Okay more footsteps coming closer now, coming down the stairs.

Oh, you didn’t have time.

Your breath caught softly as warmth rushed to your cheeks, and you quickly settled-hands staying behind you, legs crossed, posture just relaxed enough to almost look effortless. You let your hair fall naturally around your shoulders, fingers brushing through it once before you stilled completely, forcing yourself to just… wait.

The sound of his feet hitting the last step made your stomach flip.

“Hey, baby, I-”

Mark stepped into view, his voice trailing off the second he saw you.

He hadn’t even changed yet-still in his suit, the familiar yellow and blue colors catching the low light as he moved.. but he stopped immediately, like he’d walked straight into something he hadn’t been prepared for, his foot barely finished touching the ground before he froze, completely.

His eyes locked onto you… and didn’t move.

For a moment, it was like time stretched thin.

You watched it happen in real time, the slight widening of his eyes, the way his pupils dilated as his gaze instinctively dragged over you, slow and almost disbelieving. From your face… down your shoulders… lingering at the ribbons, the soft red satin catching the light… lower, tracing every detail like he needed to make sure this was actually real, like you were real.

His jaw slackened just slightly, like his brain hadn’t quite caught up yet.

And there you were sitting on the counter, legs crossed just enough to draw the eye, hands hidden behind your back, subtly pushing your posture forward, your expression was soft, half-lidded, calm in a way that completely betrayed the way your heart was pounding.

The ribbons. The bows, the way they framed you like something meant to be unwrapped and you didn’t say anything, you just looked at him and he stared long, before his lips opened and finally he spoke, breathlessly out of air. “I… wow… wha-what is this?” Mark whispered, his voice trailing off huskily.

Not much could prepare him for the sight that beholden him, you standing there in the dim glow of the single overhead light, wrapped-not in silk or satin, but in ribbons, red velvet ribbons that crisscrossed over your breasts, holding them together like a precious offering which you were for him, that was the point and more ribbons cinched your waist, creating a bow just below your navel, it traced the lines of your hips, framing the delicate triangle of panties, where a final, silky bow was tied, a promise he could undo with a single tug.

Now he inched closer, looming over you now, a solid wall of heat and intention. His eyes, wide with shock a moment ago, had now transformed, they’d turned hungry. A man starved, and you were the feast, the main course. They glazed over every detail, like the cleavage peeking between the velvet restraints, the soft, supple skin of your waist, the ribbons hugged, the delicate fabric covering your core.

He looked you up and down, his gaze a physical caress.

“It’s your birthday gift…” you said, your voice softer now, and more shyly as he’s getting more closer and his hands found your waist. Big, warm palms cupping your skin, feeling the heat of you beneath the cool ribbons. A shiver ran through you. You felt too exposed. Which you were. You hadn’t expected it to feel… this intense… maybe because all of his attention, his absolute focus, was laser-locked on you. There was nothing else in the world for him right now. Just the ribbons, the bows, and you looking like that.

“Mm… is that so.” Mark murmured, a hint of amusement coloring his deep tone.

 He leaned in, his nose brushing your hair, then drifting down to the ridge of your neck. He inhaled deeply. Oh, that perfume? Your scent vanilla and a hint of cherry filled his senses. You put all of this on for him? The realization hit him like a physical blow, and a small low groan escaped his lips, his cock hardening painfully against the confines of his suit, god you were just so sweet.

“Put this perfume on for me, baby?” he whispered, his voice now thick with desire, and now his hands grew more desperate, kneading your skin softly, pulling you tighter against him. You squeaked at the sudden closeness. His hands explored, mapping the soft skin of your body, the feel of the ribbons, the smooth skin beneath. One hand splayed across your back, trailing down your lower spine to cup your ass, you slowly nodded, feeling slowly becoming undone, his touches light as feathers were driving you to the edge already…

His other hand kneaded your ass, then delivered a soft, stinging smack. A moan slipped from your lips, and he kneaded the tender flesh in small, soothing circles before his fingers drifted to play with the ribbons at your hip, twirling the ends loosely.

He gradually backed you up until the cold marble of the kitchen counter pressed against your back, the chill seeping through your skin.

“This the idea, sweetheart?” he leaned in, his whisper a hot breath against your ear. “Wrapped yourself in all these ribbons, so I can just take them off you huh?” His voice was velvety, dipped in dark chocolate, and it sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs because it’s like he knew. Because his fingers, still playing with the ribbon, gave a slight little tug before drifting to the center of your folds. The thin silk of your panties shielded his touch, but his thumb found your clit and rubbed the nub through the damp fabric.

You whimpered, a high pitched moan ricocheting over the walls as your back arching slightly off the counter.

Mark groaned in satisfaction at how easily you were affected by his touch, he didn’t even do anything to you yet. “Look at yourself, my pretty girl ‘s all soaking wet right now. Do you feel that?” he crooned proudly, as his fingers continued their teasing rhythm, applying pressure, creating friction, but not enough. Not enough to give you what you needed.

 He was playing with you. Literally.

“Mark…” you whimpered out, your lips parting as your lashes fluttered.

Then you felt his lips graze the column of your neck. A soft brush, then a nibble. Then wet, open-mouthed kisses. You tilted your neck back, offering him more and he suckled the skin, attacking the sensitive area with a focused hunger. Your knees buckled slightly.

“Mm…” you let out, absent-minded, so focused on the sensations-his lips, his hot breath, the building ache.

His lips pulled away, and he moved to kiss your cheek, then you felt the distinct, sharp pain of a suction. A bruise formed on your neck, slightly red. A hickey. He gave you a mark. He turned, a tug pulling his lips into a smirk as he admired his work, then his eyes landed on you again, softening a fraction.

“Happy birthday…” you giggled airily, your arms coming to wrap around his neck, binding you to him.

He chuckled, a low, warm sound, before leaning in to kiss your lips properly. Not a tease. A conquest. His tongue shoved into your mouth, deep and possessive, sucking on your own wet tongue before pulling away.

“Happy birthday to me,” Mark echoed back, smiling.

You grinned at him for a moment before he attacked your face with a bunch of wet, playful kisses. Then his eyes darkened again, taking you in with that renewed hunger. He just pulled you closer and then lifted you literally off the ground.

“Mark!” You squealed, and he paid no mind to your noises of protests.

“What? I just can’t wait to use you all night, baby since you’re my present,” Mark hummed, his voice vibrating against your chest, the implication of his words made your pussy clench around nothing, and his words were getting you more aroused… 

You blushed deeper, a pink flush that spread from your cheeks down to your neck, as he walked away from the counter with you in his arms. He carried you easily, your weight nothing to him and each step up the stairs creaked under his feet. A warm feeling, a coil of pure anticipation, tightened in your stomach. Your thighs rubbed together instinctively, itching for him to just touch you, do anything to you. Which he would.

Finally, you were in the dim hallway, and then… his bedroom, the comic framed posters decorating the wall greeted your eyes, along with the neat bed that’s probably about to change soon and the desk with his laptop shut, action figurines lined, everything in this room which basically was the personification of Mark but inside the house, this was where you were, and now you were about to have the best fuck of your life, because Mark is definitely not gonna go easy on you tonight…

He didn’t set you gently on the bed. He set you down on the ground just inside the doorway, backing away to form a gap between you. He just stood there, eyeing you up and down, his expression unreadable. Then his finger gestured lazily, a silent command.

Get on your knees.

You obeyed and you bent down, getting on your knees, your hands resting on the floor, sitting back on your heels. He tsked his tongue.

“Wow, look at you. Sitting down, listening like a good little thing.”

His praise wasn’t gentle. It was possessive. It sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of submission and thrill. He finally walked closer, his hand immediately cupping your cheek. You tilted your head, looking up at him. Your eyes glossed with a desperate, needy look, and your thighs rubbed together again, and his eyes subtly glanced between your inner thighs. 

“Mark… I…” you let out, pouting.

Mark raised an eyebrow. “What, baby? Use your words.” His voice was soothing yet slightly condescending, the tone slithering into your ears.

Your lips wobbled. He was teasing you way too much, having too much fun. “I need you… please…” you whispered, pleading. You leaned more into his touch, too needily.

His hand that was cupping your cheek moved to thumb your lower lip, a rough, possessive caress. You looked up at him, your vision blurring with want.

“Aww… I know, baby,” Mark used a tone mimicking sadness, his brows furrowing in mock sorrow. “But… it’s my birthday, remember? Good girls wait, and I haven’t even unwrapped you yet baby, so… you’re just gonna have to wait, can you do that?”  he looked at you, his lips pulling into a small pout, as if this was affecting him too. 

your eyes got a little teary at the prolonged torture, the wait stretching your nerves, but you nodded, shakily, and a soft praise of ‘that’s my girl’ left his lips, then he tutted, a contented noise, before his attention turned to himself. His fingers moved in fast, efficient motions, tugging off his superhero suit off. The fabric parted, slid down his torso. His boxers followed, sliding down to expose him.

His cock sprang out, fully erect, achingly hard. It was a beautiful, so beautiful pinkish with a red hue, the slit at the top already leaking a droplet of clear pre-cum showing how much you were affecting him… and he was well-endowed, thick and long, and you couldn’t help the though even though you have seen it before,

God, his cock is so pretty.

He looked down at you, his expression shifting to raw expectation.

“You know what to do, baby,” Mark hummed, the command clear.

You nodded again, a silent obedience, before you crawled closer and your nose nudged into the base of his cock, brushing against his balls. His masculine scent clean, musky, him filled your nostrils and then finally, your lips parted. You leaned forward and licked a long, wet stripe from the base to the tip then you took him in.

“Fuck.” Mark cursed, his eyes fluttering shut for a second before snapping open to watch you. To watch you take him like this.

Your cheeks hollowed as you sucked, your lips moving to swallow his whole cock. A bulge formed in your throat because he was… big. You gagged slightly, your eyes getting a little teary, but you kept going, bobbing your head down on his length.

His hand gripped your hair, not gently, but firmly, tugging you to go deeper. You let out a choked sound before he decided to take full control.

His hips bucked and he started moving, fucking into your mouth. You let him use you the way he wanted, your hands gripping his muscular thighs for stability. Your eyes watered, tears springing at the corners.

“Look at me, keep those pretty little eyes on me,” you felt his finger move to tap your cheek,  your eyes immediately went up, meeting his gaze. His expression was dark, mixed with a feral hunger as he fucked into your mouth, using you, your face looked lewd tear-streaked, flushed red, lips stretched around him and the fucking bulge in your throat is gonna send him off.

You looked so pretty, your pretty little lips wrapped around his cock, with your knees on the ground, your hair not disheveled yet but a little messy, your cute little cheeks a bit pink, you were being such a good girl for him right now, letting him use you like this. God coming home to this after patrolling he felt like he was being rewarded, he sighed in ecstasy as he kept fucking in your mouth.

You felt his tip reach deep into your throat, and you gagged again, a wet, choked sound as he kept fucking deeply. He cursed under his breath, his words fragmented by pleasure.

“Yeah just like that damn-shit…” Mark let out, his eyes rolling back a little in his skull at the sight of you on your knees, letting him use your mouth, letting him use you how he wanted to. 

He thrusted a few more times, his grip on your hair tugging him deeper into your mouth. Then he stilled, his body tensing. You felt it now the thick, warm ropes of his cum erupting, dripping into your mouth and you gulped, swallowing it all, and he was still coming, a continuous flow. Finally, he pulled his cock out with a wet pop.

You breathed out, your head bowing low, panting fast. A dribble of cum leaked from the corner of your mouth.

Mark didn’t let you rest, he hauled you up immediately, his hands strong and sure. Then he spun you around, pushed you onto the bed with a force that was firm, but not brutal. You were on the mattress, and he was on you, literally, his weight pinning you.

He was on you, his lips pressed onto yours as he kissed you deeply, his muscular thigh nudging between your legs to keep them spread. He wasn’t giving you a moment to breathe. His tongue shelved itself deeper into your mouth like he owned it, and his hands moved to your waist, palming you there before his fingers returned to the ribbons.

He pulled away, looking at you. His hunger had multiplied, a look ready to devour you.

“This goes first,” Mark whispered, his gaze fixed on the ribbons holding your lingerie together.

He finally loosened the knot near your hips. It went loose, the fabric falling away, pooling onto the mattress. He tossed it aside carelessly, before his eyes dropped to your wet, glistening cunt. You were so wet, the little fabric hiding your little pussy folds, soaked through.

He wasted no time.

Immediately, he trailed kisses down your stomach, to your inner thighs, and you felt him hook his strong arms around your thighs, pulling them over his shoulders. His face was inches from your cunt. And he didn’t just lick.

He dove.

He didn’t start slow. He latched his lips onto your cunt and sucked, hard, fast.

Your back arched off the bed, your eyes blown wide as a high-pitched moan ripped from your throat. His sucking wasn’t gentle, it was frantic, desperate.

“Mark… oh my god…” you let out, ecstasy painting your face as your eyes fluttered shut, as you felt his tongue flatten against your pussy folds, and sucked the nub into his mouth, switching back and forth.

He lapped at your pussy furiously, his nose diving in to get more of your taste on his tongue. He thrusted his tongue into your gummy walls, a deep, penetrating invasion. Your thighs shook, your head twisted into the bed sheets, eating you out like it’s gonna be the last ever meal he would ever eat in his life.

His tongue then moved to circle your clit, fast and relentless. You felt it immediately, you literally came so fast. You cried out, a sharp, broken sound. Your pussy felt overstimulated immediately from his tongue, and your hips twisted instinctively to get away, but his arms caged you, iron-tight, holding you firmly against his lips. Your juices coated his tongue, his jaw, his chin. He was not done. Oh, not a chance.

He pulled you closer to his mouth, continuing to lap at your cunt like it was sweet nectar, his groans vibrated against your pussy folds, murmurs of “so sweet” mixing with the wet sounds. It was too much. Your soft, high-pitched cries filled the room, a symphony of pleasure. His lips were latched onto your pussy like he wasn’t letting go. 

“Mark, fuck, I’m…” you let out, your eyes rolling slightly as you felt your second orgasm creeping in. The warm, tight feeling coiled in your tummy again. Your legs shook more and more, and his tongue just shoved inside your pussy again, faster, deeper.

You came again. Your lips parted as you gasped, more of your juices coating his mouth. He just drank you in like it was the last thing he could consume.

But he wasn’t done still.

He kept sucking, licking, fucking you with his tongue, more rounds of overstimulation, more sounds of him sucking on your cunt echoed in the room and by the time he pulled away, it was probably… your fourth time? You lay exhausted on the bed, your body a limp, spent thing-

His lips pulled away, and his jaw was glistening with your juices. He looked wrecked, he then leaned over you, his eyes crawling all over your body and your face. You looked out of it, your eyes glossy and half-lidded from the pleasure, your lips swollen a bit red from his kisses.

“Don’t tap out yet, baby. ‘m not done,” Mark murmured, his voice a low, determined promise, he backed you further into the headboard of the bed, his hands palming your thighs and pulling your hips closer to him. His other hand gripped you, spreading your thighs wider on the bed, opening you all the way up. His cock was furiously hard again, more pre-cum leaking from the tip.

He immediately circled it against your pussy lips, a slick, teasing drag and he did not wait, he entered you in one long, unbroken thrust.

You let out a shaky “ah” from your lips, and more tears drenched your eyes because the pleasure was too much, overwhelming as he seated his hips and bottomed out to the hilt inside you. You were so full, so stretched, you felt his cock twitch inside you, and then his head tilted over, kissing your neck before his lips touched your ear.

“I meant it, baby… I’m using you all night,” Mark whispered, his voice low and hot against your ear, he pulled away towering and looming over you, his hands pulling your hips closer and staying there then-

His hips started moving and you literally whimpered and cried out nonstop, his pace was relentless, the pleasure was so intense, so good. His cock pummeled into your pussy, sliding out only to slam back in, a relentless rhythm. His balls tapped against your clit with each thrust, and the sound of skin slapping skin echoed in the room, and more raw moans escaped your throat, like he was fucking them out of you.

“Ah… oh…” you let out, your eyes rolling back as your head lolled to the side.

His hips continued an unforgiving pace. His cock slid out with a wet, sucking sound before slamming back in. He pounded you into the mattress, literally. He angled his hips, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with every drive. Your thighs shook violently, but he held them apart as he fucked deep into your soul. The sounds of your crying moans and his rough grunts mixed with the wet sounds of fucking, filling the room.

Your mind was full of cotton. You couldn’t think. God, you couldn’t. Just the sensation of him fucking you, the sounds. He wasn’t fucking you gently, with the care he usually showed. No. His thrusts were firm, hard, rough. He was using you. His head tilted back as he kept fucking your pussy hard, making sure it stuck.

“Fuck-fuck, take it all, fuck yeah-” Mark groaned, as his hips kept snapping fast.

You felt it, literally. You moaned as your back arched, and you came again, coating his cock in your juices. But he still kept fucking you through your orgasm, the sensation borderline between overwhelming pleasure and the sharp pain of overstimulation then his hips stilled, buried deep warm, thick ropes of his cum seeped into your pussy folds, filling you. Your eyes rolled back again, a low whimper escaping your lips.

He stayed there for a second, his weight on you, his cock pulsing inside you. His palm rubbed your cheek, tilting your face to look at him. You tried, your eyes slowly fluttering, tears streaking your face.

“You’re gonna be my cocksleeve all night, baby. I’m gonna make sure to fuck this pussy all full with my cum,” Mark murmured, his voice velvety and sweet despite how dirty and sinful his words sounded, and in a blink of an eye, he immediately turned you over on the bed. Your head buried in the sheets, your ass perked in the air. He pulled your hips roughly back to his, his hand landing with a slight crack on your ass-a spank. 

You whimpered, the sting mixing with the deep, aching fullness. He kneaded the tender flesh soothingly, then slapped it again, making your cheeks flush a deeper red.

“Just like that, sweetheart-just like how I want you,” he whispered huskily.

You felt his hard tip near your inner thighs again, then the tip pressing into the folds of your cunt, slick with his cum and yours and he finally thrusted back in again, and you let out a muffled moan into the sheets, he stayed there, literally grinding his hips in slow, deep circles, stretching you, filling you. You cried into the bedsheets, the pleasure too much, too deep.

“Mark…ah.. too much…” your muffled whimpers were lost in the pillows.

He grunted again, his hips then moving again. His cock slid out of your cunt with a wet, messy sound, only to slam back in before continuing his rough, punishing pace. His hand just slapped against your ass cheek in response to your whines-

“I get to use you all night. So fucking stay quiet and take it for me, okay?” Mark gritted out, his words unusually being slightly harsh contrast to how usually gentle he is with you, but he fucked you like a man possessed, he kept snapping his hips over and over again, shoving you deeper into the bed, his cock slid out and slammed back in continuously, the wet sounds mixing with the slosh of his cum inside your pussy, his previous load dripping onto the bedsheets beneath you, and you cried out, your head just twisting in the pillows as he kept fucking you harder and harder, as if he was trying etch himself inside you.

His thick cum coated his throbbing cock, making it slicker, allowing him to pound into your soaked pussy even faster and deeper and his pace turned brutal, hips snapping with ferocious rhythm. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back to arch your spine, forcing your moans to fill the room raw, desperate cries echoing off the walls as he railed you relentlessly, your pussy folds, overflowing with his cum, let his shaft glide out to the tip before he drove it balls-deep again, the wet squelch of skin slapping skin punctuating every thrust. 

Your mind dissolved into haze, thoughts shattered, no words formed, just more pathetic whimpers and little gasps spilling from your parted lips, a small formed pout on your lips.

He savored the sight, his baby girl utterly wrecked beneath him, eyes rolling white, a trail of drool slipping down your chin. You looked so fucking adorable like this, all limp and obedient under his grip. "Hey…baby… don't black out on me yet," he grinned with a smirk, angling your flushed face toward his, because he wants to see that pretty face of yours, his his hips hammered forward without mercy, and a broken sob escaped you, cheeks flushed red, gaze unfocused and teary.

"M-mm... Ma..." The attempt at his name dissolved into a garbled mess, ending in a feeble hiccup, how cute.

"Shh, ‘s okay baby, no need for words, just keep those pretty lips shut and... fuck..." Mark groaned, lost in the bliss of his cock inside you, your velvety walls clenching greedily around him. His load leaked from your swollen slit, soaking the sheets below. "Just... take this dick…perfectly like that, ‘s all you have to do…" He didn't let up, thrusting over and over, your muffled mewls burying into the rumpled bedding as he chased his next release, as you let out more soft cries.

Your head lolls to the side, cheek pressed into the cool, rumpled sheets, you can’t think straight. Your mind is a blur of sensation, no thoughts in your head except Mark’s cock literally railing you into the bed, and the heat of his skin, and his hands pinning your hips wide apart, it felt so good, all you can do is moan and whimper helplessly into the fabric as he fucks you into the mattress, and how many time had passed you weren’t sure. You didn’t care, just the feeling of him rearranging your insides was scattering your brain.

The pace he sets is relentless, each thrust rocks your entire body forward, some of his warm cum still leaking, pooling down your thighs, along with making it all the more easier for him to fuck you faster, his hands are tight on your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding you in place for his cock. 

The wet, slapping sounds of skin on skin are obscenely loud in the quiet room, punctuated by your muffled cries in the bed was music to his ears.

His cock slides out almost completely, the head catching at your entrance, before he rams back in to the hilt. 

“That’s it,” Mark groans, his hot breath fanned against the shell of your ear. He’s leaned over you, his chest a hot, sweaty weight against your back. “Look at this pussy stretched all ‘round my cock, look at you.” His words, dripping full of proudness and tenderness send another shiver through you, as he keeps fucking literally deep into your soul, and you gasped, your eyes blown wide.

“Fuck-” he cursed, his hips stuttering for a beat. “My baby girl likes it huh? She likes this cock doesn’t she? hm?” You can’t form words. A broken high pitched, “mhm,” is all you manage, the sound vibrating into the mattress.

He chuckles, a satisfied sound. One hand leaves your hip and slides up your spine, a possessive stroke, before his palm splays between your shoulder blades, pressing you down even further, and the angle changes, and the next thrust hits a spot so deep and so perfect that you see stars.

A sharp, high-pitched cry tears from your throat, 

“There it is,” he purrs, He focuses on that angle, his cock driving into that sweet spot, you felt like you were going to be sent over. “C’mon, baby girl, let me hear you, let me hear how good I’m fucking you.” no words left your lips, only soft, broken sobs and breathless moans, he knew that those sobs aren’t from pain or sadness, it was pure bliss, and just full of overwhelm as pleasure borders on too much. 

His hips piston into you without mercy, skin slapping against skin in wet, obscene rhythm. His strong hands grip your thighs harder, prying them wider apart and hoisting them up higher, muscles bulging in his forearms as he holds your trembling legs steady even as they go boneless, quivering like jelly, he was keeping you upright,  you’re melting into the bed, a puddle of sweat-slicked need, and finally, your lips parted.

“‘S good… so good…mark…” you trail off in a wrecked slur, eyes blurred with hot tears that spill freely down your cheeks, nearly rolling back into your skull from the intensity, and hiccuping sobs wrack your chest, soaking the pillows dark beneath your face. 

He drinks in the sight of you, all wrecked, flushed and ruined, marked by his bites and handprints that will probably last to the next morning, his hips never falter, still driving forward with his cock slamming balls-deep in and out of your sopping heat, stretching you wide on every plunge.

“It’s so good…” you babble incoherently, voice cracking as another wave crashes through you.

He leans forward suddenly, his broad chest pressing flush against your sweat-slicked back, the heat of skin seeped through yours, his hot mouth finds your neck, teeth grazing before he nibbles sharply, sucking fresh love bites into the tender skin-purple blooms. Then his hand snakes around, fingers tangling in your hair to tug your head back just enough.

He tilts your chin toward him, crashing his lips onto yours in a tongue-devouring kiss. His tongue fucks into your mouth with the same savage rhythm as his hips, devouring your gasps and little moans while he pounds you harder, faster, deeper. A fat bead of sweat rolls down your spine, tracing the curve of your ass before dripping onto the sheets. Your once-soft hair clings in matted strands to your neck and forehead, heavy with exertion.

He breaks the kiss with a wet pop, lips brushing your ear, “I know, baby. I know… give me just one more, you can do it, sweetheart.”

You shake your head weakly, fresh tears blurring your vision as his hips keep snapping against your ass with punishing force each impact jolting your whole body forward. “S’too much, baby… I can’t…I can’t-” you cry out, voice small and fractured, your pussy spasming erratically around him, and he felt it, you slowly coming undone.

He doesn’t stop. Instead, he turns your face fully into his, lips pressing soft kisses to your tear-streaked cheeks, licking the salt away even as his thrusts hammer on, unrelenting. “You can-fuck I know you can… just come for me, just one more time… soak my cock baby girl, you got it.” His voice is a gravelly murmur against your ear, hot breath fanning your skin while he fucks you through the overload, his free hand sliding down to circle your swollen clit with rough, insistent fingers pushing you higher, and your body caved.

And you feel it building god, you do. The orgasm coils deep in belly, it felt warm, white and hot. your eyes widen in shock, lips parting on a silent scream as it hits, your pussy convulses violently, gushing hot squirt all over his pistoning cock, drenching his balls and thighs in a messy flood. “Fuck-fuck…thats it-” the sensation rips a guttural groan from him he gives one final, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt as thick ropes of cum erupt from his throbbing shaft, painting your insides white, filling you to overflowing until it leaks out around his girth.

He stays there, locked deep inside your pulsing heat, both of you collapsing forward in a tangle of limbs. 

His weight blankets you protectively, chest heaving against your back, cock still twitching with aftershocks as your combined releases drip down your thighs. Neither of you moved for a long moment, just your muffled gasps in the pillows, along with his ragged breaths.

Slowly he pulled out, his thick tip slid out, leaving your entrance, and you felt utterly empty but so full, your pussy folds were filled with the cum, to the point that it was still leaking into the bed, and out of your thighs, and it felt warm and sticky. He finally collapsed beside you, breath uneven, his arm slipping around your waist as if it belonged there. Without thinking, he pulled you closer, guiding your head to rest against his chest. His heartbeat was still racing beneath your cheek.

His lips found you again-slow this time. Your hairline, your temple, your damp cheeks… lingering, softer now. When he reached your lips, the kiss was gentler, almost reverent, like he was savoring the moment rather than chasing it.

You let out a quiet, exhausted breath, your fingers curling loosely into the fabric beneath you.

“God…” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “You took me like that… you did so good. So, so good.”

The praise made your chest tighten in the best way. You gave a small nod, your eyes half-lidded as a faint, tired smile tugged at your lips. Your whole body felt heavy, completely spent, and completely sore down there… you could already tell tomorrow was going to remind you of tonight in every little movement.

“You okay, baby?” Mark whispered, his lips brushing near your ear, his breath warm and grounding.

“Mhm…” you managed softly, barely more than a hum.

He smiled against your skin, clearly unconvinced but reassured enough, and kissed you again once, twice like he couldn’t quite stop himself.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The room settled into a quiet calm, the only sounds of your breathing slowly evening out and the faint rustle of the sheets beneath you. It was just you and him, tangled together in warmth and closeness.

Mark shifted slightly, just enough to look at you properly, his hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his gaze softening as he took you in, your body instinctively moved closer, even though there was barely any distance left to close.

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head a little, his eyes still on you, looking at you like you were everything. “That might’ve been the best birthday present ever.”

Your lips twitched a little, and you smiled up at him teasingly.  “Might’ve?” he grinned faintly, his thumb tracing slow, absent patterns along your arm. “Okay-definitely.” His gaze drifted, taking in the marks he’d left behind, his cum leaking out of your pretty cunt, his expression shifting into something softer, almost awed.

“So pretty,” he murmured under his breath, your lashes fluttered at that, warmth creeping up your cheeks as you held his gaze. For a second, everything felt still-quiet, full, complete, then your eyes widened slightly, and Mark saw it change in your face.

“Oh wait… Mark,” you said, a little sheepish now. “I, uh… I got you something else too.”

His brows lifted immediately, surprise flickering across his face. “What? After all that?” he teased, a small laugh escaping him, and he pulled you a little closer to his chest looking at you intrigued. “What is it?”

You leaned closer, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “The latest Seance Dog edition comics… signed and… maybe some merch I thought you’d like.” you pulled back just enough to see his reaction and it was instant, his eyes widen in surprise and he was giving you the most cutest gentle puppy look ever despite fucking your brains out earlier, he looked so giddish and happy.

“Babe… you didn’t have to-wait, seriously?” he said flabbergasted, blinking like he was trying to process it, you nodded slowly, smiling at how genuinely stunned he looked, he then sat up a little to try to look for where it was in the room but then you felt his warm furnace of a body disappear which you were quite enjoying before he moved, you still gently pulled him back down your arms wrapped around his waist, “Babe? Where is it??” He looked at you like a child that got his first birthday present which technically it was like that, “Somewhere in the room baby, maybe in the drawers, look for it later, ‘m enjoying your cuddles right now.” you mumbled which caused him to snort a little, you looked so cute. He sighed and kissed your cheeks, before murmuring a disappointed ‘fine’ under his breath but it wasn’t out of actual disappointment, he was far from that.

“But still that’s-” he cut himself off with a soft, disbelieving laugh, pulling you in again. His hands cradled your face as he pressed quick, affectionate kisses across your cheeks, your forehead, the corner of your lips, and you giggled.

“You’re literally the best girlfriend ever,” he murmured into your hair, his voice full of warmth which you let out a small laugh, nudging him lightly. “I think I already gave you a pretty good gift before that.” the notion behind your words, he pulled back just enough to look at you, one brow lifting with a playful glint in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said slowly, “you really did.”

His fingers trailed lazily from your shoulder down your arm, then back up again, like he couldn’t quite stop touching you.

“But now,” he added, his voice dropping slightly, softer, “you’ve set the bar kinda unfairly high.” you hummed, tilting your head. “Oh? Sounds like a challenge.” He smiled at that, something fond and a little mischievous settling in his expression. His hand slipped back to your waist, pulling you just a bit closer.

“Mm… I dunno,” he mumbled, pretending to think. “I just know I’m gonna have to go all out for your birthday.” 

“Oh yeah?” you teased. “And what does ‘all out’ mean to you?” His eyes flickered over your face, then down briefly before returning to yours, his smile softening.

“It means,” he said quietly, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “making you feel exactly like you made me feel tonight.” Your breath caught slightly at that, the sincerity in his voice outweighing the teasing.

“Completely spoiled?” you asked lightly, he shook his head, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours.

“Completely loved,” he corrected, the words lingered between you, warm and steady.

You smiled, closing your eyes for a second as your hand found his, fingers intertwining lazily, and your face moved to nuzzle in his neck, you felt his big arms wrap around you and the other just brushing your hair, humming.

“Well,” you murmured, your voice soft with sleep starting to creep in, “you’ve got time to plan.”

He chuckled quietly, pressing one last gentle kiss to your lips, and you let out a soft sigh, as you melted further into his warm embrace, smiling satisfiedly.

“Happy birthday, babe.”

[youngirlfrom]

“I Can’t Pay The Rent This Month”

ɞ You tell Damian you can't pay the rent this month.

ɞ Warnings: fluff, but you can see a tiny bit of sexual tension at the end.

The apartment was quiet in that rare, comfortable way; no comms, no alerts, no urgency. Just stillness. Damian sat on the sofa, one arm draped along the back, the other holding a book open with practiced ease. His posture was relaxed in a way very few people ever saw. And you were sprawled across him like you belonged there. Which at this point you did. Your head rested against his chest, legs stretched along the couch, one arm loosely draped over his side.

Damian turned a page. His hand, almost absentmindedly rested against your side, fingers lightly tracing slow, idle patterns.

Neither of you spoke for a minuate but then you shifted slightly, tilting your head just enough to look up at him. “Damian?”

He didn’t look up immediately. “Mm.”

Your tone changed with something soft. “I need to talk to you about something.”

That made him pause. He put the book he was holding down on the other side of the chair and straightened up with you in his lap.

“What is it?”

You clasped your hands together, just enough to look nervous. “I… I don’t think I can pay the rent this month.” You said, sighing.

Damian only blinked once. “I’m sorry Hayati, but what?”

You looked down, avoiding his eyes committing to the performance. You tried not to laugh at the confusion on Damian's face. “I’ve just had a lot of… expenses,” you said, quieter now. “Unexpected things.”

He leaned back slightly. Damian pushed a few strands of hair that had fallen across your face behind your ear, studying you like something in this equation had fundamentally broken.

“Y/N.”

“Yes, my love?”

“We do not pay rent.”

You nodded solemnly. “Right.”

“And you have never paid rent.”

“Yes.”

“And you own this property.” He said, as if stating an obvious truth, "You know I had your name put on the title deed, right?"

“Yes.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. Damian spoke as his hand slid from your face to your waist. “Then clarify your statement.”

You finally looked up at him trying very hard to stay serious. “I just think,” you said carefully, “it would be irresponsible of me not to bring it up.”

Damian’s expression didn’t soften, but it changed just enough to notice something “You are testing me,” he said.

Your lips twitched. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You are simulating financial distress in a scenario where it is structurally impossible.”

“I wouldn’t say impossible-”

“It is impossible.”

Damian's hand tightened around your waist as you bit the inside of your cheek. He leaned forward slightly now, eyes narrowing you. “Oh,” he said quietly. “This is one of those… trends.”

You lost it, just a little. A small smile breaking through. “Maybe.”

Damian exhaled slowly through his nose. “You are aware,” he said, voice flattening in that very particular way, “that I am a physician with multiple income streams and access to-”

“I know baby,” you cut in, stepping closer, smile growing now. “I know.”

“You are also aware,” he continued, ignoring that, “that I would not permit you to assume financial burden regardless of circumstance.”

“I know that too.”

“And yet you chose to present this scenario.”

You nodded, completely unapologetic now. You could even call that shameless, because you were having so much fun. “Yes.”

“I don’t understand why.”

You tilted you head slightly, your eyes were soft but unmistakably amused. “Because I wanted to see what you’d do.”

“You wished to observe my response,” he said.

“Mm-hm.”

“And what outcome were you expecting?”

You shrugged lightly. “I don’t know. Maybe you’d panic a little.”

“I do not panic.”

“I’ve seen you panic.” You said, laughing. Because you'd seen him panic, especially when it came to you.

“You have seen me adjust rapidly.”

You smiled. “Sure.”

Damian leaned in, just slightly. Close enough that his voice didn’t need volume.

“If this were real,” he said quietly, “there would be no discussion.”

Your smile softened just a fraction. “Oh?”

“You would not be responsible for it,” he continued. “You are not responsible for any of it.”

Your expression flickered briefly, because even knowing him, hearing it like that still did something. “You say that like it’s obvious,” you said.

“It is.”

“So you wouldn’t make me sell my things? Or I don’t know, take on a second job?”

Damian’s expression shifted instantly, offended on a conceptual level. “I would prevent you from attempting either.”

You laughed softly. “I know you would.”

“You find this amusing, aren’t you?”

“Very.”

“You derive enjoyment from fabricating problems I cannot logically solve.”

“Yes.”

Something in his expression shifted again. “You are aware,” he said slowly, “that if you wished to test my responses, there are more… effective methods.” He said, his hand sliding from your leg down to your hip.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You could simply ask for something,” he said.

Your breath hitched, barely there. “Like what?”

He shook his head from side to side as if he was stating the most normal thing in the world. “Anything. You would receive anything you want.”

“Even if I asked for something unreasonable?”

“I would evaluate it,” he said.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I would still provide it.”

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you persist.”

After a brief pause, you added, becoming serious. “For the record, I can pay rent.”

“I am aware.”

“I just don’t.”

“I am also aware.”

“And you don’t let me.”

“That is correct.”

You smiled, leaning just slightly closer. “Good.”

Damian didn’t move away. “Your concern is resolved, then,” he said.

“Completely.” You said, and murmured as your hands traced across his chest, “Actually, I think I want something right now.”

A glint appeared in Damian’s eyes, and he leaned back, encouraging the small movements of your hips.

“Will you provide for me?” you said while your lips curving towards him.

Damian murmured as he reached for your bra strap inside your shirt. “Always.” And that was the only answer needed to bring your lips together.

😝​😝​

Okay, okay, I'll stop writing for Damian. The last four posts I shared were all about him. I just can't stop myself 😔​

[fawnindawn]

in a hundred lifetimes.

summary: landing in an alternate dimension—you're certain this version of damian who finds you should hate you as much as your damian does. but when he pulls you in so tight as if he's experienced losing you before.. you realise he isn't so willing on letting you go.

pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader

content: alternate dimension damian who finds you which makes the yearning 1000x worse, 'ill choose you in every lifetime' trope, angst-comfort

It's been twenty minutes since you ended up in another dimension. A stupid argument. An accidental trigger. Of course, none of that comes close in comparison to the complete shock of Damian Wayne crushing you with his embrace.

No. Embrace is too soft a term for how tightly squeezed you are—the lack of space making it easy for you to detect how his body is physically shaking.

You're covered in soot, dust particles still emanating from where your form had materialised—from where your first instinct had been to press the emergency contact on your comms. Damian had found you not long after. You still remember how quickly your fury had been extinguished the moment you caught sight of his pale expression, the sheer disbelief in the open gape of his lips.

Damian hates you. That fact is precisely the reason you ended up here, in a whole other dimension. That instinctive reminder is what forces you to push yourself out of his embrace, and his own hands go slack as he stares at you wordlessly.

"Why'd you follow me in—you idiot!" You snap, trying to brush off how taken off-guard you are. "I can't believe we're both stuck here."

He blinks once. "Stuck?"

"You should've pieced this together faster than I did." Gesturing to your surroundings, your arms still ache from having crashed through a construction site. "We're stuck in another dimension all thanks to you."

He blinks again, slower this time. Processing. "Where exactly did you come from?"

"Did the fall injure your head?" Your impatience brims over your exhausted features. "Isn't it enough that you had to start something in the lab? We wouldn't have ended up here if you hadn't been so insistent on triggering the portal."

His features remain stoic, but there's a familiar calculation in his gaze. His lips part after a moment. "Portal."

It's infuriating how long he's taking to catch onto the reality of what's just happened. You give a short nod, your growing panic stuck between your teeth. If Damian's here with you, there's no telling if you'll be able to make a connection back to your dimension.

"I suppose you are right." His brows remain furrowed in consideration. "But there is one thing you're missing."

Leave it to him to counter every point of yours, needing to be right as always. A heavy sigh leaves your lips. "And what is that?"

"I'm not your Damian."

Those words still ring hollow, a repeating drone of his voice as you watch the familiar city pass by the windowpane. It is Gotham, but not. Unfamiliar stores fill the streets, similar roads but not quite, small inconsistencies that are enough to remind you that this isn't your home.

That the person in the driver's seat beside you is a complete stranger.

"Who am I to you?" You question, casting your glance back to that stiff, perfect posture of his as he makes a turn towards his apartment.

That hug from earlier, if you could even call it that, still lingers like a shadow, casting goosebumps over your skin whenever the memory overstayed its welcome.

You spot the whitening of his knuckles, the pads of his fingers squeezing into the steering wheel before the colour returns, as if his composure never faltered.

"You were my assigned partner." He answers briskly.

Were. There's finally one consistency, at the very least. To your relief, the version of you here didn't seem to get along with him either.

Your small amusement is quickly diminished at the rise of another concern of yours. If there was another version of you running around this city, you can't even begin to fathom the potential fractures of reality if an encounter truly happened.

You're already playing a huge risk in letting this Damian assist you. Still, you had no one else.

Your comms had contacted him, not that it was to any surprise of your own once the initial panic died down. It wasn't likely that you still had a connection to your own world, much less an existing channel with your Damian. It was pure luck that you still had use for the device at all. Or at least, you hoped you could consider it luck.

Your gaze lingers over his features. The likeness between him and your Damian was uncanny. The same nose bridge, freckles, and even that faint scar running down his jawline. It was all so familiar that you had to snap yourself out of it when you found your body conditioning itself into safety, as if forgetting he's a stranger.

"Well, I hope you'll let bygones be bygones." You answer wryly. "There wasn't anyone else I could contact. If you can help me find a way back home, I'll be out of your dimension in no time."

The silence grows terse. A shift has occurred, even if you're unsure on the why. You had only stated the obvious. Perhaps his moods were in line with what you were familiar with after all, and that is no soothing relief if it meant having to face that same temperament that landed you here.

"I'm already offering my help." Damian answers after a moment, as if he's finally settled for a response he was satisfied with.

"I hope so." You mutter, eyelids falling shut in your exhaustion. The sight of the city was making you nauseous. "It's kind of your fault I ended up here. The other you, anyways."

He hums, finger tapping once against the steering wheel. "Typical."

This Damian has an apartment akin to a serial killer's. The barest necessities, minimal decorations—it's as if every surface has gone untouched. If you hadn't seen it with your own eyes when he unlocked the door with his thumbprint, you would've assumed no one had ever stepped foot within these walls.

"Ever heard of decoration?" It lands wrong, and you internally wince. It's difficult, to not fall back into that same push-and-pull when you see Damian's figure in your peripheral vision. To not be mistaken with familiar company.

He watches you for longer than he should. He keeps doing that, the staring. "There's no reason for me to do so." He answers eventually.

Your brows furrow. Something about his responses from the moment you met him unnerved you, as if he's leaving his words purposely vague. Clues buried within that mask of his, where an unanswered story that didn't belong to your reality lingers in his.

"Where am I currently in your dimension?" You decide to settle at the sofa, stretching out your limbs. "If she's still in Gotham, I need to be careful not to be seen."

Ever since you arrived, your body has been aching horribly. It hadn't been this obvious when you had arrived, but now, it's stinging down to your nerves. Maybe the adrenaline had finally worn off, and you're left to deal with a body unequipped to the frantic mess your mind is trying to sort out.

"It won't be a problem." He answers, lips pursing into a thin line. "She's gone."

Your head tilts questioningly to meet his gaze, but he avoids yours. Pulling open his kitchen drawer, there's a taut tension in his body as if he's been expecting your question and dreading it all the same.

Gone could mean anything. Out of the city borders or—

Your eyes flicker down to his disappearing hand, and find his reappearing fingers gripped around pain ointment. Your stretch pauses halfway, the strange alertness of being noticed without your permission sending a chill down your spine.

Forcing your hands down back to your sides, you eye him warily as he makes his way round the couch, stopping before you. His hand extends, lifting his offering silently.

It's unfamiliar, and even if you try your hardest to reason to yourself, that this isn't the Damian you know, it doesn't make it any easier to allow him to assist you. You half expect mocking, a glimpse of his smirk when your gaze flickers to the ointment held out in front of you.

A low breath escapes his lips, and you expect him to give in. To understand that you don't require more of him other than his specific assistance to send you home—only for him to lower himself.

Damian Wayne—even if he isn't the one you're used to—is kneeling down to meet your gaze. Your breath stops, your chest seized tight as you stare at him, unable to hide your surprise.

He doesn't falter, his fingers mindlessly dipping into the ointment before placing the jar by your side. His free hand goes to grip your wrist, tugging gently to expose the bruises trailing along your arm from your fall.

"If it is me you have come to for assistance." He mutters with a click of his tongue. "Then, I expect you not to be stubborn."

You swallow, your jaw ticking as you find your tongue heavy with a lack of an adequate response. His unwavering concern, this intensity can't be tied solely to you. There has to be a reason for why he is looking at you this way.

"What did you mean?" You ask quietly. "By gone?"

His fingers, still coated with the ointment, brush gently over your thudding pulse. His gaze finally lifts, but you can't read him. There's a pull to his gaze, and the answer reveals itself by the time you recognise what is held within his eyes isn't irritation or indifference. It was grief.

"She's dead."

It's a strange feeling to know you're stepping into a world where a version of you used to exist. A sick form of good luck, a technical elimination of complications.

Except that it's only made everything more complicated. You had no idea on how to deal with the Damian in front of you now that the truth's been revealed.

When he first admitted that he wasn't the Damian you knew, you had quickly assumed that whatever dynamic he shared with you from this dimension was a parallel to the one you shared with your Damian. Forced tolerance, a begrudging partnership. No, you had needed to assume it so. Anything different would have shattered this fragile alliance you had with the stranger sitting across you, because despite everything you felt about your Damian—you relied on him as a partner.

Now, you weren't sure if you could trust the Damian in front of you. You had assumed that if he answered your questions, you would have cleared the air—but it has only raised more.

You can feel his attention while you're thinking. You swear with the intensity of his gaze casted onto you which you pretend not to notice, it's as if your existence only materialised when his eyes are on you. There's a strange urgency in his unblinking stare, as if to remind himself that you're still in front of him.

It's too much. It was the same back when he first saw you as well. Damian hasn't mentioned his strange reaction since, and his lack of an explanation for why he had embraced you clues you on nothing still, on what you meant to him.

"I'm not her." You mutter after a moment. You don't know why, but you feel you have to say it.

There's some form of attachment he must've had with you, and you couldn't let yourself be tangled into the mess of what's been left behind. This isn't your world, and the last thing you needed was a blur of that line.

"I know." He answers quickly. Without pause, as if he's been repeating it to himself before you had even verbalised it.

Your hesitance must be palpable because he lets out a sigh not long after, heavy from his chest.

"I didn't offer you my help because I think you're—" He swallows, pain etched into the lines of his grimace. "I understand that you are alone in this world. That some mistake of mine from your end caused this. I am taking responsibility for it—to bring you back. There is nothing more to it."

You watch him as he did to you, noting a delicate fragility to him you've never seen before. You had been so wrapped up in your situation, that you failed to notice the frantic quality of his gaze or the exhaustion plaguing his features. As if being around you—drained him from the impossibility of seeing you alive and breathing.

"Okay." You answer eventually. "I believe you."

His shoulders, tense and taut, finally loosen slightly at your response.

"Do you—" Your voice is plagued with exhaustion, and you struggle to find the words, the composure to hide your desperation. "—have any idea on how I'll be able to get back?"

Relief flickers briefly in his gaze, replaced with a familiar efficiency that slots over the dark pool his eyes held mere seconds ago. This, you were used to. Whenever he was asked to perform a duty, that was when you both cooperated the easiest.

"If it were me, I'd predict that there will be a two-way mechanism." He suggests automatically. So, he had been considering his own theories this entire time.

Leaning in, his elbows pressing against his thighs, he continues. "An entry will not be possible without a tunnel. To find the connection and restart it as you had before in your dimension, it should trigger an opening."

"I also considered the possibility of a tunnel." You frown, your fingers drawing a thin, edged line across the sofa's fabric. "The only problem is that when I arrived, before contacting you—I looked around the premise. I really tried."

"There was no opening." You admit, dread digging slowly into your bones.

"Perhaps it will only be activated if it was triggered in the same process as before." He suggests.

"...Doesn't that rely on Damian—" You falter, meeting his gaze. "—my Damian restarting the trigger on his side?"

He nods, even as his lips purse slightly at the mention of the other him. "Your only chance depends on him coming to the same realisation we have."

You draw a short breath. "Shit."

Damian doesn't hesitate when you ask by the third hour of silence—to accompany you back to the construction site when the passing hours has done enough in driving you insane.

You hate waiting. Your Damian knows that. This Damian seems to know too.

He follows you like a silent shadow, tracing your steps and overlooking the same rubble caused by your fall as you try to find an anomaly. Anything that proves to your stubborn anxiety—that you are actually doing something to feel less trapped.

"There is nothing here." He states.

"You don't know that." You wish your voice sounded stronger. "I wasn't in my right mind when I landed. I might identify something I missed."

His jaw ticks once, but he doesn't stop you. He doesn't argue—and that unnerves you. The Damian you know doesn't hesitate when picking a fight, and frankly—you miss that. You needed something to distract you—and he was merely standing there like he was watching a phantom.

"I thought you said you would help." Your voice breaks.

Fuck. Swallowing back your revealed fright, you finally slump down onto the dust-covered concrete, pressing your palm against your eyes.

You hear a shuffle, the fabric of his coat landing heavy next to you. You uncover your eyes, catching him as he crouches beside you. His gaze meets yours head-on—and you nearly drown in the weight of it.

"There's no relief in digging through a dead-end." He mutters, peering over your features. "It'll only worsen the thoughts."

You grow quiet. You didn't need a verbal confirmation, not when just his gaze alone tells, that he wasn't only talking about your situation. Your chest heaves, the scent of concrete filling your nostrils.

The silence stretches, an uncomfortable sensation of helplessness filling the air.

"...Do you like pizza?" He asks after a moment.

Blinking once, you must've misheard it. You can't help the snort that escapes you, the sound broken and unsteady. "What?"

"I dislike it." He mutters. "The ones in Gotham. It's too much grease, and lacking of any true nutrients."

That... sounds very Damian of him.

You raise a brow, and his lips purse together. Letting out a regretful sigh, he gestures with a tilt of his head. "There's an adequate franchise down the street."

Lifting himself off the ground, he holds out his hand towards you. "Since this dreadful day has been awfully unproductive, I suppose a meal like that is befitting."

Your gaze flickers between his hand and that unfamiliar, warmth in his eyes. Of how you had been in a similar position mere hours ago when he had offered you pain ointment. Of how he has been consistently extending his hand towards you, accompanying your side—ever since you entered this dimension.

This time, you take his hand.

Strangely enough, the fluorescent lights of 'Gotham City Pizzeria' and the smell of floor disinfectant—combined with the peculiar sight of Damian lifting a soggy pizza slice with a grimace did lift your spirits. If this was your dimension, you would have bothered with taking a picture to capture the sight of him clashing with an environment so strongly, but you couldn't afford to let this rare moment of normalcy be dimmed by that reminder.

"Should I be concerned that the Damian Wayne in this dimension consumes Gotham pizzas?" You murmur, wiping a streak of tomato at the corner of your mouth.

His lips quirk up slightly. "Even I have my faults."

Clearing his throat, he murmurs. "Your turn."

You raise a brow, confused.

He leans back, dusting his hands against the napkin. "I haven't learned anything about you since you arrived."

Oh. You had assumed that he didn't want to. Outside of the boundaries of your circumstance, he hasn't really pushed much further other than details he needed to have, to piece a solution together.

"What do you want to know?" You shrug.

His lips tilt upwards again, more intently this time. "Do you like pizza?"

Your smile lifts instinctively. "I do, detective. How'd you guess?"

His smile strains a little, and you realise why.

"Ah." You murmur.

"No." He stops you before you can retreat. "Don't stop on my account. I want to know what you like."

You swallow, fingers running over the crust flakes coating your thumb. You suppose you could answer, there wasn't any harm done. "I do like pizza. It's the only thing that's comforting enough after a long night of patrol. I think when I enter a familiar place at an hour like this, when there's no one else around, it's like the world closes in to exist in just this spot, y'know? I get to forget about my worries for a little while."

He nods, listening to you speak as if he intended on memorising every word. Like he may miss the chance to do so ever again.

"So, why'd you pick this place?" You return the question.

"...As I told you before, I'm not fond of it."

"So, why are you here?" You push.

A slow exhale escapes his mouth. "I suppose, it was like you said. Comforting—in a sense, to be surrounded by something familiar."

You can see him struggling, on what to say and what to keep buried. This provided company of his—it's like you're digging into a wound he's openly showing you.

"What else do you like?" He reiterates.

Your smile reappears, almost easing. "Need a full catalogue?"

"Yes." He answers almost immediately. It takes the breath out of you, the humour still stuck on your tongue with the way he looks at you, all-consuming. "I would."

"I suppose... I could tell you things I never told anyone." You whisper almost conspiratorially. "Something tells me you'll keep quite a good secret."

His lips lift, curving a small dimple by his cheek. "I swear."

"I guess..." Leaning your cheek against your palm, you take your time in truly looking at him. "I always did like your eyes."

He blinks, not expecting your answer. "My eyes?"

"Yeah." Your grin comes easier to you now, seeing him uncharacteristically flustered. "Made me unreasonably jealous at times. Green eyes like that, and you spend half the time glowering."

He scoffs lowly, but it holds no bite. "I wasn't aware there was a way to utilise them."

"No, you do it right when you're not thinking too hard." You murmur, lost in thought. "When you don't pretend to be strong, your eyes go soft. Just around the edges."

The moment those words leave you, you realise you're pushing too far, saying something so intimate, it should have never been verbalised.

He watches you, and to your dismay, he does it right then and there. The sharpened edges around his gaze softens, and so does Damian.

"You're direct." He mutters, almost fondly.

You swallow, averting your gaze. "So I've been told."

"I like that."

You shift your focus back to him immediately, a soft thudding in your chest. He has never averted his gaze. Rarely, you realise, does he pull his attention away from you. It's like he's treasuring it, the small impossibility of this conversation, of your presence in this pizzeria illuminated by the neon lights.

"Do you feel like you're dreaming?" You ask. "It feels like I know you even though I shouldn't."

His lips quirk. "It is a fair exchange for reality, if I get to meet you."

Your heart is thudding louder now, and you don't find it instinctive anymore to avert his gaze, no matter how much the depth feels like drowning.

"A once in a lifetime phenomenon." You declare. "Let's not waste it."

Gotham's cityscape takes a less intimidating turn in the weeks following your exploration with Damian, as the hidden beauty within begins to reveal itself. The confusing streets become interesting puzzles, a guessing game on what road could be an alternative to the ones you frequent in your dimension. When night falls? That's when this Gotham truly sings, coming alive.

Without the late nights being reserved for the sole purpose of patrol, Damian guides you within the ins-and-outs of alleyways, leading you through slot machines, bars that still had the hum of human company despite the late hour. Eventually, you both land on a rooftop that lets you oversee the entire city.

It's terrifyingly easy to enjoy his company when you're not busy pretending otherwise. There's a symphony to your shared steps, the trailing of his shadow that plays out like a familiar, comforting rhythm.

"It's different." You mutter almost excitedly. The faint buzz of exhaustion from the late hour leaves you increasingly lax, your hand tugging at his sleeve towards the Wayne Tower in the distance. "Ours is all red hues and sharp angles. I like yours more."

He hums, sounding amused. His gaze is still trained on you, not focused on your pointed finger towards the building at all. Letting out a huff, your hand, numbed by the freezing wind, lifts to cup his cheek.

He blinks, a rare vulnerable expression crossing his features at your touch.

"Stop looking at me." You gesture, trying to tune his head towards the cityscape. "You're missing out."

"No, I'm not." He answers honestly.

You blink, hand faltering over his cheek, but he raises his own to cover yours.

"Sorry." He murmurs, lashes lowering with his gaze as he closes his eyes momentarily. "Allow me to be a little selfish, just this once."

Your fingers shake in response, but you don't remove your hand.

"That's not very fair of you." You mutter.

"I suppose I have never practiced that trait well." Opening his eyes, you're faced with that tenderness, the one that leaves you breathless. "Does it make me hateful?"

"No." You answer honestly. "You've always been bad at that."

"At being fair?" He asks.

"Making me hate you." You admit quietly.

His gaze softens imperceptibly. "I suppose we're both not very good liars."

The touch of his cheek burns your skin. This is dangerous, your mind faintly warns you. You promised yourself to never hesitate in your decision, not even after meeting him. You were always meant to go home.

He spots your hesitance, and his warmth falters. His lips set back into that familiar, distant line as he lets your hand go.

"I apologise if I over-stepped." He says before you even have time to clear the air.

"No, that isn't it." You wince, drawing your hand back to scratch at your cheek. "I was just thinking. Maybe—it isn't so bad if I could stay a little longer. There's no guarantee on when the portal will open again, so it's not a ruled out possibility."

Your suggestion is a toss into the wind. A complete silent, interpretation that maybe that's what he'd like as well.

You don't even have time to process the slight hope in his gaze, the consideration of your words before something—no everything seizes. Your body collapses to the ground, the pain of your atoms glitching, seizing to exist, and reforming again, is nearly indescribable.

A near howl escapes your bitten lips as you crumple towards the floor, only for Damian to catch you in his arms, down on his knees in front of you. Your fingers grip tight around his wrists, steading yourself as your vision blurs in and out. By the time you've strained your neck to look back up at him, you see the pain contorting his expression, wiping it loose of all composure.

"I—I'm okay." You breathe out, even as you can feel how cold and clammy your skin has become.

He doesn't answer. He merely stares, a rush of emotions flooding too fast through his mind for you to read, before it falters. His grip is your only anchor, but he's trembling too.

"This isn't a good sign." He states, dread falling over his features. "You must return, soon."

"So, you're saying—" You recall his words faintly. "The longer I stay in this dimension, my body will begin to disintegrate?"

Those technical words, theories that sound ridiculous on paper, thread thinly in a reality where your body was now a self-destructive timer. He gives you a short nod, his dark circles illuminated by the hologram of his research. Despite it being your life on the line, he looks wrecked.

What had started out as a happy night, ended with the reminder that you're not only endangering yourself but him. He's faced losing you once, and your existence in this dimension that should have never happened—he might go through it all over again if you don't find the portal in time.

"Damian." You call out, spotting the weak composure he's trying to display. "Look at me."

He refuses to listen, or maybe, he's completely blocked everything out with his gaze trained on the coordinates and running calculations. Standing up from the couch, you move slowly towards him to not startle him. Your hand briefly touches his arm, and he flinches.

"Damian, we've been over this." You speak as calmly as you can. "There's no opening unless it's opened from my side."

"Then, why hasn't he done it?" He snaps.

You blink, taken aback by his reaction.

"I can't—" He swallows, jaw clenched as he stares at you with a raw agony. One he's been hiding from you since you arrived, that you had caught a brief glimpse of when he first embraced you in his panic. "I won't fail you again. I refuse to."

"Damian." Your brows furrow, hands intertwining with his to force him to feel your touch. "I need you to breathe."

His chest heaves, and you recognise a panic attack before he's even verbalised it. Pulling him towards the sofa, you force him to sit, hands still connected with his.

"It isn't fair." Damian shakes his head. "Nothing ever is. Either way, it feels as if I'm losing you all over again."

Your breath trembles in his admission, and you can do nothing but sit here and listen.

"It was my fault." He confesses, grief-stricken. "A mission gone wrong—and my arrogance. I had overestimated the ambush, and we were cornered."

His body goes still as he drowns in his memory. "You hadn't hesitated stepping in the way. I could do nothing but watch."

"I am unworthy for many things." His voice lowers, with such an encompassing belief in his words. "But not being able to save you? That is a punishment I will never recover from."

"To lose you again." He mutters, broken. "I won't know what to do."

"Damian." You whisper. "I'm scared too."

He looks up at you then, and tears are welled in the corners of his lashes.

"But I'm glad." You emphasise, squeezing his hand. "That it's you, that you're the one here with me."

He blinks, barely able to process your words. "Why?"

"Because you have been by my side, from the moment I arrived." You answer genuinely. "Even if it hurts you, and I know it does. You stuck around, and you got to know me. You didn't have to do that, not when it costs you everything to do so."

He swallows, his expression shattered as he listens.

"I would have never known this side of you, if you hadn't found me." You push forward. "And no matter how terrifying it is to be in a whole other dimension without knowing if I'll make it home, it doesn't change that I'm glad I met you."

He breathes out, as if your words were a sucker-punch to his gut. His eyes trace over your features, a hidden longing unravelling the longer he carried out his intent focus, wanting to capture everything.

"Can I be selfish one more time?" His voice is a quiet plea, and you don't resist to how weak it renders you.

You nod gently.

Leaning in, his fingers tremble as he reaches up to brush away a stray strand from your cheek. His warmth lingers over your skin, eventually brushing over your cheekbone as his gaze pours into you. He looks at you the same way he had countless times before, and you had never been able to put it to words. Till now.

When his lips touch yours, it feels like a goodbye. A wish made impossible, fulfilled for only a mere moment. It's softer than you ever expected, gentle in a way you had never been treated from anyone else before.

When you open your eyes, you watch his expression carefully draw back into his composure. He's doing it for you, picking up the pieces that's broken so you won't have to face it.

"Let's get you home." He promises, and you believe it.

As the days pass by, with your body experiencing more frequent glitches, Damian's kindness runs a deeper wound above your heart. Whenever you insist that you're fine so he can focus on his work—he merely accompanies you by your side like some personal torture he inflicts on himself. Whenever your body seizes into another episode, split between the fractures of reality—he's there, waiting for you to reach for him so you can feel real again.

He listens with a seared focus now whenever you tell him stories, of yourself—of your world, like he's running out of time. You both are.

It's the seventh day, when the daily scans of the construction site run by Damian finally begin to detect increasing abnormal activity from where you landed.

"The debris movement seems to reverse every time I run the scan." He mutters. "As if there's a disruption in the space."

You swallow dryly, eyeing the replay he's showing you. "Do you think it could mean.."

"Yes, I'm certain." Damian nods firmly. "The portal is being triggered on the other side. The only concern now is when we should be at the site."

This... is it. Despite everything you've prepared and anticipated for, the obvious fact that you should be relieved you have a chance of making it home—the realisation comes with a bitter-sweet note.

Damian doesn't comment further past the facts. He merely focuses on the hologram screen, inputting commands to verify an estimate window to make rounds at the construction site. Despite calling himself selfish, you had never seen him so composed, silent on his true thoughts of this discovery.

"In two days." He answers, staring unblinkingly at the figure. "We won't miss it."

That settles it. In two days... you're going home.

"I hate waiting."

"I am aware." Damian murmurs.

"Stop agreeing with me." You sigh.

"Alright."

Your head snaps, an unamused expression taking over your features.

His gaze flickers from his device to meet yours briefly, and his lips quirk up slightly. "Sorry." His voice doesn't sound apologetic at all. "You've made it too easy."

You can't help but scoff, chin leaning against his shoulder. "This is worse than the glitches."

"Have I mentioned that you're a horrible liar?" He mocks.

"Numerous times." You hum, eyeing the scan with a narrowed glance. "What if your calculations are wrong?"

"I ran over them one thousand and fifty-three times." He frowns. "The chance for error are near zero."

"Wow, from the looks of it—you seem rather eager to get rid of me." You tease.

"Was I that obvious?" He shrugs.

"Who's the bad liar now?" You tease.

He opens his mouth, ready to produce some quick retort—but something catches his eye.

Shifting your gaze to follow his, you catch movement from where the ground had been stagnant. The rubble—is beginning to move in an anti-clockwise direction.

"Now." Damian stands abruptly, a hand wrapping around your waist to lift you to your feet.

The shift in the atmosphere as a distant rumbling occurrs beneath your feet, it's much more aggressive than you expected. Damian tugs you back, just in time before a fracture cracks in the ground.

"The portal." You recognise, eyeing the glow beneath the fissure, something dreadfully familiar.

Your breath is almost winded, coming up short as you stare at the formation in trembling anticipation. Your gaze whips to Damian, your heart slamming against your ribcage—only for your words to fail you when you meet his expression.

Broken, that's all you saw. The same way he had seemed when you first met him.

"Damian." You call out, hesitant, but he shakes his head.

"I never got to tell you." He starts.

Your brows furrow. He had been nothing but honest since you got here. There isn’t a wound that he hasn’t uncovered in front of you, no vulnerability he hasn’t revealed. You know him, because he had let you.

"I want you to know that I am glad." He confesses, his voice picking up in pace. He sounds terrified that he won't be able to finish what he's started. "That I got to know you. There wasn't a moment where I regretted it, not even for a second."

"I must tell you." His voice cracks. "That I'd choose you, in a hundred lifetimes, no matter what reality, I'd always choose you."

The words are lost on your tongue. I'd choose you too. He has to know, even when the tears well up in your eyes.

He holds you tight, as if he's trying to sear this very embrace into his memory. "At least, I'll know now that somewhere out there, the person I am in your world was able to bring you back. That a version of me didn't lose you."

"I know it's selfish." He whispers. "But I wish I could keep you."

Contrary to his words, he lets go of you the moment he says it, his arms parting from your frame to remain firmly at his side. He's restraining himself, you realise. Damian, the very image of self-control, is barely keeping himself together. He’s letting you go, and in doing so, he’s saving you.

"Thank you." He murmurs in goodbye, casting you a solemn smile. "For sparing me the mercy of meeting you again."

"I hope he understands just how fortunate he is." A bittersweet smile graces his lips. "That he'll cherish you, and protect you always."

You think you ask him to wait. For more time. You remember briefly on how your hand extended towards him, before the portal had pulled you in. It was silent after that, and the loss of something indescribable hits you by the time the world comes back—roaring to life.

Tumbling onto the ground, you choke out a breath, saliva coating your lips as your fingers press numbly into the ground.

You're home. A quick glimpse of your surroundings is enough to confirm the familiar machinery, the abandoned lab. Yet, flashes of Damian's unmoving gaze before his frame completely disappeared, staring at you like he wanted to commit you to memory.

How could he have called it mercy, when he was so shattered?

Your tears slipped, and you feel a strange gap in your chest.

A rushed call of your name echoes before you can even name the emotion that consumes you. The syllables barely forms in your mind, as your head whips up in a daze. Your tear-stained expression is broken, completely unhidden—when you see Damian. Your Damian.

"Damian." Your voice croaks out. The name sounds strange on your tongue.

He freezes, unsure on how to process this version of you. Whatever he expected when he got you back, he must've never anticipated this. The version that has just lost him, and a part of you always will.

Pushing yourself to your feet, you stumble in your steps before collapsing into him. You're convinced he'll push you away, as he always does.

What you didn't expect was the steady warmth of his arms wrapping around you. Tense, but protective—as if he were trying to fend off the inner turmoil that's consuming you.

"It's alright." He mutters, voice stiff but his grip doesn't falter. "You're safe. I am here."

That breaks a silent sob out of you, and you bury your face into his chest. He doesn't push you for answers, nor does he distance himself. He remains planted exactly where he is, grounding you with his presence while you mourned for something that should have never been yours, and what you should have never lost.

He is embracing you so tight, it gave you a violent sense of déjà vu. The lines are blurring, and you can't find it in yourself to be angry when you know you should be.

"I am sorry." He mutters, voice breaking in composure. "I did this—I am sorry. I failed you."

"No, you didn't." You answer, your voice hoarse. "You brought me back."

It was the truth, broken into a hundred pieces.

In time, you will tell him. Of how he protected you even in another dimension. Of how that version of him will forever know that in another reality, he had saved you. That there was a Damian who didn't experience losing you.

Of how you'll never forget him. Even when he's out of bounds, but forever engraved into your existence, a memory that should have never existed.

But for now, you'll let yourself rest, knowing that you're home.

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dc masterlist -> damian + other dc works

damian taglist: @supercheesygarlicbread @bloomfaery @enmzgn @jxybirdiv @vanillakirstein @celestills @katzenia @chikenuggetrat @mrrayjay @arabellas-barbarella-swimsuit12 @amandjslpz @mossmydarling @batslilwhore @dclover567 @gojoswaterbottle @annabelleleefrench @neonsquad303 @strawberryfire17 @treebranch23 @vampiranne @tofudubicho @roszszs @vaderuby @revesephemeres @moon-cakei @manachiichan @caterppillar @hoshi-no-koinu @living-that-chronic-life @nxx-jordiepord @elysian-groves @pearly-pebble @fandom-fae @ninareads25 @grace-loves-to-read @jarofstarsxx @favorite-fan-fics @radheadphones @freakkay09 @mydeliciouscookies @fea-tastic @starr-jazz @yourclutched-pearls @bearhug120 @devilslittlehelper @izumi0708 @prettysweet02 @spideyskywalker (to be added, check masterlist)