𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: You’re just trying to buy a cute pendant from a flirty boardwalk vendor when the boys decide no one gets to look at you like that. They circle you like a living wall of leather and bad decisions—because you’re theirs, and they love you loudly. Jealousy looks stupidly hot on all four of them… and honestly? You’re not even mad about it.
𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1.8k
𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: possessive behavior. polyamory. jealousy.
mild intimidation. territorial themes. dark romance. fluff with possessive vibes.
The warm summer night in Santa Carla wrapped around you like a familiar embrace, the air thick with the scent of saltwater, fried dough, and distant bonfires. Neon lights flickered overhead, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the crowds milling about—tourists laughing, kids chasing each other with cotton candy in hand, and the occasional shadowy figure lurking in the alleys.
You loved this place; it was chaotic, alive, and utterly yours. Or rather, it was theirs—the Lost Boys'. And by extension, yours too.
You'd been with them for months now, ever since that fateful night when David had first locked eyes with you under the Ferris wheel, his smirk promising danger and delight in equal measure. It hadn't taken long for the others to follow suit: Paul's wild energy pulling you into endless nights of laughter, Marko's playful teasing making you feel seen, Dwayne's quiet strength grounding you when the world spun too fast.
They were a package deal, these four vampires, and you'd fallen hard into their web. Possessive? Absolutely. But it was a possession born of fierce love, not control. They let you roam free, knowing you'd always come back to them. Still, jealousy simmered just beneath the surface, especially when outsiders got too close.
Tonight, you were wandering a bit ahead of the pack, drawn to a colorful stall selling handmade jewelry—silver chains glinting under string lights, beaded bracelets in every hue. The vendor was a young guy, maybe in his early twenties, with sun-bleached hair and an easygoing smile that screamed "surfer dude." He caught your eye as you picked up a delicate necklace with a moon-shaped pendant.
"That's one of my favorites," he said, leaning over the counter with a grin. "Hand-carved from abalone shell. Suits someone with your vibe—mysterious, you know?"
You chuckled, holding it up to the light. "Mysterious? That's a new one. Usually, people just call me 'that girl with the scary guys.' How much?"
He waved a hand dismissively. "For you? Fifteen bucks. But tell me, what's a girl like you doing out here alone? Boardwalk can get rough after dark."
"Oh, I'm not alone," you replied lightly, fishing for cash in your pocket. It was innocent enough, small talk to pass the time while you browsed. But as you glanced up, you felt it: that prickling awareness on the back of your neck. They were watching.
The boys had been lingering nearby, sprawled out on a bench like kings surveying their kingdom. Paul was mid-joke, probably something crude about the latest horror flick playing at the drive-in, when his laughter cut off abruptly. His blue eyes narrowed, zeroing in on you and the vendor. Marko, ever the firecracker, straightened up, his wild curls seeming to bristle like a cat's fur. Dwayne's broad shoulders tensed, his dark gaze turning stormy as he crossed his arms over his chest. And David—oh, David. His usual cool demeanor cracked just a fraction, that platinum hair catching the light as his smile sharpened into something predatory, like a blade unsheathed.
They didn't rush over. No, that wasn't their style. Not yet. Instead, they began to drift, casual as shadows lengthening at dusk. Paul sauntered first, hands in his pockets, but his usual grin was gone, replaced by a pout that bordered on sulky. Marko followed, tossing his hair back with exaggerated nonchalance, though you could see the way his fingers twitched, itching for action. Dwayne moved like a panther, silent and deliberate, his presence alone enough to make the air feel heavier. David brought up the rear, gloves creaking softly as he flexed his hands.
You were still chatting with the vendor, now about the best spots for night surfing, of all things, when you sensed them closing in. The stall suddenly felt smaller, the space around you shrinking as the four of them formed a loose circle, their bodies a living barrier between you and the rest of the world.
The vendor's words trailed off mid-sentence. His easy smile faltered as he looked up, realizing he was now surrounded by four very intense men. They weren't glaring outright—nothing so obvious—but the energy they radiated was unmistakable. Possessive. Territorial. Like wolves staking claim on their territory.
David stepped in closest, his hand sliding onto your hip with casual possession, fingers curling just enough to pull you a fraction toward him. The touch was light, but it sent a shiver through you, a reminder of the nights you'd spent tangled in their arms, their fangs grazing your skin in ways that blurred pain and pleasure.
"She's busy," David said simply, his voice smooth as silk but edged with steel. His eyes never left the vendor's, that sharp smile widening just enough to show a hint of fang—subtle, but there if you knew where to look.
The poor guy stammered, his face paling under the neon glow. "Uh, yeah, sure, man. No problem. Enjoy the necklace." He backed away hastily, nearly knocking over a display of earrings in his rush to busy himself with another customer who didn't exist.
You turned to face the four of them, arms crossed over your chest, trying to suppress a smile. "Really? He was just being nice."
Paul threw his hands up dramatically, his pout deepening into something almost comical. "Nice? Babe, he was totally flirting! Did you see the way he leaned in? 'Mysterious vibe', please. That's code for 'I wanna get in your pants.'"
Marko snorted, leaning against the stall's edge with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're too cute for your own good, you know that? Not our fault, we have to chase off the strays. What if he tried something?"
Dwayne didn't say much; he rarely did in these moments, but he stepped closer, his hand brushing your arm in a gentle contrast to the tension in his jaw. "We... didn't like it," he murmured, his voice low and rumbling, like thunder on the horizon. His dark eyes met yours, and you saw the flicker of vulnerability there, hidden beneath the possessiveness. They were immortal, powerful, but when it came to you, they were achingly human-like in their fears.
David's grip on your hip tightened just a touch before relaxing, his other hand coming up to tilt your chin toward him. "If he'd touched you, I'd—" He paused as you shot him a warning look, those piercing blue eyes of his sparkling with mischief. "—I would have politely asked him to reconsider his life choices."
You couldn't help it; laughter bubbled out of you, breaking the tension like a wave crashing on the shore. The sound seemed to melt them instantly. Paul's pout vanished, replaced by his infectious grin as he slung an arm around your shoulders. Marko chuckled, ruffling your hair affectionately. Dwayne's shoulders relaxed, a small smile tugging at his lips. Even David softened, his sharp edges dulling as he pressed a cool kiss to your forehead.
"You're impossible, all of you," you said, shaking your head. But there was no real annoyance in your voice, only fondness. Being with them meant navigating this dance of jealousy and love, and truthfully, it thrilled you. They weren't trying to cage you; they just loved you loudly, fiercely, in a way that made the world feel a little less lonely.
The boardwalk buzzed around you, oblivious to the little drama that had unfolded. Paul tugged you toward the Ferris wheel, his energy bouncing back like a rubber band. "C'mon, let's ride this thing before Marko starts whining about being hungry."
"I'm always hungry," Marko shot back, falling into step beside you. "But for once, it's not blood I'm craving—funnel cake?"
Dwayne walked on your other side, his hand finding yours in a quiet claim. David lingered behind, watching over the group like the leader he was, but you felt his gaze on you, warm despite his calm demeanor.
As the night wore on, you found yourself sandwiched between them on the Ferris wheel, the city lights sprawling out below like a sea of stars. Paul's head rested on your shoulder, Marko chattering about some prank he wanted to pull on the local surfers. Dwayne's arm was around your waist, steady and sure. David sat across, his knee brushing yours, that possessive spark still in his eyes but tempered now with contentment.
"You know we don't mean to smother you," David said quietly, when the others were distracted by the view. "It's just... you're ours. And we're yours. Seeing someone else look at you like that, it stirs things up."
You reached out, lacing your fingers with his. "I get it. And honestly? It's kind of hot when you all get like that. As long as you don't actually hurt anyone."
He smirked, bringing your hand to his lips for a kiss that lingered a beat too long. "Deal. Polite reconsiderations only."
The wheel creaked to a stop at the top, the wind whipping through your hair. Down below, the vendor's stall was a tiny speck, forgotten already. Up here, with them, you felt untouchable—loved in a way that was wild, eternal, and just a little dangerous.
Later, as the boys led you toward the cave, promises of a quieter night whispering in your ear, you reflected on how far you'd come from a lone wanderer on the boardwalk to the center of their world. Jealousy might look good on them, but belonging? That felt even better.
The cave welcomed you like an old friend, the dim torchlight flickering over the makeshift beds and scattered treasures they'd collected over the years. Paul immediately cranked up the boombox, blasting some hair metal anthem that had Marko headbanging in seconds. Dwayne busied himself with lighting more candles, casting a golden glow that softened the space's rough edges.
You collapsed onto the pile of blankets that served as your shared nest, the necklace still clutched in your hand. "You guys didn't have to scare him off so fast. I was about to haggle the price down."
David chuckled, shedding his coat and joining you, his body cool against yours as he pulled you into his lap. "Next time, we'll let you handle it. Maybe."
Paul flopped down beside you, nuzzling into your neck with exaggerated affection. "Or we could just intimidate him into giving you everything for free. Problem solved!"
Marko joined the pile, sprawling out with his head on your thigh. "Tempting. But where's the fun in that? I like watching her work her magic."
Dwayne settled in last, his presence a calming anchor as he draped an arm over Paul. The five of you tangled together like puzzle pieces, the earlier jealousy forgotten in the warmth of your bond.
As the music faded into the background, replaced by the distant crash of waves, you let yourself drift. They were possessive, yes—jealous guardians in leather and fangs. But they were also yours, heart and soul.
─── ❨ 𝐚𝐝𝐣. ❩ smoothly charming and confident , often in a polished or sophisticated way :: you secretly love the way he attracts you and he knows too well !
content ⸝⸝ aged up . damian al ghul-wayne x fem . reader , oneshot , suggestive , shorter . reader , 1.47wc , this was a request 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒
It's not like you are dirty-minded or anything — after all, you are a grown woman and capable of controlling yourself for some decorum, someone you should pay your high respect to and as well honour.
People and the world in general shall never know of that one dark side of you, including your fiancé. You are in denial yourself, claiming that this side does not belong to you.
No, never. No one should know. No one shall face.
(Still, no one is surprised when he knows.)
But you couldn't help but feel a little guilty whenever you watch your fiancé do his things — stuff that is considered normal and part of his daily life yet there is this intimate ring around it that you quite weren't able to figure out.
I. — PRETTY RINGS AND PRETTY FINGERS ,
Damian was doing it again, after adjusting it numerous times already. You counted and it actually has been a handful of times. It's not like you minded that much — it was just a little distracting for you.
"Especially because the Wayne foundation is such a great funder for those charity events and..."
The longer you listened to their words, the more you wanted to bury yourself into the ground. You blocked out their voices from your mind, a polite smile playing on your face while nodding.
And then — your gaze fell short on your fiancé, how he was barely listening. His attention solely fixated on his hands, pulling his pretty ring off his slender fingers before pushing it back on.
It's shamelessly shining into your eye, the ring around his finger and how he was rubbing against it so slowly.
Wow, I need some alone time right now—
"Focus." he murmured under his breath, blank expression written all over his face as he caught you staring.
You bit back a loud, exasperated groan from leaving your lips and threw your head back, feeling a tinge of anxiety and also partially exposed as soon as he caught you staring at his hands.
This couldn't get more embarrassing, right?
"Is everything alright, Mrs. Wayne?"
"O-Of course... Everything is fine."
Everything was fine. You tried to cover your own flinch the second Damian's hand rested on top of your thigh under the table, fingers tapping a soft rhythm before it slid further.
Stop playing you breathed out shakily, hand grasping his wrist.
Make me he chuckled at your weak grip.
II. — SHIRTLESS SPARRING ,
It was actually part of your life now after you spent so many years being together with Damian Wayne, or sometimes, in moments like these, you preferred to call him Damian Al Ghul instead.
Not to forget, you don't even understand when it started to bug you so much. Because the first time you watched him sparr without a shirt, you were only grinning and cheering him on. And now it was bugging you immensely.
Bug you in not a necessarily bad way.
You are staring once again, watching how his body moved with fluidity and flawlessly within the air, manoeuvring in the silence and without breaking the rhythm.
Every step is a careful and planned out approach.
Every skill is polished throughout day and night since his childhood days.
He does not hesitate to move like the wind, lets himself get carried and follows it like a lifeline.
It takes a while until he breaks into sweat, the first droplets of them forming on his neck — gliding down his collarbone before it reached his chest. And you noticed that the entirety of him is well built.
His body is not a symbol of beauty but rather one of dedication and hard work, reaching the extreme and fulfilling the best someone can.
Your gaze wander from his toned chest to his arms, seeing the muscles flexing through his movements. His golden brown skin started to glisten under the trail of sweat that accompanied his body like a true companion.
"—Careful now before your eyes end up at the wrong place." he paused his training, gaze set on you.
The heat immediately rushed up to your neck as you got caught another time. "Is that so..?" you trailed off awkwardly and threw a towel into his direction that he caught in ease.
"I would be more than happy if you sparred with me." he wiped off the excess sweat with the towel, "I figured you might want to join."
Wrong, wrong buddy. You don't want to join in his sparring at all.
"You are always free to leave if this bores you."
Very wrong.
III. — INTIMIDATING HEIGHT DIFFERENCE ,
You do remember the days when you were the same height as him. Or hell, when you were a few centimetres taller than him. You remember how you were teasing the shit out of him.
Truth to be told? It was fun, seeing how he narrowed his eyes ever so slightly in annoyance. It was adorable to see him inwardly fuming, while telling you that you will see in the future.
It was nice while it lasted. The moment he was taller than you by an inch? You knew it was over for you. And he grew taller than you both had anticipated, standing almost a head taller than you. You have to crane your neck to meet his gaze — crane your fucking neck. It's the biggest humiliation of your whole life, entire existence but it's a loss you will forever cheer for since it makes you feel certain things.
"Hayati, you seem lost." you don't seem lost, you are lost — lost in the way the endearing term rolled off his tongue so easily, lost how he stares down at you. "Shall we move out of the busy hall?"
"No wait—I'm right where I want to be." you choked out, almost tripping over your words.
Even if the room was filled with socialites and high rich people. But they didn't matter as you stood in the very corner of the room, all noises and background sounds.
The proximity draws you in unbearably hot, the way he gazes at you is making you sweat, he makes you nervous — makes you feel sixteen again when your crush has first developed. It was unfair, it was killing you.
Your lips formed a thin line as you suppressed a groan from leaving your throat, head falling forward and your forehead leaned against his shoulder, your grip around the glass tight.
"It's unfair. You are unfair, I hate it."
It enticed a chuckle out of him, voice low and rich — god, it made your knees weak.
Actually, you do know he doesn't do it intentionally. He doesn't even know what effect he has on you and this makes you tweak. You are so sure that you could bet your life on it.
He doesn’t do it intentionally.
Right, keep telling yourself that.
Yet the way he eyes you tells a different tale. It’s not the possessive and selfish kind of eyeing — but the one that forces you to tell the truth, that makes your heart stutter and your breath hitch.
“Stop.” you avert your gaze from him, heat leisurely crawling up to your head.
“Hmm?” there’s this underlying smugness under that hum, breaking you. “With what?”
“Staring—obviously.” you hissed before covering your face with both of your hands. “It’s so unfair!”
“Pray tell, what makes anything so unfair? You’ve been mentioning it since the very start.” he titled his head slightly.
“You—! You, you…”
“Lost your words? Poor you." the mock sympathy.
Silence settled, your eyes set on his fingers for a while, then drifting to the shirt that barely covered anything (it covered him whole) before they landed on his eyes.
“I noticed.” he whispered.
“N-Noticed what?” you played dumb.
Damian grasped your wrist before you could make an attempt to flee, fingers curling around your wrist and raising your hand towards his lips — leans close to your hands and sharp breath fanning against your skin.
A shiver ran down your spine at the cooling sensation.
He doesn’t smile, doesn’t smirk — nothing to feed your suspicions.
“Do not play coy now.” the gentle pressure of a touch, lips ghosting over your wrist.
“What…” you were looking everywhere but him.
“To be frank, I did not expect you to enjoy me in such an intimate way.”
“I do not..!”
“No need to be shy now.”
Suddenly — he pulled you close with one swift and steady movement, pressing your body close to his while his free hand snaked its way behind the small of your back, burying his face deep against your neck.
“Ack—!” you yelped out in surprise, hyperaware of every touch now.
The way he interlocked your fingers, the way he breathed down against your shoulder, the way he refused to let go.
author’s note — what if i open a taglist is someone interested erm or never mind haha also PLS i’ve been on a writing trip recently but only post short ass boring drabbles . yet lately? those damian wayne requests bring the longer fics out DAMN (sobs in i could never write a +5k wc fic) vro I wanna write about cass so bad she makes me giggle ⸝⸝
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.
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
[extra pov] - alt! damian + reader’s damian after her return
getting hit with a body swap quirk and waking up in katsuki’s body and him in yours and after the initial shock and confusion, all you can think about is how you’re gonna fuck him.
“i’m gonna make you cum so much.”
katsuki doesn’t know if it’s a threat or a promise as you eagerly take his (your) hand to pull him down the hall into your shared bedroom.
there nothing else you can do but wait so why not fuck each other stupid especially with the fact katsuki (in your body) now has the ability to come multiple times and wanna break his record of how many times he’s had you seeing stars. you know what your body likes, know where to touch and how to flick your tongue just right and sure, it might be weird to eat yourself out in your boyfriends body but when you’ve got him above you, gripping your (his) hair and whining the way he usually does but hearing your voice (lowkey crazy and kinda freaky) but you make him finish over and over again, until he is begging you to stop.
“sweetheart, fuck, i can’t-“ it’s weird to hear the pet name in your voice. “please baby, ngh, gimmie a second.”
he’s crying, cheeks flushed and wet, lips parted as he huffs and for a second you think about how hot you look at how if that’s what he sees every time you guys fuck, well damn, he’s lucky. but you don’t let up because he never does and so you’re diving back in, a mess of teeth and tongue, fingers dipping inside yourself with such fervour you have his back arching off the bed, hands gripping the sheets as cries rip from his (your) throat. the neighbours are gonna complain, and you’re gonna have to deal with it cause it’s your voice hitting decibels unknown to man but fuck, knowing katsuki’s feeling every single thing you’re doing, having the pleasure of cumming over and over again, hell you’ll take a thousand complaints and awkward elevator encounters.
“baby, sweetheart. please.” katsuki grips your hair, yanking up to pull you from his (your) cunt. “princess, i’m gonna pass out you’ve gotta give me a second. holy shit.”
you sit back on your haunches and wipe your mouth and chin with the back of your hand.
katsuki huffs below you. chest rising and falling in rapid succession as he desperately tries to get his heart rate down.
“this how you feel whenever i don’t let up?” his voice is hoarse, as he drags small hands down his (your) face.
“mmhmm.”
“fuck, im sorry sweetheart. didnt think it felt this weird.” eyes lock with yours, and for a second you swear it’s actually katsuki’s eyes looking at you from within your face. “don’t get me wrong it felt great but its weird. feels heavy.”
you nod, knowing all to well the feeling he describes. large hands that don’t belong to you reach out to stroke his face, calloused fingers gliding down over the swell of breasts and fat of your tummy, touching all the places you love.
“i’m gonna suck you off though.” he announces, hands grabbing your wrists. “want you to know how it feels to have your perfect mouth wrapped around my cock.”
heat blooms in your stomach and you feel the rush of blood move south. god it felt strange.
“want you to feel what it’s like when you let me fuck your throat, when you hum around me. fuck, i’m gonna make you cum.”
a/n: anyone got a gender swap fic i can read? i wanna get freakydeaky
summary: post-mission, you land yourself in the hospital with a concussion. in your daze, you plead for someone to tell damian so he won't tear the hospital down to find you, for him not to worry. only problem? you and damian are supposed to hate each other.
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader
The faint beeping, the low hushed voices—it's an annoying, distant commotion disrupting your sleep, enough to rouse you from the heavy, dark haze enveloping your senses. Your heavy lids peel open, blinking slowly as your vision adjusts to the sight of the hospital ceiling.
The striking scent of disinfectant hits you, and your nose instinctively wrinkles. A low rasp escapes your throat, just enough to stop the whispers.
"—She's awake!"
It’s a familiar voice, you think. Dick. It wasn’t the voice you wanted to hear, no matter how reassuring—not when the one you're familiar with holds a much more begrudging tone.
"I need..." Who? There's an urgent pressure building up in the back of your mind, an important request hanging right off your tongue. "To tell him."
"Hey-hey, you're okay. Just a little disoriented." Dick’s face comes into view, his messy locks covering the fuzzy halo of light above you. “You have a minor concussion, but no fatal injuries.”
"No. You need to tell him." Your face contorts, straining with visible effort to rack your brain for a name, trying to fight past the thick fog. "I am okay. It's him you have to worry about."
The corner of Dick's mouth tugs down briefly, confusion lighting his features. "Who?"
There's that damn question you're trying to answer. The fluorescent lights are much too oppressive—overly bright and sharp. You needed a shadow, someone who would know what to do when your teeth grinds together in discomfort.
"...Damian." You mutter. Ah, there it is. You don't notice the abrupt confused glances exchanged around the room, of how Damian's name was the last thing they expected to hear.
Your lids fall shut not a second after your job was done, body screaming to rest. At least you won't have to deal with Damian tearing down the hospital to find you.
"They despise each other." Tim reminds for the fifth time.
"I am aware.” Dick mutters, thumb scrolling through his contacts list. "What did I say about hacking my contacts list, Best Robin?"
"You didn't say anything about that specifically." Tim's foot taps impatiently against the tiles. “And why'd you think that contact name was meant for the demon spawn—never mind, that's besides the point right now. She's clearly disoriented.”
“I just have a gut feeling.” Pressing the phone against his ear, Dick runs a habitual tug over his locks whenever another situation pops up that he has to solve. Being in this line of work is bound to give him early greys.
"A gut feeling." Tim huffs, shaking his head in disagreement. “We better hope this doesn’t start another scuffle. Wouldn't want to toss another bone to the press. 'Blood son of Bruce Wayne attacks hospital patient'. I can already smell the print.”
Dick's frown sticks as he eyes you through the open door frame, laying in a hospital bed—unconscious ever since your first waking. The dots aren't connecting, not when the soot from the explosion still singes the edges of his jacket and his mind is all fuzzed up from a lack of sleep and endless documents. Still, the world had a knack for surprising him whenever he least expects it.
The ringing on the other side stops after two seconds.
"Damian." Dick addresses, re-running his fingers habitually through his hair. "There's been a situation at the hospital..."
Here's the thing, Dick knows Damian. He understands the trait of impatience passed along their family, which is why he's already summarised the facts down to twenty seconds. The call abruptly ends at ten.
"Huh." Dick mutters, brows pressed together as he looks back to Tim. "He hung up."
Dick had barely made it beyond the mention of your name and their current location. Your voice echoes in reminder as he stares at his screen, the duration of the call staring back at him. It's him you have to worry about.
Damian's anything but subtle. Of his frigid attitude—his blatant dislike towards you. Putting the two of you in the same room, it was guaranteed disaster. Yet, Damian was the first name out of your mouth.
"Told you it doesn't make sense." Tim shrugs. "Logically, he's the last person we should've called."
"We'll see." Dick answers, head leaning back to rest against the wall. "He's surprised us both plenty of times."
"Yeah, by attempting murder on us both. Your point being?"
Dick restrains a much-needed sigh.
Barely fifteen minutes later, Dick stirs at a loud commotion beyond the walls of the waiting room. His neck is cramping from this unergonomic chair, and his feet are nerved with pins-and-needles. Tim's ears are plugged in with wired earphones, jammed high with Green Day as he concentrates on his tablet, opting to work through his insomnia instead.
There’s a slamming of doors, rapid footsteps thundering against the tiles, coming closer and closer. Dick barely has time to nudge Tim’s shoulder before the hallway door slams open.
Damian comes through like a storm, movements overly controlled in the way a person would seize up before a fight. As if he's expected the worst, and is prepared to battle whatever he might encounter—in a hospital.
“Where is she?” Damian commands, voice echoing off the tiles.
Staring back at Dick are frantic, darkened eyes pinpointed on locked targets—searching for his answer. It's so abruptly intense, almost inhuman, that his mind stutters in regaining its grasp on reality. He hasn't seen that look in a long time, not since their first meeting where one wrong answer would make Damian your enemy.
“She’s asleep.” Tim answers for him, one side of his earphones still plugged in throughout this entire mess. “She needs the rest.”
Damian disregards his words, brushing past him. “I have to see her.”
Dick must’ve subconsciously shifted his glance to your room, towards the shine of the metal carvings of 78 placed in the centre. Damian's gaze follows, and he doesn’t spare a second of hesitation in heading towards the door.
Dick catches Damian's forearm right before he enters, and the glare he receives? Murderous. As if everything in his way of getting to you has become mere obstacles he has to overcome.
"Grayson." Damian's voice is all wrong, shortened and taut, syllables used to convey only what was needed. "Unhand. Me."
"Dames." Dick tries to make sense of this adverse reaction, but nothing from that brief phone call provided him any clues. "She's still unconscious, and I don't think it's a good idea for you to be in there—in this state."
Damian's chest heaves once, but the storm in his gaze has only darkened. "She called for me, didn't she?"
Dick blinks once. "Well, yes but—"
“Then you’re in my way.”
Damian disarms his grip with an alarming quickness, and Dick doesn't even have time to recalibrate his mistake before he's slipped through.
Dick's palm splays onto the door right before it closes, pushing it fully open with a warning ready on his lips to not disturb your recovery, only to find that—Damian hadn’t moved from his spot since he entered. Dick feels Tim pressing into his side, curious eyes flickering at the situation, but Dick is too busy watching to care about how they're practically hanging onto the doorframe.
When Damian catches sight of you, his entire frame freezes into place. He's watching you, and Dick's watching him—and he sees it then, and realises what an idiot he's been.
Damian's entire expression immediately shifts. Loosening in relief at the sight of you mostly unharmed, at the sound of a calm beeping from the heart monitor. It's frighteningly out of place, the tenderness softening his wrath-like panic mere seconds ago. He moves almost mindlessly towards your side, forgetting the presence of his two brothers gawking at him from outside the doorframe, peering into what must be a fever dream.
"Idiot." Damian mutters, but it sounds more like a prayer answered.
"We've got it all wrong, didn't we?" Tim mutters, staring at the sight in awe.
"Told you." Dick whispers, his lips tilting upwards into a smile. "Gut feeling."
You stir not long after Damian’s arrival, as if your body is already attuned to his presence. Lids peering half-open, you squint at the shadow towering over you. For a moment, there was nothing but held breaths and a long pause as you familiarise yourself with forest green.
Then, the most miraculous thing happens. You smile, completely unaware of the turmoil and confusion you've caused.
“Dami.”
Dick decides today is an absolute possibility for the world to end.
“You're an idiot.” Damian hurls the practiced insult out like he’s been running it off in his mind for the past couple of minutes, but his weakened voice holds no bite in comparison to his overwhelming relief.
Under the sheets, Dick swears he sees his brother’s fingers intertwining with yours.
“I told them to tell you not to rush.” You mutter hazily, still readjusting to reality. “At least—I think I did.”
Damian sucks in a breath, low, undistinguishable mutters whispered. Your lip twitches up slightly, which could only mean another insult you're brushing off.
“Yet, you’re still here.” You tease. “Fretting.”
The thin line of his lips creases deeper. “I do not fret.”
“Arguing with the patient?” Your body shifts, tilting closer to Damian.
“I prefer arguing with you unharmed.” Damian mocks lowly. Dick sees the stiffness bleed out of Damian’s expression the longer his gaze is locked onto you, as if materialising your talkative state in his mind.
"I am unharmed."
"A mild concussion, a hospital bed." Damian's frown deepens. "At least attempt at a reasonable lie."
Damian’s body tilts just slightly, lowering to match yours, and the light catches your features once more. Your lips tilt downward for a single second, the sting of the fluorescent lights irritating your vision.
In a sudden movement without words exchanged, Damian adjusts. His shoulders block the light over your face once more, covering you with his shadow.
You can't help the grin that escapes. "That is what I was thinking about, before I passed out again."
Damian's expression contorts, as if his mind can't decide on hyper-focusing on the details of you falling unconscious again or on what you were imagining about him. You decide for him.
"The lights were all in my face and—" You suck in a breath. "I kept trying to remember your name. I tried so hard to find it, this person who knows that I hate hospital lights without me needing to say it. Then, your name just slipped out."
“Oh.” Tim murmurs from afar.
“Oh.” Dick agrees.
“Don’t do that again.” Damian mutters in the quiet buzzing of the machines.
“Save people?” You tease.
“Put yourself in harm’s way.” Damian pushes back.
"Hey, what about the two of us?" Tim calls out, and Dick's quick to shove his elbow into the idiot's stomach. "Ow—what? We never got this treatment and all the fretting."
Damian's gaze shifts at the disruption, the softness creased into the corners of his eyes fading into annoyance. "Leave us."
"Woah." Tim holds a hand to his abdomen, still feigning hurt. "That's just cold."
Damian's eyes narrow further, and Dick's reminded instantly of how the press is probably waiting outside the hospital for any hints of a scuffle. It's already news enough for not two, but three members now of the Wayne family rushing to the emergency ward. Grabbing Tim by his hoodie, Dick tugs roughly. "We'll leave you two be to—catch up. No attempted murders, if the reminder's still needed."
It had slipped out so easily, the old warning, but it feels strangely out of place with this tender atmosphere. Dick's most definitely intruding on something he's not meant to see, but questions can be reserved for later.
Eyeing Damian one last time, he sees the way his brother's vision is trained on you—and he knows his job is done here.
You snort, a sheepish expression caught between your teeth, watching for confirmation as the door shuts with a click. When you have a shred of confidence that they're at least out of hearing range, you turn your attention back to Damian, unable to hide your grin.
“You know they’re probably freaking out right now?” You mutter conspiratorially. "They'll never buy into us hating each other anymore."
“That is not my concern.” Damian frowns. “You are.”
“That might be the sweetest thing you've ever told me.” You coo. "I matter enough for you to deal with family dinner interrogations now."
Damian's stare remains unimpressed. “I will smother you with pillows.”
“That’s unhygienic—and cruel.”
His tongue clicks softly as his hand comes up behind the pillow, instinctively propping them up higher as you adjust your neck, an action completely unrelated to his threat. “Only you would be concerned of bacteria before attempted murder.”
“Yeah, I’m a piece of work." You murmur distractedly, choosing to gaze intently at him instead. His hair's fallen into different directions, all un-Damian-like. "That’s why you rushed all the way here, didn’t you?”
He stiffens, hand shifting away from the pillow, but still hovering near you. He's been holding back from the moment he's entered this damned institution, and his mind is ticking, battling between his habit to be the steady one, and the crushing need to hold you.
“Dami..” It’s a delicate art, softening your tone just enough to reach him—one you’ve learnt in secret. “Come here.”
Your voice slips past his defences, and it hits. The inner workings of his mind switching between his logic and his emotions finally falter, and his fingers move on command, a delicate twist to cup the back of your head. He doesn't move you towards him, choosing to come over to you instead, his body hovering halfway over yours before finally letting his weight topple gently over you.
His arms wrap around you gently as his comforting weight falls over you, and the first thing you feel is how quickly his heart is racing. He needs this, you realise, as he settles with his arms wrapped protectively around you. To be physically present as your shield, even when there is no danger present.
Damian is affected. More than he seems from his tightly concealed expressions, obvious now that you can physically feel the effects on his body. Slight twitches of his fingers that appear when he's still afraid, waiting for the noise in his head to calm down.
“I didn't want you to worry.” You mumble into his embrace.
“Impossible.” Damian huffs softly, tracing his other hand over your wrist, feeling the soft thudding of your pulse. “You're my problem to handle."
You feel a soft, imperceptible kiss pressed onto your temple, and your eyes flutter shut. This is the side of Damian only you get to have, the proof of its existence ghosting your skin. You have to force your eyes open, the lure of sleep already trying to dig its claws into you—and that's something you absolutely refuse. You don't want to miss this rare side to Damian, all soft and disarmed.
"You scared me." Damian admits after a long pause, barely audible.
You blink, surprised. "You're never scared."
"For you, I am." Damian confesses, his grip tightening slightly. "You tend to render me painfully exposed to weakness."
"Weakness, huh? Still haven't got rid of me though." You hum lightly.
"No." His tone is decisive, stern. "If I haven't decided that I've had enough of you, the world doesn't get to."
"I'm starting to think threats are your love language, Dami." Your hand lifts, struggling twice before you manage to run your fingers through his hair, resting its weight over the nape of his neck.
His body shudders slightly, and his nose buries itself deeper into the crook of your neck. If anyone were to look into hospital room 78, they'll encounter the strange sight of Damian Wayne embracing you as if you were his lifeline. No one would believe them, but the truth remains.
He was yours. Completely yours.
He was also definitely sentenced to a long interrogation the moment he steps out of this room.
"Who was the perpetrator?" He mutters after a moment.
"Damian." You're stuck deciding between a snort and a sigh. "It was an accident."
"You don't know that." He huffs. "I sincerely doubt in your ability to detect an attempted murder while you're unconscious."
Your grip tugs at his hair playfully, a pretty effective way of shutting him up. "Argue with me later."
You feel his lashes flutter against your skin, processing. "...Fine."
He breathes you in, his heart rate finally starting to calm the longer he hears your voice so close to his eardrums, your touch grounding his senses.
"It was torture." His voice is too still, stating the facts without the emotion that's driven behind them. "The drive here. I kept envisioning the worst, that you had called out for me—and if I didn't make it in time—"
His grip tightens with his words, and you're pressed into his chest, feeling what his words refuse to convey, starting to thud again below his ribcage.
"Damian." Your hand traces reassuringly over his neck. "I'm right here."
He listens, his rampant thoughts slowing in pace at the reminder. "I had never been so terrified." His voice remains level, his attempt at reinforcing his reality over his fears. "To receive a call from Grayson, hearing your name—I couldn't let myself think of anything else other than finding you."
"You did." You mutter reassuringly. "You found me. I'm safe."
He lets out a low breath, a slow exhale at the sound of those two words he'd been needing to hear. "Sometimes, I think you've ruined me." He murmurs in truth.
You think he's unused to this. Letting down his walls, experiencing the blatant terror for another person's life that is completely out of his control—that he's left with nothing but pieces to readjust, to compromise. By letting you into his life and allowing you to be his person, he has abandoned his need to preserve himself, to be above fear.
"You're not escaping the argument." He notes down distractedly, trying to regain his ground despite being wrapped into you. "I still have my reservations."
"Anything you need, Dami." You reassure softly.
"Anything?" He murmurs, head shifting out of the crook of your neck to face you fully.
His green eyes are narrowed with intent now, gazing at you with unhidden intensity.
You swallow, nodding slightly.
When he leans in, the palm of his hand slips from the back of your head to over your jaw. His thumb traces over your lips softly as he leans in, replacing the ghost of his touch with his own mouth. It's tender, a separate language to convey the emotions he hasn't learnt to spell out, on what you do to him. Yet, with the way he's handling you, nose brushing against yours, in a way so precious it makes your heart ache—you think that impending argument's worth it.
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
Synopsis: In which you flew a kite deep into the forest and everything changed..
Pairing: Yandere! Dark Elf x Human! Reader
Warnings/Reminders: Dark themes, harassment, reader is mentioned to be female, death, gore, mentions of blood, violence, language
“(name)! Don’t go too far! Supper will be ready soon!” A plump, elderly lady called out, watching you run out of the cottage with your kite.
“Yes, Gammy!”
Your little figure ran through the fields as you held onto the string of your kite, the hem of your dress now muddied with dirt. Soon, you reached the forest. The dark oak trees loomed over you, creating bits of shade from the sun. You carefully avoided any large rocks or logs, jumping through large puddles that formed on the grass. As you went deeper into the forest, the sky was barely visible and only bits of light were shining through the trees.
“Eek!”
You let out a squeak when you fell on your bottom, getting pulled back by the string. You looked up all teary and confused, only to realize that your kite was stuck on one of the branches that was too high up for you to reach. Your lips quivered as your eyes brimmed with tears, a sob coming out of your throat.
Then you heard a twig snap, causing you to turn around swiftly. The sun was already setting which meant it was about to get pitch dark. You slowly got up on your two trembling legs, taking two hesitant steps forward. You wiped away your tears and looked closely.
Suddenly, a young transcendental creature came into view. His dark–almost bluish– skin was a stark contrast to his light, silvery hair that cascaded down to his back. His pearly white orbs stared down onto your frightened ones. You staggered and fell down when he came closer, his nose and long sharp ears twitching. Tears started running down your plump cheeks again, frozen in your place. Your young mind was so scared and horrified at the situation that you couldn’t make yourself snap and run.
“..p-please don’t hurt me.” You cried, your voice cracking as you spoke.
The creature tilted his head at the sight of your tears and came closer, licking your cheek. You flinched and squirmed away.
“...Mate?” He frowned in disappointment, wondering why you were pulling away. As you tried to crawl away, he noticed a string hanging from one of the branches. He looked up and saw that it was a diamond-shaped..paper? Was it yours?
You got up and dusted away the dirt on your dress, about to run when you heard a loud thud. The creature was crouching down, holding onto his bleeding arm. Your eyes widened when he held up the kite, giving you a very toothy grin..? It looked scary so you couldn’t tell. You bit your inner cheek as you hesitated before taking your kite.
“Thank you…” Your eyes landed on his wound, making you frown in concern.
“You’re bleeding.” The creature just stared at you when you pointed it out. It didn’t hurt for him but knowing you were concerned made him feel a bit warm.
You untied your ribbon and wrapped it around his arm, copying how you saw your grandma tend to an injured stable boy. It was tied rather wonky but it stopped the bleeding. Taking a closer look at the creature, you realized he looked young. Maybe a bit older than you.
Then, you panicked when you noticed how dark and late it was. You were starting to tear up again until the creature took your hand and began to lead you out of the forest.
It took twenty minutes for both of you to reach the cottage, the creature still holding onto your hand tightly. Your hair was all mussed over and your dress was decorated with mud with some specks of it on your face.
The creature gave you a pat on the cheek and before you could speak, he disappeared into the night. The door opens and your grandma lets out a sob of relief.
“Oh! You’re back, thank goodness! Where have you been? I was so worried! Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” She ushered back inside. You looked back, as if expecting the creature was there. But there was no one.
You carried a bucket of water you fetched from the well. On the way to the cottage, you bumped into the chief’s son, Will. He sent you one of his charming smiles that would send half of the village’s maidens into a frenzy.
“Good morning, Will. What are you doing around these parts?” You smiled, greeting him politely.
“Good morning, (name). Is it a bad thing to take an early stroll? I expected you to be much more happy to see me. I’m a bit disappointed.” He teased, twirling a strand of your hair. Your smile became strained and you shifted away uncomfortably, making him frown for a moment.
“It was nice seeing you, Will. But I’m afraid I have to go. I still have chores to-”
“I’ll come with you. That bucket must be heavy. It won’t be nice of me to leave a pretty girl to carry all that, don’t you think?” He tried to grab the bucket but you shook your head, pulling away.
“No, It’s quite alright.”
“I insist.”
“Will, I assure you that it’s fi-”
You felt a pang of dread when he gripped your wrist tightly, his smile tight and twitching as he came closer.
“Come on, (name). Don’t you want someone to accompany you? I mean, you need all the help you could get now that your grandmother passed away. I can help you..” He caressed your cheek, his touch sending shivers of disgust down your spine.
“..That’s very nice of you, Will. But I’m fine on my own.”
“A lady like you shouldn’t be alone, especially when you live in that shabby cottage. And you work so much too. Don’t you want a husband that could provide for you? I can take care of you in more ways than one, you know.” His grip started to get suffocating, his breath coming into contact with your skin.
You tried not to puke or punch him in the face and ripped your wrist out of his hands, taking a step back.
“I’m really flattered but I’m not really looking to get married so soon.” You politely declined. Will scoffed and furrowed his brows in frustration.
“Don’t be naive, (name). What life plans do you have that are more important? You’re young and beautiful. No man will desire you if you keep on refusing proposals. You don’t want to grow up an old maid, do you? Marry me and I’ll give you a life better than this.” He persisted, grabbing onto your waist and making you drop the bucket. You placed your hands on his chest, trying to push him away but to no avail.
Suddenly, a strange force pulled him back and made him trip on the slippery rock. You staggered back, caught off guard. Did you do that? He grunted in pain and gave you a vicious glare, struggling to get back up.
“You bitch! You’ll fucking regret that-”
You didn’t listen to the rest of his words and ran back to the cottage, locking yourself in.
“My father’s the chief! I’ll fucking ruin your life for this, (name)! You hear me, you whore?!”
You panted as you ran through the woods, desperately trying to get away from the angry mob chasing after you with their torches and pitchforks. Who knew rejecting Will would get yourself into this situation? The bastard spread rumors around the village that you were a witch and the word eventually reached the church.
You cried in pain when you stepped on glass, the shard now protruding through your foot. A sob ripped through your throat but you kept going, limping away as fast as you could. Your muddied dress was now sticking onto your body and visible blood splatters were on it. You could hear the mob getting closer and you started to feel helpless, not knowing where to go. You were tired and in pain.
You stopped when you reached a small clearing, slumping against a large rock. All you could feel was the pain on your foot and the ringing in your head. Your heart was pounding on your chest while you tried to calm your breathing down. As the mob approached closer, your sight started to blur and your eyes were becoming too heavy.
“..huh?”
You opened your eyes and you were met with the same pearly white orbs you’ve seen when you were a child. He was huge and much more intimidating than he was when you first met. He held you close to his chest, offering warmth and security. The villagers let out a gasp, horrified at the sight of the creature. Many stepped back and the others made a run for it.
“It’s the devil!” One of the nuns exclaimed, falling down to her knees. The others fell in suit, crying as they begged for forgiveness to their god. The priest stood firm and took out his cross and started to throw holy water at the creature. But alas, it was no use.
“You dare lay your hands on my mate? Utterly unacceptable. Pay the consequences with your death, puny humans.” He buried your face into his chest and raised his hand.
All of it took a single minute and there was silence.
You slowly looked back and you gagged at the horrific sight of mangled and decapitated bodies. The clearing was bathed in blood and there was no spot left unstained.
“..shh.” He ran his long, sharp fingers through your hair, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. He could see how terrified you are, realizing how fragile humans were when it came to violence. His lips formed a frown, feeling bad for letting you witness everything.
He made a vow to keep you out of harm’s way, even if it meant locking you inside his home. His parents always reminded him to care for his mate and prioritize your health and safety. Which is why he kept a close watch on you over the years ever since that day, witnessing you grow into a gorgeous young woman. He even fed that rotten boy to the wolves when he sent those humans after you.
Don’t worry now. You’ll be safe with him. You will love your new life. And once you’ve adjusted accordingly, he’ll lay his claim on you properly. Soon, there will be little ones running around and you’ll give him a family like the good little mate you are.
“Let us head home, my mate.”
a/n: This was kind of rushed but i enjoyed writing it. This is my first take in monster romance and i hope you guys like it! Looking forward to writing similar stories in the future :DD
Warnings: Fluff, Vague Mentions of Alcohol, Weed, and Violence
Word Count: 802
Main Masterlist: Here
Horror Masterlist: Here
Summary: Coming from different cultures, and different times, the boys each have different ideas of how to properly express their interest in a lady.
Consider Donating: Here
It started when she was still human. Dwayne had found her wandering the boardwalk— aimless and searching. She was tracing her eyes over the stalls, pausing to scan different wears and items that caught her fancy.
He was observant; that much was obvious. Quiet with eyes that saw through the cracks and lines that threatened to cover nature’s true intent. Dwayne noticed that she started walking to the beach after a while when she had normally taken her bicycle down.
However, one of those surf nazi’s was riding around on a familiar bike in the parking lot of the pier. His face wound up on a missing persons poster. And when she woke up the next morning, her bike was back, in brand-new condition, with a small ‘D’ intricately and carefully carved into the metal.
Paul met her at the edge of a bonfire, where the music bled into the night air and laughter carried farther than it should have. She was barefoot in the sand, toes curling against the cooling embers, swaying like she did not care who was watching— and Paul watched immediately.
He was not subtle about it. Never had been. He hovered close, and worked up the courage to make the first contact, though the joint he hammered before hand probably helped.
Paul offered her a drink she did not take, talked her ear off about nothing and everything until she smiled just to keep up. He noticed when she stopped showing up to the bonfires after midnight, when she left early with her jacket clutched too tight around her shoulders. Paul noticed the way she shivered even when the fire was high.
The next time she came, there was a blanket waiting. Stolen, probably. Clean, definitely. Draped around her shoulders with a grin and a shrug like it was nothing at all.
“How’d you know I’d be cold tonight,” she asked, snuggling into the warmth he provided.
“I sometimes pay attention,” came his reply.
She found herself staying later after that. Laughing louder. Talking easier. Leaving with warm hands and warmer memories she couldn’t quite explain.
Marko was baffled because she did not move out of his way. Did not flinch when his bike cut too close, did not apologize when his shoulder brushed hers on the boardwalk. She met his stare head-on, unafraid and unimpressed.
He tested her after that. Lingered too close, stole things from her hands just to see if she would chase him down. Sometimes she did. Sometimes she did not. Either way, she did not leave. Marko noticed who else noticed her; the way men’s gazes lingered too long, the way attention turned sharp when it thought it could take something.
One night, someone tried. The man tried to grab her, hands going around her throat. She never saw Marko move, only heard the scuffle behind her and the crack of bone against pavement, before he continued ushering her to the light of the boardwalk again.
The next morning, her necklace, the one that had snapped during the struggle, was waiting on her windowsill, repaired and warm from someone else’s hands. When she confronted him, Marko just shrugged, smirked, like he had all the secrets.
The cherub vampire stayed closer after that. Close enough to touch. Close enough to choose her, over and over.
David noticed her because she was consistent. Same path down the boardwalk. Same pause at the rail. Same thoughtful expression, like she was weighing the night before stepping into it.
He never approached her at first. David believed in watching— in understanding a thing completely before touching it. He learned her habits, the rhythm of her life, the moments when she was most vulnerable without ever realizing it. The boardwalk bent subtly around her presence; danger veered away before it reached her.
She began to feel safer without knowing why. Doors locked themselves. Lights flickered on when she needed them. Once, she found her keys arranged neatly on her kitchen table after she’d sworn she had lost them. Like a guardian angel watching over her, and not once did she notice the icy blue eyes following her.
When they finally met, she put two and two together. There was just something about the way David watched her that made her realize exactly who he was to her. David offered nothing flashy; only the promise that as long as he existed, she would not be unguarded again.
And when she officially joined the pack, well… everyone fell into a comfortable rhythm. Dwayne would repair and silently gift her what she needed. Paul offered stolen items of comfort, stuff that will remind her of them. Marko, he was shifty eyed, almost like he was waiting for a chance to defend her honor. And David was a silent guardian, watching over.
- He may not be the most intimidating out of the boys, but he is by far the scariest
- At first glance anyone would just pass him off as a random punk
- But on closer inspection
- One might notice the almost animalistic tilt to his head he gets when he stares, or the glint in his eyes when he thinks violence is about to occur.
- He’s the one that’s always on the edge, waiting for something to push him over
- He’s small but he is mighty
- Out of all the boys he gets into the most fights on the board walk, because people THINK he looks like the easiest target due to his stature. (And he likes to start fights lol)
- But boy
- Are they in for a surprise
- It took awhile for the sufer nazis to realize this, since their not the sharpest gang on the boardwalk
- For the most part they would just tease or shout at Marko and he would just ignore it, or Paul and him would play a prank on them to get back ( I use prank loosely here, because these boys definitely consider pushing someone who can’t swim into ocean as prank level shenanigans)
- But that all changed when Marko’s s/o entered the picture
- You’re attractive, and you know it. Your confidence rolls off of you in waves
- Your no classic 80’s babe
- You have this alt/otherworldly magnetism about you
- Breath taking, and yet frightening all at once
- You are Marko’s, the boys know it, the locals understand that and respect it
- And those nasty looking bite marks he randomly walks over to you and bestows, scream that belonging loud and clear
- That also means that dumb, dude bros like the Surfers think they have a chance with you despite your clear relationship to Marko
- This makes you very uncomfortable and has resulted in a few physical altercations between you and the surfer gang
- And this, is not something Marko is willing to tolerate
- He was fine with them underestimating him before, but now, when they mess with you?
- Oh
- that’s not going to happen
- All it takes is for one of them to go missing for a night or two, depending on how angry Marko is
- The guy is dropped off at their pier hideout (which the surfers nazis thought was a secret)
- The poor sucker is unconscious, missing an eye and his right ear. His head is shaved, and for some reason, every time he sees a pigeon he screams bloody murder
- They get the message then
- Marko is not to be messed with, especially his s/o
- Now, whenever Marko sees one of them on the boardwalk, he likes to give them a little wave, and an evil smile
- He doesn’t feel the need to hover anymore either, there’s no need since no one would dare mess with you
- He is capable of many scary things, all of which he is happy to remind people of
Paul
- Scary by association
- Paul isn’t very intimating when you look at him
- If you saw him on the street you would probably pass him off as stoner or frankly a himbo
- Sure he is just as dangerous as the others, and likes the violence all the same too, but most do view him that way
- Especially on the boardwalk
- When you walk hand in hand with Paul. Going from carinval ride, to snack cart, to rigged game
- The locals will leave you two be
- They know Paul
- They know he’s part of the Lost Boys
- And they also know that if anyone messes with him, or his girl, they will have to answer to THEM ALL
- Tourists though, and new gangs trying to make there mark don’t know that
- But Paul doesn’t worry to much about it since the boys live be the “fuck around and find out” model of life
- The only thing he doesn’t like is if you get scared
- If his s/o is particularly scentitive to violence or strange men then he will do his best to either
- A. Scare them off before you even notice them or
- B. Start acting more aggressive or scary so they stay away from you
- And if that doesn’t work? Well he’s got his terror twin to help him
- Now Paul is perfectly capable of hunting and fucking with people on his own, but he is a social creature and enjoys Marko’s company
- And they can get up to some, frankly bizarre and frightening fuckery when they put their heads together
Dwayne
- very rarely messed with
- Is the definition of scary boyfriend privileges
- No one dares go near you, or even look at you in fear that Dwayne might notice them
- Being on Dwayne’s radar is a dangerous game, especially if he views you as threat to his s/o
- He likes to walk around the board walk with you, one arm draped over your shoulder, or maybe a hand in your back pocket
- When people see you two coming, they get the hell out of the way
- Because god help the pour soul who bumps into you or steps on your foot
- Dwayne doesn’t like it when he doesn’t know where you are, or your not in his line of site
- So wherever you are, he’s close behind even if you can’t see him
- Hand in hand you two walk everywhere
- You arrive a boardwalk concert and the people in-front of you are being obnoxious? Or maybe they’re too tall and you can’t see the band?
- One look at Dwayne, and they are moving clear across the outdoor theater
- When you go book shopping, you like to pull Dwayne through the aisles, your fingers laced with his
- He carries your books as you browse, even the dirty one with the embarrassing covers
- He doesn’t give A SINGLE FUCK
- You want him to hold your purse when you run to the restroom?
- No problem
- I would imagine he would have a thing for shorter partners, he likes to be able to lift you up whenever, or corner you somewhere dark and private, where no one can see past his wide shoulders
- You’re completely hidden by his large frame……so he can do anything he wants to you and no one can see…
- If he doesn’t feel like going into a store with you, or you want some space, he will park his bike outside and sit, waiting
- This is the sign for the local hooligans and gangs that there will be NO shenanigans in that store while his s/o is in there by themselves
- Because if there is? there will be consequences
- Consequences they won’t like
David
- seems more nonchalant then Dwayne
- Isn’t one to flat out punch someone in the face for looking at you the wrong way or being rude
- Instead, he will just plan out there dinners for the next week and that sucker will be on the menu
- I’ve mentioned this before but I think that their s/o would wear an earring or piece of jewelry that matches thier counterparts
- So most people would see your earring and steer clear of you, or their extra polite or accommodating if they are one of the business owners
- They figure it’s better to be on the boys good side, then to be on their bad side
- The boys will never acknowledge it outright, but they appreciate it.
- Business owners have also learned if their nice to the boys or their s/o or at the very least tolerate them, stealing and general mischief tends to go down in their stores
- Your ALWAYS safe with him
- though he can push the limits sometimes, he takes your safety seriously
- You get a hankering for a blue raspberry slushy at 2am, and want to go to the gas station to get one? But your worried about sketchy men?
- No problem (because honestly there is no world where he would let you venture there alone)
- They take one look at David, and they turn their asses right around and drive to the other gas station cross town
- Surprisingly, David is actually quite patient with you.
- So as your poking around the snack aisle, looking for a bag of chips to go with your slushy
- He just calmly follows you around
- Or he sits on his bike and waits for you if there’s no one around
- This doesn’t happen as often though since he can be territorial clingy
- He wants to see you, and protect you and he can’t do that if your hidden behind the dark aisles of a store
𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: You’re just trying to buy a cute pendant from a flirty boardwalk vendor when the boys decide no one gets to look at you like that. They circle you like a living wall of leather and bad decisions—because you’re theirs, and they love you loudly. Jealousy looks stupidly hot on all four of them… and honestly? You’re not even mad about it.
𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1.8k
𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: possessive behavior. polyamory. jealousy.
mild intimidation. territorial themes. dark romance. fluff with possessive vibes.
The warm summer night in Santa Carla wrapped around you like a familiar embrace, the air thick with the scent of saltwater, fried dough, and distant bonfires. Neon lights flickered overhead, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the crowds milling about—tourists laughing, kids chasing each other with cotton candy in hand, and the occasional shadowy figure lurking in the alleys.
You loved this place; it was chaotic, alive, and utterly yours. Or rather, it was theirs—the Lost Boys'. And by extension, yours too.
You'd been with them for months now, ever since that fateful night when David had first locked eyes with you under the Ferris wheel, his smirk promising danger and delight in equal measure. It hadn't taken long for the others to follow suit: Paul's wild energy pulling you into endless nights of laughter, Marko's playful teasing making you feel seen, Dwayne's quiet strength grounding you when the world spun too fast.
They were a package deal, these four vampires, and you'd fallen hard into their web. Possessive? Absolutely. But it was a possession born of fierce love, not control. They let you roam free, knowing you'd always come back to them. Still, jealousy simmered just beneath the surface, especially when outsiders got too close.
Tonight, you were wandering a bit ahead of the pack, drawn to a colorful stall selling handmade jewelry—silver chains glinting under string lights, beaded bracelets in every hue. The vendor was a young guy, maybe in his early twenties, with sun-bleached hair and an easygoing smile that screamed "surfer dude." He caught your eye as you picked up a delicate necklace with a moon-shaped pendant.
"That's one of my favorites," he said, leaning over the counter with a grin. "Hand-carved from abalone shell. Suits someone with your vibe—mysterious, you know?"
You chuckled, holding it up to the light. "Mysterious? That's a new one. Usually, people just call me 'that girl with the scary guys.' How much?"
He waved a hand dismissively. "For you? Fifteen bucks. But tell me, what's a girl like you doing out here alone? Boardwalk can get rough after dark."
"Oh, I'm not alone," you replied lightly, fishing for cash in your pocket. It was innocent enough, small talk to pass the time while you browsed. But as you glanced up, you felt it: that prickling awareness on the back of your neck. They were watching.
The boys had been lingering nearby, sprawled out on a bench like kings surveying their kingdom. Paul was mid-joke, probably something crude about the latest horror flick playing at the drive-in, when his laughter cut off abruptly. His blue eyes narrowed, zeroing in on you and the vendor. Marko, ever the firecracker, straightened up, his wild curls seeming to bristle like a cat's fur. Dwayne's broad shoulders tensed, his dark gaze turning stormy as he crossed his arms over his chest. And David—oh, David. His usual cool demeanor cracked just a fraction, that platinum hair catching the light as his smile sharpened into something predatory, like a blade unsheathed.
They didn't rush over. No, that wasn't their style. Not yet. Instead, they began to drift, casual as shadows lengthening at dusk. Paul sauntered first, hands in his pockets, but his usual grin was gone, replaced by a pout that bordered on sulky. Marko followed, tossing his hair back with exaggerated nonchalance, though you could see the way his fingers twitched, itching for action. Dwayne moved like a panther, silent and deliberate, his presence alone enough to make the air feel heavier. David brought up the rear, gloves creaking softly as he flexed his hands.
You were still chatting with the vendor, now about the best spots for night surfing, of all things, when you sensed them closing in. The stall suddenly felt smaller, the space around you shrinking as the four of them formed a loose circle, their bodies a living barrier between you and the rest of the world.
The vendor's words trailed off mid-sentence. His easy smile faltered as he looked up, realizing he was now surrounded by four very intense men. They weren't glaring outright—nothing so obvious—but the energy they radiated was unmistakable. Possessive. Territorial. Like wolves staking claim on their territory.
David stepped in closest, his hand sliding onto your hip with casual possession, fingers curling just enough to pull you a fraction toward him. The touch was light, but it sent a shiver through you, a reminder of the nights you'd spent tangled in their arms, their fangs grazing your skin in ways that blurred pain and pleasure.
"She's busy," David said simply, his voice smooth as silk but edged with steel. His eyes never left the vendor's, that sharp smile widening just enough to show a hint of fang—subtle, but there if you knew where to look.
The poor guy stammered, his face paling under the neon glow. "Uh, yeah, sure, man. No problem. Enjoy the necklace." He backed away hastily, nearly knocking over a display of earrings in his rush to busy himself with another customer who didn't exist.
You turned to face the four of them, arms crossed over your chest, trying to suppress a smile. "Really? He was just being nice."
Paul threw his hands up dramatically, his pout deepening into something almost comical. "Nice? Babe, he was totally flirting! Did you see the way he leaned in? 'Mysterious vibe', please. That's code for 'I wanna get in your pants.'"
Marko snorted, leaning against the stall's edge with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're too cute for your own good, you know that? Not our fault, we have to chase off the strays. What if he tried something?"
Dwayne didn't say much; he rarely did in these moments, but he stepped closer, his hand brushing your arm in a gentle contrast to the tension in his jaw. "We... didn't like it," he murmured, his voice low and rumbling, like thunder on the horizon. His dark eyes met yours, and you saw the flicker of vulnerability there, hidden beneath the possessiveness. They were immortal, powerful, but when it came to you, they were achingly human-like in their fears.
David's grip on your hip tightened just a touch before relaxing, his other hand coming up to tilt your chin toward him. "If he'd touched you, I'd—" He paused as you shot him a warning look, those piercing blue eyes of his sparkling with mischief. "—I would have politely asked him to reconsider his life choices."
You couldn't help it; laughter bubbled out of you, breaking the tension like a wave crashing on the shore. The sound seemed to melt them instantly. Paul's pout vanished, replaced by his infectious grin as he slung an arm around your shoulders. Marko chuckled, ruffling your hair affectionately. Dwayne's shoulders relaxed, a small smile tugging at his lips. Even David softened, his sharp edges dulling as he pressed a cool kiss to your forehead.
"You're impossible, all of you," you said, shaking your head. But there was no real annoyance in your voice, only fondness. Being with them meant navigating this dance of jealousy and love, and truthfully, it thrilled you. They weren't trying to cage you; they just loved you loudly, fiercely, in a way that made the world feel a little less lonely.
The boardwalk buzzed around you, oblivious to the little drama that had unfolded. Paul tugged you toward the Ferris wheel, his energy bouncing back like a rubber band. "C'mon, let's ride this thing before Marko starts whining about being hungry."
"I'm always hungry," Marko shot back, falling into step beside you. "But for once, it's not blood I'm craving—funnel cake?"
Dwayne walked on your other side, his hand finding yours in a quiet claim. David lingered behind, watching over the group like the leader he was, but you felt his gaze on you, warm despite his calm demeanor.
As the night wore on, you found yourself sandwiched between them on the Ferris wheel, the city lights sprawling out below like a sea of stars. Paul's head rested on your shoulder, Marko chattering about some prank he wanted to pull on the local surfers. Dwayne's arm was around your waist, steady and sure. David sat across, his knee brushing yours, that possessive spark still in his eyes but tempered now with contentment.
"You know we don't mean to smother you," David said quietly, when the others were distracted by the view. "It's just... you're ours. And we're yours. Seeing someone else look at you like that, it stirs things up."
You reached out, lacing your fingers with his. "I get it. And honestly? It's kind of hot when you all get like that. As long as you don't actually hurt anyone."
He smirked, bringing your hand to his lips for a kiss that lingered a beat too long. "Deal. Polite reconsiderations only."
The wheel creaked to a stop at the top, the wind whipping through your hair. Down below, the vendor's stall was a tiny speck, forgotten already. Up here, with them, you felt untouchable—loved in a way that was wild, eternal, and just a little dangerous.
Later, as the boys led you toward the cave, promises of a quieter night whispering in your ear, you reflected on how far you'd come from a lone wanderer on the boardwalk to the center of their world. Jealousy might look good on them, but belonging? That felt even better.
The cave welcomed you like an old friend, the dim torchlight flickering over the makeshift beds and scattered treasures they'd collected over the years. Paul immediately cranked up the boombox, blasting some hair metal anthem that had Marko headbanging in seconds. Dwayne busied himself with lighting more candles, casting a golden glow that softened the space's rough edges.
You collapsed onto the pile of blankets that served as your shared nest, the necklace still clutched in your hand. "You guys didn't have to scare him off so fast. I was about to haggle the price down."
David chuckled, shedding his coat and joining you, his body cool against yours as he pulled you into his lap. "Next time, we'll let you handle it. Maybe."
Paul flopped down beside you, nuzzling into your neck with exaggerated affection. "Or we could just intimidate him into giving you everything for free. Problem solved!"
Marko joined the pile, sprawling out with his head on your thigh. "Tempting. But where's the fun in that? I like watching her work her magic."
Dwayne settled in last, his presence a calming anchor as he draped an arm over Paul. The five of you tangled together like puzzle pieces, the earlier jealousy forgotten in the warmth of your bond.
As the music faded into the background, replaced by the distant crash of waves, you let yourself drift. They were possessive, yes—jealous guardians in leather and fangs. But they were also yours, heart and soul.
notes/tags < SEASON ONE SPOILERS, descriptions of blood, a gun, and wounds, hinted obsession, possessiveness(?), not sure of anything else. this is my first spn fic, be kind lol. also, i included a reference to a Massive Attack song in this. see if you can find it :)
dark!dean winchester x f!reader
He followed a trail of crimson soaking into the snow.
Every breath Dean took floated out as a cloud, snaking up into the night sky as soon as it had left his lungs.
Underfoot, the snow was solidly packed. Soft, slow crunches came with each step from his heavy boots.
Methodical.
The beaming headlights of the Impala cut through the abyss awaiting him. Sam told him to leave you behind, and forget about you. What were the chances of you surviving in the bitter cold?
Dean hunted you regardless.
He was well aware your chances were slim to none, but the urge to find you flowed like a sickening current through his veins. The thought of you without him in these woods made his chest ache. You couldn't survive without Dean.
Or was it the other way around?
He knew what monsters lurk in the dark, waiting to pounce on easy prey. He couldn't risk you being taken from him. Dean had already spent countless nights under his belt spent imagining that thought - the only remedy being you, softly breathing as you slept soundly in his arms.
His angel, sent down to rescue his soul.
Dean had seen firsthand what losing Jessica had done to his brother. For months, Sam had lived on the verge of tears. The numbers on the bathroom scale had shot downhill - food and sleep had become arbitrary distractions in the hunt for the demon who had mercilessly taken his love's life. Jessica's passing had left a permanent mark on Sam's soul. Dean could never bear to see his little brother like that again, ever. Sam withered away in full view for months. A sharp pain at first had subsided to a dull aching one, but it will never leave him. Sam will live with that pain forever.
If traipsing through dense woods at ungodly hours of the night meant Dean wouldn't live that life, would see you safe in his protection, so be it.
The potential of seeing a glimpse of your face sent prickles across his skin. The thought of you clutching a shaking hand to your wounds, pushing your teeth together to stop the chatter from giving you away...
What would he see in your eyes when he found you?
Fear? Anger?
Pity?
These were polar opposites of what he really wanted to see. What Dean wanted to see was joy, surprise, pleasure. Four rotating hips under the light of a fireplace flashes across his eyes, a blinding fantasy. He wanted needed to make you feel how he does when he's around you.
The picture was blurry, but sent a shiver down his spine nonetheless. He trod through the snow as quietly as he could, craning his neck in every direction to listen for your breathing.
A sharp snap in the distance made him twist his body to the darkness.
The gun is cradled in his hands. Dean wished it was your face. Your soft skin, a comforting warmth beneath his icy fingers.
The sound so quick to catch his attention had been nothing more than a twig, broken in tread by a passing deer. The headlights beams reflect against the deers eyes, making them glow white. It stays in its tracks, watching.
Waiting.
Dean stops too.
The deer's head twitched east. It ran into the night, snapping branches and crushing leaves as it went.
“You can't stay here all night," He called out. "You know that, sweetheart."
No response from the woods. The cold had begun to bite through his clothes, seeping into his flesh. He ignored it, vowing to look all night if that was what it took.
There was no wind, no earthly whispers amongst the woods. The deer had come and gone.
Dean's grip on the gun had become impossibly tight the longer he hadn't set eyes on you. His hands were going numb, from the strained position and the cold.
He stopped, and cocked his gun.
The unmistakeable sound of metal clinking on metal rang out into the dark. Dean scanned the shadows for any movement, animal or human. His stomach had been knotted since this chase had started between the pair of you, and showed no signs of letting up.
A few seconds passed. The only sound he could hear was his own heartbeat in his ears.
Then, a cry emanated behind him. He whipped around, gun poised and aimed directly at your heart.
In the split second it took for him to turn, Dean had another wave of nausea hit his stomach. What if it wasn't you? How fast would he pull the trigger? Every bone in his body ached for the sound to be yours, to come from your body. All his suffering - and yours - would soon be over.
“Dean?" You whispered hoarsely.
His shoulders dropped at the sweet sound of a single syllable levering your lips. His lungs ached in agony as he breathed out. He had been holding a breath in he didn't know he was holding.
You wielded a thick, broken tree branch in one hand, while the other was a dark crimson colour, and clasped around your side. The coat you wore was almost black; your blood had flowed into the fibres and turned the once white wool into varying shades of red. The branch made a dull thud on the snow as you let it drop.
The stinging stench of blood was unmistakeable. It hit Dean like a truck - a wall of metal, unrelenting in its overwhelming potency.
He lowered his gun, pupils blown wide. He took a stumbling step towards you as his heart threatened to fall out of his chest. As soon as Dean had his arms around you, your body fell against him.
“What the fuck were you thinking?" He shouted, gripping your shoulders tightly. He placed his hand over yours, shuddering as it came away slick and hot with your blood. "You would've died out there."
What was there to say? He was right, you were desperately wrong.
The cold had firmly settled in your bones while you had tried to bide your time behind cover. It had made it hard to think about anything else. Still, you had heard Dean’s slow, careful footsteps, and knew you had to give up the game. You wondered what in you had let you believe you could escape in the first place.
Looking you over, Dean saw how blue your lips had gotten, how your body shook as you shivered. You weren’t steady on your feet on your own.
Dean knew he needed to get you some place warm, fast.
Leaning entirely on him, the walk to the Impala had been a quick shuffle, and its leather interior welcomed you in. The car smelt of his musk - dirt, gunmetal, and sandalwood.
Dean slammed the door, and rushed to the driver's side. He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life.
Your eyelids began to droop closed - the exhaustion of running and hiding for so long had caught up to you. The sound of Dean's racing breathing had begun to fade, and black spots began to cloud the edges of your vision.
How much blood had you lost?
“Hey! I need you to stay awake!" He shouted, shoving you roughly.
Dean glanced at your ever-darkening coat. Your hands were coated in blood; desperate to cram everything back in.
“Fuck!" He shouted, slamming his hands against the steering wheel.
Dean looked over at you again, seeing you slip into unconsciousness deeper by the minute. A sharp exhale came out of him. In a brief moment of clarity, Dean reached for something you couldn’t make out in his pocket.
The casual turnover of the car climbed to a shuddering thunder as his foot slammed onto the accelerator.
The last thing you remembered was the twinkly tones of buttons being pushed on a phone.
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