Read the synopsis here first. Warnings: Yandere Themes, Batfamily x reader, Superfamily x reader, Death, Dark fic â read at your own discretion. Chapter One. Chapter two.
Before the incident, you were no one special.
Not in the tragic way people liked to romanticise afterwards, either.
You werenât secretly important. There was no hidden inheritance waiting for you, no extraordinary talent buried beneath years of hardship, no destiny quietly lingering around the corner.
You were just another person trying to survive Gotham.
One of millions.
Your family sat somewhere awkwardly in the middle class for most of your childhood. Not poor enough for sympathy, but never comfortable enough to stop worrying about money either.
Your mother worked double shifts as a waitress downtown, feet swollen and patience thin by the time she came home each night. Your father worked construction when jobs were available, though half the time he seemed more interested in spending his paychecks into alcohol, cigarettes, and nights out with friends before they ever made it home.
Theyâd had you young. Too young.
At least, that was the excuse everyone always used.
Your grandmother used to defend them constantly when you were little.
âTheyâre trying,â sheâd sigh whenever your mother forgot to pick you up from school again. âTheyâre still figuring things out.â
You believed her back then.
Children usually did.
By the time you turned ten, though, youâd started noticing things.
Noticing that your parents always somehow had money for cigarettes, drinks, nights out with friends. But argued whenever school supplies needed replacing. Noticing how your grandmother quietly covered expenses without complaint whenever they âfell shortâ again.
You noticed how often your father looked annoyed when you interrupted him. How your motherâs smiles became strained whenever conversations lasted too long.
Eventually, you stopped interrupting altogether. It was easier that way.
Your grandmother practically raised you herself after that.
She was the one who picked you up from school. The one who remembered birthdays. The one who stayed awake during fevers while your parents argued somewhere down the hall about money neither of them had.
You learned early on not to ask for much.
Gotham had a way of wearing people down until survival became the only thing they had energy left for.
Your grandmotherâs apartment sat above an old laundromat in Crime Alley, though nobody really called it that anymore unless they were tourists, cops, or trying to sound dramatic on the news. To the people actually living there, it was just another neighbourhood trying not to collapse in on itself.
The building always smelled faintly like mildew and detergent. Old wallpaper peeling near the ceiling. Weak heating during winter. Pipes that rattled loudly enough to wake you at night whenever someone used the shower.
Half the lights in the hallway never worked properly. The elevator broke down at least twice a month. Sometimes gunshots echoed somewhere nearby late enough at night that your grandmother would quietly close the curtains without pausing the conversation.
Like it was normal.
Because it was.
Still, it felt more like home than anywhere else ever had.
She liked listening to the city.
You never understood why.
Gotham was loud in all the worst ways.
Sirens screaming through the streets at three in the morning. Arguments through paper-thin apartment walls. Televisions blasting news reports about murders, robberies, masked vigilantes tearing through the city again.
Growing up in Gotham meant learning very quickly which sounds were dangerous and which werenât. Car backfires. Arguments. Sirens. Police helicopters. Screaming.
Eventually it all blended together into background noise.
As a child, you used to sit cross-legged on the living room floor watching those very news reports while your grandmother muttered complaints from the kitchen.
Batman, Superman, Robin, The Justice League, Arkham breakouts, bank robberies, another chemical attack downtown, another body found in the Narrows.
The city lived in this constant state of barely controlled chaos where people still somehow expected you to show up to work the next morning afterwards. And everyone did. Because what else were they supposed to do?
âRich people playing dress-up,â sheâd scoff. âAlways punching symptoms instead of fixing the disease,â sheâd mutter while folding laundry.
You remembered laughing at that once.
At the time, you hadnât understood what she meant. Then getting older and realising she wasnât entirely wrong.
The heroes never came to your neighbourhood unless something exploded.
By the time you graduated high school, Gotham already felt exhausted into your bones.
You werenât stupid. Your grades had been decent enough, but decent didnât really mean much when every college application came attached to tuition you could never afford.
You got rejected from two schools outright.
The third accepted you with costs that may as well have been impossible.
So you did what most people did. You worked.
Then one acceptance attached to tuition costs so absurd you actually laughed reading it.
So that was the end of that.
You got a job two weeks later. Then another after the first store shut down following a robbery that left the owner dead behind the register. Then another after new management fired half the staff to cut costs. Then another after the building literally caught fire during some fight between Batman and Killer Croc three blocks away.
That was Gotham.
Jobs disappeared overnight. Buildings vanished. People vanished. Nobody acted surprised anymore.
By twenty four, your resume looked less like career experience and more like a trail of failed businesses and bad luck.
Convenience stores, warehouses, gas stations, stock work, night shifts, delivery driving, Cash handling, whatever paid enough.
You worked constantly, not because you were ambitious, but because stopping even briefly felt dangerous. Like if you stood still too long, the city would swallow you whole.
Most of your paychecks disappeared into rent, groceries, utilities, and helping your grandmother whenever her medication costs got bad again.
Still, after years of unstable jobs and cramped living conditions, youâd eventually managed to scrape together enough money for your own apartment.
âApartmentâ was generous, honestly.
The place sat on the outskirts of Gotham in a building old enough that the pipes screamed whenever someone showered. Water stains spread across the ceiling above your bed in branching patterns, and the radiator worked only when it felt particularly motivated.
The radiator barely worked during winter. The upstairs neighbour screamed at video games until two in the morning almost every night. Water stains spread slowly across the ceiling above your bed no matter how many maintenance requests you filed.
Sometimes the alley outside smelled so bad during summer you had to keep the windows shut entirely.
It was terrible. The apartment was awful.
And you loved it anyway. Because it was yours.
For the first time in your life, you had a space that belonged entirely to you.
That mattered more than you cared to admit.
You still remember standing alone in the empty apartment the first night after moving in, staring at the stained carpet and flickering kitchen light while holding a box of instant noodles under one arm.
Youâd actually smiled.
Not because you were happy, exactly. Just⌠Proud.
Even if it was small. Even if nobody else wouldâve cared.
It was the first thing in your life that had belonged entirely to you.
Your life had settled into an endless cycle of exhaustion. The kind that sat permanently behind your eyes no matter how much sleep you got. The kind that made your body feel heavy the second your alarm went off each morning. Or afternoon. Or evening. Your schedule changed too often to keep track anymore.
Between two jobs, days stopped feeling separate from one another entirely.
The warehouse job started early.
Most mornings, when you actually slept at night, began before sunrise. Stumbling half-awake through Gothamâs freezing streets with cheap coffee burning your tongue and yesterdayâs exhaustion still clinging stubbornly to your bones.
The warehouse itself sat tucked near the industrial district downtown, surrounded by chain-link fencing and graffiti-covered loading docks. The work was mindless.
Your manager barely remembered employeesâ names despite half the staff working there for years.
Nobody really spoke much during shifts either. Everyone just kept their heads down beneath the constant drone of machinery and fluorescent lights overhead. People came and went constantly.
One guy got fired for showing up high. Another stopped appearing altogether after getting mugged outside the bus station. A woman youâd worked beside for almost six months vanished after her apartment building got condemned unexpectedly.
You knew not to get attached to people.
Your second job was worse.
The convenience store sat near one of Gothamâs busiest intersections, right between a liquor store with bars over the windows and a laundromat that always smelled vaguely like bleach and cigarettes.
The place stayed open twenty four hours a day because people apparently never slept.
Not safely, anyway.
You mostly worked evening and overnight shifts there, which meant dealing with every kind of customer imaginable.
Drunk college students stumbling in after midnight. Half-conscious office workers buying energy drinks at two in the morning. People clearly high on something wandering aimlessly through the aisles for hours. Sometimes shoplifters.
Sometimes worse.
People lingering too long near entrances. Bulges beneath jackets that you had to learn the hard way didnât just mean guns. The twitchy, restless movements of someone looking for an easy target.
Mostly, though, the job was just boring. Painfully boring.
The fluorescent lights buzzed constantly overhead. The slurpee machine broke at least twice a week. One of the refrigerators made an awful rattling noise management refused to fix.
You spent most shifts restocking shelves, cleaning spills, rotating expired food, and pretending not to notice suspicious customers stuffing things into their pockets.
The pay wasnât enough for the hours. Neither jobâs pay was. Still, together they kept your bills barely manageable.
Barely.
That night had started like every other shift.
Your feet already hurt by hour three. By hour six, the ache in your lower back had settled into something dull and constant while the cheap energy drink beside the register slowly went warm. Outside, rain hammered violently against the store windows hard enough to blur the neon signs across the street.
Gotham looked different in heavy rain.
Meaner, somehow.
The streets became slick mirrors of distorted lights and moving shadows while pedestrians hurried past with their heads down like the city itself might reach out and grab them if they slowed too long.
The clock above the cigarette display read 11:52 PM.
Eight more minutes.
Then you could go home, shower, maybe sleep four hours if you were lucky, and drag yourself back to the warehouse by morning.
You were reorganizing one of the drink coolers when the cashier called your name from the front counter.
âCan you grab more cigarettes from the back?â
You shut the refrigerator door with a sigh. âYeah.â
The storage room behind the counter was cramped and dimly lit, stacked floor-to-ceiling with boxes of inventory management never organized properly. Dust coated nearly every surface despite repeated cleaning attempts, and one of the ceiling lights flickered badly enough that half the room remained trapped in shadow.
You crouched beside one of the shelves, digging through cardboard boxes for cigarette cartons while absently trying to remember whether youâd paid your electricity bill already. Probably.
Hopefully.
Your phone buzzed faintly in your pocket. A reminder alarm. You ignored it.
The sound of laughter drifted faintly from the front of the store. A customer arguing over lottery tickets. The steady hum of refrigerators. Rain slamming against the windows outside.
Normal.
Everything felt painfully normal.
Then the front windows exploded inward.
The crash was deafening.
Glass shattered across the floor in a violent spray as screaming erupted instantly from the front registers.
Your entire body locked up.
For one stunned second, you genuinely thought a car had crashed into the building.
Then the gunshots started.
The sound cracked through the store so violently your ears rang immediately afterward.
Someone screamed. Terrified.
You froze beside the shelves as heavy footsteps stormed through the store outside.
âEVERYBODY ON THE FUCKING GROUND!â Another gunshot. Closer this time.
Your pulse slammed violently against your ribs. Instinct finally kicked in.
You stumbled upright too quickly, nearly knocking over a stack of boxes before rushing toward the storage room doorway. The second you looked out into the store, your stomach dropped.
Six women. Masked. Armed.
One stood near the destroyed front entrance holding an assault rifle while shattered glass glittered across the floor around her boots. Another had vaulted over the counter already, shoving the cashier roughly toward the ground while emptying registers into a duffel bag.
Customers were screaming. Crying. Trying not to move.
One of the women fired another shot directly into the ceiling.
Dust and debris rained downward instantly. âGET DOWN!â
Your knees hit the floor before you consciously decided to move.
Cold tiles dug painfully into your skin through your uniform pants as your hands instinctively lifted slightly away from your body where they could be seen.
Your heart was beating so hard it physically hurt.
Around you, the store dissolved into chaos.
One customer sobbed openly near the candy aisle. Someone else whispered prayers beneath their breath. A display rack had been knocked sideways during the panic, chips and drinks scattered everywhere across the floor.
The women moved through the store quickly. Efficiently. Like theyâd done this before. âPhones in the bags.â
âWallets too.â Another reminded.
âDonât fucking look at us.â
One customer tried arguing. You didnât even see which woman hit him. Just the crack of a gunstock against bone and the sudden silence afterward.
Nobody spoke again.
Nobody was stupid enough to play hero.
You kept your eyes lowered toward the floor, breathing shallowly through the overwhelming smell of rainwater, gunpowder, and adrenaline thickening the air around you.
Heavy boots stopped directly in front of you.
Your stomach twisted violently.
âGet up.â A hand grabbed the back of your jacket roughly before you could react.
You stumbled upright immediately, pulse roaring loudly in your ears as cold metal jammed hard against your ribs.
Gun.
The woman shoved you forward toward the counter. âOpen the registers.â
Your hands shook immediately.
The other customers and employees remained huddled on the floor behind you while the women barked orders over each other, duffel bags steadily filling with cash, cigarettes, medication, and whatever expensive items they could grab quickly enough.
One woman stood guard near the shattered entrance with her rifle raised casually toward the hostages.
Another paced between aisles like she was waiting for someone to try something stupid.
Rainwater and broken glass covered most of the floor now, crunching loudly beneath boots as the women moved throughout the store.
You swallowed hard, forcing your hands to cooperate as you reached for the register keys.
The gun dug harder into your side. âHurry the fuck up.â
âIâm trying,â you muttered before you could stop yourself.
The woman immediately grabbed the back of your neck hard enough to make you stumble.
âDonât get smart.â
Your pulse pounded violently in your throat. âSorry.â
The register popped open with a sharp ding.
The woman beside you immediately started shoving handfuls of cash into a duffel bag while another forced the cashier toward the second register nearby.
âHim too.â
A different gun pressed against the cashierâs head this time. The poor guy looked barely conscious with fear.
You looked away.
One of them vaulted over the counter while another shouted from somewhere near the aisles. âSafeâs in the back.â
Your stomach dropped instantly. Of course they knew about the safe. Someone had probably tipped them off beforehand.
The woman beside you shoved the barrel against your spine this time. âMove.â
You stumbled forward immediately.
The cashier was dragged alongside you toward the storage room, nearly tripping over shattered glass in the process. Behind you, customers whimpered quietly while another warning shot suddenly echoed through the store ceiling.
Dust rained downward.
Nobody screamed this time.
The fear had settled too deeply for that now.
The storage room suddenly felt even smaller than before.
Claustrophobic.
The flickering overhead light buzzed faintly while the women crowded around the safe bolted into the concrete wall behind stacked inventory boxes.
âOpen it.â
Your throat felt dry. âI-I donât have the code.â
That wasnât entirely true. Only managers technically had access, but employees were taught the emergency code in case of late-night robberies. Which now felt horribly ironic.
The woman tilted her head slightly. Then cocked the gun.
Your stomach twisted violently.
âOpen it.â
Beside you, the cashier looked moments away from passing out entirely.
Your hands fumbled badly against the keypad.
Wrong number.
The woman behind you grabbed your shoulder painfully hard. âHurry up!â
Your vision blurred slightly. You couldnât think properly with the gun pressed against your back.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Your fingers shook harder as you entered the code again.
This time the safe clicked open.
The women immediately surged forward.
âHoly shitââ
Stacks of cash disappeared into bags almost instantly while one of the robbers laughed sharply beneath her mask.
Your knees felt weak with adrenaline.
This was bad. This was really bad.
Nobody robbed stores this close to the central city unless they were desperate or stupid.
And desperate people were dangerous.
One of the women suddenly grabbed your arm. Hard. âYouâre coming with me.â
Your heart nearly stopped. âWhat?â
The gun pressed against your temple before you could react. Cold metal against skin. Every muscle in your body locked instantly.
âYou heard me.â
The cashier beside you made a weak noise like he wanted to object before another robber snapped toward him immediately. âEyes down.â He obeyed instantly. So did you.
The woman dragged you back toward the front of the store with the weapon still pressed tightly against your head, using you like a shield while the others continued emptying the safe behind you.
Your breathing had turned shallow. Too fast.
The entire store looked wrecked now. Glass covered the floor. Shelves had been knocked sideways. Products littered nearly every aisle. Somewhere near the entrance, one of the customers was crying quietly into their hands.
The rain outside had worsened, thunder rumbling faintly overhead while police sirens echoed somewhere far enough away to still be useless.
The woman holding you cursed under her breath suddenly.
A pair of headlights swept briefly across the shattered storefront outside. The lights flickered.
One of the robbers near the entrance straightened immediately.
âDid you hear-â The front doors burst inward.
Everything happened at once.
A dark blur slammed violently into the woman near the entrance hard enough to send her crashing into a shelf. Another figure dropped from somewhere above while a third came crashing through the side fire exit almost simultaneously.
Shouting erupted instantly.
The woman holding you jerked the gun harder against your temple. âFuck! Move.â
You barely managed half a step before the front lights blew out entirely.
The store plunged into darkness.
Somebody screamed.
One of the robbers hit the floor hard enough to crack against the tiles. Another shape moved through the darkness near the entrance, striking fast enough that you only caught flashes of black and blue between the confusion.
The women started shouting. Gunshots erupted instantly. The sound was deafening in the enclosed store.
Your captor spun sharply, dragging you backward against her chest as chaos tore through the aisles around you. Shelves crashed violently somewhere nearby while customers scrambled further beneath counters and displays.
You couldnât see properly. Only movement. The loud noise. Shouting.
Then the emergency lights kicked in. Dim red lighting flooded the store. And suddenly you could see them.
Nightwing moved first. Fast enough that it barely looked human.
One of the robbers swung toward him with her weapon raised only for him to twist sideways, baton slamming against her wrist before she could fire. The gun skidded across the floor as she crumpled hard against a shelf.
Near the registers, Red Hood ripped another womanâs weapon clean out of her hands before shoving her violently into the counter.
Red Robin was already restraining someone else near the entrance.
Robin was heading directly toward you.
The woman behind you panicked. You felt it immediately in the way her grip tightened painfully against your shoulder. âDonât fucking move!â The gun pressed harder against your head.
Robin didnât stop. For one brief second, everything slowed.
You saw the sharp movement of his arm. The glint of metal. The woman beginning to pull the trigger-
Then the blunt edge of Robinâs katana slammed violently against the side of the weapon.
The gunshot rang out anyway.
The sound echoed through the store loud enough to make your ears ring instantly.
The weapon flew from the womanâs hand as Nightwing tackled her to the floor almost immediately afterward.
You stared blankly ahead.
Confused.
Something felt strange.
Warm.
Your knees suddenly gave out beneath you. The floor rushed upward too quickly.
You hit the ground hard, the impact rattling painfully through your body while the world around you blurred strangely out of focus.
Why- Why was it hard to breathe?
Noise swelled around you in distorted waves.
Someone shouting. Boots hitting the floor. A voice yelling your name- or maybe not your name. Maybe you imagined that.
Your chest burned.
Slowly, your trembling hand moved downward.
Warm. Wet.
When you pulled your hand back, your fingers were covered in blood.
For a second, you just stared at it.
Dark red beneath the emergency lights. Too much blood.
Oh.
The realization settled quietly into your mind.
Youâd been shot.
You werenât even sure when it happened.
Pain exploded through your chest a second later.
A broken sound tore from your throat as your body curled instinctively against the floor. Your lungs seized painfully, every breath wet and wrong and burning all the way down.
Fuck.
Your vision blurred instantly.
Movement dropped around you almost immediately.
Four figures.
Nightwing caught your shoulders carefully before your head could hit the tiles again. Red Robin was already pressing gloved hands against your chest wound hard enough to make another scream rip from your throat.
âEasy- easy-â
âThereâs too much blood.â
âCall an ambulance now.â
Robin had gone frighteningly still beside you.
Red Hood looked ready to kill someone. Actually kill someone.
You didnât understand why they looked so panicked. People died in Gotham all the time. Theyâd all seen worse than this before.
The thought felt distant somehow as warmth spread rapidly beneath your body, soaking through your uniform and pooling across the dirty floor tiles.
Your breathing hitched painfully. Everything sounded underwater now.
Nightwing kept talking to you, voice strained and rough beneath the ringing in your ears, but you couldnât focus enough to understand the words.
Your eyes drifted sluggishly across the four vigilantes surrounding you.
They looked horrified. Not shocked. Not professionally concerned.
Horrified.
Like this wasnât supposed to happen. Like you werenât supposed to happen.
Oh.. You were dying.
The realization should have scared you more. Instead, all you could think was how absurd it felt.
Twenty four years old. Shot in the chest during a robbery at a shitty convenience store five hours before your next shift was supposed to start.
A weak laugh almost escaped before it turned into a wet cough instead. Blood spilled down the corner of your mouth immediately afterward.
Red Robin swore under his breath.
âStay awake.â Nightwingâs hands tightened slightly where they steadied you. âYouâre okay,â he said quickly.
You werenât sure if he was talking to you or himself.
Your hand twitched weakly toward the wound in your chest. Pain tore through you instantly.
A scream ripped from your throat before your eyes squeezed shut hard enough to hurt.
Shit.
Your chest hurt.
Everything hurt.
And through it all, you couldnât stop staring at how devastated they looked.
You werenât special. Just another civilian. No friends. No family nearby. A shitty apartment. An even shittier job. Nothing worth mourning this badly.
The last thing you felt was someone grabbing your hand tightly.
Then everything went black.
Or.. at least it should have.
Gasping violently for air, you lurched upright with a broken choke of sound clawing its way out of your throat.
The chair beneath you screeched loudly against the floor as your entire body jerked forward in panic.
Pain.
You braced for pain.
For the burning agony still carved into your memory so vividly you could practically feel it splitting through your chest all over again. You could still remember the warmth of blood pouring between your fingers. The wet, suffocating feeling in your lungs every time you tried to breathe.
You remembered dying.
Your hands flew frantically to your chest.
Fingers clawed desperately at the fabric covering your skin, shaking so violently you could barely feel what you were touching. You pressed hard against your sternum, searching blindly for the wound.
The bullet hole. The blood. Something. Anything.
But there was nothing.
No shredded convenience store uniform soaked crimson beneath your hands. No sticky warmth coating your skin. No hole torn through your chest.
Nothing.
Your breathing turned sharp and uneven.
âNo-â The word escaped instinctively beneath another panicked inhale as your hands pressed harder against yourself like force alone would somehow uncover the injury that had been there.
It had been there.
You remembered it. You remembered collapsing. Remembered Gothamâs vigilantes surrounding you. Remembered choking on blood while your vision darkened at the edges.
You remembered dying.
A shaky breath caught painfully in your throat.
Your pulse hammered so hard it made your head spin. Then slowly-
Slowly,
You realized the floor beneath you wasnât tile.
There was no smell of smoke. No shattered glass crunching underfoot. No distant police sirens screaming outside.
Instead, fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead. The air smelled faintly like old textbooks and dry erase markers.
Silence pressed heavily around you.
Wrong. Everything felt wrong.
Your hands finally stilled against your chest as you looked up. Rows of desks. Teenagers. A classroom.
Several students were staring directly at you now, expressions twisted somewhere between concern and confusion. One girl near the windows looked outright alarmed. Somebody else had half-risen from their seat like they didnât know whether to help or stay back.
Your breathing picked up again immediately.
No.
No, no, no-
This wasnât possible.
Sunlight streamed warmly through large classroom windows, illuminating dust drifting lazily through the air. Outside, distant voices echoed faintly through hallways. School.
You knew this room.
The realisation crashed into you hard enough to make your stomach twist violently.
Your gaze darted wildly around the classroom.
The faded poetry posters peeling slightly near the ceiling. The cracked corner of the whiteboard. The clock above the doorway that always ran three minutes behind.
Recognition flooded through you so suddenly it almost hurt.
You knew this classroom. You had sat in this room before. Years ago.
Your fingers curled tightly against the edge of the desk beneath you as panic crawled violently up your spine. That wasnât possible. It couldnât be.
Because you were twenty four. Because six years ago youâd graduated.
Because minutes ago youâd been bleeding out on the floor of a convenience store in Gotham while four vigilantes desperately tried to stop you from dying.
A cold wave of nausea rolled through your stomach.
Slowly, almost fearfully, your eyes lifted toward the front of the classroom.
And locked directly with the stunned stare of your twelfth grade literature teacher.
Hey Yael. Iâm back for the kids.
Read chapter two HERE
Comments and Reblogs will be deciding this ficâs fate. Whether itâs continued or scrapped is up to the readers.
So either comment or reblog if youâd like this to continue.
Shallow customization gives you a costume. Deep customization gives you a character. SweetDream is firmly in the second camp, you shape appearance, personality, quirks, voice, and backstory until she's genuinely distinct.
That depth is itself a mark of quality, because it carries through into how she talks and behaves. The companion you carefully built is the companion you actually get. On sweetdream.ai, detailed creation pays off in every conversation.
bruce wayne with a girlfriend who wants to film a grwm for social media but he walks past the camera shirtless (and hot) and it turns into a playboy, billionaire bruce wayne thirst trap used in 1838373 edits because his fans are unhinged
dick grayson with a girlfriend who tosses off her high heels mid walk because it hurts to walk in them, making him speed up his pace to fetch her heels before it gets into her way
barbara gordon with a girlfriend who melts in barbaraâs arms while getting back scratches and then she proceeds to brag to her followers that no one will have such an intelligent and amazing and hot and kind and sexy and loving and ethereal girlfriend like she does
jason todd with a girlfriend who snaps a quick ootd and says âtwirlâ and he actually listens to show his outfit
stephanie brown with a girlfriend who demands to get carried yet steph proceeds to throw her over her shoulder instead
tim drake with a girlfriend who calls him good boy whenever he does a quick favour for her and they both cringe but tim secretly doesnât mind
duke thomas with a girlfriend who bakes with him and she intentionally smears whipped cream or flour or any sort of shit she can get into her hands onto his face (it doesnât end well)
damian wayne with a girlfriend who forces him to participate in tiktok trends. he appears maybe once or twice per month (if youâre lucky)
âđ˛đ Damian yachting with his ridiculously spoiled wife
The Italian coast glittered around you. The sun turning the white cliffs and water to diamonds.
The sea was impossibly blue, bright enough to burn through your closed eyelids. You had melted bonelessly into the vinyl cushions at the bow with no intention of moving. Not from the overwhelming heat. The sun was warming its way through your skin to the marrow of you, turning your body loose and golden and heavy.
You were too hot. Overheated, definitely. Your breathing had gone shallow from it.
But it felt so good.
Eventually, you would roll off the side of the anchored yacht like some dramatic, half-dead thing and crash into the water to cool yourself down.
For now, you were content to sun like a spoiled lizard.
Till a shadow fell over you.
You did not open your eyes.
âYouâre going to burn,â Damian said. âWhenâs the last time you applied sunscreen or drank water?â
âMm.â
There was a disapproving sound above you. A click of his tongue. The sound your long-suffering husband always made when you were being unreasonable on purpose.
Then his hands were on you.
You whined, immediately going limp in protest. âNooo, âm all sweaty.â
He ignored you, of course. Gathered you to him with appalling ease, as if you were not a grown woman but some indignant cat. You made yourself dead weight just to be difficult, and he handled you anyway. He settled against the cushioned backrest and arranged you so you were lying atop him, front to his bare chest. His heartbeat slow under your squished cheek.
You huffed but made no attempt to move.
He tugged the strings of your bikini top, tossing the pesky thing away so he could run his broad hand lazily up and down the length of your spine uninterrupted.
âOpen, beloved.â
You opened your mouth without opening your eyes to see what it was.
Blood orange burst over your tongue, sharply sweet and cold. Juice ran down the corner of your mouth before you could catch it.
Damian simply ducked his head, licking the red trail clean for you.
âGreedy,â you mumbled. Your eyes opened halfway to look up at him.
âMy wife makes restraint difficult.â He placed another slice between his teeth and leaned close enough to make you lift your head for it. You took it from his mouth, licking your lips. Â
You inspected the plate that sat beside you. Washed fruit, cut neat and pretty because he had no capacity to do anything carelessly.
âCherries next.â You demanded, because you had him wrapped around your finger and you both knew it.
And next came black cherries, dark and glossy as polished stones and already pitted. He hand-fed them to you one by one, letting your lips brush his fingertips every time. Crisp pears, cold and pale. Then blood orange again, peeled and segmented, ruby-bright and dripping between his fingers. He ate what you did not, had you lick the juice from his now sticky fingers, and kept his other possessive hand spread across the bare, sun-hot skin of your back.
Waves licked at the sides of the yacht and the whole world smelled like salt, sweat, citrus, and him.
You were still too hot. Still drowsy with it. Half-planning your escape to slip into the water.
But Damianâs chest rose and fell beneath you, steady and hot. His mouth pressed once to the crown of your head. His muscular arms wrapped around you, as if he had all the time in the world to keep you exactly where he wanted you.
So, you closed your eyes again.
DC Masterlist
WC: 619 (drabble)
if you want to be in my tagged for any character i write for let me know :)
summary: landing in an alternate dimensionâyou'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 areâthe 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 materialisedâfrom 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 inâyou 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 decorationsâit'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 orâ
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 homeâonly for him to lower himself.
Damian Wayneâeven if he isn't the one you're used toâis 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 Damianâyou 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 airâbut 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'reâ" 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 itâto 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 youâdrained 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 youâ" Your voice is plagued with exhaustion, and you struggle to find the words, the composure to hide your desperation. "âhave 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 youâI 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 Damianâ" You falter, meeting his gaze. "âmy 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 silenceâto 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 anxietyâthat 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 argueâand that unnerves you. The Damian you know doesn't hesitate when picking a fight, and franklyâyou miss that. You needed something to distract youâand 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-onâand 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 sideâever 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 disinfectantâcombined 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. Comfortingâin 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 hisâit'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. Maybeâit 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 somethingâno 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.
"IâI'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 sayingâ" 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 happenedâhe 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'tâ" 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 wrongâand 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 workâhe 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 realityâhe'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 yourselfâof 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 homeâthe 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 itâyou 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 retortâbut something catches his eye.
Shifting your gaze to follow his, you catch movement from where the ground had been stagnant. The rubbleâis 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 ribcageâonly 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 isnât a wound that he hasnât uncovered in front of you, no vulnerability he hasnât 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. Heâs letting you go, and in doing so, heâs 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 backâroaring 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 unhiddenâwhen 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 protectiveâas 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 dĂŠjĂ 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 thisâI 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 + readerâs damian after her return
summary: in which the Justice League notice that Batman is infatuated with Bruce Wayneâs wife, and need to help him get over her (impossible)
pairing: husband!bruce wayne/batman x wife!reader
warnings: none? maybe mentions of slight violence. fluff.
a/n: inspired by this fic by @ilianasbruce
dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune
MASTERLIST part two!
it started when batman and superman were at the watchtower together.
they were doing their own work silently, at opposite ends of the table.
superman was pretending that he wasnât secretly writing an article for the daily planet that was due within the week (that he had completely forgotten about), and batman was pretending that he wasnât secretly texting his wife under the table.
bruce: how is the opera, my love? iâm sorry i couldnât be there, the league has demands.
a lie. he just had a headache earlier and felt like jumping out of a window at the thought of having to put on a smile for the folk and sit through an opera. he did feel guilty about you being on your own, though.
you: itâs alright. i actually know some people here, and they arenât all bad, bruce.
bruce: you say that now, but wait until they each give you a rundown on each car in their garage.
you: like how you give me a rundown on each gadget you come up with in the batcave?
bruce: thatâs different.
you: of course it is. i actually like listening to you.
the familiar âping!â of one of batmanâs gadgets interrupted the silence.
superman looked up, eager to be doing something other than whatever paper in front of him that he wasnât even focusing on.
âwhat is that?â his words came out immediately, and before batman could answer, he was speaking again. ârobbery? alien invasion?â
âPoison Ivy in Gotham.â Batman is already standing, beginning his exit of the watchtower. Superman follows him.
âCan I come? Please?â
Batman turns, looking at him. âWhat?â
âItâs boring in here!â Superman gestures around. âAnd if Iâm on my own itâll be even more boring. Câmon, Batman, I can help you.â
Batman considers it for a moment before sighing. âFine. But weâre going in the Batmobile.â
âBut I can-â
âYou are not flying me there, Superman.â
A few minutes later, theyâre in the opera hall. Ivy seems to have taken over the stage, giving a speech on ways for the average person to decrease their carbon footprint.
Batman can see a few different people caught between her weeds. Long, thick plants have people in their grip. He scans the room quickly for you, breathing a silent sigh of relief when he sees that you are not captured, but instead just huddled in the corner with a group of others.
Superman doesnât notice the way that Batman isnât looking at Ivy, and begins his attack. Batman quickly follows. After a swift battle (turns out having Superman as an ally cuts down on battle time), Ivy is restrained and authorities arrive. The two start on recovering civilians before they both encounter you.
Youâre comforting one of the women that was tangled in the weeds. Youâre sitting beside her, nodding as she talked. You recognise the familiar pair of boots coming from the side of you. Your head lifts up slightly as you catch sight of the two men.
âAre you alright, Mrs. Wayne?â Superman speaks first, the familiar concern he has for everyone clear in his voice and expression. He recognises you from articles, and heâs heard enough from Cat Grant at the Daily Planet to know youâre married to Bruce Wayne.
âYes, Iâm fine,â you answer with a small smile. Your eyes move to Batman. âThank you.â
Superman gives Batman a side glance as he hears Batmans heart skip a beat when you smile at him. He tries to not to make his suspicion obvious. However, he turns a little when he hears that Batmans heartbeat is now quicker than it had been five minutes ago.
However, nothing on Batmans mostly covered face gave away any feelings. He just nodded and said a quick: âStay safe, maâam.â
And Superman didnât bring it up again. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. A heart skip doesnât always mean feelings of infatuation, right?
The second time is with Flash and Green Lantern.
Batman is a stark contrast to the pair. Barry and Hal are close friends, and joke around when put together. Bruce will sigh, and tell them to be quiet, and then Barry tries to be serious, but Hal will mutter a sarcastic comment that makes him start laughing again and the cycle repeats.
So Batman is already tense from working with the two.
Theyâre investigating a case together, and encounter you somehow. (sorry thatâs so vague i literally cannot think of a specific scenario here to save my life)
Flash asks you a few questions if youâve seen or heard anything suspicious, and you shake your head and answer. Barry notices Batmans shoulders softening a little beside him.
It isnât hugely noticeable, but Barry senses it. Batmans shoulders loose some of their tension as he talks to you, this civilian. And when Hal opens his mouth to make an implying comment, he tenses right back up again.
Barryâs eyes narrow. It isnât often that the Bat actually feels emotions, so when he does, his friends take an interest.
On the way back, Barry nudges Hal.
âHey, you notice the way Bats was acting around that woman earlier?â He whispers so the third man in front of them doesnât hear.
âYou mean that really hot one? Who wouldnât act like that around her? Did you see her, Bar?â
Barry gives him a look, âyeah, but this is Batman. Brooding, stays-in-the-shadows, feels-nothing-but-rage-24/7, Batman.â
Hal ponders before shrugging. âI donât know, maybe Spookyâs changed. Never underestimate the power of a beautiful woman, Barry.â
Barry thinks. âShe looked kinda familiar, didnât she? I canât think of where Iâve seen her before.â
And when they see that the familiar face they were talking to was Bruce Wayneâs wife, they give each other an alarmed look before looking at Batman from across the room.
The third time was with Oliver goddamn Queen.
A charity gala. Bruce couldnât go because he had intel that Scarecrow was planning on infiltrating the building while everyone was distracted, something about wanting to âtest out a new gasâ, and he had to be on watch as Batman for the evening.
You, however, decided to go. You had a nice dress and were getting close to some of the women there your age. It was nice to not be a total stranger in the room anymore.
So, as you filtered around the room, you met Oliver Queen. He sometimes teases Bruce on purpose by asking for a dance with you at other galas, but without Bruce he was simply a friend to enjoy a chat with.
When Scarecrow did burst in, you actually had been dancing with Oliver. A friendly turn around the room like the others were doing. By the time Batman had taken him down, and everyone emerged from the corners or hidden rooms, Oliver checked to see if you were okay. Lord knows Bruce would probably blame him if anything happened to you.
You were fine, thank God. Oliverâs sentence was interrupted by the Bat himself.
âWas anybody harmed?â the gruff voice asked, his gaze trying not to linger on you for too long.
âI donât think so,â you replied. Oliver looked at Batman with a certain questioning that nobody seemed to notice.
âGood.â Batman was silent for a moment before speaking again. âPerhaps you all should start making your ways home. Scarecrow might return, or someone worse.â
You donât miss a beat. âItâs a good thing we have someone like you to protect us, Batman.â
âOnly a fool wouldnât protect you, maâam.â
Oliver blinked. Is Batman . . . flirting? With a married woman? Also, was that sentence a sneaky diss on him?
and Oliver couldâve sworn on his entire fortune that Batmanâs lips were almost in a grin during his next sentence.
âYour husband is probably waiting on you, Mrs. Wayne.â
Oliver raised his eyebrows at your response. You laughed a little under your breath before speaking, âprobably. I wouldnât want to keep him up.â
Oliver looks between you and Batman. Perhaps heâs imagining things. You turn to him as if youâve just remembered that heâs still there.
âOliver, you have a safe way home, right?â
âYeah, Iâll call my driver.â
He doesnât bring it up the next time he sees Batman as Green Arrow. Batman doesnât speak of it either. But his eyes narrow a little at the Bats whenever Bruce Wayne or his wife is mentioned.
Eventually, it comes up in conversation when Batman isnât there.
Theyâre in the common room, and Diana is flipping through the newspaper. Sheâs on a page that features a picture of you at the latest event with a description of your outfit beside it. Beside her, Hal recognises you.
âHey, Flash,â he begins, stabbing the page with his finger. âIsnât that who we were talking to a couple days earlier?â
Barry is behind the couch in a second, nodding. âYeah, we asked her a couple questions with Batman.â He looks up a takes a quick glance to see if anyoneâs expression changes. âHe seemed . . . different around her.â
Clark closes the book in his hand with a loud snap, looking at the three on the couch.
âYouâve noticed too?â
Hal laughs, âthat Bats has the hots for a married woman? Yeah.â
Diana frowns a little. âThat is unlike Batman. Heâs known for his self-restraint. It doesnât seem likely he would harbour a liking for someone elseâs wife, especially Bruce Wayneâs. Doesnât Wayne sponsor him or something?â
Oliver joins in. âWonder Woman, you havenât seen him with her. I mean, it was only a few seconds but he was a totally different person.â
âHow so?â Diana asked curiously.
âHe . . . relaxed a little.â
She raised her eyebrows. Barry cut in.
âWonder, you need to see it to understand it. Itâs like no one else even enters his mind when heâs looking at her. I think everything else sorta faded away, you know?â
âLike in those rom-coms Iâve been shown?â She suggests.
âYeah!â
Clark thinks for a moment, wondering what to do to help his obviously hopeless friend. How do you break the news to an emotionally constipated Bat that he has to squash his feelings before anything terrible happens?
So, they organise an intervention. A very unorganised organised intervention.
Your name gets mentioned during a briefing. About how you could be potential target for a kidnapping due to your status.
Halâs mouth works quicker than his mind.
âWhat about Bruce Wayne?â
âWhat about Bruce Wayne?â Batman asks in his low voice, his back still turned to the team.
âJust saying, heâs probably a potential target too, right?â Green Lantern points out. âHeâs her husband, after all.â
Batman turns. They all seem to be looking for his reaction.
âRight, I was just getting to that.â He says stiffly. âSo I think until Joker is tracked down again, a pair of eyes should be on them. Since Gotham is my city, I can-â
âOhhhh, hold on,â Flash says, leaning forward. âCentral City has been very quiet lately, so Iâm free too.â
Wonder Woman joins in. âIâm interested too. I think the more people, the quicker we could get this done.â
Batman blinks. âWhy the sudden interest in Gotham from you two?â
They both shrug, mumbling incoherent words that overlap each other. Something about ânew environmentsâ and âchange of paceâ.
Green Arrow smirks. âI wouldnât mind accompanying. (Name) and her husband should get all the protection they can get.â
Batman isnât showing it, but heâs confused. Less members have volunteered themselves for prison breaks. Why are three other members wanting to go to Gotham for an unconfirmed threat? And why do they keep looking at him like that?
âYes,â Superman clears his throat. âMrs (Name) is a kind woman who shouldnât be in danger. And Bruce Wayne is similar in nature. He is valuable to Gotham City.â
Batman prepared his disliking-Bruce-Wayne act with practised ease. âBruce Wayne is a spoiled idiot.â
âOf course you think that.â Green Lantern mutters with a smug smirk. Flash nudges him.
âWhat do you mean?â Batman asks, and Hal practically explodes.
âWe know youâre attracted to (Name) Wayne!â He says, making Barry cover his eyes with his hands. Not how the conversation was supposed to go.
âExcuse me?â Batman is -frankly- appalled. Hal grimaces, instantly reminded of who exactly heâs talking to.
âYouâre, uh . . .â he splutters before quickly mumbling, âyouâre in love with (name).â He gains some of his confidence, and straightens up again, âand you were about to let Bruce Wayne get kidnapped, so you could swoop in and seduce her!â He tops it all off with hand gestures of the supposed âswoopingâ.
Batmans gaze sweeps the table. Nobody meets his eye except Diana, who just seems to be staring at him for his response. A few of them have to stop themselves from laughing at the idea of Batman âseducingâ someone.
âAnd what exactly gave you that idea?â
Barry is filled with a newfound confidence. âOh, câmon Bats, a blind man would see how you act around her!â He smirked a little. âYou went a little . . . soft.â
Green Arrow snorts. âSometimes I think youâre only protecting Gotham because sheâs in it.â
Batman thinks. Has he been that transparent? Heâs always careful about his expressions and body reactions. Maybe he is getting soft. He obviously didnât take enough care.
A fleeting image passes his mind, where he declares his love for you to the team. How could he not show you off? He would love to tell them that you were with him.
But, of course, he doesnât do that. He just blinks.
âI am not in love with (name), thatâs ridiculous.â He scoffs. âNumber one, I donât fall in love with anyone. Number two, sheâs married, so I think that means sheâs out of the dating pool.â
Not one face looking back at him looks convinced.
However, a cold stare and a swift change of topic ensured that nobody tries to start the conversation again.
They do, however, take a bigger interest in Gotham nowadays. Whenever a mission includes you somehow, thereâs always one of them volunteering to go. They all think that distance will make sure Batman goes back to his cold and steely ways of not having a crush on anyoneâs wife.
Bruce crawls under the covers with a small groan, shuffling next to you. His arms go around your warm body as he rests his face near yours. Heâs desperate to soak up your warmth after being out in the cold all night.
âLong night?â you ask, your voice still quiet from sleep.
âLong day,â he responds, tucking himself into you. You keep your arms around him. âThe League accused Batman of being attracted to Bruce Wayneâs wife today.â
It takes you a moment to realise what heâs talking about. You breathe out a laugh. âIs Batman not in love with me?â
Bruce grins against your skin. âHe might be.â He murmurs. âJust a little, though.â
You raise your eyebrows, turning to look at Bruce. âDoes Batman know Iâm married? And that Iâm very loyal to my husband?â
âOh, yes,â he responded, and sits up a little. he pressed his forehead to yours. âand Batman knows that thereâs nobody else on this earth that loves you more than I do.â
You smile, your fingers in his hair now. he leans closer to press his lips to yours, an action that you return. Bruce keeps himself against you for a long time. He likes falling asleep with you in his arms. He likes feeling like the protector.
Itâs why he needs to sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door. Itâs why he needs to know where you are each night. Itâs why he needs to know youâre safe. And if your safety comes along with each League member giving him looks because they think heâs harbouring a crush for another manâs wife, then so be it.
ę° Damian decided to pay Jason a visit & notice how his body got softer after getting a girlfriend! ęą
Damian didnât usually visit his brothers of his own free will. Most of the time, he only stopped by the apartment to grab a quick snack or pick up some accessory that might be useful to him.
But, surprisingly, on that dayâon that perfect dayâhe had decided to be an inconvenience to Todd, simply because he had nothing better to do.
You were in the kitchen, finishing plating the dessert that would accompany one of your movie nights with Jason.
Used to your boyfriendâs entrances and exits through the window and balcony, you didnât startle when you heard one of them being opened, continuing to hum absentmindedly.
It was only when you turned to wash your hands that you remembered a small detailâJason was in the shower.
The humming slowly died in your throat.
You dried your hands calmlyâmuch calmer than you actually feltâand turned your head toward the living room, just enough to peek through the doorway.
And there he was, sitting on the couch like he owned the place, legs crossed as he ate popcorn. He chewed slowly, eyes focused on the turned-off television, as if he were waiting for something to start.
He stopped the moment he noticed you.
You stopped the moment you noticed him.
For a long second, neither of you moved.
His green eyes narrowed slightly, calculating, suspicious. ââŚYou are not Todd.â
You blinked once.
âNoâŚâ you answered slowly. âAnd you are definitely not Jay either.â
Jason appeared in the hallway, hair dripping, but already wearing sweatpants. âYou started it without me? I told ya I wanted to watch the opening tooââ
He stopped mid-sentence, falling silent, his mouth parting in shockâmaybe at the scene? At your calmness with the intruder? Or at the intruderâs sheer audacity?
âJust what I needed,â Jason growled, voice sharp with irritation. âWhy the hell are you in my apartment?â
Damian didnât answer immediately. Instead, chewing calmly. He simply shruggedâafter all, how was he supposed to explain that he had only come to check if he was still alive? It had been a whole month since he last saw him. But he wasnât worried!
âThatâs mineâDamian, you should be at home. Your home.â Jason sighed, running a hand down his face. âGet off my couch. And stop eating my food.â
Damian ignored him completely. He leaned further back into the cushions, posture relaxed in a way that made Jasonâs eye twitch. Then his gaze shifted slowly toward Jason.
âYou look⌠fuller. Softer,â the younger one commented, his gaze drifting briefly toward you, who watched the argument in silence, before quickly returning to his brother.
Damian tilted his head to the side, as if evaluating a painting.
âHave you reduced your training frequency,â he continued, his voice strangely neutral, not teasing, just observational, âor simply increased your intake of nutritionally void food?â
âDid you just call me fat?â
ââŚNo,â he replied, but then paused to think for a few seconds. âDid I? I merely commented on your body fatââ
Jason crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.
ââŚWhatever,â he continued, tone quieter now, more thoughtful than before. âYou no longer smell like cheap takeout grease and smoke. That is an improvement.â
ââŚThat would be because he finally eats real food now,â you cut in, smiling, proud of your contribution to your boyfriendâs health.
Jason shot you a look over his shoulder, a little wounded that you had indirectly agreed with the little demon.
Damian reached out to grab more popcorn, but Jason slapped his hand away.
âStop. Eating. My. Food. Okay. Great. Family bonding moment over.â Jason clapped his hands once, sharp and final. âYouâve seen me. Now out. Door. Window. Vent. I donât care. Pick one.â
Damianâs attention snapped back to you, still ignoring his brother. He straightened slightly where he sat, gaze narrowing with renewed interest.
âYou prepare the food?â he asked.
You nodded once. âMost of it.â You smiled. âDo you want to try the dessert?â
ââŚDessert?â he repeated.
âI made chocolate cake,â you added casually. âWith ganache.â
Damianâs eyes narrowed again. ââŚHomemade?â he asked.
âYes.â
You disappeared into the kitchen before your boyfriend could protest.
Jason took a deep breath and dropped onto the couch, far too tired to argue any further. When the younger one opened his mouth to speak, he cut him off immediately.
âNot one more question,â Jason muttered. âEat in silence.â
ę° Damian decided to pay Jason a visit & notice how his body got softer after getting a girlfriend! ęą
Damian didnât usually visit his brothers of his own free will. Most of the time, he only stopped by the apartment to grab a quick snack or pick up some accessory that might be useful to him.
But, surprisingly, on that dayâon that perfect dayâhe had decided to be an inconvenience to Todd, simply because he had nothing better to do.
You were in the kitchen, finishing plating the dessert that would accompany one of your movie nights with Jason.
Used to your boyfriendâs entrances and exits through the window and balcony, you didnât startle when you heard one of them being opened, continuing to hum absentmindedly.
It was only when you turned to wash your hands that you remembered a small detailâJason was in the shower.
The humming slowly died in your throat.
You dried your hands calmlyâmuch calmer than you actually feltâand turned your head toward the living room, just enough to peek through the doorway.
And there he was, sitting on the couch like he owned the place, legs crossed as he ate popcorn. He chewed slowly, eyes focused on the turned-off television, as if he were waiting for something to start.
He stopped the moment he noticed you.
You stopped the moment you noticed him.
For a long second, neither of you moved.
His green eyes narrowed slightly, calculating, suspicious. ââŚYou are not Todd.â
You blinked once.
âNoâŚâ you answered slowly. âAnd you are definitely not Jay either.â
Jason appeared in the hallway, hair dripping, but already wearing sweatpants. âYou started it without me? I told ya I wanted to watch the opening tooââ
He stopped mid-sentence, falling silent, his mouth parting in shockâmaybe at the scene? At your calmness with the intruder? Or at the intruderâs sheer audacity?
âJust what I needed,â Jason growled, voice sharp with irritation. âWhy the hell are you in my apartment?â
Damian didnât answer immediately. Instead, chewing calmly. He simply shruggedâafter all, how was he supposed to explain that he had only come to check if he was still alive? It had been a whole month since he last saw him. But he wasnât worried!
âThatâs mineâDamian, you should be at home. Your home.â Jason sighed, running a hand down his face. âGet off my couch. And stop eating my food.â
Damian ignored him completely. He leaned further back into the cushions, posture relaxed in a way that made Jasonâs eye twitch. Then his gaze shifted slowly toward Jason.
âYou look⌠fuller. Softer,â the younger one commented, his gaze drifting briefly toward you, who watched the argument in silence, before quickly returning to his brother.
Damian tilted his head to the side, as if evaluating a painting.
âHave you reduced your training frequency,â he continued, his voice strangely neutral, not teasing, just observational, âor simply increased your intake of nutritionally void food?â
âDid you just call me fat?â
ââŚNo,â he replied, but then paused to think for a few seconds. âDid I? I merely commented on your body fatââ
Jason crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.
ââŚWhatever,â he continued, tone quieter now, more thoughtful than before. âYou no longer smell like cheap takeout grease and smoke. That is an improvement.â
ââŚThat would be because he finally eats real food now,â you cut in, smiling, proud of your contribution to your boyfriendâs health.
Jason shot you a look over his shoulder, a little wounded that you had indirectly agreed with the little demon.
Damian reached out to grab more popcorn, but Jason slapped his hand away.
âStop. Eating. My. Food. Okay. Great. Family bonding moment over.â Jason clapped his hands once, sharp and final. âYouâve seen me. Now out. Door. Window. Vent. I donât care. Pick one.â
Damianâs attention snapped back to you, still ignoring his brother. He straightened slightly where he sat, gaze narrowing with renewed interest.
âYou prepare the food?â he asked.
You nodded once. âMost of it.â You smiled. âDo you want to try the dessert?â
ââŚDessert?â he repeated.
âI made chocolate cake,â you added casually. âWith ganache.â
Damianâs eyes narrowed again. ââŚHomemade?â he asked.
âYes.â
You disappeared into the kitchen before your boyfriend could protest.
Jason took a deep breath and dropped onto the couch, far too tired to argue any further. When the younger one opened his mouth to speak, he cut him off immediately.
âNot one more question,â Jason muttered. âEat in silence.â
After a long night of patrol/training, you find your boyfriend passed out. Naturally, you take this as an opportunity to execute another prank; setting up a fake Uno pile, fanning out a hand directly into his sleepy grip, and waking him up insisting itâs his turn.
characters: Jason Todd, Wally West, Dick Grayson, Roy Harper, Damian Wayne, Conner Kent x Reader
Jason Todd
The plan was foolproof. While Jay was out cold on his side of the bed, you quietly shuffled the deck, set up a random discard pile right on the duvet, and expertly fanned out four cards to slip straight into his massive, relaxed palm. You smoothed down the blanket, took your seat, and nudged his chest.
"Jay. Baby. Come on, itâs your turn. Youâve been taking forever."
You pout, âIâm getting impatient. And youâre just sleeping.â
Jason grunts, his brow furrowing as his brain painfully tries to boot back up. His fingers automatically clamp onto the cards. He blinks heavily, squints at the bright green and red cards in his grip, and you can see the sheer confusion hit himâfollowed immediately by the stubborn refusal to admit he was passed out.
He forces himself to sit up, dragging a hand aggressively down his face and rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, refusing to give up and lay back down. Voice raspy and deep as hell, he stares intensely down at his hand, shifting the cards around in slow motion.
"I wasn't sleeping, I was thinking," he lies, his voice totally shot. He leans forward, bleary-eyed, meticulously scanning your fake pile. "What's... what's on top? Is that a green?" He stubbornly forces his heavy eyelids open, carefully picks a green card out, and slaps it down like a grandmaster. "There. Go."
Wally West
Wally was sleeping so deeply he was practically drooling on his pillow. Perfect. You fanned out five cards, tucked them gently between his fingers, and made sure the discard pile looked legit right in frost of him. You tapped his arm with a tired sigh.
"Wally. Hey. Lay a card down, you're holding up the game."
Wally snaps his eyes open, completely disoriented. He looks down at his hand, blinks twice, and panic immediately sets inâhe thinks he blew his turn and lost his streak. He refuses to go back to sleep. He forces himself up onto his elbows, shaking his head like a wet dog to fight the massive wall of tiredness, completely buying into the trap.
"Wait, wait, sorry baby, my bad, my bad," he stammers out, his voice a pathetic, sleepy whine. He squints hard at his cards, shuffling them back and forth with clumsy fingers, his forehead creased in absolute, intense concentration. "Did you... did you play a yellow? Sweetie, tell me what color it is, my eyes are blurry." He stubbornly sits there, fighting for his life against sleep, until he finally drops a Yellow 2 and looks at you with absolute, half-awake seriousness. "Okay, hit me."
Dick Grayson
Dick was dead to the world after patrol, curled on his side. You carefully laid out a trick hand, slid six cards into his palm, and set up the fake table right on the mattress. You leaned down and whispered right in his ear.
"Dickie. Stop slacking, it's your turn."
He lets out a heavy, groggy sigh, his eyelids fluttering open. He stares blankly at the cards in his hand for a long three seconds. Instead of falling back asleep, he complies, because of course, he has to trust his amazing girlfriend. He grunts, forcing himself to sit halfway up and propping his head on one hand, completely committed to staying awake for the "match."
He holds the fan of cards up right in front of his face, squinting so hard one eye is basically closed. "I'm not slacking..." he mutters, his voice super thick and raspy. He carefully reorganizes his hand, tapping a card against his chin in deep thought while fighting off a yawn. "Is that a Blue 4? Okay. Donât rush me. Hold on." He meticulously selects a card, lays it down with dramatic focus, and squints up at you. "Your turn sweetie.â
Roy Harper
Roy had taken a "five-minute nap" that turned into two hours. You placed a stack of fake played cards on the blanket, carefully placed a fan of seven cards into his grip, and shook his shoulder.
"Roy. Wake up, you're up."
Roy grunts, a dry, scratchy sound, and blinks open two bleary eyes.
âUp for whaâ oh right.â He looks down at the cards, and you can practically hear his brain trying to load at 1%. But Roy isn't a quitter. He groans softly, forcing himself to sit up against the headboard, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his palm to snap out of it.
"...What was played?" he rasps out, his voice totally rough. He stares intensely down at his cards, fanning them out with heavy, slow movements, totally convinced he's mid-game. He stubbornly stays upright, blinking against the room light, carefully picking out a Red 6 and laying it on the pile. "There. Back to you."
Damian Wayne
Damian would never admit to being caught off guard, which made him the ultimate target. While he was dead asleep post-training, you delicately slid four cards between his fingers, placed the deck down, and crossed your arms.
"Damian. Hurry up, it's your turn."
His eyes instantly open, sharp even through the haze of sleep. He looks down at his hand, and for a split second, total confusion flashes across his face. But his pride won't allow him to back down or drop the cards. He immediately sits bolt upright, rigid as a board, holding his hand close to his chest so you can't peek.
He squeezes his eyes shut for a second to force the drowsiness away, squinting severely at his hand. "I am well aware," he lies in a low, crackly morning voice. He takes an agonizingly long time analyzing his four cards, fighting every urge to crash back onto his pillow, just to make a "calculated" move. He solemnly lays down a Wild card with absolute precision. "Blue. Proceed."
Conner Kent
Conner was passed out hard, snoring softly. You quickly set up the illusionâcards scattered, a neat discard pile, and five cards tucked firmly into his fingers. You poked his shoulder.
"Con, come on, stop taking so long."
Conner groans, shaking his head, his heavy eyelids barely parting. He looks down at his palm, and the utter panic of someone who thinks they fell asleep mid-hangout hits him. He forces himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed, dragging both hands over his face to force his brain awake.
"Shootâ sorry, I was just... thinking," he stammers out, completely tricked. He holds his cards up, squinting heavily through his messy hair, intensely analyzing the hand. He shifts the cards around between his thumbs, completely locked in. "Wait, what's the number on top? A five?" He hovers a card over the pile, double-checking it with dead seriousness before dropping a Draw Two with a smug, sleepy grin. "Boom. Draw two. Try and keep up."
summary: you're convinced your betrothed, damian wayne, despises or at mostâtolerates you for the sake of his duty. it takes only one moron to try and steal your hand to prove that damian takes the promise of being your future husband as a role he will never let anyone else fulfill.
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader
content: arranged marriage, protective and jealous damian!
"There you are, Beloved."
A trying suitor's expression falters at the sight of Damian, tall and imposing, wrapping his arm around your waist as if it had always belonged there.
"I was worried I had lost you." Damian murmurs aloud, though his gaze never leaves the suitor, sharpened into a knowing taunt.
It doesn't take long, it never does. Like a scurrying rat, he was gone in the blink of an eye.
"There's no need to call me that." Your plastered smile doesn't falter when your hand graces Damian's arm, leaning into his ear. To the other guests, it merely seems as if you were a fiancĂŠe whispering sweet nothings to your lover. "Your patronizing tone is more than enough to send them running away."
Damian's lips finally form its familiar, scathing smirk. "Would you rather I say it outright that you are to be my wife? I assume you'll find that more displeasing."
He is right. It infuriated you that he knew where to push your buttons.
"To-be." You remind him. "I wouldn't get so comfortable with addressing me as your wife so soon."
"Ah." He drawls. "Shame. I was ecstatic at the thought of rifling the crowd."
Rifling was an understatement. Despite his cold demeanour, Damian was a fan of dramatics. After all, the first time you had met your betrothed, he nearly ended your life.
You still remember your first glance of his forest green eyes, when he had pinned you down with a blade to the throat, believing you were an outsider to his territory. If the apprehending voice of Damian's grandfather had been a second later, he wouldn't have had a fiancĂŠe and you wouldn't have lived to see your seventh birthday.
His gaze when he had looked down at you all those years ago clings like an aching, never healing wound. Disappointment. He must've expected someone greater, who rivalled him in his physical prowess and intelligence. Instead, he had you pinned to the ground, shame colouring your features that silently screamed burden.
The worst part was that it was the complete opposite for youâ because you admired him greatly. It didn't matter which version of him. Damian Al Ghul, who sharpened himself into a living weaponâa cold-blooded ruler, before he became the Bat's new protege. Damian Wayne, who somehow eased his way into less begrudging smiles, who fails to notice his pets' fur still clinging to the cuffs of his sleeves, who makes ill-timed jokes from his catalogue stolen from his older siblings.
That rare warmth he found here in Gotham hasn't and never will be extended to you. Still, you refuse to remain a burden, not to him.
You play your part as a useful shield in the one arena Damian still struggles to conquerâthe social world. Despite his striking looks and quick wit, Damian's always held a shared disinterest in the politics of social snakes who mingled solely for their own selfish gains.
Maybe it was a guilty pleasure. For one single night, Damian was your betrothed, and you were his. Even if his fake smiles were plastered on too tight, or the brush of his fingers over yours set the scene of young lovers much too convincingly, you could let your mind rest and rely on his presence just this once.
His hand extends, placed at the small of your back as he leads you through the room to somewhere less crowded. Unconsciously, he occasionally rubs his thumb in comforting circles, sending goosebumps down your skin. It's easy to smile and exchange repetitive niceties while Damian's gaze remains locked ahead of his path. The polite act engraved into your bones, functions as your greatest defence for the both of you, slithering your way through.
You had already memorised the layout of the room before even entering it, and you know he knows that. So, Damian's decision to keep his skin in contact with yours, guiding you, must be purely performative. Skin-ship to lure the wolves into falling for the bait, as you eye many envious onlookers distancing themselves from Damian at the unseemly sight of his arm wrapped around your frame.
"Have you chosen a city for your further education?" Damian murmurs into your ear.
You have. Though you could never predict his line of thinking that couldâve possessed him to show vague interest in your decision. This wasnât the first time his impulsive questions took you off guard from the routine youâre used to.
Your gaze narrows on him, trying to find his reasoning. "How I take my coffee in the morning wasn't enthralling enough for you?"
"Is Gotham one of your options?" He asks briskly.
Ah. Your gaze drops to the swallow in his throat, the tension in his question. He must be hoping you'd say no. Lesser the chances to be stuck in a suffocating room with you, performing duties for a faceless audience.
"If I say it is?" You test.
His gaze flickers, surprise adorning his features. It wipes itself away as quickly as it comes, and he gives a brief, imperceptible nod. "There are adequate institutions in the city. I can provide recommendations."
You raise a brow. "Of course, a future doctor already providing unneeded advice."
His expression thickens. âYou think my chosen field does not suit me."
It blurts out before you can stop it. "No, I think it does."
He pauses. You wince.
"You do?" He asks, almost disbelieving.
"Is it that hard to believe?" You mutter, eyes fleeting around for a much-needed drink.
"I only wish to understand your sudden agreement." He pushes, unsatisfied with your vague answer.
"Damian." You sigh. "Of course you'll be an amazing doctor."
He watches you, trying to detect any deceit. His immediate suspicion triggers your nerves. You may not be able to stand him, but that didn't mean you were blind to his abilities or the empathy he tries to hide behind his permanent frown.
If he hadn't held a semblance of a heart, he wouldn't be here plastering on a fake mask much to his displeasure so you wouldn't bear the night alone.
He wouldn't be out at ungodly hours, working himself to the bone to ensure that there was always a protector in the night, to save someone's life so they could make it home.
He wouldn't have signed up for the most brutal course at Gotham's top medical university despite already having an inhuman schedule.
"If I thought you lacked the heart to save others, I would've laughed at your decision to remain with your father in Gotham." You don't know why you feel this need to explain yourself. It hardly mattered if you understood his decision. He wasn't someone who needed the approval of others before making his own.
"Gotham has changed you." You answer. "For the better. If I had to put my bets on anyone to be the best doctor in this entire city, it'd be you."
If it had been anyone else other than you, maybe they wouldn't have caught the parting of his lips, the rare astonishment in his eyes. It's brief, but enough to tell you that you have spouted enough nonsense for it to feel as if you ripped open a gaping wound for him to spit at.
"I need a drink." You mutter. "I'll be right back."
Your quick escape seems to have finally sent the message for a much-needed break from his presence. Compared to other occasions, he wasâyou wouldn't use the word 'clingy', but he was certainly acting as a guard dog around you tonight. Then again, there were newcomers at this ball who seem to be unaware that you're Damian's betrothed, opting to try for your hand whenever he was separated from you for too long. It should be a relief that he bothered to protect youâbut it distracted your senses, being around him for too long.
It still stings that even after all these years, your complete belief in him hasn't faded at all. Or maybe it was the fact that he didn't even try to consider the possibility of you having faith in him.
Your glued frown finally serves a purpose, contrary to your mother's nagging, as it scatters the fidgety chickens around you to distance themselves, along with their prodding questions. Downing a glass of wine, it doesn't do its mandatory job of easing the vulnerability still pattering around in your chest.
"If it isn't the future Mrs. Wayne!"
It seems one wolf in particular has blinded senses of walking into the wrong territory.
Joaquin Reanes. A filthy, money-laundering jerk who pawns off his father's money from an instable empire that takes advantage of its many debtors to use as animals for unpaid labour.
"Reanes." You greet shortly, not even bothering to turn your body fully to grace him with your attention.
"I'm not surprised Damian's left you all alone, miserable at the bar." He sneers. "He's never been good company."
Your brow lifts slightly. "And what gave you the impression that you could talk down on my fiancĂŠ in front of me?"
"Admit it." He mocks coldly. "He's never going to go through with the engagement. Your finger will remain bare for as long as he desires, and from the looks of it, he doesn't seem so keen on having you as his."
Your grip on your glass tightens. A flash of his corroded hair, dead from extensive bleach, drowned in wine, appears in your mind. You swirl your glass once, considering.
"I, on the other handâ" His teeth gleams with predatory intent. "âwouldn't mind taking second-hand scrapes. How would you like to be a Mrs. Reanes?"
Your laughter, cold and piercing, echoes through the air. His smug expression falters.
"Over my dead body." You hiss, slamming down your glass to push your palm roughly into his chest, sending him stumbling back. "Even if Damian hadn't been my betrothed, I would rather die alone than end up with the miserable likes of you."
His mask drops, revealing an ugly wrath that matched his true colours. His hand swipes a free glass from the bar on instinct, as if he's done it many times before.
In a blink, a cold sensation drenches your shoulders. Your gaze drops down, unable to hide your disgusted shock. The bastard purposely spilled wine on you.
Your expression darkens, meeting his narrowed eyes that were filled with wicked intent.
"Oh, my apologies." His act doesn't even come close to the twisted excitement in his gaze. "My hand slipped."
To cause this display in a Wayne charity ball is declaring war. You didn't wait for any passersby to noticeâno, you're fully prepared to start this alone. You can already imagine his rotten, bleached head smashed with glass and wine to match the stain on your shoulder, ruining his gleeful expressionâonly for a firm hand to wrap around your waist, brushing your drenched shoulder against a broad chest.
"Reanes." Damian's greeting barely registers past the goosebumps that spread along your exposed skin when you dare a glimpse of his expression. His eyes, swallowed by his darkened pupils and narrowed into sharpened blades, is filled with such loathing that even you're rendered speechless.
"Wayne." The slimy git greets, carefully manoeuvring his glass to hide his mocking smirk. "I was just having a lovely talk with your wife."
"Oh, wait." His pretence is an awful act. "My mistake. She is merely your fiancĂŠe. Has been for awhile according to the papers."
Damian's grip unconsciously tightens around you, puling you back discretely, his shoulder shielding you from the creep's intentional gaze.
"Having doubts, Wayne?" He taunts. "I've made my own concerns clear, though she seems to have mistaken my empathy. I was only conveying that if you take any longer to put a ring on her, it might suggest to others that she's easy to snatch away."
The atmosphere freezes. To say you're astounded at his audacity, his utter foolishness to not be terrified of Damian's wrath isn't enough. You're sure this moron has a death wish.
"Your confidence in your lacklustre charm is worth applause, Reanes." Damian's tone is so unbearably cold that it even makes you flinch. "Let's see if your will to survive is stronger than your pride."
"Is that a threat?" Reanes muses, but you detect his hesitation. "As the next Wayne heir, I doubt your decision to threaten me, a useful business partner, is particularly clever."
"You mean your tycoon built off your father's buried scandals and contributions to corruption with the previous Minister?" Damian announces casually.
Several figures within hearing distance have shifted their heads towards Reanes at the sound of Damian's accusation. Finally, sweat has begun to pool at the rat's brows.
"How didâ" Reanes's attempt at recovery is poor, his face seizing into an awful mess in realisation of his mistake of trying to find Damian's weakness. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Yes, of course." Damian's glare has narrowed into what could only be his hunting eyes. "Hypothetically, let's say you were to ever come near my betrothed again. I will have every piece of evidenceâinvoices, letters, emails, phone callsâall prepared into a file sent to the GCPD by tomorrow morning. How long do you think your family has before they come knocking down the doors?"
Reanes's face has lost all its colour.
"You're bluffing." He stammers.
It was satisfying to see all of his obnoxious confidence shrink into oblivion.
"You made an advance on my wife. You made a pathetic attempt of a threat against me." Damian hisses. "I haven't thought of all the possible ways to make you suffer just yet, Reanes. Stripping you of your stolen power is only the start."
"Unlike your father and his poor disguise of power as his empire collapses on itself." Damian taunts. "I protect what is mine."
Dread fills Reanes's expression. "Wayne, I misspoke. I won't so much as look at her."
Damian doesn't look close to satisfied. There's a want in his gaze, to torment him further. "Apologise to her."
Reanes grits his teeth, shame flooding his vile features. Forcing himself to look at your feetânot daring to meet your eyes, he spits it out. "I'm sorry."
"You are to never show yourself in front of us again." Damian declares. "Consider your offered partnership declined."
Reanes's entire expression sours, but one flick of Damian's brow has him scurrying off into the crowd, not even bothering with apologies when dirty looks are casted on him for pushing his way out to escape.
Damian's glare is still pinned into the crowd, and you sense his restrained bloodlust, something you haven't felt to this degree in years. The boy you once knew, who harnessed the blade better than anyone in its ability to end a beating pulse, has sprung out with his fangs and claws.
You unconsciously place one hand onto his chest in an attempt to soothe him, guide his attention back to his own body. He flinches, as if he had forgotten he was in the very room.
His nearly feral expression finds its way to the state of your ruined dress, the stain on your shoulder. He lets out a short breath, rationality kicking the gears in his mind. "We need to get you cleaned up."
You nod discreetly, at a loss for words as his hand comes up to grab yours, intertwining your fingers together and leading you away to a desolate hallway.
His fingers, covered in rough scars from countless battles, are caressing yours more gently than you could ever imagine. He's still refusing to look at you, gaze pinned straight ahead to the nearest bathroom.
Pushing open a door with a sudden force, you're dragged in with such a swift movement, that you barely have time to scout the room before your vision is blocked by his gaze pinning you down.
The barely visible green in his eyes are swarmed by his dilated pupils, filled with bitter rage and conflict. You've never seen him thisâunguarded. The events that unfolded earlier seems to have affected him more than you expected.
His lips part to say something, but his eyes flicker down to your drenched shoulder, covered in red. His eyes narrow into a vicious glare, and he lifts himself off the door, pulling something out of his pocket.
A napkin. He must've snatched it on the way without you noticing.
There's not enough shock generated in your veins to truly comprehend what just happened. Damian just called you his wife. It still rings in your ears like some prank that's been orchestrated to throw you off your beliefs on everything you were convinced he's thought about you.
"Damian."
He's turned towards the sink, running the napkin over running water, but his entire posture is off. Tense. Coiled into restraint that's bound to burst.
"I am fine." Even as the uncomfortable feeling of dried wine lingers on your skin, there's something about Damian's change in demeanour that pushes you to reassure him. You're not used to being unable to read him. "Thereâs no point of putting on an act here. I am perfectly capable of cleaning up after myself."
"Is that what you think this is?" He spits out, still refusing to look at you.
You freeze. His tone, which has always carried the Al Ghul's familiar patronisation, has descended into a cold rage that's never been directed on you before.
He exhales slowly, his mask slipping back into place as he turns around, cloth in hand as he approaches you slowly. Stopping in front of you, his eyes are narrowedâand the light in them has nearly extinguished. Leaving behind a darker shade of green that consumes you whole.
"He was looking at you like you were a piece of meat to consume." His voice has dropped several octaves, and his gaze is unfocusedâstill trapped in his wrath. "As if you weren't mine."
Your eyes widen, steps instinctively moving backward but his arm wraps around your waist before you can retreat any further.
He doesn't make a single sound as his fingers wrapped around the napkin comes to touch your shoulder, stained with dried wine. His touch is frighteningly gentle as he wipes your stained skin, his lip curled in displeasure.
It's horrifyingly intimate, and the sound of your own quickened breathing is mortifying on your sensesâknowing he could hear the effects of his strange, impulsive behaviour on you so clearly.
"I can do it myself." It sounds weak coming out from your mouth, even to your ears.
"Yes, you would like that, wouldn't you?" He mutters, sounding desolate. "Never letting yourself depend on me."
You scowl. "Why would I depend on you?"
"As much as you would like to pretend it doesn't matter." He grits. "I will be your husband. I will be the one who will lay down my promises and swear my life to yours. Now and even in death."
Leaning in, you feel his breath tingle against your skin as he whispers into your ear. "Do you think I am someone who takes my promises lightly?"
You resist a shudder, your lashes fluttering involuntarily. "No."
He scoffs. "Yet, you question my choice to defend you."
His breath lingers over your skin, right over the spot he's just cleansed free of wine, still cool to the touch from the dampness of the cloth. The tension is thick, making it difficult to think clearly when he's all but crowded the remaining space between the two of you.
He's only irritated that he's been indirectly insulted when Reanes pulled that ploy on you. You know how this will go. He'll wake from his delirious temper, fold back into the cold statue you know to be your betrothed, and remember the line that has been established.
He won't cross it. The boundary that's been drawn by you from the very beginning, in respect for whatever remaining autonomy the two of you had left in this arrangement. You're sure of your predictions... till you spot his expression. It seems that only nowâthe lack of distance has kicked in for him. The sudden stillness of his frame reveals something you never thought you'd see in your betrothed. Hesitation.
Nothing could've prepared you for what comes next. Damian's entire body leans in, caging you against the door. Tentatively, he places a soft, almost imperceptible kiss on your shoulder.
The oxygen in your lungs vanishes. Speechless, you can do nothing but stare at him with widened eyes, unable to comprehend what he just did. What it means.
"If you still have doubts about my loyalty." He mutters, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, an unfamiliar intensity sealed in his. "Consider that my mark of a promise, which I intend to fulfil for the rest of my life. It was my mistake to make it seem as if you were easy to stealâbecause that will be impossible starting today."
This up close, you can count the freckles dotted under his eyes. He's always been dangerously tempting, but now, after he's defended your honour and stands before you looking the most wrecked you've ever seen himâyou want to do something foolish.
Something you might regret but have been wanting to do from the moment he marked you as his.
It's instinctive, almost natural when your lips press against his. It's brief, slotted at the wrong angle from his height that automatically has you wincing. You're quick to pull away, unprepared and desperately trying to come up with some excuse to forget the ordeal ever happened, when you see it.
The crack in his mask, over the single action of your lips pressed against his, unravels a devotion you've never seen before. Laying right in front of you, bared in the open. That is not the look of a man who despises you. If anything, he looks as if his restraints have finally snapped.
That brief glimpse is all you see before he pulls you in. His arms cage your body, drawing you towards him until your bodies press together. With no sense of hesitation from earlier when he had marked your shoulder, he presses you back against the door, and kisses you.
No, how could you have hallucinated his hesitation? The way he kissed you now, mapping your lips with devout intention, it's as if he's been wantingâwaiting to do it for ages.
You didn't realise it eitherâhow starved you've been for him till this very moment. You had been so focused on how trapped you felt under the expectations of your family, the firm belief that he felt the same way, that you buried the attraction that ran deep in your veins.
You hated it, that this kiss was the admission of how he was your weakness in the first place. That he knew exactly how to unravel you, turn your world upside down with his decisive behaviour that commanded the entire room. That the match between the two of you pleased you more than it should, driving you to push him away because... only he could invoke such insanity from your shattered composure.
"A few minutes ago, you couldn't even stand me." You manage out against a brief pause for breath, pushing your palm against his chest.
He pulls away just enough to cast you a look of frustration.
"What I couldn't stand was my betrothed always attempting to push me away." He reveals. "Do you understand the frustration you've caused me?"
His gaze flickers between your bitten lips and your half-lidded gaze, hunger bleeding through his eyes. "You see all of me. Without even trying to, it was as if you were placed in my life to be my one, singular weakness. You already had me wrapped around your finger, drawing all of my attentionâmaking it impossible to forget you even for a moment."
"My wife." He says it slowly, as if savouring it. "It is only because of you, that it feels as if I've been waiting my whole life to say those words. So, forgive me, for finding it difficult to restrain my displeasure when the woman of my devotion acts as if she would rather be paired with any other man than me."
Your brows furrow together at his words. "Why would I want to be paired with anyone else?"
His gaze locked onto you, narrows. "You claimed our match was a disaster waiting to happen."
"Yes." Averting your gaze, your admission comes out frail. "...Because I was compromised from the beginning. Even before our families put us together, I admired you. When my personal feelings got involved, the arrangement felt like a punishment."
"To be paired with someone for life that wasn't of my choosing was one thing, but for that person to be someone that actually mattered?" You swallow. "I pushed you away, because it hurt less if I made the decision to do so, rather than having to see your disappointment. Instead of being left to wonder that if you ever had the choice, would you even glance twice in my direction?"
He stares at you incredulously. "You believed that I did not want you?"
You pause at his tone. You didn't know what to believe, not with his actions just mere minutes ago contradicting everything in your system. You had been so focused on keeping your walls high, that you never thought to truly look into his gaze and search for what he saw in you instead.
"There isn't anyone else in the world that I would've sworn my life to." He declares abruptly. "If I had been given the choice in the first place, I would still be here before you. Yours."
"If you want my decision, I'll state it outright." He says, fingers coming up to grasp your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. "I choose you. I had long erased myself of the expectations of what others want from me. My life is led by what I envision for myself, and you are in it. You always have been."
âI donât believe that the choices of others define us.â He answers. âEven if this marriage hadnât been arranged, I would have chosen you. I wouldâve come back for you over and overâand asked for your hand. If you had other suitors, I wouldâve rid your mind of all possibilities but me, because there is no one for me but you.â
"So, tell me." He says, and there's a vulnerability you never thought possible in him, echoed in the softening of his tone. "If you will choose me too."
Had he always looked at you this way, in such a soft, yet unyielding manner, as if his gaze had already been attuned to you in habit?
âIf you feel unsure, I wonât force you to decide.â He offers, but his crestfallen expression pleads otherwise. âI wonât let you be bound by the obligations of our families. I want you to choose meâwillinglyâjust as I have chosen you."
Has that ever been a question for you? Even in your denial, your fear of being rejected by the one person you were meant to spend the rest of your life with, you never doubted that the side of your heart had already engraved his name in secrecy.
You had always been his, even when you weren't sure if he was yours.
"I choose you, Damian." Your answer feels akin to offering your beating heart, only to reveal that it had always known the very same truth uttered through your lips. "That's never been a question. It's always been you, from the start."
His expression, tightened in exact preparation of being wounded, finally softens. He lets out an unsteady breath, his forehead dropping to rest on yours. In the quiet of this moment, you realise Damian looks devastatingly beautiful like this. Soft, vulnerable, and completely yours.
"I would very much like to kiss you again." He admits. "May I?"
You finally break out your own smile, and you sense the tension in his shoulders drop at the sight. "Only because you asked nicely."
His fingers still caressing your chin gently lifts your lips to his. This kiss is different from the first. It wasn't an explosion, a burst of restrained emotions over years of pining. No, it was softer. Gentle, in a true attempt to memorise your lips against his, shaping into a quiet whisper of a promise that this won't be the last.
When he parts, there's a soft quirk in his lips, as if he can't help himself from feeling that warmth in his chest.
"I still can't believe you called me your wife." You mutter, still unable to wrap your mind around it. Lifting your empty hand, you can't help but tease. "You're going to start a rumour on how a Wayne can't afford to gift his own wife a ring."
"You are right." He mutters in displeasure, and you suspect his mind has already wracked on another situation steps ahead just from your words alone.
"I suppose we'll have to arrange a marriage ceremony soon." Damian decides casually. "The last thing we need is more wolves thinking they have even a chance of your hand."
You think he's joking. You certainly were.
Yet, looking at his gaze which has now flickered to your ring finger, already analysing the measurement, you think there's a miscalculated understatement about your soon-to-be husband's proactiveness.
"What's going to happen to Reanes?"
Damian's merciful act earlier did nothing to fool you. He wasn't the type to leave loose ends.
His gaze darkens immediately, but his expression doesn't so much as shift when he says. "He'll be dealt with."
"The Al Ghul way?" You lift a brow. "Or the Wayne way?"
His lips quirk up imperceptibly. "I'm sure my siblings have creative interrogation methods they've been meaning to find an outlet for."
Pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, he mutters. "...I'll just have a leading hand for tonight's patrol when we infiltrate Reanes's warehouse."
"So, the worst of both worlds."
A dark smirk crosses his lips. "Only what he deserves, Beloved."
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
áŻâ [+18!] â Companion piece â Big himbo Jon propaganda, like papa like son I say! Much longer than I intended oops. â áŻ
You: Jon, come over quick! Damianâs sick and needs cuddles!!!Â
Damian: Donât. Â
Damian:...Â
âI didnât know you could get sick.â Damian groans, dropping his phone mid-way through the threat he was typing to look over at the big oaf squeezing through his bedroom window. Â
âI barely coughed.âÂ
He says, even while knowing his scratchy voice gives him away instantly. You hop off the bed to take the heated blanket Jon offers and lay it over your grumbling boyfriend. Â
âHeâs been sniffling and coughing all day, but I finally got him to take some meds.â  Â
âWhich was a waste because I have the immune system of a-âÂ
His sentence is cut off when Jon sits on the bed --his weight dipping the mattress almost comically-- and leans over him to place a hand on his head. Damian lays there frozen and Jon, oblivious as always, gives a hum. Â
âYou're burning up, and your heartbeat is faster than usual. Seem pretty sick to me.âÂ
You snicker from behind Jon, watching your boyfriendâs flustered face turn into a scowl. He huffs and turns over so he doesnât have to face either of you. Â
Jon gives you a concerned look and you only shrug, crawling into bed next to your lover and getting comfy under the sheets.  Â
âNow that youâre here, you can help me keep him in bed, so he actually gets some rest.âÂ
You prop your head up on your hand and softly poke at Damianâs face, watching his sharp eyebrows scrunch and his lips pout. In all your years dating him, heâs only gotten sick a few times and every time rendered him an irritable, miserable mope of his former slightly less-irritable self.  Â
âRight. Good idea.â Â
Jon slips off his shoes and then his shirt and then reaches for the button of his jeans. You pat Damian on the shoulder to make him roll on his back so youâre both watching the half-kryptonian, neither saying a thing lest he stop halfway through shoving his pants off. Â
It's only when he's hopping around with his jeans stuck on his ankle that Damian speaks. Â
âWhat are you doing?â Â
Jon pauses, looking up at you both, his glasses askew. âI canât sleep in outside clothes.âÂ
You meet your boyfriendâs eyes for a silent moment. Â
"Ah, of course.â â...Obviously.â Â
You both telepathically decide not to mention the fact that he could just go fetch his own pajamas in Metropolis and be back in a second, or that he has extra pj's in your drawers from the other times he's slept over.Â
He places his glasses on the bedside table and clambers onto Damian's other side, spooning the former vigilante from behind while you keep him snug to your chest. You take a few moments to shuffle around and get comfortable before settling into a quiet, calm state of existence. Â
Your legs are an incomprehensible tangled mess, Jon's arm rests under your head and Damian rests his head in your warm chest, all kept close together by Jon's strong arm reaching over Damian and resting on your lower back. The faint sound of Gotham traffic a few stories down and slow breathing is all that fills the room. Â
Your fingers lightly card through Damianâs dark hair, catching Jonâs lidded eyes. Â
âThanks for coming, Jon.âÂ
Damian gives the quietest, shortest little hum in agreement, shuffling back a bit so heâs closer to Jonâs chest, who pulls you closer in response, warm fingers lightly brushing where your shirt has ridden up and sending heat all the way up your spine.Â
âDonât thank me.â Â
He gives a warm smile, and nuzzles a little closer to Damian, who shivers slightly, fingers digging gently into your waist. You realise it might be a little overwhelming for him to be squished in the loving embraces of the two people he-Â
âItâs just what best friend's do for each other.âÂ
You hide your grimace in your boyfriendâs hair, he hides his frustrated sigh in your chest. Â
áŻâ Â
The sun was blazing hot, the sand was worse, but neither could beat the sight of Damian Wayne stepping out of the waves; toned muscles flexing as he sweeps a hand through his wet hair, droplets slipping down his abs and past his swim trunks, his well-defined thighs flexing with the strain of stepping through wet sand. Â
Jon let himself stare longer than he usually would, only turning away when he hears you clear your throat. His neck snaps towards where you lie on your side next to him on the blanket you're sharing, giving him a smug look.Â
âGood view, huh?âÂ
Jonâs eyes widen, flicking from you to your boyfriend and back to your growing grin. Â
âYeah, weâre lucky the weatherâs really great today and the waves! Nice waves!âÂ
Your smile only gets more cat-like, but you hum in agreement. Â
âVery nice waves.â   Â
You both silently watch Damian walk up to your little set up on the empty beach and collapse next to Jon, cocking his head at the man.Â
âWhy is your face so red, Kent?âÂ
The second man of steel stammers for an answer before you pipe up from his other side.  Â
âYeah, Jon? Did you put on sunscreen?â Â
"Uh, yeah. I mean, no. I don't really need-"Â
Before he can stammer any more, you're already getting your sunscreen out your beach bag and shuffling closer. His heart and stammering halt when you straddle his hips, uncap the tube and place a tiny pea of the white cream on your palm.Â
You take a little with your finger and dot some on his red cheeks and across the bridge of his nose while Jon tries desperately not to stare at your chest, including the faint love bites that travel down your swim top. Â
He canât see Damian smirking at him, but definitely hears it in his voice. Â
âDidnât know Kryptonianâs could get sunburnt.âÂ
Before Jon can fumble through an answer, you pass the sunscreen to Damian. Â
âWell, heâs only half Kryptonition.âÂ
Damian takes it and moves behind Jon to start massaging sunscreen into his tense shoulders. Jon clears his throat, avoiding your eyes.  Â
"I didn't know you guys were so... sun conscious."Â
Your thumbs trace over his red hot cheeks, making him look you in the eyes. Â
"Only because we care about you.âÂ
The sun reflects in his eyes, you feel his shoulders relax under your boyfriendâs skilled touch and his eyes ease shut as you rub soft circles on his red cheeks. Â
âI care about you guys too.â Â
You dip your head just a little closer, almost close enough to touch noses. Â
âYouâre such good friends to me.âÂ
You're glad his eyes are still closed so he can't see you deflate like a balloon. Damian's pained groan from behind him causes him to open his eyes again and give you a raised brow. You sigh, pat his shoulder and slip off his lap. Â
áŻâ  Â
Jonâs eyelids are heavy, sleep still weighing on his mind as he tries, though lazily, to remember where he is.  Â
"-and we have to be subtle about it."Â
"You think we've been subtle?"Â
Jon blinks the haze away, the hushed conversation only barely registering in his mind.Â
âThis is tiring, Beloved.â Â
âI know, but we canât overwhelm him.âÂ
âWe wonât, weâll explain-âÂ
The conversation stops abruptly when the couch creaks with his weight as Jon adjusts his sore body. Â
He groans and stretches, wincing a little as his joints pop with the strain. He hears someone approach and feels fingers gently comb through his hair. Â
âDid you sleep well?âÂ
He nuzzles into the touch, nodding his head with a croaky hum and mumbles something like, "HwamIhere?"Â
He hears your chuckle, the sound making him smile.Â
âYou flew in here after a mission talking about an inter-dimensional imp or something and then collapsed on the couch. You looked pretty knocked up so we let you sleep and changed you out of your suit for you.âÂ
He doesn't even register the last bit of that, too caught up on how disappointed his mom would be if she heard he barged into a friend's home and took up their space without even asking!Â
âIâm sor-âÂ
You completely stop him in his tracks with a playful kiss in his forehead before he can finish.Â
âDon't apologize, Kent. We're glad you came to us.âÂ
You grab his wrists and pull him up off the couch. Â
âDamiâs almost got dinner ready.â Â
Jon's never heard a better sentence in his life. He hangs weightlessly on your shoulders as you walk over to the kitchen so he doesnât have to use his still unconscious legs. Â
You lean against the kitchen counter and Jonâs head leans against your shoulder as you both watch your lover in his element. You can help but smile, remembering how awful he was at cooking or really any house chores when you started dating.Â
âIf you two would stop gawking and set the table, that would be helpful.â  Â
You both huff in amusement, but do as told. Jon floats over to the cupboard, taking out three bowls and placing them on the counter. Â
âCome and taste this.âÂ
Jon floats over to Damian, who holds out a steaming spoon for him. Jon slips at the soupy contents and lets out a moan. Damian scoffs, eyes rolling but smile unhidden. He lifts Jon's chin slightly,  Â
âGood?âÂ
 Jonâs eyes widen a little but he nods wordlessly and Damian gives a short hum before turning back to his stove. The half-kryptonian speeds over to help you set up the table as Damian finishes up the rest of the food. Â
Soon, all three of you stuffing your faces with soup and buttered bread sticks. Both you and Damian can tell there's something on your friend's mind by how quiet he is. He only speaks after his second serving, swirling his bread stick in his almost empty bowl. Â
âSo uh, I have a date.âÂ
Neither you nor Damian react immediately, save for the look you throw each other from across the table. You pipe up with a smile you hope looks more genuine than it feels. Â
âThatâs great! Do you think itâll go well?âÂ
Damian rolls his eyes as if to say, "Real subtle." and you shoot him a glare.Â
âWell, heâs nice and I think heâs into me.âÂ
He hears Damian scoff and mumble, âNice?â under his breath. He also hears you kick his foot under the table.  Â
âIf youâre nervous, we could join you. For emotional support.â Â
You shrug as if itâs a normal thing to bring your two best friends along for a first date. He rubs the back of his head. Â
âThanks, but I think you guys scared away my last date.âÂ
You scoff awkwardly, Damian doesn't look up from his soup.Â
âWhat? Thatâs ridiculous.â Â
âShe wasnât worthy.â Â
You glare at Damian from across the table and Jon just gives you a raised brow, gesturing to your boyfriend. Â
âOkay, fine. But itâs just because we want the best for you.âÂ
You place your hand in his, giving him a very cautious smile.Â
âBecause we love you.â Â
Damian gives a short nod down at his soup and Jon feels his heart warm and his cheeks flush.Â
âJeez, I love you guys too.â Â
His thumb strokes the back of your hand, he looks like heâs glowing. Â
âIâm lucky to have you guys as frie-âÂ
Damian roughly sets down his bowl, cutting him off before Jon can utter the word. You give him another glare, one that he returns this time as Jon looks between you with concern written all over his face. Â
You win the staring match when Damian lifts his bowl back up to angrily slurp at the rest of the contents. Â
âWeâre lucky to have you too.âÂ
 You pat Jonâs hand and Damian grumbles all the way back to the kitchen to wash his dish and sulk for the rest of the night. Â
áŻâ Â
The moon is high in the sky, a random movie is playing on the tv, and Jon has once again found himself stuck snuggly between his two best friends. Â
You were already attached to his bicep not even a minute into the movie, curled into his side.Â
Damianâs on his other side, arms crossed, thighs spread apart lazily. Jonâs been trying not to stare at where his pajama shorts have ridden up, the heat of his skin burning where his thigh presses against Jonâs. His head tips back against the couch, lidded eyes gazing at the screen with a bored look. Â
Safe to say, Jon canât seem to focus on anything going on in the movie. Especially not when your fingers idly trace up and down his forearm like that. Â
âso... how did your date go?â Â
Itâs quiet for a moment as Jon thinks up a proper answer. He shrugs, Â
âIt was nice.âÂ
Itâs always just nice, if even that. Â
That might not have been the proper answer because he can feel both of you looking at him and then look at each other and then look at him again. He hates it when you do that, it makes him feel more left out than if you guys just kissed in front of him. Not that he thinks about that often.Â
Damian shuffles a bit at his side, his arms flex ever so slightly as he readjusts.Â
âWhat happened?âÂ
Heâs trying to sound nonchalant but both Jon and you know how protective he can be and how out of hand that can get. Jon shakes his head and answers a little too quick.Â
âNothing! Nothing happened.â Â
He shoves his hands in his lap, keeping his eyes on the screen. Thereâs another short silence and Jon just knows youâre doing the couple telepathy thing again.Â
You take one of his hands in yours, in the gentle way you always do. Â
âIs there going to be a second date?â  Â
Jon bites the inside of his lip, shrugs and gives a noncommittal, "Maybe."Â
His date texted him a few hours ago asking about just that, but he doesn't want to tell you why he hasn't responded yet. You nod slowly and take a deep breath. Â
"Y'know, we could help you out? Give you some advice?"Â
He wants to laugh. He already knows you canât help him because youâre the problem. He canât go on a date without thinking about how heâd rather be hanging out with you and Damian or wondering if youâd like the person or imagining your lips or Damianâs hands instead of the person he's supposed to be on a date with.Â
He hasn't gotten laid in ages because the last time he did, he almost said both your names and the guilt almost ruined him. Â
He huffs an awkward laugh, Â
âI donât need advice.âÂ
Damian scoffs and Jon whips his head around,Â
âClearly your dates would disagree.âÂ
Jon gawks and turns to you, clearly looking for some backup, but the only thing you offer him is a pained expression and a shrug. Damian continues, Â
âYour string of failed dates has become embarrassing to watch. You clearly need help.â Â
Jon goes to argue again but stops himself with a scoff when he realises there's no point. He rubs his palms into his eyes, already burning with embarrassment. You place a hand on his shoulder.Â
âIts okay to be nervous on a date, Jon. We can at least help you feel more...experienced.âÂ
He throws his hands up, Â
"I am experience-"Â
"I know. But maybe you just need more practice?"Â
He turns to you, searching your face for what that could possibly mean. You're biting your lip in a way that's clearly meant to be hiding some excitement behind it, your hand moving down his arm. Â
âDamianâs a good kisser. He could show you.âÂ
Jonâs eyes go so wide you have to stifle a laugh, waving your hands placatingly.Â
âJust for practice, obviously.â Â
He spins his head around to Damian when he hears the manâs huffed laughter. Â
Damian has his head tilted back against the couch, waiting with a confident smirk. His eyes flick down to Jonâs lips making the man's shoulders tense and his heart stumble. Â
âI don't- Well if- I mean-âÂ
Damian rolls his eyes, and without drawing it out further, pulls Jon by his collar into a hard kiss. Jon makes a high-pitched yelp sound against Damian's lips, one that almost matches your stifled scream of excitement as Damian keeps him close, deepening the kiss. Â
When Damian pulls away you can tell itâs too soon for both men. They look forward at the TV, Jon blinking with his mouth agape while Damian schools his face into a deadpan expression. Â
âThat was terrible.â Â
âWhat?!âÂ
You canât help but laugh, only making Jon's embarrassment burn brighter.Â
âYou donât reciprocate enough. Just stayed still like a dummy and made me do all the work.âÂ
Jon holds his hands out in exasperation, more offended than he should reasonably be.Â
âThat's because I wasnât expecting it!âÂ
âAre you expecting it now?âÂ
Damian takes his jaw and turns his head towards where you've been patiently waiting your turn ever since they separated. Â
You give him a moment to back away before meeting his lips, softer than Damian, just getting a taste before diving deeper. He slowly melts against your lips as you deepen it, reciprocating every kiss with his own. His hand stays on your back, keeping you close when you mumble against his lips. Â
"Terrible. Needs lots of practice."Â Â
You hear Damian scoff and Jon lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched sound as your boyfriend nips at his neck, trying in vain to leave any marks on the Half-kryptonian's skin. You feel Damian making his way up Jon's neck and pull away, letting Damian have another taste while you work down his neck. You hear Jon moan into the kiss as Damian bites down on his lower lip, trying to get him to open up so Damian can slip his tongue into his friendâs mouth. You slowly start unbuttoning Jon's sleep shirt, each button revealing that toned chest you just have to lay kisses on, trying not to get distracted by the growing tent in his pants.Â
When you get to the last button, Jon pulls away from Damian, panting even though he doesn't need to breathe air. Â
"You guys don't have to do all this just- just to help me get a date."Â
There's a second of silence before both you and Damian let out frustrated groans. Damian grabs Jon's face, looking him in his big blues. Â
"Are you serious?"Â
Jon doesn't answer and you sigh wearily, playing with the waistband of his plaid pajamas. Â
"We'll have to make it more obvious, Dames."Â
Damian takes one hand and, without breaking eye contact with your stupid, oblivious, beautiful friend, he takes your hand and grabs Jon's half-hard cock.Â
The man hisses, looking down at where you both cup him over his pajamas and Damian squeezes harder, grabbing him by the jaw to meet his eyes again. Â Â
"Call me your friend again, I dare you."Â
Jon can only let out a pained groan. You feel his cock twitch in your hand, the wet spot worsening. Â
"Oh, he liked that."Â
Damian huffs in snide amusement. He backs away from Jon, looking down at you and suddenly, Jon seems to realise how truly fucked he is when Damian leans down to meet you in a sweet kiss. Â
He watches the way you both seamlessly trade positions, your hand leaving his cock so Damian can palm him at his own pace while you kiss up his neck. He tries to lean back and relax, but Damianâs hand is so warm and strong, and your lips are so soft and they mumble so gently against his neck.Â
âAre you feeling overwhelmed?âÂ
He nods, unable to say much else with his heart in his throat. He's been dreaming of this for so long and, of course, when it somehow is finally happening to him, he can barely react with anything other than choked sounds. Â
âThat's okay, we just want to make you feel good.â Â
You hold both his cheeks in your hands, he stares up at you like a deity who came down to bless him. Â
âJon,â You place a kiss on his forehead, âCan we do that?âÂ
He swallows, noticing that Damian's hands have stopped moving, waiting for his answer. He swallows and then nods his head rather dumbly, lifting his hips from the couch so Damian can slip his pants off.Â
âGood boy.âÂ
Jonâs cock twitches. Damian murmurs, âHe liked that.â before giving a soft kiss to the his swollen pink tip, smearing the generous amount of pre down his shaft and working him up from the base with the deft hands of an artist and doctor. Â
Jon lets out absolutely debauched moans, tipping his head back against the couch and pinching his eyes shut, all while feeling your gaze watching his every reaction. You play with his hair idly, and when Jon's eyes flutter open and meet yours again, all pretense of being the good cop in this situation has evaporated.Â
âKissing is far from the only thing he's good at, but you knew that already.âÂ
Jon's barely cognizant enough to understand what you're implying and just when he does, Damian's tongue on his cock wipes any cognitive function left, turning him into a whining mess under his two most loved people. Â
His hips buck up just slightly as he nears his first release of the night. You keep one of his thighs wide open with your knee, not taking your eyes off his pretty face for even a second. His eyelashes flutter, his lips part and his curls bob with every thrust of Damian's. He feels everything at once; Your fingers in his hair, your lips fluttering softly against his cheeks, Damian's hands, his fingers, his mouth.
Just when his moans reach a crescendo, just when you know he's reached his peak, Damian lifts both his head and hands, leaving Jon's cock bobbing in the air with no stimulation, ruining the man's orgasm completely.Â
"Damian!"Â
Both you and Jon cry, Jon out of painful betrayal and you out of amused shock. Damian watches the man struggle without a lick of sympathy, wiping his hands on Jon's shirt.Â
"Serves him right for putting us through all that."Â
Jon lets out a broken whine, not helped by your barely stifled laugh. Â
Damian holds out his hand for you and you take it, letting him lift you from the couch and off to your bedroom, calling back, Â
"Come, Jonathon. Don't be dramatic."Â
You can hear Jon's pained groan from down the hall. No doubt asking any higher being for mercy.Â
áŻâ Â
The room is dark, air still cooling down from a very eventful night. Three bodies lay in tangled sheets, Jon in the middle while you and Damian huddle into him for warmth using his chest as a pillow. It's been quiet for a while, Jon's fingers gently trace your hip and up Damian's back.Â
"So...does this mean I should cancel that second date?"Â
In unison, you and your boyfriend shoot up to look him in the eyes, expressions holding a cocktail of emotions; anger, exasperation, bafflement, mostly anger.Â
He lifts both hands in surrender, a self-satisfied grin on his face.Â
"I'm kidding."Â
He's then assaulted with pillows and yelled at by both his lovers and almost sent to the couch for the rest of the night.Â
áŻâ Â
--- God. Finally, this fic has haunted me for a week! There may be mistakes but I'm free!!
IN WHICH... each of the batboys deal with their notoriously sleepy girlfriend
featuring: dick grayson, jason todd, bruce wayne, damian wayne, tim drake
warnings: fluff, f!reader, gf!reader in all except bruce's which is wife!reader, a lil suggestive in Dick's and Timâs fic, reader is said to be Damian's mother in Bruce's fic, Damian is aged up in his own fic but not Bruce's, Tim calls you 'mother' even tho he's not biologically yours (he just luvs u enuf for you to earn the title!), just a cute lil crack fic!
a/n: i worked VERY hard on this oneshot especially so please show love thru likes, comments, and reblogs! thank you and enjoy :)
dick grayson:
"Oh, baby..." he coos softly as he enters your apartment with his key. There you lie, curled up on the couch under a fluffy blanket, arms clutching a throw pillow like its your lifeline.
You were supposed to have a stay-at-home-date together, maybe a movie marathon on the couch...followed by a sex marathon on your bed. But Dick should've known better than to plan a date to start at 8:30PM, granted you're usually in bed by 9:00 and snoring away by 9:30.
He gingerly sets the bag full of Chinese food on your kitchen counter then puts the two pints of ice cream in the freezer. After everything is situated he makes his way over to you, crouching in front of your sleeping form.
His eyes soften at the sight of his sweet girl, all cuddled up on her couch. He reaches for the blanket, tugging it further up over your shoulders before moving to pet your head.
"Pretty baby..." he murmurs to himself, gently moving the hair out of your eyes so he can see your adorable face. "Of course you'd be sleeping, hm?"
Then, oh so slowly, your eyes begin to blink open. Dick's heart aches with love at how sweet you lookâall soft, pliant, eyes blinking innocently and blearily. He reaches a thumb up to softly wipe the little crusts from the corners of your eyes.
"Mmm...Dickie?" you frown drowsily, fists rubbing your eyes awakeâfuck, Dick thinks. You're so adorable.
He smiles warmly. "Hi, love." His hand continues to stroke your hair back as you come to your surroundings. "Did you forget something?"
"...I don't think so," you mumble, leaning forward so your forehead rests against his warm, hard chest.
"Hmm," he hums, holding you close to his body. "What about a movie night with a certain special boy?"
He watches in real time as your eyes widen and your face falls. You look at Dick guiltily. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry! Oh, god, what time is it?" you panic, searching through the cushions for your phone.
"Honey, honey," he reaches gently for your wrist, chuckling. "It's okay, its still only 9:00. Are you sure you're up for movies, or do you wanna just shower and head to bed?"
You frown guiltily at your boyfriend. "But you spent money on food..."
"And we can eat it tomorrow," he assures you. "C'mon, my darling, let's go shower."
He scoops you up bridal-style, carrying you to the bathroom and turning on the shower with one arm.
Safe to say you end the night lathered in yummy-smelling lotion and enveloped in your favorite PJ set, Dick's arms holding you securely against his chest. Props to him for scrubbing down your body in the shower, drying and dressing you afterwards, and picking your favorite lotion out of many and rubbing it all over your bodyâanything to make his sleepy girl comfy.
jason todd:
To be fair, Jason shouldn't have rushed to your apartment and used the spare key you gave him to "break in." But in his defense, what else does a loving boyfriend do when he's called his girl 8 times, texted her 25 times, and left 3 voicemails without answer?
"Doll?" he calls out softly as the door clicks shut behind him. He looks around; all the curtains and blinds are shut, the thermostat is turned downâis anyone else chilly?âand all the lights are off.
"Jesus, baby, it's fucking cold," he mutters to himself, finding your thermostat and turning it up a bit. "Where are ya, hm?"
He spends the next few minutes searching for his baby, and finally, once he lets the bedroom door creak open, he finds you.
"Jay?" you call out groggily, hair a tangled mess, eyes puffy, lips swollen from slumber. "What're you doin'? Your boots are so loudâand you're dragging dirt all over my floors!"
He chuckles softly at your whining, raising his hands in surrender as he toes off his big combat boots, strolling (quietly) over to you in the bed. "What're you doing, baby doll?" he murmurs gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. Immediately your fingers seek out his, curling around his hand to interlock them.
You nuzzle into his big shoulder. Jason's big hand comes up to wipe a bit of dried drool off your face. "What do you mean, what am I doing?" you grumble against him. "I'm sleepin'."
"You're always sleeping," he teases, poking your cheek. He reaches for the brush in your nightstand drawer, turning your head away so he can begin detangling the messy locks.
You harumph, crossing your arms over your chest. "So what? You knew what you were signing up for. I only woke up because I felt my phone buzzing like the world was ending! And because your stupid boots are so loud!â"
"Yes, ma, I get it. You hate my boots. Now, hush, I'm trying to brush all this out."
You let him tend to your hair, calming down a bit once the crankiness from being woken up wears off.
"There," he murmurs, setting the brush down. His hands massage your shoulders gently, kissing the left one and moving his lips up your neck to your jaw.
You melt back against him. "I'm still sleepy...join me?"
"Of course, doll, anything for you," he whispers in your ear, kissing your lips softly before laying you both down. He removes his shirt, tucking you against his bare chest and tugging the duvet up over you. "Rest, my love."
bruce wayne:
"Damian, where's your mother?" Bruce asks the young boy. It's taken him forever to find his son, only for him to be outside with Bat-Cow.
Damian's eyes soften at the mention of his mother. "I've got no idea, father."
Bruce sighs in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That woman," he grumbles, going back inside.
"Grayson, where's my wife?" he asks Dick, who's sat the dining table alone, munching (rather loudly) on an apple.
Dick shrugs. "No idea, B. Last I saw her, she was with Jay upstairs. But Jay's out with Roy now, so I dunno."
"Jesus, none of my kids are useful," Bruce sighs, moving onto Tim and ignoring Dick's annoyed Hey!
"Where's mother?" Tim asks Bruce before he can ask.
"I...I was just about to ask you the same thing."
"Well, I think I finally got a lead on my case and want to talk to her about it."
"I can check it out."
"Well, it's me and her case, B. So I want her input."
Bruce groans. "Where is this woman?"
The last place Bruce checks is your shared bedroom, and he realizes suddenly that he should've checked here first. He knows his wife is a big napper...a big one.
"Oh, darling," he sighs, suddenly all gooey and tender as he approaches the big bed. All of the curtains have been shut, making the room entirely dark save for the light from the hallway. Your starfished in the middle of the bed, your eye mask pulled firmly on, blankets and pillows askew.
He stands by the bed for a moment, admiring your beautiful sleeping face, your soft body... After a bit he decides to crawl in beside you. Removing his shirt and socks, he lifts the blanket and slides in in only his pants.
You stir slightly at the feel of someone's big, beefy arms around your waist. And it could only be one person... "Bruce?"
"Hi, honey," he whispers, shushing you. "Shhh...go back to sleep."
You yawn, turning around in his arms to face him. "How long have I been out?"
"No idea, dear. I've been looking all over the manor for you."
You groan, lifting your eye mask off. "Oh, goodness, I wasn't supposed to sleep this long...oh! I was supposed to help Timmy with out caseâ"
"Stay. He says he's got a leadâhe'll be fine. Let me hold you."
Happily, you tuck your head into Bruce's thick neck, sighing contentedly. "Oh, baby, I love you."
"I love you, too, my wife," he kisses your forehead with a tenderness nobody would expect from Batman. "Now rest."
damian wayne:
"She ditched us, Titus," Damian murmurs down to the Great Dane beside him. "Can you believe it?"
He pets the animal's head before standing, brushing the grass off his pants and making his way inside. He's instantly greeted by the sounds of Dick's giggles echoing through the manor, and Jason's annoyed grumbles.
"Dick, man, you're so odd," Jason groans, standing beside his elder brother, unimpressed. "Get your camera outta the poor girl's faceâDames's gonna kill you."
Dick scoffs, continuing to take pictures of your sleeping form from very unflattering angles. "He won't kill me. She's been a family friend of ours for lord knows how long. She's my friend, too!"
"What the hell are you doing to my girlfriend?" Damian scowls as he enters the sitting room. His sharp eyes soften minutely as they zero in on you. There you are, curled into a little ball in the armchair, buried in one of his t-shirts, a bit of drool dribbling from your lips.
The sudden tension in Dick's shoulders is palpable. "Hey, Dami," Dick murmurs sheepishly, quickly pocketing his phone. "You see, I was just showing her a funny TikTok I sawâ"
"How? She is sleeping."
Jason snorts, glancing up at Damian. "He was taking photos of her."
Damian glares. "Why?"
"Cus it was funny, man!" Dick defends. "C'mon, she would've laughed! I'm gonna send them to her and watch, she'll crack up."
He rolls his eyes, not wasting any more of his precious attention on his brother. He moves, approaching your limp form and kneeling onto the carpet in front of you.
"Beloved?" he whispers, a hand coming up to cradle your soft cheek.
Immediately your body registers your boyfriend's touch, your head nudging into his palm like a lousy kitten. "Morning, Dami..."
"It is 5 in the afternoon, Habibti. Not morning."
"Oh." You peel open one eye, smiling when you see your sweet boy. "Well, hello anyways."
"Hello to you, too, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You are drooling."
You blush. "Where?" Your hands come up, feeling over your face for it.
"Do not fret, Habibti. I've got it." With a gentleness both Jason and Dick would not have expected from their youngest sibling, Damian lifts a wet thumb to your cheek, wiping away the dried spit that previously occupied the space. "There. My baby is all clean."
" 'My baby'?" Dick laughs, doubling over and clutching his torso as if this is the funniest spectacle. "My god, Dames, where has this side of you been hiding?"
He glares. "I have done nothing to make you laugh as hard as you are, Grayson," he snips, looking to Jason for support. Jason, however, is also stifling a laugh.
As if it couldn't get any worse, Damian then hears a small little giggle from the lovely lady behind him. His head whips around to face you. "You are a traitor."
"Dami, baby!" You giggle, smiling at the adorable little pout on his face. "You're just silly, is all. No need to get so defensive." You reach a hand up, brushing his dark locks out of his eyes.
He softens at the mere feel of your touch. In fact, a small smile tugs at his lips. "So sweet, beloved. Is it because you are sleepy?"
"I'm sleepy," you say, leaning closer. Your lips hover over his, your words whispered into his mouth. "And I'm craving one of my boyfriend's famous soufflĂŠs."
Damian frowns. "A soufflĂŠ? At this hour?" At your nod, he lets up. "Alright, Habibti. If my darling wants a breakfast for dinner, I suppose I can oblige."
You press a sweet kiss to his awaiting lips. "Yay! Thank you, Dami. You're so kind to me. Can I have bacon and cheese in it, please?"
"Very well, beloved," he murmurs. He begins to stand up, pressing a final kiss to your hairline as his hand smooths over the soft locks. "I love you."
"I love you too, honey."
Glaring daggers at his brothers and ignoring their teasing comments, Damian walks himself to the kitchen. He can hear Jason and Dick following, pestering him with mocking questions, though the lazy throw of his pocket knife juuust past their heads and into the wall shuts them up rather quickly.
tim drake:
Tim had gathered that you'd fallen asleep simply by checking the activity on your phone. Don't ask him why he's able to do that...
Quietly, he slips into your apartment through the window, tip-toeing his way to your bedroom. The door is wide open and he's immediately met with the sight of his lovely girl snuggling her teddy bear to sleep.
"Sweetheart..." he coos softly, removing his shoes and approaching the bed. "Hey."
He nudges your shoulder softly with his hand, making you finally stir. You gasp softly when you see a bleary figure standing in front of you. But simply by the shape of the human and the way it stands, you immediately gather that it's your boyfriend.
"Oh. Hi, Timmy."
"I told you to stop calling me that, but hi."
You smile, tossing the limp teddy over your shoulder and replacing it with Tim's torso. "Mmm... how'd you find me?"
"Your location," he lies. "Just didn't expect you to be asleep."
You only hum, rubbing your cheek against Tim's hard abs through his shirt. "Did you come to snuggle?" you coo, rubbing your eyes awake.
"You know it, baby," he replies. "Now let me in."
You pull the blanket up, expecting him to simply lay beside you. But of course, he's Tim Drake. Why would he do that?
Instead he barrels into you, sprawling himself out on top of you. He lifts your his t-shirt up and snuggles under it, resting against your bare skin.
Ahh...much better," he sighs contentedly, head nestled between your breasts. You feel him take a deep inhale, making you giggle.
"Tim!" You squeal, "what're you doing under there?â
"Needed to be close to you," he mumbles.
"Oh, baby," you chuckle softly, a hand coming up to play with whatever dark hair is peeking through the neckline of your his shirt. "You comfy?â
"So comfy." His words are muffled against your skin. You feel wet kisses begin to accumulate in the valley of your breasts. "Call me a good boy."
"Well, are you a good boy?â
He peeks through your neckhole, scowling. "Yes. I came to check up on my girl when I noticed she wasn't active on her device."
"Hm. So you did hack me?" you catch, smirking at him.
"I-...fine, yes. I did. I'm sorry for lying, mommy," he mutters.
"It's alright, sweet boy. You're mommy's good boy."
If Tim Drake had a tail, it'd be wagging. "Hell yes I am," he agrees enthusiastically. "Night, love you."
"Love you, too, needy boy."
a/n: GUYSSS this took me forever but im very happy w the outcome
Damian had faced down hitmen, alien warlords, and Gothamâs worst rogues without flinching. But standing in the hallway outside your room, dressed in black sweatpants and an Arkham Academy T-shirt (ironically), holding a single, dog-eared romance novel like it was a live grenade?
That was another thing entirely. He knocked once. Twice. Then opened the door without waiting. âBeloved.â
You were curled up on your bed, hoodie sleeves covering your hands, reading something with earbuds in. You looked up with a warm smile.
âHey, Dami.â
He closed the door behind him and stood perfectly still for a moment. Calculating. Weighing angles. This wasnât just about sex. This was about trust, consent, timing.
âI wish to engage in coitus.â
You blinked.
âIn what now?â
âSex,â he clarified, clearing his throat and gripping the book tighter. âWith you. Soon. Possibly now.â
There was a pause. You tilted your head, unsure if you heard him right or if he was reading off a Batcomputer prompt.
âDid you Google that?â
âI cross-referenced approximately seventeen sources,â he said seriously. âSome of them were fanfiction. It was distressing.â
You snorted. âDistressing how?â
âApparently I am frequently paired with Jonathan Kent. And Nightwing.â
You tried not to laugh, failing miserably.
He stepped closer, his face somehow both deeply serious and red at the tips of his ears. âI am not trying to pressure you. I simply believe our bond has deepened significantly and, statistically, most couplesââ
You cut him off by gently setting the book down and sitting up. âDamian.â
He looked at you, sharp jaw tense.
âI want to,â you said quietly. âYou donât need a PowerPoint or Google Docs presentation. Just⌠be honest. With me.â
He swallowed, tension melting just slightly.
âThen honestlyâŚâ he murmured, stepping in front of you, reaching down to brush a hand along your jaw, âI have thought about it. A lot. And if youâre willing, I would like to touch you. Love you.â
You reached up and tugged him down by the hoodie string. âThen stop talking and kiss me.â
His lips curled into a grin.
âTactically speaking, I think that can be arranged.â
Dick: âHe asked?! Thatâs adorable. I just tripped into it by accident in college.â
Tim: spits coffee âDamianâs having sex?!â
Jason: âHe did it before me? Are you kidding?â
Bruce: ââŚI donât want to know. Donât tell me. Ever.â
warning: threesome, blowjob (face fucking), spit kink, fingering, choking, light brat taming, anal sex, double penetration (p and a), creampie (don't be silly, wrap your willy!)
synopsis: You decided to ignore both of your friends, and mop around because of failed hook ups. Let's just say, neither Seongjae or Baekjin liked it.
A/N: this is just pure filth so if it's not your cup of tea, please do not proceed. if you happen to enjoy the fic, let me know what you think! đ¤Š
âHave you gone to fix it?â
âNah,â Seongje inhales a lungful of the cigarette between his fingers. âIâm in front of her apartment building though.â
He can almost see Baekjin taking a pause and collecting himself. The latter had a lot of checklist for him today involving the Union, but here he is instead. Seongje couldnât care less honestly, heâs not a damn errand boy.
âWhat are you doing there, Seongje? I told you to take care of the burner back accounts.â
âThat can wait. Sheâs been ignoring us and ditching her classes, donât act like you donât want to see what sheâs up to right now.â
âMr. Choi will be calling soon.â
Seongje rolls his eyes and takes a jab at Baekjin being Mr. Choiâs lapdog, in which the other pays no mind. âWhatever, do what you want and miss all the fun.â
The call ends up abruptly, leaving Baekjin staring at the caller I.D. in disbelief. Seongje heads straight to your unit after throwing his stick on the ground, stomping on it once.
Youâve never given him nor Baekjin the password to your door but he trespasses anyways. For him, youâve known them both long enough to be aware it is bound to happen.
The atmosphere in your apartment is akin to a museum: calm and comforting with a melodic music playing somewhere. He follows the sound, soon finding out it is coming from your bedroom.
Your blanket are tangled and bundled up in one area, while your feet peeks out by the hem. Seongje chuckles lightly at the sight.
âWhat got you all gloomy and sentimental?â
Leaning on your elbows, your eyes are wide enough to resemble an owl. âSeongje? What the hell are you doing here? How did you get inside?â
The man invites himself just like he did by the front door, and sits at the edge of your bed. Whether this is a consequence of having a literal criminal and a gang member as your friend or not, you donât have an ounce of care.
âBut I asked you a question first.â
You roll your eyes and slumps back in your bed.
Seongje pins you with a stern stare. âDonât fucking roll your eyes at me.â He moves to your side and rests his back against the headboard. âWhy havenât you been at the bowling alley these days? Baekjin is losing his mind.â
âIf he truly is, then he should be here.â
That ignites a laugh from him, shaking his head. They mustâve spoiled you too much that youâre now acting like a brat, sulking when you donât get their attention the second you want it.
Huffing, you turn your back to Seongje. He observes the way your lips jut out in a pout and how you tried hard to divert your attention to your phone once more.
A notification pops up at the top part of your screen.
Sugang: Do you want to come over again?
The gadget is gone in your grip the next time you blink. Looking at Seongje, you see the evident change in his eyes. His thumb scrolls through your conversation, scanning fast enough that you wonder if heâs actually reading them.
âOkay, what the hellâ give it back!â
âWhoâs Sugang and why is he telling you to come over at his place?â
âNone of your business, really.â
Glancing at the phone, he pulls you and settles you in his lap while he holds your wrist in front of himâ basically forcing you to show what he wants to see.
The corner of his lips curls up in a snicker, one that you know follows a mean comment about your hook-ups and dates.
âA dick appointment, huh?â Seongje tsks. âHow many dates have you gone with him? Did he even managed, at least, one orgasm out of you?â
Slapping his arm, you tell him off with his language. The dread then comes back to you, and prompts you in snuggling closer to Seongjeâs chest, laying your head on his shoulder as you get a whiff of his scent.
â... no.â
His chest rumbles as he oddly finds your miserable life funny.
âSo youâre telling me,â He tosses your phone somewhere on the bed. âThis Sugang guy have stuck his dick inside you multiple times, never made you cum, and still had the audacity to invite you over again?â
You could only hide your face in his neck. Thereâs nothing else to do except to drown in embarrassment, especially with the help of Seongjaeâs condescending tone and mocking chuckle.
âFirst was Park Yeongbeom leaving you in radio silence after telling you that his phone was broken, but switched up and it was suddenly because he forgot to charge it. Then Kim Palho stood you up just because his mama threw a tantrum about he shouldnât find a girl and leave his mom alone. Hong Sijun doesnât even know how to fucking mop the spilled juice on your floor, and Baek Sanghyun who played hard to get, making you set up several hangouts before eventually telling you he doesnât fancy you.â
Seongje takes a deep breath, and lets out a scoff. âWow, where are you getting these fucking manchilds?â
As Seongje recites all the men that had failed you for these past few months, the anger and irritation boils hot inside you. Throwing yourself on the bed once more, you muffle your screams using the soft pillows. All the while Seongjeâs eyes follow your movements.
Drawing closer, he pries your hand away from your face and turns you to look at him straight. His eyes rakes over the messy strands of your hair before he brushes them away.
He sighs. âSo this is why youâre misbehaving.â
A thumb traces the plush of your lips, putting slight pressure on your chin to open your mouth before sliding inside, meeting your tongue. Seongje hums in approval then presses kisses on your jawline.
âSuck,â
As though enchanted, your lips circles around his finger and does what he says. All the pent up frustrations caused by other men slowly fades as Seongje stabilize you in the only way he can.
âThatâs right. Youâre still my sweet girl, arenât you? Just needed a reminder.â
Seongje noses your throat while his other hand caresses your waist, uncharacteristically gentle. His patience cuts off short so he moves on to tug your shirt away and finally kisses you properly.
You whine against his mouth as you circle your arm around his neck. His tongue licks into your mouth, engaging yours to his before taking it to suck on. Seongje is in the process of removing your shorts and panties when suddenly, the bedroom opensâ revealing Baekjin with his hands in his pockets.
Seongje whistles. âLooks like you donât need to go back to those manchilds anymore. Youâve got more than one cock to keep you occupied and satisfied.âÂ
You are coaxed to stand before your bed as both men assumes their position.
Baekjinâs in front of you, surprisingly not donning his jacket anymore, while Seongje presses up against your back, his growing hardness poking the cheeks of your ass.
After youâre all bare between them, Baekjin grabs your jaw and draws you in for a kiss. Itâs not messy and full of spit like Seongjeâs, rather itâs steady and establishing, like heâs asserting his dominance over you.
Two sets of hands wanders around your body. You think you might go crazy as your sensory fills up; someone fondles your breasts and plays with its hard buds, one hand cups your pussy and slips in to gather your wetness, while one other holds the back of your head firmly as if keeping you from pulling away.
A yelp elicits from you when Seongje unexpectedly turns you around. He slots his mouth on yours like heâs been deprived this whole time. His kisses starts a hunger in you and it will most likely wonât be satisfied easily.
Someone bends you over, and you know itâs not Seongje given by the smoothness and nonexistent callouses on the skin. Soon enough, Baekjin enters a finger inside you without a signal, causing you to jerk forward and comes in contact with Seongjeâs cock.
When did they start stripping?
He takes a handful of your hair in his grip. Following his lead, you proceed to lick his shaft up and down to wet it. No way youâre putting that in your throat all dry.
And as one predicts, impatienceâ for Geum Seongjeâ is a loyal friend. Done with your stalling, Seongje yanks your hair and forces two fingers in your mouth, triggering your gag reflex as it naturally clamps on him and produces an ample amount of saliva.
âThere you go,â He snickers and spreads it along his cock.
Inserting another one, Baekjin seems unpleased with your lack of focus on him. He kneels behind you and crooks his fingers that sends you jolting again.
âBaekjin..â
Satisfaction fills him up due to your breathy moan. Though it did not last long as Seongje feeds you his cock, holding your head in place while he controls the pace. You could only close your eyes and pray he have mercy on you.
On the other hand, Baekjin lets his mouth take over and enjoys your taste on his tongue. Your hans flies to grip on whoeverâs arm is near, hips grinding on Baekjinâs face.
You stay like that for a while. And when your legs start buckling, Baekjin carries you to the bed.
âHands and knees, baby.â
Disregarding Seongjeâs scoff, you obey Baekjinâs order before looking forward and sees the former sprawling on the pillows. Seongje tilts his head, gesturing you to hover above him.
Youâre ushered until heâs face to face with your breasts. As he feasts on the soft fat on your chest, a hand taps your thigh.
âYou know the traffic light system?â
âYes,â
âGood. Tap the bed three times if you canât speak.â
Baekjin fucks you open using a few more times, and a moment later, a blunt tip obviously much larger the three of his fingers pushes inside.
âUhh..â
Hearing your mewl, Seongje sees you with your mouth agape then scoots backwards, towards the headboard. âI wanna eat you out so fucking bad but Iâll leave it for another day.â
Another day? Heavens, you might have to charge your energy for another threesome with them.
Your head lols, moans getting louder each thrust of Baekjinâs cock. He plants one of his feet on the bed, changing the angle, and smirks when your back arches and your arms visibly shakes. Swift slaps land on your ass.
âSo tight, fuckââ
âHey, canât leave me hanging now, doll.â
Seongje cuts off and holds your chin. Getting tired of him bossing you around, you roll your eyes and reaches to wrap a hand around his length when his grip suddenly transfers to your cheeks.
âI told you not to fucking roll your eyes at me,â He forcefully opens your mouth, sliding in your throat harshly. He fucks your face like Baekjin does with your pussy.
âHmmphâ!â
You scramble to search for something to cling to, your poor bedsheets taking the result of the overwhelming pleasure across your body.
âSee, Baekjin? You shouldnât spoil such bad girls like her. Look at that attitude.â
âAahâ Youâre being too harsh on her, thatâs why.â
âBullshit! This brat needs to learn her mannersâ holy shit..â
âShe knows,â Baekjin kisses along your spine, arriving at your shoulder as he murmurs against your ears. âWhat do we say, baby?â
Somehow wanting to hear and see what will be your response, Seongje pulls out and jerks himself.
âNngh.. âmâ âm sorry, âm sorry. Iâmâ oh my godâ I wonât do it again.â
âUnfuckingbelievable.â
He urge you to take his cock back in and resumes his face fucking.
Youâre so adorable with tears running down on your cheeks while your hands is attempting to slow Baekjin down. He supposes itâs only appropriate that they're providing you this much. After all, they need to satisfy your months and months of sexual frustration.
Then an idea pops in his head. His smirk blooms. âIf youâre really sorry, youâll let me fuck you.â
Baekjin perks up, squinting his eyes at the other in warning. âWait for your fucking turn, Geum Seongje.â
âWho says anything about taking turns?â
Sinking his words in, Baekjinâs thrusts falter slightly.
You, however, being too cock-drunk and unable to talk, fails to register what the two men are discussing about. Imagine the surprise and confusion in your face when all the stimulations comes to a sudden stop.
âW-what? Did I do something wrong.. ?â
Baekjin notes you look like a deer caught in headlights. He tucks your hair behind your ears and pecks your cheek.
âWhat do you say about taking both of us?â
âBoth of youâ how?â
âAt the same time. Weâll take it slow.â
âWhat if..â You trail, fiddling at the sheets. âWhat if I donât like it?â
Seongje grins. âYou will.â
In a matter of seconds, Baekjin and Seongje switches places. Youâre now pinning the former against the bed with your whole weight, while the latter strokes himself behind you.
Smoothly, Baekjinâs cock slides again, emitting a whiny moan from you. He moves you on top of him, clasping his hands to your waist as he eases his size. Your body shudders when you feel something cold touches your asshole, followed by someone thumbing it.
And then it clicks.
You clutch at Baekjinâs arm tightly as one digit begins to push itâs way inside your ass. It massages your hole, making sure youâre relaxing and opening up before pushing another one, then another more.
Three fingers produces squelching noises as they curl upwards and scissors. It echoes lewdly that you make out with Baekjin so youâd think your tongues are the source of it instead.
Slowing down his pace, Baekjin kisses you back feverishlyâ you shouldâve known it was to distract you from Seongjaeâs length.
âFuckâ!â
Your body immediately tenses and both men stops their motions, observing you. Heâs barely even past the tip.
âHurts?â
âA bit, yeah..â Your fist clenches and unclenches beside Baekjinâs head.
âDo you want to stop?â
You shake your head, shallowly breathing in and out. Seongje reaches out for the lube again and squirts some more on where youâre connected. Then, he slowly resumes pushing in the rest of his cock.
"Wait, oh god..."
Eyes shutting tight, your nails dig in the skin of his wrist but Seongje refuses to let go of your hips. Baekjin scratches your head gently, anything to cut your attention in half, away from the burn.
Soon, the pain gradually becomes pleasure. You angle your head and meets Baekjinâs mouth, letting him swallow your moans. âUh uh uhâ yes! Yes, fuck. So goodââ
Seongje throws his head back, though quickly staring back at your hole again because itâs just a mesmerizing sight. How your tight ass grips onto his cock hungrily. Fuck, he might come at the thought of being the first one to stick his cock in it.
He slaps your cheek, watching as it reddens. Baekjinâs pace fastens as he takes in the way your face contorts, unable to mask the overwhelming pleasure.
âYou think those men can make you feel this good, baby?â He tsks. âYou couldâve gone to us, to me, and save your self the hassle. Those men donât deserve you. Youâre mine.â
"She's ours, Baekjin. Learn how to fucking share."
Whimpering, a drool slips past your lips in which Baekjin wipes off and licks. Even with his thumb muffling your noises, it still rings across the whole bedroom due to how hard Seongje is fucking in to you.
A violent jab at your sweet spot snatches the breath away from your lungs as your eyes rolls to the back your head.
âSo fucking pretty,â Baekjin rumbles.
A hand yanks your hair and youâre forced to meet Seongjeâs eyes in a dizzy haze. âWhat do we say?â
It costs you almost a minute before conjuring an answer. Fortunately, they pay it no mind because of how sweet your words sound.
âThank youâ oh oh hnngh.. thankyouthankyouthankyou. Feels so good!â
Seongje laughs, pulling you close to his chest and spits in your mouth. Gulping it down, you stuck your tongue out to show him, earning approval as he licks your cheek and pushes you down on Baekjin again.
âGood girl.â
A hand wraps around your throat, squeezing enough to put your mind in a pleasurable haze. âYou like that? You like it when he calls you a good girl? Are you gonna be good for us after this?â
âYâ yheees. âm good, Iâll be goodâ please.â
As Baekjin continuously targets your g-spot, your scream pierces through their ears as you starts to thrash between them. With a few more thrusts, youâre clenching down on their cocks uncontrollably.
The two men shares a grunt at your tightness as they eagerly follows their own climax, each losing their own rhythm resulting in a messy and uncoordinated movements.Â
Before long, Seongje pulls out and strokes his cock over your ass, letting out a loud moan as he paints your back with his sticky cum. While Baekjin takes the reigns on your hips, fucking upwards, uncaring about the obscene skin slapping that probably reaches your next neighbor.
âInside?â
Not affording to speak anymore, you opt in kissing him deeply in hopes to convey your answer. Baekjin grunts in return and buries his cock deep inside you, his cum shooting to your walls until some spills out of your hole. He fucks a couple more times and finally calms down when the cum starts foaming up around his cock.
When he finally withdraws as well, all three of you are breathing heavily. You slump on Baekjin, no longer has energy to do anything else. Seongje leaves the room and comes back with a clean towel to wipe you down, throwing said towel somewhere in the room after doing so.
Gently, Baekjin ushers you to the side. Seongje, soon, lays down on your other side.
âDonât ever contact those men again, or Iâll have the Union deal with them. Alright?â
Giggling, you nod your head before placing a sweet kiss on his lips, giving the same to Seongjae.
âOkay,â You tug them closer. âCan you buy me strawberries though? Iâm kinda craving them. And chocolates!â
âWeâll buy you some later, after you eat your lunch.â
âBut I want to have it now. Waitâ howâd you know I havenât eaten?â
And as if you didnât act like they didnât exist from the past whole week, youâre back to being their spoiled bratty princess again.
warning: threesome, cunnilingus, spanking, fingering, choking, light brat taming, creampie (cover your stump before you hump!), overstimulation, squirting, passing out after sex
synopsis: The Union is discovered and being investigated so you and your friends ran away to hide. They exert their best to take your mind off from worries.
A/N: you already know what this is. everyone's request lolol I hope you'll like it!
The television flashes a news, following series of videos with teenagers getting arrested one after another. A dread creeps up inside you, crawling its way until fully consuming your body.
EXPOSED: High School Syndicate Called âUnionâ Allegedly Made Students Execute Crimes In Exchange For Money
The headquarters had been raided, both the bowling alley and the motorcycle junk shop. And the records doesnât lie. Thereâs no use in denying what the Union had done to the delinquents of Yeongdeungpo.
The screen, all of sudden, switches to netflix and plays what you assume was playing before you got a hold of the remote.
âI told you to stop watching the news.â
Baekjin moves to sit beside you, placing your stretched feet on his lap after. His hand almost automatically starts tending to the tensed muscles of your legs, massaging all the way up to your thighs.
You sigh. âI donât know, Baekjin. They will spill out all information about Union if the police offers them no consequences of whatever they did.â
Thereâs a slight tug in Baekjinâs lips. He didnât stop his ministrations nor look at you.
âThen they tell them. Thatâs the only way they could save their asses.â
âAre you not worried?â
âThereâs no reason to be.â
The scent of cigarettes fill up the room, evidently announcing another personâs presence without much of an effort. Seongje walks in carrying the ease on his shoulders, as if the crime syndicate he joined for fun wasnât discovered and being investigated by the police.
You see the brief exchange he did with Baekjin. No nods, no verbal acknowledgementsâ instead it is how their eyes connected and immediately understood what the other was trying to say.
Itâs strange how two people so incompatible can work together effectively.
Seongje and Baekjin showed up to your apartment late at dawn with no more than two duffle bag of money and a car with no plate number. You packed up your things nonetheless, not questioning the cause of their sudden appearance.
And now, youâre here, lounging in a bungalow style house buried deep in a forest you didnât even know existed until you arrived. You dared to ask Baekjin but he merely dismisses you. It is when you finally watched the news that you found out just how much trouble and danger youâre in.
Trouble for all the crimes you did in the name of the Union. And danger for when Mr. Choi finally snaps and hunts the three of you down.
A quiet exhale leaves Baekjinâs lips. His hand rests on the curve of your waist as he leans towards you, nosing your jaw and ghostly paints a track of kisses along your throat. You relax in his arms, letting your head fall on the arm rest and allow Baekjin to take the reigns.
His thumb caresses your cheek, traveling up to the crease between your brows. He smoothes it out, pecking the area and both of your eyes.
âYou worry too much.â
Itâs a statement with finality, but you see what lies beneath it. You sense the effort in lessening the gnawing worry inside you, the attempt to take your mind away from the problems.
Baekjinâs palm slides under your shirt, exploring the skin and eventually reaching the clasp of your bra. It clicks open with one smooth tug and soon enough, youâre laying shirtless on the couch.
He mounts your figure as his mouth latches on your breast, taking your bud in, swiveling his tongue around before biting lightly. The scrape of his teeth heightens your sensitivity.Â
Your back arches for more, hand grabbing a fistful of his hair.
âBaekjin, more..â Electric pleasure jolts to your veins as Baekjin presses his bulge on your clothed crotch, rolling his hips in an angle that ensures heâs hitting your clit. You gasp at the contact, response immediate.
You pull his strands harshly and slots your mouth on his, greedily taking his lips and tongue in yours. Baekjin couldnât help but to hum, satisfaction filling him up as he bask in your desperation.
The rolls of both of your hips is now rhythmic and fast-paced. Thereâs no holding back nor patience present in the room. Baekjin grips the flesh of your thighs tightly, moving your body against him while you whine and hold onto his shoulder for support.
A scoff echoes not far from you. âYou both look like dogs humping desperately at each other. How pathetic.âÂ
Turning your head, there Seongje sits in all his glory, smoke surrounding him as he watches you and Baekjin like one of the most interesting porn heâd ever seen.
âHngh.. Seongje,â
You reach out a hand to him, glassy eyes pleading. Seongje grunts begrudgingly, standing up from his seat towers both your figure. He flicks the ashes of his stick, taking a hit.
The bump in Baekjinâs pants slots perfectly between your legs, sliding up and down with little resistance whenever your hips jerk involuntarily. Your eyelids flutter close as a hand hovers above Baekjinâs arm.
âI think Iâm gonna come,â You mumble under your breath, resting your cheek on the arm rest. âMmm.. Iâm close.â
It didnât take long before youâre shuddering in his arms, gasping as you let the buzz conquer your veins. Baekjin continues riding your high before slowing to a full stop. He brushes your hair out of your face and smiles slightly at your fucked out state.
âWe barely even started, darling.â
The words elicits a whine from you and a chuckle from them.
Seongje takes Baekjinâs place, spreading your legs wide open and pulls your shorts and underwear off of you. He bites the skin of your inner thighs a few times, leaving traces here and there. When your hips starts begging for him, Seongje didnât waist any seconds as he dives in your pussy.
His mouth immediately connects with your folds, humming in satisfaction. Tongue licking a stripe from your hole up to your clit, a mewl leaves your lips as you place a hand on the back of his head, careful not to piss him off.
Seongje slurps your juices lewdly, wet suckling noises piercing your ears while he flicks his head side to side like a dog salivating against your pussy. His tongue enters you with no warning, sending you scrambling at anything as sensitivity catches up to you.
Baekjin strokes his cock at your crumbling composure, groaning on how your body tenses for a while before finally relaxing in Seongjeâs hold, whining with oversensitivity.
âTastes so fucking sweet, babe,â Seongje murmurs. He lands a slap on your puffy clit. âGonna replace cigarettes for my breakfast, lunch, and dinner?â
Thereâs no denying the delight on your face upon hearing him, eliciting a fond chuckle from both men.
âSheâll bend over willingly anytime anywhere. Wouldnât you, love?â
Baekjinâs soft kisses soothes the constant overwhelming buzzing in your veins. He peppers your face while caressing your shoulders and arms, letting you catch your breath.
As youâre able to get a brief break, you start reaching out for their hardening cocks much earlier than expected. Seongjeâs lips tugs upwards at your eagerness.
âThought I had to make Baekjin suck me off just to make this go away.â
âAnd youâd probably come after three strokes.â
âFlaunting your blowjob skills on me, Na?â
You giggle at their banter. Watching them try to assert dominance over each other is definitely one of the hottest thing youâve ever witnessed.
Getting on your knees, you try to pay the same attention on both cocks, switching from one to another and tries to keep the pleasure on the same level. Baekjin and Seongje moans in unison, singing praises that fuels your greed more.
âYeah, just like that. Sucking us so good.â
âSuck a cockwhore for us.â
You work your tongue on them relentlessly, slapping Seongjeâs cock on your cheeks a few times while you focus on the tip of Baekjinâs. A collective groan rings across the whole living room when you attempt to take them both at the same time, though only getting past before Âź of their lengths.
Deciding youâve done so well, Baekjin orders you to get on all fours, their favorite position of yours. Seongje plunges his fingers inside your mouth, prompting you to suck on it and produce saliva doing so. When he deems it enough, he takes it out and fingers you in place of Baekjin.
The soreness havenât gotten away so you feel every movement of his, pursing your lips as you regulate your breathing. Soon, you open up, ready for their cocks like a fleshlight.
Baekjin spreads your folds using his thumbs, spitting right where your hole is and experimentally slides in three fingers. His cock jumps at how your walls cling to his digits.
âFuck me nowââ You whine. âPlease, fuck me now.â
âHow polite.â Baekjin snickers, smooching your cheek.
A hand on your hip and the other putting light pressure on your back, then finally he slots his tip, pushing forward as he feeds you inches of his cock.
âShitâ âs big..â
You stretches out your arm to slow him down. No matter how much youâre prepped, the moment Baekjin is buried to the hilt, your legs begin shaking and your core burns in a mixture of pleasure and pain.
In contrast of the calm demeanor, Baekjin starts pistoning his hips without an ounce of care. The couch moves along his thrusts, nudging and thudding against the wall.
Heâs in so deep you could feel him in your guts, fuck.
And as if you not being able to form a coherent set of words is not enough, Seongje tilts your head upwards and swallows your moans. Spit dribbles down your chins, creating a mess. You stay still like some ragdoll for them to fuck and play with.
Pawing at Seongjeâs arm, you scramble for purchaseâ his hand dips down between your body and the couch, pressing on your belly. Seongje sports an amused grin at the bulge on your skin made of Baekjinâs cock.
âOh ohâ shit.. Baekjin, oh my god!â
Your arms gives out, cheek inevitably meeting the soft padding as Baekjin gyrates his hips with only one thought in mindâ make you cum hard enough to shut off your brain so you wouldnât think of anything else but them.
âAh, so tight, fuck. Havenât we fucked you enough? Howâ uhhâ how are you still this tight?â
The thrusts slam down harder and harder with each passing second, targeting your sore and spongey spot that sends your eyes rolling and your mouth wide open. Back bowing as you thrash yet push back at the same time, your whole body locks in a single position.
As though the time has stopped, you reach your bliss and rides it with the help of them. Baekjinâs hips start losing its rhythm, his grip on your waist becomes firmer as he eventually topples over, burying his cum deep inside you with a series of strained grunt.
His spent gushes out of your pussy, rolling down your thighs. âFucking orgasm lasted so long.â He chuckles on your neck, slowly pulling out and watches his cum gets pushed out by your clenching walls.
Drained, you slump on the couch, breathing heavily in a daze.
Someone brushes your hair out of your face. âGood?â
âHmm..â
âStill can take one more?â
You blink slowly, mind too smushed to think of an answer immediately. Baekjin maneuvers you in a sitting position as he offers you the glass of water that Seongje got.
Great sense, you think. Youâre fucking parched from all the screaming. Once youâve calmed down and thereâs no sensory overload engulfing your body anymore, you snuggle closer to Baekjin.
Seongje clicks his tongue, playing with a lighter in his hand. âIâve been feeling neglected since earlier. Do you like Baekjin more than me now?â
Smiling shyly, you crawl towards where he sits and straddles him. You shower his face with kisses, wrapping your arms around his neck.
Seongje hums. âYouâre stalling.â
âWhat?â
âYou think I donât know what youâre doing?â He grabs a handful of your ass and slams his palm on the skins, a faint red mark blooming. âDonât piss me off and get to work.â
You pout, tracing ghost patterns on his shoulder. âBut I feel sore and my legs are shaking.â
Another slap lands, earning a yelp from you. âHow are you so polite to him but somehow always a brat to me? You like it when I treat you roughly?â
You bite your lower lip, maintaining eye contact as Seongje scoffs. Clearly, youâre enjoying being reprimanded by him. And he couldnât say he doesnât like it.
âGod, Iâm wet again..â
His eyes immediately drifts to your pussy and affirmatively, slick is starting to gather again. You slot his cock between your folds, swaying along the entirety of it, covering him with your wetness.
âAh.. fuck. I feel so fullâ hnghh..â
You bounces on top of him, using his broad shoulder as a leverage while Seongje lets the scene play out. He didnât say anything nor give you an approving pat, heâs just leaning back, eyes on you.
Your pace starts picking up as you throw your head back, losing yourself in the pleasure. His cock punches so fucking deep it knocks the air out of you.
âIs that all you got? You can do better.â
Your whines fill up the room. Baekjin thinks itâs probably ringing outside the house and to the forest. How glad he is that youâre in the middle of nowhere or else youâll blow your cover in an instant.
Seongje, patience running out, gets a hold of both your thighs and fucks upwards like a beast waiting for a chance to pounce on you. Youâre jostled to his chest, losing all the control youâve had as you now lay plaint for Seongje to fuck.
A hand wraps around your throat, squeezing enough to bring you in a dizzying pleasure. Nails rake down Seongjeâs arms, creating lines that marks him as yours.
Seongje curses, basking in the pain that your scratches inflicted. He fastens his pace, holding you close.
âAh ah! Nâ mmphh! Oh god.. shitshitshit I canâtâ!â
âYou canât what?â
He snakes a hand between your hips and puts pressure on your clit, circling it that sends you moaning even louder. God, youâre loud itâs embarrassing,
âNo! No, please.. I canât come anymore.. âs too much.â
âYes, you can. Iâll.. haa.. Iâll make you.â
Seongje spits on your breasts, waiting for it to drip down your nipple before launching on it, sucking and nibbling on it. You let out a cry as you feel an unfamiliar feeling in your stomach.
It feels like youâre coming but itâs more intense, more overwhelming.
Baekjin expects you to pass out on Seongjeâs arms. Instead, your legs shakes uncontrollably as your upper body slacks against Seongjeâs chest. Down your thighs, liquid sprays all over you, Seongje, and the couch.
Your squirt reaches the floor as well, making both Baekjin and Seongje marvel at the sight.
Tears prick your eyes, forcing yourself to take and take every harsh thrust of Seongâs cock. Your hands is balled in a closed fist, anything to accompany you from the extra sensitivity once more.
And Seongje thrusts three more times before shooting his hot cum inside you, murmuring inaudible things under his breath. Together with Baekjinâs spent, their cum seeps out of you despite his cock still plunged in your pussy, sneaking through the corners and joining your wetness on your thighs.
It takes them a moment to realize that you actually passed out from exhaustion. It is not the first time but itâs a rare occurrence.
They didnât fret because it is their goal in the first place: to take your mind off from worries, and provide an escape.
Katsukiâs got your favorite flowers, setting them in the holder beside you before sitting down. You donât say anything, just kinda staring up at him. The second he sits down his limbs feel as if heâs back on that battle ground, like theyâre full of lead.
Itâs quiet hereâ almost eerie, the type of silence thatâs filled with a bunch of things left unsaid.
âThe extras say I should move on, who are they to fuckinâ dictate my relationship.â Katsuki swipes a hand over your gravestone, brushing away a small leaf.
Itâs weird, after the war it was supposed to be him in a grave, not you. But he got rewarded with a second chance while you got dirt shoveled onto your face.
âItâs stupidâ damn it,â he curses at the tear starting to build up in his waterline.
It never gets easier even after all these years. Missing someone.
Heâs got the path to your gravesite memorized. A secluded area under a weeping willow tree, where the sun shines beautifully upon you.
Every now and then he can see flashes of the funeral, as if itâs playing out in front of him. The faint remnants of the eulogy that was given. Him and your parents sitting in the front row. The shared ache between everyone in the crowd. The hushed cries among friends and family.
The air has felt different ever since that day.
Itâs no longer filled with your jokes. Or the burst laughter youâd provide.
The worst part? Life just continued. The earth didnât stop spinning just because Katsuki suffered a loss. Alarms still screamed early in the morning. People still needed saving and paperwork needed filling.
And heâs haunted by things you wouldâve liked. Katsuki can imagine the smile on your face if you saw what heâs become today.
See you might be gone, but Katsukiâs love isnât. Nor will it ever be.
First attempt at angst, howâd I do đ @kamislop
