Hi! It's my first time making a request at your writing blog! I've read a few of your works and so far, I'm genuinely and completely in love with them ❤️❤️❤️❤️
Is it possible if I could request an imagine or headcanon of how batfam or batboys would react if their bestfriend!reader (also their crush) pull a prank on them by showing up at the doorsteps with the wedding attire on (flower bouquet included) and a goofy grin on their face? You can decide if you wish to make it platonic or romantic ^^
a/n: okay listen i know you said imagine/headcanons but the ideas kept growing and anyway enjoy a little gaggle of drabbles for each of the batboys!! (yes including tim and damian this time lmao bc we know i struggle with those two) i hope you enjoy and thank you for the ask!!
˚₊ · »-All Dressed in White♡→
batboys x bestfriend!gn!reader bruce wayne, dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake, damian wayne tags: v fluffy obv, oblivious reader, tim and damian are in denial at first lol, not proofread im sorry;; it kinda just got away from me divider credit in order of appearance: @uzmacchiato @mieluno
a/n: wedding attire is intentionally vague to stay gender neutral and also give yall the ability to imagine your perfect wedding outfit <3 enjoy!!
Bruce Wayne (wc: 750)
Bruce’s first mistake was letting you get close to him after his parent’s murder. His second was falling in love with you so slowly he didn’t even realize it until he saw you with Dick. His third was never telling you, even after all this time, how much you meant to him.
It’s been close to thirty years now since that rainy afternoon during your academy days where you sat with him in the rain without saying a word. Just holding his hand as the rain hid his tears. You’ve been a part of his life ever since. His best friend, his first love, his biggest secret. He’d do anything for you. Which was why when you asked if your friend could use the manor as a backdrop for your friend’s photography portfolio, he said yes before even asking what the shoot was going to be.
Which was why he’s been standing at the balcony overlooking the garden for the past half hour, paralyzed at the sight of you dressed to the nines in white wedding attire. Complete with a bouquet of fake flowers too.
When he saw you come down the grand hall staircase earlier after changing upstairs, Bruce thought he was going to have a heartache at the ripe age of forty-two. The giddy smile on your face, the fancy white and lace fabric glowing under the chandelier, the bouquet in your hands, the way you stopped right in front of him with a bright smile and a bounce in your step as you waited for him to comment on your look.
It wasn’t the first time you’ve made him tongue tied and it certainly won’t be the last, still it took Bruce staring at you dumbly for a little too long before he croaked out a “you look great” and excused himself to have a private flustered meltdown in the kitchen.
By the time he had gotten a hold of himself, you and your friend had moved to the garden to get some photos. You weren’t a model professionally, you never appeared in magazines like he did when he was a younger man. But still, you were a natural. You were gorgeous in the sunlight, smiling brightly at the camera and following your friend’s instructions to get the most graceful of poses befitting a betrothed.
Bruce can’t help picturing it. A wedding. A promise made in front of the entire city—the entire world, that you were all he wanted. The flowers picked right from the garden you helped Alfred plant at fourteen, his father’s suit, his mother’s veil. His children shouting with joy when he finally, finally, kisses you like he’s dreamt of since he was thirteen.
He watches as you bounce out of a graceful pose to run around your friend to check on the photos so far. He smiles softly at the sight of you excitedly talking to your friend, probably complimenting them on their skills as if they weren’t the one taking photos of the most beautiful person in the world. And then, you both look at him.
Bruce stiffens, as if he was caught doing something worse than staring lovingly at his best friend in wedding clothes, and you say something to your friend before running through the gardens towards him. You stand below the balcony and shout up to him, “Bruce!”
“Yes?” Bruce tempers his nerves as he leans over the barrister, smiling warmly down at you, “Do you need something?”
“Yeah!” you reply, smiling brightly, “A groom! Do you mind?”
Bruce could feel the heat rising up his chest to his neck though his expression does little more than twitch in surprise. You take that negatively and are quick to wave your hands apologetically, “It’s okay if you don’t want to! I know how you hated modeling—”
“I’ll be down in a minute.”
You blink, your brows knitting together with concern, “Are you sure? It’s okay to say no.”
He leans onto the banister on his forearms and gives you a small smile that sets butterflies off in your chest, “You’ve convinced me to give modeling another try.” He tilts his head slightly as he teases, “Something about seeing you have so much fun makes me want to join in.”
You beam and Bruce can’t help melting at the sight of your smile. He wonders to himself as you scamper back to your friend to tell her the good news, if you’d smile that brightly at your own wedding.
And if he’d be the one lucky enough to receive it.
Dick Grayson (wc: 1.1k)
“Okay, how many shots for you to sleep withhh…” Wally trailed off, head hung backwards in thought as Dick patiently waited for the next outrageous option to come out the speedster’s mouth.
Though he doubted it would be able to top Sinestro (how Wally considered that guy a ‘would’ was beyond Dick’s understanding as one of his best friends). Dick takes a casual sip from his glass when your name leaves Wally’s mouth.
Dick immediately chokes on his water, barely keeping it from spilling all over his couch and rug as he swallowed and coughed out, “Dude!”
“What?” Wally said with a gestured shrug and a smug smile, “It’s just a game.”
“First off, they’re our best friend,” Dick started, “They’re practically another sibling to me.”
Wally raises an eyebrow, “Doubt that. Unless you look at all your sibling’s asses when they get a new pair of jeans.” He points his glass at his flushed friend, “Which would be weird, by the way.”
“I do not stare at their ass,” Dick hissed back.
Wally laughed, “Bro you so do, it’s kinda sweet…in a pathetic way.”
Dick rolls his eyes and ignores Wally’s laugh with a huff. It’s not that you aren’t great or attractive or totally swoonworthy, it’s that your relationship with Dick was already complicated. For one thing, you’ve been friends with him and Wally since they were Robin and Kid Flash. You fought together, grew up together, but Dick didn’t realize his feelings for you until after you and Wally walked in for a mission briefing with your hands intertwined. A sight that shot a bullet in his chest as the realization that he was in love with you and you would never love him the same way came rushing in all at once.
You both broke up a few months later as many teenage romances tend to end but it didn’t matter. To Dick, he had lost all chance with you for the rest of his life. You two went on to date different people, and over and over Dick suppressed his feelings for you. He even almost got married to Kori just to avoid his repressed feelings for you.
But he couldn’t do it. Not even marrying a hot alien could convince him that he was finally over you.
Even if you both were single at the moment, Dick had already decided that he would never be the one for you. If only his stupid heart would see reason.
Wally pokes at Dick’s leg with his socked foot as the twenty-something man pouts to himself, “C’mon, Richard, you can’t seriously be that oblivious.”
Dick narrows his eyes at him, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Before Wally could answer, there’s the sound of a key in the door. As the two turn, you’re already breaking through Dick’s apartment door with the spare key he gave you when he moved in a year ago. You’re smiling and clutching a plastic bag that was bulging with hidden goodies. You rush right up to Dick with an excitement he hasn’t seen since you were a kid, “You will not believe what I found at the downtown flea market this morning.”
“What’d you find?” Dick asked, the warm smile on his face giving away the gooeyness you cause him that only Wally seems to notice as he rolls his eyes.
“I have to put it on first!” you declare as you rush into Dick’s bedroom, “I’ll be super quick!”
“Take your time!” Dick called after you as you shut his bedroom door like it was your own.
Dick’s lovesick smile drops the moment he catches Wally’s deadpan look from the corner of his eye. Dick looked over, scowling, “What?”
“They just went into your room,” Wally said slowly, like it would make Dick understand things better, “to change clothes.”
“So?”
Wally mimed choking Dick out with his bare hands as an aggravated groan left his throat. Dick could only raise a concerned brow. Wally's hands claw down his face in dramatic agony as he says, “What is it gonna take for you to grow the balls to ask them out?”
“I don’t know!” Dick defended with a scoff, “A sign or something? Something obvious.”
“Going into your bedroom to change clothes isn’t obvious?!”
“You change in my bedroom too!”
Before Wally could reach for the nearest blunt object to knock some sense into the boy wonder’s head, Dick’s bedroom door opened and Dick’s mouth dropped.
He doesn’t hear a word coming out of mouth as you ramble on and on about how you found the wedding attire because he's too focused on the fact that he’s hearing wedding bells right now just from looking at you.
White never looked better. It complimented your skin so well you looked like you were glowing. The lace laid delicately even as you gesture with your arms. The intricate beading you ran your hands over sparkled brighter than any star in the sky. And when you spun, it was like the whole world stopped. Or maybe that was just Dick’s heart finally giving out.
“—and they even threw in this old silk flower bouquet for free! Isn’t that so cool?!” you hold the bouquet in front of you, a natural pose that seemed a little too similar to one you would have walking down an aisle.
Your brows furrow at the unusual silence from your biggest hypemen. You stand there for a moment confused, looking between a Wally grinning at Dick and a Dick who looked miles away. It’s your gasp that startles Dick out of his daydream as you quickly start apologizing, “Oh my God, Dick, I’m so sorry. I forgot you’re gamophobic!”
“I—” His eyebrows knit, an embarrassed heat coming to his cheeks, “I’m not—what’s gamophobic?”
“Means you’re afraid of marriage and commitment,” Wally answers with his chin in his hand, still smug and very much enjoying the way Dick bristles at the definition.
“What?”
“I’m so sorry, Dick, I should have thought about how you would feel before I came out here all excited and—”
“I’m not afraid of commitment,” Dick suddenly blurted out. Dick feels his neck heat up under your patient stare, his eyes suddenly flicking away, “Or marriage.”
“But what about Babs?” you ask. Dick starts to fiddle with the zipper on the couch cushion. “Or Kori?”
“They’re great, I care about them a lot. They just…weren’t the one, you know?”
You nod, playing with the silk petals of the bouquet, “Yeah…I get that. But,” Dick looks at you. You’re swaying from foot to foot, the fabric following in a way that looks like you’re slow dancing. Your eyes meet his, “how will you know?”
Dick keeps your gaze for just a moment before he lets himself take you in. From head to toe and back again, before he meets your eyes again with a soft smile, “I’ll know.”
Jason Todd (wc: 1.5k)
“What a wonderful garment of shimmering colors!” Kori said as she turned her body around in the boutique lights, the sequins overlaid on top of the mermaid styled white dress sparkled under all the attention. The Tamaranean turns towards her companions and asks, “What are your thoughts, my friends?”
Jason is currently thinking about choking himself out on a clothing hanger while Roy is passed out next to him, still recovering from a hangover. He never should have agreed to be Kori’s bride’s maid (yes bride’s maid, he wasn’t about to correct the alien bride on Earth’s social gender roles), he was all for the bachelorette party and being there for his friend but fucking Christ how many more dresses is this girl going to try on?
“It’s pretty,” Jason grumbled before he smacked Roy on the chest to wake him up.
Roy gasps as he sits up, he blinks slowly as he squinks to look at Kori and slurs, “Whoa momma, where have you been all my life?” And promptly passed out again.
“Hm,” Kori hummed as she looked back at herself in the mirror, judging her appearance once more before deciding, “This dress…I do not like it much. A different garment I shall try!”
And she flew off back into the changing rooms.
Jason could only lay his head back and sigh deeply. He closed his eyes, trying to remember why he even agreed to be a monkey in this wedding dress shopping circus anyway.
“Hey! Sorry it took so long, the cafe was crazy busy.”
Ah, that’s right.
When Jason opens his eyes, there you are, leaning over him with your hair framing your face and the sunlight creating a halo of warmth behind it. Your smile is soft and small, a little guilty even though you could stab Jason with a knife and he’d apologize for getting your blade bloody.
Jason’s relaxing sigh is unintentional, the easing of his tense shoulders at the sight of you even more so. As you walk around the couch, he straightens up, squaring his large shoulders as he says, “It’s fine, what’d you get?”
You plop down on the couch, Jason’s arm immediately going around the back of it out of a casual instinct he stopped thinking about ages ago. You hand him the drink holder to hold as you pull free the coffee as you name them, “I got you a black coffee with three sugars, a frappe for Kori, and,” you hold out the final cup and a bag to the passed out man at the other end of the couch, “a triple red eye and an extra bacon egg and cheese croissant for Roy.”
Roy was startled awake with a nudge from Jason’s leg and he scrambles upright with a, “I’m up, I’m up.”
Like a blood hound, Roy fixes on the goods and with an animalistic snatch, grabs the bag and coffee to devour like a starved man. When you laugh at Roy burning his tongue chugging the fresh coffee, Jason’s vision goes all starry eyed as he leans back further in the couch to look at you better.
You were the light Jason thought he lost when he died. Someone who made him feel safe to get angry around without the fear of running them off. Jason was a scary guy, he was easily over half a foot taller than you and twice as wide, but you never showed him any fear. You tried to understand him, tried to comfort him as best you could.
You became a teether that Jason couldn’t risk losing.
No matter what he might be feeling (he refuses to name it as that makes it real), he will remain as your best friend just as you will remain as his closest person.
“Any luck?” you ask, breaking Jason out of his daydream.
It takes Jason a minute to remember what you were asking about and he said, “Oh uh, not yet.”
“Kori has tried on at least fifty dresses since you left,” Roy spoke through the food in his mouth. “You haven’t missed much.”
“I’ll go see if I can help her out,” you offer as you stand, Jason missing you already as you send him a small smile and start to walk back towards the changing rooms.
“I’ll come with you,” Jason offered, quick to follow you like a little duckling wherever you went. Your small smile sends the butterflies in his stomach into a flurry as he adds, “If you want.”
“Of course I do,” you say, so casually like they weren't the words that calmed the anxiety in Jason’s mind.
You two walk back to the changing room and you give a small knock to Kori’s dressing room door, “Kori? You doing okay in there?”
Kori opened the dressing room door a smidge, Jason politely looking away after seeing she was only in a silk robe provided by the boutique. When she sees you, she gives a frustrated pout and says, “Your bonding rituals sing a different song than I am used to. I do not comprehend the specifics of your people’s bondings.”
“What’s there to understand?” Jason asked, his opinion on marriage leaning towards cynical, “You exchange rings, kiss, get drunk, and have sex. The end.”
Kori’s eyebrows furrow, “Me and Richard have already done all of those things. What is the purpose of such rituals and garments if the day ends the same as any other?”
“It’s more about the emotional commitment,” you explain. “Like, with the dress, every bride wants the perfect dress and to look their best during the most important day of their life. The day they commit to someone they love.”
“Am I not already dressed desirable?”
“I mean, yeah, of course you’re pretty all the time Kori,” you try to explain, “It’s just this day is extremely special.”
She hums, still not totally understanding but in the end she shrugs a little in resignation. This was just another human culture she is yet to understand completely. Like gender.
“My wedding raiment,” Kori says, looking right at you, “can you choose for me?”
“Who? Me?” you ask dumbly, point at yourself.
She nods, “I trust in your wisdom. I shall wear whatever you choose.”
You nervously laugh, “That’s a lot of pressure Kori.”
“Fear not!” she says with a smile, hand on your shoulder, “You can not make the incorrect choosing.”
“I mean, if you’re sure?” she nods and you say, “Okay then, wait here. I’ll go take a look.”
Jason follows you over to the racks, hands in his pockets as you riffle through the dresses and gowns. Out of boredom, Jason starts to mindlessly search through the bodices of lace and pearls. Each garment passes his glazed over eyes until he pauses on one.
There’s silk flowers sewn into the torso and sheer sleeves. Intricate beading at the waist and hips. The style leaned more vintage, almost Victorian if it wasn’t obviously from a modern designer. Immediately, the image came before he could stop it. A vision of you in this exact garment. Beaming and holding a bouquet, maybe even with a veil.
Jason sneaks a glance at you.
You’re still deeply focused on the dresses in front of you, lost to the world and the fact that Jason was paused on a garment next to you. Jason cautiously removes the plastic covered garment and holds it up to you.
There’s a jumpstart in his chest, a rumble of a realization he has been pushing down from the start. Jason wanted. For the first time in his life since the pit, Jason wanted something. He wanted you in a way that was beyond human comprehension, it was deeper than the madness of the pit that still itched in the back of his mind. You were already so much to him. But now he was greedy. He doesn’t know if he could settle for anything but the vision in his head right now.
An altar, it didn’t matter where, holding hands and letting Jason show off to his family, his friends, to the universe if he could help it that you were all he would ever want. You were everything.
“Have you ever thought about getting married?”
The question left Jason’s mouth before he even realized he asked it, his lips sealing shut right after as he tenses in preemptive embarrassment for your nonanswer or, even worse, your flat out rejection of the idea.
Instead, you hum as you think the question over as if he was asking what you wanted to eat after this. After looking through a few more dresses on the rack, you answer, “I’d like to get married one day, yeah.”
Jason’s chest fluttered, a tingle of relief and warmth of hope sweeping over his tense shoulders. They drop as you turn to look at him, a small smile on your face as you return the question back to him, “What about you?”
Jason melts just a little, a soft smile on his face. If he was a weaker man he’d propose right there in the middle of this wedding boutique.
“I can be persuaded.”
Tim Drake (wc: 1.1k)
Galas with you on Tim’s arm have been a thing since you were both old enough to attend one together at the ripe age of five and six. Though back then both of your arms were too short for that so you two often just held hands instead. The point was, if Tim Drake was attending a Gala, it would only be with you on his arm.
It didn't matter if your career paths no longer aligned, it didn't matter if the last time you two talked was at the last gala over three months ago, the invitation would arrive at Wayne Enterprises and a text from Tim would soon follow.
And without fail, you always attended.
Afterall, they were the only event where you both were guaranteed to attend and be able to catch up on life since the last time you two spoke. Tim wished you stayed in Gotham more often, even joking that when you visit you should stay with him in his apartment so he could at least see traces of you in-between meetings and nightly patrols.
Though sometimes Tim catches himself taking that offer a little too seriously at times.
Especially now, watching you exit his guest bathroom after you finally accepted his offer to stay with him for the short time you were in Gotham. He was on a business call when you walked out of the bathroom, steam curling out of the doorway as you shook out your damp hair without a care, dressed down in sweatpants and a shirt that Tim lost when he was fifteen and still with your mixed-matched ankle socks on as you crossed the hall back into Tim’s guest room.
For a moment, the apartment felt lived in. Like a scene from a movie starring you and him in a domestic life Tim never gave a second thought about. Tim was so lost in thought it took Lucius three attempts to bring him back into the conversation.
That moment was three months ago and since then, you’ve been a recurring guest of Tim’s apartment. Sometimes you wouldn’t even announce that you were coming to Gotham, Tim would just smell the homecooked meal through the door and walk in to you in his kitchen preparing a dish he hadn’t had for years.
It was casual, fragile. Something that was so uniquely yours neither one of you questioned it for more than a second. Even preparing for galas now became a level of intimacy that was so casual, it was hard to really question it as something more.
The way you would put his cufflinks on for him, straighten his tie, fix his fringe. The way he would kneel to help you with your shoes, put on jewelry for you, thumb away a stray eyelash from the apple of your cheek. Lines were blurring right before Tim’s eyes. He wondered if they were blurring for you too.
Do you read into his actions as much as he has with yours? Do you second guess the casual hand on your back? Low, but not low enough to be more than an overly friendly touch. Do you second guess the way he stands between you and pushy guests? Too protective for someone who was just your best friend.
Do you entertain the idea of something more as much as he does?
“Thank God I was sweating balls in there,” you dramatically gasp out the moment you two are alone out on the private balcony in the Wayne Manor looking for fresh air.
Tim laughs at your crude words but agrees as you fan yourself with your hand, “You’d think Bruce would be rich enough to afford decent air conditioning.”
“Not his fault everyone in there is spewing nothing but hot air,” you respond with a smile as Tim walks around you to stand in front of you.
The nightly breeze is cool but not chilly, it floats the sheer curtains through the open French double doors with an elegance befitting its audience. Your skin glistens in the warm lamp light, the white of your attire complimenting your skin perfectly. Tim wouldn’t say he’s exaggerating when he claims you look great in any color, but something about seeing you in white…embolden with lace and pearls…it makes his heart skip.
“Even me?” Tim asked, smiling.
“Especially you,” you tease back, grinning wildly and free. Something far more true to you than the demure practiced smile you hold in front of others. “Never in my life did I hear more financial jargon come out of your mouth than back on the ballroom floor ten minutes ago.”
“Says the person who started talking tariffs and exports,” Tim responds, making you laugh. “I swear, you don’t know half of what you’re talking about.”
“But I look cute doing it, don’t I?” you say, hands posed under your chin to really sell it.
Tim laughed, “Yes, yes you do.”
It was said like a joke but, was it really? Before Tim could dwell on it further, the wind gusted up and blew the sheer curtains behind you up and out. You only watched in awe as the curtain floated gracefully over your head. When your eyes meet Tim’s through the sheer white fabric, he feels something akin to a lightning bolt shoot down his spine.
For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The moment dragging out with each heavy beat of Tim’s heart in his throat. The fact that him admitting that he thought you were cute being the last thing he said made his hands start to sweat. Because fuck, fuck, Timothy Drake was in love with his best friend. And if you looked at him like that, a little sheepish and gazing up at him through your lashes, during your wedding day? He was going to faint.
Pause.
Wedding?! Tim must have really been losing it now. Or maybe the years of oblivious pining made him want to skip a few carefully planned steps.
After a moment, Tim swallowed and began to slowly reach for the curtain over your head, “Sorry, let me just…”
He doesn’t yank it off to the side, he doesn’t let it slide off your crown—he flips it back. Like it was a subconscious act he didn’t realize he did until after it was done. His fingers release the curtain, you shiver slightly when it ghosts over your shoulders but you don’t look away from his lovestruck gaze. Tim clears his throat, his hands hesitating before slowly dropping down. He shoves one in his pocket as he tries to casually look to the side like his ears weren’t burning pink in the lamp light.
“So, um, how long did you say you were in Gotham again?”
Damian Wayne (wc: 1.3k)
Damian claims to hate a lot of things when really he just found them annoying. His siblings, his friends, physical affection. And even though he acts as annoyed as usual when he’s around you, he never once claimed that he hated you. Not to your face, not to his family, not even in his own head. It was like the word was too cruel to use in association with you. It just didn’t fit.
For a while, he never considered why he hated his best friend Jon and didn’t hate his other best friend, you. You were just as peppy sometimes, just as talkative, as the kryptonian boy but it was strangely…pleasant. A sound Damian finds himself searching for when focus evades him in the middle of a case. Often calling you at two in the morning just to run the details by you and hear your thoughts. Thoughts that are half-baked and completely jargled with sleep but words Damian needed to hear nonetheless. Even if they were complete nonsense or just you asking why the hell he was calling in the dead of night to talk about a case, in the end your voice would be enough to calibrate Damian back to normal and he’d hang up with a, “you’ve been a great help” and nothing more.
Damian doesn’t mind when you get physically affectionate with him either. Never as much as you are with Jon (a fact that strangely makes Damian prickle with something akin to envy) as you were always respectful of Damian’s boundaries with touch. But you would fix his hair for him, hold his wrist to not lose him in a crowd, lean on him if you happen to sit next to him, all things Damian was used to but never admitted he began to crave.
It was Jon who brought up the suggestion that Damian was in love with you. It was a follow up statement thrown so casually out there after Jon teased him for leaning towards your hand when you held it out to tidy up his hair before you left (a fact he denies by the way, Damian Wayne doesn’t preen). But it made him think, made him entertain the thought for a brief moment…what would dating you be like?
He was still processing that hypothetical thought as he sat in the Gotham local theatre, slouched back in the seat far up in the audience watching amateur actors run through their dress rehearsal of some play. Damian hated local theatre, finding the acting to be awful and overdone. Except for yours it seems. You were pretty decent at the whole stage craft thing.
Not that Damian would ever admit it.
He was only here for your dress rehearsal because you wanted to try the new seasonal menu item at the cafe down the street with him. Damian lets out a tired sigh at the dramatic wave of a wannabe actor, fingers pressed to his temple in mild agony. If he wasn’t going to be enjoying your company later, he would have shot himself by now.
(He notes the thought for further digesting later.)
“Okay, great!” the director says from the front, “Let’s run through the wedding scene please?”
Damian straightens when he sees you walk out, dressed in a different outfit than the one your character was in at the start of rehearsal. It was a pure white, sparkling in the spotlights, a bouquet of fake flowers in your hands as you stood across from your scene partner in front of what was clearly an altar.
Damian can’t take his eyes off of you as you listen to the director's notes before starting the scene, nodding along with his words. You were pretty. Okay, well, you were always pretty, that's just a fact. It’s just…different this time. The wedding attire flipped a switch somewhere deep in Damian’s subconscious. The white, the lace, the beading, the veil, the flowers. And the fact that you’re not standing next to him looking like that? Oh, it was making him spiral in a way he couldn’t understand. Why was there a pounding in his chest? Why was his palms sweating? And why was your scene partner looking at you like that?
“Finally, after all this time,” your scene partner starts, carefully taking your hand as if it were as delicate as porcelain. He brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, his eyes still fixated on you, “my love…”
“My lord,” you reply, so softly it has Damian clawing into the armrests at his sides. When you take a step forward, Damian’s stomach begins to knot with a rage he hasn’t felt since he was prepubescent. “To think…a servant such as me to have the honor of being your lover. I just…”
You turn your head dramatically, only for your chin to be caught between two fingers and lured back towards your scene partner. You hear a faint crack from the audience, your eyes flicking curiously in Damian’s direction before your focus is brought back to the scene with the next line, “I would wish for no one else to be by my side.”
Your scene partner releases your chin to cup the side of your face as he continues, “to have and to hold.”
“In sickness and in health,” you continue, your lashes fluttering closed slightly as you lean into his touch. You rub your cheek as if his touch was all you craved. Damian could feel something nasty bubbling up and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to quell it. You open your eyes, gaze open and loving, “for richer, for poorer…”
You and your scene partner lean in, the director holding his breath as you two get closer and closer. You feel your scene partner’s hot breath on your lips as he says his final line, “until death do us part.”
And right as you two are about to end the scene with a kiss, there’s a sudden crackle and a spark before the entire theatre is suddenly thrown into darkness. You can’t see a thing, but you hear your scene partner let out a high pitched shriek at the sudden lack of light and the director barking at the stage manager to fix the lights as stage hands and other actors began to pull out their phones to use as flashlights.
You blindly step forward, the stage barely lit even with all the flashlights as you call out into the audience, “Damian? Are you okay?”
“Careful.” You feel a hand grab your shin, stopping you before you end up falling face first off the stage. You can hear Damian’s voice from below you, “I’m fine, are you okay?”
“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine,” you say as you crouch down, Damian pulling out his own phone to turn the light on. His light illuminates your embarrassed smile as you say, “I promise that’s not how the play is supposed to end.”
“On the contrary,” Damian said, holding out his hand to you so you could hop down from the stage into the aisle safely. He doesn’t release your hand. “I find that ending rather satisfying.”
“You do?” you ask, confused but also a little amused. You don’t remove your hand from his (Damian makes note to revisit later). “But shouldn’t the servant and the lord get together in the end? They went through a lot to be together.”
“They are better off as friends,” Damian replies. He tugs you forward, “Come, I crave pastries.”
“Ah! Damian!” you laugh as he walks you down the aisle towards the theatre entrance, hand in hand, “Shouldn’t I change out of my costume first?”
“Nonsense, you look fine,” Damian says, earning another laugh.
As he opens the theatre door for you, he’s careful to block the breaker box from your view, lest you see the Robin shaped Birdarang sticking out in the middle of it. Damian makes another note to himself to pick that up later.
a/n: can you tell ive never written kori before aaaaa im sorry kori writers i will do your girl better next time im just giving up;; hope ya'll liked it sorry for being inactive i got a promotion!! so im a lot more busy now lol but dw!! ill still write when i can!! thanks for reading <3