Im Ywrt (if you think of yogurt, you are right) im just a Mexican girl trying to survive in Mexico lol (SAQUEN ME DE LATAM), if you care, im an asexual lesbian, welcome to my little corner of the app
This is a multifandom account, i must warn yall, im a multishipper, which means i will ship everyone with everyone, ofc except minor x adult or any incest stuff
Please do not spread hate here, the world is alredy burning outside, i dont think we need more of that here
I also have a very dead tiktok where i post edits and an heyspace blog that also kinda dead lol
Menu/masterlist
Main fandoms i may talk about here:
(It really depends on what am i hyperfixated on)
-Marvel
-Pokemon
-DC (superman and batman only)
-Genshin impact (just reblogs of fanfics and OCs tbh, i kinda left the fandom)
-Zelda
-Mario
-Splatoon
-Musicals
-Animated cartoons
-Indie games
And more
About my asks, feel free to request if you want, i must say that with marvel, i wont write anything romatic with Tony, Bucky or Reed, they are my father figures and it will be kinda weird for me to write something romantic with them involve
Quetions about my fanfics or my OCs are also welcome
(I update my fanfics at least twice a month, depending if they are actual long fanfics or just one-shots that ended up having more parts lol)
Damian who accidentally falls inlove with his fiance😭
Thinking about Damian who never expected to grow fond of his fiance who was set up by the Al ghul(especially his mother). Him with these unknown feelings he doesn't know how to handle, so it's a shit show with trying to win you over, what do assassin women like? Flowers? Daggers? Daggers with flower patterns??? He IS GETTING LAUGHED AT BY TODD 100%
"shut up todd, you probably dont know what real love is so unlike you AT LEAST I HAVE A WIFE!"
*so Damian comes out very blunt all so he could stop overthinking whatever the hell is he supposed to do.*
cw: mentions of scratches, damian has a cat, tiny fluffy blurb for cold and introverted women 😞 we are under represented and i see you and i love you
black cats personality types are usually aloof, serene and mysterious. they're slower to trust, independent, self-sufficient and introverted. they might come off as mean or heartless, but they're really just on energy saving mode! once comfortable, they might let you in on their private, vulnerable side. they really prioritize their own company, so if they start liking you, you might just be very special. make sure you're careful, or they might get scared off!
damian and his black cat gf, who is much more grumpy, sassy and emotionally constipated than him.
damian and his black cat gf, who frustrates and annoyes him with her nonchalance and indifference when he first meets her.
damian and his black cat gf, who unnerves damian with her silent and aloof demeanor.
damian and his black cat gf, who gets partnered with him for a group project in a class they shared.
damian and his black cat gf, whose odd behavior piques his interest. he finds himself appreciating her comfortable silence and lack of expectations. he starts enjoying her company within a few weeks into the project, exchanging sarcastic quips and dry jokes.
damian and his black cat gf, who is skittish and deeply suspicious of everything. if damian takes 1 step forwards, she gets scared and takes 5 steps backwards.
damian and his black cat gf, who made him somehow more open and gentle. not because she's so inspiring and welcoming, no, because damian has to, if he wants to get her. both of them can't be emotionally stunted and reserved if he wants this to go anywhere. so he learns to be vulnerable, to be patient, to soften. for her.
damian and his black cat gf, who eventually opens up to him and falls in love just as hard, when damian wins her over with his careful, patient advances and multiple tries.
damian and his black cat gf, who is still bad at verbal and physical affection, but instinctively seeks him out when she's sleepy, finding purchase on his lap or tucking into his side.
damian and his black cat gf, who easily gets bribed with food by him.
damian and his black cat gf, who somehow always senses when he's upset or feeling low, wordlessly handing him tea and letting him rant, or sitting in comfortable silence with him if that's what he prefers, fingers forking through his soft strands.
damian and his black cat gf, who bites and scratches him in self defense whenever he tickles or pokes at her. he never tries to stop it, only flashing a fond smile and mischievous eyes.
"dude, having a cat must be brutal if you're getting beat up like that," his friend remarks from his chair, sitting across damian, who's sitting on his bed. damian has some mutual friends from uni over, and they're littered across his room. they're bearable, and you seem to like them, so he doesn't mind having them over. you're sitting by the window, his black cat in your lap, purring as you scratch behind her ear.
"what do you mean?" damian frowns, looking up from the sudoku book. you had left a page unsolved in frustration after you made a mistake, so he took up to solving the rest of it.
"your arm, bro," his friend motions to his forearms, where the sleeves of his hoodie are rolled up, angry red marks littering his skin. his eyes dart up to yours instinctively, and he almost laughs. you look like a deer caught in headlights, horrified and slightly guilty.
he hides a smile, rolling his sleeves down. "nah, not her fault. i was the one who provoked her and tickled her first." which, true. you were innocently lounging on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on your phone as you waited for the others to arrive, when damian felt an itch. he just couldn't help himself, you looked too cute on his bed! he had pinned you down and tickled you until your eyes were teary and you were giggling, gasping for air. and yeah, somehow, in the process, your nails might have dug in his skin a few times. it was only self defense! besides, he had never seemed to mind your retaliatory bites and scratches. he'd always laugh them off.
"still... don't you think cats can be a bit ungrateful and entitled sometimes?" his other friend prompts, eyes squinted at his cat, who is oblivious and unbothered about the wrong and misdirected accusations, enjoying your pets.
"why ungrateful? i am the one who decided keep her. besides, i dont expect much in return, as long as i have her company. that's enough for me," he shrugs, unfazed.
"but dogs are just better, you know? they're obedient, affectionate and playful. cats are judgemental, bossy and violent," his friend huffs, arms folding. damian only smiles, a secretive glint of mirth in his eyes, his gaze on you, tracking the blush that spreads from your ears to your nose, head bowed, no doubt trying to hide behind your hair. "i just think her cuteness makes up for all of it," he smirks, sounding way too pleased.
"you're one odd man, damian al ghul. one odd man," his friend sighs, clearly giving up.
thank god none of them are facing you, or they'd catch your burning face, nose buried in his cat's furr, heart pounding and stomach fluttering. tease.
lemme know if i should write orangecat!gf version 😳😳😳😳 (i did it)
as always, reblogs, comments and likes are much appreciated <3
Three days later, Jason’s scream echoed through every corner of the manor.
“WHO DID THIS?!”
You and Damian were in the gym at the time, innocently training. A barely noticeable smile played on Damian’s lips—which, for him, was the equivalent of bursting out laughing.
“So,” you whispered, punching the sandbag, “how did you pull it off?”
“Trade secret, my love.” Damian’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “Let’s just say I temporarily borrowed from Alfred’s sleep aid collection.”
“Damian Wayne!” you gasped, both shocked and impressed. “You—”
“DAMIAN!” Jason’s furious voice roared down the hallway. “I KNOW IT WAS YOU!”
“He has no proof,” Damian said calmly, taking a defensive stance. “Besides, the security footage from that night mysteriously vanished.”
You couldn’t help but be impressed. “Did you ask Oracle?”
“Barbara owed me a favor.”
The door burst open and Jason stormed in, his chest—now unevenly waxed—completely exposed. Red, irritated patches covered his skin, and the wax strips looked… less than professional.
“YOU!” Jason jabbed a finger at Damian. “My chest looks like a leopard!”
Dick appeared in the doorway, coffee mug in hand, struggling not to laugh. “Honestly, Jason, it could be a new trend. Patchy chic.”
“SHUT UP, GRAYSON!”
You bit your lip to stifle a laugh but failed miserably. A giggle escaped, then another—until you were laughing uncontrollably.
Jason’s glare shifted to you. “You. You were in on this!”
“I—I didn’t do anything!” you said between laughs, hands raised in surrender. “It was all Damian!”
“Traitor,” Damian muttered, though even he was smiling now.
“BOTH OF YOU—” Jason lunged, but Dick caught him.
“Easy, easy,” Dick said, pulling his brother back. “Alfred said no fighting—”
“ALFRED KNOWS ABOUT THIS?!”
As if summoned, Alfred appeared in the doorway with a tea tray. “Master Jason, your shouting is disturbing the entire household. Perhaps a chamomile tea would help you calm down?”
Jason’s jaw dropped. “Alfred… did you help them do this?”
“I merely,” Alfred said with perfect English composure, “advised Master Damian on appropriate dosage for sleep aids. How he chose to use that knowledge is entirely his own decision.”
“UNBELIEVABLE!”
Tim ran in, tablet in hand. “Guys, guys! I posted it on Twitter and it’s going viral! ‘Red Hood’s Mysterious Chest Pattern’ is trending!”
“WHAT?!”
“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” Tim laughed, backing away. “But your face was priceless.”
Jason threw his hands up in defeat. “This family is insane. You’re all insane.”
“Technically,” Damian cut in, “you’re part of this family too, Todd. So by transitive property—”
“DON’T YOU DARE BE SMART RIGHT NOW!”
You leaned against Damian, giggling. “I think your revenge was successful.”
“Honestly,” Damian looked at you, green eyes softening, “this was only the beginning.”
“The beginning?” you raised an eyebrow.
“Drake is next.”
As if on cue, Tim’s eyes widened. “Wait—what? No. No no no—”
“You leaked the security footage, Drake,” Damian said with a predatory smile. “Actions have consequences.”
“BRUCE!” Tim shouted, sprinting out of the room. “DAD! DAMIAN’S TRYING TO WAX ME!”
Dick sipped his coffee. “You know, sometimes I think this family might actually be normal. Then moments like this happen.”
“Normal is overrated,” you said, leaning into Damian.
“Couldn’t agree more, beloved.” Damian pressed a kiss to your forehead, earning a disgusted groan from Jason.
“Ugh, can you not? There are people in the room!”
Alfred cleared his throat. “Master Jason, perhaps some moisturizer for your chest? The irritation appears rather severe.”
Jason sighed in defeat. “Yes, please, Alfred. And maybe… help me plan my revenge?”
Alfred’s lips twitched. “I’m afraid I must remain neutral, Master Jason. However, I may have noticed some… useful materials accidentally left in the kitchen.”
“Alfred, you’re the best.”
Two weeks later, when Bruce Wayne mysteriously found all his coffee replaced with decaf, he called a full family meeting.
But that’s another story.
You and Damian sat hand in hand during that meeting, smiling innocently, having safely locked away the waxing kit—under Alfred’s personal recommendation.
After all, dating into the Batfamily was never boring.
And you loved every second of it.
THE END(Maybe)
Epilogue: A month later, Dick Grayson’s security camera caught someone sneaking into his room at midnight. The next morning, he woke up with one perfectly waxed eyebrow. The culprit was never found—but Damian seemed unusually cheerful at breakfast.
You'd faced down assassins, defused bombs, and survived family dinners with the entire Bat-family. But nothing—*nothing*—could have prepared you for this moment.
"Absolutely not."
"Damian, please—"
"I said *no*."
You stood in the doorway of the manor's bathroom, holding a wax warming kit like it was a weapon of mass destruction. Which, given Damian's expression, it might as well have been.
"It's just your back!" you protested, trying not to laugh at the sheer horror on your boyfriend's face. "You said you had that mission next week where you need to go undercover at the beach, and you complained about—"
"I did not *complain*." Damian's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I merely stated an observation."
"You literally said, and I quote, 'this excessive body hair is tactically disadvantageous.'"
"That was a private conversation."
"Babe, you said it in front of Alfred."
A strategic mistake. Damian's jaw clenched. You both knew that Alfred had immediately sided with you, commenting that "Master Damian would benefit from proper grooming" in that dry, unflappable way of his.
That's how you'd ended up here, with Damian shirtless and scowling, perched on the edge of the bathtub like a particularly angry gargoyle.
"If you tell *anyone* about this—"
"I won't!" You crossed your heart. "I promise. Now just... sit still."
You'd watched exactly one YouTube tutorial. How hard could it be?
The wax had reached the perfect temperature—you'd tested it on your wrist and everything. You applied the first strip to Damian's shoulder blade with what you thought was professional efficiency.
"This is undignified," he muttered.
"You literally wore a traffic light costume for years."
"That was a *tactical uniform*—"
You ripped.
The sound that came out of Damian Wayne's mouth could only be described as a squeak. A high-pitched, utterly un-Robin-like *squeak*.
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF—"
"Shh! Do you want the whole manor to hear?"
Too late.
"MASTER DAMIAN?" Alfred's voice drifted up from downstairs, concerned. "Is everything quite alright?"
"FINE!" Damian shouted back, his voice cracking slightly. He whipped around to glare at you, his eyes promising retribution. "You said it wouldn't hurt!"
"I said it would hurt *less* than laser removal!"
"That is NOT—" He stopped mid-rant as you held up the strip, now covered in dark hair. His eyes widened. "Is that... is that all *mine*?"
"Yep! Look how smooth!" You ran your finger over the newly bare patch of skin. "Like a baby's bottom."
"I will end you."
But he turned back around.
You got through three more strips before Tim walked past the bathroom, did a double-take, and immediately pulled out his phone.
"Don't you *dare*," Damian snarled.
"I'm not doing anything," Tim said innocently, definitely taking a video. "Just admiring the... bonding experience."
"Drake, I swear on Father's cowl—"
"You know what? I think I hear Dick calling me. From the other side of the city. Bye!" Tim disappeared in a blur of laughter.
You bit your lip to keep from smiling. "Okay, this next part might be a little more sensitive—"
"They're all sensitive!"
"—because it's closer to your spine."
Damian took a deep breath, his shoulders rigid with tension. "Fine. Just... make it quick."
You applied the strip. Counted to three. And pulled.
This time, Damian shot straight up off the bathtub, whirled around, and you found yourself suddenly pressed against the wall, his hands on either side of your head. His face was flushed, whether from pain or embarrassment, you couldn't tell.
"You," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "are *enjoying* this."
You couldn't help it. You grinned. "Maybe a little."
His eyes narrowed, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. "Tt. You're lucky I love you."
Your heart did a little flip. He didn't say it often.
"Lucky enough for you to let me finish?"
Damian stared at you for a long moment, then sighed with the weight of a thousand tactical disadvantages. "Fine. But if Todd finds out about this—"
"He won't!"
He did.
(Jason somehow acquired the security footage and played it at the next family dinner. Damian didn't speak to you for three hours, but forgave you when you offered to train him in creative revenge techniques.The revenge, of course, involved waxing Jason's chest while he slept.It was beautiful.)
a/n : moonbeams<3 how are you? I am going to be honest, I was shocked by the amount of love you guys showed to the first chapter and would like to thank you so much for that, i even doubted if I could do this idea justice after. However, I pushed through and here I offer you chapter two. It ain’t much but it’s honest work. Here is the masterlist (is that what you call it?) for this work. Thank u for reading<3
Chapter 2. Of course it requires magic
°。 ⋆༺ 𓋹༻⋆。 °
To say Damian didn’t sit still for long would be the understatement of the year.
Long gone was the brooding, injured boy who was on lockdown under your blankets glaring at nothing, while you tended to his injuries. In his place was a creature of absolute hyperactivity.
It started at dawn. You were fast asleep on the couch, you weren’t about to let someone in a state such as his sleep anywhere but on a bed, when the lack of stillness and peace began.
First, it was the rhythmic thuds echoing through the old wood, ones that you were more than willing to block out and submit to the sweet lull of sleep. But because you can’t have nice things in this world, the soft thuds soon transitioned into grunts, groans and occasional war cries that pulled you out of your unconscious state every time you slipped into it.
Peeking out of your quilt, the time on the mounted clock read 4:12 am. Too early for any human—let alone one in a questionable state —to be doing any kind of actual activity, but apparently the boy you are housing does not operate on human logic, or anything adjacent to it.
Just yesterday he was complaining about his ribs, and the splitting headache he had. Now he was terrorizing your sleeping schedule.
Unable to stand another war cry, you carried yourself to the nearby window, where Najm was lounging on the windowsill, overlooking a shirtless Damian.
He was engrossed in training. His sword slicing through the cold air, each swipe was fast, clean and efficient. You wondered how long he had been training for to reach this level of mastery. How long to possess muscles this defined. How long to be able to train and fight this well, even while injured. After all, he looked no older than you, perhaps a year or two older at best.
He continued on for a long while, twisting and turning his body in ways you didn’t realize were possible, reminding you why you quit sword fighting lessons when you were younger—it is not like they served much purpose in comparison to your spell book.
The realization of how much time had passed was lost on you, until you caught sight of the first rays of sunlight, peeking over the mountain top.
“Meow?” Najm sounded loudly, giving you the ‘what’s up with you’ look, completely unimpressed with your lack of focus, among other things. He in particular had a keen eye, and never seemed to miss a detail when it came to you.
“Shut up, you know me better than that.” You snapped, The implication of the look the cat— blacker than your shadow—gave making your skin crawl with disgust.
Damian had felt your gaze on him for quite a while now, but the boy wonder chose to ignore it. Now that he was done, it was his turn to observe you.
You were glaring at Najm, looking absolutely offended. You had a habit of talking to your cats like they actually understood everything you said and did, and perhaps the pair actually do— he had witnessed Sultana sass you for food, and Najm handing you bandages to dress his wounds on command.
He waited till you set your gaze upon him once again, before addressing you loudly. “Enjoyed the show?” He smirked, making sure to maintain the eye contact just to make it more annoying and humiliating.
Blood rushed to your cheeks, the expression you wore was mortification mixed with pure embarrassment, quite the delight to Damian’s eyes.
He watched as you frantically scooped up Najm into your arms with no grace whatsoever, before slamming the window shut.
“Meow-“
“Not a word!” You yelled.
Najm, ever the unbothered king, jumped out of your arms and onto where Sultana lays, and started to lick away at his midnight blue fur.
You stood there for a minute, contemplating.
You were a witch, in your own home. You had defended yourself and your companions against wayward spirits, aggressive entities, and ancient curses. A wounded, arrogant human with a katana was nothing to you!
With a renewed sense of self-confidence, you reopened the window.
With a bit of a lean, you whispered a few words and flicked your right wrist, willing a rather harsh tuft of wind to blow around him. Violently whipping his hair around, and obscuring his vision. Forcing him to break his otherwise smug stance and stagger back, trying to escape from the onslaught of wind.
Satisfied with your petty revenge over nothing in particular, you retreated back into the room. Where Najm had began grooming Sultana’s multicolored fur, and laid down to catch a few more hours of sleep, this time uninterrupted.
°。 ⋆༺ 𓋹༻⋆。 °
If you had hoped that little display would make him retreat, and perhaps rethink his life choices out of sheer awkwardness, then you had greatly underestimated Damian Wayne. Again.
Later that same day, you had walked in on him browsing through your books and codices.
“This language is unfamiliar,” he stated without looking up, still tracing the spines of books, some he lingered on to attempt and decipher the languages. “and your indexing system is a mess—actually no, a disaster. I have found 2 separate books on potion making between stacks that are clearly mythical creatures classifications.”
You leaned against the doorframe, a couple of dried lavender leaves in hand. He looked much more put together than before, having found a black tunic in your closet to replace his broken gear, yet he still wore the black trousers from his uniform.
“It is not a mess, nor a disaster.” You answered calmly.
You pushed yourself off of your resting place, catching his hand before it could lift up a particular cursed tome.
“Also, you ought to be more careful,” You warned ”Some of these have spells on them that will burn your fingers off if you touch them uninvited.”
He gave you a side glance, as if not believing you. However, he did let his arm go slack, backing away from the massive book.
“Some will even curse you for eternity.” You continued, dropping his arm.
“Tt, superstitions…” he muttered, leaving you standing there as he existed the room.
Not even 2 hours later you found him in your previously locked antique room, where once again he complained about your tendency to hoard stuff and your organization skills.
In retaliation, you zapped him with lightning.
Thankfully, he was decent enough to keep quiet during nighttime after that.
But only during nighttime, because the next morning you walked into your room, a tray of the finest, magically infused medical supplies in hand to check on his condition, only to find it deserted.
Of course, a gremlin such as himself would not sit still at 3 in the afternoon, that would be too convenient.
You ventured outside, and lo and behold there he was, about 8 meters above the ground, casually seated on your roof.
If you were just a bit crueler, you would just leave him to his own devices. Unfortunately, you did know better than to let a mildly concussed person sit on an unstable, flimsy roof.
“WHAT! In the name of the heavens are you doing up there?!”
Damian, ever so charming, just sneered at you.
“What does it look like I am doing? I am assessing the damages.”
“You are assessing the damages?” You questioned, voice dropping into a dangerously calm tone.
You looked up, a hand coming to shield your eyes from the sun’s glare. “With almost cracked ribs? And a concussion caused by your brain being rattled like a tin can from falling through this very roof?” You listed, hoping that perhaps he would see how stupid he was, and descend carefully. “I re-stitched you this morning, Damian!”
“My ribs were merely bruised.” He corrected, shifting his weight onto a wooden beam.
“Besides, if one bad storm hits this area, your entire eastern wall may collapse inward.” He noted. “We need to do something about this, and fast.”
Truth is Damian felt immensely guilty for the destruction of your home. He literally fell through it, terrifying your cats—whom he had grown awfully close with in light of recent events— destroyed most of your entrainment like the tv by flattening the satellite into a pancake, and the one you raved about the most ; stripping you of your peaceful life.
While him getting teleported here was not his fault—seriously, how was he supposed to know a glowing rock could do that— he should have been more careful, knowing that he was dealing with magical artifacts during the mission.
Besides, Damian does not like owing anyone anything, and you had not only saved his life but also housed, took care of and fed him.
So yeah, he was well enough to leave by his own standards—won’t be his first time surviving an unknown place. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“The only thing collapsing inward will be you, if you don’t get down from there this instant,” you shot back. “I certainly did not patch you up, and waste my valuable potions and threads on you, just so you could paint my beloved garden with your insides. Get. Back. Down!”
You did not want to admit it, but something about him risking his own wellbeing just like that was sweet, yes. But uncomfortable and unnerving.
He climbed down the side of the cabin, dropping from what should have been a safe height, yet the echos of pain vibrated through his body the moment his feet graced the ground.
You bolted to his side, magic already enveloping your hand as they hovered over his torso.
“Merely bruised, you say?”
He scowled at you, still hunched over.
“D-do not coddle me..” He gritted out. Though he did not pull away from the pleasant hum of magic coming from your palms.
“This is not coddling, you egotistical brick-“
He cut you off, straightening himself the moment the pressure started to let up.
You staggered back, wiping invisible dust off of your skirt with a sharp exhale. Your hands felt heavy, shaking with the effort of restoring vitality to Damian’s body.
“I estimated the amount of wood we need.” He watched you lean against the side of the house, eyes unfocused, your face slightly less colored than before. “Are you alright?”
You shook your head, trying to focus on him, not the throbbing yet dull pain. “Yes, yes. Go on.”
He narrowed his eyes, regarding you with a much more clinical gaze, but did not push further, settling for telling you about the amount of wood you needed to fix your place up, and explaining the over complicated ways he he used to reach that conclusion. All of which you were half listening to.
“—and we will require precisely three heavy structural rafters to replace the beams.” Damian finished, crossing his arms and looking thoroughly pleased with his engineering report. “I suggest we venture over there, I am certain we will find some good trees that should suffice.”
You nodded along, wiping off a drop of sweat with the back of your hand. Letting out a faint, breathless sound.
“That’s impressive and all, however it won’t work.” You stated. Adjusting sleeves over your cold hands, hoping you still had some tea leaves from that one traveling merchant. They would work wonderfully to rid of the chill.
Damian’s self satisfied expression vanished, his eyebrows knitting together, a sign of his defensive frustration and confusion.
“And why would it not work? My calculations are flawless. And the woods found near this area should be more than sufficient for the job.”
“Yes, dearest. Your calculations are correct, truly impeccable.” You could feel your patience dwindling, thanks to the headache suddenly shooting through your skull, a high pressure fountain of pain. “But that’s assuming that we are using regular wood.”
Damian stared at your pale form, torn between inquiring about what regular wood meant, and if he should be ready to catch you in case you collapse.
Before he could get a word out, you spun on your heels rather clumsily and headed towards the entrance of the cabin.
“Come on, I will explain over lunch.”
“Tt.”
Damian was rarely patient for answers, but the thought of some warm food and maybe a drink was enough coaxing for him to drop his questions, for now.
°。 ⋆༺ 𓋹༻⋆。 °
The aroma of stew filling the kitchen was oddly comforting, especially since each step started feeling heavier than the last.
Magic often had a price, and healing magic was as taxing as they get. Which is why you rarely preformed it and stuck to medical herbs, enchanted instruments and tonics.
Damian was busy plating a few pieces of meat for the pair of spoiled felines, Sultana wasted no time rubbing herself against his calf with a soft purrs, acting cute in hopes of getting the food. Najm, on the other hand, waited patiently at his feet.
You ladled the vegetable stew into bowls, before transporting them to the fully set table, setting them gently on each side.
You had found out about Damian being vegetarian when you made the mistake of serving him meat on his first day here. He didn’t really say anything, but did look painfully uncomfortable that you ended up replacing the food you initially gave him with a plate of sautéed vegetables.
He took his seat across from you on the wooden table. Posture stiff but upright, clearly trying to fight his injuries even in the most mundane of ways. One hand came to pick up the spoon, stirring the broth for a moment before nodding— high praise from a guy who looked at your kitchen like it was a biohazard lab. It was clean, he was just being insufferable.
“Do you plan on explaining your words?”
You leaned back in your seat, brain working through the haze to organize your words into an easy to understand explanation.
“Long story short, this house was built out of enchanted wood.” You simplified.
If Damian’s expression was anything to go by, he was this close to walking out and risk dying in an unknown remote location.
“Of course, why did I think it would be something normal?” He shook his head, brushing his hair back using his fingers. “It’s obvious we need magic wood, how did I not see that coming.”
You continued taking small sips out of your drink, avoiding his eyes.
“I assume the timbers we need are not located in the nearby forest, are they?” Oh, how he hoped he was wrong.
“They are located somewhere around the mountain on the very edge of these lands…” you bit your lip, gaze shifting to stare at the table like it’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen.
“Tt.”
An awkward silence stretched over the room, after all the situation was kind of ridiculous. Every time he attempts to solve a problem, a new one just emerges and complicates the whole situation even more. He was at his wits’ end.
You busied yourself with your skirt, picking at loose threads, and the holes in your overlaid lace. Damian on the other hand, picked up Sultana and placed her on his lap, scratching behind her ear while looking deeply in thought. The soft purring of the tabby helped calm his nerves a little.
“I can go alone, it is not that far of a–“
“Absolutely not.” He countered.
“But you are still injured and–“
He furrowed his eyebrows, pining you with a sharp look, effectively shutting you up. “I am perfectly capable of walking up the mountain. I cannot leave this task in the hands of someone who looks like they would faint over a bowl of stew.” His words were more venomous than he meant them to be.
His expression softened, already regretting the tone of his words. He found you immensely annoying, but he surely didn’t want you dead.
The rest of the meal was spent in silence, the only sound was the occasional scraping of the spoon, and the quiet purring of Sultana. Who deemed Damian as her seat for the rest of the afternoon.
Before you knew it, the sun had gone down and the house was shrouded in darkness.
“Make sure to wake up early tomorrow,” you spun around to address him, a lit candle in hand. Catching him before he could walk all the way up the stairs to his—your— room. “We will need to prepare our bags for the journey, along side some other things.” You trialed off, thinking of all the possible items you would need.
It seemed like a trip to the marketplace was in order, much sooner than you would have liked.
“You seem to forget which one of us sleeps till noon, and which wakes up before the crack of dawn, Witch.” He mocked, already halfway up the stairs.
He took another step and then halted, tilting his head to look down at your candlelit form.
“Is that why you refused to do the repairs using magic?” Leaning casually over the railing, he concluded. “You just couldn’t do it.”
“Yes, Damian.” You scoffed. ”I can’t just fix everything with magic, it’s practically impossible to.”
People always assume being a witch means having no problems, as you could just spell them away. The truth is, each spell takes something from you. It could be something small or something vital. Meaning that every time you cast one, you must weigh out its pros and cons.
If you or anyone you know is/are struggling with suicidal thoughts, self-harm, depression, or mental traumas, please reach out to the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by calling or texting 988 for immediate, confidential support.
Former chap: You and jason has a weird talk, or more so a 25 minute half silence, half talk, half of whatever, now you’re trying to uncover what the hell jason is talking about and why he disappeared for six months.
Note: hiiiiiiiiiiiii
Chapter Seven
Masterlist
———————-
A Burning Temptation
It’s been nearly a week since that conversation..or half ass of a conversation with Jason, and something has been bothering you ever since.
You didn’t know what it was, but you knew that it was an aching feeling of missing something.
With your thoughts in a babbled mess, you went to cool off in the swimming pool.
Walking towards the pool, holding a bag with just your change of clothes and some lotion—knowing your skin get dry—and a hairbrush, you moved.
Passing the grandfather clock, you didn’t think too much about it but turned your head to stare at it.
‘..The hell.’ You muttered, and checked your phone.
6:34.
You looked at the Clock.
6:37.
‘Annoying shit, why hadn’t anyone noticed—‘ You started to speak, but flinched back when you saw Damian just..standing there, his hands on his sides, with that stupid look on his face.
‘___.’ He said your name, tone slightly tense.
‘Damian.’ You muttered. ‘Stop sneaking up on people like that. You’re going to give someone a fucking heart attack.’ You reprimanded him, more annoyed then scared now.
‘Where are you going?’ He asked, eyes glancing at the clock, then your phone then to your face.
‘Why is that any of your business?’ You asked, running a hand through your hair.
‘..Because it is.’ Lame. Damian didn’t think you’d actually ask him why.
‘Piss off, go bother Timothy or something.’ You turned to walk away.
In Damian’s defense..he didn’t like the fact you were always kept out of..well.
‘..there is a saying, a clock will constantly and willingly tell you the time, but often holds the dearest times to itself.’ He spoke quietly and you whipped your head around to see him gone.
looking at the clock, your phone, the time.
6:38 on your phone.
6:38 on the clock.
‘Huh.’
…
‘This is so stupid, why do i even care about a clock.’ You muttered underneath your breath and started to walk into your room, grabbing a notebook, your phone and a pen.
You sat down in front of the grandfather clock the next day.
*Hiii, this part is slowly explained as you go down.
12:00 on your phone.
You looked up at the clock.
12:00.
You scratched off 12:00 am from your notebook.
..
1:00 on your phone.
You looked up at the clock.
1:01.
‘Huh.’
You looked down and wrote 1:01 on your note book.
..
2:28 on your phone.
You looked up at the clock.
2:28.
You scratched off 2 pm off your notebook.
.
hearing footsteps you closed your notebook and hid the rest of the stuff with you in your pocket.
‘..___..what are you doing..?’ Someone asked, you looked up to see Barbara staring down at where you were sitting, pockets full and your phone lighting up with some messages from a group you thought you silenced months ago.
‘Nothing, what’re you doing?’ You asked, or more just to chase her off your back.
‘I was..uh..Alfred told me to tell you that a light dinner is happening in a bit, he’s trying a new recipe so..’
‘..Okay? i’ll be there, probably.’ You shrug, unsure why she was still standing there, her eyes fixed on your now darkened phone, she opens her mouth to speak again but you cut her to it.
‘Is that all? Can you go away? I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone right now.’ You scoffed, turning away to look at the clock then the notebook.
‘Right..see ya at dinner then.’ She turns and walks off, but not before her eyes look at the clock and at you.
‘Fuck.’ She whispers, should she tell Bruce about this? That you’re standing right at the biggest entrance that leads to the Batcave? would you even solve it..?
‘Solve it..Would they?’ she whispers to herself, though you can’t hear it as she already turned the corner.
‘Huh..Do i want them to solve it?’ …
..
3:19 On your phone.
You looked at the clock
3:20.
…
Hours passed, slowly but surely from 12 am to 12 pm, you found out that six minutes in each hour was either wrong or incorrect.
This is what you got.
1:01 pm.
3:20 pm.
5:04 pm.
6:38 pm.
8:09 pm.
And finally.
10:19 pm.
‘The fuck..? am i reading into this too hard?’ You muttered, now in your bedroom, the window opened and a joint between your fingers.
Did you really spend nearly 10 to 11 hours just to see what different times is on that old stupid grandfather clock? It’s old! so old it probably has its own dust!
Groaning you looked at the numbers again.
‘The hell am i missing?’ You uttered.
—
“A clock will constantly and willingly tell you the time, but often holds the dearest times to itself”
The words hit your slow moving brain like a train, staring down at the numbers, you paused.
‘..Is it the hour? or the minute?’ You sighed and lifted your feet, placing them on the desk and you went on your phone, looking the numbers up.
-What does 1356810 mean?-
Something about manufacturing codes came up and you scoffed.
-What does 020301 mean?-
Nothing came up but images of APS and journalists.
-What does 1034899 mean?-
Nothing, you scrolled down images and froze.
A link.
Not just any link.
A professional Link about the Waynes.
You clicked on it.
It started out with what happened.
The Wayne family, Gotham’s most influential group, has been found shot dead in an alleyway with their son — Bruce wayne whom was uninjured and unharmed at the scene of the crime.
You kept reading, of course you knew how your father’s parents died, but seeing the photos of the tape outlines, of the yellow 1, 2, and 3s all around and blood everywhere, it made you look away.
You wanted to close the tab.
Wanted to forget this.
But forgetting isn’t something you can do.
Not that you cant do it, your body, brain and soul wont let you forget.
..
‘..Ugh..’ You groaned softly and looked down to see if there any information on why this popped up.
Found dead at 10:48 pm on September 19. Gotham has struck again, Bruce Wayne has yet to address the public and it’s company’s standing.
‘..10:48..9..19. Where the hell have i—‘ The time.
The number of minutes.
Looking down at the notebook, you slowly started to write.
10:48 9/19.
..
1048919.
‘The fuck?!’
Why the hell is your grandparent’s death date and time on the clock? why would anyone not notice this? there’s no way that no one noticed this.
Next day, the Sun shined down into your dirty room, glowing the clothes on the floor, the empty plate where you grabbed them from the light dinner you never went too, the wrappers, the scent from yesterday as you sprayed the entire room down with air fresheners.
..
6:03 am.
‘Goals.’ You muttered and stood up, walking to the bathroom.
Disgusting.
That’s how you looked.
That’s how anyone could describe you at this moment.
Groaning, you took a shower and dried your hair off before heading into your room.
Where the next two hours were soent on cleaning and half of it was just shoved in the small closet you had.
8:43 am.
‘ugh..finally. I’m starving.’ You hummed and walked off to the kitchen but froze at the grandfather clock.
‘…’
‘…___?’
‘Fuck!’ You flinched back, staring at Timothy, who looked both surprised and flustered?.
‘The hell, Timothy! warn a bitch next time.’ You run a hand through your hair.
‘Sorry, are you grabbing breakfast?’ He asked and started to walk side by side with you, his ears slightly reddened.
‘Obviously.’ You rolled your eyes and finally the kitchen was right there, welcoming you.
Walking in, you see Bruce and Alfred chatting but Bruce’s eyes immediately look to yours as you head inside but—like always—you headed to the plates where alfred left you pancakes and some chocolate.
‘..starving.’ You started to eat, not noticing or maybe not caring for the tense atmosphere in the room.
‘..Ahem..___.’ Bruce speaks and you looked at him, cheeks filled with food.
..you looked..
So childish.
So innocent and soft.
As if he hadn’t ignored you.
As if he wasn’t the worst father someone could have..
‘What?!’ You spoke, snapping him out his trance and he looked down.
‘Nothing, Alfred, i’ll be at the company.’ Alfred nods, still cleaning while Bruce gave you one long, unreadable look.
After eating, you looked to yours left to see timothy also still eating, when he started to speak.
You had already walked out.
In front of the grandfather clock, you hummed as you inspected it, looking up, down, inside, outside, hell you even took apart the stupid sticks inside.
But nothing.
You sat down and rolled your shoulders, they ached.
‘..Pathetic, did you really sleep here or what?’ A voice spoke out, looking up it was Damian.
‘If i did? why the hell would it be your problem, freakshow. Go sharpen your stupid blade.’ He went silent at that and shrugged, turning to walk off but you heard something.
‘..overhead and right in your eyes. Idiot.’
‘what?’
‘Nothing.’
You stood up and stared at the grandfather clock, confused but noticed something, the seconds hand twitches around 12.
Opening the glass case, you pressed on 1, expectations were low, but to your shock.
A keypad appeared.
Code?
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
7 digits.
Looking around, you grabbed your shirt and made sure your fingerprints couldn’t be found, and pressed in.
Code?
1 0 4 8 9 1 9
The code scanned for what felt like hours before it beeped green.
You looked up in awe, annoyance, and anger as the clock snuck into the wall and steps appeared.
It was dark, gloomy moving in even one step, you stared as the walls glimmered and shined with a polished look.
If you lost your memory, and there is no physical proof that you have a family. Would you believe someone when they state that you are part of their family?
Prev
Your phone rings with an unknown number
You answered, “Hello?”
Unknown deep voice spoke, “Hi Y/N. This is Bruce Wayne.”
“OK?”
Really? Don't think so.
Mr Wayne continued “I am ringing you because I have heard you have forgotten that you are part of the Wayne family.”
“Man, the spammers are going all out today.”
“Wait.”
“I don't know what you want from me, I am not pretty enough to be trafficked, and I don't have access to much money. But the idea that Bruce Wayne the billionaire of Gotham would just ring me. After no contact for at least five years, is not realistic at all. Try thinking up a better story.”
“Wait, there are reasons for the no contact.”
“Yeah, right.”
You hung up.
(Number blocked)
(Bruce back in Wayne manor, “Jason stop laughing at me, and give me one of your burner phones.”
“Really old man? They are going to block a lot of numbers at this rate. Here you go.”)
Texts:
Unknown different number: Y/N this is Bruce Wayne, I understand you don't remember, but I assure you that you lived in Wayne Manor for eight months, before you chose to continue your education at a boarding school.
Bruce Wayne??: You also visited us once or twice a year on holidays.
Y/N: Ok, so I might believe you were the Gotham foster home I was living in for the eight months.
Y/N: But I am an adult now. You don't have to be a guardian to me anymore. Thank you for your previous help in fostering me. I don't see the point in visiting your home. It is obvious I am not part of your family.
Old foster man in Gotham: You are not a foster child, you are my biological child. You are part of the family. I am your father.
Y/N: Are you telling me that I am ‘a Wayne kid’ who is not found on the internet at all? Especially not found under the Wayne family information? Really?
Old foster man in Gotham: That was for safety reasons, we hid you.
Y/N: Really? Do you have any photos of me in the family?
Y/N: Was I encouraged to spend time with you?
Y/N: Do you have videos or photos of me with the rest of your family?
Old foster man in Gotham: Sorry, we don't, I was busy, there were a lot of important issues that turned up. You were not around much.
Y/N : I don't need your excuses. I just don't consider you my father or dad. You were a guardian of a foster child who has grown up. You don't need to waste any more time or attention on me.
Old Foster man who thinks he is my father: It would not be wasted, but I understand why you think that. Would you consider visiting us for Christmas?
If you lost your memory, and there is no physical proof that you have a family.
Would you believe someone when they state that you are part of their family?
—--
After receiving your diploma from the graduation ceremony from the University, you went out celebrating with your friends.
The next day, you started packing to leave. Your part time job, as an architect, researcher and developer, for strengthening buildings to decrease damage in all crises, will become a full time job after Christmas.
Just a month away.
Your best friend has invited you to her family's Christmas party, and to stay with her until you get into a new flat. Since you have no living family, you accepted.
At least no family as far as you know.
—-
You were in a car accident five years ago. Lost your memory.
Your friends turned up when a request went out asking if any one knew a J. Doe. No family member did.
Your phone held photos of your friends, didn't have any family photos except for your late mother.
Your friends advised what past they remember you talked about.
You were born in Gotham.
You had spoken a lot about your mother who loved you a lot. She died due to cancer.
You lived in a foster home in Gotham for around eight months, you didn't speak much about that time, just you felt lonely there, no one seemed to like you, or gave you any attention.
You were then sent to boarding school in Coast City, until you were eighteen. You enjoyed it.
Then you had the accident.
You looked up emails, texts and looked on Google to work out your past further. Since you had already left the school, they had removed your past records so were unable to help either. You found out that you had visited Gotham once or twice a year, what did you do there? Unsure. Maybe shopped?
You have a trust fund, no current trustees, so can't ask questions there.
You had decided further information is not necessary and had gone off to university in Coast City with your friends.
—
In the middle of packing, your phone received a text from an unknown number
Unknown: ‘Y/N, congratulations on receiving your diploma. Will you be visiting your family this year for Christmas?’
Huh?
Y/N : Thanks, who is this? I don't have your number in my phone.
Unknown: It’s Alfred, Y/N.
Y/N: Sorry, you have the wrong number, I don't know you. I have plans for Christmas, thanks.
Alfred: Y/N Wayne, that is not funny. If you are unwilling to spend the whole time with your family, I understand but could you just visit for a day?
Y/N : Look, I know I lost my memory due to a car accident, but I do know that I have no living family as far as I can tell. No records, no photos, no one contacting me in the past five years.
Y/N : I don't know how you know my first name, but Wayne is not my last name. I am not sure why you are texting me. But this is creepy.
Y/N : please don't contact me again.
(Number blocked)
—---
Alfred forward the texts to the rest of the Wayne family.
Then watched with interest, their horrified responses about their forgotten sibling forgetting them. He found it entertaining.
Platonic!yandere Batfamily X reader X Platonic! yandere Leon S. Kennedy
Synopsis: You were never quite enough—never smart or strong enough, never sufficient to be a Robin and ultimately, not even worthy of being kept around. So when your "father" decided to send you and your class to a "touristy" town for two weeks, you realized it was just his way of avoiding the constant reminder of you. Little did he know that this decision would unknowingly alter your destiny into something grim and bloody. But who can tell? Maybe they'll encounter you again after this. Yet, you won't be the same little girl.
Warnings: Description of body decomposition, zombie, murder, blood, manipulation, jealousy, low self-esteem, death, kidnapping, description of firearms, drugs.
