☆Jasper'sEyes☆

Aged up Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader

— ᨳଓ: Damian is in a secret relationship that his gossipy siblings are determined to discover.

╰┈➤ Fluff | English is not my first language, sorry if there are any mistakes or anything that doesn't match up.

-Masterpost-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Original Female Character

Description:

Being part mermaid was complicated enough. But being part siren, the blood-drinking, full-moon, men-luring kind, was the sort of secret that got people running. Which was exactly why Bucky Barnes needed to stop asking questions. Unfortunately for Mara… Bucky Barnes had never been particularly good at minding his own business.

And even worse, he didn’t seem interested in running.

Rating: Explicit (In later chapters)

“the homoerotic friendship finally realized they’re in love with each other!! now when will they kiss-“

I was listening to this song and yk I had to write this bad boy 😇 Love me some faded love confessions 😁plz listen while reading ily 💋

summary: you get a little too high during a bonfire in jackson and spill ur guts to joel ... (very my own private idaho vibes i can't lie. we in love w this man) ....

but daddy (yes. the d word.) comforts u 💕💕💕

warnings: age gap, daddy issues, use of daddy non sexually, mentions of weed, reader is high, crying, gentle dom joel, mutual pining but joel gotta be alllllll restrained 🙄no use of y/n.

PRINCESS TALENTS ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹

princesses have interests, so pick a couple hobbies and romanticize them

❤︎ fashion styling/outfit creation

❤︎ fashion diary/beauty binder

❤︎ journaling

❤︎ creating moodboards

❤︎ dancing, pilates, ballet

❤︎ reading

❤︎ baking

❤︎ accessory making

hobbies are sacred girly practices, not productivity tests

WEEKLY GIRLY RITUALS ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹

every princess has fun, girly practices to-do in her free time

at home spa nights

reset, organize, and clean your space

self care days

make Pinterest boards

CONFIDENCE & C*NT ENERGY ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹

hot, smart, and untouchable

❤︎ “i take up space beautifully”

❤︎ “people feel my presence before i even enter the room”

❤︎ “my success and beauty speaks for itself”

❤︎ “im hot and magnetic without trying”

never over explain

be playful, not desperate

give others genuine compliments

trust yourself

MANIFEST EVERYTHING ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹

the universe isn’t limited, so ur desires shouldn’t be either. manifest to your full potential like the universe is a shopping bag and you’re filling it to the brim with ur every desire.

ideas:

❤︎ desires sp

❤︎ new clothes

❤︎ hella money

❤︎ desires situations

❤︎ your favorite foods

literally just affirm that you have what you want & stick that story in your mind no matter what. also…the universe reacts to who you are, not what you want. so from the second you wake up think about what the most beautiful and dolly version of yourself would do & act like the person who has everything you want

WEEKLY THEMES ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹

so the month feels alive

Doll Activation: looks, routines, habits, confidence basics

Social Starlet: conversation, charisma, and being seen

Ambition Princess: work on star quality, talents, creativity, and your future

Icon Lock-In: refine your signature and brand

MICRO CHALLENGES ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹

compliment someone daily

wears bows for a week

practice sitting or standing gracefully

DOCUMENT ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹

❤︎ take selfies

❤︎ make vlogs of cute moments

Princess Priorities ❤︎

these are some of my absolute favorite but simple things i focus on to build my way up to my dream life & stay organized and aligned with myself…💭💕

ACADEMIC BARBIE ;

being an academic weapon is the ultimate goal for my junior year so I absolutely prioritize school and my grades…💭💕

I track all my assignments and test/quiz dates on my notion pages specifically for school

I turn my work in on time, consistently study, keep my bag organized, and questions whenever I need help

i keep straight A’s but achieving this can be draining sometimes so I make sure to have routines and remedies for whenever I’m stressed or tired

ROUTINES ;

my routines are what keeps me productive and on track…💭💕

I have a morning & night routine not only for school days but the weekends as well. From the time i wake up to the time i get in bed i have my life planned so i know my next moves.

I also make sure to romanticize my rituals as much as possible!! Repeating a routine can become boring, so I make them as fun as possible!!

RESETS ;

I adore resets because it maintains organization in my life and reminds me to keep clean and tidy…💭💕

I keep a midweek + weekend reset to remind me dust my room, wash clothes if needed, and catch up on work

I also have a monthly reset where I deep clean my room, wash clothes, blankets, pillows and organize my space

JOURNALING ;

journaling out my thoughts or even just doing cute random prompts keeps my mind clean, focused, and dolly….💭💕

i do shadow work once a week

How To Romanticize Life Like A 2000s movie ୨♡୧

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ Everyday Life:

rituals, not routines open your curtains slowly, make your drink in a cute mug, play soft music like you’re in the opening scene.

get ready with intention even if you’re staying home. lip gloss, perfume, jewelry. You’re dressing for you.

walk with purpose put on a playlist and walk like you’re in a montage thinking about life, dreams, and who you’re becoming.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ Main Character Energy:

studying at a café with headphones, cute school supplies, and a coffee

• cleaning your room while music plays and the sun hits just right

• late-night skincare + journaling + candles

• cooking or baking something

❤︎ create playlists for everything

❤︎ go to a bookstore and pick a book based only on vibes

❤︎ sit in your car after school just listening to music

❤︎ visit a park alone and romanticize your thoughts.

❤︎ take yourself on a date.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ Main Character Mindset:

you are allowed to evolve.

you are allowed to outgrow people and habits.

you are allowed to dream big and live gently.

your life doesn’t have to be dramatic to be meaningful.

extras:

❤︎ spraying perfume before bed

Ghost is not what the captain would call a gentle man. Everything about him carries weight. His presence, his stare, his skills, his callsign, his reputation. But most of all, his voice. Price has heard Ghost in all sorts of situations, from enemy interrogations to dropping some of the most driest sarcasm to ever grace his comms.

Ghost's voice, like the rest of him, is rough. Like the sound comes from mortar-blasted boulders grinding against each other in his chest and not vocal chords. When Ghost speaks, everything sounds like an ultimatum.

But that's what happens in the military. Show him a man surrounded by other soldiers that doesn't develop some obnoxiously loud, deep vocal affect and Price will eat his hat.

Which is why, when you, the new medic transfer on base, are tasked with administering this year's flu jabs he notices it almost immediately.

"Sleeve up, please, Lieutenant," you tell him. Ghost is sat in the little plastic chair in front of you with his arm fully exposed before you finish.

"Busy day, yeah?" Price nearly chokes when Ghost asks you that.

It wasn't just the fact that he was making conversation, but it was the sound of him. If Price wasn't looking directly at him when he said it, he would have thought there was someone hidden behind his Lt.

But no. It was him, speaking without prompt to you in a tone of voice that Price didn't even think the man was physically capable of.

The boulders in his chest are silent. His voice having moved from them up to some higher register. Like the years of chain smoking and yelling over weapons fire is an inconvenience for once. Ghost even clears his throat when you turn away from him for a moment. Subdued. Soft.

Ghost. Soft. Hell has frozen over.

"It always is," you reply oblivious to the anomaly in front of you, a little smile on your face as you swipe Ghost's bicep with a little disinfectant wipe.

Price watches how Ghost never takes his eyes off of you as you do your work with the same fascination as watching a dog wearing pants walk on its hind legs.

It quickly becomes apparent that this is not an isolated case.

One morning some time later has Ghost walking with him to his office going over upcoming itineraries. Both of them have their minds on the looming, still unconfirmed, deployment. When you turn the corner into the hallway with a stack of files in your hand, Price swears he sees the lights brighten a little bit just from how Ghost perks up.

"Mornin', ma'am." And all of the sudden his hardened veteran, skull mask wearing, second in command is gone and replaced by two meters of tender puppy-dog eyes and velvety voice. He's pretty sure if Ghost had a tail it'd be wagging.

"Good morning, Lieutenant. How many times do I have to tell you you don't have to call me that?"

"At least one more," Ghost all but purrs.

Price feels like he's witnessing something that should be behind an age verification.

You roll your eyes and pat his shoulder as you pass, disappearing down the hallway without a glance behind you. If you did, you would've seen how Ghost's head turned to watch you go.

The other time occurred when you weren't even around to hear it.

It was classified as a training incident only because of its proximity to the grounds. Very little surprises Price anymore, so he didn't bat an eye when he saw a soldier drive up in a humvee, get out, and then just dumbly watch the vehicle creep backwards, gaining speed until it crashed into a nearby prefab.

The car was fine, of course, but those inside the prefab when it made contact weren't so lucky, especially anyone in the falling radius of the shelves and full crates held inside. It was nothing short of a miracle that no one got flattened.

The soldier responsible was getting torn a new one while someone else called for medical support, just to make sure no one was dying or anything. The worst Price could see from here was some bumps and bruises, someone holding a hand to their bleeding head.

"What is it now?" Price asked as he stepped up beside Ghost who lingered from a distance.

"Bloody idiot kept it in neutral, not park," Ghost tells him, arms crossed. "Didn't use the—" The moment you pop into view, medic bag in tow, Ghost's voice shifts like a switch had been flipped and all of the sudden that rolling thunder tone is gone like it was never there to begin with, "—parking brake. Hopefully it won't be a mistake made twice."

Price registers the words in his subconscious, but most of his attention is still on the fact that you had Ghost switching up mid sentence. And you weren't even within earshot. Just the fact that you were in his eyesight had Ghost lowering his voice, lightening his pitch.

He watches you flit around, grabbing the bleeding person and setting them down to start cleaning them up. All of his attention on you. Price is pretty sure that an ant wouldn't be able to crawl within 50 feet of you without Ghost knowing.

Part of Price wants to nip this in the bud, take Ghost aside and tell him to drop it. All of them know what being in this task force means. Having a distraction like this has a higher chance of being a hindrance than a benefit. If there ever comes a time where any of the 141 are in a situation where his sacrifice is non-negotiable, there cannot be hesitation. All of them know this.

But when the captain looks over at Ghost, he doesn't think about sacrifice. He doesn't see a muzzled war dog whose leash is held in Price's firm grip.

For the first time in a long time, Price recalls a young man with dark brown eyes that had seen too much too young, hair so blond it’s almost white, and the strongest sense of loyalty he's ever seen in a fellow soldier.

Price would never describe Ghost as a gentle man. Never a sweet man. But he starts to think that maybe Simon is.

This but y/n became very curvy and squishy after awhile of becoming a mom

Kinda like this

“I like them chunky.”

As much i bitch about pregnancy i will never regret it because it made me a mum and i love being a mother.I thought i knew what love was until i had my son and that feeling doubled💔

Batboys x Reader; Mum bod

Bruce Wayne

•Bruce notices everything. The softer stomach, fuller hips, the way your clothes sit differently.

•He doesn’t comment immediately ,he observes. Watches how you carry yourself first.

•One evening you’re changing, adjusting your shirt slightly, clearly aware of the difference.

* Bruce walks up behind you, rests his hands on your hips ,slower than usual.

•His thumbs press in just slightly, testing, appreciating.

“You’re different,” he says quietly.

•You tense a little. “Yeah.”

•He leans in, voice low near your ear:

“Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not complaining.”

•His hands slide around your waist, pulling you back into him.

• “You feel…” he pauses, choosing the word carefully,

“…better.”

•When you look at him like you don’t believe him, he just tilts your chin up.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

⸻

Dick Grayson

•Dick notices immediately and has zero restraint about it.

•You’re reaching for something and your shirt lifts slightly showing the curve of your ass,he just stops mid-sentence.

“…okay.”

•You turn. “What?”

He walks over, hands going straight to your ass like it’s instinct.

“When did this happen?”

“When did what happen?”

•He squeezes lightly, grinning:

“This. This is new. I’m a fan.”

•You roll your eyes, but he’s already pulling you closer.

“No, seriously,” he adds, voice dropping just a bit,

“I can’t stop looking at you.”

•Later he’ll casually rest his hand on your hip, thumb tracing slow circles like he’s distracting himself.

• If you ever get self-conscious, he just looks at you like you said something ridiculous.

“You think this is a downgrade? Babe, I’m winning.”

⸻

Jason Todd

•Jason notices and doesn’t sugarcoat anything -but not in a bad way.

• You’re sitting on the couch and he’s half-listening to something… then his hand lands on your thigh.

•He pauses.

•Squeezes once. Then again.

“…huh.”

• You narrow your eyes. “What.”

•He leans back, looking at you properly now.

“You got thicker.”

•You stare at him. “Wow. Thanks.”

•He immediately leans forward, hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer.

•”Hey-don’t do that. I didn’t say it like it’s a bad thing.”

• His voice drops, quieter now:

“I like it.”

•He slides his hands up and under your shirt and he grabs your breast.

“A lot.”

• Later, when you’re standing in the kitchen, he comes up behind you, hands settling on your hips like they belong there.

“Seriously,” he mutters, almost to himself,

“don’t go changing back on me.”

⸻

Tim Drake

•Tim notices but doesn’t say anything at first because he’s trying to figure out how to word it without sounding like an idiot. You catch him staring once. Then twice.

“Tim.”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

•He panics slightly.

“Like what?”

•You cross your arms. “Like you’re analyzing me.”

•He exhales, gives up, and walks over.

•His hands hover before settling on your waist, tentative at first.

•“…you changed.”

* You sigh. “I know.”

“No-I mean…”he shakes his head, trying again,

“you look really good.”

•You raise a brow. “Yeah?”

•He nods, more certain now, fingers pressing in just slightly.

“ Yeah. Like… I didn’t expect to like it this much, but I do.”

• He gets embarrassed immediately after saying it, but doesn’t move his hands away.

•If anything, he holds on a little tighter.

⸻

Damian Wayne

Damian notices immediately. Of course he does.

•You’re walking past him and he just says:

“You have changed.”

•You stop. “That’s one way to put it.”

•He stands, approaches you slowly, gaze focused.

• His hands settle on your waist - firm, grounding.

“Your form is… different.”

•You brace yourself slightly.

• Then he adds, without hesitation:

“It suits you.”

• His thumbs press into your hips, testing the shape like he’s memorizing it.

• “You are softer,” he says, almost thoughtfully.

• You start to pull away, embarrassed -he stops you immediately.

•“Do not mistake my tone. I find it… highly appealing.”

His voice lowers just slightly on the last words.

•After that, he’s subtly more touchy…

•hand at your waist

•guiding you with light pressure

•fingers lingering longer than before

Invisible Heart

Part 1 - part 2 - part 3

The thing about dying, you discovered, was that it was simultaneously more dramatic and more boring than you'd expected.

There were machines beeping, bright lights overhead, people in scrubs moving with purposeful urgency. Very medical drama. Very exciting.

But there were also long stretches of nothing—waiting for test results, waiting for doctors, waiting for your heart to decide whether it was going to keep beating or just give up entirely. That part was boring. Tedious, even.

You drifted in and out of consciousness, catching fragments.

"—severe dilated cardiomyopathy—"

"—why wasn't she on a transplant list—"

"—Guardian? We need to contact—"

"—Bruce Wayne, apparently, but no one's answering—"

That tracked. Of course no one was answering. It was gala night. The Waynes had more important things to do than answer calls about their dying daughter.

Except they didn't know you were dying, did they? Because you'd never told them. Because Bruce had kicked you out of his office. Because no one had cared enough to notice.

"We'll keep trying," someone said, and you wanted to laugh. Good luck with that.

At some point—hours? minutes? time was weird—you surfaced enough to find a doctor standing by your bed. She was older, South Asian, with kind eyes and tired features.

"Hello," she said gently when she noticed you were awake. "I'm Dr. Kaur. You're at Gotham General Hospital. Do you remember what happened?"

"Bus bench," you croaked. Your throat was raw. "Couldn't breathe."

"You had a cardiac event. A very serious one. Your heart is—" She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Your heart is very sick. You have dilated cardiomyopathy. Were you aware of this diagnosis?"

"Yes."

"And you were being treated?"

"Was. Ran out of medication."

Her expression shifted—not quite anger, but close. Frustration, maybe. Disappointment in the systems that had failed you. "How long have you been without your medication?"

"Day and a half."

"And before that? Were you taking it regularly?"

"When I could afford to refill it."

Dr. Kaur's jaw tightened. "You're sixteen years old. You should not be managing a life-threatening heart condition on your own." She pulled up a chair, sat down like she had all the time in the world even though you could hear the chaos of the ER beyond the curtain. "We've been trying to reach your father, Bruce Wayne. We've called multiple times, but—"

"He won't answer." Your voice was flat. "He's at a gala tonight. Important people, important causes. He won't answer."

"We'll keep trying. You're a minor. We need parental consent for treatment, and we need medical history, and—"

"I can consent," you interrupted. "Emancipated minor laws. If my guardian is unavailable and it's an emergency, I can consent to life-saving treatment. I looked it up."

You had, actually. Months ago, when you first got diagnosed and realized you were on your own. Just in case.

Dr. Kaur looked at you for a long moment, something sad and angry warring in her expression. "You're sixteen," she repeated, softer this time. "You should not have to know those laws."

"Yeah, well." You tried to shrug, but moving hurt. "Here we are."

"Here we are," she echoed. She pulled out a tablet, started pulling up screens. "All right. Let me tell you what's happening. Your heart is functioning at about thirty percent capacity. That's dangerously low. We've started you on IV medications to help support your heart function, and we're running tests to determine the full extent of the damage. But I need to be honest with you—this is very serious. You should have been in treatment months ago."

"I was trying," you said, and hated how defensive you sounded. "I went to a clinic. Got diagnosed. Got medication. I was taking it. I just—ran out."

"Why didn't you get a refill?"

Because you were alone. Because you had no money. Because asking for help meant admitting how bad things were, and you'd been so sure you could handle it yourself.

Because you were tired of being a burden no one wanted to carry.

"Complicated," you said finally.

Dr. Kaur's eyes were too understanding. "I'm going to keep trying to reach your family. In the meantime, is there anyone else we can call? Other family members? Friends?"

Your friends. God, your friends. You were supposed to be at Dani's house right now, eating tamales and watching movies. They were probably wondering where you were.

"My phone," you said. "Where's my phone?"

"The paramedics brought your belongings. Hold on." She stepped away, returned with a plastic bag containing your waterlogged phone, your wallet, your keys. The phone screen was more crack than glass now, but when you pressed the button, it miraculously turned on.

Seventeen missed calls. Thirty-four texts.

Dani: where are you???

Marco: yo you were supposed to be here an hour ago

Jas: this isn't funny anymore. call us back

Dani: im actually worried now. please respond

Marco: if youre dead im going to kill you

Jas: we're calling the police

Dani: no wait marco found your location. your phones at gotham general. WHAT THE HELL

All three: OMW

The last text was from fifteen minutes ago.

"My friends are coming," you told Dr. Kaur. Your voice cracked. "They're—they'll be here soon."

"Good. That's good." She made a note on her tablet. "I'll let the nurse know to send them back when they arrive. But sweetie, we really do need to reach your father. There are decisions that need to be made, and—"

"He won't come." You said it with certainty, with the weight of sixteen years of evidence. "You can keep calling. But he won't come. Not for me."

"Let's try one more time." Dr. Kaur pulled out her phone, dialed the number the hospital had on file. You could hear it ringing on speaker.

One ring. Two. Three. Four.

"You've reached Bruce Wayne—"

She hung up, tried another number. "Is there an alternate contact? An assistant, maybe?"

"Alfred Pennyworth. He's—" What was Alfred, exactly? Butler felt reductive. Guardian felt inaccurate. "He takes care of things at the house. He might answer."

You didn't have Alfred's number. You'd never needed it. But Dr. Kaur got it from the hospital records—apparently it was listed as an emergency contact, which was more than Bruce had managed—and dialed.

It rang once before a familiar, cultured voice answered. "Pennyworth speaking."

"Mr. Pennyworth, this is Dr. Kaur at Gotham General Hospital. I'm calling about—" She glanced at you, and you nodded. "About your—about Miss Wayne. She's been admitted with a cardiac emergency."

There was a beat of silence. Then: "I beg your pardon?"

"She collapsed earlier today. She's stable now, but her condition is very serious. We've been trying to reach Mr. Wayne, but—"

"He's at the gala. They all are. I'll—give me ten minutes. I'm on my way."

He hung up. Dr. Kaur looked at you. "He's coming."

"Yeah." You felt something loosen in your chest. Alfred was coming. It wasn't the same as your father, wasn't the same as the family you'd wanted your whole life, but it was something. "He's good like that."

"I'll be back to check on you in a bit. Try to rest." She paused at the curtain. "Your friends are lucky to have you. I hope you know that."

"I'm lucky to have them," you corrected.

She smiled, sad and knowing, and left you alone with the beeping machines and your failing heart.

You closed your eyes, just for a moment.

You woke to the sound of barely contained panic.

"—just found her like this? On a bench? In the rain? What the actual fuck—"

"Marco, you need to calm down, they're going to kick us out—"

"I don't care! She could have died! She—" His voice cracked. "She almost did die, Dani."

"I know. I know. But she didn't. She's okay. She's—"

"She's awake," Jasmine said quietly, and three faces swiveled toward you.

They looked terrible. Dani's eyes were red and puffy from crying. Marco's jaw was clenched so tight you worried about his teeth. Jasmine's usual composed mask had cracked, revealing raw worry underneath.

"Hey," you said weakly.

"Hey?" Marco's voice pitched up. "Hey? You almost die and that's all you've got? 'Hey?'"

"Marco—" Dani warned.

"No! No, she doesn't get to just—" He was pacing now, all nervous energy and unleashed fear. "We've been terrified! You sent that text—just 'help,' that's it, that's all we got—and then nothing! Your location showed the hospital and we thought—we thought—"

"I'm sorry," you said, and your voice broke. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"What happened?" Jasmine asked. She'd pulled a chair up to your bedside, was holding your hand like she was afraid you'd disappear. "The truth this time. No deflecting."

So you told them. About the diagnosis three months ago, about the medication you'd been managing alone, about running out of pills and not knowing how to get more. About trying to tell Bruce and being dismissed. About the texts from the mysterious stalker. About collapsing on a bus bench in the rain.

By the time you finished, Dani was crying again, and Marco had stopped pacing to grip the rail of your hospital bed so hard his knuckles were white.

"You should have told us," Jasmine said. Her voice was steady, but her hand was shaking. "We could have helped."

"How? You're seventeen, sixteen, and seventeen. What were you going to do?"

"Literally anything!" Marco exploded. "We could have—I don't know, helped you pay for medication, or made you go to the doctor, or told your family, or—something! Anything would have been better than you handling this alone!"

"I didn't want to be a burden—"

"A burden?" Dani's voice was sharp. "You think—God, do you really think that's how we see you? As a burden?"

"You have your own problems—"

"So? Everyone has problems! That's life! That doesn't mean you have to face everything alone!" She was crying harder now, ugly-crying in a way that would have been embarrassing in any other context. "You're our best friend. You matter. You matter so much, and the fact that you don't know that is—it's—"

"It's fucked up," Marco finished. "It's completely fucked up. Your family doesn't see you, fine, they're emotionally constipated billionaire vigilantes, whatever. But we see you. We've always seen you."

"You're not invisible to us," Jasmine added quietly. "You never have been."

Something inside you broke. Not your heart—that was already broken, literally and figuratively. Something else. Some wall you'd built to keep yourself together, to keep the pain manageable.

You started crying, and once you started, you couldn't stop. Great, heaving sobs that made your chest hurt worse but felt necessary, like lancing a wound. All the fear and loneliness and exhaustion you'd been holding in for months—years, really—came pouring out.

Your friends held you. Dani on one side of the bed, Jasmine on the other, Marco standing at the foot, all of them anchoring you to the world, reminding you that you weren't alone even when it felt like you were.

"I'm scared," you finally gasped out between sobs. "I'm so scared. My heart is—they said it's really bad. And I don't know what's going to happen, and my family doesn't care, and—"

"We care," Dani said fiercely. "We care so much."

"We're not going anywhere," Marco added. "You're stuck with us."

"Even if you want to get rid of us," Jasmine said, attempting lightness. "Especially then."

You laughed, wet and messy. "I don't want to get rid of you."

"Good. Because we're going to be super annoying about this. We're talking daily check-ins, medication reminders, doctor's appointment escorts—the works."

"You don't have to—"

"We want to," Dani interrupted. "Let us be here for you. Please."

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

A nurse poked her head in. "Sorry, visiting hours are technically over, but—oh." She took in the scene—you crying, your friends clustered around, all of you holding onto each other like lifelines. "I'll give you a few more minutes."

"Thank you," Jasmine said.

The nurse left, and you settled back into the terrible hospital pillows, exhausted from crying but feeling lighter somehow. Less alone.

"Did they reach your family?" Marco asked after a moment.

"Alfred's coming. He should be here soon."

"And your dad?"

"At the gala. Won't answer."

"I'm going to key his car," Marco announced.

"You don't even know which one is his."

"I'll key all of them. Every single Batmobile or whatever the hell he drives."

"That's the Batmobile," you corrected automatically. "His regular cars are—"

"Don't care. Keying them all."

Despite everything, you smiled. "I love you guys."

"We love you too," Dani said. "So much."

"Even when you're being stupid and self-sacrificing," Marco added.

"Especially then," Jasmine agreed.

You closed your eyes, feeling their presence, their warmth, their fierce protectiveness. Your family might not have shown up, but your people had.

That had to count for something.

Alfred arrived twenty minutes later, and the change in energy was immediate. He swept into your room like a force of nature, all British composure on the surface but with worry radiating from every line of his body.

"Miss," he said, and his voice was rough in a way you'd never heard before. "My dear girl."

Your friends stepped back, giving him space. He took Jasmine's vacated chair and immediately took your hand in both of his, studying your face with those sharp butler's eyes that missed nothing.

"I'm okay," you said automatically.

"You are decidedly not okay." He glanced at the monitors, at the IV in your arm, at your pale face. "How long have you been ill?"

"Three months. Diagnosed, I mean. Probably longer than that."

His expression did something complicated—pain, guilt, anger, all carefully controlled. "And you didn't tell anyone."

"I tried. Bruce—" Your voice caught. "I tried to tell him. He was busy."

Alfred's jaw tightened. "I see."

"It's not your fault," you added quickly. "You have so much to manage. I didn't want to add to it."

"My dear child." His voice was gentle but firm. "You are never an addition to my burdens. Never. Do you understand? You are part of this family, whether they remember to act like it or not."

"They're at the gala," you said. Stating the obvious, but it felt important somehow. "All of them. Together. Being the perfect Wayne family."

"I will call them immediately—"

"Don't." You grabbed his hand tighter. "Please don't. Not tonight. Let them have their gala. I'll still be here tomorrow."

"This is a medical emergency—"

"I'm stable. The doctor said so. And if you call Bruce now, he'll be angry that I interrupted his important event. He'll come because he has to, not because he wants to. I don't—" Your voice cracked. "I don't want that. I'd rather be here with Alfred, who actually cares, than have Bruce show up out of obligation."

Alfred looked at you for a long moment, and you saw the war in his expression—duty versus compassion, protocol versus your obvious pain.

"Very well," he said finally. "But first thing tomorrow morning, I will inform them. This cannot continue."

"Okay."

"And I will be staying here with you tonight."

"You don't have to—"

"I am staying," he repeated, in a tone that brooked no argument. "End of discussion."

You nodded, too tired to fight.

He turned to your friends, who'd been watching the exchange with interest. "And you three must be the friends she speaks so highly of."

"She speaks about us?" Marco looked surprised.

"Occasionally. Usually when she's trying to avoid discussing her own wellbeing." Alfred's expression softened. "Thank you for being there for her. For seeing her when others did not."

"She's our best friend," Dani said simply. "Of course we're here."

"Yeah, you couldn't get rid of us if you tried," Marco added.

"I have no intention of trying. In fact—" Alfred pulled out his phone. "I would like your contact information, if you're comfortable sharing. Someone should know how to reach her support system."

They exchanged numbers, and you watched through heavy eyelids, feeling a weird sense of worlds colliding. Alfred and your friends, the two parts of your life that actually cared, coordinating.

Maybe tomorrow would be terrible. Maybe Bruce would show up angry or indifferent. Maybe your brothers would be uncomfortable and distant. Maybe this whole thing would just reinforce how little you mattered in the grand scheme of Wayne family dynamics.

But tonight, you had Alfred and your friends, and you were alive, and that was enough.

Dr. Kaur returned, ushering your friends out with promises that they could visit tomorrow. They hugged you goodbye—carefully, mindful of the wires and IVs—and left with backward glances and worried expressions.

"I'll text you," Dani called from the door.

"Constantly," Marco added. "Like, annoyingly often."

"We'll coordinate a schedule," Jasmine said, ever practical.

Then they were gone, and it was just you and Alfred and the steady beep of the heart monitor.

"Rest," Alfred said, still holding your hand. "I'll be right here."

"Don't you need to get back? The gala—"

"The gala will manage without me. You will not."

You wanted to argue, but exhaustion was pulling you under. "Alfred?"

"Yes, Miss?"

"Thank you. For coming. For caring."

"Always," he said quietly. "I am sorry I didn't see this sooner. I am sorry you felt you had to face this alone."

"Not your fault."

"Perhaps. But I should have looked closer. Should have noticed. That is my failure, not yours."

You wanted to say more, wanted to absolve him of guilt he didn't deserve, but sleep was claiming you. The last thing you heard before you drifted off was Alfred's voice, quiet and determined:

"I will make this right. I promise you, my dear girl. I will make them see."

(Ch. 1) (Ch. 4)

(Ch. 2) (Ch. 5)

(Ch. 3) Ch. 6 <-

(Ch. 3.05). Masterlist

Jason: “Why? Who comes up in the system?”

Tim: “It’s… (name)!?”

Silence cut trough the coms like a knife (if we ignore the loud crescendo of the silver tray that Alfred was carrying falling to the floor) as the vigilantes all stood / kneeled around your body taking in the face they have seemed to ignore for all these years. Days old eyeliner fading into the dark circles under your eyes, the hyper pigmentation from the acne you had over the years on your cheeks, the slightly chapped lips that only now. Seemed to be glossy from the bile surrounding you and the bile, the alcoholic stomach acid and blood that is seeping into your closes and your hair. Bruce, as silent as he is, kneels down in-front of your body and next to Jason. Slowly, with hesitation, he wipes away some of the vomit, acid, blood alcohol mixture off your face so he could look at you properly. And in that moment, something brakes in him. Something that was originally broke when his parents died, that broke again when Jason died, and now it braking again seeing you there lying in front of him motionless. A child he was meant to protect. His child. His daughter. The small girl he never payed attention to ever since she stepped into the manor, not glancing when Alfred essentially became your father, not seeing the signs that you were spiralling, that you needed your father to be there ever since your mom died. And now here you are, essentially dead after everything.

The silence was broken with Tim’s voice cracking through the comms. “Bad timing but the ambulance is pulling up outside right now, along with commissioner Gordon and a couple other police officers sopping out the area.”

The silence was broken with Tim’s voice cracking through the comms. “Bad timing but the ambulance is pulling up outside right now, along with commissioner Gordon and a couple other police officers sopping out the area.”

Bruce doesn’t respond to what was said, but instead he scoops you up into his arms (just like what he did with Jason) and starts to walk toward the entrance. Through the toilet door and the trough, the multiple hallways. Both Dick and Jason where walking behind him grief and guilt consuming everyone as they walk through the halls of the warehouse. As they got closer to entrance rain started hitting the roof. At first it was gradual, but it quickly became soo aggressive that it sounded like hail smashing against any material possible.

Once they reached the main/front part of the warehouse, red and blue lights filled the filled the room and as if on cue the few, people that were still lurking about stated to leave, leaving the 1-3 individuals that were passed out behind. Pushing the door open, Bruce (while using his cape to shield you from the rain) walks straight to the paramedics handing you over to the medical professionals. Who removed you from his arms and placed you into gorney and started checking your vitals/ your condition. Words like ‘Naloxone’, ‘weak pulse’ and ‘breathing’ tube were being used but those were the only words that Bruce can actually hear as everything else was muffled as he watched the paramedics lofty you into the ambulance, closed the door and driveway.

Bruce continues to stare off inept he distances, as he watches the ambulance drive away with you in it. Only once the ambulance is out of sight Bruce walks towards the Batmobile that magically teleported to the front of the warehouse. He walks past commissioner Gordon, who was getting information about what happened inside from nightwing, and gets in the Batmobile. He does not drive away from the warehouse just yet, but instead he just sits there (still in a state of shock from seeing his daughter in an almost dead state) as the engine rumbled to life. Gordon ask Nightwing and Red hood about what is going on but even they did not mention anything about it other than mentions of a civilian that over dosed.

After that both Nightwing and Red Hood walked away from commissioner Gordon and into the bat mobile. Not in the same guilt-ridden way as batman but there was still a sense of guilt coming from the three vigilantes. Once Bruce saw in the rearview mirror that both of his son’s were in the Batmobile, he then drove away, not in the direction of the hospital, but towards the manor instead. To Bruce it wouldn’t be right for him to visit you now in costume. Plus, he was somewhat sure that the hospital would call the manor by the time he got to there to inform about [name].

By the time the Batmobile pulled into the cave the initial shock of seeing your limp body has mostly passed, but there was still that lingering feeling of guilt and shame for letting this gastric to you. For not even knowing what was even happening to you.

Tim had pulled up a file on you onto on of the bat mobile screens and the lack of info is surprising. Even the workers at Bat-burger had more information about what they done last week compared to you. All that was included in the files was your age, full legal name, your old height, and an image of you when you were really young and you had box braids that barely touched your shoulder. The original image was a picture of you and your mom pressed together cheek to cheek smiling but it was cropped so only your face was showing and the only slither of your mom being in that picture is the light brown wig strand that whispers across your face from the wind.It was one of the last recorded moments of you being happy…genuinely happy and that just seems to make the current situation hit worse.

Everyone’s eyes avoided those bright digital ones as Tim explained how he pulled up your files and saw no information that could help but when he looked at the the Gotham cameras planted around the city using the embarrassingly old picture for the face identifying system and multiple clips pulled up with you either buying drugs, hiding drugs in multiple parts of the city (most of it being out of frame but they can see enough) and you walking into dark allies doing god knows what only to re emerge hours later, hair disheveled, bottle in hand and stumbling out of frame.

Jason: Jesus how long has this been going on?

Tim: months, even longer… these clips date back for a while. Possibly even a year or more.

Dick: A YEAR?! And we never noticed… not even once?

Tim: Looking back now, the signs were pretty obvious. She was pretty avoidant with us, leaving rooms before we even entered, never looked like she was actually present in the rare cases that we did talk to her. Even Stephanie mentioned that when she first met [name] she seamed high…

Jason: She probably got like this after her mom died and the grief became too much. And we did nothing to help her.

Dick falls onto sofa…dread sticking to him like honey.

Dick: All the signs were right there and we just ignored her. All the times where we should have been their as her siblings, her family, a support system and we just let her break down..

Jason plops down on the sofa next to dick and places his helmet next to him.

Jason: I should of seen the signs, the same ones my mum had…how can I just let this happen to her.

Dick: I’m sure Alfred is effected more than us. He raised them all these years.

Jason: Where is Alfred?

Tim: once it came to light that the body was [name], he went upstairs and assent come back down since…

Dick: Let's give him some space for the time being.

And just like that, the cave fell into a daunting silence fell over the cave and the vigilantes removed their suits, with their mind clouded of “memories” of you (or what they believe is you) clouding their minds. Their suits feel now feel like they weigh a thousand pounds more than usual. The guilt of failing their own family to the point of that they are now (possibly) fighting for their life in hospital. That guilt now bashes them feel like they shouldn’t be Gotham protectors if they couldn’t protect you.

Once they change back into their civilian clothes, each of them left the cave one by one until the cave became empty. Bruce locked the entrance behind and walked out the library. Each of that his remains kids that were awake disappeared to different parts of the manor. Tim went to his room, Dick went to the indoor gym and Jason was in a hidden part of the library. That just Left Bruce to wonder around the manor. Looking at family portraits that decorate the halls from over the years that never seemed to include you even when you first joined the manor.

It was about fifteen minutes into Bruce’s aimless wondering (as he was thinking about all the chances, he had to be a better father to you and failed) when he ended up in front of a door that was cracked open a bit. Curiosity got him as he opened up the door and was greeted to a minimal decorated bedroom. All the room had was posters of old shows and bands on the walls, a desk with a worn-out hoodie sitting of the chair. There where a couple of missalenious items scattered around but what really caught his attention was Alfred, who was sitting on the edge of the bed with a picture frame in hand.

Is was an old picture of you and Alfred baking. The both of you had aprons while your’s was pink with purple accents Alfred’s was a simple dark grey. You had flour on your face and some on your outstretched hands (you were trying to get some on Alfred when the picture was taken) and the biggest smile adorned your face that captured the joy of the memory ever so perfectly.

Without saying anything Bruce sat next to the butler but leaving space in between them. Alfred felt a dip in the and instantly snapped out of his daze.

Alfred: My apologies master Bruce. I didn’t know you have arrived back to the manor, I shall prepare the first aid kit.

Bruce: No need for that, it was only minor bruising and scratches. But what are you doing here?

Alfred: This is master [name]’s room. It doesn’t hold much character, just a few sentimental items collected a while back.

Bruce: I should have been there over the years…given her the attention she should have gotten

Alfred: She was bound to lose to the cowl when it came to having your attention Master Bruce.

Alfred leaves the room leaving Bruce alone in his thoughts (and the photo of you on the bed) surrounded but the subtle marks you have left in your room. Bruce picks up the the framed photograph and looks at your face. His fingers brush over the glass protecting your features, he stares at the face that has little to non of his features but all of your mothers.

Bruce has not being a present part of your life may have been part of a ripple effect that led you to end up how you did. But even though its now probably way too late to try, he wants to try to at least be more present in your life. He wants to control you care for you, monitor you be there for you so you don’t fall into the same hole you are currently in.

Bruce sighs as he finally put down the picture frame and drags his hand down his face. As he stands up he sees a floor board by your bed lifted and what seems to be things hidden underneath it. The curiosity of a detective takes over and he kneels down and removes the floor board entirely. Inside was a battered shoe box, the colours and labels have faded over time and the corners are showing signs of being warn out.

Opening the box, Bruce face shifts into a state of shock. The box was filled with multiple little bags filled with pills, some filled with powders there was also miniature versions of liquors bottles along with one bottle of whisky that Bruce specifically remembering being stashed away in the back of his office cubbord. Some cash was also there along with a burner phone. Bruce takes his time going through the content of the box his personal phone rings with the number that he recognises as the Gotham Hospital. He answers the phone and puts it up to his ear.

Bruce: Hello?

Gotham Hospital reception worker: Good evening, Mr Wayne. We have your daughter [Name] [last name] – Wayne at the hospital.

Bruce (acting shocked): Oh My- IS SHE OKAY?

🐺//

Another cliffhanger i know im sorry 😭😭

I had to read previous chapters again 😭

This is a shorter chapter I’m sorry for that I just wanted the chapter to focus less on the reader on more on the Batfam’s guilts towards the reader.

I’m also going on hiatus until this uni year is over I’m already a few months in and had too many crash outs over deadlines.

Don’t get me wrong, I will be working on chapters and suggestions if I get anything but nothing will be posted until I after I finish this year sorry my omegas but your strong muscular CEO Alpha needs their degree 😔😔

Taglist (status: CLOSED)

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Tags not working will be the death of me. Istgggggggggggggggg

DAMIAN’S IN HIS FEELINGS!

(and he can’t get out of it) chapter 1 → chapter 2

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ summary: Damian Wayne had a heart of gold. His hands were gentle, his voice soft, his arms aching to wrap around somebody. Yet, he was convinced love was something he could never have. Perhaps it was a consequence of his childhood, or maybe he was right: everyone he loved was bound to leave him eventually. His siblings seemed to have an easier time with matters of the heart, and were determined to show him it was not the minefield he imagined after he grew the courage to ask for help. Of course, despite their efforts, the only one who could make him see he is deserving of it was you.

CW: female reader; slow burn; pining longing yearning; not actually unrequited love; friends to lovers; mentions of death & violence; mental health issues; angst with a happy ending; damian has undiagnosed PTSD; damian wayne needs a hug (he gets it) </3; damian and reader are freshmen in college; jon kent and damian wayne bestfriendism!1!1!; flashbacks (written in italics); may be ooc, but this is how i characterise damian so #ToMe it’s totally right.

wc: 2.4k cross-posted on AO3 <3

Damian Wayne prided himself on being disciplined. His life was very different in Gotham than it used to be in Nanda Parbat—better, in a way. At least, in Gotham, he could afford to be a boy rather than a weapon.

It took years of violence, aggressiveness to become what he was then. He no longer had the claws of the League scratching his skin at every move, reminding him where he came from and what he was raised to be, to do. Damian Wayne had made himself grow into a gentleman. He paints, he writes poetry in a language only he understands, he was studying to take care of people for a living and he already did that every night under the mantle of Robin.

Damian Wayne had made himself a good person. He guessed that his siblings had some credit in it, but if he hadn’t wanted to be good he wouldn’t have been.

He liked having friends. He could say, maybe not out loud yet, that he appreciated his friends. Though the word “friend” was reserved for a few: Jon, Nika, and you. Damian liked his classmates, sure, and some of them seemed to enjoy conversing with him, but were they friends? Not really.

Were you?

He reckoned you were friends, and had been since Gotham Academy. Damian had read in books, or heard in movies, or maybe it was Stephanie who told him that the line between friendship and something more was on occasion blurry. He had a feeling he knew what they meant by something—the problem was, he was uncertain he wanted to know.

That kind of love was a matter he wasn’t really acquainted with. He’d seen Dick with Barbara a few times, Stephanie with Cassandra, and he’d been around Tim and his boyfriend enough to both hate them and understand what PDA meant. Context was one thing, though, standing in the centre of it was another.

Just thinking about it made him nervous. Nervous. Ridiculous. He’s fought actual demons, and what got him was a girl.

He was sure your feelings were a pale shadow of his own, anyway. Maybe if he wished hard enough, that would change, but he was smarter than that.

Every time he mulled the topic he arrived to the same conclusion: Damian Wayne was not a man suited for love.

When he walked into the 7-Eleven where you worked after his afternoon classes, he found you perched on the counter, your eyes fixed on your phone. The store was empty—you rarely had many customers, anyway. A TV Girl track drifted through the stillness, competing only with the low hum of the coolers.

“Which one is this?” he asked as a greeting, walking towards the counter until he stood right in front of you.

You didn’t look up. “Hate Yourself,” you replied. “My manager finally let me play my own playlist, only when I’m working the shift by myself.” He hummed.

It was then that you raised your head to meet his eyes, and smiled at him. He noticed you were nibbling on candy. “Stealing from your job?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No.” You huffed, amused, tucking the candy into your cheek to leave room for a grin. From behind the counter, you produced a bowl of hard candies, with wrappers of all colors.

“Is that yours?”

“The store needed to be a bit more whimsical.”

Damian smirked. “If I had to wear that hideous uniform I’d want to do that, too.”

You frowned, and looked down at your grey uniform shirt. Then, with a glare, you protested:

“Hey, I make it look cute.”

”It’s still ugly,” objected Damian.

You rolled your eyes at him, though you couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you.

“Just grab whatever you want and leave me alone.” At his chuckle, you waved him off.

He came back with a cherry Slurpee and an Italian Sub sandwich. You eyed him while ringing his food up.

“You’re not having lunch at your house?” you asked him. “$8.39 total,” you added.

Damian shook his head while grabbing his wallet. “Exam at seven.” You grimaced. “I know, it sucks.” He sighed.

“It’s in times like these I’m grateful for not having afternoon classes.”

Once the transaction was done, you leaned over the counter again. Damian’s gaze remained anchored to your face, even as your focus retreated once more to your phone. After a beat, he leaned forward to match your stance, the sound of tearing plastic from his sandwich filling the space between you.

Usually, Damian craved the silence; in the chaotic halls of the Manor, he often found himself praying for it. Here, however, the quiet felt treacherous. It sat heavy and awkward between you, sharpened by the fact that you were smiling at your phone, lost in something that didn’t include him. Judging by that, he could assume the quiet was only awkward for him. He narrowed his eyes, an instinctive pinch that he’d sooner die than admit was jealousy.

“Are you,” he started, trying to sound uninterested, “texting someone?”

He paused, eyes focused as he scrutinised the specific curve of your mouth. He was looking for a tell. That particular, fluttering nervousness in a smile that signalled a secret. A someone.

Uncharacteristic —though lately it became quite frequent— panic began to spiral in his chest. You would tell him if you were meeting someone, wouldn’t you? He was your best friend, even if the label had started to feel short for him.

If there was someone else, the geometry of your friendship would shift. He could envision it even then—unanswered texts, less and less hangouts when both of you were free and the eventual, agonising solitude of being replaced once again.

Once again. Once again.

“Yeah, Jon,” you replied, straightening up to stretch your arms.

The tension bled from Damian’s shoulders so abruptly it was near a flinch. Before you could catch the shift in his expression, he jerked his gaze away. He retreated to his lunch, taking a jagged bite of the sandwich.

It tasted like freezer, a far cry from the food at his home. But the Manor was too far, and the comfort of Alfred’s cooking would cost him being late to his exam. More than that, the Manor didn’t have you leaning close to him, silence filled with your favourite playlist instead of his siblings’ voices.

“He says he failed his driving test,” you told him. “Again. How many times can you fail a driving test until they tell you ‘sorry, you’re banned from driving’?”

Jon’s helplessness to drive a car was a mystery to Damian, considering he had driven before. If he could drive his Batmobile —it happened once, Damian swears— how was a Ford Fiesta challenging to control?

Honestly, the guy could fly. Damian guessed birds didn’t have ‘do not overtake’ signs and he got confused. You didn’t know that. They couldn’t tell you, not yet. It would be dangerous, his father had warned. To you, Jon was stupid and Damian was an insomniac.

It wasn’t that far from the truth.

“I can keep driving you both places,” he offered. “Until you get your license, that is.”

“I’m doing way better than him on my tests, though. Will you both be my passenger princesses when I get it?” you asked, teasingly, with a beaming smile.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Aw, you love me so much.”

A sudden, traitorous heat climbed the back of his neck, prickling at the tips of his ears. He was, in all honesty, blindsided. Not by the words, per se, but the casual, effortless way you had thrown them into the air.

It wasn’t the first time you’d teased him with… the L-word, dangling it like a shiny, inconsequential lure that was nothing but that, a word. But to him, it felt like a serrated edge.

It was…

He swallowed a dry mouthful of the Italian Sub. It was whatever. You didn’t mean it that way. You never did. To you, “love” was a lighthearted currency, a scrap of affection that you very easily said to all of your close ones. To Jon, to Lian, to Roy, even to Clark when the Kents visited Gotham.

You didn’t know that to him the word was a heavy thing he’d been trying to bury under the floorboards of his heart for months. Maybe for years, but now he was aware of it completely.

“What’s the exam about?”

Your voice made his attention return to you like a moth to a flame. His body betrayed him every time as it gravitated, uncontrollably, towards you.

“Neuroscience,” he replied curtly, drumming the fingers of his free hand against the counter.

You gave one last look at your phone before clasping your hands together. “It’s 18:33,” you announced. “Maybe you should get going.”

Damian offered a mindless nod. He didn’t even finish his sandwich. Not like it saddened him or anything, but Alfred would be concerned when he arrived at the Manor and assaulted the kitchen.

“Maybe,” he echoed. “Are you busy this weekend?” he asked. The light raise of your eyebrows preceded a smile.

“No.” You shook your head. “Isn’t Jon coming this weekend? I guess you ask because of that.”

“Yes.” No. Truthfully he had forgotten Jon was going to visit them that weekend. “Yes, obviously. Grayson is still in Blüdhaven and Drake will too be out with his boyfriend,” he explained.

“It’s still funny to me that you address them by their last names.”

He blinked. “Not the point.”

You giggled softly, the sweet sound making a warm feeling settle on his chest.

“Okay, then,” you spoke again. “You’re offering to meet at your house?” He nodded. “Alright.”

“If you want to,” he added quickly. “Perhaps you… I don’t know, prefer a café? To change scenery. We’re always at the Manor when Jon comes to visit.”

You gave a noncommittal shrug. “Well it’s safe, and comfortable, and I can beat you both at Smash Bros,” you said, innocently smiling. “I can’t do that at a café.”

“Fine, fine.” His smirk mirrored the softness of your own smile. He grabbed his Slurpee from the counter. “Wish me luck.”

You straightened up, your expression shifting. He couldn’t put a finger on what changed, but it was close enough to his own when he was disappointed you’d leave. A look in your eyes that could mean ‘I wish you could stay longer’.

That wish was most likely built on friendship and nothing else—the whim to spend more time with your friend, just to fight the boredom that came with working a shift all by yourself and with no customers, to top it all.

He couldn’t afford to long for it to be something else entirely, for the heartbreak when the truth came would be greater.

“Good luck.” You waved amiably with a grin. “Text me when you’re home safe, you’ll get out late,” you called.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You be careful too.”

He’d be guarding you from the rooftops, still and all.

The door to the store closed behind him and he let out a breath that felt heavier than it was. He had to get a grip, quick. Ever since he came to terms with his feelings, and the fact that they were nowhere near platonic, he has lost all sense of self.

You were his best friend, first and foremost, he couldn’t just start acting differently and weird all of a sudden and expect you to not notice. He could in any way expect Jon not to notice, either, and that was if he hadn’t already caught on to his feelings for you. Knowing him, he had; he would keep it to himself until he noticed everything was to blow out of proportion and Damian would do something stupid, like pushing you away and cutting all contact.

The fact that the thought of himself doing that didn’t sound so unappealing was alarming.

He didn’t want to suddenly start ignoring you and leaving you to wonder why, but wouldn’t that be beneficial? Shouldn’t that make his growing feelings quell and eventually disappear until he could live with being your friend again? It surely made sense to him.

But he was new to this. He was new to everything, and he didn’t know what to do, and that frustrated him. It angered him. You deserved someone who knew what to do with what he wanted.

That someone wasn’t Damian, and he might have to just accept that and go on with his life.

Fortunately, Damian didn’t give up that easily. His stubbornness was a virtue intermittently.

Upon arriving at the Manor after his exam, he wasn’t thinking about the Circle of Willis. He was thinking about how hard it was to swallow his pride for what he was about to do.

He found the first floor’s living room empty, and so he started for the second floor. Bumping into Alfred, who claimed Stephanie and Tim were in the library, he remembered he was starving.

Saved it for later.

The door to the library opened abruptly, and even if neither of them flinched —vigilante reflexes, it was clear— Damian noticed Stephanie looked put out.

Well, reasonably. The desperation he felt was surely plastered all over his face.

They were sat at the long table set by Bruce so they could study and do their work in the library apart from their bedrooms.

“If you’re here to murder someone, at least let me finish my essay,” Tim imparted, his head bowed over his laptop and an open textbook.

“I need relationship advice,” Damian blurted out, before he could realise that it was a very bad idea and he had chosen the worse two options to be his advisors.

He expected both of them to kill themselves laughing at his request, it would’ve been the logical outcome. Instead, he was met with silence first, then:

“Finally,” Stephanie sighed.

Now he was the one put out.

“Sorry?”

Tim, then, asked if he wanted help with you, and at the sound of your name Damian stiffened.

Oh, had he been that obvious? That was embarrassing. He thought himself discreet with his emotions.

He simply nodded, feeling even the top of his head heating up in embarrassment.

“How did you—”

“It’s been obvious since you were sixteen,” Stephanie interrupted him. “Come, Dami, we know exactly what to do.” She grinned from ear to ear, teasingly using the nickname you called him by.

He was going to go into cardiac arrest.

Reluctantly, and grumbling under his breath, he sat down beside Tim, with Stephanie at the head of the table.

He sighed, as they began to speak, and as the seconds passed and his grimace deepened, he wondered more and more how their respective partners hadn’t broken up with them yet.

He should’ve waited until Dick came back from Blüdhaven.

a/n: hihihi! part one of thissss i don’t know how many chapters it will have, but i calculate around eleven or twelve + epilogue <3 aaa i wanted to write for damian again soo bad and an idea for a oneshot turned into A Whole Thing oops. better though. there is Foreshadowing for some things hehe… maybe it’s not that easy to catch but i promise it’s there and it will make sense and be resolved. i love jon with all my heart i’m so excited to write more about him too apart from this. apparently there are So Little fics for jon ??? we used to be a proper country guys lock in. i’ll also try to make this as canon compliant as possible because i don’t really like everyone’s fanon characterisation. i mean there are A Lot and they’re all … So fanon i explode. I KNOW damian is a sweetheart and A Loverboy i will die on this hill.

AnyWay maybe leave a little love and read you soon <3