𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒚

MILLY, taurus, INTP, DC Comics, Books, fanfics, Sabrina Carpenter, Brazillian

Damian Wayne x Reader

part one is here

The streets of Gotham are the busiest things [Name] had ever seen in her life. Cars cutting through traffic, pedestrians crossing, businesses operating every second, billboards and sound trucks on every corner… to any tourist, it would seem like a dream, only now she was no longer just a tourist, now she would be a resident, and, in a way, that scared her even more than her wedding day.

Mrs. Wayne, the name still felt strange under her tongue, a strangeness that shouldn't exist, given that she had been raised for this sole purpose.

The man beside her held the door of the Koenigsegg Gemara open for her to exit. Her husband, the man she had harbored animosity towards for longer than she had been a literate person, Damian Wayne, the vigilante who had partially abandoned the nightlife for college, the man who looked at her as if she were as insignificant as an ant.

“I see that the years with your father taught you chivalry.” Refusing the hand he offered her, [Name] stepped onto the checkered sidewalk in front of the enormous, luxurious residential building that stretched out before her.

“I’ve always been one, wife, I just didn’t see the need to be with you.” Her eyes rolled as she watched him speak to the chauffeur with impeccable fluency and excellence. “Did you like what you see? Don’t worry, you won’t have to share the bed with me, our house has several bedrooms for a reason.”

Relief washed over her, though in a way it was still desperate and agonizing to remain beside him, even though she disguised the suffocation she felt as she looked into the emerald eyes that had tried to decapitate her 13 years ago. The white line on her sun-bronzed neck was a constant reminder of the threat he had once represented and, in a way, still represents. The belt scars on her back, hidden by her dress, were a constant reminder of all the seventeen years of "training" to transform her into the perfect wife model. Work that now seemed disposable due to her exacerbated bad temper.

An uncomfortable silence settled between the newlyweds, a silence that, in a way, frightened her more than the mature tone of her husband's voice. A persistent feeling that all eyes on the street were on them and on the way she exuded naiveté about the city that everyone portrays as hell on Earth, "If they knew what it's really like to go through hell, they would be quiet." The thought was present, but soon drifted away like the wind that passed by them carrying the smell of sewage, waste, and garbage through the streets.

"I'm glad you prioritized that issue." Her lips finally managed to utter the words after being lost in thought. “Once we’re inside and truly settled in, we could discuss the pending matter of…” the word caught in her throat, forcing her to take a deep breath before continuing, “…heirs?”

It was clear and palpable how much this subject still bothered them. The idea of ​​bearing the children of the man who had tried to kill her and then handing them over to her grandparents completely horrified her. Even with all this, a pang of her thought about how unpleasant it would be for him to consummate the act with her, considering that not even on their “honeymoon” had he laid a finger on her, and his face clearly showed a disguised disgust at seeing her try to fulfill the roles she had been raised for, such as feeding him, clothing him, and other things. How could they hand over a child to go through the same thing they had?

His hand squeezed hers lightly, a movement that made her wonder when he had given her his hand and when she had accepted it and found it comforting.

Their apartment, if you could even call a two-story residence, with a glass wall overlooking the city, four bedrooms, three bathrooms, and everything in its proper place, an apartment.

“While I was away, I had a team organize the furniture and rooms, but you can make any adaptations you want. Your room is next to mine for security reasons. I'll leave the only key to it with you, and I guarantee I don't have any copies.” He said, guiding her inside with a hand on her lower back. “I want you to feel comfortable, because this is your home too. And about the heirs, don't feel obligated to give me one; I wouldn't want to give it to them either. Your comfort and well-being are more important than what my grandfather or yours will say about us… just take care of yourself.”

Before he could finally leave, [Name] held the tips of his fingers, feeling the tips of her husband's short nails as he looked at her, now at home, with almost invisible tenderness.

“Thank you, Damian.” His name left a strange taste in her taste buds. Letting go of the young security guard's hand and looking at the ceramic floor, she could feel him gazing at her for a few more seconds that felt like a decade, centuries, millennia.

The warmth of his fingers moving away from hers as he headed towards the kitchen brought her back to the present reality, a reality that, in a way, still seemed more comfortable than with her biological family.

“Okay, maybe he’s not such a jerk.” This thought finally gave her the strength to turn towards the kitchen and see him take a pan from the cupboard. The smell of rain approached along with the thunder that still reminded her of the times her grandmother yelled in her ear incessantly until she cried and vomited in despair. It was better to be married to the man she didn't even trust to sleep next to than to return to a roof where she had less freedom than a stray cat.

It was still strange to think that she was now married to a security guard; of course, she found out about his role as Robin after accidentally overhearing a conversation between him and her father, but even so, it was still somewhat surreal.

“[Name], I know it’s still early, but tomorrow we’ll have a gala so I can introduce you as my wife.”

A Wayne gala, the parties that everyone says are the most luxurious ever, not only attended by famous musicians, models, and rarely elite athletes, but also ambassadors, partners, shareholders, and the press. If she made the slightest slip-up, it wouldn't just be her who would be exposed and lynched in the media, but also Damian, his entire family, and eventually, she'd receive calls from her grandfather cursing her.

That was the problem with carrying a weighty surname; there are always high expectations and the pressure of carrying not only the world on your shoulders, but also the entire galaxy.

“Okay, how would you like me to dress?” In a way, trying to act like a little doll while living in a world where you didn't have to be everything and more was easy.

“However you want to dress, I'm not your owner or your dad to dictate your clothes and tastes.” The voice of the only man in that house reverberated through her bones, making her look at the floor again before turning around and going upstairs to her room.

That sad look on her face, which he saw constantly and couldn't get out of his mind, made him want to kill whoever had left her like that. He might be closed off and not very open, having seen her only once in childhood and several other times in secret without her or their families noticing, but even so, she was his woman, his wife.

Something about that woman captivated him, drew him in, and made him want to just look at her for endless hours.

What had they done to her? What was the reason she seemed to hate not only him but herself as a whole? Who was she behind the mask of the perfect wife, the mask of a malleable doll?

Who is his wife really, and why does she enchant him so much? That was the real doubt, the real question.

Sorry for the months it took to update again, but I was studying like crazy and finishing reading ToG, so I couldn't update.

Damian Wayne x Reader

So... is this my husband?

[Name] knew from an early age that she would marry Damian Al Ghul; she had been raised for that very purpose for business reasons.

Ever since her parents were murdered by her grandfather, Asael Novalyn, a pioneer in human trafficking and Ra's Al Ghul's main supplier of slaves and weapons, [Name] had been promised to Damian. They only saw each other once when they were both 8 years old, and he was nothing more than a self-centered, narcissistic child who threatened to slit her throat if she touched an inch of his skin.

When they learned that Damian had moved to the USA, a foolish thought that the engagement was over crossed the young [Name]'s mind, which was soon corrected by a slap in the face from Ansel that left her with blood in her mouth and mouth ulcers that took days to heal.

And now here she was in a golden dress with gold and precious stones, surrounded by gifts and people she barely knew or had never even seen before, wishing her "congratulations" for having landed a noble man of virtuous blood like Damian.

Noble?Virtuous?The man who doesn't even look at me? She thought as she smiled and thanked them for their blessings and felt all her hairs stand on end when she saw Ra's handing Ansel an envelope spilling out bills and more bills of money. She had practically been bought, as if she were a toy.

The repulsive disgust rose in her throat, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. She couldn't cry, because if she did, she would ruin the whole party and her makeup would be ruined.

Calculated footsteps approached her, footsteps that clearly made noise so she could hear them and prepare an Oscar-worthy smile. The strong, woody scent of her now husband— the title still seemed strange to her—entered her nostrils, followed by a soft touch on her shoulder.

"I know you didn't want to do this, neither did I, but we only need to stay married for four years to complete the contract." To be honest, remembering the date of the contract didn't help at all, it just reminded her that she would have four years to give the Al Ghuls a new heir and pretend to love Damian more than herself. "My father, my brothers, and my sisters are here. Come sit with us, and at least they'll spare you from having to smile all the time."

A heavy sigh escaped her lips, accompanied by a mocking, hurt laugh. "When we leave for our honeymoon, what will you do? Report my behavior to my grandfather? Make me your servant?" The mockery was evident in her voice, and consequently, so was the hurt.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not the kind of man who enslaves women, especially my wife, even if I dislike her as much as you do." He had changed, that much was

evident. Apparently, moving in with his father had done him good, but that didn't mean he wasn't just acting this way to avoid attracting unwanted attention.

"Oh Lord Al Ghul, I'm sorry to have assumed something of such magnitude against you, but I believe that you are still the same person you were ten years ago." The false remorse came out of the mouth of the seventeen-year-old young wife. "How can I be sure you won't slit my throat as you promised before? Am I that important to you?" Her eyes flashed slowly with disguised malice as each word came out of her mouth like wine being poured into a chalice.

"I don't kill anymore." Damian replied with a voice as sharp as a blade, his jaw clenched with tension and other feelings he couldn't name. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his father, Bruce Wayne, calling him with his gaze, but perhaps it was better to ignore him and try to avoid his wife's suffocating stare.

An angry snort escaped her red lips, which were still slightly smudged from the kiss Damian had planted on them at the altar. Personally, she thought they were too soft for the harsh words they uttered.

"Just sit with us," he repeated his request as he intertwined his fingers with hers, just to give the impression of a loving and happy couple. "If you want to cry, cry there, so no one will see you."

"As if I would stoop so low as to cry in front of his family."

Thirty minutes later, [Name] was in the garden outside the party with her face buried in Stephanie's neck, crying and smearing all her makeup.

"I'm sorry." She sniffed, trying not to get her sister-in-law's dress even dirtier (out of consideration for what she understood). "It's just that I don't even know him that well, and I'm married to him, and I don't know what to do."

Steph ran her hand through [Name]'s ornate hair, calming her down.

"He's a good boy, a little clueless at times, but he's good. And totally different from the one you met ten years ago."

Her head was a whirlwind of thoughts, ranging from how she was going to sleep next to him to the thought that he had a girlfriend at his house?

"Is he in a relationship?" [Name] asked after composing herself.

"I think only with you," replied the blonde as she got up from the grass, dusted off the back of her dress, and offered to help the newlywed up from the grass, who gladly accepted her help.

"You're actually pretty cool, Stephanie."

"I know I am." Their laughter lightened the heavy atmosphere, and even though they didn't know each other well, it was undeniable that the blonde's kindness in leaving the table as soon as she saw that [Name] was really upset, taking her to the garden, and allowing her to let loose, had slightly improved the newlywed's mood. "Why did you get married if you hate him so much?"

"I don't hate Damian, I hate his family." A heavy silence fell until [Name] realized what she had said and that it could be misinterpreted. "Not his father's side, I mean his grandfather, Ra's. He ordered Asael to kill my parents and promised me to Damian when I was only four years old."

"I see..." The blonde stared at the building where Damian and [Name]'s party was taking place, the building that was surrounded by absurdly trained people. Even the janitors were trained to knock out any threat, a building that for that very reason prevented [Name] from escaping. "You will come with us to our country, so you can keep your distance from your family."

[Name] agreed and unconsciously began to play with her wedding ring, a gold band carved with arabesques and silver edges, which also contained a solitary ring on top with Damian's name engraved in Arabic script. A ring that expressed love, a love she didn't even know would ever exist.

In two days, [Name] was seen leaving the Wayne family's private plane, which landed at Archie Goodwin International Airport, holding hands with Damian and wearing a green satin dress that clashed slightly with her husband's gray turtleneck shirt. Her beauty and elegance attracted attention wherever they went. After all, seeing billionaire Bruce Wayne's son walking hand in hand with a woman from outside the country after two months abroad is truly something quite extravagant.

[Name] cringed at every glance and every flash that went off at her every step through the corridors. She had never been so exposed in the media. Damian seemed to sense her tension, so he let go of her hand and put it on her shoulder as he pulled her closer to him, taking the opportunity to whisper.

"Ignore them, the more you worry, the more photos will be taken. Look at my face, I'll guide you through here." His warm breath, still smelling of mint gum, touched her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, but she did as she was told and stared at his face as she walked, allowing him to guide her.

The man's face had always been beautiful, even as a child when he only showed hatred, but now as he held her, she could see him trying to ease her nervousness, his eyes

with emeralds set at the airport exit, the jawline identical to her father-in-law's, her mother's nose, the slight sideways glances to see if she was feeling better.

He's not a bad person, and she knows that. She's just hurt and unaccustomed to it.

But maybe... just maybe, this could work out.

She took a deep breath and put her right arm around his waist and kept walking, feeling him give her shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Okay,she thought, let's see how this goes.

Who was promised to Damian when he was five years old

Who was raised by her grandfather to marry Damian.

Who parents were killed by his grandfather on Ra's' orders.

Who hates Talia, Ra's, and his own grandfather with all his might, and occasionally takes it out on Damian, regretting it afterward.

Who only saw Damian for the first time when she was seven years old and then only saw him again at their wedding, ten years later.

That she is bound to Damian by a contract

Who doesn't believe in Damian's change.

BEST PAIR: Damian Wayne (Sometimes called Al Ghul)

STORIES: So... this is my husband, So this is my husband II

I was binge-watching The Apothecary Diaries and I had the brilliant idea to write this.

Killer!Reader x Bruce Wayne

N/A:I spent almost a month without writing anything because of a terrible creative block, so it's probably going to be kind of (quite) mediocre, but well… that's what I got.

Warnings: mention of murder, abuse, profanity, and others.

[Name] doesn't know exactly when she became this way, but she remembers who made her become this way.

When they say not to date a guy who already has a reputation, the best advice is not to get involved, but she didn't listen to that. In the middle of architecture school, she meets the infamous billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne. He gave her flowers, jewelry, delicious sex, but none of that compensated for the frequent absences, the six weeks without contacting her, showing up with a bruise on his arm and walking with a slight limp.

With these factors, it wasn't difficult for her to connect the dots and see that she was in a relationship with the man the police were chasing and who had appeared in the city two years ago: Batman.

When she asked him directly, it wasn't pretty. There were tears, hurt feelings, feelings of betrayal, and finally, the breakup. Both were very immature, still in their early twenties.

After that, they never spoke again, but what he did on the street appeared on television, and the sum of his mistakes, coupled with how they covered up each of his actions, weighed so heavily on her emotionally that one day [Name], returning from the company where she worked, saw a twelve-year-old child lying in the street with blood between her legs and crying, and the dialogue still stays in her head to this day.

“What happened? Did someone hurt you?” [Name asks, kneeling down to the girl's level and speaking in a soft voice so as not to frighten her, or at least trying not to frighten her.]

“There's a man on this street who hurts us. Batman has already arrested him, but he always escapes and comes back to do this to us. And since we don't have money to get out of here, we just pray that we don't see him. But Batman promised he'll deal with him once and for all, but it still hurts more every day.” The girl said, and the older woman's stomach churned, the taste of bile already in her throat, her hands clenching until her nails cut into her palms.

"I'll take care of this, I promise you, if Batman won't do anything, then I will." [Name]'s voice came out softly, and her fingers reached for a handkerchief in her bag and offered it to the girl to clean herself before walking away.

That same night, she dressed in old clothes and a mask she had worn to a masquerade ball years ago, and varnished latex gloves. She went to the house of the man the girl had mentioned and silently slit his throat while he slept, ripped out his heart, and stuck it in the bed next to his corpse and the pool of blood, along with a note written in the victim's blood: "What you don't do, I do."

This began to be repeated with any man or even woman who had committed a heinous crime; gradually, the FBI itself called her Devotion because of her devotion to correcting Batman's mistakes.

Returning to the present day, the pattern remains the same, even after more than a decade, even after she's witnessed more of the rise of Robins and vigilantes than she's kissed Bruce in her life.

On that particular night, [Name] had just killed a child trafficker, leaving his heart on the wall—all in common, all within her standards.

But what she didn't expect was a storm coming over her head. It's true that rain is frequent in Gotham at this time of year, but that's not the problem. The problem is that due to the city's high levels of pollution and improper disposal of chemicals, Gotham's rain is oily, smelly, slightly acidic, and depending on exposure, can really burn the skin. And when you have dried blood on your elbows and nose, smelling of sweat and soot, a rain like that is anything but pleasant.

Minutes of walking through alleys, narrow streets, shadows, and deserted roads reveal an abandoned building in the middle of construction, cement and bricks scattered, beams rusting, a few rats scurrying, and only a light about to burn out.

“It’s this or nothing,” [Name] thinks, getting closer to the building with each step. “It’s not like any living soul is going to show up.”

But as the old saying goes, “There’s nothing so bad that it can’t get worse.” And well… that saying has never been more true than at this moment.

The night was already awful, so awful it could easily be diarrhea combined with four packs of laxatives for a lactose-intolerant person after attending a cheese tasting event. A wonderful night.

Inside the moldy walls of the first-floor stairwell, [Name] heard two voices approaching in the darkness, their tone clearly suggesting a fight that had been raging for minutes. One voice was particularly familiar, identical to the voice of someone she hadn't seen in years.

“The question isn’t whether he deserved it, Cat, the question is that you promised not to steal again.” Batman’s voice grew closer and closer, and soon he leaned against the side of the stairs, leaving [Name] with only the railing of her cabin and her boots visible. Fear made her think he could see her, but reason reminded her that no one could see her from where she was crouching.

“You’re being irrational, he was already embezzling money, he deserved it.” Catwoman’s voice retorted to Batman, and with just a quick glance, [Name] realized that from the angle the feline anti-heroine was standing, it wouldn’t be difficult to see Devotion if Batman hadn’t positioned himself at that angle.

“Then this isn’t going to work, you know that.” The Bat retorted in a harsher voice, receiving a slightly irritated and disappointed sigh from Catwoman.

“I don’t even know why you should still try.” Selina sighed and turned her back, but before leaving for good, she said, “See you around, Bruce.”

When he was finally sure that his current ex had left, Batman remained silent for a few more minutes, a minute, maybe even two, he wasn’t sure. His breath caught in his lungs as he stepped away from the stairs and took a deep breath.

“Get out of here, Devotion, or rather, [Name].”

What? How did he know if she hadn't even left footprints or worn perfume? How?

“How?” the assassin questioned, still hidden, not allowing herself to emerge. “How did you know I was here?”

“I felt it, I know your presence very well. And it would be more polite to talk face to face.” Her voice held evident weariness, whether physical or emotional, it made no difference; the only thing that mattered at the moment was knowing why he was still there.

This is going to be a problem.

A huge problem.

And she knew it.

She knew it all too well.

All credit for the divisors goes to @cursed-carmine