SamardhWrites

Womp womp..imagine—there is war just beyond the safety of your boarded bedroom door. You hear the sounds of soldiers storming the halls. Not even the refined, regal carpets of wool, with all their silly embroideries of the kingdom's crest that you used to trace with your finger, could smother the sound steel armor plates grating against each other as they rampaged throughout the halls.

The screams of the needlessly slaughtered will become the reoccurring foundation for your worst nightmares.

This is your only haven. And Even then—it is fleeting.

You look to your knight, the tears stinging your eyes. "D-day..damian..dearest..y-you're bleeding.." you step forward, your hands shakily finding his face, fresh wounds oozing thick, hot blood down his cheeks.

He holds your trembling wrists, smaller compared to his own, and shakes his head. "I know, my liege." He heaves slowly.

His armor is painted crimson with fresh kill.

The palace that has protected you has become lopsided.

"Have you taken your essentials, my liege?" He asks you hastily, between shuddering breaths that make your heart scream. The tears now scorch with agony—lava pouring down your cheeks.

Why is he saying that?

"Don't say that!!" Your fists beat against his armor in time with your wails. "Why are you saying that?!"

He says nothing. But in spite of your uncouth and unbecoming savagery, you cannot miss the way his cape wraps around you like a silent apology. When it clicks to you, the haze of madness that has entranced you wears off—your hysteria cools into wracked sobs that he cannot stand to listen to.

If it weren't for his discipline, carefully molded and perfected by those around him, and the direness of the situation at hand—he would've started crying too.

"I'm sorry, my love." his lips find the top of your head, and he speaks softly against the crown of your skull. "I cannot afford to lose you, my prince. Please. Tell me you're prepared."

One arm snakes to find your waist and to pull you in. Partially, because he knows you'll want to hold him now. To seek the safety of his familiarity.

Selfishly, because he knows this might be the last time he'll see you.

You nod solemnly and slowly against his neck, which you have burrowed yourself into within a span of seconds.

He cannot help the tears of relief now.

He exhales, his body shuddering as he holds you, both arms wrapping around you now, crushing you against the steel of his armor. He doesn't care that he's splattered in the blood of a soldier dead a few feet away, just beside your bed. He doesn't care that hes going to cry, that he already feels his nose begin to wrinkle and his face contorting in agony.

Suddenly, all he can do is pray to whoever was willing to listen above, to make time stand still so he could indulge in your proximity for eternity.

But cruel, were the gods above.

He can hear the sounds of soldiers beginning to march to your door. They scream for the prince's—your—head. They chant how they will break down the door. How they will tear your garments and violate you for the kingdom to look onto. They will tear you apart, piece by piece, then put parade your head on a pike throughout the war-torn arteries of the capital.

He clenches his jaw. He knows it's time to say his goodbyes.

He begins to guide you backwards, towards the open balcony. He keeps you attached to him as you sob. His own tears run jagged down his face. He kisses your head, again and again, hushing you softly.

His grip is shaky on the hilt of his sword, and he prays you do not snap to attention at the notice of his own terror.

He gently coaxes you away, his eyes meeting yours. The colors of deep emeralds, so similar to the necklace of your mother. "My prince.." he trails off.

You pull his lips into what you both fear would be the final kiss you'd ever exchange.

His eyes widen—he wants to push you away, to tell you this isn't the time. But he can't.

He wants to know, that even in what he prays not be his final moments—you adored each other to the bitter end.

He closes his eyes, his right hand pushing the back of your head into his own lips. He prays the passion is fiery enough to scorn fate itself. He wants to devour you, to keep you somewhere safe. He wants to crawl inside of you and hide away forever. He cannot leave you.

Hes so scared to leave you.

You moan softly against his lips, and keep your arms wrapped around his neck. The kiss tastes revoltingly like copper, blood smearing your face and lips, as if you tucked away a metal coin beneath your tongue and right into your nostrils, but you can't pull away. You are terrified—rightfully so.

THUM THUM!

He pulls away finally when he hears them begin to ram down the door.

He kisses your head again, and looks below. There, he sees them there—Tim and Alfred and Cass and Lucius and a few other knights who managed to escape. They await for you—they must take you to safety, to regroup with the king and queen and your brothers.

His heart soothes, suddenly.

He knows you'll be in safe hands.

You shake your head profusely. "Come with me," you plead. "We'll go together, damian. We have to marry, damian. I want to be your husband. Mother and father will allow it, I know they will— damian. Please. Stay. Dont leave me. You can't die. I command you as your prince—please." you beg, you beg to him and it aches that you have to beg him in the first place.

"I'll survive, I promise. I'll see you, I swear to it. You have to go, my prince. You'll be safe there. I'll meet you there. Go now, my prince. We'll meet again, I promise it to you."

He must lie kindly to you for you to save yourself.

He guides you to the ladder, helping you gain your footing. He kisses the top of your head and tries to even his breathing. Lucius and alfred hold the ladder at the bottom. Cass is standing guard beside Tim who's ready to catch you, should you fall, at any moment.

It feels strange, knowing this might be the last moment he'll ever see them again.

But you dont climb down—not yet. "Damian," you cry weakly. You're covered in another's blood. "Please, please, my love,"

Alfred and lucius call you below, but you cannot listen to them.

"Please."

He wants to scream.

"Please, my prince."

he must beg you before his heart wavers—he must stall so you may escape safely.

"We'll marry under the blue moon tomorrow night. Now flee, my love. It is my duty and my honor to protect you."

He kisses you for the last time, fleeting. Gentle.

"Goodbye, my love."

He turns away, Cape flaring in the breeze as he stands at the ready, his stance as firm as he can muster it.

He hears your steps grow more distant as you climb to safety. He exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding.

He thinks, in those moments, as the wood splinters and the door begins to collapse on itself. He thinks of all the times you ran away together during balls, he thinks of the day you confessed to each other, he thinks of every training session where you stood and watched with that dream-like smile. He thinks of every kiss late in the night.

He then thinks of the regrets. He regrets every stiff answer. He regrets every cold shoulder. Every bad mood swing where he hurt you. Every time hes been too focused on his training to pay attention to you. Every time he didn't kiss you when he should've. The chances to make love to you he never took.

He regrets the fact he never proposed to you sooner.

And as the door splinters finally, collapsing with a domineering thud, he has a single thought in his mind as he begins to swing, fighting like a caged and cornered animal as death stood, awaiting its call to the curtain.

Hes so glad he got to spend his final moments with his husband that never was.

Something’s… Off

Includes: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Conner Kent, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne

Summary: With your past partners, small changes have never been a problem. You would get a haircut, or change your preferred scent, or change your food schedule and even when you begged them to notice they would ignore it. That was before you decided to date one of the most observant people on the planet.

A/N: Nothing quiet like a 1:30am post. ANYWAY, Anon! Sorry about the wait, I like to ruminate on some requests (so they sit and I stare at them for like.. eons) and wait for the vibe to strike. But, this is one of my favorite genres of headcanons so I knew it was coming. Thank you so much.

TRIGGER WARNING FOR CLARK: Discussion of dieting. No details are mentioned regarding the reader's weight or the type of diet and Clark is… grumpy about it. Read carefully and skip if you need to (You look amazing today btw).

“And, I’m totally pissed off because she doesn’t even come to Gotham and phones are not allowed in her concerts and I won’t see anything and it honestly gives me such bad fomo that I’m considering traveling to another city to watch her perform. It’s honestly so- Damian are you laughing at me?” Your attention turns towards the tan man sitting beside you.

The situation was as followed: beginning of summer heat waves daring to make themselves known, your boyfriend invited you to lounge at the pool in the gardens of the manor. Agreeing to the promise of having a great time tanning, lounging around, spending time with Damian and getting to eat Alfred’s snacks, you arrived early in the day to make the most of it.

Currently, you had a green tea that had chilled itself for the past hour as you began ranting what was going on in your life and other cultural moments. The topic of discussion at the moment was Phoebe Bridgers’s making an announcement of a world tour that just missed the city. Frustrated by the circumstances, you explained how much you loved her music, even playing some of the most well-known tracks to prove to him how great a songwriter she was. To your amusement, Damian knew some of the songs, even going as far as adding them to his own Spotify account right in front of you to show his commitment to the bit.

You had just begun to explain your frustrations toward the artist’s lack of concert venue at Gotham when he couldn’t hold back anymore and displayed a very, very small smile at your incessant ramblings. It got to the point where he started to actually laugh at your antics, and that’s when your attention was diverted towards him.

He was sitting beside you, full back on display as he laid on his chest with his head turned towards you to pay attention to everything that left your mouth. He had been in that same position for the past half hour, and worried for his skin, you had applied before another layer of sunscreen mindlessly while talking. He had been adding comments here and there to whatever you complained about or asking pointed questions if he didn’t understand something you explained about the latest fic author you decided was your new favourite.

Now, his shoulders were shaking silently as his back moved, showing how amusing he found the whole situation. Truly, he had been wanting to spend the whole day with you without doing anything at all, as you and his brothers often encouraged, and he decided that spending it with you was the best idea. However, what he didn’t expect was you, fed up with everything that has been happening on the pop culture side of social media platforms, who could not keep up until now that you finished your finals, very much needing to vent to your lovely boyfriend. He picked you up early and made you a tea while you were still half asleep to enjoy while you basked in the sun. Like a pair of lazy cats, you had been sunbathing until you fully woke up and began your rant.

He began to move his body to sit up properly, and while he did that, you shamelessly stared at his muscles rippling forward and back as he pushed himself up. He now was staring at you with a smile reserved only for you in your personal moments, and he got up to sit right beside you on your lounge chair, invading your space in an uncharacteristic way for him. Your mouth slightly open since he interrupted you, you were waiting to see what his next movement would be.

He drew near you, and when he got close enough, he put his slightly damp hair from his earlier dunk in the pool on your shoulder. Wonderstruck, your hand moved with a mind of its own to slightly play with his hair while his head turned more towards the side of your neck. Wordlessly, he softly hummed and gave you small kiss on the side of the area, retreating towards your actual shoulder after that sign of affection that left you completely dumbfounded.

Almost afraid to break the intimacy of the moment, you dared to speak no word, thought completely obstructed from whatever point you were going to make before this whole interaction, completely overflowed by deep affection for the man beside you.

Moving up from your shoulder, your hand left his hair when he got back up again, and he turned to admire you for a second. Dumb smile on his face, he got closer as to give you a kiss that showed his love for you, pulling back after a few seconds. Eyes that were previously closed during the kiss now wide open, you tried to look into his deep green eyes for a sign that showed whether something was wrong or not to reason with the unexplainable affection, you were met with a sensation that pushed the air out of your lungs.

Pure, raw, unadulterated adoration. In his eyes you saw the exact moment he let you in his life, when he began to show you his true self, both his personality and vigilante persona, the moment he struggled to push out an “I adore you” from the back of his throat, every significant moment in your relationship that lead up to this simple day could be seen sparkling in his eyes.

Still wide eyed, he gave you another kiss and laid back on his lounge chair without a word of clarification to explain his (very much appreciated) affection, very Damian-like. This time he was laying on his back, and he turned his head towards as he began to speak, words straining as if he hadn’t spoken in a while saying:

“We can go to the concert in another city, beloved. Don’t worry, I can arrange everything. Just to sum everything up, we have already covered the movie release about the Kent’s cousin, that spiderman’s films too, new comics and mangas you just bought, every album you couldn’t listen to for the last few months and now the concert.”

He said it with a slight teasing sound, and you began to blush as you realised he had barely gotten a word in since you properly woke up. Embarrassed by it, he stretched his had outside of his chair to pull you own hand into his and gave a reverent kiss to your knuckles that made you stop apologizing for being “too much”, as if he could hear your thoughts worrying about it. Moving his thumb over your knuckles still, he urged you to keep talking as he showed a true smile and an eye contact that would have made your knees wobble had you not been sat down.

As your fingers bean to move across his hand and forearm to reciprocate his love, you quickly finished your rant and decided to enjoy the peaceful moment without any interruption from his brothers, lingering touches constant between the two of you.

࿔.ᐟ pairing Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader

࿔.ᐟ summary When Damian comes home after a difficult patrol, he finds something he does not expect: A bath that is meant to be yours alone and yet, it does not stay that way for long.

࿔.ᐟ tw non-sexual nudity, bruises/injuries, kissing of bruises/injuries, slight angst, loooots of fluff

You cannot remember the last time you allowed yourself to simply sit still.

Warm water laps gently against your skin as you sink deeper into the bathtub with a content sigh. The bathroom glows with soft candlelight, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows across the walls. Scented bubbles gather around you while steam curls lazily through the air, fogging the mirror above the sink. It is peaceful.

You rarely have an evening to yourself, rarer still one that allows you to slow down and enjoy it, but tonight, you made it a point to do exactly that.

A book sits abandoned on a stool beside the tub, forgotten in favor of simply existing in the warmth. For the first time all day, your mind feels quiet. Then, from somewhere downstairs, comes the familiar sound of the front door opening.

Damian is home.

A small smile finds its way onto your face. You expect him to take a while when he gets into the bedroom, likely to change out of his uniform and then go to the spare bathroom, to shower away the grime of patrol before seeking you out. It was a routine the two of you had fallen into long ago.

So when the bathroom door cracks open only a few minutes later, you can't help but lift your brows in surprise.

You move to sit up in the bathtub and watch as Damian lingers in the doorway for a moment.

His domino mask is gone, leaving his dark hair slightly mussed from the night’s activities. Though he has shed some of his gear, enough remains to tell you that he hadn’t bothered stopping anywhere else before coming to find you. As your eyes rake over his figure, you noticed a bruise forming along his jaw and another disappearing beneath the collar of his suit.

“Hello, beloved,” he greets.

“Hi,” you respond, while turning your body to lean your arms against the side of the tub and rest your head on them.

His gaze sweeps over the room. The candles, the bubbles and the steam curling through the air, before setting on you. For a moment, neither of you speak. Then he steps fully into the room. You expect him to say something but instead he turns right around, disappeared from view, and returns moments later dragging one of the dining chairs behind him. The legs scraped softly against the floor.

“Damian?”

Ignoring your obvious confusion, he positions the chair beside the bathtub and sits down. You ask again, looking up at him from where you head rests, “Can I help you?”

“I was under the impression that I was allowed to sit in my own bathroom.” The slight teasing tone is evident in his voice but you can tell it was overlapped by tiredness. You sigh and playfully roll your eyes, “That’s not what I’m asking.”

“And yet I answered.” Always very smart mouthed. He is being difficult this evening but you know that only means he was trying to dodge the questions you haven’t yet asked.

You study him for a moment. Beneath the usual sharpness in his expression is something softer. More tired. His shoulders are tense beneath the remnants of his suit, and while Damian would sooner launch himself off the roof of the Manor than openly complain, you know him well enough to recognize when a patrol had been particularly rough.

“Long night?” You ask, carefully. He lets out a short sigh, more of a huff, “I’ve endured worse.”

He just always has to be so defensive, so like always you just give him the look. The one that said, “Stop being difficult with me, I know you far too well, for this.”

It is clear to you now that Damian had come here immediately, seeking out your presence. He would never barge and in and just unload his feelings but he would simply sit beside you in silence because your presence always makes him feel better.

You allow him the silence, neither of you speaking for a while. He sits with one arm draped over the back of the chair while you remain resting against the edge of the tub, examining his features. The flicker of the candlelight softens the sharp angles of his face and, little by little, some of the tension seems to leave his shoulders. You observe him as he watches the candles.

For someone who insists he preferers solitude, Damian has always been strangely fond of sharing it with you.

Eventually, your gaze drifts back to the bruise along his jaw. In the years that you have known him, you have become accustomed to seeing the occasional scrape or bruise after patrol. It never stopped bothering you, but you’d learned that fussing over the injury only earned you an exasperated look and a lecture on the realities of vigilantism. But tonight is different, he looks too tired.

Not physically tired, because Damian could push through physical exhaustion out of sheer stubbornness alone. No, this is something else. The kind of tiredness that settles behind his eyes. Difficult for anyone but you to notice. An idea comes to mind.

“You know,” you say softly, “most people take a bath when they want to relax.” You are looking downward, swishing the bath water with your hands.

One green eye cracks open, “Most people weren’t trained to function under considerably more demanding conditions.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah well you’re sitting in my perfectly crafted cozy space over here so you’re basically- well almost, in a bath filled with scented bubbles.” He shakes his head, “I’m sitting beside a bath, and it is no way the same.”

If you could roll your eyes any further back into your head you would, but he did make a fair point so you only huff in response, “Mm.”

Damian lets out a small smirk at your annoyance, “There is a difference.”

You decide to ignore his stubbornness and continue pushing, “Right.” You hum unconvinced, “And that’s why you came straight here?” This is when the smirk on his face falters, “I fail to see the connection?”

You continue, “You didn’t shower.”

Silence.

“You didn’t change.”

More silence.

Your eyes drop pointedly to the boots he still wears, “You didn’t even take your boots off.” You are looking right at him now.

He looks away and then back at you again, “Beloved.” The warning in his tone only makes you smile more.

“Damian,” You respond giving him the sweetest smile you can muster, knowing exactly what you are doing. He sighs, “You are being insufferable,” but there is no real malice in his voice. You drag your words to sound extra sweet, “Learned from the best.”

The corner of his mouth twitches up despite himself. For yet another moment, neither of you speak. The candles flicker softly around the room while the water shifts gently, as you adjust your position in the bathtub. Damian leans back in the chair, resting his head against it.

It is such a small action, most people wouldn’t think twice about it, but you do. Damian rarely ever so brazenly shows that he is tired and yet now his eyes drift shut for a few seconds. His shoulders sink and the tension that he had carried into the room seems heavier than before, as though simply sitting reminds his body of how exhausted it actually is.

When his eyes open again you are already watching him, “What?’

“You look tired.” You finally admit to what you have been thinking this entire time.

“I am not.’ The response comes far too quickly. You raise a brow and he looks away from you.

You sigh, fed up of the banter and then your mouth curves into a mischievous smile. Damian immediately notices, “Do not. Whatever it is that you’re thinking. Don’t.”

You can't help but laugh, wanting to respond that you were not thinking anything but you saw the way his brows raise already, in anticipation of your fib.

“Fine,” you relent. “I was thinking that perhaps a certain stubborn vigilante might benefit from relaxing for once.”

He glances over your figure in the bathtub, shrugging his shoulders, “I am relaxing now.”

He nearly sends you over the edge, as you dramatically flop backward into the water, causing a small splash. You frantically gesture to the steaming water around you, “No Dami, this is relaxing! Not sitting in a chair, fully dressed in you uniform.”

You watch his gaze follow your hand that gestures to the water. That is the final push for the words to casually leave your mouth, “Join me.”

At that he scoffs, and you expect an immediate refusal. Instead, the words never come. You watch as he leans forward resting his forearms on his knees, thinking. That alone is enough to tell you that he is considering it. You to fight back the smile that threatens to appear on your face.

“You are not allowed to look so pleased with yourself.” He let out a long sigh and pushes himself to his feet. A grin now spreads across your face. But you wisely choose not to comment. The last thing you need is him changing his mind out of sheer stubbornness. So instead, you just watch as he removes his gear.

His gloves are the first thing to go, tossed unceremoniously onto the counter. The cape follows shortly after, draped over the back of the chair he had occupied.

You try not to stare but fail miserably. His warm tan skin is sculpted so perfectly. You notice a fresh bruised darkened the skin near his shoulder while several smaller cuts and scrapes decorate his arms. It isn't anything serious or unusual for him, yet seeing the evidence of his nights out never gets any easier for you.

Damian senses your attention on him but continues undressing. He knows the exact way that you are looking at him, with worry. Your face adorning the same look whenever his body showcased new injuries.

The movement of the water finally pulls your attention away from the bruises scattered across his skin. You look up just in time to watch Damian step into the bath. A laugh immediately bubbles in your chest which earns you a look, the grin on your face only widening at that.

Despite all of his earlier resistance, he settles with surprising ease. The water shifting around him, gentle waves brushing against your arms as he carefully lowers himself into the space behind you. The bathtub was certainly large enough for two people and yet that did not stop your knees from bumping his.

“Move forward.” He says like it’s obvious.

“There it is.”

“There is what?” He stops his movement.

“That attitude.” You respond and his expression remains entirely unimpressed. Though, you comply anyway, shifting forward to give him more room. Only for him to immediately slide an arm around your waist once you settled again. A smile, yet again tugs at your lips. The hypocrisy is astounding.

Slowly you lean back to get more comfortable. Damian’s chest feels warm against your back despite already being in warm water. His legs barricade around yours. The arm around your waist tightens slightly, not enough to restrain you, just enough to keep you close. And for the first time that evening, you feel him relax. The tension that had clung stubbornly to his shoulders seems to melt beneath the warmth of the water, a quiet breath leaving him. Then another. His chin coming down to brush briefly against the top of your head.

You smile to yourself, closing your eyes as you lay against him, “There he is.”

Damian, whose eyes are also closed in comfort, cracks an eye open at that, “I’ve been here the entire time.”

“You know what I mean.” Your response causes his arm to tighten a fraction more around your waist. He knows exactly what you mean.

The both of you sit in a comfortable silence. But that doesn't last long because you cannot help yourself.

“So, do you want complete silence or can I tell you about what just happened in the book I’m reading,” You began, the words spilling out before you could properly organize them. “But silence is fine, if that’s what you want. If you’d prefer not silence, that can also be arranged-” You ramble on

“Beloved.” You stop mid-sentence. Damian’s hand at your waist shifts slightly, his thumb beginning to trace slow, absent circles against your skin. The motion is steady and grounding, not just for you but for him too. “You may do as you please,” he says quietly. “Your preference is mine.” The words are spoken with absolute certainty.

For a moment you forget what you were even saying, “…right,” you murmur, softer now.

Your thoughts suddenly feel too loud in contrast to the quiet warmth around you. All at once you become too aware of him. Of how close he is. Of the steady rhythm of his breathing behind you. Without really thinking about it, you shift, slowly turning in his arms. Damian’s hold loosens just enough to allow it. You adjust yourself until your cheek goes to rest lightly against his firm chest.

“Mm.” You hum absentmindedly, as if confirming something to yourself.

You listen to the steady beat of his heart. The warmth of the water, the softness of the candlelight, the arm still resting loosely around you. It all blurs together until it feels impossible to separate where you end and he begins.

And then, as your head tilts slightly, you see it. Just beside where your cheek rests sits a bruise, darker up close than it had been before. It stretches faintly along his upper chest, partially hidden by the angle of the light and the fading remnants of tension in his muscles.

Your fingers lift before you can fully decide to move them. Carefully and almost hesitant at first, you trace the edge of the bruise with the lightest touch. Not pressing, only acknowledging it.

Damian’s breath hitches, barely, “It is minor.” Your thumb pauses for only a second, at his dismissal, before you lean in. And then, gently, you press a kiss to the mark. It is soft and barely there, but the effect is immediate. Damian goes still beneath you. He doesn’t tense or pull away. Just stills as though the entire room narrowed down to only that point of contact.

You don’t move back. Instead you linger for a moment longer, your lips resting lightly against his skin as your hand remains where it is, steady against his chest. Then, just as quietly, you press another kiss on a bruise slightly higher.

Damian still does not move. You linger there for a moment, sensing how aware he is of the presence of your hands where moments ago there had only been tension and exhaustion. It makes something warm settle in your chest and slowly your fingers shift again to follow the faint line of another mark. Then, another smaller bruise nearby. Each injury receiving the same response from you. You lips meet the skin of his shoulder to press a kiss there. Then another just below it. You kisses are unhurried and careful, as though you are mapping out proof that he had come home again. That he is there. Safe. Within your reach.

Damian exhales slowly and you feel it more than you hear it, “Beloved.” The words come out softer than before. They’re not a warning at all. “Yes?” You murmur against his skin. There is a pause that is long enough you begin to think he might tell you to stop. Instead, his arm around your waist tightens, pulling you in as close as you can get.

“Continue.” The single word sends a quiet warmth through you.

And you do continue. Another kiss, and then another until the action becomes something almost absentminded. As though you are simply breathing.

Damian watches you at first. His green eyes are entranced on your careful movement. Eventually, he relaxes and closes his eyes to fully bask in the tenderness of your care.

When you’ve finally kissed each and every bruise, scrape and cut , you pull away as though you are admiring a piece of art you had just created. Instead of art you admire Damian. You suppose he can could be considered art, the way the candlelight softens his features and his skin glistens from the water.

You look up at his eyes and notice just how close he is to falling asleep. A small spark of mischief returns where softness had settled. Your finger skim lightly through the water behind you and then, without warning, you flick a small splash towards his arm.

He cracks an eye open, “Did you just-”

Another splash. Slightly more water this time and aimed at his pretty face.

His scrunches his face and then brings a hand up to wipe his face. There’s a beat of silence before he gives you that look, “You are testing my patience.”

You giggle, “You were falling asleep on me.”

“I was not.”

“You were!”

His eyes narrow faintly. Then, without hesitation, he returns the splash. Except his is way sharper and precise, all things about him considered. It hits you shoulder causing you to gasp. At that he lets out a laugh. A warm laugh that comes straight from his chest. You smile wholeheartedly and send another splash his way.

Soon water scattered across the bath, rippling against the sides as the calm from earlier dissolved into something lighter and playful. The silence from earlier is also completely gone and instead filled with the rhythm of both your laughter.

Eventually, Damian lets out a long, resigned breath. “I think it’s time we get out.” You huff dramatically but make no attempt to argue, and the two of you begin getting out.

The bathroom is warm and steam clings to the mirrors, blurring the edges of the room as towels are gathered. The both of you move to the bedroom, rummaging for clothes, in quiet routine.

You turn around from where you stand by the drawers, wrapped loosely in a towel, as Damian reaches for something small on the dresser.

Your engagement ring.

He makes his way over to you, towel hung loosely around his hips. He takes your hand in his and slides the ring carefully into place.

“There.”

You smiled.

“There?”

His gaze meets yours, “Back where it belongs.”

You looked down at the ring before lifting you gaze back up to him. The ring wasn’t the only thing that was back where it belonged.

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i will write it just 4 u!! 🥹 i kinda forgot the prompt in the first half because i just started writing mtf headcanons -_-‘

hobie brown x fem!mtf!reader

cw: nsfw themes, gender dysphoria

hobie doesn’t care about your gender because all he cares about is you as a person.

but he knows it’s his duty to validate you as his partner. so that’s exactly what he does!!

he’s allllwayss calling you “his girl.” he even changes his song titles about you. he’ll go out of his way to remix the songs that reference you, even if his band mates bitch and moan about it. he doesn’t care.

hobie knows a thing or two about being feminine because he cross dresses so frequently. he’ll alter your clothes to fit your style.

he’s so insistent on painting your nails for you, and paints his nails to match yours. you teach him how to apply acrylic and press ons after he begged you to. he looks so pretty with his long nails!! :3

(pouts when he has to rip them off before a show because he can’t play his guitar otherwise)

however, he knows that you experience gender dysphoria awfully bad.

he watches you curl in on yourself, your gasps between sobs echoing through the room.

hobie doesn’t like when you hide yourself from him. he takes your wrists in his hands to see your face. his heart hurts when he sees your glassy eyes.

his hands are gentle when they’re rubbing your arms and waist. telling you how pretty you are no matter what your brain tells you.

if you’re violent to yourself and he finds out, you’re in for a night.

hobie is holding you down on your bed, stripping you down. the lights are on so you can see how desperate he is for you. his mouth trailing over your trembling body. you’re begging him to properly fuck you, but he won’t do it until you validate yourself aloud.

stands behind you in the bathroom mirror afterwards, his hands still grabbing at your body now smothered in hickeys.

he tells you they serve as a reminder for how much he loves his girl.

╰┈➤ play fighting with tamsy x male reader

➼ tamsy doesn’t really know when to stop. he’ll tickle you, he’ll bite you, he’ll pin you to the ground until you’re swatting at his chest go get him off.

➼ in one particularly intense moment, tamsy straddles you, thighs over stomach and keeping you pinned to the floor. tapping out hadn’t worked, so you only had one option left.

➼ wheezing, you grab his hair, getting his attention instantly. his eyes zero in on you, any playful glint now gone. mustering your willpower, you wheeze, “i’m done. i don’t want to play anymore. get off.”

➼ he has the gall to look offended, freezing for a split second before deliberately dusting himself off to buy a few more seconds. gracefully, he gets off of you, staring at you blankly the whole time.

➼ “for the record,” he mutters, watching you stand, “i was only playing along with you.” you stutter, stunned, watching him for any signs of teasing. of course, none show, so you’re left to huff and roll your eyes.

➼ “of course you weren’t. and the sphereites are lovely people. just drop it.”

Yay! Heres the Damian version of yesterday’s Jason Todd prompt fic. Basically, for those who didn’t see it, im doing a series where characters react to the reader sending a “would you miss me if I was gone?” text. Obviously this comes with some heavy tws which I will tag. Lmk if you want to be added to the taglist and feel free to leave suggestions or requests! Also, just know that it can always get better and ending it is never worth it.

words ~ 913

tags ~ suicidal thoughts, SH, sad, angst, Damian Wayne, hurt/comfort, oneshot, no use of y/n

when a palm cups the back of your head, you look up to catch the sunlit halo of qifrey.

“what troubles you?” he hums. “I wondered if you’d come in for dinner with the others, but you’ve been out here lingering on the periphery of the atelier for hours now.”

“I’m just thinking, master.”

“thinking about what? surely, it can’t be more important than willowgrapes.”

his joke doesn’t inspire your amusement as it normally would. you kick your feet where they’re dangling off the balcony railing you’re sitting on. the wind blows gently in the dim sunset, and a great grief trembles in you.

“I don’t know if I fit in, is all,” you finally admit. “I’m afraid to spend too much time with the others. that they’ll see I’m not quite where I should be, where they are.”

qifrey doesn’t respond. you wince, closing your eyes, wondering if admitting this to your master was a misjudgement than the right opening to confess.

“a wise witch,” comes his voice after a moment, less amused but no less kind, “does not look down on his peers as they learn and grow.”

you peer up at him. “what if I’m not growing at all?”

“that’s hardly the case,” qifrey says, smiling down at you. “you’re part of my atelier, little apprentice. you’re growing with every step you take. why, I’m sure just sitting out here and pondering has helped you grow a bit more today than yesterday.”

you doubt that. but before you can press, qifrey settles one arm around you, lifting you off the balcony and onto his hip. you flail for a moment, unaccustomed to having been carried in such a way since you were a child, but qifrey only smiles easily, the golden light catching in his snowy hair and indigo eye.

“come, now,” he says warmly. “we shall have more talk of this tomorrow, and I’ll personally see to it that such doubts don’t bother you again.”

“and today?”

Bruce Wayne:

It had been a long day. Bruce was exhausted and dragging his feet up the stairs when he heard it.

"Leave it alone mother!" Damian yelled.

"Dami, honey-" You tried to reach out to him but his swatted your hand away. You gasped in pain- He was usually good with controlling his strength or holding back so the sharp pain shocked you.

His hand hoovered in the air, mouth open, eyes wide- He couldn't even find the words to apologise when Bruce appeared in the doorway. You immediately hid your hand behind your back.

"Babe!" You smiled, blinking away the tears that had gathered due to the pain. "I didn't expect you home until-"

"Damian." His voice was low and gravelly. "Did I see what I saw or was I hallucinating due to exhaustion?" The tone Bruce used, Damian had never heard that from him. Ever.

"Father- I-" He swallowed, looking up at him.

The way Bruce's shoulders loomed over him. He wasn't Bruce Wayne, or Batman. He was worse. He was Batman without the mask.

"Apologize. Now." There was no room for argument.

"I'm- I'm sorry Ummi." Damian turned to you. "I didn't-" Bruce cleared his throat and you swore you saw the boy shiver. "I should have controlled my anger better- I'm sorry."

"Now, go to your room. I'll be there in a while." Bruce stated and Damian all but ran out of the study. Once he was gone, Bruce's shoulders dropped and he sighed. "What was the reason?"

"He was annoyed that I was babying him by rechecking his injuries from yesterday's patrol." You explained as Bruce wrapped himself in a hug with you.

He hummed against your neck. "Did he hit hard?"

"It was an accident." You downplayed it.

"Yes but still. He should have had better control. He's growing up- Getting stronger. He needs to be careful and I'm not raising a boy that thinks this behaviour is okay- No matter the circumstances." He explained and you nodded.

"I know. Just... Just be gentle. He's never done anything like this before." You pulled back a little, touching Bruce's face.

He smiled against your palm. "I'll try."

Damian was sitting on his bed, head cradled in his hands when he heard the door open then close. He watched Bruce pull up a chair and sit infront of him.

"Father I-" He began but Bruce put his hand up to stop him.

"Damian, I'm disappointed to begin with." Bruce stated simply, tiredness obvious in his voice. "I did not raise you to disrespect my wife."

Damian's eyes widened. You were his mama. Not just- Not just Bruce's wife. Right?

"No patrol for two weeks. And you will tend to your mother until her hand heals." Bruce explained, "If anything like this happens again-"

"It won't." Damian interjected. "It won't. I swear."

Dick Grayson:

"Honey-" You sighed, "You know last night was important for your dad. He got the key to the city. We were there to show support and-"

"Dad's gotten keys before too!" Your son whined, "I missed out on a once in a lifetime kind of party last night. I was the only one who didn't go- I'm going to become a social outcast!"

"John-" You tried again.

"Jesus fuck mom! You don't understand!" He yelled and you blinked in shock.

He'd never spoken to you that way, let alone with that language.

"John. Room. Now." Dick's voice carried through the house.

John's spine straightened rigidly. Dick was the fun parent. Jokes, adventures, always the the person to lighten the mood. So, for him to use a tone he's never experienced before, John shrank away from the voice alone.

He tried to shuffle behind you, his hand reached to grab your wrist to safety- for protection when Dick walked into the kitchen.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" He asked and John shook his head. "Good. Go. Now."

"Yes, sir." John swallowed and quickly left.

"What the hell was that?" Dick whispered to you. "How can- What?"

"I don't know." You looked down, your eyes full of absolute sadness.

"Are you okay, baby?" He cupped your face and made you look at him. You nodded, a deep frown on your face. "My girl." He sighed, pulling you into a hug and rubbing your back. "I'll talk to him. This can't happen again." He whispered into your hair. "Either he gets his act together or he's spending summer with Bruce instead of his little trek through East Asia."

John was nervously pacing his room when Dick entered. His eyes skitted to the door that closed behind his father. He'd never seen Dick upset- Even remotely so. So this was jarring for him.

"Dad-" He began but Dick wagged a finger at him, earning complete silence.

"Do you have any idea how much my wife does for you?" Dick asked slowly. "One party, John. It was one party. You have privlidge beyond words- You get to experience life that most people don't even get to dream of and you yell and curse because you missed one party?"

"I'm sorry- I am! But-" John tried, earning a chuckle from Dick. Uh oh.

"But?" He raised a brow, an eerie smile on his face. "You're defending your behaviour?"

"No!" A deep unsettling feeling gathered in John's stomach.

Dick's gaze narrowed. He hated that he had to use his body language reading skills on his own child but he had to. "Apologize to your mother and mean it. If I have even an inkling that you're not in it 100%, you're spending the summer with grandpa Bruce."

"Yes, sir." John nodded numbly, watching his father leave his room.

Jason Todd:

Jason took off his boots by the door when he heard the commotion. He could hear you and your daughter arguing. She was a teenager now- So, naturally, the world was against her and she was against her mom for everything.

"Woah- Where's the fire?" He joked, entering the lounge, kissing your cheek.

"I found this in her room." You sighed, showing Jason the domino mask, along with some gear. "She's the new vigilante."

"Why were you in my room in the first place?!" She yelled. "It's an invasion of privacy!"

"Okay- First- Let's not yell." Jason tried to mitigate.

"I was there to pick your laundry. Not snoop." You said again. "And we've already had this discussion multiple times. I have told you- I don't want you in this life."

"Dad!" She looked to Jason, "Can you tell mom to not be such an uptight bitch?! I'm doing good in this city!"

You sucked in a sharp breath. "Calliope-"

Whereas, Jason had gone dangerously still. "What did you just say?" He looked at her, his green eyes pulsing a glow.

"I didn't mean-" She backtracked, colour draining from her face.

"Not the question. What did you just call my wife?" He repeated.

Maybe the scary part was that Jason never raised his voice. But his scars and eyes glowing did the fear for him.

"A bitch." She swallowed, looking down.

"Right." Jason folded his arms. "For worrying about you- For picking up after you- For having reasonable concerns. For loving you enough to not want you to get hurt. And this is how you behave?"

"I'm doing real good." She argued back.

"Let me say this once because if I have to repeat it, there will be cosmic consequences. Do you understand?" Jason said softly and she nodded once, "Good. Now, you will never be a vigilante in this or any city. If you want to do good, use your trust fund to give back to the community. Secondly, if you ever speak to your mother- and most importantly, to my wife that way again, you will go to your Uncle Damian's at Nanda Parbat for every vacation and holiday. You know. Since you want to be a vigilante so bad. You should have the proper training."

"Yes, dad." She nodded, horrified.

"Good. I'm gonna go shower." He kissed your temple again then turned to his daughter. "Apologize to your mother and when I come down for dinner and there's even the tiniest bit evidence that she's still upset or hurt- Like I said. Cosmic consequences."

Tim Drake:

"Babe?" Tim called out, dragging his feet to your shared bedroom. "I can't even start to explain how bad today was-" He entered the room, loosening his tie. "Tell me why the board is so-" He paused, you were sitting on the bed, wringing your fingers togther, eyes full of tears. "Uhh- What happened? Someone die in one of your books again?" He teased.

You sniffed, wiping your tears. "No- It's nothing." You gave him a weepy smile. "Sorry I-"

"Don't. Don't do that. Tell me what happened?" He caressed your cheek gently.

"Something Teddy said. It's really nothing- Just my insecurities." You brushed it off but alarm bells were already ringing in his head.

"What did he say?" He asked softly, already knowing that right after this conversation, he'd be going to his son's room.

"It's stupid. Kids say stupid things." You tried again.

"He's 22. So... no. What did he say?" He asked again.

You sighed deeply. "He's been stuck on this Tort Law assignment and I guess he was just frustrated- I said I could help and he-" You bit the inside of your cheek, "He said that if he wanted to ask help from a dropout, he'd ask."

"Right." Tim rubbed at his temple. "Okay. Um- Yeah-" He stood up and left the room.

Teddy was in his room, still hunched over his desk, trying to work out the assignment. He heard the door open then close, he didn't pay much mind to it until Tim cleared his throat.

"Oh, hey dad. What's-" He looked over his shoulder and paused. Tim looked... off. "Is everything okay?"

"I don't know. You tell me." He smiled and sat on his son's bed. "Anything interesting happen today?"

"Uh- No? Why?" Teddy's brows furrowed.

"No? Really? Then you didn't behave rudely to your mother?" He asked, the smile still there.

Teddy groaned and rolled his eyes, swivelling his chair to face Tim. "I didn't say anything wrong. She doesn't understand what I'm studying-" He doubled down.

"Funny. Because she was my tutor in college. That's how we met." Tim shrugged. "And if my wife hadn't gotten pregnant, she would've had a degree right now instead of a rude and ungrateful son."

Teddy suddenly felt very sick. "What?"

"Yup. She was your age. Whole life planned. And you know what she did? She picked you. And she's picked you ever since that day. And you?" He let out an exhaled laugh, "Today, I come home to find out that you took one of her biggest sacrifices and threw it back at her because you were frustrated."

"I didn't know." Teddy said shamefully.

"It's not about knowing. You shouldn't have something so cruel to begin with." Tim corrected. "You made her cry."

Teddy blinked and looked at Tim. "Mom cried?" His voice was tiny. "I- I didn't- Fuck-" He shot out of his chair, stumbling, almost falling, running to the door. "I'm sorry- I'm sorry-" He ran out of the room to find you. "Mama! I'm so sorry!"

Damian Wayne:

"Absolutely not. Your father will flay you alive." You shook your head, going back to your book.

"Mom, please. It'll be fun!" Alfred begged, "Come on."

"Honey- It'll be your funeral." You laughed and turned the page.

"Please!" He whined again, "It'll be fun. I've never seen Baba flip out."

"And for good reason." You rolled your eyes and looked up from your book. Damn, those puppy eyes. "Ugh- Fine. But I'm not saving you when he goes all Demon's Head on you."

"Ah! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!" He said gleefully, giving you a hug and running off.

You sighed. This was going to be a disaster but a part of you wanted to see how it would play out. So, here you were, sitting in the study, Alfred setting a camera on the shelf.

"Okay, ready?" He whispered with giggles.

"I still don't approve." You said, "But I won't lie- I am curious..."

Alfred smiled brightly then straightened up. He took a big breath in and then yelled. "Shut up, mama!!"

Before he could even react, a ninja's star wizzed past his ear, lodging itself in the wall.

"Baba!" He squeaked, "You-"

"You dare speak to my wife like that?" Damian growled, "You dare to disrespect the woman that gave you life?"

"Baba! Wait! I can expla- ah!" He dodged the next ninja star. "Wait! Mama!"

"You will not intervene me disciplining him-" Damian whipped his head at you.

"I'm not, my love. Carry on-" You said lazily, watching with amusement.

"Mama!" Alfred yelped, dodging another attack from Damian. "It was just a prank! Just to get a reaction from you!" He scrambled away on the floor.

Damian went still, his gaze narrowing. "You wished for my wrath for a video?" He took one look around and caught the phone propped between books. He threw a ninja star at it, breaking the phone into pieces.

"Mama! Please!" Alfred begged.

"Nope. I told you it was a bad idea." You laughed, then turned a page.

"You chose to not listen to your mother?" Damian hissed.

"Okay, my bad! My very bad! This is escalating too fast!" Alfred ran between the shelves.

"Apologize. Now." Damian's voice carried in the shadows.

"I'm sorry- I'm so sorry- Mama!! Help me!" He cried out.

You sighed softly and put your book aside. "My love?" You said sweetly and Damian hummed. "I think he learned his lesson."

"He did not." He huffed. "Come out. Now. I won't attack you anymore." Alfred shuffled out in full view. "So, you decided to not listen to your mother and then disrespect her for a prank to get a reaction out of me?" He nodded weakly. "You do know that if it had been anyone but you, the first start would have lodged itself in your heart. Yes?"

Alfred gulped. "Yes, Baba."

"Good." Damian nodded. "Now- You will write a 3000-word essay explaining that you understand what you did was wrong. And then you were clean the training room of the assassins."

Alfred's eyes bugged out of his head. "The assassins' training room?" He whispered. "But that's-"

"Quite big. I'm aware." Damian smiled. "Should take just enough days as your spring break?"

"Should've listened to me." You said softly as he groaned and left the study.

.

.

.

A “brimhat” selkie! Reader au.

Qifrey x Selkie! Reader

A Reader who is unwillingly working for the brimhats. Neither the witches nor the selkies know that the brimhat Reader is a selkie whose coat is used as blackmail. In their early 20’s, Reader got careless when visiting a human town and hid their coat rather than take it with them. Unfortunately, a brimhat was watching and took this opportunity to steal it. Having a selkie aline with the brimhats, even unwillingly, is a great asset to their cause.

Reader finally gets their coat back many years later, during a clash between brimhats and the residents of Qifrey’s atelier. It's just Reader and the holder present during this clash. When one of the brimhats is knocked Reader rushes to their “allies” side. Reader yanks the big fur coat, then discarding their hat, just flies away, towards the ocean. The apprentices are confused when Qifrey simply lets Reader leave when they get their coat. He simply assures the girls that all is well. See, Qifrey and Reader have actually had a few run-ins previously. Throughout these encounters, Reader has been hinting at their identity as a selkie, and their possibly unwillingness to work with the brimhats.

LETS GROW WITH PAPA

╰┈➤ qifrey & ftm! reader

warnings: papafrey, paparuggio, slight angst, hurt/comfort, short n sweet

taglist! @qifreysbush @keeiiiozz @solarisstarrsolomonsbeloved @cha0tic-auth0r