woke dog

Rumors said Doom forced every Latverian to attend, but you weren’t sure if you should believe every rumor.

He was a stoic man, hard to read. Everything was a security strategy, you supposed. He wanted to protect his people and himself.

He bowed his head as you approached him, prompting you to do the same.

“I am pleased to see you here.”

The comment took you aback. He was always polite, yes, and more respectful than any other man you had dealt with in the past, yet this was the first time he spoke in the first person.

“I am honored to be invited,” you replied curtly, hoping your voice hadn’t betrayed you by showing your surprise.

“Walk with me.”

You gave him the cue to lead the way. He walked past the front doors, guiding you into the city.

Doomstadt wasn’t what foreigners imagined. Everybody assumed Latveria’s secrecy to mean something wrong was going on there. The capital was clean, full of people either working or enjoying the day out.

They would stop upon seeing Doom and make a reverence only for him to greet them back and ask about their wellbeing.

A few children approached him too, gifting him flowers and pastries that he happily took as he reminded them not to eat too much so they would enjoy the festive dinner.

The children beamed at the reminder, as though the holiday was their favorite.

There was not an unhappy soul around you. A group of teens a few meters away were hanging decorations across the street, on top of each other’s shoulders, laughing and bantering.

Come night and the people’s mood only got better. They brought gifts to Doom and sang for him while others danced in gleeful delight. He clapped and drank the entire night, constantly asking if there was anything else you wanted.

Unable to keep it in, you marveled, “Your people look so happy.”

“I would hope so,” he said, amusement distorted by his faceplate.

The city looked different than it had earlier. Perhaps because the streets were now buzzing with music and people, or because the children were chasing each other.

It almost saddened you when the celebrations were over. You expected a tumult, protests because they had been having fun, but everybody happily found their way home.

As servants cleaned up the area, Doom invited you to take another walk. The peaceful atmosphere as the empty streets, lit up just perfectly, embraced you.

His steps were steady just like his breath despite how much mead he drank. He took the faceplate off, holding it in his hand as the stroll continued.

You heard him breathe in, letting the fresh air fill his lungs. He turned to look at you, gauging your reaction.

The only thing you did was stare. His eyes were warm which you had never noticed before.

“Would you be as happy as my people if you were to live here?”

You answered honestly, “I don’t know. What would I even do here?”

You had dedicated your entire life to politics and diplomacy, getting used to different types of government and their idiosyncrasies.

“Rule.”

“You want me to usurp your throne?”

“Rule with me.”

“Doom...” you trailed off, brow furrowed as you gazed at him.

“Victor,” he corrected you. “It’s Victor for you.”

“Where is this coming from?”

Victor offered you his hands covered by metal. Hesitantly, you placed your fingers on top of his.

He gripped your fingers, speaking fervently, “I never want anything. Anyone. Now I want you.”

“So because you want me, you wish for me to abandon my life and everything I accomplished?”

He frowned for a moment. You saw the twitches in his face as he searched for the proper words to say.

He made a small, discontented sound, but his eyes stayed closed. You padded to the bathroom, the cool tile under your feet a relief. You filled a glass from the sink, sipping slowly, listening to the quiet drip of the faucet. When you turned to leave, Damian was standing in the doorway, hair even messier, eyes half-open, wearing his sleeping shorts and an old t-shirt.

You nearly jumped. “Damian? What are you doing up?”

He shrugged, stepping closer. “Making sure you don’t hurt yourself." fall in the toilet.”

You stared at him, trying not to laugh. “I’m not going to hurt myself getting water. I’m a grown woman.”

He crossed his arms, looking adorably stubborn even half-asleep. “The floor is slippery at night. And you’re tired. I’m just… being cautious.”

You smiled, setting the glass down and stepping into his space. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. His chin rested on your head, warm and solid.

“You’re clingy when you’re sleepy,” you teased softly, fingers tracing patterns on his back.

“I am not clingy,” he muttered, but his arms tightened around you. “I’m… protective. There’s a difference.”

You laughed quietly, nuzzling into his neck. “Sure. Protective of me falling into the toilet or something at 3am.”

He huffed, but didn’t let go. Instead, he walked you back to the bed, still holding you close, and pulled you down with him. You ended up curled against his chest, his arm draped over your waist, leg tangled with yours. He pressed a soft kiss to your hair, already drifting back to sleep.

“Stay,” he mumbled. “Please.”

You smiled against his skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He made a small, contented sound and held you tighter.

The next night, it happened again.

You woke up around 2am, needing the bathroom. The second your feet hit the floor, once again; Damian stirred beside you. This time he didn’t even pretend to be asleep. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, hair sticking up in every direction.

“I’ll come with you,” he said, voice gravelly.

You turned, smiling in the dark. “Damian, I can go to the bathroom by myself. I’ve been doing it for years.”

He frowned, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “The hallway is dark. And cold. You might trip.”

You laughed softly, but let him follow you anyway. He walked beside you the whole way, one hand on your lower back like he was ready to catch you if you stumbled. When you reached the bathroom door, he waited outside, leaning against the wall until you came out. Then he took your hand, leading you back to bed without a word.

Once you were both under the covers, he pulled you against his chest again, arms wrapping around you like a shield. His chin rested on your head, breath warm against your hair.

“I'll say it again. you're clingy,” you whispered, smiling.

“I am not,” he muttered, but his hold tightened. “I’m… ensuring your safety. That’s all.”

You kissed his collarbone. “Well I love your version of safety.”

He made a small, pleased sound and fell back asleep almost immediately, holding you like you might vanish if he let go.

It became a pattern.

Every night, no matter how deeply he slept, the second you moved, Damian was awake. If you got up for water, he followed, standing in the doorway like a silent guardian. If you had a nightmare and sat up gasping, he was there instantly, pulling you into his arms, murmuring soft reassurances in Arabic until you calmed down. If you simply rolled over, he’d reach out, hand finding yours under the covers, lacing your fingers together like he needed the connection to stay asleep.

During the day, he was the same reserved, slightly arrogant Damian Wayne the world knew — blunt, focused, keeping everyone at arm’s length. But at night, in the quiet dark of your shared room, he was soft. Clingy. Needy in a way he’d never admit.

One particularly cold night, you woke up shivering. Before you could even reach for the extra blanket, Damian was already moving. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms and legs around you like a human blanket, his body heat seeping into yours. His face pressed against your neck, breath warm and steady.

“Cold?” he mumbled, half-asleep.

“A little,” you whispered, smiling as you snuggled into him. “You’re warm though.”

He made a small, contented sound, nuzzling closer. “Stay close then. I’ve got you.”

You fell back asleep like that — wrapped up in Damian Wayne, his arms around you, his leg thrown over yours, like he couldn’t bear even an inch of space between you.

In the morning, he’d wake up first, as always. He’d slip out of bed quietly, pretending the clingy boy from the night before had never existed. He’d make coffee, set out your favourite mug, and act like nothing had changed. But you’d catch him watching you with that soft look when he thought you weren’t looking. And when you’d smile at him across the table, he’d blush faintly and look away, ears pink.

But at night, he’d reach for you again. Every single time.

Because no matter how much he denied it during the day, Damian Wayne was the clingiest sleepy boyfriend in the world. And you wouldn’t have him any other way.