#explict fic

The golden ring of the portal hissed as it sliced through the sterile, humid air of the Batcave, spitting out a cloud of cigarette smoke and a sudden, sharp drop in temperature. John stepped through first, his trench coat damp and his expression sour enough to curd milk. Right behind him, hovering a few inches off the reinforced floor, was the "mystery partner"—Danny, currently in his full Phantom regalia. The King’s Crown pulsed with a low, violet thrum, and his star-dusted cloak billowed despite the lack of a breeze. John could feel the tension in the cave ratchet up to a breaking point. Bruce was already half-way to his utility belt, his eyes narrowed at the glowing, celestial teenager. "John," Bruce growled, his voice a low warning. "Explain. Now." "Not now, Bruce. I’ve got a massive headache and......

To find out what Constantine said, go to

or

Tim said, as if nothing had happened. "Oxygen. I keep forgetting the lungs need that to function properly. It’s... easy to forget."

"Inefficient?" Damian’s voice was sharp with genuine alarm. "Timothy, you stayed stationary for nearly forty-five seconds. Even a master of the League’s breathing techniques requires more circulation than that."

Excerpt:

"Ｈｏｌｄ ｙｏｕｒ ｂｒｅａｔｈ，"  Danny warned, his voice echoing with a low, spectral reverb. "Ｐｈｙｓｉｃｓ ａｒｅ ａｂｏｕｔ ｔｏ ｇｅｔ ｒｅａｌ ｗｅｉｒｄ．" With a sharp tug, the safehouse blurred into a smear of grey and green. The smell of gun oil and old coffee was replaced by the scent of ozone, ancient cedar, and the deep, silent cold of the void. As they materialized in the heart of the Obsidian Castle, the Realms reacted to our presence like a living thing recognizing its master. The throne room breathed with a rhythmic, low-frequency hum that vibrated through the soles of their boots. The architecture was an impossible blend of gothic architecture and celestial nebulae, where the pillars were carved from solidified shadow and the floor mirrored a star-map that shifted with every step Danny took. Danny felt the familiar, cold pressure of the King’s Crown—the jagged, dark crystalline points pulsating with a violet light that echoed the rhythm of his own core. From his shoulders, the King’s Cloak spilled out like a river of ink; it didn't just look like the night sky, it was the night sky, with tiny, dying stars trickling from the hem and dissolving into the floor like embers. Beside him, Damian stood with a rigid, regal grace that even the Realms couldn't rattle. The Prince’s Cloak—a deep, heavy velvet the color of the void—settled over his shoulders as if it had been tailored for him by fate itself. The silver circlet of the Prince sat nestled in his dark hair, the metal gleaming with a cold, pale light that highlighted the sharp, aristocratic lines of his face. He looked every bit the dark sovereign, a perfect mirror to Danny's more radiant, starlit presence. And in Danny's eyes, he couldn't get enough of that sight. Jason, however, looked like he was vibrating out of his skin. He was hovering about four inches off the ground, his boots twitching as he struggled to find an anchor in a world where gravity was merely a suggestion. "Danny," John Constantine grumbled, pushing off the black glass pillar he’d been leaning against. He looked out of place in his rumpled trench coat amidst the cosmic grandeur, yet the way the shadows curled affectionately around his ankles suggested he was more at home here than he’d ever admit.  "You really don't do things by halves, do you? Bringing a Bat and a Revenant into the heart of the Realms is one thing, but crowning one before he has even had a drink? That’s a bit theatrical, even for a Constantine."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/76228706/chapters/199497346

Just as the world began to white out at the edges, just as the tension reached a point of no return where Danny was a split-second away from shattering, Damian pulled away.

The loss of contact was so sudden it felt like a physical blow. Danny let out a loud, frustrated cry of protest, his body jerking forward into the empty air where Damian’s mouth had been. He was left suspended, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, his skin humming with a desperate, unfulfilled electricity.

Damian looked up at him, his lips wet and a dark, triumphant smirk playing on his face. He didn't move from his knees, remaining in that mock-submissive posture while holding Danny’s entire world in his hands.

"Not yet, Stella mea," Damian whispered, his voice dripping with a dark, cruel amusement. "You haven't been properly measured for your endurance. I told you I have no intention of finishing this quickly. You will stay on this edge until I decide you’ve earned the right to fall."

Fic info

Words at the moment: 24,246

Fandoms: Batman & Danny Phantom

Ship(s): Danny/Damian, John Constantine/???

Age rating: Explicit

Platforms: Wattpad, A03

Summary:

What could go wrong? Cursed Fenton Luck.

For Danny Fenton, apparently, everything within the span of two months, his world falls apart.

But thankfully, he has his mentor, the Sad Trenchcoat Man, and a really pretty lady to help him get through all of it, and maybe a few Bats and Birds… And maybe one Baby Bat. Maybe... Wink Wink

Damian remained on one knee behind him, the silver tape measure held between his fingers like a weapon. He could feel the heat radiating off Danny in waves—a heavy, humid warmth that smelled of sweat, adrenaline, and the sharp, metallic tang of rising desperation. Beneath the silence of the room, Damian could hear it again: that low, phantom hum. It was a vibration that seemed to originate from the very core of Danny's being, rhythmic and steady, yet intensifying whenever Damian moved an inch closer. It was a frequency entirely reactive to Damian’s presence, a secret confession that Danny's body was making even as his lips remained silent.

"You are losing your focus, Danny," Damian murmured, his eyes tracking a single bead of sweat as it rolled down the dip of Danny’s spine. "I can see the tremor in your quadriceps. It makes the measurement... unreliable."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/76228706/chapters/199497346