#jinx!reader

hi guys

long time no see

i joke im on here everyday i js havent posted anything

exams r killing me rn

BUTTTTTTTTT

i have drafts !!

Jinx!Reader

Jinx chose Vidia (from Tinkerbell) because she wanted something that would match the purple in her hair. She couldn't choose between Matt or Chris to coordinate with so she chose something solo.

Savior!Chris

Chris chose a Life Guard so he had an excuse to carry around a first aid kit for Jinx, in case she got hurt.

Savior!Matt

Matt chose to be a Pilot and Co-Pilot with Shep because he was hoping Shep would help catch Jinx's attention.

The Chratt List:

AU Summary: Whatever can go wrong will when it comes to Jinx. But that's okay because her two best friends are always there to save the day for her.

Jinx!Reader... Who despite having terrible luck tries to stay positive has feelings for both Matt and Chris but can't fully decide. Hates when Matt and Chris fight over her. (Moodboard one is Jinx for Savior!Chris; Moodboard two is Jinx for Savior!Matt)

Savior!Chris [Christopher Owens]... Who always answers right away. Drops everything to save Jinx. Loves dinosaurs. Is a pro at bandaging wounds because of Jinx. Loves laying on the hill staring at the stars (his secret getaway). Works at a cafe. Loves swimming. Favorite color is green. (Like Jinx's eyes.)

Savior!Matt [Matthew Haywood]... Who settle into the minimalist lifestyle. Works at the local grocery store. Has a golden retriever named Shep. Knows a little about cars from growing up and helping his dad. Drop anything for the right person type. Cozy nights in. Flannel. Fall. Acoustic guitar. Throwing a ball with Shep so they can both unwind. Secret beef stew recipe. Heart on his sleeve. Quiet and keeps to himself but knows everyone in town.

Our first AU that isn't a whole series lmao how do we feel? This has been so fun to plan!

This AU is open for requests!

Requests for Savior!Chris will be written by The Chris Girl. Requests for Savior!Matt will be written by The Matt Girl.

Please Note: In this AU Matt and Chris ARE NOT RELATED.

-- The Chratt Twins

The Chratt List:

THANKS FOR THE LIKES

NOW PLEASE HELP ME

WHO ELSE SHOULD I WRITE FOR I DONT JUST WANAN WRITE FOR DAMIAN AND JINX!READER

HELP

I LOVE THE HP FANDOM, OBX, MAYBE ILL WRITE FOR CELEBS, BUT IDK WHO ELSE

i have a hector fort ff that’s absolutely horrible but i love barcelona like thats my childhood team

so maybe i’ll write for them

but idk if anyone will read them cs ppl only cared for those ffs during the 2022 world cup

IDK HELP SEND REQUEST

ALSO I NEED MUTUALS

damian wayne x fem!jinx!reader

summary ; yet another breakup gets reconciled at a party. after some… interesting events. words ; 5.8k warnings ; underaged drinking + slight mention on problems with alcohol, verbal argument, relationship conflict, lowkey toxic relationship, mild violence, threats, physical intimidation, unstable living situation, mild sexual undertones (barely), suggestive dancing + touching, language, mentions of cheating? (not really since they’re broken up tho we DONT condone cheating here) masterlist ; here

the kellerman house was the kind of place that screamed "my parents are in the hamptons and left their black card." all glass and chrome and imported marble that probably cost the same as a lung. the kind of place where rich kids came to pretend they were dangerous while their last names kept them safe.

you hated it immediately.

which was perfect, because you were in the kind of mood where hating things felt good. therapeutic, even.

like scratching an itch you couldn't quite reach.

it had been six days since you'd told damian that maybe he should find a girlfriend who didn't come with a body count and property damage.

six days since he'd looked at you with those stupidly perfect green eyes and said nothing.

just stood there in the empty chemistry lab while your words hung in the air like smoke.

six days of radio silence.

not that you were counting.

"holy shit, you actually came."

you turned to find marcus chen approaching with a red solo cup and a grin that suggested he'd already sampled whatever was in it. sweet kid. honor student. the kind of person who probably still believed in happy endings.

"disappointed?" you asked, accepting the drink he offered. it smelled like regret and bad decisions. perfect.

"are you kidding? you're like, an icon. half the school thinks you're going to burn the place down."

you took a sip and immediately regretted it. whatever was in the cup tasted like it could strip paint. "the night is young."

marcus laughed like you were joking. you weren't entirely sure you were.

you'd spent an hour getting ready tonight, your dark blue hair, long enough to brush your lower back, falling in waves around your shoulders. the black halter top and sequined shorts had felt like armor when you'd put them on, but now they just felt like a statement you weren't sure you wanted to make.

the music was too loud, the kind of bass that made your bones vibrate in a way that reminded you uncomfortably of other things. bodies pressed together on what used to be the kellermans' pristine living room floor, all grinding hips and wandering hands and the kind of desperate energy that came from being seventeen and stupid.

you'd fit right in, if it weren't for the whispers in your head that no one else could hear.

another drink. bigger this time. the alcohol burned, but it was a clean burn, not like other things that coursed through your veins.

"you look like you're having the time of your life."

the voice cut through your internal noise like a blade, and you didn't have to turn to know who it was. you recognize that particular brand of sarcasm anywhere.

tyler morrison.

gotham high's golden boy. soccer captain, student council president, and the kind of guy who thought "no" was just a negotiating tactic.

he'd been trying to get in your pants since sophomore year, despite your repeated attempts to explain, sometimes with violence, that you'd rather date a rabid wolverine.

"tyler," you said without turning around. "come to get rejected again? i've got new and creative ways to say no."

"come on, don't be like that." he moved to stand beside you, close enough that you could smell his cologne. expensive. cloying. "we both know you're only playing hard to get because you're hung up on wayne."

something flared under your skin like a live wire. "excuse me?"

"everyone knows you two broke up," he continued, apparently oblivious to the way you'd gone very still. "which means you're available. and i’ve been very patient."

the voices whispered suggestions. you took another drink instead. "your patience isn't my problem."

"maybe not. but your loneliness is."

the words hit like a slap, mostly because there was truth in them.

you were lonely.

had been since damian stopped walking you to class, stopped leaving notes in your locker, stopped looking at you like you were something worth saving instead of something to be contained.

"i’m fine," you lied.

"sure you are. that's why you're standing here alone, drinking marcus's terrible punch, looking like you want to burn the place down."

"maybe i do."

tyler laughed. "See? This is what I like about you. You're wild. Unpredictable. Dangerous."

"you have no idea," you said out loud, turning to face him fully. The movement made the room tilt slightly, when had you finished your drink? but you compensated with reflexes that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

"so show me." tyler's smile was all teeth and confidence. "dance with me."

your rational mind supplied reasons to say no, to walk away, to find somewhere quiet to sober up before you did something you'd regret.

but your rational mind was being drowned out by internal noise and alcohol and the way tyler was looking at you like a challenge. like something to be conquered.

and you'd always been bad at backing down from a challenge.

"fine," you heard yourself say. "but i lead." grabbing his hand you walked him over to where the rest were dancing.

the dance floor was a crush of bodies and sweat and perfume that couldn't quite mask the underlying scent of desperation. someone had turned the music up even louder, and the bass line made your ribcage vibrate in a way that felt dangerously familiar.

tyler's hands found your hips immediately, possessive and presumptuous. under normal circumstances, you would have broken his fingers. but the alcohol was making everything feel distant and dreamlike, and something was humming under your skin like a tuning fork.

you moved against Tyler, letting the music guide your hips, your hands, your whole body. around you, people were starting to take notice. a few phones appeared, but most people were too drunk or too focused on their own dancing to care about your little show.

this was power. not the kind that came from needles and laboratories, but the kind that came from being seventeen and reckless and beautifully, destructively alive.

"damn, girl," someone shouted over the music, but their voice was swallowed by the general noise of the party.

tyler's hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer grinding on your back, and you let him. let him think he was in control, that this was about him, when really it was about the boy who wasn't here. the one who'd looked at you like a problem to be solved instead of a person to be loved.

the music shifted, something with a harder edge, and you found yourself climbing onto the nearest surface, a coffee table that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. a few people cheered, but the party kept flowing around you like water around a stone.

tyler reached for your ankle, grinning like he'd won something.

that's when you saw him, hips still moving and hands in your hair.

damian stood near the kitchen doorway like an avenging angel, all sharp angles and barely contained violence. he was wearing dark jeans and a black t-shirt that did things to his arms that should have been illegal, and his eyes, gosh, his eyes were locked on you with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you. the party faded into background noise, and it was just him and you and six days' worth of unspoken words crackling between you.

then tyler's hand closed around your ankle, and something unstable rippled through the air around you.

tyler jerked his hand away with a curse, shaking his fingers like he'd been burned. which, considering things you didn't like to think about, he probably had been.

"what the fuck—" he started.

"get away from her."

damian's voice cut across the music, low and dangerous and absolutely lethal. he was moving through the crowd now, people instinctively stepping aside without knowing why, and there was something in his expression that suggested tyler had about three seconds to live.

"wayne." Tyler straightened, puffing up like an angry peacock. the party continued around them, most people too drunk or distracted to notice the building tension. "this doesn't concern you."

"everything that involves her concerns me."

the possessive edge in his voice made something warm and complicated unfurl in your chest. even broken up, even after six days of silence, he still claimed you. still came running when you were in trouble.

still cared.

"she was dancing with me," tyler shot back. "willingly."

"was she?" damian's eyes flicked to you, taking in your flushed cheeks, the way you swayed slightly on the table. his jaw clenched. "she's drunk."

"so are half the people here."

"she's not half the people here."

there was something in the way he said it, careful, controlled, like he was holding back words that might get someone killed, that made your heart do stupid things in your chest.

he knows, you realized. he knows what happens when you drink. it’d been a problem before, one he of course helped you out of.

"girls," you called out, your voice carrying a sharp edge that made both of them look up. the room was spinning pleasantly now, and everything felt soft around the edges, but that just made you feel more reckless. more willing to poke at wounds. you crouched down and cupped both their faces before pushing them away. "you're both very pretty, but I'm not a prize to be won."

"then get down from there," Damian said, his voice tight with something that might have been fear. "before you—"

he cut himself off, but you knew what he'd been about to say. before you hurt someone. before you lose control. before you prove that you're exactly the mess everyone thinks you are.

"before i what?" you asked sweetly, taking a step closer to the edge of the table. "before I have fun? before i do something spontaneous? gosh forbid i act like a normal teenager for five minutes."

"you're not normal," he said quietly, and the words hit like a slap.

the party kept going around you, but something cold settled in your chest. "wow. thanks for the reminder, boy wonder. you know for a second there i almost forgot i was a freak."

his face went white. "that's not what i meant—"

"sure it is." you laughed, and it came out brittle and sharp. "poor little damaged girl, can't be trusted to make her own decisions. might accidentally hurt someone if she has too much fun."

"you're putting words in my mouth."

"am i? because it sounds pretty familiar. Sounds like every conversation we've had for the past month." you took another step, and tyler wisely backed away from the table. smart boy. "you want to know what i think, damian?"

"not particularly," he said, but his eyes never left you.

"i think you like that i'm broken." The words spilled out of you, alcohol and six days of hurt giving them weight. "i think it makes you feel important, having someone to save. someone who needs you."

"That's not true."

"it is true— it is fucking true. because then why are you here? why do you keep showing up every time i'm having fun without you?"

"because i care about you!"

"you care about controlling me!" The words exploded out of you, and you felt something unstable ripple through the air again. a few people nearby shivered and moved away without knowing why. "there's a difference!"

damian stepped closer to the table, and his voice was deadly calm. "get down. now."

"make me."

it was a challenge, pure and simple. the kind of line in the sand that you'd both crossed too many times to count. around you, the party flowed on, people dancing, drinking, laughing, completely oblivious to the fact that their classmates were having a relationship meltdown in the middle of the living room.

for a moment, you thought he might actually climb up after you. his whole body was coiled like a spring, ready for violence, and there was something wild in his eyes that you'd only seen a few times before.

then tyler opened his mouth.

"jeez, wayne, just let her have some fun. she’s not your property."

wrong thing to say. very, very wrong thing to say.

damian turned on him with predatory grace, and suddenly tyler found himself pressed against the wall with a forearm across his throat. the movement was so fast, so fluid, that most of the party didn't even notice.

"let me explain something to you," damian said conversationally, like he wasn't currently cutting off someone's air supply. "she's not interested in you. she's never been interested in you. and if I catch you touching her again, they'll need dental records to identify your body."

tyler made a strangled sound that might have been protest or agreement.

"damian," you said, and something in your voice made him look up. made him see the way you were staring at him with glittering eyes and no longer smiling. "let him go."

for a moment, damian didn't move. then he stepped back, and tyler slumped against the wall, gasping.

"this isn't over," tyler wheezed before stumbling away into the crowd.

damian sighed rolling his eyes, “yeah it is.”

which left you and Damian alone in a room full of people who were too drunk to care about the drama unfolding in their midst.

"happy now?" you asked, swaying slightly on your perch. "you've marked your territory. very alpha male of you. i’m so proud."

"get. down. i’m not gonna tell you again." he repeated, his voice strained.

"why? so you can lecture me about my choices? so you can remind me how dangerous i am?"

"so i can take you home before you do something you'll regret."

"what if i don't want to go home? what if i want to stay here and dance on tables and let tyler morrison feel me up?" you knew you were being cruel, knew you were twisting the knife, but the alcohol had loosened your tongue and six days of silence had sharpened your blade. "what if i want to be normal for one night?"

"youre not normal, you can't be normal," he said, and there was something broken in his voice. "neither of us can."

"speak for yourself, boy wonder. some of us didn't choose this life."

the words hung between you like poison, and you saw him flinch. because it was true, and you both knew it. he'd chosen to put on a mask, chosen to fight crime, chosen to surround himself with danger.

you'd been eleven years old when the choice was made for you.

"i know," he said quietly. "i know you didn't choose this. But you can't pretend it didn't happen. look i’m sorry for what i said, but you can't drink it away or dance it away or fuck it away with tyler morrison."

"watch me," you said, and started to turn away from him.

that's when he moved.

one moment you were standing on the table, the next you were being lifted down by strong hands around your waist. the world spun, and you found yourself pressed against Damian's chest, close enough to smell his cologne and feel the heat of his skin.

"let go of me," you snarled, pushing against him.

"no."

"i said let go!"

"and i said no." his grip tightened, not enough to hurt but enough to keep you still. "you’re drunk and you're angry and you're about to do something stupid."

"something stupid like what? have fun? enjoy myself? gosh forbid i act like i'm seventeen instead of some fragile doll that might break if you're not watching every second!"

"you're not fragile," he said, his voice rough. "you're the strongest person I know. But you're also—"

"what? a liability? a ticking time bomb?"

"hurting," he said simply, and the word hit like a physical blow. "you're hurting, and when you hurt, you lash out. at me, at yourself, at anyone who gets too close."

"you don't know what you're talking about."

"don't i? then why are you here, drinking yourself stupid and grinding on morrison? why are you picking a fight with me in the middle of a party? why are you trying so hard to prove that you don't need anyone?!"

the questions hung in the air between you, and you hated how accurate they were. hated that he could see through your defenses so easily, could read you like a book when you'd spent years perfecting the art of being unreadable.

"because i don't need anyone," you said, but the words came out shaky.

"liar."

"i’m not—"

"you're terrified," he interrupted. "you're terrified that if you let yourself need someone, they'll leave. just like your father did. just like everyone else has."

"shut up." the words came out as a whisper, but they carried the weight of a scream.

"i'm not going to leave," he said, his voice gentle now. "no matter how hard you push, no matter how much you try to convince me that you're not worth staying for. i’m not going anywhere."

"you already did leave," you said, and there were tears threatening at the corners of your eyes. "six days ago. you walked away."

"you told me to go."

"you should have fought harder!"

"i’m fighting now."

the simple statement hung between you, and suddenly you were aware of how close you were standing. how his hands were still on your waist, how you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing.

around you, the party continued. people danced and laughed and made the kind of memories that would embarrass them in the morning. nobody was paying attention to the two of you, locked in your own private drama.

"i missed you," you whispered, the admission torn from somewhere deep in your chest.

"i missed you too."

"even when i’m like this? drunk and mean and impossible?"

"especially then."

you stared up at him, taking in the familiar green of his eyes, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead. "we're really bad at this, aren't we?"

"terrible," he agreed. "We fight constantly, break up every other week, and you once put me through that wall."

"okay, that was an accident."

"i know."

"and you forgave me."

"i forgave you."

"why?"

he was quiet for a moment, his thumbs stroking across your hipbones in a gesture that was unconsciously soothing. "because loving you is the easiest thing i’ve ever done. everything else, the fighting, the drama, the constant worry, that's hard. but loving you? that's as natural as breathing."

the tears you'd been fighting finally spilled over, and you buried your face against his chest. he smelled like expensive cologne and laundry detergent and something underneath that was just him.

"i’m sorry," you mumbled against his shirt. "i’m sorry for what i said, and for pushing you away, and for being such a mess."

"you're my mess," he said, his arms tightening around you. "and i'm not going anywhere."

you stayed like that for a long moment, clinging to each other in the middle of a party full of strangers. finally, you pulled back enough to look at him.

"take me home?" you asked.

he nodded and took your hand, leading you through the crowd toward the exit. behind you, the party raged on, but you were already somewhere else. already safe in the space between his fingers and yours.

the drive started in silence, broken only by the low hum of the engine and your occasional sniffles. damian drove with one hand, the other holding yours across the center console, and you watched gotham's neon lights blur past the window.

"i really am sorry," you said finally.

"i know."

"i don't know why i do that. say things i don't mean just to hurt you."

"because you're scared," he said simply. "and when you're scared, you fight."

“that's not an excuse."

"no, but it's an explanation."

you squeezed his hand, marveling at how right it felt. how perfectly your fingers fit together, like they'd been designed specifically for this purpose.

"i love you," you said.

"i love you too."

"even when i'm being impossible?"

"especially then."

you were almost to your neighborhood when you realized the problem. not the time, it was only 11:30, plenty early for your midnight curfew, but the other thing.

you were drunk. not falling-down drunk, but enough that mrs. henderson would notice the moment you walked through the door. would smell the alcohol, see your dilated pupils, ask questions you weren't prepared to answer.

"shit," you breathed as damian pulled into your neighborhood.

"What's wrong?"

"i can't go in like this. mrs. henderson will know i've been drinking."

he glanced at you, taking in your flushed cheeks and slightly glassy eyes. "and that's bad because...?"

"because she'll call my social worker. and my social worker will decide that this placement isn't working out. and then it's back to group homes and temporary families who see me as a paycheck instead of a person."

the words came out in a rush, and you saw understanding dawn in his eyes. your living situation was precarious at best, most foster families didn't want a teenager with your particular brand of baggage. mrs. henderson was nice enough, but she had rules. and showing up drunk was definitely against the rules.

"how long until you're sober?" he asked.

"a couple hours, maybe? i didn't have that much, but i'm not exactly a heavyweight."

he was quiet for a moment, considering. then he pulled over a few houses down from yours and turned off the engine.

"what are you doing?"

"waiting," he said simply. "until you're sober enough to go inside without getting in trouble."

you stared at him. "damian, you don't have to—"

"yes, i do."

"it could be hours."

"i've got time."

"your family will wonder where you are."

"i'll text Alfred."

"this is stupid. i can handle—"

"i know you can," he interrupted. "but you don't have to. Not tonight."

the words hit like a physical blow, because no one had ever told you that before. that you didn't have to handle everything alone, that it was okay to let someone else share the load.

"okay," you whispered.

he reclined his seat and gestured for you to do the same. the car was warm and quiet, a cocoon of safety in a world that had never been particularly safe for either of you.

"this is nice," you said finally.

"what is?"

"this. us. not fighting."

"we'll probably be fighting again by tomorrow."

"probably."

"about something stupid."

"definitely something stupid."

"but not tonight."

"no," you agreed, settling back in your seat. "not tonight."

he reached over and took your hand again, and you felt the last of the tension leave your body. the alcohol was fading, leaving behind a pleasant drowsiness and the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that came from emotional warfare.

"tell me something," you said.

"like what?"

"anything. i like your voice."

so he did. told you about the book he was reading, about alfred's latest attempts to get him to eat vegetables, about the robin's nest outside his bedroom window. ordinary things, domestic things, the kind of details that painted a picture of a life beyond the masks and the darkness.

somewhere in the middle of a story about his youngest brother's latest prank war with tim, you fell asleep.

you dreamed of laboratories and needles and men in lab coats who looked at you like a problem to be solved. but in your dreams, someone was holding your hand. someone with green eyes and gentle fingers who whispered your name like a prayer.

someone who stayed.

@ scarsoncherryglass 2025 . reposts, likes, and comments are very appreciated!

tag list ; @senatorpadmeamidala

YOU ARE NOT READY FOR THIS I LOVE IT SM WTF

please don’t embarrass me when i post it PLEASE LIKE IT AS MICH AS I DO

damian wayne x fem!jinx!reader

summary ; he walks you home everyday. words ; 3.6k warnings ; language, suggestive kiss, toxic dynamic (if u read between the lines), protective behaviour, underage kids sneaking into bedrooms (theyre like 17-18 chill), reader is described to have long dark blue hair nothing else about skin color or body image (the pictures in the mood board and the header are not how the character is, i simply chose these to make it easier for me to write) masterlist ; here

it had always been clear to you that in life, some people just had it better than others. no use sugarcoating it, that was just the way things were.

you saw it every day walking down the halls of Gotham High, metal bracelets clinking against each other with each swing of your arms, the thud of worn combat boots echoing off the floors. your uniform skirt was short enough to earn disapproving glances, more belt than actual clothing, making you stand out not only from the pristine, perfume-scented girls, but the guys too.

these people had their lives already mapped out in neat, expensive handwriting. they didn’t need to think outside the box, hell, most of them had never even opened the lid. living one safe, easy day at a time was enough for them. to their eyes, the world was perfect.

Gotham High’s stereotype was simple: it only bred two types of people, the rich, and the richer.

you’d always been good at breaking stereotypes, and this one had been the easiest yet. maybe it would’ve been harder if your “father”, a self-proclaimed scientist with more ego than sense, hadn’t managed to get himself obliterated by his own experiment.

there’s a saying about not speaking ill of the dead. but the dead can’t talk back, so what’s the harm?

damian wayne liked breaking stereotypes too.

just… not as much as you did.

he’d step outside the lines, sure, but only if he decided it was worth it. he was a curious bat, but the type to open the box only if you told him not to. because, really when had damian wayne ever listened to anyone else’s rules?

the young man spoke four languages fluently, was top of his class, and was skilled in more martial arts than you cared to count. raised as a weapon, and fully aware of it.

stereotypes didn’t mean much to him. he liked breaking them. he liked breaking things in general, always certain he could put them back together.

it was different with you.

you came to him already broken, jagged in all the wrong places, and you didn’t want to be fixed. you were comfortable in the pain, like it was an old jacket you refused to throw away.

and even though he’d never admit it, it scared him.

the recklessness. the thoughtlessness.

so he started protecting you in a way that didn’t cage you, a way that let you keep the dangerous freedom you’d fought for your whole life but had only barely managed to touch.

It became a ritual: walking you home. He hated the sight of you weaving down the sidewalk, earbuds crammed in so tight they probably hurt, blasting some rock song loud enough to be heard halfway down the street.

he hated even more the way men would watch you pass, eyes tracking the swing of your skirt, waiting for the wind or your own steps to give them more than they deserved.

so he’d wait by your locker until the bell rang and the trust fund kids poured out of Gotham High like they had somewhere better to be.

as usual, you were held up.

damian stood, patient but watchful, as you argued animatedly with a teacher, no doubt over the ripped black tights you wore. they’d been labeled “provocative” before, but they only became a real issue after some idiot decided to hook his fingers through one of the tears and drag you onto his lap.

the “idiot” came to school the next week in a neck brace. no proof, of course. but everyone knew.

“hey, boy wonder!”

your cheerfully mocking voice snapped him from his thoughts.

he sighed. “how many times have I told you not to call me that?”

he still didn’t know how you’d figured out the robin thing, but you wouldn’t tell anyone and no one at this school was smart enough to put the pieces together anyway.

you sighed back at him in a perfect imitation, falling back into his chest. “don’t know. don’t care.” plucking a piece of gum into your mouth, and reaching up to his to give him his own peace.

he didn’t answer, lips wrapped around the tips of your fingers, giving you that unreadable look one corner of his mouth twitching up almost imperceptibly. his arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you close into his warmth.

the walk from Gotham High to your current foster home was long, especially in Gotham’s bone-deep winters. but no matter how many excuses you threw out, damian walked you there every day, even if it was the complete opposite direction of his own home.

you’d never admit it, but you liked these walks. it was the only time of day that felt… still. that felt yours.

you didn’t know everything about him. he didn’t know everything about you. but he knew your tells.

the way you rolled your bracelets on your wrist to ground yourself when he wasn’t there, the way each shift in your hair color was an attempt to reclaim some control. he knew the pink in your eyes brightened when the shimmer in your blood started pulling at your nerves, making your hands twitch. he knew when to pull you in and when to leave you alone, even when it went against every instinct to step back.

“oooh, look at that,” you said suddenly, pointing a blue-nailed finger toward a newly pasted concert poster.

he made a sound somewhere between a hum and a tch.

“jeez, could you be any more boring?” you wriggled out from under his arm, walking ahead.

he stayed back just long enough to snap a picture of the poster… and a quick candid of you. he knew you’d hit him for it later, but you’d still ask him to send it to you.

when he caught up, you gave him a pointed glare. “you know, most people at least pretend to be sneaky when they take pictures.”

“you’d ruin the shot if i warned you.”

your hand flew to your chest, faux-offended. “so you admit I’m photogenic.”

“that wasn’t a compliment.”

“sure it wasn’t,” you hummed. “bet you’ve got a whole folder of your ‘non-compliments’ saved.”

he didn’t deny it. which told you everything.

by the time you reached your block, the air had turned sharp enough to sting. you slowed down without meaning to, and of course, damian noticed.

“you’re doing it again,” he said quietly.

“doing what?”

“making the walk last longer.”

you smirked. “maybe I just like your company, boy wonder.”

“i prefer to think of it as keeping the streets safe from you.”

“oh, please. without me, this city would be boring. crime rates would drop out of pure disappointment.”

he gave you that sidelong look, the one that made you feel like he could see straight through your skull. “you inspire something. not sure fear is the right word.”

“careful, damian. sounds like you think i’m irresistible.”

“i was going to say troublesome. but if the shoe fits…” he shrugged.

you stopped walking, forcing him to stop too. “did you just call me irresistible?”

“no.”

“yes.”

“no.”

“yes.”

hesighed, like you were exhausting but worth it. “insufferable. that was the word i was looking for—”

“—they’re very similar words,” you cut in nodding, your cold hands slipping into his.

he didn’t let go. “right exactly. unfortunately.”

“not what you said last night,” you teased.

the words “about last night” hung in the air like a live wire between them. you’d said it so casually, like it hadn’t been replaying in damian’s head for hours, the memory into him as vividly as the moonlight that had spilled across his bedroom floor.

last night had been trouble from the second you tapped on his window.

he’d been sketching, alone, in the clean precision of his room, walls lined with books and sharpened blades and then there was you. perched on the sill like sin dressed in ripped tights and smudged eyeshadow, hair falling tangled around your smirk.

“miss me?” you’d whispered, slipping in without waiting for an answer. you smelled faintly like smoke and something sweet he couldn’t place.

he’d told you it was a bad idea. “what the hell is wrong with you? you can’t just show up here.” his tone was sharp, but his eyes had already softened.

you’d only tilted your head, stepping close enough that your knees brushed. “what, afraid daddy might walk in?” you teased, voice low, wicked. the word daddy had made him flinch, not because you were wrong, but because bruce would kill him.

damian had locked the door anyway.

you’d kissed him then, quick, like you were testing the air before pulling back with that sly little grin. he hated how easily you got under his skin. one second, he was trying to keep his guard up; the next, his hands were in your hair and your back was pressed to his desk.

the night had been slow and charged, every movement deliberate. you straddling his lap in the chair, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. him trying not to make a sound when your lips brushed that spot beneath his ear. his mind screaming that bruce could knock any second, his pulse screaming louder that he didn’t care.

you’d ended up tangled together on his bed, knees knocking, your laugh muffled into his chest. when you finally left, slipping back out into the Gotham night, his room smelled like you. It still did.

now, in the present, he was standing in the cold alley of the convenience store next to the hose you were staying at, watching you lean against the brick wall pulling him closer by his uniform tie, like the whole world was your audience. his chest felt tight, a dangerous mix of irritation and longing.

you remembered every second of last night, and like you knew he was replaying it too.

that flicker in his eyes told you you’d hit your mark.

one step, and you were pressed harder against the wall, his hand curling at the back of your neck, mouth on yours not soft, not sweet. heated. certain.

you didn’t even realize your hands had fisted in his jacket until he finally pulled back, breath warm against your lips.

“happy now?”

You pretended to think. “six out of ten.”

that earned you a dangerous-sounding laugh. “six— you know what, careful what you ask for.”

you smirked, brushing his lips once more before stepping away. “guess we’ll see if you can improve your score tomorrow, wayne.”

“get inside before I tell start listing off the reasons that,” he point at your uniform skirt. “—is ridiculous.”

“yeah, yeah, acting as if you don’t like it,” you scoffed, but his eyes flickered toward your street, dark with something unspoken.

he didn’t wanna let you go.

so he stalled.

“you have lipgloss on your cheek,” he said after a beat.

before you could wipe it away, his thumb brushed slow over your skin, his gaze locked on yours.

“gone?” you asked.

his mouth curved. “not exactly.”

“you’re messing with me.”

“always.”

you shoved at his chest, useless since he barely moved, tilting his head back to chuckle, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you.

you kissed your teeth making a tch sound, and muttered something about him being an asshole.

“and yet,” he said as you both started walking again, “you love me.”

you didn’t answer.

couldn’t answer.

not yet.

but you knew one thing everything felt better with him. even the chaos. especially the chaos.

@ scarsoncherryglass 2025. reposts, likes, and comments are very appreciated!

jinx!reader who’s… father was an ex-WayneTech scientist who got blacklisted after practicing illegal experimentation specializing in biochemical enhancers to turn “potential into power.”

jinx!reader who… was her fathers first test subject.

jinx!reader who… was eleven when she was injected with a volatile early-stage version of Shimmer, an unstable serum developed under the radar in the WayneTech basement.

jinx!reader who… disappeared off the grid for a year when her father “died” and she became a failed experiment.

jinx!reader who… when she came back, she wasn’t the same.

jinx!reader who… imagines killing the scientists that helped her father with the shimmer surge experiment.

jinx!reader who’s… body is extremely unstable due to the shimmer.

jinx!reader who… has brief distortions in space around causing her body to glitch.

jinx!reader who… can charge objects with volatile energy.

jinx!reader who… once “accidentally” blew up the foster home she was staying at.

jinx!reader who… has enhanced reflexes and moves unnervingly fast, making her unpredictable.

jinx!reader who’s… “shimmer pulse” is caused when overwhelmed emotionally her powers explode. often ends with cracked walls, shattered glass, people bleeding.

jinx!reader who… advanced mind has never let her forget her victims.

jinx!reader who… sometimes hears voices, especially when her adrenaline spikes.

jinx!reader who… doesn’t always know if they’re real and relies on damian to tell her.

jinx!reader who… is purely chaotic energy mixed with feral glitter-goth energy.

jinx!reader who… blows things up, skips detention, saves kids from muggers, and steals cafeteria cookies.

jinx!reader who’s… abnormally smart, but refuses to care. 143 IQ. diagnosed gifted.

jinx!reader who’s… barely passing her classes. most of the school thinks she’s a lost cause. except one person.

jinx!reader who’s… pink and blue nails are always chipped, drinks battery-acid-level energy drinks, and makes handmade weapons out of mechanical pencils.

jinx!reader who… skips gym, sleeps in academic math, but aces every chemistry test without showing work.

jinx!reader who… gets called to the principal’s office weekly for minor property damage.

jinx!reader who’s… locker has duct tape, glitter bombs, pop rocks, stolen brass knuckles, and a photo of her and damian.

jinx!reader who… once brought a raccoon to school on a leash. principal still won’t talk about it. litigation is pending.

jinx!reader who… was suspended for the week. came back on monday, bloody knuckles, hair a darker shade of blue.

damian wayne who… got assigned to sit next to her in chem, of course.

jinx!reader who… when the teacher leaves, she grabs a bottle out of her pocket mixes it with other chemicals and throws it onto the floor creating a small gas.

damian wayne who… looks at her after being escorted out of the room. “that was reckless.”

jinx!reader who… simply grins. “it was fun.”

damian wayne who… should’ve walked away. he didn’t.

jinx!reader who… figures out he’s Robin way too fast. doesn’t say anything. but starts calling him “Boy Wonder” with a wink on monday.

jinx!reader & damian wayne who... fight. a lot. then they save each other or apologize (kinda). then they fight again.

damian wayne who… he starts walking her home. she pretends not to notice. he pretends not to care.

jinx!reader who… thinks it’s cute when he’s jealous.

damian wayne who… thinks it’s terrifying when she gets quiet.

damian wayne who… calls her by her real name only when he’s scared.

jinx!reader who… only calls him damian when she means it.

jinx!reader & damian wayne who… break up every other week.

jinx!reader & damian wayne who… are the kind of couple who argue in stairwells and kiss like it’s the end of the world in locker rooms.

jinx!reader & damian wayne who… are just two scared kids haunted by faces only they see.

jinx!reader & damian wayne who…understand each other’s darkness, she lives in hers, he hides his.

@ scarsoncherryglass 2025. reposts, likes, and comments are very appreciated!