#Damian Wayne X Reader

[natsbloggg]

damian wayne does not fall in love. no. love is an agent to make people weak, foolish. in his mind, love is conditional. the kind that needs to be earned. however, him sketching you with frightening precision in his sketchbook (which by the way is filled drawings of you) tells a different story. when you mention a clothing you liked but didn’t get, it’s sitting in your closet the next day. (he listens so attentively to anything you say) over time, damian does open up. to you. he loves so deeply. he loves you with every fibre in his body, even though he doesn’t say it out loud all the time, you find it though the intricate poetry he writes about you in arabic, or the fleeting glimpses he gives you when you’re around.  a/n i wrote this in like 2 minutes im sorry if there’s any mistakes

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤDUMB PUPPYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : When You Give Them A Collar.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Terry McGinnis, Male Barbara Gordon, Male Cassandra Cain, Male Stephanie Brown.

☆⁠ NOTES : Kinda spicy. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

You present it in a little velvet box. All black leather. Expensive. Sleek.

“It’d look so good on you, baby.”

He raises a brow like you’ve lost your mind.

“You expect me to wear that?”

“I expect you to kneel too.”

He glares. Refuses. Walks away.

But next night you find him in the dark, shirtless, wearing it. Doesn’t say a word.

He won’t bark or crawl. But he’ll let you hold the leash while he eats you out on his knees.

“I’m still in control,” he growls.

“Keep telling yourself that, pup.”

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

You don’t even have to explain. You show him the collar and leash combo and he’s already wagging his metaphorical tail.

“Oh my god, is this for me? You want me to be your puppy???”

“Down, boy.”

He wears it proudly. In the apartment. On video calls. At brunch. He’s your golden retriever boyfriend and he’s LIVING for it.

“Can I get a tag with your name on it? Maybe like a bell?? Ooh! A harness???”

He lets you walk him on all fours, panting, tongue out. When he misbehaves, you tug the leash and he whines.

He even sends you selfies in it, after jerking off, with cum on his chest. Caption:

“Bad boy waiting for your punishment.”

— JASON TODD ⋆

You toss the collar on the bed like a challenge.

“Put it on.”

“You think I’m a dog, princess?”

“I think you bark a lot.”

He fights it. Glares. Snarls.

But five minutes later he’s shirtless. Leather collar snug around his throat. Chain leash in your hand.

“You gonna make me sit too?”

“No. I’m gonna make you beg.”

He growls when you tug him. Tries to act feral. But the flushed ears? The panting? The trembling thighs? You’ve turned the Red Hood into your whimpering pit bull.

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

You present it like a gift. He looks offended.

“I am not some mutt to be paraded.”

He resists. Until one night, in private, he kneels at your feet and presents his neck.

The collar clicks. The leash dangles. His breath is shaky.

“This is… humiliating.”

“And yet your cock is hard.”

You walk him around the room like royalty leading her chained beast. He never breaks eye contact. You slap his thigh—he growls. You make him crawl—he obeys.

And afterward? He stays in the collar. Lays his head in your lap like a cat.

“I belong to you. Don’t ever remove it.”

— TERRY MCGINNIS ⋆

You pull out the collar, sleek black with red accents to match his suit, and flash him a grin.

“You wanna be my pup tonight?”

“...I mean… only if you call me ‘good boy.’”

Terry is SO down bad for you it’s ridiculous. One little pout and he’s on his knees with the leash between his teeth, wagging his ass.

You tug the leash and he yelps. You make him crawl to you and bark? He does it. And he looks hot as hell doing it.

“Is this degrading or kinda hot?”

“It’s both, baby.”

He loves the attention, the control, the way you stroke his hair and say,

“Such a pretty little pet.”

He will wear it under his Batsuit. Just a little secret between you two.

— BARRY GORDON ⋆

You show him the collar and he snorts.

“Oh? You finally decided to leash your man, huh?”

“I’ve always owned you, Barry. This is just proof.”

He acts like it’s a joke. Makes snarky comments the whole time.

“Ooooh nooo I’m your pretty little pet now, what ever shall I do?”

But when you buckle it around his neck and yank the leash? His eyes flutter shut.

And when you murmur,

“Mine,”

he goes silent.

It breaks something in him—in the best way.

After? You find him wearing it while working at his computer, casually.

“Don’t mind me. Just a man in love.”

— CASSIAN CAIN ⋆

You don’t even ask. You just hold the collar out. Cassian looks at it… then slowly gets on his knees and bows his head forward.

No words.

You buckle it around his throat and hook your finger in the ring. He follows you without resistance. Crawls behind you silently. His body lean, powerful—but tamed.

You speak gently:

“My good boy…”

His breath catches. His fingers twitch. He nuzzles into your thigh like a trained dog.

Cassian doesn’t speak during it. He just moans. Whines. Purrs.

And afterward, he sleeps at your feet like a contented panther.

— STEPHEN BROWN ⋆

You show him the collar and leash and this man practically jumps into your arms.

“OH MY GOD is this real? Do I get to be your pet??? Please tell me you bought the matching ears too???”

He’s running around shirtless with the collar jingling like a bell.

“Bark bark! Ruff! Ruff! I’m such a good boy, aren’t I??”

“Stephen, sit.”

immediately drops to his knees wagging his ass.

He is the definition of “enthusiastic consent.” You walk him around the house. You make him beg. He even licks your hand.

“You gonna feed me treats next? Or am I the treat?”

The leash is practically glued to him. He even wears it during movie night and cuddles in your lap like your oversized lapdog.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[minorlyatfault]

you make me feel stupid, but it’s the kind of stupid that i like, from vi !

ᰔ pairing . . . d. wayne !

ᰔ with . . . a hopeless romantic reader !

ᰔ . . . how damian wayne deals with his hopeless romantic partner in texts.

ᰔ category . . . smau

ᰔ look around . . . m. list && detective comics m. list

ᰔ tags . . . liz buxbaum coded!reader. a lil dirty joke. ooc. fluff. aged up!damian wayne.

────── vi whispers . . . ᰔ

001. requested by my moot, @auriieee !! i lost your ask bb 😭😭 im sorryyyyy

002. the third picture was based here !! ( well this smau was based there anw )

003. I WAS CHATGING W SOMEOEM WHILE MAKING THDIS D

004. vi uses "and" here IN ONE(?) SLIDE because idk. she felt like it.

© MINORLYATFAULT 2025

[dark-l-angel]

Hi hi. I have just recently read your Omnilingual reader! And I absolutely loved it. I thought it was so cool and hilarious. Could one possibly have more???

Please :)

A/N : You want chaos do u? language flexing, and the hot boys absolutely baffled by the reader who casually speaks more tongues than Ra’s al Ghul has Lazarus pits? Say no more. Buckle in, baby.

BATBOYS x OMNILINGUAL READER- Part 2

In the Batcave. Tensions are high. Sass is higher. Reader just decoded a villain's ancient message scrawled in 12th-century Aramaic, while wearing sweatpants and sipping a Slurpee.

Dick: "Okay, I’m just saying, it’s kinda hot that you just read that without Google Translate."

You said in perfect French "Si tu me flattes encore, je pourrais bien traduire ce que j'ai dit plus tôt en latin. Peut-être."

(Flatter me again and I might translate what I said in Latin earlier. Maybe.)

Jason was staring at you, jaw clenched "Alright, but like… how many languages do you speak?"

You simply answered "Fluently? Twenty-three. Without Including ASL, Morse code, and whatever it is Damian uses to talk to animals."

Damian looked from the corner, narrowing his eyes.. "You're exaggerating."

You chuckled and said in flawless Arabic : "هل أنا، حبيبي؟" (Am I, habibi?)

Tim slammed his coffee down "I just spent two days decoding that villain’s note. You did it in three minutes. And flirted with a UN ambassador at the same time."

You sipped your drink.. "He liked my dialectical usage of Swahili, what can I say?"

Bruce was silently watching, arms crossed, like he’s doing math. "...Where did you learn to speak Akkadian?"

You answered "I told you. That summer in Mesopotamia. Long story, involved camels, a cult, and a time traveler."

Jason was still staring "So... you single or what?"

You tilted your head "Depends. Can you tell me what 'I want you to shut up and kiss me' sounds like in Latin?"

Jason: "…Cupiam ut silescas et me osculeris."

You smirked "Hot. But your pronunciation's sloppy. Say it again.. slower."

[stcrpalaqce]

❝ ‎secrets out ! ❞ — damian wayne x fem!reader

warnings .ᐟ kissing, swearing, damian may be ooc a/n .ᐟ enjoy!! summary .ᐟ batboys find out damian has a girlfriend.

The soft hum of the city felt distant as Damian stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. It was a quiet night, the type where the world seems far removed, leaving only the warmth of the room, the soft scent of your perfume, and the steady rhythm of his heart, still pounding in his chest from the adrenaline of the night.

He sat on the edge of the couch, watching you with a rare soft expression that he didn’t realise crept onto his face. The dim light from the lamp beside you cast a warm glow, flickering softly in time with the music you were listening to. You were just a few steps away from him, currently flipping through the book you were reading, but the distance between the two of you felt like miles.

He hadn’t meant for this to happen — his feelings for you, this stolen moment in your bedroom when he was supposed to be on patrol, the way his heart sped up with every smile you sent his way. It was… new. New, but worth it.

“You’re staring,” you say without looking up from your book, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m not staring,” Damian shot back, his voice cool but a slight flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. “I’m observing.”

“Sure you are,” you quipped, lowering the book a little to give him a look. “So, should I be worried about the intensity of your ‘observing’?”

Damian smirked, “No more than usual.”

You turned towards him with a smile, the kind that made his breath catch for a moment. It was the same smile that had been quietly unravelling him for weeks. The kind that said you made this all worth it — the danger, chaos and secrets. But in that moment, all that mattered was being here, with you.

He closed the distance between you in slow, purposeful steps, his usual confidence slipping away in favour of something a bit more vulnerable. Your hand reached towards his, the touch soft, a promise of something uncomplicated, something just for the two of you.

Neither of you said anything to each other at first — words felt unnecessary, and the silence between the two of you was more comfortable than anything he’d known. As if compelled by an invisible force, he took your face in his hands, gently cradling you like something precious. He leaned down, and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

It was lighter than anticipated, tentative almost. You responded immediately, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, slow and heated, a spark igniting between the both of you. His heart seemed to hammer harder, the thrum almost deafening in his ears, as his hands moved towards your waist, his body betraying his pretense of control.

Just as the quiet moment reached its peak, a sudden crash made him freeze. His hand instinctively held onto your waist tighter, as he turned towards the window, his heartbeat thudding for a completely different reason than before.

You on the other hand didn’t notice. “It must have been the wind,” you said casually, but Damian wasn’t convinced.

The sound came again, louder, a thunk that made both of you pause.

The feel of his comm in his ear made his heart drop into his stomach. He slowly turned it back on, forgetting he silenced it before he had come up onto your balcony.

The channel was crackling with static for a moment — and then a voice came through, loud and unfiltered.

“Uh… guys?”

It was Tim.

“Does anyone else see that? On the second floor of the apartment building right there… that’s not a target. That’s Damian.”

Damian’s heart sank. You blinked, sitting up straighter. “Wait. Was that Tim?”

Before he could respond, another voice came through, louder and way too amused.

“No way. No way.” Jason this time. “Little D’s in a girl’s room. Making out.”

Damian moved to shut the comm off again, but it was too late.

“Wait, wait, wait—” Dick’s voice cut in, laced with disbelief. “Is that Damian??? In the window??”

“Oh fuck…” Damian sighed and put his head in his hands, the embarrassment colouring his skin, as you just smiled, amused by the entire situation.

There was a beat of stunned silence before the line exploded into chaos—Jason laughing so hard he was wheezing, Tim going “I KNEW IT,” and Dick trying (and failing) to sound responsible while still clearly freaking out.

You looked at Damian with wide eyes. “They saw us?”

Damian, red-faced and seething, crossed the room in a flash and yanked the curtain closed in one motion. “Apparently so.”

“Is that—are they watching us?” you asked, trying not to laugh but utterly failing at hiding your amusement.

“They are dead men,” Damian muttered, pressing two fingers to his temple as if it would somehow block out the sound of his brothers’ voices, which were still coming through the comm, loud and relentless.

“DAMIAN HAS A GIRLFRIEND—WHAT.”

That was Dick again, definitely shouting.

You doubled over in laughter now, unable to contain it. “Oh my God.”

Damian just groaned and sank back onto the couch, burying his face in your shoulder as you wrapped an arm around him.

“They’ll never let me live this down,” he mumbled into your sweater.

You kissed the top of his head, still laughing softly. “Probably not.”

[acinnamongirlsdiary]

Im gonna be rude for a sec,

IF YOU USE AI AT ALL... i dont respect you.

It is such a disgusting thing that uses up so much of earths resources AND steals from real artists who put their soul into their work. It is pathetic and soulless.

[luvvictoria]

You’re just reading on the couch. Damian says he’s not tired. He sits beside you to keep you company. Five minutes later? You’re trapped under a sleeping assassin. “You drooled on my shirt.” “You talk in your sleep.” “…What did I say?” “You called me your beloved.” “…You’re lying.” “Am I?”

[aangelinakii]

SOME TIME FOR HIMSELF.

— of course he's grateful, but...

summary : of course damian likes that you get on well with his family, he just wishes that maybe they'd let him actually pull you away from them.

note : i always feel like my damian fics are on a whole other level 💀💀 they're so poetic

the first time damian introduced you to his family, inviting you to dinner one night, he had high hopes that you would be a crowd favourite — and he was never wrong about that.

his father had welcomed you into their abode with a tight smile, kind, of course, but rather wary as to what your intentions may be with his son; by dessert (alfred's star tiramisu) bruce was laughing at every joke and grinning at every story.

his brothers — dick, jason, tim and duke — introduced themselves with their most intimidating glares, thick arms crossed over their chests, emphasising their size, and just how much damage they could do if any came to their youngest kin; as alfred's tiramisu was settling happily in stomachs, they found themselves squabbling over who deserved to get you on their team for eight-ball pool. duke won.

that night damian found himself falling asleep quickly, a soft smile plastered to his lips, images of your smile, so comfortable, as you chatted easily with steph as you awaited your turn with the cue. you'd even managed to crack cass out of her shell a little — and it was only tonight that damian realised how big of a family he had.

even alfred had good things to say when damian purposely stayed back to help him load up the dishwasher once dessert was finished.

he couldn't help that warm pride fizzing in his chest.

but that was four months ago, and damian thinks he sees more of your avatar on wii sports than he actually sees of you.

any time you come round his, you're always whisked away by tim wanting to show you the newest issue of a comic you both gushed over a month ago, or steph dragging you up to her room to update you on some gossip she told you about that time you were here last week. sometimes even ace can't help himself wanting your attention.

he doesn't necessarily want to border you from his family, but when you live in a family so big, no one understands the definition of "personal space."

it gives damian the chances to take you out on dates, go out of his own comfort zone; the arcade, the cinema, paintballing, mini-golf. when money doesn't want to be spent, you two can go on walks, or spend your time together at the library getting studying done.

but sometimes chilling at home is nice, too.

sometimes he wants to play wii sports with you, not sit back on the couch, forced to watch you play tennis against jason; sometimes he wants to play one-on-one eight-ball against you, not stand against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for the game to finish.

so today he's going to be sneaky.

it'll be difficult, sneaking around a family of detectives and vigilantes and alfred, but damian thinks he can do it.

as he creaks open the mansion's front door, the alarm disarmed by one alfred pennyworth — the only person damian had told in advance about your being there, as he realised there was nothing you could hide from that man, even if you tried — damian scans the foyer for any bystanders. once he's sure there's no movement, he looks back at you and smiles, pushing the door wider for you to step past him.

"i say let's get some food and take it upstairs, so we have steady rations for the day," damian suggests, taking this slightly more seriously than you expected; the crease in his brow reminding you of an army general checking the bunker's inventory for the week.

with a soft chuckle, you allow damian's soft palm to take yours, his nimble fingers closing around the back of your hand, tight like he hasn't been able to hold it in a long time — and he has, he's just being dramatic.

feet careful against the marble floor when the plush carpet disappears, damian leads you into the kitchen, where a softly whistling alfred is standing with his white sleeves rolled to his elbows before the sink, drying up glass cups with a cloth.

he barely sends you a glance, though the corner of his mouth curls slightly, and his whistling ceases for a moment.

"i had to tell alfred you were coming," damian explains, his voice an undertone in efforts to not attract any adopted siblings or billionaire fathers. he heads to a cupboard and opens it, pulling out a few crackly packets of crisps and other shared-favourite snacks he claims to have gone out and bought just for today. "he knows too well when i am lying, even though i hadn't lied about anything yet — i was just scared he would find out if i had."

back from the sink, alfred's whistling stops, though the squeaking of polished glass continues. "wise decision, master damian, i'm glad i taught you early on."

now he glances back. "i would go quickly now, last i saw, master dick and master jason were on their way up from the gym. if you want to avoid them, as you say, i wouldn't dawdle."

"dawdle? we are not—"

"master damian," alfred's tone lilts pointedly.

"right." and, with that, some snacks in your grip, some in damian's, he shifts the weight of them to one arm, which seems slightly uncomfortable, and carefully takes your elbow to lead you through a passage behind the fridge.

flickering flames crackle as you ascend the winding steps to the second floor.

"i get you want to have one-on-one time, damian, but you know i really like your family," you find yourself saying halfway up. "it's not that you think i dislike them, is it?"

"no," damian's quick to respond, glancing back at you. "it is that i am beginning to dislike them. they disturb our time together. every time."

you're about to reply, saying something about how maybe time together is turning into time with them, which is okay, but a cluster of voices mutters past the suit of armour concealing you in the shadows of the passageway, and damian presses a finger to his lips.

it's certainly steph, being a girl's voice, chipper, unlike cassandra's, and a boy's voice, either dick's or tim's — but there's people there, and damian doesn't want to be found. more so, you to be found.

after a few silent beats, the voices recede, as well as footsteps atop carpet, and damian leads you out from behind the suit of armour.

just as you're coming out from thr passage, your shoulder clings against the metal elbow of the knight, having misjudged the tightness of the gap between him and the wall, and a metallic twang rings out.

in a manor filled with junior detectives, nothing of the sort goes unnoticed or unchecked, and a door opens before damian can even take your hand.

"(name)!" a voice gasps cheerfully — three guesses who — and another one groans, who you know by now is your boyfriend's.

chest torn between wanting to go along with what damian had planned, and responding to steph as she emerges from her room, your instincts respond. "steph! hey!"

"i didn't know you were coming round today," she smiles, absently taking a pack of crisps from the bundle in your arms and opening it up for herself.

behind you, damian scowls, not taking it upon himself to hide it at all. "that was the point."

stephanie doesn't seem to notice damian's tone, or, seemingly, damian's presence at all, and she places a hand on your shoulder. "you'll never guess what happened the other day," she begins, guiding you back towards her room.

"more already?" you laugh, both intrigued, yet glancing back wistfully towards damian, who's been left alone in the hallway.

"like you wouldn't believe!"

just as she's about to close the door, damian appears, hand on the wood, holding it open, the food dropped somewhere back in the corridor, thick eyebrows knitted together like a sweater. "hey!"

"oh, hey, dames," stephanie takes a break in her gossip update as she sits down at the pink swivel chair at her cluttered desk. "just stealing your partner for a sec, i hope that's okay?"

"it's not," he replies before stephanie can turn back to you and continue.

the stone in his tone is abrasive, gritty, something usually unheard of. stephanie could ignore it, but she finds herself mouth open, blonde eyebrows upturned.

"oh, i'm sorry, i—"

"no, you're not sorry," damian cuts her off again, stomping towards you and takes some of the load off your shoulders, taking a few of the snacks from your arms. "you always do this. whenever (name) comes round, you and everybody else in this house take them away from me. they're here to see me, not you. not you, not dick, not tim, not father."

"hey, that's not fair—" stephanie shoots you a guilty look as her sentence is cut off once more by your emotional boyfriend.

"what's not fair is that the time i want to spend with them is diminished by my siblings, who are not even my real siblings, who insist on being utterly... utterly stupid!"

damian storms off in a huff, off into the hallway and into his bedroom, where the door slams, causing you and stephanie to flinch.

by now she's abandoned her open crisp packet, her appetite suddenly gone, and you don't feel too normal sitting on the edge of her bed with a strange array of snacks in your arms. you want to apologise, but now you understand why damian was so intent on having a day just the two of you.

the words are on the tip of your tongue, and you want to meet steph's gaze, but you can't really bring yourself to.

"i... sorry, i..."

"it's okay, i should be the one who's sorry," stephanie dismisses your apology with a small shake of the head, not watching you either. "i think you should go check on him."

you release the bundle of snacks onto stephanie's duvet, which you don't think she minds, and get to your feet.

when you pass through stephanie's doorway into the corridor, a few heads are peeking out of doors, including duke a few rooms down holding an airpod in hand, having plucked it out to eavesdrop. you offer a smile, and he shares it, putting his airpod back in and retreating to the safety of his room.

outside damian's room, you knock lightly and let yourself in, knowing he won't respond, but also knowing no one else would be knocking on his door after something like that.

he's lying face-first on his bed, fists clutching the sheets so tight his knuckles are turning white.

the mattress sinks slightly beside him as you lower yourself down, placing a careful hand on his shoulder blade.

"damian?" you try, voice just as soft as your touch. "i'm sorry i bumped into the armour, it was an accident. i didn't mean to get steph's attention, and i didn't realise how important it was to you that we got to spend time together."

though muffled, damian's voice comes from within his navy, star-speckled duvet. "it's not your apology to give, you did nothing wrong."

he shifts and you can see half his face, eyebrows still screwed towards each other. "it's everyone else. they can be too much. they always ruin our time together."

"i don't think they realise they're ruining it," you suggest softly. "i think they think they're doing good by you, by getting to know me and having a positive relationship with me. have you ever told them it bothers you?"

the gap between your question and damian's reply is long and lengthy, stretching longer and longer, and you already know the answer, that by the time it comes you're not surprised.

"no."

your hand smoothes circles over damian's upper back. "damian..." you sigh. "how can you expect them to know what you want if you don't tell them?"

mouth squishing out in a pout, damian's shoulders shrug up beneath your touch.

"i know it's difficult, and sometimes you feel like some people should know better, but i think you should tell them."

with a sigh, damian pushes himself up to a seated position, eyebrows less tense on his forehead. "i know, you're right."

improving from that pout, damian's lips pull into a small, minute smile, and he leans forward to engulf you in a hug. "i'm sorry for overreacting," he huffs into the crook of your neck.

at the affection, you feel your lips curl in tandem with his, and one of your arms comes around his back to reciprocate. "it's okay, damian, and besides, it's not me you should be apologising to. we can go together, okay? and then you can tell steph how you feel."

damian's body soaks up into yours, and he lets out a content breath through his nostrils. he doesn't respond verbally, but you can feel him nod his head against your shoulder, and your stomach drops in relief.

[teddypines]

Mother's Dinner Drama

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Summary: Family dinner dind't turn out like it should when Y/N's mother starts to get involved. Warnings: Mother issues, maybe a bit of trauma. Angst with hurtfull words. Little violence. little dissociation. Sweating.

Batmom!Reader x Batfam. Batmom!Reader x Bruce Wayne. Use of Y/N for Reader, Fem!Reader, Use of she/her pronounce.

Notes: Was feeling the angst a little to much. And thank you all for the great comments and reposts on my stories. It means a lot to me that you all enjoy the stories. Words: 2473

Picture from pinterest, credits to the creator.

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Bruce knew of Y/n's troubled Relationship with her mother, Sharon. He had seen it over the years. How she would belittle and control Y/n over the littlest things. It took some time to fully see the true extent of it all, but he quickly realised that the love Sharon had was conditional. Unlike the love he used to receive from his own mother. The love he was trying to give Y/N and the children.

He also knew that Y/N still loved her mother even if it was conditional most of the time. He knew she tried to reach out, to bond or just be at peace. Sadly most of the attempts went unsuccessful. Over time things did change since Y/N got to see how unconditional love was really like from Bruce and she had to focus on the growing family. So less time for big family meetings. Which neither of them minded, it gave Y/N time to heal a little.

Y/N learned over time, and with a little therapy, how to take the good with the bad and that most of her mothers shit came from a place of no control and the belief that the world revolved around them. With this she tried to be a better mother to their children. She didn't yell when something broke or got spilled. She didn't lie or use cheap tactics to get her way. didn't manipulate the situation to her will or made the children feel bad. She gave them what they never got.

It was one of the somewhat regular dinners that Y/N's parents had with the Wayne’s. Of course Sharon was being Sharon. Talking, just to talk and hear her own voice. Telling the boys what to do and what not. Giving off this fake consurne, maybe it was really her worrying, but it all came from a place that would only benefit her.

Things were going as they were going with a big family like theirs. The boy's set the table as Alfred helped Y/N with the last touches for dinner. This is where things went south. 

Sharon walked into the kitchen, having nothing better to do. “Do you two need any help with anything? I could bring something to the table already or mix the dressing in the salad?” 

“No thanks, mom, we have everything under control here. If you want you can ask Bruce If he needs help with picking a wine.” Y/N answered as she handed Alfred the last two bowls with strawberries and cream for dessert later. “Are you sure? It doesn't look like you have it under control.” Sharon responded as she started to look for a fork. Once the fork was found she went straight into one of the salads and took a bite. “Hmm, it needs more mustard dressing.” she said while already starting her search for the dressing.

Y/n looked at her mother with a numbing feeling already growing inside her chest. “Mom, we are fine and don't need help. The salad is fine, if you want more dressing you can add it once you have some on your plate. Damian doesn’t like the strong taste of mustard so the amount of dressing is less as a base.” She tried to get her mother to see a little sense with her words. Sharon however didn’t listen and took the salad bowl into the dining room.

“Mom, what are you doing?” Y/n asked, trying to catch up with her. “I'm just going to fix the salad sweetie.” Sharon answered as she looked back at her daughter. This made Y/N worry a little more. All because she knew the patrons, patrons Bruce told her were not normal to know. “Mom, stop!” Y/n snapped as she saw their mother reach for the dressing. “Don't put more dressing into that salad!”

Sharon heard Y/n but didn't listen anyway. Why would she, she was going to make this salad better. Putting a whole lot of dressing into the salad and started mixing it in. “There we go, now try it, it's much better like this. You can finally taste something.” She said with a smile, feeling rather proud of herself. She however quickly saw the mad expression on Y/n's face but didn't take it as a hint that she did something wrong. “Owh, don't look so sour sweetie, we all make mistakes.”

“No mom! I told you not to put more dressing into that salad! Why didn't you listen?!” Y/n asked, raising her voice a little in upset. She didn't care about the dressing for themselves but for Damian. Is her mother really that insensitive? 

“To make it taste better sweetie, it was rather bland.” Sharon answered, not seeing the problem that was so clearly there in front of her. 

“It's supposed to be like that mom! Damian hates mustard dressing, I warned You about this. It's bland for a reason!” The little scene slowly turned into a bigger one as Alfred and the boys got into the dinning room with more food they wanted to put on the table. “I was just helping.” Sharon answered. “I didn't know Damian hates mustard dressing. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Mom, I told you that not five minutes ago so you wouldn't put the dressing in! And I didn't ask for your help! I told you we were okay.” Y/n snapped. She was done with this, it wasn’t just about her anymore, Damian got dragged into it and she didn’t want her mother to do the same to her kids. It took everything inside them not to explode with anger. “You know what, it’s fine. I guess you just have to tell Damian he can’t have any of the salad.” Y/N sounded rather toxic. A hand running through her hair. They tensed up, which only got worse when Sharon reached out to them. 

“I’m getting the napkins I guess..” Tessa said as she turned away from her mother. leaving the dining room as quick as she could. “What’s going on?” Bruce asked as he walked into the dinning room with the wine that matched the steak. Seeing how Alfred and the boy’s were looking over at Sharon. “What did you do?!” Bruce asked Sharon, rage already boiling inside him. Sharon didn’t answer at first. So Bruce handed Dick the wine and stepped closer to Sharon. “What. Did. You. Do?” His eyes spitting fire.

“I just fixed the salad and Y/N flipped out. It's only some extra mustard dressing, I'm sure Damian wouldn't mind.” Sharon answered.  “Ts, I do mind, Sharon. Mom didn’t tell you not to do it just because.” Damian rolled his eyes. He was done with his ‘grandmother's’ shit. “I'm gonna find mom.” He said before pushing the bowl with potato wages into Jason’s hands. Not caring if he would keep balance before storming off. Sharon looked a little nervous when her husband walked into the dinning room. “What’s wrong with Damian? He looks like he wants to murder someone.”

Everyone turns to Andrew, making the man a little nervous because of all the tension. “Okay who died? and where is my Sweetpea?” Andrew asked as he looked around the room. Once his eyes fell on Sharon he didn’t need anymore answers. “Sharon what did you do?”

“I was just trying to help! Y/N/N didn’t like it and got mad at me.” Sharon answered, luckily Andrew knew his wife and knew Y/N wouldn’t just get mad. “She is just overreacting and overly sensitive about Damian not liking mustard.” She added shortly after, making Dick and Jason even more angry. Andrew sighed as he rubbed his forehead. He was disappointed in his wife once again. “Sharon, you are so out of your mind right now. This is really insensitive of you and i can’t believe you did this. I hate saying this, but you are just like your own mother.” Those words of course hit like a ton of bricks for Sharon. 

Sharon gasped at Andrew’s words before slapping him. This made everyone gasp and Dick quickly walked over to check on Andrew. “What is wrong with you?” He hissed to Sharon. Bruce however was quiet, too quiet. He walked over to Sharon with a purpose, almost like an animal on a hunt. He grabbed Sharon by her arm and walked to the entrance. shuffling her coat and bag into her arms before shuffling her out the door. Jason throws Sharon’s shoes out of the door right after. “and don’t come back!” He yelled.

Jason looked up at Bruce, seeing the rage still present. “Go check on mom and Damian please. I'll help Dick, Tim and Alfred with gramps.” Bruce didn’t say anything to Jason’s words, but he did give Jason a proud smile before going to look for his wife and youngest son. 

<------------------------------------------------>

Bruce found his wife and youngest son in one of the lounge rooms, both cuddled up on the couch. With a sigh of relief Bruce walked over to the couch and sat down next to Y/N. “Love? Starlight?” Bruce ran a hand over Y/N’s head and down her back. Y/N and Damian both leaned against Bruce. “Hey baby bird, did you protect momma for me?” Bruce asked Damian, knowing his youngest would always protect Y/N especially with the way she protected and loved Damian. 

“Momma needed some space, but not alone space.” Damian answered as he leaned against his father. He too tried to comfort Y/N, but he felt how closed off his mom was right now. He knew she was just trying to stand up to her own mother, knowing a little about that himself, but it hurt him to see her so hurt. Bruce ran a hand over Damian’s hair. “That is very thoughtful of you Dami.”

The three of them sat there for a few minutes in silence. Damian and Bruce didn’t know how to reach Y/N right now. Bruce knew his wife and knew she was dissociating right now. He didn’t like it when she did that, but he understood why she did it now. Especially after what happened with her mother. It was hard for him, but right now he had to wait. 

“I don’t get it… That she would do this to me and my siblings, yes… But to her grandchildren… Why would she not listen to me when I say a child is sensitive to something… Why would she not listen to a mother when she is one herself!? when she knows how it is to not be listened to too!” Y/N started, first she was saddened by it all, but it quickly turned into anger. "WHY?!"

Tears quickly formed in her eyes. “why wouldn’t she listen to me?... Why would…” Y/N stopped as she was pulled into Bruce’s lap. “Because your mother is not the mother you are. She is a mother, but not a mother by heart like you are, love.” He answered in an attempt to sooth his wife. He whipped away her tears and kissed her forehead. “You fought for your son, something Sharon would never do. You would go against anyone and everyone, your mother wouldn't, that is what narcissistic people do. She would manipulate a situation to her will, something you would never even think about.” 

Bruce was right about those things, both Y/N and Damian knew that. “I know it’s hard when your own mother is not the mother you wish and crave she was. But we can’t pick our mothers, just the mother or father we want to be to our own children. You are a wonderful mother Y/N/N, a mother with a big loving heart and I am so so proud that you stood up to your own mother for Damian.” Y/N cried into Bruce’s chest at those lovefilled words. Words that made her feel like she did the right thing, that she did indeed was a good mother and not being pathetic or overreacting. Damian looked away. His father’s words hit him a little too, but he was going to hide that it did. 

Y/N sniffed her nose after a moment and whipped her eyes. “I’m okay, for now, i can be nice for dinner. I don’t want anyone to wait even longer.” She said, determined to not ruin the night even further. She was about to pull away and stand up, only to be held back by Bruce. “Love, don’t push yourself. Everyone is okay with waiting, they are mostly just worried about you. Besides Alfred and you are masters at reheating food, we can wait, truly.”

<------------------------------------------------->

In the end Y/N and Damian joined everyone again after calming down a bit. Bruce quickly went to his office so he could contact his lawyer, wanting nothing more than to help Andrew divorce Sharon. 

Everyone helped with getting dinner ready once more, the overdressed salad washed down and in the compost bin. Everything was reheated just right by Alfred’s magic hands and Y/N made sure the cold meals were not bad or too warm. The boy’s finished setting the table and Andrew sat down as everyone worked. He didn’t like it but Y/N told him to, he just had one of the biggest fights with his wife and was going to prepare for a divorce. He needed a little break. 

Dinner itself was wonderful, filled with laughter and a warm loving glow going around the room as everyone enjoyed the food.

“Is the salad okay?” Y/N asked Damian once she saw him take a few bites of one of the other salads that were made. She was still a little worried after the previous events. “Yes, momma, the salad is perfect.” Damian answered with a big smile on his face. appreciating the concern she showed for him. Something he loved about her, something that really made her his mother. Made her their mother. Y/N gave Damian a soft smile, glad the salad was to his liking. Glad all the food was to everyone’s liking. 

The older boy’s were happy to see their mother back to her usual self. This was their mother, the person who meant the most to them. the person who was there when their own mother’s weren’t. The person who loved them no matter what they would do. Their comfort and home.

Bruce grabbed Y/N’s hand underneath the table and gave her a smile. “You look beautiful, love. Like a queen.” He complimented her before lifting her hand. giving it a gentle kiss. “A queen who is nothing without her king.” Y/N answered with a big smile on her face. This was home.

[invincibledc]

I like to think batuncle!reader (twin of Bruce Wayne) one time cracked his back loudly and every robin in that room pauses in fear because they are all uncle babies.

LIKE they feared that this man had fully cracked and broken his back before the older male turns to see dick looking scared like a puppy, Jason getting ready to get up, Tim covering his mouth, Stephane just staring wide eyed, and the Damian running over to his uncle.

It’s so chaotic as the robins are just surrounding the poor man as reader is screaming for Alfred to help before he is covered in love by his babies.

[akairawrites]

When the Silence Breaks | Damian Wayne x Reader

At Gotham Academy, no one asks too many questions—especially when your past is too heavy to carry out loud. Y/n L/n is no exception. The daughter of a once-feared mob figure, she hides behind sharp eyes and graphite sketches, trying to stay invisible while the weight of her childhood still claws at her spine. When a school project unexpectedly pairs her with Damian Wayne, the two begin to orbit each other in quiet, careful steps.

Previous | Next

The room is quiet except for the soft creak of rope-bound wooden floors. The air smells of incense and sweat. A small girl— Y/n L/n, nine years old—kneels in seiza at the center of the dojo. Her hair clings to her damp forehead. Her arms tremble, her knees bruised beneath her training gi.

Across from her stands her father, KENJI L/N, in an immaculate three-piece suit. His tie is loosened, but his posture is perfect. He stares down at her with the unflinching calm of a man who’s broken people for far less than weakness.

“Again,” Kenji says, his voice smooth as glass but sharp underneath.

Y/n’s eyes flick up. “I—I tried.”

“You hesitated,” he snaps. “If this were real, you’d already be dead.”

She flinches. He doesn’t miss it.

“Stand.”

She rises, shaky on her feet. Her fists clench at her sides. She’s small, but she’s trying—desperate to earn something from him.

Kenji reaches into a lacquered box beside him and draws a wooden training knife. He tosses it onto the mat with a heavy clack.

“Pick it up.”

Y/n kneels slowly, retrieves it with both hands like a sacred object. Her knuckles are white.

“Attack me.”

She hesitates—just a blink—but that’s all he needs.

“Now.”

She lunges at him, surprisingly fast for her age. He sidesteps her and grabs her arm, twisting it behind her back. She hits the mat hard with her elbow.

Again.

Again.

And again. Her breathing grows louder, more ragged as sweat drips from her chin.

He doesn’t hold back. Not even when she gasps. Not when her knees buckle. Not when she stumbles and coughs—

And then—

A deep gag. Her body clenches violently.

She vomits onto the mat, retching until there’s nothing left. Her body crumples in on itself.

Kenji remains motionless, offering no assistance

His silence is deafening as he watches his daughter in a puddle of her own vomit. Finally, he speaks, his voice cold and accusatory, “You’re weak because you choose to be.”

With that, he turns but just before he walks away, he turns to look at her “Clean this up. Training resumes tomorrow.”

Moonlight streaks across Y/n’s ceiling. She lies awake in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the shadows on the wall.

Down the hall, behind her closed door—voices rise.

“You pushed her too hard!” her mother’s voice—Elise—shakes with fury and fear.

“You weren’t there,” Kenji replies, his tone level, emotionless. “She broke form. She needs discipline.”

“She’s nine, Kenji! She vomited on the mat!”

A pause.

“She’ll thank me when it saves her life.”

“No. She won’t.” Elise’s voice cracks. “Because she’s not going to survive you.”

Silence.

Then, quieter: “She’s our daughter. Not your soldier.”

Y/n turns to face the wall. Her expression is blank, her eyes hot. She pulls the blanket over her head, as if it could shut out the voices—or the truth. But it’s not enough.

“I wanted a son.”

Y/n flinches like she’s been struck. Her breath catches.

“And I made do.”

GOTHAM ACADEMY – MORNING

The campus looms like a Gothic castle swallowed by Y/n. Spires reach into the sky, arched windows reflect the gray clouds above, and the courtyard hums with life—students laughing, rushing to classes, voices echoing against the cobblestone paths.

A black town car idles at the curb. The rear door opens.

Y/n, fifteen now, steps out.

She moves with silent precision, her uniform immaculate—blazer fitted, skirt pressed, tie flawless. Her hair is pulled into a sleek bun. No loose strands. No distractions.

But her eyes?

Cold and guarded.

As the car pulls away behind her, she walks alone through the courtyard. She doesn’t smile or wave. She doesn’t need to.

Inside the school the late morning light filtered through the tall stained-glass windows of Gotham Academy, casting shards of color across the stone floor. The scent of old books, waxed wood, and expensive perfume lingered in the halls like memory. Everything about the school is old money and prestige. But here is where whispers follow Y/n wherever she goes.

“She’s the mob kid, right?”

“Her dad’s in prison.”

“I heard she’s crazy smart. Like scary smart.”

“She never talks to anyone.”

She doesn’t acknowledge any of it.

Instead, she moves with quiet purpose—like someone who’s already calculated the most efficient path from class to class, including exits.

ART ROOM – FIRST PERIOD

Y/n takes the back-left seat. Not hidden, but isolated. She sets down her sketchbook without a sound. The other students chatter. One of them is loud and animated—Max, an aspiring filmmaker always in Y/n’s orbit, never quite her friend.

“You’re gonna love this prompt,” Max says to no one in particular. “‘Self-portrait as emotion.’ Intense, right?”

When the teacher walks in the room finally settles

“Alright class today’s focus? Expression. Let it hurt if it needs to.”

Y/n opens her sketchbook. Her pencil touches the page.

And stops.

Her hand trembles.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

Then she begins to draw. Slow, controlled. A face forms on the page..she quickly realizes it’s not her.

It’s a younger version. A shadow behind her, tall and cold.

She shades it in without a word.

Y/n walked slowly down the corridor after the bell rung, her shoes making no sound against the polished floor. Students passed in waves around her—laughing, bumping into each other, already swapping answers for second period chemistry. She moved through them like smoke—seen, maybe, but never touched.

She stopped at her locker, spun the dial, opened it. Inside: everything in order. Textbooks lined up by subject. A notebook tucked behind the last one—thick, black and unmarked. The only thing that felt like hers.

As she reached for her literature binder, she heard the voice behind her.

“Y/n L/n, right?”

She didn’t flinch, but her jaw tightened.

Turning slightly, she saw Max standing there. All camera bag and chaotic energy, his lopsided grin already halfway to a question she didn’t want to answer.

“You got moved up to AP art?” he asked, shifting his weight. “That’s kind of awesome. They don’t usually let first-years skip the basics.”

“They made an exception,” she said, voice even and distant

Max chuckled, not taking the hint. “Must’ve been a hell of a portfolio.”

She closed her locker slowly. “It was.”

There was a pause—him waiting for her to ask something, anything but she didn’t Instead, she turned and walked.

LUNCHROOM – NOON

The clatter of trays, the rise and fall of a hundred conversations—Gotham Academy’s lunchroom was never quiet. Everything was polished stone and long wooden tables, too grand for something as mundane as eating.

Y/n moved through the crowd with the same silence she wore everywhere else. No one called her name. No one tried to sit beside her.

She didn’t expect them to.

Her table sat tucked beneath a tall arched window, vines creeping in along the stone outside, filtered light casting soft green shadows across her tray. She sat, opened a book she wasn’t really reading, and pushed her food around like it had wronged her.

Then—

A shift in the air.

She looked up.

Across the room, half-shielded by the central column, someone was watching her.

A boy she didn’t recognize. New. Dark uniform jacket worn like armor, collar still stiff, posture too upright for a place like this.

He wasn’t whispering. Wasn’t laughing. Just watching. Eyes unreadable.

Damian Wayne.

Their eyes met for only a second.

Y/n blinked. Looked back down.

Probably just curious, she told herself. New students always stared. It would pass.

Still—

She flipped a page she hadn’t finished reading.

The bell rang for a final time that day, echoing across the marble halls like a final verdict.

By the time most students had reached the gates, Y/n had already slipped past them. Her steps were careful. Not rushed, just… intentional. She didn’t like crowds. Didn’t like the way they pulled at your thoughts, the way noise tried to settle into your skin.

The black car wasn’t waiting for her today. Her mother had texted something about a charity brunch that “couldn’t be missed.” Y/n didn’t answer.

She didn’t need a ride.

The garden behind the science wing was a forgotten corner of the campus. Most students didn’t even know it was there—just overgrown hedges, a dry fountain, and a crooked bench that looked like it might collapse if you breathed on it wrong.

Wind rustled through the hedges. Old ivy crept up the walls. The broken fountain hadn’t worked in years, but she liked that about it. No one else came here.

She sat cross-legged on the cracked stone bench, notebook open across her lap. The page was half-filled with lines—sharp, precise, too calculated to be personal.

Her pencil hovered midair, unmoving.

That boy’s face kept flickering at the edge of her thoughts. The way he didn’t avert his gaze. The calmness in it. It wasn’t judgment. Not interest, either.

It was something else.

She exhaled slowly and shook it off.

Then—

Footsteps.

Too controlled to belong to any of the usual idiots who smoked behind the gym.

“I figured I’d find you out here,” said a voice behind her.

Y/n turned, just enough to see him.

Damian Wayne. Hands in his pockets. Eyes steady. Posture too perfect for a fifteen-year-old. His tie was loosened just slightly, like he knew the rules but didn’t care enough to follow all of them.

She blinked, once. “I didn’t realize I was being followed.

“You weren’t,” he said. “You’re just predictable.”

Her brow lifted slightly. “That supposed to be charming?”

“No. Just honest.”

He didn’t sit. Didn’t ask to. Just stood in the half-shadow of the crooked tree overhead.

She glanced back at her notebook. “Most people say hi before analyzing me.”

“I’m not most people.”

“That much I’ve gathered.”

He was quiet for a moment, watching her sketch. “Your technique’s military. Taught, not learned.”

Y/n’s pencil paused.

She looked at him again, slower this time.

“You get that from one glance at lunch?”

“No,” he said. “I get that from knowing what to look for.”

His expression didn’t shift, but there was something different in his voice. Something softer.

“Someone who isn’t pretending.”

Y/n stared at him, her pulse just slightly out of rhythm.

He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t need to.

She closed her notebook slowly. “You still haven’t said your name.”

“Damian.”

“Of course it is,” she muttered.

And for the first time all day, the corner of her mouth lifted—just barely.

The campus gates creaked shut behind her.

The streets outside Gotham Academy were lined with skeletal trees and cold stone buildings. Not the parts of the city people took photos of. These sidewalks didn’t care if you were alone.

She walked with her hands in her coat pockets, the late afternoon light slanting gold and gray across the pavement. One earbud in. The other left dangling—not for safety, but habit. She liked having one foot in the silence.

A kid on a bike sped past. Y/n didn’t turn. Just kept walking. Past the coffee shop that changed names every six months. Past the pawn shop that still had her father’s name burned into the window glass, long faded.

She looked away before she could think too hard.

Her family’s house sat at the end of a long block, tucked behind iron gates and trimmed hedges. It was the kind of house that pretended nothing bad had ever happened inside it.

The lights were on.

The house sat behind a tall wrought-iron gate, its bars curled like vines, black paint flaking at the edges from years of salt and rain. Beyond it, a long stone path cut through a perfectly trimmed lawn, the kind that looked untouched by weather or time—maintained, immaculate, performative.

The house itself was old Gotham money. Three stories of dark gray brick and sharp lines, with tall windows framed in black and ivy crawling up the eastern wall like nature trying to take something back. The roof was steep and slate, the kind that made the whole place look like it could fold in on itself at any moment.

White shutters. Heavy doors. A porch no one sat on.

It was beautiful in the way museums are beautiful—silent, imposing, full of things no one talks about.

There were no welcome mats. No bikes left out. No plants in pots or cracks in the concrete.

Everything was in its place.

As if that meant nothing had ever gone wrong there.

As if that could make it true.

The front door clicked shut behind her.

Silence.

Y/n toed off her shoes, set down her bag. Her movements were quiet. Automatic. Like a ghost returning to its haunt.

From down the hall, the sound of a knife on a cutting board echoed faintly.

“Y/n?” her mother called. “There’s food. I made that soup you used to like.”

Used to.

Y/n didn’t answer right away. She stood in the foyer for a long moment, staring at the framed family photo on the side table. She was seven in it. Grinning too hard. Her father’s hand on her shoulder like a claim.

She turned it facedown before making her way to the kitchen.

The lights were low, warm gold humming against the cold marble counters. The soup on the stove hissed quietly, the scent of ginger and garlic thick in the air—too familiar. Too heavy.

Her mother stood at the island, sleeves rolled to her elbows, chopping scallions with mechanical focus. Her hair was pinned up, a little uneven, like she’d done it in a rush. Her eyes flicked up the second Y/n stepped in.

“Hey,” her mother said gently. “How was school?���

“Fine.”

“Did you eat lunch?”

“I always eat lunch.”

Her mother hesitated. “You can tell me if you didn’t.”

Y/n didn’t respond. She pulled a glass from the cabinet, filled it with water.

“You look tired,” her mother tried again. “Was it the art class? Is it too much on top of everything else?”

Y/n’s hand paused.

“I’m not tired,” she said. Not exactly a lie.

Her mother set down the knife. Wiped her hands on a towel. “I just want to help, Y/n.”

The way she said it—it landed too soft, too careful. Like someone trying to tiptoe through a minefield they helped build.

The silence that followed had weight. Her mother crossed her arms, leaned slightly against the counter, as if bracing herself.

“You barely speak to me anymore.”

Y/n didn’t answer.

“I know what I let happen to you. I know what he did. And I know I should’ve—” her voice broke, just barely—“I should’ve stopped him.”

Y/n turned slowly. Her expression didn’t change. Not much. But something behind her eyes shifted—cold, hard, and aching.

“You didn’t try,” she said. “You watched.”

“I was scared, Y/n.”

“I was a child.” The words hit like glass breaking.

Her mother took a breath, shallow. “I kept telling myself it was for your protection. That what he was doing would make you strong. I thought—” she shook her head. “I thought I could keep you safe by staying silent. But I see you now and I know I was wrong.”

Y/n’s jaw clenched.

“I never wanted you to be a weapon. Never. But I let it happen anyway. I let him turn our home into a training ground.”

She looked down at her hands—still shaking slightly from the cutting. “I remember the night you threw up in the dojo. You were nine. I tried to tell him he was pushing you too hard, and he… he made me feel small. Like he always did. I’m so sorry I didn’t fight harder.”

Y/n stared at her for a long time. She remembered that night. The night those words he said echoed in her head. The apology landed, but it didn’t soften anything.

“I didn’t need you to fight harder,” she said quietly. “I just needed you to choose me.”

Her mother’s eyes welled up, but she didn’t let the tears fall. “I’m trying to now.”

Y/n stepped back.

“Now is too late.”

Then she turned. Walked out of the kitchen without another word.

Her mother didn’t argue. Just stood there, hands still damp, soup bubbling behind her.

Y/n grabbed her bag off the floor near the door and headed up the stairs to her room.

The door clicked shut behind her.

She dropped her bag by the desk, peeled off her blazer, undid her tie. Everything folded, hung, aligned. She stood at the window for a long time, staring out into the city.

Somewhere out there, Damian Wayne was probably sitting in some marble mansion, pretending not to care about anything. Just like her.

She wondered if he had to sit through quiet dinners and pretend not to remember every bruise disguised as “training.”

She wondered if he ever wished someone would call it what it was.

Pulling her sketchbook from her bag, she sat on the floor by her bed and flipped to a blank page.

This time, the pencil didn’t hesitate.

She started to draw.

A boy. Watching her. Still and sharp as shadow. But the expression she gave him—there was something behind the eyes.

INT. WAYNE MANOR – DAMIAN’S ROOM – NIGHT

The room was dark, save for the soft blue glow of the screen in front of him. Lines of code flickered by���encrypted feeds, Academy records, external cameras. Nothing he hadn’t broken through before.

But he wasn’t looking for information tonight.

He was watching the garden again. The one behind the school.

Her.

Damian sat back, fingers steepled beneath his chin, eyes sharp even in the dim light. He’d replayed the conversation five times in his head already. The way she didn’t flinch. The way she didn’t ask questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

She’d looked right through him.

And didn’t turn away.

Titus, curled beside the desk, let out a quiet huff in his sleep.

Damian reached over and absentmindedly scratched behind the dog’s ears, but his gaze stayed on the screen. Then he shut the laptop.

He didn’t need surveillance to know she wouldn’t leave his mind tonight.

Taglist

@luvvvjada @urmomsbananabread @1eltykins @cascadingbliss @mysticalhills @420sprite @jackierose902109 @skyesayshibitchez @roxanne-loves-luffy @scribegrl @Bunnyqueen25 @deimks @rukia-uchiha-98 @strawberryereamb @deliciousfatblaekeat @luvelyxp @erystalsfaith @godknows-shetried @mess-in-side @tuminetax @instabutettupie @stvrfir3 @breadbrobin @bbiaa420 @harleycao @that-levi-kenma-kinnie @dotteeesstuff @just-reading-dany @tzzygrnt @blodmichii2 @solaris-lovegood @4araneia @ballerina-mina @notsaelty @sexyashbish @timmy-27 @xoxolexiiiiii @Amoyanani27 @tigerf-cker @punkinshambles @evilcado @huening-ly

Add yourself to my taglist here

[phant0msworld]

Pretending

So you can imagen this with any of the batboys, I didn’t really think about any specific. Anyway enjoy reading:)

warnings: talking about death

tags: friends to lovers?, longing, fluff

Maybe he doesn’t know you know, but how can you go back to being friends after what you discovered. You know he is Robin, after last night, he was visiting you while on patrol as always and then you saw it, saw him. He didn’t take off the mask, but you saw you, his laugh was the same as the one you know from school. It all made sense suddenly, not having a lot of time, always suddenly having to leave and everything else. You don’t know why but it still hurts you that he didn’t tell you even after all the years of friendship and hardships you went through together. But you can understand why he don’t tell you, it was to dangerous if he did, but still a small part think he doesn’t trust you. And that hurt.

So now here you are again, at night sitting with him well Robin on your rooftop talking. But it’s hart to pretend when you know it is really your friend there. Thinking about it now it worries you that it is really him, you are aware that this job is dangerous and that every time something can go wrong. But you know he’s capable from what you seen him do as Robin and what you’ve read about his superhero persona, but still the thought of something going wrong scares you, the thought of losing him scares you.

You look at him and sigh “Hey you alright?” He ask you sigh again “Yeah I’m just thinking, you know I’m actually worried about you.” “Why?” He ask confused, you can see his forehead creasing a bit like he dose when someone gets on his nerves and you chuckle. “Well what you do isn’t really safe, so I wonder what happens when something goes wrong, I don’t want to lose you.” You say sincere, you can see he taken back by what you just said and he sighs. “Mhm, I get what you mean, and honestly I try not to think about what if something goes wrong. And I don’t want it to be a possibility where you lose me, I quiet enjoy out late night talks. And besides I have something important to do before it can even get that far.” You only nod, not knowing what to answer to that. “What do you have important to do?”, “There is someone, and I have to tell them about how I really feel, they don’t know that I do at night and I can’t keep pretending.” “I sure it will work out for you, of course it’s a blow at first but I think they will understand, because I would, and if they don’t screw them.” You say chuckling a bit at the end. He just smiles and nods, he’s getting called and as fast as he’s here he is gone again. Always slipping through your hands, you’ve always thought you two were close, but now it seems your worlds apart.

He has to tell you, he knows. After this night he has to, he can’t lose you, he won’t, not without telling you first. It eats him alive, every time he has to cancel on you, yes he is spending time with you as Robin but that is not what he wants. He want to be with you with you knowing who he is, mask or no mask. That’s what he has to do.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤLITTLE FREAKㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : When You Like To Suck On Their Man Boobs...

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Terry McGinnis, Male Barbara Gordon, Male Cassandra Cain, Male Stephanie Brown.

☆⁠ NOTES : There are some +18 parts. Reader probably have mommy issues. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

You crawl onto his lap in the dark after a rough day, mumbling something soft, curling into his chest—and then latch. Lips to his pec like it's instinct, soft suckling, warm breath fanning his skin. He freezes.

“...What are you doing?”

“Comforting myself,” you mumble.

And he goes silent. Letting you. One arm around you, the other gripping the armrest so tight it creaks. You’re suckling like you belong there, like he's yours, and he can’t say no.

From that moment on, he lets it happen. After patrol. Before bed. When you're needy. Bruce gives you his chest like it's sacred. He even leans back, pulls his shirt up, offers himself with that stoic daddy face like this isn’t the most perverted, intimate thing he’s ever allowed.

“If it helps you calm down… then it's fine with me, sweetheart.”

He never talks about how hard it makes him. How he aches when you sigh into his skin like you're home. But he thinks about it every night.

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

You don’t even warn him. You just crawl into his lap, kiss down his chest, and then suckle. Slowly. Gently. Dick yelps.

“OH my god, are you—?! Babe! You’re—?!”

He’s red. His abs are flexing. His hands are hovering, unsure if he should stop you or shove you closer. But then you whine softly, still suckling, still nuzzling like it soothes you—and he dies inside.

“Okay. Okay. You wanna use me like that? I’m… totally fine with it. This is fine. You’re so cute, I’m losing brain function.”

From then on, he encourages it. Shirtless in bed. Chest puffed. Pulls your head down while cooing in your ear, telling you how sweet and clingy you are.

“You just need your mommy, huh? That’s okay, baby. Mommy’s right here.”

(And yes, he gets off to it later. Always. Every time.)

— JASON TODD ⋆

Jason’s not built for it. You suckle his chest like it’s natural and he blanks out. Like, full system reboot. He was kissing your forehead. Then you latched. And now he’s short-circuiting.

“...Are you serious right now?”

“Mhm. You feel good…”

He just stares down at you. Then lets his big arms wrap around you. His whole body goes gentle, like he’s holding a baby deer.

But then—then—you do it again the next day. And the day after. And suddenly? He’s hooked. Growling in your ear when you try to pull away.

“Nah, nuh uh. You started this, now you finish it. This is mine, right? You suckin’ on me like you need it.”

He’ll strip shirtless and sit with his legs spread, arms open.

“C’mere, baby. You thirsty or just needy? Either way, I got you.”

He gets possessive. You’re his little freak. And he’ll make sure you never go a day without “nursing” on his chest.

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

You do it once and he loses his entire mind.

He glares at you like you’ve insulted his honor. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t stop you. Just clenches his jaw while you suckle his chest like it’s your only source of comfort.

“Tch. This is completely inappropriate.”

“Then push me off.”

“...I didn’t say stop.”

From then on, you have him wrapped around your finger. You climb into his lap and tug his robes aside, exposing his chest, and Damian just sighs like you're insufferable—even while he strokes your hair, thumb brushing your cheek lovingly.

“You are ridiculous. Clingy. Absurd. …Are you comfortable?”

But god forbid someone else see it. He will murder. You’re his. He keeps you close, glares at everyone, makes sure you get to suckle whenever you want—because it keeps you soft. Dependent. His.

And when you sleep with your mouth still against his skin, he watches you with a low, reverent whisper.

“Mine. My strange, beautiful girl.”

— TERRY MCGINNIS ⋆

At first? He thinks you’re being cute. Kissing his chest. Nuzzling against him. He’s like,

“Aw, you’re clingy today—wait. Are you sucking?”

And then your mouth doesn’t move. It just latches onto his pec like you belong there. Warm, slow, wet. Like his chest is your pacifier and you’re not going anywhere. Terry freezes. Blinks. His heart does that thing where it drops into his stomach.

“Baby… what’re you—mm… okay. Yeah. Okay. That’s… yeah.”

Now he lets you do it. Arms behind his head, letting you suck while he talks casually, like this isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever experienced. He starts wearing looser shirts around the house. No reason. Just in case you want to do it again.

“You’re kinda insane, you know that? But… I’d let you do this forever.”

— BARRY GORDON ⋆

He should be more shocked, but Barry’s been lonely for years. The moment you curl into his lap and push up his shirt, placing your lips to his chest, he goes still—then melts. His hands cradle your head. His voice drops to a murmur.

“You want comfort? This what helps you, sweetheart?”

He doesn’t tease. He just… offers himself. Calm, soft, safe. But it makes his whole body burn. He starts getting hard every time you do it, even if all you’re doing is suckling gently and sighing against him. You mumble about how he feels like a mommy, and he chuckles, brushing your hair back.

“You like being my little girl, huh? Keep going, then. Take what you need.”

His voice is so steady, but he’s feral inside.

— CASSIAN CAIN ⋆

You latch on without warning. Soft, suckling, making the tiniest sounds like you're trying to fall asleep against him. Cassian doesn’t get it. His whole body tenses like you just broke him. He looks down with wide eyes, confused as hell—then just lets you do it.

Every night after that, he waits for it. Pulls you to his chest. Doesn’t even ask. He just slides his shirt off and holds you there, hand in your hair, legs tangled with yours.

He doesn’t speak, but his eyes say everything. Please stay close. Please don’t stop. You’re not just his lover—you’re his obsession, and this is your way of claiming him.

Eventually he starts doing it back. His mouth on your chest, copying you, learning it, giving it back with trembling need.

— STEPHEN BROWN ⋆

You? Suckling on his chest like a needy little brat? Stephen thinks he died and went to heaven. The first time you do it, he moans out loud, throws his head back like you just blew his mind.

“OH my god. Are you breastfeeding on me? Babe. Babe. You can’t just do that and expect me to not get hard.”

He starts wearing tank tops. Starts offering his chest like it’s free real estate. Arms out, smug grin, like:

“You want my milkers, baby? Come get ‘em.”

Every time you do it, he talks. Teases you. Groans. Calls you “his little baby” and “his needy girl” while cradling you in his lap and rocking you like a lunatic. But under the playfulness he’s gone. Worshipping the closeness, the warmth, the way you melt in his arms and claim him with your mouth like he’s yours to feed on.

“You’re never gonna grow out of this, huh? Good. I’ll let you feed forever.”

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[minorlyatfault]

YOU'RE ALWAYS ON MY MIND, THAT'S HOW MUCH I CARE ! d. wayne x reader

✷ CATEGORY : SMAU ( SOCIAL MEDIA AU )

✷ SYNOPSIS : assassin boy meets chaos incarnate. he’s doomed. she’s delusional. they’re in love.

✷ TAGS : aged up!damian wayne. banter that’s 90% flirting, 10% threats. damian wayne has feelings & it’s your problem now. soft moments hidden in sarcasm. glitter as a love language. texting like it’s a competitive sport. him being accidentally romantic. chaotic neutral x lawful menace. intense emotional intimacy disguised as bullying. dramatic declarations in lowercase. “this doesn’t mean anything” said while clearly meaning everything. possessive tendencies in cute packaging. cosmic metaphors as compliments. texting “block me” instead of “i miss you.” jealousy arc(lol) ft. bookstore boys. the “we’re not dating but also don’t talk to anyone else” phase. feelings???? gross. (/j he’s obsessed). unhinged soulmate energy. flirting with the apocalypse. ride-or-die in the most annoying way possible. he’s so in love but refuses to admit it unless cornered. bonus: moodboards with feral geese.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 NOTES !

001. was stargazing while making this so reader luvs space !

002. ignore the fact that i made this at 1 in the morning, i had a shitty night & couldn't sleep

© minorlyatfault, 2025

[dark-l-angel]

Hii! for a Dick Grayson request, could you do hcs or a fic on his partner and Damian's relationship? I just wanna baby him so badd

A/N: You have impeccable taste.. Dick and Damian? A literal feast. And if you're Dick’s partner, you’re basically a bonus big sibling to that little gremlin, whether he likes it or not. So... equal parts chaos, tenderness, and "don’t tell Bruce."

Dick Grayson’s Partner and Damian’s Relationship

Damian pretends to not like you at first. He’s skeptical of anyone dating Dick, because in his mind, nobody deserves his Nightwing-turned-big-brother-turned-dad-figure.

You earn his trust slowly.. not with loud affection, but with quiet consistency. You help patch him up after patrols without commenting on his cuts. You never talk down to him. You ask him for his opinion on serious things.. like you value him. That’s rare.

One day, you call him "Dames" in passing. He glares at you like you just insulted his ancestors. But he doesn’t correct you. He never does.

He’ll never say it, but he adores when you treat him like a kid sometimes. Not in a condescending way.. more like making sure he’s eaten, sneaking him an extra pancake, low-key fussing over him when he’s sick. You do it like it’s second nature.

He likes sitting near you in comfortable silence. Sometimes, when he’s sketching or reading, he’ll just wander into your space and stay there. Like a grumpy cat. You never say anything. But Dick catches it and beams.

When Dick’s away on a mission and you're babysitting Damian, it starts rough. But by the end of the night, you're both in pajamas, watching an old black-and-white detective film. Damian critiques the detective’s methods. You sass him. He smirks. It becomes a tradition.

Once, someone tried flirting with you in front of Damian. Tried. Damian inserted himself into the conversation with the cold, calculated menace of a tiny Batman and shut it down. He acted like it was about Dick’s honor, but it wasn’t. He’s protective of you too.

He made you a painting once. It's got a lot of dramatic colors and bold strokes. He says it’s "a representation of emotional turbulence." You hang it in the hallway like it’s a Monet.

You and Dick talk about adopting Damian all the time, unofficially. You already feel like his other parent. You’re the one he texts when he’s stressed at school. You’re the one who gets a grumpy hug when he’s feeling too much but doesn’t know how to say it.

He’ll never say it aloud. But one day, you find a list in his room titled "People I Would Kill For." You’re number two. (Dick’s number one, of course.)

[msfantasy-comics]

My Girls an Angel

Damian Wayne x Angel! Reader

Request: idk if you'll see this or not, or even if you'll acknowledge it but.....Can you write a Damian Wayne x Female reader fic where they're together, reader dies, Damian loses his shit and is a bigger pain in the ass, some dramatic shit goes down with some ancient relic something and then reader comes back as a angel somehow? Idk....it's 5 am here where I am and I'm so high of my ass. Srry if I'm asking too much, love your fics gurl (づ￣ ³￣)づ♡

A/n: I deviated the request a bit cause as much as I love the concept I STRUGGLED

“Shit,” Damian says crashing to the floor and grabbing at your limp form. Heavens relic still clutched in your hands when he grabs you. “Shit!” He yells uncharacteristically, holding your body closer to him, his arms cradle you as much as possible. Your body is still warm but your heart is not beating.

“Robin-“ Nightwing calls gently, but Damian couldn’t care less about the voices calling out to him.

He can bring you back, he knows he can and that bit of knowledge is the only thing keeping him sane right now.

Your glassy eyes stare skyward, and despite the looming lights flashing around, your pupils do not dilate.

“Robin-“ Spoiler calls gently, reaching a hand out and placing it on his shoulder, unsure if he heard Nightwing. But Spoiler quickly reeled away from the lethal stare Robins returning.

Spoiler has looked into the eyes of many, and has only ever seen a crazed look as dangerous as that from one person.

“Shut up!” Damian hisses back, “All of you shut up! You failed as heros!” Damian bellows. “You have one job— to protect the civilians! Does she look fucking protected?! Because she looks fucking dead!” Damian rages clutching your figure closer. Your body twisting at the unnatural angle, making his stomach twist all the same. “Shit!” He yells once again, adjusting your body into a more ‘comfortable’ position. “Sorry love,” He says gently, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’ll bring you back, don’t worry.” He reassures himself more.

“Robin— You cant fix this.” Batman says, stern but apologetically.

Damian bares his teeth, a cacophony of words flooding past his taut mouth. “Watch me! I’ll take her to the Lazarus Pit myself since you all failed like the shitty hero’s you are!” He snaps back. But everyone’s eyes turn sad, they all look at Damian with immense pity.

They can shove their pity— because Damian was bringing you back damnit, he just needed to get you into Lazarus Pit and you’ll be—

Your body begins to rapidly feel lighter, looking down at your beautiful face, he watches cracks appear, your body crumbling like stones from an ancient building. “Oh god—“ His throat clenches painfully, watching your figure turning to dust before his eyes, “No!” He screams, scrambling to regather the dust — perhaps if he just put the dust into the Lazarus Pit then— but a large gust of wind blows through, removing any evidence of your existence. The last thing Damian saw before the world tilted off its axis.

Any shreds of humanity left within Damian was ripped away the moment the woman who soften his heart and fed his soul with love, turned to dust in his arms.

Nothing but pure unadulterated hateful wrath emanated from Damian as he stood with nothing left but his family who remain in place right behind Damian’s back, further out of reach than they ever have been before.

Just when the last flicker of humanity drained from Damian’s eyes, the sky split open with the roar of a thousand thunderclaps—so loud it was as if an angry god had torn through the heavens to make their presence known.

All heads turned upward, eyes widening as the bleak night sky was pierced by an otherworldly light. A brilliant sun burned through the rupture, and from within it, a figure descended—wreathed in radiance.

You.

An angel, halo faintly glowing, wings stretched wide in divine glory. Your face was more ethereal than ever, your eyes alight with a knowing that felt far beyond mortal comprehension.

Damian stared, frozen, convinced he’d finally lost his mind. His grief-stricken heart told him he was hallucinating—seeing his dead lover descend from the heavens as an angelic vision born of pure delusion.

But then—then you fell into his arms.

And the second he felt the familiar shape of you—real, solid, warm—he knew.

You were back.

Truly, impossibly back.

“You have no idea what I had to do to come back to you,” your voice rang out like a choir—soft, divine, and heavy with memory. “For you, I’ve only been gone seconds… but for me, you’ve been gone for millennia.”

You cradled his face, your eyes drinking him in like water after endless thirst.

His breath hitched. “Angel,” he whispered, the nickname falling from his lips like a prayer, it was more fitting then ever. “You may have waited millennia—but for me, you were gone for eternities.”