The Boys Are Getting Along

damn, i need man like him.

Old money!Gojo Satoru spoils you with so many rings every other week that by the time he presents you with your wedding ring, you’re just waving him off like “aw, that’s nice, honey.” You’ve never had to console a grown man like that your entire life (you said yes either way though.)

They match each other's freak

masterlist

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

spencer reid

carry the weight of you

good night moon

two millimeters

all yours if you want me (18+)

hard to love (easy to be loved)

wine or wine not (18+)

fingers crossed (18+)

if you keep asking

close to home

like i would (18+)

the many names

hit me baby one more time (18+)

porcelain doll (18+)

take a seat (18+)

hair tie (18+)

the prophecy part 1 part 2 part 3

surprise songs

castling

you say ‘what a mind’

you've got a 9 to 5

how you talk so sweet 18+

one of me is cute, but two though? 18+

how dare you think it’s romantic

stargazing

undone lace (18+)

exile

under the mistletoe (18+)

bright lights

santa doesn’t know you like i do

glory of the snow {18+)

hypothalamus (18+)

i can do a lot with 15 minutes (18+)

void

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

came back from my drawing hiatus to draw jason oiled n wrapped up

The cage is open, you can walk out anytime you want (Why are you still here?),

S2!Post!Hankel Spencer Reid x gn!BAU!reader

Angst (hurt/comfort). Autistic Spencer (you know the drill). Perhaps some traces of fluff if you’re like…. masochistic. Heavily implied happy ending.

— Explorations of Spencer’s (very glossed over) addiction. Love confessions? Half love confessions? Spencer admits it mentally, Reader implies it through actions. What am I saying? They’re sooooooo in love it pains me.

Warnings: *cracks knuckles,* okay…. —heavy depictions of drug addiction, mentions and allusions of suicide, previous mentions of being held hostage (Hankel). PACKED with Greek mythology references (sue me, i study classics as a degree), perhaps some light biblical imagery? Spencer being at rock-bottom. he’s kinda bitchy. he also disses hotlines (they do save lives, don’t listen to Spencer!!! he’s being a dick). mentions of childhood bullying.

w.c: 3.2k

a/n: title so long it’s basically a midwestern emo song.

────────────

There’s intimacy in being fragile. Spencer knows firsthand, has romanticised his Glass delusion. The fear of shattering, fragmenting on impact, like jagged, sliced glass. He thinks of Charles VI, (1380’s King of France), what he felt when he refused touch. When he reinforced himself, shielding behind excess clothing, in the fallacious fear of dismantling.

Spencer does the same, hides behind fabric, shies away from human contact. Because— because being careful is better than being impetuous. If he can make himself so small he no longer takes up space then maybe they’ll be kind to him.

Monachopis. Has he always been this out of place? Has it always felt this way? Will it ever stop?

12 years old. Curling inward to shield himself from the ache of cracked fists. You’re not here, you’re not here, you’re not here. He still feels like that kid, the one bleeding across the school yard, smashed glasses, bust lip, new bruises to hide from mom.

Perhaps he should blame genetics. Find something to point the finger at. Mentally distort the truth, until it’s no longer a paling face he sees, drawing the first needle into his arm, forcing him to take what he never asked for. No longer that, but a bigger issue, a concern that cannot be personified, a larger statistic in the minefield of human psychology.

Those with ASD have a doubled risk of substance use.

He never stood a chance. Did he?

So just like Charles, he covers his arms. Veils the track marks that penetrate skin. Pretend they’re not there, pretend you’re okay. Okay? Okay, nobody has stopped to ask him if he is ‘okay’ since ‘the incident.’ When the shock wore off, and attention strayed, everyone lost interest.

He feels like an outlaw to his own team.

How do you move on from being bound, tied, degraded to something beneath human?

How did everyone else?

He understands now— the pull of addiction. The way it mimics, artificially replicates home. Something soft, in that one, life-ruinously warm moment between the first hit and the inevitable come down.

But just like everything good. It dies. Turns ugly. Disfiguring, decaying. What once was simple, a fleeting temptation, a way to starve off lonely withdrawal, has derailed into desperate, insatiable hunger. To reproduce the first time, to appease the way he palpates in the wake of something tiny—

Call it what it is. Not an analgesic agent, not a semi-synthetic, not a simple narcotic utilised in the medical field. It’s an opioid, two to eight times greater than that of morphine. Given to those dying, to help alleviate Cheyne-stokes breathing, to reduce pain before the end.

It binds to the opioid-receptions in the central nervous system.

He is no superior than those on the street. Begging for loose change to shoot up and placate the cold.

2AM. The phone connection is faint. Do you feel like killing yourself? Is the noose already tied, is the rope choking you? Do you need to breathe? Do you even want to? He wonders what it would be like, to call into those bullshit hotlines, to hear the detached, sharp-bladed sympathy of some stranger.

Instead, when the phone picks up, the blaring beep of a dial dissipating, he hears you instead.

“You know how it’s believed that Artemis killed Orion?” He starts. He cannot begin with hi, I’m scared of the dilaudid burning through my veins. Do you still love me? (Presumptuous of him to believe you loved him in the first place, he certainly wouldn’t.)

He doesn’t let you answer. Maybe he’s scared, or maybe he can try and satiate your concern by fact-dumping so extensively that you automatically revert back to oh yeah, boy genius is talking again. “Well— there’s this other interpretation, that she… y’know didn’t. Instead, they were hunting companions, and it was because of the animals he slaughtered on Crete, that Gaia. Mother ea— yeah, you know who I’m referencing. Okay.”

Even at his worst, he is conveniently a social disaster. They could poke holes in his brain, drag the sharp edge of a blade through the tissue lining of his stomach, and his mouth would still find a way to run:

‘You’re missing major arteries here, c’mon — I know you can push harder than that. Aim for my descending aorta, that will do the job correctly.’

It would be funny if he wasn’t the biggest screw up to ever exist. Social ineptitude has never looked worse.

“Anyway, um… so— disturbed by the blood-bath, and feeling repentant — she summoned this scorpion. Humans are no match for the gods, obviously. So any creation with intent will—“ he sighs, finding new ways to hate himself. “Basically he died. Yeah— dead. To… uh, sum it up?”

“And what?” Oh, there you are. He’s surprised you’re listening, that you didn’t hang up the moment his morbid rambling begun. He’s always surprised, surprised that you listen, that you stay, even when you shouldn’t. It would be romantic, if he wasn’t so flawed in believing you could never want someone like him.

“Well— Artemis gathered up the remnants of Orion and placed them in the sky. Yknow,… hence the constellation.”

There’s shuffling — a moment of uneasy silence. “Spencer—“

He keeps going. Shock-horror. “I’m not sure science would agree with that myth. It certainly counters the Big Bang theory. And the whole schtick regarding— look… it doesn’t,… it doesn’t hold any truth, of course. The gods aren’t real,” (if they are, they must spit at the flawed creation of him), “I just— it was on the forefront of my mind. Made me think of you.”

It’s innocent. If you don’t take into account the stored vials he keeps stashed in his cabinet sink. If you pretend you’re just two people, two old, weary friends, who are insomniac and restless. Then again, where Spencer is concerned, everything is innocent. He’ll bare the weight of existence with no expectation of a return favour. So willing to give give give. Always taken for granted. Tossed to the sidelines. You’ve watched the team ignore his plans, call rain check after rain check, incessant excuses for something so diminutive. Even now, they can’t see what’s right in front of them. The blunt of the truth.

The aftermath of the Hankel case.

“Bad night?” You ask. Like you don’t feel it in your ribs.

He sighs, head spilling back against the wall. Throat bared, it would be so easy for hands to wrap around the unmarred skin, to put him down. “Aren’t they all?”

You’ve both been trained to pinpoint human behaviour. Discern threat from over exaggeration. You don’t hesitate, he knows you don’t— he’s seen you behind the weight of a gun. Dominant hand curved around the grip, aligning the front and rear sight. Firing pin striking the primer of the cartridge, no recoil— he’s watched you no more than blink when the bullet penetrates.

He always anticipates a flinch that never comes.

Sometimes, he has this dream, where he’s got the same Hornady branded bullet, lodged through his chest. Sometimes he wakes up and still believes he’s bleeding out.

He can hear your keys, the clattering that fades into the grating, confirmative slam of a door. You’re out of the apartment complex, and what? He’s too busy thinking about some warped manifestation of his subconscious?

Will he ever live outside of his mind?

The call doesn’t end (5 dragging minutes of heavy breathing and awkward silence), until you’re standing right here, flesh and bone, in his kitchen.

He’s making himself small again. Sat against cold tile, he shields his face from view. As if that alone will incrimate him. He knows you know. And it’s scary; to be so raw in the face of someone you love.

When you drop to your knees, it feels like tending to a wounded animal.

“You didn’t need to come,” he mutters, obstinate.

“So what?” You brush it off, ever the hero. Spencer thinks they should marbleise you in the Vatican. “I still did.”

You came. You called. Spencer fucking hates that cliche. Except, no.. no he doesn’t. Sometimes, he wants to make himself sicker, just so you have reason to touch him.

Reaching up, he feels your calloused palm, the way it cups his jaw, coaxing his face to lift. He thinks, knows, you’re disturbed by the sight. Red-rimmed eyes, and waxen features. Skinnier, hollow. If he is Leander, then he prays you don’t suffer the same fate as Hero.

‘Geniuses are never happy,’ they told him as a child. Detailing the cyanide found in Viktor Meyer’s stomach, Wallace Carother’s affinity for Potassium Cyanide. Hans Berger, Valero Legasov, Alan Turning. Some things hurt more than can be described.

Is it really so startling that he turned out the same? When that’s all he’s ever known?

Spencer stares. He tries to look through you, but it doesn’t work. Not when you’re warm, and real, and if the come down is configuring you into reality, and you’re not really here, then so be it. He’ll take what he can get. “You’ll find Dilaudid in my bathroom. Left turn from the hallway. I suggest you call 911. Report drug possession. They’ll take it more seriously if you say my name, emphasise the doctor in the title.”

“No.”

“Yes—“ indignantly, he huffs, “Yes. You will. Otherwise you’re guilty by association. The FBI will fire you, take away your credentials. You’ll be ruined.”

“That’s if they find out.”

He can’t comprehend why you’re covering for him. There’s decency, empathy, general human kindness, and then there’s this. “You’re supposed to be an upholder of the law.”

“Pft,” you scoff, brush it off. “Yknow, in Alabama, you can’t play cards on a Sunday. Alaska, no moose on sidewalks. There’s also a ban on wearing masks in Georgia. California has—“

“I get your point.” He cuts off, “Well— no, I actually don’t. Considering they’re dumb laws that waste time. Drug paraphernalia, in contrast, is not.”

“Even high, you’re a stickler. Guess old habits die hard?” you push up, and he chases your touch. “C’mon, golden boy. You’re getting a cold shower and some water. Gonna flush that shit out of you the old fashioned way.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a modern alternative…”

He doesn’t let you see him naked. Partially because, it’s his body. This vessel that feels so alienated from the better part of him. He’s never let someone undress him before, see behind the meticulous layers. But, mostly.. well, he has a firm belief that the first time you take off his clothes, it will be in better circumstances. If that ever transpires.

You’d probably think him deranged: hi, i’m saving myself for you, because any touch that isn’t yours makes me sick.

He’d rather rot alone than string someone along who could never fill the void of you.

The shower is methodical. Skin recoiling from the harsh rivulets of water. 3 minutes spent standing there, staring outwards not in. Complete disregard for the mirror, he’s all soft features and freshly-washed pyjamas when he pads into the bedroom. Corduroy pants, thermal-wear socks, some dumb science print embellished onto the front of his shirt. (‘Never trust an atom, they MAKE UP everything’ — yeah, he hates himself.)

You don’t talk. Not until he’s consumed his body weight in water. He fights off the urge to warn you about the dilution of sodium content in blood. Hyponatremia. Fatal, with a likelihood of seizuring and long-flight comatose. You’d probably just laugh at him, considering it was two glasses, a litre at best.

He’ll use his intellect to hurt. And you’ll counter him with little regard.

Even at his ugliest, you still stay.

“I’m fine,” he protests— hating the way you look at him when he’s so raw.

It’s that gaze. That same sinking, pity-warped gaze he received when he talked about his mom, about the kids at school. Adolescent meat-heads who pushed him into lockers, and beat him between class. Its— suffocating sympathy that he no longer has room for.

“No you aren’t,” this might be the worst you’ve ever seen him.

Would you have known? If he didn’t make the call? Cassandra complex. Disambiguating. A psychological phenomenon where an accurate prediction of a crisis is dismissed. Silent concern, the intuitive awareness that he never recovered, it was only going to lead to this—

Oh fuck it. You knew. The entire team did. You’re just the only one who cared enough to help.

You’re not like the rest of them. Maybe they can blanket suspicion, play pretend, refuse to get their hands dirty. But, there’s a reason you’re better. You don’t sugar-coat reality. You act. You react.

He’ll see your name on a wall one day. An award adorning your efforts.

“You’re exhausted, lie down.”

Spencer fights the urge to scowl. Since when were you in charge? Admittedly, he knows the answer to that: since you spitballed into his apartment, better yet, since you spitballed into his life. So, like the good, propitiated loser he is, he complies. Shock horror…

“What are you gonna do? Tuck me in?”

“You wish.” Instead, you force your way onto the right side of the mattress. “Get comfy, you’ve got your own, free of charge, narcotics anonymous sponsor tonight.”

“You’re not great at the whole ‘tough love’ thing.”

“Then call someone else next time.”

Vulnerability feels like being ripped open at the seams. Like some botched Pygmalion creation — stitched wrong, still breathing. He wants to fall asleep, to just… fade into himself. But— you have this uncanny, accursed ability to make him honest.

You, draped over his bed, does little to appease the sickness in his mind.

“I never asked for this,” he starts, “I didn’t— I didn’t even want it. How is that fair? I never got to decide, I wasn’t even given the anatomy to choose. Now—“

The words rip free like Prometheus’ daily punishment: inevitable, agonizing.

He laughs. Cold. Something ugly that doesn’t belong to him. “Now, if I’m not thinking about my next hit, I’m thinking about how you see me. How the team must see me. It’s— it’s the disappointment. I just— I don’t know why you stay.”

It’s all so tentative. The moments before, when you extend your hand, run it across the curvature of his jaw. All it takes is the touch and he’s crashing into you. Like there is no feasible option but to submit to the basic human need of contact. Face pressed into your shoulder, he feels like dead-weight. Something unworthy of labour.

Stop pushing that boulder up the hill, Sisyphus. Let it fall. Let him fall.

His hand knots tighter in the fabric of your top. Like if he lets go, he’ll spiral into Tartarus itself.

Why? Why would you do this—

“You think I’m going to cut and run just because you’re inconvenient? Pft, i’m too stubborn for that. And, well…” there’s a sigh,… “I care about you too much. Alright? So be inconvenient. Fuck, call at 3AM. Call at 5AM. Make me drop everything and come over. I don’t care. I want to carry the burden. I want to carry your burden.”

His touch lingers near your lower back. Drawing soft halos there, faint and uneven. “I hate you,” comes out muttered, something muffled by skin.

“No you don’t.” you counter, immediately.

“No I don’t,” just like that, he breaks. Cease-fire. How could he ever hate you? The statement was deflective, at best. Some way to make you ache the way he aches. At least then it would be a level paying field.

“I hate who I am when I’m like this. I hate— I hate my mind. It’s not… it’s not accurate, the way people romanticise it. I can’t be what they all expect of me.”

You’re doing that thing. The one where you don’t respond. Where you just listen, without interjecting, without cutting through his incessant monologues.

Sometimes, he feels like he dreamed you up. Like you don’t even exist, a stowaway in his brain, something to re-mantle whenever he’s lonely. Real people aren’t this good — this good to him.

“I don’t get to make mistakes. I need to have the answers every single second of the day. I can’t be me. You’re the only one, how are you the only one who notices? I’ve tried so hard, I’ve been so good—“

He’s tangled into you now, tethered like Daedalus’ forgotten son trying to stitch his broken wings back together mid-fall. If he could, he’d crawl into you. Find somewhere warm to safely exist. Without hurt.

“This isn’t just, I’m not like this just because I need you. Please— please remember that. I miss you always, even when I’m sober. Even before— before everything. I’m not in some—“

“What?” you finally (mercifully) interject. “Some drug-infused decline? Where you‘ll lean on anyone that will give you the time of day?”

Spencer flinches — not because you’re wrong, but because you’ve drawn blood from a wound he didn’t know he still had.

He hates that you’ve distinguished him as some mischaracterised energy vampire. Like you could ever be nothing. Like you’re just the closest fix he can find beyond a chemical high. Designer drugs, manufactured in a lab, they say Heroin feels like a hug from God.

Until your body becomes gluttonous for a hit that never appeases.

You— you are not a hollow high. You are slow and real and catastrophic.

Oh, you’re dependable, a want that morphed into all-encompassing devotion over slow dragging time. “Yes, to the former. No— no, definitely no to the latter. You’re not just some emotional crutch to me. You’re, I don’t know, you’re just… everything.”

Spencer swallows, pulls back, feigning composure. “I should be able to do this alone,” he mutters, “Normal people can. I should be—”

“C’mon, Spence. You’re not a machine. You were never built for that.”

Another sharp laugh. It pierces— you can almost taste the blood this time.

“I’m so tired,” he says in defeat. “I’m so tired of trying to be someone worth saving.”

Pressing your forehead to his, you’re kind to not mention the tears. To just let them occur, free fall. “You don’t have to be anything,” you murmur into his hair. “You just have to be. That’s enough. That’s enough for me, and i’ve got you. Okay? I’ve got you. Always.”

“Will you stay with me?” He doesn’t mean tonight, you know that well enough. “Will you stay with me through it all?”

You’re aware of the burden it would imply, the jagged, ugly reality of withdrawal. The toll, sweat-soaked skin and cold fevers. Irrational begging, pleading for god, just one more fix. The way it would change him, change your untainted perspective of him. When you agree, it is not misguided.

You know what you’re signing up for.

“Yeah. I’ll stay. Through it all.”

If this is love, true unvarnished love, reciprocal and real, then he’s sorry he found you at a bad time. Give it, give me, a few months, he thinks, and i’ll spend the rest of my life giving you everything.

you are the only exception, from vi

ᰔ pairing . . . d. wayne !

ᰔ category . . . fluff , one - shot , requested ᰔ requested by . . . @xoxorory !

ᰔ with . . . a wonder!fem!reader !

ᰔ in which . . . you & damian bond quietly over time▰through missions, late-night snacks, & rain-soaked walks. until he realizes you’re not trying to fix him, just choosing to stay.

ᰔ tags . . . 3.9k slowburn(ish). tension. quiet understanding. strangers to teammates to something more. subtle affection. team dynamics. mutual respect. gentle banter. protective!damian. observant!reader. late-night walks. rain scene (classic). reluctant softness. grumpy x calm dynamic. titans tower bonding. canon divergence(?). reader lowkey has mythological trauma. emotional healing. damian wayne character study. teasing under affection. enemies to allies to "maybe." relationship misunderstanding. very ooc. reader is low-key flirty af.

ᰔ look around . . . m. list, d.wayne & detective comics m. list

────── vi whispers . . . ᰔ

001. woah.

002. i acc made this in my mom's office lmfao😭😭

003. not proofread obvi

004. "damian is a vege —" in other storylines,, he eats meat btw ! i js forgot which comic essit

the first time you got to meet damian wayne wasn't anything compared to the rest. at least, not the rest who were also members of the teen titans.

the first new recruit to enter was always eyed with suspicion. the team was a machine, & each new piece of machinery had to fit exactly, or it would break down. but when damian wayne arrived at the titans, it was as though a storm entered the room. the rest of them did have their misgivings▰some put theirs more squarely than others. some rolled eyes at his brashness, his refusal to work with. others, like gar, tormented him pitilessly, but you knew better. you saw a guy who'd been toughened up by an existence he never solicited, a life that had been too grim to shatter.

you could see that.

whereas the others were, you weren't all smiles and forced smiles. your calmness, your unobtrusive confidence, didn't stem from naivety. it stemmed from knowing the depths at which people could reach when life didn't give them a moment to be children. and, in spite of everything, you recognized that damian was a child, although he refused to acknowledge that.

it wasn't that you were naturally great at relating to people▰it was that you were simply more aware of the fact that everyone had his or her own silent wars. yours just happened to have been against the gods.

but the first time that you spoke with him? you could almost sense the electric shock in the air. as if zeus striked you for no reason. damian wasn't a big talker▰he never was, unless he was compelled to drop some biting comment. the others were,, well, acclimating to him, but there were still missteps. still moments when the words didn't align with the intention. but you? you'd been taught by someone who could step into a room, & the entire room would sense the presence. you weren't intimidated by damian's intensity; you saw it.

it began as a mission, something straightforward. stopping a gang who'd somehow fallen under the influence of an ancient magic. it was meant to be simple, a routine patrol for the team. but things had gotten out of hand fast, & there was damian, barking orders sharply while gar attempted to make jokes. it was your responsibility to maintain the peace in times like those.

"damian," you said, your voice cutting through the mess of noise around you. "focus."

he scowled but didn’t look away. "i’m always focused."

"clearly." you raised an eyebrow at him, then shifted your attention back to the enemy. “just. don’t get yourself killed, okay?”

there was a beat of silence before he scoffed under his breath. “i don’t need you to babysit me.”

you laughed, your tone gentle but distinct. "nobody needs to babysit anyone here, damian. but one of our duties is to be a team. which means cooperation is a must.. you don't go off by yourself unless you're willing to face the consequences."

& it was there, in that shirt conversation. where the tension lessened with unspoken reality▰that something moved. the ire in damian's eyes grew a little softer. you weren't attempting to gain control. you were attempting to keep him alive. & for some unknown reason, that mattered.

it wasn't friendship in the beginning, no. but there was mutual understanding that grew with time. you weren't like the rest. you didn't view him as some lone wolf to be controlled or combated. you viewed him as someone who merely needed a bit of space, a bit of trust.

then, after that mission, when the team met back at the tower, it was not hard to tell how much stress had still accumulated between him & the rest of them. but you weren't going to be swayed. you approached him, standing a bit taller than normal, but not quite invading his space.

"you good?" you asked flatly.

damian raised an eyebrow. "i'm fine."

"you don't look fine."

"i said i'm fine."

you shrugged. "alright, then."

it was the little things that warmed him up to you in the end. the gentle side glances, the times when you both slipped into the same rhythm without words. small things, such as when you'd grab the last piece of pizza, & he didn't complain, didn't snatch it away. & you would catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, like he was still unsure, but maybe▰just maybe▰he didn’t mind your presence. you didn’t force the conversation. you just were there.

it was a few years on, after one particularly draining mission, when you and damian ended up walking the city streets at midnight, out of costume, just a couple of weary titans hoping to recharge.

the mission had drained everyone, but when the team went back to the tower you could tell that damian was. well, not exactly in the best mood.

"damian," you started, casting him a sideways glance from the corner of your eye, "i don't know about you, but i'm famished."

he shot you a sideways look. "i'm not hungry. i have better things to do."

you rolled your eyes. "come on, just one kebab. i'm not going to accept no for an answer."

he scowled but didn't argue further. that was the thing with damian▰you didn't push too hard. if you made it seem like you weren't desperate for his company, he'd eventually give in. you didn't need to ask twice.

& so, there you were, sitting on a street corner, having a midnight snack of kebabs like you didn't have anywhere to be. the quiet between you wasn't uncomfortable. it was relaxed, organic. like you have done this multiple times.

but you noticed something as you sat there, working on your food: damian wasn't generally like this. he wasn't this at ease. the tension in his shoulders had relaxed, the sharpness around his eyes eased, & there he was, simply. eating.

you couldn't help but stifle a laugh. the look of him▰this tough, near-royalty hitman who was now sitting on the curb, attempting to eat a kebab without vomiting from sheer contempt was truly priceless.

damian gave you a bewildered stare, furrowed brows as he chewed. "what?"

you couldn't help it. you bursted into laughter.

"nothing," you said between giggles. "you just… look different."

damian's scowl intensified. "i look fine."

you brushed a tear from your eye, still smiling. "i know, i know. but it's just. you never drop your guard, not even for food."

he growled something under his breath, something that might have been an oath, but you didn't hear it. the tension crept back into his voice, but the warmth remained. he was embarrassed, yes, but for once, he didn't hide it.

the evening dragged on, & as the two of you walked back to the tower, the rain started falling.

"great," damian grumbled, his face darkening further. "now i'm going to get soaked."

you didn't let him get away with it. you were already wading into the downpour, a smile fixed on your face. "oh, come on, it's just rain!"

he huffed, standing there & watching you spin about in the rain, dancing as if you didn't have a single worry in your head.

"you are insane." he grumbled, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"that's the point!" you shouted back, still turning, relishing the cold, the wet, and the sense of freedom. "you should give it a go!"

& to your surprise▰after a moment of silence, damian trailed behind. he wasn't smiling, not even slightly. but there was something in the fact that he observed you that tempered his irritation with something a little less bitter, a little more. affectionate.

as you moved, you couldn't help but blurt out a random fact, something that just felt appropriate in the moment. "did you know the greeks used to think rain was the gods' tears? maybe it's aphrodite weeping for us. or zeus, having a tantrum again."

damian gave you a look, his face half-obscured by the rain, but you could see the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"you are strange."

"yeah, but i'm your strange," you teased, grinning even wider as you drew him deeper into the downpour.

by the time the two of you stumbled back into the tower, soaked but happier than you'd been in days, you discovered the other titans waiting for you inside, giggling at your dripping condition.

but before you even got the chance to tell them what happened, damian sent a glare their way & glared. "she pulled me out there."

the rest of the team laughed, but you & damian both knew there was something more than just the rain between you now.

the doors of the elevator slid open softly with a dinging sound, & you walked out first, your shoes making squelching sounds on the wet floor. damian followed you, his face unreadable but his body tense. the rain had penetrated through both of you, although it didn't seem to affect you as much. he, however, was obviously upset, though you could glimpse the tiny flashes of something more in his eyes. was it. affection? perhaps, just barely?

"well," you said, attempting to shake off some of the wetness, "this is where you're supposed to tell me to go get dry. go take care of yourself."

damian glanced at you, squinting slightly. "you're the one who got me into this," he stated sharply, but there wasn't actually any venom in the tone. he was still dripping, & his characteristic scowl was lessened, as if he wasn't sure what to do with the moment.

"i didn't drag you. you volunteered." you smiled, jabbing him in the ribs with your elbow.

he didn't respond initially, his jaw clenching. then, to your surprise, he put a hand on your shoulder. "come on, i'll escort you to your room."

you blinked, slightly taken aback by the offer. "uh, damian, i can make it myself."

"it's the least i can do after you pulled me into the rain," he insisted, voice low and steady. his eyes flashed to you once more, his softening just slightly, something you were still growing accustomed to seeing. "besides, you're still wet. it's… not safe for you to be out like this."

if you told your younger self that the damian wayne just placed an arm in your shoulder, she would've laughed at your face.

you laughed softly, although his seriousness tickled you. "i think i can do it, damian. i'm tougher than i appear."

he didn't release your shoulder. "not this time."

you rolled your eyes, entertained by his persistence but thankful for the effort. you'd been through a lot as titans & as teammates who had to learn to trust one another. after a moment, you released a gentle sigh and nodded, your lips curving into a smile. "okay, lead the way then."

the jwalk to your room was silent, save for the dripping of your clothes. you couldn't help but look over at damian, still attempting to understand this iteration of him. he was no longer the prickly, withdrawn young man who had originally joined the team. there was a serenity to him now, a quiet concern that he kept masked beneath his stern expression. it was odd how much he'd changed since the time you'd known him, & it made you notice just how much you'd changed as well.

you paused at the entrance to your room, turning to him as you inhaled deeply. "appreciate you for walking me to my room, damian. i really appreciate it."

he looked down at you, his mouth set in a thin line. "it's no trouble."

it wasn't a rejection, but it wasn't exactly a compliment either. typical damian. but you didn't mind. the fact that he'd even suggested doing this in the first place was a small win.

"well, you can go now," you said, pushing him gently towards the door.

damian didn't budge right away, his dark eyes examining you with interest. it was sometimes difficult to read him, but something in the way he regarded you now, a spark in his eyes, caused your heart to beat just that little bit faster. you swallowed hard, full of conflicting feelings, but before you could get a word out, his voice stopped you.

"if you need anything," he said softly, "don't hesitate to ask."

your eyes went soft as you nodded. "i won't."

there was a moment of silence. then, to your shock, you moved closer to him, tilting your head up slightly. you reached up & kissed him on the cheek, the gentle touch of your lips on his skin a moment that seemed to catch him off guard.

damian froze, his whole body rigid as if he didn't know what to do with himself. his breath caught, & you couldn't help but smirk silently at the sight. the angry scowl came back onto his face as he sharply turned his head away, although there was something there, something more.

"damian?" you said teasingly, your voice gentle, your lips still retaining the remnants of a smile.

he didn't respond immediately, & you could see the blush rising up his neck, hardly perceptible but enough to make you laugh.

"well," you said, taking a step back, "thanks again for the escort, & for the rain dance. i'll see you around."

before he could respond further, you hastily turned & glided into your room, closing the door softly behind you. you stood leaning on the door for a moment, your heart racing. you hadn't anticipated the kiss to be like that. & you certainly hadn't anticipated damian's reaction. you really wanted to go back out there and taunt him some more, but the thought of leaving him in such a state was too hilarious to let pass.

you smiled to yourself, removing your shoes & gazing at your image in the mirror. this had been a night you wouldn't soon forget.

in the meantime, beyond your doorstep, damian was frozen, his hand still suspended in mid-air as if to knock but was unable to muster the courage. his head was spinning from the kiss, & he couldn't even determine how he felt. that odd sense of heat rising in his chest had caught him totally off guard.

the silent corridors of the tower were suddenly too noisy, and damian couldn't help but notice the odd feeling of exposure he had. he grumbled to himself, irritated by the entire episode but unable to dispel the way his heart was pounding. why did she have to do that?

it wasn't as if he hadn't enjoyed it. far from it. but that she had kissed him. it changed something within him. he despised how quickly it had impacted him. this was not something that was to happen.

as he finally turned away from her, he couldn't help but relive the moment in his head. he couldn't help but think of her smile, the laughter she brought forth, the way she always lightened the load. she's impossible, he could think, though there was a small smile that danced at the corners of his mouth. totally impossible.

but somehow, he couldn't even be mad about it.

it had been two days since that kiss.

damian was behaving… differently. to say he was behaving out of character was a gross understatement. he was still damian, naturally. the perpetually serious, overly-disciplined, stubborn & almost insufferable young man▰but there was something off. new. extra. he was softer, his normally sharp edges a little less rough around the edges when it came to you.

you didn't resent it. in fact, it felt pleasant. his body language, while still damian▰infrequent, was a bit more considerate. the manner in which his eyes lingered on you when you spoke, or the way he'd make an effort to include you in all plans. he'd even begun to be a bit. protective? it was weird, but you assumed maybe it was only his way of demonstrating that he was growing more trustful. you didn't really give it much thought. at least, not at first.

you had taken, at least, for granted that the two of you had progressed to a new, greater depth of friendship. that he had let you in his palace. there wasn't an outright point where you & damian had professed anything to one another. you hadn't even assumed there was a need for one. the kiss had come as naturally, but perhaps it wasn't something substantial. perhaps it was simply an expression of warmth between friends. perhaps he was trying to ignore it. perhaps he wished you didn't lean in & kissed his cheek.

of course, the rest of the titans were paying attention. you'd been with them long enough to recognize when they were baffled▰hell, when they were flat-out stunned. they were used to observing you & damian bickering at each other. to them, your dynamic was as much about reciprocal frustration as romance. but now? something had changed, & they were not overlooking it.

you, on the other hand, were happily oblivious to their speculation. your attention was primarily on damian, who had become accustomed to lingering around you more than ever before, his subtle displays of concern a tad too overt to be overlooked. his little touches on your arm when he gave you something, his eyes tracking you as you moved across the room, the way he'd insist on walking you to places with that added tinge of insistence. you just assumed it was damian being. well, damian.

& then, at last, it all boiled over.

it was a relaxed scene in the common room, nothing unusual. the titans were lounging about in different locations. cyborg fiddling with devices, raven reading, gar cracking awful jokes, and you & damian observing. the rest of the team were generally occupied with their own activities, but there was an underlying tension that you couldn't pinpoint.

damian had only just given you a drink, & you grumbled your thanks, taking a sip as you settled back into the couch. your gaze wandered over to him, where he was standing at the window, arms folded, gazing out at night. there was a gentle sort of sadness in his stance, or was it concern? something that caused you to feel you should go & ask what was on his mind in that clever brain of his.

but then it happened.

damian, as if out of nowhere, whirled on you & exclaimed, "beloved, i would rather that you stayed away from there so late."

you stopped mid-sip. "what?"

damian, oblivious to your shock, kept going with a scowl. "you know it's not safe for you to go out by yourself at night. i'm not requesting your safety. i'm commanding it."

you blinked. beloved? did he just refer to you as beloved? be.lov.ed? is aphrodite playing games?

the room fell silent. raven's gaze narrowed suspiciously from the other side of the room. gar stopped in mid-chew of whatever food he was eating, his mouth agape with shock. cyborg, who had been fiddling with his arm, looked up at once. they were all gazing at you & damian, their faces screaming, you're dating!?

you, however, were blinking frantically, still trying to process the word beloved that had so readily fallen from damian's mouth. you turned to look at the rest of the titans, who were obviously waiting for some kind of explanation.

"we're… dating?" you said, finally able to get the words out, your voice full of confusion.

the rest of the team looked at you like you had just uttered something in another language.

"what?" raven asked in her deadpan tone, looking clearly confused. "wait… you're dating?"

gar leapt to his feet. "hold on, hold on! you & damian are a thing now??”

"the lone wolf & twilight sparkle?" cyborg questioned, obviously having trouble understanding what he was being told. he swiveled around towards damian, who had stiffened slightly at the focus. "seriously?"

you spun around towards damian now, waiting for an explanation. he lingered there for a second, as though he was going to speak, but then closed his mouth, blinking as though the truth was only registering on him as much as it was registering on you.

damian had opened his mouth to speak, but then shut it again, his eyes flashing to the others in the room, his jaw clenching. "i▰ i thought we were▰i thought the kiss▰"

“kiss!?”

"the kiss?" you asked, a flush rising to your cheeks as you recalled that night. "that kiss was just▰just… a kiss! it wasn't like▰"

damian let out a deep sigh, massaging the back of his neck. "i thought.., after the kiss & everything that happened afterward▰ i assumed… i'm not good at this." his voice caught for a second before he appeared to pull himself together. "i'm not accustomed to such things, but i thought▰ we were... & you leaned in."

you blinked in shock, now totally confused. "wait, wait. you thought we were dating because of a kiss?"

damian's stance improved. "it was not the kiss alone. the way you. behaved afterward. it was the way you remained with me. the way you▰”

"wait, wait, no," you broke in, shaking your head, finally beginning to put the pieces together. "you thought we were dating just because of,, that kiss?"

he scowled, clearly frustrated by the misunderstanding. “yes. i thought you knew.”

you stared at him for a moment, then shook your head, biting back a laugh. this was damian wayne, the same guy who could go toe-to-toe with the best of them, & yet, here he was, utterly flustered & confused over a kiss. you couldn’t help but giggle at the thought. "damian," you started, attempting to suppress your giggles, "we never really discussed it. i didn't know you were. i didn't know you thought we were going out."

"i didn't know you didn't know," he retaliated, obviously irritated. he touched his wayward hair, his expression nearly agonized. "this is. complicated. i▰"

you put your hand on his arm, halting his tirade. "you don't need to apologize, damian. this is… this is just you, & i understand. we'll sort this out, okay?" you smiled at him softly. "& perhaps we should discuss this properly. not in front of the entire team."

damian seemed to relax a little, but his expression remained intense, like he was still processing the whole situation. the titans, however, were still whispering in disbelief, with gar having the audacity to go “this is so cute, bro!” from across the room.

"fine," damian grunted. "we'll discuss this later. but it is complicated." his gaze softened as you met his eyes, & for the first time in a very long time, there was actual warmth there.

after a few seconds, you laughed again, more due to how damian was behaving than the actual situation. "alright," you said, taking a step forward. "let's say. dating, then. for now."

damian arched an eyebrow, as though expecting some validation. you touched out, cupping his cheek & drawing him down for a kiss▰a soft, fleeting kiss on his lips, which left him more than a little taken aback. you drew back hastily, your heart pounding at the contact.

"that's official enough for me," you said, smiling up at him. "now, we can work out the details later, okay?"

damian looked at you for a very long time, his breath caught in his throat. his scowl was still there, but now it was accompanied by a new softness, a reluctant warmth.

"alright," he said, voice softer now.

expect the team( mostly gar & cyborg ) teasing you for months, though.

© MINORLYATFAULT

Artober day 1: Minato's kids

sorry haven't been feeling like making art, take this catoru from last month