𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you're less than pleased to be marrying the arrogant noble your parents arranged for you. On the day of your wedding, you cross paths with a pirate who seems keen on ruining your big day, and you couldn't be more thrilled.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: luffy x fem!reader
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8k
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: minor alabasta spoilers, arranged marriage, I kind of went ham on the descriptions and readers backstory in general, violence, mother issues
𝐚/𝐧: *arises from where i fell off the face of the earth and throws down an offering* greetings.
“Respectfully…” You took a moment to compose yourself, sipping from your teacup and raising your eyes to settle on your soon-to-be husband. “You are the scum of the earth, Mr. Toleson.”
Mr. Toleson, quite used to this, only rolled his eyes and moved to pour you more tea. “Pray tell me what I have done to receive such contempt, Miss?”
That question could not easily be answered. Did your contempt stem from your lack of choice, or from Mr. Toleson’s less than agreeable disposition? Or perhaps from society’s overall decision that whatever may happen, you should sit still and be merry. Who cares if your marriage is loveless and your life unfulfilled?
You dropped another sugar cube in your tea and stirred it around. Maybe it was everything all at once. And Mr. Toleson’s… superiority in age didn’t help matters either. The rickety man just reached his late fifties, his hair reaching a color not yet gray, but most definitely not the brown of his youth. You’d seen pictures. He was a handsome boy twenty years ago, when you were but a lemon-shaped babe in the womb.
“I had plans,” you answer at last. “Plans that do not include you.”
His eyes twinkled like the idea was preposterous, his mustaches curling with his lips. Mr. Toleson gazed at you like a child, only discomforting you even further about the idea of sharing a marriage bed. “What plans, Miss?”
“It doesn’t matter,” you snapped back. “I’m going to be chained to you all my life. Even after you die, which I assume will be soon given the state of you, I’ll be forced into widowhood. I look awful in black, you know, and pretending to grieve would do nothing for my mental state—oh, where are you going?”
Mr. Toleson had thrown down his napkin, face hot and brows screwed together. He peered down his nose at your poor attempt at hiding a smile. “When you’re my wife,” he said, tone even and dark, gaze even more so. “You’ll do well to learn manners, Miss.”
There was a threat in there somewhere, for certain, and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Mr. Toleson huffed out his too-small nose and spun on his heel, barking at a poor attendant to fix the table’s preposterous flower arrangement.
You gave the young boy a sorry look and stood to leave when a sharp voice filtered in from the next room.
“Mr. Toleson! Where are you going—?” Your mother’s shrill tone cut short, a growl of your name soon to follow.
“Shit.” You whirled on the attendant boy with a pointed finger. He froze, eyes wide as several petals fell loose onto the table. “Please,” you hissed, pressing your palms together. “Ypu must help me.”
The boy dropped the flowers back into the vase, splashing a bit of water. With a single nod, he beelined for the window, unlatching it and swinging it open. You rushed over, his hands pushing you outside. “This is the only way out, my lady.”
“I’ll fall—wait!” You were swinging your legs over the sill before you realized what you were doing. Heart pattering in your chest, you cast him a look, but he was already shutting the window and drawing the curtains behind you. “Oh, dear.”
Down below, about twenty feet down and beyond the hedged yard, were the streets of the city, carts pulled by mules and passersby tracking dirt and mud and other materials across the dirt roads. You glanced around the outer wall of Mr. Toleson’s house. A trellis ran down the side just one window away, which you could use to climb down to then jump into the hedges. Stealing a breath, you began to inch along the window sill, setting a delicate foot on the wide declarative trim running from each window to the next. When it didn’t crumble beneath your foot, you went on, barely breathing as you clung flush to the wall.
Reaching the window, precariously making a step up to the next sill, you nearly tipped backward when you caught your mother’s back through the window. Feet slipping, you scurried down the trellis, losing your grip every few seconds and clinging to the wall. Eventually, you touched the earth, dusting off your dress as you faced the garden wall. Ivy ran all along it, but you’d done enough exploring whilst avoiding Mr. Toleson’s advances to know that a gate hid behind the green. It led right into a damp, drippy alleyway. You cringed down at your custom-made shoes, costing a fortune for certain. Sacrifices had to be made, and today, your shoes paid the price.
Your wedding was a day away, and with it the end of your happiness. Not that anyone cared about your happiness those days. Expelling a sigh, you wandered the streets till nightfall, returning to the grand house in the dead of night.
Your mother paced the entry hall when you stepped inside, the tall door booming shut behind you. Her eyes were on you like a hawk, her words sharp knives. “Where have you been?”
“Uptown,” you drawled, tossing your now dirtied shoes across the carpet. “Downtown. Midtown. Where haven’t I been is the real question.”
She looked close to exploding, cheeks inflated and lips pinched together. “You embarrassed me—You embarrassed Mr. Toleson!”
Waving an absent hand, “I couldn’t care less, woman. Now let me be before I drop dead of melancholy.”
A stiff utterance of your name struck the air, the impact on your back fleeting as you swept upstairs. Again and again, she cried your name till it sounded more like a beg than an order, and it halfway made you desire to face her. But facing your mother and having her see you had long been a futile task.
Her voice struck your back until you reached the top of the stairs and darted down the hall, whipping open your bedroom door and slamming it back behind you. Swiftly locking it, you clawed at your chest, skin constricting and choking you out. That woman… your mother could never understand.
Once, you hoped maybe she could. Your oldest servant, a frail woman who’d been serving your mother for a decade, told you that your mother went through the same unfortunate situation as you. She walked an aisle leading to shackles, just as you would at tomorrow’s soon-coming dusk. But time had turned that woman cold, making her hellbent on sentencing you to the same fate.
Eyes scanning the room, you gave a shaken sigh. Tomorrow you would be forced into a similar room, but that one you would share with Mr. Toleson. Your skin crawled. “At least he only wants my money. He cares for nothing else.”
You slipped into bed, unsure of the next good sleep you’d receive.
જ ⁀ ➴
Up with the sun, you dressed quickly and slipped out of the house, careful not to make a sound as you exited onto the street. There was ample time between sunrise and the ceremony, each second passing with a daunting swiftness. Soon, the morning bells rang throughout the city, signaling that noon had fallen.
You stared up at the sky as the chimes fell silent, chest constricting. This walk around the city had done nothing to quell your distress. In anything, it made it worse; people on the street beamed and congratulated you on sight, offering you flowers and well-wishes. You received them all with practiced kindness, even as doom lurked behind you.
“Just a few more hours,” you mumbled, taking refuge in a damp alley. “I can visit the old pond… perhaps the frogs will be out.”
Nodding, you slipped back out with a ducked chin, walking quickly through the crowds until so little as three people were around and the the stone streets faded into soft dirt paths underfoot. Through sparse trees and lonely wood, you made your way to the duckpond on the outskirts of the city. Not a soul around; perfect.
You plopped yourself on the ground and hugged your knees to your chest, oblivious to the dust curling around you. Maybe, if you stayed right there all day, no one would find you. You could sit through the whole ceremony—through the whole year, till weeds crawled up your limbs and rocks were surfaced by the winds. You’d become part of this pond when the rain fills it beyond the banks, dissolving into an urban legend of what happens to heartbroken young women.
You smiled for the first time in many weeks. That fate sounded as lovely as anything.
The reverie broke as voices crept up behind you. Peeking over your shoulder, you spotted two entities: the first being the constable, and the second farther behind him. This group of people was more like a gaggle, or perhaps a rabble, their boisterous tones causing the constable to cast them a glare.
You jumped to your feet before he could face forward again and darted toward to big oak tree you used to climb in your youth, skidding to a halt right behind it. The constable was good friends with your fiance and would surely escort you back home the instant he saw you.
“Are you sure we can fish here?”
“I’m sure no one’s told us we can’t.”
“Sanji!”
One of the voices, presumably the one called Sanji, laughed in reply while their counterpart grumbled under their breath. Part of you felt the need to jump out and warn them against it, because surely the constable would be quick to apprehend them. But then he would also surely apprehend you.
“Sirs,” the gruff voice of the constable barked, right on cue. “Fishing in this pond is strictly prohibited. It’s for viewing only by law.”
The one called Sanji clicked his tongue. “Is there some sort of sign we missed? Because there’s no warning stopping us.”
Oh, dear. “I’m here to stop you. Now please, put away your tack and gear.” There were a few indignant huffs, but no rustling of a confrontation. Good, good…
“Right. Now, have either of you gentlemen spotted a young woman about?” The constable proceeded to give your exact description, spiking a panic within you. The search party had already begun. “No? Drat. Perhaps I’m at the wrong pond… Good day to you…”
You remained behind the tree for five long minutes, listening to the constable’s steps fade away and the conversation between the two men go on. Peeking out, you saw a tall skinny blond and a man with dark skin at the pond’s edge, fishing of all things.
Puffing your cheeks, you stepped out with crossed arms. “He told you it's not allowed!”
Their heads swiveled around, eyes wide and startled. The blond was the first to recover, his hold on the fishing rod slackening as an easy smile slid across his face. “My, my, what kind of nymph are you?”
Your cheeks warmed as his eyes scanned you up and down. “The angry kind.”
The other man quirked a brow, quicker than the other. “Was that guy looking for you?”
Alarms went off in your mind. “Never mind that, just don’t fish in my pond.”
“Whatever you say~”
“Sanji!”
Satisfied, you trudged off, letting their bickering be drowned out gradually. With the knowledge that the whole city now knew to look out for you, probably thinking the aloof noble girl just lost track of time, you took the long way around, slinking through dirty alcoves you once called your kingdom some years ago.
This whole city was your empire, in your mind. You and the other young girls and boys traipsed about without a care, creating your own world only the lot of you could see. You, of course, were high empress of all alleyways.
Growing up like this meant your mighty empire was toppled. All your old friends had new lives now, time ticking by with mundane tasks and masks to keep up. Many of them would attend your wedding, but they might as well be strangers now. Such was the way of your city. You get old and you lose your life.
A subtle burn welled up behind your eyes as you rounded a dark corner and found the old crates you’d formed into a palace, untouched and frozen in time as the curling alleys of the city grew dusty from neglect. You stopped short at the sight, quickly snapping back to reality and darting away, running as fast as you could to get away. Left and right, you were reminded of how expansive these alleys really were, and how easy it was to get lost in them.
Not that you would ever get lost; you’d cling to your memories as long as possible. You knew this place like the back of your hand, so it was a surprise when instead of a dead end, you turned to find a long alley leading out to the market. The scent of the baker’s stall and sweet rolls being sold wafted down to you, providing a momentary calm—before that laugh broke it all down.
Creeping back around the corner, you waited for the laugh to stop, peering around to find that you weren’t alone. Near the mouth of the alley, a boy stood clutching his chest, laughter fading even as he glanced out onto the street. For just three whole seconds, you swore he was something out of a novel.
Pretty face scarred on one side, but it didn’t make him any less to look at. Hair windswept despite the stillness, clothes ratty in some places and newly stitched up in others. Whoever he was, you’d never seen him before, so where exactly did he come from?
“Hey.” You blinked widely, realizing quite too late that you’d been caught. Locked in severe eye contact, you ever so slowly retreated back around the corner, flattening yourself against the wall. Maybe if you didn’t breathe, he’d think he hallucinated and walk away.
“Hey,” that boy said again, closer now. “What’re you doing?”
You didn’t make a sound, flush against the wall as if trying to disappear even when his face appeared in your peripheral. He blinked, waiting for you to do something. “Why’re you being so weird?”
“I, well…” You glanced around, anywhere but his face. “I was taking a walk.” You tensed up, held your breath, and blurted, “I don’t talk to strangers!”
You stared hard at the ground, hoping that he’d think you were crazy and walk away, but then the boy laughed at you. Gasping softly, you raised your head and gazed at him softly, lips parted slightly. Nobody had ever laughed at you before, at least not to your face like this boy, heaving as his chuckles faded.
“You’re talking to me anyway.” He had you there. His eyes glinted despite the sun being obscured by the tall buildings.
“I…”
He thrust out his hand suddenly. “I’m Luffy.” His hand, his face. His hand, his face. Your eyes darted back and forth until you finally settled on his hand. Dirty, that was the first thing you noticed, and then the callouses. You’d only seen hands like that on a sailor.
You blinked back up at his face, locking in on his eyes. Sailors weren’t to be trusted. They took young girls’ hearts, along with something more personal, and set back off to sea. That’s what your mother said, but you had a feeling your mother had never seen someone like Luffy before. You’d never seen anyone like Luffy, so bright he could’ve been the sun itself. You took his hand quickly, shaking it firmly, and introduced yourself.
Luffy chuckled. “Now I’m not a stranger.”
You couldn’t help but crack a grin. “I suppose not. Do you sail?”
“How’d you know?” Luffy tilted his head, leaning back on his heels, and you forgot how to speak. Luffy wasn’t too bad to look at. He was unlike any of the handsome boys you’d seen in court, sure, but that didn’t matter. Perhaps it endeared you more. Luffy, whoever he was, was different from everything you knew.
“You hands, I suppose. They’re like a sailors’.”
His laugh was odd, like a shi-shi-shi sound, prompting a stifled snort out of you as well. “Yep! I’m a pirate!”
Instantly, your whole face dropped, frozen in place. “Oh… that’s… something.”
Pirates were very different from regular sailors. They stole and pillaged and plundered and did many other terrible deeds. Your great-grandfather had been killed by a pirate… but you’d never known him. It’s all hearsay. Besides, Luffy didn’t look like he would ever think of maiming you. He looked like your next good friend, even if just for now.
“Your crew is here, then?” you asked, moving to sit atop a set of crates along the wall. Luffy jumped as he followed, plopping in the dirt in front of you instead.
“Mhmm. They’re… somewhere.” He snickered. “We just left Alabasta, y’know.”
You leaned forward to gawk at him. “So you saw what happened? With Crocodile? It was crazy.”
Again with that strange laugh of his. “Yep. I’m the one who beat his ass into the ground!”
“You—huh?” Tilting your head, his smile infected you, tugging at your lips. “So, you’re the savior of Alabasta? Not that marine?”
You sat in awe as he told you everything, going so far back that you learned exactly how he met Princess Vivi. By the end of an hour, you were on the edge of your seat, knees snug against your chest as Luffy described it all in grand detail.
“Wow… that sounds amazing. Not the part where you nearly drowned in sand, but you know.” Resting your chin on your knees, “You must feel so… free out there.”
Luffy nodded quickly, eyes unfocused for a moment, staring at the unseen. “Yeah. It’s amazing.”
Your smile grew dim and melancholy. The bells of evening rang in the distance. “Thank you for telling me your story, Luffy. You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugged one shoulder, his expression one you could only call cute. “You wanted to know… what’re you so sad for?”
You hummed, startled. “I’m not sad.”
“Are too,” he said, eyes narrowed. “So what is it?”
For some time, you didn’t say another word. Luffy stood now, hands planted on either side of yours knees as he stared right at you. It wasn’t threatening or seductive, simply curious in a way you’d never witnessed. Like he truly wanted to know. And so, you told him.
“I’m getting married. Today.” You shut your eyes and grimaced. “And I don’t want to, but I have no choice.”
“So… don’t?”
You reeled back. “Did you not hear me? I have to.” Luffy only tilted his head as you scoffed at the sky. “My only choice is to comply with the path set before me. If I stray too far… I can’t stray too far.”
You hardly realized how angry you’d gotten till Luffy’s finger poked at your forehead once, twice, three times. You blinked slowly. “What?”
“I don’t really get it,” he said. “But you seem pretty sure.” He was right in your face, oblivious to the fluster rising in your face. And then he smiled a beaming smile. “Hey, why don’t you—”
“There you are!” A coil formed in the pit of your stomach, eyes slowly drifting to the mouth of the alley. The constable stalked toward you looking as relieved as he was pissed off. “Your mother’s been sending everyone out for you, miss. Have you lost your mind?”
“Sorry, sir,” you mumbled, ignoring how Luffy stared at you all perplexed-like. “I’ll… I was looking for some flowers for the parlor. Didn’t find a patch in bloom. I’ll head back now.”
The constable stepped forth, not yet noticing Luffy. He began to loom over you, and only when Luffy inched closer to your side did the constable’s gaze flicker to him. Disgust was the only word to describe how the constable looked at Luffy. “Let me escort you home, miss. Wouldn’t want you to lose your way again.”
You looked between the two of them nervously. “Of course, sir.” You stood from the crate and moved to follow the constable, hoping beyond hope Luffy would forget the entire ordeal, for his sake. The constable was going to forget all about your new friend, if only Luffy stayed quiet.
“Hey.” You tightened every muscle in your body. “Who’s she marrying anyway?”
The constable jerked to a stop, his deepset brow furrowing.
“Only the most powerful man around,” the constable replied very carefully, very calculated. He sized the boy up. “She’s very lucky to be marrying Mr. Toleson.”
“Let’s go, sir,” you insisted, daring to hook your arm through the constable’s and nearly drag him away. He dug his feet in. “Introduce me to your friend, miss.”
“He’s—he’s not my friend,” you blurted, eyes glued to the ground. “Sir, let us go. I’ve made us late enough. I have to prepare—”
Luffy took a daring step forward. “You shouldn’t have to marry someone if you don’t want to.”
The constable gritted is teeth, hand closing around your arm. “What would you know about what she wants?”
“Let’s go—”
“She doesn’t like this Tole guy,” Luffy persisted. Your eyes pleaded with him, but he wasn’t looking at you, sight set on the tall man beside you. “So she shouldn’t marry him. Tole-y can find someone who actually likes him if he’s so desperate—”
“Shut. Up.” Dangerous. Your tone was dangerous, wide glare moreso. Luffy silently eyed you, looking right through to your soul. “Goodbye. We have to go. Places to be. Come, Constable.”
Halfway turned, the constable kept one eye on your friend, feet slowly following after you—when Luffy reached out, grabbed your shoulder, and tried to tug you to his side. You whipped around to smack him, but your palm swiped at air.
Luffy stood five feet back, his arm stretched beyond comprehension and latched onto your shoulder.
“What the…” Head foggy, you barely registered the click of a gun till it rose in your peripheral. Everything went by far too quickly, and suddenly you stared down the head of the constable’s pistol, gasping like you hadn’t a clue how you’d got there.
“Get out of here, Luffy,” you ordered, not taking your stare off the constable. “I won’t say it again.”
He was gone when you finally chanced a look over your shoulder. The constable swiftly took your arm in a vice and led you onto the street, holstering his gun and muttering, “Street rats have no place here.”
“Sea dog,” you corrected absently, quite out of your own head. “He’s a pirate, so, sea dog.”
As if that would cease his endless muttering.
You were shut inside your house and shuffled away to a sunny parlor, tended to by maids you’d known since birth, their chattering unable to draw you out of your stupor as they powdered your face and tightened a corset round your waist till the room started spinning.
Meanwhile, a pirate boy returned to his friends, not sparing their newly caught fish a second glance as he asked Robin if she’d heard anything about a wedding in the city. The archeologist grinned as if she knew precisely what had transpired in that alley, though she couldn’t possibly have.
At any rate, the notorious Straw Hat pirates now prepared to act on their captain’s whim, not one of them questioning when he said his “new friend” was in trouble.
જ ⁀ ➴
The carriage ride to the chapel was so you bumpy you were half convinced the driver did it on purpose. You sat wobbling from side to side, eyes glazed over, and you let your mind drift away—you became a specter, wandering blindly till you blinked, and you stood in a sunny side-room, waiting to be fetched for the altar.
Your arms like gooseskin, you peered into a spotless mirror despondently. Your hair was done up prettily, face caked in different powders and creams. The sickening scent of rose perfume surrounded on all sides. The dress fit nicely, not too tight, not too loose. Perfect. Not a thing was out of place.
It all set in at once; by the end of the hour you’d be Mrs. Toleman. Your mother would receive all the benefits, all the praise. She’d smile and really mean it. Your husband would be free from bankruptcy, your family’s massive inheritance given to him the moment you say, “I do.” You’d stand on his arm the rest of his life, the perfect ornament, so quiet and dull.
An older woman fussed over the tears dotting your lashes, roughly swatting them away with her handkerchief, chastising you for such childishness.
“If my daughter were in your position,” she said after nearly gauging your eye. “She’d be ecstatic.”
You gazed quite darkly. “Your daughter was in my position,” you whispered, causing her to freeze putting away her handkerchief. “I’m sure you recall her escaping to the circus very clearly.”
A sharp gasp. A drawn hand. Your mother stepped into the room, flustered beyond compare, and the maid resigned to fume quietly. You wished she would slap you. Perhaps the strike would redden your face so much that the whole thing was called off.
“Well,” your mother exasperated, eyes raking down your form. “I hope you’re ready. Look pleasant.”
She weaved an arm through yours as a bouquet of lilies was shoved in your hands. A sneeze crawled up your nose and died as you held your breath, for the next moment you faced two long and full rows of people you’d never met and would never see again.
Despite the petals and music and lovely weather, it felt very much like a funeral march. The empty faces of the guests chilled you to the bone, not one of them sparing even a grin. A few checked their watches. One boy tugged on a young girl’s pigtail, and the girl was swatted for disturbing the peace. A ginger girl fought with a green-haired male in one of the farther pews. Against the far wall a blonde caterer absently smoked a cigarette. Somewhere, a bird sounded like it was dying, crooning a sad song.
This damn city. These damn people. You’d die here, physically, spiritually, and mentally so. White hot panic welled up within you, but it was far too late to even think of darting for the door; you stood before your groom, gazing blankly into his chest.
You felt as if you were dying, a life so short flashing before your eyes as your hands were taken into the clammy grasp of Mr. Toleson. He wore no smile, no warmth upon his face. Only cold indifference. You hoped you looked the same, lest he spy your terror.
The officiator droaned on meaningless words, warbled by your dazed mind. Only when your hands were squeezed harshly did you refocus, blinking widely.
Clearing his throat, the officiator shuffled uncomfortably. “Do you take this man to be your husband?”
Were you at this bit already? Heart thundering, you didn’t dare to look at Mr. Toleson, panicked gaze flickering to the now bated audience. Every eye stared at you, boring into you fiercely, only worsening your condition.
“I…”
Mr. Toleson gripped you tightly, painfully. He gritted out just for you to hear, “You what? We haven’t got all day…”
“I–I…” A gulping breath. A flash of red ribbon and straw. Cutting your eyes across the room, you settled on a boy near the back of the pews, a grin emblazoned on his face. He caught your eye and held it fast. You hardly believed your eyes, yet understood in an instant.
“Miss,” said the officiator.
Luffy tilted his head, as if asking are we doing this? You chanced a flicker of a smile.
You ripped your hands from Mr. Toleson’s sweaty grip, eyes wide and childish smile inching across your face as the room filled with sharp gasps. Gaze flickering up to Mr. Toleson’s aghast expression, you lurched back three, four, five steps till your heel met the edge of the raised platform. A hand settled on the small of your back as you slipped to the floor. The caterer planted his feet beside you, face grim as he gritted down on his cigarette.
“Are you alright?” he muttered. You gave a quick nod.
The point of no return had come, and you’d taken the path once blocked by a landslide, the path you’d dismissed entirely just an hour ago. Your mother gasped your name, a hissed out word, drawing your gaze quickly. She was deathly pale, like she was about to be sick. No sympathy of yours rose to meet her, none at all, and the freedom of two words boomed from your chest.
”I don’t!”
Silence. You heaved in a breath of air, and no one said a word. Like time had stood still.
Then a litheful, frightening laughter ripped through the church and everything sped up all at once. Mr. Toleson’s face rivaled the ripest of tomatoes.
“Why… you…” He hadn’t so much as taken a step when the caterer whirled around and kicked him right in the chest. Only when he blew his hair out of his face and stomped out his cigarette, looking like he’d done this twelve hundred times before, that you started to think he wasn’t a caterer at all.
“I’ve seen you before,” you thought aloud. Chaos erupted all around, guests rising from their chairs in a panic, and you just couldn’t put your finger on it. “Oh! You were at the pond!”
Sanji, that was his name. He dodged a punch from one of the quicker groomsmen, an easy smile on his face. He faced you then, hands shoved in his pockets. “That’s your priority, love?”
You flushed, whether from the tease or endearment, you didn’t know. “Well—”
“You!” your mother’s shrill voice cut the air. You turned just in time to catch her pouncing at you, her hand clawing for your arm. Her nails barely got close to scratching you when a hand branched out of her chest and drove her back by a vice around her neck. Somebody screamed as guests began a mad rush to escape the inevitable fight; everyone had the same guess—pirates.
You’d never been so happy, even with the disembodied hand issue.
Mr. Toleson rose to his feet, nursing his chest, his eyes aflame. He whirled in the groomsmen. “Don’t just stand there!”
The men broke out of their daze. The constable shook himself out of his shock as several other burly men of the town shouted angrily. You inched backward as dozens of eyes settled on you, heart quickening, when that ginger girl from before rushed up with a bow staff and gave several men severe head trauma. The green haired man drew three swords out of nowhere. That other man from the pond jumped over a pew, a slingshot in hand. And a tall, graceful woman stared down your petrified mother.
Only those willing to put up a fight were left, leaving only the rougher men of the town and the pirates of your friend Luffy.
Sanji flung an attacker off his back and sent the guy flying your way, wiping the smile from your face as you yelped and dodged. You scurried off to the side, nearly tripping head over heels in your dress, having to hike up your skirts as you twirled in and out of the swiftly rising rabble.
Luffy’s marksman remained unscathed at his vantage point, lining up a shot and letting it fly. You gasped delightfully when the constable was nailed right in the forehead and hit the floor unconscious. From your place flush against the wall, you beamed at the destruction.
Pews turned to splinters under the power of the swordsman. Refreshments scattered across the floor as the ginger was thrown into a table and jumped back up again. Flowers fluttered around as the raven haired woman used some kind of magic to extend her reach. And Luffy—he laughed through it all. People jumped at him with fists and clubs, yet he threw them all off like it was nothing. Perhaps to him it was.
You stifled another smile behind your hands. The people of your town were absolutely demolished by these pirates. These glorious, heroic pirates you would be thanking for the rest of your life—
“You did this.” In an instant your wrists were captured by your ex-fiancee. “Witch. Where’d you get the money to pay them, huh?”
“Let go,” you bit back, jerking away only for his hold to tighten, prepared for your escape this time.
He yanked you closer. “After everything I’ve done for your family—”
You spat in his eyes and kneed his crotch, watching satisfied as he crumbled to the floor. “Family my ass.”
You darted into the chaos without another word. Men lay unconscious every few steps, their bloody and bruised faces staring up at you. You tripped over someone’s leg, growled sharply, and took hold of your skirts. One by one you ripped off the layers of tulle, leaving you in your knee-length bloomers, dress reduced to the lacy bodice and shreds of fabric at your hips. Finally you yanked your heels off, hopping on one foot and then the other.
Right as you were about to drop your left shoe, the man of honor, some guy called Henry, made for you swiftly. Gasping, you gripped the toe of the heel and clubbed him over the head.
Someone grabbed your shoulder a second later. You shrieked and dropped to the ground, slipping out of the grip and rolling to the side. The swordsman appeared suddenly and cut the man down in one move. The body dropped beside you. You blinked, gasped, and let a delayed scream flee your lips. The swordsman reached to grab your wrist and hoisted you to your feet. “You okay?”
“Y-you killed him!” you cried.
“Relax,” he rolled his eyes. “I hit him with the hilt.”
Sure enough, the man only had a gash on his temple and some head trauma most likely. The swordsman looked you up and down briefly. “Watch out for the ero-cook lookin’ like that.”
You hardly cared if you looked indecent. “Where’s Luffy?”
He didn't get to answer—a laugh you quickly grew to recognize had you whipping around, eyes peeled.
His profile shone in the evening light bleeding from the windows. He stood with his head thrown back and eyes tightly shut, a blinding smile on his face. Transfixed, you wondered, not for the last time, if he was more than human.
When his laughter died down Luffy held his fists close to his chest and looked around as if searching for another fight, his gaze finding you. Your heart skipped, but his smile dropped deathly fast. You didn’t have the chance to wonder before his fist zipped a hair's breadth away from your cheek. You hit the ground instantly, head ducked between your knees. You might have remained there forever, wondering just what possessed him, if you were stupid for trusting him, overwhelmed by something akin to heartbreak—when two sandaled feet entered your sight.
“Hey,” he said, giving you deja vu. “What’re you doin’ on the floor?”
Eyes wider chest heaving, you sprang to your feet and got nose to nose with him. Luffy merely blinked widely, unfazed. “What’s wrong with you!? First, you help me, then you try to hit me! Why—Don’t touch me!”
He gripped your shoulders and spun you around in one fluid motion. All your sputtering got caught in your throat. Two feet away Mr. Toleson lay flat on his back with the worst bloody nose you’d ever seen.
One. Two…
You couldn’t help it; you laughed. Ugly laughed. Louder and more all-consuming than you ever had before. You tried to choke on it, only making the sound sizzle into harsh snickers.
Luffy felt like he was in a trance, watching you dazedly as he broke into his own fit of laughter.
“Gah!” Your mother bolted for the door, throwing a fretful glance over her shoulder. She paused, wove around a man limping for the exit, and dragged Mr. Toleson to his feet. Coughing, your would-be fiancée set his grim sights on Luffy. Your mother tugged him with her, more forceful now. “Come. She isn’t worth your life.”
Really, it shouldn’t have bothered you. She’d never done anything for you, yet—her words struck you oddly, fiercely. They were gone before you recovered. You glanced around at a loss as Luffy stood a strong pillar in your peripheral. Your eyes darted to meet him as the final pieces of your world crumbled to dust, and you found nothing but cool assurance; you sighed out a breath you’d been holding since you were ten.
“Good riddance,” you choked. Luffy’s lips ticked up in a smile. The figures of his friends came into focus as they gathered around in the wreckage of the church. Emotion tingled in every corner of your body. “Thank you, all of you. I’m… forever in your debt.”
That wasn’t all you wished to express by far. You’d been thinking it the whole while, perhaps even from the first moment you learned he was a pirate. The request teetered precariously on the tip of your tongue when the caterer cut you off.
“No need, madam,” he said with a flourish of his wrist. “Always a pleasure to assist.”
His eyes took you in gratefully, and he was quick to wipe away the small bit of blood leaving his nose. You grinned, almost grimacing, and gave an awkward laugh. “Of course…” Luffy’s shoulder brushed your own, drawing your gaze to him. His bright eyes had you wanting to reach up and brush his messy hair out of his face. Somehow, you refrained. “Just what kind of pirates are you? I didn’t think your lot were in the business of wedding crashing.”
Luffy shrugged his shoulders, barely smiling as he replied, “I like you.”
You choked on nothing. “Well—that’s—indeed.”
The silence of the room, only some harsh breaths breaking it, had you questioning what came next. Your adrenaline crashed all at once as your eyes got heavy and your shoulders sagged all at once. You rubbed at your eyes and suppressed a yawn, shivering as a breeze drifted by.
The ginger girl noticed the change at once, moving to your side despite her own exhaustion. “Let’s get you cleaned up. That can’t be comfortable.”
For some reason, you didn’t jerk away from her touch, so gentle and kind as she took your arm. “Yeah. Uhm, I can go to my servants’ quarters. They won’t say anything…”
The girl scoffed, catching your eye. “No way. You’re going to our ship.” She blanched a second later, backtracking. “If that’s okay with you.”
You watched for any sign of falsehood, and found none at all. You shook your head quickly. “No, that’s fine. Can we go now?”
The girl—Nami, you later learned—giggled and swiftly ushered you out of the wreckage and into the sun. You gave a soft laugh of your own, still very reserved yet filled with the tentativeness of someone realizing that everything would be okay.
And Luffy watched you leave, his lips tugging upwards subconsciously. He stood solidly as each of his friends followed after you, till only Robin remained. She had her arms crossed, head tilted low and eyes scrutinizing. She took in Luffy’s stance, his twitchy fingers, his eyes transfixed on empty space. All usual features on her friend; it was his dopey grin that gave it all away.
“Captain,” Robin spoke. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah,” Luffy nodded. He didn’t even stutter, his reply instant. “Why?”
She nearly chuckled, holding back if only to humor him. She nudged his shoulder with her own to spur him into motion, and the pair walked slowly into the streets.
“What do you know about your new friend?” she asked as they passed under a bakery sign squeaky as it swung with the wind.
He paused. “She’s fancy… and unhappy.” Luffy kicked a pebble and watched it skip all the way to the end of the sloped path. “Very unhappy. She’ll be happier with us.”
Robin’s heart went tender as she looked away, hiding a smirk. “Have you told her that?”
Catching her eye, Luffy smiled. “She knows.”
They caught up enough to spy the others as Usopp and Nami had their arms around your shoulders, bickering absently whilst you snickered quietly between them. Robin nodded, for who was she to argue? Besides, maybe you did. The smile on your face may have betrayed just that.
જ ⁀ ➴
You still heard the boisterous laughter of your new friends even as you swept away from the galley, heart beating a little too fast to be comfortable. They were amazing, sure, but overwhelming at best. All you needed was a moment and you could return unnoticed to the good food and warm company. As soon as you got some air.
You instinctively reached to pick up a skirt as you rose the stairs to the deck, only to grab at air, look down, and grin at the sight of Nami’s brown trousers.
The cool night breeze hit you like a wall the moment you stepped outside, shooting shivers down your spine. The saltiness of the sea clung to your skin and clumped in your hair, filling your nose with every deep breath of air.
The deck felt odd against your bare feet, grating against your skin just enough to make you wary of splinters despite the apparent fine craftsmanship of the wood. You leaned into the ship rail and gazed down upon the rolling waters. A soft and steady kussshhh kussshhh greeted you, a gentle sea spray kissing your cheeks.
So far, the sea was far greater than you’d ever conceived. Freedom rippled in every gust of wind billowing in the sails; the waves sang songs of grandauer; the stars winked secrets you couldn’t hear but felt in the creak of your bones. The music of the world had finally included you in its symphony, and you would never go back.
Never.
You heard him before you saw him, his bumbling, careless steps thumping against the deck. Luffy came up out of the belly of the ship, gazed around once, and settled his sights on you. You met eyes and simply existed; he smiled first; you returned a grin. Luffy approached with all the familiarity he shouldn’t have given you in such a short time.
“You disappeared,” he said too loudly, threatening to break the perfect silence settled around you.
“I did,” you whispered back. After pursing your lips, you turned back to the sea and waited, assuming he would take the hint. It took two seconds longer than you anticipated, but Luffy’s shoulder soon bumped against your own.
When he spoke again, he was softer, “How do you feel?”
You sucked in a lunfull of cold air and laughed it out. “Free. I didn’t think I’d ever feel like that again.”
He nodded, because he wanted to say so many things but at the same time had no clue what to say at all. Luffy had never experienced this before, being at a loss for words; all evening he’d dwelled in this confusion that only grew every time you smiled and he lost his breath. What was so different about you that all his words felt terribly redundant?
“Wow.” He turned his head quickly, blinking at you. You were already looking right at him.
“Huh?”
You shook your head, shy smile dripping in tease. “You’re quiet. I didn’t take you as someone to just dwell like this.”
How many minutes had passed? Luffy wasn’t sure, but you looked content, so he didn’t really care. His eyes danced all over your face, puzzlement laid in his brow. You tilted your head and began to worry about the cloudy look on his face.
“Can I ask you something?” you said. Luffy gave a wordless nod, still looking so lost. You wanted to touch him, the realization setting in suddenly, hand itching to grip his arm. “Why did you help me? You didn’t have to.” Crossing your arms, you turned to watch the curling white foam ripple off the ship. “It certainly made things harder for you. They might tell the Navy, and I can imagine that’s plain hell.”
“They won’t catch us,” he scoffed, catching your eye. “And like I said, I like you.”
Your lips pursed before you let slip a chuckle, face far too warm for your liking. He probably didn’t know what he was saying. “Right. How could I forget. Is that all?”
“You’re… funny.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Real funny. Odd. Makes me feel funny.” He said it with such nonchalance you wondered if he was joking, but the longer you stood and stared at your feet the more aware you were of his presence at your side. Finally, you lifted your head, finding him staring out to sea. He was one to talk about being odd. You hardly understood what was so odd about you; you felt fairly normal if you said so yourself—but that wasn’t exactly the point.
Because Luffy was confused after all, just like he looked to be. The conflicted boy never strayed far from your shoulder, his hand brushing yours every few seconds. You hardly knew him—you didn’t know him—yet you couldn’t deny the overwhelming trust clawing its way into your heart.
So, really, there wasn’t much more debate on whether you should ask.
“Let me stay.” “Join my crew.”
The pair of you whipped your heads around suddenly. Eyes wide, you smiled, bursting into laughter with him, leaning into his side so he was half holding you up, your forehead hitting his chest—you missed hugs, sighing deeply as his warm hands brushed your skin and—
Cold rushed up your spine. You jerked away, an apology on your lips, when Luffy grunted and reeled you back in. You hit his chest with a thump as his arms wrapped around you three times. Eyes wide, body stiff, his deep breathing enveloped you till all you heard was in and out, in and out, that steady yet unsure rhythm.
“I’d like to join your crew,” you said after a while.
He focused on the space ahead of him, hold loosening bit by bit. “I’d like you to stay.”
You pulled away, and this time he let you. “Somehow, I feel I’m making a grave mistake.” He tilted his head all puppy-like, so you reveled in his puzzlement. Spinning out of his arms you faced the sea again. “You’ll most likely get me killed, Captain.”
Luffy blinked rapidly, heart thuding at the sly grin planted on your profile. Captain. He liked that. He always did, but now especially—when it came from you.
“I won’t let that happen,” he said with such casualty. He stepped into your line of sight. “You do want to stay, don’t you?”
As if you had a choice, you mused. Even if you didn’t, it wouldn’t change a thing in your eyes. You smiled softly at him, a spark of wild excitement in your eyes. “More than anything.”
It started small, only a grin until it grew too wide to remain shut, his teeth shining seconds later. His eyes squinted, head thrown back, and you swore his laugh echoed to the very depths of the sea, encircling your whole being.
He fascinated you, filling you with this sense of freedom you’d never known before. Luffy was larger than life, and you stood there to witness his existence. Somehow, even then, you understood the gravity of who he would become.
What an odd pair the two of you made. Him so unrestrained and you so proper—though surely the longer you spent with him the less true that became. Neither of you really cared either way; you found the other wildly fascinating, and in that moment on the deck as he blinded you with his smile, that’s really all that mattered.
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @100520s @kryscent
not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.
SYNOPSIS: You get kidnapped and Damian snaps. TAGS: Graphic Depictions Of Violence! Genderneutral! Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Kidnapping, Childhood Trauma, My Mother is the Worst Woman Alive and I'm her Favorite Son, Damian is Eighteen.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱
A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.
The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.
"Beloved."
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱
YOUR PALMS WERE PRESSED tightly against your eyes, wrists raw and burning from the rope that had bound them just minutes ago. Sobs slipped from your lips, eyes bloodshot, and mouth parched dry.
The rotting smell of the warehouse was an assault on your senses—an acrid mix of trash, harsh chemicals, and the faint tang of gunfire that lingered in the air.
There was a hushing in your ear as you leaned against a cloaked figure—Batman. Bruce.
His hand rubbed at your back, firm and steady, a grounding presence amid the chaos. His cape, dark and imposing, wrapped around you like a shield, blocking out the violence unfolding just in front of you.
Shadows danced erratically on the walls as Robin moved with lethal precision. Bodies fell unconscious, thudding heavily against the concrete floor. Blood splattered. Screams echoed. Each punch landed with a sickening crunch, bones breaking. Crates and debris were scattered haphazardly, wood and concrete slamming onto the floor.
Damian couldn't see anything but red.
His vision was tunneled, focused solely on the next target, the next blow, the next scream.
A swift roundhouse kick sent one assailant crashing into a stack of crates, the wood splintering under the impact. One punch connected with a jaw, the sickening crunch of bone breaking echoing through the air. Blood sprayed on his fist. Another one rushed toward him, brandishing a knife, but he disarmed the man with a swift twist of the wrist, jamming the blade into the attacker's palm. The man screamed, clutching his arm as red streaked his skin.
Damian's eyes flickered with a dark satisfaction as he watched the thug stumble backward, clutching at the wound.
One last man remained. One who had lunged at him from behind, grappling onto his back. Damian scowled and surged backward, driving both himself and his attacker into the wall with bone-crushing force. The man's grip loosened, a pained gasp escaping his lips as the air was knocked out of him.
"Fool," Damian spat, his voice dripping with venom. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"
The thug whimpered, trying to scramble away, but Damian was relentless. He twisted sharply, dislodging the assailant and slamming an elbow into his ribs. The man crumpled against the wall, clutching his side, his eyes wide with fear and pain.
"You think you can touch those I care for and get away with it?" Damian growled. He didn't give the thug a moment to recover. He swung a powerful fist into the guy's face, the impact sending a spray of blood and teeth into the air.
"F-Fuck you, man!" The man yanked a gun from his waistband, but before he could even line up a shot, Damian’s foot kicked out, sending the weapon flying through the air. The gun clattered against the concrete with a deafening clang. With a snarl, Damian lunged forward, grabbing the thug by the collar and slamming him into the ground.
"H-Hey! Mercy! Mercy! I'm a-already down!" the assailant wailed, his hands clawing at Robin's uniform in a desperate plea. "The Bat don’t kill! You—you ain't gonna kill me!"
Damian's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as his voice dropped to a low, menacing growl.
"I'm not Batman," he spat, the tone amplified and darkened by the modulator. "Every breath you take is a mercy I choose to grant. By the time I'm finished, you'll be begging for death."
He raised his fist, the tension in his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. The thug’s eyes widened in terror, his pleas growing frantic as he braced for the blow. However, just as Damian’s fist was about to land, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, grabbing onto his hand with a vice-like grip. Before he could react, Batman—Bruce—had tackled him, pinning him firmly against his chest.
“Robin,” Batman’s voice was firm, concern barely concealed. “That’s enough.”
Damian's struggle was fierce, his body thrashing under his father’s strength as he roared in fury.
“Let me go!” he screamed, his voice raw with anger. “I’m going to kill him for what he did to them!”
The anger engulfed Damian like a stormy ocean, dragging him beneath its violent waves. Visions of his mother’s face, his grandfather’s form, and accusing shadows surged from the depths, all condemning him. Damian’s cries erupted into a raw, guttural scream, gradually dissolving into ragged gasps as he battled the relentless tide.
Though Bruce had shaped him into a hero, a beacon of justice, and his family had offered him a fragile semblance of belonging, Damian was still his mother’s son.
The violence and anger roiling within him were like roots twisted deep within his soul. There was not a thing that could purge the primal rage and pain that had taken root before his first breath.
When he finally broke through the surface, baptized in blood and weighed down by sins that clung to him like chains, he sought you out with an urgent, almost desperate need.
A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.
The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.
"Beloved."
Your hands were carefully peeled away from your eyes, and you met soft emerald eyes through a veil of tears. His hands moved to unlatch his cape, the soft fabric pooling around your form. His lips, speaking in his mother tongue, murmured a soothing litany of comfort, Arabic endearments flowing like silk. He pressed your head against his chest and you found refuge in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Bruce watched the scene with a pensive look. His son's body had dwarfed you, broad shoulders and strong muscles enveloping your form like a shield. His head was tucked into your hair, his hands raking all over your tense and sweaty skin.
Damian had momentarily shed the hardened exterior he so often wore—a soldier with a heart that, despite its armor, occasionally revealed cracks. This was a side of him that often surprised people.
Because Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.
He was all sharp edges. Poisonous, scalding words that could sear through the thickest armor of patience. Rough, nearly violent in his touch, like a blade pressed against skin. There was no gentleness in his movements, no softness in his gestures, only the relentless precision of a trained killer.
From the earliest moments he could walk, his life was an unending series of tests, each more grueling than the last. Each cut and bruise was a lesson. Failure was met with harsh punishment, success with silent approval. Affection and praise were as rare as mercy.
The League’s doctrine was ingrained in him: emotions were vulnerabilities, attachments were liabilities, and loyalty was owed only to the mission and the League. His purpose in the League of Assassins was clear—to be the perfect instrument of their will, a living embodiment of their principles.
Emotion was his enemy, a weakness to be purged. He was taught to suppress his feelings, to turn them off like a switch. Pain was an illusion, fear a phantom to be banished. He learned to compartmentalize his thoughts, locking away his humanity in the deepest recesses of his mind.
By the time he reached ten, he was a finely honed instrument of death.
A living weapon in a world that knew no peace.
It had taken Bruce eight grueling years to begin undoing the damage. And even then, he had barely scratched the surface.
Then there was you.
The trembling, warm-faced student Damian had introduced during his senior year—his partner for a science project, he said.
At first, the interactions were subtle—a fleeting glance here, a hesitant smile there. But as time went on, it became impossible to ignore the way your presence began to soften the sharp edges of Damian's demeanor.
Bruce had seen you both fall for each other over the months. And he saw hope.
You were the opposite of every lesson Damian has ever been taught.
To him, you were soft, in every sense. Soft movements, soft features, soft voice. Everything about you exuded comfort.
You made something he had always pushed down and shut away come to the surface.
You made him feel things—things he should not.
When you touched him with your soft hands, everything in him burned. The gentle brush of your fingers against his skin ignited a searing heat, a raw and unfamiliar longing that clawed violently at the walls he had worked so hard to maintain. Each touch chipped away at the concrete barriers of his training, breaking them down and leaving him exposed, aching for something he couldn’t quite name.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱
Mania. Drake had called it, a wild obsession of his that could consume and devour.
Damian's arms encircled you like a lifeline, holding you close as though he feared you might slip away. His lips brushed against your temple, warm and tender, while his biceps pressed firmly under your chest, anchoring you in his embrace. The air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, blood, and the lingering residue of fear.
And yet, amidst these odors, there was an underlying, almost imperceptible hint of Damian’s cologne—Arabian oudh. It was rich and smoky, with notes of aged wood, a faint earthy sweetness, and subtle undertones of leather and spice.
You buried your face into the crook of his neck, the fabric of his suit brushing against your cheek.
A Crush. Todd had chalked it up to puppy love, something that would eventually fade with time.
He lifted you effortlessly from the floor, his strength evident in his smooth, controlled movements. The way he adjusted his hold with such care to ensure your comfort spoke louder than any words could.
Warmth enveloped you—Damian had always run hotter, like a human furnace. On sweltering days, his clinginess (no matter how much he denied it) had been a nuisance, his heat making you feel as if your skin might melt off. But now, that same warmth was a comforting embrace, a welcome shield.
Infatuation. Grayson had suggested, thinking it was just a fleeting, intense passion. But there was something deeper in the way he looked at you, something that felt permanent and unshakeable.
“I am here. I am here, beloved," he spoke to you lowly. "It's alright now."
Love. His father called it.
In an instant, everything seemed to collapse around you. Tears welled up and streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed into his chest, each shudder of your body sending waves of anguish through him. Damian’s heart twisted painfully at the sight of you.
He has seen suffering—he has inflicted suffering. But this was different. Your pain was a torment he was helpless to alleviate.
Face twisted in guilt, he pulled you tighter against him, as though he could hold the world’s pain at bay if he just held you close enough.
A hand tapped at his shoulder, and he flinched, turning to see his father.
“The Batmobile is just by the docks. We can—”
“They're in shock,” Damian scowled. the fire back in his eyes. “Do you honestly believe they're in any state to be moved at this moment?”
Bruce’s gaze was firm. “Damian, we don’t have time to—”
“They need to be stabilized first,” Damian cut in sharply, his tone brooking no argument. He turned abruptly, striding towards the exit. “If you want them to survive this, we need to take care of them properly, not rush them into a car. I shall be outside.”
Without waiting for a response, Damian moved swiftly, the clatter of his boots echoing as he stepped into the cool night air with you. Once the warehouse door closed behind him, he turned his full attention back to you, his hand gently brushing your tear-streaked face.
He moved to press his forehead gently against yours, the warmth of his skin meeting yours in a tender connection. He could offer no verbal comfort anymore; words seemed woefully inadequate. Your cries gradually subsided as you drew comfort from his presence.
Love.
He lifted his hand to the side of his face, pressing a button. As his mask retracted, his eyes met yours. Damian knew that more than anything else, you loved his eyes.
Time and again, you found yourself drawn to them, unable to tear your gaze away. They were hypnotic—an exquisite blend of emerald green, green as vibrant as the leather cover of his sketchbook, flecked with gold and streaked with brown paint.
His eyes were windows to his soul, offering the only genuine glimpse into the depths of his emotions. In them, you could see his anger burning like a stormy sea, joy dancing like sunlight on rippling water, embarrassment flitting like a shadow, and pain etched as deep as his scars.
At times, his eyes grew gentle, revealing something much softer—something that made your heart swell and your knees feel weak. A love so pure and unexpected that it could melt the coldest of hearts.
Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.
But in these soft, fragile moments he shared with you, where his heart beat in sync with yours, Damian found an unexpected calm. It was in these rare interludes, away from the brutality and darkness that defined his world, that he could truly be himself.
Here, he was not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱
ao3: yenwayne
NOTE: I want to delve into the line I wrote: 'Damian is still his mother’s son.'
It's just to show his trauma, I despise Talia with all my guts.
Talia's control over Damian is a textbook example of manipulative conditioning at its most extreme. In psychological development, early experiences and parental influence are crucial in shaping one's self-concept. From his earliest days, Damian was deprived of a normal childhood. His personality, thoughts, and desires have all been sculpted by the League of Assassins from day one.
His anger, protectiveness, and sense of duty are manifestations of this—a child raised to be a killer, now struggling with the fragments of a humanity that was never fully allowed to blossom.
I'm not saying he hasn't changed!!! He has turned into so much more than the weapon they intended him to be. He is genuinely good. But the impact of such deep-seated trauma cannot be easily overlooked or resolved. It’s not something that can simply be swept under the rug or fixed overnight.
So, this was my attempt at capturing his character! I’m very open to constructive criticism since I’m new to the fandom. Please be kind and gentle with your feedback :)
contents damian wayne x fem!reader, youtuber!reader au, fluff, 2k+ wc. synopsis a letter filled with sweet compliments from damian leaves youtuber!reader eager to find him. pt 4 of "unexpected crush?!"
"Dear, ___. My name is Damian Wayne..."
As you read the letter over and over, a whirlwind of emotions surged through you—curiosity, warmth, and something dangerously close to flattery.
Two weeks after posting on your forum about accepting gifts, four arrived. Excited, you unwrapped each one on camera, recording your live reaction for your followers.
Sitting cross-legged, hair braided, face bare, you held his letter in trembling hands. The more you read, the more you found yourself stealing glances at the camera lens, cheeks growing impossibly warmer.
"You're pretty and kind."
Ba dum ba dum
"Your videos make me feel calm and happy."
Ba dum ba dum ba dum
"But what makes me the most content is watching the way your eyes sparkle. And it makes my own sparkle, too. Your sweetness is infatuating."
Ba dum ba dum ba dum ba dum—
That was it. The breaking point.
Leaping out of your chair, you shut off the camera with a sharp click.
—
"This boy likes me. Like—like likes me!"
You looked down at the small cat stamp adorning the envelope, its tie patterned with the American flag. A smile graced your lips.
Spinning toward your vanity, you let out a breathless laugh, unable to ignore the ridiculous blush staining your cheeks. (Hyperpigmentation is a curse, you thought.)
Lightly, you patted your face, willing yourself to calm down. If your nosy family caught you fangirling over a fan, you'd never live it down. Especially your older sister. (Sisters, am I right?)
Damian Wayne. USA. Gotham.
With that information, you opened Instagram. Come on... something... anything!
Two painfully long minutes later, you hadn’t found him, but you had found his older brother.
Oh boy, was this dude active.
Real_D_Grayson
With over 100k followers, he seemed to enjoy showing off—abs, acrobatics, and adventures galore. But one pinned post caught your attention: a picture of him standing beside a boy with piercing green eyes and olive skin.
Oh. My—
Your fingers frantically tapped at the mouse, opening the description.
"With baby bro, Dami. It's chest day, baby 😎"
Dami... Damian. Of course.
The sweaty boy in the photo, slightly scowling at the camera, was the same one who had written words that made your knees weak and turned your face as red as a strawberry.
"Come on, faster, faster, you stupid internet!" you muttered, impatiently clicking on the tagged profile.
As the page loaded, a small smile tugged at your lips.
dw_00___
"Dude, I never would've found your account. If you like me, at least drop your Insta next time." You rolled your eyes playfully, muttering to yourself over the young Wayne’s lack of foresight.
Biting your bottom lip, you hovered over the 'Follow' button.
Click.
—
An Instagram notification buzzed through the air during the Wayne family’s dinner.
"What now?" Damian sighed, agitated, as the entire table turned to look at him.
"If it’s you, Grayson—sending me those pointless acrobat reels or whatever again—" he shot a glare at his older brother.
"Don’t look at me, baby bird, I’m playing pool." Dick held up his phone in defense, proving his innocence.
Still puzzled, Damian checked his notification bar. And then—
___ just followed you!
A lump of air caught in his throat. He coughed, covering his mouth as he clicked on the profile.
It was you.
His brain stalled.
How did you find his account?
How could he have been so careless as to not include his username in the letter?
How could he—
"Follow her back already."
A quiet voice snapped him out of his spiral. Cass shot him a knowing wink, her eyes shifting to her younger brother, who was inwardly panicking.
She nodded toward his phone again, subtly urging him before the rest of the family caught on.
Damian exhaled sharply, schooling his expression as he quickly hit ‘Follow Back.’
Sliding his phone into his pocket, he reached for his napkin, pretending to cough into it.
But really, he just needed to hide his reddening face from his ever-curious siblings—and his father.
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
© — ggυɱi '25
likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated
ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼ .ᐟ
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🏷️;
@liabiamiakiawia @jason-todd-fangirl-14
@shirp-collector-of-fixations @1abi
@nervousalpacalady @silverklaus
@riaaavm @queenofviolenceandnerds
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author's note 1: another chapter done :> next one's probably this friday ahead
author's note 2: also making the jason ff
author's note 3: and I made a dick grayson one, should i post it?
author's note 4: i also make bots on c.ai, send me req for characters in my tumblr req :)
author's note5: this is how i imagine reader when she was in front of the mirror btw, ty hendry for the inspo.
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🎀🎀🎀Clark Kent x bimbo!Reader🎀🎀🎀
This is my 2nd time writing I hope whoever sees it likes it :)
The first time Clark Kent saw you waltz into the bullpen of The Daily Planet, all pink heels, glossy lips, and bubblegum perfume, he nearly knocked over his coffee. Which was, frankly, embarrassing—he’s Superman. He’s not supposed to be fazed by anything, let alone a woman in a rhinestone “Barbie” necklace.
But you? You were different. You weren’t like the hardened journalists around him, all too jaded and overworked to care about anything besides their next scoop. No, you floated into work like you were the main character in a romcom montage, phone in hand, nails impossibly long, voice all sugary sweetness as you greeted everyone like they were your besties.
And Clark was completely, hopelessly enamored.
“So, like, what do you even write about?” you asked him one afternoon, twirling a pen between your fingers. You were both waiting for an interview subject to show up, and Clark was doing a terrible job of pretending he wasn’t staring at your glossy pink lips.
“Uh, mostly investigative pieces,” he answered, clearing his throat. “Crime, corruption… city politics.”
You blinked, then let out a giggle. “That sounds soooo serious.”
Clark adjusted his glasses. “Well, it is.”
You pouted, tapping your nails on the desk. “I like writing about fun stuff! Like, celebrity gossip, or dating advice, or how to tell if a guy is, like, secretly into you.”
He felt his throat go dry. “Oh?”
You leaned in conspiratorially, pink lips curving into a smile. “Yeah. For example, if a guy keeps looking at your lips while you talk, that usually means he wants to kiss you.”
Clark, who had very much been doing exactly that, felt his ears burn red. “That so?”
“Mhm.” You tilted your head, all innocent curiosity, but he knew better. “What do you think, Clark?”
He adjusted his glasses again, as if that would somehow make him immune to your charms. (It wouldn’t. It never did.) He had fought intergalactic threats and literal gods, but somehow, sitting next to you in the newsroom was the most dangerous situation he’d ever been in.
And the worst part? He didn’t even want to be saved.
attractive things they do while you're dating
pairing: batboys (plus clark lol) & reader ❀ׄ ꥈ
𓍢ִ໋☕ cassidy's note: for funsies. not edited. i love reading variations of these. i haven't written since 2020. if you can like this, reblog too.
bruce 🦇ᡣ𐭩˚.
navigating paparazzi: the careful way he guides you to block the flaring flashes from cameras with his broad shoulders.
bruce wraps his fingers to pull on your waist, tugging you further behind him, ensuring no shots of you are taken on what was meant to be a private night out.
despite the urgency of the situation--his face still stays controlled and imperturbable, but his grip is firm to reassure you, as he leans down and mumbles in your ear, "just a bit farther, the car's close," before his voice cuts through the cries and shutters lowly: "we're done here."
listens intently, and remembers every single detail about you, despite whether you think it's significant or not for him to know.
bruce stores your favorite shampoo and conditioner in his bathroom when you stay the night over.
and when you're sitting on the edge of his sink, removing his makeup from under his eyes, you notice it sitting amongst his own body-wash and pine scented soap.
but when you ask him about it, he simply shrugs and waves it off.
dick 🏙ɞ♥️*
teaches you self defense: his hands gently curl over yours to demonstrate how they should look before you throw a punch.
his touch is light, "keep your thumb on the outside", dick's finger taps the inside of your palm, "if you keep it inside, you'll break it--not fun."
he whistles when you hit him solidly in the side with a wide grin, despite the force of your blow, "better."
insists on helping you put on all your jewellery and shoes.
he turns you around, and pulls your hair to one side of your neck, before fiddling with the clasp. he's clumsy at first, but eventually gets the hang of it the more he does it. his hands linger on the slope of your neck for a moment longer than necessary.
later, as you reach for your shoes, he beats you to it, kneeling in front of you. dick's motions are all exaggerated as he does it.
your hand cards through his hair when he's looking up through his lashes after he's fastened the straps, and kissing the inside of your calf slowly.
jason ❤️🩹⋆。
reads on public transportation: jason pulls out a beat up paperback he picked up from a secondhand bookstore from his back pocket. it has dog eared pages and a weathered spine.
there's a baby crying on the train, but he doesn't seem to notice as he flicks a ringed finger to the page he last read.
he pulls a pencil from his jacket pocket, and traces a line in a passage--a part he thinks you'd like. when he leans forward, his shirt rides up a bit so a strip of his skin is visible to you.
doesn't wipe your lipgloss from his cheek.
the shimmer from it stains his cheek after you pressed a kiss to it. you go to wipe it with a laugh, reaching with your thumb, and jason catches it mid-air. "you've got glitter on your face jay, people are gonna-"
"next time, wear red."
tim 🪽❥˚
gnaws at his lip as he concentrates.
the hum of the keys click in the batcave and papers rustle. tim's focus is sharp as he attempts piecing together his newest case, and his teeth catch in his bottom lip. an unconscious habit.
you can't help but tease him about it, "that's a terrible habit to have, you know that?" you lean against his desk."it helps me think."
sure enough, he does it again. "you're gonna chew your lip off your face one day." his lips curve upwards at your observation, but your gaze was now intense as you observed his lip in his teeth, and before you can state another snarky remark, he shoots you a knowing look before pulling your belt loops, and kissing you.
wears your hair tie on his wrist. it was never really ever a big deal. one day you handed it to him while getting ready for bed one night as you pulled out your ponytail and he snapped it onto his wrist without much thought. now, it's routine. it doesn't matter where he is exactly, if tim's at a gala or in a meeting or out in gotham on patrol, the hair tie is around his wrist.
you heard him cursing from the other room when he misplaced it once.
clark 🌟.*☆
saves you a seat, always: whether it's evenings in or out, clark always makes you feel like you're the most important person there.
it's not something that's said but understood, as he pulls the chair next to him, letting it be out long enough for you to get comfortable, before gently scooting it inwards.
when you eat, and when he thinks you're not looking--clark will adjust your plate, and glace over at your water glass to make sure it is filled. and if you want extra bread, don't even worry because he kept an extra piece on his plate for you.
pushing his glasses up. there's something kinda charming about the way he does it that you wish you could explain it better. it's absentminded, he does it a lot!
when he's looking over articles or reading or just talking to you. in the elevator, he'll lean forward to look over the numbered floors, and they won't stay in place, sliding down the bridge of his nose. you don't say anything, but smile slightly, and he'll return it goofily and with more teeth, before he asks, "what?"
tags: @retvenkos
SFOPP LMAOOO
this request ! fem ! reader , reader has bpd , self harm mention
when you told katsuki about your bpd, his first reaction was to learn as much as possible about it in order to help you. katsuki, despite his brash and loud persona, never once judged you for who you were, and he wanted to be by your side through everything, especially things in which he could help you.
during your mood fluctuations, katsuki never once lost patience with you, as he knew that you couldnt help it. he stayed right next to you, but also listened and complied when you said that you needed some space. he never wanted to overwhelm you, and he always did his best to accommodate how you were feeling.
katsuki understood that people with bpd had a fear of abandonment and that this fear can lead to anger due to the struggle of regulating emotions. thats why katsuki wanted you to know that he was never leaving you, and that he would stay by your side for as long as you want him to.
one thing that does frighten katsuki is the fact that people with bpd often display reckless and endangering behaviours, and that self harm tended to be an outlet. although he knew that you couldnt help it, the thought of you intentionally hurting yourself made his heart hurt and his head spin. katsuki never wanted you to be in pain, and he did his best to provide you with a healthy release of emotions and pent up anger through therapy sessions that he would happily attend alongside you if you need him there.
despite all of the ups and downs within your relationship, katsuki was always there to help you cope with your bpd, and was willing to spend hours watching over you if you want him there. although he hated to admit it, looking after you made katsuki feel as though he was needed and that you appreciated his efforts, even if he will never truly understand the condition, no matter how hard he tried. katsuki's seemingly unlimited patience helped you to seek his help more often, and to find him whenever the symptoms worsened. having him by your side made it all just a bit easier to bear.
HER MAJESTY OF SMAUS HAS RETURNED YAY Could I request this SMAU please: you promising to post pictures of them in your IG to solidify publicly that he’s your BF, but you only post cheeky and sneaky pictures like his back, his hand and stuff like that (making it hard to tell who is it) and them getting irritated or amused by it (or they just don’t give a f)
with Kiri, Baku & Shinsou (and maybe Denks if you're generous) THANK YOU
HUZZAAAHHHHHH thank you for this silly req <3 even though its been a minute heh
kirishima, bakugou, shinsou, denki
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mha tag: @lotuslovers @babylambdietcoke @0skullyard0
katsuki tag: @bitchyfestivalbouquet @kaldurahms-lover
ALL OF THEM 190+???? what are they feeding them wtf
batboys as things i want to experience + things I think they would say
jason todd
"are you warm enough?"
cuddling while watching movies
wears matching necklaces (if u beg him to)
reading dates
leaves little love letters for you
riding on the back of his bike at night
dick grayson
"want the last bite?"
gives little gifts even just in random occasions
cooks for u while y both yap
watching the sunrise together
takes polaroid pictures together
super touchy all the time u're together
timothy drake
"of course i remember"
comfortable silence while we both work
buys u pretty much anything u want
coffee shop dates
hugs u from behind when he's sleepy
holding hands under the table
likes and reblogs are highly appreciated!