Writing Prompt: You Accidentally Confessed To Him While He Was Drunk/high.

Academia

Masterlist

Pairing: Aged up Damian Wayne x f reader

Tags: academic setting, rivals to lovers, friends with benefits, smut, fingering, edging, oral, p in v,

You guys have been in the same program for a year now. Being who he was and having the skills, family, and privilege he had, Damian was used to getting what he wanted. He could tell you wanted him too. There were the obvious signs like the pink blush under your glasses coloring your cheeks whenever he'd challenge a point you raised during your physics lecture. Then there were some hidden signs like the way your breathing would pick up whenever he made his presence known. To any clueless passerby wouldn't think twice of it, but for someone like him who'd trained in the art of detective work - you were practically panting.

Every day, you came into your lab dressed pristine like you were in some prep school. Today, you wore a white button-up tucked into a plaid skirt, dark leggings, and some leather shoes that looked like they belonged on a doll. Damian grinded his teeth, grasping at his bicep as he watched you make your way to your seat, ignoring something his friend, Felix, was saying about their previous night's escapades. So prim and proper. Always. He wanted to tear that skirt off you. He wanted to untie the bow, holding your hair in a ponytail. He'd let you keep your glasses, thinking they made you look so, so cute. He wanted to see how much cuter you would be disheveled and writhing under him.

"Are you boys coming to tonight's kegger?" A feminine voice spoke up, and his view of you was disrupted by a pair of women taking their seat at the table in front of Damian and Felix.

"Kappa is hosting!" One of the girls, Joanna excitedly spoke. "It's gonna be fun! Damian?"

"Hmm?" Damian raised a brow distractedly before remembering what was just said at him. "Oh, sure. I might need to leave early, but I'll drop by."

The second girl, Marcy, tisked, pursing her lips in mock dissappointnent. "You always leave the parties early! I swear to God you're like the only sophomore I know who's bedtime is at 10 pm!"

Sure, he was fine with them thinking that. Most nights, Damian went off to patrol gotham with his brothers and father. Sometimes, he went to meet with his mother and granfather. But he still wanted the campus experience. He still made an effort to show up.

"Yeah, Wayne tech isn't going to run itself when Daddy retires." Felix jabs, leaning back and giving Damian a cocky sideways glance.

Damian turns to him, unbothers and winks. "You know it won't."

Joanna and Marcy both flush red in their cheeks. Damian presumes it has something to do with the reminder of his bloodline and power, which Felix just provided, in an attempt to put him down. From his peripheral vision he can see Felix's shoulders slump as the man realized he fumbled his goal. It's okay, tiger, there's always next time.

"Is y/n going?"

Marcy tilts her head. "Who?"

Damian nods towards you, sitting a couple rows below them and reviewing your notes. From where he sat, he could see your writing was organized but not neat at all. You were in the wrong major.

The girls follow his gaze to you and share a look.

"We didn't ask everyone yet." Marcy nudges Joanna, who goes down to talk to you.

Damian watches as you look up from your notes as Joanna talks to you, nodding along with what she's saying before politely smiling and shaking your head before turning back to your notes. Joanna nodded and walked back up to rejoin the group. She opened her mouth to speak, Damian was eager to hear the excuse you offered, but at that moment, your professor walked into the lecture hall.

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"Y/n,"

You turned away from your phone and towards the source of the masculine voice that's just spoken to you. A tall, broad shouldered freshmen who you came to know by now strutted out of your lecture hall, hand clutching the strap of his bag while the other was in his jean pocket.

Damian wayne had caught your eye fairly easily - as you're sure he did with everyone else. For starters, he was the only man in your engineering major who didn't come to class everyday in sweatpants.

You detested the inequality you saw each day, where girls put an effort to dress nice, no matter how they felt and guys just gave up. We were representing the future of our country, you once thought while cringing at your freshmen year gathering, if we cant even dress ourselves well, how are we supposed to inherit our responsibilities well.

Damian was a breath of fresh air. He typically wore some variation of neat button ups or golf tees tucked into his jeans, and the sleeves usually rolled up, emphasizing muscular, tattooed forearms The top button was typically undone, showcasing his necklace, the symbol of which you were unsuccessful in spotting, above a hard muscle chest. Sometimes, he wore his signature leather jacket, creating an image that had popped up more than once in your head before falling asleep. He also smelled like some sage.

Today, Damian went the casual route with a Gotham University hoodie and jeans falling into classic black Converse. He exceled at his rugged look. Facial features sharp as usual, with angular eyebrows that often give him a serious, brooding expression, like his father often held in conferences. Black hair swept slightly forward. His green eyes were always striking. They mesmerized you when you first met him, and they mesmerized you still.

"Damian, hi." You said, gathering your textbooks in your arms. "How are you?"

"I heard you're not coming to today's kegger at Kappa." He didn't answer your question.

"No, I can't tonight." Or any other night, until I graduate, you wanted to add.

"I haven't been seeing you much around lately," he raised a sharp brow.

You grasped your textbook against your chest, chuckling nervously. "Yeah, I went and got myself the idea of doing a double major. And now since we're sophomores, I have a whole year to catch up on. So I spend most of my free time studying."

"What's the other major?"

"Math. Statistics and probability." You said, then opened your mouth to tell him you'll see him around.

"How come?" He beat you to it. Students and faculty were making their way past you in the hall, and you made sure to get out of their way. Damian hadn't moved an inch.

"Uhm, it's kind of a long story."

In truth, interning at Wayne Tech for the summer has been eye-opening. You loved getting to work with the engineers developing weapons and defense systems, but you also found yourself constantly curious about the work the data analysts did. It didn't take long to realize you found their skills and knowledge in predicting contingencies to every possible outcome really cool and wanting some of it for yourself. The next week, you went to your academic advisor and asked how you could do a double major.

"Come to the party tonight." He ordered. "We'll have plenty of time."

"I..." you rushed to refuse but his gaze wasn't leaving room for argument.

"Come to the party. And tell me what possibly inspired you to take up maths and physics simultaneously." He took a step closer to you, crowding your space. You swallowed nervously, looking around to see if anyone was watching you. He gazed down at you.

You nodded, swallowing nervously, then something caught your eye. There was a bandage on his neck, just below his ear. "What happened to your neck?"

"I'll see you tonight." He brushed past you and kept walking to his next class.

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Damian dropped his gym bag in the trunk of his Camaro and slamed it shut before making his way up the busy street on frat row. It was still early in the night, but Kappa's party was already in full swing. People were out on the lawn, on the porch, and the muffled music from inside the house could be heard down the street.

Someone offered Damian a drink, which he politely waved off as his keen eyes searched the first floor for a particular person. It didn't take long, surely enough he zeroed in on you, standing with your drink awkwardly linking hands with a girl he remembered to be your roommate, Alice. You exchanged your sweater and skirt for a t-shirt over a maroon colord silk dress. You let your hairdown, styled in perfect curls, one side pinned up by a maroon pin. Ever the color coordinating type, Damian snorted.

"You came," he approached you slowly.

You offered him a timid smile. "To be honest, you intimidated me into thinking I had to."

He raised a brow, pursing his lips. "Good."

He then turned to your roommate, tilting his head towards you. "Mind if I take her for a moment?"

Beside you, Alice gave you both a knowing look. "Take her for longer than that." Before gently unlinking your hands and walking off somewhere.

Damian tilted his head towards the window behind you. "It's nice out, wanna go for a drive?"

You followed his gaze to a black, shiny Camaro parked out front, and you felt your face flush. Did you just get offered a ride in Damian Wayne's muscle car?

"Umm, I wasn't planning on staying long -" you began.

"Just long enough to tell me why you changed your major."

"I didn't change it, I'm doing an additional -"

"Tell me in the car," he says and takes you by the hand, leading you to some cheers and hollers from your classmates and fellow program students. Some are patting Damian on the back, others are catcalling the two of you for being the "fist fuck of the night". You're in disbelief that even in college, people behave like they're in high-school. Damian mostly ignores them. You avoid eye contact as much as you can.

When you two are seated and on the road, you're still as tense as always. You turned to look at him in the drivers seat. Always so at ease, with one hand on the wheel, the other resting between your seats, ringed fingers tracing a pattern on the skirt of your dress.

"Where are we going?" You ask.

He doesn't meet your eyes, watching the highway intently. "My place."

"Oh, umm." Your heart picks up and you feel a tingle between your legs and especially on that spot where his finger is fidgeting. "I'm - Damian I think you're really nice. Definitely attractive," you babble nervously.

"Thank you."

"And what's more is you're smart, and that ticks off a lot of boxes." You continue.

"Does it?"

"And from a well off family."

"Very much."

You go on, unable to stop yourself. "I mean, I'm so flattered. I could do so much worse."

"So much worse." He supplies.

"But I'm just in a state in my life where I'm not really looking for a relationship." You scratch behind your ear. "Which is true, I'm not just saying it to you, I said the same to another guy who asked me out last week."

"Who asked you out last week?"

You saw his hand tense around the wheel, and your eyes widened. "No one! It doesn't matter since I'm not really dating right now."

"Who said anything about dating?" He asked.

You blinked at him. "Huh?"

"Sweetheart," he turns to face you, the speedometer showing the speed excelerating as you two merge onto the highway. "I'm not interested in dating you either."

"Damian, watch the road, please." Your hand shoots to the handle bard as your breathing speeds up. "A- and then why are we going to yours?"

You turn away from the highway and back to face him only to see the smirk he's giving you. "What?"

"Why do you think?"

You turn away, unable to hold his heated gaze. "Well..."

"Y/n, I want you. And I know you want me. In order for us to move on happily with our lives, we need to get each other out of our systems. Capiche?"

Not expecting such blunt honesty, even though your should be used to it by now, whitnessing it in your joint lecture halls for three semesters now. Your gaze travels down to where his hand is now holding your thigh. Your skin is so warm there. "I... yes. Capiche, I mean."

He grins, turning back to the road. "Good."

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Damian's building was in the upper side of Gotham, where most of the upper class resided. His elevator led straight into the penthouse suite. You followed him into the big room, taking tentative steps and looking around. Like his wardrobe, his apartment was clean and crisp. Every item was organized or folded in its dedicated spot.

"You have a nice place."

"Nicer than the Gotham U dorm room?" He asked from the kitchen, making you snort, covering your mouth.

"You want something to drink?" He asked from the kitchen island.

"No thanks, I'm good." You shook your head.

"Perfect." It took him three strides to reach you. He cupped your face in his hands, lowering to kiss you.

Surprised by his dedication not to wasting time, you were too overwhelmed to resist as he walked you back into a wall, all while his lips never leaving yours. His kisses ranged from playful bites of your lips to long licks against your tongue as he tilted his head to fit you against each other like two puzzle pieces.

One of his hands left its place on your cheek to travel down to your shoulder, lowering the strap of your dress and reaching in to lift the t-shirt under it, exposing your maroon colored bralette. Your hands slowly brought themselves to his hair as he moved the cup of your bralette aside, circling your exposed nipple with his finger. You let's out a breathy moan against his lips, and he drew back to assess the "damage."

There you stood, leaning against the wall, panting. Your parted pink lips were shiny with saliva, and your pupils were wide, gazing up at him with a glazed look. The left strap of your dress hung off your shoulder, the left side of your shirt lifted, and your cute breast was exposed, pretty nipple raised in excitement.

Damian felt a surge of extasy gazing at your mouth. "I wanted to mess up that lipstick all day."

Your knees buckled, and you were afraid you were going to fall, only to look down in surprise to see his knee had wedged itself between your thighs. "Why did you stop?"

"I just wanted to see what else I could mess up about your perfect look." He said before his hand traveled to your panties under your dress. "Are you wearing a matching set?"

"Yes," you panted.

Damian raised his brows. "For who?"

"For- ah!" You moaned as his finger found your clit, rubbing slow circles on it. "For me."

He lowered himself onto his knees in front of you and lifted your dress, then you heard a tear and realized he'd just ripped off your panties. You gasped. "Damian! They're expensive!"

"Oh no!" He whined, mimicking you. "Feel free to charge me for your troubles."

"That's not funny - oh!" You tilted your head back as he licked circles around your clit. "I won't forget this." You struggled to say.

"I wasn't kidding." He wispered against your pussy, licking eagerly. "I'll buy you a new pair."

You whimpered, your fingers tightening around his hair as he ate your pussy. "Fine,"

You arched your back, feeling the familiar tremors of orgasm start in your core. "Oh!"

Suddenly, he pulled away before you could reach your climax.

You tanned, looking down at him. "I was close! Why did you stop?"

He gave you a shit-eating grin and shrugged, those green eyes shining with mischief. "I wanted to see your reaction."

You didn't understand him. "Well, umm could you... please..."

"Please...?"

"...Make me come?"

He shrugged again, as if to say 'well see' before spreading your legs and diving in to lick your pussy again.

He eged you three more times. Each time, he stopped just as you were about to climax. You let out a frustrated whine, pouting. "Damian!"

"Y/n!"

"Why are you doing this?"

He stood up to wisper in your ear. "Because you like it."

He lifted you up with ease and carried you to his bedroom, laying you down on his massive bed. Your mind was swimming on oversensitivity and overstimulation that you'd barely registered him taking off his clothes and positioning himself at your entrance. Only when he was on top of you again did you have time to take in his glorious physique. Muscles upon muscles from his arms to his shoulders to his back and his abdomen. When he finally entered you, all of the edging you'd experienced until then made you nearly come simply from the first penetration.

You moaned, arching as your hands grasped against the black silk bedsheets.

Damian groaned above you, causing your ears to vibrate with the erotic sound. You gazed down at you. "You look perfect. Just like this."

You bit your lip, whispering. "Wait, please give me a moment."

"No." He began thrusting slowly.

"Damian, its too much-"

"You can take it. You excel in everything." He let out a sound which was a mix between a moan and a chuckle. "My little perfectionist."

You arched your back, feeling him fill you up. "I'm close again!"

"I know." He smirked, grinding in and out of you. "I know. You're so good, baby. Come for me again."

His hips increased their speed against you. The both of you moaning with each movement. Your nails clawed on his back as you felt him hit your g spot.

"Please, don't stop!" You begged.

"I won't," he panted. "Kiss me," he ordered.

You lifted yourself to meet his lips as he sped up, his finger back on your clit, making you whimper into his mouth, the two of you reaching your orgasm.

That was the last thing you remembered before falling asleep.

anya ❄️

I always laugh when people paint Peeta as a soft, innocent, almost a push over type of guy. Like this boy was eating Katniss up in arguments, making innuendos while on his deathbed, and beating up guys if they threaten his girl. Like come on now.

Jim and Morph

Academia - Jealousy

Masterlist

Pairing: Aged up Damian Wayne x f reader

Tags: NSFW, academic setting, rivals to lovers, friends with benefits, smut, fingering, jealousy, possessiveness, toxic behavior, multiple orgasms,

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Over the next few weeks, you and Damian developed a comfortable friendship. He rarely texted, preferring to call when he wanted to study together. The moments you shared felt... nice.

You’d catch yourself wanting to talk to him about things that had nothing to do with school. You’d find a meme or finish a good book, and a small voice in your mind would tell you to share with him. You’d wonder what he’d think, what hobbies he might have - what he was like outside of the carefully constructed persona he held at Gotham U. But each time you yearned for something more personal, you felt like you were crossing a line.

One evening, you were studying at his place. Damian sat across from you on his enormous leather couch, his laptop resting on his sweatpants-clad lap. The screen’s glow flickered over his bare chest, highlighting the sharp lines of his collarbone and the shine of his chain as he casually tossed a cracker into his mouth. You, on the other hand, had shed your skirt and blouse hours ago, left in just your yoga shorts and tank top, too tired to continue wearing your outside clothes. You had let down your hair, which had been pulled back painfully all day. The relief of it cascading over your shoulders felt like a victory.

"Did you know that Kace is doing research on Gotham's water distribution?" you asked.

Damian glanced up, nodding slightly as if he'd already known. "Yeah, I’ve heard a little about it. It’s a pretty big project."

"Very," you replied enthusiastically. "It’s funded by the municipality. A real opportunity."

His brow arched, clearly impressed. "That’s great."

"I applied to join the project," you added, crossing your fingers. "I’m hoping Kace will take me on. It’s a researcher’s dream, and having a reference from him would be huge."

Damian’s gaze softened, and he smiled that rare smile he'd had only when you spoke about a new discovery or theory.

What he did next surprised you. He set aside both of your laptops and laid his head in your lap. The sudden intimacy caught you off guard, your breath quickening.

"I’m tired of thinking," he murmured, voice low, his head resting comfortably against your thighs. "Let’s watch something."

Your heart raced. Slowly, carefully, your hand reached to brush the strands of his hair back. When your fingers grazed his scalp, he let out a quiet, satisfied hum, the kind of sound that made your stomach flutter and had you scratching at his hair more purposefully.

"What do you want to watch?" you asked, trying to keep your voice even.

"Something mindless," he replied, eyes still closed.

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One day, after your physics lecture ended and the room emptied, you stayed behind, scribbling a few last-minute notes. Damian lingered, sitting beside you, his fingers traced the hem of your checkered skirt, his thigh resting close enough to yours to occasionally brush against it. The casual proximity, the touches always left you breathless while he seemed unaffected. You bit your lip, your pulse quickening as you put your notebook away and mustered up the courage to ask what had been on your mind for weeks.

"Damian," you started softly, "would you want to... maybe go out sometime?"

His thigh immediately stilled.

"Go out?" His voice was calm, almost amused. "Like on a date?"

You nodded, looking to where his fingers had frozen, tangled in the fabric of your skirt.

"I thought you weren’t interested in dating," he said, his tone calculated and smooth.

Your heart skipped a beat. "I wasn’t at first. But, well... isn’t that kind of what we’ve been doing?" You elaborated. "We spend all this time together, and we’ve been... intimate."

Damian turned slightly, leaning closer until his piercing green eyes were at your level. This conversation started to feel more like an interrogation when he asked, "Why?" his tone curious. "Why do you want to date me?"

The question hit you like a splash of cold water. "What?"

He tilted his head, studying your reaction. "Why do you want to date me?"

You blinked. Of all the things he could have said, this wasn’t what you expected. "I... well, because-"

"You don’t know," he interrupted, his lips curling into a smirk. It wasn’t a kind smile. It was the kind that made you feel small, like he’d just won a game you didn’t realize you were playing.

"I do know." You blurted out. "I just didn’t expect that question."

He sighed. "Our arrangement works, doesn’t it? You get what you want. I get what I want. There’s no need to complicate things."

Your chest tightened. "I guess. But... you’re not seeing anyone else, right?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "No."

"Me either," you said quickly. "So... what do you call that?"

Damian’s brow arched, and the sharpness in his gaze felt like a warning. “What are you trying to get me to say, Y/N?"

You swallowed hard, realizing how he was twisting your words. "I’m not trying to get you to say anything," you muttered, but your voice wavered with frustration and hurt. His silence, the way he just sat there, watching you struggle, was answer enough.

You stood abruptly, grabbing your bag, trying to hide the burning in your cheeks and the sting behind your eyes. "Never mind," you mumbled, more to yourself than him.

Without another word, you turned and left.

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Oh, I do not need this right now, Damian thought, dodging a swift punch from his brother, narrowly avoiding what would’ve been a bruising hit.

"Do you... maybe want to go out sometime?"

Your words echoed in his mind. The way your voice wavered slightly, vulnerable, soft. A vision of you flickered in his imagination. Eyes wide, expectant, waiting for him to answer.

Damian barely registered the next strike coming his way. He flipped back, gritting his teeth as he refocused. Concentrate.

Dick often took it easy on him during training. It was something Damian usually resented, a constant reminder that his older brother still saw him as the kid who needed coddling. Dick always joked that since Damian was the baby of the family, hurting him would "break his heart." Absolute bullshit.

Damian had taken on Nightwing for the first time when he was fourteen, and even then, Dick had held back. But now - now he was in his twenties, a fully trained assassin capable of holding his own against anyone. There was no excuse for Dick not to come at him with everything he had.

Yet here they were again, Damian on the mat, his brother watching him with that infuriatingly knowing look.

"You're distracted," Dick commented, arms crossed, his stance casual.

"No, I'm not," Damian snapped. "Let's just get this over with."

Dick raised a brow, spinning his staff a few times as he stretched his shoulders. "Got somewhere to be?" he asked, throwing a few experimental swings. "You usually live for the chance to knock me around for a couple hours."

Damian’s jaw tightened, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Dick had a habit of slipping into therapist mode. Usually, Damian let him - mostly because Dick was annoyingly good at it, and it gave his older brother some sense of satisfaction. But today, Damian had no patience for it. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to think.

But the image of you lingered.

The look on your face when he’d rejected you—polite, almost cold—played in the back of his mind. He hadn’t wanted to hurt you. Not like that. He had a life already too complicated, too dangerous for something like... a relationship. But still, your expression had haunted him. It made something deep inside him twist, the part of him that hated vulnerability, hated seeing it, hated feeling it.

Then a thought struck him - someone else. Someone else making you smile, laugh, touching you the way he had. A vision of you looking at a man the way you look at Damian. It was infuriating. The idea of someone else seeing you come undone, hearing you cry out in pleasure - of someone else having power over you - made his blood boil. His jaw tightened, a surge of anger rising, and his movements faltered again.

He cursed under his breath as he nearly took another hit from Dick. Focus.

But it was too late. His moves were sloppy now, more reactive than calculated, each punch and kick lacking the precision he normally prided himself on. Dick, of course, noticed immediately.

"Seriously, what’s going on with you?" Dick asked as they moved into the second hour of their sparring session. "You’re not anticipating my moves like you usually do. I’m pulling my punches, and you’re still off your game."

Damian clenched his fists, feeling the frustration build in his chest. He could hear Dick's words, but the memory of your voice, soft and hopeful, drowned everything else out.

"I... I don’t have time for this right now," Damian muttered under his breath.

"What’s 'this'?" Dick pressed, but Damian didn’t answer.

His footwork became more rushed, his fists less controlled. And that’s when it happened. Dick moved faster than Damian anticipated, his staff coming up just as Damian lunged forward. A solid punch landed squarely against Damian’s mouth.

Pain flashed through him. He stumbled, tasting blood on his lip.

"You want to talk about it now?" Dick asked.

Damian wiped his mouth, glaring. "There's nothing to talk about," he ground out, stepping back into position.

But Dick didn't let up, standing his ground, his expression softening in that way Damian hated - like he was waiting for Damian to let down his guard, to open up. "You know, whatever’s going on in your head, it’s not worth getting your face smashed in over."

Damian scoffed, his lips twisting into a bitter smile. He wiped the corner of his mouth where a trace of blood threatened to form, his green eyes flashing with an edge. He straightened up, cracking his neck as he reset his stance. "If you hit any softer, Dick, I’d think you were the one who has something going on with his head."

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Nikolas Hill was one year your senior, majoring in Econometrics and balancing his life as captain of Gotham U's swimming team and a straight-A student. He was also the oldest son of Gotham's current mayor Archibald Hill, a fact which he seldom mentioned himself though it was always brought up by someone else.

You, Nick, and seven other students were accepted to Professor Kace's water system project, and you worked well together. To your surprise, Nick was vastly knowledgeable about the research content. He told you he wanted to major in engineering, but econ was "where the cuties were," with a wink.

"Werent there enough cuties on the swim team?" You teased.

Nickolas raised a perfect blond brow and flashed his signature smile. "Dude, swimmers have like, no ass. That is a fact."

"My apologies," You laughed, clicking on the analytics report you two prepared.

A week later, he asked you for your number.

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Damian was waiting for you outside the lab when you stepped out with Nikolas Hill. His presence was impossible to miss—leaning casually against the wall in his polo and leather jacket combination and towering almost any student who passed him. His sharp gaze locked onto the two of you the moment you appeared, laughing at something Nick said.

You instantly noticed a cut across his bottom lip when you neared him, prompting you to ask. "Damian, what happened?" Your voice was barely above a wisper, filled with concern.

His brows lifted slightly in surprise at the sight of your companion. "Hill," Damian greeted him, his tone cool and familiar, like they’d known each other for years, though not in a way that suggested they were friends.

"Wayne," Nikolas responded in kind, matching Damian’s neutral tone, though there was an underlying challenge in his voice.

Damian’s eyes shifted between you and Nikolas, narrowing slightly. "You two working together?" he asked, his question directed at you but intercepted by Nikolas.

"Yeah," Nikolas answered smoothly before you could open your mouth. "We got paired up for the municipal water ledger research. Lucky us."

There was a sharp edge to Damian’s smile, and he let out a low, sarcastic, "What a coincidence."

The implication behind his words hung in the air, heavy and unmistakable: Nikolas had only gotten the position because of his father.

You felt your own smile falter as the tension between them rose, making the hallway seem smaller.

Nikolas chuckled lightly, undeterred. "Don’t get it twisted, Wayne. I know it must be nice, being Bruce's kid and all, but some of us actually had to work to get here."

Damian raised a brow, eyes glinting dangerously. "Seventeenth in your program, if I remember correctly?"

Nikolas leaned in closer to you, lowering his voice just enough for only you to hear. "Adorable, isn’t it? He does his homework."

You forced a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. You couldn’t help but notice the way Damian’s lips tightened when Nikolas inched closer to you. His expression darkened, the muscles in his jaw flexing under the weight of his glare.

Straightening back up, Nikolas shrugged with an air of nonchalance. "Unfortunately, my dad didn’t donate enough to bump me up a few spots."

Damian’s grin returned, though it was more venomous than friendly. It was the kind of smile that didn’t touch his eyes, and you could feel the crackling tension between the two, like a live wire ready to snap. "Right," Damian drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I’m sure being the mayor’s son has really held you back. There's always ‘Make-A-Wish,’."

You swallowed, the urge to leave growing stronger with every passing second. You were sure they wouldn't mind. They seemed perfectly content engaging in their verbal sparring. But the way Damian was looking at you that made your skin prickle with discomfort - his gaze searing into you like a brand.

Nikolas shot back without missing a beat, his grin widening. "Not all of us get to play the ‘Prince of Gotham,’ though, do we?"

The title hung in the air. It was a label once meant for Damian's father, but now it had been thrust upon Damian since the world learned that Bruce Wayne had an heir. It wasn’t just a title. it was a pedestal, an expectation that idealized Damian as something more than human, something untouchable and better than everyone else. And right now, as his jaw clenched and his green eyes blazed with a darkness that sent a shiver down your spine, you wondered which Damian you were looking at - your friend and classmate, or Gotham’s heir apparent?

With the way his gaze bore into you, sharp and unyielding, you had the sinking feeling that this wasn’t Damian, your friend. No. You were staring into the eyes of the ‘Prince of Gotham,’. The one who could get away with whatever he wanted and no one would bat an eye.

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Witch each thrust of his fingers, you grew less and less able to focus. "Damian," you wimpered.

"Hmm?" His low voice hummed behind your ear, making your skin vibrate.

You were sitting on his lap in his couch, thighs spread out, skirt still on. But the top buttons of your blouse were undone showing off the purple marks Damian has spent the last hour decorating on your neck and collarbone. Your hands were held together by one of his ties, an impossible knot you couldn't loosen regardless of how much you tried. You knew your hair was disheveled and worried about how you would go home looking a mess. Your roommate would certainly have questions.

"That! Ah -" You panted, shutting your eyes. "I thought we weren't in a relationship."

"We're not." He said confidently. He refused to elaborate further before kissing you behind your ear - a spot he'd discovered a while back to be extremely sensitive, which he often used against you.

Your shoulders tensed. Your bra straps slipped down your arms as your head rolled back to rest against his muscular frame, easily getting lost in the sensation for what had to be your twelfth consecutive orgasm. You lost count somewhere between nine and ten.

You warred with your mind to stay on topic. "Then... why can't I go out with Nick?"

The moment you walked into his apartment, Damian asked if you and Nick were a couple, then at your hesitation, he nodded and ordered you not to go out with him.

His fingers sped up against you, and the impending orgasm built up as you felt the rising heat in the pit of your stomach.

"Damian, answer the question," You gasped, straining against him.

"Because you can do better." He said in a simple tone, though you'd hinted what sounded like a growl accompanying his words. He bit down on your neck, hard, before sucking on the skin he'd just broken there. His fingers made rougher movements on your overstimulated slit, giving you sensation that was equally painful and delicious. You'd mumbled a sentence of incoherent "please" and "God," as your brow forrowed, sweat gathering on your exposed collarbone.

The only goal his response achieved, however, was angering you. Who did he think he was? Deciding what men were and weren't worth your time. You were your own person. You huffed, a mixture of frustration and something else. "I think I'm smart enough to decide that for myself!"

Your sentence was cut off with a squeal. He had found a new spot that made your back arch as he chuckled against your ear. "Im not saying you're not, baby. Im just giving you my impression of things."

You bit your lip, half to keep from moaning and half to keep from lashing out at him. Whether he thought so or not, words carried meaning, and the tone with which he called you 'baby' would definitely resonate in your mind. This wasn't good for your purely platonic friends-with-benefits arrangement. "You can't call me that. Baby. Im not... your baby."

Dropping your pen and notebook, your bound hands grasped at your thighs as you pushed your pussy into his fingers, chasing that delicious feeling. You panted until you came.

His fingers didn't stop, though. You began to weakly shake your head. "No, no, no, Damian, you said it was the last one -"

"Just one more baby," he emphasized the last word. "You can take it. I know you can. You're so cute when you're like this,"

Your bound hands scratched at your skirt, and you bit your lip. His words, his actions, his whole being was a question you couldn't answer; a problem you couldn't solve.

His fingers had your mind drifting, and you suspected that he knew that if he just kept saying and doing the right things, he could control you. This thought was what drove you into another shaking orgasm

"My pretty girl," he hummed the praise against you. "Mine."

"N-no," your voice managed weakly as the tremmors subsided and your eyes slid shut. "Not yours."

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"Damian, I don't think this... our arrangement works." You spoke softly, then added, "For me. Anymore."

He blinked down at you, facial expression unchanging as he watched you collect the last of your belongings. "Mhmm."

"I guess I'm not cut out for 'no-strings-attatched'". You added. What you didn't add was the fact that you had caught feelings for him, but he was smart, and it wouldn't take rocket science to figure that one out. "And I can't hear you call me yours without... without thinking something more..."

"Are you gonna go out with him?"

The "him" in question was Nikolas, and yes, you were. You justified the decision to yourself by considering that it wouldn't hurt either Damian who didn't see you as more than a fuck buddy, and it wouldn't hurt you, who was actually curious to see if a relationship with Nikolas could go somewhere.

You nodded, making sure to keep eye contact. Whatever judgment that intense green gaze sent your way was not deserved.

At last, Damian nodded. "I'll see you around then."

You opened your mouth to say something but closed it, as he was already walking away. "See you."

That night, Nickolas dropped you off after a wonderful first date back in your room and kissed you goodnight. You lay in bed and closed your eyes, picturing muscular, scar-covered arms easily handling you, calloused fingers caressing, holding, and teasing you, and a pair of moss colored eyes piercing into you as sleep took you over.

the authors note of all time

Academia - The Gala

Masterlist

Pairing: Aged up Damian Wayne x f reader

Tags: NSFW, academic setting, rivals to lovers, friends with benefits, smut, blowjobs, possessiveness, jealousy, oral, p in v, semi-public sex,

Side note: can y'all tell I've never been to a Gala before? I don't know how they donate in those things. Please bear with me.

The perp screamed as Damian flipped him onto the ground, making sure the way he landed would be impactful enough to knock him out for at least a minute.

"Fuck! You fucking brat!" The perp chocked out.

Squatting next to him, Damian flipped his staff to rest it against his shoulder blades, hanging both his arms on it. "You see the rest of your crew over there?" He nodded in the direction of four bodies lying down on the floor of the warehouse, then looked back at the perp currently struggling to take a breath. "Not big talkers, apparently. But you -" he grabbed the man by his collar and dragged him towards himself, the perp yelped, blood dripping from his nose as he struggled against Damian's unyielding grip. "You might still make it out of here alive." He finished.

The perp eyed his men nervously, stammering. "D-did you kill them?"

Damian ignored the question. "I'm gonna ask you one last time, Markus. Where is Roman's shipment arriving to?"

The man's eyes widened at the correct use of his name, and he began to shake.

Damian registered a new stench, his upper lip lifted in digust as he stared down a Marcus. "You better not have fucking pissed yourself. That's disgusting."

Marcus looked like he was about to cry. Damian would bet they were tears of shame rather than pain. He grasped the collar tighter, sneering. "Where did the shipment leave to, Marc? While I'm still in a good mood."

"Y-you fucking psycho!" Marcus was crying now. "Do you have any idea what he'll do to me if I tell you?"

"It can't be worse than what I'll do to you if you don't." Damian said before punching the crying man in the nose, making sure to crack something. Marcus cried out in pain.

"Talk." Damian prompted.

Bloody lips trembling, Marcus confessed the address.

Damian nodded, sure to memorize the location. "What time is it coming in?" He asked.

Marcus's features twisted pathetically as he slurred, "Come on, man. I already told you-"

"What time is it coming in?" Damian sneered. Hating to have to repeat himself.

"E-eleven-Thirty!" The criminam cried. "Pick up's at midnight."

Damian stood up then, kicking Marcus right in the nose, making sure to knock him out this time.

"Jesus christ, kid." Jason spoke in his ear. "Remind me to play bats this footage if ever gives me shit about how I do interrogations."

"That won't stop me from giving you shit." Batman's voice came on the line.

Withholding a retort about Jason calling him "kid." All Damian said was, "it's not like I killed him."

"Right, no, of course." The red hood laughed in his comm. "You just re-organized the order his face, much more merciful."

"Ugh, been on the receiving end of that." Dick's voice joined the line. "Now look at oir baby boy, all grown up and graduated from scratching to dislocation."

"Aww." Barbara's voice supplied helpfully.

Damian rolled his eyes. "I was dislocating men twice my size back when you were still running around in a leotard."

He was so grateful he got to work on his own suit, with a fabric that wasn't skin fucking tight had at fully covered him in bulletproof Kevlar yet still allowed for a full range of motion. If he were forced to wear the same suit as his eldest brother, Batman would have been his first victim.

"Oooh there are those claws!" Tim now joined the line, along with Stephanie, who supplied the helpful words: "scratchy scratchy" in the background.

Clearly, his family was having a much less fun night that he and were desperate for some entertainment. Ignoring them, Damian climbed up from the warehouse and onto the roof of a neighboring, taller building to get a better vantage point. The wind ruffled his hair as the sounds of gotham: sirens, choppers, and car horns, as well as the waves from the nearby river filled his ears. Inhaling the cool air and exhaling, the fog from his mouth traveling with the wind. He switched onto a different line. "Oracle, I need coordinates to the Conrad docks port hanger number 9."

"Roger that, Robin. Shall I send for back up?"

"No need." He said. "I can't handle this myself."

And he did. Carrying out a perfect stealth mission and stealing a crate of the new drug that Black Mask was trying to push on the city, along with the files that exposed every crooken cop currently on his payroll. The files found their way to commissioner Gordon's coffee table that night. The corrupt cops were behind bars by morning.

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Damian didn't know how to explain, but he was having a particularly good day. That is, until he heard your name being said by one of the guys from your program.

"There she is. What was her name again?"

"Y/n, I think?" The boy, a skinny eng student from your physics class, was talking to his friend.

Damian followed his gaze to you, sitting by yourself in a yellow checkered blazer and skinny jeans, with a neat ponytail tied by a yellow ribbon. You were sitting on one of the benches at the campus atrium, chewing on a cut-up apple as you read something on your computer, the screen illuminating your face, reflection on your glasses.

"I got two tickets for the Howling Mystery this Thursday. I'm gonna ask her to go with me."

Like hell. Damian turned in their direction.

Just as his friend replied sardonically. "She doesn't strike me as the type that listens to hard metal -"

"Hey," they both turned at the sound of Damian's voice. The boy who talked about asking you out straightening up. Unimpressed, Damian trampled him in size. "How are you guys?" He asked casually.

"Fine, thanks." The friend replied, looking at Damian in disbelief that he was used to by now. "You?"

"Listen, were you guys just in Atkinson's lecture?" He pointed his thumb in the direction of the room behind himself.

The two guys nodded.

"He's in there right now explaining the Pokhozhaev identity problem that was on the midterm." Damian lied.

Their eyes widened. And one of them asked. "Fuck, really?"

Damian nodded. "Yeah. If you hurry, maybe you could still catch him."

"Dude, thanks!" One of them clapped him on the back, and Damian offered them one his signature easygoing smiles as they went down the hall and back into the lecture, none the wiser.

He himself made his way to sit beside you, leaning back on the bench. "Hey,"

You looked up at him, eyes widening when you realized it's him. You quickly collected yourself, offering a polite smile. "Damian, hi."

"What are you doing this Thursday?" He asked.

You thought about it for a moment, checked your calendar to see that your midterms were done by Wednesday. "Nothing, why?"

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You looked at yourself in the mirror, assessing the outfit. The dress you wore was a velvet, red form-fitting one that accentuated your silhouette, it reached the top of your knees with an asymmetrical hem that added an edgy touch, showcasing the velvet knee-high black boots under it. A deep neckline showed the gold necklace that you never took off, with its matching earrings - gifts from your parents. You let your hair down, framing your face in subtle curls and draping over your shoukders. Your makeup was subtle with a focus on your eyes and red lipstick. The look you were going for was a combination of chic and classy.

A knock on your door caused you to open it, mouth dropping slightly when you did.

Damian Wayne stood at your doorstep wearing a suit. Confident posture and athletic physique. His tailored suit accentuated his broad shoulders and a trim waist. Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and those green eyes of his sparkled over you with appreciation. You realized why he'd told you to wear red, a well-chosen tie hung from his neck, matching your dress in color.

"Hey, perfect girl," he gave you an appreciative look.

"Oh wow," you let the words out without thinking. Clearing your throat, you offered a shy smile. "You look really nice."

"Thanks," he put his hand in his pocket, eyes roaming your body, and he shook his head. "So do you. Very nice."

He offered you his hand, and you took it, letting him lead you to his Camaro.

"Will you not be drinking?" You asked, seated at the passenger seat.

"I dont drink." He said.

You nodded, thinking that if he wanted to elaborate, he would have. "I read up about that Gala. It's a charity event to raise money for the new wing in the children's hospital, right?"

"Right."

"I'd like to contribute, if that's still allowed." You said.

Damian smirked to himself, a dimple appearing as his perfect teeth came into view. "Do you know how much Wayne donated, perfect girl?"

"No," you confessed.

"You're welcome to contribute, but trust me, they're set for at least the next four years. And that's including construction."

"Wow," you couldn't bring yourself to even inagine the amount that entailed. Suddenly, your donation felt like barely anything. Your shoulders slumped slightly, and then you shook it off. "Well, it doesn't matter. I'd still like to."

He turned to give you a look, the meaning of which you couldn't decipher. "Have you ever donated at a gala before?"

You shookyour head.

He offered you his hand, and you took it.

At last, he spoke. "I'll show you how."

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The way he commanded attention in any room with mere silence should be studied, you thought.

His hand brushed your hip, leading you inside the massive banquet hall. You looked around, and massive chandeliers hung from the intricately painted fresco on the ceiling as the velvet carpet was rolled out under expensive shoes. The sound of chatter and clinging glasses was accompanied by classical music. This was an entirely different world than the one you were used to. Still, you looked around in fascination.

"Is that real Chanel?" Damian's question drew you from your thoughts. You turned to see him eyeing your dress.

You tensed. "... no." You looked down, blushing as you were painfully reminded that someone of his stature could tell the difference. Slightly embarrassed, you quietly confessed, "Mainstream brands can make good knock offs when they want to."

He nodded, gaze drifting back over the crowd. As did you, the sea of people in front of you was clad in high brand designer gowns, suits, and perfumes. Granted, your outfit was by no means cheap, and in fact, it took you a day of work to make up for it. But if he could see that your clothes were a high fashion copy, so could everyone here. In your clothes you felt like you didn't belong. For the first time in your life, you felt... cheap.

You just hoped his lack of a reaction meant a lack of judgment. Damian came both from old money and from new money, as the heir to the top weapons mogul in the world, he was used to a certain standard.

Either way, you may not have been rich but you weren't struggling. Per se.

You glanced at him, about to wonder if he felt embarrassed to be seen with you. But after thinking of it for too long, you realized... you don't care.

Very grateful to both of your parents who worked blue-collar jobs to raise you and your siblings, you learned the value of appearance from a young age. You didn't come from the best neighborhood, but you couldn't tell from the way your family presented itself. Your townhouse was always clean and well decorated. Your mother made sure to always have homemade food and put all of her kids through some kind of extracurricular activities. Which is how you got into maths and sciences. You relied on scholarships and the goodness of your teachers to make it where you did. And you never wished things were different; your life made you who you were today.

So what if you didn't wear designer brands? You had immaculate fashion sense even if it was affordable.

And suddenly, you caught yourself smiling. Suddenly, everyone's facial expressions didn't look so judgmental. Someone cleared their throat beside you, and you turned to face a beautiful couple.

The man was immediately recognizable. Matching in height with Damian, Bruce Wayne looked every bit the billionaire playboy in his classic black suit jacket, accessorized with golden cufflinks, a crisp white shirt, and a black bow tie. His hair was stylized and polished. Sharp facial features, visibly similar to his son's, and a well-groomed stubble enhanced his masculine charm. He held a confident, charismatic expression that exuded mystery.

He held by the waist a woman in an elegant, form-fitting black evening gown with a daring cut at the front. Her hair was styled in an updo. A statement necklace hung around her neck. Her look complemented Bruce's style while showcasing her own elegance. She gave youband Damian a knowing smile.

"Y/n, this is my father." Damian introduced you.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne." You smiled at his father and offered to shake his hand.

He took your hand in a firm grip. "Y/n," his deep voice, also similar to Damian's, greeted you. "You interned for us this summer, am I correct?"

"Yes," you nodded eagerly. "In R&D. It was an amazing opportunity, sir. You run a truly unique organization."

Bruce's grin widened. "Well, I'm glad to hear. Your team lead wrote a great review after you were done. When you graduate, we'd be lucky to have you."

Your cheeks certainly reddened by now, and you felt like you were out of breath as you stuttered out a "Thank you." Or at least you hoped you did. You were pretty sure you had blacked out for a moment.

You couldn't tell Damian how grateful you were for his hand on your lower back. The touch rooting you and making you feel less intimidated, or at least protected by him.

"Thank you, Father." Damian's tone was slow but menacing. "I know young, smart, and pretty are your type, but maybe try not to steal my date? Especially when you have your own..." He gave the woman a pointed look.

She and Bruce shared a knowing look before she turned to you and said in a soft, cat-like taunt. "Careful honey. The more territorial they are, the harder it is to tell if they wish to love you..." She eyed Damian in a way that, for some reason, upset you. "Or own you."

Damian's hand tightened around your waist. The woman caught the movement before her gaze returned to yours. It felt like the air around your was a hundred degrees colder. You felt goosebumps on the back of your neck when she said. "Soon enough, you'll be lucky if Damian lets any man near you."

"I think I see the mayor." Bruce spoke up, breaking the tension, and led the woman away. "We should say hello."

When they were gone, you took in a deep breath, turning to Damian, you wispered. "Was that your mother?"

He huffed out a laugh. "Thank God no." He smiled down at you, his hand rubbing circles on your back. "Did she scare you?"

"She did."

"Yeah, my father's always had a type." He spoke in disdain. For a moment, it almost looked like he was the parent who was dissappointnent in his child's choice in partners.

A small smile crept across your lips. "What's your mother like -"

He lifted your chin and placed a kiss on your lips. A polite way to shut down your question. He pulled back an inch to whisper. "I don't want to talk about my parents anymore." Against your lips.

Message received, you nodded against him. Throughout the night you met a lot of interesting people. Of course, all of them had already known Damian. And they seemed happy to interact with you both. Shy and inexperienced in small talk, you let Damian take the lead. He answered their eager questions with ease, and you noted the way men and women hung on to his every word.

"Those are the kinds of conversations I want to be a part of in my line of work." You admitted.

The whole time, Damian's hands never let you go, visibly claiming you in front of whatever audience you had. You took up a rather interesting conversation with a man who worked for the District Attorney.

You nodded eagerly, agreeing with every word as he said. "It's just a different way of thinking. A mathematical one."

His smiled. "I'm sure you will. If you're eager enough to make it happen. Give me a call if you ever want to come see our unit at work." He handed you a business card, and you took it, nodding gratefully.

Suddenly, you felt Damian slide up from your hip to your neck, his fingers drawing circles on your collarbone. You turned to look at him, seeing his tongue poking his cheek as he eyed the man you were talking to.

"Well." The man cleared his throat. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too," you said before you were led away. Into the hall, away from the crowd.

"Where are you going?" You asked as Damian pulled you into what looked like a conference room, shutting the door behind you and pressing you against it. You looked up at him, squirming under his heated gaze. "Damian, is everything okay?"

"Leave it to you to make a two hundred dollar dress look like it was worth two thousand." He growled against your ear.

"Thank you?" You wimpered in question, unsure how to take the words.

"They were all looking at you like they wanted to take you home with them." He wispered, kissing you hard. "But they can't. You're mine."

You captured your bottom lip between your teeth to keep from moaning. The woman's words from earlier began playing in your mind. You saw Damian the way she described. Possessive, territorial. You couldn't understand why it both scared and excited you.

"Say it." He ordered. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours." You don't know why you obeyed so quickly. But the words felt right on your tongue.

"Damn right." He wispered, kissing you hard. "Fuck, you're so beautiful." He groaned against your mouth. "I win. Out of all those men. I win!"

The flattering words made you smile. It was the first time someone said something like that to you. To have it be Damian Wayne, of all people.

Eager for more of his praise, you sunk down to your knees in front of him, looking up to meet his gaze as you unbuckled his belt, lowering his pants and boxers. You bit your lip when you saw his erection, tongue sneaking out to lick up his shaft. Damian was bigger than anyone you've been with. You ran your hands over the hard muscles of his stomach before taking him in your mouth and sucking eagerly.

"Fuck yes, baby." He groaned as his fingers pulled into your hair.

You whimpered around him.

"Finger yourself while you suck my dick. Get yourself ready." He ordered.

You obeyed, you index finger touching your clit through under your dress as you whined around his cock. You worked him for minutes on end, switching from sucking to licking his head, delighting in the way his hips trusted against you and his panting sped up above you.

Damian thought he won. But looking up into his glazed dark eyes, brows furrowed in pleasure as his mouth opened... all because of you. All at your mercy. You felt like you were the one who won. No one out of all those women in that room could see him like this except you.

His hand pulled you up by your hair, pining you between himself and the wall again. You felt so fragile in his arms. "Did you finger yourself like I asked, baby?" He asked, lifting the hem of your dress.

You nodded.

His finger dipped into your whole, feeling how wet you are. He grinned at you through a hooded gaze. "Good girl."

He made quick work of lining himself up and thrusting into you. You arched off the wall and into him as your arms flew to grasp onto him. Unable to hold back, you begged him. "Damian, please kiss me–"

His lips were on yours in an instant, silencing a string of uncontrollable moans as he thrust into you over and over again. Despit holding your weight and fucking you for a long time, he never got tired. Rather he sped up, panting against your lips. "Come for me, my perfect girl,"

You nodded absentmindedly, grasping onto him, needing him as close as possible as you whispered. "Please, please..."

He thrust into you hard, both of you moaning into each other as you reached your climax. Your limbs shook even as Damian lowered you and led you to a nearby door, letting you both into a bathroom.

He used a cloth to clean up your pussy, correcting your dress and hair, before adressing his own look. All while you were dazed and coming down from the high. He held your shaking body, kissing your lips and cheeks and forehead, telling you you did a good job. At last he asked, "Are you ready to go make your donation?"

You had nearly forgotten. You turned to him, still disoriented but determined to see your goal through. Glancing at yourself in the mirror, you saw that Damian did a good job of cleaning you up. Other than your flushed face, you wouldn't have been able to guess what you had just done. He offered his hand, and you took it, allowing yourself to be let out.

POV: ur a Forks high school teacher forced to meet with the uncannily pretty local cult leader, and his wife, to discuss their kids’ grades🧛‍♀️

Carlisle and Esme at a parent teacher conference. Thank you to my patrons who voted for this concept.

Spoils of Surrender

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Lannister reader

Tags: arranged marriage, loss of virginity, plus-size reader, tent sex, oral sex (female receiving), p. in v. sex, hopeful ending

Wordcount: 3,490

As the Lannister armies are defeated by the Northerners and Rivermen, your father Lord Jason surrenders and pledges your hand to Lord Cregan Stark, to seal his change of allegiance.

Cregan Masterlist

Sun was rising over the Riverlands, its warmth barely enough to stop the shaking of the officers gathered in a line in front of Lord Cregan Stark. No doubt had they expected to prevail, but now their arrogance was wiped off their faces and even their commander, Lord Jason Lannister, looked frightful.

The Hightower armies had marched first, emboldened by the presence of Prince Daeron and his dragon, the young Tessarion, and were now stuck in the Riverlands. Caught between the formidable threat of Caraxes, along with a rather large portion of the Rivermen and the Arryn armies, they had been unable to fall back and provide any assistance to the Lannisters. They had been ambushed by unexpected garrisons from the Riverlands and the Northerners, coming down just in time.

“It is a rare quality in a man to admit when he has been bested,” Lord Jason tried to reason as he stood in front of the victor, and Cregan Stark loathed his self-important demeanor. “But I would gladly admit you have prevailed over us, and I would pledge my armies to yours, my lord, so that we might avoid unnecessary bloodshed.”

“Why should I believe your intentions? You are an oath breaker,” he said, his tone low but enough to make the man twitch.

“What would appease you, Lord Stark?” he asked, a slow smile spreading over his features. “Are you in want of a wife, by any chance?”

Cregan almost bristled at the suggestion, mildly insulted that the promise of a lady to warm his bed would be enough to mellow him.

“Mine own daughter is currently being escorted to King's Landing to marry King Aegon,” he explained, referring to the tragic passing of Queen Helaena at the hand of her own despair, following the death of her son. “I am sure she could please you.”

The fact that the man would be so eager to offer his daughter to his enemy displeased him greatly, but he had to admit that marriages were an old way of solving quarrels, and that many a clan in the North had allied itself with others in this way in the past. 

“They should not be far, we had hoped to shield the escort with our own garrison," the Lannister lord continued.

“Send for them to turn back,” Cregan agreed. “And prepare your parchment and quills, I will seal your surrender with a proper treaty.”

It was barely sunrise the next day when an inconspicuous carriage arrived at the campsite—since the surrender the morning prior, they had sent word to Harrenhal and Dragonstone, awaiting their next orders. 

The small door to the carriage opened and you were assisted by a sentry to get down the few steps. Soon you were met with the sight of a full military camp bearing the Stark and Tully banners, and your father came to greet you, looking defeated and uncertain. You had been informed of your house’s defeat on the way back, but the messenger had been unwilling to tell you more, and now your stomach was heavy with worry.

“I don't understand, father,” you exclaimed as he took your hands in his.

“I am afraid our odds have changed, my darling. Our armies are detained by Lord Cregan Stark,” he announced, and you gasped in sudden fear. “But he will release them, and me... on one condition. If the peace treaty is sealed with your hand in marriage. You were ready to do your duty for our family and now that duty is this.”

“The Wolf of the North?” you asked feebly, looking over your father’s shoulder to a group of men dressed in blacks and grays, bearing dark beards and hard expressions. You had heard of Cregan Stark before, and how he had crushed his own uncle's rebellion, and the prospect of being given to him filled you with dread.

“He is not the most delicate man I have encountered, if anything he seems a bit brutish and boorish, but I'm sure you will be able to soothe his rugged edges,” Lord Jason said, curling his fingers under your chin. “Won't you, sweetling?”

“If I must,” you replied tearily.

“You must, my dear,” came the answer, whispered against your forehead with a kiss.

The ceremony had been short, perfunctory, and nothing else had been celebrated—your union wasn’t one to be cheered, but a necessity in a time of war. With no courtship and barely a few words exchanged between you and your husband, you found yourself in a large tent later that evening nervously clutching the cloak he had wrapped over your shoulders.

You tried to reason with your nerves, telling your anxious mind that perhaps a healthy warrior would be better than a wounded king. You had heard of Aegon's promiscuous ways from your uncle, but from what you knew of Lord Stark, he was not inclined to such proclivities. 

“My Lord, may I ask?” you tried to initiate a conversation and your newly wedded husband turned to you, setting his sheathed sword aside. 

“Of course, my lady.”

“Why marriage? Why could my father not swear his allegiance to you and fight at your side?” you grasped at straws, hoping you could still undo what had been done in front of Gods and an entire army of men.

“I am afraid I do not trust your father's word, my lady. Twenty years ago he and his brother swore allegiance to Rhaenyra as King Viserys' named heir,” he recounted, his deep voice rolling easily from his large frame. “They have broken that oath.”

“You think him to be without honor, and yet you accepted me as wife?” you replied, feeling strangely scolded, but he did not answer, no doubt unwilling to indulge your emotional outburst.

You looked around nervously, and this time he came to soothe you. “No one will hear us.”

“You cannot know that. We are in the middle of a war camp,” you replied, stepping aside. 

“I know this is not the comfort you would have wanted, but this is all I can offer,” he said, dipping his head slightly. His calm demeanor unsettled you, and you did not know how to react to his unwillingness to respond with as much emotion as you were showing him.

“I do not care for comfort,” you retorted, very much aware that you sounded like a petulant child.

“Is it the pain that worries you?” he asked gently, and this time you couldn't contain your tears. “I may be in conflict with your father, but I would not hurt you to get back at him.”

He allowed you a moment to breathe and collect yourself, instead turning to a corner of the tent where a table and two chairs had been put. His boots made soft, muted sounds on the carpet that covered the ground, his long cloak grazing his ankles.

You watched timidly as he removed his pelts and unbuckled his leathers, draping them over the back of one of the chairs, and leaving his belts on the table. He looked less intimidating once he was left in his shirt, his gambeson draped over the cloak. His boots were soon discarded as well, leaving dry mud on the carpet.

To your surprise, he didn’t turn to you but to a basin not far, first bringing water up to his face with his large palms, then to the back of his neck; almost as an afterthought, he pulled his linen shirt over his head and used it as one would a cloth, rubbing at his chest and under his arms. You felt your breathing pick up as you could hardly tear your gaze, admiring his thick waist and broad back, tracing with your eyes the healthy layer of fat stretched over bulky muscle.

You swallowed, tearing your gaze away as he turned to you again. He frowned, no doubt wondering why you were still dressed. “I would need help with my gown,” you said quietly and he was quick to come and assist you.

You shivered as he kissed the nape of your neck as soon as he had pulled the laces, then your shoulder once it was exposed. You forced your arms to remain at your side when the gown was dropped to the floor and you realized he had unlaced and lowered your shift as well. 

You gasped aloud as his large hands came around you to cup your breasts, kneading them in his large palms, thumb pressing their peaks. You found yourself leaning back against his sturdy frame, as he was gentler than you expected. Heat pooled between your thighs, surprising you, as his mouth found the soft spot under your ear and he buried the low rumble of his pleased breaths in your hair. 

One of his palms made its way down your abdomen, enjoying the soft hills of flesh, until the tips of his fingers stroked you, rougher than you were used to. You squirmed and he lightened his touch, one of his fingers swiping the swollen nub at the top of your folds until you breathed your very first sigh. 

“Lord Stark,” you called gently, flushing under his endeavor. 

“Might you call me by my name?” he murmured in your ear, pressing himself into you until you felt the hard line of him against your backside. You startled as he lifted you easily and carried you to the bed; you did not know if you would sleep much but if you did, you knew it shall be comfortable. The cot was thick and covered in furs, soft and warm. 

“I would make you comfortable, perhaps breach you first,” he said as he looked upon you, placed among the pelts while he pulled at the laces of his trousers, and you stammered.

“What do you mean?”

“Breach your maidenhead first, before I take you,” he clarified. “The pain will be lessened.”

“Lord Stark…” you flushed, and he only looked at you more intensely at the use of his title. “I would give my maidenhead to you, if only I still had it. The Maester said horse riding no doubt took it…”

He smirked, looking strangely pleased. “I am glad of it. Better that you lost it to a good horse than an inconsiderate husband.”

“I'm sure you would have made me comfortable,” you said politely.

“I would have, and I will,” he replied, dropping his trousers along with his smallclothes, and you averted your eyes. 

You brought your gaze to the ceiling of the tent and the beams that kept the cloth stretched as he climbed atop you, but to your surprise he didn’t push himself up as he settled between your legs. 

Instead he bent down and kissed your core, and you startled at the sudden heat. Gently, he lifted your legs over his broad shoulders. "You may pull my hair if you need to,” he murmured, and you couldn’t find your words before he pressed another kiss between your thighs. 

His tongue was hot and daring, curling inside you, his lips catching on your pearl. His tongue traced your folds, not forgetting a single spot to try, figuring out what made your back arch. He sucked your pearl inside his mouth.

You indeed clung to his hair as you rocked into the wet heat of his mouth, and his large hands wrapped around your thighs encouraged you. He reveled in how your soft flesh yielded to his touch. His own arousal was throbbing between his legs but he willed himself to ignore it—there would be time to satisfy it soon, however it might cause you pain and he would rather you found some pleasure first. 

His jaw was aching by the time you arched into him, finding your peak, and it only fueled his desire. He had been blessed, he thought, to be given such a luscious, pleasant creature. 

As you caught your breath, he got up to get you a drink of wine, and he smiled as you blushed upon seeing his hard cock hanging between his legs.

“Should I not be pleasing you now?” you asked timidly after handing him back the cup—he finished it, cleansing your taste from his mouth in case you would be inclined to kiss him. 

 “You are,” he replied as his gaze roamed your body from your toes to your eyes, taking in your heavy breasts, your round hips and the lovely swell of your stomach.

He allowed a small smile to pull at his mouth as you watched him crawl in the middle of the bed, his long, large legs stretched in front of him. He pulled you to straddle him with confidence, sighing as your weight settled on his lap. 

With a hand to your lower back he pulled you in, rubbing your wet core on his length. He held on to his restraint, allowed himself this simple pleasure until you grew more comfortable. Hands on his shoulders, you watched the contained groans spill from his lips, and he gladly craned his neck as you dipped your head, tentatively seeking him. 

He looked younger up close, with full lips and wise eyes on his smooth face, and you suspected he had shaved his beard for the occasion, as most of his men bore hairy faces. You pressed your lips to his, soft and searching, enjoying the low moan you pulled from him as you curled your tongue against his. 

You kissed slowly but deeply, and he allowed you to take the lead as you were still sensitive from his mouth, your hips rocking steadily. A different kind of heat built in your stomach, less sharp than when he had licked you, but no less enchanting. 

“Cregan,” you murmured as he guided you gently, his rough hand on your hip. 

“I will guide you, my lady,” he reassured as you bore down on his cock. The feeling of its swollen head pushing past your entrance made you gasp, and the stretch burned from his girth as he pushed inside firmly. 

“Shouldn’t you call me by my name?” you gasped, attempting to distract yourself from the discomfort. 

“I would rather call you by mine,” he murmured as he nestled his face in your neck, hiding his groan. The tight grip of your walls around his cock was making him lose his composure and loosening his tongue. “Lady Stark.”

The pain slowly eased as you rocked together, his hands on your waist and thigh to hold you in place. You could tell he was holding himself back, his large frame trembling from the effort as his cock throbbed inside you. 

As he started sucking on your breasts you remembered his earlier words and raked your fingers through his long hair. It was thick and luscious, and a good distraction, but eventually you grew tired, your thighs burning. 

“Allow me to take over,” he hummed against your lips, and you nodded gratefully.

“Tell me how to please you,” you asked, and for a moment he hesitated. 

“Let me know if it causes you discomfort,” he said as he dislodged you gently, and turned you to face away away from him, pushing you atop a pillow. “Would you allow me?” he asked.

You blushed, but nodded, and soon he was kneeling behind you, pushing back into your body as you knelt on the sheets, propped on a large cushion. The angle was deep, the stretch reaching much further into you, and it made you mewl. Cregan could not contain his groans then, hissed behind clenched teeth.

His hips snapped up into you, his large hands holding your waist, one of them occasionally wandering up and down your spine, teasing the sensitive dip of your tailbone. 

You could not deny there was an appeal to it, and you easily lost yourself to the rocking of his body into yours as well as his grunts and groans. They made heat lick at your core, and when his hands tightened you curled your spine in, chasing a different angle, and it earned you a pleased expletive. 

The heavy line of his body molded against your back, his mouth pressing warmth between your shoulder blades, and you mewled again as his fingers wandered between your thighs, seeking your pearl. The sharp heat of his previous attempt when he had disrobed you returned tenfold, and soon you could hardly contain your cries as his hips snapped forward. 

Cregan moaned as he felt you clench around him, growing wetter as you fell apart, and his control snapped. The strong pace he started was selfish, desperate as he was to find his peak and spill within you. 

Your body was a temple he wished to worship, a great expanse of skin and curves made for love, for pleasure beneath the furs. The wildest side of his soul howled at the implication—that you were fruitful, ripe for the taking, in perfect health to bear many healthy children. From your large breast that fell perfectly in his palms, to your thighs and hips that called to be gripped, every inch of you made his mouth water. 

“Cregan,” you called rather timidly, and your hand came to rest on his, guiding his fingers at your core to quicken.

“My golden beauty,” he groaned in your neck as you trembled against him, and his own peak crashed over him. He buried his moans in your nape, and you cried out in the pillow you were resting on, a gentle wave rocking you into its cradle as your husband pulsed and spilled inside of you.

You closed your eyes, your limbs heavy and languid as he lowered you to the furs, mindful of your hair and the seed that was coating the inside of your thighs. He went back to the basin he had cleaned himself at earlier, and brought a wet cloth to wipe at your skin—you flushed as your eye caught the way his manhood hung heavily between his own legs, even now that he was spent.

His chest was flushed as well under his dark hair, and after he had tossed the cloth aside, you pulled him back on the bed to nestle your head upon it. 

"We march east on the morrow,” he explained gingerly as you stretched the glorious expanse of your skin along his and rested your head near his heart—he was not used to softness, you could tell. "A small garrison will escort you to Winterfell."

You hummed quietly, unhappy at the thought of being brought up North to snow and cold, and without your newly wedded husband at that. A mere day ago you were a maiden of House Lannister, to be given to the wretched King Aegon whose claim was challenged, and now you had been taken as a prize of war by none other than the Warden of the North. 

"Unless you would rather remain in the Reach,” he added, no doubt sensing your discomfort. “Perhaps the weather will be more agreeable.”

However you saw through his words and worry curled in your stomach. “You are not sure you will come back,” you concluded, pushing yourself from his chest and looking down at him—his eyes were serious but warm, which was unexpected for two icy gray pools.

“This night with you has filled me with enough warmth to last this war, but only the Gods know. If I do not prevail, you will return to your home,” he informed you with a small, pained smile, and your heart ached knowing you wouldn’t have the time to know more of the warmth held in him. There was a kindness carried in his large frame, but you would get to see more of it.

“I would not go to your home and wait for a raven to cast me out…” you said with slight sorrow. “Neither can I go back to my home, to my father who gave me away to clear his dishonor. I will remain in Riverrun, as I’m sure Lady Tabitha would not turn me away,” you decided, shaking your head at the prospect of returning east. “Come and fetch me when this war is over.”

“I shall, my lady,” he replied as he pushed himself up, pressing a light kiss to your forehead before he climbed off the bed and marched to the chair, picking up his clothes. “Us Northerners are made of harder stuff,” he vowed, turning to look at you, catching your impressed eye. 

“Indeed,” you blushed, and for a moment he hesitated, linens and leathers still in hand. 

“The night is still young…” he swallowed under your gaze, feeling his loins stir again. 

“Lions and wolves aren’t so different… We both share the same vigor and appetites, don’t we?” you tried timidly, allowing your knees to fall apart slowly. With a grin, Cregan dropped his clothes and crawled back on the bed, only to allow you the upper hand, and you toppled him into the furs. 

Dividers by @arcielee. Thank you @zaldritzosrose for beta reading ♡

Author's Note: As the oneshot came to an end, I started thinking of their reunion and I really want to write it. I know I already did a post-war reunion fic but in that one Cregan and his wife knew one another; here they have barely met, it would be quite different. Would anyone be interested in reading that?

Cregan taglist: @kateris-world @elleclairez @watercolorskyy @praline357 @whodis-26

@elle-28 @mari0302 @hb8301 @flawroses @random-shit-i-like-2

@heavenly1927 @vixemi @rockerchick05 @maniccrystalhippie

@melsunshine @siimiasoi @mxtokko @arcielee @apollonshootafar

@thenameswinter99 @maeriontargaryen @youbetterneverknow @multyfangirl @r-3dlips

@yujyujj @lessdepressy @blessedbymoon

Comment to be added to the taglist.

By (moderately) popular demand.

(I imagine Wally is a son of Hermes, and Artemis is just a chick who’s really freaking good at archery. Like, arrows. Seriously. They’re her thing.)