"What did Mammon do now?"
The greedy demon was in his underwear, hanging upside down from a rafter in the hallway. He tried to coerce you into letting him down as you walked by, but you knew better than to do so without consulting Lucifer.
"Gambling. The usual." Lucifer had a hand on his forehead, pushing his hair up while jotting something down at his desk.
"Mammon gambles every day," you pointed out. "What'd he really do?"
By the way Lucifer groaned, you knew it was something juicy. "I caught him pilfering one of my rarest records, a gift from Diavolo, to use as collateral in a bet. It's one-of-a-kind. I doubt he even knows what it is, but Mammon always has a knack for finding things of high value."
"His secret sixth sense," you agreed. "What'd you do with his clothes?"
"They make it harder to tie him up tightly. He has a slightly higher chance of wiggling free with clothes on, so I made him strip." Lucifer gestured, Mammon's clothes had been put on some kind of mannequin, tucked away in the space between two bookshelves.
You'd never seen it before. Your jaw dropped into the widest half-smile half-astonished expression possible. It had Mammon's hair and his goofy smile. Even a flashy golden earring. "What is that?"
You practically ran across the room to inspect it. It was dressed properly in Mammon's shirt and tie. There were a lot of seams, more than seemed necessary, perhaps from being repeatedly repaired over years of use. "Lucifer, this is adorable."
"It's a necessary tool for my sanity." He pushed the chair back, standing up to join you.
"What do you mean?"
"I'll give you a demonstration."
Lucifer comically wound up his closed fist. With ballistic force, he struck the figure right in its chest. It flopped back, then sprung back up wildly to receive a fistful of lighter blows from Lucifer.
"You made a Mammon punching bag? Really?" You didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Isn't that a bit much?"
"I didn't make it, Mammon did."
Surprise of the day number two. "Mammon made this? Himself?"
To stop the wobbling, Lucifer grabbed the punching bag's tie, pulling it tight and then smoothing it out. "Cute, right? He thought it might make me go easy on future punishments. It's a very thoughtful gift from my little brother."
"Yeah, I didn't know he could sew. Huh." The two of you stood to admire it before Lucifer returned to his desk. You followed him. "Kind of reminds me of the doll Levi made of me."
Lucifer smiled. "Leviathan made you a doll, did he? How very kind."
"No, he made a doll of me."
Lucifer froze to process this information, frowning.
You continued, "I don't know where he usually keeps it, but I saw it under his desk one time. It's pretty big and detailed. I mentioned it once and offered to lend him a shirt for it, but he got really embarrassed and pushed me out. He's gotta take more pride in his work, it was really impressive."
"I see." Lucifer gritted his teeth. "You know, something I have to do just came up. Let's finish this conversation later." He was quietly seething as he escorted you to the door. Along the way he gave punching-bag Mammon a soft whack to the head.
You realized you forgot to ask if you could untie the real Mammon, but Lucifer had already marched down the hall in the direction of Leviathan's room. Rather than trying to catch up, you decided to go see how the Avatar of Greed was doing.
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mc: you remind me of that one mean girls song...
mammon, side eyeing mc: ......which one..?
mc: oh shit what's the name of it.. Uh... da-da-da-da-da -- stupid with- Stupid with love!
mammon, offended: I- no- how dare you compare me with Cady-
mc: it's cause your stupid and in love
mammon: what??
mc, dramatically: and I'm Aaron, the camera is revolving around me
mc, being more dramatic: and then I dip you and kiss you like in that other song from the new movie
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why do we go back?
damian wayne x reader
warnings: anxiety, kind of a panic attack?, implied past trauma/abuse
wc: 800
~~
“I went back.”
“Why? They—”
“I don’t know. I don’t know why. I—”
“Damian, honey, breathe.”
-
Damian’s brothers don’t text you that often. You don’t have their numbers saved in your phone. Or you didn’t. You have Tim’s now.
come to the manor now. non-medical emergency
oh and this is tim by the way
You don’t even see the text until you’re done with your meeting, phone on do not disturb and notes document in fullscreen mode. It was sent at 1:30 in the afternoon. Bad things aren’t supposed to happen at 1:30 in the afternoon.
I’m on my way, you text back at 3:00. Is he okay? The response comes as you’re setting up your gps. no. then, i mean he’s fine but no. You pull out of your parking spot a little faster than you should have.
Once you get on the highway, you turn off the GPS. The number 21 exit towards Bristol and Wayne manor is nearly as familiar as your own. You’re thankful for the dozens of trips you’ve made because Tim calls you five minutes in.
“What happened?” You can feel your heart pounding in your chest. The anxiety that had taken root when you saw the first text is morphing quickly into fear.
“He disappeared.”
“What?”
“He’s not on manor grounds anymore. But he’s not in his suit.”
On top of the phone call screen, a push notification lets you know that Damian's code was used to disarm your alarm system. You let out a short breath and switch lanes. Your exit is the next one.
“I know where he is,” you tell Tim as you shift over into the right lane. It’s a little backed up, the way it always is this time of day, “I got him.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
You take exit 24 towards the lower east side, then switch to an even more local highway and take exit 8 towards the residential district. When you pull into your parking spot in the cul-de-sac, your house looks empty. When you walk inside, Damian’s combat boots are sitting by the door, not unlaced all the way. One of them is sitting on its side. The other is askew. You let your bag slide off your shoulder to hit the ground next to your own shoes and venture further in.
Damian’s sitting on the steps in dark casual clothes and white socks with a paint blob pattern. His knees are bent, legs pressed against his chest. Your steps aren’t steep and Damian is very tall. Hands clenched into fists rest on top of his knees. His neck is bent too, forehead pressed against his fists.
You slide back on the wooden steps when you sit down. Damian doesn’t so much as twitch. You wait for him to come to you. He does.
“I went back.” His voice is rough but not thick with tears.
“Why?” You ask. The League leaves him with deep hurts every time he goes back to Nanda Parbat. And not the physical kind. “They—”
“I don’t know!” He exclaims like the words burst out of his chest. The energy propels him up, fingers digging into the arms of his sweatshirt as he rocks on his heels. “I don’t know why. I—”
“Damian, honey,” You stand to meet him. The emotions in his green eyes are wild, untethered. “Breathe.” He shakes his head at you, fingers curling harder into his sleeves. “You can.” Damian scans your body language and you let him, relaxing the tension in your shoulders and leaving your hands open, arms angled to hold him if he wants it.
“I’m here,” you say to the hesitation in his eyes. “You’re safe.”
You let out a grunt of air as Damian slams into you. His arms wrap around you tight enough that you think he’s afraid you’ll turn into smoke if he lets go. You raise your arms more slowly, one coming up to rub at his back and the other to cup the back of his neck.His knees buckle. You slow your descent to the ground only barely, saving your knees from catching the brunt of your weight. Your butt stings instead from how hard it hit the floor but it’s worth it when Damian buries his face into the junction between your neck and your collarbone and breathes. They’re choppy loud breaths that come with shoulders shuddering under the hand you have rubbing up and down his back, but no tears hit your neck.
“I’ve got you,” you whisper to him, cheek pressed against the top of his head. “You’re safe here.” Damian’s arms only tighten further. In response, you hold him tighter too.
Why do we go back, you wonder, when we know the only thing to come of it is more pain?
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A Dominis and MC sandwich with a nice Subastian filling 🥰
🔞 NSFW // MDNI 🔞
Full uncensored version on [twitter] and [poipiku]~
Currently unrelated to what I have going on with Reprieve – this is more like...a bonus/extra 😉 Just a little scene that I couldn't get out of my head but I also knew that I wouldn't be able to fit it into my mini fancomic 😔
Thanks to @just-another-fanfiction-writer for making me feral enough to draw this as a standalone when we both realized we had this same exact scene playing out in our (apparently) shared mind theater lolll. The short dialogues she wrote about it (some of it’s featured in the version with speech bubbles) made me just – GRRRrrRRrRR – have to draw this to get it out of my system 😮💨🥵🫠💕
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