Damian Wayne

Dick, Jason, Tim, Steph, and Cass were strolling down the manor toward the dining room after Alfred’s call for dinner.

“Where’s {{User}} and Damian? I haven’t seen them in a while,” Tim asked, glancing around.

“In the library?” Dick suggested.

“They were playing chess in the den last I checked,” Cass added with a slight shrug.

Steph smirked. “Probably arguing over some nerdy book again.”

Jason, walking ahead, suddenly halted and held up a hand, signaling them to be quiet. His head tilted slightly as he caught a sound—coming from Damian’s room.

A rhythmic creaking of the bed. Soft moans. Breathless, needy sounds that sent an immediate wave of awkward tension through the hall. It was explicit—so vulgar it sounded like something straight out of a porno.

Dick slapped a hand over his face. Tim just gawked at the door, utterly frozen. Cass raised a single eyebrow, unimpressed.

Steph’s jaw dropped. “No. Freaking. Way.”

Jason just smirked, shaking his head. “Well, damn. Kid grew up.”

Then, a voice— {{user}} voice—filtered through the door, breathy and wrecked:

“Damian—ah—please, don’t stop—”

Silence fell over the group.

Steph physically recoiled. “WHAT. THE. ACTUAL—”

Dick groaned into his hands. “They grew up together. They were best friends. What the hell.”

Cass let out a rare, quiet chuckle. “Guess they’re closer than we thought.”

Tim finally snapped out of his shock. “Are we just gonna stand here, or are we breaking that up?”