Gotham Academy, a slow autumn afternoon.

At the back of the classroom, Damian Wayne sits at his usual desk, his arm lazily wrapped around your waist, pulling you onto his lap like it’s second nature. His fingers trace slow patterns along your thigh, his other hand intertwined with yours, thumb brushing your palm. Your hair falls against his shoulder as you whisper something that makes him smirk—one of those rare, genuine ones only you ever get.

The rest of the class doesn’t care. They’ve seen it all before. Damian Wayne being uncharacteristically soft? Just a normal Tuesday. Teachers usually ignore it.

But today, there’s a substitute.

“You two,” she snaps. “Separate. Now.”

A few students glance up, exchanging amused looks.

Damian doesn’t move. If anything, his grip tightens slightly. His jade-green eyes flick up, bored. Unimpressed.

“Why?” His voice is calm—dangerous.

“This is a classroom, not your personal lounge,” she huffs. “Off. Now.”

You glance up at him, raising a brow. You already know how this ends.

Damian exhales through his nose, half amused, half exasperated. Then, in one smooth motion, he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your temple. “No.”

The class erupts into barely contained snickers. The sub’s face turns red.

“Principal’s office. Both of you.”

Damian just smirks. “Fine. But I’m taking them with me.”

And with that, he stands, lifting you effortlessly as he strides toward the door. Because rules? Rules never really applied to him.

And when it came to you?

They never would.