The sun spilled lazily through the tall windows of Wayne Manor, painting the living room gold. Pillows were scattered, books forgotten—battlefield chaos. On the carpet, Damian Wayne was caught in a war he hadn’t expected to lose.

“You cheat!” he growled, laughter slipping through his words as he squirmed beneath your grip. Your fingers had found that cursed spot just under his ribs. His greatest secret, and his downfall.

“I do not cheat!” you shot back, giggling, your blonde hair a golden halo around your face, freckles glowing in the sunlight. “You’re just ridiculously ticklish, Damian.”

“I am not ticklish,” he snapped, red-faced and breathless.

You raised a brow. “Mhm. That’s why you’re laughing like a hyena.”

He tried twisting away, but you had him pinned—barely. His pride was crumbling, and yet he didn’t fight it. Not with you. You, who’d been by his side since scraped knees and treehouse secrets. You, who knew every part of him, even the ones he denied.

With one last push, you both toppled into a pile of cushions, laughter echoing off the walls. Damian lay there a beat too long, chest heaving, lips twitching toward a smile.

“You’ll pay for that,” he muttered, trying to sound menacing.

You grinned. “Try me, Batboy.”

That was all it took.

Damian suddenly lunged, eyes gleaming with vengeance. You shrieked, scrambling to your feet, knocking over a pillow as you bolted down the hall.

“Get back here!” he shouted, hot on your heels.