|The D.C Collection | Imagines, One-Shots, Preferences, and More |

Rumors | iv | Damian Wayne x Reader x Jon Kent

Description: The door is shut, and loudly. You feel an ache cut through the prison of your heart and scale the fence of your rib cage, trying to escape through your throat, but the feeling promptly disappears as pain lights inside of your chest. But it loses it's grapple on your vocal chords and dies. Nothing replaces it. You feel like crying but you don't know why.

Words: 1529

Notes: Well, I was wrong. I keep saying there's gonna be "one more part after this one", and the same goes for this chapter, but I'll probably stop saying that after part five. Hope you enoy! This is when things begin to get good.

_

You hear Jon yelling. Damian talking softly. Something hitting the side of your house. Damian calling Jon "beloved". Then Damian collects Jon from the ground, loads him into his vehicle, and gravel crunches beneath his tires as he pulls away. You hear your father speak, just barely, only a blind murmuring through the sudden force of fizzling in your ears. Your skin prickles like electricity is coursing over and through your skin and bones, getting stronger when you muffle your sobs with your palm.

"Y/N, dear," Your mother said. You feel her hands card through your hair, pull her against your chest, and you forget how much you abhor her right now and weep. With Damian and Jon gone there is already something missing from the atmosphere, the connection you had splitting into shattered pieces of glass at your feet. Something strong forces you to push her away. Your father yells after you as you race into your bedroom, and you don't dare watch their car drive away and toss the drapes closed.

The door is shut, and loudly. You feel an ache cut through the prison of your heart and scale the fence of your rib cage, trying to escape through your throat, but the feeling promptly disappears as pain lights inside of your chest. But it loses it's grapple on your vocal chords and dies. Nothing replaces it. You feel like crying but you don't know why.

This is possibly the worst you have ever felt in your life. Being mocked in public is small compared to this. Having your most embarrassing secrets put on display is nothing beside the strain of a breakup of his caliber. It feels as if the both of them have died and you are mourning them—the sadder thing is that this is basically true; you're never going to see them again, you'll constantly be thinking about them, and the hole in your heart will never be filled.

Curling up around your searing chest seems to be the best idea, so you blindly reach for your light switch in order to turn it off. But that static, buzzing underneath your skin and almost seeming to make your bones glow, reaches for it and tries to grasp the electricity's hand. When your fingers connect with the covering of the plate, something crackles and surges. All at once every light in your home is thrumming with more power than they can contain, causing light bulbs to burst and shatter, your parents to cry out from downstairs, and yourself to go flying on your hands and knees.

Your room is suddenly encased in darkness, the bare light of a dying sunset the only source of sight. You feel every muscle in your body tighten like your skin is squeezing itself, then a pale pink, silvery glow falls over your carpeting. Your eyes fly to all of the lights in your room, but they are out. It is when you look in your standing mirror that you are capable of identifying the source of illumination... it's you.

It's you, or the glittering symbol above your head. It shimmers almost like a mirage, and if you turn in a certain way it disappears. It's beautiful. You know what it is. It's a familiar and common thing that you feel like you've seen a thousand times in your life. You gawk at the Greek symbol floating above you, pulsing with energy and encasing you in a warm glow, one that warms the numbness and unsheathes a piece of you. It says love in Greek, which you have no idea why you understand. Before you have time to question it, your arms give out and you collapse face-first onto your floor.