writingtheworks:

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Description: Damian Wayne is suddenly being very affectionate, and the moment he drops and “I love you” you know he’s done something wrong. But what is it this time?

Words: 2349

Notes: I sorta had this idea… and sorry guys, I won’t be doing a part two XD

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Taglist: @followeroonieclassic​ @instantangelstudent​ @puggleprincess​ @robincoalition @blue-streak-dolan

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Have you ever entered your home, or a place that was familiar to you in an instinctual sense, and then felt like something was off? Like something miniscule was gone and made the picture incomplete, or everything had been moved a couple inches to the left, making things look normal but just… slightly different? Because that’s how it feels right now as you stand before Damian Wayne.

There is the rigidness of his form that you are accustomed to, but it is not caused by the tautness of his muscles and his overall stance. Damian seems anxious. He keeps rubbing his hands up and down his legs. His eyes flutter about the room, and he jumps when he hears you enter.

You drop your backpack on the cushion beside him, bending over the couch to wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind. When you press your lips and nose into his cheek you can feel his skin heat heavily. Making Damian Wayne blush was one of many of your favorite pastimes involving him, the others needing a more… private setting to occur. He tenses slightly at your touch, which you aren’t surprised by considering how he usually is with everyone. He doesn’t smell how he usually does though, but like a mock copy of his normal scent of metal and some kind of aftershave. Must be trying out new body washes.

You smile against his cheek, kissing the skin beneath his eye,”Happy Friday, Damian Wayne.”

Damian turned his head, watching your expression with a one coated in failed-to-hide surprise, but he swiftly concealed it more professionally. Damian murmured,”Happy Friday, Y/N.”

At not being called “beloved”, your stomach twisted oddly; you were alone and Damian had not seen you all day… did he not feel safe enough to call you by the nickname you had fallen in love with? It was customary. It was his own special kind of “welcome home”. At this thought, you unravel your arms from his shoulders and walk around the couch. Damian looks you up and down, either impressed with your appearance, in awe, or utterly terrified. You can’t really tell because he’s never shown so much emotion on his face at once. It’s overloading even you.

“I missed you today.” You confessed tenderly. His lips part and his brows raise when you plop down in his lap innocently, hooking your arms around his neck. It is a little unnerving, seeing him show even you so much of what he’s thinking on his face. Damian Wayne must not be feeling well, because when he looks at you he becomes a little dazed and distracted, and after you sat in his lap he looked more than pleasantly surprised. He fingers flutter unsurely, before settling on your waist and pulling you deeper into his lap.

“Is that so?” Damian questioned. He smirked, but the way he performed the action didn’t seem strictly him. Figuring he’s just going through something—nothing you couldn’t help—you glance down at his lips, placing a playful finger on his bottom one. You hummed a yes. Damian hummed back, distracted with… something, and probably you. He had told you how beautiful he thought you were, but he had never exactly acted it out as he was now, or stared at you with so much lust and wonder. Your heart raced at his newfound openness; you are thrilled.

Damian’s lips part, eyes never leaving your mouth. His gaze flicks upward and at your pupils, where you take in the emotional colors showing on Damian’s face. When you lean down and accept his lips in a kiss, he responds near too eagerly, hands jumping up your back and squeezing every part of you he can. The kiss is little awkward too. That might be what first got you thinking, as Damian is such a fluid and smoothly romantic kisser that, even when you shared your first kiss, he had always been an expert.

You giggle when he plants a kiss against your jaw, fingers gliding through his hair, down his neck and back up again. Damian smiled.”Go out with me.” He stated instead of asked. You don’t exactly complain when he starts to leave slow kisses on your neck and shoulder. You laughed,”We’re already dating, Damian.”

“I mean on a date.” He clarified politely. Politely. As in without the customary added,“obviously” or “idiot”. Damian’s palm flattened on your back.”Like we go out to eat or something.” Damian smirked again, this time more familiar. His tone turns sensual.”I want you all to myself.” He whispered.

“D-Damian!” You laughed when he kissed your chin. He’s never been so affectionate before. Before you can question what triggered it, he grabs your jackets from off the couch and urged you to stand. When you are faced with the entirety of his height, Damian opens your coat and helps you put it on, smoothly wrapping his arms around you when the fabric pulls around you. He kisses your neck once more,”You are so beautiful, my beloved.” He murmured.

“Thank you, Damian.” You blushed deeply. Where was this coming from? What had he done to warrant the need to make you extra happy? You tried not to frown.” But what’s gotten into you? Why are you being so… affectionate?” You asked, laughing awkwardly in your confusion.

Damian only shook his head, body suddenly tense. Regardless, he dismisses this and tilts your chin towards him, then smiles,”TT. It’s because I’m in love with you.”

He states the words like they are an everyday thing. You know for a fact that Damian Wayne has only said “I love you” to you twice. Once when he thought you were dying, and another time when he was heading into a suicide mission. Those had been private moments, where he was feeling and almost bleeding a need for the acceptance and love that you always gave him.

In desperate times, lonely nights, or moments of weakness you thought of the most recent time he had spoken those words to you. You can visualize the scene like one could visualize a loved one’s face; the engine of the Batwing fired up and humming behind you both, the coarse material of his gloves pressing into your palms, his cool lips molding against your knuckles before he pressed them against his heart. You can still hear him say it even after months since that night,”I love you, Y/N L/N. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

That’s the moment you begin to realize.

---

“…Did you really rent out the entire place on such short notice?” You questioned.

Damian nodded smugly, your shoes tapping in unison against the dining room’s floorboards. It’s elegant and probably about the size of a ballroom, filled with tables that waiters and waitresses scurry around silently as they prepare for an event later in the day. Two finish up preparing a table for the both of you and they disappear by the time you reach the table blanketed in sunlight. Damian pulls out your chair, positioned just in front of the large windows, and the boy kisses your temple as he passes in order to sit down in his own chair.

A waiter delivers you both menus, and by the time you choose your drink Damian has locked you into conversation, which you don’t contribute much to. Something is off. Something must be off, because he keeps flashing you crooked smiles, playing footsie beneath the table, smiling more, and even daring to stroke your hand while he listens to you speak. To make matters more mysterious, he keeps looking out the window as the sky darkens. You’ve started counting now. He’s glanced at the entrances at least five times in the last four minutes of your conversation.

“Is everything okay, Damian?” You asked. You set your fork down on your plate, the silverware clinking in the nearing-uncomfortable silence. His phone buzzes just as he’s about to answer. Damian stands from the table and removes his phone from his pocket, shifting his eyes about the gallery on the second floor of the room.

“Everythings fine, beloved. I just have to take this call—”

A shadow casts over the window, and you have just enough time to leap out of your chair and out of the way. Glass becomes painful rain and crashing is the only sound you can hear. The window shatters, the cutlery on the table flies, and the china you were eating on splits apart as boots crush them. Something metal rings as it is swung, and then you are meeting eyes with Damian Wayne.

For a split second your mind questioned how Damian had managed to change clothing so fast and “hey, since when does he look so beat up?”. That is, until you spot the other Damian Wayne, still dressed in a suit and holding his phone. His odd behavior all afternoon suddenly made sense; the affection, the “I love you”, the awe of your own appearance—you were an attractive girl, and technically it was the clone’s first time seeing you for himself. He was a clone or a shapeshifter of some kind. And you had kissed him.

Your Damian looks down at you; he’d probably been captured, or at least someone attempted to kidnap him and replace him with a look-alike. His lip is bleeding and he already has a couple bruises forming and puffing up his face. The sword in his grasp reflects the clone’s eyes, and Damian’s don’t stray from the enemy.

“Y/N?” Your Damian called.

You stole a steak knife from one of the tables, raising yourself into a defensive stance,”I’m fine.” You assure,”Y’know, except for the fact that you never told me you have an identical twin.”

Damian jumps off the table and lands solidly a few feet before the clone. You join his side as he said,”I didn’t know either.” He huffed.

The clone’s expression darkens once he understands he’s been caught. Your questions can wait until later, but it seems that the sickness rising up your throat doesn’t like that idea. You kissed a copy, let a clone touch you and even sway you to believe his identity. You knew something was off. Why hadn’t you noticed it?

“Who sent you? Why are you doing this?” Damian hissed.

The clone grits his teeth, suddenly dropping the surprised deer-in-headlights look. The action seems too right on Damian’s face. Damian’s copy drops the phone and crushes it under his heel,”That will be revealed in due time.”

You and your Damian exchanged a look. Damian turns his glare on his counterpart,”Wrong answer.”

Damian reels back his foot, swiveling into a sidekick that narrowly misses his clone’s cheekbone. The clone steps back and ducks all of Damian’s strikes. He even manages to avoid the knife you hurl at him, and the several following forks. Damian kicked the copy backward and into your dinner table, but the copy manages to get the upper hand and rolls over its surface, gripping the table’s edge and throwing it at the two of you with enough force to distract you. You spot the flurry of panic in his eyes, but the feeling is accompanied by a strong sense of high. Adrenaline high.

When you recover from the blow, pressing yourself to your feet only to find your Damian already standing, you are too late and too far away to reach the window in time. Damian’s clone smirks at the both of you, wiggling his fingers in a wave of goodbye,”See you later.”

”By the way,” His smirk transforms into a malicious grin that digs under your skin and roots there. He winks at Damian.”Your girlfriend is an amazing kisser.”

Damian releases a cry of anguish just as the clone leaps from the broken window. You both rush after him, looking through the shards of glass, down at the lower floors of the building, and the non-stop motion of the street below. The clone is nowhere in sight.

You both stand there, suspended in time and coming down from the rush of emotions and energy. Damian tightens his grip around his sword’s blade and breaks the silence,”You kissed him?” He hissed.

“I thought he was you.” You moaned in distress. Collapsing onto one of the tables and putting your face in your hands, you try to ignore the blatant disgust your body wants to display when you can still taste the clone’s kiss. It hadn’t been him. It hadn’t been your Damian at all. You hated how much you liked the new breeds of affection the clone gave you, his gift of those rarely-spoken three words, the sweet and tenderness you wanted Damian to show you more than anything.

Pushing aside your thoughts, you pull your hands from your face and try not to act as repulsed as you feel. You search your boyfriend’s visage for anything that could indicate an even more dangerous situation. It’s surprising to see the honest worry in his eyes, the jealous tenseness in his shoulders, and the obvious disregard for himself as he asks,”Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

“Yes, Damian,” You laugh without humor. When he comes closer, you hesitate to put a hand on his arm.”Really, I’m fine,” You told him, despite feeling sick… Could that be considered cheating on him? Even if you didn’t know? You scan his face for something distinctly Damian, and half-heartedly joke to make everything better,”And how do I know you’re not a second clone to trick me again?” You asked him.

Damian wordlessly cups your chin with one hand and kisses you, firmly and more to prove a point than to express love or devotion. You tense with the sentiment regardless, stiffening in the same way Damian does when you kiss him out of nowhere as well. After he realizes you’re uncomfortable he retracts from you. The second he pulls away and finds his breath, he rolls his eyes,”That’s a stupid plan and I highly doubt anyone would do that.”

“Yep,” You smiled crookedly at him,”It’s definitely you.”

“Now, come on.” Damian scooped up his discarded grappling line and retrieved his mask from somewhere in his clothing,”We have a doppelganger to find, beloved.”

shieldmaiden19:

bifca:

incogneat-oh:

I feel like Damian, (after dozing off in front of late-night sitcom reruns awaiting Batman’s return from patrol) gets the wrong idea about bringing over plants as housewarming gifts? Instead of realising it’s a one-off, congratulations-on-the-new-place gift, he is under the impression it is an ongoing courtesy, and that whenever you accept someone’s hospitality you need to give them a plant.
This means that whenever he visits any of the Bats for help with a case, he always brings a plant, but neglects to explain why.
This leads to a lot of bewilderment among the extended family, but eventually Tim learns to pot them and builds up a lovely garden area on his balcony, and Jason ends up with a nice collection of houseplants that he doesn’t really know what to do with, and even Cass has a couple of tiny cacti. It’s actually kind of nice.
But still no one has the fortitude to ask what the heck that kid is doing.

#and one time jason is at tim’s place when damian shows up#thrusts a plant into tim’s hands without a greeting#and says ‘I NEED TO USE YOUR NEST DRAKE.’#and tim makes a Face at jason and jason mouths ‘wtf. why does he always bring plants???’#and tim immediately is like ‘oh thank GOD i thought it was just me?? i’ve been testing them for poisons all this time.’#‘but then when they’re fine i just pot em and stick em on the balcony.’#and he kind of looks at the plant and is like ‘nice. i needed more begonias.’

I love every element of this.

writingtheworks:

Weak At The Knees | Damian Wayne x Reader

Description: Damian starts to overthink because Jon is such a hugger.

Words: 3175

Notes: Howdy all! I’m so sorry that I kinda went on a mini-hiatus there. I lost a bit of inspiration, but I did that thing again where I woke up at 3 AM with a writing idea and did the writing. I really really like how this one came out (it actually has a plot lmao) and the uses of descriptive language are 10/10!! Posting here is gonna be a little bit more butchered bc of the @dcmedia blog, but I will try my best to keep up. 

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The Watchtower wasn’t often a place one could describe as hollow, but the space-station’s air suddenly felt very absent, making Damian’s heartbeat faster or his breathing pattern change. He dismisses the swell in his chest for a break in the oxygen-delivery system, but he knows better by now. Everyone else was fine. The air only felt thin and fake because Damian needed something else to blame for the deep breaths he was now taking. You, of course, were the real cause.

Though Damian had always felt that the Justice League’s headquarters were too… active, the space gained a serenity the moment that you teleported onboard. While Earth was suspended over a bottomless abyss two minutes ago, you were now approaching Damian and it’s suddenly floating peacefully among the stars on its route around the sun. Conversation wavered into something akin to the soft twittering of morning birds. Sunlight sunk into the metal walls and flooring like it would with a chocolate bar. Now that you were here, Damian could vividly imagine laying in the middle of a spring-seasoned clearing. It made him want to hit something.

He tries to block it all out. At once, the tranquil world forced itself upon him. He couldn’t escape from the way he puffed up or preened, already falling under your spell like a bird during mating season. There is a brief moment where he regains control of his body language again, forcing his knees away from you and shrinking back into a brooding stance, only for your voice to unwind him.

“Robin,” you said, tone collapsing in relief.

Is his head spinning? It feels like it. He’s unsure if you say anything else, as the blood pounding in his ears with your attention makes it impossible to hear. Today’s reactions are more severe only because of the distance that had hung between you lately. A night of your fingers scoping the dips in his back would leave him settled until the following morning, but he’d now gone a week without your touch and found himself jumping at the chance to receive it.

“Sparrow.” Damian returned, short and cut as if he’d chopped off the end of the sentence with a knife.

You immediately took note of his taut stance; worry, no doubt, for the mission you were now waiting for. If you had just stayed the weekend at his house and were now saying goodbye, you would wrap your arms around his neck and kiss all over his stupidly pretty face. Come to think of it, you’d probably do that anyway—but right now he’s far too stressed, and doing something so eagerly affectionate would embarrass him. (You personally wouldn’t give two shits if Hawkgirl or Martian Manhunter saw you squishing Robin to death with hugs, but Damian would sink into a puddle of shame the moment you got home). At the very least, you can give a small touch that only he will notice.

“It’s good to see you,” you confessed, laying a hand on Damian’s wrist and sweeping one of the spades with your thumb.

Damian’s face heats, as uncontrollably fiery and sudden as a solar flare. A shock enamors every nerve near your fingers. It’s silly to see just how much such a small touch affects him. A graze against his arm is distracted but sings with subconscious liking, like you’re not thinking about wanting to touch him, but wanting to touch him enough in some part of your mind that you actually do it. Damian’s suddenly caught in lazy memories, feeling the pads of your fingers trace lines along his skin and press to feel the bones underneath. It makes him dizzy.

Though this spiking reaction is what is going on in Damian’s head, all you see is his face heating and his expression fixing in that annoyed don’t-touch-me-I’m-mad-right-now kind of way. At his unvoiced request, you retract your hand. You won’t ever tell him, but the look is reminiscent of a boy you once knew. It’s cute.

Of course, just because you take your hand away doesn’t mean you don’t want to keep it there. A week without his kiss against your palms makes one starved for touch, the low pull in your stomach almost strong enough for you to reach up and pinch his cheek.

Jon, at least, will not object to a hug in a public place, especially after a long time apart (even longer than your separation from Damian). You perk up when the teleporter announces his arrival. Spinning on your heel, you take off into a run and leap on him.

“Three months. Three months!” You exclaimed.

Jon gave a hearty laugh, scooped you up, and spun you into a circle that felt more like Gravitron than a hug. Steadying your hands on Jon’s arms, you try not to fall over. You suddenly feel very bad about the laundry you put in a spin-cycle this morning.

“Good to see you too, N/N,” Jon said, clapping his hands against your shoulders. It’s an improvement; the last time he pat your back your knees buckled and you went careening into the floor, so he’s managed to work on his restraint.

Damian watched from a distance as you and Jon conversed back to his side. He looked from Jon—beaming, laughing so hard his face was red, and tossing his arm over your shoulder—to you—an arm hooked under Jon’s shoulder to rest on his back, playfully snarling about his time away, and eagerly leaping into conversation about the coming mission. In comparison, Damian’s greeting seemed stale and unfriendly.

Had this been his own doing? He had never imagined the way he approached you discouraged you, but simply that you had grown used to him and looked past the shell to his better moments. Had he been always been rude, and that made you fear to interact with him the same way you did with Jon? But there had been times when you’d greeted him giddily—at the start of your relationship… He hated to propose the final question, but did so for the sake of his own sanity: Did you just like Jon more?

(Read as: Damian’s totally, heavily, obsessively over-thinking, as we all do.)

“Dami!” Jon waved, walking backward to wave to him,”I gotta go give something to my Dad, then we can take off. Go start the plane! I’ll see you in a bit!”

Damian turned on his heel, calling stiffly, “Hurry, or I’m taking off without you.”

Jon laughed, missing the note of seriousness in Damian’s voice.

While Damian half-expected you to join Jon on his brief quest, he found you hurrying along after him. He waited for you to take hold of his arm or his cape to get him to slow down, but you must have thought otherwise as he had to do so deliberately.

“Hey, are you alright?” You asked. Damian came to an abrupt stop before the teleporter, quick enough for you to collide with his shoulder, “You seem a little annoyed.”

“It’s fine,” Damian said. Knowing how famous the line was for the lie behind it, he added, “I’m not looking forward to this one.”

“I understand, though I am totally hyped—we’re going to get to work with Jon again, and he’s so capable that you and I can just sit back and watch,” you elbowed him playfully, swaying from side-to-side, “Just you… me… alone…”

Damian, completely missing the suggestive note in your second comment, steeled his expression and snapped his mouth shut. He thought bitterly, I’m capable too!

Even after a couple of days, Damian’s anxiety boiled in his stomach unceasingly. He’d go a couple hours with his thoughts elsewhere, only for them to return to him with a sour and unrivaled vengeance. There had been times where he questioned your relationship before. But they’d never spiraled down to this point, making him wonder every time you touched or kissed him, do they really like me?

You had said time and time again that you’d fallen for him for things like his boldness or introverted nature but now he feared you were falling out of love with him for the same reasons you grew to like him in the first place. Was he too brash? Too harsh? He knew that he could get angry or withdrawn, just as you felt you were too meek or gentle, but surely he wasn’t always this way. Surely you felt happy with him…

(He didn’t know how he got from light jealousy to full-on angsting, but it’s not like he knew how to turn back.)

The only thing that could conquer these thoughts was Damian’s other life. Or that’s what he’d hoped at least, because he was now picking you up for Titans meeting and still spiraling obsessively around the situation. He’d totally gone overboard on protecting you during the mission with Jon, too.

Here – Damian

He’d sent the text a couple of minutes ago outside your best friend’s apartment. Even if you had yet to respond, he didn’t want to knock—your friends had yet to meet him, and he only wanted to under your conditions. Just when he was about to send another text, a flurry of giggling broke through the door. Damian silenced.

“Fine! Fine! Truth.” Hollered a voice, most likely one of your friends.

“Hmm… okay,” murmured another,”… What’s one thing that bothers you about your boyfriend?”

“Oh god, there’s a lot,” sighed the first voice. This gave a few polite laughs as they went on,”Though I love him, he’s a massive slob and he’s so secretive. Makes me worry.”

“I think most guys are like that,” prompted a third voice dismissively,”I mean, I don’t want to generalize, but my man is always keeping stuff to himself like that.”

“Nah, that’s just a relationship thing. My girlfriend is super secretive, but it’s never been anything too big. Well, what about you, Y/N? Is your secret boyfriend horribly human, like all of ours?”

Damian tensed, holding his breath. Though the right thing to do would be avoiding eavesdropping, he immediately leaned closer to the door of the apartment and started to listen. They were talking about him, after all. That meant it was his business, even if only partially. All of the doubts about your relationship swarmed him like angry bees. He could almost feel little stings and bites against his arms. He waits for the eventual, yes.

“I mean, he has his moments. But otherwise, Damian’s pretty great.”

There was a jumble of joking after this, but most loudly and most notably:

“Oooh? We have a name now?”

“So the mystery “boy of your dreams” is Damian, huh?”

“Speaking of him, how are you two doing?”

Okay, so your first comment about his pretty great-ness was definitely just a cover-up. This was when you were going to be honest—if it was your friends, you would be honest. But the thing was, how would you answer? Oh, I mean, he’s so closed off lately, but I guess we’re alright… We’re not perfect… I think it’s starting to decline…

“You guys don’t want to hear about that,” you snorted,”I think Cal’s story with the Hostess Cupcake is—”

That had to be worse; you didn’t even give a straight answer. You avoided it. You avoided him. Were you ashamed of him?

“Oh, please—why are you always avoiding the subject with him?”

Damian began to realize how long he was holding his breath, and gave a tight little puff, hating how it quivered anxiously. So this wasn’t the first time he was brought up, and it wasn’t the first time that you turned down a comment. That meant this had been going on even longer than he’d thought—

“It’s because… Well, I’ve never felt this way about someone before. He’s just so… so…” You trailed off.

What? Horrible? Demanding? Closed-off? But you don’t add anything else.

A friend encouraged you. ”C’mon, tell us more about your mystery man! We all bore you to death with talk of our S/Os, so it’s your turn for revenge.”

“I’d just bore you too—I’d be ranting for hours—”

“Good ranting or bad ranting?” Asked another.

Damian touched his wrist, feeling the wild and untamed beating of his pulse. The same case was with his face, as his cheeks were burning hot enough to burn water.

You gave a little dreamy sigh, probably picking at the threads of your socks like when you were daydreaming. “Good. Very, very good. But still… I don’t know…”

Mysteriously, a friend dismissed it,”Alright. Let’s get back to the game. It’s my turn, so Y/N, truth or dare?”

The group began to chant rhythmically, some pounding their fists on the table: truth, truth, truth, truth.

“Okay, okay!” You laughed, “I choose truth.”

Several people leaned in to give their suggestions to the asker, gathering in whispers on one side of the conversation. Like a court coming to order, the asker cleared their throat and proposed, “What are your favorite things about your boyfriend?”

“I hate you guys.” You said in deadpan, resulting in more laughter. Then came your awaited-answer, and Damian had to keep himself from kicking down the door to stop it. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to hear all of the sad excuses you made up to please them, when you really hated him deep down—

“But… if I had to choose… he’s so giving. He gives every part of himself to his cause, to others, and somehow does it while keeping them unaware. He’s so romantic, too… and brave… valiant… determined… Not to forget, he’s sorta, kinda, super hot—”

Damian knocked, interrupting the star-struck silence that sunk into the air with your declaration. The door was opened to him by one of your friends, introducing a group of people in a circle, now laughing at your statement.

“That’s so sweet—”

“You really do love this boy, don’t you?”

“Speak of the devil and he shall come.”

“Thanks for having me over, guys!” You stood up, picking up your bag from the corner. After waving goodbye to them, you made sure you had everything before joining Damian’s side. He had the sudden urge to both hide from you and marry you, but couldn’t decide and ended up standing awkwardly still in the entry-way.

“Well, you’re definitely not wrong—look at him. That jawline could grate cheese—and those eyes—”

You closed the door behind you with a teasing smile on your face, muffling the sudden uproar of laughter that the person’s comment supplied. The sleepover had left you in a state of disarray, but you smiled brightly regardless. Purple waves engrained under your eyes from the lack of sleep and greasy hair didn’t stop him from looking at you dumbly. The world seemed to slow as you reach his side, and a harp was strumming romantic music in his ears—had you always been this enchanting? Had he always been this blind?

“What was that about?” Damian managed. This would hopefully throw off suspicion of his eavesdropping.

You admired him with a soft smile on your face. Like you hadn’t even heard his question, you just stopped and stared at him, letting the image of him sink into your brainpan like water into sleepy sand. After checking the hall for an all-clear, you let your fingers ghost against his cheek, pulling an inch away and waiting for his reaction. Damian didn’t object at all the touch. So you moved in again, sweeping a loose hair out of his eyes and gliding a thumb around the angular joint of his cheek.

“It’s nothing, baby. Nothing at all.” You smiled.

Not only did the gesture make him hear wedding bells, it gave the gift of understanding. The hesitance in your touch, the glace for people down the hall, the wait for approval… You were just making sure he was comfortable. Jon was more than okay with a hug in a public place, while Damian often deflected any advances in locations like The Watchtower. It was never anything about liking one person over the other, falling out of love with him, or anything of the sort. You just wanted him to be happy and comfortable, and communicated this in something gentle and private as a soft touch to the arm.

His heart was far beyond beats now. An orchestra had pitted in his chest, symbols crashing and drums vibrating with sound, a never-ending crescendo churning through him. Your simple expressions of love sent him reeling, but the meaning behind them breathed new life into him.

“Thanks for picking me up,” you said, taking Damian out of his frenzy.

Damian made no move to carry on down the hall. (The apartment was distinctly silent, like a dozen ears were squeezing against the wood on the opposite side of the door). It was now his turn to stare, your hand still turning his face toward you.

Flushing scarlet, you hid behind hand and looked away from him. Your smile gleamed through your fingers. “Damian, is something wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Before you could pull your other hand from his cheek, he clamped over yours to keep you there. There was a brilliant delight in your eyes with even just this. When he leaned into your palm and laid a kiss upon its center, your eyes lit up, like the sun in comparison to firelight.

“I missed you,” Damian found himself muttering thoughtlessly. When he managed to pull himself out of his daze, he released you and offered his other hand to you instead, “And it’s nothing. Picking you up.”

You snatched up his hand like he was going to take it away if you didn’t grab it fast enough. The locking of your fingers together is completing, and now he doesn’t care at all if people are listening or you’re late to the meeting. Your voices began to carry down the hall, your hands swinging between your bodies as you did something akin to a bubbly skip-walk.

“Look, I know you can just call Alfred or whatever—but you came down here to get me. It’s a long drive, too. So just know that, though it might be nothing to you, it’s everything to me.” You said thoughtfully, eyes sinking into a meadow-like state of emotion. When you turned them to look at him, his heart gave another fruitful crescendo. “Just like you.”

He paused. There’s a part of him that wants to dismiss what you said, turn the conversation toward the meeting, but it felt too early in the conversation. He wouldn’t have been comfortable if you greeted him the way you did Jon. You were doing it for his comfort, because you cared about him. And that was all he could ever need.

“Oh, how you make me weak at the knees, my love,” Damian said, laying a hand upon his heart and dipping at the knees exaggeratedly. You laugh. He grinned. “Now let’s get this meeting over with—I have time to make up for.”

disgrays-on:

I saw this request and went girl, same. But thanks a lot to everyone who sent in their requests! I’ll get them out as soon as I can but I might post fics in between them just to break things up.

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When you’d first met Damian, you didn’t know much about him. You knew minor little details about him, from what you’ve read in the newspapers and magazines or from gossip you catch whenever you walk by a group of people. A lot of people like talking about him and it was understandable. You had to concede that he was incredibly good looking and add that to the long list of other good qualities that he possessed, he seemed almost perfect.

When you got together, of course, some of these dreamy qualities would prove to be false while others remained true. When you were talking to him and still in the process of getting to know him, you thought he was a condescending prick. It took a while for you to understand why he always had his guard up. But once you two were in love, it seemed nothing could separate the two of you.

It starts out with small things, beverages from the coffee shop you frequented or sandwiches when you’re hungry because you haven’t eaten all day. You always ask him how much you need to pay him because people spending money on you, unprompted, always made you a bit uncomfortable. He always furrows his eyebrows but would never say because he feels like it doesn’t matter? And that you should definitely take care of yourself better. You frown at him and would investigate yourself before pointedly shoving money into his pockets. Somehow it’d just end up back in your pockets, regardless of how many times and how hard you try. You let him know how thankful you are and you absolutely adore the tiniest of smiles that he gives you and the pride on his face when you do.

And then it moves to things like your meals or anything you happen to mention in passing. You always tell him that you want to pay him back because he shouldn’t have to pay for everything but he doesn’t budge. You’ve always prioritised your needs over your wants. You didn’t really need to eat out every other day, didn’t really have a pressing need for designer goods because you could live without them. But they make their way into your life anyway and it makes you guilty. For one, you absolutely love receiving gifts and two, they were wonderful gifts. He must have spent a fortune on them. It just was getting a bit too much. You’re always torn between keeping them and telling him to return them because being seen with something so expensive makes you squirm a little.

You draw the line when he moves on to buying clothes and jewellery for you or whenever he tries to get you to travel to other countries with him at the drop of a hat. He helps with your dresses for whenever his family holds a gala or a similar event, loves seeing you in all the different dresses and gowns that just fits you perfectly, loves seeing the twinkle of the jewellery against your skin. You always look incredibly tempting. And he wants to bring you to see all the beautiful sights, wants you by his side when he has to leave Gotham. You finally tell him that it makes you just a bit uncomfortable that he was spending so much money on you. You didn’t want it to seem like you were only in this relationship for the money because you weren’t. You appreciated his gifts and his generosity but you would appreciate it more if he could tone it down a bit or at least let you pay for some of it, somehow (although, to be real, if it came to that you didn’t know how you could afford half of the things he gives you).

He had nodded, had taken in your words in silence. He probably just thought that it was normal to provide someone you love things they want? It’s how his father had always done it, after all. He wants to make your life easier, wants to take care of you the best possible way that he can, and since he has the means and the resources to do it, he would do it. And he likes seeing your elation whenever he gifts you with things. But if it made you uncomfortable and unhappy, if it only gives you more worries, then it would defeat the purpose. He probably makes a point to be more subtle in his spending for you, or if not, he’d find ways for you to thank him. Maybe he’ll let you pay him the next time he buys you something, maybe he’ll let you pay for him sometimes. He probably asks for you to just be by his side forever as payment or something cheesy like that (though obviously hidden behind much cooler words).

writingtheworks:

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Description: You’re no hero.

Requests: Okay I get Damian having a badass vigilante s/o BUT JUST IMAGINE Damian with a completely innocent civilian so who has a knack for running into trouble in the most inconvenient ways, they’re super clumsy but still fierce and sassy & Damian is just like?? how are you not dead yet??? Bonus if they ever get kidnapped and just start shit talking the kidnapper & dami is in the rafters like why???He literally has u at gunpoint?? I live for sassy civilian s/o and protective dami FiGhT mE

ok but imagine a picnic with damian or jon in smallville that ends up being a makeout session

Words: 4512 (i think you’ve come to expect this)

Notes: A different spin on stuff. I’m learning that it’s okay to be a damsel in distress sometimes, just as it’s okay to be the oppisite.

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Everybody has childhood nicknames. Maybe something sweet like Benny as opposed to Benjamin. Or something odd like Dick instead of Richard. There were the kids with the bad intentions, like Ears because of how big someone’s ears were, or Gluey because somebody had too much fun during craft time in kindergarten—that was your crowd. Although yours wasn’t exactly a childhood nickname. It was a term of affection, but it did happen to call upon one of your many, many shortcomings; your clumsiness in particular.

Damian’s Lamborghini Murcielago was certainly what he had promised it would be. At 80 miles per hour it had been idling, and through the soft leather of the seats you could barely hear the 632 horsepower engine tearing down the outer streets of Gotham. Too quickly had the ride from Wayne Manor to Robinson Park ended, for the air conditioner had only just begun to warm in contrast to the fall-like weather when Damian parked. Gotham’s air was thicker than usual with whispers of a spring storm rolling in soon. He had wanted to get out before the drizzling began: he had a debt to pay.

“Damian, we could have always stayed home. I would count lying around in bed as a date, y’know.” You said, pressing a thumb into the unlocking mechanism of the seatbelt. It came apart with a soft click.

“I promised you a picnic, and I am determined to follow through. I am a man of my word,” Damian said, words bleeding with the full intention of fulfilling his promise. He looked lovely adorned in a favorite black turtleneck and gold-trimmed coat, layered in designer fabrics, but when had that ever been new? More importantly he looked comfortable. Frown lines had since left his face and put him into a state of something akin to serenity, or at the very least relaxed. The unbreakable knot of stress woven in his back had lost a few threads.

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