─── ❨ 𝐚𝐝𝐣. ❩ smoothly charming and confident , often in a polished or sophisticated way :: you secretly love the way he attracts you and he knows too well !
content ⸝⸝ aged up . damian al ghul-wayne x fem . reader , oneshot , suggestive , shorter . reader , 1.47wc , this was a request 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒
It's not like you are dirty-minded or anything — after all, you are a grown woman and capable of controlling yourself for some decorum, someone you should pay your high respect to and as well honour.
People and the world in general shall never know of that one dark side of you, including your fiancé. You are in denial yourself, claiming that this side does not belong to you.
No, never. No one should know. No one shall face.
(Still, no one is surprised when he knows.)
But you couldn't help but feel a little guilty whenever you watch your fiancé do his things — stuff that is considered normal and part of his daily life yet there is this intimate ring around it that you quite weren't able to figure out.
I. — PRETTY RINGS AND PRETTY FINGERS ,
Damian was doing it again, after adjusting it numerous times already. You counted and it actually has been a handful of times. It's not like you minded that much — it was just a little distracting for you.
"Especially because the Wayne foundation is such a great funder for those charity events and..."
The longer you listened to their words, the more you wanted to bury yourself into the ground. You blocked out their voices from your mind, a polite smile playing on your face while nodding.
And then — your gaze fell short on your fiancé, how he was barely listening. His attention solely fixated on his hands, pulling his pretty ring off his slender fingers before pushing it back on.
It's shamelessly shining into your eye, the ring around his finger and how he was rubbing against it so slowly.
Wow, I need some alone time right now—
"Focus." he murmured under his breath, blank expression written all over his face as he caught you staring.
You bit back a loud, exasperated groan from leaving your lips and threw your head back, feeling a tinge of anxiety and also partially exposed as soon as he caught you staring at his hands.
This couldn't get more embarrassing, right?
"Is everything alright, Mrs. Wayne?"
"O-Of course... Everything is fine."
Everything was fine. You tried to cover your own flinch the second Damian's hand rested on top of your thigh under the table, fingers tapping a soft rhythm before it slid further.
Stop playing you breathed out shakily, hand grasping his wrist.
Make me he chuckled at your weak grip.
II. — SHIRTLESS SPARRING ,
It was actually part of your life now after you spent so many years being together with Damian Wayne, or sometimes, in moments like these, you preferred to call him Damian Al Ghul instead.
Not to forget, you don't even understand when it started to bug you so much. Because the first time you watched him sparr without a shirt, you were only grinning and cheering him on. And now it was bugging you immensely.
Bug you in not a necessarily bad way.
You are staring once again, watching how his body moved with fluidity and flawlessly within the air, manoeuvring in the silence and without breaking the rhythm.
Every step is a careful and planned out approach.
Every skill is polished throughout day and night since his childhood days.
He does not hesitate to move like the wind, lets himself get carried and follows it like a lifeline.
It takes a while until he breaks into sweat, the first droplets of them forming on his neck — gliding down his collarbone before it reached his chest. And you noticed that the entirety of him is well built.
His body is not a symbol of beauty but rather one of dedication and hard work, reaching the extreme and fulfilling the best someone can.
Your gaze wander from his toned chest to his arms, seeing the muscles flexing through his movements. His golden brown skin started to glisten under the trail of sweat that accompanied his body like a true companion.
"—Careful now before your eyes end up at the wrong place." he paused his training, gaze set on you.
The heat immediately rushed up to your neck as you got caught another time. "Is that so..?" you trailed off awkwardly and threw a towel into his direction that he caught in ease.
"I would be more than happy if you sparred with me." he wiped off the excess sweat with the towel, "I figured you might want to join."
Wrong, wrong buddy. You don't want to join in his sparring at all.
"You are always free to leave if this bores you."
Very wrong.
III. — INTIMIDATING HEIGHT DIFFERENCE ,
You do remember the days when you were the same height as him. Or hell, when you were a few centimetres taller than him. You remember how you were teasing the shit out of him.
Truth to be told? It was fun, seeing how he narrowed his eyes ever so slightly in annoyance. It was adorable to see him inwardly fuming, while telling you that you will see in the future.
It was nice while it lasted. The moment he was taller than you by an inch? You knew it was over for you. And he grew taller than you both had anticipated, standing almost a head taller than you. You have to crane your neck to meet his gaze — crane your fucking neck. It's the biggest humiliation of your whole life, entire existence but it's a loss you will forever cheer for since it makes you feel certain things.
"Hayati, you seem lost." you don't seem lost, you are lost — lost in the way the endearing term rolled off his tongue so easily, lost how he stares down at you. "Shall we move out of the busy hall?"
"No wait—I'm right where I want to be." you choked out, almost tripping over your words.
Even if the room was filled with socialites and high rich people. But they didn't matter as you stood in the very corner of the room, all noises and background sounds.
The proximity draws you in unbearably hot, the way he gazes at you is making you sweat, he makes you nervous — makes you feel sixteen again when your crush has first developed. It was unfair, it was killing you.
Your lips formed a thin line as you suppressed a groan from leaving your throat, head falling forward and your forehead leaned against his shoulder, your grip around the glass tight.
"It's unfair. You are unfair, I hate it."
It enticed a chuckle out of him, voice low and rich — god, it made your knees weak.
Actually, you do know he doesn't do it intentionally. He doesn't even know what effect he has on you and this makes you tweak. You are so sure that you could bet your life on it.
He doesn’t do it intentionally.
Right, keep telling yourself that.
Yet the way he eyes you tells a different tale. It’s not the possessive and selfish kind of eyeing — but the one that forces you to tell the truth, that makes your heart stutter and your breath hitch.
“Stop.” you avert your gaze from him, heat leisurely crawling up to your head.
“Hmm?” there’s this underlying smugness under that hum, breaking you. “With what?”
“Staring—obviously.” you hissed before covering your face with both of your hands. “It’s so unfair!”
“Pray tell, what makes anything so unfair? You’ve been mentioning it since the very start.” he titled his head slightly.
“You—! You, you…”
“Lost your words? Poor you." the mock sympathy.
Silence settled, your eyes set on his fingers for a while, then drifting to the shirt that barely covered anything (it covered him whole) before they landed on his eyes.
“I noticed.” he whispered.
“N-Noticed what?” you played dumb.
Damian grasped your wrist before you could make an attempt to flee, fingers curling around your wrist and raising your hand towards his lips — leans close to your hands and sharp breath fanning against your skin.
A shiver ran down your spine at the cooling sensation.
He doesn’t smile, doesn’t smirk — nothing to feed your suspicions.
“Do not play coy now.” the gentle pressure of a touch, lips ghosting over your wrist.
“What…” you were looking everywhere but him.
“To be frank, I did not expect you to enjoy me in such an intimate way.”
“I do not..!”
“No need to be shy now.”
Suddenly — he pulled you close with one swift and steady movement, pressing your body close to his while his free hand snaked its way behind the small of your back, burying his face deep against your neck.
“Ack—!” you yelped out in surprise, hyperaware of every touch now.
The way he interlocked your fingers, the way he breathed down against your shoulder, the way he refused to let go.
author’s note — what if i open a taglist is someone interested erm or never mind haha also PLS i’ve been on a writing trip recently but only post short ass boring drabbles . yet lately? those damian wayne requests bring the longer fics out DAMN (sobs in i could never write a +5k wc fic) vro I wanna write about cass so bad she makes me giggle ⸝⸝
CW: Fluff, fluff, and more fluff. A very stressed Damian trying to think of a way to inadvertently tell you that he likes you very much. A lot more than you really think he does.
Summary: The morning after you came over to your good friend Damian's house for a movie marathon seeing as you were both spending Valentine's Day by yourselves, you wake up wrapped in his strong arms smelling like his shampoo and body wash. You just can't help yourself from asking the dreaded question, "What are we?"
⌕: pt 1 ✓, pt 2
Your body felt heavy and warm, your eyes cloudy as you opened them, feeling a very familiar pair of arms wrapped around you, keeping you close to his body. Muscle hardened from the years working under his father, the Bat, as Robin. And from training with his mother and grandfather for as long as he can remember. Nonetheless, his large hands kept you close to him, one gently resting on the back of your head, keeping your face pressed close to his chest, his heart beating steadily against your cheek.
The soft silk of his sheets felt cooling against your body, warmed from the early humidity of Gotham's sweltering summers. Despite the reputation Gotham had for being a gloomy, grimy city, it definitely had one of the hottest, wettest summers that you think you could ever stand. It must have been forecasted that it would rain later, as you watched Alfred and Bruce haul some of the potted plants from inside out into the gardens through the gap of the curtains from Damian's room.
He groaned quietly and shifted, rolling over to lay on his other side, dragging you with him. "Dames." You poked his cheek, watching his brows furrow in his sleep. You didn't want to disturb him because he looked so peaceful, but you had to pee. "Dami." You tried again, this time gently raking his hair out of his face. Your heart beat a little harder when he opened those gorgeous green eyes and stared at you intensely.
"What?" He rasped out quietly, yawning and stretching his arms out afterwards, releasing you before bringing his hand back down to rest on your thigh. "Good morning to you, too, sunshine." You said sarcastically, shimmying out of bed despite Damian's attempts to keep you locked in his arms next to him. "I've gotta pee, genius." You huffed as you wandered over to the ensuite tucked away in the corner of Damian's room.
"Come back quick, Rouhi." Damian muttered, sitting up and shuffling back to lean against his headboard, watching your form disappear into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. He ran his hands down his face, rubbing his eyes to rid them of the heavy feeling waking up brought with it. Damian slid off his bed elegantly, walking over to his closet and grabbing a new shirt, spraying on some deodorant before pulling on his shirt, a graphic tee with the poster of a movie you both loved on it, a matching one with you, of course.
The door to the bathroom swung open again, revealing your form looking a little fuller of life, hair and teeth brushed, wearing a new pair of clothes as you carried your pajamas over your shoulder, walking over to where your overnight bag sat on Damian's floor and stuffing them inside. "Much better, Habibi." Damian smiled, that little upturn of his lips reserved only for you, like it was some holy thing that he'd only ever show before a celestial being of some kind. "What time should I head home?" You asked casually, checking your phone for any messages from your parents or anything you needed to urgently respond to from any of your other friends. Mostly just stories showing their parters and the romantic nights they had with them going on dates.
You scoffed and put your phone face down on Damian's bedside table, feeling his arms wrap around your midsection and lift you up, flopping back down onto the bed with you, wrestling you into a position where he had you pinned. Your faces were so close, you could count each and every dark lash framing those deep green eyes you adored so much, every single beauty mark normally hidden from the naked eye. Damian paused for a second, seeing the look on your face. His brows furrowed again as he sat back on his heels, helping you sit up. "What's wrong, Rouhi? You look troubled." He poked at your bottom lip as if that would make you tell him all that troubled you.
"Nothing. Just..." You trailed off, feeling your face heat up, averting your eyes from his as you held his shoulders. You let out a frustrated sigh, leaning forward and burying your face in his chest. "What are we?" You murmured. Damian's body tensed as he heard those words. The words he dreaded you'd ask. Or maybe he wanted to hear them from you. Wanted you to ask how he felt about you so he could finally stop being held back by the label of friends. "Rouhi..." Damian gently pushed you back, looking into your eyes deeply, hearing the thumping of his heart in his ears as he considered saying how he really felt. He was safe here, he wouldn't he called weak for expressing how he felt, he wouldn't be punished. He could just be himself.
"I love you. I have for a very long time, Habibi. I'm unsure if you are oblivious or just slow, but you have never seemed to pick up on it. But that's what is so endearing about you to me. Your slowness in math, so you ask for me help. How you ask me to come study with you. To proofread any of your essays. I adore how you always come to me for issues you are having. Beloved, my heart aches every time you call us just friends when I so desperately wish to be more to you. Allow me to prove my worth to you as more. Please." Damian admitted, his eyes screwing shut, pressing one of your hands to his chest over his erratically beating heart.
"Dami..." The soft murmur made his heart jump. It didn't sound any particular way. But he was bracing himself for the rejection anyway. The soft press of your lips against his had him thinking his soul was ascending. He thought he was dreaming. But he wasn't. You were right in front of him, smiling at him like he'd told you he'd bring the moon to Earth if you asked it of him, with teary eyes and a snotty nose. "I love you more." You hiccupped, sniffling as you buried your face into his shoulder once more, feeling his hand come up to cup the back of your head, this time with the gentleness of a man handling his most prized possession. "Be mine, Habibi. I'll be so good to you." Damian whispered to you, and the press of your lips to his skin was the acceptance he got. He had never been this happy. Or this comfortable.
But he'd be damned if he let this all go to waste.
in which you’re the most popular girl in the school. the princesss of gotham academy. and yet you can’t keep your eyes off of a certain wayne boy.
tags: kind of fluffy. more so flirty. reader is super popular at school. damian is the quiet boy.
it’s so stupid because it makes no sense.
you have it all. two best friends who adore you. a closet to die for. perfect hair, perfect skin. your nails are always done, makeup always flawless, not that you need it anyway. boys are constantly tripping over themselves for you.
and to top it all off, you’re a genuinely nice person.
one look at you and everyone would assume you’re the classic popular mean girl. but you’re far from it. you care for people, constantly help and uplift those around you. that’s why you’re popular.
people gravitate towards your energy.
and that’s why it’s so stupid that you have this growing crush on damian wayne.
he’s everything you’re not.
he transferred halfway through freshman year. rumour spread immediately through the brutal hallways of gotham academy.
bruce wayne’s son.
raised elsewhere.
quiet, sharp.
the first time you really knew him outside of whispers was history class. he answered a question perfectly. impeccable grammar, intelligent wording, a lilt of an accent slipping off his tongue.
that’s not exactly when you fell for him. it happened slowly, gradually, building up until it hit you right in the face yesterday when you got seated right next to him in math.
suddenly the algebra you had finally got the hang of flew right out of the window, and you spent most classes staring at his hands, glancing over at his side profile. trying to distract yourself by whispering to your friends across the room.
and today you’re going to make a move.
nothing big. no dramatic confessions, you’re not even sure if you’ll say anything at all.
when you walk into the class, he’s sat down already, pulling a pencil out of his bag.
your plan is perfect.
once you’re sat down, you clear your throat gently. it catches his attention.
“do you have a spare?” you say quietly.
“a spare what?” his tone isn’t harsh, just confused, a little annoyed.
“pencil.” you bite your lip. “duh.” it’s not harsh, more light and soft, a little teasing.
he sighs, like it’s the most inconvenient thing he has ever done, and then reaches back into his bag. then he pulls out a perfectly sharpened pencil, and slides it over to you.
“thank you.”
he hums.
you bite back a smile. “not really a huge talker, huh?”
“i do not require words. i gave you the pencil. i’m doing my work. simple.”
you giggle. he looks at you properly then. there’s a flicker in his eye, you miss it, but it’s there.
“that wasn’t a joke. why are you laughing?” he’s not particularly making fun of you for laughing, more so just used to light teasing from popular kids.
“no, no, it’s not that. it’s just,” you let out a soft breath, almost a laugh, “you’re blunt. it’s funny.”
he hums. more a grunt than a hum. and he’s straight back to his work.
you twirl your pencil around your fingers, reapply lip gloss, write a note to a friend, anything but work really.
“you will not get any better if you do no work.”
you whip your head around to face him. “i’m sorry?”
“i noticed your last grade was low, and i can see why.” he nods his head to your empty worksheet. “you do none of the work set by the teacher.”
his words stun you a little, but you shake your head. “guess i’ll just study more.”
with that, the bell rings. everyone starts to pack up.
you leave your seat with a dreamy sigh, and then turn back around.
damian is still there.
you pass him his pencil back.
fingers brush, eyes meet.
you smile.
he does not.
you’re sure that you’ll have him soon.
haiii. thank you for reading! i would really appreciate it if you could follow! i’m looking for moots! and i also would love if you guys sent me requests/asks. feel free to do so. and also part 2 to this will be coming super soon!
(please,check the rules before requesting. Thank you!!)
*all my readers are meant to be POC,but the descriptions are so little/none so you can imagine!
plot! the vessel of enchantress is now part of the team, the league thought it was better like that, better having her on their side than against them and someone has to teach her how to control the witch. they all know who you are, or what you are, but robin is the only one who doesn't see you as a monster, he sees through you in that persistent way of his and you can't ignore him even though you want to. enchantress f!reader x robin
a/n: thank you so much for the request sweetie!! so this is young justice season 1.5 based (so that robin is older but still robin) and i pictured enchantress from injustice 2 game and suicide squad movie.
song suggestion (idk why this gives me so much enchantress vibes)
The Watchtower’s airlock hissed shut behind you, the hum of the zeta tube fading to silence. You stepped forward, the boots you wore clicking softly against the polished floor. Every sound echoed, too loud in your own ears.
Another prison, Enchantress hissed from inside your skull, her voice a constant whisper against your thoughts. Shall we burn it down? These mortals think they can contain us.
Your jaw tightened.
You didn’t answer her, never out loud at least.
It was dangerous to feed her more than you had to.
The sliding doors opened to the conference chamber.
Batman was already there, looming in the shadows, arms folded. Beside him stood Zatanna, her magician’s outfit toned down for combat but still stylish, her bright eyes soft with concern as they fell on you.
The Team was gathered too.
M’gann hovered beside Conner, nervous but smiling. Kaldur stood tall, composed as ever, though his gaze sharpened with curiosity. Artemis leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, already skeptical. Wally was slouched near the table, his knee bouncing. And then Robin. Older now, shoulders broader, posture less boyish. He leaned casually against the back of a chair, dark cape draped to the side. His domino mask turned your way the moment you entered, and you felt the weight of his gaze.
Steady. Direct. Unafraid.
“Team,” Batman’s voice cut through the silence “this is your new member. She has experience the League considers… unique. She’ll be working with you, with oversight from Zatanna.”
M’gann floated forward, her hand half raised in greeting. “Hi! I’m M’gann—Miss Martian. It’s so nice to—”
“Careful, M'gann” Artemis muttered. “You don’t know what she can do.”
You kept your expression neutral.
It was easier that way, no warmth, no cracks. You got used to it since you understood the power of the witch inside you. You had to keep people at arm's length so they wouldn't get hurt.
“Don’t bother” you said, voice low. “I’m not here to make friends anyway”
A flicker of tension swept the room. Wally snorted. “Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine.”
“Enough” Kaldur said smoothly, though his eyes studied you with the same wariness as Artemis’s.
Then, Enchantress spoke. Not through your lips, yet, but her voice rolled beneath your skin, hungry. They do not respect you. Let me show them fear.
You clenched your fists. “Not now” you whispered under your breath, too low for the Team to hear.
But Robin did. You caught it, the way his head tilted just slightly, his masked eyes narrowing with interest.
Batman continued. “Zatanna will be monitoring her condition. The entity known as Enchantress is… volatile. But controlled.” His gaze cut to you sharply. “For now.”
Zatanna gave you a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll help you. You’re not alone in this.”
You almost laughed. Alone was all you’d ever been.
The Watchtower felt like a cage of glass and steel. From the moment you stepped through the zeta tube, you knew the others felt it too: that sharp tension in the air, the unspoken weight of you.
You could feel their eyes on you.
Artemis’s skeptical glare, Conner’s distrust, Wally’s not-so-subtle side glances, M’gann’s hopeful smile trying to hide her nerves. Even Kaldur, ever the diplomat, stood just a little straighter, his body angled between you and the rest of the Team.
And then there was Robin again.
He didn’t stare. He didn’t flinch. He just… watched. His posture casual, leaning an elbow on the table, mask reflecting the light. The others’ attention slid across your skin like knives, but his gaze felt different, sharper, but not cutting. Like he was solving a puzzle, and you were the answer.
Shall we peel away the mask and see what’s left? Enchantress murmured in your mind. You clenched your jaw, ignoring her.
The first week was the hardest.
Training sessions with the Team were mandatory, Batman’s orders. You kept your distance. Your movements were precise but detached, never volunteering for sparring partners, always choosing the farthest spot on the mat.
“Not much of a team player, huh?” Wally muttered one day after drills. He tried to keep it light, but his eyes flicked nervously to your hands, like he half expected you to hex him into oblivion.
You didn’t answer. Silence was safer.
Artemis wasn’t so subtle. “If you’re going to act like you’re better than us, why are you even here?”
The words hit harder than you let them show. You turned away, tugging your gloves tighter.
Robin’s voice broke the tension. “Maybe she just doesn’t like archers.”
The room went still for a beat.
Then Wally burst out laughing, nearly tripping over his own feet. Even Conner cracked a smirk.
Artemis glared, but Robin just shrugged, unbothered.
You didn’t laugh. But you noticed.
Zatanna was your assigned anchor. She sought you out after every mission, every spar, every slip when Enchantress’s whispers got too loud.
“She feeds on your isolation” Zatanna explained one night, the two of you sitting cross-legged in the dim glow of the library. “If you wall yourself off from everyone, she wins. You need balance.”
You stared at the spellbook between you, not meeting her eyes. “You think making friends will fix this?”
“I think not being alone might” she said softly.
Her words lingered, even as you tried to shove them aside.
It was Robin who made ignoring the team impossible.
He had a way of appearing at the edges of your silence, slipping past walls before you realized they were breached.
When you chose the shadowed corner of the training room, he was there stretching beside you, cracking some joke about how broody corners were “his brand.”
When you avoided debriefs by standing against the far wall, he leaned back near you, flipping a batarang between his fingers, mask turned your way.
He never pressed. Never asked questions you wouldn’t answer. But he was there. Constant.
On your first mission, an infiltration gone sideways, you found yourself cornered by armed mercs, their tech-resistant armor shrugging off M’gann’s psychic blasts. Enchantress surged, hungry for release, clawing at your control.
Let me out. I will reduce them to ash.
Your fingers twitched, the spell on your tongue burning. But before you could break, Robin dropped from the rafters above, disarming two men in a blur of motion, smoke pellets filling the room. He didn’t even look back as he moved, trusting you to handle the rest without losing yourself.
And somehow, you did. You held the line.
Later, when the mission was over and the others were regrouping, Robin brushed past you. “Nice control back there.”
Just that. No fear. No suspicion. Just a quiet confidence, like he already knew you could handle it.
It left you shaken in ways the battle hadn’t.
The days blurred. Missions, training, debriefs. You kept your distance. But you started to notice things, small things.
Robin never flinched when Enchantress’s whispers slipped through your lips.
He didn’t edge away when your magic crackled too close.
When the others stared at you like a weapon barely contained, he looked at you like… like you were still a person.
And that was dangerous.
Because sometimes, when the lights dimmed and the team’s voices faded, you caught yourself listening for his laugh. Watching the way he spun a staff through his fingers. Noticing the curve of his grin when a plan came together.
And Enchantress noticed too.
From that day, you made a rule for yourself: avoid Robin.
Not because you disliked him, far from it, but because he was the one person who never looked at you with fear. Everyone else, you could read their hesitation clearly.
Artemis didn’t trust you, Wally couldn’t stop blurting nervous comments, even Conner and M’gann kept a subtle distance when your aura flickered green. Zatanna tried her best to guide you, but you could still see the sharp edge of worry in her eyes whenever Enchantress pressed through. They had every reason to be cautious, and you welcomed it. Distance kept people safe.
But Robin… Robin wasn’t cautious. He was curious. Bold.
Every time you caught his gaze across the room, his mask glinted with that infuriating spark of amusement, as if he was daring you to do something unpredictable. He treated you less like a bomb about to detonate and more like a riddle to solve, and that unsettled you more than anything.
So you kept out of his way.
If he was in the kitchen grabbing a soda, you made a sharp detour down the hall.
If he lounged in the lounge with his boots kicked up, you suddenly remembered you had to find Zatanna.
If he entered a room where you were already sitting, you’d gather your things quickly and leave, pretending you hadn’t even noticed him. It was easier that way.
You told yourself it was for his protection. Because deep down you knew: no acrobatics, no clever one-liners, no perfectly-aimed batarang would matter if Enchantress decided to rip through. If she set her eyes on Robin, he’d be gone before he could blink. The thought of that, of his laughter, his sharp wit, his brilliant mind, extinguished because of you, was unbearable. So you stayed away.
But avoiding him didn’t mean ignoring him. Not really. You noticed everything.
The way his laugh carried down the halls, sharp and quick, filling the cave with life that even M’gann’s sunny voice couldn’t quite match. The way he fought in training, every move sharp-edged and precise, the easy grace of someone who had been moving like this since childhood. The way he tapped at the holographic computers, fingers flying faster than your eyes could follow, mask tilted in concentration.
And you noticed the way he looked at you. Always too direct. Always too knowing. Like he could see more than you wanted to show.
Enchantress noticed too.
Oh he thinks you’re interesting she’d purr inside your mind when his gaze lingered too long. The little bird isn’t afraid. How delicious would it be to break him?
You’d clench your jaw, fists curling tight, and mutter under your breath where no one could hear: “Shut up”
But she never shut up.
Snap his bones like twigs. Crush that laugh in his throat. Paint the walls with his clever little tricks. Wouldn’t it be beautiful?
And every time, your stomach twisted with equal parts nausea and fear, because some terrible, traitorous part of you knew Enchantress could do it. And if she ever did, it wouldn’t matter how much you cared, it would still be your hands, your body.
Robin had no idea.
Or maybe he did, and that was worse. Because if he knew, he didn’t care.
He kept pushing, kept appearing where you least wanted him. He’d lean over the back of the couch where you sat with M’gann, mask gleaming, and drop some teasing remark just to see if you’d answer. He’d wander into Zatanna’s lessons, pretending to look bored while you struggled to hold Enchantress at bay, only to grin when you snapped at him. He wasn’t afraid of your sharp words, your cold exits, or the way your aura flared green for half a second when you were too tired to suppress her.
He wasn’t afraid at all.
That made your chest tighten in ways you didn’t understand at first.
Maybe it was anger, maybe it was admiration, maybe it was something else entirely. But every time you caught yourself watching him, every time you felt heat crawl up your neck because he’d caught you looking, you shoved it down. You couldn’t afford to feel anything toward him.
You were a human with a monster inside. He was a hero with the world on his shoulders. The line between you wasn’t thin, it was carved deep and brutal.
Still, you remembered moments you couldn’t shake.
The time Wally muttered “time bomb” under his breath and Robin cut in with that maddening grin, calling you “a puzzle box with teeth” and you couldn’t stop the way your lips almost twitched at the corner, almost a smile.
The way he leaned against the railing above the training bay, arms folded, mask tilted as if you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen, while you deliberately focused on Zatanna’s spells until your head ached. The way he walked into the lounge one night while you were reading alone, glanced at you, and for once said nothing, just nodded in that subtle, easy way that made you feel, against your will, like maybe you weren’t a monster after all.
That was how it began. Not with love, not with trust, but with fear.
Fear of yourself, fear for him, and fear of what it meant that out of everyone, he was the one you couldn’t stop noticing. He was too bright, too alive, too fearless, and no matter how much you avoided him, he was already finding his way past your defenses.
And no matter how hard you tried to starve it, it only grew.
During training, when you took the farthest mat to spar alone, he somehow always ended up across from you. Not in a way that drew attention, he’d joke with Wally, trade quips with Artemis, but then, without fail, when partners were called, he was in front of you, staff spinning in his hand like it weighed nothing.
“Don’t go easy on me” he said once, mask glinting with a smirk.
“You couldn’t handle it” you replied before you could stop yourself.
His grin only widened. “Guess I’ll have to prove you wrong.”
It was small, but it stuck with you. You’d expected fear, hesitation, or at least annoyance. Instead, he treated you like any other opponent, no more, no less.
And when you nearly landed a hit that would’ve knocked his staff clear, he only laughed, breathless. “Not bad. You’ll have me paranoid in my sleep."
The others heard it too, his easy humor with you, and it chipped away at their own tension, even if just slightly.
It happened again that evening, after another grueling training session. The others had left the gym, voices echoing down the hall, but you stayed, sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, sweat cooling on your skin.
Robin lingered too. Of course he did.
He tossed his staff in the air, caught it effortlessly, and finally dropped down beside you, stretching his legs out. “You’re getting faster.”
You didn’t answer at first. Then “Or you’re getting sloppy.”
He chuckled, low and warm. “Harsh. But fair.”
Silence settled, not heavy, not sharp. Just there.
You glanced at him, mask catching the dim light, his mouth curved in that faint, ever-present smirk. And for the first time, you didn’t look away immediately.
You didn’t speak, but you didn’t ignore him either.
It was a small crack in the walls you’d built. But for Robin, it was enough.
Time had a way of dulling sharp edges. Weeks passed, and though you still kept your distance, it wasn’t quite the same iron wall it had been. You didn’t laugh at Robin’s jokes, but sometimes you didn’t shut him down either. You didn’t seek him out, but you didn’t move away when he ended up near you. And when Enchantress whispered that he was dangerous, that you were dangerous, you found yourself fighting her with more strength than before.
Because somewhere in the back of your mind, a dangerous truth was taking root: you cared what he thought of you.
You tried not to. You kept it buried, unsaid, hidden. But it was there all the same.
Training started normally that day. The gym buzzed with energy, Artemis and Wally bickering over technique, M’gann floating gracefully as she dodged Conner’s heavy swings. Kaldur guided them all with his usual calm authority, while Zatanna lingered near the edges, watching you with quiet vigilance.
You had been partnered with Robin again. Of course. It was almost expected now. Staff against staff, strike and counterstrike. He moved with precision, with speed, each blow a test, each dodge an invitation.
“You’re holding back” he said between clashes, his tone casual but edged with challenge.
“You don’t want me at full strength” you shot back, deflecting his strike with a twist of your wrist.
He grinned. “Try me.”
And maybe it was the grin, or the way your pulse had been running faster around him lately, or maybe it was the whisper that slipped too deep inside your head.
Show him. Break him. Let me out. Enchantress hissed, silk and venom.
You stumbled, just a flicker, just a crack in concentration, but it was enough. The shadows inside surged forward, green light sparking at your fingertips before you could swallow it back.
Robin froze, his staff lowering a fraction. “Hey. You okay?”
That single hesitation was all Enchantress needed.
The room warped. Your vision blurred, your limbs heavy and light all at once as her voice roared through you, no longer a whisper but a scream. Mine. My turn.
Your body convulsed. A gasp tore from your throat, then it wasn’t your voice anymore.
Enchantress straightened, rolling your shoulders like testing an old, familiar coat. A cruel smile curved your lips, eyes glowing sickly green.
“Well” she purred, voice layered, echoing through the gym. “Finally.”
The Team snapped into motion instantly. Artemis raised her bow, Conner’s fists clenched, M’gann’s hands sparked with psychic light.
“Back up!” Kaldur ordered, his voice steady but tense. “Do not engage until we know—”
But Enchantress laughed, low and sharp. “You think you can order me, little fish?”
Green magic crackled down your arms, sizzling against the mats. The others instinctively shifted back, forming a wide circle around you.
All except one.
Robin didn’t move. His staff lowered, his stance grounded, but he didn’t step away. He was still in front of you, no, in front of her.
“Robin—” Zatanna’s warning was sharp, fear edging her voice.
“I got this Zee” he said, eyes never leaving yours.
Enchantress tilted your head, studying him with mocking curiosity. “You don’t flinch huh? Not even now, brave little bat.” Her smile widened. “Or foolish.”
The green light surged higher, burning the air between you.
Robin didn’t blink. “Because you don’t scare me.”
Foolish, Enchantress hissed in your mind. He thinks he's talking to you. He thinks you can hear him. Let me show him how wrong he is.
But you could hear him.
His voice cut through the chaos, threading its way past the storm in your head.
“Hey” he said firmly, and for the first time, his voice wasn’t joking, wasn’t casual. It was grounded. Certain. “I know you’re in there. You can fight this. You’ve fought it before.”
Your body moved without your will, magic crackling at your fingertips, aimed at him. You screamed inside, trying to stop it, but Enchantress reveled in the power, in the way the Team tensed, ready to strike.
Robin didn’t raise his staff. He didn’t move to dodge. He just stayed where he was, mask locking on you like nothing else existed.
“You’re stronger than her” he said, voice sharp “I’ve seen it. You don’t let her win.”
Lies. Enchantress snarled, her control slipping, your hands trembling with the force of holding back. You will break. You always break.
Robin’s voice cut in, louder. “You don’t scare me, because I know you. Not her. You. The one who holds back when you could destroy. The one who still fights to stay in control.” His jaw tightened, words slicing the air with certainty. “That’s not weakness. That’s you winning.”
Your chest heaved, every muscle shaking, torn between the weight of her power and the anchor of his words.
And in the silence that followed, for the first time, you felt Enchantress falter.
He believes in you she whispered, not mocking now, but seething. Foolish girl. Weak. You would throw away power… for him?
Your vision blurred. Your hands dropped an inch. The green light sputtered.
Robin stepped closer, slowly, carefully, but without hesitation. “I know you’re scared. I know you think you’re dangerous. But you’re not alone in this fight. You don’t have to be.”
His voice softened, steady and real. “Come back.”
And somehow, you did.
The glow shattered, the storm collapsing inward. Your knees buckled, the world tilting, and you fell, straight into Robin’s waiting arms.
Your breath came in harsh gasps, sweat damp against your temples, your voice barely a whisper. “You… shouldn’t…”
“Yeah, well” Robin said, his tone low but unshaken, “I don’t scare easy.”
The others slowly lowered their guard, tension still high but edged with relief. Zatanna moved forward, eyes full of concern, but Robin didn’t let go of you.
He just held you steady, his arms firm, his gaze still locked on you like he hadn’t doubted for a second you’d come back.
And for the first time, you realized what terrified you most wasn’t Enchantress’s power.
It was how badly you wanted to believe him.
The team had dispersed in uneasy silence: M’gann ushering Conner away after his fists had clenched tighter than necessary, Kaldur promising they would debrief later, Artemis muttering under her breath about “walking time bombs” but not unkindly, more shaken than cruel. Zatanna lingered the longest, pressing your arm with a gentle squeeze before following her father through the Zeta tube.
And then it was just you. And him.
Robin didn’t leave.
You sat on the edge of the training mat, knees pulled to your chest, hair falling forward like a shield. The taste of ash still clung to your tongue, and the whisper in your head, the one that wasn’t yours, curled like smoke.
You dug your nails into your palms, willing her down. Willing yourself steady.
“Y’know,” Robin’s voice broke the silence, lighter than it had any right to be, “most people, after unleashing a centuries-old witch spirit on their friends, don’t just sit around.”
You didn’t lift your head. “Go away.”
“Mm. No.”
The mat dipped slightly beside you. You didn’t have to look to know he’d plopped down cross-legged, his cape pooling around him, his mask angled toward you with that impossible calm. Not fear. Not pity. Just… him.
You gritted your teeth. “You should at least be smart enough to keep distance.”
“And you should be better at ignoring me by now.” He shrugged. “Guess we’re both stubborn.”
Your breath hitched, and you hated that he heard it.
Robin leaned back on his hands, gazing up at the ceiling like you were just hanging out, like you hadn’t nearly lost yourself to Enchantress in front of everyone. “So. Wanna talk about it?”
You turned sharply, finally meeting his eyes, or the white slits of his mask. “What’s there to talk about? You saw it. They saw it. I can’t control her.”
“Correction.” His head tilted. “You did control her. Eventually.”
“That was you.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. Heat rushed to your face. You turned away again, fists curling. “You pulled me back. I don’t even know how.”
He was quiet for a beat, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost that teasing edge. Lower. Steadier. “Maybe you do.”
You swallowed hard. “You don’t get it, Robin. Every second I spend here, every time I try to train, or… or laugh, or pretend to be normal—she’s waiting. One slip, one crack, and I’m gone. You saw what happened.”
“I did.” His tone sharpened, cutting clean through your spiral. “I saw you fight her.”
You blinked, stung.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees now, every word deliberate. “Don’t twist it. You didn’t just… disappear. You wrestled her back. You’re still here.”
Your throat tightened, the weight of it pressing down. For the first time in a long time, you wanted to believe someone. Wanted to believe him. But—
“And what if I can’t next time?” Your voice cracked. You hated it. “What if she wins?”
Robin didn’t flinch. He shifted closer, until his shoulder almost brushed yours. You stiffened, but he didn’t press. He just sat there, warm and steady.
“Then we deal with it” he said simply.
You turned to him, searching his face for some sign of hesitation, some crack in his ridiculous confidence. But there was none. Only that impossible steadiness.
“Why?” The question slipped out raw, your defenses thin. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
For once, he didn’t answer right away.
He looked at you, really looked, like he could see past the mask you wore, past even the shadow of the Enchantress curled in your bones. And then, soft but certain “Because I don’t think you’re the scary one.”
Your breath caught. Enchantress snarled in your mind, furious at the vulnerability clawing up your chest, but you couldn’t stop it, you laughed. Broken, shaky, but real.
It startled him, a grin tugging at his mouth, quick and boyish. “See? Not that scary.”
You shook your head, wiping quickly at your face. “You’re an idiot.”
“Genius, actually.” He leaned back, hands behind his head, like the whole cave wasn’t still humming with the memory of what you’d unleashed. “But I’ll let it slide.”
The air shifted between you, quiet but not heavy anymore. Tentative. Something fragile but alive.
For the first time, you didn’t want to ignore him.
Didn’t want to shut him out. You wanted, dangerously, to stay right here, where he wasn’t afraid, where you didn’t feel like a monster waiting to break.
You didn’t say it. You couldn’t. But Robin didn’t need the words.
please I love me the one you wrote about getting caught with dick by bruce, could you do a damian version? This is my first request ever! i don’t know if I did it right
Thank you! and dw if you can’t :)
NIGHT VISIT ( Damian Wayne! )
summary |While patrolling with his father, Damian decides to escape for a few minutes to see you at your house, what he didn't expect to see was that you were waiting for him.
pairing | Damian Wayne x gf!reader
cw | ALL ARE OF LEGAL AGE, suggestive content
dc masterliat
Night was falling over Gotham, and the sound of patrol cars echoed through the empty streets. Damian Wayne, normally so disciplined, felt an impulse he couldn't ignore. As he patrolled alongside his father, he saw an opportunity: a few minutes of carelessness would be enough for him to slip away and see you. Just a few minutes, but enough to cross the distance that separated him from you.
He glided across the rooftops with his trademark agility, avoiding the city lights and the watchful eyes of the Wayne Manor guards. His heart was beating fast, a mixture of excitement and guilt; he knew that if his father found out, the consequences would be severe. But the thought of seeing you, even if only for a moment, made it all worth it.
It had been a couple of days since they'd actually seen each other. The life of young adults was killing them, and his night job wasn't making things any easier. So, it seemed like a great idea to visit you every night, even if it was just for a few minutes. Although you were always asleep by the time he arrived, you were busy with college and work. He couldn't blame you for not staying awake while he waited, but he could settle for seeing you safe and sound in your room.
That night, however, something was different. As he approached your house, Damian noticed the light in your room was on. It was three in the morning, and there was no way you could be awake at that hour.
Carefully, he climbed down from the roof and approached the window, making sure not to make a sound. As he peered in, what he saw left him momentarily speechless: you were sitting on the bed, the warm light illuminating your face, and you looked as if you were waiting for him. The surprise made his breathing quicken; his evening plans, simple silent visits to make sure you were okay, hadn't included finding you awake... much less with that expression in your eyes.
Damian froze for a moment, assessing the situation. Every muscle in his body was on alert, as always, but now for a different reason: his heart was pounding, and a mixture of excitement and caution kept him rigid in place.
Finally, he decided he couldn't turn back. With light, measured steps, he slipped through the open window and landed softly beside the bed. Every move was calculated, but his mind was flooded with thoughts he'd never allowed. Seeing you there, aware of his presence, disarmed him more than any training could have prevented.
“No… I expected to see you awake,” he said in a small voice, trying to sound casual, although his tone betrayed surprise and excitement.
"Not this time," you replied with a soft smile, taking a step closer. "I wanted to see you."
You approached slowly, unhurriedly, with a confidence he rarely saw, you looked so beautiful there in the dim lights of the room, he wanted to stay there with all his being.
"I didn't expect..." he began, but your smile interrupted him, and with a soft kiss on his lips you silenced him.
Damian froze for a moment, surprised by the boldness of the kiss. His body, always trained to react precisely, now felt strange, vulnerable and eager at the same time. His breathing quickened, and his hands trembled slightly, fighting the urge to circle you, to move closer.
Your fingers gently brushed his cheek, guiding him gently but with clear intention, removing his mask along the way, every little touch sending his mind into conflict: he knew he shouldn't lose control, that he couldn't stay here for long before Bruce started calling for him, and yet... he couldn't tear himself away from you.
He leaned in slightly, reciprocating the kiss cautiously at first, as if gauging your every reaction, every sigh that escaped your lips. The softness of the touch contrasted with the intensity of his emotions, and in that instant, the outside world, Gotham, the patrol cars, everything disappeared. Only the two of you existed.
"You..." he whispered between kisses, unable to finish the sentence, "...I can't stay much longer, darling."
Your fingers continued to run over his face as Damian cautiously kissed back, his hands brushing your waist and shoulders, caught between desire and the need for control. Every touch was electric, every sigh of yours making his heart race, reminding him of the forbidden nature of the situation.
“Just… a little longer,” you murmured, resting your forehead against his. “I missed you.”
He swallowed, feeling like every second with you was too brief, too intense. His mind was struggling: every fiber of his training screamed "stop, back off," but every beat of his heart was telling him otherwise. He couldn't walk away from you, didn't want to.
His hands began to explore with more confidence, sliding gently but decisively down your back, bringing you closer to him. He needed to feel you against him after so long. He needed your touch, your bodies touching skin. You responded in the same way, letting yourself be guided by the tension that surrounded you, by the electricity that grew with each touch.
Without breaking the connection with your lips, he took your hand gently but firmly, guiding you toward the bed. Every movement was careful, as if every second counted, aware of the forbidden nature of the situation.
Upon arriving, you both sat on the edge, your hands still intertwined with his. His fingers slowly ran over your back, your shoulders, while his breathing mingled with yours, creating a silent rhythm that increased the tension. The heat of his body brushing against yours was almost unbearable, and the electricity between you intensified with each contact. I could see your eyes turning crystalline, a sign that he wasn't leaving soon and that I should think of a good excuse.
Damian leaned down again to kiss you, deeper this time, with a pent-up desire he couldn't hide. His hands began to slide lower, delicately exploring every curve, every movement, feeling how your body reacted to his. You reciprocated with the same intensity, letting his hands guide you, feeling each touch like a small fire that consumed everything around you.
The sound of their breathing filled the room, mingling with the soft moans escaping your lips.
Damian, with a careful but determined movement, helped you lie down on the bed. He leaned over you, gently placing his hands on either side of your head, as if the entire world had disappeared and only the two of you existed. Every touch, every sigh, intensified the electricity between you, and his eyes couldn't leave yours, reflecting the conflict between desire and the need for control.
Your breathing quickened, your hands running over his back and shoulders as he moved down slowly, kissing your neck and cheeks, lingering only on the spots you knew made him hesitate. Damian felt the discipline he always maintained crumble with every touch, with every small moan that escaped your lips.
He leaned closer to you, his body brushing against yours in an almost painful way because of how intense it was, and you couldn't help but respond. Each touch was a small fire that consumed all caution, all reason, leaving you trapped in a world where only desire and connection existed between you.
Your breath grew even more ragged as you felt Damian lean toward you, his lips lingering on your neck with a devotion that contrasted with the stiffness he usually displayed on a daily basis. His hands moved with restrained awkwardness, eager but still hesitant, as if fighting his own self-control.
His fingers gently caught the hem of your pajamas and, with a slow motion, slid them up, exposing your skin to the cool air of the room. His gaze lingered on you for just a second, as if he wanted to imprint every detail into his memory.
But in the midst of that whirlwind, you saw him reach for the zipper of his suit. Damian hesitated, looking down as if shedding it was the ultimate way to surrender to the moment.
"No..." you whispered, stopping his hands with yours, your voice trembling with a mix of desire and nervousness. "Leave it on."
He looked up, surprised by your request. For a moment, his brows furrowed as if trying to understand why, but the flash in your gaze silenced him. The contrast between the vigilante's armor and the vulnerability they shared in that moment made him shiver.
"I always learn something new from you".Damian murmured, a half smile barely forming on his lips before he kissed you again.
His voice, laden with an intimacy he rarely let on, thrilled you more than the touch of his hands. You felt his breath quicken, warm against your skin, as his lips descended slowly, tracing a path along your neck that seemed to never end.
Your fingers gripped the material of his suit, tracing the sharp lines of the armor as if the rough, cold texture could anchor you to him. It was strange, but that mix of hardness and closeness made him more real, more yours in that moment.
Damian let out a husky, almost inaudible sigh when he felt your lips brush against his jaw, slowly rising to the corner of his mouth. He closed his eyes, clinging to you as if you were the only thing keeping him from the edge of the cliff. His hand moved up to your waist, caressing gently, barely pressing, but firm enough to make it clear he wasn't going to let go.
The room filled with the ragged sound of their breathing, growing faster and more urgent. His hands moved firmly down your back, tracing every curve as if he wanted to memorize you in that moment. The weight of his body on yours wasn't oppressive, but a shared need: the desire to feel skin against skin, without barriers, without armor keeping you apart.
Your fingers searched for the hem of his suit, tugging slightly, as if struggling between the urge to strip him of it and the memory of your own request. The contradiction drew a sigh from you, which he quelled with a deeper, more desperate kiss.
The tension was unbearable. You could feel him trembling, not from hesitation, but from holding back. His lips slid down your neck, moving slowly downward as his hands tangled in your clothes, on the verge of undoing the last barriers that separated you. In his eyes, when he raised them for a moment, there was a wild gleam, a mixture of desire and vulnerability.
And just when their bodies were about to surrender to the impulse, when Damian's discipline broke before the fire of the moment.
A dry sound interrupted the bubble. A barely perceptible creaking in the window, a movement of air that neither of them had registered because they were too absorbed.
Damian froze instantly. His lips were still grazing your skin, but his entire body tensed as if an internal alarm had gone off in his head. His eyes shot open, searching for the source of the noise, while his labored breathing tried to regain control.
"What the...?" you whispered, still caught in the momentum of the moment, not immediately understanding what was happening.
There was no need for Damian to reply as he completely covered you with the crumpled sheet to the side.
The figure in the window stood out against the gloom, dark and gigantic, like a shadow impossible to ignore. The cape fluttered faintly in the night breeze, and the white eyes of the mask shone with icy intensity. Your heart stopped in your chest. Batman was there.
The silence was brutal. The tension, unbearable. Bruce took a step into the room, his cape brushing the floor like an impending judgment.
“Robin. Out. Now.” Bruce muttered, each word falling like a hammer blow.
Damian took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second, and nodded stiffly. He turned to you and, in a gesture as clumsy as it was desperate, brushed your hand under the sheet, barely for a second. A silent apology. A "I'll be back" he didn't dare utter.
And without looking back, he walked towards the window where the relentless shadow of his father was waiting for him.
synopsis: damian’s never begged in his life but he’ll drop to his knees if it means you’ll stay in gotham with him
a/o: no one will probably read this but that’s ok i enjoyed writing it so much i love damian wayne hello he’s so cute
damian wayne never begged. in fact, he took, often without question. without rejection.
perhaps it was the life of luxury from a young age that had that raised him to be this way, cemented definitely from the lavishness of living at wayne manor and the disposable wealth that accompanied moving in with his father— plus the entitlement that came from being bruce wayne’s only blood son.
and so damian wayne never begged. he had no need to— he had everything; what he did not have, he took. by force. by aggression.
but there was one thing, or person, he could not coerce. not with force; not with aggression; not with money, promise, or sanctity.
damian wayne could not convince you to stay in gotham.
“you can convince your mother,” his tan skin is paled just a bit, expression contorted into a mix of irritation, panic, frustration, and slight offence. you were leaving him. leaving him. it was unfair, and he took it personal, as if he had ever gave you reason to stay, besides muddling up your feelings.
his weight rests against your window sill, open from where he had sneakily crawled in, arms crossed over his chest. his eyebrows curve downwards in his signature, recognisable way, his eyes narrowed by default.
you ignore him. your hands are focused on meticulously packing up your room. your mother had planned to move you out of this crime ridden city, and you hadn’t argued. in fact, you agreed. you had nothing to stay for here.
especially since the boy in front of you with whom you had been secretly talking and secretly falling for had refused to acknowledge or reciprocate the myriad of emotions he evoked within you. it had been months.
and now he was at your window, angry with you for leaving, as if he had not drove you away himself. it was a little unfair to blame him completely, but as you stuffed away clothes and shoes, you were almost upset yourself. damian had not given you good enough reason to stay. to not leave him behind.
“you didn’t even try,” damian’s neutral voice snaps you out of your thoughts. he voice is strained, trying hard to remain collected, when he is internally thwart. “it’s like you want to leave,” he accuses, eyes narrowed. deep inside, he’s as upset as you: irritatedly knowing.
your eye twitches at his blind and utter ignorance. his oblivion. quite frankly, his ragebait.
his words come so clearly from an overly entitled place that it irks you to the extent you snap.
“it doesn’t work like that, damian!” your voice is shaky. you suck in a deep breath to try to collect yourself, eyes closing momentarily as your fists clench and unclench at your sides.
“you can be upset, but you can’t just blame me—” you pause, heart thrumming so loud in your chest you bet he can hear it. “i don’t have any reason to stay.”
damian’s eyebrows furrow even deeper, your anger eliciting a frown from his slightly pouted lips. he looks away and then back, keeping his arms folded tightly over his chest as he waits a moment before walking over to you by your bed.
“you need a reason?” he breathes, his voice sharp. dark. “i’ll give you one.”
damian opens his mouth to speak, his throat feeling dry. he gulps down a bare amount of saliva. and then he breaks, begrudgingly laying down his most bare, pathetic truths.
“i don’t want you to go.” his voice is hard.
your eye twitches. “you can’t just dictate that—”
“because i’d miss you.”
damian is now looking away, eyes trained on your wall. his cheeks are flushed a faint coral, tan skin concealing the true extent of his blush. his fists clench tighter, digging into his elbows.
“terribly, because i cannot stop thinking about you, even when i want to. it’s a horrible feeling.” his lips barely open, the words begrudgingly tussling out from between his lips.
his confession seems like it was ripped out of his chest. he wasn’t ready to deliver it. for the first time, he’s had to do something.
damian sucks in a deep breath.
“it’s a horrible feeling,” he repeats. “living your entire life independently, without needing this sort of emotion, and then foolishly feeling so deeply about someone who is indifferent, so you must beg,” his voice cracks from shame. he clears his throat, eyes still avoiding yours.
“so you must beg them to stay.” he’s breathing so heavy it’s the only sound in the room when he finishes his monologue. his heart is beating against his ribs, and he swears the inside of his cheek is bleeding from how many times he’s bit into it.
you let out a deep exhale you didn’t know you were holding.
damian’s cheeks flush further. “and if that is still not enough for you to stay,” he exhales, sounding utmost frustrated. “i will drop to my knees and beg.”
your eyes widen.
for the first time since his confession, damian’s eyes find yours: they are much softer than usual, a sharp contrast from the usual slits of skepticism.
vulnerable.
and then damian’s arms drop to his sides. his knees almost buck.
he will not go back on his words.
before he can get the chance to prove his desperation for you to stay, you jolt forward and grab his forearm, pressing your mouth to his.
butterflies erupt in damian’s stomach— his hand twitches at his side before granting himself the permission and leisure to feel, reaching up and tangling his fingers in your hair, palm at your cheek.
his eyes close, and he thanks that tradition anyway, because he’s sure they’re glossy.
his lips press back against yours, breathing heavily into it, intimately pressing closer. you taste better than his dreams. your mouth is softer than in his imagination.
when the kiss breaks, a deep sigh rips through damian’s mouth.
his fingers dig into the skin of your cheek without realisation, as if holding you close so that you do not disappear. his eyes have softened a great fraction, eyebrows not furrowed, but twisted upwards in a plethora of emotions— not tight. vulnerable. he is not used to intimate, and so his eyes are almost fearful; yearning eyes searching yours for an answer— for reassurance. that you will not leave him.
“i can try to talk to her,” your voice is low and quiet, clutching damian’s bicep. and then a sharp breath.
“maybe if you’d done all your dramatics earlier..”
damian’s breath hitches in a mix of relaxation, offence, and amusement.
“please,” he whispers, leaning in to graze his lips against yours almost dreamily, as if to confirm this is truly happening. “it was hard enough confessing now.”
you smile. just a bit.
“there is no reason to stay in gotham,” you repeat, voice low.
damian opens his mouth, eyebrows already furrowed in defence—
“but for you,” you add before he blows on you, and his contorted lips shift into a small, playful grin. he scoffs.
“whatever. kiss me so much that i remember it even if you go, though i will never let you leave.”
Finally finished this piece after months of reworking. Far from perfect, but I’m glad it’s done. Inspired by the amazing Bruno Redondo, Dan Mora, and especially Dexter Soy.
Ways I Show a Character Is Secretly Lonely (Even When Surrounded by People)
I love writing characters who insist they’re “fine” while clearly radiating the desperate energy of a dog left home alone for eight hours with no enrichment activities.
They laugh too loud at jokes that aren’t funny. And not just a chuckle—like full-blown sitcom audience laughter. Because if they laugh hard enough, maybe no one will notice the hollow echo inside.
They overshare weirdly fast. First conversation? Congrats, you now know about their third-grade trauma and their mom’s weird obsession with Tupperware. It’s like emotional diarrhea: uncontrollable, messy, and a cry for connection they don’t even realize they’re making.
They get way too invested in minor social interactions. The barista remembered their name? That’s the emotional highlight of their month now. They’re writing about it in their journal tonight.
They cling to any group or friend who gives them an ounce of attention. Book club? Bowling league? Interpretive dance class for introverts? They’re signing up just to hear someone say, “See you next week.”
They’re the ultimate “life of the party” but go home feeling like they were never actually seen. Because if you're entertaining enough, nobody looks too closely at the emptiness.
Their texts are weirdly enthusiastic at 2 a.m. "OMG WE HAVE TO HANG OUT!!!!" followed by weeks of silence. It’s not flakiness, it’s a tidal wave of loneliness crashing into a wall of shame.
They constantly post selfies, group photos, “Having so much fun!!” posts… and yet, somehow, you can smell the loneliness through the screen. (If you could bottle that vibe, it would smell like stale wine and unsent texts.)
They stay in bad relationships just to not feel alone. Red flags? They’ve knitted a full quilt out of them. Because someone is better than no one, right? (It’s not.)
They sabotage good relationships because vulnerability is scarier than loneliness. "If I push them away first, they can’t hurt me!" - them, crying alone on a Friday night, claiming they're just "enjoying some me-time."
They have this glazed look when people talk about “close friends.” Like they know what it’s supposed to feel like, but they’re running on Google Image results and secondhand memories from coming-of-age movies.
Write Characters Who Feel Dangerous (Even If They’re "Good")
╰ Make their unpredictability a feature, not a bug
A dangerous character isn’t just the guy with the gun. It’s the one you can’t quite predict. Maybe they’re chaotic-good. Maybe they’re lawful-evil. Maybe they’re smiling while they’re plotting the next five ways to ruin your day. If the reader can’t tell exactly what they’ll do next — congrats, you’ve made them dangerous.
╰ Give them a weapon that's personal
Anyone can have a sword. Yawn. Give your character a weapon that says something about them. A violin bow turned garrote. A candy tin full of arsenic. Their own charisma as a leash. The weapon isn’t just what they fight with, it’s how they are.
╰ Let them choose not to strike and make that scarier
Sometimes not acting is the biggest flex. A truly dangerous character doesn’t need to explode to be terrifying. They can sit back, cross their legs, sip their coffee, and say, “Not yet.” Instant chills.
╰ Layer their menace with something else, humor, kindness, sadness
One-note villains (or heroes!) are boring. A dangerous character should make you like them right up until you realize you shouldn’t have. Let them charm. Let them save the kitten. Let them do something that makes the eventual threat feel like betrayal.
╰ Show how other characters react to them
If every character treats them like a nuclear bomb in the room, your reader will, too. Even if your dangerous character is polite and quiet, the dog that won’t go near them or the boss who flinches when they smile will sell the danger harder than a blood-soaked axe.
╰ Make their danger internal as well as external
It’s not just what they can do to others. It’s what they’re fighting inside themselves. The anger. The boredom. The itch for chaos. Make them a little bit scary even to themselves, and suddenly they’re alive in ways pure external "baddies" never are.
╰ Don't make them immune to consequences
Even the most dangerous characters should get hit—physically, emotionally, socially. Otherwise, they turn into invincible cartoons. Let them lose sometimes. Let them bleed. It’ll make every moment they win feel twice as earned (and twice as scary).
╰ Tie their danger to what they love
Real threats aren't powered by anger; they're powered by love. Protectiveness can be feral. Loyalty can turn into violence. A character who's dangerous because they care about something? That's a nuclear reactor in a leather jacket.
╰ Remember: danger is a vibe, not a body count
Your character doesn’t have to kill anyone to be dangerous. Sometimes just a glance. A whispered rumor. A quiet, calculated decision to leave you alive — for now. Dangerous characters control the room without ever raising their voice.
