Hii!! Can you do a drabble With Damian with reader doing that "climbing on my boyfriend" trend?? Thank you so muchhh 💌
climbing your boyfriend
IN WHICH... ...you climb your boyfriend? pretty self-explanatory
warnings: fluff, crack, gn!reader, established relationship
wc: 578
The moment you saw a video titled "climbing my boyfriend to see if he says anything" on your For You Page, you knew you had to test it out.
So, you've propped your phone up on the water bottle on Damian's desk. He glances at it, flashing you an odd look but not acknowledging it further.
He's got his headset on, eyes glued to his monitor as he clicks away on his controller. He mutters something under his breath, barking orders at Dick and Tim as they play some game together.
"You absolute imbecile!" Damian exclaims. "We're going to lose, thanks to you. Get it together, Grayson."
You giggle, the deep scowl on Damian's face so adorable and sweet—all you want to do is kiss it away. But you're on a mission.
You start standing behind his gaming chair. He smiles, thinking you're there to give him a massage or something. "Hi, beloved," he murmurs softly. You can hear Tim laugh through Damian's headphones, causing the scowl to return. "Shut it, Timothy."
You brace your hands on the top of his chair, hooking one leg over Damian's shoulder, giggling. "My love? What're you doing, hm?" he spares a glance at you, chuckling at your awkward position.
You shrug innocently. "Nothing, keep playing your game, Dami...whatever it is."
He scoffs as if you've personally offended him. "It's FC26, hayati. Soccer simulation, essentially. I get to pretend I'm on the best world teams."
You smile. "Wow, Dames." You keep your voice casual, smirking deviantly at the camera, still recording. "That's fascinating."
"Isn't it?"
You only hum, using his sudden shouting at Dick to hook your other leg over his other shoulder. You grip his hair tight to get your balance, nearly taking you both down.
He winces. "Beloved, the hair!" he squeaks, face scrunched in pain, knuckles white on the controller.
You laugh, releasing him. "Sorry! Sorry! I was gonna fall!"
"What're you even doing up there, hon?" he asks, looking up at you through his lashes.
You stare back, grinning as if all of this is normal and totally common. You cup his cheeks softly, giving them little squeezes. "Oh, nothing. Don't worry about me, Dami-Dames. Wanna get ice cream after this?"
He arches a brow. You realize suddenly that his controller is sitting long forgotten in his lap—now it's Dick and Tim's turn to yell at him.
"Dami-Dames, huh?" he repeats, hands gripping your thighs to keep you stable. His thumbs brush gentle, loving circles on the flesh. "That's a new one."
"Yeah, it's a combo of your two nicknames. Dami and Dames. Dami-Dames."
"Okay, hayati."
You nod. "So...ice cream?"
He laughs, tugging his headset off his head, ignoring the now-muffled shouts and annoyed groans of his brothers. "Of course, my darling. We can get ice cream. But only if you promise we can bring home Titus a...what's it called?"
You tilt your head in confusion, fingers still brushing soft on his cheeks. "A what, baby?"
"A pup...cup? Is that what it is called?"
A bright grin overtakes your face. He's so precious, you want to kiss him all over, just to hear his shy little giggles. "Yes, Dami. A pup cup. We can get Titus a pup cup."
He nods in satisfaction, resting his head against one of your legs. He kisses your thigh gently before nuzzling into it. "Ice cream and a pup cup, I can do that. And beloved?"
in this dessert...
Coco Chanel (the cat), has lived in relative peace all her life. Until reader decides to bring her boyfriend to their home...
flavor: fluffy, the teeny tinniest bit of angst (alluded break up) but happy ending.
contents: 1K+. Cat's POV. Dick and reader are in an established relationship, reader has a protective cat. Alluded break up, but it doesn't last.
baker's notes: none, enjoy!
want more desserts? check out the menu
Life was good for Miss Coco Chanel, the Persian cat.
She lived in her spacious apartment, lounging on her royal perch, grooming herself to perfection, and eating enough to leave her satisfied for life. She liked you, her owner, even when you annoyed her to no end when you tried to get Miss Coco Chanel in that wretched bathtub. Even when you clung to her when you got home after work, wrapping her up in your arms, Coco’s huffs going unnoticed. Still, you were Coco’s human, and she loved you as such, granting you (and only you) her purrs and chin rubs.
Coco was happy, because her little life was just her, and you.
Until he arrived. "Dick," you used to call him, in the same cooing voice you used for Coco.
The wretched day came with boxes crowding Coco’s territory. She had scratched at them, snarling at the mess until you had mercifully removed the boxed from Coco’s way.
She had seen the miserable human on occasions, he was hard to miss, after all: bigger than you, he crowded too much space, was much too loud and had once tried to touch Coco without her permission.
But after the day of the boxes, he never left.
Always hogging Coco’s space. He never dared to pet her after the first day, when she had snarled at him loud enough to give him the warning he needed, but that didn’t deter him to live in Coco and your space.
The worst thing? Your caresses and love seemed to be displaced now. The first few days, when Coco managed to ignore the man, and seemed to recognise that you no longer gave her annoying hugs after a tiring day, Coco had been ecstatic. She was finally given her space.
Until she discovered why that was. She watched, as you came back from work one night, lifting her head disinterestedly. Coco had been ignoring Dick, who had been lounging in front of the TV. Expecting you to turn to her, Coco started to move away, only you made a beeline to Dick?
Coco watched, startled. Didn’t you hate Dick as Coco did? Then why were you embracing him tenderly, speaking in the soft voice that belonged to Coco’s special time? Why were you giving those loud, annoying kisses to Dick's cheeks, and not Coco’s?
After that, Coco didn’t like that her cuddling time was being taken away from her.
The next day, when you arrived home, Coco leaped from her tower and walked toward you, headbutting your leg, demanding what she was owed. You complied with a coo, softly petting her, and hugging her. And Coco really thought that was that. Until Dick, with his gravelly and irritating voice appeared by your side, and stole kisses that belonged to Coco. Coco swatted at him, trying to protect you from the buffoon.
Dick also seemed to drag a pup, Haley, with him. Which would’ve aggravated Coco more, except Haley was clumsy and seemed to be missing a leg, so Coco knew she wasn’t a problem.
No. Coco’s main enemy was Dick.
So she stayed vigilant of what he did all day: he’d wake up obscenely late, and he’d take his three legged pup for a walk, not before trying to converse with Coco before giving up. Then he’d come back and would pace around the apartment, reading from files and musing outloud. Coco noticed he was an antsy person. More agile that her clumsy owner, he couldn’t seem to sit still for longer than five minutes.
When the sun would start to dip, and you would be coming home, all that restless energy seemed to vanish, and when you were home, his tone would soften marginally. Coco would watch, prepared to pounce in case Dick would try something funny with you, but he seemed to be gentle, caring. That was something that Coco could admire about him. A shared interest.
But Coco didn’t appreciate when after dinner, the two of you would disappear to your room and close the door behind you, leaving Coco with the dumb dog as company.
Previosuly, when Dick hadn’t been in their lives, Coco would never be barren from your room. But this was starting to become a problem.
The door would only open later that night, when Dick would slip by and would go out the apartment through the window. Coco would take the time to go to your bed and curl by your head, keeping you safe, before Coco’d fall asleep.
Now, Coco wasn’t a dumb puppy. She was a cat, for god’s sake. And after days and days of watching Dick, it became clear he wouldn’t leave. He was part of Coco’s life now. And you seemed to love him dearly.
And so, Coco began tolerating him for you. That didn’t mean that she stopped her dislike of him. No one except you were allowed to touch Coco.
Haley would try playing with her, but such trivial matters were beneath Coco, and she would escape to the top of her tower to keep watch over their apartment.
She learned to live like this. Until one day, after an agitated discussion, Dick disappeared, and with him Haley.
The first few days, Coco thrived. Until she started to miss the extra food Haley would give her. She started to miss the clumsiness of the pup. The way the apartment seemed less lonely when he was around and you was gone. Coco saw that Dick being gone made you sad. You'd softly sniffle, and Coco would try to charm you with her meows, but nothing broke that gloomy spell over you. And Coco understood that you must love Dick and Haley as much as you loved Coco. And maybe, just maybe, Coco had started to appreciate them to.
And so, late at night, Coco stood at the window and meowed loudly, beckoning Dick back home. He slipped through the window, his shoulders bunched, and Coco walked towards him and headbutted his leg. He sighed, gently took Coco in his warm arms. Coco discovered that he was gentle with her.
He led her to were you were, under the covers in your bed, softly sniffling.
Coco watched your eyes light up as you sat, and for the first time in days, there was happiness in your eyes.
Coco decided that she would never let Dick go from her terrain ever again.
summary: you and dami both have bad days and get into an argument and you guys make up omg just shoot me
warnings: talks of cheating but it doesnt happen, jealousy, anger, argument, yall lwk a lil unhealthy but who isn't, damian cries twice, mention of someone else vomiting in the past, jason is lwk an ipad baby, damian lwk ooc but! idgaf, i guess thats it idk
It started with Jason. Damian had just rolled out of bed, headed for the kitchen, when Jason piped up from the breakfast table.
“Baby Bat.” He greeted. Already irritating, as Damian had made it incredibly clear he hated that nickname. Damian grunted, turning to face Jason. Jason turned his tablet around, showing an incredibly enlarged picture of Robin. Robin holding a woman tightly against him. If Damian didn’t experience it himself, he might think Robin was into this woman. She was staring up at him with wide eyes and holding on tightly to his upper arms. Damian furrowed his brows. That picture was out of context. Jason raised a brow.
“Is this true?” Jason asked. Damian reeled back. How dare he assume Damian would ever do that to you? Damian glared at him.
“Obviously not,” Damian stated. Jason nodded, flipping the tablet back towards himself.
“Just had to check,” Jason grumbled. Damian didn’t appreciate that. He shouldn’t have to check; he should know. Damian would never ever in a million lifetimes cheat. And especially not on you. The fact Jason was even insinuating he’d do such a thing, and had to check just to make sure it wasn’t true, made him sick to his stomach.
As the day went on, all he could think of was how that paparazzi purposely made him look like some scoundrel. And now his face was plastered all over Gotham as a freak who picked up victims of street crime. Foul. Then his dumbass brother dared to believe it? Was his character that questionable? The cheating itself was disgusting as it was, but to think Damian would hit on someone moments after a horrific, traumatizing event for them. He could hardly stomach it. He was starting to feel guilty over something he didn’t do because clearly some part of him seemed capable of it. Which part of him?
Then after his morning workout, he headed for his bedroom to get his extra clothes for his shower. In the process, he walked in on Tim going through his sketchbook while lounging across his bed. Tim looked up when he entered the room, giving him a knowing grin.
“Do you draw anything other than your partner?” Tim mocked. Damian lunged forward, yanking it from his hold.
“Give me that,” Damian grumbled. He closed the book, pressing it to his stomach so Tim couldn’t take it from him. Tim hummed. He pressed his hands under his head, kicking back on Damian’s clean sheets. Damian glared at him. He moved towards his dresser, pausing when he saw Tim’s disgusting boots on his bed. Damian froze, feeling his heart stall.
“Get out,” Damian muttered under his breath. Tim snorted.
“Jeez, Damian, you’re a bit touchy over the drawings. They’re good. I just thought it was silly that was all you drew. Page after page, it's a bit pathetic.” Tim scoffed like Damian was the most dramatic person on the planet. Damian felt his anger seethe. He clenched his jaw, begging for the strength to keep himself moderately calm.
“Get out,” Damian repeated, his tone harder and louder. Tim paused, looking up at Damian. He nodded, pulling himself off Damian’s bed. Tim ducked out into the hall. Damian took a deep breath, closing his eyes to try and focus. He felt his anger receding. He reached out and wiped away the dirt Tim caused on his sheets. He was able to get most of it off; if it had been mud, Damian would’ve had to hide himself from his weapons. For the sake of Tim.
Damian settled onto the edge of his bed, peeling open his sketchbook. Your face stared at him as he swept through the pages, making sure Tim didn’t vandalize any of them. He froze when he saw a ripped page. The tear only went up halfway. The fuzzy edge of the paper slashed through your eye and down your cheek. It split through your smile. Your face was cut in a wavy line. It must’ve torn when he yanked it from Tim. He must’ve torn it. If he had been just a little more gentle when he took it from Tim, you would still be smiling at him perfectly. He felt tears clogging his throat and warming the back of his eyes. Damian frowned, sliding down onto his side. He pressed the sketch to his chest. He burrowed his face in his sheets as he cried. He hoped somehow when he looked back down at the sketch, your tear would be healed.
His shower was slow, like his hands were weighed down by his bad attitude. Damian really just needed everyone to not speak to him all day. He scrubbed his hair with a towel once he was done. He pulled his clean clothes on and looked up into the mirror. His eyes were still puffy, but his cheeks were dry now. He really didn’t like that he’d have to walk around all day with the evidence that he had cried. He wondered how Jon wore eyeliner during those two odd years. Especially since he was such a crybaby.
Damian swung open the bathroom door, carrying his wet towel. The second he stepped out of the bathroom, sweaty arms wrapped around his head. Damian was startled, coughing at the disgusting smell of Dick immediately after his run. Dick laughed as he pressed his armpit towards Damian’s face. Damian shot his hand out, knocking Dick in the stomach. Dick jumped back, clutching his stomach.
“Dude, I was just playing,” Dick complained, looking Damian up and down. Damian glared at him. Of course Dick would do this. Just when he got out of the shower. He just washed his hair. And he was a disgusting pervert according to the news; Tim put his nasty shoes on his feet, and your face was torn. Dick stared at Damian in shocked confusion, his mouth hanging open.
“You’re almost 40; stop acting like you’re fucking 14!” Damian shouted. Dick reeled back.
“I’m 33. I was just joking around, jeez you’re sensitive today.” Sensitive? Like when Tim invaded his personal space and went through his private drawings? That’s sensitive? Jason walked up behind Dick, interested in the fight. If he had to restrain someone, he might.
“You’re fucking disgusting.” Damian snapped. Jason furrowed his brows.
“Didn’t realize you knew those words,” Jason mumbled. Damian could throw Jason off a building.
“I’m not a baby. Quit treating me like one.” Damian glared at Jason. Dick stared at Damian’s face, finally placing what looked different.
“Whoa, everyone, settle. Have you been crying?” Dick asked, tilting his head in concern. Dick reached out, trying to pull Damian into a hug by his shoulders. Damian smacked Dick's hands away, storming down the stairs. He flung his wet towel at the nearest piece of furniture. He ignored Dick as he called out to him. He pulled his shoes on, snatched his keys, and left the house. As he reached his car’s handle, Bruce’s voice came from behind him.
“Where are you going?” He asked. Damian didn’t bother looking behind him.
“Out.” He grumbled before settling into the driver’s seat. He pulled out of the driveway and headed straight for your apartment. All he wanted to do was settle into your arms and pretend the day started with him wrapped in your bedsheets.
It had started when you found your coffee empty. Which only starts your day on a bad foot.
Then just as you were finally getting through your work, your coworker sent you an email.
Robin is flirting with girls. I think he’s getting a girlfriend soon???
You opened the article they sent you, raising a brow. You stared at the picture they had plastered over the top of the article. Robin’s hands were pressing into this woman’s back as she clung onto him. They were staring into each other’s eyes, her mouth parted. It looked like love. Lust if you were being an ass about it. But the problem was you knew who was under the mask.
Despite you knowing there was no way Damian was cheating on you, the image of his hands pressing into her flashed in your mind. Every time you tried to calm yourself down, you thought about the woman’s eyes staring wide into his. It was growing into a severe case of jealousy. Why was he all over her last night, but today he hadn’t even messaged you? You didn’t want to think about it. You tried to push it away and focus on your work. Every time you thought you were safe, someone else had to bring it up. It was all people could think about talking about. Every mutter of Robin had you pushing down your anger and clenching your teeth.
You finally settled down as you dropped into your car. The closer you got to your home, the less anger you felt. Just as you finally felt like you were in an okay mood, some douchebag in a raised truck pulled out right in front of you. You slammed on your brakes, making the car behind you honk. He blared his horn as he sped past you. What a fucking dick! What the hell is his problem? Just loud and wrong for what reason? It was your right of way. And that alone sent you straight back into your bad mood.
The final straw was that as you were opening your front door, your sweater snagged on the handle. You didn’t notice until you were a step past it and heard a loud rip. You gasped, carefully pulling the fabric from the handle. You cradled it in your hands like a wounded bird, looking at the tear. It was totally ruined. It was a knit, which meant it was dead. That thread holding it together was ripped. The hole had doubled by the time you pulled it off. You flung it at the wall, feeling your anger burn harder.
It’s ridiculous. Your coffee is empty, and it was probably Damian who used it last. He was all over some girl last night. He doesn’t message you at all.
That asshole truck pulls out in front of you, and then your favorite sweater is ruined. You flopped backwards onto the couch, resting your hands against your stomach and staring at the ceiling.
The door to your apartment opened, Damian stepping in. He glanced around the room for your face. You sat up on your elbow, looking at him over the edge of the couch.
“Did you drink all my coffee?” You asked, irritation clear. Damian scoffed.
“What?”
“Well, this morning I went to drink coffee, and it was empty. And I’m thinking you used it last and put the empty box back like a dick.” You explained, your mouth curling into a snarl. Damian glared at you.
“You’re just assuming it was me? What is your problem?” Damian snapped, slamming the door shut. You stood from the couch.
“What’s your fucking problem? You're all over girls on your patrol? You’re plastered all over the news with you pressing her all up against you! What’s that about?” You hissed. Damian snarled.
“I would never cheat! What makes you think that? Why is everyone accusing me of cheating?” He barked. You stormed past him, scoffing at his face. Damian followed after you.
“I didn’t say you cheated. I’m saying you’re a bit all over her. And if everyone is accusing you of cheating, what do you think that says about you?” You pointed your finger at his chest. Damian pulled back from you, looking you up and down.
“I’m not a cheater,” He seethed. “I bet the media didn’t tell you she leaned over and vomited all over my shoes right after that. Why are you assuming the worst about me? First this stupid coffee and now all of a sudden I’m a cheater!” Damian gestured in the direction of your coffee cabinet. You dropped your head back, rolling your eyes.
“Oh please! I didn’t call you a cheater. You’re being so-” You cut yourself off, throwing your hands up. Damian snapped his head at you.
“I’m being what? What am I being? Sensitive? Is that what you’re going to say?” Damian demanded. You scoffed, jerking your chin towards him.
“If the fucking shoe fits, Damian. You’re being a pain in the ass.” You threw your arms out to your sides. Damian pressed his lips tightly together, frowning deeply at you. You bent down, yanking your sweater from the floor. You swerved around Damian, harshly throwing the sweater into the trashcan.
“I’m being a pain in the ass? Me? Are you kidding? I just came home; you’re tearing into me about your goddamn coffee. You’re being ridiculous.” Damian said, spinning around to face you. His eyes caught on your sweater. He raised a brow, pointing at it.
“What are you doing? I bought you that.” You threw your arms up, turning your back on him.
“Who gives a shit? It’s none of your business what I do!” You yelled, storming towards the bedroom. Damian yanked the sweater from the trash can.
“Don’t throw my gifts away. It is absolutely my business what you do!” Damian fumed, chasing after you. You spun around, grabbing hold of the bedroom door.
“Go fuck yourself, Damian. I can’t fucking stand your emotionally stunted ass. You’re not a fucking baby, quit acting like one.” You hissed, slamming the door. Damian took a startled step back. He huffed.
“Fine! I’m not fucking talking to you if you’re going to be an ass!” Damian yelled. He stared at the door, waiting. Open the door. Beg for his forgiveness. Kiss his cheeks and tell him you’re so sorry and you won’t let it happen again.
“Fine! Go!” You yelled back. Damian groaned loudly, storming straight out of your apartment.
He sat in the driveway to the manor for twenty minutes. He stared at the sweater bundled up in his lap. Damian wanted to drive back to your apartment and curl in your lap. He really just wanted you to pull your fingers through his hair and tell him you love him. He sighed. He couldn’t even smell your sweater and pretend he was with you. It smelled like your trash can. And what made everything worse was that now that he was thinking back on it, he absolutely used the last of your coffee and forgot to toss it. He had made such a big stink about it with you, and it was genuinely his fault. Damian wanted to turn back time, and once you ask him, ‘Was it you?’ he can say, ‘I’m so sorry’. Instead he’s sat alone in his car, staring at the fabric of your sweater.
He thought it would be best to let you both settle down and apologize in the morning. So he tried to focus on everything else. He found the hole in your sweater. He handed it off to Alfred with many pleas that he try to fix it. Alfred promised to have it done by tonight. He was sent on patrol with Dick. The first part was tolerable. Dick tried to crack jokes, which only earned him grunts from Damian. They had to take down a whole group of muggers, which was entertaining. About halfway through, rain started pouring, soaking them both down to the bone. But it was tolerable; it at least gave him puddles to entertain himself with. Then just as Damian decided he was going to make it through this night, they hit a lull. The city went quiet; no criminal activity was found. There wasn’t even a lost kid to find the parents of. They were just going roof by roof, looking over the streets. And of course Nightwing couldn’t stand a second of silence.
“So what happened today?” He asked, flipping over onto his hands. He stood in a handstand on the edge of the rooftop. Damian glared at him, though he didn’t see it.
“Nothing.” Damian mumbled. Dick groaned.
“Don’t tell me you’re slipping back into your ‘nonchalant’ facade.” Dick pulled an arm back, balancing on just one hand.
“Do you have to do that?” Damian snapped. Dick set both his hands down, flipping back onto his feet.
“I’m entertaining myself. It’s incredibly boring tonight.” Dick grumbled. He crossed his arms over his chest, pouting like a petulant child. Damian felt an eye twitch starting to spark.
“I had a bad day,” Damian answered. Dick furrowed his brows.
“That much was obvious. What actually happened?” Dick glared at Damian. Damian really wished he didn’t like Dick as much as he did. He would’ve taken a finger by now. He wouldn’t kill him. But maiming was okay.
“Jason was a dick. Tim went through my sketchbook. You put your armpit on me. I got into a huge fight with my partner. Now I’m on patrol with you, which is how I imagine hell to look like.” Damian ranted. Dick sighed through his nose. He kicked his leg out, pointing his toes to stretch it.
“What was the fight about?” Dick asked, rolling his ankle. Damien groaned, sitting down on the edge of the roof. He stared at the cars driving down the roads.
“Everything and nothing,” Damian answered. Dick dropped his head back, letting out a loud, annoying groan.
“I can’t help you if you’re going to be vague,” Dick complained.
“Maybe I don’t want your help!” Damian snapped. He scoffed, pressing his lips into a tight line.
“Sorry.” He muttered under his breath. He wasn’t repeating it, even if Dick asked.
“Well, it helps to talk it out, you know,” Dick grumbled. Damian sighed loudly, amping up his annoyance just to irate Dick a little more.
“I drank the last of their coffee. They didn’t like that picture the media has thrown up everywhere. I said I didn’t like them calling me a cheater. They said they weren’t, but if everyone is calling me a cheater, what does that say about me? They said I was overreacting. And they threw the sweater I bought them last year in the trash. In front of me. And they said I was emotionally stunted and acting like a baby.” Damian sighed as he ranted, feeling more and more like an asshole the more he talked. Dick grimaced. He settled down next to Damian on the roof. His hand started to gently rub Damian’s back. It was tentative, like he thought Damian might swing back and bite him. The more Dick comforted him, the closer he felt to tears.
“And I accidentally tore a sketch I made of them,” Damian mumbled. His voice broke, his resolve cracking into a pathetic mess.
“And I think I messed us up as much as I messed that up.” Damian pushed out his words in a broken voice. His confession fell into sobs, his tears swarming his face. Damian fell into Dick’s arms. Dick wrapped Damian in a hug, gently rocking him back and forth. Damian held onto Dick’s back, letting himself be cradled. Damian didn’t stop the tears from flowing, just letting himself wallow in his self-pity. He let himself rock with the crashes of his sobs.
When he finally caught his breath again, Dick pulled him back. Dick cradled his face, holding onto his cheeks. He wiped at the tears trailing over the edge of his mask. He shook his head.
“Fights happen. It’s okay; it doesn’t mean it’s over. Me and Kori fight-”
“Really?” Damian whimpered. He felt embarrassment creep up behind him at his tone. He frowned and hid in Dick’s arms again.
“Oh yeah. We fight. It’s okay though, all you have to do is apologize and work to change. Especially since it’s over something small. You just have to talk, that’s all.” Dick whispered, rubbing at Damian’s shoulder. Damian paused, his eyes opening. He could get to the manor in ten. He could get to your apartment from the manor in fifteen. He could get to your window. He could beg for your forgiveness before dawn even broke. He really wasn’t sure how long he could let this fester; he needed you to be happy now. Damian pulled from Dick, wiping at his face.
“Can you manage on your own?” Damian asked, standing up. Dick scoffed at him.
“I’m friggin Nightwing, dude.” Dick raised his arms, flexing. Damian rolled his eyes, pulling at the grappling hook on his belt.
“Great. I have to take care of something tonight.” Damian took a running start off the building, swinging over the street to the next rooftop.
“You’ve got this, Baby Bat!” Dick screamed in encouragement. Damian ignored him, focusing on his way towards the manor.
Once he finally got there, he started whipping through the rooms. He yelled for Alfred every chance he got. Bruce appeared next to him. Damian jumped as he turned around.
“Hello, father.” Damian greeted, squeezing past him. Bruce followed him as Damian searched.
“You are assigned to patrol. What has happened?” Bruce asked, clearly worried at the frazzled state his son was in. Damian glanced back, giving him hardly any attention.
“I have to take care of something. I called Todd on the way over. He’s covering me.” Damian explained. He poked his head through the dining room door. Alfred stood in the dark, staring at Damian. Damian’s shoulders slumped in relief.
“Alfred. I wanted to know if the sweater was ready?” Damian asked. Alfred opened his mouth to answer.
“What sweater?” Bruce cut off. Damian stared at Alfred, begging silently that he would just answer. Alfred pulled his hands from behind his back. He was holding your sweater out towards him.
“All fixed, Master Wayne,” Alfred stated. Damian surged forward, taking the sweater from his hands.
“Thank you, Alfred. Sorry about tracking in the rain.” Damian muttered, spinning around and rushing for the front door. Bruce chased after him.
“Where are you going?” He asked, watching him in concern. Damian waved him off.
“To take care of business,” Damian grumbled as he sprinted out of the house and towards you.
Your bedroom window was attached to a fire escape. Which was something Damian was incredibly grateful for. The rain had seemed to double, making the painted metal more slippery than he liked. Your lights were off, and your curtains were closed. He hoped you weren’t asleep. He didn’t want to wake you. He shook his head, letting water droplets fly from his hair. Your sweater was soaked. He did try to cover it with his cape, but that didn’t seem to help.
Damian reached forward, knocking against the glass. He waited a minute, his heart pounding against his chest. Your light did not turn on. Damian knocked again, this time harder. No movement at all. Damian huffed, pressing his forehead to the cold glass. Please. Please. He knocked again, still pressing his head to the glass. Light flickered behind his eyelids. Damian snapped his eyes open, finding your light on. He started up, pressing his hand to your window. You pulled the curtains open, jumping at the sight of him. Your mouth fell open. You mouthed his name, making a sad smile spread on his face. You threw open the window, staring at him in shock.
“Hey,” he breathed. It was nice to see you with something on your face that wasn’t anger. You sputtered.
“What are you doing? It’s raining!” You yelled over the rush of the water droplets. Damian nodded. He brought his hand to his mouth, wiping at the rain there.
“Did you mean it?” Damian asked. His eyes were peeking out from under the mask. The green was surrounded by red. You sighed, your body slumping. You shook your head, reaching out the window for him. You held onto his cheek.
“Not a word.” You whispered. Damian sighed, leaning into your hand.
“I am so sorry. I just had a terrible day, and I blew up. You shouldn’t have to take that from me.” Damian rambled. His eyes shot around the fire escape. “ I should’ve said something. I should’ve just apologized. I started a fight, and I didn’t mean-” Your mouth against his cut him off. You were leaning out the window, holding his face against yours. Damian sighed, tossing his arm over your back. He held onto you as your pajamas started to soak through. This is what he needed. He could feel his shitty day slipping away as you moved your lips against his. He cradled you against him as he turned you, pulling you further out the window. Your legs, knee down, were in your apartment. Your back was held in Damian’s lap, his shoulders shielding you from the rain. Your thighs were getting wet, but you didn’t care. You ran your hand across his cheek, holding onto the back of his neck.
You pulled away. You didn’t slip back into your apartment; you just stared at him. You pulled at the small hairs at the base of his neck.
“I’m sorry.” You said, your eyes shining in the rain. Damian shook his head, licking his lips. He couldn’t imagine a day going by when he didn’t kiss you.
“Don’t be,” Damian stated, gazing down at you. You were stunning even against the material of his suit. He had to die before you. He wouldn’t be able to live if you weren’t there to look at him like this.
“A towel would be nice,” Damian added. You laughed, pulling yourself off his lap. You slipped into your apartment, Damian following after you.
Damian hated that he was dripping onto your floor. You grinned at him over your shoulder as you pulled a towel from your bathroom. He felt his worries fly away. He couldn’t care less about your floor; you were looking at him like he was the only person in the universe. He took the towel from your hands, rubbing it through his hair. He held out your sweater.
“Alfred fixed it,” Damian said. You looked down at it, your mouth parting. You gently took it from him, holding it in your arms as if it were pure gold. You held it up, water dripping off the bottom edge. Damian felt an embarrassed frown pull at his mouth.
“It’s wet.” You muttered. Damian nodded, spinning around towards the curtains. He yanked them closed. He turned back to you, pulling at his soaked suit.
“It’s raining.” He answered. You lifted a glare at him, running your hand over the patch where the hole used to be.
“You can’t even tell.” You whispered. Damian set his mask on your dresser, dropping his pile of a suit on the floor. He stared at you while he stood in front of you, down to just his underwear. Your hair was sticking to your face. Your pajamas were glued to your skin, but you didn’t seem to care.
“Alfred is talented,” Damian said. You pressed the sweater to your chest, looking up at him. Your face fell into a smile, your eyes watering.
“You hate it.” Damian sighed, his shoulders dropping. You shook your head, holding an arm at him. Damian tipped forward, falling into your hug. You pushed your head over his shoulder, kissing his bare skin. He wrapped his arms around your back. He tried his hardest not to cringe at the feeling of your soaked sweater pressing against him. He pressed his nose against your shoulder, so glad he was finally home.
“I love it.” You whispered.
Bruce was a little startled when Jason settled down next to him in the morning. They both had their own coffee. Bruce was reading his newspaper. Jason was scrolling through the news on his tablet. Bruce looked up when Jason gasped.
“What is it?” Bruce asked. Jason started to let out a little evil giggle.
“I’ve got to send this to Damian.” He tapped at his tablet loudly. Bruce tried to peer over his shoulder.
“What is it?”Bruce repeated.
“You’re getting FOMO, old man,” Jason grumbled, flipping the screen around. Bruce glared at him before dropping his eyes to the tablet.
A picture of Robin was blasted across the screen. He was kissing someone, sitting on a fire escape as they hung out their window. The picture was horrible quality, and Robin’s hand was pressed to their face so it wasn’t possible to identify the person. Jason swiped at the screen, showing off a new picture. The back of Robin was facing the camera now, his head hung as he stared down at his lap. Two legs were hanging from the window. It was clear as day that whoever he was kissing before was now cradled in his lap. Next to Robin was a bundled ball of fabric. One Bruce recognized.
“Is this the business he had to take care of last night?” Bruce asked. Jason shrugged, flipping his tablet back to him.
“No clue. He only told me I had to cover because he had to handle something.” Jason grumbled. Bruce pulled at his phone, opening the contacts immediately. The phone only rang twice before he picked up.
“Dick.” Bruce started. Dick sighed on the other side.
“I see you’ve read the news today,” Dick mumbled.
You rolled over in your empty bed, groaning at the absence of Damian. You stumbled out of the room, finding him in the kitchen. He was leaning against the counter, with a coffee mug next to him.
“I bought you more coffee,” Damian stated, pushing the mug closer to you. You gratefully took it. You pressed it to your lips, taking a sip. He turned his phone around, showing you a picture that was definitely you kissing him in his Robin suit.
“Quality is too poor to make out your face. I’m definitely going to be seen a certain way by Gotham.” Damian grumbled. Your eyes shot to the top of the screen. A small box holding ‘Father’ and ‘Incoming Call’ popped up. Your brows shot up, making Damian flip the phone around. He answered it, pressing it to his ear.
“Hello, Father,” Damian answered. He pulled the phone from his ear, covering the speaker with his palm. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours. You hummed, kissing him back. Damian pulled back, rolling his lips together to taste your coffee. He pressed the phone back to his ear.
"Mr. Bruce Batman Wayne sir, please kindly get your head on straight, man up, lock tf in and stop b*tching around." -Tim
Y’know, everyone says Tim found out Dick was robin cuz he saw him do a somersault only one person in the world can do, but like, no one talks about the fact the robin costume is the exact same one as his last performance costume.
(Talk about a massive plot hole 💀💀💀)
I get it doesn’t work with the canon dc timeline(and it’s really cringe), but little Timmy using Gen Z/Alpha language is just too funny to me.
cw: reader is a ballerina performing for the last time, her and Bruce are married, ballerina Cass mentioned, StephCass mentioned, TimKon mentioned
a/n: swan lake is my absolute favorite ballet and the dances the reader performs is Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy and The Dying Swan
Bruce held your hand the whole car ride to the theater. He could feel the sweat from your hand and your nerves mixing with his own.
he squeezed it slightly and whispered “your going to do amazing darling,” into your ear.
you didn’t respond, only let out a shaky breath as the car approached the theater.
“well this is where we’ll part,” you told him. “Go find good seats for you and the kids. And don’t forget Steph and Kon are coming too.”
“I will. And darling, you are going to do amazing,” he told you and he took your face in his hands.
you looked away, your nerves getting to you. “I’m scared Bruce,” you admitted, “I’ve only danced swan lake once and this piece—” you let out a breath, “—this is the biggest performance I’ve ever done, and I’m not even dancing the whole ballet!”
it was true, you were only dancing one part of the ballet for the Wayne Enterprise Charity Performance. It was more of a talent show (all though that didn’t sound as nice as performance), so many people would be showcasing their skills like dancing and music. You decided to dance The Dying Swan from Swan Lake, your favorite ballet, and you would be the opening and closing act.
“Are you still opening the show with The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy?” Your husband asked.
you nodded, “yes.”
“well, focus on that performance first, then worry about the closing act later,” he suggested. Then his tone softened. “Youre going to do amazing at both.”
you smiled, soft and sweet, before hugging him tightly. “Thank you Bruce. You always know what to say to make me feel better.”
Bruce internally cringed at that. He didn’t always know what to say and he had said the wrong thing many times before. You were the reason he knew what to say. You were the reason he was the man he was.
—
Bruce reserved box seats for him, his kids, and his kids partners. He watched as thousands of people found seats below them and waited for the show to start.
As he waited for all of his kids to come, damian came with him of course, and Cass (who had brought Steph) came second, he heard people talk about you.
“I always forget that Bruce Wayne’s wife is a professional ballerina,” he heard a teen girl say.
her friend snorted. “How can you forget? She was a huge deal when she was younger. I remember my parents took me to New York to go see her perform the Nutcracker.”
“Is this her last performance ever?” The first one asked.
“yeah, she’s opening and closing the show. I know she’s doing the sugarplum fairy dance as the opening but I have no idea what she’s closing with.”
“huh. I guess we’ll just have to find out later.”
—
soon, all of bruces kids had come. Dick, Jason, Tim with Kon, Barbara, Cass (as mentioned before) with Steph, and Damian (who drove with Bruce). Oh and Alfred of course.
the lights dimmed and the orchestra got in place. Bruce knew you were behind the curtain, ready to perform a piece you knew by heart. You had danced the role of the sugarplum fairy countless times, it was practically second nature to you now.
the audience went quiet as the curtain rose to reveal you smiling and looking gorgeous in your costume, ready to start dancing at any second.
the music was soft and quiet when you first started dancing, your feet moving delicately across the stage. But as the dance went on, the song grew louder and your actions got bigger but still stayed soft and delicate. Your smile never left your face.
“she looks like a ballerina inside a music box,” Bruce overheard stephanie whispered to Cass.
he silently agreed. You truly did look like a tiny ballerina inside a music box, moving gracefully and carefully with a smile that stayed through every jump and turn.
you continued to dance to the music, which Bruce remembered hearing all throughout his childhood during Christmas. It was the music that would stay in your head and follow you through your dreams after your parents had taken you to see a ballet. It was nostalgic, really.
his eyes never left you as the music sped up and you spun around the stage.
and as you hit your final pose, he was the first to stand up and clap for you.
he could see you smile even wider as your breathing slowed to a normal pace and when you met his eyes, it grew even bigger.
then the curtain dropped again and you were gone.
—
the other acts were good, all performed by professionals. There was opera, violin solos, more dance (but tap, not ballet), and many other performances.
but then it was the closing act. You. Performing a piece you didn’t let anyone see you practice, not even Bruce.
the whole theater was dark when Bruce heard the soft piano and violin start playing. A soft spotlight shone on you as you danced through the darkness looking like a swan swimming at night.
you were wearing a fully white costume as your arms moved like a birds wings. And then you turned to the audience and oh—oh your face was full of pain. it made his heart hurt even though he knew you were just performing.
and he watched as you swayed on the stage, your arms covering your face for just a second, your head tilted down, then up, and then you were on the ground.
and you were halfway off the ground, looking up to the sky like a swan looking at the stars one last time, your arms extended towards god.
and you danced with the passion of a thousand dying swans, your wings flapping in the air, desperate to live longer than you knew you were going to.
and you were turning ever so slowly, using the tiniest steps to face the audience again. Then you used bigger steps to go backwards, as if the current was pushing against you.
and then you were truly on the ground, your arms covering your face. You lifted your arms and head up, just for a bit to reveal a sad, bittersweet smile.
Bruce swallowed hard. He felt damian lean against him and from the corner of his vision he saw Tim grab Kim’s hand and Cassandra lay her head on Steph’s shoulder.
and you got up like it was the last time you were ever going to get up, and you really did look like a swan. A swan that had been through hell and back to die in peace.
At first he didn’t understand why you had been keeping this performance a secret, but as he watched you, he understood. This was your final time dancing on stage. This was your swan song.
as he watched you dance, he remembered when you suggested Cass do ballet and how you practiced with her nearly everyday. He remembered you cheering her on at her first recital.
and then he remembered being younger, watching you dance on stage and flaking in love with you.
and as he watched you this time, he fell in love with you all over again.
he heard dick sniffle and saw Jason wipe away a tears as his own eyes watered.
and as you descended another time, your arms— no, wings— stuttered. Your hands touched your pointed foot when you rose again to hit your final pose as the music stopped.
the audience was quiet for a few seconds until it erupted in cheers and claps.
when you stood up, Bruce could see the tears streaming down your face, even from up in the box seat.
but you looked like a beautiful swan who had just danced it last dance.
bonus comments on the recording:
@/brucewaynestoe: pls play this video whenever I get too cocky
@/gothamhater: a symbol of light inside a world full of darkness
@/gothamnewsofficial: truly the ballerina inside a music box
@/ballerinanews: now no one can ever forget she’s a professional ballerina
a/n: woah louise can actually write well?? the fact that I wrote this in a little over an hour lol. I was totally not crying while writing this guys
if u liked this, please like, comment, reblog, and check out my other works!
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