DamiRae week 2025 | Day seven: dark fantasy(?)/free day
Again, not sure if this works with dark fantasy, but at least it's a free day, too??? This concludes DamiRae week 2025 folks! Thanks for riding along! I leave you with this plus chapter four of A Reign of Shadows which you can read here!
DamiRae week 2025 | Day one: family matters/secret(*cough* uh….fake?) dating
Well, fiddlesticks. I wrote this whole thing thinking the prompt was FAKE dating and not SECRET dating, but alas…I was very, very wrong. (Do your research, Cass!!!!!!) On the bright side, this also fits family matters, so I’m saved!!!!! Oof a fanart and fanfic for this one, so much content! Anyways, without further ado, let’s start 2025 DamiRae week, shall we? ;)
***
Raven smoothed down her dress for the tenth time and checked her phone. The instructions were clear: "Meet him by the parking lot. Navy suit. Probably scowling."
She sighed, already regretting saying yes to this. One night of pretending to be somebody’s adoring girlfriend for cash—easy, right? No big deal. Smile, hold hands, maybe endure a few awkward questions from nosy relatives. She could handle this. Of course. Probably.
Her eyes scanned around, and then—there he was. Leaning against a lamppost, glowering at his phone like it had personally offended him.
Oh no.
Raven’s stomach dropped straight to her feet.
It was Damian Wayne.
She knew him instantly. Perfectly tousled hair. Impeccable posture. The same furrowed brow she remembered from endless study sessions at the library. He looked a little older now—a little broader, a little rougher around the edges—and somehow ten times worse for her mental stability.
She froze right in her spot.
I’m so fucked.
For one wild second, she considered turning around and pretending she never saw him.
But he glanced up, caught her staring, and she did the only thing she could think of. She smiled—way too wide—and waved.
His eyes widened. And she knew recognition hit him like a brick.
And just like that, Raven realized:
This night is going to be a complete disaster.
Her heels clicked traitorously loud against the asphalt as she crossed the parking lot, every step feeling like it echoed he knows, he knows, he knows.
Okay, just smile. Be normal. You’ve been normal before. Probably. Once.
She tried to ignore the fact that Damian was watching her approach now—straightening up even further, stuffing his phone into his pocket, and standing awkwardly like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to wave or hug her or just spontaneously combust.
Honestly? Same.
He’s still cute. Why is he still cute? That should be illegal.
And taller. Was he always this tall? Was I just shorter?
Focus, Raven.
She reached him and gave what she hoped was a breezy, natural smile, even though her heart was hammering loud enough she was pretty sure the whole damn parking lot could hear it.
"Hey," she said, forcing her voice to stay light. "You must be Damian."
She knew full well who he was.
Why didn’t she put two and two together? Her roommate had told her his name was Damian—and it wasn’t like she knew many Damians in the wild. Maybe it was because she was strapped for cash, or maybe that she secretly hoped it was this Damian—
No. Then why did the realization hit her like a truck?
Judging by the way his mouth opened, then closed again like a fish, he was just starting to figure it out too.
"Yeah," he said finally. "And... you're..."
He trailed off, staring at her like his brain had blue-screened.
God, why was this already a disaster?
Abort mission. Fake a sprained ankle. Claim amnesia.
Something.
Instead, Raven laughed—nervous and breathy—and stuck out her hand like they were meeting at a corporate retreat and not about to lie to a hundred strangers about being soulmates.
"I'm your fake date," she said, because someone had to keep this train from derailing completely. “Raven.”
"Nice to meet you."
I already know how infuriatingly incredible you smell, and how irritating you were in our Chemistry class, but yeah, sure…
“Nice to meet you, too.”
He cleared his throat, tore his eyes away, then held out his arm, and said, “shall we?”
Raven tucked her hand into the crook of Damian’s arm—because fake couple, appear natural, don’t be weird—and immediately regretted it when she realized just how solid he was under the jacket.
Oh, great. Perfect. Let’s make this harder, why don’t we?
They started walking toward the big stone building where fairy lights twined around the railings and the faint sound of music drifted out.
Damian leaned in slightly, voice low and fast. "Okay, so….quick crash course."
Raven nodded, hyper-aware of how close his mouth was to her ear. Focus. Focus.
"The groom is my brother—Richard. And the bride-to-be is Kori." He took a quick glance at her, as if gauging her reaction. "You'll be able to tell who they are just by looking at them."
White dress. Probably another insanely attractive man. Because I'm not stupid.
"My grandmother is the short one with the purple dress," he said. "She’ll cry when she sees us. Just go with it."
"Got it," Raven said, hoping she sounded more normal than she felt.
"Then there’s my dad—he’ll probably tell you a bunch of embarrassing stories about me. Ignore half of them.” He closed his eyes momentarily as his lips pressed into a thin line. “No, actually, ignore all of them."
Raven smiled, trying to mentally file that away, but her brain was already spinning uselessly because he smells so damn good.
Clean and warm and some kind of stupid cologne that made her want to lean in like an actual crazy person.
"And—uh—my aunt Samantha." Damian grimaced. "If she corners you, fake a bathroom emergency. She will ask about our future children. Plural."
Raven bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
Children.
Right.
Future.
Focus, Raven.
"Cool, cool," she said, voice a little too high. "Bathroom emergencies. Future kids. Crying grandmother. Totally normal day."
He gave her a quick, sideways glance—the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile—and damn it, why was that cute too?
They were almost at the steps now. Voices and laughter were getting louder. A big, happy, chaotic mess waiting to happen.
"Last thing," Damian said, hesitating just before they reached the door. "If anyone asks how we met…say coffee shop."
"Coffee shop. Classic." She gave him a thumbs-up, even though her heart was hammering like a jackrabbit.
He opened the door, holding it for her, and as she stepped inside into a whirl of music, flowers, and chattering strangers, Raven thought:
This is fine. Totally fine.
I am not going to lose my mind fake-dating my college crush at a family wedding.
Nope. Not at all.
The moment they crossed the threshold, it was like stepping into a hurricane. Warmth, chatter, the clink of glasses—and then a woman in a purple dress sprinted toward them with the speed of a much younger person.
"There she is!" the woman cried, flinging her arms wide. "Damian’s girlfriend!"
Raven barely had time to brace herself before she was engulfed in a perfumed, crushing hug.
"Uh—hi!" Raven squeaked, awkwardly patting the woman’s back.
Over the woman’s shoulder, she caught Damian’s face—a tight, panicked little smile that said ‘sorry, you're on your own.’
Fucking coward.
"My baby!" the woman sniffled, pulling back to dab her eyes dramatically. "We thought he'd be alone forever! You are absolutely gorgeous! Are you staying for the whole weekend? You have to stay!"
"Uh—yes—maybe—we’ll see?" Raven said, voice wobbling dangerously. Weekend? The venue was only an hour and a half out of the main city she lived in, did they have a hotel close by?
…Did Damian have a room of his own?
No, Raven. Don’t go there. Focus, goddamnit.
The woman—grandmother, Raven remembered in a flash of terror—grabbed Damian’s hand and their hands together and squeezed, beaming at them like they’d personally cured all her ailments.
Behind her, a whole platoon of relatives was gathering.
Aunts, uncles, cousins—god, so many fucking cousins.
Raven’s stomach dropped to somewhere around her ankles.
Someone was already snapping pictures.
Someone else shouted, "How did you two meet?"
"Coffee shop!" Raven blurted at the exact same time Damian said, "Bookstore!"
A tiny, horrible silence.
Raven felt her soul leave her body.
She shot Damian a glare that obviously read: are you fucking kidding me?!
Thankfully, Damian recovered fast, laughing with a sheepish shrug. "Coffee shop inside a bookstore," he amended. "You know, like those cute ones where you pretend to read but you’re really just people-watching." She hated how effortless his recovery was, and how damned adorable that laugh was.
Focus.
"Ohhhhhh," the grandmother cooed, clutching her chest like they’d just acted out the final scene of a rom-com, which, to her credit, is exactly what it felt like.
Raven laughed, too—too loud, too fake—while mentally screaming.
This is fine. This is fine. I’m not dying inside. I’m not about to faint. Everything. Is. Fine.
Damian’s hand brushed hers, grounding, steady, and she realized he was squeezing gently, like he knew she was two seconds from a full systems shutdown.
She risked a glance up at him.
He was watching her with something almost...soft in his expression.
Oh, no, she thought, as her heart gave a traitorous little skip. I’m so fucking fucked.
Before Raven could even blink, Damian’s grandmother was propelling them across the room toward a small, glittering stage where the soon-to-be newlyweds were surrounded by a mob of admirers.
"Come on, you have to meet Richard!" she said over her shoulder, practically dragging them by sheer willpower.
Raven clutched Damian’s hand like a lifeline—partly for appearances, partly because her legs suddenly felt like they’d been swapped out for uncooked spaghetti.
Up close, Richard looked like he belonged in a magazine catalog—neat hair, crisp tuxedo, easy grin. He spotted Damian immediately and grinned wider, his teeth flashing in a jaw-dropping way that made Raven realize why Damian’s smile had the same effect.
Fucking incredible genetics.
"Damian, you made it!" Richard pulled him into a quick, back-pounding hug. Then his eyes shifted to Raven—and sharpened.
"And you are?" Richard asked, eyebrows lifting just enough to be dangerous.
Raven opened her mouth—but Damian beat her to it, slinging an arm around her shoulders with a casualness that might have fooled everyone else, but she could feel the tension humming under his skin.
"This is Raven," Damian said, casually. "My girlfriend."
Richard’s grin turned downright devilish. "Girlfriend, huh?" He turned back to Damian. "Funny, you never mentioned having a girlfriend."
Raven laughed—a little too high-pitched—and waved awkwardly. "I’m a, uh...recent development."
"Very recent," Damian added quickly. Too quickly.
Richard’s fiancée, a stunning red-headed woman in a shimmering dress, gave a delighted little clap. "Oh, I love that! A whirlwind romance!"
"Exactly," Raven said, nodding so hard she nearly gave herself whiplash. "So whirlwind. There were...brooms involved."
Damian choked on a laugh next to her, coughing into his hand.
Richard just raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but mercifully—thankfully—decided to let it go.
"For what it's worth," Richard said, clapping Damian’s shoulder with mock gravity, "you definitely traded up, man. Way out of your league."
Raven blushed furiously, half from the compliment, half from the way Damian’s hand squeezed her shoulder a little tighter, like he agreed.
Sure, sure. Not like he’s a solid 11/10.
"Yeah," Damian said, voice weirdly soft. "I know."
Raven’s heart stuttered.
Focus, Raven. Focus. Stop falling for him again at a wedding in front of all his relatives. Jesus.
"Now," Richard’s fiancée announced, turning and practically clapping her hands, "we're about to kick off the first dance…and after that, we’re opening the floor!"
She beamed at them. "You two better be the first ones out there after us!"
Raven laughed weakly, praying for an earthquake, a sudden power outage, a freak lightning strike—literally anything to get her out of this.
But the music was already starting.
Raven stood with Damian just off to the side as the music changed, a soft, slow swell of something orchestral and sweet.
The crowd shifted—people making space, murmuring in excitement—as Richard and his fiancée moved onto the center of the dance floor.
Raven clasped her hands together tightly in front of her, feeling a thousand different things at once: relief that she wasn’t immediately being forced to dance, panic that it was coming soon, and an overwhelming, ridiculous fluttering in her chest from simply being next to Damian.
The bride and groom swayed together, laughing at something private, faces close, the rest of the room disappearing around them.
It was...stupidly beautiful.
Raven bit her lip, feeling that weird, achey warmth settle in her ribs.
Next to her, Damian shifted his weight awkwardly, and she could feel his discomfort radiating off him.
Still, when she glanced up at him, he was watching Richard and his fiancée with a strange, unreadable look on his face.
Soft. Almost...wistful.
Raven's chest tightened painfully.
God, he smells so good.
God, he looks so good.
God, I'm so fucked.
She looked away quickly, pretending to smooth the skirt of her dress, trying to shove the stupid, growing feeling down where it belonged: not here, not now.
The song played on, low and tender. A few other couples—the brave ones—were joining in around the edges, but no one dared intrude too closely.
When Raven risked another glance at Damian, he caught her looking.
Their eyes locked.
For half a second, it was like they were the only two people in the whole building. No fake dating. No families. No paycheck waiting at the end of the night.
Just...them. Standing too close. Breathing the same air.
Then Richard’s fiancée gave a little whoop and shouted, "Everyone, join us!"
The spell broke.
The crowd laughed and clapped, and suddenly Damian, bless his soul, was offering her his hand with the slightly crooked, lopsided smile that had made her an idiot back in college—and apparently still had the same effect now.
"Guess that’s our cue," he said.
Raven swallowed hard and took his hand.
I’m doomed, she thought.
I’m absolutely, one hundred percent doomed.
"You ready to make a fool of me?" he said, voice low enough only she could hear.
Raven let out a shaky breath and put her hand in his. Her fingers trembled a little against his palm. She hoped he didn’t notice.
"Always," she said, because it was easier to joke than admit her heart was about to punch its way out of her chest.
Raven let Damian lead her onto the dance floor, weaving through clusters of laughing couples. Her heart hammered so hard she could practically hear it above the soft tune of the ballad.
She tried to focus on the basics: left foot, right foot, don't trip, don't humiliate yourself—but then Damian’s hands found her waist, gentle and solid, and her brain promptly short-circuited.
He was warm. Steady. His touch was careful, almost hesitant, like he was terrified of holding her wrong.
Raven rested her hands on his shoulders—tried to, anyway.
Somewhere in the process, her fingers brushed the back of his neck, and Damian shivered.
Actually shivered.
Oh.
Oh no.
That’s bad.
…Or good?
They started swaying to the slow beat, small steps at first, neither of them really talking, both way too focused on pretending to be normal.
Raven stole a glance up at him.
He wasn’t looking at her—not directly—but his jaw was tight, and his brow was furrowed like he was working through some complicated math problem.
Probably the same one she was: how do you dance with someone you’re supposed to be faking it with when it feels...well…
The music wrapped around them, soft and sweet, and little by little, the space between them shrank.
Not enough for the relatives watching from the sidelines to comment.
But enough that Raven could feel the heat of Damian's chest against hers, the whisper of his breath near her temple.
Enough to make her dizzy.
He smells so fucking good, she thought miserably.
He’s so fucking close.
I’m going to do something so incredibly fucking stupid.
She cleared her throat—desperate to say something, anything—but when she opened her mouth, what came out was:
"You’re a better dancer than I thought you’d be."
Damian’s mouth twitched. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"Take it or leave it," she said, forcing a grin.
He laughed quietly—the sound low and a little rough, like he wasn’t used to doing it—and her heart flipped over in her chest.
"I’ll take it," he said. His voice was different now. Softer. Warmer.
Their eyes met again, and this time neither of them looked away.
The music slowed further, the world narrowing until it was just the two of them. Hands tightening slightly. Breaths catching.
For a heartbeat—one, two, fuck, maybe three—it felt like he was about to lean in. Like maybe, just maybe, he wanted to kiss her.
Raven's heart soared and stuttered all at once. And then—
Damian’s eyes shifted beside her as his lips twitched into what could be described as a pained smile. “Richard is staring,” he whispered, leaning in closer so that his words were almost pressed into her ears. Almost. “Correction: my whole family is staring.”
His arms tightened around her waist as he began to trail one hand softly up her bare back, causing her nerves to explode with a sudden surge of electricity—of course I picked this backless dress, out of all dresses, out of all days.
Raven let out a forced giggle, helplessly trying to thwart the thought of how small and fragile and…safe she felt in his arms. “I mean…that’s good, right?”
He made a considering noise before flatly stating, “run your hands through my hair.”
Raven gawked, trying to mask her surprise and humiliation as if he hadn’t suggested she do something that could literally burn her from the inside out. “Excuse me?” she squealed into the safety of his neck.
He pulled away slightly, just enough that he could meet her gaze. The sparkling string lights above reflected in his eyes and she miserably recalled why she'd deliberately avoided making direct eye contact with him throughout college. Because he had these stunning emerald green eyes with flecks of gold that seemed to capture and magnify every speck of light in the room, transforming them into tiny constellations that threatened to pull her into their orbit. Because he had this sexy scar bisecting his left eyebrow, a thin silver line that told stories of some long-ago recklessness that only made him more intriguing. Because he had these lips that looked. So. Damn. Kissable. Full and slightly curved at the corners, as if perpetually on the verge of a knowing smirk that said he could read every forming inappropriate thought crossing her mind.
His voice dropped even lower, even gruffer—even sexier. “Trust me.”
She might have whimpered at his voice, his suggestion, the way he was looking at her—fuck, at this point she didn’t know, didn’t care—but regardless, she obeyed, lifting one hand to his temple. She cautiously ran her fingers through his hair, brushing a curl away from his ridiculously handsome face. His hair felt exactly as soft as she'd imagined, like satin beneath her touch, and she couldn't resist admiring how it shimmered in the gentle lighting.
His eyes fluttered closed and, maybe he groaned, maybe she was imagining it, but damn, if that wasn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
This was a dangerous game.
I’m so so so fucked.
Someone nearby wolf-whistled.
"Get a room!" someone else hollered.
They broke apart instantly, both laughing a little too loudly, stepping back like they’d been caught doing something illegal.
Raven’s face burned hot enough to start fires.
Damian raked a hand through his hair, looking everywhere but at her.
"We’re doing great," he muttered under his breath. "Really selling it." He cleared his throat. “That was great.”
She wasn’t sure if it was the nerves, the music, or the way Damian kept sneaking glances at her like he didn’t want to stop touching her, but right then, in the middle of the dance floor, she realized something terrifying:
What if I'm not faking it?
As if answering her silent prayer, the music faded out, replaced by the soft clink of silverware being unwrapped. Around them, couples broke apart and began drifting toward their assigned tables, where waitstaff in crisp white uniforms glided between chairs with trays of garden salads. The timing couldn't have been better—Raven needed space to breathe, to process whatever was happening between them. She followed Damian through the crowd, hyperaware of his hand resting lightly against the small of her back as he guided them toward their table, where the first course awaited.
Thank god. Time to regroup and calm the spinning, tumbling, tripping thoughts in her mind.
Raven collapsed into her chair at the long banquet table, trying not to visibly hyperventilate. Her heart was still doing Olympic-level gymnastics. Her body still tingled from the soft touch of his fingers against her waist.
Damian sat down next to her, way too casually for someone who had just made her liquid with one simple touch in front of a bunch of strangers.
He picked up a glass of water like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just held her like she actually meant something to him. Like he hadn’t practically melted her bones.
Raven stabbed her fork into her salad, missing the lettuce entirely and spearing the tablecloth.
Smooth.
She yanked it back quickly, cheeks burning, and focused very hard on pretending to read the menu card in front of her.
Meanwhile, Damian shifted beside her. His knee brushed hers under the table—a tiny touch, probably accidental—and Raven jumped like someone had tasered her.
"You okay?" Damian asked under his breath, leaning toward her.
She could feel his breath on her ear, could smell the faint, ridiculous hint of his aftershave again—clean, woodsy, warm.
Raven nodded, a jerky little bob. "Fine. Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?"
Damian simply smiled—a small, secretive thing—and settled back into his seat.
As the waiters started bringing out the main course, Raven tried desperately to focus on anything else: the glittering fairy lights above them, the buzz of conversation, the random old uncle arguing about fantasy football three seats down.
But it was impossible.
Because all she could think about was:
1. How Damian's hand was resting on the table inches from hers, fingers loose and inviting.
2. How his pinky kept twitching like he maybe, possibly, wanted to touch her again.
3. How stupidly, unfairly handsome he looked right now—jacket unbuttoned, tie slightly loosened, hair a mess from her fingers spearing through it.
God.
She was so far past fucked it wasn’t even funny.
Halfway through the main course, Damian shifted again and—definitely very deliberately this time—bumped his knee against hers under the table. It didn’t help that the dress slit at her thigh, making it so his knee collided with her very bare, very warm skin.
Raven froze.
When she glanced sideways, he wasn’t even looking at her.
Just smirking a little to himself, like he knew exactly what he was doing.
The worst part?
She wanted to kick him.
And also maybe jump him right there between the bread baskets. Or climb him like a tree.
"Having fun yet?" Damian murmured, still not looking at her.
Raven stabbed another piece of lettuce with unnecessary violence.
"Having the time of my life," she said sweetly. "Thanks for asking."
Damian chuckled—low and soft—and finally, finally looked at her.
His eyes were bright and mischievous and something else too—something warmer, no something much hotter. Scalding, even.
Something that told her that maybe…maybe…he wasn’t faking anymore either.
Then, someone tapped Damian on the shoulder from behind, a strong hand in an ink-black suit. She turned around quickly and looked up…and up.
“Father,” Damian chuckled, pushing himself out of the seat and turning to face his impossibly even taller father. “This is Raven.” He held out a hand to help her up. “My girlfriend.”
Somehow the word held more conviction this time. Perhaps it was because it was his father he was lying to? Perhaps it was because of…
Focus, Raven.
“Nice to meet you, Raven,” Bruce smiled as he shook Raven’s hand with a sturdiest handshake she’d ever received. “I’m Bruce, but I’m sure you know that by now.”
She froze slightly and resisted the urge to throw a sideways glance at Damian for not telling her his father's name. She knew Samantha. Kori. Richard. But his father? That would have been helpful information. What was she supposed to do if she had bumped into him at the bar and he started talking to her? ‘Oh, hello random wealthy-looking man I've never formally met before.’ That would have been absolutely mortifying.
Instead, the only morsel of information she received was that he that might spill some embarrassing stories about the seemingly perfect man beside her. Internally, she snorted. She had to admit it, though, she’d pay good money to hear those stories.
Maybe her thought wasn’t as subtle as she intended, as Damian glanced at her with a challenging look in his eyes.
As if on cue, Bruce opened his mouth with a wide grin, and she felt Damian brace himself beside her, but then someone carrying a large camera cut beside them and took a picture, the click and flash stopping Bruce’s sentence even before it formed.
Damnit. She could have received all that useful information for…research. Or blackmail. Or both.
“Oh, get a picture of just these two lovebirds!” Bruce said, shooting Damian a wink. “It’s not every day this one is seen with a girlfriend.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” Damian muttered under his breath as Bruce ushered them into an area that had a carved marble archway. The delicate stone vines seemed to dance with real roses, their petals catching the warm glow of dozens of dancing candles. Strands of twinkling fairy lights wove through the stonework like captured starlight, creating an ethereal curtain that transformed the simple archway into something out of a fairytale.
It was…magical.
Like straight out of a rom-com magical. What was going to happen now—a fake kiss?
She nearly scoffed at the thought, then, she heard it:
“Kiss for the camera!”
Raven’s stomach dropped straight to her toes. Fuck, I manifested that.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
It started small—probably one of Damian’s obnoxious cousins—but it spread like wildfire, picking up volume, until the whole room was chanting.
Raven froze, her eyes snapping to Damian’s.
He looked just as panicked as she felt, one hand still half-extended like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to run for the exit or drop to one knee.
Oh God.
This is happening.
This is actually happening.
Around them, the crowd was clapping, laughing, jeering like this was the halftime show at a football game and not, you know, her imminent emotional collapse.
Damian gave her a helpless look—the tiniest shrug, a ‘what can you do?’ grimace—and then stepped closer.
"Sorry," he murmured under his breath, voice barely audible over the noise.
Sorry for what, making me humiliate myself in front of your family by fainting right in this spot?
And then he cupped her face with both hands like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He was warm, and steady, and close, and when he dipped his head to kiss her, she froze. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribcage, her breath hitched in her throat. A part of her wanted to bolt—to turn and run as far as her legs would carry her—while another part remained rooted to the spot, terrified and yet inexplicably anticipating, desperately wanting, what was about to happen. Her whole body tingled with nervous energy, and she wondered, absurdly, if she remembered how to kiss at all. And then his lips met hers, and everything around her—the laughter, the clapping, the music—all of it blurred into nothing.
It wasn’t a fake kiss.
It wasn’t a peck-for-show.
It was soft, careful, real.
His lips brushed hers once, tentative—like he was asking permission—and when she didn’t immediately combust or flee the building, he kissed her again. Deeper this time. Slower.
Raven’s hands slid up without thinking, one curling into the front of his jacket, the other through the soft strands of his hair. Holding on.
Damian's thumbs stroked lightly across her cheeks, and he tilted his head just enough to slot their mouths together even more perfectly—and god, it was so much worse than she thought it would be.
Worse because it was perfect.
Because it felt good.
Too good.
His lips were impossibly warm against hers, demanding yet somehow gentle as they moved with practiced confidence. When his tongue traced the seam of her mouth, she opened for him with a small, desperate sound she'd deny making later. Heat bloomed low in her belly as he deepened the kiss, tasting faintly of champagne and something darker, something uniquely him. His fingers slid from her cheeks to tangle in her hair, angling her head back slightly as he continued his thorough, devastating exploration of her mouth. Every nerve ending in her body seemed to catch fire at once, and Raven knew with absolute certainty she was completely, utterly, without-a-doubt fucked.
Her heart was hammering, her body buzzing, and when she finally broke the kiss, it wasn’t because she wanted to.
It was because she had to—lungs burning, head spinning. She was literally about to explode.
A roar of cheers and whistles exploded around them, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. All of her senses—the smell of Damian, the taste of Damian, the feeling of his lips on hers—made her completely forget that they were sharing a kiss for just a fucking picture. In front of literally everyone.
Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Did they almost have a full-blown make out session in front of his entire family?
Raven blinked, dazed, as Damian dropped his hands and took an abrupt step back, shoving his own through his hair again like he was physically restraining himself from grabbing her and doing the same damn thing all over again.
"Wow," someone said nearby. "Get married already!"
Raven laughed—breathless and wobbly—and ducked her head, pretending to be bashful so no one could see the absolute chaos happening on her face.
They just witnessed the best fucking kiss I’ve ever had in my entire fucking life.
Damian leaned closer, just barely, so only she could hear:
"See? That...that wasn’t too bad, was it?"
Raven risked a glance up at him.
His cheeks were pink. His eyes were shining. His lips were parted, and slightly tinted by her lip gloss on his perfect fucking lips.
And suddenly, she didn’t feel like laughing anymore.
She felt like kissing him again.
So bad it was almost a physical ache.
I’m so fucking screwed, she thought wildly for the hundredth time all evening.
When they made their way back to the main room, Raven barely made it through the main course without combusting.
Between Damian’s occasional knee taps, the stolen glances, and the lingering awareness of that kiss—that kiss—she felt like she was walking around with an electrified wire running under her skin.
So when Damian leaned in and said, "Come on. You look like you’re about to faint," and tugged gently on her wrist under the table—she didn’t even hesitate.
She followed him out of the crowded hall, through a side door and down a quiet garden path lit by fairy lights and paper lanterns. The night air was cooler, softer, and Raven gulped it in like a drowning woman. Moonlight dappled the cobblestones between the swaying shadows of cypress trees, and the sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine wrapped around them like an invisible mist. In the distance, the muffled sounds of the party drifted out through leaded glass windows, but here, surrounded by the gentle rustle of leaves and the whisper of a fountain somewhere in the darkness, it felt like they'd stepped into another world entirely.
Damian slowed once they were away from the noise, shoving his hands into his pockets, glancing at her sideways.
"You okay?" he asked again, quieter this time.
Raven nodded quickly, wrapping her arms around herself for something to latch onto that wasn't the toned muscles of his chest. "I’m fine. Just—" She blew out a breath. "Your family’s a lot."
He chuckled. "Tell me about it."
They walked a few more steps in easy silence. The sounds of the party continued to fade behind them—laughter and clinking glasses dimming into the background—until it felt like they were the only two people left in the world.
Raven risked a sideways glance. In the soft light, Damian looked…different. Less guarded. More...real.
She was so busy trying not to stare at the cut of his jaw, the way one curl of his hair fell a little into his eyes, that she almost missed what he said next.
"You know," Damian said, voice casual but rough around the edges, "I recognized you."
Raven blinked. "What?"
"From college." He shrugged, kicking a loose stone along the path. "You were friends with Liam, right? You were at that Halloween party sophomore year. The one where the guy set the microwave on fire.” He chuckled, as if recalling a fond memory. “Plus, chemistry study group where you…you…you know…”
Raven's mouth fell open. "You remember that?"
Damian smiled a little—and it wasn’t the fake, charming smile he used for the family. It was smaller. Realer.
"Yeah," he said. "I remember you."
Raven's brain short-circuited all over again. In a full-blown, fight-or-flight panic, her mouth decided to override her survival instincts entirely and blurt out:
"I thought you were cute."
Dead. She was dead.
Absolutely fucked—and not in the way she wanted.
The words just exploded out of her, and there was no taking them back now.
Raven slapped a hand over her mouth like that would somehow rewind time. Damian turned to stare at her, eyebrows raised, clearly fighting a smile.
"You did?" he said, sounding waaaaaaay too pleased with himself.
Raven made a tiny strangled noise in the back of her throat that she'd definitely deny later, too. "I meant—I—like, objectively! Like, 'oh yeah, he's cute'—but like, in a normal way. In a 'everyone thinks that' way. Not a me way. Specifically. Not that I thought about it! Because I didn’t. Obviously. That would be—"
Damian stepped closer.
Raven’s words tripped over themselves and died.
He wasn’t smirking now. Not really. He was just...looking at her. Soft and a little wondering, like she was some kind of puzzle he was starting to understand.
"You still think so?" he asked quietly.
Raven opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
And then, very bravely, very stupidly, she nodded once.
Damian smiled—a real one this time, wide and a little crooked—and Raven felt her knees threaten to give out.
"Good," he said simply.
And for a second, it felt like maybe he was going to kiss her again. Right there under the fairy lights. For real this time. Maybe more than just a five-second kiss for show.
Raven’s heart soared and plummeted in the same breath.
The night breeze ruffled his dark hair, making it dance across his forehead in a way that seemed almost unfair. Raven couldn't help but stare, drinking in every detail of his face—the sharp line of his jaw, the slight quirk of his lips, the intensity in his eyes that made something deep in her chest constrict painfully. She looked at him like she was trying to memorize him, like she was afraid this moment might slip away if she dared to blink. And then, he simply just reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, fingers barely grazing her cheek.
It was nothing, but somehow…it was everything.
Raven swayed toward him without meaning to, her breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. Much to her surprise, Damian caught her, both his hands resting on the sides of her arms, so warm, so steady, so…right. Guess she swayed more than she thought she had.
"Come on," Damian said, voice low and impossibly soft. "Before they come looking for us." And then he offered his hand, palm up, like it was the easiest, most natural, most instinctive thing in the world.
Raven stared at it for half a second—at the long fingers, the callused skin—and then placed her hand in his.
His fingers curled around hers, lacing through them in a way that felt like he'd done it a thousand times before—and wouldn't mind doing it a thousand times more.
And for the first time all night, Raven knew neither of them were pretending anymore.
After the events of JLDA, the timeline was reset. Similar steps play out, but during Raven's introduction to the titans, Damien and her bump into one another. A sense of deja vu washes over the two of them. As if they met before. But they don't know where, when.
(and yes, I drew this back on the 11th, I tried to make the pieces in advance but college classes xP)
__
Art (c) @shadow-turtle-234
TT (c) DC
Reblogs & Likes are appreciated!
No reposting onto other sites (facebook, twitter, etc)
Raven: Robin. Tell me we did not blow off a Gotham PD zeppelin...
Damian: We totally did.
Day 5: Gotham by Gaslight.
I really love the steampunk style but it's so detailed and I didn’t have enough time or inspiration for this one XoX ...
Still, I tried my best
I omited the capes because I had no idea how they would be or how much of their uniforms would cover. I wanted to show off their clothes.
I can totally see'em solving cases ala Sherlock and exploding zeppelins. Damian still has his sword. I hope this one to be not so dark despite being Gotham :v I really wanted to make it a bit colorful yet pastel colors hate me, I can't with them
Now, in a new chapter of “why on Earth did I read that?!!!!” here’s a fanfiction about Damian Wayne in love with a homeless Raven, he finally kisses her when they’re dancing on her secret base, -something she was not expecting. They probably won't have a happy ending, the story is pretty dark. DamiRae is the second pairing, It’s a powerless AU and it’s all about Hal Jordan trying to get close to John Constantine who survived being slave of Bueno Excelente (Kyle is another one).
Lucifer, Maze and Decker are also there but not in a major role and they’re in a ménage à trois. It’s a mess, buta good one for my weir-ass mind.
Btw, it’s in Spanish and on hiatus, sorry about that.
summary: college AU - Raven and Damian are partners for a literature project. When he keeps her waiting for almost an hour after football practice, nothing will stop her from going after him. Not even the male sign on the door.
.
It’s hard for her to put into words how she’s feeling right now. Even with the vast range of words in her head, Raven just can’t find a pretty way to define how fucking pissed she is.
For the past 40 minutes, she’s been sitting on the same spot at the bleachers. The football players have long retreated to the showers, leaving the stage to Gotham University’s beloved cheerleading squad and their repetitive choreography. And for someone with barely any school-spirit in her bones, Raven almost wishes for one of them to fall.
Almost.
An annoyed sigh escapes her lips as she checks her phone again: still no answer. How hard can it be for him to come out and give her that stupid pen-drive!? She bites her lower lip and mentally curses her literature professor for ruining her life. Of all the people—all the sixty-three students enrolled on that subject for the semester—her name was matched to his for the final project. Sure, both she and Damian Wayne are the smartest people in class, and their project won't receive anything lower than an A+, but damn, what an egocentric bastard.
She felt like crying a river at the idea of pairing up with the person she detests the most on all campus, but now, Raven knows better that wasting precious tears won’t solve her problem. Murder, though…
Her eyes catch the sign of a bunch of jocks leaving the locker room, but to her luck, Damian isn’t among them. Like a trained herd, they keep following each other, but her partner just refuses to show up. She’s tapping her foot against the metal structure, a glimpse of hope stubbornly lighting up her eyes.
Any minute now, she thinks. But then, 15 minutes go by, and all hope turns into rage.
Raven shakes her head, a new decision igniting her soul. “Fuck this.” She stands up, glaring at the universe and stomping her way across the tracking field and towards the lockers. Her hands are balled into fists, and she sees the way people’s expressions change when they look at her. She barges into the locker-room, not caring that this is the male one.
Once inside, Raven’s eyes search for him, like a lioness hunting her prey. Most of the players are long gone, but the few left grow confused at the sight of a girl invading the men’s locker-room when they’re still half-naked. Some start covering themselves in shame, while others even try to impress her by flexing their muscles. On normal days, Raven wouldn’t spare them a fraction of her precious time, and now things are no different. She couldn’t care less about all of those exposed abs. Not when her mind is set on finding the Wayne.
“You.” She points at a random guy, and he shivers under her condemning gaze. “Where’s Damian?”
“Damian? Y-You mean Wayne?”
“Of course I mean Wayne!” She fumes. “Is there any other arrogant brat named Damian on this stupid team?!”
“N-No…” He answers, and oddly, it feels like a question.
“Where the hell is he!?”
“In the showers! He’s in the showers!” He covers himself, pointing towards the back of the room. “Please, don’t hurt me!”
“Tch, out of my way.” Raven grits her teeth, pushing past the player. She walks towards the showers, a curtain of steam clouding the air. She’s about to rip the curtain open, when firm hands hold her in place, preventing her advance. This interruption makes her mad, and once she realizes that the one who interrupted her is Damian, the girl grows even more irritated.
“Wow, slow down, Roth. Ask me to dinner first, will you?” He smirks, and her glare intensifies.
“Fuck you, Damian!” She slaps his hands from her shoulders, and he crosses his arms across his naked chest. He only has a towel wrapped around his waist, and some drops of water are still running down his olive skin.
“Aren’t you a polite lady?” That cocky arrogance remains plastered on his face, and she holds back the urge to rip it off with a slap. “Apart from peeking at me, what on earth are you doing here? I thought we were going to meet outside.”
“We were, Damian. One-freaking-hour ago!”
“What?” His eyes widen, real shock spread on his face as he looks at the clock on the wall. “Oh shit, is it that late already?! I must have lost track of time, my bad.”
“My bad!?” she repeats, her voice growing even angrier. “Can’t you even apologize like a human-being, you little piece of sh— “
“Wow, language! You’re worse than a sailor, geez.”
Her heart is racing inside her ribcage and it takes every ounce of self-control in her body not to strangle him. His personality is Damian’s worst quality. It’s like a younger version of his older brother, but he lacks the womanizer part—that’s as far as she knows, of course. The whole family seems to have this serious conduct disorder, but she won’t let him get the best of her.
All the money she's spent on meditation classes will prove itself useful.
She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and repeating her mantra inside her head. Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos. Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos. Azarath, Metrion, Zint—
“Look, just give me the pen-drive and I’ll be out.” She reasons, her tone calmer. “Let’s not waste more of my precious time, okay?”
Damian stares at her for a second too long, his hand massaging his chin. He nods, and Raven feels a certain relief to know this will be over soon. “Fine. Front pocket of my bag. It’s the yellow and green one with the W.”
“Finally.” She throws her hands in the air, and she's quick to spot the bag on the bench near the lockers. Raven leans down, her hands reaching for the zipper of the front pocket, and once the pen-drive is in her hands, her body relaxes. No tricks, no silly games or arrogant comments, just the way it should be.
But of course he had to be staring at her ass…
From the corner of her eyes, she sees Damian standing behind her, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His emerald eyes are on her, and once she turns to him, he doesn’t bother looking away. She swallows a few ugly words that are about to escape her throat and decides that instead of giving in to her emotions, she will teach him a lesson he won't forget.
Two can play this game, she thinks. It’s time for her revenge.
She gets back on her feet, mimicking his pose; her carefree eyes roaming his body. Even with a rotten personality, Damian is a sight for sore eyes. She acknowledges that he’s a very charming man, with that dark hair and those pretty, forest eyes; but that’s as far as she’ll go. His ego is already too high and she can’t risk inflating it anymore.
“Like what you see, Damian?” She asks, her eyes on his.
“I could ask you the same, Roth.”
“Well…” Her tongue traces her bottom lip, and after placing the pen-drive in her purse, she lets it slide down her shoulder and to the floor. She walks closer to him, the steam from the showers brushing her cheeks. “I can’t say I’m not.”
“Oh, boy.” He leans closer, their eyes never breaking contact. “Nice twist for someone who was about to murder me just now.”
“Call it a twist or just a girl trying to find compensation after waiting under the burning sun.” Their faces are inches apart, and she slides her hands across his chest. She feels his muscles twitching under her palm, and she can’t help but smirk at that.
Men, she muses.
“It sure is getting hot in here, habibti.” He whispers, eyelids lowered, and she can feel his heart beating faster under her touch.
“In that case, maybe you should take another shower, Dami.”
“What?”
His lips part in awe, but before Damian has any chance to process her words, her tiny hands are already pushing him backwards. In a blink of an eye, he finds himself under the shower, cold water now pouring over him.
How deliciously satisfying, she thinks, standing her ground. Triumph decorates her face, and she’s delighted to see the expression he’s making while his body tries to adjust to the lower temperature. His damp, dark hair is sticking to his face and his emerald eyes are glaring at her with enough intensity to tear a hole in her skin.
“Goddamnit, Roth!”
She chuckles, hands resting on her waist. “That’s what you get for making me wait, Damian!”
“Tt how very mature of you.”
“Never said I was.” Raven chuckles, still not ready to let her revenge wear off. “Sorry to throw cold water on your plans.”
“Ha Ha. Hilarious.” He scorns, running his hand through his damp hair. “I guess I deserved this.”
“You can bet your pretty ass you did.”
“Yeah… whatever. You can stop now.”
“Stop? Why should I?” she teases, victory clouding her better judgment. “Tell me, Dami, how does it feel to be a soaked loser?”
He stares at her for a little too long; the wheels spinning in his head. “I don’t know, Roth. You tell me.”
Her eyes widen when his arms wrap around her waist, and it doesn’t take much to understand what he’s doing. Although she tries to fight back, in a swift move, Damian pulls her close, and soon, she’s also soaked from head to toe. The cold water strikes her skin, damp clothes sticking to her curves, and shivers run down her spine.
Of course, the universe wouldn’t let her have her moment, right?
“So, Roth, how does it feel?” Damian asks, arrogance dripping from his lips.
“You’re such a child, Damian!” She fumes, hands balled into fists, ready to punch him.
“Me!? You started this!” He bites back, turning off the cold water.
“It was payback. It’s not my fault if you’re a shitty loser!”
“I’m not a shitty loser. You’re just an annoying winner.”
“I must have learned from you.”
They glare at each other for a few moments, sparks igniting between them. A real fight is about to start, when something inside her snaps.
What the hell am I doing?
A defeated sigh escapes her lungs, all the anger fading from her heart. She runs her fingers through her wet hair to take it out of her face, closing her eyes for an instance. Raven’s tired of all this childish bickering, and even if she hates to admit it, the cold water did help her calm down a bit. She’s never been the girl who loses her mind over stupid things, and perhaps that’s what she hates the most about Damian.
He makes her lose control. He sets her emotions ablaze, and before she knows it, they’re at each other’s throats, fighting over something stupid. It’s annoying—inconvenient, even. Theoretically, they should be able to maintain a decent conversation, but apparently, they can’t help but behave like children.
God, what is it about him?
Raven doesn't know. And maybe now isn't the best time to figure it out.
“I’m going home.” She states.
“Are you planning on leaving like this?”
“It’s not like I have another option, genius.”
“Tt. At least let me…” Before he can finish the sentence, she feels his thumb caressing her cheeks. It’s an innocent move, filled with some sort of concern and care. His hand cups her face, and she can’t help but notice how smooth it is. He’s looking at her with such a gentle expression, and once their eyes meet, an embarrassed blush creeps to his face. “I-I… I was just… your mascara was running down.”
Although she’s trying to find the right words, nothing comes to mind. Damian Wayne was nice to her. This is not part of his modus operandi, and she doesn’t know how to respond. Her cheeks feel warm and her lips part. Their faces are extremely close, and if she didn’t know any better, she could bet he wants to ki—
His lips are on hers before she can conclude her thoughts. They’re smooth and delicate, and at first, he doesn’t move, giving her enough time to memorize their shape. Unlike Damian himself, his kiss is calm and soothing—insecure, even. It’s makes the turbulence in her heart disappear, and even if she knows Damian Wayne is the one kissing her, Raven can’t find it in herself to push him away. Quite the opposite, actually.
Her arms wrap around his neck and she kisses him back; her fingers getting lost in his dark locks. Their lips move in sync, and slowly, he presses her back against the white tiles. His hands sneak under her shirt, moving to her waist so he holds her in place. A raw groan dies in her throat when his fingers dig down her skin. A foreign warmth wraps around her guts when he nibbles her lower lip, a clear sign that he’s asking for entrance.
Soon, she tastes his sweetness in what’s probably the best kiss of her life. It’s addictive—eliciting so—and it’s only after he pulls away that she realizes what she’s been deprived of for such a long time.
Her senses slowly return, and she pulls her arms back from his neck. Amethysts widen, and once she sees that stupid smirk on his face, Raven realizes what she’s done—with whom she’s done it with. Her entire body is on fire and it’s like her heart is about to explode if he does so much as touch her skin. She can’t look him in the eye and her instincts are begging her to run away.
She’s a fool. A fool for not pushing him away, and mostly, a fool for wanting another kiss.
“Oh my, for a moment, I thought you weren’t going to kiss me back.”
“I-I wasn’t. I didn’t—.”
“But you did.” He smiles excitedly, biting his lower lip. “And what an amazing kiss, for sure.”
“We shouldn’t have done it.”
“Don’t even try running away from this, Roth.”
“Oh my god, what have I done?” She panics, covering her mouth with her hands. “I’m soaking wet in the masculine locker-room with you. What if someone saw us kissing? What if people think something is happening here?”
“Would it be that bad? Us, together, I mean.” His voice is an octave lower and her face grows warmer. Her heart skips a beat and she can tell she’s swayed by Mr. Honey-Lips. “Would it, Raven?”
Of all the people she could’ve kissed, why did it have to be Damian Wayne?
“God, I hate you, Damian.”
“Do you?” He leans closer, mockery enveloping his words. “I don’t think you mean that based on how your nails pulled my scalp.”
“Can you just stop describing that!?” Raven states, her voice shaky in pure embarrassment. “I-I have to leave, can you let me go?"
“But I’m not holding you at all, habibti.” He shows her his hands, proving to her she is, indeed, free. She bites the insides of her cheeks, and with a newfound strength, Raven pushes past him and walks away. Her clothes are still soaked and her boots are filled with water, making an annoying sound whenever she takes a step towards the exit.
She reaches for her purse, and when she turns around, he's s still smirking—still looking at her. Her heartbeat increases and images of his half-naked body pressed hard against hers cloud her thoughts. His lips against hers, his hands on her lower back, his tongue—
Focus, she tells herself.
“So, should I meet you at your room at 8pm?”
“W-What?!” Raven almost jumps back, horrified he would even suggest such a thing after their first kiss.
“Relax, Raven. It’s for the project. Unless you want to resume our activities.” He winks.
Her heart sinks, and she prays for the floor to swallow her whole. Raven’s growing more embarrassed with every second and she doesn’t think she can take it anymore. She turns from him, fast-pacing towards the door and almost tripping. Her ears ignore whatever words come out of his mouth, and she doesn’t dare look back to see if he’s following her.
She needs to get home. She needs to get away from him before something else happens. Perhaps another cold shower will come in handy—and this time, preferably, she will one without Damian Wayne.
fin.
——————
a/n: okay, first of all, I’m so sorry for being so late. This week was just so busy and I didn’t have time to do everything I wanted. I’m late for the week, but I still have a few stories I want to share with you! About this one, you guys chose this theme and all I could think of was “let's make the silliest cliché ever”. Well, here it is lol hope you’ve enjoyed it!
