he’s drunk and clingy [dc]
pairing: damian wayne (aged up) x reader
synopsis: after a few drinks at the gala, damian wayne is unusually clingy and needy, refusing to stop showering you with affection
a/n: i love this idea sm TUMBLR DIDN’T SAVE MY INITIAL DRAFT LUCKILY I WAS MOTIVATED otherwise i would’ve just deleted this app. please enjoy!!
damian wayne rarely attended his father’s galas. moreover, he rarely ever drank at them.
today, he had done both.
the moment damian had turned eighteen, a plethora of expectations had been thrust upon him in preparation of if he were to ever take upon the mantle of his father, bruce wayne.
thus, he was expected to ‘behave’ at tonight’s gala, forced to host alongside his father; especially ever since he had been ‘allowed’ to be in a relationship, (an affiliation bruce— ironic, isn’t it?— believes to occasionally be a distraction from one’s duties), there were certain roles he had to work extra hard to fulfil.
tonight, he was expected to socialise. his least favourite activity as his main duty.
but alas, damian always strived to prove his worth to his father, even if the means to do so often clashed with his own areas of interest, and so he was behaving.
he made sure his ironed tailored suit did not have a single crinkle. he begrudgingly engaged in fruitless conversations and nodded along to business endeavours he knew nothing about from adults he knew nothing about, with proposals going in one ear and straight out the other, regardless of how important they might’ve been. caring was bruce’s job. he was only to maintain appearance. he even trained his perpetually creased eyebrows into a faux display of amusement— slightly raised instead— for the entire night to disguise his signature scowl.
it had been exhausting: pretending to entertain the socialite life— pretending to respect entitled adults who were all hypocritically pretending to enjoy one another’s company. sure, damian himself was often entitled too, a quality he was working on improving, but at least he never pretended to regard others simply for ‘networking’. these people seemed to know nothing about the real streets of gotham.
damian had been trying to placate his point blank boredom by really attempting, at random times, to care, when truly, he just really despised each fragile counterfeit interaction; every pathetic comment neatly packaged in the ruse of ‘fraternisation’. instead, he continuously found himself returning to any one of his brothers sides to complain about his apathy. god, he needed to get out of here before he lost it, yet he knew that wasn’t possible.
but there was one thing keeping him sane.
you.
but bruce had not been lenient— you had a task too. if you were to be damian’s partner, you had to play your respective part, and in your own opinion.. you were smashing it.
charmingly wide toothy smile, managing the drinks being served, participating in conversations about topics you had spent the prior day studying so you could speak on them. you had been exceptional. on top of your mannerisms, you were glowing, your energy attracting all the right people and creating just the perfect ambiance of hospitality for the night.
damian is enamoured watching you in action. his eyes are sharp and glued to you when he gets a break from lousily intermingling, a drink seamlessly plucked from a butler with a tray. he brings the glass to his lips, the alcohol stinging the back of his throat, burning away the desire that blossoms at the sight of you. the elegance of your dress. the poise of your stature. the shine of your teeth when you grin at guests. the crinkle of your sparkling eyes. the curve of your shoulders. the dip of your waist.
the colour of your lipstick.
what does a guy have to do to get a kiss from you around here?
damian doesn’t even realise he’s downed the entire glass of alcohol until he plants it on the table. he doesn’t realise when he approaches other guests to converse that he’s picked up another glass, his eyes continually glancing over at the mesmerising sight of your radiating charm.
this continues throughout the night. he has possibly drank four champaign glasses, which is four over his limit since he never drinks, and he’s feeling increasingly loopy as the gala comes to an end.
damian tries to convince himself he’s fine.
as the people disperse over time, the last few enjoin into a large group discussion until everyone decides to shuffle out, the manor beginning to look spacious again. when it’s completely emptied out leaving just the batfamily for a post-gala debriefing, damian barely lets you contribute before he walks up to you, hooking his arm with yours— not caring to wish his brothers or father goodnight— dragging you back up to his room.
your eyebrows raise as he walks you upstairs, simpering in confusion.
“damian,” you breathe, following helplessly. “everything alright?” you tilt your head, eyebrows tilting upwards.
damian doesn’t respond. you notice he looks a little buzzed, and your eyebrows shoot up in amusement.
“no way. did you drink?” you question as he approaches his bedroom door, lazily drawing it open.
that’s when he finally turns to you.
damian’s usually sharp emerald eyes are lazy and barely open, his lips pressed into a flat line, bottom lip slightly jutted out. he lets out a deep breath, running a hand over his face and through his neatly made hair, ruffling it up.
“yes,” he rasps out, throat burning. “i drank.”
you snort. “wow,” you grin in amusement. “you never do. what happened?”
damian grumbles, and that’s when he takes a stumbling step forward, his head plummeting onto your shoulder. an enlightened smile crawls onto your lips and your hand moves up to his lower back, carefully holding him for support.
“everything was so excruciatingly boring,” he mumbles against your shoulder, voice muffled against your bare skin. his voice is slightly slurred, something you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t known he was drunk. “had to distract myself.”
damian lets out a long breath against your skin, and then almost suddenly realises that it’s your bare skin, and so immediately puckers his lips, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. goosebumps erupt on your skin.
you’re not used to damian initiating affection or being clingy. he rarely lets his guard down, and in exploitation of his weakened defences due to the alcohol in his system, you experiment.
you soothingly rub up and down his back. “aw,” you coo, holding him closer. “you must be exhausted.”
you bite back a smile at your intentionally patronising voice.
you’re babying him.
sober damian would’ve been disgusted by that.
instead, damian who is never vulnerable, never sappy, never emotional, groans in agreement against your shoulder. he drags his nose up your shoulder to your neck, burying his face in your skin. his hands lazily reach out, one at your abdomen, one sliding around your lower back.
your heart skips a beat.
damian is clinging onto you. damian. the boy who can barely ever instigate intimacy without feeling pathetic. the one who hates feeling weak.
you’re still revelling in your shock, brain thinking of a million ways to cherish this adorable version of damian when you feel the ticklish sensation of his lips moving against your neck.
“you were so perfect tonight,” damian’s voice is low and hoarse from drinking, his words sounding as if they were roughly pushed out of his dry mouth.
and then he lifts his head from your neck, staring at you for a long moment with hazy emerald eyes. he’s almost pouting, just a little, his brown cheeks decorated pink. his hair is slightly disheveled from it being the end of the night, his heart rate slow and comfortable in the embrace of his lover.
“kept looking at you..” he breathes, lips parting, and then his eyes drop down, shamelessly looking over your figure. the way your dress hugs your every curve. your cleavage. you raise an amused eyebrow, your own cheeks turning hotter.
“gorgeous,” he muses, leaning in and rubbing his nose against yours. his eyes flutter shut. meanwhile, your heart is racing, butterflies in your stomach.
damian is never like this.
you can barely keep it together when his lips graze yours.
“everyone,” his voice is a hoarse whisper as he puckers his lips against the edge of your mouth. “was talking about,” he nudges a harder kiss to your cheekbone, “how i don’t deserve you.”
he sounds petulant. sulky.
your whole body is hot.
he sighs against your lips, and then lets out a throaty whine. long and rough. he sounds exhausted and desperate all at the same time.
you can’t contain your goofy grin any longer. the smile on your face is oozing sugar with how sweet and sincere it is.
“that’s not true,” you whisper back softly. damian’s eyelids blink against your skin, his eyelashes tickling your cheekbone as his lips press a wet open-mouthed kiss to the edge of your mouth. your shiny gloss coats his mouth. he doesn’t care.
“it is,” his voice is deep and rough. his hands slide over your abdomen and your back, large and slender, framing your whole body in his palms.
“i don’t deserve you,” he whispers, another leisurely kiss pressed to the side of your nose, kissing wherever his lips can reach and touch, desperate for any form of affection.
“hayati,” he breathes, mouth just brushing your cheek, grazing your skin. “my beloved,” he murmurs, soft chants of nicknames, completely enamoured by you in his arms. “zawjati,” his voice is low, lips tickling your fuzzy skin.
(zawjati means ‘my wife’)
an uncontrollable grin is plastered on your face, cheeks crimson.
and then it gets worse.
“i adore you,” his mouth ghosts over yours with his shy whisper, and that’s when he finally presses a firm kiss to your lips. it’s pathetic and barely a kiss, his lips bumping against yours, just needing to feel you.
you’re not believing this is real. damian who never professes his love, ever. damian who responds ‘hm,’ with flushed cheeks every time you tell him you love him, until you force him to confess how he ‘possesses similar affections for you’.
you are, to say the least, pleasantly surprised by his sudden and random displays of affection. you’re melting until you can’t contain yourself anymore, wanting to practically devour your boyfriend.
you beam a soft smile, cradling his warm cheek. “so tipsy,” you tease, and he huffs against your cheek.
“can i touch you?” he whispers, completely ignoring your comment, hand moving up from your abdomen to over your chest, unabashedly trailing his palm over the curves of your chest.
wow. this man is in his own world, not realising nor paying heed to how he’s torturing you.
your breath hitches.
“i want to have you tonight,” he stumbles slightly so his body weight presses right into you, putty against you.
you blush, bright wide smile glued to your face. you scoff-chuckle. “you’re soo drunk.”
“still need you,” he breathes back, cheek pressing hard into your warm supple skin, as if trying to fuse with you, needing the contact. the proximity. “mine,” he adds, squeezing your chest.
his hand then slides down to your tummy, rubbing up and down over the fabric of your dress, just possessively feeling the softness, as if he is discovering for the first time that you are all his.
your smile softens tenfold. “baby,” your voice is low. “maybe you should get some rest. you said you were tired.”
at that, damian pulls away. his lazy eyes meet yours, and he tugs you closer with his arms around you.
his eyes shift from one of your pupils to the other, completely dazed. his lips are slightly pouted, cheeks now fully flushed. his face is centimetres from yours.
“you..” he breathes, eyes digging into your soul, slightly glossy. “are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
your heart aches at his slurred words. your hand moves up to cradle his jaw in cuteness aggression. “damian,” you squeak, heart racing in your chest. “i’m going to eat you.”
at that, his eyes flutter shut, eyebrows crinkling upwards in amusement. there is the faintest curve of his lips, the ghost of a smile. “like a blowjob?”
you blow a raspberry, squeezing his jaw. “aaand you’ve ruined it,” you joke, but then damian’s eyes open, and he frowns.
“i always do.”
your eyes widen. drunk damian is not only clingy, but overly sensitive too. “no, baby,” you pull his face closer. “i was just kidding. you never ruin anything.” you lean closer until your lips are brushing his.
damian puckers his lips, clearly asking for a kiss. it’s so petulant you smile, attending to his wish, cutting the distance and pressing your mouth to his. the kiss is sloppy and lousy, the taste of alcohol lingering at damian’s throat when your tongue dives into his mouth. his mouth is leisurely against yours, savouring the effort you’re putting in to make out with him. he desperately bites your lower lip when you pull away, trying to keep your lips glued to his.
you grin, cheeks pink, face still close to his.
“resting time,” you hold his face, thumb caressing his jaw. “you can have me tomorrow.”
damian’s eyes are big, pupils dilated. he looks like a puppy, shimmering brown skin, tired eyes. you want to shower him with unlimited affection with how adorable he looks, and he’s drunk, so this would probably be the only time he’d let you. he nods slowly, lips slightly sulky.
you sigh dreamily. “you’re so cute i wish you were like this all the time.”
“i do love you all the time,” damian responds, voice lazy and growing quieter as the level of his exhaustion increases. his eyes are gentler and heavier. his hands casually slide up your arms to the straps of your dress, languidly tugging them down.
at first your eyes sparkle with affection, and then your lips purse at his cheeky behaviour. this boy. “that’s very sweet,” you offer a smile while your own hands reach up to hold his steady at your shoulders, softly tugging the straps of your dress back up.
damian frowns petulantly. your heart aches.
“i will—” gosh, he looks so beaten. “i will take it off. i promise. just get into bed first, okay? you’re tired.” you try to reason with puppy eyed damian.
damian sighs. and then his head falls into your neck again. “can you help me change?” he exhales, breath warm. “my head is spinning.”
your demeanour softens. “of course,” you wrap your arms around him. “come on. my turn to take care of you.”
damian hums as you guide him to stand back in front of his bed. his arms come around your waist, caressing and holding on to you for balance. “i am too lucky,” he grumbles while pressing his lips to your neck in a myriad of pecks. you smile, unbuttoning his shirt for him.
“you’re just soo sappy drunk, aren’t you? don’t give me incentive to tell bruce to host more galas,” you tease, eyes focused on your task.
“that’s cruel,” damian mumbles against your skin, eyes fluttering shut. “he’d give me all his social work and then i’d never be free,” he murmurs, his voice becoming more and more slurred as he feels sleepier.
you chuckle, pulling his shirt off for him. “and if i let you touch me after every one?”
his response is instantaneous.
“deal.”
“yeah. go to bed, buddy.”
