Bruised Knuckles, Bruised Ego
pairing: damian wayne x reader
synopsis: you think damian wayne is an arrogant, entitled prick. and damian? oh, he thinks it’s far too amusing to watch you get all heated up over him.
wc: 3.2k
warnings: reader with a temper, perhaps not the best description of combat (i tried to research, but idk how well i was able to portray it)
request: no
a/n: i lowkey don’t like how this turned out, which is unfortunate, because i thought my initial idea was really cute. ngl i’m just posting this bc i told you guys i would + to get it out of my overflowing drafts
em’s masterlist | damian wayne masterlist
“Stop playing around, Damian!” Your loud voice echoed in the open room of the Batcave—balled fists held high. Your chest was heaving, short puffs of air escaping your open mouth. With a sluggish motion of your fist, you beckoned the green-eyed man to come closer.
Damian observed you from where he stood, only a few feet away. You were looking a hot mess; sweat beading on your forehead, hair sticking in every direction from your momentary scuffle mere minutes ago. Pure chaos.
Damian al Ghul Wayne, son of the Bat and the Daughter of the Demon, wasn’t one for chaos. He was above that. In fact, it was quite the opposite.
From a very young age, Damian had been taught exactly what control meant in this world, which was, of course, power. So it was no surprise that he came to be deliberate in everything he did, meticulously so.
The youngest son of the Dark Knight excelled at about anything he attempted to master, and he did so with ease. One that stemmed from the extensive training he underwent as a child in Nanda Parbat, the hidden city high in the Hindu Kush mountains of Tibet.
Damian was his mother’s son. He had bled, ached, broken ribs, and alike—all before he had even learned to talk properly. For that was what was expected of him; the supposed heir to the Demon’s Head. Just like Talia once had.
Although his childhood was definitely not the average, rosy one most had, Damian knew that his mother’s atypical parenting choices played a major role in what made him as competent in battle as he was.
But an upbringing like that? It inherently shapes you.
He despised a lack of discipline, just as he despised a lack of initiative. Recklessness borne from the belief that he always knew best, well, you could count it as one of the many sins of his teenage years.
Damian had improved in that regard as he got older. With the years, he became more experienced and also more mature. Now as a young adult, he knew better than to underestimate his opponents or to get ahead of himself—for the most part, at least. Though if we’re completely honest, that smug Wayne flair never truly goes away, does it?
Of that, you were sure. Most of all, whenever you’d fight him, and his know-it-all attitude would drive you crazy.
Sparring with you was never just about the fight. You were far too emotionally involved for that to be the case. But Damian didn’t mind. Tempers like yours proved to be excellent fuel for a real challenge. On no occasion had it ever been boring to face off with you.
You, on the other hand, loathed nothing more than to be underestimated, and although Damian hadn’t outright done so—as he was fully aware of your capabilities—his complacent demeanor provoked you like no other.
How dare he not take you seriously? How dare he not give his all when fighting you? The blood in your veins boiled at the sheer audacity. You were seething even considering that he might be going easy on you.
You gritted your teeth, before bellowing, “Fight me!” A simple raise of his eyebrow, and you grew even more agitated. Your impulsive nature won over as you chose to take the first step. Or in this case, the first lunge.
You really should have kept your cool, because Damian had seen through the attempt before you’d even gotten somewhat close to him. He had to give it to you though; the fervor you put into the attack could’ve been effective if your move hadn’t been so blatant.
He caught your fist ahead of impact with his shoulder, and his hand closed around it firmly as though to make a point. With the minimized distance between you, you could hear his amused tut loud and clear.
Oh, he did not just click his tongue at you.
Like you were a goddamn kid. Like you were a little girl that still needed to learn how to control her emotions.
You mentally cursed him out when he then used his grip on you to push you backwards, one-handedly, mind you. Ugh. What a show-off. You glared at him for only a split second before yanking yourself free of his hold with an unnecessary amount of force.
A swoosh of air reached his ears, and Damian barely registered it in time to lean back. He scarcely missed your sharp nails that reached out to scratch up his infuriating visage. Actually, you did manage to slightly graze the bridge of his nose with the tip of your pointer finger. You certainly weren’t above utilizing your freshly manicured and filed nails to claw up his pretty boy face.
Taking advantage of the moment he required to regain his balance, you took a few swift steps back. You needed to gather some distance between you two again in order to recalculate your strategy.
With his narrowed eyes pinned on you now, you circled around each other, anticipating the other’s next step. “You’re too impatient.” His voice was even, vexingly undeterred by the given circumstances.
You rolled your eyes at his unsolicited advice. Here he goes again, sounding like he’s your mentor or leader of sorts, when he wasn’t. You weren’t a member of the Teen Titans for a reason. That unbelievably irritating reason stood right in front of you in all his self-assured glory.
God, why did you even give in to this nonsense again? It was like you physically couldn’t resist the opportunity to stick it to him.
“And you are too confident for your own good,” you countered with a sarcastic grin spreading across your face. Damian shook his head, dark chocolate strands falling onto his forehead in an effortlessly attractive gesture. “No. I think your ego is simply too fragile to accept the truth.”
A disbelieving scoff left your now downturned lips. The sour expression on your face spoke for itself, but of course you couldn’t let his claim simply stand as such. “And what would that be?”
“That I am merely better trained than you.” Swish!
In a sudden twist, Damian rushed forward and retaliated with the attack that you’ve been asking for; quick, sudden, and powerful. His newest course of action stood in stark contrast to the previous half-hearted jabs he had granted you. Was Damian finally coming out of the defense and actually fighting you?
The prospect sparked something alive in your chest, eagerness and adrenaline warming up your body already. Damian’s words only added fuel to the all-consuming fire building up within you—heat and flames that embodied your fury in the most familiar way you knew it.
His strike had come unexpectedly, but it hadn’t been quite cunning enough for you not to evade it. You quickly ducked, before throwing your own punch upon reaching your full height again.
A flurry of blows and parries were exchanged as the fight turned into a kind of dance around the training area—the flow of your bodies’ movements graceful in spite of their violent nature.
The recognizable sound of fists meeting hard muscle sounded through the cave, while the whirlwind of attacks prolonged itself until you eventually succeeded in landing a good hit on the tall boy. Right in the abdomen, with a vigor that sent him staggering backward.
Damian grunted at the collision. And you? You smirked at him with prideful satisfaction. Thinking quickly, you lifted your foot to kick him down.
Unfortunately for you, Damian had been even quicker to grab your leather boot and send you sprawling onto the cold floor instead. A beat later, he was pressing you into the ground. The weight of his body was near goddamn smothering you, and you thanked him for it by spewing vulgarities at him. Damian’s hot breath hit your cheek as he reached to pin your hands above your head. Coarse fingers wrapped around the smooth skin of your wrists.
Afterwards, he allowed himself a moment to take you in; subdued, and yet still burning with a passionate kind of anger. Even like this, you were an inferno of havoc.
Damian couldn’t help his chuckle, quiet as it was. He tried to conceal it by turning his face to the side, but that didn’t help his case at all. “Fuck you,” you hissed at him, annoyed by the fact that he took joy from this.
He angled his face back toward you—cold, piercing eyes meeting your own that reflected white-hot rage. “How charming.” That smug smirk that you’d repeatedly fantasized about tearing off his stupid face motivated you in your pursuit of escape.
With the restricted mobility of your arms and one of his knees settled right between your legs, you considered every single one of your limited options. You were fast to conclude the most logical choice. Funnily enough, in this case, it was something that any decent self-defense class would teach you in about a day. At least in Gotham, that is. After all, there is simply crucial knowledge one must obtain to survive even a week in the city of crazed clowns, crime bosses, and dangerous metahumans.
So after creating a hip bridge, you thrusted your hips up as high as possible, making use of momentum. Simultaneously, you tried to drive your hands down towards your sides.
Your frantic movements forced Damian to shift his hands from your wrists to the ground, so that he could keep himself from falling over. Quickly taking that as your cue, you not only trapped his right foot with your own but also did the same with his corresponding arm. Lifting your hips with as much strength as you could muster, you rolled your shoulder to the right.
Having taken away his ability to stabilize himself, Damian couldn’t do a thing to prevent himself from rolling over to his right side. Moving fast, you reversed your previous positions and mounted him now.
Not wasting a second, you caged his thick thighs between your knees and grabbed his wrists. You pressed them into the ground, hard and unforgiving. You didn’t care if it hurt him. Never mind, you hoped it hurt. You hoped that Damian liked the taste of his own medicine.
Your heart was pounding in your chest as you bared your teeth at him in satisfaction. “Oh, I am more than just charming,” you told Damian in the midst of heavy breathing. You leaned in just enough to fully absorb his reaction, and then you added with a sneer, “Though that might be hard to believe for a person as arrogant as you.”
Pools of jade lured you in, but you remained steadfast. So what if he had pretty eyes? He was still an egomaniac. “You take things too personally, Ya Majnouna.” His comment made your fingers twitch in anger.
Oh, of course, that was beneath the great Damian Wayne as well. Could he ever shut up? Or at the very least, stop acting like he was superior to you for once? Damian knew how to turn anything into a lesson, and you were sick of it.
“Please, if anyone is crazy here, it’s you for thinking you know the first thing about me,” you replied in a tone that was uncharacteristically condescending for you as a person, yet absolutely befitting the dynamic you shared with the youngest member of the Wayne family.
Unlike you, Damian wasn’t rushing to escape your grip. From a bystander’s perspective, one could even go as far as saying that he was right where he wanted to be. But he couldn’t have been enjoying being at the mercy of your unleashed ire, could he? And yet…
Damian was raised to be a highly trained assassin from birth. He became Robin at the age of ten. Under the—at first unwelcome—guidance of his father, he grew into his role as Gotham’s newest Boy Wonder throughout the majority of his teenage years.
All this to say, Damian had been taught at least a dozen ways to get out of a situation where he was pinned down just like this. He was choosing not to.
“I know more than you imagine,” he declared as though he knew it to be true. You almost laughed in his face at that. So he assumed that he knew even this better than you would? For a moment, you wondered if this was some kind of absurd joke. Then you remembered that Damian really wasn’t the humorous type.
Tilting your head to the side inquisitively, you voiced your doubts, “What would you ever know about me?” You took notice of the corners of his mouth hinting upward. The ghost of a smile painted itself on his handsome face, and you despised yourself for the fleeting thought that passed through your mind.
Lips like that shouldn’t have been wasted on a guy like Damian. They looked soft and inviting. Far too kissable.
His keen eyes had already caught the attention before you could snap out of it, but thankfully he left your indiscretion uncommented, for now anyway. “You hate routines,” he began. “You never stick to the rules and always let your feelings control your actions. Even when you know that they are likely misleading you.” Your face scrunched up.
You were about to interject, but Damian continued before you could cut in, “You are impulsive, most likely a product of that fiery temper of yours.” Bending forward, you snapped at him, “I do not have a temper!”
Damian chuckled. The same man you had seen laugh so rarely that you could count the number of times he had done so in the past month on one hand. “Are you sure about that?” he asked you cockily, and you almost groaned out loud. You knew that your reaction didn’t help prove him wrong whatsoever.
“Listen, Wayne.” You were so close to his face that you could feel his exhales on your cheek. He silently waited for you to continue, which surprised you more than you would like to admit.
Being a good judge of character was something you had always prided yourself on being, and you had decided long ago what kind of guy Damian Wayne was. Patient wasn’t one of the characteristics you’d attributed to him. The picture you had of him in your mind was more or less something along the lines of, well, a narcissistic asshole with a crippling superiority complex.
Okay, perhaps that was a bit harsh of you considering that you’d never really gotten close to him, but letting go of grudges wasn’t your expertise. And first impressions clearly weren’t his, as you not-so-fondly recalled.
Regardless, Damian was completely at your disposal like this, though you weren’t sure why he wasn’t struggling against you more. His lack of resistance usually would have insulted you, but in this case, you could tolerate it. If that meant he would finally shut up and listen, you could accept his odd behavior. I mean, there’s a reason people say you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
“You noticed some superficial shit about me? Big deal,” you spat out, words dripping with venom. The grip you had on his wrists tightened. Someone with a lower pain tolerance surely would’ve winced at the added pressure, but Damian accepted you driving his hands into the ground like one would accept a gift. That spoke for itself. “But you know what? I could also tell you a thing or two.”
Oh, this was becoming more amusing to him by the second. He used to never understand why his father would let Selina boss him around at times. Damian felt like he understood him now.
To the untrained eye, it would’ve seemed like his facial expression remained the same. You, however, saw the brief flash of curiosity in his eyes, and it filled you with a sick kind of glee. Clearly, you had some sort of effect on Damian. And god was there something gratifying in knowing you had power over the powerful.
It wasn’t that you were the kind of person who enjoyed hurting people. You wanted to help others, encourage them, and bring hope to the hopeless. Becoming a vigilante was a dangerous decision as it is, but to fight crime in a city like Gotham? That’s like willingly walking into the lion’s den. And still, it was a choice you were willing to make exactly for those reasons. But you were only human, and if anyone had ever made you want to believe in karma, it was the man currently beneath you.
“You act like you are above others. In fact, I think you truly believe you are always the smartest in the room. Oh, and don’t let me forget the way you constantly lecture others, because you are so convinced that your way of dealing with things is the only correct one.”
He didn’t bother with trying to interrupt you. Instead, his intense gaze flickered across your face like it held the answer to some kind of problem he was determined to solve. His lackluster reaction would have frustrated you if you weren’t so elated. It felt like a weight was lifted off your chest, telling Damian all these things to his face rather than thinking them in your head.
You smiled contentedly, before moving your lips right next to his ear. He felt them brush against the sensitive skin there, before you whispered something to him like you were sharing a secret. “But you know what I think the truth is? You’re just a brat, Damian. A brat that seriously needs to get humbled. But don’t worry.” Your tongue swept over your lips. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“Ahem.”
You turned your heads at almost the exact same time. Alfred stood there, looking at you two in the somewhat suggestive position you were in. In hindsight, it made sense, of course, that you didn’t seem like you were just straddling him in the name of restraining him. Surely not when there weren’t any signs of struggle from his side.
Alfred cleared his throat before announcing, “Master Damian, I am afraid your father is looking to have a word with you. Though considering your predicament, perhaps I should inform Master Bruce that you are quite busy—” Your eyes widened at that. Laughing awkwardly, you scrambled off of Damian and up to your feet again. “Oh, there’s no need for that! Thank you, Alfred!” you told the butler, whom you’d grown to respect immensely.
“Damian and I were just about done here,” you added with a growing grin on your face, before shooting said man a look full of rotten promise.
Afterwards, you turned to exit the Batcave, and Damian propped himself up on his elbows to watch you leave. You looked good walking away from him, he noted.
Alfred shot him a knowing glance. “I shall grant you a moment to collect yourself, Master Damian.” The subtle undertone of amusement in Pennyworth’s voice hadn’t gone unnoticed by Damian, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Perhaps you were the only person who hadn’t yet noticed that Damian liked the way you stood up to him; that he found exhilaration in having met his match.
Damian al Ghul Wayne really wasn’t one for chaos.
Unless chaos came in the form of the most beautiful, spirited—and frankly oblivious—woman he had ever met.
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