bibitary of wonders and curiosities

"Ya amar."

"Hm?" You didn't look up from your phone yet, attention captured by the edit you were watching (user? Anonymous. Talent? Indescribable.), mind already forming all sorts of ideas to the song, to the characters that remind you of it, immediately feeling the urge to scribble them down.

"Hayati, please look at me for a moment."

Who could refuse, when it was the most stubborn, iron-clad person you've met, nearly begging for your eyes to meet his?

You complied, pausing the video, the silence in the room suddenly louder than the rhythmic sound that had erupted from your phone. He had looked up from the file he's been reviewing, turning all his attention to you. That expectant look in his eyes conveniently reminded you of the essay and math homework you still have had to finish, the weight of your shoulders making itself known again.

"I'll do it tomorrow." As if, your traitorous mind answered before Damian could.

"You said that yesterday." Matter-of-fact yet not a hint of arrogance he usually radiated. You loved and hated that about him; the way he approached you with kindness, yet firm and honest.

"It's just one assignment." you still insisted, absentmindedly fiddling with that loose string on your sweater.

Damian is quiet for a long moment. "No."

His voice isn't angry. Just firm. "It isn't."

You sigh, already fearing what's coming. "Please don't lecture me."

"I wasn't planning to." A beat. "But you've forced my hand." So dramatic. Damian had such a way of phrasing things.

He leans back in his chair. "When I was a child, every hour of my day was accounted for."

"Languages."

"History."

"Biology."

"Strategy."

"Literature."

"Art."

"I hated parts of it." a little softer now, the admission only came easy around you.

"I resented how little choice I had." His gaze settles on you. "You have a choice."

"And you're choosing not to."

Now, it wasn't simply the softening of his voice that tugged on your heartstrings but him slowly making his way on your bed where you sat, arms arms seeking solace around your middle, tugging you closer to him, seating you on his lap, facing him. His breath was warm, a comfortable sensation that would be intrusive if it came from anyone but him.

What you don't fail to notice is the way he sits, with the posture of a prince raised for war; straight, still, perfectly balanced.

Then, he picks up your textbook, spreading it open between you two. "You think education exists to satisfy professors." his other hand came up to tug an astray lock of hair behind your ear, tender in its simplicity. "It exists because one day you'll be faced with a problem no one will solve for you. I will admit, not everything will be equally useful." You tilted your head to face him, observing him staring at the phone in your hand.

"But in comparison to what you choose to distract yourself with…well. You won't remember your favorite social media trend. You won't remember which celebrity dated whom. And certainly not every scandal that is forming and spreading like a wildfire overnight. But you will remember how to think."

"Beloved, do you know what intelligence is?" He asked. By now, you had placed your phone on the nightstand, its display facing the surface, textbook remaining close.

You shrugged.

"It's not knowing everything." Damian answered only a beat later, fingers intertwining with yours, an easy gesture to keep your attention. As if he wasn't impossible to ignore.

"It's knowing how to learn. That's the skill. Everything else is built on top of it.

He rubbed a thump along the lines of your textbook, fingers threading lightly over your hair, mindful of keeping its texture. Your head leaned against his shoulder, the warmth of his skin seeping into you.

"Ive met brilliant people. They weren't brilliant because they were born that way."

His movements stilled for a moment, then continued. "They were curious. They prodded and asked questions, unafraid of being wrong. They kept learning, kept trying to find answers to unresolved questions, long after everyone stopped."

"So, like…kind of like your brother?"

He arched an inquisitive brow, scrunching his nose in distaste. "Drake?"

"I remember the time you told me he was so keen on reviving his best friend and not accepting your dad's presumed death for two years…"

He scowled. "Tt. That's a very poor example."

The corners of your lips lifted in a faint, playful smirk. "Well, you did assume it was about Tim, so-"

His scowl deepened, if it was even possible. "You're putting words in my mouth."

"Oh really?" His retorts were amusing you, mostly because it was all bark and no bite. For his enemies? All bark and bite. You were far from a threat for Damian though. "Me? Putting words in your mouth? Such harsh accusations." You gave in to the urge to kiss it off of him, leaning closer, lips meeting his in a soft kiss.

Damian meets you halfway, the kiss lacking the rigid tension of a combat stance. It is something else entirely, a surrender he only allows in this room, with you.

For a long moment, he is perfectly still, his hands resting at your waist, simply grounding himself in the reality of you. The constant, low-level hum of tactical awareness, the scanning of exits, the monitoring of the perimeter, the mental checklist of the night's unfinished business, they all fade into the background. It doesn't vanish, because he is not built to let it go, but it settles, quieted by your proximity.

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, his expression uncharacteristically soft, stripped of the sharp edges he uses to navigate the world. “You are remarkably stubborn,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rhythmic vibration against your lips. The bravado is gone, replaced by a quiet, steady intensity. He doesn't need to be the heir to the Demon, the son of the Bat, or the leader of the Titans right now.

"Not as stubborn as you."

Damian scoffs, a sharp, incredulous sound. “Stubbornness is a tactical necessity. It is called conviction.”

He rolls his eyes, but he doesn't let you go. If anything, his grip tightens slightly, a silent refusal to let the banter move on to anything other than their proximity. “Besides, If I am so difficult, why are you still here?”

"Well…"

He shifts his weight, pulling you flush against him so there is no space left between you two. "Anyway. Don't attempt to discontinue the topic, I know what you are doing."

You blinked, your face warming at the accusation. And you thought you were so slick with it.

His gaze traced the line of your jaw before settling on your eyes. "I know you have been overwhelmed. It is not hard to see, nor am I blind." His understanding tone washed over you, like a calm wave on a violent shore.

"I know life gets loud. But don't confuse it being tired with giving up. They're different."

His hand cupped your jaw, tilting it to look properly at you. "I have not chosen a person with weak will as my beloved."

"If you are exhausted…rest."

"If you are struggling…ask for help."

"If you are discouraged…" His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing with a familiarity that speaks of countless shared moments. "Take a break." His thumb sweeps across your knuckles, a gesture of unguarded tenderness he would deny to anyone else. There is no hesitation here. No confusion. Just a choice. "But don't abandon yourself."

His eyes don't leave yours. "Because every time you decide your future can wait another day…it listens."

Then, of course, because Damian cannot resist one lingering jab, and remaining to have the last word, he adds.

"And frankly…" he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "I find your brain attractive."

"…" You were sure you either lost your mind or your boyfriend just decided to malfuntion mid-interference. "You what?"

"Your brain. It is attractive. As is every part of you." You were more surprised about the bluntness, and the sheer ease he confessed this to you, than being flattered.

"Oooh-"

"So i'd appreciate it if you actually used it." He finished, tapping your temple tenderly.

"…So you're saying I should finish my school work first before getting to writing and doom-scrolling until my rotten brain is reeking?"

Damian didn't give himself a moment to consider what you actually said before affirming your statement. "Correct-" he narrowed his eyes, processing.

You snorted, playfully bumping his side with your elbow and the scowl reentered the scene.

"Gotcha!"

Weeks later, you laid in your bed, impatient eyes quickly reading through the new chapter one of your favorite authors on ao3. A common attempt to distract yourself from your horrendous mark in physics.

Your schoolbag was thrown lazily beside the unmade bed, the desk so full with half-empty coffee cups, markers and textbooks, you nearly couldn't see the surface of it.

The window of your room slides open with a silence that belies the weight of the figure stepping through. You didn't even blink, used to your boyfriend making a rather dramatic entrance than just…oh i don't know, knocking on the door and waiting for it to open?

Damian lands without a sound, the only evidence of his arrival the faint shift in the air pressure and the way the shadows seem to deepen around him.

He stands there for a moment, scanning the room with predatory precision, his jaw set tight, eyes sharp as obsidian.

Then, he sees you. The tension in his shoulders doesn’t vanish, but it shifts. The rigid line of his spine softens, just a fraction. He steps forward, the dull thud of his boots on your floor the only sound breaking the quiet.

“Hello,” he says, his voice rougher than intended. Before you can respond, he’s there. Stepping closer, his hands come up, cupping your face with a reverence that contradicts the lethal grace of his movements. His thumbs brush your cheeks, calloused but gentle, before he leans in, a kiss against your temple, deliberate and slow.

"I heard about your…performance in physics."

Your eyes seemed transfixed on the floor, staring holes into a peckle of dust. Huh. Forgot to vacuum again.

"I….I really tried. So hard. Thought I got some of the questions right."

His tone softened, as did his features. "I know." Another kiss, this time to your cheek. "You tried your very best. That is the most important part."

He took your hand, seating you both down at the edge of your bed.

"I did what you asked, so why…why doesn't it work?"

His hand gave yours a light squeeze, meant to calm you. "Your grades do not equal your intelligence, Habibti. Perhaps the exercises were too difficult for you to solve or you weren't in the right state of mind." His eyes drew towards your desk. "We'll look over your test together. And then, I will help you study."

And when he did? It was without the patronizing or derisive tone some of your teachers used, or the classmates who deemed themselves higher than you, simply because they're naturally better at understanding the concepts. Just…explaining it, without evoking a sense of inferiority you felt around everyone who hadn't failed.

"I'm…I'm sorry, I don't understand it. Again." You said for the third time in a row, head in hands, a fingertip close to giving up.

Without snapping at you, or talking you down, he just found a different, perhaps easier approach to make it more plausible for you to grasp.

Afterwards, he held you close, pulling you into the warmth of his chest, into the safety he has built brick by brick, hideouts, safe routes, contingency plans, all the unspoken care he would never label as protective.

"Do you understand why I get frustrated?"

"Because I'm not the perfect student and know everything effortlessly like you?" You drawled, voice laced with dry sarcasm.

"No." His grip grew tighter, but not uncomfortably so. "It is when you could do well but simply refuse to put in the effort. May it be procrastination or distraction."

He turns his head toward you, closing the distance slightly so his forehead rests briefly against yours. "I do not expect flawless perfomance. That would be…counterintuitive. To both my mental state and yours."

You chuckled. "Not even a little?"

"Not even." he spoke, as confident as ever. "I simply do not wish to see someone wasting opportunities they won't always have. Someone who refuses to respect their own potential."

"Hm."

"Just 'hm'?"

"Just…thinking. You really are the most pragmatic person I've ever met."

"I shall take that as a compliment."

"You better."

Heheheheh I stand here, checks watch, 3 am, having written ts lil short story and brooo i couldnt STOP. might make more soon…

the idea stemmed from @kumasakka btw (THERE U GOO YOUR TAG, im just posting it on my dc/marvel blog eheheheh) who sought out a Damian Wayne who motivates her to lock tf innnn and…I felt very inspired. Hope im characterizing him well lmfaooo, I never wrote sm for him in one go!

"Ya amar."

"Hm?" You didn't look up from your phone yet, attention captured by the edit you were watching (user? Anonymous. Talent? Indescribable.), mind already forming all sorts of ideas to the song, to the characters that remind you of it, immediately feeling the urge to scribble them down.

"Hayati, please look at me for a moment."

Who could refuse, when it was the most stubborn, iron-clad person you've met, nearly begging for your eyes to meet his?

You complied, pausing the video, the silence in the room suddenly louder than the rhythmic sound that had erupted from your phone. He had looked up from the file he's been reviewing, turning all his attention to you. That expectant look in his eyes conveniently reminded you of the essay and math homework you still have had to finish, the weight of your shoulders making itself known again.

"I'll do it tomorrow." As if, your traitorous mind answered before Damian could.

"You said that yesterday." Matter-of-fact yet not a hint of arrogance he usually radiated. You loved and hated that about him; the way he approached you with kindness, yet firm and honest.

"It's just one assignment." you still insisted, absentmindedly fiddling with that loose string on your sweater.

Damian is quiet for a long moment. "No."

His voice isn't angry. Just firm. "It isn't."

You sigh, already fearing what's coming. "Please don't lecture me."

"I wasn't planning to." A beat. "But you've forced my hand." So dramatic. Damian had such a way of phrasing things.

He leans back in his chair. "When I was a child, every hour of my day was accounted for."

"Languages."

"History."

"Biology."

"Strategy."

"Literature."

"Art."

"I hated parts of it." a little softer now, the admission only came easy around you.

"I resented how little choice I had." His gaze settles on you. "You have a choice."

"And you're choosing not to."

Now, it wasn't simply the softening of his voice that tugged on your heartstrings but him slowly making his way on your bed where you sat, arms arms seeking solace around your middle, tugging you closer to him, seating you on his lap, facing him. His breath was warm, a comfortable sensation that would be intrusive if it came from anyone but him.

What you don't fail to notice is the way he sits, with the posture of a prince raised for war; straight, still, perfectly balanced.

Then, he picks up your textbook, spreading it open between you two. "You think education exists to satisfy professors." his other hand came up to tug an astray lock of hair behind your ear, tender in its simplicity. "It exists because one day you'll be faced with a problem no one will solve for you. I will admit, not everything will be equally useful." You tilted your head to face him, observing him staring at the phone in your hand.

"But in comparison to what you choose to distract yourself with…well. You won't remember your favorite social media trend. You won't remember which celebrity dated whom. And certainly not every scandal that is forming and spreading like a wildfire overnight. But you will remember how to think."

"Beloved, do you know what intelligence is?" He asked. By now, you had placed your phone on the nightstand, its display facing the surface, textbook remaining close.

You shrugged.

"It's not knowing everything." Damian answered only a beat later, fingers intertwining with yours, an easy gesture to keep your attention. As if he wasn't impossible to ignore.

"It's knowing how to learn. That's the skill. Everything else is built on top of it.

He rubbed a thump along the lines of your textbook, fingers threading lightly over your hair, mindful of keeping its texture. Your head leaned against his shoulder, the warmth of his skin seeping into you.

"Ive met brilliant people. They weren't brilliant because they were born that way."

His movements stilled for a moment, then continued. "They were curious. They prodded and asked questions, unafraid of being wrong. They kept learning, kept trying to find answers to unresolved questions, long after everyone stopped."

"So, like…kind of like your brother?"

He arched an inquisitive brow, scrunching his nose in distaste. "Drake?"

"I remember the time you told me he was so keen on reviving his best friend and not accepting your dad's presumed death for two years…"

He scowled. "Tt. That's a very poor example."

The corners of your lips lifted in a faint, playful smirk. "Well, you did assume it was about Tim, so-"

His scowl deepened, if it was even possible. "You're putting words in my mouth."

"Oh really?" His retorts were amusing you, mostly because it was all bark and no bite. For his enemies? All bark and bite. You were far from a threat for Damian though. "Me? Putting words in your mouth? Such harsh accusations." You gave in to the urge to kiss it off of him, leaning closer, lips meeting his in a soft kiss.

Damian meets you halfway, the kiss lacking the rigid tension of a combat stance. It is something else entirely, a surrender he only allows in this room, with you.

For a long moment, he is perfectly still, his hands resting at your waist, simply grounding himself in the reality of you. The constant, low-level hum of tactical awareness, the scanning of exits, the monitoring of the perimeter, the mental checklist of the night's unfinished business, they all fade into the background. It doesn't vanish, because he is not built to let it go, but it settles, quieted by your proximity.

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, his expression uncharacteristically soft, stripped of the sharp edges he uses to navigate the world. “You are remarkably stubborn,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rhythmic vibration against your lips. The bravado is gone, replaced by a quiet, steady intensity. He doesn't need to be the heir to the Demon, the son of the Bat, or the leader of the Titans right now.

"Not as stubborn as you."

Damian scoffs, a sharp, incredulous sound. “Stubbornness is a tactical necessity. It is called conviction.”

He rolls his eyes, but he doesn't let you go. If anything, his grip tightens slightly, a silent refusal to let the banter move on to anything other than their proximity. “Besides, If I am so difficult, why are you still here?”

"Well…"

He shifts his weight, pulling you flush against him so there is no space left between you two. "Anyway. Don't attempt to discontinue the topic, I know what you are doing."

You blinked, your face warming at the accusation. And you thought you were so slick with it.

His gaze traced the line of your jaw before settling on your eyes. "I know you have been overwhelmed. It is not hard to see, nor am I blind." His understanding tone washed over you, like a calm wave on a violent shore.

"I know life gets loud. But don't confuse it being tired with giving up. They're different."

His hand cupped your jaw, tilting it to look properly at you. "I have not chosen a person with weak will as my beloved."

"If you are exhausted…rest."

"If you are struggling…ask for help."

"If you are discouraged…" His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing with a familiarity that speaks of countless shared moments. "Take a break." His thumb sweeps across your knuckles, a gesture of unguarded tenderness he would deny to anyone else. There is no hesitation here. No confusion. Just a choice. "But don't abandon yourself."

His eyes don't leave yours. "Because every time you decide your future can wait another day…it listens."

Then, of course, because Damian cannot resist one lingering jab, and remaining to have the last word, he adds.

"And frankly…" he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "I find your brain attractive."

"…" You were sure you either lost your mind or your boyfriend just decided to malfuntion mid-interference. "You what?"

"Your brain. It is attractive. As is every part of you." You were more surprised about the bluntness, and the sheer ease he confessed this to you, than being flattered.

"Oooh-"

"So i'd appreciate it if you actually used it." He finished, tapping your temple tenderly.

"…So you're saying I should finish my school work first before getting to writing and doom-scrolling until my rotten brain is reeking?"

Damian didn't give himself a moment to consider what you actually said before affirming your statement. "Correct-" he narrowed his eyes, processing.

You snorted, playfully bumping his side with your elbow and the scowl reentered the scene.

"Gotcha!"

Weeks later, you laid in your bed, impatient eyes quickly reading through the new chapter one of your favorite authors on ao3. A common attempt to distract yourself from your horrendous mark in physics.

Your schoolbag was thrown lazily beside the unmade bed, the desk so full with half-empty coffee cups, markers and textbooks, you nearly couldn't see the surface of it.

The window of your room slides open with a silence that belies the weight of the figure stepping through. You didn't even blink, used to your boyfriend making a rather dramatic entrance than just…oh i don't know, knocking on the door and waiting for it to open?

Damian lands without a sound, the only evidence of his arrival the faint shift in the air pressure and the way the shadows seem to deepen around him.

He stands there for a moment, scanning the room with predatory precision, his jaw set tight, eyes sharp as obsidian.

Then, he sees you. The tension in his shoulders doesn’t vanish, but it shifts. The rigid line of his spine softens, just a fraction. He steps forward, the dull thud of his boots on your floor the only sound breaking the quiet.

“Hello,” he says, his voice rougher than intended. Before you can respond, he’s there. Stepping closer, his hands come up, cupping your face with a reverence that contradicts the lethal grace of his movements. His thumbs brush your cheeks, calloused but gentle, before he leans in, a kiss against your temple, deliberate and slow.

"I heard about your…performance in physics."

Your eyes seemed transfixed on the floor, staring holes into a peckle of dust. Huh. Forgot to vacuum again.

"I….I really tried. So hard. Thought I got some of the questions right."

His tone softened, as did his features. "I know." Another kiss, this time to your cheek. "You tried your very best. That is the most important part."

He took your hand, seating you both down at the edge of your bed.

"I did what you asked, so why…why doesn't it work?"

His hand gave yours a light squeeze, meant to calm you. "Your grades do not equal your intelligence, Habibti. Perhaps the exercises were too difficult for you to solve or you weren't in the right state of mind." His eyes drew towards your desk. "We'll look over your test together. And then, I will help you study."

And when he did? It was without the patronizing or derisive tone some of your teachers used, or the classmates who deemed themselves higher than you, simply because they're naturally better at understanding the concepts. Just…explaining it, without evoking a sense of inferiority you felt around everyone who hadn't failed.

"I'm…I'm sorry, I don't understand it. Again." You said for the third time in a row, head in hands, a fingertip close to giving up.

Without snapping at you, or talking you down, he just found a different, perhaps easier approach to make it more plausible for you to grasp.

Afterwards, he held you close, pulling you into the warmth of his chest, into the safety he has built brick by brick, hideouts, safe routes, contingency plans, all the unspoken care he would never label as protective.

"Do you understand why I get frustrated?"

"Because I'm not the perfect student and know everything effortlessly like you?" You drawled, voice laced with dry sarcasm.

"No." His grip grew tighter, but not uncomfortably so. "It is when you could do well but simply refuse to put in the effort. May it be procrastination or distraction."

He turns his head toward you, closing the distance slightly so his forehead rests briefly against yours. "I do not expect flawless perfomance. That would be…counterintuitive. To both my mental state and yours."

You chuckled. "Not even a little?"

"Not even." he spoke, as confident as ever. "I simply do not wish to see someone wasting opportunities they won't always have. Someone who refuses to respect their own potential."

"Hm."

"Just 'hm'?"

"Just…thinking. You really are the most pragmatic person I've ever met."

"I shall take that as a compliment."

"You better."

Heheheheh I stand here, checks watch, 3 am, having written ts lil short story and brooo i couldnt STOP. might make more soon…

the idea stemmed from @kumasakka btw (THERE U GOO YOUR TAG, im just posting it on my dc/marvel blog eheheheh) who sought out a Damian Wayne who motivates her to lock tf innnn and…I felt very inspired. Hope im characterizing him well lmfaooo, I never wrote sm for him in one go!

"Ya amar."

"Hm?" You didn't look up from your phone yet, attention captured by the edit you were watching (user? Anonymous. Talent? Indescribable.), mind already forming all sorts of ideas to the song, to the characters that remind you of it, immediately feeling the urge to scribble them down.

"Hayati, please look at me for a moment."

Who could refuse, when it was the most stubborn, iron-clad person you've met, nearly begging for your eyes to meet his?

You complied, pausing the video, the silence in the room suddenly louder than the rhythmic sound that had erupted from your phone. He had looked up from the file he's been reviewing, turning all his attention to you. That expectant look in his eyes conveniently reminded you of the essay and math homework you still have had to finish, the weight of your shoulders making itself known again.

"I'll do it tomorrow." As if, your traitorous mind answered before Damian could.

"You said that yesterday." Matter-of-fact yet not a hint of arrogance he usually radiated. You loved and hated that about him; the way he approached you with kindness, yet firm and honest.

"It's just one assignment." you still insisted, absentmindedly fiddling with that loose string on your sweater.

Damian is quiet for a long moment. "No."

His voice isn't angry. Just firm. "It isn't."

You sigh, already fearing what's coming. "Please don't lecture me."

"I wasn't planning to." A beat. "But you've forced my hand." So dramatic. Damian had such a way of phrasing things.

He leans back in his chair. "When I was a child, every hour of my day was accounted for."

"Languages."

"History."

"Biology."

"Strategy."

"Literature."

"Art."

"I hated parts of it." a little softer now, the admission only came easy around you.

"I resented how little choice I had." His gaze settles on you. "You have a choice."

"And you're choosing not to."

Now, it wasn't simply the softening of his voice that tugged on your heartstrings but him slowly making his way on your bed where you sat, arms arms seeking solace around your middle, tugging you closer to him, seating you on his lap, facing him. His breath was warm, a comfortable sensation that would be intrusive if it came from anyone but him.

What you don't fail to notice is the way he sits, with the posture of a prince raised for war; straight, still, perfectly balanced.

Then, he picks up your textbook, spreading it open between you two. "You think education exists to satisfy professors." his other hand came up to tug an astray lock of hair behind your ear, tender in its simplicity. "It exists because one day you'll be faced with a problem no one will solve for you. I will admit, not everything will be equally useful." You tilted your head to face him, observing him staring at the phone in your hand.

"But in comparison to what you choose to distract yourself with…well. You won't remember your favorite social media trend. You won't remember which celebrity dated whom. And certainly not every scandal that is forming and spreading like a wildfire overnight. But you will remember how to think."

"Beloved, do you know what intelligence is?" He asked. By now, you had placed your phone on the nightstand, its display facing the surface, textbook remaining close.

You shrugged.

"It's not knowing everything." Damian answered only a beat later, fingers intertwining with yours, an easy gesture to keep your attention. As if he wasn't impossible to ignore.

"It's knowing how to learn. That's the skill. Everything else is built on top of it.

He rubbed a thump along the lines of your textbook, fingers threading lightly over your hair, mindful of keeping its texture. Your head leaned against his shoulder, the warmth of his skin seeping into you.

"Ive met brilliant people. They weren't brilliant because they were born that way."

His movements stilled for a moment, then continued. "They were curious. They prodded and asked questions, unafraid of being wrong. They kept learning, kept trying to find answers to unresolved questions, long after everyone stopped."

"So, like…kind of like your brother?"

He arched an inquisitive brow, scrunching his nose in distaste. "Drake?"

"I remember the time you told me he was so keen on reviving his best friend and not accepting your dad's presumed death for two years…"

He scowled. "Tt. That's a very poor example."

The corners of your lips lifted in a faint, playful smirk. "Well, you did assume it was about Tim, so-"

His scowl deepened, if it was even possible. "You're putting words in my mouth."

"Oh really?" His retorts were amusing you, mostly because it was all bark and no bite. For his enemies? All bark and bite. You were far from a threat for Damian though. "Me? Putting words in your mouth? Such harsh accusations." You gave in to the urge to kiss it off of him, leaning closer, lips meeting his in a soft kiss.

Damian meets you halfway, the kiss lacking the rigid tension of a combat stance. It is something else entirely, a surrender he only allows in this room, with you.

For a long moment, he is perfectly still, his hands resting at your waist, simply grounding himself in the reality of you. The constant, low-level hum of tactical awareness, the scanning of exits, the monitoring of the perimeter, the mental checklist of the night's unfinished business, they all fade into the background. It doesn't vanish, because he is not built to let it go, but it settles, quieted by your proximity.

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, his expression uncharacteristically soft, stripped of the sharp edges he uses to navigate the world. “You are remarkably stubborn,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rhythmic vibration against your lips. The bravado is gone, replaced by a quiet, steady intensity. He doesn't need to be the heir to the Demon, the son of the Bat, or the leader of the Titans right now.

"Not as stubborn as you."

Damian scoffs, a sharp, incredulous sound. “Stubbornness is a tactical necessity. It is called conviction.”

He rolls his eyes, but he doesn't let you go. If anything, his grip tightens slightly, a silent refusal to let the banter move on to anything other than their proximity. “Besides, If I am so difficult, why are you still here?”

"Well…"

He shifts his weight, pulling you flush against him so there is no space left between you two. "Anyway. Don't attempt to discontinue the topic, I know what you are doing."

You blinked, your face warming at the accusation. And you thought you were so slick with it.

His gaze traced the line of your jaw before settling on your eyes. "I know you have been overwhelmed. It is not hard to see, nor am I blind." His understanding tone washed over you, like a calm wave on a violent shore.

"I know life gets loud. But don't confuse it being tired with giving up. They're different."

His hand cupped your jaw, tilting it to look properly at you. "I have not chosen a person with weak will as my beloved."

"If you are exhausted…rest."

"If you are struggling…ask for help."

"If you are discouraged…" His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing with a familiarity that speaks of countless shared moments. "Take a break." His thumb sweeps across your knuckles, a gesture of unguarded tenderness he would deny to anyone else. There is no hesitation here. No confusion. Just a choice. "But don't abandon yourself."

His eyes don't leave yours. "Because every time you decide your future can wait another day…it listens."

Then, of course, because Damian cannot resist one lingering jab, and remaining to have the last word, he adds.

"And frankly…" he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "I find your brain attractive."

"…" You were sure you either lost your mind or your boyfriend just decided to malfuntion mid-interference. "You what?"

"Your brain. It is attractive. As is every part of you." You were more surprised about the bluntness, and the sheer ease he confessed this to you, than being flattered.

"Oooh-"

"So i'd appreciate it if you actually used it." He finished, tapping your temple tenderly.

"…So you're saying I should finish my school work first before getting to writing and doom-scrolling until my brain rots?"

Damian didn't give himself a moment to consider what you actually said before affirming your statement. "Correct-" he narrowed his eyes, processing.

You snorted, playfully bumping his side with your elbow and the scowl reentered the scene.

"Gotcha!"

Weeks later, you laid in your bed, impatient eyes quickly reading through the new chapter one of your favorite authors on ao3. A common attempt to distract yourself from your horrendous mark in physics.

Your schoolbag was thrown lazily beside the unmade bed, the desk so full with half-empty coffee cups, markers and textbooks, you nearly couldn't see the surface of it.

The window of your room slides open with a silence that belies the weight of the figure stepping through. You didn't even blink, used to your boyfriend making a rather dramatic entrance than just…oh i don't know, knocking on the door and waiting for it to open?

Damian lands without a sound, the only evidence of his arrival the faint shift in the air pressure and the way the shadows seem to deepen around him.

He stands there for a moment, scanning the room with predatory precision, his jaw set tight, eyes sharp as obsidian.

Then, he sees you. The tension in his shoulders doesn’t vanish, but it shifts. The rigid line of his spine softens, just a fraction. He steps forward, the dull thud of his boots on your floor the only sound breaking the quiet.

“Hello,” he says, his voice rougher than intended. Before you can respond, he’s there. Stepping closer, his hands come up, cupping your face with a reverence that contradicts the lethal grace of his movements. His thumbs brush your cheeks, calloused but gentle, before he leans in, a kiss against your temple, deliberate and slow.

"I heard about your…performance in physics."

Your eyes seemed transfixed on the floor, staring holes into a peckle of dust. Huh. Forgot to vacuum again.

"I….I really tried. So hard. Thought I got some of the questions right."

His tone softened, as did his features. "I know." Another kiss, this time to your cheek. "You tried your very best. That is the most important part."

He took your hand, seating you both down at the edge of your bed.

"I did what you asked, so why…why doesn't it work?"

His hand gave yours a light squeeze, meant to calm you. "Your grades do not equal your intelligence, Habibti. Perhaps the exercises were too difficult for you to solve or you weren't in the right state of mind." His eyes drew towards your desk. "We'll look over your test together. And then, I will help you study."

And when he did? It was without the patronizing or derisive tone some of your teachers used, or the classmates who deemed themselves higher than you, simply because they're naturally better at understanding the concepts. Just…explaining it, without evoking a sense of inferiority you felt around everyone who hadn't failed.

"I'm…I'm sorry, I don't understand it. Again." You said for the third time in a row, head in hands, a fingertip close to giving up.

Without snapping at you, or talking you down, he just found a different, perhaps easier approach to make it more plausible for you to grasp.

Afterwards, he held you close, pulling you into the warmth of his chest, into the safety he has built brick by brick, hideouts, safe routes, contingency plans, all the unspoken care he would never label as protective.

"Do you understand why I get frustrated?"

"Because I'm not the perfect student and know everything effortlessly like you?" You drawled, voice laced with dry sarcasm.

"No." His grip grew tighter, but not uncomfortably so. "It is when you could do well but simply refuse to put in the effort. May it be procrastination or distraction."

He turns his head toward you, closing the distance slightly so his forehead rests briefly against yours. "I do not expect flawless perfomance. That would be…counterintuitive. To both my mental state and yours."

You chuckled. "Not even a little?"

"Not even." he spoke, as confident as ever. "I simply do not wish to see someone wasting opportunities they won't always have. Someone who refuses to respect their own potential."

"Hm."

"Just 'hm'?"

"Just…thinking. You really are the most pragmatic person I've ever met."

"I shall take that as a compliment."

"You better."

Heheheheh I stand here, checks watch, 3 am, having written ts lil short story and brooo i couldnt STOP. might make more soon…

the idea stemmed from @kumasakka btw (THERE U GOO YOUR TAG, im just posting it on my dc/marvel blog eheheheh) who sought out a Damian Wayne who motivates her to lock tf innnn and…I felt very inspired. Hope im characterizing him well lmfaooo, I never wrote sm for him in one go! Yall pls lmk if u like this depiction of himmm