Blueblue

Naked. Completely. Not a single damn towel in sight.

Steam spiraled around your body as you soaped yourself with total ease, as if you were the only person in the universe. Your hands slid down your tanned arms, then carelessly moved down to your chest, massaging the lather onto your breasts without the slightest shame. The water cascaded down your stomach, your hips, your thighs… and yes, between them too, because the Tamaraneans didn't understand why Earthlings were scandalized by literally washing every part of their bodies.

Damian felt his blood rush in two opposite directions at the same time: one to his brain (which was screaming “RED ALERT, IMMEDIATE RETREAT!”) and the other… well, the other was hormonal and treacherous.

“Robin?” you said without even turning around completely, just tilting your head with that lopsided smile you'd copied from him months ago. “Close your mouth, you're letting flies in. Or… what's going on? Do humans shower with their clothes on now too? How strange.”

Damian swallowed so hard it sounded like a gunshot.

“No… no, it's not that. I… I thought it was empty.”

You turned around then, facing him completely, not covering yourself an inch. The soap slid across your golden skin as if even the water were delighted to touch you. You shrugged.

“Oops. Well, no, unfortunately for you, I’m showering because the water is wonderful. We don’t have this obsession with hiding the body here in Tamaran. It’s… what do you say? Ridiculous. Besides, it’s you. It’s not like you’ve never seen anyone naked.”

“Yeah, right,” Damian thought bitterly, “in cadaver dissections and crime scene photographs. Not exactly the same thing.”

“Besides,” you continued, returning to the painstakingly slow sponge-washing your back, “if it bothers you so much, you can always leave. Or stay and enjoy the show. They say I’m ‘visually pleasing.’ I think I learned that phrase from you, too.”

Damian clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.

“No… it doesn’t bother me,” he lied shamelessly, his voice higher than he’d like. “I just… wasn’t expecting… company.”

You let out a low giggle, the one you always used when you knew you were torturing him.

“Oh, Damian. So polite. Want me to lend you some soap? You smell like you’ve been fighting an entire gym.”

And then, because the universe hated him, you took a step toward him, still naked, still dripping, and held out the bottle of shower gel as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Damian backed away so fast he bumped into the door.

“I’m fine! I can… I can shower later!”

“Are you sure?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Because you’re redder than my cousin’s hair. Are you cold or… is it something else?”

“I’m… perfectly fine,” he hissed through gritted teeth, turning on his heels. See you in the common room.

He escaped before you could torture him any further.

From the other side of the door, he heard you chuckle softly.

"Coward," you said aloud, affectionately.

And Damian, leaning against the hallway wall, his heart pounding like he'd just run a marathon, swore that one day he'd get his revenge. With interest.

Damian: I brought you tea. Hot. With honey. So your throat doesn't hurt when you talk too much.

Reader: How thoughtful! What a good friend you are, Damian.

Damian, internally screaming: FRIEND?!

✩*⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠*✩

Damian takes your hand without warning: I don't want you to get lost.

Reader: But we're in the mansion's living room!

Reader: She's right, this house is huge, I'd definitely get lost.

Damian: …By Allah, this woman doesn't understand anything.

✩*⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠*✩

Damian, looking you in the eyes: I like you. I literally just said it.

Reader: Really?…Or does he just mean I'm nice?

Damian, resigned: Yeah, sure, nice. That's it.

✩*⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠*✩

Tim: Damian, did you tell her yet?

Damian, with dark circles under his eyes and a deathly pallor: I told her five times.

Reader, completely confused: Told her what?

Tim: …Nothing, better luck next time.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Dick, watching Damian follow you around like an angry kitten.

Reader: Hey Damian, will you come to the kitchen with me?

Damian, immediately: Yes.

Reader in his mind: How cute, he always wants snacks with me.

Dick: …Girl, please wake up. It's hurting my soul.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jason watches you as you help Damian put on a bandage.

Damian, blushing, practically melting.

Reader, panicking: Oh, Dami! You're so hot, do you have a fever?

Jason: He has a LOVE fever, for crying out loud—

Damian, red with anger: Shut up, Todd!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Barbara: Damian, why are you still carrying Reader's backpack?

Reader: Oh! Because he said he wanted to do strength training.

Barbara:...

Damian:...

Barbara: Damian… honey… that's not what you meant.

Damian: I DID MEAN THAT!

Reader, smiling: Yes, how motivating!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Tim, watching Damian hand you his jacket, clearly nervous.

Reader: Damian, aren't you cold?

Damian: I'm fine.

Reader, thinking: He's so concerned about my comfort because he's a gentleman.

Tim: …This is painful to watch. I'm going to make some coffee to cope with this emotional tragedy.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Alfred: Miss, young master Damian has spent the morning baking cookies for you.

Reader, surprised: Really?! How sweet, he must have wanted to practice.

Damian, with the tray, hoping for a special thanks or something.

Reader, eating the cookies: They're delicious!

Damian:...

Alfred, patting Damian's shoulder: Someday, young master. Someday.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Bruce: Son, do you want me to talk to her and tell her your intentions directly?

Damian: NO! That would ruin everything!

Reader: Your intentions regarding what?

Bruce: …Nothing.

2. The coffee shop near the university

You were in line waiting for your coffee, and the barista (the new one, the one who always draws little hearts in the foam) said something like, "You look really pretty today, don't you?" with that textbook smile. You just laughed and thanked him for being so sweet.

Damian, who was two steps behind checking his phone, put it away in half a second. He walked over to the register, put an arm around your shoulders, and spoke directly to the barista:

“The check is mine. And the name on the glass is ‘property of Damian Wayne.’ Thank you.”

The barista paled. You blinked, confused.

“Why did you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” he replied, kissing your temple casually.

3. Dick’s Party

A friend from the police academy (tall, dark-haired, with that “I’m a nice guy” vibe) asked you to dance a slow song because “Damian was talking to Bruce and didn’t want you to be alone.” You agreed because, well, why not?

Damian crossed the room in less than ten seconds. He didn’t ask permission. He simply reached between you, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you off the dance floor.

“Sorry, buddy. She already has a dance partner. For life.”

And he led you to the balcony. He closed the glass door, cornered you against the railing, and kissed you like he was marking his territory: slow, deep, one hand on the back of your neck and the other squeezing your waist until it almost hurt. When he pulled away, his eyes were dark and his breathing was ragged.

"Are you okay?" you asked, worried, because he seemed angry.

"Perfect," he lied, brushing his thumb against your cheek. "I just needed to remind you who you belong to."

4. The Batcave Gym

You were training with Jason (just practicing holds, nothing more), and Jason, being Jason, made a comment like, "If you weren't with the devil, I would have asked you out already." He was joking, of course, and you laughed because you always laugh at his random nonsense.

Damian walked in at that exact moment. He stood still in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the scene. He didn't say anything. He just took off his sweatshirt, remaining in that tight black t-shirt he knows kills you, and approached.

"Todd, out."

"What? We were just—"

"I said out."

Jason threw up his hands and left laughing. Damian took you by the waist, lifted you as if you weighed nothing, and carried you out of the ring to a table where he sat you down, positioned himself between your legs, and kissed you until you forgot how to breathe.

Then, with his forehead pressed against yours, he murmured very softly.

"I don't like to share. Not even as a joke."

You, still dizzy from the kiss, only managed to say,

"Share what? We were just training…"

He let out a dry, almost painful laugh and hugged you so tightly you felt his heartbeat against your chest.

"You're impossible, habibti. Impossibly mine."

And that's how it always is; he doesn't talk about jealousy. He only marks you, claims you, kisses you until there's no doubt left in the air who is the only one who can touch you, look at you, breathe you in.

He peeked out.

Nearby, too close, was a barefoot girl in penguin pajamas (ironic) and an old Gotham University sweatshirt that was way too big for her. She was crouched down, trying to catch a black cat with a white patch on its belly that clearly had its own agenda. The moonlight hit her sideways, showing her profile. Damian tried to understand what a crazy girl like her was doing on a rooftop in the middle of the night without a care in the world, not fearing that a villain might appear and kill her, kidnap her, or unwittingly drag her into some kind of crime. The girl looked incredibly reckless.

He moved without thinking (an unforgivable tactical error) and his boot crunched on a loose piece of tile.

The cat darted off to who knows where.

The girl spun around, saw a hooded figure in a black cape on her terrace at three in the morning behind her, and didn't ask any questions.

The punch came so fast I didn't even have time to blink.

The world turned red and then black for a second. He felt his nose crunch, the metallic taste of blood, and the cold ground against his back. He'd fallen on his butt. Robin, son of Batman, grandson of the Devil, brought down by a five-foot-three civilian who wasn't even wearing shoes.

How outrageous. Not even his superhuman reflexes helped him this time. Disgraceful.

"Who are you, you piece of shit?" she yelled, already in a fighting stance, fists raised. "This is trespassing! And you scared my cat!"

He tried to speak, but the blood spurting from his nose ended up in his mouth so unpleasantly that he almost swallowed bloody saliva. He raised a hand in surrender.

"Robin," he managed to say, his nasal voice rough. "I was just... passing by."

She blinked. She lowered her fists an inch. Then raised them again.

"Robin? Robin? The one in the newspapers with Batman?"

He nodded in confirmation, raising his fist to wipe away the blood that had already stained part of his chin, gloves (which, being red, were barely noticeable), and legs.

She stared at him. He looked at her. The furry feline approached and sniffed the security guard's boot as if to say, "Is this the one who ruined my night?"

Suddenly, the woman burst into laughter. It was so sudden, so pure, that she forgot her nose was broken.

"Oh my God. I just punched a superhero. My grandma's never going to believe me when I tell her."

She crouched down beside him, fearless, and examined his nose, taking Robin's face in her hands. It took him by surprise because not just any ordinary person with two brain cells to rub together would do that. Because usually, the vigilante doesn't let anyone touch him, but this girl had left him emotionally stunned.

"It's crooked. But not too bad. I think you'll survive, Boy Wonder."

"Can you let go of me?" he questioned instead of ordering. "I swear you're the most annoying girl I've run into today."

She smiled, and the entire terrace lit up brighter than any Bat-Signal.

"Oh, excuse me, Your Highness, for worrying about the damage I myself caused. Pleased to meet you," she said sarcastically, then proceeded to point at the kitten. "And this one"—she lifted the cat, which had already climbed onto her shoulder—"is Penguin."

Damian didn't know how long they'd stayed there. But she'd forced him to sit on a wooden box that threatened to break at any moment, while she searched for ice in a freezer that, for some reason, was on the terrace—according to the woman who stayed there for weekend barbecues with the neighbors—and pulled out a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel. She put it to his nose and sat down next to him on the box, which miraculously hadn't broken and had plenty of room.

"So… you patrol rooftops and scare cats for fun?"

“I don’t usually get punched as a welcome,” he admitted, his face neutral.

“Well, consider it my special way of saying hello.”

And he smiled again.

At that moment, Damian knew two things with absolute certainty:

1. He had fallen head over heels in love in less than five minutes.

2. He would return to that terrace every night for the rest of his life if she would let him.

Five years later, he still has a small, barely visible scar on the bridge of his nose. Every time she kisses him (and she does often), she usually whispers:

“I remember when I punched you so hard in the face when we first met.”

And he, who has faced assassins, demons, and his own grandfather, can only smile like an idiot and admit that yes, he fell in love.

With a single punch.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

At least that's what he remembers, sitting in the restaurant chair where he arrived ten minutes earlier, reading his beloved's last message letting him know she was on her way.

The sun had already set when you arrived at the restaurant everyone in Gotham was talking about: Le Cygne Noir, a place so exclusive it didn't even have its name on the entrance. Just a black door with a gold doorbell and a doorman who looked like he'd stepped out of a spy movie. You'd saved three months' worth of tips from the café where you worked to pay your share (because Damian insisted it "wasn't necessary," but you wanted to prove you could keep up). You were wearing a simple black dress Steph had lent you, and you felt like an imposter amidst all the crystal and silverware that weighed more than your soul.

Damian was waiting for you at the corner table, impeccably dressed in a bespoke suit that probably cost more than your annual rent. When he saw you, his green eyes softened in that way only you knew: the "son of Bruce Wayne" mask completely slipped away.

"You look…" he began, then stopped, because he still struggled to say nice things without sounding like he was reading a report. "Beautiful. As always."

You smiled nervously and took a seat. The menu didn't have prices. Bad sign. Already off to a bad start.

You ordered what sounded least unusual: "foie gras with red berry reduction and beetroot foam." When it arrived, it looked like a minimalist work of art… that someone had trampled on. You took a bite. It tasted of sadness with a hint of damp earth.

Damian, of course, ate like he'd been born with a palate trained in Paris. He cut everything at perfect angles, talked about raising ducks as if it were perfectly normal, and you nodded, pretending you didn't feel like crying because you missed the extra-cheesy fries from the food truck on the corner of your apartment building.

"Are you okay, habibti?" he asked suddenly, putting down his fork.

"Perfect," you lied, with the fakest smile you'd ever worn. "This is... sophisticated. Elegant. Exactly what I wanted for you."

He looked at you. That kind of look that made you feel like he could see right through your holey socks.

"You don't like it?" he said, not asked.

"Of course I do, it's... interesting."

"Reader," his tone was the same he used when interrogating criminals, but softer. "The last time you lied this badly was when you tried to convince me your ankle didn't hurt after you fell down the stairs chasing that pickpocket. And you ended up with a cast."

You sighed, defeated.

"It's just... I wanted you to have a date like the ones you're used to. With proper tablecloths and wine that costs more than my salary. I didn't want you to think I always have to drag you to my cheap, noisy places."

Wayne was quiet for a second. Then he took out his wallet, put in a couple of bills that probably covered dinner for the whole room, and stood up.

"Let's go."

"Huh? Where to...?"

"Somewhere the food actually tastes like something."

Twenty minutes later you were sitting in a McDonald's, your elegant dress wrinkled at the waist because you'd rolled up the sleeves, barefoot because your heels hurt, eating a Big Mac with such gusto that you had ketchup on your cheek.

He, his suit jacket draped over the back of the chair and his tie loosened, was stealing your fries and laughing in that way only you had ever heard: open, unfiltered, like when you were fifteen and you knocked him out thinking he was a burglar on the roof of your building.

"This," he said, wiping the ketchup off your face with his thumb, "is way better than any berry reduction."

"Admit you missed this," you teased, stealing a fries back.

"With you, I miss anything if I'm not experiencing it with you," he replied, and he sounded so sincere you almost dropped your burger.

You ended up sharing a McFlurry sitting on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, your legs dangling and the neon lights reflecting in the puddles. You rested your head on his shoulder.

"Thanks for rescuing me from the killer foie gras."

"Thanks for trying to give me what you think I deserve," he said, kissing your temple. But all I've ever wanted is this. You. Beetroot foam or no beetroot foam.

You twirled it between your fingers, laughing.

“Damian, I spend a maximum of two hundred dollars a month on makeup and Shein dresses…”

“Now you can spend two hundred thousand if you want,” he replied, shrugging. “Or two million. I don’t care.”

It wasn’t an exaggeration. Two weeks later, when you casually mentioned that a lavender Zimmermann dress seemed like “a dream,” you found it hanging in your closet that very night, along with fifteen other floral dresses by designers whose names you couldn’t even pronounce. All in pastel shades that looked like they’d been plucked from your secret Pinterest board.

Then came the house.

One Sunday morning, Damian blindfolded you, put you in the Aston Martin, and drove for forty minutes. When he removed the blindfold, you were standing in front of a French-style villa in the Bristol Hills, surrounded by gardens of lavender and climbing roses.

“Welcome home,” he said simply.

You were speechless.

“What do you mean, ‘welcome home’? We live in the penthouse in Gotham!”

“Now we have two homes,” he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “This one’s in your name. Yours alone. If you ever get tired of me, you have somewhere to go.”

You looked at him, your eyes brimming with tears, and hugged him so tightly you almost knocked him to the ground.

"I'll never get tired of you, you idiot."

He smiled against your hair.

"Even better. Because I've already bought the one next door too, in case we want to expand the garden."

You currently live together in the 800-square-meter penthouse that occupies the top two floors of Damian's own house. But on long weekends, you escape to the villa in Bristol. There, you have your own walk-in closet the size of a normal apartment, filled exclusively with floral dresses, pleated skirts, angora cardigans, pearl handbags, and kitten heels in every color of the rainbow. Damian hired a personal stylist who comes every season just to make sure you have "everything cute a sunshine deserves."

He also gave you:

- A pink diamond necklace in the shape of tiny flowers, engraved inside with “My only sunshine” (you wear it all the time, even to sleep).

- A pink Mini Cooper convertible with floral interior to match your dresses (he calls it “Barbie’s car” and pretends to hate it, but he takes you ice cream in it on Sundays).

- An additional credit card (this time a Mastercard Black) that he reloads himself every month with a ridiculously small amount “for your silly whims,” as he puts it. You mostly use it to buy him flowers and leave him little notes in his office.

- A white Pomeranian puppy named Marshmallow, who always wears pastel bows to match yours.

This morning, for example, you woke up and found a Cartier box on your pillow. Inside: pearl and diamond daisy earrings.

You, still with sleep in your eyes and your hair a mess, murmured. “Damian… I already have like seven pairs of daisy earrings.”

“These are 3 carats each,” he replied from the bathroom, shaving. “The others were too small. They didn’t do your face justice.”

You laughed, got out of bed in your strawberry-print cotton nightgown, and threw your arms around his back.

“You know I could still love you even if you didn’t buy me anything, right?”

Damian put down the razor, turned, and pulled you into his arms. He still had shaving cream on one cheek.

“I know,” he said, kissing your nose. “But I like to see you shine. And if that means buying half a Cartier, I’ll do it.”

You wiped his cheek with your thumb and smiled at him in a whisper.

“Well, today my treat is for you to stay home with me all day, without a suit, without meetings, and without saving the world.” Just you, me, and Marshmallow watching Studio Ghibli movies.

Damian sighed as if you were asking him for the greatest sacrifice in the universe, and then smiled that smile only you know.

"Deal, habibti. But only if you let me choose the pajamas."

He chose the pink cotton onesie with bunnies that you jokingly gave him for his birthday. And he spent the whole day in it, cuddling you on the sofa while you, of course, wore a matching onesie, and Marshmallow slept between you.

Reader: HAHAHAHA sorry

It was the notebook's fault

That notebook has a weird energy, Damian.

Damian: Your clumsiness is the weird energy.

Not the notebook.

Reader: 😤

Well, YOUR rough ENERGY makes me nervous and—

Damian: Reader.

I just felt another bump.

What did you do now?

Reader: …

Okay.

Before you get mad:

I was going down the stairs and I saw a cat.

And the cat spoke to me with its eyes.

So I got distracted.

Damian: YOU FELL BECAUSE YOU SAW A CAT?

Reader: I didn't exactly fall.

I… slipped with dignity.

That counts as control, right?

Damian: Reader.

My knee hurts.

And I haven't even gone down a single step today.

Reader: Sorry 😭

It was just so cute.

An orange cat.

You would have understood.

Damian: It's amazing that my soulmate is such an adorable mess.

5:03 pm.

Damian: Reader?

I felt a burning sensation on my arm.

WHAT happened now?

Reader: Ah

hehe

Oops

Okay, funny story—

Damian: It's not funny if it hurts.

Reader: I got too close to the iron

And the iron said "hello"

But hot

🥲

Damian: ...

I'm coming over.

Reader: NOOOO NOOO

It's just a little mark, nothing serious

Besides, you can't come over for every scratch—

Damian: You're my soulmate.

Every scratch is my problem.

Reader: 😭💛

God

How come you haven't left me yet?

Damian: Because I love you.

And because without me you'd already be mummified in bandages from your accidents.

Did you feel that?

Reader: Feel what?

Damian: The kiss I put on your arm when I arrived.

You'll remember it when I see you.

Reader: 😳😳😳

Damiannnnn

Don't use THE POWER OF ROMANCE to win me over—

Damian: It always works for me.

Reader: Yeah…

But I'm still going to keep hiding it from you when I stumble.

So you don't scold me 💛✨

Damian: If you feel pain, I feel it too.

You can't hide it from me, my love.

Reader: Damn.

You've gone back to poetry.

Stop it, or I'll fall in love again.

Damian: That's the plan.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

1. The soulmate bond was activated when they were children.

Damian was training with Ra's al Ghul and felt a scrape on his elbow… without having been hit.

At the same time, you fell off your bike trying to greet a dog.

Damian remembers it perfectly; you don't.

He took it as the "first dangerous fact" about his soulmate.

2. Damian is ridiculously sensitive to your accidents.

When you cut yourself on a piece of paper → he sighs, frowns, and mutters:

"Not again…"

If you trip, even slightly → he feels the impact and immediately checks his phone.

He already has a special chat with you called "What happened to you now?".

3. You found out about the bond for a ridiculous reason.

One day you opened a window and the frame hit you on the forehead.

Damian, miles away, clutched his forehead in pain during a meeting with Bruce.

Bruce saw him and said:

*“Soulmate?”*

Damian just muttered:

…time to find her.”

4. Damian tries to train you to prevent you from getting hurt.

He teaches you balance, self-defense, and how to fall without hurting yourself.

You get hurt more during training than in the real world.

Damian almost gives up in frustration, but he looks at you and thinks:

“I can’t leave her unprotected.”

5. He feels your most intense physical emotions.

When you laugh too loudly → Damian’s stomach hurts like he’s doing sit-ups.

When you eat something really cold and it gives you brain freeze → he freezes for 3 seconds with a death stare.

You do it on purpose, obviously.

He knows it.

He hates it.

He loves you anyway.

6. When Damian gets hurt, you lose your mind.

The first time he came back with a big (but not dangerous) cut, you thought your skin was splitting open.

Damian had to hug you and say:

“I’m okay, sweetheart. Breathe.”

After that, he tries to hide his injuries from you…

But you feel them anyway.

And you nag him for hours.

7. You sleep better together.

When you’re not in the same place, you feel little things from each other:

accelerated heartbeat,

changes in temperature,

restless movements.

If you sleep together, everything calms down.

Even Damian stops frowning when he's with you.

8. Sometimes you share involuntary physical sensations.

If you drink something very sweet → Damian tastes something phantom and complains.

If he runs or trains too much → you suddenly feel tired legs and say, "Is he running AGAIN?"

When you snuggle up with a soft blanket → Damian feels the comfort and smiles involuntarily.

Dick has noticed this and teases him.

9. The Waynes adore you for the effect you have on Damian

Alfred calls you "the young master's living medicine."

Tim congratulates you for making Damian stop acting like a gremlin.

Bruce thanks you because Damian smiles more.

Damian says everyone exaggerates…

But he doesn't deny it.

10. The bond is not only pain—it is also love.

When you think of him, Damian feels a warmth in his chest.

When he remembers you, you feel a gentle tingle in the hand he usually holds.

Reader: 😱

A PLAN PLAN?

WITHOUT SIRENS, DOGS, OR ACCIDENTS BEHIND US?

Damian: Exactly.

Just you and me.

Something quiet. Normal.

Something without chaos.

Reader: HAHAHAHAHA

Oh Damian… baby…

You know chaos is a magnet and I'm like iron.

Damian: Even so, I'm going to try.

Tomorrow, 6 pm.

A coffee.

Just a coffee.

Two people drinking coffee.

That's all.

Can you… stay out of trouble for a few hours?

Reader: For you, I'll try 🥺✨

Damian: Thanks.

See you tomorrow.

-

The next day – 5:42 pm

Reader: DAMIAN

Damian: …

No.

NO.

It's not six o'clock yet.

Reader: I KNOW

BUT I HAVE A SITUATION

Damian: Reader, please…

I'm asking you as Wayne, as your boyfriend, and as a concerned citizen:

Tell me it's nothing serious.

Reader: HAHA noooo

Nothing serious

I think

Probably

Possibly

Well, it depends on the perspective

Damian:… Tell me.

Reader: I'm at the cafe.

On time.

With both my legs intact.

(For now)

Damian: That sounds good.

Reader: Buuuut

The waiter tripped and a giant Frappe fell on me.

And now I look like a human brownie.

And I think a kid tried to lick my arm.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO.

Damian: ...I'm on my way.

Reader: NO, NO, DAMIAN!

NO!

Let me clean up first.

I don't want your first glimpse of me today to be melted dessert. 😭✨

Damian: I've seen you soaked in the rain, covered in dust, holding a stray bird,

and once with a box of cats on top of you.

I'm not going to be scared off by a little chocolate.

Reader: IT WAS mocha

Mocha smells more sophisticated

SO I'M LOOKING GREAT, OK?

Damian: Where are you now?

Reader: In the cafe bathroom

Trying to dry my blouse with the hand dryer

But the hot air made it even more wrinkled

I think I accidentally invented a new fabric texture

Damian: I'm here.

I'm outside.

Reader: Okay, I'll be out in 30 seconds

Or 20

Or never

I don't know, I'm sticky

Damian: Just come out.

It doesn't matter what you look like.

I want to go on a date with you, not with you in fashion catalog mode.

Reader: 🥺 Okay… coming out…

If a kid tries to lick me again, I'm running.

❀•°•═════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════•°•❀

Damian: Reader…

I need to talk to you.

Urgent.

Reader: 😃 What's up?

Do you want another date attempt?

Or should we adopt the banana dog?

Damian: No.

It's… more serious.

I'm in your room and I found something.

Reader: 😳 My collection of rare pens?

I told you not to judge my interests, Damian.

Damian: No.

They're not pens.

Reader…

I found a pregnancy test.

Reader: …

Reader: Did you have a heart attack?

Be honest with yourself.

Damian: Almost.

Reader: Oh my god HAHAHAHAHAHA—

Oh no, sorry, go on, go on.

Damian: Reader, please.

I didn't know how to tell you this, so I'm going to be direct:

I'm with you.

In everything.

I'm responsible, I—

I already have a plan.

Reader: 😦 A plan?

Damian: Yes.

Listen to me.

I'll be a good father.

And you'll be a wonderful mother.

I've already analyzed everything.

Reader: WHAT DID YOU ANALYZE? 😭

Damian: The schedules.

The budget.

The move.

Our wedding.

The pediatrician.

And the most prestigious universities in the country.

I'll only accept the best for our daughter.

Reader: Our what*?

DAUGHTER?

Why so specific?

Damian: I have a feeling.

It's going to be a girl.

I've already thought of names.

Something strong, elegant…

Something that honors his mother.

Reader: DAMIAN 😭😭😭

Stop or I'll cry from laughter and tenderness at the same time.

Damian: Reader… please say something.

I'm hanging on by a thread.

Reader: Okay, okay, okay. Breathe.

You're not about to become a father.

Damian: …what?

Reader: The proof is from my older sister.

I WAS HELPING HER HIDE HER FROM MY MOM BECAUSE SHE GOT NERVOUS!

I left her in my room for a second.

Just a second.

Literally.

HAHAHAHAHA

Damian: …

I'm going to need to sit down.

Or lie down. Or dramatically collapse on your bed.

Reader: HAHAHA PLEASE DON'T DIE, SHE'S JUST MY SISTER

Not me

Not yet, calm down Casanova.

Damian: I can't believe I was already planning our wedding in my head.

I even thought about talking to Alfred about the crib.

Reader: A CRIB? ALREADY?

HOW FAST DO YOU THINK?

Damian: I'm a Wayne.

I plan with surgical precision.

Besides…

when it comes to you, everything seems… natural.

Easy to imagine.

Reader, dramatic silence because you melted: 😭💛 Damian…

Damian: Don't ever store pregnancy tests in your room without warning again.

My heart has its limits.

Reader: I promise.

But hey…

It was nice to know you planned our entire lives in 45 seconds.

Damian: It wasn't 45. It was 32.

Reader: I LOVE YOU.

And I'm going to annoy you about this for the rest of your life.

Damian: I know.

Reader: Because I saw it fly by like a green missile and I thought, "I can save that."

And I did. 🥺✨

Damian: I'm worried about how often you say things like that.

Reader: Oh, don't be grumpy, I already put it on a little tree and—

WAIT

DAMIAN

DAMIAAAN

Damian: What happened now?

Reader:

3-second audio: loud screeching brakes and a distant crash, followed by “OH NO, NO NO NO”

Reader: LOOK AT THIS.

blurry photo of a car that crashed into a semi-truck several meters away.

Reader: I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING, I WAS JUST WALKING

WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPEN TO ME?

I'm running away from the chaos right now 😭💨

Damian: Reader… are you okay?

Reader: YES, YES, I'M OK.

But my peace of mind stayed back there with the hummingbird 😭

Damian: Stay away. Call emergency services if someone hasn't already.

And please, stop running toward—or near—dangerous situations.

Reader: I didn't run towards, I ran from.

That's progress, isn't it? 🏃‍♀️💨

Damian: I don't know if I'd call it progress… but I'll take it.

Where are you now?

Reader: Hidden behind a fruit stand. The man thinks I'm buying bananas.

I can't leave until he stops staring at me.

Damian: I'm coming for you.

Reader: I love you 😭💚

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Later, talking to Dick.

Dick: So, you like a famous actress?

Damian: Not “an actress.” Her.

Dick: Wow. And how do you know?

Damian: Because she can't stand me.

Dick: …Okay, yeah. It's definitely love.

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

Unsent message on Damian's phone.

> “Sometimes I think about the way you said my name, nonchalantly, like you were immune to everything. I think that's why I kept staring at you.”

> " Not sent."

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Chance encounter at an event.

Reader: Have we met?

Damian, barely smiling: Not well enough.

Reader: Hmm. You seem dangerous.

Damian: Only to the people I care about.

Reader: Then I'm safe.

Damian, whispering: For now.

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

Internal conversation — Damian's diary.

> “She doesn't remember seeing me. And yet, I remember even the color of her dress."

> "wonder if that's what they call punishment… or destiny.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Bruce enters the Batcave.

Bruce: Damian, why is there an article about an actress in your mission files?

Damian: Research.

Bruce: Research on what?

Damian: …human emotions.

Bruce: ...

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Reader: I tried to make you cookies 🍪

Damian: You tried.

Reader: ...yes

Damian: And the result?

Reader: Inedible.

Damian: Did you at least frame them like projectiles?

Reader: 😭

Damian: I'm just kidding.

Damian: Bring them anyway. Titus will eat them.

Reader: 😭😭😭

Damian: I'm sure they look adorable.

Damian: Like you when you fail.

Reader: ...thanks?

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

Reader: Damian, I love you 😌

Damian: You already said that yesterday.

Reader: So?

Damian: There's no need to repeat it every 24 hours.

Reader: I just like reminding you 🙄

Damian: Hm.

Reader: 😤 Say something

Damian: I'm busy.

2 minutes later.

Damian: I love you too.

message deleted.

Reader: I READ IT.

Damian: You don't know what you're talking about.

Reader: I have a screenshot. Saved. Protected by law.

Damian: Unacceptable.

Damian: I'll delete your number.

Reader: Come get him 😏

Damian: I'm coming.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Reader: Today a guy from work told me he liked my smile.

Damian: …

Reader: Damian?

Damian: Tell me his name.

Reader: No 😭

Damian: Tell me.

Reader: No, no, it was an innocent compliment.

Damian: There's no such thing as an innocent compliment.

Reader: Damian…

Damian: Okay.

Damian: I won't touch him.

Damian: Unless he talks to you again.

Reader: Ah

Damian: Relax.

Damian: I can't control everything.

Reader: “I can't control everything,” says the guy who hacked the building's cameras 😒

Damian: That was just once.

Reader: Pay for a taxi or an Uber because I don't have any money (I'm broke 🤺). You're going to be my wallet for now (lie, I'll pay you back when I get paid at work 😭)

Damian: …

Damian: I already sent you the money.

Reader: 😭😭😭 Baby, I swear I'll pay you back.

Damian: No need.

Reader: But you're going to see me as a freeloader 😩

Damian: I already am.

3 seconds later without Reader responding.

Damian: Just kidding.

Damian: Almost.

Reader: 😤 Don't bother me or I'm staying home.

Damian: No.

Damian: The driver's already outside.

Damian: I don't want to have to say I miss you again.

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

On a date she doesn't know is a date.

Damian: I'm glad you agreed to come to dinner with me.

Reader: Of course, I never turn down free food.

Damian: …That's not what I wanted to hear.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Damian: Under this moon, I can only think of you.

Reader: Me too! Look at that moon, it looks like a giant omelet.

Damian, internally: …Why do I keep trying?

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

When he tries to be subtle.

Damian: You're… important to me.

Reader: I know, I'm really good with homework, aren't I?

Damian, takes a deep breath: It wasn't about homework.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Damian: I can't concentrate when you smile like that.

Reader: Oh, does it bother you? Sorry, I'll try to smile less.

Damian: No, by Ra's, it's not that!

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

During training.

Damian: I don't want to hurt you.

Reader: That sounds like a challenge!

Damian, whispers: It wasn't a threat… it was concern.

Reader: What did you say?

Damian: Nothing. Strike with your left.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Damian: I think what we have could be more than friendship.

Reader: Of course! Training partners always end up being like family.

Damian: …Exactly the opposite of what I meant.

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

In a moment of danger.

Damian: If we don't make it out of this alive, I want you to know that I love you.

Reader: Don't say that! We're going to make it out alive, and then you can tell me all about it.

Damian, internally screaming: THAT WAS WHAT I MEANT TO TELL YOU ALL ABOUT IT!

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Reader: Wait… You've been flirting with me this whole time?

Damian, now resigned: I've only been trying for two years, but there's no rush.

Reader: Aww, how sweet!

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Jon: Why are they covered in blood?

Damian: Theirs, not ours.

Reader: Technically a success.

Jon: Technically?!

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

Bruce: Damian, where's Reader?

Damian: In my room.

Bruce: And Jon knows?

Damian: No. And he won't, if he wants to keep his teeth.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Reader: They told me to trust my instincts.

Damian: So what did you do?

Reader: I punched the guy who told me to.

Damian: I'm so proud of you.

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

Jon: You two need therapy.

Reader: We already went.

Damian: The therapist quit.

Jon: …Understandable.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Reader: You know what annoys me about you, Damian?

Damian: Make a list. I love lists.

Reader: I already have one. It's filed under "things I can't stop loving."

Damian: …Damn.

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

Dick: Damian, why is Reader carrying a sword?

Damian: Because he respects family traditions.

Reader: And because bullets are boring.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Alfred: Master Damian, Miss Kent is on the roof with a rocket launcher.

Damian: …Again?

Alfred: Yes, sir.

Damian: Leave her alone. She's meditating.

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

Reader: I'm not good with emotions.

Damian: Perfect, neither am I.

Reader: Then we're doomed.

Damian: But at least we're together.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Jon: Damian, what did you get my sister for her birthday?

Damian: An enchanted dagger.

Jon: Why?!

Reader: Because she knows me.

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

Bruce: Damian, why does Reader have access to the Batcomputer?

Damian: Because she hacked it.

Bruce: And you didn't stop her?

Damian: And ruin her happiness? What kind of monster does she think I am?

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Reader: I don't need you to save me.

Damian: I wasn't planning on doing that.

Reader: Good.

Damian: Though I was planning on enjoying the show.

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

Jon: I'm worried my sister is a bad influence on you.

Damian: Your sister taught me how to sharpen batarangs with my teeth.

Jon: Exactly!

Damian: I'm not saying that's a bad thing.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Reader: Damian, do you believe in destiny?

Damian: I believe in precision.

Reader: How romantic.

Damian: I try to be. When I'm not threatening someone.

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

Jason: Who left the body in the garage?

Reader: It's not a body. It's unconscious.

Damian: For now.

Jason: …Why do I feel like this is already a date for you guys?

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Reader: I don't need you.

Damian: I know.

Reader: Then why are you still here?

Damian: Because I don't need you to stay. I want to stay.

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

Jon: You two look at each other like you're about to kiss or kill each other.

Reader: Both are options.

Damian: We haven't decided which one comes first yet.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Reader: What are you doing up at three in the morning?

Damian: Thinking about you.

Reader: In a cute or worrying way?

Damian: Both. I have a map and a contingency plan.

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

Clark: Is Damian a good influence on your sister?

Jon: …Define “good.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Reader: If we die today, I want you to know something.

Damian: What?

Reader: I was the one who stole your sword.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Reader, walking up an 87-story building without looking over the edge: Stop following me, Robin.

Damian, walking behind her: I'm not following you. I'm studying your technique.

Reader, glancing over his shoulder: And what have you learned?

Damian: That if I take one more step closer, I'll probably die happy.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Jon, looking at Damian reproachfully: Damian, stop looking at my sister like she's a ticking time bomb.

Damian: She is. The difference is that she chooses when to explode.

Reader, snapping his fingers: And you're about to find out.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Reader, wiping a spurt of blood from his nose: I don't need your help.

Damian: I never said I was offering it.

Reader: Then why are you here?

Damian, walking over to her: Because I want to see how long it takes you to prove to me that you're better than all of us.

Reader: …Five seconds.

Damian: We'll see.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Jon: I don't understand how you can stand his bad temper.

Damian: I don't stand it. I admire him.

Reader, reading a book on the couch: That sounds sick.

Damian: They call it love, apparently.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Reader: I'm warning you, Damian, if you touch me again, I'll break your hand.

Damian, chin held high: Then at least I'll have an excuse to keep thinking about you.

Reader, sarcastically: How romantic.

Damian: I try, between fractures.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Jon, looking at his friend incredulously: What did you do to get my sister to talk to you?

Damian: I told her I preferred her silence to yours.

Reader: And for once, I agree with you.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Reader: Why do you always smile when I'm angry?

Damian, smiling arrogantly: Because no one looks as good plotting my death as you do.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Jon: Damian, why do you have a picture of my sister training as your wallpaper?

Damian, doing push-ups: I study my opponents.

Reader, doing the same beside him: And do you like your opponents as much as I do?

Damian, without turning to look at her: Only the ones who could kill me.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Reader, sipping a strawberry milkshake: Don't think I like you just because I haven't hit you today.

Damian: I'll take that as progress.

Reader, narrowing his eyes: You shouldn't.