an angel.ᐟ

Though neither really made him popular with the ladies. Meeks said it didn't bother him — women were Charlie's thing. Well, yeah, women were.

Steven didn't want women, he wanted a woman, his woman — a girlfriend, one who'd later be his wife: Steven craved to find his twin flame.

What he didn't expect was for that prayer to be answered, really anytime, let alone that quick.

The encounter occurred at a random party Knox had him tag along to. Crowded, smelling like booze, and way too loud — it all gave him a headache. And he'd blame it all on Overstreet tomorrow.

As he stepped out of the threshold of the house to smoke his pipe, he got knocked onto the ground by a smaller body rushing into the house.

The collision in the empty yard made quite a noise, both parties groaned as they reached for the floor. Both in need of their fallen belongings.

Steven's eyes hurt as he put on his glasses, he took them off, only to realize they weren't his glasses in the first place.

"Uh...those are mine. I'm guessing these are yours."

Before he can react, a warm pair of hands puts on his actual glasses onto his freckle-littered face. It's only when the person took their own glasses out of Steven's hands that the boy looked at them — at her.

Steven could've sworn that if he wasn't already knocked down, that might as well have been when his eyes met the most breathtaking pair of other.

"I— uh— let m-me help you up!" his arms gently gripped her under the arms, helping the girl, and himself, really, stand up.

"Are you alright? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

The stranger in front of him laughs lightly at his questions, her delicate hands fixing her cheer skirt.

"Hurt me? I'm the one who rammed into you, silly!"

Oh God, Steven felt himself grow weak all over again, under zero pressure. Her laugh was so mellow, it took milliseconds for it to evaporate into the midnight air, but it kept ringing in Meeks' ears — like wedding bells, no, he needed to snap out of it!

"Rammed is too strong a word. I b-barely felt it!"

Although the reply was there to soothe her worries, the boy's nervous stutter only seemed to intensify them — dammit, don't look at me like that! Don't worry about me, I just don't know how to talk to princesses reincarnated!

To make matters worse, both decided to reach for Meeks' pipe at the same time, resulting in a small thump echoing through the night as their foreheads collided — this really wasn't his most suave move.

"Ow—"

"—Sorry, I'm sorry. I just wanted my pipe—"

"—I wanted to give it to you—" she explains,

"—I-I know! I'm so sorry!"

The two rubbed their foreheads simultaneously, the pipe still lying between their feet, like it was mocking them…

Without much thought, his calloused hands gently gripped both sides of her face, smushing her rosy cheeks together as he inspected the reddening on her forehead.

"I'm fine. Really." She mumbled out, her cheeks still squished together. Steven's hands felt on fire, and it soon spread to his face, making him red like a tomato as he backed away.

What was I thinking, touching her like that?! He bent down and, at last, picked up his pipe.

"Did you see the cheer team in there?" Her sudden question made him raise a brow. But he nodded nonetheless. He leaned against the side of the house as he lit the pipe.

"They're playing quarters."

The girl groaned at that.

"Ugh— again? They always do that. And then I'm the one picking them up like a taxi because they're—" the girl stops herself, aware that she was about to spill her guts to a complete stranger.

"Heh. I'd always ride with a taxi driver as cute as you." Was it Meeks speaking, or the tobacco? Both. Meeks connected the words that the tobacco allowed him to utter.

Her small smile, both annoyed and bashful now, made his heart skip a few beats. She leaned against the wall next to him. Slightly shivering as a breeze picked up. Which made the boy drape his Welton uniform around her.

"Thanks. And for the record— you'd be the most tolerable client. I'd never miss picking you up. I'm..." she introduced herself, gripping the uniform tighter around herself.

"Are you always the taxi of the friend group?" He asks, taking a drag from the pipe.

"Taxi, calculator, encyclopedia, cheer-choreography spreadsheet — yeah..."

He nudges her gently, letting her rest her head on his shoulder after the frustrated admission.

"Sounds like you need better friends."

"Maybe. But I'm not the most interesting to befriend."

He scoffs lightly. That statement didn't sit right with Steven. The girl in front of him, for the small conversation they held, was plenty interesting and approachable, even for an introverted guy like him.

"Then the people at your school are stupid, doll." The nickname left his mouth smoothly, soothing the girl's worry.

"Lucky you. You go to a private school. Must be nice."

"So-so. It's all studies, sports and occasional rebellion." Meeks answers. His free hand gently brushed against her soft one, sending zaps through his fingers.

"Just so-so? I'd die happy to get my hands on the Welton library's poetry collection."

He chuckled at that; his laugh deep, raspy, and boyish. Steven couldn't help but agree on that matter; Welton's library was nothing short of impressive.

"You like poetry?" he asks,

"I do. You?"

He nodded.

"I do. Write it as well."

Her excited gasp nearly made him drop the pipe. Meeks looked down at her, noticing the sparkle in her eyes and slightly parted, pink lips.

"I write too! Ugh— I didn't bring my notebook with me. I write dramas, poetry— anything I can grasp really!"

"Hey, hey— no need to brood over it, darling. I'm sure we will meet again. We aren't worlds apart now, are we?"

She paused before giving him a slow nod. She still seemed a bit defeated as her head lulled back against his shoulder.

Serene quiet eloped them. Trees moving along the wind, nearby streetlights illuminating old benches, a few dogs howling somewhere far off.

Steven's heart was nowhere near calm, but with her, it was a good excitement that rushed through his veins — it was something real.

"What kind of poetry do you write?"

The boy smirked at that, looking down at the girl in front of him. He leaned down.

"Let me whisper it to you." he murmured against her ear, sending a shiver through her own body, her cheeks becoming more rosy.

"Oka—"

A small gasp left her as Steven tilted her head to his; his lips finding hers. Kissing her softly, reverently, once, twice — before pulling back with a quiet pop.

"W-what was that for?"

"A doll like you, with a heart even sweeter, shouldn't doubt her capabilities of making friends."

A small spark emitted in her wide eyes, clearly touched by his words. Steven could almost hear the gears turning in her head, trying to grasp at what had just happened, and he himself could barely believe it.

The moment was broken by an angry Knox coming out of the house, with a small 'let's go', he was already leading Steven away from the girl whom he had just oh-so-sweetly kissed.

"—Wait! What's the rush, Overstreet!?"

But Knox stayed quiet, not even acknowledging his friend's protests over his own anger.

"—Your uniform!"

Steven's gaze finds her again, waving a hand as if to say it's nothing. It looked good on her, and she was cold. She practically took his heart; the least of his concerns was a blazer—

"Keep it! I have several of them! The name's Steven Meeks, by the way! —Hold on, Knox! Meeks as in being meek! But I'm anything but meek for you! We'd have the funniest, prettiest little things!—"

He yelled as his friend continued to pull him along.

"No doubt!" Is all he heard last from her.

𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑙𝑦𝑟𝑒©

November 2nd, 2004

Damian. was. freezing. Although tucked in a warm designer coat, the dry New York Winter was horrid that Friday afternoon. He blew warm air into his cold palms, looking around the bustling city and quick-paced residence. People hurrying home – some just starting the workday so they're hurrying to work, shop owners closing their business for the day or near doing so, taxis passing through the traffic in every direction, police patrolling steadily.

He nods at a police officer before raising a hand at an approaching yellow car. Damian sits in it with a polite hello, closing the heavy door behind him.

"Where to, sir?"

"The airport, please. And can you hurry up? I'm in a rush."

The driver nods at his request, giving him one last glance through the review mirror before focusing on the road ahead. As soon as they were out of the police's eyeshot, the driver sped up, maneuvering smoothly through the sea of other cars.

The low hum of the car, mixed with the white scenery outside of it, made Damian Wayne seem so mellow at that moment – his mind far away from his physical being. Where exactly?

Somewhere in the you universe. A universe the lovestruck Robin has built in the past year of mailing, chatting, and calling you.

A lump of saliva stopped in his throat, his palms becoming slightly sweaty; he just couldn't believe it. After a year of it all, he's finally meeting the girl he loved.

You read that correctly: loved. Damian Wayne, the stubborn, sarcastic, defensive son of Batman, is in love with you. Has been since the first encounter with you through your YouTube channel.

The expensive sole of his branded shoe tapped nervously on the car's floor, hands moving along his jeans to subdue the sweat.

'What's up with me today?' he wanted to laugh at himself, at his nervousness.

'I need to relax. The meeting will go fine, o-kay, great. We'll meet, hug, and I'll give her the flowers–'

"Damnit!" he exclaimed in frustration, making the driver slow down, raising a brow at Damian in the review mirror.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't intended for you — I just forgot my girl's flowers at home." he sighs.

"There's a flower shop down Main Street."

That makes the nineteen-year-old look up from his hands,

"Please stop there first."

The driver said a sharp yes, turning on the left blinker to follow the new directions.

'How did I forget the flowers? Darn it...I hand-made that bouquet...All the splinters it gave me...' Despite the plasters covering his fingers, Damian couldn't help but smile at the thought of the flowers he carefully picked, lighting up with the thought of giving them to you once the two of you arrive at his apartment. So you'll have two bouquets, and all will be just fine.

.

.

.

After he got the store-bought flowers, and the car was back on the way to the airport, Damian skimmed through the whole meeting again – his brain’s vision of it.

'So we'll meet, I give her the flowers, we hug, I kiss her lips– her beautiful pouty, dewy, lips – no! Cheek. Lips are too soon, right? Yeah, cheek will do for now. I take her bag.'

His arms mimicked the movements of his brain project, just slightly. It was a bad habit (?) he developed in anticipation. Yes, throughout the whole year, Robin really envisioned and practiced hugging, kissing, and all that romance stuff, with the air, pillow, big pillow –

"You okay, sir?" Damian snapped out of his imaginary scenarios, realizing he was awkwardly hugging the front seat in front of him.

"Nauseous?" He sat upright at the question from the older man, his face flushing as he shook his head.

Did he really just subconsciously practice hugging in front of somebody?!

'Sadate me.'

.

.

.

"Damian!" That voice,, her voice – it made the youngest Wayne's gaze snap up towards the escalators, an excited you waving at him, your other hand on your pink suitcase.

Then, you were getting closer, fast, no – he was running towards you. God, he felt like a fool, your fool. As you met at the bottom of the moving stairs, you outstretched both of your hands. Your bodies collided hard, but you two didn't pay attention to that; your ears filled with his boyish laugh, his voice rough from the cold, and your gleeful laugh as he lifted you, spinning you around a few times.

A few people stared, smiling and muttering about young love as they walked by.

As your feet found the floor once more, you looked up at him.

"Hi, Damian..."

"Hello..."

Damian's heart skipped a beat. Those two words, that simple exchange of greeting, were the very same ones you two told each other on your very first video call, and it made his thoughts mushy, and his smile turn dorky.

"Hungry, beautiful?" he smirked at your shy nod, taking your suitcase and leading you along the bustling airport.

"Oh– these...are for you." He takes your hand in his, placing the bouquet in it.

You inhaled the fresh scent – a stark contrast to the mostly dead scenery outside. It smelled so lovely, and they looked all the lovelier.

"Thank you, Dami." his fingers squeezed yours as he led you outside, rosy dusting his cheeks.

...

"This doesn't feel as awkward as I thought it would," you spoke up again, breaking the silence and the rattling of the suitcase's wheels against the ground.

"No, not at all. It feels right, actually. Very right." You nodded at his words – feeling as though the guy in front of you was basically reading your thoughts right now.

Your delicate fingers were squeezing the bouquet ever-so-lightly, hoping, praying this wasn't a dream.

Which it wasn't.

You don't remember quite exactly when you realized it? When he hugged you like you were his lifeline, when he gave you the beautiful peonies, or when his lips found yours while you two were eating pizza in the small restaurant nearby?

"You have a few crumbs on your face," he muttered, leaning in again, his dry lips meeting your glossy ones. A small squeal leaving your lips as his tongue entered your mouth, practically stealing the small leftovers of pizza from your tongue.

You felt lightheaded, grabbing his coat to support yourself, and relaxing as his hands found your hip and lower back. His chair scraped along the floor as he sat closer to you.

Damian was in heaven. The too soon mouth kiss now far, far in the back of his mind as he tongued you oh-so-sweetly, feeling like the greediest and luckiest guy alive at that moment.

He pulled back, a small string of saliva connected you, before breaking. His forehead found yours, and he exhaled in content, closing his eyes.

"Like the pizza?"

"I more than like it, Dami."

His eyes opened at your sure response, mind racing as his gaze met yours.

"I believe you. I feel the same way."

That reply earned him a kiss on the cheek, and a small smile appeared on his lips for the nth time today.

He smiles a lot when he's with you or even thinking of you – he noticed.

Even let Tim run some scans on his brain during those moments. (Tim bribed him with relationship advice – Whattt? His older brother knew what he was doing in the romance department, and Damian needed help!)

.

.

.

The two of you found yourself walking along NYU grounds, noticing students hurrying around and rushing to their lectures and to hide away from the cold.

"Are you excited that we're going here next year?" you smiled at his question, answering just as enthusiastically,

"Very," you bounced in your step, before continuing

"Should we buy matching sweaters?" he perked up at that, nodding as he pulled you along.

How did this happen? You through to yourself, looking at the taller guy in front of you, wondering how it all possibly came down to this.

Moving to the US, getting into NYU, soon attending it with your friend...well, now boyfriend, moving in with him, and soon meeting his family, heck: meeting him in the first place– just how?

You didn't know, fate was a funny thing, and life had doors for you to open you never knew of till meeting Damian, but you wouldn't want it any other way.

Damian, now putting the purple sweater on you, made you come back from your thoughts, looking up at him as he pulled your hair out of it. Watching him take off his coat and put another sweater on himself next, and take your hand back into his.

"Shall we?" he asked.

"We shall."

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

𝑏𝑢𝑏𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑔𝑢𝑚444©

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

╭────────────────────.★..─╮

🏷️;

@liabiamiakiawia @jason-todd-fangirl-14

@shirp-collector-of-fixations @1abi

@nervousalpacalady @silverklaus

@riaaavm  @queenofviolenceandnerds

@noecyan @theonlyjuggernaut @iiriam5

@scvderianat @virtaideen @ryomku

@alishii

an: i'm backkk. plus, i made the setting of the whole series be the 2000s...bc i love them ʅ ( ․ ⤙ ․) ʃ alsooo, if i by any chance didn't see your tag req i'm sorry, and feel free to write in the comments under this post if you want to be tagged in this series! 🫶🏻

╰─..★.────────────────────╯

The call finally connected.

Damian's face appeared first. Sharp eyes, arched brows, olive-toned skin. His glasses were perched on a strong, straight nose.

He was leaning on his arm, cheek smushed into his palm. A sleek, expensive watch peeked out from his wrist, the other cheekbone emphasized under the soft lighting.

Nothing in his expression gave away how Damian Wayne was feeling at that moment—a moment he thought would never happen, or at least would be impossible—except: the nervous flick of his irises.

His beautiful green eyes... sharp and calculated, yet betraying how anxious he was to finally speak face-to-face with his crush.

And then—

Her face appeared.

She sat a little farther from the camera. Her face and upper body in frame, perched on her bed in pink pajamas, a Lana Del Rey poster on the wall behind her. A soft pillow rested between her hands and thighs.

God...

Damian’s watch buzzed.

Heart rate: 113 bpm.

He was done for.

"Hi, Damian..."

The watch buzzed again. He quickly sat up straighter, casually sliding the incriminating device off his wrist and chucking it aside.

"Hello..."

Her breath hitched. The gravel in his voice made her almond-shaped nails tighten around the pillow. Her teeth caught her lower lip—just slightly.

"It...took us a while to connect."

She chuckled.

That quiet, shy, slightly awkward giggle every girl lets out at least once when talking to someone cute.

"It sure did."

He laughed too.

Boyish. Deep. A soft breath escaping in the middle. He leaned toward his mouse, adjusted his volume, and nudged his earphones into place.

"I like your earphones," she said, leaning in a bit.

Her tiny strap slid down her shoulder, and Damian swore the watch was still tracking his heart even off his wrist.

"Yeah? My dad got them for me. They're great for blocking him out."

He shrugged.

She blinked.

Oh no. Does she think I hate my dad?!

He’s an idiot, but I don’t hate him—

It was just a joke—

Guys joke like that all the time—

She snorted.

It pulled Damian out of his mental spiral.

She laughed louder this time and covered her mouth. "You're a lot more fun to talk to than to text, Damian Wayne."

He inhaled sharply at the sound of his full name in her voice. Quietly, his hand gripped the arm of his chair, knuckles going pale.

God—he adored this girl.

He adored the way she said his name.

"Yeah? Sorry about before...I couldn’t believe you actually texted me."

He smiled, and he could’ve sworn her eyes widened slightly. A soft blush bloomed on her cheeks.

She nipped at the pillow with her nails. "It was a bit of a hassle..."

.

.

.

"—Finding you! Not texting you! Just...finding you."

She corrected herself quickly, flustered.

"If it weren’t for your famous friend, I wouldn’t have. No profile picture, no full name in the bio, nothing."

She shrugged.

"I’m a very private person. Forgive me for that. But I suppose I should thank my brother for being the torch between us, yeah?"

She looked back up at the screen, into his eyes.

(Name) nodded. "So he’s your brother?"

"Yes. Adopted. Before my father had me with my mother."

Another nod.

"Cool. Really cool, actually."

He smirked, running his tongue over his upper teeth.

"Do you really think so? I’m flattered. He’s...a good brother to me."

He smirked, though his mind was replaying every moment he had fought with his adoptive brother—a vivid flashback of Damian quarreling with Richard when they had just met passed through his thoughts.

Damian inhaled lightly before continuing, his voice softer.

"You look...very lovely."

She raised a playful brow. "Lovely? I’m in my pajamas, Damian."

"Good. That means you’re comfortable. But I wasn’t referring to your clothes—I was referring to you. You’re... absolutely stunning."

Her smile dropped slightly, blush deepening at his blunt sincerity.

"...T...thank you..."

She looked down at her nails, flustered.

"Have you eaten yet?" he asked.

She smiled again, lifting her gaze.

"It’s 7 a.m. here. I haven’t eaten yet."

"Oh."

He nodded in understanding. "Well, make sure you do."

A pause. Her smile grew warmer. Her cheeks, red and apple-round, dimpled slightly between her glossy lips.

"I will."

"Any plans for today?" she asked.

"Tomorrow. Yes."

He corrected gently, brushing a veiny hand through his dark hair. "It’s late here. So I only have tomorrow’s plans. Today’s already done."

"What are they?" she asked like a curious child, leaning into the headboard.

"School. Training. And work."

Her brows lifted. "You work?"

Shoot. Shoot. That slipped out—

"Uh...my father has a firm. I work...part-time."

Great. Lying to the girl you’ve imagined walking down the aisle. Brilliant, Damian.

"Wow. That’s... impressive." Her lips pursed gently.

Ugh. Did I make it weird?

Yes. Very.

"It’s.. nothing really."

Deeper grave: dug.

He leaned back, subtly pushing the chair farther from the camera.

"I mean—it’s his, not mine. I just help out. He appreciates it."

She smiled. "Are you two close?"

He smiled back. His heart flipped.

"I’m closer to my mother, actually."

She hugged the pillow lightly, resting one cheek against it. "What’s she like?"

"Antisociality in human form, I’d say."

She rolled her eyes. "Can’t be worse than me."

"Oh? Trust me. My mother can barely tolerate me half the time."

"Mine’s the same. Maybe they should meet and form a cult."

They both laughed.

"So...what are you up to, beautiful?"

Her eyes widened.

Her heart skipped a few beats.

Her thoughts went into overdrive.

'Beautiful? He called me beautiful?!'

Damian cursed himself internally. He was following Cassandra’s advice.

"Be a bit flirty, little bro. Women dig respectful flirtation!"

Cassandra, you’re dead to me.

"...I’m going to the library after breakfast. Gonna pick up some Tolstoy."

She reached to her bedside table and held up a copy of The Death of Ivan Ilyich.

"Tolstoy? Have you just gotten into him?"

He hummed, smiling crookedly. Leaned in a little.

"How’d you know?"

She raised a light brow, setting the book on her satin pillow.

"Intuition. And the fact that you haven’t talked about him on your channel." He winked, spinning a pen between his fingers.

"Good observation, Dami."

She rolled her eyes playfully. He blushed at the nickname.

Then—a knock on her end.

"That’s...uhm my cue for breakfast...I’m sorry, I have to go."

She smiled apologetically.

God, how he wanted to kiss that soft, apologetic smile.

Make her breathless, if he had to.

"That’s fine. Bye."

He waved.

"Bye....handsome."

She smirked adorably, nose scrunching up.

The call ended.

Damian scoffed quietly, putting a hand over his mouth, unable to stop the grin that pulled at his lips.

He rubbed his eyes, then stood up from the chair.

“Well played…well played, gorgeous.”

He put a hand on his heart. The beating not slowing down for one bit.

Dear heavens, did he hope his heart beats like this for her forever.

Praying he's found the person for him.

Grabbing a clean towel, Damian headed toward the bathroom.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

𝑏𝑢𝑏𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑔𝑢𝑚444©

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

╭────────────────────.★..─╮

🏷️;

@liabiamiakiawia @jason-todd-fangirl-14

@shirp-collector-of-fixations @1abi

@nervousalpacalady @silverklaus

@riaaavm  @queenofviolenceandnerds

@noecyan @theonlyjuggernaut @iiriam5

an: sorry for not uploading when I said I would — i had work, luvies :,>

"why do you say it like you've just discovered electricity, dami???"

he shrugged.

"i think i asked a question. the same way i always do."

god. she adored his commitment to not letting electronics rule his life as much as she got irritated having to explain things to him.

(not that she minded all that much. most of the time, she wanted to kiss her boyfriend's face off just for having his life so damn together.)

"‘soulmates in every universe’ is a tiktok trend—"

"of course it is, hayati."

"shush. i'm talking."

"...my apologies, miss gurl."

"...i actually regret teaching you that."

she groaned into one of his pillows, which smelled like his stupidly expensive cologne.

then she continued.

"it means... like hot chocolate and winter, popcorn and movies — that kind of connection. love, you know?"

her fingers fidgeted with each other, a soft blush dusting her cheeks. she bit the inside of her cheek gently before going on.

"would our hearts still find each other? despite everything?"

he turned fully in his chair to face her.

"oh... of course."

his tone was steady.

"i don't think a different universe could weaken our bond — definitely not ruin it. we'd be each other’s, no matter the place, time, or version of us. we are each other's. always."

damian let out a small laugh once he finished, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

there was nothing funny about what he said.

in fact, he found the topic deeply important.

he just couldn’t help it.

what kind of mushy mess had his hayati turned him into?

he stood up and crossed the room, the mattress dipping under his weight as he sat beside her.

his long, slender fingers slid across the sheets, intertwining with hers.

he brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles tenderly, his voice low and warm.

"we’d be soulmates in every universe, hayati. the moon and the sea, flame and moth, the tide and the shore..."

she cupped his face with her free hand, thumb brushing along his cheek.

he exhaled a soft, contented sigh at the feeling — every imprint of her touch lingering against his skin.

"fire and gasoline?"

her quiet question made him pause, then chuckle.

"are you calling us trouble, hayati?"

"...hmm. maybe."

she grinned, then added:

"shark and remora?"

he nodded slowly, clearly finding her analogy adorable.

he leaned in closer, pulling her gently by the waist until there was no space between them.

their foreheads met.

their eyes locked.

"...period blood and uterine lining?"

.

.

.

he blinked.

"...i love you, i really do. but that is disg—"

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑙𝑦𝑟𝑒©

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

𝑎𝑛: hello luvies, i'm back! new chapter 4 damian and yt!reader coming out tomorrow ꨄ︎!

—Okay, that sounded ridiculous. Ugh! She couldn’t help but be ridiculous, though.

This guy was literally stunning. And rich, too—like, everything he sent her? $$$ >>>

And don’t even get her started on his abs—nom nom nom—

What did he train for? Olympic godhood? Being blessed by the divine?

‘Come on.’

‘Come on.’

‘Come onnnn, pleaseeee.’

From pacing around her room to collapsing on her vanity like a grouchy cryptid, ___ was not doing well.

With a loud sigh, she slid off and faceplanted onto the soft mattress of her bed.

‘Welp. That’s it. Just a cruel joke—’

Ding

Her heart leapt into her throat. Her eyes darted to her screen:

Damian sent you a message.

“Thank you LORD!”

She scrambled for her phone, hands shaking with excitement, a warm blush spreading fast over her cheeks. Giddiness buzzed through her.

"Hello. I'm Damian Wayne. You may call me Damian. I just wanted to let you know I like your content."

Oh wow. He sounded a bit... snobby.

Then again, he was rich.

Her giddiness dipped—but not her hope.

‘So... he’s a fan. I mean duh. He said that in his letter…’

.

.

.

‘THE LETTER! That’s it! You, dear Damian, can be as nonchalant as you want, but I have proof you’re smitten with me. Hehehehehe... Muahahahahaha—’

She tapped out a reply:

"Why the nonchalance, Dami? Don’t seem so in the letter you sent me. wink wink"

She immediately screamed into her pillow after sending it. Was she really flirting with the literal cutest guy ever—who also happened to live oceans away? Yes.

Did she care?

Yeah. She was terrified. But she had to be LeBron James and shoot her shot. Because right now, all he was being was Franz Kafka, writing letters with no action.

"Ah. You read it. I mean, of course you have. I'm sorry for being so... brass."

"Quite the opposite. You were romantic. And I liked it. A lot."

Minutes passed without a reply. Her knee bounced impatiently.

Then a small GIF popped up in the chat: a blushing kitty with "thanks" written underneath.

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG

He was so... freaking cute.

"I'm flattered. I hope you liked the present as well. A small token of appreciation. Your videos bring me peace. I hope my present gave you as much happiness as you’ve given me peace."

She almost blacked out from the short-circuiting of her heart, brain—her entire existence.

His words... the way he typed...

His modesty. His gentleness. His respectfulness.

‘Okay... I need to chill.’

She got up, went to the mirror, and stared at her tomato-red face. Then shuffled into the bathroom, running cold water over her hands and pressing them to her cheeks, then her neck.

How could she respond? She wanted to sound respectful, but still flirt—just a little.

Ding

Her phone lit up again.

She rushed over.

"I was wondering if… you’d be interested in coming to the U.S.? More specifically—here. Gotham. Where I live. I’d love it if we could meet. Maybe for coffee?"

Oh wow.

She blinked.

She was flattered... but—

How was she supposed to explain that she couldn’t afford to travel? That she was broke broke?

Like—“sorry dudez, me no money, me brokey”???

Then another message came in:

"I’ll pay for it. For everything. I want to meet you. It doesn’t have to be now. But… hopefully in the future? We can see each other through video in the meantime. Get to know each other."

And then, as if reading her mind:

"I promise I’m not a creep. You saw my account, yeah? I... just want to... get to know you. In a... more romantic manner, if possible."

Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum

Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum

Her heartbeat thundered. She felt lightheaded.

He was being direct. With her.

But still... respectful. Thoughtful.

Her fingers trembled slightly as they hovered over the keyboard. She kept glancing back up to make sure his messages were still there, that she wasn’t hallucinating.

She reread her message before sending it.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

"Sure. I’d love that, Damian. I’d love to meet you."

In that moment, ___ felt like they were both leaning closer to their screens. Trying to close the distance. Trying to feel near, even though they were far.

Did he feel it too?

All she said was that she’d like to meet him—but somehow, it felt like a confession.

Sure. I’d love that, Damian. I’d love to meet you.

I’d love that, Damian. I love you.

She flopped back on the bed, letting her phone rest on her chest and an arm fall over her eyes.

‘What are you doing to me, Damian Wayne…?’

part vi

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

𝑏𝑢𝑏𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑔𝑢𝑚444©

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

╭────────────────────.★..─╮

🏷️;

@liabiamiakiawia @jason-todd-fangirl-14

@shirp-collector-of-fixations @1abi

@nervousalpacalady @silverklaus

@riaaavm  @queenofviolenceandnerds

@noecyan @theonlyjuggernaut @iiriam5

★

author's note 1: pov: reader waiting 4 dami to message her

╰─..★.────────────────────╯

Besides being a complete menace with a rifle, having a nasty right hook, and killer karate skills, Jason’s wife was like a second mother to Damian. Even Talia had doted on her back when she was still in the League.

Damian had practically grown up as her shadow. If he loved his actual mother, then he absolutely adored his figurative one—Jason’s wife.

One thing to note: ___ was infertile. It had been a cruel blow to her self-esteem. She wanted kids. She wanted to be a mom.

No matter how many times she forced a smile and reassured Jason that it was okay, he could see through it. Each time she looked down at another negative test, he knew it wasn’t okay. It hurt her. And it hurt him too.

So when Jason had wished for a miracle—a little bundle of joy for them—he hadn’t expected it to come in the form of his little brother showing up for the nth time that week.

"Dami… What happened?" His wife’s soft voice pulled Jason from his thoughts. He glanced down at the younger hero.

"Just… my… Dad's been tough on me. I'm sorry for… being an inconvenience…"

Oh. That actually hurt. A lot.

Jason felt a sharp sting in his chest. He knew how tough Bruce could be—how tough he had been on him. Even if Bruce’s intentions were good, the effects often lasted longer in ways that weren’t always for the better.

His wife's eyes met his, silently pleading. Jason just nodded. That was all the permission she needed to scoop the eight-year-old into her arms and take him to the bathroom for a bath.

"So… Wayne’s been tough on you, Dami?" she asked gently as she washed his hair. He only nodded, his small hands gripping his knees, his tears held back but obvious.

"Did he yell?" she asked, carefully choosing her words.

Damian shook his head. No. She sighed in relief.

"You can sleep here, okay? And—and you can stay as long as you need until you feel ready to go back to your dad. That sound good, dear?"

Another nod.

After the bath and drying his hair, she tucked him into her and Jason’s bed. That earned her a disapproving glance from Jason, but she ignored it. It wasn’t like he was actually mad.

Jason sighed, climbing into bed. He barely had time to relax before he felt his little brother cling to him.

Damian was rarely vulnerable—especially with him.

So, even though Jason had planned for a peaceful night alone with his wife, he didn’t mind. Not this time. Because somehow, Damian being there felt like exactly what his wife needed to get through this hard time.

Whether Damian was helping them, or they were helping him, Jason didn’t know. But he was grateful for it.

___ turned off the lights and slid into bed, pulling the covers over them. And that was that. Damian, squished between them, seeking their warmth, and the two of them accepting it without hesitation.

Though… Jason figured he should get something off his chest too. Y’know, keep the sentiment going.

"I farted."

"GROSS—"

"JASON—"

➽──────────────❥

𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑙𝑦𝑟𝑒©

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

"That’s my job, Mr. Wayne."

'Dear Lord, call me ‘Mr. Wayne’ one more time and I’ll lose it.' He licked his bottom lip, trying for the hundredth time that evening to drag his thoughts out of the gutter.

In an attempt to salvage what remained of his self-control—and to not desecrate the image of the woman he increasingly saw as someone worthy of worship—Bruce gently dabbed the tip of the soapy sponge on her nose, leaving a playful streak of suds behind.

She looked up at him.

Blink.

Then again.

"Achoo!"

The sneeze startled the older man, her movement nearly jolting him. She quickly reached for a paper towel, wiping her nose and the soap off it.

Great, Bruce. Just great. You made her sneeze. And not even in the cute way.

"Uh... I apologize—"

"It’s fine, sir," she said with a bright laugh, her shoulders trembling softly, her face still hidden behind the tissue.

He nodded, silently grateful for her forgiving nature... and wondering, somewhere deep in the corners of his mind, what else came easily to his little maid.

He gulped, loosening his tie slightly. Grabbing a dry cloth from the hook on the wall, he began to dry the cutlery she washed, his heartbeat skipping every time their fingers brushed.

"They’re happy because you’re here."

She looked up at him, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Do you think so, Mr. Wayne?"

He gripped the edge of the sink at the sound of his last name again, fighting the urge to show her exactly what Mr. Wayne was really thinking.

"I do, doll."

"I’m glad—I mean, flattered. But I’m glad too. I just don’t want the children to feel uncomfortable because of me."

'Believe me: they’d be nothing but happy with you as their mother.'

Bruce exhaled slowly, struggling to keep his thoughts in check. Her sweetness was turning him into someone entirely new. This wasn’t the billionaire playboy. This was just Bruce Wayne—a man hopelessly in love with someone he doesn’t think he deserves.

"I mean it," he said firmly, placing the washed dishes in their cabinets.

"And I mean it too. I really like the boys. I wish nothing but the best for them."

As she handed him the last plate, it clattered to the counter, slipping from his grasp as he gently caught her wrist instead—pulling her closer.

His hands found her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her maid dress as he lifted her onto the counter.

The plate shattered at his feet.

He stepped between her knees, eyes locked on hers, their noses nearly touching. Their shallow breathing filled the silence between them.

What now, Bruce?

'I know I’m your employer, but I want to kiss you.'

'I swear this isn’t about power. I love you. Marry me. Have my babies.'

'May I kiss you?'

He was frustrated. Scared. Completely at a loss. How do you ask to kiss the angel who has you wrapped around her little finger?

"What the..."

Their heads snapped toward the kitchen archway.

Damian stood there, holding a dirty glass and looking like he’d just witnessed a war crime.

With surgical precision, he set the glass on the floor.

"I’m going to pretend I didn’t witness this," he said flatly, before pivoting and walking away.

─────────────────── 𐀔

𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑙𝑦𝑟𝑒©

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

[@zalme, hope you like it 🫶🏻]

[You take the man out of the city, not the city out the man.]

He’d been watching her from afar. He’d be lying if he said his notebooks weren’t filled with sketches of her. He didn’t care about Potions, or DADA, or any other useless subject in this hellhole of a school that had torn him and his bella apart. He cared for her. He needed her. Theodore’s heart would leap into his throat when their eyes met across the crowded corridors, his breath catching in his chest. The crowd vanished—there was only her. Only them. A brief convegno clandestino between two soul-bound lovers, before her friends dragged her away again.

[You take man out of the city, not the city out the man.]

After the Golden Trio left, Hogwarts grew more unstable. The Slytherins were growing stronger—and cockier. He watched helplessly as his cara was mistreated again and again, each incident slicing deeper than the last. He knew that defending her meant turning his back on his house, his friends, his family—his very blood. But if he didn’t? He would betray her—la donna per cui vive. How could he betray his angela?

The answer was: he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. And he didn’t.

Whatever words were thrown to hurt her, his knuckles bled even more from punishing the culprits. That was when they began meeting again. At first, silence sat between them—not because things had changed, but because they hadn’t. The two souls simply needed time to riavvicinarsi—to come back together—in peace.

[You take the man out of the—]

Through those meetings, they found happiness. The war had begun, and the world had grown too preoccupied with survival to notice love blooming in the shadows. Of course, Death Eaters lurked everywhere, which is why Theodore had no choice—he had to send his tesoro away from Hogwarts. Watching her fly off on a thestral felt like his heart was being torn in half, and she had taken the other piece with her.

Still, better that than the Death Eaters taking her forever.

If that had happened—heaven above forbid—perfino la morte era meglio della vita. Even death was better than life without her.

[And when I'm back in Chicago, I feel it.]

The ground beneath her feet was damp from the rain. She felt like the weight of the world had crashed onto her shoulders, yet somehow, she remained standing. She didn’t want that. She wanted peace. She wanted freedom—to be free, to be with her Theodore.

Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground, fingers sinking into the wet grass and mud, the earthy musk anchoring her to the moment. A choked sob escaped her trembling lips. Her breath came in short, panicked bursts as her gaze locked on the tombstone before her:

In Loving Memory of Theodore Nott, 1979 - 1997.

Through blurry eyes, she lay atop the cold stone, beside the engraved face of her tutto il suo mondo. Her Theo. Her hands clutched a small bottle containing poison, and she let out a bitter chuckle.

How could they take him from her? How dare they?

Well, he was her world. So there was no reason to stay in this strange, lifeless world any longer.

She uncorked the vial, raised the dark liquid to her lips.

Bottoms up.

──────── ۶ৎ ────────

𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑙𝑦𝑟𝑒©

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated

ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼.ᐟ

╭─────────────────────╮

author's note 1: i caved. had to write a yearner, and had to make it tragic.

╰─────────────────────╯

This wasn’t just any mattress—it was his. In his apartment. And she had oh-so-carelessly stained it. How could she be so stupid?

She scrubbed harder, her heart pounding. She should’ve checked her calendar. Should’ve avoided this. Now all she could do was pray Wally wouldn’t be mad—

"Baby! Your boyfriend’s home! Wakey wakey! I brought breakfast!"

His cheerful voice rang through the apartment.

Her stomach dropped.

Oh God.

This was it. She was about to be humiliated. Yelled at. Maybe even lectured.

A choked sob slipped out as her head fell against the mattress, her shoulders shaking.

"Baby—?"

His voice softened instantly.

Wally stepped into the bedroom, his bright green eyes landing on her hunched-over frame, turned away from him.

He was gone and back in an instant, leaving their food in the kitchen before reappearing at her side. Without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms, his warmth pressing against her trembling body.

"What happened?"

He glanced around, searching for an answer. Maybe the covers weren’t straight enough. Maybe the pillows weren’t aligned. She was a perfectionist—little things did get to her sometimes.

Then he saw it.

The stain.

Oh.

Now, Wally wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he wasn’t stupid either. And the second he put the pieces together, everything clicked.

"Babe... did you start your period?"

She stiffened before giving him the smallest, most ashamed nod.

For a second, he didn’t know whether to laugh or just hug her tighter. Was she really crying over this?

Without a word, he plucked the brush from her trembling hands and set it on the mattress. She hesitated, eyes wide and glossy as she looked up at him—those angelic eyes, still swimming with guilt.

"Up you go, my love."

Effortlessly, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the kitchen, setting her gently onto a chair.

"I... I-I'm sorry, Wally," she whispered, voice thick with emotion. "For... the mattress."

Her lip quivered with the apology, and it wrecked him.

Shaking his head, he leaned down, brushing the softest kiss against her lips. Warm. Comforting.

"You don’t have to be sorry for anything," he murmured. "Accidents happen. And if this is what made my girl cry? Well, guess I’m gonna have to fight a mattress."

A small, hiccuped laugh escaped her.

He grinned. That’s better.

As she wiped at her damp cheeks, he placed a plate in front of her, the warm scent of toast and eggs filling the air.

"Breakfast for my lovely little girlfriend."

She smiled, picking up her fork and knife as she watched him move around the kitchen.

"Ketchup?" Wally asked, glancing at her with a teasing smirk. "I’m sure it’s your favorite.~"

She rolled her eyes but nodded reluctantly.

With exaggerated flourish, he grabbed the bottle and squeezed a generous dollop onto her plate.

"Oh look, it’s even a squirter—just like you!~"

"WALLY I SWEAR TO—"

──────── ⑅ ♡ ⑅ ────────

𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑙𝑦𝑟𝑒©

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated

ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼.ᐟ

╭─────────────────────╮

author's note 1: hi everybody 🧍🏻‍♀️, i'm back! so long story short i was really busy during my last semester of hs, but now i'm back, yay.

author's note 2: i know i know. this isn't a popular ff of mine or anything, dw i'll get to those, just felt like i needed this one out there cuz....i need a man like wally in my life, y'know?

author's note 3: there are more ff on the way. just need to proof them and whatnot.

author's note 4: again, follow me on c.ai 💋 post cute bots on there, hihi

author's note 5: i'm thinking of lowkey broadining my page, like adding ff of different shows/series on my page - hint, one is a popular game for us girlies, the other a popular book and movie series

author's note 6: also, need need need more yearner men on this app. but there just isn't, so i'll write em.

author's note 7: also, babes, if you want to be tagged in a specific fic feel free to pm me or just comment here, the same goes for those who want to be tagged in every fic 🫶🏻 i'll put you on the tag list(s) that i'll make bellow my masterlist <333

author's note 8: an anonymous diva wrote "don't be shy, share your works of art🫣🫣🫣" in my inbox. so thank you very much for that luv, i love your faith in me and i love you specifically, enjoy this ff and dm cuz i wanna be friends w/ u.

author's note 9: another very important thing, i recently noticed young girls starting to follow me, so my content will never go dirty dirty, like a naughty joke is max, nothing more. plus i opened a wattpad acc not too long ago and saw all my fav ff just hidden, like the heck, but terrible smut and all that being pushed out. 14-year-old me grew up reading masterpieces on there and i'll try to make ff like those here. esp 4 my younger audience - so they can experience good quality ff like most of us who are now entering adulthood did on wattpad.

╰─────────────────────╯

"You're pretty and kind."

Ba dum ba dum

"Your videos make me feel calm and happy."

Ba dum ba dum ba dum

"But what makes me the most content is watching the way your eyes sparkle. And it makes my own sparkle, too. Your sweetness is infatuating."

Ba dum ba dum ba dum ba dum—

That was it. The breaking point.

Leaping out of your chair, you shut off the camera with a sharp click.

—

"This boy likes me. Like—like likes me!"

You looked down at the small cat stamp adorning the envelope, its tie patterned with the American flag. A smile graced your lips.

Spinning toward your vanity, you let out a breathless laugh, unable to ignore the ridiculous blush staining your cheeks. (Hyperpigmentation is a curse, you thought.)

Lightly, you patted your face, willing yourself to calm down. If your nosy family caught you fangirling over a fan, you'd never live it down. Especially your older sister. (Sisters, am I right?)

Damian Wayne. USA. Gotham.

With that information, you opened Instagram. Come on... something... anything!

Two painfully long minutes later, you hadn’t found him, but you had found his older brother.

Oh boy, was this dude active.

Real_D_Grayson

With over 100k followers, he seemed to enjoy showing off—abs, acrobatics, and adventures galore. But one pinned post caught your attention: a picture of him standing beside a boy with piercing green eyes and olive skin.

Oh. My—

Your fingers frantically tapped at the mouse, opening the description.

"With baby bro, Dami. It's chest day, baby 😎"

Dami... Damian. Of course.

The sweaty boy in the photo, slightly scowling at the camera, was the same one who had written words that made your knees weak and turned your face as red as a strawberry.

"Come on, faster, faster, you stupid internet!" you muttered, impatiently clicking on the tagged profile.

As the page loaded, a small smile tugged at your lips.

dw_00___

"Dude, I never would've found your account. If you like me, at least drop your Insta next time." You rolled your eyes playfully, muttering to yourself over the young Wayne’s lack of foresight.

Biting your bottom lip, you hovered over the 'Follow' button.

Click.

—

An Instagram notification buzzed through the air during the Wayne family’s dinner.

"What now?" Damian sighed, agitated, as the entire table turned to look at him.

"If it’s you, Grayson—sending me those pointless acrobat reels or whatever again—" he shot a glare at his older brother.

"Don’t look at me, baby bird, I’m playing pool." Dick held up his phone in defense, proving his innocence.

Still puzzled, Damian checked his notification bar. And then—

___ just followed you!

A lump of air caught in his throat. He coughed, covering his mouth as he clicked on the profile.

It was you.

His brain stalled.

How did you find his account?

How could he have been so careless as to not include his username in the letter?

How could he—

"Follow her back already."

A quiet voice snapped him out of his spiral. Cass shot him a knowing wink, her eyes shifting to her younger brother, who was inwardly panicking.

She nodded toward his phone again, subtly urging him before the rest of the family caught on.

Damian exhaled sharply, schooling his expression as he quickly hit ‘Follow Back.’

Sliding his phone into his pocket, he reached for his napkin, pretending to cough into it.

But really, he just needed to hide his reddening face from his ever-curious siblings—and his father.

part v

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑙𝑦𝑟𝑒©

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

╭────────────────────.★..─╮

🏷️;

@liabiamiakiawia @jason-todd-fangirl-14

@shirp-collector-of-fixations @1abi

@nervousalpacalady @silverklaus

@riaaavm  @queenofviolenceandnerds

★

author's note 1: another chapter done :> next one's probably this friday ahead

author's note 2: also making the jason ff

author's note 3: and I made a dick grayson one, should i post it?

author's note 4: i also make bots on c.ai, send me req for characters in my tumblr req :)

author's note5: this is how i imagine reader when she was in front of the mirror btw, ty hendry for the inspo.

╰─..★.────────────────────╯

Which was indeed strange. Damian rarely—if ever—forgot anything.

As he mentally checked off the tasks from the previous day and planned for today, it suddenly hit him—the package.

In a blur, he bolted out of the bathroom, leaping over his bed to grab his clothes for the day.

He dashed out of the house so quickly that Alfred had to peek out of the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about so early in the morning.

The butler let out a light scoff as he watched his young master clumsily lock the front door, a package tucked under one arm.

'Post office. Got to get to the post office. Post office—' Damian chanted in his mind, swiftly (but very carefully) placing the package into the compartment of his scooter before hopping on and securing his helmet.

After the seemingly daunting task of mailing it (he had spent way too long choosing the cutest stamp for you— "Just pick one already, kid!" "In a minute!"), Damian made his way home.

Stupid, impatient worker. Tch.

The moment he stepped inside, he headed straight for the fridge, desperate to quench his thirst. He hadn’t even realized how parched he was from doing such a simple task. Well, seemingly simple.

Truthfully, Damian probably would’ve felt less nervous fighting a villain than sending that package to his newfound crush—his first ever actual crush.

“Where were you off to so early, son?”

His father greeted him as he joined the rest of the family for breakfast.

Great. Damian really didn’t want to answer that. Not because he was ashamed of going to the post office, but because he had no intention of revealing to whom he sent something—or what that something was.

“Out. Sending a package,” Damian answered curtly.

Before his father could press further, he pulled out his phone and earbuds, watching something as he began to eat.

That caught Bruce off guard. He wasn’t planning to interrogate his son, seeing how unwilling he was to talk about it. But the fact that Damian—who never bothered with distracting devices this early in the morning—was doing exactly that? Strange.

“Uh, demon brat? You know there’s a ‘no phones at the table’ rule, right?” Jason spoke up.

Damian didn’t respond. In fact, they weren’t even sure if he heard him.

And truthfully? He didn’t.

He was too focused on his food—and the video of yours he was watching.

Oh, right. That was the other thing he forgot. After yesterday’s wrapping paper disaster, he had been so drained that he missed your latest upload.

He’d probably be irritated about it for the next three days. Not being your first like? Unacceptable.

Oh well. At least he could admire your cute face while eating breakfast.

His eyes sparkled slightly, his irises expanding with quiet happiness as your sweet intro played through his earbuds.

It was calming. Simple. Just like you, really. Though you had many interests, you always kept them modest.

Damian’s heart skipped a beat. He liked that. A lot. Amidst the chaos of his life, a peaceful soul like yours was something he craved. Something he needed. Something he adored.

A small smirk tugged at his lips as he quickly set a screenshot from the video—a Robin-inspired makeup look—as his lock screen.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t quick enough.

Cassandra noticed.

She shot him a knowing smile.

Damian cringed, like a pianist hitting the wrong note, before hastily pushing back from the table and carrying his empty plate to the sink.

What. A. Nuisance.

part iv

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑙𝑦𝑟𝑒©

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

╭────────────────────.★..─╮

🏷️;

@liabiamiakiawia

@jason-todd-fangirl-14

@shirp-collector-of-fixations

★

author's note 1: someone requested an adorable ff idea, and it's a jason x reader, RAHHH, so excited to make it <333

author's note 2: just to be clear reader's first interaction with damian in this fic is happening either in pt 4 or 5, so stay tuned for that :>

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Dazed, he scrambles upright in a swift motion, immediately reaching down to help the poor civilian he just plowed into.

And then—oh.

Oh.

His breath catches. His stomach does something weird.

He hadn’t just crashed into anyone. He had crashed into a traffic officer. Not just any traffic officer—the most beautiful traffic officer he had ever laid his sea-blue eyes on.

“I—I’m so sorry, miss! I didn’t mean to bump into you—”

He cringes the second the words leave his mouth. Bump into? Really? He practically bulldozed her.

But instead of being upset, she lets out a soft laugh.

“That certainly was the hardest push I’ve ever received!”

Clark’s heart stutters. She… wasn’t mad? This sweet woman standing in front of him wasn’t mad that he had so idiotically crashed into her, knocked over her equipment, stopped her work?

His nerves, frayed and exposed, ease ever so slightly. He spots her cap on the pavement and, in his usual clumsy manner, stumbles as he rushes to retrieve it.

Another laugh—a beautiful laugh—escapes her lips as she takes it from him, her fingers briefly brushing his.

Up close, he notices the faint scent of vanilla and jasmine lingering around her—sweet, just like her. But then, something else catches his eye. A scratch on her cheek, no doubt from the fall.

Before he even thinks, his hand reaches out, fingertips grazing her skin.

“I—I’m so, so sorry—”

His words vanish, thoughts evaporating the second she gently places her much smaller, surprisingly cold hand over his.

She. was. touching. his. hand.

BEEP BEEP!

The blaring car horn jolts them both. For a moment there, time had frozen, the world had melted away, and they had forgotten everything—including the massive traffic jam forming around them.

“Oh! Oh my!”

She chuckles, flustered, before swiftly gathering her equipment and bringing her whistle to her lips, effortlessly resuming her job.

“I really am sorry,” Clark tries again, guilt twisting in his chest. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine, Superman.” Her voice is gentle, yet composed, cutting off his nervous rambling. “Be on your way now. I’m sure you’ve got your hands full.”

He nods quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, right… I should go. But, uh—this might be weird, and sudden, and maybe a little out of line, but—” He exhales sharply, steeling himself. “Would you let me take you out for coffee sometime? Maybe?”

His heart thumps. Hard. Too bold. Way too bold. But he also knew he needed to try. To let go, even just a little. And right now, with a woman like her in front of him, he couldn’t let the moment slip.

“I…” Her lips part, then curl into a small, shy smile. “Yeah.” A nervous chuckle escapes her. “I’d like that, Superman.”

BEEP BEEP!

Another honk. Another impatient driver.

Clark barely registers it—his head is too busy spinning, his heart too busy soaring.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑙𝑦𝑟𝑒©

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

One part of her—the old her—was someone who spent hours protesting, climbing trees to protect them, boycotting inhumane brands, and helping the vulnerable.

The other—the hero—was someone who saw, day in and day out, just how much destruction heroes left behind in their wake.

She knew her thoughts must have been tiring to others. Maybe even annoying. But she didn’t care. They weren’t her, and she wasn’t them. No one had the right to tell her how to feel about this.

Still, she could only bite her tongue for so long.

During a mission, Beast Boy casually tossed a used water bottle onto the street.

She hesitated, not wanting to sound like a nag. So instead, she simply picked it up, intending to throw it in a trash can.

Then she heard Garfield chuckle.

"Are you our new teammate or the trashman, newbie?"

Ouch.

Even the other Titans fell silent at the remark.

Her fingers clenched around the plastic, her vision burning. She didn’t dare look at any of them. She was too close to breaking.

So she walked away.

She hadn’t planned to. It was an impulsive decision, but that was who she was—rash, reactive. Always ready to act against injustice, even before becoming a hero.

She kept walking until she reached a park bench and collapsed onto it. The moment she was alone, the tears came. She hated this—hated feeling weak, hated that everything was finally catching up to her. The pressure of expectations, the weight of two halves of herself pulling in opposite directions.

It felt suffocating.

Like the disappointment she had seen in her parents’ eyes when she struggled to balance school and activism. The kind of disappointment that didn’t hurt physically but cut so much deeper.

A shiver ran down her spine as something cold wrapped around her from behind.

Whack!

On instinct, she swung back, landing a solid smack on whoever had just grabbed her.

"Damian?!" Her eyes widened.

"Oh my God, I’m so—"

"No, I deserved that," he admitted, rubbing his arm. "I came after you... I just didn’t know how to approach you."

Her chest tightened.

She hadn’t expected anyone to follow her. Least of all Damian.

She couldn’t stop the fresh wave of tears that spilled over, but this time, he was ready. He pulled her into another hug, and she let herself sink into it, gripping onto him like she might fall apart otherwise.

"There’s nothing wrong with being someone who picks up trash," she mumbled, voice still thick with emotion.

"That’s a decent, respectable job."

Damian huffed a small laugh.

"That’s not funny—"

"I know."

He tilted her chin up, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. His green eyes searched hers, steady and unreadable.

"I’ve noticed how much you’ve been pushing yourself, ___," he murmured.

"Stepping out of your comfort zone. Going against things you once believed in."

His hand brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary.She held his gaze, her breath catching.

"It’s admirable," he continued, voice softer now. "And... I understand more than you think."

She swallowed hard.

She barely knew Damian. Out of all the Titans, he was the most closed off.

Yet here he was. In a park. In the middle of the night. Holding her. Comforting her.

Was it always this warm at this time of year?

Her voice wavered slightly when she spoke. "Meaning...?"

He exhaled, thumb brushing over her cheek like he was afraid she might break.

"Meaning I’ve been where you are," he admitted. "I know what it’s like to feel like an outsider. To think that no matter what you do, you’ll never truly fit in."

His voice dipped lower, carrying something raw beneath it.

"And it hurt deeply. I rejected those who tried to help me because they were different, yet I embraced the pain from others simply because they were my familiars."

The air between them felt heavy—not with awkwardness, but with something deeper. It was as if their hearts had silently intertwined, speaking in a language beyond words. The weight of unspoken emotions filled the space between them, their rapid beats echoing a conversation only they could understand.

She felt it. The way her heartbeat stumbled, the way something in her chest tightened painfully.

And she could feel his too. Beating, racing—just like hers.

The silence between them was fragile, delicate, like the moment might shatter if either of them spoke.

With one arm dropping to his side, the other wraps itself around her shoulder in a gentle side hug.

"Let’s go get some dumplings," he murmured. "There’s a Chinatown nearby. The vendors stay open late."

Slowly, she let herself relax against him, nodding.

"Okay," she whispered. "Let’s get some pho."

As they walked along the cobblestone streets, ___ let out a quiet giggle.

His cheeks kind of look like dumplings…

She bit her lip to suppress her laughter, but Damian caught it anyway.

His gaze flickered toward her. "What’s so funny?"

She shook her head, smiling to herself.

"Nothing," she said softly. "I’m just really excited for the food."

Damian narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. But he let it go, walking just a little closer to her as they made their way down the dimly lit street.

And for the first time in a long time, ___ felt like maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t so alone after all.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑙𝑦𝑟𝑒©

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

alsooo BB would NEVA be like this. I just needed a "bad guy" for the story :)👌🏻

His heart stopped. Then restarted at double the speed.

He. Was. Ecstatic.

Well—ecstatic in a very Damian Wayne, son of an assassin and the Dark Knight, kind of way.

A normal person might be pacing, grinning, maybe even screaming into a pillow. But Damian? He just sat there, staring at the screen, his grip tightening on his phone as his brain raced a thousand miles per second.

This was huge. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The only chance he’d ever have to send her something, something meaningful—something that would make her smile.

Immediately, he started skimming through her videos, mind buzzing with possibilities. What did she like? What did she need? What could he give her that would stand out from the rest?

Something perfect. It had to be perfect.

After intense (possibly obsessive) research, he finally settled on three things:

1. A Beauty of Joseon skincare set—not that a face as flawless as hers needed skincare. If anything, the skincare needed her.

2. A cute hairclip set—he remembered her gushing over some in a video. Hers were old, but she hated overconsumption, always mindful of her brand collaborations (another thing about her that made his heart do weird things: her caringness for the planet).

3. Some top-tier Chinese makeup—only the best for her.

His lips curled into a satisfied smirk as he saw the total.Just a casual $1K. Nothing much for a Wayne.

Then again… if she asked, he'd get her the moon and stars. Nothing was ever too much for her. Ever.

By the time he finalized his list, it was nearly noon. And by the time he finished hunting everything down in-store, it was noon.

Now, back in his room, Damian sat cross-legged on his floor, staring at the disaster zone of wrapping paper around him.

He exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling up as he crumpled yet another piece of pink wrapping paper—now a casualty of way too much tape—and chucked it aside.

This was so new to him. He barely ever gave gifts, and even when he did, Alfred was the one who wrapped them.

With a sigh, Damian pulled out his phone and searched, How to wrap gifts (EASY and pretty).

Following the tutorial with painstaking precision, his thoughts started to wander.

It wasn’t like he was an idiot. After a full week of stubborn denial, he’d finally accepted it—he had a crush. A real, actual crush on a girl he’d never even met.

And honestly? That annoyed him. Apparently, there was some illness where people obsessed over their favorite celebrities or internet personalities.

But he wasn’t sick! Sure, there were plenty of things wrong with him—a packaged deal that came with being the son of his parents—but this? This wasn’t an obsession. And he was definitely not a stalker.

He just... really liked this girl.

Pausing mid-task, he set down the half-wrapped package and reached for a pen and paper.

"Dear ___,My name is Damian Wayne. I'm a teen from Gotham..."

Hours passed—writing, re-writing, crumpling papers, fixing the bow on the package that would soon be crossing oceans.

Finally, Damian collapsed onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

He sighed.

Please let this work.

Sitting up, he picked up the now perfectly wrapped gift box, his fingers absentmindedly tracing along the frilly bow.

And then, without thinking, he brought the box to his lips, pressing a light kiss against it.

Oh. Oh.

A wave of déjà vu hit him— reminding him of the air-kiss he tried to catch through his laptop screen a week prior.

For a second, he just sat there, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips before he scoffed softly at himself.

Damian Wayne had officially lost. He liked her. Like liked her.

And now, all he could do was hope—pray—that this box, this dumb little package of gifts, would somehow, someway, connect them.

Maybe. Just maybe. Something real would come out of this stupid crush.

"Tch… emotions suck."

He laughed under his breath, though there was no real bite to his words.

Setting the package on his bedside table, he turned off the light and crawled into bed.

Tomorrow, he’d send it.

And then? He’d wait.

part iii

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑙𝑦𝑟𝑒©

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑