#damion wayne

Talia is such an icon and Bruce is such a tired dad.

So Tim was begging Nightwing to go back to being Robin bc “Batman needs a Robin” and Dink was like “no I had my time, I’m Nightwing now” and Tim was like “PLEEEEASE!” And he eventually said “So you do it. If Batman needs a Robin so badly, you do it”.

Summary:

🔞 Aged-up Damion 🔞 You’re no stranger to sharp things—words, weapons, walls. But Damian Wayne is sharper. You weren’t supposed to fall for the coldest Wayne. You weren’t supposed to make him smile.

Gotham nights weren’t kind. But Damian wasn’t looking for kindness.

He moved through rooftops like a whisper, his blade always one second faster than his temper. You’d met him when he broke into your apartment by mistake—tracking a target, bleeding from the ribs, too proud to admit it hurt.

“I could report you,” you’d said, holding a first-aid kit in one hand and a frying pan in the other.

“And yet,” he replied, deadpan, “you haven’t.”

You really should have slammed the door in his face. Instead, you patched him up. And then, somehow, he came back.

Always unannounced. Always after dark. Always with something broken—ribs, knuckles, the occasional moral line.

You never asked for his secrets. He never offered them. But the silence between you started to mean something.

Tonight, he’s perched on your windowsill again. Not bleeding this time. Just watching.

“You know,” you say, not looking up from your book, “normal people knock.”

“I’m not normal,” he replies. No apology. No smile. Just truth.

But then—his voice softens.

“Would you have opened the door if I did?”

You glance at him. “I always do.”

That makes him pause.

And there it is—that flicker. The rare, quiet look in his eyes that only you seem to get. Not softened. Not kind. But real.

He steps into your apartment like it’s war territory, always alert. Always tense. But tonight, he drops his sword beside your couch and sits down.

Closer than usual.

“You’re letting your guard down,” you murmur.

“I don’t need it with you.”

You blink. Your pulse trips.

“That a compliment?”

“Observation,” he says. Then, after a beat: “But yes.”

You study his profile—jaw sharp, hair tousled, green eyes dangerous and unreadable. But not to you. Not anymore.

“You scare the hell out of me sometimes, Damian.”

“I scare everyone.” A beat. “Except you.”

And then—softly—he adds:

“That’s why I keep coming back.”

[To Be Continued?]