Description: One of the many things that set you and Selina apart was the strict difference in moral focus; Selina did everything she did for herself and the rare few close to her, while you did what you did for the people, even if only certain people knew that.

Request: i'd like to request a prequel (or even a continuation) of your damian x cat/batgirl!reader story! i really like their dynamic and i'd like to read more about them. you can take it anyway you please i just enjoy your writing

Words: 5250 (don't judge my love for Damian Wayne, he is my husband)

Notes: Yo, so I love the idea of prequels? I love how prequels end? I don't know why... I just do. It's like fitting in the finale piece of a puzzle, or maybe putting in the finale pieces of the side of a puzzle and seeing the complete image, even if you already kinda know what it is. =D

_

Bruce said to keep an eye on her, just in case her activities at Gotham Academy weren't strictly academic. The task was easy enough; no one questioned when his eyes followed her form around the room, as most thought that he just had a crush. But Damian Wayne didn't have a crush on Y/N L/N—AKA the thief Catgirl—and he never would.

It is a little surprising, just how normal your life is. You had friends at your school. None of which knew your identity, as no one in the school beside him and you did. You were a dedicated student, something that Damian wasn't shocked by. You always seemed to be more intelligent than you let on during your battles, especially in the little ways you tricked him, and the home-made gadgets he'd find when he tried to arrest you. Emphasis on the word tried. Often, you were too fast or too clever, and he would make the mistake of underestimating you. Damian doesn't know that he's making this mistake at this very moment.

The bell chimes and your teacher dismisses the class. You are one of the last to leave, collecting your binder and pencil case, running your tongue over your lips as you reviewed that day's lesson in your mind. Damian's eyes are automatically drawn to the action. You smile and take off to your locker, and he swallows absentmindedly as your long legs disappear around the corner.

Okay, so maybe he did have a little bit of a crush on you—no, no, that's not the right word... he was certainly attracted to you, for he's felt those lips against his own, ran his hands down and around those hips, sought the touch of those claws. These memories only seem to romanticize your presence, as Damian is sure the uniform skirt isn't as short as your gorgeous legs make them out to be. He growled at himself for staring and rushed over to return his books to his locker; he had P.E. next, the class in which his skills were the most valuable—your skills too, meaning this class is the only possible way of uncovering your real identity. For no one "without training" could hit a ball so hard or fold their body that way.

Lately, he had taken to noticing that you seemed off. Your smile never quite met your eyes, and you had stopped participating in class. He immediately informed his father when he demanded a regular update on the villain, and Bruce mentioned that Selina had said you were going through a "funk that you couldn't quite shake". With some digging, Damian knew what this
"funk" was.

One of the many things that set you and Selina apart was the strict difference in moral focus; Selina did everything she did for herself and the rare few close to her, while you did what you did for the people, even if only certain people knew that.

"Y'know, I'm the one out of the two of us who should really be called "Robin"," You told him,"Because I steal from the rich and give to the poor. Like Robin Hood."

Damian could admire that in you. The best way to catch you after a heist was to find you on the streets of the Narrows, handing out stolen jewels and valuables to the families that needed it. Selina usually scolded you, claiming that you should have kept your winnings, but you never could. It didn't seem right, but thievery was your only way to be Catgirl. And Catgirl was your outlet, your escape from reality and into the fantasy world you had always wanted to live in. Damian could understand that—he never felt quite him out of costume.

But on one of your more recent heists, you and Selina had done the dangerous job of stealing from the Joker. While Selina was never one to stick her neck out, or steal something if it could get her in Joker-level trouble, this case was an exception. Selina's young friend Holly had mentioned that those were his jewels, and that they were stolen because of Holly. Her boss claimed he would kill her if she didn't get those gems back, so you and Selina set out to protect her.

But Joker always complicated things, and a silent robbery turned into a full-scale two vs. twenty in a warehouse on Gotham's docks, one where you recklessly leaped back into danger to save some of Joker's hostages. Selina was furious that you'd expose yourself in such a manner, even if you saved a few lives. You'd gotten shot in the shoulder for it, and worst of all one of the girls had been taken down in the resulting gunfire. Even if you didn't know her, the girl's death had put you into a "funk". A funk that everyone seemed to be blaming you for.

Damian could see it on your face now, as you exited the girl's gym locker and jogged to join your friends on the bleachers. Your suddenly upbeat attitude was executed perfectly; none of the girls suspected you were mourning a stranger, a stranger that might not have died if you didn't take action. Should you have still saved them? Would they be alive even if you didn't? Damian recognized your tells, like how you paused a little longer when you talked and drummed your fingers on your knee. Things you did as Catgirl when you flirted with him. Things you did when you were acting, playing a part.

Your teacher announces the rare "free day", in which everyone scatters. Your group of friends had been roped into a game of volleyball by one of the male players (read as: sexist asshole), who insisted that you play boys vs girls, laughing about how easy this game would be won because they were playing against "pansies". Damian saw the shine in your eyes, the challenge ricocheting around your mind, and immediately volunteered to join the game. As the boys around him rejoiced (Damian's reputation as a badass was well-known and almost infamous, even if they were unaware he was Robin), you stared at one another through the squares of the net.

You didn't dare break your gaze from his as you [tied back your hair/brushed your hair out of your face], dropping your hands to your sides and then doing something that Damian didn't expect; you smiled like you knew everything about him, before turning to the girls and announcing a group-huddle. With you as their unofficial team captain, Damian was excited to see the sexist assholes around him put to justice. But he was also excited to dance as Y/N L/N and Damian Wayne. You'd fought as Catgirl and Robin, but never as civilians. Hmm.

Derek DeClairy, the boy's most decent player, furrowed his brows and observed the girls forming a game plan on the other side of the net."Should we...?"

"Don't bother." Asshole McGee, or Michael Tank, clapped a hand on Derek's shoulder. He flashed a cocky grin,"We got this. Just call it... playing on easy mode."

"TT." Damian clicked his tongue. He felt like insulting all of them, but his confidence in your victory had grown by the minute; you were a literal criminal, hiding among them, someone who ran from the police and Batman and Robin every night. If you didn't win, Damian was picking a new villain... or more accurately, a new attraction.

But it wasn't just you on your team who posed a silent threat. There was Sara Thomas, or the girl who everyone referred to as Calamity, and he assumed she was about to live up to that title. Then Leto Monroe, Y/N's best friend who definitely was at least suspicious of your nighttime activities. She was too smart, too strategic to go unmentioned. Then Tia, who's last name Damian didn't know, but he felt that it was something important. She was the tallest of them and held the most advantage with this trait. The other girls who Damian hadn't acknowledged flocked around her, smiling and laughing, mostly in the game for that day's grade in P.E. Still, his eyes kept coming back to you.

Derek nudged him and murmured,"Get your head in the game, man. I know Y/N's pretty, but we got a game to win."

"She's not pretty." Damian scowled at him. Derek only shook his head,"The way you keep staring at her legs in those shorts says that you think otherwise."

When the ball was finally tossed into one of the boy's hands, Leto stood up to the net and listed off the rules. As she and one of the debate team members began to argue over how they should play, Michael served the ball abruptly, sending it sailing overhead and just shy of the boundary line. Before it could hit the floor, Tia dove for it and struck it high above the net. The boys scrambling together as it rocketed with gravity's pull, and eventually, they entered a game with unclear rules and multiple unprofessional students.

Without moving from his place on the gym floor, Damian boredly raised his hands and set the ball over the net. Taking this as a personal challenge and an opportunity of some kind, you hollered,"Mine!" Then you struck the ball back over the net. But Damian found the fire in his body steadily growing as she grinned back at him. It was too good to resist, so suddenly his body was in motion and the ball was darting straight for you. With a powerful blow you sent it flying back to him with the grace of Superman over Metropolis, knees bent, position perfect, gaze alight with your fighting responses.

Damian struck it back, and you had only seconds to admire the way his muscles pulled with his movement, strong arms spiking the ball into your court, fists balled and oh so familiar. While for him this had been a chance to see how you performed in civies, this was your chance to identify you always caught staring. And you were proved correct when your game of bat and mouse only increased in its intensity. Soon you were hitting with all you had, diving to save the ball, allowing no other team members to even graze it. Halfway through they had backed out of the court. Damian saw all of the boys and girls surveying their interactions from the sidelines, and then the gym teacher, watching the ball bounce from one court to the next. Awed by the competitiveness and the skill of the two players before her, she confessed just how impressed she was with a hum.

Damian knew that soon the other players would get suspicious of something, but he just can't seem to defeat you. To make matters worse, you look utterly gorgeous so worn out, and he can't help but fantasize; that thoroughly, pleasantly worked expression you're wearing is his doing. Oh, how he wished it could be on different terms in a different place, with your naked body beneath his, panting and moaning his name, whispering your love for him, begging him to keep touching you—

It was too late for him to move, too late for him to strike it back, so all he could do was catch the ball before it hit his face. In response to the action the girls cheered, embracing and yelling things like,"That's my girl! That's my best friend!" And then running up to you and wailing,"You're a goddamn QUEEN, Y/N."

Meanwhile, the boys groaned and began to huff and scold him, but he still couldn't believe himself. Did he really get so distracted by your arms, and how they would wrap around his neck and pull him close—and there he goes again! What is wrong with you, Damian? He questioned himself. You never thought about her this way, not since—

And then it comes to Damian in a rush of clarity, and he wished that you had done something like drug him, or brain-wash him. But no. All you did was kiss him, and it's that kiss that ignites these thoughts. Damian hates how their not all entirely sexual too, but romantic. He'd be lying to himself if he said that he didn't imagine your fingers delicately stroking his face, or kissing him, or embracing him, supplying affection. All because of one damn kiss that happened a month ago.

"Hmm." You murmured, watching him cuff your wrists through the tinted lenses of your goggles. Damian only grunted. Your face was getting closer to his, and when you tilted your head to the side, he felt it instead of saw it. Then you smiled devilishly and asked,"Are you a good kisser, Robin?"

"No." Damian responded flatly, pulling you to a stand and beginning to confiscate your utility belt and night-vision gear. When he pulled your goggles from your face you were still smirking, but this time he could see that you were admiring his lips, which automatically parted in response to the attention. He closed them tightly. Even if he was a good kisser—which was a lie, he was a damn amazing kisser, because he was amazing at everything—he'd never give you the satisfaction of knowing... no matter how much he wanted to.

"I find that hard to believe, my beloved boy wonder," You whispered, holding his chin between your fingers and still studying his mouth. He hated how he wasn't uncomfortable with this. When your gaze lifted to his mask, you waited for a quip and yet never received one. Slowly, you wound your cuffed hands around his neck and neared your faces. He knew you were just going to escape again, he knew that you were probably picking the locks on those cuffs, but Damian could only growl at himself, tugging you forward by the hips and kissing you with everything he had... Which was certainly a lot.

The way you sighed into his mouth, almost dreamily, made Damian never want to pull away. He hated himself for it. He hated himself for letting you get away that night. He also hated himself for realizing that there was something in that kiss, and something that isn't sexual or a distraction tactic.

So now, when you stick out your hand, Damian doesn't accept it nor shake it. You smile, expecting this reaction,"Good game."

Damian could only grunt in response. But curiosity inches it's way up Damian's spine when you gesture for him to lean down. When he does, you rise on your toes to whisper in his ear and slip a piece of paper into his hand,"Cats eat birds, Damian Wayne."

Your words rocket straight to his core, and it falls into place. Hmm. So this wasn't just a game. You had made it into a test, studied his body language, and identified him. He smirks,"Smart girl."

You distance yourself from him, casting him nothing but the same glance you had given before; all-knowing, and liking what you now know. Something that isn't flirtatiously Catgirl, but intelligently Y/N L/N. He's starting to realize he likes both, but at the moment Y/N L/N is making his heart pound recklessly.

"Oh, and Damian?" You called before you returned to your group of friends. Damian raised his head from the note you had passed him, letting a smirk slip onto his face when you point to your lips and tell him,"I would recognize those lips of yours anywhere."

Your friends and a few of the boys overhear, but you dismiss their murmured and gossiped reactions, turning on your heel and proudly returning to your friends. They swarm you, and Damian distinctly hears what must be an incredulous Leto,"You kissed Damian Wayne?"

Damian likes Catgirl, he's always known that even if he'll never confess it. But he's beginning to like Y/N L/N a lot more...

Meet me at the Gotham Clock Tower, 10 o'clock tonight. The note requests. It adds, out of costume, but it's been erased like you guessed he wouldn't listen and come in full-Robin gear. It's signed with your initials, and of course, three rough lines crossing over them; three claw marks. Damian scoffed.

When Damian arrives, he half-expects something more dramatic than what he gets. You sat there, looking out over Gotham City and playing with the edges of your jacket. The wind must shift or you really do have a cat's senses, as you turn your cheek and glanced back at Damian with his silent entrance. Pressing yourself up from your feet, you confidently put your hands in your pockets and nodded,"I should have figured you'd come in full costume."

"You did," Damian responded, clipping his grappling gun to his belt and raising the note between two fingers. He is almost... unnerved, by your sureness, as there is something lying beneath it. Confusion? Desire? Anger? He can't pinpoint what you're thinking, and it's making his gaze narrow and his brows to quirk."Now, why did you call me here?"

"Alright then, straight to business..." You murmured sarcastically. Then, hesitantly, you explained,"I wanted to talk to you."

Hesitance. Submissive body stance. Hiding your hands. Blushing face. You're nervous or embarrassed, and it thrills Damian to know that he is the cause. He pulls his hood from his hair so you can see the smirk on his face,"Oh? So this isn't a booty-call?"

"Ha. Please." You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. He notices a rectangular item stored in the interior pockets of your jacket, and assumes that's why you're here. You then glanced to the side, down at the city as the air stroked your face and carded through your hair."I only... flirted with you so you knew it was me. Catgirl."

Damian hums, following your stare to the lights of the city. He returns his gaze to yours and tries to stifle all the comments arising to the surface of his mind; you look beautiful, with your hair fluttering around your face in Gotham's high breeze, your body relaxing with a sigh.

"So you're not always that teasing, out of costume?" Damian questioned.

You snorted,"Yeah. But I'm pretty sure you know the answer to that question, Mr. Stalker."

So you do know, Damian thought. He frowned distastefully upon recognizing the emotion stirring in his chest. He's impressed. Not stunned, not shocked, but impressed. Of course, you realized he was observing you. Of course, you took note of his own behavior and recognized that he had a reason that wasn't just an over-bearing crush. Of course, you knew it was him. Because Y/N L/N is a lot more clever than Catgirl perceives and portrays her to be.

"TT. Batman only has me run surveillance on you so we know you aren't up to something." Damian huffed.

"This time, I'm not." You quipped in response, and then fished through your jacket and produced the rectangular object from before. A long yellow mail parcel, sealed with a pin, and marked with a label that had been smudged by rainwater. CASE FILE. Silently, awkwardly, you extended it to him. As you spoke, Damian pulled back the pin and thumbed through its contents.

"Ivy gave me an' Selina a job offer a few months back. A weed and exotic mushroom operation, except this kind of stuff did a lot more than just take you to cloud 9." You said. Inside the package were multiple half-folded files and a few pictures. Damian retrieved a small plastic bag that could fit in his palm from the parcel. You continued."It's something big. Selina couldn't do it because she and Ivy were arguing at the time and it never really came up again. I wanted to go in and bust the operation when it