Description: After a recent argument determining the revealing of a relationship, Y/N and Damian are at odd. Now, they also have a mission to take care of.

Requests: Can i request a fic with older!Damian and a magic-user s/o who's the child of Zatanna? Dami and his s/o had a love-hate relationship when they were younger and it evolved as they grew up. Maybe hc, but it's up to you. Thanks! - Maia

Request are open! 😱 Well then, if I can could you write a Damian Wayne x Reader high school scene where the Reader meets Damian on the wrong foot at first. Then eventually when they get to know each other they develop feelings for one another. You don't have to though! It's just something that just came to mind.

Damian Wayne fic where they are at a gala and they're slow dancing (but aren't together. Maybe the reader is an undercover agent or smth) and talking with a LOT of flirting. You can take it from there but idk i squeal at the idea of slow dancing and flirtatiously teasing Dami ;)

Yay~ :D If I could, may I request for Damian Wayne having a crush on a Zatara Reader residing in Gotham, perhaps they're teaming up for a job and he's a little overly protective of them throughout. Bonus points if he gets hurts (not fatally, of course) protecting them.

Hey! Have you ever heard Voodoo Doll by 5sos? Can I request a Dami fic where he's falling in love but believes that the subject is using magic or smth on him although they're completely normal bc how else would he explain these feelings?? And just an overall cute thing about him exploring being in love told from his POV? ILY GREAT JOB WITH THE SWAN BTW IT WAS RLY GOOD

Would you ever consider writing Damian with an Empath!reader who can only feel what he's feeling when she touches him? And it's not like, telepathy feeling but more she feels the emotions he feels like they're her own but with no context when she uses her powers, which she conveniently has trouble controlling. And she can't figure out what the feelings mean? Thanks! -Sunshine Anon

Words: 4205

Notes: Hey! I think this is really, really shitty! But I hope you enjoy anyway ;D

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"Look, I know they hate each other normally—" Garfield says, just loud enough for Damian to catch from the pilot's chair.

There's a chorus of shushing from the two beside him; Raven stares Garfield down narrowly, and Wally shakes his head. He continues, softer than before. But now that they have Damian's attention, it's no use.

"Y/N and Damian are mean to each other all the time. But they still sit by each other and stuff—right now, they're not even looking in the other's direction... What happened?" Garfield asked, no doubt looking at the space between Damian and you. Damian tuned out of the conversation: he didn't need the reminding of the large gap between your two bodies.

He felt the familiar feeling of Raven looking him over. Though he had tried many times to overcome her empathetic advancements, he had yet to learn how to block out stronger emotions from her viewing. It was how she had learned that you and Damian weren't sworn enemies, but in fact, lovers. Regardless, no one on the team would ever believe her if she spilled your secret. There had been a time where you had both truly hated each other, and nothing had seemed to change from then on to your teammates—and it was going to stay that way.

"Well, you know I can't read Hex—but Robin..." Rachel paused, lips tightening, before she continued warily, "Robin is... frustrated. I can't pick up anything else besides..."

Wally and Garfield leaned in. Damian clenched his teeth and his hands until the seams of his gloves began to tear. Having noticed the sudden tension, she said, "His determination to get this mission over with."

Damian knew what she had meant to say; he had been feeling love. He had been feeling it since he first confessed the words to you, and a part of him hated it. He became dizzy with adoration when you even looked at him, jumped at the chance to impress you or bend to your every will, and carried a deep sensitivity for you in his heart. Everytime he gets the feeling his mother's words come back to him, full of sharp longing for something she no longer had.

Love is a weakness, Damian, she said. Talia dipped her fingers into the sand, when your enemies discover your love for another being, if they truly want to destroy you and everything that you stand for, then they will take that love from you. It is best to not dwell on these thoughts at all. She let the sand spill out of her fingers like blurry gold and raised her chin as if to pull herself from a memory. Do you understand, my son?

To Talia's credit, this was one of the few pieces of her ideology she had given him that was correct. It was one of the reasons why Damian kept your relationship a secret, and another why you were arguing. Though he was thankful for your ability to protect yourself... Damian knew how meaningless power is in the face of death. Regardless of what even you could do.

He could feel the energy sparking off of you in frustrated waves, regardless of how hard you were trying to control the output of energy. Damian forced himself to stay rigid. Being the ward and adopted daughter of Zatanna, you had been trained to control and hone your powerfully influential magical powers. Like most warlocks, your magic came from within and was different from those belonging to other magical people. You had a talent for empathy and manipulating the likeliness of things, and in your current state, Damian felt like it was very likely for you to break up with him. The thought stirred a hollowness inside him that reminded him of his mother again.

Arguments came up in all relationships. It was just something that happened, even in the healthiest and happiest people. Before you had begun to date, every word or breath could spark a dispute. Damian had been threatened by your potential and your kindness. You had disliked his brashness and bold tongue. How you had come to where you were now Damian had too much of an idea, though this was the opposite of a problem; you had now been dating for five years, and he was sure that he was getting used to the feeling you instilled in him. Addicted to it, even.

To know that this could end it all—the fact that he had only wanted to protect you—that you are his weakness, and he needed to keep you from harm—spun him out of control.

"Robin," said a voice softly.

Damian turned a little too sharply, only to find the wide, concerned eyes of the team's leader, Starfire. She touched his shoulder and gently told him, "You landed the jet. It is time for you to change now. Are you alright?"

"Yes," Damian said, blinking rapidly and pushing out of his seat. He must have been thinking for longer than he'd thought, as the jet had already cleared out. You alone remained among the already departed Titans, and Damian found his eyes lingering on your form. He shook himself out of his daze and said stiffly, "I'm coming, I'm coming..."

The team members that didn't know your and Damian's secret identities were aware that you would be infiltrating the venue together. But not as Damian Wayne and Y/N L/N, Gotham lovebirds who had already received invitations to the event on behalf of Wayne Enterprises.

Tonight, a peace-meeting between two countries who had long since been at war was taking place. A peace-treaty signing was tomorrow, but tonight was the celebratory dinner. The League, wanting to stop the war and save a couple lives, enlisted the Titan's help after word got out of a potential attack on one of the two leaders. That meant that Raven, Starfire, Beast Boy, and Kid-Flash would patrol the perimeter, while you, Damian, and Jon Kent would be stationed inside.

After shoving himself into a tux, Damian planted himself to your left and waited for your critiquing. Though neither of you was very well versed in the fashion department, Damian preferred to have you brush the loose locks out of his face and adjust his tie anyway. Instead of your fingers slinking up his lapels he is greeted with silence.

"We should go inside," suggested Damian, coughing to stifle the note of hope in his voice.

"Yeah."

You didn't look at him when you slid your hand into the crook of his elbow, but Damian knew that was the last thing you wanted to do at the moment. It would look odd if you weren't touching upon your entry. You were renown in the socialite community for the puppy-love between you both, constantly touching at all times, standing much closer than necessary and never baring to leave the other's side. (You still believed that Damian's end of these affections was nothing but an act, but only he knew that they weren't). Damian found the bitterness in his stomach sizzle into nothingness with the lack of enthusiasm in your touch, bowed his head, and lead you out of the jet.

As Damian walked you through the trees and toward the venue where the party was hosted, he watched you look back mournfully at the jet as it camouflaged back into the trees, wanting more than anything to adopt the same ability and hide.

Jon had been saying for years that Damian was the best and worst person to go through when it came to advice, often adding that was just how it was with best friends. They gave each other advice and helped however they could. Damian had never quite understood this, as he was all too aware of how one-sided their friendship was, but tonight was different... He was asking Jon for advice. What had the world come to?

"Okay, first off, I need you to tell me what is going on between you two," Jon said. He took a glance around, holding a glass of water in one hand and pushing up his glasses with the other.

Damian steeled his expression. "She wants to reveal our secret to the team."

"That secret?" Jon inquired. When Damian nodded, Jon's lips drew into a thin frown, "I mean, you guys don't really tell me much about how you got together and everything. But it's always been secret, right?"

"Of course," Damian said, "We hated each other—like how I hated you—but something changed. This is the biggest dispute we've had since that time. And if we hated each other then..."

Sensing the panic in his voice, Jon put a hand on Damian's shoulder, something he shifted under, "Oh, I'm sure it's not that bad. It couldn't be. Here—tell me your fondest memory of her."

"Jon, I can't tell you about something like that," Damian smirked, trying to calm himself.

He'd never been this stressed before—never—and it was startling how it affected him. They were on a mission. And yet, Damian was off-topic and distracted. He was making jokes, too, which was no doubt a cause of the drink he had in his hand.

Jon gave a little chuckle, but shook his head all the same, "C'mon. I'm serious. There's got to be something, Damian, otherwise, you wouldn't be this upset."

"I'm not upset," Damian sneered.

When Jon raised a playful eyebrow, Damian turned his gaze away and waved his hand dismissively. It became clear that Jon was not going to give up, due to the expectant silence on his end, and it eventually managed to squeeze something out of him. Damian tossed back his glass and began to explain.

"Damian," you murmured softly.

An unusual warmth settled in Damian's stomach like hot coffee on a cold morning, his neck reddening under his collar and his heart hammering wildly. He didn't know what to do. His eyes wandered from the bandages wrapped around you—the bloodied instruments used to pull four bullets out of you, ones that Damian thought had taken you from him—and the upturned palm you held in his direction.

You were alright. You were alright.

The words rang in Damian's mind with the vibrant enthusiasm of wedding bells. Ridiculously, his palms were sweating and his heart was still performing its chorus, but it didn't matter—none of it mattered at all—because you were alright. You were safe and happy and alive. You were with him, at his side, and he felt a sudden wash of relief that flooded him to the brim and over.

His arms came under yours to wrap around your back, so fast and so hard that you'd been half-lifted off of the infirmary bed and let out an involuntary puff of air. He did everything he could to memorize the moment. He breathed you in, felt your bones under his fingers, felt your heart beating against his ear. Your body tensed with the show of affection, only for you to fall back into him like you belonged there.

"Darling, it's okay," you cooed, giggling slightly, "I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me."

"I will always worry about you, you clumsy—reckless—ridiculous—" Damian pulled away just far enough to view your face, wanting to do nothing more than keep you at his side like this as a constant. Then he knew you would be as safe as he could have you.

Your fingers slid from his shoulders to cup each side of his neck. Damian shifted with the new nature of the action, unwinding as you began to rub circles on the top of his spine. Your lips were warm against his cheek, and he hated how he closed his eyes and hummed for you to continue. He hated it. Or perhaps, he did not hate it at all, but the part of him that still clung to the League of Shadow's ideologies.

For this moment, Damian promised, I'll forget.

"I love you, Damian Wayne," you whispered, eyes now closed and smile still fresh against his jaw, "And that will never, ever change."

("Cheesy, much?" Damian scoffed over your melodic laughter.)

(Hiding your laughter in the back of your hand, you pressed yourself under his chin and smiled, "I know you love me too.")

("I do," Damian said. The words filled him with something he was beginning to feel every time he caught a spare moment with you, every time you looked at him and showed him that you understood. He smirked and mockingly whispered in your ear, praying that you didn't notice the note of seriousness his tone carried, "And that will never, ever change.")

"She'd been hurt, and I went to check on her condition. Then she told me that she loved me." Damian said, staring deeply at a random person's shoes.

Jon's eyebrows raised over the rim of his bespectacled face, trying to weave into Damian's line of sight to figure out what he was thinking. Damian raised his head and tightened his expression, but just slow enough for Jon to catch the misery he was hiding.

"I didn't know that she dropped the three-words yet. Wow." Jon said. He gave Damian a wary look when he deposited his glass on a tray and traded it for a filled one. "I thought you guys were like, in the first couple months and everything."

"We've been dating for an eternity. I can understand why she wants to tell the team, but she is... mine. If someone knew about us... an enemy... All I have ever wanted is to protect her, Jon. She is the best thing I have in my life. The team can't know—it's a risk. I still can't bear the thought of you being among those who keep our secret."

Damian spoke casually and carelessly as he always did, but the way his chin upturned snootily and the streak of condescension in his voice had both dropped out. That was when Jon knew this was growing dire.

"Thanks," Jon said sarcastically. "And why don't you just tell her that? You're the best thing in my life, I want to protect you, blah blah blah. Even if you can't agree on something, you could always try and compromise with something else. Go talk to her."

Damian let several ideas and plans simmer in his mind, trying to sort through one that was better than Jon's. He could go out and get flowers, but that would mean abandoning the mission... Propose? He didn't have a ring, and you were already mad at him so it was unlikely you would say yes. Just continue with the mission and hope that it solves itself? Also unlikely. That meant, to Damian's horror, that Jon's idea was the best and had the most positive outcomes.

"Fine," Damian said, trying to reason that it was better to have a Kent-plan than no plan at all.

After settling on this, Damian realized what he was getting himself into and tipped back his glass. The liquid hit his throat like liquid gold and diamond. Before he could finish it, Jon took it from his hand.

"Also, Dami—lay off of the champagne, okay? It makes you... honest." Jon said, offering him an awkward smile. After some consideration, Jon offered the glass back, "On second thought, take another glass with you..."

He recognized your dress among many others, the lacy black and green matching his tuxedo and tie as you had planned together. Though he hated matching, hated wearing anything that restricted his movement, the way your face lit up the first time you did something like this made him change his mind. He could stand it for one night, especially if there was more blade-room.

Damian's hands were sweaty again. He didn't like spilling his guts to you like this—the less you and everyone else knew, the less an enemy could get out of you, and the less likely of a chance that you would be hurt. That was why this entire mess started.

Why couldn't he have just resisted you? Talia had always said he was prone to attachment, that his want for love and the way he carried it would be his downfall.

But I love you, mother, Damian had told her.

Talia's smile fell as if she was disappointed with herself, and pulled her hand from his face. I know.

That is what he should have done. That's what he was supposed to say, as his mother had warned him again and again. He should have tried harder to stamp out the affection growing for you the moment it rooted in his lungs. Damian should have taken his hand from your face after you told him the truth, and he should have only said, I know. Now, he had already begun to compromise the mission for your sake. His love for his father and Richard had already killed him once, and so it terrified him what lengths he would go to for you.

(He pictures the League, him at its head, a perfect world molded by him for you and you alone. He pictures you happy, and a part of him whispers that this cannot be possible with him at your side.)

A possessive jealousy conquers him like a ship in a sea-storm, and the dark thoughts evaporate. You are there, shifting uncomfortably under the gaze of your company, who looks far too invested in both you and your attire. Before they can take another step closer, Damian is slipping a second glass of your favorite drink into your hand and slipping his arm around your waist.

"Excuse us," Damian said icily. Your company throws him a surprised look.

Damian tore through the crowd, now clasping your wrist instead of your back. Dragging him backward, you huffed, "Oh, so now you're suddenly so interested in me. Just had to come to my rescue, didn't you?"

He slowed your walk, stopping at the edge of the dancefloor. Though he wanted to growl and glare, he tried to remember Jon's words and calm himself. In times where he was panicking or unstable, you would use your powers to calm him, so much so that he felt your energies had become a part of him after so long.

Damian wasn't surprised to see that you were wearing gloves; your powers mostly came through touch, and if you didn't stay calm they could burst through and cause an accident. It was one of the things that made him