#Damian is happy with his new probably alien puppy

[moonlights-inkwell]

Nothing’s Gonna Change My World

Summary: When Damian’s late for a date, you begin to reevaluate your entire relationship with him, but waiting at home is a revelation you never expected. 

Damian Wayne x Reader

Word Count: 2044

Work, exams and life nonsense means I haven’t been able to write recently, but now that it’s all out of the way I promise that I’ll be able to post regularly. So to celebrate, here’s a spiritual successor to Across the Universe.

He's late. No, not late, late implies ten or fifteen minutes after your intended meeting time- not coming up to an hour. Your eyes flit up from the lightly glowing screen on your cell phone, only to see your waitress once more. She makes uncomfortable eye contact with you once more (for what must be the hundredth time in the past hour), causing you to breathe in shortly trying to keep the tears from flowing onto your face. You sigh quietly, searching out your bag from under the table before standing up, finally tired of the waiting that's become all too common to you. Looking around the restaurant, you pick up on the other patrons who's eyes are fixed onto the empty chair across the table from you. The restaurant had been his choice- the site of your first date together, an expensive and beautiful Italian restaurant with candlelit tables. But now, sat on the same table where the two of you had once been, it feels like every single person around you are judging you for having sat there all alone for almost an hour. You hope to god that they don't know who the hell you are, but know that you're hoping against hope. The pictures of you and him that have been plastered across the Gazette- ensuring that all of the people in Gotham know that you're Damian Wayne's girlfriend. And now all the people in the restaurant know that you're Damian Wayne's girlfriend waiting alone in a restaurant, dolled up but looking more and more like every second is drawing you closer and closer to tears. You keep a finger under your eye, hoping to catch any of the tears that slip down your cheeks and stare back down at your phone. No new messages, no missed calls, no voice mail. Not even a god damn snapchat or email from Damian to explain where the fuck he was. Your fingers dart across the screen, typing frantically and hoping that you could reach out to him. [Y/N]: Dami?? Where are you?? Are you coming? It's been almost an hour. [Y/N]: Damian? No reply. What the hell were you supposed to expect? You try to reason with yourself that Damian must be still at work, that there was a meeting that was going on for too long. That Wayne Enterprises were just expecting too much of Damian now that he was in charge of the company, subconsciously cursing at Bruce for leaving the company to Damian for him and Selena to work on charity work throughout the city. This does little to calm you. Damian always messages you when he has to work late. Your thumb swipes up the screen, allowing you to see an older message on your phone from the last time that this happened to him. Damian: Habibti, I will be working later tonight. Something has come up in the office. Please do not wait for me, I will be home before you wake up. Sleep well, my Beloved.   You reread that text message, feeling tears well up once more, breathe in sharply, then stand up. You walk calmly towards the door, breathing in deeply, but once you find yourself outside in the cold air of Gotham in mid-March the tears begin to fall freely.

At 8:50 in the evening in a place like Gotham, the night is almost pitch black and unbearably cold. Gotham is cold, despite it being mid May, and your shoulders shake through a mixture of cold and sadness. Without a jacket, or the person who almost always gave you his jacket, you can't help but sigh sadly, watching the puff of breath form a small cloud of steam in front of your face. The long walk home through Gotham is hellish; cold and lonely in a way that feels strangely alien to you. You've lived in the city all of your life, a labyrinth of Gothic structures, apartment blocks and business buildings- and were sure you could live there all of your life without ever seeing all that the city had to bare. You've seen something sanitised, the things that your parents, teachers, friends, Damian, wanted you to see; something pleasant enough but not really Gotham. It feels like a mask. A facade. In all of your life in the city, You've never felt quite so isolated, like everything you've ever known has been a lie. This has never come to mind before, but now abandoned by the person who promised to be with you at this moment, you feel like a stranger in your own city, or like your own city is a stranger to you.   The fluorescent orange of the garish street lamps overhead light your way, casting harsh shadows both on both you and the street. The city feels strangely empty; there is no people around you, and the streets are lacking in the usually frequent passing cars as if everyone around you has disappeared- like the rest of the world was left behind in the restaurant with what remains of your happiness. The criminal aspect of the city means nothing to you as you find yourself walking near aimlessly, torn between walking home (the home you share with the one person who you really do not want to see right now) or making your way to one of your friends' houses and pleading to to stay the night. As much as you haven't really noticed the lack of criminality, you've never really been quite so grateful for the City's Criminal-Punching Furry, because Lord knows if some idiot lowlife tried to mug you right now, you don't know whether or not you'd kill them or bust into tears. After a few minutes of silent deliberation, you find yourself outside of your apartment building. The hotel attendant smiles reassuringly, calling over pleasantly to you to have a lovely night, and you force a smile back to him, letting out a quiet reply along the lines of the simple, "Thanks, Mister Carter. You too." You walk aimlessly, pushing a hand through your hair as you find yourself pulled towards the elevator; cursing in your mind at the small cluster of people waiting for the lift. Of course you couldn't even go up to your apartment alone. Taking a deep breath and holding it until you feel lightheaded, you walk closer to the elevator, feeling people stare at you- a vision with nowhere to go but home, and home alone.

The first thing you notice when you get to the door to your home is that the door is still locked, but when you open the door to the penthouse, all of the lights are on, despite the fact that you're certain that you turned all of them off before you left an hour and a half ago. Flicking the switch on and off for a few seconds, you narrow your eyes when the lights flicker off and on in time. The large window in the living room is slightly ajar, just to the side of the large television hanging on your wall, something you'd never do. Damian had drilled that into your head after you left it open once; that leaving it open is just going to lead to a break in. The cool breeze drifts in through the window, making you shiver once more. He's home. That much is sure, and the tears that had been filling your eyes are quashed by the overwhelming feeling of rage. Because if he's home, that means he deliberately didn't come to the restaurant, and that it's likely that he even saw your texts and ignored them. Your clench your fist but breathe in sharply and release the tension at the sound of scrabbling nails against the hardwood floors, the sight of your excited pug running and skidding towards you makes you relax slightly. From Brutus's trajectory path towards you, you know he's running to you from the bedroom, and the only person who lets Brutus onto the bed is Damian. Brutus barks excitedly as you walk to the bedroom, eerily silent in contrast with the puppy's excited yipping. "Brutus, be quiet." Comes the weak, but familiar, call of Damian; his voice tinged with something similar to tiredness; and your heart wrenches. Was he overworked? Had he not come to the restaurant because he was just tired? He had been working late recently, and though you don't know much about Wayne Enterprise you know it has to be hard work. But why the hell didn't he just message you? You shove the door to the room open, and your eyes widen in complete shock. Sat on your bed is Damian, clad in a Batman costume, hair plastered to his face with sweat, and a large gash cut into his stomach. He looks up at you, the dark skin of his jaw mottled black, blue and green with bruises while his shaking hand attempts to stitch up his wound; his bright jade eyes blown wide at the sight of you. On any ordinary day you probably would have screamed, but that blood- thick... viscous... clinging to the black fabric around Damian's abdomen and dripping towards the bed sheets kept you from screaming, and made you run towards him. "...Hababti?" He whispers, eyes focused on your face as you gently touch the uneven stitching at the tip of the wound. "...You... Oh Beloved-" "...Is this why you've been coming home late?" You whisper, tears dripping down your cheeks. "...This why you've been so busy?" "...I... I'm sorry-" He began, hair hanging into his face, clearly expecting the worst. "...I never meant to deceive you, Hayati." He whispers but stiffens when you gently retrieve the needle from his hand. "...I understand if you wish to end our courtship-" "...I'm not mad, Dami." You reply softly, gently rubbing your thumb across his jaw as you attempt to stitch him up as neatly as humanly possible. "...You... You've been running around saving people..." Of all of the ideas that had filled your mind in the time it took you to travel home, you had gone through several ideas for why Damian may have not shown up, but none of them included his being Batman. The idea that Damian, you're boyfriend who hand feeds you Baklava after date night and once cried because he accidentally stood on his puppy's paw, is Batman never once entered your mind. And all at once you feel all of the rage that had accumulated over the evening fade away into an awed wonder, that you had been in love with someone who was willing to die to protect other people, and never even realised it. "...I missed our engagement this evening." He mumbles, in the closest thing to shame you've ever heard him come to. "...I... I hadn't planned to." "...Who did this to you Damian?" You whisper, and he shakes his head slowly. "No one of importance. Not like you." He sighs softly, a hand sliding up from his knee to cup your chin, and run a thumb across your bottom lip. A small amount of blood is smeared across it from the pads of his glove, but you don't complain or make any moves to wipe it off as you continue your stitching. "...You aren't angry?" "...I'm angry. I'm just not... mad." You sigh, and look up at him with a weak sigh. "I'm not about to berate you for being a crazy furry vigilante while you're bleeding out on our bed. Gimme like a week to let you heal and I'll give you a rant about being safe and lying to me and missing date night."  He smiles at that, and leans down slightly to press his lips to your own. "And I'm sure as shit not about to break up with my crazy, fucking selfless boyfriend just cause he missed out on a date to save people." You mumble against his lips. He pulls back sharply as blood trickles down onto your fingers with sickening speed and your fingers instinctively pull back. The deep red substance clings to your fingers, and you grip the needle tighter. "...No kissing until we finish your stitches." "You strike a hard deal, Beloved." But he’s smiling, wide and beautiful and like home, and finally everything seems familiar again. 

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

Supervised Visitation - escape series

Characters: Jon Kent, Damian Wayne Pairing: jondami Summary: If anyone asked him what his favorite part of his weekly visit with Jon was, Damian would probably say it was threatening his brother’s soldiers. A/N: Jon and Conner get an hour a day to physically visit with each other. They basically get no other special treatment other than their own cells and where they are, and maybe allowed to actually keep the gifts Damian brings them. The prison staff all like Damian, Jon and Conner pretty well, so they get a lot of leeway on those rules (beyond this fic of course.) All the metas in all the prisons have the cuff-collar combo. When the collars are turned on, they’re on for everyone in the prison, though individualized for when they actually shock people. (ie, Conner was not shocked at any point during Damian’s visit.) Jon puts on a brave/’it’s all fine in here’ face for Damian, but really - he’s a miserable little puppy.

Stuff for the Escape series

~~

It’d be funny, in another life. Every prison guard on every shift knew him by now. Recognized his car when he came through the gate, began all security check protocols before he even shut off the engine.

“Mr. Wayne.”

“Hello again, Mr. Wayne.”

“Weren’t you just here yesterday, Mr. Wayne? Time sure is flying.”

“You ever going to bring that brother of yours? We’d be more than happy to accommodate him and his friend, too.”

Jonathan and his brother were kept in a mostly private ward, behind tight security and code-encrypted doors, with separate, spacious cells, as far away from the prison entrance and general population as possible – more because Damian paid for them to be than any other reason.

(He paid the prison double to make sure the Commander didn’t find out about the ‘special treatment.’)

Some of the other prisoners heckled him as the warden walked him through the cellblock, bag and picnic basket curled around his arm. Damian paid them no mind. Never did. Normally from the moment he left the penthouse to the moment he was in the private hallway, only one thing was on his mind.

One person.

When the warden opened the barred door to where the Kent boys were held, Damian immediately scowled. There were guards in the corridor. But not just any guards.

His brother’s soldiers.

“We…were ordered to.” Warden Alexei whispered sadly. “And I…I just want to warn you, Mr. Wayne.” Damian glanced down at him. “…They forced us to turn the collars back on.”

Damian clenched his teeth.

“Thank you for letting me know.” Damian growled out as he stepped forward. The warden followed behind silently. After a few feet, they passed Conner’s cell – he was asleep, in the standard orange jumpsuit, curled in a ball on his cot, blanket half on the floor.

Damian could see the flashing red light on the silver collar he wore, indicating it was powered. He inhaled deeply and looked away as they continued.

Jon’s cell was across from Conner’s, and one more down the row. Dick’s guards seemed to be nonchalantly gathered around this one, and Damian could only roll his eyes as the warden put in the code to open the meta-resistant cell door.

Jon was sitting on his own cot, back against the wall, knees curled up. When he heard the beeping of the buttons the warden was pressing, he glanced up, and smiled brighter than any star when he saw who it was.

He was already scrambling to his feet as the cell’s door slowly rose. Damian returned the grin as he stepped into the space, carefully placed his items on the ground and swept Jon up into his arms. Jon immediately put his hands on Damian’s face, as he always did, and leaned in for a kiss.

And their lips barely brushed before there was the quiet sound of buzzing. Suddenly Jon was jumping backwards, grabbing for the collar around his neck.

“…Ow.” Jon murmured weakly. “…They turned these back on today. I guess someone in general population did something-”

“This is not a conjugal visit.” One of Dick’s guards reported gruffly, the sound muffled behind his helmet. “Please no sexual touching of any sort. If you would like one, you need to schedule it with-”

“Warden Alexei, can you please close the cell door.” Damian drawled over his shoulder, glaring at the guards. “I will call for you when I’m ready to leave.”

“…Of course, Mr. Wayne.” The warden nodded, hit a few more buttons, and when the door began to lower, quickly disappeared out of the ward. Damian kept his eyes on the soldiers for a second more before turning his full attention back to Jon.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, lifting his hand to hold Jon’s face. Jon smiled and leaned into it. “Grayson is angry at me. I…shouted at him earlier.”

“…I guess the collars make sense then.” Jon laughed, lifting both of his hands to grab Damian’s wrist. He carefully lowered his hand and tugged Damian forward, until they were both sitting on his bed, side by side. “They were turned on about an hour ago.”

Damian kept his eyes lowered, focusing on the silver cuffs around Jon’s wrists. Remotely magnetic handcuffs. All the prisoners had a pair that matched their shock collars. When a prisoner needed to have their hands bound, a guard just needed to hit a button and the magnet would activate, bringing the limbs together.

They’d be pretty, if they weren’t on his beloved.

“But how are you?” Jon asked, leaning down into Damian’s line of sight, trying to change the subject. “What’s new out there?”

“Nothing.” Damian mumbled grumpily. “The world is boring and ugly and I hate it.”

Jonathan laughed.

“…It’s not funny.” Damian sighed, glancing up. “…I miss you.”

“And I miss you.” Jon slid his hand across the mattress, gripping Damian’s tightly. “Conner does too. He told me so the other day.”

Damian smirked. “Prison must be getting to him then.”

“Well, can you blame him? I at least get to look forward to seeing you every week.” Jon hummed. “Conner has…no one.”

“Drake would come if he could.” Damian promised. “But he’s still…scared. And for good reason. I…I can’t believe I’m saying it, but please don’t blame him.”

“I don’t.” Jon smiled. “We don’t.”

“Besides, he tends to cover for me when I come here. And for that, I am grateful. Though it’s not like I’m going to tell him that.”

Jon laughed again, and the sound was music to Damian’s ears. After a moment, Jon sighed, scooting closer to Damian’s side. Intertwining their fingers as he leaned his head on Damian’s shoulder.

“How is Tim anyway?” He whispered.

“Tired. Lonely.” Damian hummed. “He misses Conner as much as Conner misses him, and I think it’s starting to take its toll on him.” A hesitation, to stare down at their hands. At the handcuff and orange sleeve. “He doesn’t trust Grayson anymore, and I think Grayson is starting to notice.”

“Is he still safe then?”

“Grayson would never hurt us, no matter how much we hated him.” Damian sighed. “He didn’t know I came here before today. Not explicitly, anyway. I told you I shouted at him. I’d shouted at him about you.”

“Oh?”

“I told him I hated him for taking you away from me, in no uncertain terms. No doubt after my departure, one of my siblings told him where I go when I leave.” Damian explained. He paused, then though, and Jon’s words from earlier floated back to his head. “Wait a minute. I didn’t tell you what Grayson and I fought about before. Why were you unsurprised by the collars?”

Jon shifted to look up at him, eyes sad and tired. There was scruff on his chin, Damian could see now, and it made him look old.

“I figured it out by your stories.” Jon mumbled. “Every time you and Dick fight, or every time he and Tim fight…the collars get turned back on.”

Damian’s mouth dropped open. “…No.”

“Only for a few hours. The longest they were turned back on was eighteen hours and forty-three minutes.” Jon seemed to hesitate. “…They only shock us a once or twice when they’re turned on.”

Horror marred Damian’s face. “With reason?!”

Jon looked sheepishly away. “…Sometimes…”

“I’ll kill him.” Damian spat.

Jon’s head whirled around. “Damian-”

“I’ll kill my brother for this.” He continued, even as Jon tried to reach for his face, force him to look at him. “He’s not even my brother anymore-”

Jon tried an old tactic. His favorite tactic, to get Damian to calm down. Gently held his face, brought him quickly towards his own. Breathed out and parted his lips to taste his-

Bzzt!

He yelped this time. Jerked backwards and accidentally bounced his head against the stone wall of his cell.

“…Sorry, I forgot…” Jon all but whimpered. He’d closed his eyes in pain with the shock but when he opened them now, he saw Damian standing protectively in front of him, staring at the guards beyond the cell door. At the sound of Jon’s voice, though, he spun back around. Mimicked Jon’s previous gesture and took gentle hold of Jon’s face. Didn’t try to kiss him, but carefully checked him over for visible injuries. When he was satisfied, he sighed, slowly dragging Jon into his embrace.

BZZZZT!

“Do it again.” Damian roared, jumping back to his feet and stalking towards the cell door, even as Jon grabbed for the collar. “Do it again, I fucking dare you.”

“This is not a conjugal visit.” A guard intoned once more.

“Do it again.” Damian didn’t let the guard repeat his mantra. “And I’ll tell your commander that you shocked me.”

And this – of course – made the guards pause.

“I’ll tell him you pointed your stupid guns at me.” Damian continued. “I’ll tell him you left your posts. Left me alone with the aliens.”

“Damian.” Jon whispered. “Don’t waste my time with you on them.”

Damian glared at his brother’s soldiers for another moment before bending to grab the forgotten picnic basket and bag, and spinning back towards Jon.

And without a word, he dropped the items on the bed, and slowly lifted his hands to run across Jon’s chest. Then slipped his fingers underneath the collar, kept them between the metal and Jon’s skin, gently held Jon’s neck, and descended one more time for that kiss.

No one was shocked.

Damian felt Jon’s own hands come up immediately, clutching at his coat, tugging at his scarf.

“Stop,” Jon moaned, barely moving his mouth from Damian’s. “Causing trouble.”

“You’re worth it.” Damian breathed.

“I won’t be when,” He grinned, as he pulled Damian forward. As he leaned against the wall, and forced Damian to stabilize with a knee between his. “When your brother has me transferred to Antarctica.”

“I’d find you.” Damian promised. “I’d find you, and I’d never stop looking until I did.”

“…I love you.” Jon murmured after a second, pulling back just slightly. Just enough to look Damian in the eye.

Damian smiled, as he brought his other knee up, settled between Jon’s as he practically boxed him against the wall.

“I love you too, Jonathan.”

And he was tearful now, as he slowly wound his arms around Damian’s torso, began to bend his legs, press them into Damian’s sides.

“I miss you.” Jon rasped, hiding his face against Damian’s chest. Clinging to him with all of his might. “…I want to go home.”

Damian could only wrap his arms around Jon’s shoulders. (Once again, the guards didn’t dare to activate the collar.) Let Jon shake and quietly cry while he held him, burying his face in Jon’s hair.

“I know. And one day, I’ll get you there.” Damian promised. “You and your brother both.”

Jon sniffed loudly, nodded vigorously against Damian’s chest.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave.” Jon hummed. “I hate when you leave.”

“Then I’ll stay extra long today, regardless of visitor hours or idiot soldiers standing outside the door.” Carefully, Damian unwound himself. Held Jon’s face once more, and slowly wiped the tears away. “Don’t cry, Beloved. My sister would be upset if you cried while you ate the cupcakes she made especially for you.”

That earned a blubbery laugh.

Jon sat back, wiping his own eyes as Damian reluctantly climbed off of him. He kept himself close though, let only a second go by of them not touching each other before pressing himself to Jon’s side.

And opposite of earlier, it was now him who leaned his head on Jon’s shoulder, watching as Jon picked up and dug through the picnic basket, deciding on what treat to eat first.

“…You have a library here, correct?” Damian asked, picking up the other bag he’d brought, placing it on his lap. A gift, a small voice recorder. Filled with some of Jon’s favorite fairy tales, read by Damian. He’d give it to him at the end of his visit, to avoid spending the entirety of their little time together in tears. Jon made a sound of affirmation in answer to the question. “Tell me about the last book you read.”

And as Jon did just that, with a mouth full of cookies, Damian closed his eyes. Smiled when he felt Jon’s hand slide back into his, squeeze tenderly. Let himself be lulled into a fleeting, temporary peace by the wonderful sound of his beloved’s voice, and the simple thought, the simple dream of:

One day we’ll be together again.