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on-leatheredwings · 7 months

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Sleepover

Yandere! Damian Wayne x (Fem!) Reader

romantic > summary: During a sleepover, Damian makes his first foray into infatuation. > word count: 1605 > [ a/n: i just love writing from the yandere’s point of view! Damian is 19 or college-age here. honestly not much plot, just musings~ i will try to write from the Darling’s POV next time hehe.]

This must be love.

“Wow, Damian… I’ve never noticed but your nails are so pretty,” you compliment, satisfied with the boy’s upkeep. Damian feels his heart thrumming against his ribcage. You are holding his hand.

Not for the first time either, but the thrill never fades.

If this had occurred a year ago, before Damian learned of how casual (generous, even!) you were physical affection, he might have dumbly stated, “You’re holding my hand.” Instead, he simply thinks it, on loop, in one long string.

You’re holding my hand. You’re holding my hand. You’re holding my hand.

Unbeknownst to all this, you simply paint his forefinger with a stripe of green so dark it looks black.

“If we’re going to do this, it’ll be by my rules,” he had said.

In reality, if you needled him any harder, he would’ve accepted pink nails with glitter on them. Who cares? There wasn’t anyone who dared to make fun of him at school. Not to mention, it’d be obvious to everyone that you painted them. You'd be marking him as yours, essentially. And at night… well, Robin wears gloves.

“Hn. How so?” Damian asks with feigned coolness. Mainly because he wants to hear you praise him. In your hushed, awed voice. When he dreams, you often sound like that. (And he quickly pushes that thought away.)

You look at him pointedly, grinning. Oh, he’s not so slick. You acquiesce to his whims anyway.

“Your cuticles are impeccable and your nails are finely trimmed… I’m impressed. Don’t you do martial arts, too? Crazy they aren’t more dinged up.”

Martial arts. That was supposed to explain his abnormal strength and fighting capability, the one time you saw him nearly break a man’s wrist for trying to pickpocket you.

You accepted the excuse with only a little suspicion.

“It’s simple grooming.”

A catlike grin forms on your face. “Hm~ I don’t knowwww… Seems like you may be trying to catch the eye of a girl – you know, girls look at stuff like that.”

Damian frowns.

He’s infatuated but not delusional. He’s aware this ‘sleepover’ is pretty platonic on your end. After nails, it’ll be skin care. Maybe you’ll even do your makeup and take goofy pictures with him. You’ll laugh and platonically huddle against him during a movie. You may doze off on his shoulder while he’ll be committing your every dewy, moisturized pore to memory.

Because of Damian’s (self-admitted) social awkwardness with your peers, you think that gives you some sort of elder sibling-esque edge on him. You are the social butterfly, leading a naive, but well-meaning social pariah through the perils of young adult life. You don’t know you are so much more naive than he is, and he adores that.

Rather than addressing the question, he snorts. “When are you going to turn on the movie?”

You hum, completing his nail’s first coat. “Oh yeah, that’s right!” You grab the remote and press play. You continue painting, gingerly admiring his long, golden brown digits. Damian preens at the attention.

As the movie plays, you pause often to look up and gape at the screen. It’s a horror flick, and boasts an abundance of cartoonish gore. While a bit more sensational than something he’d put on, he likes your dark taste. An annoying teenager gets their head hacked off with a chainsaw. You laugh and Damian feels his heart sing.

There’s a chime that rings through Wayne Manor, and he has to bite back a groan.

“Pizza’s here!” you cheer. You begin to get up when Damian whips out his card in an instant.

“I’ll pay.” To his delight, you gape in surprise, cheeks warming.

“Oh… Thanks, Damian!” You never quite get used to him paying for things, but you at least know by now not to argue. You grab his credit card and – thank God – your fingers brush against each other. It sends the most pleasant trill down his spine. “Since you’re paying, I’ll go bring it! I won’t be long.”

A corner of his lips quirk. “I’ll be pleasantly surprised if it gets back to this room at all.” You stick out your tongue on the way out.

As soon as he hears your footsteps disappear down the hall – such clumsy, loud steps – Damian’s attention falls to the messenger bag you threw to the ground of his bedroom. He knows your diary is in there. (In his mind, he can hear you protest, It’s a journal!)

He’ll be quick. He flips open to a random page, and he already is laughing at your writing style. There’s little care for capitalizing letters and full of what you explained are “emoticons”, despite being handwritten. He flips to today’s entry, half-finished.

February 01.

there’s a guy in class who’s pretty cute… one may even say HOT xP

Damian’s jaw tightens. He knows exactly who you’re talking about, and he won’t allow that neanderthal anywhere near you. At least, not again. Yesterday, you told him that your crush had smiled at you. Brushed fingers with you when passing papers. In the only class you have without Damian.

(Also, “your crush,” he scoffs. What a juvenile concept. You and Damian share something much deeper. His feelings for you are not so trivial.)

The semester is still young. Damian can pull any string to land himself in your anthropology class.

The rest of your entry for today (and the past days prior) isn’t anything notable except for when he’s mentioned.

stressful day, but at least i have tonight with damian to cheer me up. he’s seriously the best …. i should tell him more often !!! (but it’d give him an even bigger head)

He doesn’t even attempt to stop the smile splitting his face.

Damian’s keen hearing catches you striking up a conversation with Alfred in the kitchen. Despite your promise, he knows you will, indeed, take long. You love talking to everyone, even in passing. It’s an admirable quality, and one he envies.

He unlocks your phone and rifles through some messages of yours. He uses his own phone for documentation purposes. What else is there to do… He spies your jacket on his bed.

There is a shameful thought and Damian’s heart skips a beat. It is… frankly, it’s humiliating as a concept. Yet he’s enticed. It’s your jacket, after all. He brings it to his face delicately and inhales, almost shyly. Once he catches the familiar scent of your body wash, however, he allows himself to breathe it in. After being lost in it for a few seconds, he rips it away.

Only to see his father standing in his doorframe.

He knows what this looks like. Damian knows what this looks like. After years of working with the man, Damian can hear his thoughts as if they were his own, as they happen.

Damian just smelled your clothes. Even if it was investigative in nature, he could’ve retrieved a sample some other way. Someone’s personal journal is open on the floor. A phone that he knows is not Damian’s is unlocked and displaying text messages. All these things are splayed out in a circle around him. It’s uncharacteristically messy of him, as well. Damian’s own phone is actively on his camera. Was he taking pictures? And most notable is the absence of you.

In summary? Damian must have some interest in you. And by this sloppy job, it’s quite emotionally charged. And at his age, it’s likely romantic.

Damian’s skin rises to what feels like a boiling heat. What is Father going to say? He can’t stop him – he can’t. Damian doesn’t even want to talk about it, let alone be reprimanded. A feral need to escape bubbles underneath his skin. Despite the panic, he channels years of League training and hardens himself.

Bruce watches his son’s expression morph from dazed, to fearful, to steel, in real time. From Damian’s seat on the floor he offers his father only silent defiance. Bruce knows his son, his darker needs that stem from his cruel childhood. And perhaps he should’ve expected this to happen someday. Bruce exhales, eyes closing. When they reopen, his slate-grey eyes are firm and hard.

“No one gets hurt.”

And by that, Bruce means no one dies. Because Bruce and Damian are Batman and Robin – they’re all in the business of hurting people. People who deserve it, yes, but it’s still hurt. Pain.

Damian feels immense relief. He wouldn’t have killed his father – he’s not that boy anymore. But a life without you seems similarly unbearable. Damian feels… shaken. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done. He also feels grateful, that it didn’t turn out any other way.

His eyes drop to the jacket he holds in a fist.

“... Yes. Thank you, Father.” Bruce’s gaze lingers, but he leaves wordlessly.

This encounter reminds Damian of who he is. He is a detective, vigilante, assassin, and creature of stealth. He can’t be this careless, even if he knows you won’t notice.

Damian returns your belongings to their place, exactly how you left it. Diary back in your bag, jacket to where you were lounging, your phone underneath a pillow, because you carelessly tossed it aside. You’ll inevitably begin to look for it and he’ll grin once he places it in your hand.

You finally return to his room, two pizza boxes of deluxe cheese (for him) and pepperoni (for you) in your arms. You laugh sheepishly.

“Sorry for the wait, Dami.” His heart skitters at the nickname.

“It’s fine.” Your eyes glitter with excitement and optimism and purity. He finds it hard to look away, you raining down a gaze like that upon him.

“I was waiting for you.”

#yandere damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #yandere batfam #damian wayne #yandere damian wayne x reader #wish this was better but idc #its fun to just write u know :)#mine

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