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writingblock101 · 4 years

Text

Standards (Damian Wayne x Reader)

Request for @batlover1303 Damian Wayne X Reader Angst Number 1 (“It’s okay, it’s not real. It was just a nightmare. You’re not there.”) and Fluff Number 5! (”Marry me.”)

I don’t write Damian very often so it’s always fun to explore his character! As per my other Damian fic, he’s aged up in this (17). Enjoy!

Word Count: 1,100

Tags: @idkmanicantenglish

It’s almost impressive that Scarecrow could still manage to create a batch of Fear Toxin that the Bat-Family wasn’t immune to. Of course, you didn’t want to think about what kind of sessions your boyfriend, Damian, underwent to build that immunity, but there’s a lot of things that have happened to Damian that you don’t want to think about.

You wipe the cool rag across Damian’s sweating forehead as his grip on your shirt tightens and his eyebrows furrow in his sleep. Unfortunately, creating the antidote for the new strain of Fear Toxin took a little longer than Bruce intended, leaving Damian to ride out the side effects in the most controlled environment they could create. You hum, running your fingers through his hair and down his back, feeling the thick scars that crisscrossed his skin. His jaw clenches for a moment but seems to relax as he resettles against your chest.

You will admit, Damian is fairly heavy, especially after the growth spurt that made him almost as tall as Jason, and your legs are falling asleep, but knowing that the constant soft touches contradict the harsh realities the Fear Toxin is creating enough to keep Damian grounded is enough to make you not care about your legs.

Damian’s fists tighten again as his whole body tenses. He begins muttering under his breath, too low and too panicked for you to hear. He jerks, nearly headbutting you.

“Dames,” You murmur to him lowly, running your hand up and down his arm. “It’s okay, it’s not real.”

His eyebrows furrow again as he lets out a heartbreaking whimper.

“It’s not real,” You repeat, running your fingers through his hair. “It’s just a nightmare. You’re not there.”

“No, no,” He mutters, clenching your shirt. “Stop, please.”

You tilt his head up, holding his face in your hands and stroke his temples with your thumbs.

“You’re not there, Damian. You’re safe. You’re okay.”

His breathing speeds up, seeming to be too lost in the hallucination to hear your voice.

“Damian, wake up,” You plead. “Open your eyes, you’re okay.”

His hold body trembles and he flinches again.

“Stop,” He begs. “Please, no.”

“You’re safe, you’re not there,” You kiss between his eyebrows. “You’re okay.”

Damian jerks again, nearly ripping your shirt.

“Wake up, Damian,” You whisper to him, resting your forehead against his.

He opens his eyes with a gasp, yanking away from your grip, frantically looking around the room as his chest heaves.

“Hey,” You say quietly, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Damian flinches again, ready to attack, but sees that it’s you.

“Y/N?” He breathes, his green eyes teary.

“Yeah,” You nod. “I’m here. You’re okay,” Your hand moves down to rub his back.

Damian lunges forward, wrapping his arms around you tightly, his face buried in your hair. You frown when you feel warm tears running down your shoulder. You can count the amount of times you’ve witnessed Damian cry on one hand. Knowing whatever misery the Fear Toxin is creating in Damian’s mind has forced him to tears fills you with fury. Despite being a vigilante, you’re not an overly violent person; however, in that moment while you hold Damian’s shaking body, you wanted to gut Scarecrow.

Damian’s shaking grows worse and you feel him shuttering for breaths.

“Damian,” You say gently, pulling him back from your shoulder.

His tear-stained face, eyes full of panic makes your chest grow tight.

“You need to breathe,” You gently instruct him.

He gasps for breath, burying his face in his hands.

“Dames,” You pull his chin up so he’s looking at you.

“Deep breaths,” You instruct him. “Breathe in,” You breathe in with him as he takes a stuttering breath. “And breathe out. Again.”

You count with Damian for a few minutes until he’s breathing normally with an occasional hiccup and a sniffle. He leans his head against your shoulder, his arms still firmly wrapped around your waist as you trace shapes on his back, occasionally kissing the top of his head.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” He murmurs to you. “This isn’t what you signed up for. I’m supposed to be able to protect you, not be reduced to a weak, sniveling mess by a few nightmares–”

You flick Damian on the nose in annoyance, cutting off his self-deprecating rant.

“Shut up,” You order.

“What did you–”

“I said shut up,” You repeat. “Look at me.”

Damian turns his head, but you give him a disapproving look, forcing him to sigh and sit up.

“Do you see me as your equal?” You ask.

“What? Of course, I do,” Damian frowns. “You know that… Don’t you?”

“Have you fought beside me?” You ask, moving past Damian’s question.

“Yes.”

“Have I proven to be competent in battle?”

“Of course.”

“Am I a strong fighter?”

“One of the best I’ve ever seen,” Damian admits.

“Have you seen me have nightmares?”

Damian’s brow furrows.

“Yes… We both have…”

You nod your head.

“And after those nightmares, when you’re comforting me, do you think less of me?”

Damian’s eyes widen.

“No! I would never!”

“Do you think of me as weak?”

“No!”

Your voice softens and you reach out to cup Damian’s cheek with one hand. He leans into the touch, covering your hand with his own.

“If you truly see us as equals, why are you not holding yourself to the same standard then?”

Damian’s eyes fall to the comforter, covering both of your lower bodies.

“Fear is not weakness. Without fear, our species would have died thousands of years ago. Sadness and crying are not weaknesses. It’s stronger when a person embraces those so-called “negative feelings” and expresses them in a healthy way instead of bottling everything inside until it explodes. Your upbringing has done you a great disservice to make you believe that emotions are a sign of weakness. They are a sign of strength. They are a sign of what makes us unique as humans. Without our emotion, without our empathy, this whole thing, this whole mission we fight for every night is pointless,” You use your other hand to force Damian to look at you. “I love you, and nothing is going to change that.”

Damian stares at you for a long moment then finally opens his mouth.

“Marry me.”

You crack a smile. While you have no doubt that you will spend the rest of your life with Damian, you’re both 17.

“We’re a little young for that, don’t you think?”

“I don’t care,” Damian insists. “There is no one else I’d rather have by my side.”

He pulls you into his lap and kisses you sweetly, holding you close to him.

“Married or not, I’m not going anywhere,” You promise, leaning your forehead against his.

His fingers stroke your sides as yours stroke his cheekbones. He kisses you again then lays back down, holding you against his chest.

“I love you,” Damian whispers into your hair.

“I love you too,” You whisper back.

Feel free to leave me a prompt!

#Damian Wayne x reader #robin x reader #damian wayne #robin #dc #scarecrow #nightmares #request #older!damian

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b1ksh88p · 4 years

Text

Be Mine ⛏

Plot Plot: You’ve been in a few relationships, unfortunately all ending in tragedy. You had a reputation for being a bad omen. Truly you were a sweet girl but it seemed like every single one of your lovers ended up dead or horrendously disfigured in the long run. This Valentine’s Day your boyfriend decides to jump ship for some blonde crushing the little hope you had left for your love life. In a slightly drunken haze you sneak into the mines for a rant about the cursed corporate holiday and to drown your sorrows in the solitude of the mines. But it seems like you’ve got a listener.

Tags/Warnings: Lots of cursing | Sprinkle of angst | Fluff

The cold air of the abandoned labyrinth did nothing to cool you down as you ventured further into its clutches. To put it lightly you were on fire. Every part of you wanted to tear someone apart. The auburn liquid sloshed around as you clumsily stomped past heaps of forgotten debris. If not for your drunken stupor you would’ve turned back. Everyone knew the horrific tale of the pickaxe cannibal murder. Although you were sure the story was somewhat embellished you’ve heard worse. Poor fuck did what he had to do to survive. Anyone else would’ve done the same, it’s human nature to do anything no matter how gruesome to survive.

“Give a girl a box of cheap chocolates and a fucking bouquet of withering roses and she’s supposed to repay ya by sucking your fucking dick and acting like yer the best thing since sliced bread.” You grumble.

The deeper you go the darker it gets. Stone walls become suffocating and everything looks like the enemy. A fight or flight response may have kicked in but you were in no place to think rationally. When your heel broke you fucking snapped.

“Stupid Roses, fuck ass chocolates, fake relationships for fake people who wouldn’t know love if it fucking stabbed them in the face!” You yell throwing the broken heel piece deep into the darkness. “A corporate holiday with no fucking insignificance! Just a money plot and a excuse to fuck and act like you like that worthless pathetic fuck you’re dating that you like them. When all 364 days you’ve been with em ya fucking loathe them!” You continue on tearing up the damned holiday in partially incoherent babbling until you hear glass break.

Despite your conditions you aren’t stupid. “Fuck is that?” You call out whilst backing up. At first you’re sure it’s a group of horny teenagers but through the gritty lights you see a single foreboding silhouette. This was where you run. Or at least you should’ve. Instead you squint your eyes like some tourist taking in the sights and step forward. “Bud y’know the mines are abandoned cuz of the poor guy who had to eat his friends right?” You call out. “I mean do you if this is your thing I support it but it’s kinda weird since you look exactly like the serial killer guy. Spot on cosplay.” You compliment. The figure doesn’t move. It doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. You feel your hairs start to stand up and goosebumps pepper you skin. It seems your liquid courage was fading.

“Welp I’ll leave you be, don’t wanna bore you with the details of this fucked up holiday.” You let out a wry laugh before turning your back on the figure. You get about 12 good steps in before the stride of death crescendos behind you. Now you were running. Your broken heels doing wonders at making this chase the easiest for your attacker. In the midst of running you take them off and throw them off behind you. Now look you weren’t aiming for the guy but when you heard the hit connect and a surprised grunt you got the feeling you were fucked. Instead of running in a straight line you dip into a little crawl space. Maybe he’d give up and fuck off you. To your horror the man crouches down and starts to crawl his way inside.

Without thinking you take the whiskey bottle and crash it on his head. “Leave me alone I don’t even like this fuckass holiday you fucking weirdo!” You cry. He looks up at you and stops trying to fit.

“Why not.” His voice was eerily calm. As if he weren’t some insane pickaxe murderer but a man.

“Well because it’s stupid and to lovy dovy. And because it feels wrong to celebrate it when such a tragedy had occurred.” You explain. “And...and I got dumped today so there’s that.” You huff.

“...You pity me?”

You shake your head. Words weren’t really your strong point and you didn’t need him thinking you were coddling him or anything. Instead you just stare into the glossy eyeholes with your own praying he’d just fuck off. You practically shit yourself when he continued to scramble through and stand up. You grab a rock and stand ready to knock him upside the head with it only have your wrist harshly grabbed mid throw.

“I don’t want your pity.”

This was it. You were gonna die. And it was gonna be painful and super fucking lame. On your headstone it would say:

“Loser girl no one cares about got dumped on Valentine’s Day...also got murdered lol”

Even though you wanted to sob and cry your eyes out you were way to stubborn to go out pleading and begging. “I was being empathetic you weirdo! We do what we gotta do to survive, and you did just that. You aren’t some crazy murderer. You’re just angry and traumatized and that’s ok!” The grip on your wrist only tightened. “Gah! Th-the system failed you dude. The whole fucking city failed you and still is failing you! You ha-have a right to be mad! I’m not excusing what you’ve done b-but shit I would’ve done the same!” You squeal feeling the blood flow completely cease as he tightened his grip.

Suddenly the pain stopped. You open your eyes and rub your poor wrist hoping the feeling would return. He seemed more docile. It was as if his entire aura had changed. The man sat down on a hunk of rubble, his weapon clenched in his grip. If you didn’t know better you could’ve sworn he was crying. It was a silent sob. Nothing overtly dramatic, kind of how like you’d expect a man who’s rarely cried to cry. It was unnerving. The only man you’ve ever seen cry was your dad and that was when he laughed to hard. This...this was gut wrenching.

This monster that was hellbent on killing you seconds ago was now a sad man huddled up in a corner like a child. You could never feel the pain he’s felt, relive the days of utter darkness and skewed rations. Never could you imagine the gritty taste of human flesh. The depravity one must have for themselves. The survivors guilt. The nightmares he must relive. He kept muttering something about the dark and the how he wasn’t a monster. How he just wanted to see the light again.

“It’s ok.”

You weren’t sure you could touch him so you just sat in front of him. He was still shaken up but the sound of your voice seemed to get through to him. “It’s ok and you’re safe. I’m here. I won’t go anywhere I’d you don’t want me to...” You could bare the cold for a night. You’d rather be frozen to death then brutally murdered.

Both of you sat there for what seemed like ages until he moved. You were on the edge of slumber before seeing a gloved hand slither towards yours. You wanted to move it. Make haste and dip but your body had become heavy. Your eyes seemingly weighed down by stones. Before you knew it he was oddly holding your hand. You saw him looking at you intently. Probably waiting for you to scream or pull away but you stayed put. One hand held up your head whilst the other was his to experience. It had probably been awhile since he’s been so vulnerable so you let him have this. It wasn’t like you had anything else to do tonight but sleep and pray that the hang over didn’t beat your ass in the morning. Before you could fall asleep he pulls you into a really awkward half ass embrace against the cold stained suit. It was far more comfortable than the back straining position you were in a second ago but man this guy was bad at ‘snuggling’. You felt like he was gonna smother you! When he found a comfortable position he rested that stupid ass mask on top of your head with a satisfied grunt before you gave up on protesting and fell asleep. How the hell were you gonna get home

When you wake there’s no cold embraces or odd masked men. Instead you find yourself wrapped in some dusty old quilt at the entrance of the mine. For a moment you think everything that occurred was a mere fever dream. A whiskey fueled hallucination. You scramble to your feet and notice a little note that had fallen from the tattered cloth. The paper, or what you hoped was paper and not dried human skin, had fairly neat handwriting. It was short and morbidly sweet.

Thank you.

There was a part of you that was absolutely mortified. The note solidified your suspicions of what had taken place last night. But the other part of you was strangely elated. You turn to the mine and put your hands to your mouth to amplify your words. “THANKS FOR NOT KILLING ME ILL MAKE IT UP TO YOU!!!!!!” You yell happily before heading back into town. You were pretty sure he didn’t hear you but it calmed you to know that he not only spared you but someone actually appreciated your presence.

This was definitely not your final encounter ⛏

#⛏

#slasher #horror #slashers #harry warden #my bloody valentine #slasher x s/o #slasher x reader #im not good at writing lmao #potential series maybe idk #i really loved writing this 🙈#harry warden x reader

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