Batboys x Reader

Rooftop Rambling (Damian Wayne X Reader)

Hiya, this was requested by @mmanlove and uses no prompts provided in the earlier chapters. I had to change it a little bit but I hope this is what you wanted. Whoop, I am so tired...if anyone has a proper sleep schedule, please explain to me how that feels and how you do it. I'm actually happy with this one...I'll edit this properly later. I'm too tired. Soz.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dick Pov

(Y/N) was a sweet and gentle kid, it may sound like a cliche but it's true. Her hair was lighter back then, she would braid it for hours in front of the mirror while we travelled to the next city. She played with her dolls and was kind to the other performers. She was definitely a fighter, never staying down if she fell or got knocked. But she easily forgave the ones who did her wrong so no harm was done. Her time circus caused her to grow a love for animals, similar to Damian's. She goes out of her way to be nice to other kids at school but mostly sticks to just two friends. She is a teacher pleaser, always doing her best in classes and clever too, learning quickly. 

(Y/N) cannot see the world through my eyes, and mostly it is a good thing that she can't. She sees excitement and possibilities; I have learnt to see danger and a world of uncertainty. She wants to walk out of the house after dark, explore the crime-infested streets. She fast and strong, I'll give her that; but once the sun goes down she is basically forbidden to leave the manor grounds. I wish I could give her the same freedom as we have, I wish I could treat her the same. But if I want her to become a healthy and well-adjusted woman I can't take the risk of her being attacked or worse.

I walk through the manor halls, looking for (Y/N). I have checked every room in the manor except her bedroom. Bruce and the others had left for patrol a few minutes ago, leaving me to quickly say goodbye to (Y/N). Her room is like a wonderland for comic driven recluses. The walls are a deep red that pulses in the light which is sprinkled with various posters, mostly of strange Japanese cartoon shows and her favourite bands. I doubt she can read whatever was written on the Japanese posters. Her comforter is pulled over her bed, even though she hadn't cleaned it. Lumps of varying sizes and shapes decorate the bed and the comforter is weighed down by her laptop. A desk sits in one corner, littered with wadded up pieces of paper and pens. A few shelves had been pushed against the walls and filled with books. Some books sit on the floor in front of the shelves, most of them are old and new textbooks. I approach her window although before I can take a look at her normal rooftop perch my phone beeps in my pocket, of course, Bruce needs my help already.

(Y/N) Pov

The night sky is how I came to envy those who fly. It is the most beautiful art, alive with raw energy, a song for the eyes. I feel a raindrop fall against my skin, followed by several others, but I don't have the heart to go back inside. I move over and sit on the edge of the roof, crossing one leg over the other, leaning back on my palms to observe the remaining constellations uncovered from the clouds. The moon hangs full and hazy beneath an eclipse of blazing stars, allowing me to see the dark outlines of the large garden below me. My body is a fountain for the incoming rain, the water making my eyelids heavy. I close my (E/C) eyes, a sigh passing through my parted lips as I do so, causing my breath to fog up in front of me, obscuring my vision for a moment. The sky above belongs in the museum of modern art right alongside Van Gogh's starry night.

Unaware of my own heart beating or the rise and fall of my chest, I drift into semi-consciousness. The drone of the cars on the nearby road is as good as a lullaby to me. I would never be able to sleep a wink in the countryside with all the quietness. My camomile tea has long gone cold and it is probably later than I suspect. 

Whoever is approaching me is either large, exhausted, heavily armed or someone who considers themselves untouchable. Whilst I slink in the shadows in soft-soled shoes this person allows their footsteps to echo off the manor announcing their arrival to me. I sit back in the shadows, waiting, curious to see who walks so fearlessly. The dull colours of Damian's suit emerge from the darkness, his grapple gun hanging loosely in his fingertips.