|The D.C Collection | Imagines, One-Shots, Preferences, and More |

** The Killing Things | Damian Wayne x Reader **

DESCRIPTION: You and Damian are just two killing things, unlearning yourselves while you learn each other.

REQUEST: "Anyway, here's a request! Damian x reader, bestfriendstolovers!au. Reader goes to Gotham Academy with Damian during the day, patrols with him at night. Both are talented artists, but the reader is more musically inclined rather than drawing wise. They have a... flirty relationship, you could say LOL.

If u wanted a prompt instead of specific details, fluff and a confession, maybe a line with person a "And here I thought you would've left me hanging" and person B "Come on (name), as if i would let you fall for anything other than me"." - sophiphi on Tumblr.

WORDS: 7982

NOTES: SURPRISE!! I'm back to writing inserts, and better than ever. It's been... what, like two or three years? Here's a prompt I got on Tumblr from a good friend. This is the first reader insert I've written in a while, but it was awesome to get back into the groove again. I look forward to your feedback! Comments fuel me so much, no matter how dumb you might think they are. Thank you, genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, for reading this fic and this book. It means the world to me.

500k reads. What the fuck. what the FUCK. WHAT.

_

The summer of eighth grade, you'd broken your arm. Smashed it real good when Harvey Dent punted you off Gotham Academy's Library tower like a football—Damian's words. Thanks to a poorly-fired grappling line, you'd dislocated the damn thing too. In the blur of disarming Dent and rushing back up to cover Damian's back, you could ignore the pain, worrying about your uselessness. Now, looking up at where you'd dropped from made you smile.

You were lucky. On your own? Dent was a peach. You knew how to talk him down, and if it lurched further than that, well. You'd been dropping guys like him since you were in diapers. But Damian wasn't like the women who'd taken you from your home and weaponized you. He could be quiet, but he rarely was, and he was so... proud. Where you'd been raised, being proud of a kill was shameful. Killing was necessary, killing wasn't easy, and it was never something to be proud of. You didn't kill anymore. Neither did he. But only one of you had been taught that violence came second to reason, and that person clearly wasn't Damian.

What Dent needed was comfort and reassurance. You had sworn to yourself when you'd escaped The Program that you'd make an effort to extend your hand before you fisted it, but Damian was the kind of pompous asshole who flew in without a thought. You'd been another sentence from convincing Harvey away from his hostages when Lord of The Ninjas popped in to smash a boot into his face. Damian cursed you and you cursed him and Two-Face cursed both of you, then you were kicked off the roof for Damian's incompetence.

He had the decency to apologize. Well, Damian didn't really say an apology, but you were starting to get that they were a thing to see instead of hear.

After handling Dent, he'd dragged you to the nearest first aid cache on one of the Madison Bridge towers. You could be honest and admit that Damian had been careful, mindful even, of your wound and reassured you the whole way, but summing it up as "dragged" made it easier to digest. He felt bad. He soothed your winces each time he jostled you too hard. He made sure you were comfortable against him, and then grappled you onto the perch together. The landing was rough without your other arm to hold him by, which flew Damian into a cursing fit.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" You'd grimaced. As soon as the words were said, you regretted them. The one time he's being nice to you and you bring up his mom. Nice work, idiot.

Robin dropped you against the cement half-wall. He ignored you to survey the scene for onlookers, but you were too high up to be seen by civilians walking the bridge, and too far away to be anything bigger than a dot to late-night boats churning in the bay. This side of the island was ocean-facing, so the reflection of light off the water was wide and the view itself was wider. From here, the whole planet seemed to breathe. Gotham's light streaked into the water like smeared silver on blue paint.