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

Balance | Part ii | Damian Wayne x Catgirl!Reader

Description: You aren't stupid. And yes, Damian, you know what a Batarang is.

Words: 2832

Notes: PART TWO GUYS HOPED YOU LIKE HOW DRAMATIC I WAS

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Damian holds the Batarang between his fingers, raising it inches from your nose. "Do you know what this is?"

"What kind of question is that?" You laughed. 

Lightly testing the weight of it in your palm, you curled and unfurled your fingers around its body. It was lighter than you expected, but carried a dull heaviness at its center of gravity. It feels right in your grasp. It feels, as ridiculous as it sounds, like you should be holding that bat-shaped piece of metal. To be honest, maybe you did know a little too much about Batarangs. Bruce had fashioned hundreds of designs. Some had the sharpest edges, others were fat and wide, and there were the rare few made of other materials like Kryptonite. The one you now carried was sleek and thin, with a hinge in the center that allowed it to collapse and fold like a pocket knife. 

Needless to say, you could get used to carrying these around.

You flash Damian a smirk, reeling back your arm and adjusting your stance, before promptly hurling it at the target. The metal shrings as it slices through the air. It embeds itself in the target's center, and you don't even bother trying to hide how smug you are. 

Damian swiftly covers how impressed he is with a scowl. He raises an eyebrow as if asking, Where did you learn to do that?

You proudly crossed your arms over your chest, "Remember that one time Selina and I got our hands on those Iris pearls, and you threw your Batarang and it got me in the side?" You lifted your tank top to show a jagged but barely-present scar on your torso, "Yeah. After she pulled it out of me, I practiced with it for weeks."

Dick, who was observing from a distance and only half paying attention—mostly betting with Barbara on how long it would take for you and Damian to get together—comments, "That's metal."

Damian and Barbara both shush him.

By the time you sweep over the Batcomputer by grappling line, identify each type of explosive carried in the utility belt, throw the tear gas and use the re-breather correctly, operate the batcuffs, manage to escape them ("Um, I was Catgirl, Damian. Master thief, escape artist... I've escaped these cuffs more times than I can count."), then get them on Damian without his knowledge, he's formed a reasonable conclusion.

Damian spreads his hands incredulously, standing before you as you kicked up your feet on the Batcomputer's center console. He pushes them off, "Did you study for this, L/N?"

"This is only the best job offer I've ever gotten, ever." You shrugged. "I'm not going to flunk the interview."

"Fine." Damian dismissed, "But we're not done. We still have things to discuss."

You stood from the chair and kicked it behind you with a flourish, sliding your hands down your thighs and then clapping them onto your hips. You met Damian's gaze, unthreatened, "Oooh. Is there some secret rule between you bats that I don't know about?"

"Let me take a guess," You walked two fingers up Damian's chest, over the rigid lines of his abdominals and pectorals. You watched your fingers and just how hard he has to try to ignore the feeling with a smirk. "No relationships? No kissing in costume?"

"That's one thing," Damian said.

The "thing" seemed to be your attitude more than the rules you had listed. Gently, he took your wrists and attempted to lower them so he could speak, but the reason you keep smiling is that he doesn't release them. You slip your wrists out of his grasp and replace them with your hands. Now you are both standing there, and Damian is holding your hands and your faces are awfully close.