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

Zrhueiao | Damian Wayne x Reader

Description: Damian took in a weighted breath, and you gratefully listened to the way his heart hammered in his chest, alive and healthy. Also... nervous. When was Damian ever nervous? He left your skin to pull the car into park. When it jolted to a stop, you could feel the air shift when he looked at you,"I do surprises for those who deserve them."

Requests: Yo, my smol bean. May I request a fic with Damian here he proposes to the reader in an Art Museum? Uuuber romantic and maybe a little smut if Jen is up for it?

HEYO!!! Can I request Damian dating Jon's older sister please? I can be headcannon or one shot which ever is easier thanks!!!!

Words: 3005

Notes: AYYYEEE KRYPTONIAN WORDS DEFINITELY ACCURATE AND NOT OVERLY RESEARCHED AT ALLLLL

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"Is this a lead blindfold?" You questioned, pushing the fabric behind your ears as to hear him. You are greeted by the sounds of Metropolis, and you've handled this city for so long—though your dad would probably phrase that as "cared for"—that you know exactly where you are even if you can't see. The hum of engines and chatter of people surround you from every possible angle, and if you tune your hearing well enough, you can hear the water of the bay licking at the rocks surrounding Metropolis' main island of New Troy. Which is right over by the Clinton Bridge. But before you can specify, your driver clicks his tongue.

"TT," Damian Wayne said,"Obviously. I am aware of your love for spoiling surprises for yourself, usually by using your x-ray vision—hey! Stop cheating with your hearing, super-dweeb. We're almost there."

Earlier this morning, when he had come knocking on your apartment's door, you had expected the usual. Your boyfriend arrives for a date you had not planned previously, magically finding you on your day off and pretending he hasn't memorized your work schedule by heart. You spend the day hiding from paparazzi and doing an activity depending on the season. Halfway through that activity, you'd have to bust out your suit to save the day as Superwoman, even if the newspapers won't stop calling you "Supergirl". Here's a reminder: both of your parents work at newspaper companies, and yet you still find your old alias in the titles of your mother's writings.

"It's not me," Clark Kent says, but he has that I-don't-want-my-little-girl-growing-up look on his face, which never seems to disappear. Even if Lois is reminding him that you're an adult now, she's guilty of such a crime too.

But regardless of if you're called Superwoman or Supergirl, Damian isn't usually one for surprises... Well, he is, but more in the "what are you doing in my kitchen in full costume at 3 AM" type deal than the "birthday surprise party" kind of thing. So when he insists you wear a blindfold and allow him to drive you somewhere, you don't bother to hide the smile on your face as questions buzz about your mind. What would Damian Wayne want to surprise you with?

But then again, you thought, what did he want with you at all?

You had begun dating in high school, and yet these bursts of sudden insecurity still arise out of nowhere. It made sense in the beginning. Damian was one of the most popular boys in school, mysterious and handsome and just... everything that you couldn't see yourself beside. As the resident bullied nerd with the glasses too big for her face, no one would ever, ever imagine you were Supergirl. Supergirl was the heroine who could lift buildings and put out fires with a breath, while still having time to help you with your algebra homework or made sure you got home safe. If you walked up to any of your old classmates and told them that the monument on the Northside of town—the towering, golden statue of Supergirl that was constantly layered with flowers, candles, and gifts—no one would ever believe you. But if a rumor about Damian Wayne moonlighting as Robin swept the school, you would believe it without hesitation. That was the difference between the two of you. The have and have-not. The prince and the pauper. If the pauper could fry you with a look, anyway.