Hi! Doing a new thing with the switching of Pov's as I think it looks better (Maybe more professional idk). This involves prompt 13 (This is supposed to be serious! Why are you wearing that ridiculous hat?) and 20 (For once, can you do what you are told?) requested by @posiedens_daughter
I hope you enjoy!
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Damian Wayne POV
The girl almost belongs, but not quite. She's smiling in that same way mother does when she greets someone she plans to kill, not scared but not relaxed enough for a genuine smile. Something is wrong with the way she moves about the room, every movement she makes seem to be calculated and with solid intent. I watch her let out a slow controlled breath as if she wanted to loosen her body movements. She gave her shoulders a wiggle and lolled her head in a circle, let her stride slacken to a more casual pace. It is a decent effort, enough to fool the casual observer, but for the onlooker with a keen eye such as myself, she is a walking advert for tension. Her eyes move with an alertness that could only come from training and experience, she observes each person approaching as if they are about to attack. There is something about this girl, she's familiar. The worst thing about this feeling is that no matter how hard I try, I cannot call to memory my affiliations with this girl. I begin to move towards my brothers to alert them of this suspicious woman.
(Y/N) POV
If you told ten-year-old me that I would be an assassin when I grew up she wouldn't believe you, I mean she's ten and innocent, why would she believe you? It took some time before I was certain this was the right choice for me. I was never cruel or coldhearted but compassionate and warmhearted, giving love to everyone who would take it. But living in Gotham changes a girl, you know. No one looked after anyone but their blood except for those vigilantes. I tried that for a while too, I made my costume and got all the gadgets, hell I even trained with the best of the best. But it was never quite good enough, no one trusted me... even the ones I saved. So I turned to the darker path set out for me, I'm basically a glorified secretary but instead of dispatching invoices and emails I dispatch people to whatever came after this life. I guide them to their final destination because no one else has the guts too. Everyone has to die sometime, and I consider my way a good way to go. No illness, no drawn-out goodbyes, well, unless they're annoying or a criminal. But that's different. They're happy and oblivious one second and gone the next. Simple. Convenient. Painless.
I adjust the bust-line of my ball gown and smooth my (H/C) hair back, removing the hair-pin vile of poison. In seconds the contents are swirled in bourbon and my smile is truly vivacious as I hand it to my victim, Bruce Wayne. He gazes at me for a moment, something wary behind his blue eyes. He tilts his cup high, drinking the entire thing in one swig, and wiped the remaining liquid from the bottom of his lips. In those few final seconds, he is quite boyish and I can see everything his mother must have loved about him, a spirit that must have attracted friends and lovers in equal measure. It quickly fades as he begins coughing, and coughing.
I look around the room and hear a few people gasp once they notice the man on the floor and the red liquid seeping from his lips. Three men and his butler immediately take action, two hoisting Mr Wayne on their shoulders while the other two follow in pursuit. Unknowing to them that he's already dead. They don't know I did this but there is a part of me which wants them to know. I want them to know that a young woman is capable of destruction such as this. They underestimate women like me but there's always a little fun in that. For now, I'll play the part they expect me to. I become the part, not another version of myself, but truly live it as a separate person. It's the only way to be authentic, don't you think? I, unfortunately, have to feel an emotion I do not crave. But this is the only way to give a believable performance. I've been told that if I hadn't chosen to live this life I could've been an actress. It's always nice to know I have other options if this career falls through.
Damian Wayne POV
My grip on (Y/N)'s wrist is tight enough to bruise her (S/C) skin. I know my brothers and Alfred are capable of fixing father but I would prefer to have the antidote for the poison in his veins immediately. To say we are allies sounds cruel as if we had a business arrangement or some alliance of convenience. We weren't either of those things. She had a place in my heart, I would have levelled armies to save her if I ever had to, or ever could because I loved her. She was one of the only people I didn't despise. Ever since we were children she had been beautiful. Her laugh and her quirks were cute despite her hatred for the word. I notice that she'd filled out a little, just enough to give her curves and a fuller bust. Her hair fallings in relaxed curls, swaying slightly as she walks. I feel my mouth go dry. This isn't like when we were children. We travel through the manor's halls before reaching my bedroom, far from any unwanted guests who might overhear us. She looks my way, her mouth forming a scowl.
"I don't need you here, I completed the task myself!" She harshly exclaims.
"Give me the antidote (L/N)," I demand,
"Why? He's already dead, the league will be proud." She grins.
"For once, can you do what you are told?!" I roar.
It is as if she has retreated inside of herself; instead of being here with me, she's watching in the same way one would watch television. It's as if the sounds are arriving in her brain from far, far away and my touch is somehow disconnected. Her eyes were as wide as if someone was coming to deliver the fatal blow. She reaches into her purse, pulling out a small vial containing a clear liquid and hands it to me.
"Here, I assume you know how to administer it..." She mutters.
I raise her lowered head, staring into her eyes for a moment. Her eyes are beautiful, its the truth, for it's not about colours or shape, it's about the loving sweet essence that is so clearly there. I can see her pain and her gentleness just the same. I see how every emotion comes together to form her soul. It forms a picture I see in an instant and comprehend with full depth. I am unable to resist leaning closer, my forehead touching hers. Her very smell is flooding my senses now then my lips brush hers. Although my senses are being seduced, I am able to successfully handcuff one of her wrists to my desk. I know she'll be able to escape in only a matter of time but it slows her down for a few minutes.
"Stay here," I instruct.
"Where else would I go?" She sarcastically retorts.
(Y/N) POV
After escaping from Damian's stupid trap I immediately forage through Damian's cupboards for a change of clothes. I eventually find a faded Bon Jovi shirt buried beneath every other shirt, as it slips over my head I notice it is two sizes too big, stopping just above my knees. I wonder if one of his relatives gave it to him as a hand-me-down. With caution, I open Damian's door revealing an empty hall. It only takes a few seconds for me to locate a woman's bedroom. I immediately enter in search of shorts, finding them after five minutes of searching. As I pull the shorts I notice the shirt hangs so low that the shorts are only just visible below the hem, a fringe of denim cut-offs. I tuck the front of my shirt in and place one of the hats on the floor on my head. Honestly, I don't know what look I'm going for but the word aesthetic comes to mind.
I drape the ballgown on the woman's bed, writing a short note to the woman, notifying them the unknowing trade of clothing they made with me. I depart the room and return to Damian's room. I laugh quietly as I notice Damian looking around his room in annoyance.
"Were you afraid I would leave you as you left me, my love?" I ask.
"Tt. This is supposed to be serious! Why are you wearing that ridiculous hat?" He scolds, avoiding the question.
"It's nice," I reply simply.
"(Y/N), it's been a long time since we last spoke." He sighs.
"It has, is Mr Wayne alright?" I ask.
"Yes, father had an immunity to the toxin. He was able to fight off the effects with the aid of the antidote." He informs me.
"Uh, how? Isn't the toxin used quite deadly?" I question.
"Tt, he's Batman. Why wouldn't he have immunities to deadly toxins?" He smirks.
"Because he's human..." I reply.
A knock on our door concludes our conversation as a man walks into the room. There at the corner of his lips is a crease of amusement. Much like Damian, he has midnight black curls and blue eyes which are framed by graceful brows. Unlike Damian, his face is obscured by a fuzzy, thin beard.
"The old man is awake demon spawn, he wants you asap," The man announces.
"Excuse me (Y/N). I have to deal with this important matter," Damian sighs.
A silence settled over me and the man as he sits on one of Damian's chairs. I shift uncomfortably in my seat as we both continue to not make a sound.
"So, who are you darlin'?" The man asks, breaking our silence.
"Damian's, uh, associate from the League of Assasins," I respond truthfully.
"Aren't you the girl who poisoned Bruce's drink?" He asks.
"Unfortunately," I sigh.
"Wow, you have my respect young one." He compliments.
"Alright Todd, I would appreciate it if I could have my girlfriend back," Damian interrupts suddenly.
"Wait, you two are together? She just said you two were associates!" He exclaims.
Through our years with the league, I've seen watchers that disapprove with the judgement they feel so entitled to. I wonder what they would have me do? Lift the world in one arm? Push back the tide with only my mind? Because what they expected was impossible. Every person needs a harbour, a secure attachment of love - for without one we are in such pain, so lost, shutting down. Then life becomes torture we are expected to endure, surviving, not living. Were it not for Damian there would be no relief, no emotional morphine. Of course, I am addicted to him - but for every reason, that is pure and right. He is my safety and love, an anchor I hold onto, that I tether myself to because I want to. So for those watchers who have plenty, who have never felt the brutal sting of abuse, the kind that shatters all emotional bonds, take your opinions and bury them in tar.
"Yes, yes we are and I love him very much," I admit with a grin.
"Gross," The man mutters as he walks away.