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unmotivatedwrit3r · 2 years

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What's a Lock to a Bat?

damian wayne x reader (featuring the batsiblings)

(A/N): I'm not dead!! I know I've been MIA but last semester was without a doubt had the most difficult and busiest semester of my life, and I've done so little writing. I want to do more now that it's summer so here's hoping. Thank you to everyone that's been patient about a request and stuck around; I am so grateful to all of you :)

I've been working on this story for i have no idea how long but have not yet managed to finish it until today and only did so because I really wanted to post something but don't have much finished so I hope you all enjoy it :)

wordcount: 2361

warnings: blood, injury, batsiblings being themselves

Damian and you have been living in an apartment together for 2 months when the first bat comes through the window. It’s dick, and it’s a social call. It only spirals from there

It’s 2 o’clock in the afternoon and Damian has just gotten home from his last class of the day. You’re sitting on the couch, working on an assignment as he makes lunch in the kitchen. You suggested sandwiches, but he doesn’t eat deli meats, so you honestly have no idea what he’s making, but it’ll probably be good.

A loud ‘clunk’ coming from behind your bedroom door has you standing up and reaching for the knives strapped to the side of the table right beside the couch and turning to Damian to see if he’s expecting anything or anyone he didn't warn you about. The fact that he’s pulled two of your largest kitchen knives and is focused entirely on the bedroom door tells you he wasn’t.

You’re not as good of a shot as he is —you’re no field vigilante— but you can hit a target pretty well, especially when you know where it’s coming from.

“Hey guys, how’s the new-Aye!” Dick says from the doorway, shrieking as he dodges a six inch knife that lands in the throwing target on the wall next to him. “Ok I guess I deserved that. Probably should have called first or something.” He smiles awkwardly and pulls the knife from the board. You’re pretty sure it went through and into the wall.

You sigh and relax, heart beating quickly from the adrenaline. “Or, you could have just used the door. We do have one, you know.”

Damian is looking positively murderous, so Dick comes to give you a hug first, and you put the set of throwing knives away before allowing him to wrap you in a hug. He does give good hugs, and you can’t stay mad at him for long, though in all honesty, you weren’t really mad in the first place.

Dick turns to Damian, who has turned back to what you now see is boiling a pot of pasta.

“So, what’s for lunch?”

You’ve met Duke before, but only once, so you’re surprised when you get a knock on the door at 7pm on a Thursday evening and he’s standing on the other side.

“Duke, hi. Sorry if you’re looking for Damian he’s actually at the manor this-”

Duke looks quickly back and forth as if he’s expecting something to be coming up behind him

“Yeah, I know. I may or may not have pissed him off and am looking for somewhere that he won’t find me. And I figured he’d never think to-”

“Check in his own apartment, yeah. Smart. But what makes you think that I won’t just tell him?” you ask, even as you move to let him in.

“I was hoping?”

You lock the door behind him and move to lean against the kitchen counter. “How about this: If he asks me specifically if you’re here, I will tell him yes. If he doesn’t I won’t say anything.”

Duke collapses on your couch.

“Deal.”

As it turns out, Damian finds Duke by accident, as he’s leaving your apartment at 2am, the same time that Damian returns after his patrol shift. The look on both their faces is priceless, especially when you knew it was coming; Damian told you he was on his way back, you just didn’t tell Duke. Even after a ten minute lecture from Damian about what you think had to do with sword-display etiquette, Duke admits that you kept your word, and he stops by every few Thursdays (when Damian is at the manor) for an hour or so, just to say hi.

Though you see him least often, you actually do enjoy spending time with Jason. He’s always good to talk to about your English assignments, and he’s willing to help you clean or bake when he’s over, assuming Damian is not.

You didn’t even know he was in town when he came flying through your (thankfully open) balcony window at 11pm on a Tuesday night, and he scares you half to death as he gets up, covered in blood.

“I’m fine” You point to the large slash in his jacket, then the blood on his gloves. “Mostly.” He raises his hands up. “This isn’t mine.”

You sigh. “So can we talk about when crashing into my apartment became a usual thing in your family? Because I don’t remember having this discussion.”

Jason shrugged, already stuffing his gloves into his jacket pocket and grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.

“I don’t care much for bonding time with the Demon Spawn, but you’re a lot more tolerable than he is, and this apartment is centrally located.”

You put your hands on your hips. “Is that your way of telling me you like me? Because I speak fluent Damian, not general bat-speak.” Jason just chugs his water bottle and shrugs. You sigh —again— and head to the bathroom to pull out your first aid kit.

“Whatever, doesn’t matter I guess. Just sit down and let me fix that. And then, to repay me for the water and food you’re inevitably going to consume, you’re going to help me develop the topic for my English final paper.”

When Damian gets back from patrol, three hours later, it’s to you and Jason sitting on the couch, Jason wearing some of the pj pants he’s less fond of and a plain t-shirt. He’s torn between annoyance that his older siblings have made a habit to come to his apartment to talk to his partner when he’s not home, adoration for you because you fit into his family so well, and a spark of something warm in his chest when he knows that you’ve also gotten one of the half a dozen pairs of pj pants he doesn’t wear out of his dresser in your own way that was both kind and manipulative.

Man does he love you.

Out of Damian’s brothers, you probably see Tim the most. He spends the most time at the Batcave, and since Damian is there often, and you run ground research over comms when you can, you’ve run into him many times. Sometimes you’ll help him get a fresh pair of eyes on a case, and sometimes he’ll spar with you. You’re not a full-time vigilante, but the fact that you know how to defend yourself puts both yours and Damian’s minds at ease, and Tim is closest in build to you, so he’s the best teacher, not counting the girls.

He doesn’t usually show up at your apartment, though. It figures that when he does, he’s bleeding out on your couch.

You get home from running an errand at 9pm, expecting an empty apartment. Instead, you find Red Robin sprawled out on your couch, digging through his utility belt, and bleeding from a wound on his leg.

You drop the bag you were holding and hurry towards him.

“If you’re going to drop by, how about a little more texting and a little less bleeding out.”

Tim looks up sharply, then relaxes. “Sorry,” he mutters, still clumsily sifting through his utility belt. “I didn’t think anyone would be home.”

You swat his hands away and search through his pockets yourself, pulling out a piece of gauze and shoving it against the wound.

“How did you-ah- how did you know…?”

“How did I know where to look? First, I’ve stocked your belts before, where do you think the new equipment comes from? And second -don’t tell Damian- but you and he keep your medical supplies in the same spot.” You press his hand over the gauze. “Put pressure on this. I’m going to grab the first aid kit.” Tim nods, his face white, and you stand to grab the huge kit you keep in the master bathroom.

When you return, Tim has switched the soaked gauze for a new piece, and switched hands, too, exposing a red spot on his stomach armor as well. You bat his hand away, angry.

“And you thought it was a good idea to hide this from me?” Tim winces, likely from your tone.

“I forgot about it.”

You sigh. “Ok, we’ve got to get this costume off.”

By the time you’ve managed to get Tim out of his costume, clean and stitch his wounds, help him change into clean clothes and wash off some of the dirt and grime covering him, it’s just after eleven, and you shove Tim into your and Damian’s bed to sleep. There’s no way you’re letting him go home in his condition. You’re just hoping Damian chooses the living room window instead of the bedroom one tonight.

At 1:45 am, your hopes are dashed when you hear Damian’s voice raised to a near-yell and a softer voice responding. You enter as fast as you can, but you’re surprised that Damian’s not about to kick Tim out. Instead, he’s glaring.

“You put him in our bed?”

You shrugged. “He’s injured. You would have done the same.”

It’s a testament to how much his relationship with Tim has grown that he doesn’t immediately deny it.

“Tt. You owe me one, Drake.”

Tim rolls his eyes and falls back asleep in response. You stifle a laugh and drag Damian out of the room, pushing him towards the guest bathroom. “We can sleep on the couch; I’ll take the covering off of it and wash that tomorrow.”

Damian looks at you; the expression on his face has faded from irritation to adoration. “Thank you, beloved.”

You don’t even see Cass until you turn away from what you were doing in the kitchen. You’re pretty sure you don’t startle outwardly, but it’s a near thing, and Cass can probably tell anyway. She’s sitting on the couch on your laptop, and you don’t even ask how she got through the passcode and locking mechanisms. Instead, you turn to the fridge and grab the orange juice and pour her (then yourself) a cup and sit next to her on the couch. You like Cass, and she’s one of Damian’s siblings that he outwardly respects, so her visits are usually well-received, though she does so rarely, and never with advanced notice. You see her more often at the cave, and you find her great to spar with because she never makes you feel inferior for your lesser skills, and teaches you ways to knock her brothers down a peg without having to tell you that's what she's doing.

You hand her the TV remote as she passes you back your laptop, and she flicks the TV on and heads right to Netflix, clicking on the next episode of a TV show you started but never really got into. Three hours later, though, you’re laughing hysterically as Cass mutters under her breath about the characters’ idiotic actions.

“Why do they go to that building? It is obviously wrong.”

“None of the action would exist if they knew what they were doing, Cass,” you say, smiling so hard your face hurts.

“Hm.”

You hear the click of keys as Damian opens the door and he toes his boots off and grabs a bottle of water before sinking down next to you on the couch. Cass’s eyes don’t move from the screen.

“These people are stupid.”

“Tt, there is much worse,” Damian says, his elbow brushing yours.

Cass hands the remote to Damian who pulls up a different show of the same genre. You’ve watched that one already once, with your own family, and ten minutes in you know you’ll never be able to watch it the same again, but it’s without a doubt worth it.

When Steph stops by your apartment, it’s not a social call nor vigilante business. Instead, she picks the lock on the living room window, turns off the alarms, and precedes to sit at your kitchen table and pull out a backpack full of notebooks. She pulls out her laptop and a notebook before even looking at you. Steph shrugs at your raised eyebrow.

“I needed someplace to work where I’ll actually get the motivation, and it’s quiet.”

You’ve given up on trying to get the bat family to let you know when they’re coming over, so instead you shrug and go back to your own homework assignment. At least she didn’t show up bleeding.

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