#he'll try to revamp the whole system

[twobeesinatrenchcoat]

I hope in S3 we get to see Supreme Archangel Aziraphale ™️ being an absolute menace in heaven. Like the metatron chose Aziraphale to (probably?) separate him and Crowley, but also because he thought Aziraphale would be easy to control. And boy was he wrong.

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

what about a damian x reader for 46, 47, 58 and 30 where reader is a 'ghost' or someone who isn't noticed by many and is mainly the second option of everyone and is damian's bestfriend and then one day she juts distances herself and stops talking because she feels like she's just damian's second option and he'll forget her in the end?make it angsty (just light pls.) and fluffy in the end please.

I hope this is okay anon! 2.8k of (older!)Damian x female!reader fluff ft a sprinkling of angst.

30.“I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you!” “And I’m trying to subtly avoid it!” 46.“I thought you forgot about me.” “Never.” 47.“I’m fine.” “You don’t look fine.” “Then stop looking.” 58.“Why me?” “Because you saw me when I was invisible.”

Spring hangs in the air, sweet with sunshine and apple blossoms, and silence hangs between you and Damian like the tendrils of a weeping willow beneath a pristinely blue sky. A week-long break lay ahead of you, but a metaphorical storm cloud brooded over your head and dampened any inkling of exaltation you might feel about several days of freedom. 

The grass is green with life, but you are green with envy, failing to suppress the bitter sensation of jealously flitting around in the pit of your stomach. 

Damian’s eyes are green too, a heated and tangled rainforest flecked with gold and turquoise, as he watches you from the corner of his eye. 

“You’re unimpressed.” 

“What? No way! I think it’s totally cool that you and Jon are training more together. Super son connections and stuff. It’s neat. Really, Dami.” 

He narrows his eyes, studying the profile of your face with intense predatory conjecture, but you keep your gaze glued straight ahead, barely scuffing your sneakers on the asphalt sidewalk. 

You know that if he meets your eyes, he’ll see the storm of insecurity brewing in your soul, and you don’t think you can bear to be so vulnerable right now. 

He bites his bottom lip for a moment in speculation. If he wants to pry, he resists the urge. 

“Yes, I suppose. Sometimes I’d like nothing more than to stuff a sock in his mouth and punt him across a field, but he’s a relatively suitable training partner. There are certain things he seems to inherently understand, despite occasional moronic comments.” 

You wonder to yourself if those are things you’d never be able to understand, even if you tried.

“He seems like a good guy.” You surmise in a flat tone that hopefully isn’t too telling of your agitation. 

He nods slowly, like he’s unsure of whether or not to completely agree.

“Are we going to get dinner tonight?” 

Damian sighs. “No, Tim is revamping the security system at the house and wants to show me.”

“Bagels on Saturday?” 

He winces a little and shoots you what might be an embarrassed smile. “Can we accomplish that in less than half an hour? 

“Yes? Probably not enjoyably, though.” You answer hesitantly, something like discomfort and hesitation swirling in your stomach because you feel a little bit like you’re stepping on his toes. 

“I am scheduled to spend the day training with Jon and Jaime at an obscure base off the coast.”

“Oh.” You blink at the ground. 

Damian shrugs disinterestedly. “I think I prefer going through drills with the older heroes, though. They provide more of a challenge. Jon can get predictable and boring.” 

“Boring?” 

“Indeed. Repetition is so arduous. I am entirely disengaged when we spar for too long because I can precisely anticipate his moves. Then I leave him and challenge someone who keeps me a little busier.”

You inhale sharply at this, gripping the straps of your backpack until your knuckles turn white. 

Damian can’t help but frown at this. “What’s wrong?” 

Just worried you’re going to tire of our friendship and leave me forever, that’s all. 

“Nothing. I’m fine.” 

“You’re wrinkling your nose in that little way that says you’re thinking too hard about something and I’m alarmed.”

You relax your face immediately, blinking and flushing pink. “No. I’m fine, really.”

“I don’t believe you, Y/N.”

You shoot him a glare.

“You don’t look fine.” 

You bristle. “Then stop looking, Damian.” 

He mutters something heatedly under his breath that sounds an awful lot like, “Impossible,” but you let it roll off your shoulders. 

“Tell me more about training. Are you the shortest of all the Titans?” 

He grimaces. “For now. I’m practically Wally’s height now. But don’t change the subject, Y/N. I know something weighs heavily on your mind.” You can feel his gaze allay minutely, tender concern softening his sharp, boyish features. “You can always talk to me, you know.” 

You shake your head dismissively, heat lingering in your cheeks. “It’s nothing. Speaking of weight, who do you think is the heaviest? You think Cyborg’s metal parts are that heavy?” 

Damian glowers, halting in front of the path that leads up to your house. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you!” 

You nod pliantly, slowly meandering away from him. “And I’m trying to subtly avoid it.” You say with a lump in your throat, while the worry in his soul pours through those coniferous eyes, brows knit together and nose slightly wrinkled. 

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Have a good break, Damian! Bye!” You chirp and duck inside your house, locking it firmly and sliding down the cool expanse of wood until you were seated on the ground, heart aching. 

You know that if Damian really wanted, he could easily unlock your door or slip in through a window. 

But he doesn’t. Instead, he watches you flee potentially vulnerable conversation with a funny little sting of disappointment across his heart. When he doesn’t break into your house and wrap you in a bear hug, you feel that same sting. 

It has been three whole days since you’d heard Damian’s voice and you feel a black hole rapidly expanding in your heart, swallowing your sense of reason and applying pressure to your deepest vulnerabilities. 

You’ve texted each other sporadically – apparently Bruce is teaching him a new tech program and the Batcave isn’t good for his cellphone reception – and he’s sent you only two funny kitten videos. 

You hate the sticky, whiny sentiment of clingy behavior; you’ve always tried to avoid being too dependent on and too invested in anyone. You can’t help the deeply affectionate attachment you feel for Damian. His friendship matters to you more than any friendship has before; a deep, soulful amity of both comfortable confidence and new boundaries.

Granted, things are a little different in the moment; you can’t confide in him because he’s the object of your insecurity and that would be too far outside your comfort zone, throwing yourself into the open ocean without swim lessons or flotation devices. 

As you lay on a fuzzy rug in the middle of your bedroom, you have a hard time swallowing the truth: you are too afraid to tell Damian that it makes you jealous and insecure when he hangs out with other prodigal vigilante youth because, like in your darkest nightmares, he could realize that you’ll never be quite like him and leave you floundering in the lonely, murky solitude from which he had saved you. 

Before Damian, you’d been a wallflower, but you never felt that you bloomed in a slow and beautiful way like the roses and ivy across the bricks of Wayne manor. Forming connections wasn’t your strong suit to begin with, a childhood plagued by years of immense shyness and an adolescence filled with what felt like perpetual inferiority. You struggled to find a place amongst your peers, chosen last for sports teams in gym class and simply forgotten in group projects, and you struggled to find yourself. 

Since Damian arrived in a whirlwind of wisdom and fire, he has helped you excavate and dig to discover who you truly are. 

You’re getting a little carried away thinking about the pretty curl of his mouth when your phone rings. 

“Speak of the devil,” you mutter before rolling onto your stomach and swiping to answer.

“Y/N?” 

“Hi, Dami.” His name is sweet on your tongue, anxieties aside. 

“Hello, Y/N. How have your days off from school been so far?” 

You lay your chin on the ground and flop your head onto its right side, sighing deeply. “Nothing overly spectacular.” You glance over at your unopened backpack. “I’ve done some homework, but that’s about it. You?” 

I’ve also thought of you excessively, you say to yourself. 

“Simply more training. I called because I was wondering if you would like to come over and eat dinner. A few of the other trainees might be around.”

You sit up quickly, as if you must compose yourself even over the phone to have any chance at impressing these people.

The fear of inferiority crawls up your spine, poisonous. “I can’t.” 

“Oh?” 

“Y-yup.”

Over the phone, you can practically hear the way his eyes narrow into suspicious slits. “Why not?”

“Plans. I have plans.” You twist your fingers nervously in the rug. 

“Hm. Like what? With whom?” 

Before he can chase you with questions and expose that absolute lie, you blurt, “Sorry, Dami, I gotta go. Talk to you later! Have fun tonight!”

You end the call and fling your phone across the room, falling back onto the ground with a pained groan. 

Damian wasn’t raised to express fear. Instead, he was taught to embrace it and mold it into a source of control and strength. However, currently, he’s slumped across the couch on his stomach with only one boot and an arm thrown over his head and he looks anything but powerful: he looks like a distraught teenage boy. 

Tim quirks an eyebrow and nudges Damian’s ankle. “You missing something, kid?”

Damian harrumphs and waves a hand dismissively. 

Jason locks eyes with Tim from the other side of the couch and shrugs. 

“A shoe, your dignity, a sense of reason…?” 

Damian raises his head from the cushion to glower at Tim, hair mussed and cheeks pink. “Yes, maybe, and no.”

“Well, I can’t help much with the personal crisis, but you’ve gotta start somewhere so here’s your other boot.” Tim drops it gently onto Damian’s back. “I’m here for moral support. We head out for recon in twenty.” 

Face still shoved in the couch, Damian manages to wiggle around and tug on his shoe. When he goes limp again, Jason decides the only thing he can do is plop down on top of his adoptive younger brother. 

Save for several expletives and minor squirming, Damian doesn’t put up much of a fight. 

“What’s wrong, Dami? You’re acting an awful lot like…an insufferable teenage boy. Hormonal changes are tough, I know.” 

“I am fine, Jason.”

Jason settles in and gets more comfortable atop the lanky boy. “I don’t buy it,” 

“You don’t have to.”

“Should we give Y/N a call?”

Damian stiffens gracelessly and Jason barks out a laugh, titling back his head and practically cackling in amusement. “So that’s the problem, huh?”

“Define problem.” Damian says cautiously.

“You and Y/N are experiencing a rough patch and you’ve no idea how to smooth things over again? She hasn’t talked to you properly in days and you’re scared of losing her?” Jason muses, pleasantly surprised that Damian hasn’t flung him across the study yet. 

Damian moves his head so his cheek rests against the leather of the couch. “Perhaps.”

“How are you going to make things better?” 

Damian frowns. “Isn’t that what you, the seemingly experienced and doting older brother figure, should elucidate?” 

Jason grins, warm and playful, patting Damian’s shoulder and standing up. “Communication is key. You don’t know what she’s feeling, she doesn’t know what you’re feeling. In all the guesswork, someone is bound to get confused and hurt. More time spent in silence is more time spent in uncertainty. You feel me?” 

“Yes. I also felt your revolver digging into my spine.” 

You’re floating dreamily between that ethereal, cozy place between asleep and awake when you hear a crash from your bedroom. 

Your heart stops and you freeze on the couch where you dozed off to a decade-old princess movie. 

The knives are preoccupied in the dishwasher, so you grab the next best weapon – a large wooden spoon – and shut off the movie, listening intently for the intruder. 

You stealthily wind your way off the couch, across the living room, and through the kitchen. When you start to turn the corner to beeline down the hallway, your nose collides with smooth fabric and a solid surface. 

You yelp and jump back, raising the spoon with your eyes shut tightly, fearfully to whack the intruder blindly and hopefully beat them senseless.

Slender fingers deftly wrap around your wrist and finesse the potential murder weapon from your grasp. When you part your mouth to shriek, the spoon is shoved in your mouth. 

Your eyes snap open to see stormy green orbs and amused skepticism. 

“That spoon is very threatening, Y/N.” Damian’s voice is low, mouth twitching as he feigns temperance. 

You let it clatter to the floor. “Excuse me for feeling threatened. I was under the impression that an intruder had entered my home.”

“Who else would know how to wrangle with your wretched window besides me?” 

He has a point, but you scowl. “I don’t know, the world is a crazy place.”

Something about this softens his sharp, teasing intrigue. “Tell me about it.” 

“You’re always out fighting evil with superpeople. You tell me.” 

“I don’t think there are enough words to explain it.” Damian frowns a little, peeling off his mask, and reaching out to press a finger to your cupid’s bow. You blink at him in confusion, but then he pulls his fingers away and they’re shiny with blood. 

“Oh. Is that mine?” 

“I’m almost one hundred percent certain it isn’t mine.”

You touch the space below your nostrils. “You gave me a nose bleed, Damian Wayne.” 

You let him pull you into the kitchen “Yes, and since you are my best friend, I do not even mind how utterly unsanitary this is.” He muses after he washes his hands and rummages through your cabinet for tissues. 

He rolls a few tissues up and places his hand on your chin to tilt your head back. His fingers are rose petals against your skin. 

You unceremoniously jam the tissues up your nose. “My blood is on your hands, Damian.” You mutter darkly, humorously. 

He meets your eyes, sparkling with a somber sort of reverence and you feel your heart jump into your throat. “And my heart is in yours, Y/N.” He tells you softly and for a moment, you feel like you’re stuck in candied sugar, sweet and fragile. 

“Did someone kick you in the head too hard?” 

“Not quite. Rather, Jason metaphorically knocked some sense into me, as much as I lament admitting this.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Please elaborate.” 

Damian sighs and drops his hands, leaning back to rest against the opposite counter. He’s nothing short of captivating, all long and slender in the moonlight streaming through the window, tousled dark hair and inexplicably emerald eyes, shadows playing across the handsome angles of his face. 

“I thought you forgot about me.” He murmurs, peering at you almost shyly through thick lashes. 

“Never,” You breathe. “That would be impossible. I’m so scared of being clingy, sometimes I wish I could forget you. Other times, I’m simply scared of you.”

This visibly startles him. “I scare you? Of all things in this city? Why me?” 

“Because you saw me when I was invisible. At first, it terrified me. Being seen is being vulnerable. But now? I don’t think I could function properly outside of your line of vision. You see me and I don’t want to go back to being unseen.”

Damian frowns. “I have no plans to terminate this friendship and leave you, Y/N.”

You shoot him a pained look, wincing when you wrinkle your nose in trepidation. “But plans change, Dami. One day, you might wake up and realize you much prefer the company of superhero proteges. Plus, you get bored of training with Jon – who knows if you could simply get bored of being friends with me?” 

He leans into your space and instinctively you lean back, the edge of the counter digging into your waist because he smells of gracefully aged leather and something sharp and sweet, like mint. He reaches a hand up to tenderly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with a bittersweet smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

“Y/N, you mean infinitely more to me than some training exercise or computer program. And you’re fixated on indefinite, hypothetical ‘what if’ questions. I live in a world of probability, not possibility – unless it comes to you. Being without you and your kind smile and appreciation for the little things in life? That is impossible for me. In many ways, without you, I would be blind.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you have to shove the tissues further up your nose because you keep sniffling and he’s allowing you a precious glimpse into his tangled soul.

Damian reaches out to squeeze your unoccupied hand, cheeks flushed, rosy pink beneath brilliant bronze. “I know you felt invisible for a long time, but I assure you that you’re anything but. You are seen.”