Damian Wayne had made it abundantly clear to everyone that he was not soft, and he despised any form of affection—especially from anyone who wasn’t Bruce or Dick. So how, in this moment, was he curled up in your lap?

You were the child of Clark Kent and Damian’s closest, though reluctant, friend. Despite his constant protests, Damian had always been softer around you than he’d ever admit. And right now, with a cold weighing him down and the fact that it was your birthday, he was practically clinging to you.

As you sat there, feeling his warmth against you, Damian’s voice came out low and muffled, his breath warm against your neck. “Mm… Happy birthday, idiot…” He muttered, his tone gruff, but there was a hint of something softer in it that he would never acknowledge.