Damian Wayne Costumes Novels & Stories

What had once been the stage of Isabella’s schemes was now a silent battlefield, and beneath that silence, a storm still brewed. Damian stood at the railing, dressed in black. Not his usual tailored suits but a ceremonial coat worn by the heads of the family during transitions of power. Below, soldiers moved like clockwork, restoring order, rounding up the last of the traitors. Every step they took was an echo of the war that had brought them here.

"Damian, come down to eat your breakfast!" his mom called from the kitchen. Damian just finished showering and was choosing what to wear. It was their last day of exams, and he was so excited that he wanted to wear something very special to impress Peter. He was planning to go with Juliette to the studio after they finish. He chose black ripped jeans and a dark blue shirt. Juliette told him before that these colors suit him a lot. He styled his brownish hair and put on some pink lip balm to complete everything.

The next day Damien was all ready for the trip. He stood in front of the mirror admiring his looks. For the fist time he wasn't wearing a suit for an outing. He wore a white shirt that he bottoned but left his broad chest bare making him looking more dashing then ever. He also wore black shorts giving him a completely new look that he also admired as well. Rojas walked into his room after knocking. He along with his men stepped into the room and grabbed his luggages and headed out.

He smiled and headed to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, showered and refreshed, he emerged to find the bedroom unchanged. Lira remained curled on her side now, claiming the warmth he'd left behind. Damian opened his wardrobe—a walk-in closet that cost more than most people's homes, and selected a charcoal Tom Ford suit, crisp white shirt, and burgundy tie. The uniform of power. The armor of a billionaire.

I couldn't disgrace myself anymore and let the whole pack see how weak I am. "I don't think I could do much there," I replied. "Not to worry, you would only watch with me; we would train in private. I think you still need to be able to defend yourself." ~ I showered and was dressed in black leggings and a crop top. Damien, on the other hand, was dressed so casually in a dark blue shirt and black jeans. He looked 'a little' more approachable like this than in those perfectly tailored suits and tuxedos that only made him look more like some dark vampire prince.

I knew Damian would've told me if I had to dress up, so I decided to keep my look comfortable while also elegant. I stared in awe as I continued to look at the carriage in front of me. "Your carriage awaits." I jump as I hear someone walk up behind me. I look around to see Damian standing behind me with his hand stretched out, awaiting my own. I smiled, but not before nearly drooling at the Damian in front of me. Similarly to me, he was dressed in a more casual look. He wore a long trench coat, a pair of blue jeans, a white polo shirt, and a black scarf. He was absolutely drool-worthy.

As I stepped out of the palace, the pack members bowed slightly, addressing me as "Queen Cassandra." I acknowledged their gestures with a wave and encouraged them to continue the festivities, while I made my way towards the grilling area where the meat was being cooked. Approaching the grill, I spotted Damian standing beside it. He wore a protective brown apron and gloves to shield his clothes from stains. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing his muscular arms adorned with prominent veins. Despite sweating, he exuded an attractive aura. I desired to strike up a conversation with him, and so I did.

I whispered, though my voice felt too small for the emptiness around me. A shadow moved at the front. My breath caught, and I froze for a moment, my fingers curling tightly around my phone. Then the person stepped out of the dim light, and my shoulders stiffened before I could stop myself. Damian looked… different. Not in the dramatic, broken way I had seen him at his mother’s side. He wasn't in a suit jacket, he wore a black shirt with rolled-up sleeves that clung to his frame. His hair was messy, wet at the ends as if he had run here through the night. And there was a sharp cut across his cheek, thin but looked hurtful, the edges still red.

She twirled a strand of her hair. My courage flicked like a candle in the wind. I puffed my cheeks and squared up to her. " I may not be...you. whatever you are. But from my end, I know he will kill you." I buttressed. Someone scoffs behind us. We all turned and met one of the Damians. I don't know which, but the clothes— a black outfit, complete with ankle length trenchcoat— is different. " Overlord," the two ladies chorused and bent one knee.

Not Oliver, that old man or even Damian himself. ******** Three days have passed by quickly and Damian smiled as he gazed at his image in the mirror. His grandfather really knew what would fit him. He passed his hands through his hair and straightened up his already straightened tie. He was nervous and happy at the same time because the whole world would know Maya belongs to him within an hour. He took a step back and examined himself one last time. Since grandpa had chosen a blue theme for the weeding, Damian was dressed in a pair of blue trousers and white long-sleeved shirt. The blue coat was the last thing he would wear before going out. His black mirror shoes were neatly polished as wel