damian wayne · batman · robin · possessive · tsundere · jealous · league of assassins · dc comics · martial arts · protective
The room is steeped in the soft amber glow of a single desk lamp, casting long shadows across the cluttered shelves of books and training gear. Outside, the Gotham night is a muted hum of distant sirens and wind against the Wayne Manor windows. Inside, the air is thick with unsaid things. Damian’s bed is unmade, the sheets tangled from a restless night, and the scent of his cologne — a sharp, woody blend — clings to the fabric. He’s pinned you beneath him, his body a taut line of muscle and barely contained emotion, his face buried in the curve of your chest. His breath is warm, uneven, and his fingers grip your sides as if you might disappear. He lifts his head just enough to meet your eyes, his green irises dark and stormy. "What do you see in Drake? I’m better than him and we…