ââââââââ SYNOPSIS â when you think they don't love you anymore.
đ¶đ»đ°đčđđ±đ¶đ»đŽ . dick grayson. jason todd.
đ°đŒđ»đđČđ»đđ . fem reader. obsession. unhealthy attachments. a lil bit of smut (đœđđŒđ). toxic romance. they're both kinda insane. nothing serious dw. angst with comfort? â á°
DICK GRAYSON
He notices before you say anything.
You stop reaching for his hand first.
You smile...
But it doesn't quite reach your eyes.
You start saying "it's okay" a little too quickly.
Like you're trying not to ask for too much.
But it's fine.
Dick fix it.
You're probably just tired.
You probably just need space.
It's fine he can do it.
He's giving you space.
See?
You should be comfortable now, right?
Right?
"So..."
Hmm?
"...do you still love me?"
What did you just say?
His stomach drops.
Did... did you just say that?
"What?"
"You don't have to lie."
"I'm notâ"
"I know people get tired."
Stop.
You're breaking his heart now.
How can you even compare him to other "people"?
He's not other people.
He's Dick. Dick Grayson.
The guy who stalked you for a whole year and then asked you out and has been pretending he likes My Little Pony for three years now because you have a stupid fucking obsession with it.
So no he's not OTHER people.
He's across the room before you can open your mouth again.
Both hands cupping your face.
"Look at me."
You do.
So pretty.
"I love you."
"..."
"I loved you this morning."
A kiss to your forehead.
"I loved you yesterday."
Another.
"I'll love you tomorrow."
Another.
"And every stupid Tuesday after that."
You're crying now.
Awww.
You're such a crybaby.
"Come here baby."
And you do.
You lean into him and let him finallyâfinally hold you.
Good girl.
Such a good fucking girl.
He spends the rest of the night reminding you.
How much he loves you. How much he wants you. How much he worship you.
He keeps your hips pinned to the bed with his mouth on your clit even though you just squirt in his mouth.
"D-Dick... please..."
Fuck...
You're shaking.
You're breathless.
You're crying from pleasure.
He missed this.
He fucking love this.
He fucking love you and your cute face and your bouncy tits and your soft thighs and your pretty pussyâ
Shit.
Did he just...
Damnit.
See what you do to him?
He just cum in his pants. It's all your fault.
And yet you're so fucking dumb you think he doesn't love youâ
No not dumb.
He actually don't like to use that word.
It's mean.
He don't want to be mean to you.
He loves you after all.
"Shhh baby don't cry. It's alright, it's over now."
Then he kiss your tears and do the things he does every night.
Little things.
Holding your hand.
Playing with your hair.
Looking at you every few seconds just to smile.
Pretty girl.
His dumb pretty girl.
JASON TODD
He laughs.
It's funny. So fucking funny.
"Good joke babe."
"..."
He actually wipe a tear away.
His baby got a great sense of humor.
Always making him smile and shit.
...
...?
Why are you looking at him like that?
Are you....
Are you actually serious?
"...what?"
"I think..."
You can't even finish.
Oh dollâ
"I think you stopped loving me."
...huh?
...he stopped...loving...you...?
His face goes blank.
It's your fault.
You see that Jason?
It's your fucking fault.
"No."
Yes it is.
You fucking cunt.
She fucking hates you.
She's just making excuses to get rid of you.
"..."
Yeah yeah see??
She's not saying anything.
You know it's true.
You're not enough.
You're not fucking enough for her.
Fucking useless worthless piece of meat.
Why don't you just pick your fucking gun and fucking shot yourselfâ
"No."
He says it louder.
He's shaking.
Like a fucking baby.
Pathetic.
"Who told you that?"
"No one."
"What did I do?"
"It's notâ"
"What did I do?"
Of course he did something.
Of course it's him.
He's always the fucking problem.
Ruining shits.
Fuck.
Was it because he beat that coffee guy?? But he was creeping on you!! He had to do something! Couldn't just let that mother fucker do whatever he wanted!!
And you thanked him!!!
Okay okay it wasn't that.
What else? What else? What else? What else did he do??
What did he do?? What did he do??? What did he do???? What the fuckâ
"I've just..."
You look away.
"You've been distant."
...
He closes his eyes.
Thanks fucking god.
He was actually about to put a bullet through his own head.
Okay it's fine everything's alright.
He got this. He got this.
"I'm sorry."
"Noâ"
"No."
He shakes his head. Give you his soft smile. His puppy eyes.
Yeah you're right. It WOULD be pretty fucked up if you were a swan but you were raised by ducks and you grew up never seeing another swan or even knowing that such a thing as a swan even existed so you just thought you were a duck with something super wrong with it.
Yesterday my little brother told me something very sweet and touching, that when he was a kid and had nightmares about monsters chasing him or whatever he would be able to end the nightmare by finding me in the dream and I would protect him by fighting off the zombies, or carrying him away. This is adorable, and makes me feel like the greatest older sibling in the world, but the hilarious thing is that when I was a kid I had nightmares of needing to save him from zombies and such. so many dreams where he was in trouble and I needed to save him. Like my nightmares began where his ended. Low key I think he mastered the ability to psychically transfer his nightmare to me as a child and I'm kind of annoyed with him.
summary: damian wayne, in your memories, was the child assassin prodigy who had a horribly obvious crush on you in your shared childhood. years later, your return to wayne manor shocks you when the kid you once teased relentlessly has grown taller, meaner, into his looks... and is determined to make you regret ever tormenting him.
pairing: damian wayne x fem!reader
content: fluff, damian wayne yearns and time has only amplified his intensity, childhood attachment combined with emotional suppression, little mix of jealousy
"That is not Damian."
"I believe you are referring to the growth spurt." Alfred answers, unsurprised at your reaction. "All the masters have gone through quite a change while you were away."
That couldnât be it. Growth spurt didn't answer for the unfair angles that make up his face, or the way his lashes framed the captivating green of his eyes, or the way his sleeves fit tight around his arms.
You harshly avert your gaze, feeling something hot burn at the back of your neck. Was this a form of punishment, for all your teasing years ago? You sure hoped he didn't remember that.
His looks may have become a weapon of its own, but you didn't need a clear reminder on his temper. The way his glare used to pierce through you, ears reddened in shame when you had pointed out that he was staring for too long, before hurling threats that contained illegal methods of torture and certain death, then storming off in a hurry.
Spying Damian from the corner of your eye, he must've certainly forgotten about you by now. He's probably used to the mass attention from The Gotham Times, enough to forget the mess that happened between you and him. That you made horrible, ruthless fun out of his feelings, taking every chance you could to piss him off, using the fact that his heartbeat would race around you against him.
"Master Damian and you have fond childhood memories together." Alfred comments. "I'm sure he will be delighted to see you."
Is that what it looked like to the adults? The strange push-and-pull you once had with the only blood heir in Wayne Manor?
"Hi." Your voice comes out brashâawkward, not at all the confident persona you wanted to portray. Damian was even more intimidating up close, with his gaze narrowed down on you, emotions completely hidden behind a perfect blank, towering over you in a way he never did before.
"How are you, Damian?" You try again when he doesn't answer. You might as well ask for the foundation of Wayne Manor to swallow you whole. You'll find better use supporting the infrastructure than in this dead-end of a conversation.
He blinks slowly, at least a suggestion that he's somewhat human. His scowl deepens, arms crossed. "You've somehow become more unimpressive, if that's even feasible."
Your jaw drops. Out of everything, forced curtesy, straight-up ignorance, you didn't expect that. It takes you a second to recover, and it only makes you feel more foolish. "That's uncalled for."
"I don't recall you taking consideration of what others think before spouting nonsense." His assault lands roughly, despite his tongue never quickening in its pace or abrasiveness. In fact, his coolness as he directly insults you only buries you deeper in shame.
It's a strong sense of alert, to abort this mission of reconciliation. "This is making me nolstagic already." Your grin splits too wide, desperation seared into your tone. "Good to see you haven't changed either."
His expression darkens, and you've somehow pissed him off with your harmless comment.
"I have changed." He answers briskly. "And I can guarantee that this new version of me... won't tolerate you so easily."
Before you can even blink or process his outright threat, you feel his shoulder brush harshly against yours, bumping you to the side as he walks off.
Yeah... he definitely remembers you.
Damian proves to be relentless in his promise to be intolerable of your presence.
When you had wandered your way down to the West Wingâs kitchen in your Superman pajamas, youâre greeted with a glare from Death himself when you find Damian sitting across the counter.
"Hi." You greet, almost afraid your voice will shatter the pin-dropping silence the atmosphere has suddenly descended into. You really have to stop with that horrible greeting.
His expression sours further at the sound of your voice, as if you've confirmed his worst nightmare really exists at eight in the morning, standing in his kitchen decked out in Superman merch. His gaze drops pointedly to your attire and grimaces, before shoving another spoonful of his breakfast down his throat.
"No trimming Alfred's hedges included in your morning routine?"
Your joke in an attempt of familiarity clearly strikes the wrong nerve, as the only response you receive is the harsh creak of his chair. He stands abruptly with a point to look on forward as he makes his exit, as if you didn't even exist in the very room.
It's fine. It's only been your first day back. He'll warm up to you... eventually. You just have to prove that you're not that annoying kid anymore, who thought poking fun at a child assassin prodigy who harboured grudges like no tomorrow was a smart move.
Youâve still managed to harness some luck. When you open the cabinets, you find it fully stocked with all your favourite tea brands and flavours. Bless Alfred, his kind soul.
Damian does not warm up to you. When you found him resting in the study, laid out on the leather couch, you barely make it past the barrier of the wooden doors before he slams his book shut. The loud echo vibrates through the entire room along the oak bookshelves, freezing the atmosphere before you even have a chance to say a word.
When you take a seat beside him for dinner, he makes it a mission to have a pointed remark for every attempt of yours at small talk. That slithered tongue of his somehow turns every conversation into a violent game of chess, with his strategy as outright assault, leaving you on the defense.
It's tiring, infuriating. This wasn't even punishment; this was hatred.
Youâre at your wits end when you find yourself in a moment of surrender, perched at your balcony, watching the starless sky above you. Sleep doesnât find you easily when the person roomed beside you hates your guts.
You donât deny that stationing out here in the cold didnât serve a purpose. At least there was one thing you could still predict about Damian, and that was his habit of lingering on his balcony, only a few feet away from yours, for a moment of reprieve after his patrols.
Heâs just come out from the shower, water droplets catching at the ends of his dark locks, dripping small streams down to the towel around his neck. His eyes are closed, head pressed against the brick stone, but a furrow deepens between his brows. He knows that youâre watching him.
Your fingers tighten around the railing, and for once, you keep your mouth shut. The silence stretches, taut and timed with each vivid heartbeat that hammered against your rib cage.
âAre you going to keep staring?â His voice, raw and tired from patrol, finally breaks through the tension. Yet, you canât conjure a semblance of hope, even if this was the first time he started a conversation since you arrived at the Manor.
âDepends on how long you plan on avoiding me.â You answer truthfully.
He scoffs, a low unamused rumble in the back of his throat. âYou are unbelievable.â
Your frown deepens, irritation flaring at his tone. âYouâre seriously the one to say that? Youâve beenââ
His green eyes peer open, meeting yours. Thereâs a challenge in his gaze, daring you to address his behaviour.
Swallowing back your insults, you force yourself to look away. âIf I'm making you that uncomfortable, fine. Iâll keep my distance. I wasnât planning on staying long anyways.â
Eyeing his reaction from your peripheral vision, you expect him to be relieved, ecstatic even that youâre leaving after all the effort he's gone through to be a horrible host. You donât expect to see the rare look of hurt displayed on his face.
Your head twists fully to face him, convinced you must have hallucinated, but heâs already turned his back. His imprudent leave ends with the harsh slam of his door, leaving you alone to the freezing wind whipping at your face. Yet, you feel that being on the receiving end of his hatred is much colder than being out here alone in the dark.
When Tim returns from his mission, youâre practically in tears in the light of your saviour. You love Alfred, but even he is beginning to tend to the gardens more, in an attempt to avoid your distractive antics from his never-ending tasks around the manor. Bruce is a terrible converser outside of the cameras, too tired to put on his charm or his patience when heâs busy sleeping till noon, and off on another patrol by sundown.
Tim, the second closest person you have to your age, and often too insomniac to garner the needed strength to send you awayâis your closest chance of normal bantering without feeling like youâre one step away from becoming a murder victim.
"He hates me." You rant, hands resting over Tim's armrest, watching Tim sort through his cases using a system he calls 'chaotic orderliness'. "Iâm not kidding. Damian genuinely despises me."
Tim snickers, placing another unceremonious stack on the desk. You doubt there was much improvement from his sorting, but he's convinced it works. "Trust me. Damian does not hate you."
"What will you call it then, Wonder Genius?" You groan. "Annoyance? Irritation? Loathing?"
"Did you know he personally restocked the kitchen with all your favourite tea packets?" Tim blurts out.
Your frown dissipates, his words slowly sinking in. "Iâthought that was Alfred's doing."
Tim shakes his head. "He claimed that you would only be more of a nuisance if it wasn't done right."
He continues on, suggesting that he was paying attention more than he led on. "The bookshelves were completely revamped by genre too, even when he finds it distasteful. He also lets you tackle Titus, which he has never allowed any of us to do."
"He has a hard time communicating how he feels." Tim mutters. "Trust me. Iâm well aware of that. So, don't take it too personally. He's just processing your presence and what you mean to him."
"Processing?â Your brows furrow. âWhat could he possibly need to process on such a level?"
Tim tosses you a âAre you seriously asking me that question?â look, but the sound of a loud revving of an engine cuts off his further explanation. You spot the Batmobile entering the cave, its lights blinding your sight as the giant machine stops in its tracks.
The wing door lifts, and out steps Damian, home from his patrol. His domino mask is nowhere to be found, and that's how you witness firsthand that he's glaring daggers into your soul. His gaze doesn't leave you when he shuts the door with a solid slam, even when it flickers between you and Tim, assessing the situation.
For some reason, seeing Damian in his suit makes your mouth dry, eradicating all line of thought from your conscience, leaving you to stare at him speechlessly like a gaping fish. Gone were the silly tights and hooded cape. You donât recall Robin ever looking that sinfully good, it was almost unfair.
Youâre distractedâand the fact that he was coming towards you in a rapid, terrifying pace as if he's found his next victim, steals away precious time for a proper escape. Realising youâre still leaning over the armrest in contact with Tim's arm, who's watching the entire exchange with unhidden amusement, you inch away with your hands raised.
"Damian, if you're mad I snuck into the caveâ"
He doesnât deign you a second more to explain, grabbing your wrist and tugging you harshly towards the exit.
He's definitely mad. His entire body is tense, forming harsh movements as he drags you across the hallway. It takes you a moment to guess where he's heading, when he passes the study, the kitchen, up the stairsâto his bedroom.
He was going to murder you, and no one would be any wiser of his crime. Except for Tim, who betrayed you seamlessly, still typing away at the Bat-Computer after giving you a sarcastic wave when you had twisted your neck, silently begging him for non-discreet assistance.
Damianâs hands never part from you when he slams the door closed with you pinned against the wood. His glower alone is enough to incinerate you.
"What did I do this time?" Your sigh is honest, a tired numbness of this pretense of trying to be amiable with him. Your ability to read his deflecting moods has long gone dormant.
"Did you seriously think it wouldn't affect me?" He sneers. "You've made a big show of making Drake the next victim of your tiring schemes."
Your lips part, brows creased in frustration. "What are you talking about?"
"Isn't it enough?" He snaps. "Driving me insane with your presence. Now, you must attack Drake as well?"
"I am not doing anything!"
"Really?" He scoffs. "So, you laughing over his jokes during dinner, finding him in the Cave, asking him to show you around the city as if you didn't live in it yourself onceâit's all just you naturally being insufferable?"
Your brows furrow in utter confusion. This sounds maniacal, and... seething with jealousy?
"It's not like I can ask you.â You retort. "You'll probably blow up the city before you would even consider the suggestion of showing me around."
"I would never consider taking you anywhere." He hisses.
"Exactlyâ"
"You'll just wrap me around your finger, and render me incapable of all sense."
"...What?"
"You're a weakness." He mutters. "Being around you only amplifies this fact. Butâ"
"I refuse to let you parade around Drake." Inching closer to you, you canât tell if his desperate refusal is pointed at you⊠or himself. "That will only ruin me more."
Your lips part and close, shock visible in every nerve pulled from your facial expression. "You sound... jealous."
His jaw ticks, and he stares down at you, lips pursed.
"So, what if I am?"
His hands come up to either side of your face, trapping you with nowhere to face but his cold expression. His eyes have darkened to an almost-black, swarmed by his pupils that are focused on you.
"What will you do then?" He mocks. "Will you terrorise me? Laugh in my face? Trample my heart and smile as if you didn't do anything?"
"I'm curious." His voice grows bitter, almost resentful. "Just how will you torture me this time?"
His question sucks all the oxygen out of your lungs. There's something all-consuming about his gaze, staring at you with such vivid conflict, a desperation swirled with frustration... and longing.
"I thought your crush on me was over." You whisper.
His jaw flexes, annoyance on full display. "Of course, you would still use that infuriating term."
You don't even have time to process it. His lips meet yours in a harsh clash, but it's only fitting that a kiss broken out between the two of you would be a fight of push-and-pull. You've long driven each other mad, and now this tension, dragged to its peak, has finally crashedâand it feels akin to tectonic plates shifting off-course.
You expect him to push you off when he realises his impulsive mistakeâor pull you closer, you don't know. In his strength, he can easily do it. Break this kiss and berate you as he once did, cheeks flushed and rage consuming his vision.
Yet, you find your hands tangling into his hair, releasing a series of groans that sound inhuman coming from his mouth. He chases your every movement, consumes, and you're left with nothing to hold onto, to think ofâbut him.
His hands find their way through your hair, maneuvering you easily to slot your lips however he wanted against him. You've never felt him so unrestrained, so destroyed and desire-driven.
"Damian." You gasp, twisting your head when you realise just how intense the session was getting. You still didn't know his intentions, the reason why he dragged you into his room. "Wait, we need to talk."
He's half-conscious, kisses peppering your jaw from the access you've given, and when he finally stops, parting just enough for you to face him again without him attacking youâyou sense his impatience, his detested longing bridling right below his mask.
âDid you ever think about me?â His question comes out softer than you expected, weak and hoarse from his lips that are bitten.
âWhat?" You breathe out, chest still heaving from the intensity only he could create. "Of course I did.â
Suspicion clouds his gaze, because for some reason, he canât seem to fathom that youâre wrapped around his finger just as much as he claims to be around yours.
âWhy did you think I teased you so much?â You confess. âI was a silly kid, who had a big crush on a boy who refused to admit he has a heart! I wanted to get a reaction out of you... because it proved to me that you liked me even half as much.â
His frown deepens, unsatisfied. "Yet, you don't even remember."
Your brows furrow. "Remember?"
"Theâ" The rarest shame coats his features. "Promise you made. Before you left."
You try to recall a promise, anything you must've said that remained in his memory for as long as it did. Before you leftâyes, Damian had bid you farewell. If you could call it that.
"You're leaving." Damian states. It's a fact, not a question.
Honestly, you thought he'd be more pleased. He was always going on about how you were a distraction, a nuisance, and some other colourful vocabulary you've added to your adjectives list for your English homework, which you'd proudly shown him in retaliation.
Yet, here he was, standing at the front door like a barrier to the outside world, staring holes into your luggage as if it had done a personal crime against him. Knowing how easily offended he could get, maybe the wheels ran over his polished shoes once.
"I'm not leaving forever." You tease. "Promise I won't let you be free of me so easily.
"Who says I want you back?" He scoffs, ears reddening as he averts his gaze. "You'll just cause more problems, as you always do."
You grin, hand parting from your luggage handle and tackling him into a hug. He lets out a string of curses, all Arabic and undecodable to you. Still, he doesn't push you off like you expect. Maybe he's deigning you some honour, because this will be the last you'll see him in a really long time.
"I'll come back soon." You promise. Casually. In an after-thought. Unknowing of its effects on a boy who took each promise as a solemn vow. "So you won't be alone in this big, lonely manor all by yourself. Who else will you threaten to kill at six in the morning?"
You feel the stutter of his voice, the huffs in his breath as he tries to restrain himself. Cute.
You part from him, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek just to tease him further. His cheeks blossom that signature red and you see the sizzling in his gaze, like he's ready to blow from shame and rage.
"Don't change, Dami." You murmur. "I want everything just the way it is now when I come back."
You never expected him to hold you to a ten years old promise. You wouldn't have remembered it, if it weren't for the look he was giving you now. Your vision was fracturing, multiplying with the Damian of your past and the one right in front of you.
Right. Back thenâhadn't he looked at you in this same way? With a quiet, desperate plea to not leave him alone? It had stuck with you, as the car turned away from the Manor, watching his silhouette disappear into a smaller frame at the door, unmoving till you were out of reach.
"You waited." Realisation creeps in with an unexpected guilt. He held you to that promise. Thatâs why he kept the arrangement of the books the same way in the study, and the tea packets, and your room.
"And you came back." He huffs. "Carelessly smiling as if you had forgotten. I should've guessed that you did. You handled promises as easily as you handled my heart."
"We were kidsâ" You splutter.
His gaze narrows. "I was four when my grandfather handed me the expectations he had of his heir. Six when I understood what an assassination attempt meant. Eight when I learnt not to flinch when ending a life. How much do you think promises are worth to a boy who went down that path?"
"...Everything." You whisper.
"Everything." He mutters. "You had always been different. Light, free of burdens. I despised you for it, and⊠I craved your normalcy. You made me feel human, and I had mistaken that for weakness. When you left, I realised then that your absence felt worse than keeping any weaknesses near."
"Dami..."
His body shudders involuntarily at your call, arms still caged around you. He grits his teeth, glare enough to pierce through your skin. "Don't do that."
"I'm not pitying you." You answer, even if he hasn't uttered his accusation. You can see it in his vulnerability, how it aches for him to even admit this to you. That you matter, and your promises matter.
"I'm sorry I didn't keep my promise." Your hand comes up to cup his cheek, and his lashes flutter, shock registering at your warm touch. He doesn't pull away, even when conflict arises in his gaze. "I really am. I know you think I'm some trickster, and that you can't depend on my words."
"But truthfully, I was most excited to see you." You admit. "I had been away for so long, but whenever I thought of Gotham, of home, I thought of you. I wondered about how you must've become so much stronger, smarter, and still carried that heart you tried so desperately to keep hidden. That you were the most capable, and striking boy I ever laid my eyes on."
"Now, I see who you've grown up to be." You exhale, eyes tracing over his features, and you can't help but smile. "Even all of my dreams couldn't have pictured who you are now. You're amazing, Dami, and I'm sorry if I ever made you feel small, or unworthy of promises."
Pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, as you once did when you were children, you think it's time you made a proper promise. One you'll remember, and one you hope he'll give you a chance to keep. "I've fallen for you, Dami. Whatever crush I had on you when we were kids? It pales in comparison to thisâsnowballed into something even I can't control."
"I'm here now." You remind him. "With a promise to stay. I'm no longer that silly kid, who runs her mouth without thinking. I keep my promises, especially if it's for the one right in front of me, who's taken my heart from the first moment I laid my eyes on him."
A low rumble escapes his chest, satisfaction hidden within his features. In moments like this, he really reminds you of a feline. Hard to please, and yet, you find yourself in awe of that soft glow in his eyes.
âYouâre mistaken.â He murmurs, and your heart drops. âWhat I feel for you is not even close to half.â
"I waited, even when I knew the chances of you remembering was close to zero." He admits. "Because I chose you. From the moment you entered my life, my heart already sealed its fate to yours, even if you hadn't known."
"I would've kept waitingâand if you took too long." He leans in, nose brushing against yours. "I would find you. And make you live up to that promise."
"And now?" He smirks, turning his head as his lips brush against your palm. Even a soft touch like that was enough to make your heart combust, and the trace of his lips makes you hyperaware of your own, still swollen from the kiss earlier. It's the intimacy, the way he's completely unraveled in your hands that reminds you of just how much power you have over him.
"I'm holding you to your new promise." He mutters. "You'll stay. In Gotham, with me."
You nod breathlessly. "I'm staying."
"Good." Even in his composure, you sense the drop of his shoulders, his relief in hearing you say it again. "You have a lot of wasted time to make up for."
"How should I make up for lost time?" You tease, lashes fluttering as your gaze diverts between his lips and his darkened gaze.
"I'm sure you've invented all sorts of new ways to terrorise me." His voice deepens into a dangerous lure, rendering you speechless. "I'll give you some freedom to explore that."
Your hand still lingering on his cheek traces past the corner of his mouth, right over his lip. His gaze lowers to your touch, and you sense the impatience that slips through his restraint.
You tilt his head to face you, and he's waiting. You never realised how patient he was when it came to you.
Leaning closer, your lips brush over his again, and you feel his fingers still tangled in your hair tighten, inching you closer.
"Is this allowed?" You tease, gaze flickering back up to his.
He huffs out a low breath, and when he descends, you get your answer. Damian Wayne has always held restraint like a perfected soldier, but when it came to you... he finds that control is an overrated concept.
Now that you're finally here, in his arms, all his, he's making you live up to your promise.
extra:
timmybird: have you guys worked on processing his feelings? ;)
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
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