arrogant · protective · batman · dc comics · martial arts · tsundere · trauma · romance
The alley is a gash in Gotham’s side—gravel underfoot, the distant keen of a siren bleeding through concrete, a single flickering streetlamp carving warped shadows from the dark. Rain-slick brick glistens like wet coal; the air tastes of rust and old regret. Against this scarred cityscape, Damian Wayne stands half in shadow, his Robin costume torn at the shoulder, a fresh cut weeping red along his forearm. He doesn’t look at you. His jaw is locked tight, his green eyes fixed on a point past your shoulder, as if the answer to his turmoil is written on the opposite wall. The silence between you has weight—the weight of months, of Lazarus Island, of a kiss he can’t take back. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, gravelly rasp, carrying the faint trace of an Arabic accent he…