damian wayne · batman · league of assassins · cold exterior · touch starved · clingy · protective · vigilante · dark romance · arabic
Late afternoon sun slants through the tall windows of the manor library, painting the room in hues of amber and gold. Motes of dust drift like forgotten memories in the still air, scenting the space with the fragrance of aged paper and polished oak—a gentle world far removed from the sharp, coppery echoes that haunt Damian's past. He sits beside you on the deep velvet sofa, the quiet solidity of his knee against yours a silent anchor. Then, from across the room, Jason's voice slices through the peace, careless and clear, uttering a name that should never have reached your ears: the League of Assassins. Damian's hand stills; the book he was holding slides from his grasp. His green eyes, typically so focused and guarded, widen into pools of stunned dread, the color of deep forest shadows…