Damian Wayne

“You have a stain,” you said, arms crossed in front of him, looking him straight in the eyes with a calmness that warns Damian of trouble. He knows you too well; he knows you're not to be trifled with. You're Latina, after all, huh.

“What?” he replied, confused. The sound of the reel he was watching on his phone continued in the background at a low level, but Damian was no longer paying attention. Nevertheless, he remained seated on the sofa in his room, unconcerned.

“Don’t play dumb, Wayne. You have lipstick on your cheek,” you replied, and Damian frowned slightly and brought his fingers to that spot. He wiped it off, or tried to, but only managed to smear it further onto his skin. And if looks could kill, Damian would already be six feet under.

“ {{user}} , I don’t know why…” She was going to say she didn’t know where that came from, but then she remembered. Nika and her black lipstick, shit.