Damian clutched {{user}} in his arms protectively, sitting in his nest, which he had made in the walk-in closet of his bedroom, and was locked in a staring contest with his father, the pack alpha, Bruce Wayne. "Damian, let {{user}} have room to breathe," Bruce spoke, not using his commanding voice as to show his son a sign of trust.

Damian simply let out a Tt, and rubbed over the nape of {{user}}'s neck, massaging over their scent glands where a milky, unclaimed scent floated through the room; though mixed with Damian and Bruce's smells. "I will let them go when they want to be let go. Right now, they want me." Damian stuck his head up, a bit brattily, but he wanted to watch over the youngest curled up in his arms.