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Dick Grayson x Reader

Synopsis: Dick Grayson feels loved for the first time without the need for physical contact. Is this what it means to be loved? Dick Grayson is used to being loved.

long before he ever met you, before you two even started dating, dick already knew what love was. he knew what it felt like to be loved; he had been loved since he was very young. so many people loved him, and that was something he was absolutely sure of.

so when you didn’t touch him, dick just froze.

he was so confused. why didn’t you love him?

it had been months since you last had any intimacy, and dick was craving for that to change. a nice dinner in his warm apartment, followed by a romantic night making love—or at least, that’s what he had planned.

when he covered your eyes and guided you into his bedroom, beautifully decorated with candles and shades of deep red, he never expected the look of discomfort on your face.

"sweetheart?" he whispered, completely bewildered.

"it’s just... i’m a little tired."

dick smiled in understanding, gently taking your hands in his. "you don’t have to worry about a thing, i’ll take care of you," he murmured, kissing you affectionately.

but you gently pushed him away. you shook your head.

he looked at you, forcing his expression to stay normal. "there’s someone else." it wasn't a question; it was a statement. you hadn't touched him in months, and in his mind, he was certain of the reason.

you closed your eyes in exhaustion, knowing exactly where this was going. you knew for a fact that this wasn't about you not wanting to be intimate.

"it’s that guy from your extra classes," he asserted, convincing himself. "that’s why you’ve been coming home so late and so tired."

"this is ridiculous," you said, on the verge of losing your temper. he seriously had the nerve to point fingers and accuse you of infidelity when you had never given him a single reason to doubt you.

"i—" his voice cracked, dropping to a mere whisper. "i would forgive you. just tell me who it is," he murmured, his hand barely brushing against your cheek.

you grabbed his hand, pressing it firmly against your cheek to encourage his touch, and called his name in a carefully soft voice. "you can tell me... tell me what’s really tormenting you."

dick completely froze.

"it’s just... we’ve been distant."

"is that what you think?" you asked, gently tracing your fingers near his eyes while he nodded, looking a little ashamed.

"i don’t think that’s true," you whispered, softly brushing the hair out of his face. "we see each other every single day, and we sleep in the same bed."

"we haven't slept together," he interrupted, his voice rising above yours.

you stared at him for a moment before your expression softened, giving him a fond, loving smile. "and is that what you want?"

"no!—i mean, yes, of course, but no?" he stammered, entirely confused.

he stared at you, utterly speechless. you let out a soft laugh and kissed the space between his now-furrowed brows; his expression was just too adorable.

he was so incredibly confused.

you loved him, but you weren't touching him. he loved you, and of course he wanted to touch you, but that wasn't the point. because you could love him without touching him. unconditionally.

dick grayson had never been loved like this before, and he had completely misinterpreted your quiet, gentle love as rejection.

you curled up and opened your arms, a clear invitation for him to come closer.

it felt so strange. for some reason, this felt so much more intimate.

your hands were intertwined, and dick was resting against your chest. his warm breath hit your neck, making everything feel even cozier. his cheeks were softly flushed, and his eyes were heavy with sleep.

oh. is this what it feels like to be loved?

he liked it.

dick grayson is used to people loving him through touch. and when you don't—when it feels like a rejection—he feels completely abandoned.

I've had this trash for a while; it's a little headcanon of mine.

DICK GRAYSON

♡ You hate the vigilante if only you knew he's your boyfriend

♡ The Bat-family realizes that Dick may have finally found the love of his life, after all this time, after introducing so many girls to his family.

♡ They are having a heated argument.

♡You don't touch it.

JASON TODD

♡ You hate the vigilante if only you knew he's your boyfriend

♡ They are having a heated argument.

TIMOTHY DRAKE

♡ You hate the vigilante if only you knew he's your boyfriend

♡ Survival manual!

♡ They are having a heated argument.

DAMIAN WAYNE

♡ They are having a heated argument.

♡ You hate the vigilante if only you knew he's your boyfriend

BRUCE WAYNE

Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne. Synopsis: You don't like “ his other self”

The protagonist obviously speaks from ignorance and hatred; she is a bad person.

DICK GRAYSON

"Dick, Nightwing is the most conceited one out of all of them."

Dick actually gasped.

Not a dramatic fake gasp. A real one.

The kind of gasp someone lets out after witnessing a crime.

"What?"

You looked at him innocently from where you stood in the kitchen.

"I just don't like him."

Earlier that day, you'd gone grocery shopping after another exhausting week of getting home late. Unfortunately, Gotham seemed to have collectively decided to buy out the entire store because most of the shelves were empty. To make matters worse, your boyfriend was currently attending an "important meeting."

Or at least that was the excuse he'd given you before running off to patrol with Bruce.

Not that you knew that.

Honestly, you hadn't been thinking much at all. You were tired, hungry, and desperate to get home.

Which was exactly how you'd ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"I already told you," you said nervously, holding your hands up. "I don't have any money. What you took is literally everything I had."

"Shut up!" the man shouted.

For some reason, he seemed nervous.

Agitated.

Drugs?

Fear?

Maybe both.

Then Nightwing dropped out of the sky.

One second you were being threatened.

The next, your attacker was face-first against the pavement.

Nightwing stood over him with one boot planted firmly on his back, muscles flexing beneath the moonlight like he was filming a fitness commercial instead of stopping a robbery.

You stared.

Processed the situation.

Then immediately did the most reasonable thing possible.

You ran.

Absolutely bolted.

Like a terrified little sewer rat.

Leaving poor Dick Grayson standing there wondering why the civilian he'd just saved had fled the scene before he could even look cool.

Back in the present, you grabbed two mugs from the cabinet.

"He's such a shameless flirt."

"Coffee, babe?" you asked.

Dick nodded distractedly.

"I'm pretty sure he's slept with more women than he's actually saved."

Okay.

That one hurt.

"I genuinely feel bad for whoever ends up marrying him. Guys like that always cheat. They're never worth it."

Dick felt his soul leave his body.

For a solid three seconds.

"I don't think he's that bad," he mumbled weakly.

"Hm?"

You turned around.

The look on his face immediately made you pause.

He looked devastated.

Like a puppy that had trusted someone with its favorite toy only to watch them throw it into traffic.

Normally, the comparison would've made you laugh.

Instead, concern settled in your chest.

You set the coffee down and walked over to him, gently running your fingers through his messy black hair.

"Did I say something wrong?"

No answer.

Dick Grayson was silent.

You immediately became concerned.

"Babe?"

Nothing.

Then finally—

"You're gonna marry me."

You blinked.

"...What?"

His eyes remained fixed on the floor.

"Right?"

The question came out small.

Uncertain.

Almost vulnerable.

Your expression softened instantly.

"Of course I'm going to marry you. Why are you suddenly asking—"

"Good."

Dick cut you off immediately.

"Because you don't get to change your mind anymore."

He crossed his arms stubbornly.

"We're gonna be two wrinkly old people together whether you like it or not."

Before you could respond, he dramatically collapsed against you, practically demanding affection.

You stared down at him.

Seriously.

What was wrong with this man?

You spoiled him way too much.

Not that it stopped you from carding your fingers through his hair anyway.

Dick immediately melted.

Satisfied.

Victorious.

And completely convinced that he had successfully secured his future as your husband.

JASON TODD

"I'm just saying," you said, pointing at Jason from across the couch. "A ridiculously buff guy who thinks he's cool just because he's hot is honestly one of the most pathetic people imaginable."

Jason stared at you for a moment. Unfortunately for him, the ridiculously buff guy in question was sitting right there.

"Red Hood is an idiot," you continued. "If you're going to run around playing superhero, at least try being nice."

"Red Hood isn't really a hero," Jason muttered.

You immediately looked up.

"What?"

That got your attention.

Jason never defended vigilantes. If anything, he usually spent his free time criticizing them. Batman was emotionally unavailable, Nightwing was a show-off, Robin was annoying, and Red Robin desperately needed to sleep. Listening to him complain about Gotham's heroes had become one of your favorite forms of entertainment.

Which was exactly why his sudden interest in defending Red Hood felt strange.

The conversation dragged on for another hour. You dissected every vigilante in Gotham, pointing out flaws, bad decisions, and questionable fashion choices. Jason was doing fine until the topic finally landed on Red Hood.

"So?" you asked. "What's your opinion on him?"

Jason shrugged.

"I think he's a cool guy." You narrowed your eyes.

"A cool guy."

"And passionate."

You immediately burst out laughing. Jason regretted opening his mouth.

"Passionate?" you repeated. "Are we talking about the same Red Hood?"

What was he supposed to do?

Call himself a loser?

That sounded depressing.

With a scowl, he reached over and poked your cheek.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Oh, come on, Jay." You rolled your eyes. "What's cool about him? He's basically a mercenary."

Jason opened his mouth.

Closed it. Opened it again.

"He helps people. You stared.

"He also shoots people."

"...Sometimes."

"Jason."

"What?"

"That wasn't a denial." You continued staring at him suspiciously.

"He looks like he'd threaten a cashier."

"He wouldn't threaten a cashier." The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Silence.

Jason froze.

You froze.

Slowly, you leaned forward.

His stomach dropped.

No. Absolutely not.

There was no way you'd figured it out.

You couldn't have possibly connected all the—

"Oh."There it was.

Jason's soul immediately left his body.

You slapped a hand over your mouth dramatically. "Oh my God."

Gone. His soul was gone. Again.

"You're a Red Hood fan!" Jason blinked.

"...What?"

"That's why you're defending him!" You pointed at him like you'd just solved Gotham's greatest mystery.

"You have a crush on Red Hood." Jason nearly choked.

"I WHAT?" You were already laughing too hard to care.

"Oh my God, that's adorable."

"It is not adorable."

"It makes so much sense now."

"It really doesn't." You scooted closer and nudged his shoulder.

"Don't be embarrassed, Jay."

"I'm not embarrassed."

"You can tell me."

"There's nothing to tell."

"I honestly thought you were secretly having an affair with him." Jason stared at you.

Then stared harder.”With who?"

"Red Hood." For a solid five seconds, he couldn't even process the sentence.

Then he buried his face in his hands.

Somewhere in Gotham, Bruce probably felt a disturbance in the universe.

You were still laughing.

Jason was seriously reconsidering every life choice that had led him to this moment.

Because somehow, somehow, being accused of secretly dating himself was still preferable to telling you the truth.

One day he'd have to tell you.

One day you'd find out that your boyfriend and Red Hood were the same person.

And judging by this conversation, there was at least a fifty percent chance your first reaction would be asking if he took himself out on dates.

Jason groaned into his hands.

You laughed even harder.

Yeah. Maybe he'd wait a little longer before revealing that secret.

TIM DRAKE

"Thank you so much, I really appreciate it."

You smiled politely at yet another guest who stopped to greet you. Everyone in the room looked expensive. Expensive dresses, expensive jewelry, expensive perfume. You were fairly certain even breathing the air in this ballroom cost more money than you had in your bank account.

"You're blushing."

Tim's voice pulled your attention away from your growing crisis. Before you could answer, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

"There are too many people," you muttered.

Tim smiled immediately. "Of course there are. Everyone wants to see the star of the evening."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile that followed came naturally. Leaning up, you kissed his cheek.

"You're going to get lipstick all over your face."

"Bruce is going to kill me—"

You kissed the corner of his mouth.

His smile only widened.

"Are you trying to get me into trouble?" he asked, resting his hands against your cheeks.

You ignored him completely.

Instead, you loosened his tie and pressed a quick kiss against his neck.

"I can already see the headlines tomorrow. Timothy Drake distracted at a charity gala by his unbelievably beautiful girlfriend."

A laugh escaped you as you noticed several guests already whispering while looking your way.

Tim wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you through the crowd. People immediately stepped aside.

And there he was.

Bruce Wayne.

"Relax," Tim whispered, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "Bruce is going to notice you're nervous."

That was exactly the problem.

You were nervous.

Horribly nervous.

Because every thought in your head sounded worse than the last.

Hello, Mr. Wayne. Yes, I'm the person sleeping with your son.

Or maybe: Sorry about that time I climbed out Tim's bedroom window half-dressed.

Absolutely not.

Twenty minutes later, you were sitting with your forehead pressed dramatically against the table.

Everything had been awkward.

Not because Bruce was intimidating—he'd actually been incredibly nice.

The problem was that every time he spoke to you, your brain stopped functioning.

"Yes, sir."

"No, sir."

"Yes, sir."

You sounded like a soldier reporting for duty.

Tim, meanwhile, was trying and failing not to laugh.

Then Bruce looked at you and smiled.

"Thank you for making Tim happy."

Your heart nearly stopped.

"Do you love him?"

And just like that, every coherent thought vanished.

"Yes, sir."

Silence.

A second later, Tim burst out laughing.

You wanted to disappear.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Tim said, gently squishing your cheeks. "I'm sure Bruce understood what you meant."

"I should've said something romantic."

That caught his attention immediately.

"Oh? Like what?"

You sighed dramatically.

"I don't know. Something normal. Like saying I love Timothy Jackson Drake with my entire life. That he's my favorite person in the world. That we're basically Romeo and Juliet except I'm Romeo."

Tim snorted.

"And if he ever fakes his death, I'm not dying dramatically beside him because that sounds exactly like something he would do."

"I would not."

"You absolutely would."

Tim opened his mouth to argue before giving up entirely.

Instead, he just watched you.

His elbow rested against the table, his chin balanced in his hand as he listened to your rambling with complete attention. His perfectly styled hair had started falling into his eyes sometime during the evening, and for a moment, you forgot what you were even talking about.

Because he was looking at you.

Really looking at you.

The kind of look that made your stomach flip.

The kind that stole every coherent thought from your head.

"...and he has the prettiest eyes I've ever seen."

Tim froze.

You blinked.

His expression changed immediately.

"I need to use the restroom."

You frowned.

"Okay?"

You watched him disappear into the crowd before returning your attention to the tiny appetizers on the table. Seriously, who looked at a cracker the size of a coin and decided that counted as food?

You were still poking one with a toothpick when a gunshot echoed through the ballroom.

Everything stopped.

Someone screamed.

Then everyone screamed.

The room erupted into chaos.

People shoved past each other, running for exits. Another gunshot rang out and your chair nearly toppled as you stood.

"Tim?" No answer.

Your pulse spiked.

"Tim?!" The crowd swallowed your voice.

Before you could run back toward the ballroom, someone grabbed your arm.

You turned and found yourself face-to-face with Red Robin.

"You need to get somewhere safe."

"What?"

Another gunshot echoed through the building.

Your stomach dropped.

"Tim."

You immediately tried to pull away.

"Tim's still inside."

"What do you think you're doing?" Red Robin demanded.

"My boyfriend is in there!"

The words came out panicked.

Broken.

"He didn't come out."

For a moment, Red Robin simply stared at you.

Then his grip tightened.

"Okay."

"What?"

Before you could react, he lifted you off the ground.

You immediately started hitting his chest.

"Put me down!"

You struggled violently.

"You're a coward!"

The words escaped before you could stop them.

"My boyfriend is in there!"

The moment your feet touched the floor again, you broke free and ran.

Straight toward the crowd.

Straight toward the danger.

"TIMOTHY!"

Someone shoved past you.

A woman screamed.

"He has a gun!"

"Five people are dead!"

The words made you nauseous.

Suddenly, hands cupped your face.

Gentle.

Careful.

"Look at me."

You couldn't.

Tears blurred your vision.

"Please calm down."

His thumbs brushed them away.

"He's okay."

"No."

Your voice cracked. "What am I supposed to do if something happens to him?"

For the first time that night, Red Robin went completely silent.

Because all he wanted was to tell you the truth.

That he was right here.

That he was alive.

That he loved you.

Instead, he just pulled you into his arms.

You buried your face against his neck and clung to him desperately.

"I hate you."

The words came out muffled.

Tim closed his eyes.

And held you a little tighter.

DAMIAN WAYNE You and Damian were having breakfast when some celebrity gossip show started talking about Robin.

You weren't really paying attention.

You were focused on spreading jam evenly across a piece of toast while Damian sat across from you, typing away on his laptop.

Probably dealing with company investments.

Or uncovering corruption.plotting world domination. Honestly, with Damian, it could've been any of those.

"And today we'll be talking about everyone's favorite young vigilante—"

You snorted.

"What an idiot." The clicking of keys immediately stopped.

Damian froze.

Slowly, he looked up from his laptop.

"...Oh?" You glanced up with your mouth full.

"Hm?" His eyes narrowed.

"You think so?" You gestured vaguely toward the television.

"Him. Robin." For a moment, you wondered if Damian thought you were insulting him.

Then he closed his laptop.

Which should've been your first warning sign.

"Why do you think that?" You blinked.

"Because he's a superhero?"

Damian waited.

Clearly expecting more.

You swallowed your bite.

"Okay, first of all, does he not realize he's constantly under public scrutiny? Every move he makes gets criticized."

Damian hummed thoughtfully.

"What do you think of Robin?"

You frowned. "Why are you so interested?"

"Answer the question." Well.

Apparently this was happening.

One random comment later, and now you were being forced to write an eighty-page essay on your opinions regarding Gotham's youngest vigilante.

You sighed dramatically. "I think he's kind of annoying."

Damian's eye twitched.

You didn't notice.

"He always looks angry." Another twitch.

"And honestly? He's a little scary."

Damian folded his hands together.

"Scary."

"Yeah.”

"He looks like he'd threaten someone for breathing too loudly." The silence that followed felt strangely personal.

You continued anyway.

"I mean, he's probably one of those people who reminds teachers they forgot to collect homework."

Damian looked offended.

Actually offended.

"That's hardly a crime."

You stared at him. "Why are you defending him?"

"I'm not."

"You literally are." Damian looked away.

Which, in your opinion, was basically an admission of guilt.

You gasped dramatically. "No way."

Damian immediately regretted whatever was about to come out of your mouth. "No way."

His eyes narrowed.

"What?"

You pointed at him. "You're a Robin fan."

The look Damian gave you could've killed a lesser person. Unfortunately, you were immune. "Oh my God."

"Beloved."

"You like Robin."

"I do not."

"You totally do." Damian pinched the bridge of his nose."I simply think your criticisms lack substance."

You immediately started laughing. "You're defending him!"

"I'm being objective."

"You sound like one of those people who leave angry comments online whenever someone insults their favorite celebrity."

Damian looked genuinely horrified. "I am nothing like those people."

"Sure."

"I am not."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." The conversation should've ended there.

It didn't.

Because Damian, against his better judgment, asked the worst possible question.

"What exactly do you dislike about him?"You smiled.

The kind of smile that should've terrified him.

"Oh, I have a list."

Damian instantly knew he'd made a mistake.

Twenty minutes later, you were still talking.

Robin was too aggressive.

Too dramatic. intense. emotionally constipated. judgmental.

Too likely to glare at someone for existing.

With every complaint, Damian sank deeper into his chair. Because somehow, every criticism felt painfully specific.

"You know," you concluded thoughtfully, "he honestly seems like he'd be a nightmare to date."

Damian nearly choked.

"A nightmare."

"Yeah."

You nodded.

"Imagine trying to argue with him."

Damian said nothing.

"Actually, don't. He'd probably pull out a PowerPoint presentation explaining why he's right."

"He definitely rehearses arguments in the shower."

"And I bet he remembers things from five years ago just to bring them up during a fight."

Damian stared at you.

Completely silent.

You tilted your head.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" For a long moment, Damian considered revealing everything.

Telling you he was Robin. Telling you that every insult you'd thrown for the last half hour had technically been directed at him.

Then he imagined your reaction.

Specifically the part where you'd never let him live it down.

Ever.

So instead, he took a slow sip of his coffee.

"Nothing." You narrowed your eyes.

"You're definitely a Robin fan."

Damian closed his eyes.

Somewhere deep inside, his pride suffered irreversible damage.

The truly tragic part?

You'd spent the entire conversation calling Robin annoying.

Yet somehow, every time you smiled at him, Damian still found himself thinking about marriage.

BRUCE WAYNE

Outside Wayne Enterprises, a protest was going on. Again.

Bruce Wayne stood at his office window, looking down at the crowd of people holding signs that read things like “NO MORE VIGILANTES” and “JUSTICE WITHOUT MASKS” and, somewhat aggressively, “WE DON’T WANT FURRY HOODED MEN IN OUR CITY.”

He sighed.

Maybe he deserved this.

“Superman is literally an alien,” he muttered under his breath, glancing at a piece of Batman merchandise on his desk like it had personally offended him. Somehow that felt less ridiculous than being a man who dressed like a bat and fought crime at night.

He rubbed a hand over his face.

So this was karma.

For everything.

Down below, the chanting got louder.

“No more vigilantes!” “No more breaking the law!” “We want real justice!”

Bruce turned back toward the window just in time to see a familiar figure pushing through the crowd with a sign held way too confidently for someone who had no idea what they were doing in public demonstrations.

You.

You looked up, spotted him, and immediately waved with a bright smile like you weren’t currently participating in a protest against his entire nocturnal identity.

Bruce felt something in his chest tighten.

Of course you were here.

“Sorry,” you called out, loud enough that a few people turned to stare. “I mean, you know how it is. If we don’t protest in important places, nobody listens. Monday was the mayor’s office, today is Wayne Enterprises.”

You adjusted your sign proudly.

“No more vigilantes!”

Then, after a beat, you added even louder, “Equality for everyone!”

A couple of people cheered.

Bruce slowly exhaled through his nose.

Because of course his partner would show up outside his own company holding a sign that was, technically, aimed at him.

You waved again, completely unaware of the existential crisis you were casually causing him.

Bruce watched you for a long moment, the chaos outside continuing, the city demanding answers, the world arguing with the thing he became at night.

And then, very calmly, he thought:

Maybe it was time you found out.

Dick grayson x reader

Synopsis: The Bat-family realizes that Dick may have finally found the love of his life, after all this time, after introducing so many girls to his family.

Dick Grayson.

A name that carried weight in Gotham's high society.

Why?

Simple. He was the first son of billionaire philanthropist Bruce Wayne—the adopted child of Gotham's most infamous playboy.

Bruce had never exactly been a family man, and he certainly wasn't known for settling down. At least, that's what the newspapers had been saying since the first time he stepped into the public eye.

Dick remembered watching him arrive at galas with a different woman every time.

At first, it confused him. It wasn't like his parents.

Bruce Wayne didn't have a great love story.

Dick never said anything about it. It wasn't really his business. After all, the closest thing he knew to love was the memory of his parents.

Mary Lloyd and John Grayson.

The way they'd fallen hopelessly in love despite coming from rival circus families within Haly's Circus.

It was a story they loved telling him, and he never got tired of hearing it, no matter how many times they repeated it.

Maybe it was childish curiosity.

Maybe he just wondered if one day he'd feel the same thing they always talked about with such happiness in their eyes.

When Dick turned fifteen, he realized getting a girlfriend wasn't exactly difficult.

Girls gave him Valentine's cards and boxes of chocolate. He accepted them all with the same polite smile.

Then, at sixteen, he met Liu.

The woman who manipulated him.

The woman who used him.

The woman he blamed for his commitment issues.

Because yes, Richard John Grayson was terrified of commitment.

Long-term relationships.

The routines that came with being part of a couple. And because of that, none of his relationships ever lasted.

Barbara. Kory. Beatrice. Emily. Bonnie. Daphne. Elizabeth.

Just a few names from a list his family knew all too well.

Sometimes, a quiet voice would whisper in the back of his mind.

Maybe you're like Bruce.

Maybe some people just aren't meant to be loved. So Dick did the only thing he knew how to do.

He ignored the ache in his chest and kept moving forward. Saying "I love you" had never been difficult for him.

Showing affection wasn't difficult either.

That was just who Dick Grayson was.

What was difficult was waking up next to the same girl more than twice.

The panic.

The suffocating feeling.

The fear. It always came back.

Everyone in the manor knew it.

Until one day, the girls stopped showing up.

"Maybe he just started seeing someone recently," Tim said, trying to be the voice of reason. "Give him time. He'll introduce her eventually."

Two months.

Three.

Four.

Eight.

Eight whole months passed without a single update about Dick's love life.

Naturally, the manor became suspicious.

Had they investigated?

Absolutely.

Bruce had even used the Batcomputer.

"Bruce, are you sure about this?" Tim asked for what felt like the tenth time.

"Of course he's sure. Just hurry up and find something," Jason said, bouncing his leg impatiently. "I know he's hiding something."

"I already told you, I hacked his phone. There's nothing there."

"That's exactly what's suspicious," Stephanie argued. "He hasn't talked to a single woman in months. Maybe his last relationship actually affected him."

Damian rolled his eyes.

"Please. He dated her for two days. He probably doesn't even remember her name."

The room turned toward him.

"How do you know that?"

Damian shrugged. "I asked."

"I think he's fine," Cass murmured.

"Master Bruce," Alfred interrupted as he entered the room. "I believe you should leave Master Dick alone."

"Unless that's exactly what he wants us to do!" Jason exclaimed. "What if it's not Dick? What if it's a shapeshifter pretending to be him?"

"I knew it," Stephanie added, pointing dramatically. "Aliens again!"

"That's ridiculous," Damian interrupted. "If it were an alien, I would've known already."

"Maybe you hacked the wrong phone."

Tim looked offended.

"Then you do it. Besides, it's impossible. Dick uses Wayne Enterprises software. The same security system as the Batcomputer."

Bruce remained silent, considering the situation.

Jason frowned. "He's got a point. Maybe he's using a second phone."

"Wait." Damian pointed at the screen. "What's that purchase?"

Tim squinted. "Custom mugs?"

Jason leaned back in his chair.

"Have you considered the possibility that he's gay?"

Nobody answered.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Jason added quickly. "I'm just saying."

"That's not the point," Stephanie said. "The point is he hasn't dated anyone in almost a year."

(...)

"What are you writing?" Damian glanced over Dick's shoulder.

Dick I never stop writing

"A letter."

"A letter for what?"

Damian stretched his neck to get a better look. Was he quitting his job?, Working a case?

Several days had passed since the family's secret investigation, and Dick had acted completely normal.

Dick looked up.

A shy smile appeared on his face.

"A love letter."

Then he pressed a finger to his lips. A silent request to keep it secret.

Damian stared.

The honesty caught him completely off guard.

And, annoyingly, he couldn't get any more information.

A love letter?, To who?, Dick seeing someone? Reconnecting with someone?

Unfortunately, Damian couldn't find out.

Love letters.

Was there anything more romantic than that? As a child, Dick had received countless letters.

Pink paper. Hand-drawn hearts. Lipstick kisses pressed onto the page. By fifteen, he'd stopped reading them.

There were simply too many. Letters from girls he'd met once. Girls he'd never met at all.

At first, though, he'd read every single one. Even when he didn't return their feelings.

He told himself it was out of politeness. Out of curiosity.

Nothing more.

Definitely not because he liked reading the beautiful ways people described love.

Definitely not because some small part of him hoped one of them might truly love him.

Really love him.

Not because of Bruce's money.

Not because he had a perfect smile.

But because they liked Dick.

The boy who still believed he could one day love someone as deeply as his parents had loved each other.

As time passed, he started calling himself stupid for believing that.

"Will you be my boyfriend?"

The blonde girl looked embarrassed.

Dick glanced past her and noticed her friends watching from the corner.

Cheerleaders.

He smiled.

"Sure. Why not?"

And just like that, the cycle began.

Dick laughed softly at the memory.

Who would've thought he'd eventually become just as hopeless as those girls, sitting here writing a love letter?

Damian gave him a strange look.

(...)

Warm sunlight filtered through the manor's windows.

Dick groaned and buried his face deeper into whatever he was cuddling.

"Love, stop..."

A sleepy laugh escaped him.

"That tickles."

He snuggled closer.

"I don't want to get up yet."

"Love..."

The soft kisses suddenly became wet licks.

A strong dog smell hit his nose.

Dick's eyes flew open.

Jason was standing over him with an expression of complete disgust. Beside him, Haley wagged her tail happily.

The silence was painful.

Dick had fallen asleep in the manor's living room.

Haley remained blissfully unaware of the chaos she'd caused by waking up her owner.

Because clearly this wasn't Dick's fault.

Not at all.

Definitely not his desperate need for physical affection.

"I..."

Dick had absolutely no idea how to explain himself.

"Full access to the weapons room and fifty percent of your allowance for the next year."

"Forty."

Jason stared.

"Deal."

Dick immediately raised both hands in surrender.

A small price to pay if Jason agreed to forget this ever happened.

(...)

The sound of keyboard keys filled the study.

Bruce sighed.

Dick sighed back.

Eventually, Dick's hands stopped moving.

"Just say it." Bruce didn't even look up.

Years of experience had taught him to recognize Dick's dramatic sighs.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Dick."

Silence.

"There's something you want to say."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Bruce."

Bruce waited.

Eventually, Dick cracked. "It's just..."

He hesitated.

"Do you ever get that feeling? When everything's going well, but you're still nervous?"

Bruce looked up.

"Nervous?"

"Yeah. Like... anxious. Like something bad is about to happen. Like everything's going to disappear. Or you'll wake up and realize it was all a dream."

"Dick."

Blue eyes focused on him.

"Relax."

The answer came calmly.

"You'll be okay."

And for the first time in a long time, Dick actually believed it.

He felt calm.

A little embarrassed, he looked away.

Then, almost shyly, he admitted:

"She's my girlfriend."

Perhaps the synopsis is wrong, and it wasn't the family but Dick who realized it. Wow medítenlo. As always, thank you technology for existing and translating it.

jun, 26 / 2025

Characters: Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne.

Synopsis: They are having a heated argument.

DICK GRAYSON

When his parents died, he grieved for a while, but eventually, he just... kept going. No regrets, no looking back.

He always managed to move on from bad things.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself while stuffing the candy you’d bought together onto the highest shelves — shoved all the way to the back where you wouldn’t notice them, even if you tried to reach.

That way, you’d have no choice but to talk to him.

He’d already lost count of how long you’d been ignoring him. The only thing he knew for sure was that he couldn’t stand sleeping alone.

Not again.

After the fight, he’d said maybe the two of you should take a breather. Cool off before things got worse.

So when he came back later, apology already rehearsed in his head, breakfast tray balanced carefully in his hands, he walked into the bedroom almost excited.

What Dick hadn’t expected was for you to take his words that seriously.

When he said take a breather, he meant maybe thirty minutes. An hour, tops. Just enough time to calm down before saying something unforgivable.

Not... whatever this was.

Not you refusing to talk to him altogether. Not sleeping on opposite sides of the bed. Not acting like the two of you were suddenly strangers trying to rethink your entire relationship.

The breakfast went untouched.

So did the small pout on his face.

You didn’t even let him sit beside you when he tried to talk.

He ended up sleeping on the couch.

The next day was fucking miserable. His mood was awful, and everyone in the manor could feel it hanging in the air.

Grayson didn’t act like this. Even with his half-assed “I’m fine,” it was obvious he was anything but.

And when he finally got back to the apartment that night, exhausted and emotionally wrung out, he went straight for the bed, practically collapsing on top of you like he needed the contact to survive.

You pushed at him weakly, nowhere near as firmly as you had the past few days.

He let out this quiet, bitter little laugh but still refused to let go.

“Baby, stop,” he mumbled softly.

Even when you tried to shove him off again, he just held you tighter, burying his face against your neck like he was starving for you.

“Please,” he whispered, completely drained.

JASON TODD

Jason could be such a fucking asshole sometimes — selfish, cold, always running his mouth before thinking twice. It was easier for him to let people hate him than let them get close enough to actually understand him.

Not that he acted that way around kids or women. Around them, he kept himself restrained. Distant. But the second he felt cornered — exposed in any way — those sharp looks and cruel words came out like second nature.

A defense mechanism. The only one he’d ever really had.

You knew that.

You knew about his mother leaving him behind like he was nothing. Knew how, for one brief moment, Bruce Wayne had made him feel wanted — safe — only for Jason to end up feeling abandoned all over again.

Trust didn’t come easy to him. Neither did vulnerability. Loving you probably scared the hell out of him.

So instead of fighting back, you swallowed the hurt along with your pride. You waved your hand dismissively, avoiding his eyes as you muttered a quiet, “Forget it,” before turning around and walking away.

And somehow, that felt worse.

Jason swallowed thickly as he watched you leave.

You didn’t yell at him. Didn’t demand an apology. Didn’t ask him to take back a single thing he’d said.

You just… left.

Like you were tired.

After everything he’d thrown at you, all you wanted was for him to forget it.

But he couldn’t.

Because after that, something changed.

You still talked to him. Still answered when he spoke. But there was distance in you now — something careful, almost detached — and Jason noticed every second of it.

It made his chest ache.

And, if he was being honest, it scared him enough to make him paranoid.

TIM DRAKE

This time, the fight started over something stupid.

You’d turned off Tim’s alarm so he could finally rest on his day off. In your head, it was a small act of care — something gentle.

Tim didn’t see it that way.

He had deadlines, reports, a million things waiting for him, and when he woke up hours later, disoriented and exhausted, the soft good morning kisses you pressed against his face quickly turned into frustration.

“No, because this isn’t about whether I should rest or not,” he snapped, shoving himself out of bed. “It’s about the fact that you don’t get to interfere with my work. You don’t get to decide when I stop.”

You frowned, trying not to react to the sharpness in his voice. “Tim, you hadn’t slept in two days.”

“Yeah? And just because you don’t have the same responsibilities I do doesn’t mean you get to make choices for me.”

The words hit harder than he intended.

Your expression changed immediately. Hurt. Shocked.

“Tim.”

But he was already too angry, too exhausted, too worked up to stop himself.

“Mind your own business, and I’ll mind mine.”

And after that, neither of you were exactly kind to each other.

The argument ended with Tim slamming the front door hard enough to shake the walls.

The second he got into the car, regret settled heavy in his chest.

Because Tim overthought everything.

Every failed relationship. Every mistake. Every moment where he’d been too distant, too busy, too emotionally unavailable. The thought looped endlessly in his head until he felt sick with it.

You’re ruining this too. You’re going to lose them too.

By the time he sat down in front of his computer, he couldn’t focus on a single thing. His leg bounced anxiously under the desk while his mind tortured him with scenario after scenario of you getting tired of him. Leaving him. Finding someone softer. Easier to love.

Someone better.

The anger faded quickly, leaving behind only exhaustion and this horrible, crushing sadness.

So when he finally came home hours later, all that was left of his pride was exhaustion.

Quietly, almost nervously, Tim slipped into bed beside you.

He turned toward you carefully, watching your face in the dim light for a second with this small, hopeful look in his eyes. Like maybe if he stayed close enough, you’d roll over and pull him into your arms. Maybe you could both pretend the fight never happened until morning.

But you didn’t move.

You just turned your back to him.

And suddenly the room felt unbearably cold.

Tim bit down hard on his lip the second he felt tears gathering in his eyes, embarrassed by how fast they came. Still, he couldn’t stop them. They slid silently down his cheeks while he stared at your back, trying not to make a sound.

When you still didn’t turn around, the quiet sniffles eventually broke into shaky, uneven crying.

Because that was the moment it really hit him.

You weren’t going to comfort him this time.

Please.

Please kiss his swollen eyes and tell him you’re still here.

DAMIAN WAYNE

To everyone’s surprise, Damian Wayne was actually a good boyfriend.

It sounded absurd to anyone who only knew him from a distance. With the way he carried himself — sharp tongue, permanent scowl, an attitude that pushed people away before they could even try getting close — nobody expected him to be soft with someone he loved.

But he was.

Painfully so.

Damian was romantic in a way that caught you off guard. Quietly sentimental. The kind who noticed insignificant details you'd mentioned months before.

There was something unbearably delicate hidden beneath all that hostility.

And little by little, you had managed to reach it.

You peeled back every layer he tried so desperately to hide behind until you finally touched the vulnerable parts of him nobody else got to see.

At first, it felt like a victory.

Like warmth blooming inside your chest.

Being trusted by Damian Wayne felt sacred. Intimate. You thought you understood him now — the things he feared, the things he buried, the things he struggled to say out loud.

You were wrong.

Because somehow, Damian always found a way to shut you back out again.

One wrong moment, one careless outburst, and suddenly every wall you thought you’d broken down was standing taller than before.

You pressed your lips together tightly, forcing yourself not to say something impulsive.

The silence in his bedroom felt horrible.

Cold.

Suffocating.

“What’s wrong, Damian?”

He didn’t answer.

“Damian,” you tried again, irritation slipping into your voice this time.

The entire day had been fine. More than fine, actually. He’d left his classes early just to spend time with you. You’d gone out to eat together, watched a movie back at the manor, stayed curled up against each other for hours.

And then suddenly he changed.

Short answers. Dismissive looks. Ignoring you whenever you spoke.

The worst part was that he’d done it in front of your friends.

Having your boyfriend act cold and irritated toward you in front of your classmates was humiliating.

“I already told you. Nothing.”

“Then why are you talking to me like this?” you asked, frustration finally bubbling over. “If something upset you, how am I supposed to fix it if you won’t talk to me? We’re together, Damian. We’re supposed to work things out.”

He laughed quietly under his breath, but there was nothing amused about it.

“God, you’re irritating.”

You stared at him silently.

And there it was again.

That look.

Distant. Closed off. Like he’d shoved you outside the walls all over again.

“Do you genuinely believe something is wrong with me?” he asked mockingly. “I have far more important matters to deal with.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

“Fine.”

The second the word left your mouth, Damian hesitated.

Barely.

But you noticed it.

“What?” you asked flatly.

You grabbed your backpack from the floor and walked toward the door of his room.

Damian watched you the entire time without speaking.

Because what was he supposed to say?

That he hated how your friends interrupted the date the second things started feeling intimate? That it bothered him watching you laugh with them while he sat there feeling invisible? That he’d wanted your attention to himself for once?

It was supposed to be his time with you.

His moment.

The bedroom door shut softly behind you.

And suddenly the room felt unbearably empty.

Damian sat down at the edge of the bed slowly, his chest tightening with every passing second until it became difficult to breathe. His eyes burned.

You hadn’t even tried to stop him from pushing you away this time.

You just left.

Eventually, he collapsed face-first onto the mattress, burying himself beneath the blankets like hiding would somehow make the ache in his chest disappear.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there.

Minutes. Maybe hours.

At some point, he grabbed his phone.

Your chat was still open.

Damian stared at your contact silently while his thumb hovered over the call button. His stomach twisted painfully with nerves.

Call them. Don’t call them. Call them.

Before he could think too hard about it, he pressed the button.

The ringing nearly made him sick.

Once. Twice.

By the third ring, you answered.

“Hello?”

Damian froze.

Your voice was soft. Careful.

And suddenly, all at once, the anger drained out of him, leaving behind nothing but this awful ache in his chest.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Because right then, curled up alone in his bed with tears stinging his eyes, Damian could only think one thing:

Who was he without you?

BRUCE WAYNE

Why are you arguing with this man? Leave the old man alone; he has enough problems already.

• I admit it, I just wanted to write about Tim being a whiny crybaby. oc tim (?

Also, as you know, I don't speak English and it's translated thanks to technology :) I've had this in drafts for months ()

Tim drake x reader

Synopsis: When you start dating a coffee-addicted genius detective, you have to learn how to keep him alive...

The apartment was dark and cold, except under the soft blankets where they both warmed themselves with each other's body heat and soft snores.

Your cold feet tangled between the detective's legs, his mouth slightly open, letting out soft snores

Everything was perfect until the alarm went off.

05:00 AM

Tim's blue eyes snapped open, like a soldier accustomed to precise timing, and he began to gently shift from your grasp, silently trying to pull you away from his chest.

"No"

"Huh?" I look at you, confused. "I woke you up. I'm sorry—go back to sleep," I murmur, stroking your hair.

"Don't even think about it, Timothy," you whispered, your eyes still closed.

"I have to go"

"You don't have to go"

"I have work to do," he insisted, trying to push you away.

"What did we say yesterday?"

She rolled her eyes, but the slight curve of her lips betrayed that she was enjoying it.

"I need to sleep at least eight hours, no matter what time I go to bed."

"Exactly," you murmur, forcing one eye open. "And..."

"And..?"

"Last night you went to bed at eleven..." you affectionately scratched her waist, "so you won't get up for another three hours."

"The faster I get up, the faster I'll solve this investigation," he insisted, taking your hand.

"The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you can resume your research" you corrected him, giving him a few gentle pats on the ribs.

1. Force him to sleep at least 8 hours

Wednesday 9:35 AM

Hurried footsteps echo in the apartment.

You wake up to the sound of a dull thud followed by a groan and a curse.

"Tim- "you complain, brushing your messy hair away from your face to watch him hop around while putting on his pants.

"Ugh, I'm late!"

"Do you want me to make you something?" you murmur, pulling back the soft blankets.

"No, it's not necessary—Honey, have you seen my purple tie?"

"I left her with your other ties"

"No, that one is very clear

You sighed: "You have like a thousand purple ties, wear that one."

“I need dark purple; if I wear light purple, my suit won’t have any contrast,” he argued, pacing the room. “And if there’s no contrast, I’ll look strange, everyone will stare at me, and the meeting will go badly. If it goes badly, I’ll have to come up with a plan B, but if you come up with a plan B, my whole strategy will be ruined…”

"Here it is," you handed it to her. "I'll go prepare something."

He did not respond, focusing all his attention on adjusting his tie.

"I'm leaving," I kiss your forehead.

"Tim"

"See you this afternoon, I promise to be there before 6. I'll go to the mansion with Bruce after the meeting."

"ahm~" you say, bringing the fork closer to his mouth

"Honey, I'm going to be late," I tried to persuade you.

You pretended to be offended. "Are you going to abandon the pancakes I made for you?"

"It smells delicious, but I only have 20 minutes to get there." He grabbed his things, ready to leave.

"Mmm, well, goodbye, I won't force you." You turned your back on him, pressing the button on the coffee machine. "I guess I'll have to drink this myself." You gently swirled the cup to release the aroma.

A smell that chilled his blood as his nostrils reveled in it, and the soft sound of his bowels broke the silence.

"It only takes me 10 minutes to get here by car," he said, sitting down and anxiously moving his leg.

You laughed, kissing her cheek and saying "eat"

2. You must eat properly, no quick protein bars.

+ 3. Keep your negative overthinking under control.

Saturday 08:11 AM

"This crazy woman," I muttered, entering the kitchen.

Dick smiles playfully, "I see you're still in one piece. I thought you'd come out with a black eye. I was already calling Alfred after all that shouting."

Stephenie punched his arm, "I thought you were over your toxic relationship tendencies."

The boy glares at her menacingly, but his tired face and dark circles under his eyes only made the blonde laugh.

"Who died?" Jason asked sarcastically, grabbing the cereal. "You look dead, and that's coming from a dead man."

"You look bad, Drake," Damian grumbled, walking past to take the cereal away. "Todd, I'm going to tell Alfred you're eating my cereal again."

"Wow, thanks family! I also think they look good," he said sharply, clearly irritated.

"He's in a bad mood because he hasn't had a cup of coffee for 3 hours."

"3 hours and 45 minutes," he gasped anxiously, "but not for long." He opened the pantry, rummaging through everything.

"Pennyworth will be angry if you mess up the kitchen," Damian muttered, putting his cereal away again.

Duke entered the kitchen, curious. "He's gone completely mad."

The blonde glanced at him sideways. "I never thought this day would come.

"What's he doing?"Most of them were watching the kitchen intently, as if it were an experiment.

"Dear Damian," Jason smiled, taking the stored cereal box. "If you take drugs away from a junkie, what will he do?" He pointed at Tim as if he were a lab rat. "He'll look for more drugs... Oh!"

"He'll probably hide them around here," Tim muttered, looking sleepy.

Meanwhile, Dick whispered, "When do you think he'll realize?"

"Realize what?" Damian asked, staring at him.

"That his 'girlfriend' took all the coffee from the mansion."

Later, everyone was sitting in the dining room except for Tim, who was leaning his head on the table, much to Alfred's dismay.

"I need to stay awake; herbal tea won't keep me awake," he complained, though the dark circles under his eyes were begging for a break.

"Young Master Drake, please have your tea. It's impolite to refuse what's served. Would you like to return to your classes with good manners?" he asked expectantly.

"Love is hard," Jason muttered, feigning sympathy.

4. Control the amount of coffee you drink.

I don't speak English, literally, so this was translated with Google. Maybe from translating so much I'll learn English little by little.