Summary: Damian’s never been good with emotions—his or anyone else’s. So when you tell him you love him, his first instinct is to shut you out completely. Unfortunately for him, the Batfamily doesn’t believe in letting their youngest self-sabotage forever.
A/N: it only took a month for me to get my inspiration back….but! to everyone in my inbox i swear i will be working on it🫡
You hadn’t planned to say it.
It just… slipped out.
A quiet murmur on a rainy Tuesday evening. You were curled together on the couch in the Wayne Manor library, his arm around you, your head on his chest, both of you half-listening to the sound of the rain and Damian quietly reading a book about endangered birds.
And maybe it was the rain. Or the comfort. Or the way he’d gently traced circles on your shoulder with a kind of unconscious tenderness you didn’t get to see often. Whatever it was, it made the words tumble out like a breath you hadn’t meant to exhale.
“I love you.”
And you didn’t say it for a reaction. You didn’t expect a poem, or fireworks, or even a reply.
You just wanted him to know.
But he froze.
You felt it instantly—his fingers stilling, chest going taut under your cheek, breath hitching like you’d hit a nerve.
He didn’t say anything.
Not even Tt.
And that was how you knew something was wrong.
“Damian?”
He untangled himself from you like you’d suddenly become a threat, standing too quickly, eyes shadowed.
“I have to go,” he muttered, already halfway to the door.
You blinked. “Wait—what? Damian, did I—”
But he was already gone.
The silence after that was deafening.
Not just in the room, but in every message he left on read. Every plan he bailed on. Every shift in his tone from warmth to cold efficiency.
You waited. Gave him space.
Then you called. He didn’t pick up.
Texted. Nothing.
You even went to the manor once. Alfred gave you a sad smile, offered you tea, and said Damian was “training.” You knew that meant hiding.
You gave him time.
Because you knew how he was raised. You knew what love ment in the League of Assassins. That emotions were to be evaporated, not felt. That feelings—especially his own—scared the hell out of him.
You sigh and skip another rock across the disgusting Gotham water.
Damian Wayne, for all his steel and arrogance, wasn’t good at feelings. He was sharp edges and clenched fists. He was stitched wounds and bitten tongues. His heart had never been a safe place.
Still, it hurt.
Because you didn’t need perfection. You just needed him.
And he wasn’t even giving you that.
A few days later and Dick stops by your apartment. You were eating cereal at 1 a.m. like a raccoon in fuzzy socks. He pours his own bowl and sits next to you.
“You okay?” he asked, peering at you over a spoonful of marshmallow sugar bombs.
You shrugged. “Define okay.”
“…So. No.”
You flopped onto the barstool beside him, rubbing your face. “I told your brother I loved him, and he responded by vanishing off the face of the earth. So, you know. We’re doing great.”
Dick blinked. “He ghosted you?”
“Hard.”
“…Wow. That makes so much more sense.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No, I mean—he loves you. He’s been brooding around the manor.”
You sighed.
Dick leaned over and patted your arm. “Leave it to me.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to fix his emotional repression with cereal and finger guns?”
“No,” Dick said seriously. “I’m going to drag him out of his cave and force him to feel things like a normal person.”
“…That sounds like a hostage situation.”
“It is. For his own good.”
Damians siblings launched an intervention, they didn’t even know what it was about. They had a guess sure, but neither you or Dick told them.
Jason lured Damian into the Cave under the pretense of sparring. Dick locked the doors. Duke pulled out a presentation titled “So You Traumatized Your Partner: A Guide.”
Cass and Tim brought popcorn.
It lasted three hours. Damian didn’t speak for the first one. Then yelled for the second. And by hour three, he sat on the floor staring at the cave ceiling like it held the answers to the universe.
And then, finally, he spoke. “I don’t know how.”
Jason crossed his arms, still Damian hadn’t told them what all this was about. “Then figure it out. Because if you don’t fix this, you lose the best damn thing that’s ever happened to you.”
A few hours later and Damian showed up on your balcony at 2:13 a.m. perched on the railing.
He was thinking about every possible response you would say as he watched you sleep through your window.
But he couldn’t bring himself to ruin your peace with his problems.
A weekish since Dick stopped by and you look at your phone to find a text from Steph.
were going to brunch tmrw. bring a helmet.
Brunch with Stephanie Brown should not have been this therapeutic. But it was.
You sipped lukewarm coffee and picked at a waffle shaped like a bat symbol.
Steph shoved a mimosa your way. “You know he’s a dumbass, right?”
“I figured,” you muttered.
“He doesn’t think he deserves love,” she said bluntly. “So when you said it, his brain did a full reboot.”
“I just hoped it wouldn’t take him so long to come around.”
“He’s never said it to anyone.” Steph raised a brow. “Not even Dick.”
You blinked. “You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I kid?” She gestured to herself. “I could punch him for you though.”
You sighed, letting your head fall to the table with a thunk.
Steph leaned closer. “Do you still love him?”
You didn’t even hesitate. “Obviously.”
She looks at you, “Stop moping, geez maybe you spend to much time together. Did you bring that helmet?”
You don’t look up as you lift a helmet off the bench next to you above your head.
Stephanie grins wildly, “Perfect, we’re going for a ride.”
“Woa-“ You don’t get a chance to finish your food as you get dragged out the door.
Damian Wayne had survived assassins, mercenaries, alien invasions, and Tim trying to cook.
But nothing prepared him for waking up at 4 a.m. to find his oldest brother perched on his windowsill like a determined owl.
“Get dressed,” Dick said, tossing him a hoodie.
Damian groaned. “No.”
“You’re in a spiral,” Dick said cheerfully. “I can smell it.”
“I will dismember you.”
“And yet I remain unbothered. Get up.”
They ended up on a Gotham rooftop with thermoses of coffee and a bag of mini donuts.
“Talk about it, you’ll feel better.” Dick said, biting into a powdered one.
Damian glared at him. “You abducted me.”
“You’ve been sulking like a wounded falcon for two weeks. What did you think I was going to do? Let you brood yourself into a coma?”
“Tt.”
Dick dusted sugar off his shirt. “Okay, so—why did you ghost your girlfriend?”
Damian looked away. “She said she loved me.”
“Yeah, and you—what? Short-circuited and self-destructed like Mr. Freeze in a volcano?”
“I panicked.”
Dick blinked. “You? Panic?”
Damian scowled. “It’s not funny.”
“I’m not laughing,” Dick said, absolutely laughing.
Damian gritted his teeth. “I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to say it wrong.”
“So you said nothing?”
“I thought if I ignored it, it would go away.”
Dick blinked slowly. “Did your brain fall out.”
Damian huffed.
“Okay, look,” Dick said gently. “You don’t have to say it back if you’re not ready. But you do owe her a conversation.”
Damian stared down at his coffee.
“…What if she doesn’t want me anymore?” he asked quietly. “What if she’d be right not to want me?”
Dick’s heart cracked a little.
“She doesn’t want perfect, Damian” he said. “She wants you. She knows about everything and shes a smart girl, don’t you trust she knows who she’s loving.”
Damian just sighs and picks at his coffee cup.
A week since you got 15+ bruises with Steph’s motorcycle driving, you were walking home from class when you found a robin.
A literal robin.
Sitting on your stoop. Holding a tiny scroll in its beak.
You stared at it.
It stared back.
“…Okay,” you muttered, and unrolled the scroll.
Rooftop. Midnight. Come alone.
–D.W.
“…Drama queen,” you muttered, but your heart skipped anyway.
You climbed the fire escape just before midnight, hoodie zipped up against the Gotham chill.
He was waiting—of course he was—perched on the edge like a gargoyle, hood up, arms crossed.
“You sent a robin?”
“I needed to be sure it reached you.”
“I have a phone.”
He looked away. “I… wasn’t sure if you’d answer.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Fair enough.
You waited for him to speak until you couldn’t take it anymore. “Why am I here, Damian?”
He turned to face you fully.
“I owe you an explanation,” he said stiffly. “For my… reaction.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You mean running away like I said I was pregnant with a porcupine?”
“…Yes.”
“I panicked,” he admitted, stepping in. “When you said it. I—there was a part of me that wanted to say it back. Immediately. But it… I couldn’t. It felt like—like you handed me a sword and asked me to stab myself with it.”
“That’s a hell of a metaphor.” You blinked. “You could have at least texted.”
“I know.” His voice cracked. “I know. And I didn’t. Because I thought if I stayed away, you’d forget you ever felt that way. That maybe I could protect you from… me.”
You looked at him then. Really looked.
He wasn’t the boy you met last year—full of fire and pride and prickly edges. He was the boy underneath that. Scared. Soft. Still learning.
“I don’t want protection from you,” you whispered. “I want you. The real you. Even when you don’t have the words.”
He exhaled. “I’ve never said it before,” he admitted. “Not to anyone. It terrifies me.”
You squeezed his fingers. “I don’t need you to say it right now.”
He clenched and unclenched his fists. “I have not known… many types of love. I do not always know how to… receive it. Let alone return it. Not in a way that doesn’t feel like… weakness.”
“It’s not weakness.”
He looked at you—really looked, for the first time in weeks. “I know that now.”
Silence.
The wind picked up.
“I care for you,” he said finally. “More than I have ever cared for anyone. You are… the first thing I think of when I wake. The last I see before I sleep. You are fire. And softness. And strength. You terrify me.”
You blinked. “That’s… romantic? I think?”
He stepped closer. “I have never said those words before. But I think them. Constantly. And if you still want me, despite everything…”
He took your hand.
“I will try. Every day. To be someone worthy of hearing them. Saying them. And living them.”
Your breath hitched.
He swallowed. Steadying. He gently cups your face and then, softer than you’d ever heard him: “I love you.”
You didn’t cry.
You almost cried.
You smiled instead, stepping into his arms like you’d never left.
Characters: Dick Grayson , Jason Todd , Tim Drake , Damian Wayne , Duke Thomas
Guest Appearances: Wally West , Roy Harper , Barbara Gordon , Stephanie Brown , Cassandra Cain
summary: requested by @jakiicomics , your making out with your boyfriend when theres an interuption.
warnings: making out lol
Dick Grayson
Blüdhaven was quiet. For once. Which is exactly why Dick was using this rare moment of peace to make out with you on the couch.
His hand was under your shirt but respectfully so, his other hand tangled in your hair. Your legs were over his lap, and his smile was pressed to your mouth, warm and lazy and a little smug, like he’d just won something.
“This is what I missed all day,” he murmured between kisses, tone dropping into that grin of a voice. “You. This. Us.”
“You know,” you mumbled against his lips, “I like quiet nights.”
He grinned. “Me too. Especially when they taste like you.”
“You’re such a cheeseball—”
A door slams behind a woosh of air. “DUDE—”
Wally West stood there, frozen as if in slow motion, blinking at you both like he’d just walked in on his parents.
Dick doesn’t move. “WALLY?!” He shouted, red-faced.
Wally, blinking rapidly with a bag of snacks in his hand, looked genuinely scandalized. “I was just bringing chimichangas like a good friend—and THIS is how you thank me?! By traumatizing me?!”
“You super-sped into my apartment, bro! Knock next time!”
“I never knock, dude, you know that!”
You waved awkwardly. “Hi, Wally.”
Wally gave you a thumbs-up without making eye contact. “Happy for you guys. Love that for you. Never want to see it again. Goodbye.”
And he vanished in a blur, leaving nothing but flapping wrappers and mutual embarrassment in his wake.
Jason Todd
The safehouse was silent. Dim lights. A rare moment of calm.
Jason had you pinned against the kitchen counter, mouth on yours like he was starving and you were the first meal in weeks. One hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping the edge of the counter.
You gasped into him. “Jay…”
“Missed you,” he mumbled against your lips, hand warm as it moves to your waist.
“You saw me this morning.”
“Too long.”
You laughed into the kiss, pulling him closer, back arching as his mouth moved along your jaw.
That was when the door slammed open.
“Jaybird! You home? I brought the whiskey you like—”
You and Jason both jolted up like you’d been struck by lightning. Jason whipped around, gun halfway out of his holster before recognizing the voice.
Roy walked into the room. “Oh. Oh damn.” Roy’s voice rang out like a shout in a library. “That’s graphic.”
He froze.
Stared.
Raised an eyebrow.
Jason made a noise halfway between a growl and a sigh. “Roy.”
You ducked behind Jason, cheeks burning.
Roy stood with his eyes wide. “Bro. BRO. Did not need to see your tongue that close to someone else’s uvula.”
Jason shoved his gun back into place, jaw tight. “Try knocking, Harper.”
“It’s a safehouse! You don’t knock on safehouses!”
“Exactly, safe,” Jason snapped. “As in, safe from you.”
“You said come over anytime!”
“I meant you should still send a heads up!”
Roy squinted. “How was I supposed to know that meant ‘not while you’re crawling down your girlfriend’s throat’?”
Jason threw a pillow at him.
“Rude,” Roy fake sniffed. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“You’re lucky I don’t throw you off the balcony.”
Roy backed out slowly, hands raised. “I’ll just… go die in the alley. Don’t mind me.”
Jason sighed deeply, rubbed his temples, and turned back to you.
“…We’re getting new locks.”
Tim Drake
Tim was supposed to be reviewing case footage. Instead, you had him backed into his office chair, mouth warm on his, fingers sliding under his hoodie...
You pulled back, breath ghosting his lips. “You okay?”
“I think I forgot my name,” he whispered, dazed. “Don’t stop.”
You smiled and leaned in again—and that was the exact moment the Batcave door whooshed open.
“Tim, we need the footage—” Barbara’s voice cut off. “Oh…”
Tim’s soul left his body. You scrambled off Tim so fast you nearly fell. Tim blinked like he’d just come out of REM sleep.
“…Well,” she said slowly. “This is not what i wanted to see on a Tuesday.”
Tim made a noise not found in any human language.
“I—uh—I was just showing her—” he gestured wildly, still half-sitting on your lap “—the uh… chair..”
“Chair,” Barbara repeated flatly.
You tried to help. “It’s very supportive.”
Barbara blinked. “Tim, if I see one more PDA in the Batcave, I’m installing mistletoe next. Making it seasonal at least...”
Tim groaned. “Please let a trapdoor open beneath me.”
Theres mutual stareing for a few minutes.
Tim leaned into you, whispering, “Maybe if we pretend to be dead she’ll leave.”
Barbara rolled her eyes on the way out. “At least lock the door next time.”
Damian Wayne
Make-outs with Damian were rare, as hes more of a controled kisser. So when they did happen…
He was kissing you like it was the only thing anchoring you to earth. And you were halfway into losing your mind when the rooftop door slammed open.
“Oh my GOD, you’re human! I knew it!” She pauses. “Wait…Oh my GOD,” Stephanie shouted. “Are you—gross!”
Damian turned slowly. Eyes like daggers. “Leave.”
Damian broke away instantly, stepping between you and Stephanie like a protective barrier. “Brown,” he snapped. Damian tossed his coat over your head with military precision and stood like a general protecting his empire.
Steph blinked. “I came to ask if you—”
“Exit.”
“Do you live up here now or—”
“Disapear, Brown.”
You choked on your laugh as Damians ears went red.
Stephanie held up her hands. “Okay! I’m leaving! You two are disgusting!”
The second the door shuts Damian leans his forehead against yours and sighs.
Duke Thomas
It had started with you stealing one of Duke’s hoodies. Then a movie. Then lying across his lap. Then… well. Except Duke didn’t do anything halfway—so it spiraled fast.
His fingers slid under your shirt. Yours tangled in his curls. His smile broke the kiss just long enough for him to breathe, “You’re gonna make me forget the whole plot of this movie.”
You kissed his jaw. “Wasn’t that the goal?”
His hands squeezed your hips, and he was grinning like an idiot when—
Cassandra.
Cass didn’t speak, just raised a brow. She stood in the doorway. Quiet. Still. A look that said seriously?
Duke looked petrified.
“Cass!” he blurted. “Uh—hey! We were just—uh—watchin…a movie—”
Cassandra looked at the paused screen. It was on the Netflix login page.
Cass tilted her head. “Should I leave?”
“Yes,” you both said at the same time.
Cass turned around and walked right back out without another word, she left the door open though.
You were wheezing.
Duke buried his face in your shoulder. “She’s never going to let me live this down. She’s gonna tell everyone.”
“She didn’t even say a word.”
“That’s what makes it worse,” Duke groaned. “She’s gonna look at me.”
You patted his back. “You’ll survive.”You snuggled back into him, laughing.
“Next time,” he groaned, “we pick a room with a lock.”
okok so ive been planning a damian x reader fic anddd
what powers should reader have
shadowy powers
electricity
echolocation
gravity
wind
nightstalker
chill
Voting ended onJul 29, 2025
obviously none of these are gonna be super op, basic description:
- Shadowy powers
melt into shadows to be practically invisible, teleport through them (only what can see), materialize a shadowy item (like a weapon made of shadows and such)
- electricity
zaps (like a taser), disabling tech, powering devices
- echolocation
spatial awareness (think like Toph from atla), sense things through walls, hear really really well (which could be considered a disadvantage)
- gravity
very slight gravity manipulation
- wind powers
very mild wind manipulation
- nightstalker bond
can psychically link with a nocturnal animal, share senses and can communicate silently over short distances
Summary: When Talia al Ghul discovers that her son has a partner, she does what any loving, overbearing assassin mother would do—she kidnaps you.
You knew dating Damian Wayne would come with a few… complications. The Batfamily. The League of Assassins. The fact that he carried more knives than is physically possible for one person.
You wake up with cold stone under your cheek and an unmistakable headache pounding behind your eyes.
Which is… concerning.
Mostly because you went to bed in Gotham. In your own bed. In Damian’s hoodie. And this?
This isn’t your bed.
This is a marble floor.
You sit up too fast and instantly regret it. But even through the nausea, you take in your surroundings: ornate, ancient walls, tapestries older than most cities, a faint whiff of incense and iron.
This is some kind of League of Assassins stronghold. And if that wasn’t enough of a tip-off—
“She wakes,” comes a voice, cool and sharp as a blade.
Your stomach drops.
The shadows moved, and then she stepped into the glow. Elegant, poised, terrifying.
Talia al Ghul. Immaculate. Deadly. Green eyes like twin laser sights boring into your soul.
Damian’s mother, the resemblance was clear.
“You’ve been dating my son.”
Right. Straight to business.
You blink. “This seems like an extreme way to ask for my intentions.”
Talia raises a brow. “And yet you’re not crying.”
“Not yet, I still have time to pencil that in though, if you’d like.”
“Hm.” She circles you like a panther, examining you like a potential weapon or a bug under a microscope. “He didn’t mention you were brave.”
You stand up slowly, brushing off the dust. “Did he mention I don’t like being drugged and dragged halfway across the world?”
“No.” A thin smile, then a sadder one. “We don’t talk often.”
“…Cool. Cool cool cool. So this just another Tuesday for you?” You say, rather calmly.
She watched you with the faintest hint of amusement. “You’re not panicking.”
“I mean. I feel like panicking gives you the upper hand.” You shrugged, “Plus, totally not my first kidnapping.”
“You’re smart,” she said, leaning back. “Mouthy.”
You raised a brow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You shouldn’t.” But the corners of her mouth twitched. “Let’s begin.”
“Begin what?”
She tilted her head. “The evaluation.”
“…Sorry?”
“The assessment,” she clarified, looking at you like you were slow.
“You’re evaluating me?”
Talia nodded once. “That is what I said.”
You gaped at her.
“I will not tolerate mediocrity.”
“Lady, I survived Thanksgiving with the Waynes. I’m already battle-hardened.”
“…You might actually be interesting,” she murmured.
You gave her a bland smile. “So glad I’m exceeding expectations.”
Damian Wayne is having the worst morning of his life.
You’re not answering your phone. Your location tracker is offline. Your building’s security footage shows a figure in black entering your apartment and disabling every camera in seconds.
“Where is she?!” Damian’s voice cracked like a whip across the Batcave, sharp with panic.
“Relax,” said Dick, holding up his hands. “She’s probably just—”
Damian pulls the last seconds of footage he has again.
Jason straightened. “Okay. Not great.”
“Who’d be stupid enough to kidnap your girlfriend?” Tim muttered. “Seriously. You’d think people would learn.”
Damian’s lips curled into a snarls he reviews the footage again.
He recognizes the silhouette.
Of course he does.
“Mother,” he growls under his breath, slamming his fist into the desk.
“You have guts,” Talia said, circling you like a lioness. “Most people don’t look me in the eye.”
You gave her a tight smile. “Most people haven’t dated your son.”
Talia paused. “And yet you still do.”
“Yeah. Crazy, right?”
“You know what he is,” she said quietly. “What he was trained to be. What he will become if he’s not careful.”
You nodded. “I do.”
“And still?”
“And still.”
She nods once, impressed. “I thought my spy was joking when he said you weren’t entirely useless.”
You raise a brow. “High praise.”
“Damian’s always been too sentimental. His heart is a weakness. He cannot afford attachments.”
You fold your arms. “And yet here we are.”
She watches you in silence for a long time. Then she stops in front of you, arms folded.
“What do you see in him?”
You blinked.
“What do I—what?”
“What. Do. You. See. In. Him.”
“…That’s your question?”
She arched a brow. “Answer it.”
You shrug. “He’s a lot. Arrogant, stubborn, overprotective.” You smile faintly. “And he’s loyal. Honest in a way no one expects. He tries so hard to be good, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”
You took a breath. “I see someone who’s trying harder than anyone I’ve ever met. Who’s furious at the world but still gets up every day to protect it. Someone who’s never been shown how to love, but does it anyway—awkwardly, stubbornly, and fiercely.”
Talia stared.
“And he’s funny.” You smile, you could talk about him for hours. “When he wants to be. He pretends not to be, but he makes me laugh. And he listens. And I trust him. More than I’ve ever trusted anyone.”
You met her gaze. Didn’t flinch. “He’s still figuring things out. But he wants to do good, be good.”
“And you love him.”
“Yeah. I do.”
Silence. Long. Measured.
She studies you for a moment longer, then stands. “Walk with me.”
You follow her through the fortress. You expect dungeons. Traps. Hidden daggers.
You get all of that, but also… a garden.
It’s quiet, fragrant with night-blooming flowers. There’s a koi pond. It’s beautiful.
You sit on the edge of the stone bench. Talia watches you from the corner of her eye.
“Most people are terrified of me.”
“I am. Just not enough to let you see it. And for entirely different reasons then everyone else.”
That makes her laugh—an actual laugh, sharp and surprised.
“I see why he likes you.”
“You don’t hate me?”
That makes her laugh—an actual laugh, sharp and surprised.
“I see why he likes you.”
“You don’t hate me?” you ask again, not quite joking.
Talia tilts her head, eyes narrowing in thought. “I don’t know you well enough to hate you.”
“That’s… comforting.”
“But I don’t not like you.” She pauses. “Which, for me, is practically affection.”
You relax slightly. “Well. Thanks for that.”
“I doubted you,” she admits, brushing an invisible thread from her sleeve. “Still do, a little. But that’s habit, not certainty.”
You meet her gaze, steady. “I’d be more worried if you trusted me right away.”
She turns to you.
“If you ever hurt him—”
“I won’t.”
“—I will burn your city to the ground.”
“That seems fair.”
Talia tilts her head, considering you like you’re a rare artifact she’s not sure belongs in her collection.
After a long time of staring, she turns back to the pond and stares some more. Finally she speaks. “I trained him to be invincible,” she says, almost to herself. “He chose to be human.”
You glance at her. “You sound proud.”
She doesn’t respond for a moment.
“I am.”
Damian runs through the halls of the LOA’s homebase, fear in his veins. The League doesn’t take prisoners unless they’re valuable. And to Damian, you are irreplaceable.
By the time Damian found you — thirty-six hours since you’ve been taken, hair askew, cape torn, blood on his sleeve and hell in his eyes — you were sitting on a velvet couch, sipping tea and laughing at something Talia said about Ra’s al Ghul’s disastrous attempt at karaoke in 1987.
Damian froze in the doorway.
“You’re alive,” he said flatly.
You waved. “Hey, babe. I made a friend.”
He crossed the room in quick strides and cups your face, looking you over for anything even as small as a scrape.
“Beloved,” Damian breathes, face etched in panic.
“I’m fine!” you laugh. “Tea was nice.”
He ignores the comment. You barely have time to move before his arms are around you, pulling you in tight. Too tight. You feel his breath shudder.
“I thought—” he starts, then bites it back. “Did she hurt you?”
You shake your head. “Surprisingly? No. Just intense staring and very pointed questions.”
Damian takes a breath and stares at you a moment before he whirls to face his mother. “How dare you—”
“Relax,” Talia says mildly. “She passed.”
“She’s not a test—”
“She’s yours,” Talia interrupts. “Which means she matters to me.”
He falters. You touch his shoulder gently.
“I like her,” Talia says, and Damian freezes like someone hit pause on his brain.
“…You what.”
“Damian,” you cut in, watching him go through the five stages of grief. Skipping Acceptance and going straight to contemplating mind control. “it’s fine. Really. We bonded.”
“…You…bonded.”
“She’s funny when she’s not threatening.”
“She has spine. Wit. Taste.” Talia’s smile is a slow curve. “She reminds me of myself.”
Damian blinked like someone had replaced his entire universe with a sitcom.
“I am… leaving,” he announced.
Talia watches as your pulled away by your boyfriend. “I’ll see you Tuesday.”
——-
And that’s how your Tuesdays started changing.
Every other week, you meet Talia for lunch. Sometimes sushi. Sometimes rooftop garden tea. Once, she took you hawking in the mountains.
She teaches you knife techniques. You teach her how to use emojis properly.
She taught you pressure points. You taught her how to use TikTok.
She critiques your posture. You critique her people skills.
She’d ask about Damian. You’d tell her how he once got stuck in a vending machine trying to retrieve a rogue Batarang.
She laughed. Real laughter. The kind that made waiters pause.
It was nice. Weird. But nice.
You’ve found a rhythm. It’s strange. It’s unexpected.
But every other Tuesday, you and your boyfriend’s assassin mother get lunch.
And somehow, that’s not even the weirdest part of your life.
Characters: Dick Grayson , Jason Todd , Tim Drake , Damian Wayne , Duke Thomas
req here
Summary: Your not starting over, your continuing, thats what healing is
A/N: I don’t remember exactly what drugs Jasons mom OD’d on but because of it I think he’d be strongly against literally any kind of substance out there and I will die on this hill
Dick Grayson
He’d stopped by your apartment with takeout and used the spare key when you didn’t answer. Keys jangled in the lock, door creaked open, and—He froze halfway through putting the takeout on the counter.
The patio door was cracked open. A sliver of breeze drifted in, laced with something unmistakable.
Burnt. Bitter. Familiar.
He set the food down, slow. Walked to the sliding door. Opened it quietly.
You were leaning against the railing when he saw the ember glow.
He didn’t say anything at first.
You didn’t look at him. Just took another drag. Exhaled like you were hoping it’d take the guilt with it.
“…Hey,” he said softly.
“Thought you were working late,” you muttered.
“I was.” His voice was gentle, but edged. “Then I got this weird craving for pad thai and lying in your lap. Crazy, right?”
You turned your face away. “Don’t start, Dick.”
“I’m not starting. I’m just—” he ran a hand through his hair, eyes flicking to the cigarette. “—watching someone I love hurt themselves again.”
Your shoulders tensed.
“You said you quit.”
Silence.
The city buzzed far below. Car horns. Distant sirens. The occasional laugh. The kind of night that demanded quiet reflection. Or reckless choices.
You flicked ash off the side of your arm. “I wasn’t gonna do it again. I just… needed one.” You didn’t dare look at him.
“I thought you threw them out,” he said, not accusatory—just sad.
“I did.”
“Then how…?”
“I bought a new pack.”
Another beat of silence. And then, softly— “Why?”
You finally looked at him.
His eyes weren’t angry. They were worried. Genuinely. And that made it worse.
You shrugged helplessly. “It’s been a long week. I couldn’t sleep. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.”
He nodded slowly. “And so you lit a match.”
You bit your lip.
“I’m not mad,” he said gently. “But… you promised. Not for me—for you.”
“I know.”
He reached over and plucked the cigarette from your fingers, snuffing it against the brick wall without breaking eye contact.
Then he wrapped his arms around you. Pressed a kiss to your temple.
“I’m here, you know. When it gets bad. You don’t have to do this alone.”
You pause. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”
Dick exhaled, slow. His palm came up to gently press against your cheek.
“Babe,” he whispered. “You could burn down the world, and I’d still choose you. But that doesn’t mean I want to watch you go up in flames.”
You blinked fast, burying your face in his chest. “I’ll try again,” you whispered.
“Good,” he said. “Because you’re worth the effort.”
Jason Todd
“You said you quit.”
His voice didn’t come from in front of you—it came from behind. Flat. Calm. A warning.
You jumped, half-spinning on your rooftop perch to see him emerging from the shadows.
“Jesus, Jay—”
“Don’t deflect.”
He crossed the roof in three strides, pulling the cigarette from your mouth and flicking it off the edge without blinking.
“Hey—!”
Jason held up a hand. “Don’t hey me. You said you quit.”
“I did. I’m just— it’s just one.”
“No. It’s not.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “It’s never just one. That’s the lie. That’s the hook. And you’re smarter than that.”
You scoffed and turned away, folding your arms. “Why do you even care?”
That was the wrong thing to say. Jason stared at you like you’d just slapped him.
“Because I love you,” he said flatly. “Because I’ve watched people kill themselves slowly. Because I’ve stood over too many graves thinking if only they’d tried harder. And I will not do that for you.”
You blinked. “I’m not dying, Jason.”
He gave a bitter smile. “Not yet.”
You deflated. “I wasn’t gonna—” you started, but the words fell apart. “It was just one.”
“Yeah, and Lazarus pits are just fancy bathtubs,” he snapped.
You winced.
He took a breath. Tried again. “You’re better than this,” he murmured. “And you don’t have to prove it to me. Just… prove it to yourself.”
“…I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.” And then, quieter: “Let me help next time. Don’t hide it. Don’t hide you.”
You nodded. Slowly.
And when he kissed your forehead, it wasn’t rough or rushed—it was heartbreakingly gentle.
Silence hung heavy.
Jason stepped forward, pulled the pack from your jacket, thumbed through it like it might bite.
He didn’t throw them. Didn’t yell. Just stared at them for a long moment. Then pocketed them.
“If you’re gonna self-destruct,” he said, voice low, “don’t do it quietly. Don’t do it where I can’t pull you back.”
Your eyes finally met his. “I’m sorry.”
Jason sighed, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “I know.”
You guys get back to his safe house and walk in. Then he turned and dumped the pack in the sink. Ran the water.
“You’re not starting from scratch,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “You’re just picking up where we left off.”
And damn if that didn’t make you cry harder than anything else.
Tim Drake
Tim didn’t mean to catch you, he wasn’t watching for you to mess up.
He was just coming back early from a stakeout. Hoodie pulled over his head, energy drink in hand, the weight of a long night still on his shoulders.
He saw the glow first. A flick of orange against the dark. Balcony light off. Just you and the stars and the smoke.
Tim didn’t knock. Just slid the door open and stood there.
“Seriously?”
The sound of his voice made you flinch. You turned, guilt already blooming. “Tim—”
“You said you were done. You promised.”
“I know. I just…” You hesitated. “I needed something to take the edge off.”
He crossed his arms. “That’s not how this works. You don’t get to cheat your way through the hard parts. You don’t get to lie about it, then ask me to trust you.”
You winced. “It’s not a lie. I really was trying.”
Tim sighed. The anger drained from his face—replaced by something heavier. Sadder.
He walked over to stand next to you, not saying anything for a moment.
After a minute, he held out his hand.
You gave him the cigarette.
He put it out.
“…Is it the stress?” he asked quietly.
Your breath hitched. “…Yeah.”
He nodded. “Okay.” Just that, then silence again.
“Okay?”
“You’re human,” he said. “You slip. I just… I wish you slipped into me instead. I’m right here.”
He’s quiet for a moment, you can see the gears turning in his head. “Work? Family? Me?”
“No. God, no. It’s not you. It’s just—everything. My head doesn’t stop. It spins and spins and sometimes… smoking slows it down.”
Tim nodded. “I get that.”
You blinked. “You do?”
He gave a dry chuckle. “You know how much caffeine I drink to keep from falling apart?”
“…Fair.”
“I’m not judging you,” he said, softer now. “I’m scared for you.”
Your throat tightened. “I didn’t want to look weak.”
“You’re never weak for feeling something,” Tim said. “Only for pretending you don’t.”
He reached out and gently put his arm around your shoulders. “I know what addiction does. I’ve seen it destroy people. I don’t want it to get its claws in you.”
“…Okay,” you said, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Help me quit again?”
“Always,” Tim said. And when he pulled you in, it felt like home.
Damian Wayne
He smelled it before he saw it.
Damian turned the corner of the manor grounds, heading for the greenhouse — and stopped dead.
There you were, leaning half-out of his bedroom window, smoke curling lazily around you. Facing the stars.
He quickly made his way through the manor and up the stairs, you didn’t even hear him come in.
“Beloved.” The word cracked like a whip. “…What are you doing?”
Your stomach dropped. “Nothing,” you said quickly, hiding your hand.
He narrowed his eyes. Walked slowly toward you. Reached out and pulled the cigarette from your fingers.
He looked at it. Then at you.
“You said you quit.” You won’t look at him but you can hear the hurt in his voice.
“I know,” you muttered, shame bubbling.
“You promised.”
“I know.”
“Was your word a falsehood, then?” he asked, voice low. Controlled. “You promised me.”
“I know,” you whispered. “I didn’t plan to—I just…”You swallowed hard. “I had a bad day.”
Damian’s jaw twitched. “We all have bad days,” he said. “You are not alone in that.”
“I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“Why?” he snapped. “Do you think less of me when I fall?”
“No! I—”
He stepped closer, eyes soft. “…Then do not think I will love you less for falling, either.”
He didn’t speak for a long moment. Then, quietly— “Was it me?”
Your head snapped up.
“What?”
“Did I upset you? Did I say something? Fail to support you properly?”
“No—Dami, no. This isn’t your fault. God. This is me.”
He looked uncertain. Like his footing had slipped.
You stepped forward and put your hands on his shoulders.“You are the one person who makes me feel steady. I’m sorry. I messed up. I shouldn’t have. I just… didn’t know how to say I was having a bad day.”
“Next time, say it.”
You nodded.
Damian reached into his coat pocket. Pulled out a small silver coin. Pressed it into your palm. “A replacement. Flip this when you crave one. Let the sound remind you that control is yours.”
You curled your fingers around it. “I’m sorry.”
He brushed his lips over your temple. “I will not lose you to a flame,” he whispered.
“You won’t.”
“…Good. Because if you die, I will kill you.”
You laughed, choked and teary. “Noted.”
Duke Thomas
It started with a knock.
Duke didn’t even wait for you to answer. Just nudged your door open. “You home?” He spent a few minutes looking around for you before he saw.
You were outside the apartment, sitting on the back steps, hoodie pulled over your head, smoke curling like a ghost in the dark.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Just sat beside you. Quiet.
You quickly snuffed the cigarette out under your shoe. You knew it was too late, he’d seen.
“…Bad day?” he asked gently.
You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.
He nodded like he understood. Because he did.
After a long silence, he said, “You remember that night you stayed up with me after I got benched from patrol?”
You look at him with a question on your face.
“You made me tea. Played that dumb playlist. Watched Moana with me three times.”
You smiled faintly. “I remember.”
He nudged you with his shoulder. “Let me return the favor. You don’t have to do this to feel okay. I promise.”
You looked at him. “You’re not mad?”
“I’m not happy,” he said, gently. “But I’m not going anywhere.”
You nodded. “…Okay… I wanted to be done with this,” you mumbled. “I just… I don’t know how to stop needing it.”
Duke nodded. “That’s fair,” he said quietly. “You know what I need when I get that low?”
You glanced over.
He held up a brown paper bag and opened it. Inside was chocolate milk, your favorite sandwich, and a roll of sour candy.
“Next time you feel like lighting up,” he said, nudging your shoulder, “call me. I’ll bring snacks and bad movies and we’ll punch a pillow together.”
You gave a watery laugh.
“And if you do it anyway… I’ll still show up. Just like now.”
“Even if I disappoint you?”
He smiled, slow. Warm. “Baby,” he said, “you don’t lose me that easy.”
You took his hand and headed inside. And for the first time all day, you felt lighter.
HI i loved your batboys fic so so so much!! I was wondering if you’d do a batboys fic where they catch you smoking after you had promised them you’d quit.
