#dc boy wonder

[reneki]

Echoes Of Us

Part Three: The Price of Distance

Pairing: Nightwing (Dick Grayson) x Reader

Theme: Abandonment | Secret Pregnancy | Time Skip | Regret | Emotional Spiral

⸻

Dick checked your apartment three days after you left.

The key didn’t work anymore.

The landlord said you’d broken the lease, left the deposit, and disappeared overnight.

No forwarding address. No note. No goodbye.

Just like that you were gone.

⸻

At first, he thought you just needed space.

A week. Maybe two. You’d come back angry, sure—but not forever.

But you didn’t come back.

Not after the dozen missed calls.

Not after the voicemail he left on your birthday, voice cracking halfway through: “I know I ruined everything. But please… just tell me you’re okay.”

Not even after he ended things with Zatanna. Which, honestly, didn’t even take much. Just a quiet, gut-twisting conversation in the Watchtower.

Zatanna didn’t fight it. Didn’t cry. She just nodded, looked tired, and said, “She deserved better from both of us.”

And she was right.

⸻

You, meanwhile, were disappearing for real.

Not just from the League, but from everything. You didn’t want the press to find you. You didn’t want a hero showing up at your door because someone tracked your energy signature or your credit card trail. You ghosted them all. The League. The Team. Oracle.

You made sure your baby was born into peace—not surrounded by capes and chaos.

You worked under a fake last name. You lived on the edge of the city, near the water, in a small rented house with squeaky floors and sun-warmed curtains.

You didn’t need much.

Just quiet.

Just your daughter.

⸻

She came screaming into the world under the pale blue light of dawn, red-faced and loud, already making her presence known.

You named her Elara—a name that meant “bright one.”

Because she was.

From the first moment you held her, she lit up the cracks in your heart with a kind of warmth you thought you’d never feel again.

She had your mouth. Your nose.

But those blue eyes?

God.

You hated how much they looked like his.

⸻

Meanwhile, Dick Grayson was unraveling in silence.

He went through the motions. Led missions. Patrolled Blüdhaven. Slept for maybe two hours a night, haunted by everything he never said. Every choice that detonated your love like a bomb under his chest.

He never stopped looking.

He checked small towns. Old safe houses. Friend networks.

Nothing.

Wally tried to talk to him. So did Bruce. Even Kory.

But Dick didn’t want comfort. He wanted answers.

He wanted you.

But he didn’t get either.

So he buried himself in the only thing he had left: the job.

Because when you have nothing to lose, the pain makes you faster. Meaner. A little less afraid of dying.

And maybe… that’s what he wanted.

⸻

But time doesn’t stop for anyone.

Not even for broken men.

And one year later, fate finally caught up.

In the middle of a quiet day in Central City.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[mythicalaline]

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[reneki]

In the Shadows with Nightwing: Headcanons

• Dick is the king of forehead kisses. Whenever you’re stressed, distracted, or just because he can, he’ll lean down and press a kiss to your forehead with a soft smile.

• His love language is physical touch. Whether it’s a hand on your lower back, his arms around your shoulders, or his legs casually tangled with yours during movie nights, he always needs to feel connected.

• He’s the type to leave little notes for you around the apartment things like “Don’t forget lunch,” “You’re amazing,” or “Can’t wait to see you tonight.”

• Dick loves slow dancing with you in the kitchen at midnight. Even if there’s no music playing, he’ll hum softly in your ear and sway with you in his arms.

• He spoils you with thoughtful gifts not extravagant ones, but little things that show he pays attention, like your favorite snack, a book you mentioned once, or a pressed flower he picked from a rooftop garden.

• Some nights, he wakes up in a cold sweat from nightmares of failing the people he loves. When that happens, he’ll hold you tighter in his sleep, whispering your name to ground himself.

• He’s constantly battling with feeling like he’s not enough whether it’s for Bruce, the Titans, or you. But your support means everything to him, even if he struggles to admit it.

• After big fights (either arguments or superhero showdowns), he always feels guilty. He’ll quietly set things right, sometimes with an apology gift or just with soft words and a long embrace.

• Despite his easy smile, he’s terrified of losing you. It’s his greatest fear, and sometimes it makes him a little overprotective, though he tries to respect your independence.

• He loves teasing you when you’re trying to concentrate, like poking your sides, brushing his lips against your neck, or distracting you with corny jokes.

• Dick has the most annoying habit of calling you cheesy pet names just to make you blush things like “baby bird,” “sweetheart,” or “gorgeous.”

• He’s surprisingly skilled at cooking, but he’ll pretend to mess up just so you’ll come help him in the kitchen then kiss you senseless.

• On patrol, he’ll occasionally drop onto your balcony just to steal a kiss and check on you, acting all cocky like it was no big deal.

• He’s secretly competitive when it comes to silly things like board games or karaoke, but he’ll always let you win (even though he tries to hide it).

[reneki]

If You Ask, I’ll Deny It

Aged up! Damian Wayne x Reader pt. 5

•••••••••••••••••

For three days, you ignored every text. Every call. Every knock at your door.

You told yourself you were done. You weren’t going to play his game, to let him worm his way back into your life with quiet explanations and half-hearted apologies. He didn’t get to choose when you were part of his world.

You went through the motions—work, groceries, cooking for one—but everything felt brittle, thin, like a glass wall between you and the world.

You hated that you missed his voice. His snark. Even his infuriating habit of stealing your pens during meetings.

You hated that when you lay in bed at night, you replayed his voice in your head—I didn’t want you to find out like this—and wondered if it was true.

Most of all, you hated that you still cared.

You were pouring a mug of coffee, trying to focus on a morning news broadcast, when the knock came again. Firm. Familiar. You froze.

He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t dare.

The knock came again, louder.

You stood there, your pulse racing, willing yourself not to move. But then you heard his voice—muffled through the door but unmistakable.

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

Your fingers curled around the edge of the counter. You wanted to scream, to throw something, to demand why he couldn’t just let you have your space.

But instead, you inhaled sharply and called back, your voice brittle and cold. “Go away, Damian. I’m done.”

“I’m not.”

The words hung there, heavy and raw.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the ache in your chest to disappear. You hated him for making you feel like this—for making you care when you knew better.

But when you opened your eyes and glanced toward the door, you knew he was still there. Waiting.

And somehow, you knew this wasn’t a conversation you could avoid forever.

Your breath shuddered out of you, and before you could think better of it, you crossed the room and yanked the door open.

He stood there, looking exactly the same and yet completely different. His hair was messy, his jacket wrinkled, and there were shadows under his eyes like he hadn’t slept since you last saw him. His mouth opened, but you didn’t let him speak.

“Don’t,” you said sharply, crossing your arms. “Don’t come here with your half-excuses and expect me to just fall back into whatever this was.”

His jaw tightened. “I didn’t come here for excuses.”

“Oh, so what, you came to—what? Guilt me into listening? You think showing up here looking all tired and miserable is going to make me forgive you?”

“I didn’t sleep because I was making sure you were safe,” he snapped, his voice cutting through your anger. “Because I was stupid enough to think you’d listen when I told you to keep your head down. But of course you didn’t. You never do.”

You flinched, your fists clenching at your sides. “Don’t you dare blame me for any of this, Damian. You’re the one who’s been lying for years. You’re the one who decided I wasn’t allowed to know the truth. Don’t you put this on me.”

“I was trying to protect you,” he said, and this time his voice cracked, raw and quiet. “I didn’t know how to tell you. And when I did, it was too late. You were already angry. Already hurt. And I—” He broke off, his mouth tightening into a thin, hard line.

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat. “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep shutting me out, and then expecting me to forgive you when you decide to show up.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “But I’m here. And I’m not leaving. Not until you say what you need to say. Yell at me. Scream. Throw something. Just—don’t shut me out.”

Your throat burned with all the words you wanted to say, but the worst part was knowing that, no matter how much you wanted to hate him, you couldn’t unfeel the years you’d spent knowing him. Fighting with him. Trusting him.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you said finally, your voice breaking.

“I don’t expect you to,” he whispered. “I just… needed you to know I’m sorry. For all of it.”

You stood there, your hands shaking, and for the first time in days, you let yourself feel the weight of everything crashing down on you.

You didn’t reach for him. You didn’t invite him in.

But you didn’t close the door, either.

••••••••••••••••••••••

[reneki]

If You Ask, I’ll Deny It

Aged up! Damian Wayne x reader pt. 2

Authors note; Welcome back to “If You Ask, I’ll Deny It”! In this chapter, we’re turning up the heat as tensions between Reader and Damian reach a boiling point.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The next morning, you woke up with a crick in your neck and a vague sense of unease that you couldn’t shake.

Your phone buzzed against your nightstand with an incoming message early, far too early for even your boss to be bothering you. You squinted at the screen.

Unknown Number: Stay home today.

Your stomach tightened. You stared at the text, reading it over and over, waiting for some follow-up message. But none came.

You shot off a reply.

Who is this?

No answer.

Against your better judgment, you dragged yourself out of bed and got dressed. Gotham wasn’t a city that let you hide in bed just because some creep texted you.

You chalked it up to a prank or maybe one of your coworkers being weird. Still, as you walked to the subway, you couldn’t shake the feeling that eyes were following you from the shadows.

⸻

By midday, the tension that had been coiling around your chest since last night had nearly strangled you. You sat at your desk, glaring at your computer screen, trying to focus on the grant proposal you were supposed to review.

You barely noticed when Damian slid into the chair opposite you, arms crossed over his chest, green eyes narrowed in that infuriatingly calm way.

“You’re pale,” he said. “And you’re jumpy.”

You scowled, but your voice wavered. “I’m fine.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You’re lying.”

You hesitated. You shouldn’t tell him. You shouldn’t give him more reasons to smirk and call you reckless. But something about the way he was watching you—serious, focused, almost like… he cared—made you falter.

“I got a text,” you muttered. “This morning. From an unknown number. It just said… stay home today.”

His expression shifted. It was subtle, but you saw it—the faintest flicker of tension around his mouth, the way his fingers curled tighter around his sleeve.

“Did you listen?” he asked quietly.

“No,” you said stubbornly. “I don’t take orders from random cowards.”

His jaw clenched. “You should have.”

Before you could snap back, there was a sharp, crackling pop outside the building followed by a rush of shouting and the distant, unmistakable sound of gunfire.

You froze.

Damian was on his feet in an instant, grabbing your arm and pulling you behind him, his voice low and urgent. “Stay down. Don’t move.”

“What—what’s going on?!”

“Trouble,” he muttered. “The kind you don’t handle alone.”

In the chaos outside, shadows flickered figures moving too fast, too practiced to be random thugs. You peeked over the desk, catching a glimpse of sleek black and red gear.

Something in your chest twisted. The way they moved… it was almost like…

Before you could process it, Damian turned to you, his eyes hard. “I need you to trust me, okay? No questions. Just trust me.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to demand answers, but the way he was looking at you fierce, protective, almost desperate made your voice die in your throat.

“Fine,” you whispered. “Just—don’t get yourself killed, Damian.”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, his lips parting like he was about to say something important—something you wouldn’t forget.

Then he was gone, slipping out of sight so fast you could almost believe you imagined him.

But you hadn’t.

And as you ducked back under the desk, heart hammering in your chest, you realized two things.

One: you were in way over your head.

Two: Damian Wayne was hiding something.

Something big.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[reneki]

If You Ask, I’ll Deny It

Aged up! Damian Wayne x reader pt 3

••••••••••••••

The building was in chaos.

You crouched behind the desk, your heart pounding so loudly you were half-convinced the gunmen outside could hear it.

Somewhere above the noise the shouts, the running footsteps, the sharp report of gunfire you thought you heard the crackle of something…familiar.

A thud shook the floor, and you flinched. But then, like a phantom, a shadow darted past the edge of your hiding place. You caught a glimpse of red. Black. A cape?

What the hell?

You barely had a second to register the thought before a hand gloved, calloused clamped over your mouth. Your eyes went wide, but the grip loosened just enough for you to breathe.

“Quiet,” a voice hissed in your ear. Familiar, but distorted by a low rasp.

Your pulse skyrocketed. You knew that voice.

Or you thought you did.

Before you could struggle, you were being pulled up and into the shadows. You glimpsed the intruders dark gear, weapons, moving methodically through the office floor. But you were already moving, guided by the figure cloaked in black and red.

You stumbled into a stairwell, and only then did he release you. You whirled around, fists clenched, ready to demand answers—

—and stopped dead.

Robin.

Robin was standing there, mask in place, cape fluttering behind him, looking both out of breath and furious.

“What the hell is going on?!” you demanded, your voice shaking. “Who are those people? Why are you—”

“I told you to stay home,” he said, low and clipped.

You froze. “How do you know—”

He cursed under his breath, tugging the mask just enough to reveal his mouth, his jaw clenched tight. Your stomach dropped.

“Damian,” you whispered.

His gaze met yours, sharp and unflinching.

“Stay here,” he said, voice rough. “I’ll deal with this.”

“Wait! Damian—you can’t just—”

He was already gone, slipping back into the chaos, leaving you alone in the dim stairwell with nothing but the rapid beat of your heart and the dawning realization that the boy you’d spent your whole life arguing with… was Robin.

You stood there, back pressed against the cold concrete of the stairwell, the sound of Damian’s-Robin’s footsteps already fading into the chaos above.

Your legs trembled, your breath hitching in your throat as you replayed the moment over and over in your head. The curve of his jaw beneath the mask. The sharp, familiar way his voice cut through the noise.

Damian Wayne is Robin.

It didn’t make sense.

Except… it did.

The way he’d always seemed too quick, too calculated, too protective. The times he’d disappeared without explanation. The way he’d known to pull you into the shadows tonight. All the tiny moments you’d written off as arrogance or coincidence were crashing down on you like a wave, and you couldn’t breathe.

A muffled shout from above snapped you out of your spiral. Someone one of the gunmen, maybe was giving orders. You could hear the clatter of boots, the scrape of something heavy being moved.

Your brain screamed at you to stay put, to follow Damian’s command, but something deep in your chest, stubborn and reckless and entirely you, refused.

You crept up the stairwell, each step slow and careful, until you reached the landing and peeked through the crack in the door.

The scene beyond was chaos: overturned desks, papers strewn everywhere, a few of your coworkers huddled in terrified clusters. The intruders were methodical, but they weren’t prepared for the sudden shift in momentum.

Because there he was.

Robin—Damian moved through them like a shadow, his staff sweeping low, knocking weapons from hands with precision honed through years of training. He was all sharp edges and coiled tension, but his eyes green, familiar, fierce flashed with something dangerous.

You felt your heart stutter. This wasn’t the Damian Wayne you knew the boy who argued with you over proposals and teased you about your stubborn streak. This was someone sharper, someone deadly.

But then, as he disarmed the last intruder and the room fell into a stunned silence, his gaze flicked toward you.

Just for a second.

And in that second, you saw him. The boy you’d grown up with, the one who’d stood between you and bullies on the playground, the one who’d always been there even when you didn’t understand why.

Your breath caught.

The gunman he’d missed lunged forward, weapon raised.

“Damian!”

You didn’t think you just moved, shoving the door open with a crash, drawing attention long enough for Robin to twist, disarm the man, and send him sprawling.

The room was silent except for your ragged breathing and the weight of his stare.

You took a trembling step forward. “You’re Robin,” you said, voice breaking.

He said nothing.

You took another step. “You’re Robin.”

“I didn’t want you to find out like this.” His voice was low, rough, but so very him.

The weight of it all the years of fighting, the teasing, the arguments, the moments of silent understanding crashed down on you, and you didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or punch him.

Probably all three.

•••••••••••••••••••••••

The lies were crumbling and this time, you weren’t letting him slip away without answers.

[mythicalaline]

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[reneki]

If You Ask, I’ll Deny It

Aged up! Damian Wayne x Reader pt. 4

•••••••••••••••••

The office was silent except for the rasp of your breathing and the distant wail of sirens outside.

You stared at him at Robin, at Damian, at the boy who’d always been one step ahead, the one who was always there to argue, tease, and frustrate you. The boy who’d been lying to you for years.

“You should sit down,” he said quietly, his voice so familiar and yet suddenly unbearable.

You laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and rough in your throat. “Sit down? That’s your response? After all this—this—you just expect me to sit down and… what? Pretend it’s fine?”

He flinched, a rare crack in his ever-composed mask. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

Your hands clenched at your sides. “You didn’t want me to find out at all. That’s what you mean. You’ve been lying to me since we were kids. Since all those years we fought, since all the times you vanished without a word this was what you were hiding.”

“I was trying to protect you,” he said, his voice low and controlled, but you heard the strain in it.

“Don’t,” you snapped, stepping back like his words were something you needed to dodge. “Don’t stand there and feed me lines about protection. You made me feel like a fool, Damian. You made me think you were just-just some arrogant, impossible jerk. I thought we were equals, even if we argued. I thought I knew who you were. But I didn’t know anything.”

His jaw tightened. “You don’t understand—”

“No, I don’t!” you shouted, the words echoing in the broken silence. “And I don’t want to. I’m done trying to figure you out. I’m done making excuses for you!”

You wanted to hurt him with your words, to make him feel even a fraction of the betrayal twisting your chest. But when his lips parted, his eyes meeting yours—not as Robin, not as some vigilante, but as Damian you couldn’t stop the raw, broken thing that escaped you:

“I trusted you,” you whispered. “And you didn’t even give me the chance to decide if I wanted to be part of your world. You just decided for me. Like you always do.”

For a long, aching moment, neither of you moved.

Then the sound of approaching footsteps snapped the fragile thread of silence. Damian’s mask slid fully back into place, and his voice hardened. “We need to move. They’re regrouping.”

You hesitated, every part of you screaming to just walk away. To leave him standing there, to let him clean up his mess alone. But your survival instincts shoved your pride aside.

“I’m not leaving you,” you said sharply, the bitterness still lacing your voice.

For a fraction of a second, something flickered in his eyes relief, maybe but you ignored it, pushing past him toward the stairwell.

“You’ll owe me for this,” you muttered, not looking back.

And this time, you didn’t say it with the usual teasing bite. You said it like a promise. Like a warning.

You’d let him lead you to safety.

But once the danger passed?

You weren’t sure if you’d be able to look at him the same way again.

••••••••••••••••••••