summary: your teenage years were spent with windows left open and nights wide awake, robin's sneaky escapades coloring you bedroom walls. then robin suddenly stopped perching on your windowsill, and the hollowing pain he left behind was your only company. until you met dick grayson in a gala and life threw you for a spin again.
content warnings: i don't think there's much. reader and dick have a talk(TM). there's a bit of groveling from dick if you squint. reader throws up once, though it isn't described. don't swing with a grapple when you have a concussion, children. sadly, both reader and dick are idiots, so ofcourse they ignored it.
author's note: we're reaching the end of this soon. honestly can't wait to get done with because i have new ideas. maybe i'll do a poll and let you all choose which character's fic you'd like to read after this is done. oh, let's also ignore the fact that concussion makes it difficult to have a proper talk due to various factors and no one with a concussion will act like reader. i know. let's ignore medical inaccuracies for now.
Chapter Six : Second Chances
Climbing the fire escape to reach the rooftop of an apartment you no longer live in was — as you had so eloquently put it — weird. Especially when you're still healing with a concussion and every movement was slower and you felt like you'd fall multiple times because your coordination sucks.
Thankfully, you had made it to the rooftop without incident.
The cold air nipped at your skin and you tightened your jacket around you, getting a feeling of deja vu which wasn't helping. Your legs dangled over the ledge, hands tucked into pockets to keep them warm.
The time had read 1:03 A.M the last time you checked it on your phone before you had shoved it into your pocket because it hurt your eyes.
You knew, getting out of the Manor this late with a concussion was not safe. But this was the only way you'd ever be able to sneak out — you father was adamant on keeping you locked up until you healed, but you were too impatient to wait that long.
The sound of a grapple was something you'd recognize anywhere, even after all the years. It was followed by the sound of feet landing on the rooftop. You didn't turn around.
You didn't turn even as his footsteps and he sat down beside you on the edge, keeping your eyes on Gotham’s skyline.
He sat still for a while before starting to get ansty, still not used to sit still for long. It had your lips twitching just a little before it fell.
He said your name, and now that you knew the truth, you wondered how you didn't realize it before. His voice had deepened a little, but it was still soo similar to your Robin's, "I'm sorry."
You turned to look at him finally, his blue eyes covered by Nightwing's domino mask. He had said he'd be coming as when he agreed to meet. You had figured out he was Nightwing after connecting the dots and realizing Bludhaven got Nightwing just a few months after Robin left, so it wasn't much of a shock anymore.
You had so much to say to him, so much to complain and accuse him about, but it all left you as soon as you looked at him, until only thing that came out was, "You promised."
You hated how much the domino mask stopped you from properly seeing his expression as he said, "I know."
"You broke it."
"I know."
"Why?"
He didn't answer immediately, searching for words like he always did, before sighing and running a hand through his hair. He removed his domino mask up to reveal his eyes. The building was tall and the surroundings empty enough for his identity to still be safe.
"I... fuck, I don't know," He said, looking away from your eyes before quickly looking back, "Batman... he just fired me from being Robin one day. Because I was late. He thought I "wasn't taking my job seriously". Just like that, Robin was gone."
"I was so angry. Robin was mine. I created it. My parents used to call me that. But he just took it away," He fiddled with his mask, "I was hurt. I also wanted to prove to him that I could be something out of his shadow. That I could be something other than "Batman's sidekick". So... I left."
You opened your mouth to say something, but he continued, shaking his head, "I know I should have told you. I regret not telling you even till today. But I guess... I guess I wanted to find stability before bringing you into my mess. Everything was too much all at once, I didn't know what to focus on and what to thing about later."
"I'm sorry," He said, your name leaving his lips like a plea, his hands coming up to cover yours which you had removed from your pockets, "I'm so damn sorry I left without a word. I just... I was so lost, I was barely keeping myself together."
You let him hold your hand, looking down at them before looking back up, "The gala... You knew who I was since the beginning, didn't you?"
"I did," He admitted, forcing himself to keep the eye contact, though his body straightened up.
You exhaled, his hands tightened arounds yours instinctively before he forced them loose, "How much of our interactions were planned, Dick? Were any of them even real?"
"None of them," He said, looking a little desperate for you to believe him, "I promise. I did come back to Gotham and attend the Gala knowing you would be there, but everything else truly a coincidence."
"But you knew," You pressed, after making sure he wasn't lying. You didn't know what you would do if he was, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't know how to," He let your hands go now to run a hand though his hair, looking away with a depreciating smile, "I couldn't just say, 'hi, yes I'm the idiot who ghosted you six years ago. I'm back now'. That's such an asshole move."
"So you thought it was better to flirt with me, then ghost me again when I figured it out with a 'get well soon' text?" You asked dryly, raising an eyebrow.
"I... yeah, now that you say it," He winced, "That is an asshole move too."
Silence stretched for a while. He ran out of words to say, fiddling with his mask, waiting for you to speak. You watched him shift for a while, before sighing, "It's alright."
His head snapped up soo fast, you were sure it hurt his neck, as he stared at, eyes wide with surprise, "...just like that?"
"Just like that." You shrugged, looking down at the city, "I still would have liked a heads up before you left the city. I wouldn't have waited like an idiot for a whole year if you had told me. But I get it, you did have a lot going on. It would be an asshole move from me to not understand."
"You also make it hard to stay mad at you," You said, looking back at him, a teasing glint in your eyes, "You look like a kicked puppy when you apologise."
There was a second's pause before Dick — in all his acrobatic glory — threw himself at you in a hug. You let out a surprised squeak before wrapping your arms around him with a little laugh, feeling his forehead drop to your shoulder.
"Thank you," He said, his voice close to your ears because of the hug, and you were so glad he couldn't see your face right now as the blood rushed to your cheeks, "For everything. And I'm sorry. I really am."
"You don't have to keep apologising, Dick," You said, and he let out a non-committal hum before pulling back just a little so he could see your face but still be close.
"I really do wanna make it up to you," He said, pretty blue eyes staring into yours and God, could you keep looking at them forever.
"How do you plan on doing that?"
He pulled back more at that, giving you a nervous smile as he asked, "Meet me at Maria's coffee shop?"
"Are you asking me out on a date?"
"What if I am?"
You're lips twitched up into a smile, "You'd have to wait a few weeks. My Dad isn't gonna let me out until this concussion is healed, and Maria doesn't keep her shop opened this late for me to sneak out."
"I can wait," He said, grinning his stupid smile which always managed to make your heart skip beats. Stupid, pesky little organ.
You both stayed on the rooftop for a while longer before parting ways when his comms crackled and he was asked to join the other vigilantes in their patrol.
But ofcourse, not before he carried and dropped you as near to the manor as he could get without being seen because he said "It's dangerous to walk with a concussion".
You would have preferred the walk to all the swinging because you were nauseous by the time your feet touched the ground, and you barely made it to your room's bathroom before throwing up.
You buried yourself under covers after managing to clean up, picking up your phone.
Me:
I hate you.
Dick <3:
You just said you didn't half an hour ago :(
Me:
I changed my mind. You made me throw up.
Dick <3:
Shit. I forgot you're not used to swinging with concussions like I am.
I'm sorry, darling.
You stared at the word for a long while to make sure you it correctly.
Me:
Whatever.
You put your phone aside before your headache got worse, pulling the covers over your head, ignoring the flush on your cheeks.
Dick Grayson was trouble. Deep, deep trouble. God help the person who tries to get you out of it.
summary: your teenage years were spent with windows left open and nights wide awake, robin's sneaky escapades coloring you bedroom walls. then robin suddenly stopped perching on your windowsill, and the hollowing pain he left behind was your only company. until you met dick grayson in a gala and life threw you for a spin again.
content warnings: don't think there's much tbh. reader has a concussion and is recovering from it. dick has switched up to avoiding her to give her 'space'. reader is not a fan of his ghosting and disappearing tendencies. there are also multiple, short robin!dick flashbacks, exploring dick's complicated relationship with bruce.
author's note: hi, hello. honestly didn't think i will be getting these chapters out so soon, but my creative juices are flowing, so who am i to stop them?
Chapter Five : Avoidance
It had been week since the convenience store incident. You had woken up in a hospital with your father beside you and were informed you had a concussion that will take a few weeks to heal.
Your father had put a ban on you leaving the manor until you healed fully, and your head hurt whenever you even thought too much, so you didn't argue.
Moreover, you didn't really think you would be able to do much when you lived in a constant feeling of nausea, let alone leave the manor.
You'd live without leaving the manor for a few days. It was fine.
What wasn't fine was Dick fucking Grayson.
When you were finally able to look at your phone screen without throwing up, you had reduced the brightness fully and looked at the texts he had sent with squinted eyes hoping for some kind of answer.
Because you knew he knew. He had to know. There was no way he didn't know.
You hadn't known Robin's name, but he knew yours. He would have known you were returning to the city the day your father had announced it to the media.
Was every interaction you had with Dick planned? Was any of it actually real? Why didn't he tell you he was your Robin?
You had too many questions and his messages — his stupid messages — didn't give you any fucking answers.
Dick:
Hey, sorry I left while you were unconscious and wasn't there when you woke up.
I had to deal with some things.
I know you have a lot of questions, Rain, and I will answer them.
But you need to focus on getting better first. Take care of yourself, please.
We'll talk soon.
That was it.
Five messages six days ago and no explanation whatsoever. Then he ghosted you. Again. Like he had done when you were nineteen.
If you were not dealing with a concussion, you would have probably cussed him out through text and then blocked him because he's messing with you one more time and you can't deal with the pain again.
But since you were dealing with a concussion, all you did was toss your phone aside because the screen was still too bright even after setting it to the lowest, and left him on read, burying your face in a pillow and trying to go back to sleep, ignoring the dampness on the pillowcase.
Whatever. You didn't even like him that much.
"You seem tense," You said, looking up from your phone when the window slid open and Robin stepped into your room, tension replacing the usual ease in his shoulders, his smile not on his face.
You were both eighteen now.
He smiled as he looked at you, but you knew him enough to know it didn't reach his eyes even if the domino mask was in place, "Patrol was just harder than usual."
"Uh-huh," You said, unconvinced, tilting your head, eyes narrowing, "No major villain has escaped Arkham, Robin. The most you would have faced is a mugger with a knife or a gun."
Every Gothamite had an app which came installed in default which alerted people if there was an Arkham breakout, so you knew for a fact that you were right.
"Too many muggers with a knife?" He tried. You squinted. He sighed, dropping his shoulders as he dramatically threw himself on your bed right beside where you were sitting.
"It's just Bru— Batman," He said, face down on your plush mattress, "I had a fight with him again."
"Yeah? That makes the two of us."
"You fought with Batman?"
You snorted, "No, silly. My dad. Probably screamed my throat raw. It still hurts a little."
He turned his neck so his cheek was pressed against your matress, looking at you, "Why?"
You shook your head and nudged him with your foot, "You first."
He sighed, buring his face back into your mattress, his voice coming out muffled as he spoke, "It's a long story."
"I have time," You smiled a little, "I'll always have time for you, Robin."
He smiled back, a little tired, "I'll always have time for you too, Rain."
"I know," You said, your voice softer. It had been long enough for you to believe he'll always be there. Your constant in a world which seemed to keep taking people away from you one way or the other, "Now, tell me about the fight before I decide to kick you out."
"You would never kick me out, Rain."
"You're over confident."
"No, I just know you."
He really did, and that was the worst part.
"So, any reason you sat on my rooftop instead of entering my room?" You asked, tugging your jacket closer to yourself to keep you warm against the chilling winter air, legs hanging off the edge of the rooftop.
Robin was beside you, doing a handstand on the edge because he was lived from the drama and couldn't sit still for longer than a minute.
You never failed to wonder how he handled the cold with his shorts. That ought to give one frostbite when it snows. The weather forecast said it might start to snow in a few days, the temperature dropping significantly. And yet here in was, in shorts on a rooftop doing a headstand like the cold didn't freeze his limbs off. That wasn't normal.
But then again, many things about Robin were far from normal.
"It's nothing," He said, walking on his hands towards you, because he was a show-off, "I just wanted to be in an open space tonight."
You hummed, watching as he got back on his feet before sitting beside you, legs dangling off the ledge, before looking at Gotham’s skyline, "I get like that sometimes. Can't stay in my room."
He stayed unusually quiet, staring down at the city with a thoughful expression. You nudged his side with your elbow, "Penny for your thoughts?"
"It's Batman," He exhaled after a while of silence, fiddling with his cape, "It's always Batman nowadays."
You made a sympathetic noise, not pushing further, knowing he'd tell you if he wanted to.
In the past few weeks Robin had been visiting you, he'd sometimes open up about his fights with Batman. He felt like Batman doesn't consider him an equal partner, doesn't value his opinions as much. It sometimes felt too similar to your fights with your own father.
Both him and Batman seemed to love taking your decisions for you, even if both of you were adults and can make your own decisions.
"Do you ever feel like running away?" He asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the city below you, hugging his cape around him when a particularly chilly breeze brushed past, "Like leaving it all behind and doing your own thing?"
"All the time," You admitted, looking down at your own hands, "I even planned on leaving the country after a particularly bad fight with him."
"Yeah? What made you change your mind?" He was looking at you now, and you could feel his intense gaze even with the domino mask.
You turned to look at him as well, smiling a little, "You. I can't meet you if I left the country, can I?"
"Oh."
You sighed, tucking your hands into your jacket pockets, "I won't stop you if you want to leave, Robin. But promise me, you'll tell me where you're going before you leave."
"I promise," He said.
He lied.
"Happy birthday," You said cheerfully, handing Robin a neatly wrapped gift box as soon as he entered the room through your window.
He paused, surprised, before smiling widely, his dimples showing as he took the box from your hand. He went to open it, but you slapped his hand away, "Cake first."
You nodded towards the cake on the desk you had ordered from a bakery just as it was about to be closed to make sure it was as fresh as possible.
Let's just say your baking attempts were not as good as you wanted them to be, so you had to settle for store brought cake.
His grin got wider — if it was even possible — and his hand wrapping around you in a thank you hug, "God, I love you."
Your heart did stupid things like skipping a beat at his words, but you didn’t have time to react because he was already moving towards the cake with the brightest smile.
It wasn't the first time Robin had said things like that, but it never failed to make red crawl up your neck. It was starting to become a problem.
You shook it off, sitting on your bed as he sat on your swiveling chair and cut the cake with the knife which came with it, before turning towards you with the slice in his hand, feeding it to you. You fed him a slice too.
After wiping his hands clear with a napkin, he finally opened the wrapped box to reveal a framed photo.
It was the two of you, sitting on the railing of the fire escape, identical grins on your face. The camera was in your hand, and the photo was taken just two weeks ago. On the white part of the photo, written in your slightly messy handwriting was 'Robin and Rain' along with the year it was taken.
You rubbed the back of your neck, avoiding looking at him as he stared at the photo frame, unsure if he would like the gift or not, "...I can get you something else if you don't like it."
"It's perfect." His voice was closer than it was seconds before, making you look up, blinking in surprise at how close he was, the distance between you two significantly reduced.
"Oh."
"Really, I love it." He said, quickly brushing a kiss against your cheek before pulling away like nothing happened, "Thank you."
Red crawled up your neck and colored your cheeks, and you cleared your throat, unable to hold off the smile on your face.
That was the last time you saw him.
He went on a Teen Titans mission soon after, then just never came back to your apartment. You waited for a whole year before giving up, packing your bags and leaving the country.
You reached for your phone again, wanting to get done with this situation once and for all, and pushed through the pain in your head, opening your messages again, typing out a quick text to Dick.
Me:
My old apartment rooftop. Tomorrow. 1 A.M.
You tossed you phone aside after you hit send, exhaling and picking up your pillow and placing it on your face.
summary: your teenage years were spent with windows left open and nights wide awake, robin's sneaky escapades coloring you bedroom walls. then robin suddenly stopped perching on your windowsill, and the hollowing pain he left behind was your only company. until you met dick grayson in a gala and life threw you for a spin again.
content warnings: robbery attempt. gun violence. a hostage attempt. reader just wanted a tub of ice cream to deal with stuff, but here she is. past gun-death mentioned (reader's mother). robin!dick. fluff in flashbacks. robin and reader are adorable. robin gives reader a nickname. said nickname is used.
author's note: hi lovelies. i don't have much to say here, except for the fact that i'm official in love with reader and robin. i'm also sure you guys know the drill by now. this is unedited. i swear i will get around to editing these soon, especially the flashback part because I don't like it very much. till then, happy reading :D
Chapter Four : Robbers And Vigilantes
You just wanted ice cream.
Just that. A whole tub of your your favourite ice cream that you could shove into your mouth and cope unhealthily with the memories this morning's interaction with Dick had resurfaced because you were an adult and nobody could tell you 'no'.
On hindsight, you should probably have agreed to take a bodyguard like your father had insisted after you were nearly followed back to the manor when you left the coffee shop and parted ways with Dick.
In your defense, your lack of awareness of being followed for a few blocks stemmed from familiar words on unfamiliar tongues being stuck in your mind. So technically, you can blame that on Robin.
You can blame a lot of things on Robin if you were determined and bored enough, but that is not the point.
The point is, you walked into the 24/7 convenience store at 1:03 A.M, greeted the cashier, then went straight to the dairy section with your ear pods in your ears, listening to a song that has been stuck in your mind for a while.
Negative one for your lack of survival instincts. Your body was apparently still in your home, and not in Gotham where danger lurks everywhere.
You picked up a tub of your favourite flavor, then decided to pick up a smaller tub of a flavor you hadn't tried before, then happily moved to return back to the cashier and get back to the manor where you can regret your decisions after you get a brain freeze.
If only things were ever that simple in your life.
There were three armed men here, one of them pointing a gun at the cashier and asking her to empty the registry, and the other two were scanning the place.
You thought it was an overkill to bring three guns to rob a small convenience store, until one of the robbers spotted you and pointed his gun at you, signalling the others of your presence, forcing you to drop the tubs of ice cream and raise your hands, the hair on your neck standing up.
Yeah, maybe they weren't here to just rob the store. Maybe they were here because you were. You, the only heir to a multimillion dollar company with zero survival instincts, for whom your father will pay a lot of money to be freed.
You couldn't help but think it was vaguely similar to how you lost your mother. There were robbers. There were guns. Your mother was in a store which was shut down soon after, buying craft supplies for your school instead of sending a worker to do it because she felt like it would be a nice walk.
Except she wasn't the target of the guns. You still couldn't figure out if that made it better or worse. It was another rich kid, someone whose bodyguard had already been knocked out. They were about to take her away. If your had simply kept to herself, if she hadn't done anything, she probably would still be with you.
But because she was your mother, you kind, brave, sometimes foolish mother, she tried to help the girl. And because she did, she never came back home with your craft supplies.
Cold metal pressed against your temple, and you hated the shiver which ran down your spine, your mind screaming danger and ringing warning bells which you couldn't move a muscle because God gifted you with freeze instincts instead of fight or flight.
The robber now holding you said something about you coming with them and ransoms, but the words barely reached your ears.
You definitely should have taken a bodyguard.
The robber — kidnapper — shoved you, barking at you to move forward while not removing the gun from your temple and you made to follow, because you — contradictory to popular beliefs — didn't have a death wish.
Then the convenience store doors slid open, and you froze when you saw two people enter, clearly unaware of what was happening because the Cashier couldn't alert the GCPD when a gun was pointed at her, the holder of it daring her to make a move.
Dick, and Tim.
The two froze near the door when they realized what was happening, and Tim immediately spun around and ran back out, but Dick, unfortunately, wasn't fast enough because the third man had his gun pointed at him now, forcing him to raise his hands, but not before you saw him subtly press something on the sleeve of his shirt.
The man holding you laughed, saying something about how they'd get more money now that they had Bruce's son, while the other man moved to press his gun against Dick’s temple, holding him still.
Dick looked way too calm as that happened, you realized. Either he was too used to it happening because of who he was, or he was way too good at hiding his emotions. Either way, both of you were getting kidnapped now.
You felt your delayed panic start to rise, hands shaking slightly from where your kidnapper had held it behind you in a death grip, and you felt like you were drowning, everything too distant and fuzzy to register except the metal against your temple which was starting to feel warm because of your body temperature. You were simultaneously too aware and not aware enough.
A whistle tore through your panicked haze, and you looked up immediately to see Dick already looking at you. There was concern in his blue eyes as they met yours, before it disappeared into an calming smile as he said, "Hi."
A surprised laugh bubbled out just because of how casual the greeting was in a situation which was anything but, and his smile widened a little.
"Really wish I was meeting you in a better situation than this," He continued, purposely and dangerously ignoring the man behind him who barked a 'shut up!' and pressed the gun on his temple hard enough to leave a mark.
"Yeah?" You found yourself asking, voice shaky, because his voice was the only think keeping you grounded for now, stopping you from losing yourself in your panic.
"Yeah, I haven't even asked you out on a proper date yet, and we're already being kidnapped together," He said, and either your kidnappers were too baffled by his disregard for his safety or didn't know how to deal with you two, but they were too stunned to move as he continued, "I'd say we're meant to be together. Why else would we keep running into eachother?"
Your mind was clear enough by now to realize he was stalling. For what, well, the caped figure looming over the man holding Dick which had the man behind you stiffening, and Robin — not your Robin — beside him wearing the signature colours, just with pants instead of shorts, was answer enough.
The movements were then too quick for you to register. Batman immediately disarmed the man holding Dick, knocking him out with just a few hits, while Robin used his bö staff to knock the gun out of the man's hands who was threatening the cashier, before hitting the gun far away from him.
You felt the tension loosen just a little in your shoulders, because this was Batman and Robin, and although he was not your Robin, they had saved you before, years ago. You knew they would save you now too.
Batman moved towards the man holding you, and the man — panicked but still trying to act brave — pressed the gun harder against your temple, threatening to shoot you if he took a step closer.
The man had no intention of following through the threat, Batman knew that, because the safety was still on. You knew that because hadn't heard the click even once throughout the entire hostage situation.
So Batman moved closer, grabbing the man's hand, and he was stupid enough to fight against the grip. Somewhere between the fight, however, the butt of the gun hit your head because the man was still holding you and you weren't able to escape.
Pain bloomed immediately, your vision going dark for multiple seconds because damn it, that was a hard hit. Your knees gave out as soon as the man was forced to let go out you, and hands were holding you and stopping your fall, though you couldn't see who it was, your consciousness slipping through your fingers like sand from a fist.
A voice — Dick, you fuzzy mind supplied — with alarm coating his words, reaching your ringing ears, "Shit! Rain! Don't close your eyes!"
That nickname...
"...Robin?" Was the last you mumbled before darkness claimed you.
You and Robin were both fifteen now.
His visits had stopped being daily, though he still tried to visit multiple times a week. He had a team now, he had said once excitedly, Teen Titans. So he couldn't visit the days he was working with them.
You didn't mind as long as he still visited.
Today was one of those days he had visited.
You were sprawled on your bed, reading a book while Robin fiddled with your phone. He wanted to give you a nickname, so he was currently googling them.
He had announced that as soon as he entered your room through the open window. Apparently, he had given nicknames to every friend of his on the Teen Titans, so he wanted to give you a nickname too, so every friend of his had one.
You couldn't possibly deny such enthusiasm, especially when he called you one of his best friends. So ofcourse you handed him your phone when he asked you because he wasn't allowed to bring his on patrol.
He had already made you laugh so many times by reading some of the ridiculous suggestions on the internet, but he hadn't settled on one yet.
"It's just a nickname, Robin," You had said after the first five minutes of his search, looking at him over the rim of your book, "You can just call me whatever."
"Well, Robin was a nickname before it became my vigilante name," He had argued, looking indignant at the suggestion, "Nobody would take me seriously if my nickname and vigilante name was, like, I don't know—" He read one of the suggestions, nose scrunching, "—chaos ferret."
"I doubt anyone takes Robin seriously," You had teased, biting back a laughter, "With your traffic colors and those shorts."
"Hey!"
Regardless, he was taking the task at hand very seriously.
A few more minutes passed before Robin let out a cheerful noise, standing up from where he was sitting criss-cross apple sauce on your bedroom floor, making you look up, "I found it!"
"Did you, now?" You asked, sitting up and placing your book aside and placing a bookmark in, accepting your phone when he handed it back to you.
"Uh-huh," He nodded, before cheerfully christening you, "Rain!"
You blinked, surprised, "Rain?"
"Yes!" He grinned, his dimples showing, "Rain. I had thought of it before I even came here, but I wanted to see other options. Those options are shit, so Rain."
You blinked at the curse before teasing, "What, is it because I like rain?"
He paused, thinking, finding words to put it into a sentence, his voice shy and unsure as he answered, "Partly. Mostly because you know, rain is something which is refreshing, like a... breath of fresh air? I think it suits you. You're like a breath of fresh air from crime fighting."
Your vision was suddenly blurry.
You didn't remember the last time someone had called you a nickname who wasn't your mother. Even your father, when he still cared, had stuck to your name, using the generic ones like 'sweetheart' during rare moments.
But here was Robin, putting so much thought into a simple nickname. You couldn't help but be touched.
Robin probably took your silence the wrong way, because his smile faltered a little, "I can think of another one if you don't like it! I just thought this one was nice, and our nicknames would also start with an 'R', Robin and Rain. I will—"
You cut off his rambling by moving towards him and throwing your hands around him in a hug. He froze from surprise for s second because this was the first time you had hugged him, before wrapping his arms around with with a bright grin.
"So, I take it you like the nickname?"
You laughed a little, the sound suspiciously watery, but he didn't call you out on it, "Yeah. It's perfect."
summary: your teenage years were spent with windows left open and nights wide awake, robin's sneaky escapades coloring you bedroom walls. then robin suddenly stopped perching on your windowsill, and the hollowing pain he left behind was your only company. until you met dick grayson in a gala and life threw you for a spin again.
content warnings: robin!dick appearance. fluff. reader and her robin are adorable. mention of reader's complicated relationship with her father. that is all, i think.
author's note: hi, hello. sheesh, i didn't think this will reach as many people in just a few hours as it did. this is also unedited. apparently, i don't enjoy editing as much as i do writing. anyways, happy reading :D
Chapter Three : Coincidences
The coffee shop's door opening was signalled by the bell above it chiming, the sound familiar even if you hadn't heard it in years.
It was a long walk from the Manor — you didn't want to take the car and draw attention, especially after the Gala not too long ago — but it helped clear your head. Moreover, Maria's coffee was worth the exercise.
Your eyes scanned the ambience of the small shop which was just two blocks away from the apartment you had been in since you were thirteen, feeling nostalgic even though many things had changed in the five years you were not around.
Thankfully, your third most favorite person in the city still worked the counter.
(The first and second were your mother and Robin respectively).
"Maria," You said as you approached the counter, feeling your lips twitch up in an involuntary smile as the woman in her thirties looked at you and beamed brightly once she recognized you, "Still here, I see."
"Some of us like being consistent," She said, already preparing your order, having remembered it even after five years, "You wouldn't know that, would you, Miss. I-disappear-for-five-years-without-a-goodbye."
"I..." You trailed off, your smile turning guilty, "I'm sorry, Maria. I just needed to get away for a while."
"Nonsense," Maria laughed, waving it off, because she was amazing and understanding and she never made you feel guilty for anything and she was the closest thing to a big sister you had, "We all want to get away for a while."
She handed you your freshly brewed coffee, "I'm just glad you're here again."
There was a lump in your throat which you swallowed as you took the cup, "I guess I am too."
It's hard to understand how much something can be missed until it's right infront of you after a long time.
You didn't allow yourself enough time to miss the little things about Gotham which made it your home when you were back at your country. The graffitis on walls, the kids with skateboards, the smell of Maria's coffee which she refused to share the recipe of, the rooftops...
You shook your head, not wanting to go down that lane as you slid into a booth, holding the coffee cup in-between your palms, the heat pleasant against your skin.
You took a sip and leaned back into the seat, enjoying the few moments of peace and quiet before your father will eventually call and ask you to return to the manor to discuss the logistics of business or whatever else he wants to talk about.
That all was for later. For now, it was just the coffee in your hands, the quiet of the booth, and Maria's chatter if you felt like it.
And Dick Grayson, apparently.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you pulled it out, seeing messages from an unknown number. You opened the thread, setting the coffee down on the table infront of you.
Unknown:
Hi :D
It's Dick, by the way. In case you forgot giving me your number.
You lips curved into an amused smile at that. Ofcourse you didn't forget giving him your number. That was literally the day before.
Me:
I didn't. Was wondering when you'd text me.
Dick Grayson:
Were you waiting by the phone all night, waiting for my text? ;)
You snorted, glad you were not drinking your coffee while texting.
Me:
Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Mr. Grayson. I barely know you.
Dick Grayson:
Right. Gotta fix that.
Me:
What do you mean?
Dick Grayson:
I mean, look behind you.
You turned around, blinking in surprise when you saw Dick Grayson, in all his glory and a hoodie, wave at you with the hand holding his phone, a coffee cup in his other hand.
He looked ridiculously good this early in the morning, black hair messy in a way that seemed intentional as he grinned at you, his dimples showing.
So ofcourse, you invited him to sit across you.
"Hi, again," He said as he slid in to the seat opposite you, that pretty smile still in place.
"Hi," You said, taking a sip of your coffee before hugging the cup with your fingers to keep them warm, "So, do you come here regularly?"
"Everytime I'm in Gotham," He nodded, taking a sip of his own coffee, "Maria's coffee stays unbeatable."
Right. He stays in Bludhaven most of the time. There have been many articles about his life there.
No, you didn't try to stalk him on the internet after you came home from the gala. And even if you did, so what?
"That makes the two of us," You said, turning over to look at Maria who was currently offering recommendations to a person who was clearly a tourist just from how lively they looked, before looking back at Dick, "I swear she does black magic. That's the reason she refuses to give me the recipe."
He laughed, and the sound was so infectious that you found yourself chuckling too, "She sure does."
Conversations, you realized, were always easier with Dick. Even after having only met him two times, it felt like you've known him for ages with how easily the conversation flowed.
Time passed without you realizing with him and you found yourself having a rather dramatically passionate debate about if espresso and americano were basically the same thing or not, before laughing at how ridiculous the argument was.
It wasn't until faint drops of rain water started to platter against the windows of the coffee shop that you realized how much time had truly passed, glancing at your phone to see that it was 8:56 A.M already.
Dick noticed your glance and tilted his head, strands of black hair falling over his pretty blue eyes which he immediately brushed aside as he asked, "Have somewhere to be?"
"No," You said, shaking your head, looking at the rain drops hitting the window at a slightly faster pace now, even if the weather forecast had said it would be sunny today, "It's not like I can go out now, didn't bring an umbrella with me."
"Not a fan of rain?"
"The opposite, actually. Big fan."
He smiled, that stupidly pretty smile which managed to make your heart do stupid things like skip a beat, "I didn't like it, at first."
You turned your attention back to him, curious, "You didn't?"
"Mhm, no." He didn't explain further, not that you'd ask.
Instead, you asked, "What made you change your mind, then?"
"Someone I knew, a close friend," He said, looking at the rain through the window now, "They said rain was like Gotham washing it's face."
He added something, but the words didn't reach you. It was like you were suddenly submerged deep in a water body and he talking to you from a surface, his voice all distant and distorted.
Rain was like Gotham washing it's face.
That was...
It was your fourteenth birthday.
Rain pounded on your closed window as he sat on your desk, hands folded over the surface and your face resting in them sideways, listening to the rapid pitter-patter of the water.
Your phone laid just within reach, waiting. You've been waiting for a while now. For a call, or a message even. Just an acknowledgement from your father, something to say that he remembered your birthday. That you turned fourteen today.
Your caretaker had already baked you a cake. Half of it was still in the refrigerator because it was too much cake for just you and her.
You were supposed to be sleeping right now, you knew that. You also knew there was no way Robin would be knock on your window with how heavy the rain was.
He had first arrived a week after he dropped you home to ask you if your ankle had healed, and scaring the shit out of you by the knock because you were watching a horror movie which definitely wasn't for thirteen year olds.
He had laughed while you part-yelled at him and part-laughed at your own reaction. Then you hesitantly asked him to come in and check for himself because you hadn't told your caretaker about the injury, not wanting to explain you sneaking out.
He slid the window open, walked closer to your bed, poked and prodded your ankle on which you had done a poor job of a splint, before fixing it and telling you it'll be fine in a few days.
That was how it started.
He checked in regularly to make sure you "don't get yourself killed" because you "don't wanna have a conversation with your caretaker". Then the regular visits became daily.
Sometimes he'd even bring candies and both of you would share them and talk for a while before he had to get back to his patrol.
Today, you missed his company terribly. It was always lonely in the apartment. It was too big for just two people. But it was your birthday, so the loneliness was more profound.
If only Robin was...
There was a knock on your window which had you straightening immediately, whirling around in your swiveling chair to stare at the person knocking in disbelief.
Robin. It was Robin in a yellow raincoat which was also obviously made for patrol too, given the "tactical improvements" as he liked to call it. He was smiling brightly and holding a small box in a zip lock bag to prevent it from getting wet.
You were immediately on your feet, opening the window and letting him in, disbelief lacing you words, "You came."
"Why wouldn't I? It's your birthday!" He said, carefully removing his raincoat and keeping it near your window for later so that he didn't drip water all over your floor.
Something dangerously close to tears stung your eyes before you blinked them away, "You remember?"
"Duh!" He said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Ofcourse I do. Friends remember eachother's birthdays."
"Here," He said, shoving the box — now out of the zip lock bag — into your hands, "Happy birthday!"
Your smile was wobbly around the edges but just as happy as you opened the box gently, revealing a bracelet.
It had a simple design, a thin chain with small, forget-me-not flower charms attached to it. It was beautiful. It made you want to cry because someone remembered.
"Look, I have a similar one," Robin said, drawing your attention to him and you looked up to see his showing you his wrist where a matching bracelet already rested, "We match!"
You smiled, trying to hook the bracelet around your own wrist, and he did it for you after watching you struggle for a while, "We do match."
"Wait a minute," You said, turning towards your bedroom door, remembering something, "Stay here!"
You disappeared out the door and returned with the remaining cake in your hand, cutting a slice, putting it on a plate and handing it to him.
"You too," He insisted, so you cut yourself a slice too, both of you sitting on your bed as you ate the cake.
The rain had slowed down to a drizzle by the time he had to leave, and he looked relieved at that, sitting on your fire escape railing like he did every time before shooting his grapple, his raincoat tucked under his arm.
"You don't like rain?" You asked, mostly to make him stay for a while longer. You were allowed to be selfish on your birthday.
"No," He said, shaking his head, providing no further explanation, not that you wanted one, "What about you?"
"I love it," You admitted, smiling a little, "Me and my mother, we used to love playing in the rain. She used to say that rain was like Gotham washing it's face."
Robin hummed, before smiling at you, "Alright, I gotta go. Don't want Batman brooding because I'm late."
"He always broods."
"He broods extra when I'm late." With that, he shot his grapple and was gone.
"Hey," Dick waved his hand infront of your eyes, eyebrows slightly furrowed, and you blinked, coming back to present. He dropped his hand, raising an eyebrow, "You okay?"
"Yeah," You cleared your throat, shaking you head, "Just remembered something."
"Oh, cool," He leaned back into the seat, relaxing a smiling, smiling teasingly, "I thought my talking bored you enough to zone out."
You smiled weakly, "My mother used to say that."
"Say what?"
"Rain is like Gotham washing it's face."
"Oh," He said, sitting up straighter just a little straighter, running a hand through his hair as something unreadable passed through his eyes, "Guess it's a common phrase."
You weren't so sure. All the years you had spent in Gotham, you hadn't heard anyone say that phrase except your mother. But then again, you had spent a good chunk of your time here in isolation, so maybe it is a common phrase and you just hadn't heard people say it.
But your mother had said that to you. And the only other person you know who could know that phrase was Robin.
But Robin was gone. He had left years ago. The new Robin is someone else entirely.
summary: your teenage years were spent with windows left open and nights wide awake, robin's sneaky escapades coloring you bedroom walls. then robin suddenly stopped perching on your windowsill, and the hollowing pain he left behind was your only company. until you met dick grayson in a gala and life threw you for a spin again.
content warnings: light fluff. light angst. robin!dick appearance. mentions of a gun, though it isn't fired. injuries and canon-typical violence. mentions of an absent parent (reader's father). mentions of dead family members (reader's mother). that's all, i think.
author's note: i wrote this instead of studying for my sem exams. on the bright side, tomorrow is my last exam, so i can finally dedicate my full attention to my writing. this is also unedited.
Chapter Two : Haunted
You first met Robin when you were thirteen.
It was two weeks after your mother's funeral, one week after your father had moved you from the manor to an apartment in a safe neighbourhood with a caretaker.
"People will have eyes on the manor," He had said, looking worn down by the grief who held both of you in a chokehold, "It's for your safety."
He had also said he'd call everyday. You had started to initiate the calls on day three.
You stared at the ceiling of your apartment, fiddling with the phone in your hand. It was long after dinner, your caretaker had already checked up and you and went to bed.
You hadn't called him today. Your today's call logs lay empty. He hadn't called either.
The apartment walls were too close suddenly. You needed air. You needed to get away from it all.
You knew, rationally, going out in Gotham after midnight meant walking around with a 'kill, mug, or assault me' sign on your back, and provoking people until they either did one of those or all of those. But the walls were closing in and you couldn't breathe.
You haven't been able to breathe since the funeral, the grief sitting heavy on your chest like a boulder you couldn't budge.
So you opened your window and got on the fire escape. The cold metal bit your skin even through the socks you were wearing as you climbed down, careful not to make a sound and alert your caretaker that you aren't in your room.
Your socked feet hit the ground, and you regretted not wearing your shoes as the fabric soaked up the moisture. You ignored the gross feeling and moved forward, the apartment building slowly disappearing behind you after you walked a few blocks.
You walked around aimlessly for a while, not really knowing where your legs were leading you, before coming to a sharp halt at the mouth of an alley when you say a group of people exchanging money and white packets.
You weren't naive. You knew exactly what was in those packets. Neither did you have a death wish to stay there a second longer.
You spun on your heel to get away before they saw you, but the ground was slippery from rain a few hours ago, and you were wearing the most slippery thing possible — wet socks.
So, ofcourse, you lost balance in an hurry to get away. Ofcourse that action bent your ankle in a way that had pain shooting up immediately. Ofcourse the people heard your yelp of pain and looked your way immediately.
You really had to go around with the sign 'kill, mug, or assault me' on your back, huh?
You heard a metallic click of what could only be a gun and braced yourself for the pain because there was no way you were even standing up with the pain in your ankle, let alone running fast enough to escape.
There was a flurry of movement before your vision was blocked by something yellow. Yelps and grunts followed by a 'fuck, it's batman!' could be heard from the group of people.
The something yellow turned around, crouching so he was your height and it took you a little too long to realize that it was Robin and he was asking if you were hurt anywhere. You blamed your fall for that.
"My... my ankle," You forced out after a few seconds, hating how unused your voice sounded. You barely used it when you weren't on a call with your father ever since the funeral.
Robin immediately looked at your ankle, checking it with gentle precision before concluding that nothing broke and it was just a sprain.
"If your house far from here?" He asked next, looking over his shoulder once to see Batman had already dealt with the dealers and didn't need help, before looking back at you.
You barely knew where your legs had taken you, let alone how far away the apartment was, so you found it safe to just nod.
A shadow fell over the two of you and you looked up to see Batman, though he was currently looking at Robin, his voice gravely as he spoke, "Robin, report."
Robin straightened immediately, looking at Batman as you spoke, "Sprained ankle, but apart from that, she's fine. Her house is far from here, she can't walk there on her own."
"Hn." Was all Batman said in reply before turning to look at you, the cowl making it impossible to see that he was thinking, not that you had the energy to try. The walk and the adrenaline crash had left you drained.
"Escort her to her house before meeting me on the roof near the station," Batman said in his gravel-like voice, already looking back at Robin who nodded before turning to look at you.
"Where do you live?" He asked as Batman went back to where the dealers lay unconscious. You said your apartment name and he nodded before turning around and crouching infront of you.
It took you a second to realize he was offering a piggyback ride, and your face burned at the idea of Robin carrying you to the apartment. But then again, you couldn't really walk with how much your ankle hurt, so you decided to pick your battles and climb his back.
"Hold tight, try not to choke me," He said, guiding your arms around his neck before standing straight. Before you could ask what he meant, he shot a grapple at a nearby roof.
You yelped, tightening your hand around him while also trying not to choke him as you held on for dear life as both of you soared through the air. Robin laughed, not pausing even once as he continued to shoot his grapple at one roof after another, moving in the direction of your apartment.
He landed infront of your apartment, before moving near the fire escape after you — breathless and running on adrenaline — asked him to, asking, "So, which floor is yours?"
"Fourth," You answered, and he shot the grapple to your floor, pulling both of you up there, before shimmying the window open and helping you sit on your bed.
"Alright, try not to get almost killed again," He said moving towards your window again with a smile you knew reached his eyes even with the domino mask covering them.
He sat on the railing of the fire escape, grapple in hand, and asked, "What's your name?"
You gave him your name, and he repeated it, before his smile widened, dimples appearing on his cheek, as he shot the grapple to a nearby roof, said "Robin", and he was off, flying through the dark sky.
You found yourself smiling for the first time since the funeral.
Coming back to the city brought back memories unbridled. The manor walls were haunted by the memories of your mother and the way she always used to hum songs, no matter what she was doing. The way she used to drown your pancakes in chocolate syrup even after your father made comments on how it was unhealthy every time.
She used to smother you with affection, and now, without it, the air burned your lungs.
You stepped into the shower, the water a bit too hot as it hit your body and you hissed a little before your body adjusted to the temperature, tense muscles relaxing as you scrubbed your body clean.
You wanted to get out of the manor for a few hours at least. It was too much. Years spent away from here didn't prepare you for the pain, it just made it more overwhelming.
Your mind wandered once again as you applied shampoo to your hair, dragging up memories you desperately wanted to avoid.
Robin. He was every corner of the city, every rooftop, every fire-escape, everywhere. He was a ghost which haunted you wherever you went in the city, and definitely not for the first time, you wondered why?
Why did he disappear without a single word and left you stranded?
It was a question you had ever since you were nineteen and he stopped knocking on your already unlocked window before grinning at you as he shimmied it open.
It was a question you never got an answer to.
You exhaled, washing the suds from your hair and standing under the spray of hot water for a while longer until you were able to clear your head off the two people who haunted you your every waking moment, before turning off the water.
You wrapped a towel around your body and drying it, exiting your bathroom and opening the suitcase on your bed, picking up whatever clothes were on the top of the pile and wearing it, drying your hair as much as you could with the towel before letting air do the rest of the job.
It was still too early for you to be worrying about your appearance. Dreams of a bird on your window had woken you up at six-thirty in the morning and you knew you wouldn't be able to go back to sleep.
You unplugged your phone from it's charger and looked at the time. 7:12 A.M. You were pretty sure the coffee shop you used to frequent when you were still in the city would have opened by now, unless the timings changed.
You could use a cup of coffee.
You exited your room, telling one of the maids who was always up early to let your father know you were going out, and you were out of the manor, into the Gotham air which was never fully clean but always felt like home.
summary: your teenage years were spent with windows left open and nights wide awake, robin's sneaky escapades coloring you bedroom walls. then robin suddenly stopped perching on your windowsill, and the hollowing pain he left behind was your only company. until you met dick grayson in a gala and life threw you for a spin again.
content warnings: galas and nosey people. complicated relations between reader and her father. mentions of dead family members (reader's mother). possibly ooc dick grayson (just to be safe).
author's note: this is not edited. if you see mistakes, kindly ignore them. i will come back to editing this later. this is also my first time writing fanfiction in a long time. my skills are rusty at best, please be kind. i also have no idea how galas work. do people dance there? who knows.
Chapter One : Gala Blues
The air in the limousine was thick with expectations, the smell of the smoke from you father's cigarette wafting to the backseats even with the partition rolled up. You felt claustrophobic, and not for the first time.
You smoothened the gown you were wearing for the nth time, straightening out imaginary wrinkles on the expensive dark red fabric, eyes trained on the quick-moving buildings outside the tinted windows of the car.
It was your first official public appearance after the incident which killed your mother and made your father paranoid enough to keep you away from public eye since you were thirteen.
Your family was rich enough for this to be a big deal.
Some days — days when you see the paparazzi chase after the elites of Gotham and strip away any semblance of privacy they have — you are grateful for your father's decision. Other days — days when you remember your friends grew up without you because they were part of the elites and you weren't allowed out with them anymore — you are left with a bitter, resentful feeling coiling around your heart like a venomous snake.
Those days used to end with screaming matches and slammed doors, until you moved away to a different country at twenty.
You were very much intent on never returning to Gotham. The city only had painful memories attached to it now, be it your mother taken away from you way too young, your father's paranoia, all the friendships you couldn't keep anymore, or the boy scaling your fire-escape and sitting on your windowsill until he didn't.
Robin was like the breath of fresh air in a claustrophobic atmosphere. He was the company which you desperately needed in the isolation when your father leant too much in his grief and stayed in his room, forgetting to talk to you for days.
Robin was there when everything felt like it was too much.
Until he wasn't.
You didn't want to return when your father called you and asked you to come back to the manor. You fought again for the first time all year, accusations and insults hurled from both sides. But eventually, begrudgingly, you caved.
Your father was growing old, he would retire in very few years, someone had to take care of his business. You, unfortunately, were an only child, so that responsibility fell on you.
Your father wanted to establish you in the public eye as a heir to his legacy, so you were flown back to Gotham and shoved into a gown and dragged to a gala.
You complained the whole time, but it was less angry-at-the-world and more resigned-but-not-making-it-easy.
The limousine stopped smoothly behind the queue of other cars of guests attending the gala, and the locks clicked open. You and your father got out, and he handed the car keys to the valet waiting before dropping the butt of the cigarette on the ground and stepping on it to extinguish it.
Both of you entered the venue together.
You forced a smile on your face when you two were greeted by a couple as soon as you entered — probably because your father had released it to the media that you were attending the gala and people were waiting — and pretended to remember them even when you're certain you've never held a proper conversation with them.
Most of the people at the gala were people you've seen in the passing when you were a kid, more focused on the food and disappointed at the small portions, than networking like your father. You clinged to your mom like a limpet and barely paid attention to people most of the time during those days.
It was going to be a long night.
You had finally managed to convince your father to get away from his side for a while after nearly two hours of forcing so many smiles, you didn't want to smile for a week just to recover.
You slipped away gracefully between one elite who had ideas for a joint venture and another elite who wanted to talk about stocks, wandering until you found the bar and took a seat.
You didn't really want to drink — evident from the glass of wine you had ordered when you sat on the bar stool and barely took a sip of — just wanted to get away from nosey old people who had started to praise their sons (and even daughters, in some cases) and list their achievements infront of you even since the fact that you were single had slipped out.
They weren't even trying to be subtle in their match-making attempts.
You really wanted to go home, or atleast to the manor if you can't convince your father's assistant to book you a flight back right now.
But you couldn't, so you took the second sip of your wine and prayed to God nobody approached you.
"Is the wine for show?"
God, apparently, hated you.
You bit back a groan of utter despair and an eye-roll of annoyance as a man slid into the seat beside you, the bartender immediately making a drink for him without him needing to ask, as if you knew the order by heart.
You turned your head just because it's not polite to not acknowledge people and you were here to make a good first impression on the public.
The man beside you was familiar. Not familiar in the I've-seen-you-up-close-and-talked way, but in the oh-my-god-you're-so-famous-I-see-you-everywhere way.
You suppose that comes from being the first son the only billionaire of Gotham took in and later adopted.
"I'm Dick Grayson," The man said, as if you hadn't seen his name plastered on thousands of magazines along with his ridiculously pretty face, and extended his hand towards you with a smile.
You shook his hand, trying very hard not to focus on how the magazine covers barely did him justice — you had eyes and could appreciate beauty when you see it — and told him your name.
Dick repeated it, and his smile widened until his dimples showed.
You ignored how that resurfaced a memory of the bird on your window late at night who had a similar grin, withdrawing your hand with a smile, watching as he picked up his glass of whatever the bartender had given him and took a sip, you mirroring his movements with your own glass.
"So, hiding from people?" He asked, setting his glass down, attentive and ridiculously pretty blue eyes trained on you.
Maybe it was the casual way he asked his question, or the fact that he too seemed like he was hiding from people, something in you loosened until you found yourself nodding with a sigh.
"They're trying to set me up with their children," You admitted, red-painted lips twitching up in a wry-but-slightly-amused smile.
The situation was hilarious on hindsight. The keyword was hindsight. You would rather rip a nail than put yourself back in that situation, but it was funny seeing parents put their kids on a pedestal infront of someone who was basically a stranger given how this was your first appearance in years.
He laughed, not the polite, rich-people laugh everyone here seems to have perfected, but a genuine one, running a hand through his silky black hair, "Welcome to the club. They've been after me since forever."
Then, he tilted his head a little, blue eyes looking into yours in a way which had your heart doing stupid things like skipping a beat, "Can't say I blame them."
You raised an eyebrow, ignoring the red creeping up your neck at those simple words, "Are you trying to flirt with me?"
"What if I am?" He asked, leaning just a little closer, voice smooth and confident, and God was it ridiculous how just a few words can affect you so much.
You found yourself inching forward before you realized it, "Won't say it's working, but it's close."
There was just something about him that felt familiar in a way you couldn't place. Did you meet him in one of these galas years ago and had just forgotten it? You didn't know, but conversing with him was easier than it was with anyone else.
Both of you quickly eased into an actual conversation, talking like you've done it for ages. The tense knot in your chest that was there since you'd set a foot in Gotham slowly loosened as time passed, the wine in your glass slowly disappearing between dialogues and small laughs.
He extended his hand to you when the music changed from a string quartets piece to a waltz, and you — three glasses of wine in and slightly tipsy — looked at the couples already moving to the center of the floor and looked back at him, placing your hand in his.
The crowd seemed to part as he led you to the center of the floor, his moves fluid and confidence as he placed a hand on your waist and intertwined your fingers together, you hand resting on his shoulder.
You were no dancer, but you managed to keep up with his smooth movements. He distracted you from any mistakes you made with a smile and sweet words anyways, so you didn't feel much guilty when you accidentally stepped on his foot. He continued on as if he barely felt it.
"You really are something," You found yourself saying mid-dance as he pulled you closer to avoid another couple from colliding with you.
He looked deep in your eyes, smiling, "In a good way, I hope."
"Definitely in a good way."
He left after the dance with a murmured apology when he was pulled away by a boy who looked around fourteen, but not before he snagged your phone number with a promise to text and you — in all your three-glasses-of-wine-in-and-slightly-tipsy glory — brushed a kiss on his cheek.
You later learned the boy was Tim Drake while roped into a conversation with a woman who had, unfortunately, seen the scene play out and had quite a few questions.
She mainly wanted to make sure you were still single for her son. You refused to give her a direct answer. She refused to take a hint.
For once, you were glad when your father approached and whisked you away to meet a business partner and you got to get away from her.
The gala winded down as the time ticked and struck midnight, and both you and your father exited the venue and got into the car the valet had already brought from the parking lot.
You were pretty sure that he had seen you dance with Dick — it was hard to miss when you were one of the highlights of the event — but had decided to not speak on it for his own good.
Maybe he decided he has already controlled enough of your life. Or maybe he felt like an alliance with the Waynes would be great for business.
The first one felt like wishful thinking. The second one was the more plausible one.
You pulled out you phone as the ride back to the manor started, scroll a little and barely held back a groan when you saw that articles after articles had already started to pop up.
Some of them were about you, but most were about you and Dick and speculations of your apparent relationship.
You just met him today. You hadn't even been to a date yet.
But ofcourse, none of that matters to the media.
As you scrolled past the articles, you had a feeling your life will never be the same.
summary : your teenage years were spent with windows left open and nights wide awake, robin's sneaky escapades coloring you bedroom walls. then robin suddenly stopped perching on your windowsill, and the hollowing pain he left behind was your only company. until you met dick grayson in a gala and life threw you for a spin again.
content warnings : yearning. a lot of it. both from reader and dick. robin!dick in flashbacks. mentions of dead family members. complicated father-child relations (both dick and reader). tim is the current robin. both reader and dick are twenty-five. second chance romance. hurt/comfort. angst. gun violence. robbery. gotham being gotham. happy ending.
author's note: timeline's a pain, but i tried to make one which is easy to understand. in this universe, dick became robin at eight, joined teen titans at fifteen and became nightwing at nineteen. jason died when dick was twenty-two and tim became robin when he was twenty-four. canon what canon.
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ᯓ★ Asks are always open. I love talking to people. Hit me up whenever.
ᯓ★ I only take requests of characters listed in my masterlists.
ᯓ★ Unless stated otherwise, reader will be written as fem, but otherwise kept vague (no eye or skin color, hair texture, etc will be mentioned).
ᯓ★ I will not be writing incest, ageplay, raceplay, petplay, degradation, humiliation, cheating, underage sex, eating disorders, pretending to be disabled as a kink, etc.
If you're not sure if your request fits in this, send the request and I'll let you know if I'm okay writing it, or I'll add it to this list.
ᯓ★ Be patient. I'm a college student. This is just something I do when I'm free and inspiration hits me. Don't expect me to write your requests as soon as you request.
ᯓ★ Just because you send in a request, doesn't mean it'll get written. I will refuse any request I don't feel comfortable writing or feel like I won't be able to write properly for.
turnnoffyourmind
stormborns
gummygunk
tangentwithtanner
blakekathryn
ellievsbear
izzy806