Red Robin X Reader - Blog Posts

Pairing: Tim Drake x nb!reader (it’s not super romance heavy but I might do a part two)

Prompts: n/a this is purely self indulgent

Summary: sometimes life gives you lemons and sometimes life tells you your best friend and the guy you hate are the same person, your not sure what’s worse

Warnings: n/a

A/n: is this canon compliant? no. does it make much sense? not really. do I like and did I have fun writing it? absolutely. read at your own risk Masterlist also this should be totally nb but if you see anything that’s gender solid please let me know so I can fix it

Word count: 2k it got to long but there’s plenty of material for a second part (wink wink nudge nudge)

Secrets Spilled

Rich people suck. More specifically, rich teenagers suck. You should know, you go to school with one. Tim Drake, the pride and joy of Gotham Academy and the adopted son of Bruce Wayne. Was he actually adopted? You didn’t remember but that didn’t matter. Mr. Wayne has a habit of picking up strays almost as bad as Batman and Tim Drake was lucky enough to end up under his umbrella of wealth.

You had 3 classes with Tim Drake. He was smart and most of the teachers liked him well enough, in fact most of the school liked him. You however hated him. Sure he was cute and he seemed nice enough and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it but something about him was just off. Like he had some big secret or something.

No one at school seemed to agree with you on that. They all thought he was a perfect angel so you stopped trying to convince them of your anti-drake agenda a long time ago. Thankfully you had one person in your life who always listened to your rants.

“He sounds like a douchebag,” Red Robin said, sitting cross legged on your bed with an ice pack against his lip. Through some minor computer shenanigans, aka illegal hacking (nothing to bad), you had met and become close friends with none other than Red Robin.

It was a mutually beneficial friendship. For him it was an apartment almost exactly halfway between safe houses so on nights like tonight when he was a little bloody and bruised he’d stop by and you’d help patch him up. For you it was a captivated audience for your late night rants.

“Oh he totally is! Thank you for that, no one ever agrees with me,” You rolled your eyes thinking about how many times you’d heard people gush about the billionaire brat. You sat down across from him and opened the first aid kit you’d just dug out from under your bed.

You were too busy rifling through the various bandages and ointments to notice your vigilante friend desperately trying to hide his smirk. “Yeah no problem,”

“He’s way smart too, which is super annoying.” You found the healing gel you were looking for. “I swear he’s hiding something, he must be like an alien or a robot or-” You looked up to see a laugh-suppressing-grin on the heros face, “Don’t laugh, I'm serious! This guy is a pain and just because he’s hot people let it slide!”

Red's face went completely serious and you could’ve sworn you saw his cheeks tint pink underneath his domino mask but then again his left side had a sizable cut on it so you really couldn’t tell. “You- you think he’s hot?”

“That is so not the point I'm trying to make!” You rolled your eyes and dabbed a bit of gel on the cut. “But yeah, his looks are like, his only redeeming quality.” Once you had laid a thin layer against the cut you used some butterfly bandages to hold it closed. It was exactly pretty but it would heal well, and the gel would make it nothing but a small scar in a week or so. “You know, you kinda look like him. Is that what you're hiding?” You used this opportunity to tap the bottom edge of the mask, resisting the urge to just take it off right then. “Rugged good looks and a billionaire smile.”

“Oh ha ha,” He retorted sarcastically, lightly moving your hand away from the fabric. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t dying to know his identity. It’s not that he didn’t want to tell you, it’s just that he’d heard you complain about his alter ego enough times to worry about your reaction, plus the whole ‘your-life-would-be-in-constant-danger-if-you-knew’ thing. Lately he’d found himself going out of his way to end up knocking on your window and he didn’t want what you had to change.

“You're no fun.” You huffed, hoping off the bed stashing the first-aid kit once again. You heard a small buzz and knew that Red had gotten an alert.

He stood up, and listen for a second. You could only guess he was getting instructions via earpiece. “Got it, I’m on my way.” He called over coms before turning back to you with an apologetic look.

You spoke before he could get an apology out. “Let me guess, some goon’s breaking open an ATM and everyone else is busy?”

“Pretty much yeah,” He ducked under your windowsill onto your fire escape. “Thanks for the help. I don’t know where I'd be without you.”

“Probably at that robbery already,” You gently shoved him the rest of the way through the window and bid him farewell. You watched him grapple off into the dim moonlight before getting back into your bed. Over the past few weeks you’d started staying up later just in case a certain someone happened by, this of course made that full 8 hours a little harder to come by. You didn’t really care though, a little less sleep for a little more time with him seemed like a fair trade.

The next morning finally came and you weren’t exactly pleased to hear the familiar beeping of your alarm clock. Still you forced yourself out of bed, pulled your uniform on and got your stuff together before heading out the door to another day at Gotham Academy.

You didn’t have any classes with Tim on Friday’s but you usually saw him passing you in the hall or at lunch. Today was different. One might even say he was avoiding you, but why. You saw a glimpse of him quickly heading away from you before second period, and at lunch you got a great view of the back of his head for about 30 seconds before he ducked out to go who knows where. Sure, you weren’t exactly friends but today it seemed he’d gone completely out of his way to make sure you didn’t see him. And it was pretty successful, at least until you literally collided with him.

School had let out and you had almost left the building before you remembered you’d left something behind, on your way back to your locker you turned a corner without caution and slammed into him at full force. It was a classic early 2000s movie scene, papers and books flying and strewn across the floor, both parties crouching down to collect up their scattered items and inevitably accidentally grabbing the wrong paper or two.

“Ah sorry, i’m so sorry I didn’t see-” That’s when you actually saw who it was you’d bumped into. “Tim?” You handed him the printed out english paper that definitely wasn’t yours.

“Sorry, I should have been watching where I was going.” He apologized as you both stood up and placed your papers in your respective books bags. Something about him was even more off then usual. He wouldn’t even meet your eyes, in fact he kept his gaze firmly to his left. Maybe he’d somehow heard you complain about him and now he wanted nothing to do with you. Maybe you’d messed it all up.

You were about to awkwardly say bye and shuffle off when a locker a little ways away from you slammed shut, startling you both and causing Tim to finally look to his right.

“Whoa what happened to your face?” You asked leaning in slightly to see the hefty gash that had been carefully held together with butterfly bandages. “That looks just like,” It clicked. “hOLY-”

“SHHH!” Tim acted fast, he clapped a hand over your mouth, effectively putting your mind shattering realization on silent and rushed the both of you into a thankfully unlocked maintenance closet nearby.

Suddenly a bajillion pieces were falling into place in your mind. Tim cursed. “God, if you know now what I think you know you’re gonna have a lot of questions. So I'm gonna move my hand but you have to be quiet about it. Ok?” He spoke softly and full of concern. After all, he may have just caused a massive overload in your brain. Your kind of enemy and your closest confidant were the same damn person, who knows what that could do to someone’s psyche.

You nodded profusely, still unable to even conjure a sound. Slowly Tim lifted his hand away from your mouth and watched you closely. You didn’t say anything for a beat, you just stared back at him and then, “What the actual fuck! You’re him and he’s- which means- I mean all this time- and… what?!?”

“Umm yeah?” In all honesty this was going better than Tim had imagined it would. Whenever he’d envisioned you finding out it usually started with you cursing him out and ended with you never talking to him again, but now here he was. You hadn’t cursed him out exactly and you were kind of still talking to him so overall, better than expected. “I wanted to tell you ages ago I swear. I just know how you feel about… well me,” He gestured down to his civilian attire. “and I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

“All this time,” You were still definitely in shock. “All this time you were him and he was you! And you never told me! I talked about you to you! I called you hot!”

“Oh yeah, thanks by the way.” A shit eating grin had made its way onto his face and you were not pleased.

“Oh fuck off!” You sunk down to sit on a little step stool that happened to be in the closet. “I can’t believe I was so dumb. I mean how did I not see it sooner!”

Tim crouched down in front of you. “To be fair, we put a lot of effort into keeping our secrets.”

“We? Wait a second! If you’re Red Robin, that makes Batman-”

“Yup.”

“And Nightwing-”

“Oh yeah.”

“So Robin is-”

“A total pain in the ass. But yeah, it’s Damian.”

“Holy shit!”

Tim finally let himself laugh a bit at your reaction. You were smart and he knew that, there had been a few times over the past few weeks when he thought you might put it all together and he’d gone out of his way to cover it up. Including (but not limited to) a leaked story to the tabloids about a Tim-Drake-kidnapping-attempt that was thwarted by the one and only Red Robin.

While the tabloids weren’t the most believable sources it had planted a seed in your brain that Red Robin and Tim Drake were in the same place at the same time. Of course thanks to that cut on his cheek he wouldn’t need to lie to you anymore.

“Don’t laugh! I can’t believe I didn’t see this months ago. I mean your stupid mask doesn't even cover that much!” You exclaimed, throwing your arms in the air to emphasize your point.

Tim lightly grabbed your arms and brought them back down. “Ok ok, i’m serious but you seriously need to calm down.” He still had a massive grin on his face.

“I am calm!” You defended. “I mean considering. Wait, how did this start? Did you have to train long? When did you find out who Batman was? Is he really a Vampire?” You rattled off questions a mile a minute, finally the shock and slight annoyance had given way to pure curiosity.

Tim looked around the small maintenance room, contemplating a really bad idea. “I can’t explain anything else here, but if you want I can take you to the Batcave? I mean you’ve already guessed most of the secrets and even if I don't tell you the rest you’ll probably figure it out anyway.”

a/n: I broke 2k and couldn’t figure out a satisfying ending so I just called it here but if y’all show this one some love i’ll do a part too (guest appearances and everything)

taglist: @starship-argo @reveriecore @luvcoy @instabull @littlered-fangirl click here to be added :)

DC ✢ When he admitted he loved you

Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark. This is a companion piece to another headcanon called 'When he realised he loved you' linked here. Though, you can still read it independently.

B R U C E⠀W A Y N E

Bruce did not say it in a quiet moment — for such moments were rare. Though, when they did find him, he spent them with you in silence. Not with words but simply by being near, by existing in your presence.

No. It came during an argument. One of those arguments that shakes the very foundations of a relationship — not because of what was said, but because of what had never been, what was expected.

You had asked him — raw, wounded — what you meant to him. What all this was. Why he kept forming barriers between you, when all you had ever wanted to do was break through.

His answer had been frigid. Precise. Calculated and sharpened. A blade forged from old habits, Bruce wielded it with an unconscious mastery, a last-ditch defence mechanism perfected over decades.

You left. Not in fury, but in heartbreak, disappointment — the kind that does not cry, does not scream, but simply broods into silence. Your absence rang louder than a slammed door, louder than any yell you could have mustered.

Alfred did not speak. Just passed Bruce in the hallway with the kind of look that had once made him sit straighter as a boy. And now, it made him feel small once more, as though he were still a child.

Time passed and still, silence.

He found you in the garden, beneath a sky now thick with stars, the sun had still been gleaming when you had hurried away. You had not been crying. You were still. And in that stillness, he saw the damage he had inflicted upon you.

‘I can’t seem to protect what I love,’ he said, words fractured, conflicted. ‘Not my parents. Not Jason… Not you —’ 

You turned. Not startled by the confession, but by the break in his voice. You had never seen him like this before, never so fragile. 

‘But I do. I love you. I want… I need you to know that.’

It was not cinematic. No kiss. No arms thrown around shoulders. Just him, standing before you, hollowed by an atypical honesty, praying you would believe him — even if he was undeserving of that trust.

And you did. You believed him. Bruce could see it in the ease of your countenance, in the smile that now warmed your face. But even so, he apologised as though he had committed a most heinous crime.

You pulled yourself to your feet, still wordless. And enveloped him in your arms.

‘I love you too, Bruce.’

D I C K⠀G R A Y S O N

Dick meant to say it casually — with that charming nonchalance that usually came so naturally to him. He had rehearsed it, even. Smiled in the mirror once or twice. But it never felt right, never felt adequate. It was too simple a word to describe what he felt for you. 

But love, he discovered, should not wait for perfect timing.

It came unexpectedly late one evening, while a movie played in the background — some low-budget film neither of you had been truly watching. Your head was on his shoulder. His thumb was tracing invisible shapes into your side.

And then — suddenly breathless, it had grown too large to contain, he could not hold it any longer,

‘You know I love you, right?’

You blinked like someone newly roused from a dream, and looked at him as though he had spoken in a foreign language. Dick was not confident he had not. 

When you remained quiet, he chuckled, uneasy. And brought his hand to the back of his neck, in a nervous, boyish manner. 

‘I mean — I have. For a while. I just didn’t want to ruin it by...’ He trailed off, not quite sure what he was saying. 

You remained quiet for a few moments more, contemplating. The juncture of silence stretched taut, he held his breath. And then you smiled. 

As soft as the moonlight now shining through the curtains, you whispered, ‘I love you, too.’

He kissed you gently, as though he were trying to make up for all the times he had not said it sooner. In that moment, he was not Dick Grayson, he was not Nightwing or the Boy Wonder — he was simply someone lucky enough to be loved by you.

To this day, he cannot for the life of him remember the movie that had been playing. All he could remember was that smile — the way it had already lit up your eyes by the time it reached your mouth and the enthralling, glowing warmth that had flooded his system.

J A S O N⠀T O D D

You were stitching him up again — hands steady, breath shallow, a routine so familiar it hurt. Nothing fatal. Nothing new. His form was half-draped in shadow, skin cold under your touch. You sat cross-legged before him. 

‘You’ve got to stop doing this,’ you murmured, not for the first time and certainly not the last. 

He did not answer. Because what would he tell you? Not the truth, you would not want to hear it. Every stitched-up wound felt like proof that you cared; he could not resist the temptation. He did not believe you could love a man like him, but when he felt your gentle fingers work over his skin, he let himself consider it; he let himself yearn. 

‘I’d die for you, you know?’ he muttered. Off-handed. As though it were the most obvious thing, as though it were as easy as breathing.

A frown turned your face. ‘That’s not comforting, Jason.’

And then — something unspooled. A thread that had been pulled too tight for too long. Jason sighed.

‘What I was trying to say… What I meant was… I love you —’ He looked into your eyes, gaze piercing, willing you to see the truth of it. 

The words had flooded out like a barrage breaking open. ‘That’s all I’m trying to say. I’d die for you because… I can’t picture a world without you in it. I wouldn’t want to.’ He shivered at this, at the concept of a sphere you did not grace, the very notion made him ill. 

You stilled. Hands held suspended above him, pausing their work.

He was not looking for a response — only a release; he had needed this off his chest. But you gave him one anyway.

‘I love you, too.’ You had uttered it so softly, had Jason not already been watching your lips, he may have missed it. His breath caught — not in fear, but in awe — as though his lungs had momentarily forgotten their most natural function.

Your words felt like electricity brimming beneath his skin — like every nerve had been awoken at once. A new fullness bloomed within his chest, as though the ribs could no longer host his heart; as if it had suddenly grown too large to contain.

He spoke up again, softer this time,  ‘I’ll try to live for you too. That part’s harder. But believe me when I say I want it. More than anything.’ He gave you one of his rare smiles, and your heart jolted.

You silently placed the first aid materials to the side and leaned in, placing your head against his shoulder. After a short while you shifted, leaving scattered kisses across his fading scars, lingering on each for a moment, he felt that same electricity once more. 

Your hands ghosted over him like he were something precious, as though the ruin of him was worth loving, and that was the message you were trying to convey, what you were trying to have him understand.

Jason did not sleep that night. Not out of pain or panic, but because he was afraid it had been a dream. That peace, for someone like him, was more fragile, more fleeting than any reverie; and he could not stand the idea of waking up.

T I M⠀D R A K E

You both had been working late, each focused on your own tasks, yet relishing in the silent company of one another; the peace of it. Tim sat at his desk, while you lay across his bed, legs swinging behind you with a pen in hand.

Tim had asked you to stay at the manor for the night, but you had gently refused, reminding him you had work in the morning. You got up and walked over, placing both hands on either shoulder. You then pressed a kiss to his temple and whispered in his ear.

‘I better head off now.’ He leaned his head back into you, and his eyes met yours, smiling.

And then — too casually, too instinctively — he said, ‘Okay, love you.’

The words had flowed out like a torrent. A sudden, unexpected failure in his system.

Then a silence dropped like a stone in deep water — sudden, heavy, and irreversible; absolute.

He froze. His eyes were wide, as though the phrase had been spoken by an imposter, by someone else within his skin. He had known this fact for a long time, it had only been a matter of time.

‘I didn’t — I mean — that wasn’t—well, it was, but —’ He stopped. His words crashed over each other, panicked and sputtered.

You tilted your head. Shock the dominant expression on your face.

‘You love me?’

He nodded, slowly, it would be silly to deny it; to lie. Shame crept into the corners of his expression. What if he had said it too soon? What if the word drew you away?  Then suddenly you smiled, as though you had been waiting for this exact failure, this exact slip-up.

‘Well… that’s good,’ your whisper was tender. ‘Because I love you too.’

And just like that, his spiralling mind halted. His thoughts — so often a storm of what-ifs and whys — were suddenly still.

And in that stillness, something shifted.

The tension in his shoulders eased and melted away. He let out a breath he had not realised he had been holding — shaky, but smiling. It was not his usual tight-lipped smirk, nor the polite upward curve he would give strangers — this one was real. Quiet, disbelieving and full.

You leaned downward and rested your forehead against his, your hand moving to cradle his cheek. Tim leaned into it like he had been starved of its softness. You spoke through a grin.

‘Maybe I should stick around. Was that your plan all along?’

D A M I A N⠀W A Y N E⠀(Aged up as Batman)

Damian did not like the word love. Not at first. The word felt paltry. Trite. A flippant syllable never built to hold the sheer weight of what he carried for you.

You had just bested him in sparring. You always did, but only because he allowed it — Damian would sooner impale himself on his training blade than admit it, but it was not as though you were unaware. You had thought it cute, an adjective you would never dare utter to his face. 

Damian had no shortage of self-pride. The fact he was willing to sacrifice it, simply to please you, always left you breathless. 

You extended your hand to guide him up, but he simply stared at it from his place on the mat, his gaze shifting upward. You were standing over him, a barely contained smirk donning your features. 

‘You do not understand what you mean to me,’ he said, voice low and filled with a thousand ulterior meanings, though they bled through, his tone turning earnest.

You did not speak. You simply waited.

‘This feeling,’ he tried again, ‘it disrupts everything. My training. My thoughts. My plans. Everything. It… it…’ He trailed off, not sure how to finish what he was saying, not confident that the words capable of conveying these feelings were extant across any vernacular, it seemed too implausible. 

You smiled, faintly. ‘You mean love?’

He flinched like you had cursed. But then — after a moment — he nodded.

‘Yes. That.’ It was not enough, but he figured he would concede. ‘I feel it. Unwillingly. But truthfully.’

You laughed, it was warm and bell-like. It struck something tender in him, something still learning to hope.

‘I love you too, Damian.’

How was it, that word he had held with such contempt, such scrutiny and scepticism, was suddenly so weighted, so gorgeous uttered from your lips? How was it so impactful now it was directed towards him? 

He looked away, not from shame, but from overwhelm. He had fought assassins, atrocious criminals, and the weight of his father’s legacy — but never had he felt something as all-consuming as being wanted, as overwhelming as the thought of your love.

C L A R K⠀K E N T

He had told you on a rooftop. Not because it was histrionic, but because it was distant — far above the world’s inescapable noise, yet still beneath its stars. 

You were talking about something entirely ordinary. Rent, perhaps. The cost of your water bill.

But he was not listening, not truly. He watched as your lips moved and thought only of how he yearned to kiss them, to wake up to them each and every morning. 

And then he looked at you. Really looked. And the words came like wind through the ether — soft, inevitable.

‘I love you.’ He had cut you off, but it needed to be said. He could not have lived another moment without these words held suspended between you. 

You smiled, easy. ‘I know.’

But he shook his head. Shifting closer. There was an ache in his voice, a gravity to it.

‘No. I love you. Not in the way people say when they’re hanging up the phone. Or when they leave for work in the morning. I love you like… like…’ He paused, eyebrows furrowed, ‘I’m not sure I can put it into words —’ He places his hands on either side of your cheeks. 

You stopped breathing.

‘You’ve given me something no one else has,’ he said, his voice near breaking. ‘Not because you wanted a hero. But because you saw me — as nothing more than a man. The farmboy. The one who still forgets to fold his laundry, after you’ve already asked him five times…’

You let out a sudden laugh, but it was not for his joke, your joy at his admission could not be contained; it surged out. You kissed him.

‘I love you, too.’ You murmured, Clark could hear the smile within your voice. Then he thought of the stars glimmering upon them, they shone bright, yet still somehow paled in your comparison. 

I was thinking of expanding upon the Jason Todd section and turning it into its own one-shot, would anyone be interested in that? Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

DC ✢ When he realised he loved you

Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark.

B R U C E⠀W A Y N E

The moment had been a quiet revelation, in a silence so profound it frightened him. The kind of silence that followed the first crack of thunder, one moment loud and undeniable, the next building with tension, waiting for it to strike again. 

You were sitting in the library of the manor, an arcane book resting open upon your lap, the fire crackling softly behind you. He had just returned from patrol — broken, bloodied, and defeated.

You looked up, eyes wide, alarmed at his state and asked, ‘Bruce?’ You had spoken as if he were not the Batman, not an emblem of vengeance and grit, but a man, just a man, whose hurt mattered.

Something in him gave out. Not in an ostentatious, cinematic collapse, but in the subtle yielding of defences too long held taut. His mind, a fortress of rationale and boundaries, fell silent.

She sees me, for all I am, it whispered. And yet she stays.

He had not believed in unconditional love since the alleyway. But in that moment, with the stench of blood from his suit and the leaden weight of the city upon his back, he saw love for what it was — not a sanctuary, but a quiet understanding, and a choosing. And she had chosen him.

It terrified him. Because now he had yet another thing to lose, to protect, something that was not abstract. It had a name. A voice. A laugh. It sat in his home and softened his world.

He had never been the same since.

D I C K⠀G R A Y S O N

It crept up on him — not a wave, but rather a tide. Quiet and constant and utterly irreversible.

You had fallen asleep in his bed, still holding a game controller, your brow furrowed even in your unconsciousness. He watched you in the blue glow of the screen and thought, God, I’d die for her.

And then came the laugh — low, bitter, surprised. Because of course he would. He was always ready to die for someone.

But this felt different. This was not a compulsion, a sense of duty. It was not about legacy or guilt. It was about you. And the way your presence grounded the part of him that had always been just suspended above the world, half-grieving, half-trying.

He remembered kissing your forehead before leaving for patrol that night. Slow. Lingering. The kind of kiss that was not about want, but reverence.

That was when he knew.

Love was not a thrill. It was a weight. And he had never wanted anything to anchor him, to tether him to this sphere, more than you.

The realisation made him smile. And then it made him ache.

J A S O N⠀T O D D

Jason felt it like the first rays of sun upon his back after a piercing winter, it flooded his system, warm and compelling. It struck him all of a sudden — new, unfamiliar, and… unwelcome. He did not want it. He had not asked for it.

You were brushing your teeth, half-asleep, wearing one of his old shirts, humming a song under your breath as though nothing was wrong in the world, as though it were not in a state of disrepair just beyond the window. And while watching you, he could believe it for a moment too.

Jason stood in the doorway, paralysed. Because he had seen too much tragedy, too much carnage. He could hardly believe that a quiet instant of peace, like this, could even exist, let alone in his reality.

His first instinct was to run. Not literally — he could never leave you. But to emotionally retreat, to steel himself for the moment this fleeting softness was stolen from him.

But you looked at him. Just looked — toothpaste foam and all — with a kind of amused concern, and asked, ‘You okay?’

After everything he had been through. He was not sure he had ever been less okay.

He loved you. He loved you with a passion that made him feel unworthy, as if he had tainted something holy.

A voice in him protested — said it was weakness. Said this would end in catastrophe. But he ignored it, just this once. He stepped forward and kissed your temple.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Just tired.’ But he was not. This was a lie. His mind was reeling.

He did not sleep that night. He lay awake memorising your breathing.

T I M⠀D R A K E

It was a question you asked that did it. Something ordinary, like, ‘Did you eat today?’

Tim wanted to laugh because it was such a cliché, wasn’t it? But clichés exist because they are true. No one ever asked him that, not like you had, not like it genuinely mattered. 

Then you brought him a coffee, one of those orders so tailored it was essentially an identity. You did not need to ask what he wanted. You simply knew.

He blinked down at the cup, then at you, and suddenly the task he was completing meant nothing.

He felt the world tilt. Quietly. Like the axis of his orbit had shifted. And it had.

Love, to Tim, had always been a puzzle he did not have time to solve. A thing for normal people, with normal lives, for people who lacked the responsibility he had garnered.

But there it was — simple, unassuming and irreversible.

He did not tell you. Not for a long time.

But he began cataloguing what made you smile. The way your face changed after a laugh, crinkled and carefree. He noticed the way your eyes sparkled just a little brighter when you spoke of things that made you passionate, and how the corners of your lips turned up when you were lost in a quiet thought.

This love became his sustenance, it was the first time in years he feared forgetting something.

D A M I A N⠀W A Y N E (Aged up as Batman)

It had infuriated him. The sheer idiocy of it.

Love was chemical, juvenile, a distraction. Or so he had been taught. So he had believed.

And yet there he stood — across from you in the garden, where you were speaking to a stray dog as if it were royalty, and something in his chest pulled.

At first, he mistook it for contempt — annoyance at your softness in a moment where he was attempting to be serious. But then you looked up, grinned, and said, ‘I think she likes me.’

And the words caught in his throat. Not because he did not believe them, but because he liked you. Against every grain of his upbringing.

He wanted to scold you, retreat, build walls. But instead, he asked the cat’s name.

That was the beginning. The fracture.

He loved you. In an old, mythic sense. In the way poets spoke of their love — fierce, unyielding, as though it could bend the very fabric of time. 

And that it did, time slowed every time you entered his concentration.

He began to dream of futures — a concept once as foreign to him as mercy.

He has not told you. But he will. In his own time. For now, he will continue to relish in it, and continue in this alluring descent. 

C L A R K⠀K E N T

He did not realise. Not at first. Because what he felt for you was too immense, too intrinsic, to label with as small as a word as love.

It was not until you fell asleep in his arms, mumbling about a stressful day, completely unaware of the god you were held by, that it hit him.

You did not see him as Superman. You saw him as Clark Kent. You simply saw him. The man. His hope. His grief.

And he realised then — you are his tether.

He thought of Krypton. Of its loss. Of the gaping emptiness it had left as soon as he had learnt of it. And for the first time in years, he did not feel hollow. He felt… full. He realised, that the planet could never have been home to him like she was. 

You snored softly. He laughed. Then cried.

Love, he realised, was not loud. It was simply your hand over his heart. It was your laughter in the next room. It was your body next to his.

He had not fallen in love. He had found it, unexpected and irrevocable, and for all the power he had been bestowed, this force had left him helpless to resist.

And now he guards it with everything he is. Because you are not just his world.

You are his home.

If you're interested, I've since posted a follow-up called 'When he admitted he loved you' linked, here. Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

DC ✢ What scares them and how you help them cope

Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark.

B R U C E W A Y N E

Bruce, for as long as he can remember, has always suffered in silence. A perpetual brooder.

People have come and gone in his life, but he has never been comfortable opening up to them.

And for the longest time, you were no exception.

Though, as time passed, and an intimate familiarity grew, you began noticing a shift in his behaviour. Where he normally would have isolated himself in the Batcave, overburdened himself with his work, he instead began seeking you out.

In those moments, he would gently approach you, and you would offer him comfort. That was when he finally opened up about his deepest fear, losing the people he loves, especially you.

He is terrified that, despite all his vigilance, one day he will be unable to protect those closest to him and the thought of losing anyone, of them being taken from him, is something he cannot bear to face.

He still does not show his vulnerability easily, but when you are there, he is not as afraid to let his guard down, even if only for a brief moment.

He will never admit it, but he is always so grateful for your presence. Whether it is a quiet moment holding your hand, your steady voice in his ear, or simply leaning against you, he finds comfort. He lets you sit with him, no words necessary, knowing you will stay with him.

D I C K G R A Y S O N

Dick has always been the life of the party, the one who could crack a joke to break any tension in the room, always for the benefit of others.

But as you spent more time with him, you began to notice how he would sometimes go quiet, how his smile fell a bit too easily when he thought no one was looking.

You would see the insecurity flicker across his face; like he was afraid he was not good enough. He was afraid that one day, he would let you down, it would push you to walk away from him and he would be alone.

On the rare occasions that Dick opened up about his fears, it was never in big, dramatic moments. It was during quiet, vulnerable times when you were curled up on the couch, or after a mission where he had felt everything had gone wrong.

He would admit to you, softly, that he worries he is not enough for the people he cares about. That maybe, despite all his effort, he could fail them.

When you reassure him, he would brush it off with a laugh, but deep down, it comforts him more than he lets on. And from that moment, he tries harder to show you just how much he values you.

J A S O N T O D D

Jason’s tough exterior had always seemed nearly impenetrable, to everyone who knew him and you had not been an exception to this rule.

When you first met him, Jason did not want to let you close. He pushed you away. Any attempt at trying to comfort him was futile.

Beneath this façade, there is a deep-rooted fear of being forgotten and unimportant, as though his death had been just another part of Gotham’s tragic history, another statistic.

Slowly, you began to perceive beyond his mask of resentment. During late-night conversations, when he allowed his frustration to ebb away, Jason would reveal just how much he fears that Gotham — or worse, his family — will not remember him as the person he is now, the person behind his carefully constructed veil, the boy he once was.

When Jason lets his walls down, it is never in public. It is solely within quiet, private moments with you, his eyes soft and vulnerable in a manner only you have ever known.

Over the years, you have learnt that showing patience and care, letting him know you are there even when he is at his lowest, is one of the most important ways to help him feel like he matters, to prove you see him for everything that he is, to prove you love the man beneath the veil. 

T I M D RA K E

Tim has always been the strategist, the planner; constantly running scenarios in his mind to ensure things go right.

However, with that constant need for control comes an intense fear of failure and not living up to the expectations he has placed on himself.

Early on, when you spent time with him, you noticed how tightly wound he always was; always thinking, and nearly always overthinking.

There were nights when he would finally collapse into bed, eyes wide with worry, unable to rest. You would feel this unease radiate from him throughout the night.

Tim never truly usually let his fear show, but one night, after a particularly difficult mission where he felt responsible for things that had gone wrong, he finally admitted how much pressure he felt to always be perfect.

You comforted him with a soft smile, telling him that it was okay to not have all the answers and that he, like everyone else, was allowed to make mistakes. You helped him realise the unrealistic expectations he had placed on himself. 

Since then, Tim still overthinks, he still plans, but, at the very least, he has learned, with you by his side, that it is okay to let go sometimes.

D A M I A N W A Y N E (Aged up as Batman)

Damian was fierce and proud, he never outwardly showed weakness if he could help it. His fear was simple, he was terrified that someone would see through this, that he would be perceived as feeble or unworthy of his name.

When you first met him, he wore his arrogance and pride like armour, it was designed to keep people at a distance.

However, as time progressed, you began to notice cracks in this façade; moments where he looked at his family and felt like he was not measuring up.

Damian never directly opened up, but you saw it in the way his shoulders tensed when his father praised others or when he failed at something that he believed should have been effortless.

One day, you found him alone, practising relentlessly in the training room. His frustration was palpable, and when he finally stopped, he turned to you, admitting woefully that he was afraid he would never be as good as his family and never live up to his father’s legacy.

You had been shocked, you had yearned for him to be open with you and had already resigned to the fact it likely would not happen. Despite this, you were quick to reassure him, reminding him that his worth was not measured by perfection, but by who he strived to be.

Over time, he began to trust you more, slowly letting you see the person beneath his well-constructed bravado. Though he would never admit it, your support meant the world to him.

C L A R K K E N T

Clark, the ever-hopeful, never-giving-up superhero, covertly harboured a deep fear of losing control — specifically, of accidentally hurting those he loves with his less-than-ordinary abilities.

His fear was embedded in the idea that his immense capabilities could go terribly astray, causing harm to someone he holds dear.

It is a quiet fear, one he does not often voice, as he does not want to burden you with it. But you can sense it in the way he is constantly holding back, constantly choosing to act in ways that minimise risk, even if it means sacrificing your mutual need for physical affection. 

One evening, after a particularly difficult escapade, where unbeknownst to you, his powers had nearly hurt an innocent bystander, you found him standing in front of the window, his hands clenched in silent frustration. He had been bitterly reminded of how dangerous he could be. If he lacked control for even the briefest of moments, you could be lost to him forever. 

You walked up behind him with the intention of loosening his hands with your own. At first, you made no impression on his unyielding frame, but eventually, he melted into your touch and let you intertwine your fingers. You gently asked him about it, and he admitted his fear, his voice softer than usual.

At this you embraced him, hoping you were not pushing any boundaries after this particular admission. You let him know that you trusted him entirely and that you believed he had an unwavering ability to protect, despite the weight of his fear.

From that night on, while Clark still remained cautious and vigilant, he knew that you were there to support him and, at the very least, you were not afraid of him. 

This is my first-ever attempt at a Headcanon, so any advice would be much appreciated <3