dick is not a victim.

at least, he didn't consider himself to be a victim. because 'victim' had connotations hanging off from it that could only be described as... well, demeaning. maybe even a little emasculating. dick wasn't some black pill guy who is hyper focused on masculinity or anything - but he doesn't want to be seen as weak. after all, he's the ni ghtwing! the bat's first robin! former boy wonder! etc, etc...

but some situations stay with you, y'know?

some... individuals left an impact on him. and certainly not in a good way. sure, he knows that he's a good looking fella. he attracts women, men, and everything in between - and he loves that! he loves knowing that people love him. though contentment doesn't exactly lead to consent, does it?

he's dealt with everything under the sun. stares, cheeky comments, the occasional grope, and of course... y'know. he doesn't want to think about what happened with tarantula or mirage, or even lady spellbinder, because he know it will only send him down a downward spiral of loathing. for himself. and for these women. how could he have allowed them to do such things to him? he should have been better. will be better, he promised himself, time and time again. yet the comments and the wandering hands continued, and dick, the everlasting people pleaser, just laughed it off. even if it made his stomach churn.

he never thought that these situations would have impacted him, in all honesty. he can acknowledge that he did have trauma, but that's never stopped him from doing anything, really. he still had a loving, and patient partner - you - despite everything that he has been put through. you loved him, and he loved you. no problems.

...well, one problem. dick was deathly afraid of intimacy.

honestly, he had the gods to thank that you have an incredibly low libido. otherwise he was convinced you would have left him years ago. basic touching, kissing and... clothed activities were fine. but activities where clothes started coming off? that was too far for him. sure, he would do it. he would do anything for you. but he laid awake all night afterwards, wondering if his dirty, tainted body really, actually satisfied you, or if you were just acting as if it were enough. surely not. surely-

though today was different, and he had promised himself that. he would do everything and more, as it was your birthday. during the day, dick took you on the perfect date - a fancy restaurant, romantic movie, all that jazz. and it was going great. you two went home, to bed, and that was going perfectly too. your hands were warm, inviting, loving. he felt... comfortable... until something set him off.

he wasn't even sure what it was. but after clothes came off, he felt... nauseous. swiftly, he pulled his pants back on and stumbled out of the room, out of your house, and into the rainy night. his heart was pounding, and his breathing was erratic as he stood there, his face wet.

...why? why had he done that? he had been making so much progress. and now... it felt like he's thrown it all away.

goddamnit.