It had been months since Damian had reluctantly accepted you as part of the Wayne family. You’d survived his tests, earned the trust of his pets, and even managed to coax a rare smile out of him once or twice. But today… today you had gone too far.

It started innocently enough. Damian had returned from patrol, exhausted, and collapsed onto the couch in the manor’s living room. You noticed his usually immaculate, spiky hair was damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead in messy strands.

"You look like you just fought Killer Croc in a sauna," you teased, ruffling his hair.

He scowled, swatting your hand away. "Tt. My hair is fine."

But you weren’t done. With a mischievous grin, you grabbed a comb from the side table. "Just let me fix it real quick—"

"Do not touch it," Damian warned, but it was too late.

You ran the comb through his hair, smoothing down the signature spikes that were as much a part of his aesthetic as his Robin uniform. Within seconds, his rebellious locks were tamed—soft, neat, and utterly un-Damian-like.

Silence.

Then, horror.

Damian bolted to the nearest mirror, his eyes widening in disbelief. "What have you done?!"

You bit your lip, trying (and failing) to hold back a laugh. "I mean… it looks nice?"

"Nice?!" He whirled around, looking genuinely betrayed. "This is treason."

"It’s just hair, Damian." Bruce said

"Just hair?!" Damian clutched his head dramatically. "Father, she has violated me."

Dick, who had just walked in, took one look at Damian’s flattened hair and burst out laughing. "Oh my god, you look like a civilian."

Jason, leaning against the wall, smirked. "Baby Bat finally got a mom haircut."

Even Tim, usually the voice of reason, couldn’t resist. "I’m taking a picture. This is going in the archives."

With a final glare, Damian stormed off to his room—no doubt to aggressively re-spike his hair with enough gel to withstand a hurricane.