sxtansays

[sxtansays]

「 HOPELESSLY IN LOVE 」

LOVESICK!DICK GRAYSON X F!TRAITOR!READER

★ SYNOPSIS: In which, you're a traitor, but Dick is so hopelessly in love with you, so utterly enthralled by you, that he can't even bring himself to care.

★ TAGS: lovesick!dick, when i say lovesick—i mean lovesick, like bro doesn't even care that you're a traitor, he still looks at you like you're his whole world, romcom elements, mean!reader, dw tho—he wears you down, mentioned abuse

★ A/N: ik i said dami oneshot first but the writer's block for that hit hard so have this instead <3

line divider by @cafekitsune

"I can't believe it."

Your words come out half breathless, half in a laugh, as you shake your head from side-to-side, footsteps slow and echoing in the dark, dreary chamber.

"I mean—seriously, you call yourselves the new Justice League? When you can't even detect a traitor in your midst?"

"We're not the new Justice League," one of them pipes up (goth girl. What was her name again? Raven?), practically growling beneath her breath. "We're the Titans."

"Ah yes," you hum, and it's in a tone so achingly sweet, so disgustingly honeyed, that it could climb straight into their mouths and rot their very teeth, "the Titans. Awful big name for such little people."

That earns you a few growls.

More than a few actually—almost everyone in that pathetic little team snarls at you. Almost everyone but him, that is.

Their leader.

He's quiet. Chin tucked into his chest as he hangs there like the rest of them, bound and bolted to the wall by the metal around his wrists for 'maximum discomfort', as your master likes to put it.

Your lips curve up at the sight, eyes crinkling a little at the corners in anything but the 'kindness' he'd known you for.

"Aww," you coo, taking a step closer to him, "is little Dickie tired?"

There's a second of silence that passes where he doesn't so much as twitch a finger, and it only makes your lips curl more.

But then, like life just shot him straight through the chest with a bullet, he comes alive, lifting his head to reveal to you not burning rage, or seething hatred, or even sizzling disgust—no.

Utter longing.

You almost flinch back at the sight, steeling yourself a second before you can because your master taught you better.

No... you must be seeing things. There's no way he's looking at you with anything short of hate, not when you've betrayed him, risked both his life and his family's for someone he considers an enemy.

And yet, a few more blinks does nothing to clear your vision, his pupils just as dilated as they were two seconds ago as he looks at you like you've hung the moon and the stars up before his very eyes.

You take a step back, clearing your throat.

"I uh, bet you didn't even see me coming, huh?"

Fucking dammit, did you just stutter?

Your jaw ticks for but a second before you allow that sly grin to crawl back onto your face, gaining composure just as fast as you lost it.

"Bet you slept so soundly, believing with every bone in your body that you could trust me," you mock, leaning forward and tilting your head ever so slightly to the side. "Regret it?"

His answer comes plain and simple: "No."

You blink.

Then blink again.

"No?"

His lips curve up, but unlike the way yours did, his do so more kind, genuine.

"Yeah. No."

Your grin falls. "What do you mean 'no'?"

He answers you not with derision, but clarity, patience, "I mean—no, I don't regret trusting you with every bone in my body."

You blink a few more times, reeling back like he's just gone and taken a swing at you as you furrow your brows and frown deeper.

His tone is gentle, eyes still swirling in that longing as his whole body melts even while already hanging down. Honestly, he looks more like a lovesick schoolboy than the leader of a hero group who's just been betrayed by who he thought was an ally.

"Are you stupid?" you scoff out, because you don't know what else to say, "I'm mocking you for failing your job."

He doesn't respond, continuing to stare at you with those lidded eyes and that goofy fucking smile.

What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

"If you think acting in love with me is going to get me to set you free, you've got another thing coming, Nightwing," you snap.

"Has anyone ever told you you've got the most beautiful voice to ever leave a girl's lips?" he near coos in response, leaning forward a little with what are practically hearts in his eyes.

"Wha—?!" Your jaw drops. "Are you hearing yourself right now? You're tied up! I'm going to kill you!"

He melts. "I wouldn't wanna die any other way."

To everyone else in the room, you must look like a fish right now, occasionally opening and shutting your mouth as you find yourself truly at a loss for words, no insult or threat even registering in that pretty little head of yours.

Insane. Utterly crazy with more than a few screws loose. He must be. You can find no other explanation for why he's cooing at you as you mock and berate him for falling for your scheme.

To make matters worse, he's stolen your very tongue right out from your mouth, your usually witty self reduced to ashes from the heat his words send crawling up your neck.

Stupid, fucking handsome vigilante lea—

"[Name]."

Your ears perk up, and you pause in place, awkwardly leaned back and away from Nightwing's lovesick expression.

The sound of footsteps echoes closer to you.

"What are you doing?"

Your eyes flit to the side, a black and red mask gleaming through the dark like a flame in a tunnel.

"Master," you utter, spine snapping straight and hands immediately rushing to smooth down your shirt. "I've brought you the Titans, as you requested."

"I see that," he hums, voice low, a grumble tinged ever so slightly with scorn as he arrives to stand next to you, and you move to be a step behind him, as he's always taught you. "Well done."

Something lights up in your chest then; something nice and warm and pleasant all over.

But it doesn't last.

Your master's voice drops, tone accompanied by a frown. "Where is the beast?"

Your own lips twitch down, and slowly, ever so slowly, your limbs begin to freeze in place, body splashed with ice-cold water.

"The beast?"

"The green boy," he practically growls out, turning your way with a gaze boiling beneath his mask. "Everyone but him is here."

"He—he was away when I struck," you stutter out, quick enough for your words to slur together as your legs twitch with the urge to flee, "off-duty."

You can practically hear the grinding of his teeth in his voice, "You struck while one of them was away? You incompetent wretch!"

You flinch, his words striking you as hard as his fists do whenever you mess up; as hard as they're about to because you just messed up.

Your eyes screw shut, bracing for the strike that'll probably end in a bruise lasting about a week; one that'll throb with the pain and hurt and awful reminder of your own failure much like every other one loves to do.

Only, unlike all the others, this one doesn't come.

"Don't call her that."

All at once, the room is doused with fire so cold, it drops a couple degrees, and you feel a shiver run right down your spine.

"Excuse me?"

Your master is glaring, you know he is. He may wear a mask all the time but it does nothing to hide the way anger shrouds him like bloodlust; the way darkness crowds him with malice.

"Don't call her that," the voice repeats, and it's so low, in a tone so empty, that you almost don't even recognise it.

But one glance to the side is enough to tell you it belongs to Dick.

His eyes aren't lidded anymore. Instead, they're squinted, glaring like he's just been presented a deal by the devil; like his whole bloodline (or lack thereof) has been insulted right to his face.

It's enough to render you still.

Your master, however, only seethes further.

"You forget your place, boy," he growls. Then, without even uncrossing his arms behind his back, turns towards you, a grumble in his command, "[Name], remind him of who you are."

You part your lips, but before you can utter even a single word, he cuts you off with a tone nothing short of pure finality.

"Kill him."

It's funny—how you still at his words, when just moments ago, you had been preaching about doing the very thing he's commanding you to do.

But that's the funny thing about words and actions—most of the time, they never really correlate.

Your saliva is thick as it runs down your throat.

"But—but I thought—"

"Are you speaking back to me?"

There it is again: that heavily dark cloud.

"No, master."

He hums, not saying a word more. Not that he needs to. You know what's expected of you.

Another barrel of thick saliva runs down your throat like it's a tilted ship, sinking deep into the point of no return.

Your blade is loud as it's unsheathed from your sleeve, but the silence swimming in the room is louder.

Your master has always told you that wearing heels is impractical out on the field, but you've always argued the use in them should your weapon ever be stuck in its sheath or ripped away from you.

Now though? Now that its clicks echo off the walls of this dusty old prison while you slowly make your way over to the man you've been spending so much time with over the past couple of weeks with a blade in your hand?

You wish you'd have listened to him.

Your jump is high, precise, sharp heels digging into the walls on either side of him as you use them to steady yourself—one palm flat against brick, the other hidden beneath your fist as you aim sharp silver at the leader of the Titans' throat.

And even now, while you have a dagger quite literally aimed straight at him, he still doesn't look at you in hatred.

Only pure, swirling, unadulterated love.

And it's starting to make your heart skip a beat.

"What are you waiting for, woman?! Do it!"

But you can't. You won't.

Because something, somewhere deep inside of you that you failed to snuff out when you were first taken in by your master, has come back alive—

—and it's beating just for him.

[sxtansays]

batman studies

[sxtansays]

Sit in your parent’s lap like you did when you were a kid

[sxtansays]

perhaps a second guess <3

[sxtansays]

“You want a good girl that does bad things to you…”

BATBOYS X FREAKY NERD READER

hey…!! Im back😆 sorry for disappearing i’ll try and post regularly i have more time to myself since my brother has gone back to school!My asks are open ask me questions!

Bruce Wayne

• Bruce was certain you were the innocent, wholesome type. Glasses, soft sweaters, always nose-deep in a book.

• He was ready to play the patient, gentle older man. You were so shy when he first kissed you — he thought he’d have to take everything slow.

• Then, one night, you whispered, “Can I tie you up tonight?”

• Bruce short-circuited. You? The woman who color-codes her bookshelf and volunteers at libraries?

• Turns out, you’re a control freak in more ways than one — and Bruce? Absolutely lets you take the reins.

• “You read a lot of smutty fanfiction, don’t you?” he’d tease. But the answer is yes — and you have ideas.

⸻

Dick Grayson

• Dick thinks you’re adorable. Glasses slipping down your nose, blushing when he compliments you — he’s smitten.

• But that first time you pulled him by the collar and said, “On your knees, Grayson,” he nearly tripped over himself obeying.

• You’re into praise kink, degradation kink, and topping from below. You look like you wouldn’t hurt a fly — then slap him and call him “pretty boy.”

• “You’re gonna be the death of me,” Dick pants, tied to the headboard.

• And you? Still blushing, still sweet — but whispering filthy things in his ear like it’s a bedtime story.

⸻

Jason Todd

• Jason expected the cute nerdy girl he met at the bookstore to be a total cinnamon roll.

• You blushed when he flirted — like, face on fire. He thought he’d have to hold your hand through everything.

• Until you invited him over, wearing nothing but a lace choker and glasses, and told him you had a “few scenarios” you’d like to roleplay.

• Jason’s jaw was on the floor. “Baby, what the fuck— Where’ve you been hiding this side?”

• You: “You assumed I was a virgin,That’s on you.”

• Now he’s obsessed. You’re his shy little sex freak and he’s all in.

⸻

Tim Drake

• Tim thought he found someone like him — quiet, introverted, coffee-fueled, and overworked.

• You’d get flustered if he held your hand too long. He thought you were a total innocent.

• But one night you showed up at the Tower with a bag full of toys and a research-based powerpoint presentation on kinks you wanted to try.

• Tim hasn’t stopped thinking about it since. That sweet girl who triple-checks her essay citations now tells him exactly how she wants to be choked and edged.

• You moan like a demon and still call him “sir” in the morning while wearing his hoodie.

• He’s feral for it.

⸻

Damian Wayne

• Damian thought you were fragile. He liked it. You’re smart, gentle, never raise your voice — the epitome of grace.

• But then you told him what you wanted him to do to you — in disturbingly articulate detail — and it nearly broke him.

• “I want to ride your thigh until I cry.” “Say that again,” he says. Voice low. Eye twitching.

• Your innocence? A mask. You talk about philosophy by day and dominate him in bed like it’s your thesis project.

• He pretends he’s not impressed. He is. Massively.

• Now he calls you “beloved” while secretly addicted to your filthy mouth.

[sxtansays]

“Despite everything, it’s still you.”

.

.

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Hi 👋 im trying out tumblr again after 7 years, nice to meet you!

[sxtansays]

SylusMC x Vintage Swimwear Ad ⛱️ 🕶️

Wanted to draw them in a couples swimsuit style that I personally really like! The art style and layout references some vintage ads.

[sxtansays]

coupled up!

previously on... | currently airing: episode nine | episode guide

you've got a text! looks like you're about to spend your summer on everyone's favorite trashy reality dating show searching for love (...or that cash prize at the end) will a certain pretty (annoying) blue-eyed boy catch your attention? or perhaps his dark-haired best friend? it seems this villa has a few bombshells in store too!

pairings: Gojo x Reader, Geto x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Choso x Reader

content: MDNI, angst, fem reader!, she's a little bitchy but we love her anyway, inspired mostly by love island and similar dating shows, emotional hurt, past cheating trauma, lots of kissing, tension, flirting, Sukuna wants us back, guys being whores lmfao

creds: gorgeous art by @baobei-bu and divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

By definition, this was a bad time.

Dressed up in something tight and borderline ridiculous, brighter than a highlighter and dragged onto a poorly-constructed set where you had to stand in a line and read off cheesy cards to kiss the guy you thought they were about.

Some were funny. Some were serious. Most were fucking embarrassing.

"This guy tells everyone he loves the Notebook but he's never seen it," Shoko dryly read off, bored out of her mind and slurring just enough you wondered if she'd been sneaking drinks this early or hadn't slept off last night's.

"Probably Gojo," Yuki snorted under her breath.

It didn't mean it sucked any less to watch Shoko walk over to him and get on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. A faint one, sure, soft and gentle, barely two seconds of connection before she pulled away, but a kiss, nonetheless.

A bell dinged and all the other girls cheered.

Another point correct - even if it didn't mean shit. There was nothing to win here except heartbreak and humiliation being broadcast to half the world.

Well, maybe a hundred grand if you made it all the way to the end of the show.

Almost everyone had gone already. Swapping spit and stories casually, in all sorts of strange combinations you wouldn't have guessed. Manami and Naoya had been expected, but him following it up with an incorrect guess for Shoko had been pretty fucking funny considering the latter had scrunched up her nose and muttered she needed a cigarette afterwards. But others were weirder, halfway between hot and awkward. Utahime had kissed Suguru and he kissed Yuki who had tried to plant one on a reluctant Nanami, who then offered a fairly chaste one to you.

And still, there was a stack of cards left waiting to catch you in this stupid web of drama, to wrap you up and eat you alive.

It was Sukuna's turn next.

He grabbed one off the top, scowling at it while he scanned over the words. You'd been spared the messy kisses so far, but something about the little smirk that twisted up on his lips told you that your luck had run out.

If you ever had any in the first place.

"This girl once had sex in the parking lot of her job," Sukuna wryly announced, and you felt your face flush. Embarrassment boiling in your blood as you figured out where, or rather, who they got that information from. "And got caught."

Nanami scoffed.

Not at you, or well, you hoped it wasn't at you. But you saw the way his eyes rolled and narrowed at Sukuna, the way he held his shoulders tight.

Sukuna wasn't paying attention though.

And you had a feeling he would've kissed you even if the card hasn't been about you.

He walked fast, bridged the distance in a few seconds, but you didn't run away this time.

This was a game. Not a fun one, but if you were going to stay, you had to play it.

He leaned down, his lips hesitating just over yours before he kissed you hard. In another life, another you would've melted, murmured his name and threw your arms around his neck.

But you didn't think that you existed anymore.

You left him. And you'd been hollow ever since. Scooped out and stuck as a shell of what you used to be.

Moving on was hard when you were convinced every other man would be like him.

It was wrong, but you were watching Gojo while Sukuna kept kissing you. A firm hand on your jaw and another pressed against the small of your spine while your stare shifted to see if he was looking.

He wasn't.

Suguru was leaning over to say something to him, and you were pulling away with your hand pressed against Sukuna's chest. The bell signaled he was right, but he still made a show of peeling the tape covering up the name on the bottom to show he was correct too.

"Did you get fired?" Yuki giggled next to you.

"Not for that," You shrugged.

No, you had been fired after someone called into your job and claimed some insane story about your harassing them. Which was bullshit, by the way. Even if your bosses didn't believe you.

You tried to tell yourself good riddance. That something better was on the horizon. But it was hard to stand when the ground beneath your feet kept crumbling away.

"It's your turn," Utahime called out down the line, tapping her foot impatiently.

She was the only one who seemed to want this over as much as you did.

You picked off the next one, trying not to frown as you read it, "This guy flunked out of two colleges."

Well, not Nanami. And Sukuna had never even been to one, so it only left you with three options.

Would Gojo be hurt if you picked him? Or just prefer to be the guy that kissed you?

You might've made your decision then - but then you caught how red Naoya's face was, brows pinched together like he couldn't believe the producers put that, so you figured why not give them what they wanted for once if it meant they'd get off your back a little.

That was how this worked, wasn't it?

If you didn't play their game, they stacked the deck against you. You couldn't win without their permission.

So even though you'd literally rather make out with barbed wire than a guy who you were pretty sure would vote against women having rights, you still walked over and kissed Naoya. It wasn't long, it didn't linger, barely more than a peck, just enough that they'd get whatever screen grab they wanted from it.

You wiped your mouth clean when you walked away.

It wasn't until you got back in line and you felt Manami's stare on you that it hit you what they really wanted was to stir up another fight between you and her.

It felt more icky for some reason, more scummy, you supposed. Because even if you didn't like either of them, they seemed to genuinely like each other.

You zoned out the next few rounds, clapping when you were supposed to, nodding along when Yuki cracked a joke next to you. She was adoring the attention, happy to be kissed or read anything odd, just here for the fun times that had been promised and pushing down any discomfort.

"This guy has a body count over two hundred," she dramatically announced, waving her card up in the air. She pretended to think, biting her lip for the camera before striding over to Suguru, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him down to kiss him hard. Something in your stomach twisted. A funny feeling at the reminder that none of these guys were really yours.

You probably would've guessed the same.

Unfortunately, you were both wrong.

A loud buzzer rang out, but Yuki just feigned disappointment with a sigh, still grinning underneath it. Her nails made it hard to peel off the tape covering the correct name, but she managed, and you caught the faint surprise on her face before she said it, "The correct answer was Gojo."

Your heart sank.

What did you expect?

A guy like him to be a virgin? That he looked like that and never got laid?

You tried not to react, tried to keep your head held high as you avoided making eye contact with him.

Nanami made a sarcastic comment about hoping he'd been tested, but you couldn't find it in yourself to giggle when everyone else did. If Gojo had been with that many people, how were you supposed to measure up?

You probably wouldn't even make the top twenty.

Just another girl in a long line of them that apparently didn't last.

He picked up the next card, and you could feel his eyes on your skin.

"This girl has had four threesomes - in the past four months," Gojo whistled, and you guessed he was trying to lighten the mood, but it fell flat.

You looked to your left, and you had a feeling everyone was thinking the same thing. Yuki didn't make it any less obvious.

She was grinning, a cute quirk of her mouth and a bounce to her even when she stayed standing in the same place. Waiting to be crowned most likely to get weekly STD tests (well, after Gojo) if it was actually true.

Really, how did anyone find that many people to fuck that they were genuinely attracted to?

You hadn't found one decent guy since you dumped Sukuna.

Gojo hesitated as he walked over, and you didn't miss the way his blue eyes darted to meet your gaze. But you broke it first, looked out towards where the ocean was crashing in.

He could kiss her. And you could convince yourself it didn't bother you.

That they were probably a better match.

You still ended up watching out of the corner of your vision, visceral disappointment settling into your bones and gnawing at your organs at the realization you were right. You really didn't know him.

Their kiss was over before it started, just half a second and he was pulling away. He didn't touch her, but it didn't make it easier to pretend you weren't picturing him touching some other faceless hookup.

"Is that how you kiss other girls?" Yuki teased, poking his shoulder as he turned to go back to his spot.

You hated this.

Your outfit was too tight. The heels were uncomfortable. All the absurd decorations were hurting your eyes. You wanted to leave. To throw in the towel.

But then Sukuna would probably follow you and you'd have to watch the rest of the season from home - watch Gojo end up with Yuki or Shoko while Manami managed to get a happy ending and wonder about all the what-ifs? from your friend's couch.

So you sucked it up.

Shoko went again. You were too lost in your own thoughts to hear what she said, but she kissed Nanami the same way she kissed Gojo. Like she was brushing her teeth, bored and monotonous.

And you knew before Sukuna read his card what he'd do. It was something embarrassing, about a first kiss in front of a family member, but it wasn't yours.

He just didn't care. Wasn't capable of giving a shit about anyone except himself.

"You know it's not me," You murmured when he came back, a hand sneaking around your waist like it was his to hold.

"And?" He huffed, his dark eyes sliding down to your lips. "I'm not fucking kissing anyone else."

Why couldn't he have decided that months ago?

"Asshole," You muttered, but you were too tired for it to have any bite.

"Say it like you mean it," Sukuna challenged, leaning in before you could say it again, interrupting you with a heated kiss. Ignoring the buzzer going off that said his 'guess' was wrong. It was intense, the kind where his hands drifted down where they shouldn't and he tried to suck on your bottom lip.

Well, until you bit his.

Hard enough to draw blood but not enough to get you kicked off the show, Sukuna grunting as he pulled away and brought his fingers to the raw spot where your teeth had just been.

But he didn't tell you to fuck off or call you crazy, no, he just smirked like he'd been waiting for it. Dreaming of this.

You shook your head, swallowing the spit pooling in the back of your mouth when you brushed past him to grab your own card while he reluctantly read off the real name from the bottom of his.

Utahime, apparently.

You glanced down her way, but she was preoccupied whispering to Shoko, fingers brushing against a bracelet on her wrist. You doubted she even heard her own name.

You flipped your card over, almost scoffing when you scanned over what it said. Another cruel joke at your expense. Grinding your molars before exhaling hard and reading it out loud, "This guy cheated on his last girlfriend. Twice."

That final word really wasn't necessary.

The sharp edge of it cut into your palm, dug into your skin with a bite that failed to dull the hurt. The disgust bubbling up in your chest.

You were probably stomping across the set, heels clicking loudly as you walked over to Sukuna. He started to say something, but you just glared at him, making it clear that this whole thing wasn't fucking cute or funny to you. You refused to kiss him on the lips, but he let you tilt his head to the side to press one to his cheek. Just a second, long enough to count but not enough to make the hole that he ripped in your heart any bigger.

But before you could step back, the sound played through the speakers.

A buzzer.

You were wrong.

Still, you wanted to smack the smug look off of Sukuna's face when you glanced up at him, your brows pinching together before you begrudgingly glanced at the other guys.

Naoya?

Although, frankly, you had a hard fucking time believing he somehow managed to get a girlfriend before. Or found two girls willing to sleep with him.

Sighing, you peeled off the sticker on the bottom of the card to reveal a name you hadn't expected. One that stung more than it should.

"Geto."

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[sxtansays]

they got me

[sxtansays]

your new coworker Caleb 🤓

[sxtansays]

THE LITTLEST VIGILANTES

-Bruce Wayne x Wife!Reader & Batkids (Age Regression AU)

SUMMARY—When a strange device from a Gotham villain malfunctions inside Wayne Manor, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian are suddenly regressed into tiny, clingy, and accident-prone versions of themselves. You and Bruce are thrown into the ultimate parenting challenge—balancing tantrums, sleepless nights, and baby-proofing the manor, all while Bruce still tries to protect Gotham.

You never imagined your night would turn into something like this.

The manor is quieter than usual—just you, Bruce, and the kids testing a strange device Alfred found in the lab. It was supposed to be harmless, a little tech from a villain you’d captured recently. Something that could maybe help with surveillance. But when it powered on, a sudden flash filled the room, and your head spun with a dizzying wave of energy.

Then the silence hit.

You blink, and suddenly, everything looks… bigger. Your heart stumbles as you realize why.

In front of you stand four tiny figures, barely able to reach your knees.

Dick—his usual confident, towering presence replaced by a six-year-old boy with wide, fearful eyes. His arms wrap around your leg without hesitation, as if you are the only solid thing in the world.

Jason—four years old, trying to scramble up your lap before you can even bend down to help him. His little face scrunches up in frustration when he doesn’t make it on the first try.

Tim—three years old, already knocking over a nearby vase in his clumsy toddler gait, looking up at you with wide, apologetic eyes. “Sowwy,” he mumbles.

And Damian—the smallest of all—a baby no older than one year, swaddled in a blanket Alfred has quickly wrapped around him. His tiny hand grasps your finger, his soft cries tugging at your heart.

Bruce stands off to the side, jaw tight, eyes sharp but tinged with worry. The Batman is still there beneath the father’s fatigue, but you can see it’s harder than ever for him to process.

You crouch down, heart aching. “Dick? Jason? Tim? Damian?” Your voice is gentle but firm, trying to mask the shock in your own chest. “It’s okay. We’re here.”

Dick looks up at you, and for a moment, you see the same determination you know so well flicker in his eyes. Then he clutches your leg tighter.

Jason whimpers softly and crawls onto your lap, wrapping his small arms around your waist.

Tim stumbles again, nearly falling face-first into the carpet, but you catch him just in time. “Careful, little guy,” you whisper, pulling him close.

Alfred approaches with steady steps, his face calm but eyes concerned. “Madam, Master Wayne, we have our hands full.” He lifts Damian carefully, who immediately quiets down, his tiny fingers curling around Alfred’s.

Bruce’s gaze shifts between his children and you. “I’ll find a way to reverse this. I promise.”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “For now, we take care of them.”

Because they’re your family.

Because they need you.

And because, somehow, you will find the strength to get through this—one clingy, chaotic, heart-melting moment at a time.

The morning sun filters softly through the curtains, but you haven’t slept. Not really.

Dick’s small hand is wrapped tightly around yours as he follows you from room to room, eyes wide and searching like you’re his entire world. You try to sneak away for a moment to get coffee, but before you can even reach the kitchen, his voice stops you.

“Don’t go,” he whispers, almost pleading.

You kneel down, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “I’m right here, Dick. I’m not going anywhere.”

His grip tightens, and you feel the ache of how much he needs you—more than ever. The brave Nightwing you know now is trapped inside this little boy, scared and unsure.

Jason’s no different. Four years old and already an expert at tugging on your clothes, whining softly when you try to put him down. He insists on sitting in your lap during breakfast, babbling about the things he can’t quite say yet.

“Jason, sweetie, you have to eat,” you tell him, gently wiping scrambled eggs from his chin.

He looks up at you with big, trusting eyes and clings to your shirt like you’re his whole world.

Tim, the little whirlwind of the group, is already causing trouble. He’s knocked over three cups of juice, tripped over his own feet twice, and spilled cereal all over the floor before breakfast is even halfway done.

“Tim, please be careful!” you say, scooping him up before he topples again.

He looks sheepish, his three-year-old cheeks flushing red. “Sowwy,” he mumbles, burying his face into your shoulder.

You laugh softly, despite the exhaustion pulling at you. The house is a disaster zone in minutes—cups tipped over, toys scattered, the occasional small tantrum from Jason or Dick when they get frustrated.

Meanwhile, Bruce moves like a ghost through the chaos. His gaze sharpens as his phone buzzes with alerts from the Batcomputer. He can’t afford to drop the mantle of Batman, even now.

“Bruce,” you say one afternoon, “You need to eat. You need rest.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. Not while this villain is out there.”

You reach out, your fingers brushing his tense jaw. “We’ll protect the kids. You protect Gotham.”

He gives a half-smile, gratitude and worry tangled in his eyes. “I don’t know how you do it.”

You glance down to see Jason climbing into your lap again, while Dick wraps his tiny arms around your leg like a lifeline.

“I just do,” you say, voice soft but strong. “Because they need me.”

The days blur into a whirlwind of tiny footsteps, little voices, and nonstop needs.

Damian, even in his baby form, makes one thing very clear: he wants Bruce. No one else. When you try to hold him, he squirms and lets out a tiny, frustrated cry until Bruce scoops him up with a gentle smile, cradling him close like the fierce protector he always is.

You watch quietly, feeling a pang of bittersweet pride. Damian’s bond with his father is unshakable—maybe even stronger now, when he’s so small and vulnerable.

Bruce rocks Damian with practiced ease, whispering soft words only the two of them understand.

Meanwhile, Tim is chaos personified.

The moment he toddles from room to room, you’re on edge, ready to catch him mid-fall. You’ve caught him tripping over carpet edges, bumping into walls, and nearly tumbling down the stairs once.

Bruce watches one particularly clumsy moment with a rare flicker of humor. “We need to bubble wrap him,” he says dryly.

You laugh, despite the exhaustion. “I was thinking the same thing.”

So, over the next hour, you both carefully “bubble wrap” Tim—not literally, of course, but you pad his clothes with extra layers, cushions on the sharp corners of tables, and little helmets Alfred manages to find tucked away in the manor’s medical kit.

Tim looks at you suspiciously, confused by the sudden fortress of safety around him, but the moment he trips, he bounces harmlessly off a pillow cushion and beams.

“Safe!” he giggles, clapping his hands.

You share a tired smile with Bruce, who nods, a rare softness in his eyes.

Between the clingy six-year-old Dick shadowing your every move, four-year-old Jason refusing to be left out of your lap, baby Damian demanding Bruce’s full attention, and toddler Tim testing every safety measure, the manor is filled with noise, chaos, and endless love.

And somehow, through the exhaustion and mess, you find strength.

Because they’re your family.

And you will protect them all.

The manor never feels quieter than when Bruce slips out the door at dawn, cape folded carefully in hand, heading back into the night as Gotham’s silent guardian.

But inside, the chaos is just waking up.

Dick clings to you immediately, his six-year-old eyes wide and searching for comfort. “Stay,” he whispers, tugging your shirt.

Jason, not far behind, insists on holding your hand everywhere you go. Even Alfred is on high alert, juggling bottles, diapers, and a surprisingly loud Tim who’s somehow managed to find every loud toy in the house.

Bruce’s absence is palpable.

You watch the clock obsessively, tracking every minute until he returns—every moment a mix of relief and worry. The weight of being caretaker, wife, and surrogate mother feels heavier with each passing hour.

When Bruce does come home, exhausted and dark-eyed, it’s a small miracle.

Damian immediately quiets in his arms, and you see Bruce’s guard drop for a fleeting second as he looks at you both—tiny Damian snuggled close, and you, weary but unbroken.

“Thank you,” Bruce murmurs, voice rough. “For everything.”

You shake your head, smiling softly. “We’re a team. We get through this—together.”

The evening is a blur of bedtime stories for Dick and Jason, soft lullabies for Damian, and you wrapping Tim in a mountain of pillows as he giggles, ready for sleep.

The morning sunlight pours through the windows, bathing the manor’s living room in a gentle glow. It should feel peaceful, but today the air buzzes with tension—tiny tension, but loud enough to echo in your heart.

You’re sitting on the couch, carefully balancing four-year-old Jason on your lap, who’s happily babbling and trying to show you the crayon masterpiece he made. His small hands are sticky with colorful scribbles, and he beams when you praise him, pressing a sticky kiss to his temple.

But just a few feet away, Dick’s six-year-old form stiffens, his wide eyes darting between you and Jason. You notice his lower lip trembling as he shifts closer, but you’re caught up in Jason’s excitement and unintentionally give Jason one more hug, one more kiss.

Then it happens.

“Me too!” Dick suddenly demands, voice cracking with emotion.

You look up just in time to see his face scrunch, tears starting to pool in the corners of his big eyes.

“Don’t hug him more than me!” he wails, suddenly throwing his tiny body against the couch cushion and curling into a ball, sobbing.

Your heart lurches, because this isn’t the brave, confident Dick you know—it’s the scared little boy trapped inside, feeling invisible and forgotten.

You quickly reach over, putting your arms around him gently. “Dick, baby, I’m hugging you. You’re so important to me.”

But he shakes his head, tears spilling freely now. “Jason gets all the hugs! You love him more!”

Before you can say another word, Jason’s eyes widen and he lets out a small whimper, his little fists reaching up to you.

“Me too,” he whispers, eyes glistening, desperate.

You’re completely taken aback. You didn’t expect this flood of emotions to come crashing down all at once.

You pull Dick closer, kissing his damp cheek and smoothing back his hair. “I love you both so much. I’m hugging both of you, always.”

Jason melts into your other side, wrapping his arms around your neck, insisting on being hugged and kissed just as much.

The two of them cling to you, tiny bundles of need and love, their sobs quieting into sniffles as they feel your warmth and reassurance.

Meanwhile, on the floor nearby, Damian is happily playing with his little action figures, completely oblivious to the emotional storm unfolding a few feet away. His soft giggles bubble up as he lines up his toys in neat rows.

But then—

Tim, ever the clumsy three-year-old, comes toddling through the living room, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he mutters to himself, completely unaware of Damian’s scattered toys lying right in his path.

Before anyone can warn him, Tim trips over one of the plastic figures.

There’s a sudden, sharp cry as he falls hard onto the carpet, tears instantly filling his eyes.

Damian, watching this from the floor, bursts into giggles, the sound light and pure.

Your heart skips a painful beat as you leap up, rushing to Tim’s side.

“Tim! Are you okay, sweetie?” you ask, voice urgent but calm, gently inspecting his knees and palms.

Tears streak down his cheeks as he sniffles, clutching at your shirt. “Hurts…”

You pull out your phone with one hand and quickly call Alfred. “Alfred, Medkit—Tim’s fallen. He needs a checkup.”

Bruce is at your side in an instant, kneeling down and taking Tim’s small hand in his large one. His eyes are calm but fierce, protective and steady.

Dick and Jason, their tears forgotten for the moment, stand quietly nearby, eyes wide and worried. They watch every movement, ready to jump in if needed.

Alfred arrives swiftly, carrying the familiar green medkit with practiced hands. He kneels beside Tim, speaking softly and beginning to clean and bandage the scrapes on his knees.

You brush a stray tear from Tim’s cheek, your own eyes burning with relief and gratitude.

“He’s going to be okay,” you whisper, more to yourself than anyone else.

Bruce leans in, voice low but firm. “We’ve got him.”

The room settles into a hush, a fragile peace after the storm of emotions and small crises.

You glance down at the four tiny faces looking up at you—each one vulnerable, each one fiercely loved

And in that moment, exhaustion and overwhelm melt away, replaced by something deeper and stronger.

Admiration.

The quiet is almost surreal.

After what feels like a hundred attempts—rocking, singing, reading stories, calming tantrums—you and Bruce have finally gotten every one of the Batkids to sleep.

Dick is curled up on the couch, Jason nestling quietly in his bed, Damian cradled gently in Bruce’s arms, breathing softly. Tim—thankfully—slept through his exhaustion, finally safe and still.

You slump into the couch beside Bruce, every muscle screaming with exhaustion. You barely manage a grateful glance at him before your eyelids start to flutter.

For a moment, just a moment, you think: this is it. The house is finally still. You have some time—just for the two of you.

Bruce leans back, letting out a breath he’s been holding all day.

“Finally,” you whisper, reaching for his hand.

The silence wraps around you like a fragile bubble, a gift after the storm of the day.

But then—soft footsteps.

A small, shaky voice breaks the peace.

“Mom? Dad?”

You both open your eyes, alert immediately.

Dick’s little face is pale and worried as he stands in the doorway, eyes wide.

“Tim threw up,” he says, voice trembling. And then, breaking completely, he starts crying. “Is Tim… is he going to die?”

Your heart shatters.

Before you can respond, Jason bursts into the room, hearing the sobs and words. His little face twists in panic.

“Is Tim going to die?!” he wails, clutching at your leg.

You and Bruce exchange a glance—tired, scared, but steady.

You kneel, wrapping your arms around both boys, pulling them close.

“No,” you say firmly, voice soothing but gentle. “Tim’s sick, but he’s going to be okay. We’re here. We’ll take care of him.”

Bruce strokes Dick’s hair, his own voice steady and calm.

“We’ll watch him all night if we have to. You’re not alone.”

Jason sobs into your shoulder, clinging tighter as the fear slowly starts to fade, replaced by the comfort of your embrace.

You glance at Bruce, sharing a tired but determined look.

The night isn’t over.

After holding Dick and Jason close, calming their fears with soft words and promises, you turn your attention fully to Tim.

Bruce moves swiftly to help clean up the small mess Tim made, his usual calm taking charge in the midst of the chaos. Alfred appears quietly behind him, as if summoned by instinct, carrying a tray with warm water, clean clothes, and a small bowl of ginger tea—the perfect remedy for upset stomachs.

“Allow me, madam,” Alfred says gently, giving you a small, reassuring nod.

You gratefully hand over a damp cloth to him and take Tim’s limp little hand in yours. His cheeks are flushed, and his breaths come in shallow, hiccuping little bursts.

“You’re doing great, Tim,” you whisper, brushing his hair back.

Bruce kneels beside you, offering a steady presence, but you shake your head gently when he offers to take Tim.

“No, I’ll stay with him. He needs me right now.”

Bruce respects your decision, though exhaustion is etched deeply in his eyes. He nods and moves to check on Damian, who’s still peacefully sleeping.

Alfred settles into a chair nearby, ready to assist if needed, while you gently rock Tim in your arms.

The house is silent except for Tim’s quiet sniffles and your soft humming.

Minutes stretch into hours.

You wipe Tim’s forehead, offer him small sips of tea, and hold him close whenever he feels unsettled.

Every now and then, you glance out the door where Dick and Jason are sleeping soundly now, safe in their rooms, finally calm after the earlier panic. You think to yourself, their brotherly love is cute.

Bruce returns periodically, checking on you and Tim, offering tired smiles and whispered reassurances.

Alfred quietly tidies the room, ensuring everything you might need is within reach.

Though exhaustion pulls at you, you focus on Tim’s steady breathing and the small warmth of his body against yours.

This is the moment you were made for—the small, quiet battles of motherhood and family, fought with love and unwavering strength.

And as the first light of dawn creeps through the windows, you finally feel a flicker of hope.

Tim is going to be okay.

The manor feels heavy with the weight of the past few days.

Every moment has been an endless cycle of small voices calling your name, sticky fingers clutching at your clothes, and sleepless nights where your only goal was to keep them safe and cared for. You’ve been running on coffee, adrenaline, and sheer love, but even love can’t erase the exhaustion that sits deep in your bones.

Bruce has been quieter than usual, the crease between his brows never fading. Even as Batman, he’s never had a mission quite like this—protecting Gotham while also protecting four tiny, vulnerable versions of his children.

Tonight, the house is finally calm. Dick, Jason, and Tim are sprawled out in the living room on a blanket fort you helped them build earlier, all drifting in and out of sleep. Damian is tucked into the crook of Bruce’s arm, eyes half-closed as he clutches one of his toy soldiers.

That’s when it happens.

A soft hum begins to vibrate through the room—a warm, golden light that seeps in from nowhere and everywhere at once. You glance up, startled, but Bruce’s eyes are already on the source.

The same strange energy that caused this nightmare is here again, swirling in the air like smoke before rushing toward the kids.

You reach instinctively for Jason and Tim, Bruce pulling Damian closer, and Dick scrambles into your lap. The light wraps around them, blinding for a moment, and your heart slams in your chest.

When it fades, you blink against the afterimage… and then your breath catches.

They’re older.

They’re themselves again.

Dick sits up, blinking at you with the sharp-eyed confidence you’ve missed so much. Jason pushes himself up with a groan, taller and broader than he was just seconds ago. Tim adjusts his shirt awkwardly, already reaching for his phone, and Damian—no longer a baby—steps back from Bruce with his usual guarded expression, though there’s a faint softness in his eyes.

For a moment, you can’t speak. You just stare at them, your mind trying to reconcile the children you’ve been holding, feeding, and protecting with the young men now standing before you.

Then you’re moving.

You pull Dick into a fierce hug, feeling his arms wrap around you with all the strength he’s regained. Jason joins without hesitation, wrapping one arm around you and the other around Bruce. Tim stands still for a second before you grab him too, and he lets out a small chuckle, hugging back. Even Damian doesn’t resist when you pull him into the circle, his quiet sigh brushing your shoulder.

“I missed you,” you whisper, the words catching in your throat.

Bruce is silent beside you, but you feel the way his arm tightens around your waist and his other hand rests briefly on the back of Jason’s head. For him, this is the only confession needed.

After a moment, the kids pull back, their expressions somewhere between relief and quiet embarrassment at the emotional display.

Dick gives you a small smile. “Guess we owe you for… everything.”

Jason smirks, though it’s softer than usual. “Don’t get used to me hugging you this much.”

Tim, ever the matter-of-fact one, says, “So that’s why my knees feel weird. I think they’re remembering being three.”

Damian simply murmurs, “Tt. I prefer this age.” But there’s no venom in it.

You laugh—a sound that feels lighter than it has in days—and Bruce finally speaks.

“You’re all safe. That’s all that matters.”

The words hang in the air, warm and solid. Alfred steps in quietly, his eyes crinkling with the faintest smile. “I’ll prepare something for everyone. A celebration, perhaps.”

The kids scatter toward their rooms, muttering about showers, snacks, and in Jason’s case, a nap he’ll never admit to taking. The moment the last door closes, you and Bruce are left in the empty living room, the blanket fort still sagging in the middle of the floor.

You turn to him, the relief finally catching up to you in a rush that nearly knocks you off your feet. “They’re okay.”

He pulls you into his arms without hesitation. “They’re okay,” he echoes, his voice low and steady against your hair. “And so are we.”

You hold onto him, the familiar strength of his embrace grounding you after days of uncertainty. For the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to just breathe.

The mission is over.

Your family is whole.

And that’s all you’ll ever need.

It’s been a week since the regression incident, and the manor has almost returned to its usual rhythm—almost.

Dinner tonight is unusually lively, the sound of laughter echoing off the high ceilings. You’re halfway through a sip of water when Dick smirks across the table.

“So,” he says, eyes glinting with mischief, “remember when you kissed my cheek and called me ‘sweetheart’ in front of Jason?”

Jason immediately chimes in, grinning like the cat who caught the canary. “Yeah, and then I demanded my ‘equal rights hug and kiss.’”

Tim leans back in his chair, smirking over the rim of his mug. “I still can’t believe you bubble wrapped me. I mean, come on.”

Even Damian allows himself a smirk. “I seem to recall Father carrying me for hours. Tt. I’m certain the position was bad for his back.”

Your cheeks burn, but you laugh despite yourself. “I was just trying to keep all of you alive and in one piece.”

“Sure,” Dick says, his grin widening. “You were supermom. All four of us were practically fighting for your attention.”

Jason winks at Bruce. “Careful, B. If she ever gets her own baby, we’re toast.”

The words hang in the air longer than you expect.

Your fork stills, and for a moment, you picture it—a small baby, tiny fingers curling around yours, a new life in this big, chaotic family. The thought warms something deep in your chest, and you realize you don’t just like the idea.

You want it.

When the laughter at the table picks up again, you glance at Bruce. He’s already looking at you, as if he can read exactly what’s going through your mind. His brow lifts just slightly, a silent question.

You smile softly.

Bruce’s lips curve into the faintest smirk, his hand brushing over yours under the table for just a second before pulling away.

The kids keep teasing—Jason dramatically recounting his “near-death hug deprivation,” Dick insisting he had the most dramatic tantrum, Tim pretending to wobble in his chair for sympathy—but your mind is elsewhere.

Because for all the chaos, exhaustion, and worry of the past week… you miss it.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to do it for real.

A/N— wow this is so beautiful and I was listening to landslide while writing this— I was crashing out cause she sings ‘but time makes you bolder, children get older’ and ALL OF YOUR BABIES ARE OLDDDDD GAAHHHHHHH p.s. this is them before any trauma gah my heart breaks.

[sxtansays]

I think people get the “Bruce dancing like a stripper in the Iceberg Lounge” situation all wrong. The batkids won’t die of embarrassment because that’s their dad. They’ll die of frustration because they will never, ever be able to make Bruce feel embarrassed about it.

Do you really think the man who would strip and bust it down for the secret identity has the capacity to feel shame? Exactly.

[sxtansays]

do they crash yes or no

[sxtansays]

Enjoyed drawing them sm

[sxtansays]

These four idiots (they're not idiots, they're smarter than I'll ever be)

[sxtansays]

something something generational emotional over regulation something

[speedpaint]

[sxtansays]

Hangin’ around