#During the week that Jason was looking for his mom

[hello-eden]

dead on main #3

destabilized Ellie and Dan are Jason and Danny's kids except Jason gives his permission to help stabilize the two when he's dead and when he's resurrected he has no memories of it.

 Danny and Jason met while he was dead and had a teenage puppy crush sort of thing. The two of them had a lot of things going on with one still being a vigilante in their town and one being recently murdered, So they never really were able to get together before Jason was resurrected. The two of them are from different dimensions and only meet due to the fact that the ghost zone is every Dimension afterlife. 

There is a bad reaction from Vlad finding out that Danny used someone else's DNA to stabilize the kids, Which leads to a very Reckless fight that leads to his parents finding out that the kids are halfas. The parents don't know that he is also halfa so they try to cure the kids. Danny flees To the ghost zone specifically to frostbite to make sure the kids are okay. While he's there Clockwork decides that was the best time to basically tell Danny that Jason's resurrected in his home dimension and that is probably best if he settles down there. Of course because Clockwork is still a menace before Danny goes through the portal he says that Jason does not have his memories of being dead and then pushes him through. Danny sets up his life there with Ellie and Dan.

Plot twist Danny ends up being neighbors to Roy in Star City. Danny is a trans single father of twins that appears to have run away from home due to bad situation. With all the Vigilante scars that Danny has it's a reasonable conclusion for him to suspect an abusive home.

Danny babysits Lian when Roy has missions and Roy babysits Ellie and Dan When Danny does work.  of course not always do their schedules so occasionally they have to call in another babysitter and when that fails we have the Red Hood himself. the unknown father of the twins( not really twins) and the Godfather of the other child( yes I made him The Godfather).

 Danny doesn't instantly recognize him due to the very obvious change. Two of them meet a couple of times through Roy. Danny usually just accidentally stopping in at a bad time before Roy introduces them together and Danny hears his name.

Danny does not tell him that he's the father of the children because one he was dead which means he's going to have to explain what he was doing while he was dead. and two because Clockwork told him he had his memories erased. Danny of course has a lot of feelings about this and Jason instantly gets a crush. Jason occasionally babysits the kids when the regular babysitter isn't working Nor can watch each other's kids because of schedules.

A situation happens with Ellie where she needs to go to the hospital and Jason brings her. this leads to an emergency blood transfusion. The transfusion goes badly and isn't working so Jason asks if his blood will work. It works perfectly. Jason questions for a little bit. Danny, whose phone was broken in  a villain attack two days ago and hasn't gotten replaced, shows up at the hospital after finally being contacted. Jason questioned him a little bit  Danny freaks out a lot which raises Jason's alarms quite High. When Danny's getting some food for Elle and talking to doctors Jason does a DNA test. Jason gets the results a week later when Ellie's finally back home which reveals he is the father. He has a lot of questions about this.

[neellscapsule]

looks like the joker did a number on you

summary | everything is going too well: you're finally pregnant, close to seven months, your family is getting better, and you think life in gotham isn't so bad despite all. until it is.

pairing | bruce wayne x kent!reader. platonic batboys x kent!reader

warnings / tags | it stars too sweet. it follows with pure angst. character's death (jason), reader's emotional death, graphic miscarriage. literally is all pure angst because we all suffer here and life isn't nice to anyone of the wayne family, including reader.

word count | 6.6k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :)

this is part of the kent!batmom!reader series. this can be read as part 12. you'll the other parts on the masterlist.

taglist | @maolen @joonunivrs @c4ssi4-luv @fanfics4ever @inejskywalker @resting-confused-face @fionnalopez @stargirl9911 @idek101-01 @shqyou @mei-simp @serendippindots @sirlovel @aixaingela @pjmgojo @antixsocialx2 @nisarelle @realiliumfr @gojoswaterbottle @connnn @jjoppees @yall-imhere @sabrinasoppositee @nekotaetae @wendee-go @idiomaticpunk @fandomlover1235 @nommingonfood @omisotolongo @lortheswiftie @owihitmyhead @mosseetrees @c4xcocoa @qardasngan @radicalcannoliqueen @jeshomie @cutie232 @ravenqueen27 @thy-crimson-king @thewiselionessss @fernomenal @chiizuluvr @natalia42069 @invinciblewaffles @changyumi3 @mbioooo0000 @caramelised-onions

EVERYTHING WAS GOING MORE THAN WELL IN YOUR LIFE.

Actually, it had never been greater.

Dick was far away now. Not in a bad way. Not like how it used to be, filled with slammed doors and fractured silences, with yelling that always left Bruce bitter and brooding for days after. No, Dick was his own person now —completely, unapologetically, finally. “Nightwing,” he said proudly when he called you on Sunday mornings, voice husky with dawn in Blüdhaven. “Just finished patrol. Gonna crash in a bit, but wanted to say hi, mom.”

He sent you goodnight kisses by message. Called Bruce once a week. Called Jason more often than that. He wore a ridiculous, very tight, very blue suit that made you giggle every time you saw it on the news.

Jason was still at home, fifteen and absolutely allergic to mornings, but coming into his own in ways that made you both proud and nervous. He was a different kind of Robin than Dick had ever been —louder, brasher, stubborn and a little stormy at times: the reason why he was currently banned from patrol— but he was your son through and through. No matter what mask he wore at night, no matter how fast he moved across rooftops, you liked to focus on how well he was doing at school.

And then there was the newest heartbeat in the house —the one that fluttered just beneath your ribs. You were almost seven months pregnant. Thirty weeks and three days, but who was counting? You were. You always were. Especially after so many losses, after so many quiet heartbreaks that made your body feel like it had betrayed you.

But not this time.

This time, the baby kicked with strength and rhythm, and your bump had grown round and high, shifting your balance and tugging every conversation toward the future.

You felt it all, every day, every morning when you shifted out of bed slower than you used to, every time you pressed Bruce’s hand to your stomach and watched the way his eyes softened.

You were pregnant.

And not just with a dream, but with a real, tangible, kicking child. A child you’d startle awake with laughter and calm with music. A child you already loved.

And if that weren’t enough —because God had been generous this year— the house was now graced with a dog. A dog that wasn’t a security system, wasn’t a statement, wasn’t trained for war. Just a dog. A sweet, huge German Shepherd named Ace, rescued by the Big Bat himself during a late patrol.

Ace had taken to Jason first, then to Alfred, but it was you he followed the most. Rested his head against your lap when you were reading. Pressed his nose against your bump when you napped. Bruce said he was protective.

Your hand drifted instinctively to your belly as you laid in bed that morning, the covers pooled low against your hips, sunlight slanting through the tall windows of the manor in a honeyed wash. Seven months. Not quite, but close enough. 

Close enough that your body had shifted entirely into a different shape—full, protective, humming with life. Close enough that every soft flutter beneath your skin pulled tears to your eyes in a way you had long stopped apologizing for. 

You knew this child. You already loved them more than you ever thought your heart could handle again.

You turned slightly and watched your husband sleep.

Bruce looked younger like this—on his side, one arm flung beneath your pillow, the other resting protectively near the bump that now took up so much of the bed between you. His features, which carried the weight of a city during the day, were completely slack now, softened by sleep. And in these moments, you saw the boy he once was—the one who never got to grow up the right way, who buried his parents too young and never quite put down the shovel after. 

It still astounded you sometimes, even after all these years, that you were allowed to know this version of him. Not just Batman. Not the mask. But Bruce. 

Bruce who rubbed your back until you fell asleep when the ache got bad. 

Bruce who installed a vintage clawfoot tub in the ensuite because the one in the Smallville house was “just like it.” 

Bruce who sat at your first scan with his fingers clenched so tightly in his lap that you’d had to pry them open, just to whisper, “They have a heartbeat. You can unclench now.”

You shifted closer, tucking into the crook of his body, your bump pressing against his stomach. He stirred, and his arm moved around you automatically. His lips brushed the crown of your head.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, voice gravelled and sleep-warm.

“Morning,” you replied softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I was already half up.” He cracked one eye open. “Kid kicking again?”

“Like they’re trying to tunnel their way out.”

A slow grin stretched across his face. Not smug. Not performative. But quiet. Content. There was still a part of Bruce that didn’t know how to smile without restraint, like it might crack him open. But these days, it came easier.

His hand slid beneath your shirt and rested over your belly. He didn’t speak. Just stayed like that. Present. Steady.

“Did you sleep okay?” you asked after a while.

“With you here? Always.” He kissed your temple again, then whispered: “Do you think they’ll look like you?”

“I hope not. This world only needs one of me.”

He laughed. “It could handle ten of you.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning, and kissed his jaw. “You’re just saying that because I let you get away with eating the last slice of Alfred’s pie last night.”

“I am the man who saved Gotham.”

“And I’m the woman who carried your child, barefoot, to the fridge at midnight, only to find an empty pie tin.”

He chuckled lowly, tightening his hold. “You win.”

You stayed in bed longer than you should’ve, tangled in warmth and light and domestic nothingness. Eventually, Bruce’s comm chirped from the nightstand—an alert from the cave. He sighed, reached across you to silence it, and you caught the wince that moved across his face.

“Back still hurting?” you asked, watching him with concern.

“Just a little stiff,” he admitted. “Old age, maybe. Or that scuffle in the Narrows last week.”

“You’re thirty-eight, not eighty.”

“Tell that to my shoulder,” he muttered.

You leaned up and kissed it.

“I’ll talk to Alfred. Maybe he can draw you a salt bath later,” you said. “God knows I’m living in them.”

Bruce kissed you one last time before swinging his legs off the bed. As he got up, Ace padded into the room—lanky, alert, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth like he hadn’t a care in the world.

 He trotted straight to you, nosed your belly like it was his sacred duty, and curled up on your side of the bed as if to say: Go about your day. I’ll watch her.

Bruce glanced back at you from the closet door, already half-dressed. “He’s obsessed with you.”

“He’s just a good boy,” you murmured, hand sliding down to scratch behind the dog’s ear. “Aren’t you, Ace?”

Ace’s tail thumped in agreement.

“I’ll be upstairs for a bit,” Bruce said, tucking his tie into place. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Always do.”

You watched him go, footsteps fading toward the clock and beyond it—into the parts of the manor that still made your skin cool, even now. You leaned into Ace and sighed.

Yeah. Everything was going more than well.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. A soft vibration, a polite little reminder that the outside world was still moving, even if you had managed to pause it for a breath.

You reached for it with a knowing smile already spreading across your face.

Ma 💛 Calling.

Only one person in the world called you at 9:07 AM on the dot like that, without fail, and you’d sooner forget your own name than miss that call.

You pressed the green button and leaned back into the pillows as her voice answered before you could speak.

“Hi, Ma.”

“Hi, honey,” came Martha Kent’s voice, so full of light it instantly filled your chest. “How are you? You sound tired, baby. Did you sleep alright?”

You smiled softly, curling one hand around your belly as if she could see it through the line. “I did. It was a long night. Lots of kicking.”

“Oh, bless their little heart,” she said, immediately tender. “That baby’s already got a farmer’s strength, huh?”

“Feels like they’re plowing right through my bladder.”

Martha laughed—a real, hearty Kansas laugh, the kind that smelled like cornbread and sounded like home. “Well, you always were a strong kicker, too. Your Pa swore you were trying to break free and start walking before you were born. Had me down on the floor trying those spinning exercises every week.”

“Sounds about right,” you said, leaning into her voice like sunlight. “We, Kents, don’t like to wait.”

“You’re not wrong.”

You could hear the faint clatter of breakfast dishes in the background, the creak of the farmhouse floor as someone—probably Jon—ran across it. You slowly got up from the bed, grabbing something comfortable to wear around the house. 

“How’s Pa?” you asked.

“Out in the barn with Clark and Conner. We’ve got fencework today—got hit with a big storm last week. Took out half the north side.”

“Want me to send Bruce?” you teased gently.

“Oh Lord, no,” she laughed again. “He’d glare that fence back into place.”

“Exactly.”

Martha hummed a little. “You sound good, sweetheart. I mean it. You sound… settled.”

You breathed in, slow and deep, and let it linger before replying. “I am. For the first time in a long time, I really, really am.”

“I’ve been praying for that. Every morning when I wake up,” she said gently, “the very first thing I do is thank God. I thank Him for this baby, and for you, and for all the days between now and the last time.”

You closed your eyes. Let yourself breathe that in.

“I still get scared sometimes,” you admitted quietly.

“Of course you do,” she said immediately. “That’s not weakness, honey. That’s the memory trying to protect you. But you listen to me—this baby? This little one inside you? They’re strong. You hear me? They are strong. And so are you. That child is already loved so fiercely they could light up the whole world just from how hard we’re praying over them.”

You bit your bottom lip, willing the tears to stay quiet.

“We’re coming up next weekend,” she added, voice brightening. “Clark and Lois too. And Jon keeps asking if he can feel the baby move. He’s eating like a racehorse lately. And Conner promised to bake cookies again—though you know he always burns the second batch. I think he just likes the excuse to eat them before anyone else gets there.”

“Tell him I said to send those anyway,” you said, laughing again, wiping at your cheek. “Even the burnt ones.”

“I will. And don’t forget to ask Alfred if there’s anything we can bring from the farm. Fresh eggs, some vegetables. That jam you like.”

“I’m alright, I promise. We’re stocked up. Bruce got obsessive about the pantry last month.”

“I still can’t believe Bruce Wayne shops for jam.”

“Neither can Gotham.”

There was a moment of quiet on the other end, but not an empty one. Just the kind of silence you shared with someone who’d loved you since the beginning—who didn’t need noise to feel close. You pushed Bruce's shirt off your body, quickly changing into the oversized cotton pants and a sweatshirt with the logo of the Enterprises. 

“You’re already such a good mama. You know that, right?”

You let your hand rest on the curve of your belly again, feeling the faintest movement beneath it—like the baby knew you were speaking about them, like they were listening.

“I had the best example,” you said. “I still do.”

That made her go quiet again, just for a second, and you could hear the way her breath hitched.

“I just wish I could be closer,” she said. “Wish I could stop by with warm muffins and rub your back and tell that sweet child stories about the cows. You remember the story of Clarabelle, don’t you? The one who used to follow Clark around like a shadow?”

You laughed. “She followed me around too. Tried to lick my hair every time I wore that sunflower dress.”

“Oh Lord, yes!” Martha laughed, rich and loud. “I forgot about that. That poor dress was never the same.”

“Neither was my dignity.”

“You were five.”

“I still had dignity.”

You both laughed, and for a moment, it felt like nothing had changed. Like you were still on that wide wraparound porch, rocking in the summer heat, Ma brushing your hair while you told her about all your dreams.

“I’ll let you go now, baby. Don’t want to keep you too long—Alfred’ll fuss if I cut into your breakfast.”

You smiled. “He already has tea steeping, probably. And something complicated with eggs.”

“That man’s a saint.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

There was one last pause before the goodbye. You heard her sigh, a soft, contented sound that reminded you of summer nights and fireflies, of warm hands brushing back your hair when the world got too heavy.

“I love you so much, sweetpea.”

“I love you too, Ma. Always.”

“Call me if anything—anything—feels off. You hear me?”

“I promise.”

The scent of breakfast had already drifted through the manor. It met you halfway down the grand staircase, that unmistakable blend of fresh eggs, toasted bread, dark roast coffee, and something faintly sweet. You didn’t have to guess. It was Alfred’s way—never just breakfast, always an orchestration. Never just a meal, always a ritual.

You stepped into the dining room, and sure enough, he was already there. Alfred stood near the long oak table, sleeves rolled with delicate precision, silver tray in one hand, and his signature expression—a measured blend of unspoken affection and perpetual judgment—resting on his face. You’d grown to love that look like family.

The table was set in full regalia. Your teacup already waited near the head of the table where you usually sat, flanked by a folded cloth napkin, a gleaming butter knife, and your small jar of homemade strawberry preserves—you’d brought them back from the last trip to Smallville and Alfred had since adopted them as standard issue. Beside it, a tall glass of water, precisely half a lemon slice floating within.

“Miss Y/N,” Alfred greeted you, not looking up as he carefully arranged a silver dome over a steaming plate. “You’re late. I was beginning to consider launching a search party.”

You grinned, slow and easy, and made your way to your seat. “Well, don’t get too excited. I was just upstairs crying to Ma about cows and baby names.”

“A noble cause if there ever was one,” he replied evenly, though a flicker of warmth touched his eyes.

You eased into your chair, thankful for the plush cushioning he’d added to your usual seat sometime in month five. You hadn’t asked. Hadn’t even seen him do it. One morning, it had simply been there. Just like the slippers beside your side of the bed. Just like the mint oil for the nausea. Just like the thick, silent kind of love he extended in every motion.

Alfred turned finally, catching you in his observant gaze—sweeping over your face, your posture, the way your hand absentmindedly rested on your belly. He did that often now. Not in a way that ever felt intrusive or clinical. Just… careful. Reverent, even. As if he were constantly confirming for himself that you were still here, still healthy, still whole. That this time, the house would not fall silent with grief again.

“You’re glowing,” he said simply.

“Liar,” you said with a soft groan. “I look like a beach ball that’s been left on a hot driveway too long.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, already placing a steaming mug in front of you. “Chamomile, with a touch of agave and oat milk.”

You inhaled gratefully. “You’re too good to me.”

“I’ve never believed in ‘too good’ for those I love,” Alfred said, setting down a small plate of toasted sourdough with almond butter and slices of banana fanned out across it. “And I certainly won’t start now.”

The table was a mosaic of color and thoughtfulness: warm oat porridge with stewed apples and cinnamon sticks arranged like a painting; fresh blueberries in a cut-crystal bowl; a small dish of pumpkin-seed granola, just the way you liked it, crunchy and sweet with a touch of salt. 

There was even a jar of your prenatal vitamins already opened and resting by your water glass, along with the extra supplements your midwife had recommended. 

“No eggs or dairy in anything?” you asked, even though you didn’t need to.

Alfred lifted one silver brow. “Madam, I’d sooner retire.”

You smiled deeply. “You spoil me.”

“You are growing a human being inside your body,” he said crisply. “Spoiling is the least I can offer.”

You reached for the toast and took a bite, humming around the sweetness. “Mmm. Okay, this one might top last Tuesday’s.”

“I’ve begun roasting the almonds longer before blending the butter. It seems to bring out the natural sugars.”

“I love that you treat this like science.”

“Nutrition is a form of science,” Alfred said, folding his hands behind his back. “As is care. Especially in a household with your husband’s culinary habits.”

You choked on a laugh. “Bruce made soup the other night.”

“Yes. With three cloves of garlic, no salt, and dry rice directly in the broth.”

“It was crunchy,” you admitted.

“It was tragic.”

You were still laughing as you took another sip of your tea.

“Did you sleep alright?” he asked softly, and there it was—that gentle shift in tone, the way he asked about your well-being without ever demanding too much of you.

“I did. More or less,” you said, lifting your tea. “The baby seems to think two in the morning is a good time for ballet.”

“Then they’ll fit right in.”

You smiled over the rim of your cup. “They’re gonna love you, you know.”

He arched a brow. “You say that as though they’ll have any choice.”

“They won’t,” you agreed. “I’m planning on raising them to think you invented tea, breakfast, and basic human decency.”

“I’ll do my best to live up to such mythology.”

You both turned as Jason shuffled in, hair wild with sleep, black hoodie half-zipped over a Batman shirt that had clearly been worn through multiple cycles. He froze in the doorway when he saw the table, then blinked dramatically.

“Did we… adopt royalty or something?”

“No,” you said, waving him in. “Alfred’s just compensating for your father’s rice soup.”

Jason snorted and flopped into the chair across from you. “That was soup? I thought it was a science experiment.”

“See?” Alfred muttered, more to himself than anyone.

Jason immediately reached for a spoon and started digging into the porridge like it was a race, only to pause halfway through the first bite and lean forward to study the arrangement of your plate.

“You got banana toast?” he asked with a betrayed expression.

“Yours is coming,” Alfred said, already placing a second dish in front of him with the precision of a surgeon. “Extra cinnamon. Slightly burnt edges. Chocolate chips in the almond butter. As requested.”

Jason lit up. “You’re the best.”

Alfred gave the faintest bow. “I endeavor to be.”

By the time you’d finished your porridge, Jason had already gone back for thirds—Alfred never made just enough for two, and your youngest had always had the appetite of someone twice his size

He slouched now, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up his arms, spoon lazily clinking against his bowl. His hair stuck up at the back from sleep, and he was still blinking the last of the morning haze from his eyes.

You sipped your tea and watched him. It never stopped hitting you, how much he’d grown.

Not just taller—though he was your height now, all lanky limbs and long strides—but more… settled. Softer in the shoulders. Less sharp around the edges. His voice had deepened, but he still used it like a kid sometimes—talking fast, laughing hard, letting it carry him through a room like momentum. 

He was almost finished when he glanced at you again and did that thing he always did—scan first, then soften. “You sure you’re okay?”

You tilted your head. “You’ve already asked me that.”

“Yeah. And I’ll ask it again,” he said, deadpan. “And again. And again. Until I’m sure.”

“I’m fine, Jay.”

“That’s not an answer,” he said, setting his spoon down. “You’re allowed to be tired. Or annoyed. Or like, ‘I hate everyone, leave me alone,’ you know.”

“I don’t hate anyone,” you said, stretching slightly. “And the tea was perfect, the oats were amazing, and the company’s not bad either.”

“I’m the best part of your morning, admit it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you’re telling yourself now?”

“Absolutely.” He grinned. “I got up early for this.”

“It’s 10:15.”

“Exactly,” he said, leaning back. “Crack of dawn.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “God help Gotham if your schedule ever runs the Watchtower.”

“Okay, but real talk—” Jason straightened a little, turning toward you, hands cupped loosely in front of him like he was holding something important. “Did you sleep?”

“I slept.”

“How long?”

“I don't need mothering, Jaybird.”

“Well,” his eyes widened for a second, not irritated but needing to emphasize his worry. “You are mostly surrounded by people focused on the babe. Someone has to look out for you, ma.”

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you just looked at him—this boy who had once been so angry, so guarded, so desperate to prove he didn’t need anyone—and now sat in front of you like he’d assigned himself as your personal sentinel. He really had changed.

“Alright,” you said softly. “I’ll let you take care of me.”

Jason sat back like he’d won a gold medal. “Good. First step: no more carrying laundry baskets upstairs.”

You laughed. “They’re light.”

“You’re heavier now.”

“Rude.”

“It’s a compliment,” he said, completely serious. “You’re baby-heavy. That’s a glow-up.”

You snorted, amused. Jason leaned closer across the table. 

“Second rule—if you’re ever up in the middle of the night and want something, wake me.”

“Jay, I’m not waking you up for snacks at 3 AM.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

“I swear to God, ma,” he said, dramatically dropping his head onto the table. “I live to sneak you Oreos at night. Don’t rob me of that.”

You were still laughing as you reached over and ruffled his hair—gently, always gently, because even now you remembered how he used to flinch when touched. He didn’t anymore. Not with you.

“You’re gonna be the best big brother,” you said, thumb brushing his cheek as he leaned into it.

He made a face. “I better be.”

“You already are.”

“Do you think they’ll like me?”

That question hit with more vulnerability than you expected, and you didn’t take even a second to answer.

“They’ll love you, Jay.”

You stretched, letting your back pop gently, and rested your hands on your belly. “Want to say good morning?”

Jason perked up, already shifting to the side of your chair. He kneeled beside you like it was second nature now, one hand lightly pressing to the bump, his head tilted as if waiting for something sacred. Which, in his mind, it was.

“Morning, peanut,” he said softly. “I know you’ve been kicking like a maniac, but you better start behaving once you’re out. I’m watching you.”

The baby gave a soft little shift. Not a kick—just a brush of motion, as if they were saying hello.

“There it is,” he breathed. “They like me.”

“Of course they do.”

He leaned in and kissed your belly with the gentleness you’d only ever seen him give to animals, plants and to you.

“I’ve got your back,” he whispered. “Always. You and Mom.”

You blinked. Looked down at him. He wasn’t even trying to be cute—he said it like it was a vow. Like it had already been written somewhere and all he was doing was repeating it out loud.

You cupped his cheek. “I know you do, baby,” you said. “And we’ve got yours.”

“Damn right,” he muttered, climbing to his feet and stretching. “Now come on. You need anything upstairs?”

“No, I’ve got it—”

“Wrong answer,” he said, alreadymoving to your side. “Your feet are swollen, your center of gravity is officially compromised, and Bruce will kill me if I let you climb a staircase without backup.”

“I can still walk on my own, you know.”

“Cool,” he said, grinning. “Then you won’t mind if I hover like a neurotic maniac the whole way up.”

You took his arm anyway. Because it made him feel important. Because it made you feel safe.

Because that was what family did.

Your own words ate you back. 

Jason was a teenager. A very rebellious one, despite how smart and sweet he was as well. A teenager with emotions too wild and big for his own soul. You couldn't exactly relate: you had grown as a farm child, coddled by your parents and brother, neither you nor him had a rebel bone on your bodies —well, Clark was an alien, but he was not a rebel.

Your husband, instead, could relate a bit more. He hadn't been the easiest teenager, neither the simplest child, so he tried to make Jason understand. Tried to make him more pliable, free but not turbulent.

It didn't work.

But you never expected it to get to such instances. Never expected it to hurt so much.

It was normal that people got curious about their biological families. You knew that. You sat on his bed, the note shaking in your hands, and told yourself it was natural. Normal. You had been there when Clark wondered about Krypton. When he held the knowledge of his planet in his hands and cried over stories that weren't his. Ma had never once made him feel guilty. She had hugged him, helped him dig, held him close through all of it. You wanted to be like that. You tried to be.

But you couldn't.

He had gone in search of his biological mother. Curious, almost hopeful. He just wanted to know: he didn't wish to live with her, didn't wish to call her mom, he just wanted to know. And, still, it bit you in the neck, tearing everything in its path.

Tearing you.

So, of course, Bruce went after him. It had been an hour or a bit more when he found the note, but your husband was fast. Fast, furious and full of worry for a son who was acting like what he was: a teenager. You tried to calm him down before he left, but it didn't do much.

Ace sat beside you in the library, tucked against your legs, your fingers wound in the soft fur at the nape of his neck. He whimpered when you shifted too sharply. Nudged you if you didn’t pet him often enough. You could barely feel your limbs after a while, but you didn’t move. You stared at the fireplace, unlit, and let the silence wrap itself around you like a wool blanket full of thorns.

Alfred had brought tea hours ago. Rooibos with vanilla and rosehip. Cooling now, untouched.

The baby—mercifully, for once—was still. No kicking, no pressure, no rolling under your ribs. You didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

You waited long enough that time began to feel shapeless. Bruce hadn’t checked in. Not once. Not a ping. Not even to say “found him.” That wasn’t like him. Even when angry, Bruce didn’t go dark on you unless it was life or death.

Minutes passed. Hours. You shifted from upright to lying down. Ace adjusted with you. And, eventually, sleep dragged you under.

You didn’t dream. Not of anything you remembered.

A sound woke you.

It wasn’t loud. Just a shifting thrum beneath the walls, a pulse you knew too well—the subtle, mechanical draw of the Cave’s elevator, cycling up from the deepest levels. It was late. Too late. Your body had folded itself on the couch in a way your back would regret later. Ace had not moved. He lay across your legs like a barrier, still watching the door.

You blinked the sleep away slowly, pulling yourself upright, one hand bracing your stomach.

That’s when you saw him. Clark stood in the doorway.

He didn’t knock. He never had to. He was just there—framed by the wood of the doorframe, his posture too still, his hands too empty. He wore the same suit as always, his glasses off, hair slightly mussed from the wind. 

You smiled immediately, a breath of relief catching in your chest.

“Clark,” you breathed, already reaching out like your body recognized him before your mind did. “You’re here. You went with Bruce? Did you find him? Is he okay?”

There was so much hope in your voice you didn’t even try to hide it. You were ready to forget. Ready to hug Jason so hard his ribs popped. You had already pictured it in your head—him sulking in the Cave, maybe with a split lip, definitely grounded, absolutely loved.

“Clark,” you said again, “is Jason—”

He didn’t answer.

Your smile faltered. You stared harder. His hands twitched once. Not nervous. Just not knowing where to go.

You pushed forward. “It’s okay if he’s mad. If he fought. He gets scared, you know that. He probably didn’t know how to come back, but once he calms down—once I talk to him—I’ll talk to him. He listens when I talk—”

“Y/N.”

The way he said your name made something in you still.

You blinked. “What?”

Clark stepped closer. You frowned at the way he looked at you—like someone bracing for impact.

“He’s just upset,” you said again. “He gets like that. He’s not cruel. He wouldn’t have gone far if he thought we were really scared. And Bruce—Bruce will ground him for a year, but I’ll talk him down, you know I will. We’ll get through to him.”

Your brother opened his mouth, then closed it. His jaw clenched.

You stood slowly, your hand going to the couch arm for balance. “He’s angry, not broken. He’ll come back.”

Clark reached for you. “Y/N, wait—”

You didn’t. You stepped past him, slow but certain. The weight of the baby pulled at your hips. You pressed one hand to your side and the other to the wall, making your way toward the grandfather clock that led to the Cave.

He followed. “Don’t go down there yet. Please.”

“Why?”

Clark stepped forward again, brow creasing, eyes soft with something that didn’t belong in the room. Not here. Not now.

“Why, Clark?”

He swallowed hard. Looked down. The words were so quiet, you almost missed them. “He’s gone.”

You froze. The air in the room flattened. Like something had pressed the oxygen out of it. Out of you.

“What?”

Clark lifted his eyes. “He’s gone, Y/N.”

You stared at him. He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t stalling. You had grown up with him. You knew when he was hiding something. This wasn’t hiding.

You stepped back.

“No.”

“Y/N—”

“No, Clark. Don’t—don’t say that. Don’t lie—”

“I’m not lying.”

“He left a note. He left a note, Clark. He was coming back. He said he’d be back before I even missed him. That’s what he said.”

Clark reached again, gently, like you might shatter if touched.

“Joker got to him,” he said. “Bruce found him. But it was too late.”

You didn’t hear the rest. You couldn’t feel your hands anymore.

You shoved past him—faster than you’d moved in months—pain shooting through your back, ankles burning, but none of it mattered, because the clock was already opening and the Cave was right there and if he was wrong, if this was a mistake, you could fix it. You could fix it.

You moved through it on memory, ignoring the cold under your feet, the silence that met you at every turn. You didn’t have to call for Bruce. He was already there. Standing near the platform. Still in the suit, but unmasked. His cowl was discarded on the floor like he’d torn it off with trembling fingers. His gloves were off too. His hands hung at his sides. His face…

His face was unreadable. You called his name. He didn’t look up.

You stepped forward, one hand on your stomach, the other stretched as if reaching through fog.

And then you saw him.

Jason lay on the table. His suit was torn. And his face seemed so calm, almost like if he was resting. Except he wasn't. His body was too still, skin too pale, blood dried at every corner, hands limp.

When had you seen his hands limp?

He was there. But he wasn’t.

Your baby.

You stopped breathing.

The world didn’t tilt—it collapsed. The bones inside your body stopped working. Your stomach twisted violently and you didn’t know where you were anymore. 

You didn’t scream at first. You just moved like the breath had been kicked out of you, like gravity was wrong. You staggered forward, Bruce stepping to catch you, but you shook him off. You needed to see. Needed to hold him.

You reached the table and touched his hand.

He was cold.

That’s when you screamed.

The sound tore through the Cave like a siren, full and sharp and unbearable. Bruce stood behind you, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had split. You clutched at Jason’s shirt, pressing your forehead to his chest, trying to wake him, trying to pull him back with sound, with touch, with all the love you had ever poured into him.

“Jay,” you whispered. “Please—no, no, no—Jay.”

But there was no reply.

You don’t know how long you were there, slumped beside his body, your arms trembling under the weight of your son. Of his stillness. Of the cold that clung to his skin, to his hair, to the stiff collar of his suit. His jaw had been set wrong, too tight. He always clenched it when he was angry. Or hurt. Or both.

You had tried to warm him up. Somehow. Hands to his cheeks, your shawl folded around him like it might bring him back. As if he might stir, cough, groan about how dramatic everyone was being. 

But he didn’t. His lashes didn’t flutter. He didn’t move. And he was heavier than he had ever felt—but not because of the weight of his body. It was the weight of finality. Of everything left unsaid. Of how many things you would never hear from him again.

Your hands cupped his face. You stroked your thumb across his cheekbone like you always did when he was sick, like you did when he’d woken from nightmares and stumbled into your bedroom because he couldn’t stand to be alone in the dark.

“I didn’t say goodbye,” you gasped. “I didn’t even say goodbye.”

You kissed his forehead. His temple. His hairline. Over and over. You pressed your face into his curls and breathed in, trying to find him still in there—his scent, his warmth, the electricity of his spirit—but it was already leaving. Evaporating. The room had changed around you. Even the air felt wrong.

“Please, please, I can’t—” you croaked, not even knowing who you were speaking to anymore. God? Bruce? Jason himself? 

You would’ve given anything, anything to hear his voice. His awful sarcasm. His tired, dramatic teenage scoffs. You would’ve let him throw a tantrum, break a window, scream and slam every door in the manor if it meant he was here, breathing.

You didn’t hear Clark murmuring to Bruce. Didn’t hear your husband inhale through his nose in that shattered way of his. You didn’t notice when your brother stepped away again, voice low and full of pain, promising to call Diana. Promising to take care of something. Anything. You heard none of it.

And then, all at once, your body locked up.

So sharp it made your mouth open around a silent cry. A clench that started in your lower spine and tore through your pelvis like a blunt blade. You gasped, hands tightening on Jason’s suit. It came again, rolling upward, deeper, with the full force of something ancient and cruel.

It was happening again. You stilled, breath catching. Your hands lifted off Jason’s body like they were made of air now, twitching, uncertain.

“No,” you breathed, brokenly, lifting one hand to your lower stomach. Your palm pressed to your bump as if you could hold everything together by sheer will. “No, no, please,” you begged. “Don’t do this. Not now. Not again.”

But the tightness surged up, relentless. 

You gritted your teeth and bent over, forehead nearly to your knees now, breath coming in strangled gasps. Pain pulsed low, deep, animalistic. You could feel warmth between your thighs. A wetness you already knew by name.

Your fingers met a slow, spreading dampness. Your brain refused to name it, even as your body screamed it out in silence.

You pulled your hand forward. Saw the blood.

Thick. Bright. Unmistakable.

“No,” you gasped. “I still have you—just let me have something. Please.”

And finally you cried out. It wasn’t a scream. It was too hoarse, too full of something ruined. It sounded like mourning and denial colliding in your chest. Your voice carried, echoing off the stone walls. Bruce was there in seconds.

“Y/N—” His voice was hoarse, shaking, like he hadn’t spoken in years. “What’s happening?”

You were gasping, not in fear anymore, but disbelief. Like your own body had turned on you.

“I’m losing the baby,” you whispered, and the words felt so unnatural in your mouth that you said them again, louder, as if repetition would undo them. “I’m losing the baby—Bruce, I’m—”

And then the pain came back.

Stronger. Final.

You screamed, finally, a sound Bruce had never heard leave you before. Your knees buckled. Bruce caught you again, one arm beneath your back, the other under your thighs, lifting you from the floor like you weighed nothing.

You couldn’t speak. You clung to his neck, your face buried against his collarbone, whispering apologies to Jason. Again and again.

“It’s happening,” you gasped. “It’s happening again. Bruce. Bruce, I’m losing the baby.”

“Hey. Hey. Look at me,” he said, and desperate. “Inhale, baby. Please. Please, breathe.”

But you shook your head, hysterical, fingers still aching for your boy. “I can’t leave him. I can’t—I can’t leave Jay—”

“Alfred’s calling an ambulance,” Bruce said, voice firm now, trying to ground you. “You’re going to the hospital. You’re not staying here.”

You collapsed against him. “I want my mom. I want my mom. I want to go home.”

He held you, and he didn’t have the words for that. Not this time.

Blood was pooling beneath you now. Your pants were soaked through. You didn’t even care. You were curled sideways, one hand still reaching for Jason’s body, the other gripping Bruce’s arm like he was the only thing tethering you to Earth.

Bruce tried to lift you, but you buckled in his grip.

“Help me,” you said, though you didn’t even know what for. “Help me, Bruce. Please.”

“I’m here,” he whispered, trying to stay calm, but his voice cracked on the last word. “I’ve got you.”

You reached for Jason again, sobbing openly now. “Tell him I didn’t mean to let him go,” you cried. “Tell him I was trying. Tell him I loved him—tell him I love him so much—”

And then another wave hit. You folded, screaming, and Bruce caught you before you collapsed fully, his arms strong but shaking. You could feel his panic building, even through the steel of his self-control.

The Cave lights blurred.

You heard the elevator rise, heard Alfred’s voice distantly through the fog, urgent. Something about medics. Something about the car.

And then your vision went sideways.

The floor tilted. And yet, you couldn't stop thinking about the body on the cave. You were leaving him behind. You screamed. Fought. Clawed at the air.

“Don’t leave him! Don’t—please—I can’t leave him there alone—”

“Alfred’s with him,” Bruce said, choked. “He’s not alone.”

But it didn’t help.

Nothing helped.

Because even as you were lifted, even as your body hemorrhaged and your voice broke and your whole self collapsed under the weight of this impossible day—your hand still reached for your baby boy, cold on that table, the one you were supposed to keep safe.

The one you promised.

And now, both of them were gone.

And you—just a mother without her son, a heart without a rhythm, a body broken open from the inside out—were left with nothing but silence.

And for the first time in your life, not even Smallville's skies could’ve offered you comfort.

[athenalvss]

SECRET LANGUAGE ( circus! batmom )

summary: Batmom and Dick have a different connection than with the rest of the family, they even have their own language, causing the rest of the family to become exasperated.

pairing: batmom x batfam

open request — batmom masterlist

Although Batmom loves and protects all members of the Batfam equally, she shares a special bond with Dick Grayson. It wasn't about favoritism or privilege —there never was— there was simply something different about the connection between them. And while the rest of the kids understood (more or less), that didn't stop them from raising a fuss whenever something clearly exclusive happened between batmom and Dick. How dare they have inside jokes about their past lives right in front of them? Give each other those silent glances that sparked entire conversations without saying a word? It was outrageous!

Except for Bruce, he had given up a few years ago, he could never win his wife, and he wasn't trying either.

── .✦

Between them, they have a sort of visual code developed over the years: raised eyebrows, half-winks, tapping the table... any excuse to silently mock some absurd situation. The rest of the Batfam pretends not to notice, but they're fed up. How could they be left out of this?

That's why everyone was there gathered in one of the rooms of the big Wayne manor, well... "everyone" is a way of saying, everyone was there except you, Bruce and Dick, but the rest of the family was there sitting on the armchairs while they watched Tim enter with his computer.

Tim walked into the room with a confident stride, and with a satisfied smile, he projected the image, showing his hard work. "Welcome to the secret meeting of the marginalized children" he reached the center of the room, causing everyone to look at him, leaving a PowerPoint presentation titled "Spy Project: Sign Language According to Batmom" in the background.

"Does it have an index?" Steph asked, already taking mental notes.

"Of course it has an index" Tim replied, opening the first slide. "Section one: The gestures. Section two: The looks. Section three: Revenge on Dick."

"Shouldn't we call Bruce too?" Duke asked, a hint of hesitation in his voice.

"Bruce? Bruce gave up years ago," Jason said. "And he can't help, he doesn't even try to guess what they're saying."

Tim changed the slide. A slow-motion video showed a kitchen scene from two weeks ago: you, pouring coffee; Dick, leaning on the island; both of you shooting each other a quick glance… followed by a synchronized laugh. No one else was laughing. Just the two of you.

"See that? That was a complete, wordless joke! Wordless!" Tim exclaimed, pointing the laser pointer at the screen.

"And right after, Dick told me he was laughing at the dog on the news. Blatant lie!" Jason shouted indignantly.

Just as Tim was getting into the most important part of his analysis—a slide titled “The Raised Eyebrow: Criticism or Mockery?”—the door softly opened.

"And what are you all doing together? I like it, but it's weird," you asked with a relaxed smile, walking in with several recyclable paper bags in your arms.

Dick appeared right behind you, also laden with bags, and said with disarming ease "We went to get things for dinner. Mom wanted to make her lasagna, you know…"

The entire room froze. Everyone stared at the projector screen, which was still showing a snapshot of the two of you in what appeared to be an intense telepathic conversation during a gala.

Jason was the first to react, standing up from the chair with his arms raised. "I TOLD YOU WE HAD TO GO SOMEWHERE ELSE."

"What's all this?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dick looked at the screen, then at the group, then at you. "Were we being spied on?"

"Spying is a very hard word, it's just a deep analysis of your gestural conspiracy," Tim exclaimed normally.

"We call it... emotional connection" you said, calmly putting down the bags.

"And we call it 'betrayal,'" Damian muttered, arms crossed, visibly hurt.

"It's not treason if we've always been like this," Dick added with a smile.

"That doesn't make it better!" they all shouted at the same time.

You and Dick looked at each other. Raised eyebrow. Smile. And then you burst out laughing without saying anything.

Jason covered his face with his hands. "Of course they're doing it again. In our faces. No shame whatsoever."

Bruce watched silently from the stairs, nursing a cup of coffee. "I told you not to try to decipher it."

── .✦

The Wayne Manor dining room table was, as always, a battlefield disguised as a family dinner.

"You have to accept that Red Hood is a better public figure than you!" Jason bellowed, pointing his fork at Tim, who barely dodged it.

"Public figure? Please, your reputation is half a step away from an arrest warrant," Tim replied quietly, but with venom in every word.

"Tch. He's got it, Pathetic," Damian muttered from his spot, not even looking at the others, busy cutting his steak with surgical precision.

Bruce sighed. He said nothing, as usual. Alfred, stoic, poured more water with the elegance of someone who has seen a thousand wars at that table and survived them all. Amid all that noise, you leaned back a little in her chair and looked at Dick, who was sitting across the table. He wore a stoic expression, but when he felt your gaze, he raised his eyes. And then it happened: that knowing look.

It was barely a second. A meeting of eyes with a restrained smile, a slightly raised eyebrow on your part, and a slight nod from him. A silent gesture that said:

"Same thing again?"

"Always the same."

They both held back their laughter at the same time, as if they'd rehearsed it. No more need be said.

"Are you laughing at us?" Damian snapped, his fork in the air.

"No," you and Dick replied, perfectly in sync.

"Here we go again..." Tim muttered, "This isn't normal!"

"We're not doing this on purpose," they both said, again, at the same time.

Jason brought his napkin to his face. "Okay, this is disturbing."

"Have you been practicing?" Steph asked.

"No" you said in unison, and this time they looked at each other immediately after, holding back their laughter.

"Enough!" Tim shot up from his seat. "They literally have a secret script! It's like they share a neural chip!"

Alfred, unperturbed, poured more water. "I must say, master Tim, this has been going on for so many years that I'm surprised you're still alarmed."

"Thank you, Alfred," both said at the same time, without even looking at each other.

Bruce sighed and muttered, more to himself than to anyone else, "I never had a chance to fight."

Damian, arms crossed and looking annoyed, grunted. "This is unbelievable."

"No," Jason said, "It's a cult, and we're not part of it."

Dick shrugged at the same time as you. "We're not that predictable," you chorused.

and in unison they all shouted: "YOU SAID IT AGAIN!"

── .✦

It was a quiet night. Miraculously quiet. Everyone was sitting in the living room, no missions or alarms. Even Bruce was relaxed—relatively so—with a glass of wine in his hand. It was one of those family reunion nights they had every Friday night.

Tim was lounging on a beanbag with his laptop, Jason was flipping through a magazine without really reading, Damian was trying to teach chess to Steph, who was just moving the pieces around to annoy him. Alfred was passing by with a tray of cookies, ignoring the chaos with his trademark dignity.

But on the main couch, away from the rest, Bruce, Dick, and Batmom were surrounded by photo albums. They'd started under the guise of "organizing memories," but had clearly fallen into a nostalgic spiral.

Suddenly, a photo caught my eye: You were younger in that image, dressed in your iconic illusionist outfit, black top hat, black and white suit, with a shiny cape that reflected the light, and Dick, barely ten years old, in a tiny trapeze artist's outfit, smiling as he hung from a rope. The image showed a moment in the circus, when they were a different family, before Bruce came into their lives.

"It was fun living in the circus," you looked at the photos with a touch of nostalgia. "Except when the tiger escaped."

Dick immediately burst out laughing. "That was just one time! And technically, he didn't run away…"

"It's true, he didn't escape, you let him out."

The laughter shared between the two of you filled the room like an echo from the past. Bruce watched you with a mixture of curiosity and resignation.

"Were you always like this?" he asked, half joking, half serious.

"So how?" you asked with feigned innocence, while sharing a quick glance with Dick.

Bruce frowned as he watched from his seat, confused. "Was that a sign?"

"No," you and Dick answered in unison, with the same smile, that tone that made it clear it wasn't the first time they'd done it.

Bruce sighed. "But what does that tap on the arm just now mean?"

"Nothing" you said again, while Dick tried not to laugh.

"Liars" Bruce said with a resigned smile.

Then, very slowly, Bruce raised both eyebrows, tapped the table, and looked directly at Dick. There was a second of silence. Dick looked at him, you looked at him. And you both blinked, surprised.

"I've been practicing," Bruce said, with a hint of satisfaction.

"You did well, darling," patting him gently on the arm that was around your shoulders.

At that moment, from across the room:

"What's going on now?!" Jason yelled, throwing up his arms as if he'd just been betrayed.

"Bruce speaks your secret language too!?" Tim almost choked on his popcorn.

"This is... unacceptable," Damian muttered, squinting.

"Welcome to the club," Dick said, raising his glass to Bruce.

"They'll never understand," you whispered in Bruce's ear, smiling.

"I know. And it's glorious," he replied, his expression completely serene as chaos erupted around him.

[sirxaibs]

Batfamily X Batmom! Reader

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Someone Thought Of Meཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

I feel like Tim has very little love. So how does he feel in a family thats so weird?

masterlist

Timmy timothy tim likes to journal his problems

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Journal entry- Shes always there. Written from the point of view of Tim Drake. In Tim Drakes Journal. Which Is my journal… Tim Drake… because it’s my journal?

When people think of Bruce Wayne, they think of Gotham’s crowned prince brooding, rich, charming in a suit. Maybe they even think of Batman if you’re one of the few people that actually know him, the knight in Kevlar, Gotham’s relentless protector. They forget, more often than not, that behind the cowl is just a guy made of jagged edges. The kind that can cut even the people he cares about most.

But her?

She was warmth. A reporter with fire in her blood and sharp questions at her lips. That’s how Bruce met her chasing down a story she didn’t know he was part of yet. She wasn’t intimidated by his name or the shadows that followed him. And when she found out he was Batman, she didn’t run. She pivoted. She didn’t want to be used by the Gotham Gazette to milk a headline about their relationship. So she left. Started something new. Told the stories of villains not to glorify them, but to show their truth. The people they used to be. The cracks that made them break. That was her power.

I didn’t meet her until later, of course. But I always knew of her. I still stayed with my parents at the time and since she stayed at the mansion i never really saw her. she was the one everyone talked about. Not just in passing, but with reverence. Even Bruce, in his own quiet way, would drop her name like it meant safety. And to Dick and Jason? She wasn’t just a stepmom, or “Bruce’s wife.” She was Mom.

Dick talks about her like she’s the sun. When he visits he always visits, at least once a week no matter where he is you can see it. How his whole face lights up just stepping into the manor and hearing her voice from the kitchen. You’d think he was back in the circus and just found his net again.

“She used to stay up for me, no matter what time patrol ended,” he told me once. “I’d come in through the balcony, boots muddy, bruised up, sometimes bleeding and she’d be in the kitchen heating soup. Always that look on her face like I’d just come back from war. Never lectured me like Bruce. Never told me to be more careful. Just… held me. Like that fixed everything.”

Dick never stopped calling her “Mom.” Not even during the rough years when Bruce pushed him too hard. Not when he moved out. Not when the Batcave felt colder than the Gotham River in winter. If anything, she was the reason he kept coming back.

When she got that small publishing deal to write about Harvey Dent’s past, Dick flew back from Blüdhaven just to take her out to dinner. No press, no big celebration. Just a booth by the window at her favorite Thai place and a bouquet that barely fit through the door. He said he owed her everything. “I don’t care if I’m not hers by blood,” he told me once. “That woman taught me how to hold on to who I am, even when everything else was falling apart.”

Then theres my other older brother. Jason’s love is different. It’s quieter.

Harder to see unless you’re looking close. He’s not good at the soft stuff. Not anymore. But with her, he tries. He never says “I love you.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard the words leave his mouth. But he’s always fixing stuff around her house. Not the manor her place, the little brownstone Bruce bought her because she hated the echo of the mansion. The place with the bookshelf she filled herself, the mismatched mugs, the heavy desk where she does her interviews. Jason comes by when she’s out running errands. Patches the leaky sink. Replaces the light in the hallway. Leaves a bag of her favorite tea on the counter. No note. No credit. But she always knows it’s him.

“She used to sit on the fire escape with me,” he told me once, when we were staking out some arms deal in the Narrows. “I’d be pissed off at Bruce, just raging. And she’d just sit there. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t talk me out of it. Just sat and sometimes smoked a cigarette. One time I cried. Don’t remember why. But she didn’t flinch. Just put her hand on my back. Stayed until I fell asleep.”

He’d die before saying it out loud, but I think in a way… he’s more hers than he ever was Bruce’s. And when he came back when he was the Red Hood and he was full of grief and rage and bullets she was the only one who hugged him. Everyone else flinched. Even Bruce. But she opened the door, saw what he’d become, and said, “You look like hell, baby. Come inside.” And he did.

I remember the first time I met her. Bruce had just taken me in. I was still flinching every time he walked into the room, still unsure if I belonged in this broken, stitched up family. And then she walked in breezy and fierce, like she’d just come off a battlefield with coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. “You must be Tim,” she said, giving me a once over like she could see right through to my spine. “You eat?”

I hadn’t. She fixed a plate, sat with me, asked me about everything except my parents. I had just lost them at the time and that’s when I got it. Why Dick lights up around her. Why Jason will move heaven and earth to fix her sink. She’s home. Not the kind with walls and Wi-Fi. The kind with presence. With knowing how to say just the right thing without ever saying too much. With safety, and warmth, and late night soup and hair ruffles and sitting on fire escapes even when the kid next to you’s got blood on his boots. I think that’s why even Bruce… softens around her. She’s the one person who makes him feel safe.

When she got her first daughter, you can tell something changed in her. Cass didn’t talk much. Not in the early days. She was quiet in the way shadows were quiet always there, always watching, always slipping through cracks without a sound. Most people assumed she just didn’t want to talk. Or couldn’t. But I saw it different.

Cass spoke just not with her mouth. She spoke with her hands, her eyes, the way she’d tense or soften when you entered a room. But with her? With Mom?

Cass bloomed.

She’d lean on her shoulder when they sat on the couch. She’d grab her hand subtle, small, but full of meaning and lead her to the garden out back just to sit in the sun. I watched Cass laugh once, like actually laugh, cheeks lifted and eyes crinkled. I didn’t even know she could laugh like that. But it was because Mom had made some dumb joke about a rogue penguin at the zoo stealing someone’s purse. Cas used to flinch at affection. Now, she hugged her. Without hesitation. Leaned into her side. Signed things with soft smiles and the rare, quiet “Love you,” if no one else was around. She didn’t even say that to Bruce. Not really. But Mom? Mom got everything.

She knew how to talk to her. Never pressed. Never coddled. Just existed beside her with a kind of understanding that didn’t require words. I think Cass clung to that someone who didn’t need her to be anything but herself. Someone who didn’t treat her like a porcelain weapon. I’d never seen Cass so… safe. So full.

Then there was Damian. God. When Bruce brought him to the manor, I thought maybe we’d finally seen the worst of it. Turns out a ten year old assassin with an ego the size of Arkham was the cherry on top.

From the minute Damian showed up, he was a walking migraine. Arrogant. Condescending. Entitled in the way only someone born and bred to believe they were superior could be. But the worst part? He was cruel to her.

Not in the loud, tantrum way kids can be cruel. No. Damian was sharp. Precise. Calculated. His insults were surgical targeted and clean like a blade to the gut. “I don’t see the point in you,” he said once, arms crossed in the foyer, looking her dead in the eye. “You’re not my mother. You’ll never be her. Father had real women in his life before you.”

It wasn’t the first time he said it. Wouldn’t be the last. she….God, she just took it. Not because she agreed. Not because she was weak. But because that’s who she is. She let him be angry. Let him lash out. Let him burn himself on her because she knew what was underneath it all. But I saw it. I saw the way her shoulders slumped when she turned away. The way she stirred her tea a little too long in the kitchen. The way she lingered in front of Bruce’s old pictures of Talia that he put up for Damien. didn’t touch them, didn’t say anything, but looked like someone standing in a war zone, wondering if the ruins were prettier than she’d ever be. She never said it aloud. Never asked if she measured up. But we all knew the weight she carried. Bruce’s past wasn’t just shadows it was legacies. Legacies she was never meant to compete with. And Damian made sure she felt that.

I don’t know when that started to change. Maybe when she helped patch him up after his first solo patrol and didn’t say a word about the busted ribs. Maybe when she sat in the library and helped him with his handwriting because even deadly assassins have messy cursive. Or maybe it was when she found his sketchbook. hid it from everyone else, never mentioned it, just left him new pencils on his desk with a quiet, “You’re very talented.”

He stopped being so sharp after that. Still rude. Still Damian. But less… venomous. Like the poison had burned itself out and he was left kind of confused by the fact that she was still there. Because she always was. For all of us.

And then there’s me. The extra. The late one. I was never brought in because Bruce wanted to be a father. I was brought in because I figured out his secrets and then wormed my way into the cave, into the suit, into the family. I don’t know if I was ever really meant to be here. Not the way the others were. Me? I had parents. Not great ones. But they were there… until they weren’t. I didn’t grow up in an alley, or a pit, or the League. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I feel so… replaceable. But she never made me feel that way. She saw me. She knew I overworked myself. Knew I never slept. Knew I spiraled when I wasn’t useful. And instead of pushing me to be better or telling me to slow down, she just… met me where I was. Once, I found a note in my backpack. Folded between mission plans.

“Youre the most amazing boy that i know, You my boy are going to do amazing things. I love you so much!!”

I never told her I found it. But I kept it. Still have it, tucked into my journal like armor.

I don’t know if any of us would’ve survived this family without her. Bruce taught us how to fight. How to fall and get back up. But she taught us how to rest. How to breathe. How to love without blood and history binding us. She fixed all of us. Bit by bit. Even when we didn’t know we were breaking. I don’t feel broken enough to deserve that kind of care. But she gave it anyway. Because that’s who she is. Because she was always there.

I heard her once, talking on the phone to someone. Maybe a friend. Maybe a source. “They’re not mine by blood,” she said. “But God help the world if they ever needed me. I’d burn down Gotham to protect any one of them.” That’s when I knew she meant me, too. if I had to tell this story about the Batfamily, about the ones who wear masks and hide pain and throw themselves into the fire night after night I’d start with her. Because Batman might have saved Gotham but she saved us.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

Tim closes the journal with a soft thump, fingers lingering on the worn leather cover. His hand hovers just a second longer before pulling away. The room feels too quiet now like his thoughts are echoing louder without the scratch of his pen to distract him.

He pushes the chair back, the legs creaking on the old hardwood floors, and stands. His back cracks. How long had he been writing? Hours maybe. It’s dark out, the kind of heavy Gotham dark that presses against the windows like it wants in. The manor groans quietly in the silence, pipes murmuring and the wind brushing tree branches against the windows like fingers tapping to be let inside.

He walks out of his room, bare feet soft on the carpet as he pads through the hallway. The air feels heavier at night in the manor. Like all the ghosts that live in the walls are finally breathing.

I turned the corner after walking mindlessly and stared. There you were.

Back facing towards me, wearing one of those oversized, faded shirts Bruce always swore he didn’t miss. Standing in front of the stove, hair pulled up, humming something under your breath as you stirred with a wooden spoon like you were crafting alchemy and not just soup. And beside you, leaning against the counter, arms folded but eyes softer than I’d seen in weeks. Jason. He wasn’t wearing his jacket. Which was rare. His boots were off. Rarer. And he was smiling. Not the cocky half grin he used when he was about to pick a fight, but something quieter. Warmer. Something like a son sitting in the only place in the world where he felt safe.

You said something to him I couldn’t hear what but you reached up on your toes and smoothed his hair out of his eyes like he was five. He rolled his eyes, said something sarcastic, but didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into it. that was when Alfred walked by, hands behind his back, chin tilted slightly in amusement as he passed me. “You know the rule, Master Timothy,” he said, low enough not to disturb the moment in the kitchen. “She is the only one allowed in there. The rest of you have forfeited that right after the last… incident.”

I groaned.

“That was Damian’s fault,” I hissed back.

He raised a brow. “Was it Damian’s idea to flambé a Pop Tart?”

“Okay. Fine. That part might’ve been me.”

It was one of our dumbest ideas maybe not the dumbest, but it’s a crowded race. It started with a challenge. Damian, fresh off a smug streak and newly obsessed with culinary documentaries, claimed that my “American palate” had “eroded my taste and motor skills.” I told him I could cook circles around him. Neither of us could cook.

It escalated quickly. An Iron Chef style duel. Secret ingredient: eggs. Only, I dropped mine. Three times. Damian misread the baking powder as flour. Then I panicked and tried to “smoke” the scrambled eggs for flavor using a packet of incense from the guest room and a lighter.

Within ten minutes, the fire alarm was going off, Alfred had activated the emergency sprinklers, and the kitchen looked like something between a crime scene and a culinary apocalypse. Mom was the one to find us.

Standing soaked, flour covered, blinking through smoke. Damian holding a spatula like a sword. Me covered in what I hoped was yolk. You didn’t yell. That’s the worst part. You just… looked at us. Long and hard. Then let out a breath, pinched the bridge of your nose, and said, “Alfred, I assume this is why you told me to ban them from the kitchen.”

“Indeed, madam,” he replied grimly.

And that was that. Kitchen rights revoked. Except for you. Always you.

Now I stood there in the hallway, watching you and Jason from the doorway, unseen. He was telling you about something he saw on patrol a gang trying to smuggle rare books, of all things. You were laughing, that full body laugh that makes your shoulders shake and your eyes close, like the world could still be beautiful if you just tried hard enough. And Jason?

He was drinking it in. Like he’d been starved of this kind of love for years. Ever since he came back, you were different around him. Not overly careful like Bruce. Not tense like some of us had been. You just loved him. Loudly. Freely. kisses to the temple, touching his shoulders like you had to convince yourself he was still solid. Like you had to remind him that he was still wanted. Jason never said it but he melted under it. His edges dulled. His anger slipped. When you held him, when you gave him that smile that said “you’re home,” he softened. He belonged.

I swallowed hard. Stepped back, just a bit. Let the shadows take me. Because I’d never had that. Not in the same way. You loved me I knew that. But it wasn’t the same kind of fierce, smothering love. And maybe that was fair. I wasn’t broken in the way Jason was. Not born in blood like Damian. Not carved out of grief like Dick. Not silenced like Cass.

I was just… me. Smart. Quiet. Stable, mostly. I’d always felt like a thread sewn into someone else’s tapestry. Useful. Strong, even. But not the reason anyone stayed warm. in moments like this seeing Jason melt under your hands, seeing you pour every ounce of your soul into making him feel alive I couldn’t help but wonder if I was ever going to fit here. So I stepped away from the kitchen door.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

The house was quiet again. The kind of quiet that only happens after everyone’s gone to bed or pretended to. I was curled up in the corner of the library, one leg slung over the arm of the chair, a thick old book cracked open across my lap. It wasn’t for patrol or mission planning. Just something to read. Something to fill the quiet so I didn’t have to think too much.

It was peaceful, until muffled voices filled the room. I blinked, tilting my head just enough to catch the low murmur threading in from the hallway. At first, I thought maybe Bruce had wandered into the Batcave again, but then I heard my moms voice. Whispering like someone trying not to wake a sleeping baby. Bruce responded, and you both laughed, low and secretive. I rolled my eyes and went back to my page.

I stopped caring about that kind of thing a long time ago. You and Bruce were always, in a word, gross about each other. Not the clingy, PDA gross… well yes the clingy PDA way but the kind where he’d brush your cheek mid conversation like it was instinct. Or the way you’d make him coffee without asking, and he’d pass you reports to look at because he trusted your opinion more than the board’s. It was… sincere. Intimate. Kind of annoying, honestly, when you were trying to eat cereal and Bruce kissed your temple like it was some kind of reflex.

But it was comforting too. Something solid. I was just starting to lose myself in the book again when

“Boo.”

“GAH!”

I launched the book about a foot into the air and nearly twisted my entire spine trying to figure out what demon had possessed the room. My heart rocketed into my throat as I whipped around, hand halfway to a batarang that wasn’t even on me. You stood there, grinning ear to ear.

“Tim,” you cooed, covering your mouth to stifle a laugh, “you should’ve seen your face oh my god, I think you levitated.”

“I almost hit you with Tolstoy!” I hissed, breath still catching up to my body. “Don’t sneak up on a guy in this house! I was ready to throw hands with a ghost.”

“Well,” you teased, “if it was a ghost, you’d be the only one I’d trust to outsmart it.”

I gave you a flat look, still massaging my neck. You sobered a little, stepping forward and tapping the top of my head gently. “Come on, kiddo. There’s something we want to show you. In the dining room.”

I blinked. “We?”

“I’m here too,” came Bruce’s voice from the hallway, in that terrible deep gravel whisper he clearly thought was somehow sneaky. You and I both turned to look at him as he peeked around the corner, trying very hard and failing to look inconspicuous.

I squinted at him. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he said too quickly.

You sighed and gently smacked his chest. “Why are you like this?”

“I’m building intrigue,” Bruce said with what I assumed was supposed to be a straight face. “It’s part of the plan”

“You’re ruining the surprise,” you whispered, dragging a hand down your face.

“There’s a surprise?” I asked slowly, eyes darting between the two of you.

Bruce’s expression didn’t change, but I could see the micro tension in his brow. He was lying. For the world’s greatest detective, the man couldn’t lie to his children to save his life. Every time he tried, he got this weird stiffness, like someone who’d never used human emotions before. You groaned again and took my wrist gently. “Come on. Just come to the dining room. Please?”

I stood up slowly, abandoning my book on the chair. “What’s going on?” I asked again, warier now. “Is this, like… an intervention? Did Damian break into the Tower again?”

“Nope.”

“Did Jason get arrested for vigilante loitering?”

“Not this week.”

“Are you going to make me touch grass?”

You snorted. “God, no.”

I sighed. “Alright. But if this is a trap, I want it on record that i died saying my parents were weird.”

Bruce just grunted. So I followed them. These two weird, overly affectionate, semi cryptic parents of mine one with crows’ feet from smiling too much and the other still pretending he didn’t smile at all. Down the hallway. Toward the dining room. Still completely, utterly confused.

The hallway to the dining room wasn’t long. It just felt long. Partially because Bruce was still trying to act like this wasn’t suspicious at all, and you kept elbowing him in the ribs every few steps. Partially because my nerves were starting to twitch under my skin. mostly because I could hear whisper yelling coming from the dining room.

“I said put the banner up, not strangle the chandelier with it!”

“That wasn’t me! It was Damian! He climbed up there!”

“I was fixing your poor attempt at symmetry, Grayson!”

“Why is the pie we made lopsided Jason what did you do to the pie?”

“It’s good. Shut up.”

“You burned it.”

“I call it caramelized flavor.”

“…It smells like regret.”

“Can someone…. Cass, what are you doing with the glitter glue?!”

“Decoration.”

I paused just outside the door and looked up at Bruce and you with raised eyebrows. You just smiled softly and gave a little shrug, while Bruce tried to maintain whatever shred of dignity he had left. It wasn’t working.

You both looked so stupidly in love standing like that his arm around your waist, yours looped casually around his. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like this was normal. Like this whatever chaos was waiting behind the doors was ours.

Bruce leaned in toward the doorframe like he was assessing a mission room, and I swear I saw his eye twitch.

“I gave them very simple instructions,” he muttered.

You patted his chest. “Your children are as smart and emotionally constipated as their dad”

The door swung open before anyone could knock. Dick stood there with his usual too big grin and remnants of glitter on his cheek like war paint. “Timmy! You’re late to your own surprise party!”

“It’s not my birthday?”

“Not that kind of surprise party!” he said, reaching out to drag me in with too much enthusiasm. “It’s Appreciation Day!”

“That’s… not a real holiday.”

“Sure it is,” said Jason, appearing from behind a mess of mismatched plates and aluminum foil wrapped disasters. “We just made it real. Sit down, Nerd Boy.”

Cass waved from the head of the table with a little toothy smile. Damian was on a chair next to her, arms crossed, already pouting like he hadn’t been helping just ten minutes ago.

The table was atrocious like someone had thrown a home economics final exam and a kindergarten arts and crafts project into a blender. The centerpiece was a crooked sign that said “WE APPRECIATE YOU” in bold, messy handwriting (clearly Dick’s). There was glitter on everything. The cups didn’t match. The pie looked like it’d been in a fight. it was perfect. All of it.

Dishes were stacked, uneven and mismatched. Cookies were slightly burnt on one side. Jason’s so called “caramelized” pie was visibly cracked. Cass had made what looked like finger sandwiches shaped into little bats. Even Damian had contributed begrudgingly with a plate of sliced fruit that had been carved into vaguely threatening shapes.

And in the middle of it all was a small card in your handwriting.

Tim,

We know things have been hard.

We know it sometimes feels like you’re overlooked.

But you’re not. Not here.

You’re brilliant. You’re loved. You’re ours.

Love,

Your Family (a bunch of idiots, but yours)

I couldn’t speak. Not really. Because what was there to say? This… this wasn’t some big show. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. it was for me. I glanced down the table.

Dick was beaming and already scooting over to make room for me. Jason was pretending not to look at me too hard, but his expression was softer than usual. Cass gave me a small nod, the kind that said more than words. Damian looked away when our eyes met but I could see the tiniest hint of awkward approval in the way he pushed a napkin toward the empty seat beside him. I took it. Quietly. Still blinking a little too fast. I didn’t cry. I didn’t. But I felt it thick in my chest. That weight. That feeling. Because my biological parents had never done anything like this. They didn’t see me, not really. I was a project. A prodigy. An obligation. But you and Bruce, in his awkward gruff way you saw me. You made this happen. I looked up once more and saw you and Bruce still standing near the door. Arms still around each other. Watching. Bruce’s eyes met mine. He gave the smallest nod. You just smiled. I mattered here. not always loudly. not in the same way the others did. But I mattered. And this this was home.

[lazycats-stuff]

Hello can you please do more baby or toddler reader x batfamily if you can😭i just love them

Oh sure can. I kind of love them too. I'll do baby reader, since we didn't have those in a while. Also, look at this adorable little penguin. Baby animals are cute.

Summary: First time that (Y/N) came to the manor.

Warnings: mentions of death during birth, but it's not (Y/N), a lot of fluff, angst(?), I don't know at this point.

Bruce was silently sitting at the dining table, looking at the phone, not sure how to feel at this moment. He had a one night stand 9 months ago and the woman he was with was carrying his child. Bruce asked her what she wanted to do, did she want to get rid of the baby or keep it?

Bruce was secretly hoping she would keep the baby, but he couldn't tell her what to do with her body. That would be wrong in his opinion. Thankfully, she choose to keep the baby. Thank God. Bruce was happy and he told his other sons about the incoming baby. None of them were surprised, but worried. A baby in their lifestyle?

They were all worried to say the least. Even Damian. Not about the fact that a biological child of Bruce was coming into the family, but worried about the fact that it's a baby. All of them were hoping for a girl, because who wouldn't want a little sister at their hands? Once they found out it was a boy, they were a tad disappointed, but didn't mind another boy.

The more the merrier was the joke.

The pregnancy was going smoothly... Until the time of labor came. He thought that it would go smoothly. He really did. However, it didn't. (Y/N)'s mom didn't make it, but (Y/N) did. That was the call he just got.

She passed away during birth. The nurse who called assured Bruce that the baby was okay. At the moment, Bruce was trying to collect himself before he broke the news to everyone. He looked up from the phone as his sons came in, all confused as to what has happened.

" What happened Bruce? " Dick asked as he sat down and Bruce rubbed his eyes.

" Anna, the one night stand gave birth today. She didn't make it, " Bruce announced and everyone froze.

Damian was left worried for the baby, Tim's mouth dropped and Jason was left speechless. Dick had to sit down.

" Are you serious? " Tim asked, eyes widening at the news. This was huge.

" Just got the call Tim. She passed away. Right now, I need to get some baby stuff. And that means furniture, clothes, diapers, damn formula too... " Bruce rubbed his eyes again, feeling overwhelmed by everything.

" We'll deal with that, " Damian declared and the other 3 nodded in agreement. " We'll just need your credit card. You need to make sure that the baby is taken care of. And we do need to think of a name. "

" I thought we agreed on (Y/N). And so did Anna, no? " Dick asked, rubbing his chin.

" Yes, we'll name the boy (Y/N). Also, don't go overboard. " Bruce warned and Dick chuckled.

" You shouldn't worry about money, since you are rich, " Dick mumbled as his face turned solemn.

" I know Dick. I trust you all. First and foremost, we need a list of what we need for the room. Create a list of furniture and then just make sure to get enough clothes for now. We'll think about that later. But formula is something that he needs, so make sure to get about a week's worth... Is that too much? " Bruce wondered out loud, sighing quietly.

" We'll get a week's worth, don't worry father. We'll go furniture shopping today, so that it'll be ready when (Y/N) is discharged from the hospital, " Damian said, looking Bruce in the eyes.

" (Y/N) will be okay here. " Tim put his right elbow on the table, then rested his chin in his hand. " We may be chaotic, but we'll take good care of him. He won't lack anything, " Tim said with a firm voice and everyone nodded.

" Oh hell yeah. We'll all step up for this baby. And we'll take care of him. We'll make a list of duties and try to do our best. " Jason crossed his arms as he leaned back into his chair.

" I agree Jason. "

They all looked at each other, clearly determined to make sure that (Y/N) is taken care of.

Bruce went to the hospital right after the conversation, nervous beyond belief to meet his son. He entered the hospital, where he asked the nurse for directions. The nurse gently led him where (Y/N) was and Bruce saw him through the glass, with other newborns. Bruce tried to not cry, tried to not tear up.

But he couldn't stop the tears that came up. He wiped them quickly and the nurse gently patted his shoulder.

" (Y/N) is healthy, mister Wayne. A good weight too. But sleeps most of the time, which is normal. The only thing you need to do right now is sign the paperwork for that adorable baby, " She said, gently smiling at (Y/N), then turned to Bruce.

" And I know that you are a single father and that a baby is different than teens, but you'll get the hang of it. And I know you must feel overwhelmed and not prepared, but no one is prepared for a baby. There's no manual to get ready, " She told him and Bruce chuckled.

" I know. But I've been reading books on how to take care of newborns. What to do and what not to do. But I feel like it's not enough, " Bruce explained and she nodded.

" Do not sell yourself short. You got this. And I think the little guy would love to live with you. Do you want to hold him? "

Bruce nodded. " But I need to sit down first. "

" Of course. " She gently led him to a room where he could sit down and then she left to go get (Y/N). Bruce has never felt so nervous and anxious in his life. He tried to calm down, but his nerves got the better of him. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves down.

He got ready as the nurse entered with (Y/N), who was swaddled and sleeping.

" Alright, are we ready dad? " The nurse asked and Bruce nodded. He knew he was ready.

The nurse gently put (Y/N) into Bruce's arms and Bruce smiled at his baby boy. (Y/N) opened his eyes and Bruce smiled even more.

" Hello (Y/N). It's dad, " Bruce said and (Y/N) seemed to scan him before letting out soft sounds.

The nurse adjusted his hold, warning him about the neck and head. Bruce listened intently, adjusting his hold accordingly.

" You have 4 brothers and you wrapped them around your little finger. They'll do anything for you, " Bruce said gently to his son, who seemingly smacked his little lips together. Bruce chuckled at that.

" I'll make sure you are never lack love. Never, " Bruce muttered, smiling at his baby boy. " Oh they'll love you. "

Bruce turned his head towards the nurse. " When can I take him home? "

The nurse thought for a moment. " Normally, we would discharge him with the mother, but since she passed and he's fine, you could take him today. "

So Bruce did just that. After he talked to all the appropriate people, signed a shit ton of documents in Bruce's words. Afterwards, he made his way to find a baby car seat. He quickly put it together in the parking lot. Being Batman is a perk of it's own. He put it together and went to the hospital to pick his son up and go home with him.

He could only hope that the boys have put together a crib. However, he didn't doubt that they bought it, they are all quick and efficient, but... He's worried. He can only hope that they didn't kill one another while putting together the cribs. He'll be happy if he he finds two of his sons unconscious. And without any broken bones.

Which Bruce knew was unlikely, but one can hope. He gently strapped (Y/N) in and drove home, making sure to be vigilant on the road and to make sure that both him and (Y/N) made it home safely. After a while, he parked the car in the yard and got out, taking (Y/N) with him, making sure he is swaddled and calm.

He opened the door quietly and he could hear voices upstairs, probably where they were putting together the furniture. He slowly walked upstairs, being quiet on purpose to see what was going on.

And was that a sight to see.

Damian and Tim were putting together a changing table and Dick and Jason have put some toys into the crib, making it comfortable for their brother.

Bruce cleared his throat and everyone turned their heads to look at him, before their eyes fell down on a little bundle of joy in (Y/N)'s arms. They all froze and melted a tiny bit.

" Aw, he's so cute, " Dick came closer, watching (Y/N) who was awake at the moment, looking around at the new faces and voices.

Jason peaked over Tim's shoulder. " My, my. He is cute. " Jason said quietly as he gently reached out to touch (Y/N)'s cheek.

" Before any of you touch him, " Bruce said, making Jason pause mid air, " I want you all to wash your hands. So go to the bathroom and wash your hands.

[ditzydoe444]

Single Dad!Jason, who can’t help but developing a crush on his little sweetheart neighbour, after you begin babysitting his daughter (cuz he WOULD be a girl dad!) and he see’s how much she loves you. Whenever his daughter is at her moms house let’s just say someone else is also calling him daddy😵‍💫

-🍼

MDNI 18+

jason rutted into you harshly, one of his hands gripped your waist whilst the other tugged your hair. “aren’t ya just the sweetest thing hm? letting me use you.” he grunted as he watched your ass bounce as he fucked your cunt from behind.

during the past few weeks of baby sitting his daughter jason had developed an interest in you, slowly that turned into desire. he tried his best to not stare like a creep, but during the hot summer hair when you were wearing nothing but a flimsy tank, your tits bouncing as you pranced around with shorts so tiny your cheeks came out it was hard.

the moment he saw that he also had an effect on you he lost it, he saw the small damp spot when you stayed over for dinner whilst he daughter was away, the way you discreetly grind against your heel when you kneeled on the couch didn’t go unnoticed.

“m-mph!” you moaned as jason tugged your hair, both of your hands were stretched out forward to grip the sheets, your nails digging into the material. you’ve already came multiple times, staining the dark sheets on his bed with small damp spots. despite that, it was clear you wanted more, your puffy swollen hole clenching around his dick tightly as he abused it.

“seems like your pussy knows where home is huh?” jason teased as he watches it clench around nothing pathetically when he took his dick out and shoved it back in. he watched as he fucked your cum back into your pathetic hole, watching it spill over his cock and form a white ring around the base.

“so deep,” you mewled pathetically as you tried to keep your eyes open, jason hasn’t fucked anyone in the longest time, let alone someone as sweet as you, so all of his control snapped.

jason watched as your fat lips spread as he fucked you, your pretty pussy taking all of him.

“u-ugh!” you whined as your legs and arms go limp, the only part of your body elevated was your ass, where jason fucked your cunt from behind.

“s-so deep daddy,” you mumbled as your hair became glued to your forehead and drool dribbled down your chin. jason swore off kiss, saying that his daughter was enough and bought him more happiness than ever, but right now whilst he’s buried deep inside your cunt he can’t help but to wonder what you would look like pregnant.

“should i fill you up sweetheart? make you all round and pretty for me?”

“m-mh!” you moaned as you drooled all over his sheets.

jason watched as your ass jiggle each time he thrusts, “fuckin’ love these fat cheeks,” he groaned as he slapped it.

god your body was just a sight for a man like him, your fat tits and ass that make him get a hard on every time he saw you. watching you take his thrusts pathetically like a toy motivated him even more, increasing his pace as he watched as your body pathetically bounced with his thrusts l.

“uh-h d-daddy!” you cried as you tried to muffle tour sounds with the pillow, shoving your face in it.

“nah, you aren’t gonna hide your moans,” jason grumbled lowly as he threw the pillow away, making you wail as you tried to grab anything you possibly can, but you couldn’t.

“just shut up and take this.”

[takumiraine]

Once Upon A Time chapter 5

<first> <prev> <next>

Jason Todd knew it was only a matter of time until his bubble burst and one of his brothers found out what he was getting up to. He was just hoping he could pull it off for a little longer. Even though the pit still reacted at the strangest times, he felt calmer, more normal, than he had in years. He wanted to hold it close and make sure nobody could take it from him.

From Replacement: you went back to college? Does B know?

Fuck.

—

Danny had been wary at first. Rich boy Jason Todd-Wayne in his college classes. The man was older than Jazz, though not by much, and a freshman with him. Either the guy was a bad influence or Danny just had really shitty luck.

He and the universe both knew the answer to than one really. But 60 bucks a week to reteach the guy basic math and Jason always gave him dinner in the deal? Danny wasn’t going to look that particular gift horse in the mouth. If there was one thing Danny had forgotten during the past almost two years it was how hungry his human side got. Not having money and being on the run meant opportunities to eat were few and far between.

What Danny didn’t expect was how sarcastic and assholish the rich guy could be. He loved trading snark. Danny assumed that it came from them both having older siblings. But between that and the half formed core that was slowly shoring up, Danny found himself growing attached. He had missed having friends. Getting to talk to Sam, Tucker and rarely Jazz through a conspiracy message board wasn’t enough. Most of the time it was just a way to make sure that nobody had been captured by the GIW. They had a way to pass longer messages but to do that too often would be suspicious.

“So I don’t get it,” Danny said, gesturing at Jason with some fries almost a month into tutoring, “What do people actually do at Galas? The tabloid pics just show a bunch of people in uncomfortable looking suits standing around with champagne.”

“….thats really it. It’s boring as shit.” Jason kicked his chair back on two legs, leaning against the wall. “If I liked you less I’d invite you.”

“If you liked me less?”

“Oh yeah. Because then you’d have to meet my brothers, the assorted not quite adopteds, my dad and scarier yet, our butler.” Danny choked on his laugh.

“Your butler is the scary one in that situation?”

“Alfred is like a ghost. Always there when you turn around.” Jason put on the accent “Master Jason, you really must come home more. Nobody quite enjoys my cooking like you.” He let the chair legs settle on the floor. “Now imagine that from behind you in a dark kitchen at two am while you’re half drunk and trying to make a sandwich.”

“Okay, yeah, I could see it being that scary. My sister was….” Shit he hadn’t meant to mention Jazz. “She was the only one who cared sometimes.” May as well rip that bandaid off.

“Yeah?” Jason asked, taking a drink from his coffee cup. “Didn’t know you had a sister.”

“My family and I don’t see each other anymore. It’s for the best.” He hoped Jason wouldn’t ask more questions, because ‘my parents sold me out to the government that only knew where I was because of the Justice League which is why I hate them and by association your dad, and now my sister is in hiding in a different state with a new identity’ was way too difficult to explain. “I left before they could kick me out.”

Danny watched Jason’s face twist into a frown. “Bigots suck. Sorry man.”

“Yeah…. Well…” Danny busied himself with finishing his burger. Then, once he chewed and swallowed. “Wait. Is your dad the one that fell into the champagne tower last year?”

Jason groaned, “he’s not always like that I promise.”

“No I get it. A weird ‘Family Friend’ invited us to his fancy party so he could hit on my mom once. I accidentally on purpose took out the entire buffet table including a cheese fountain so we had to go home.”

“Cheese fountain?”

“You know those chocolate fountains?” Danny asked. Jason nodded. “Like that, but with fondue cheese instead. And before you ask why, all I can say is it was in Wisconsin.”

Jason watched him with an unreadable expression for a moment, and Danny assumed he was processing it, because when the expression broke, Jason was laughing.

He looked so much younger when he laughed like that, and Danny remembered that they had both had, in their own ways, a rough life. “Yeah. I know. I was finding cheese in the weirdest places for weeks.”

“Did you get invited back?” Danny’s heart ached with the fact that a month or so later, Everything Fell Apart.

“No… I…” he cut himself off, remembering the horrified looks his parents gave him as their weapons, the ones he fixed, were turned against the ‘beast’ that ‘possessed’ their son. The looks mimicking the ones they gave him when the party screeched to a halt as he did his best impression of a Scooby Doo villain being unmasked. The screams of shock turning into ones of horror. The -

“-anny? Danny?” He blinked and shook his head.

“What? Oh, sorry.” He took another drink from the coffee, emptying the cup. “No. I never was asked back. You done?” He looked at their empty plates and grabbed the tray. “We should get to the library. Though I’m sure someone as good looking as you has plenty, these x-es won’t find themselves.” He was overcompensating for zoning out now, words coming out faster than normal.

“Yeah… are… you okay?” Jason asked, as Danny bussed their tray and grabbed his backpack, a backpack bought by his tutoring money. A tutoring gig he desperately did not want to fuck up with his own bullshit.

“Me? Fine. More than. I just zone out sometimes. Come on.” Danny’s words were still coming out too fast. He took a few breaths during the couple seconds Jason took getting his things, trying to ground himself as much as possible. He was going to be normal. He was going to be normal if it killed him. Again.

The walk to the library was quiet and Danny was thankful for that. He needed to get his head on straight if he was going to be any help to Jason and he still had his own homework to do after. As they walked in, both Danny and Jason instinctively looked towards the desk where Barbara usually worked, but she wasn’t there, some other guy was checking in books with quiet beeps.

Danny had learned over the last month that while Dick, Tim and Damian were Jason’s official siblings, Barbara was an unofficial one and he liked her the most.

It made sense, since she didn’t seem to pry into Jason’s life the way Jazz would have if she was here. Not that he would have minded her prying for how much he missed her, but four years ago he would have hated it.

—

Jason knew the haunted and hunted look that had settled into Danny’s eyes. The way he trailed off into something vacant. How his breathing seemed to get stuck in his chest. Which is why he tried to interrupt the cycle before he could spiral. Something big happened to him, and Jason knew he wouldn’t want to break down in a cafe in front of people.

Thankfully he seemed to snap out of it quickly, instead overcompensating into energetic. The message was clear. ‘Don’t ask about what just happened.’ Carefully, Jason let Danny lead him into the library, aware of his positioning and making sure not to follow too far behind or loom too much. Considering he had at least six inches on Danny, that last part was hard, but he tried.

He could feel the pit spiraling in him, circling and coiling like a dragon deep in his chest. Itching to do…. Something. It wasn’t punch or claw or fight. This was new. He didn’t like it in the slightest.

He looked over to where Babs usually was, then remembered she had a class, criminal justice degree, how apt, as he and Danny went towards what was now their spot. Jason found he had the sudden impulse to pull Danny’s chair out for him, and shoved that particular useless idea back down into the abyss it belonged in.

—

Danny looked over at Jason who stood at the edge of the table looking…. Angry? Confused? and pulled out his own books. “I promise, my zoning out isn’t contagious.” He said, looking up at Jason and kicking the chair across from him out from under the table for Jason to sit. He gave a wry smile, “if it was, I don’t think anyone in my high school would have made it.”

Jason snorted a laugh, snapping out of whatever thoughts he had been thinking. Jason pulled the chair out further and sat, sitting more comfortably than he used to. More of the true Jason, Danny was realizing, less of the person he was supposed to be. In another lifetime…. But no. He couldn’t… not while he was being hunted. It wouldn’t be fair to Jason to have to hide such a huge part of himself and his past.

Not to mention he hadn’t ever come out to Jazz and his friends. Well he had…. But more in the ‘hey I’m dead but not really’ way and less in the ‘so I like guys’ way.

But in spite of those barriers, this tentative friendship with Jason was enough to keep him happy.

Which made the next kick in the teeth from the universe completely expected.

All he had wanted was to walk home in peace. Sure it was almost midnight, in Gotham, but still. He made it most of the way, and was slinking through the Bowery when it happened.

Guys with dark clothes and weapons were suddenly in front of him. He turned only to see more at his back. There had to be five in total? Or was it six? Danny didn’t have time to count.

“Hey guys.” He hedged, muscles tensing as he raised his hands to show he wasn’t a threat. “Don’t mind me, I’m just trying to get home. Long walk and all that. If I could just…. Scooch past you?” Danny took a step to do just that and the lead goon swung at him with a baton.

He hopped back slightly, dodging the hit when it came. “Not a chance. Boss needs some…. Help with his latest ideas. You’re coming with us.”

Danny ran through his options in his head. Option 1: get kidnapped. Option 2: get the shit kicked out of him. Option 3: beat the shit out of them and get labeled as a possible bat to be or possible rogue to be. Option 4: go fully ghost and either escape unscathed but wind up more firmly on the GIW’s radar.

Option two or three would wind up happening, because he wasn’t going to put himself at the mercy of the Bat-ass again, and he wasn’t going to offer himself up on a silver platter to the GIW.

The moment one tried to grab him, Danny dodged out of the way, and that seemed to bring the goons on him en masse. They seemed well practiced, but considering it was Gotham, there wasn’t a big surprise there. The next few minutes were a flurry of elbows and knees, punches and kicks, batons and clubs.

Danny would dodge and counter, disarm one and fling their weapon across the street. He would have sore ribs and bruises from his elbows to his knuckles come morning but he was slowly winnowing them down. He had a brief thought about the conservation of ninjutsu, as the fewer goons there were the stronger they seemed to get. The realistic answer was they were less concerned with hurting each other when there were fewer of them, he knew that. But everything was more fun with ninjas.

When there were three left, one threw a punch that connected with his nose. There was a pop and crunch and a hot rush of blood down his face even before the pain set in. He spat out the blood that collected in his mouth from the way his head snapped back when he was punched. Another one came at him, and his own years of training caught the guy’s arm, judo throwing them into another look and sending them both careening into a wall. The move was trickier with gravity, but he made it work.

Danny looked up at the last remaining goon. He grinned, teeth too sharp and stained with his own blood, eyes glowing just the faintest green. “Run.”

They did.

Unfortunately for the goon, they ran smack into the chest of one Batman.

[bubbleggum444]

hiya I was wondering if you can do a jason todd x wife ex league of assassin reader.

Reader and Jason fight crime together.

Most of time the younger batfamily members like to crash at reader and Jason's apartment to relax after patrol or just for dinner. also reader helped raised and trained Damian during her time at the league.

sorry if this doesn't make sense.

— ❝HIS WIFE❞

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 jason todd x female!reader, wife!reader au, angst comfort n fluff, 2k + wc

𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 jason's wife taking care of his adoptive brother + jason being himself

𝑎/𝑛: this was requested as a story of how jason's wife and he fight crime...well...i turned into them comforting damian when he needed it. don't know how i missed the actual request. 🥲 will write the correct one later on.

Before Jason could even comprehend why his younger brother was at his doorstep at three in the morning—in the middle of a raging storm—his lovely wife pushed past him, taking the shivering boy into her arms.

She led Damian to the living room, settling him near the furnace, wrapping blanket after blanket around him, whispering soothing words, and motioning for her husband not to bombard the boy with questions.

Now, Jason had nothing against the little demon visiting. He'd always known—even in his early resurrection days—just how much Damian depended on his wife.

Besides being a complete menace with a rifle, having a nasty right hook, and killer karate skills, Jason’s wife was like a second mother to Damian. Even Talia had doted on her back when she was still in the League.

Damian had practically grown up as her shadow. If he loved his actual mother, then he absolutely adored his figurative one—Jason’s wife.

One thing to note: ___ was infertile. It had been a cruel blow to her self-esteem. She wanted kids. She wanted to be a mom.

No matter how many times she forced a smile and reassured Jason that it was okay, he could see through it. Each time she looked down at another negative test, he knew it wasn’t okay. It hurt her. And it hurt him too.

So when Jason had wished for a miracle—a little bundle of joy for them—he hadn’t expected it to come in the form of his little brother showing up for the nth time that week.

"Dami… What happened?" His wife’s soft voice pulled Jason from his thoughts. He glanced down at the younger hero.

"Just… my… Dad's been tough on me. I'm sorry for… being an inconvenience…"

Oh. That actually hurt. A lot.

Jason felt a sharp sting in his chest. He knew how tough Bruce could be—how tough he had been on him. Even if Bruce’s intentions were good, the effects often lasted longer in ways that weren’t always for the better.

His wife's eyes met his, silently pleading. Jason just nodded. That was all the permission she needed to scoop the eight-year-old into her arms and take him to the bathroom for a bath.

"So… Wayne’s been tough on you, Dami?" she asked gently as she washed his hair. He only nodded, his small hands gripping his knees, his tears held back but obvious.

"Did he yell?" she asked, carefully choosing her words.

Damian shook his head. No. She sighed in relief.

"You can sleep here, okay? And—and you can stay as long as you need until you feel ready to go back to your dad. That sound good, dear?"

Another nod.

After the bath and drying his hair, she tucked him into her and Jason’s bed. That earned her a disapproving glance from Jason, but she ignored it. It wasn’t like he was actually mad.

Jason sighed, climbing into bed. He barely had time to relax before he felt his little brother cling to him.

Damian was rarely vulnerable—especially with him.

So, even though Jason had planned for a peaceful night alone with his wife, he didn’t mind. Not this time. Because somehow, Damian being there felt like exactly what his wife needed to get through this hard time.

Whether Damian was helping them, or they were helping him, Jason didn’t know. But he was grateful for it.

___ turned off the lights and slid into bed, pulling the covers over them. And that was that. Damian, squished between them, seeking their warmth, and the two of them accepting it without hesitation.

Though… Jason figured he should get something off his chest too. Y’know, keep the sentiment going.

"I farted."

"GROSS—"

"JASON—"

➽──────────────❥

𝑏𝑢𝑏𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑔𝑢𝑚444©

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

[but1m4f3m1nist]

Loves never meant that much to me.

Synopsis ~ Jason Todd doesn’t think love is worth it, nor sex, nor any form of relationship. Until he meets you.

Warnings ~ Non explicit sex, crying during sex, loss of virginity, talk of eunuchs ??, consent is given!

Jason Todd is a virgin. Despise popular belief, Jason died one, and spent most of his resurrected life as one too. Until he met you.

He fumbled over his words as he attempted to seem mysterious. He looked like a sweaty, nerdy teenage boy stuck in the body of the biggest man to ever blush that bright.

You smiled, and giggled, and blushed right back, just as nervous, but much more versed in the art of hiding it.

He walked home with your name rattling around his head, a name that he was convinced would sit so prettily between the words ‘Mx.’ and ‘Todd.’ Not that he’d ever marry anyone, his life wasn’t built for picket fences and babies bottles.

He sat on his bike, parted outside of where he’d drove you home (Read: followed you home), eating your loaf along with the oatmeal raisin cookie you’d slipped in with it.

That night he’d discovered that you made the best damn sour dough loaf in Gotham.

He asked you out on a date after finding you walking down the street alone at night only a few days later. He thought it was the perfect time, you had one hand on your thrifted butterfly knife throughout.

He was a perfect gentleman, just like Alfred taught him. He opened the door, payed for the food, bought you flowers (glass ones because you mentioned how you hated when flowers wilted.) and walked closer to the road.

The next day, two cookies waited in his packet of sour dough, one peanut butter and one chocolate chip (because he’d mentioned how it was his favourite when he was younger, because it was all his mom could afford to bake between binges and rehabs.), he swore he could’ve fallen in love in that exact moment.

He took you out again. And again. And again. On the twenty-seventh date, (he counted each one, he counted each breathe you took during each one, each time you smiled at him through the week, each time you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.), he decided he was ready.

He sat on the couch with you, his head buried in your neck, body curled around you, protecting you from the offensive winter wind that dared to touch your perfect, soft skin.

“…Do you think I’m ugly?” He’d whispered. “Never, not even when you’re covered in mud…or flour, or gunpowder. You’re perfect in every form of imperfection.” You’d replied.

“Would you touch me?” He asked.

“I’m touching you now.” You’d answered

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“…I’m a virgin.”

“…”

“…”

“…I’d touch you, Jason. Even if you were a eunuch.”

“I’m not dickless!”

“I said if.”

So you waited. The thirty-second date rolled around and Jason cooked you dinner, a lovely English roast. It burnt horribly, so charred that even his machete found break through the blackened skin, so he ordered Pizza from the place beneath his shitty studio apartment.

When he kissed you, he could’ve sworn grease had never tasted better than it did on your lips.

He didn’t stop you when you climbed on top of him, nor did he answer when you asked if you needed to stop, he opted to rather drag you right back to his lips.

Once clothes were shed and confirmations shared, he could’ve sworn he saw worry in your eyes, only because you saw tears in his.

Each movement was accompanied by a kiss, a touch, a show of trust. He felt safe, he felt comfortable, he left loved. He hadn’t notice how much he’d missed that feeling.

He hadn’t realised how much it meant to him till he felt your soft lips press against his tear stricken cheeks as you whispered, “It’s alright.” “I’m here.” “We don’t have to keep going.” “I love you.” “I love you.” “I love you.”

He didn’t let you stop, because he needed this. He needed to know he was safe enough to cry in your arms, that he was protected by your affections from the horrors that waited outside of your warmth.

The feeling of ecstasy that rolled through his body near blinded him, his mouth hung open, nothing but noises of worship daring to leave his scarred, parted lips.

He expected to be cast aside as you left abruptly, only to be met with the soft caress of a wet cloth, just warm enough to be comfortable. He cried again that night, curled into your chest as you rocked him back and forth. You loved him. You loved him.

He needed you, in every sense of the world and he would burn the would down just to know he was yours.

MY FIRST PROPER ONESHOT AYYYEEE, it’s super unorganised and sloppy but like so am i and so is the head i give

The title is from Thoroughfare by Ethel Cain

Thank you again to @nothnsp3cial my beautiful amazing gorgeous beta reader

[alisonwritesimagines]

Birthweek ~BatFam Imagine~

Summary: It's your birthweek and your family celebrates it with you.

Author’s Note: In honor my birthday that has passed, here is a little imagine!

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: fluff, mentions of smut in the end

Do not repost this anywhere!

Growing up, you had a birthday. Then after you began to date Bruce, you got a birthday weekend. Then when you and Bruce adopted your children, you got a birthweek.

Since you had adopted so many kids, they each wanted to do something special for you. So to be able to celebrate your birthday with almost each of them, they declared that the week of your birthday was to be celebrated with you.

"Happy birthweek my love," Bruce says, waking you up with kisses.

"Mmm. Thank you."

"Today is not my day thought unfortunately. Dick and Jason have the day with you," Bruce tells you.

"What about Martha?" You asked.

"The rest of us got her. You just enjoy the day with your first two sons," Bruce tells you. You smiled softly before kissing your husband.

You got dressed before heading downstairs where Jason and Dick were getting the table set up for you.

"Happy birthday mom," Dick says as he walked over to you. He kissed your head before going back to the kitchen.

"Happy birthday ma," Jason said, following Dick's actions.

"I thought you two were banned from the kitchen," you tell them.

"First surprise! Jason and I have been taking cooking lessons for you," Dick tells you.

"Really? Awe."

"Made you pancakes and some scramble eggs and bacon," Dick tells you.

"Where's Alfred?" You asked.

"We told him to take it easy till we go," Dick explained.

"And what plans do you boys have for me today?" You asked.

"Oh you're going to love it," Jason tells you.

The boys had taken you to a rage room. And to their shock, you had broken almost everything to tiny pieces. You walked out of the room with them with a smile.

"I just feel so much better. "

"I didn't know you had so much anger in you mom," Jason says.

"I'm married to Bruce Wayne. I have a lot of anger in me," you tell them.

"Guess we know where to take you every once in a while now," Dick said.

"I'd like that. Where should we go for lunch?" You asked.

"Anywhere you want! Out treat."

The next day, Duke, Tim, and Damien took you to a museum. You liked learning about history and living in one of the original 13 colonies, you enjoyed the museum with your three boys.

"I love learning about history. It's so fascinating," you tell your sons as you looked at some dinosaur bones.

"Me too," Tim said.

"Are you sure you're okay with this? We can always do something else," Duke tells you.

"Oh don't be silly. I want to do this. Dick and Jason took me to a rage room the other day. I'd like to do something calming," you tell them.

"Ummi, let's go look over here," Damien said as he lead you over to another room.

After the museum, you four had dinner at a rooftop restaurant.

"We saw this during patrol once and thought you'd like to eat here," Damien tells you.

"This is really nice. You boys have good taste," you tell him.

"Is Bruce planning on doing something big for you?" Duke asked me.

"I'm not sure. He's keeping his present a surprise," you tell him.

"Well, you deserve everything you want for your birthday," Tim tells you.

"Thank you boys."

"We also got you some presents," Damien said as he handed you a neatly wrapped present.

The following day, you, Stephanie, Cassandra, and Barbara had a spa day as well as a shopping day. Dick had dropped off Martha to you after your spa so you can take her shopping.

"It's nice to have a day with just us girls," you tell them.

"Happy birthday mom," Cassandra said as she hugged you.

"Thank you. I'm just glad I can hang out with my girls," you say as you held out a dress for Martha.

"Who gets you for tomorrow?" Stephanie asked you.

"Alfred and I are going to have lunch with Clark's parents tomorrow," you tell her.

You had grown close with Clark's parents as they didn't have powers like you and they knew what it was like to have someone they love as a superhero. On the plus side, they were kind and were always there for you. They even checked up on you when you were pregnant with Martha.

"That sounds fun."

"Yeah. We're taking the jet over to see them," you mention.

"Well, let's get you guys a cute outfit then," Stephanie says.

Alfred and you headed to the Kent farm where Clark's parents were happy to see you three.

"Happy birthday Y/n," Martha greeted.

"Thank you!"

"Oh let me see Martha," she says as she let out a small laugh. You handed your daughter over as the two Marthas smiled at each other.

"It's been a while since we had a baby running around here," Jonathan says as he cooed at the baby.

"Well, luckily we got one right here," you smiled.

"I think I remember hearing that you have a birthweek?" Martha asked you.

"The kids wanted to celebrate my birthday with me each so Bruce came up with the idea of celebrating a whole week so I can spend a day with a couple of kids leading up to my birthday," you tell her.

"That's nice. What does Bruce have planned for you?"

"I'm not sure. He always manages to surprise me," you say.

"Do you know Alfred?" Jonathan asked him.

"Yes. I know she will love it," Alfred answered.

"If you need a babysitter, we'd be glad to babysit," Martha tells you.

"I will keep that in mind," you laughed.

Finally it was Bruce's time to shine. You had woken up to see that you were on the Wayne private plane.

"Where are we going?" You asked.

"Well, I know you told me that you have been wanting to go back to Europe. So I thought, why don't we go back now? We got Martha a passport and the kids' passports are updated so I got the plan ready as well as the kids and we are on our way right now," Bruce tells you.

"Really?!"

"Yes. So no Batman duties for a whole week. Just us, the kids, and your birthday," Bruce tells you.

You gave him a quick kiss before relaxing with your children on the plane.

You had landed in France and went to the hotel first. The girls got you dressed in a beautiful gown before Bruce came in, dressed in a tux, ready to take you on a romantic dinner.

"You look beautiful," Bruce says in awe. You smile at him before holding his hand.

"I'm guessing a dinner date for just the two of us?" You asked.

"The kids have other plans so it will just be the two of us," Bruce tells you.

"What a shame," you joked.

The restaurant Bruce picked out was perfect. You had some good food and wine before Bruce took you on a stroll near the Eiffel Tower.

"There's one more present I'd like to give you," Bruce tells you.

"What is it?" You asked.

Bruce pulled out a medium sized box that had the most gorgeous necklace.

"I want to give you the world. You're my wife and the mother of my children. I want you to know how much I love you," Bruce tells you.

"You know actions speak louder than words," you remind him.

"That's why, I want to tell you that, every Friday night, I am all yours. No Batman duties. Just you and our children," Bruce says.

"Thank you," you say. You leaned up and kissed Bruce before pulling away. "I love you."

"And I love you," Bruce says with a soft smile.

"We have a separate room from the rest right?" You asked.

"Yes."

"And is Martha sleeping with one of the kids tonight?" You asked.

"She can. Why?"

"Well, it's been five months since Martha's been born and I sure have missed our time alone together in the bedroom," you tell Bruce. Bruce smiled down at you before giving you another kiss.

"Whatever the birthday girl wants, the birthday girl gets," Bruce said before holding your hand and leading you back to the hotel.

[prlssprfctn]

I think the best way to implement (in a more canonical way) a LOA Jason without diminishing the relationship Damian has with his mom and his future relationships with the likes of Dick/Steph is to have it parallel Jason's relationship with Dick.

During his time as Robin, Jason and Dick consider each other as brothers (after Dick accepted him being Robin and giving Jason his approval). However, Dick does not spend a lot of time with him. He has his own life in college (or a cop) in an entirely different city, all while leading a group of vigilantes to fight crime. He gives Jason his number, saying he can call anytime, but that puts the onus on Jason, and frankly, he isn't the type to reach out for help, especially as there is little rapport between the two. And it's not exactly Dick's responsibility to be an older brother. He has no relation to the boy (technically not adopted yet) besides Bruce, who he isn't exactly happy with. He's also only ever been an only child and imagine telling an 18 year old to hang out with their new 13 year old brother, its not gonna happen. Jason's run as Robin is differentiated by just how lonely he was. He had no team with people his age to grow up with, and as his relationship deteriorated with Bruce, of course, he would cling to any relationship he could ergo running to find Sheila. Dick simply wasn't around, and the time they did spend together wasn't enough.

As for Jason's time in the LOA it's spent either catatonic or traveling in his training world tour. I'd envision it that Talia introduces the two of them and Damian starts off as indifferent (even more so if it's when he was catatonic), but Jason is much more hesitant. That is Bruce's son, his actual son. The similarities are obvious, and there's some resentment there, but at the same time it's his younger brother. Remembering back to how when be first met Dick he wanted his acceptance and for him to be his brother, to be there, he then tries to be what he wanted from Dick for Damian.

He brings back souvenirs from each place he visits. He tells stories about his time as Robin, fighting alongside Batman and the others. Any question Damian has is answered as he. They train together, and Jason would protect him at a moments notice. Over time, Damian warms up to him, accepting Jason as his brother. But the actual time together is short. Jason is always packed and ready to go to spend weeks at a time training. His main goal is to face Bruce and ask him why. Why is there another Robin? Why is the Joker alive? Why did he not love him enough to avenge him? And to do all that, he needs to be better than Batman. Thus, he continues to throw himself to teacher after teacher. Eventually, spending a year secluded with the All Caste before returning to Gotham, without much of a goodbye or promise to return.

He also isn't the emotional pillar Damian needs. Damian's character development is about moving away from his life as an assassin while Jason throws himself into it. He can't help him live a regular life when Jason didn't have one. Poor, homeless, to vigilante. Then dead, catatonic/comatose, and now murderer/anti-hero. He lost his own childhood and isn't in the state to guide Damian to his like Dick and Steph are.

Eventually, UTRH and Damian's arrival occur where Jason on the outskirts of his family sees how Dick has grown over the years and can actually step up as the older brother he needed and wanted to be. Of course, it's Dick, everyone's favorite, the golden boy, but only for everyone else. He looks at Dick with resentment and the others with envy. Why couldn't that be him? Why isn't he enough for anyone? For all he does and for all he feels, he keeps failing.

‐----‐---------

Well here it is my interpretation of Jason + Dick + Damian's relationship :)) I love them so much.

I also wanted to say thanks for this blog. If it wasn't obvious by how I write some of the recent longer angst/fluff posts are made by the same person and its a fun outlet for me to talk about this man I've become obsessed with.

I enjoy your interpretations and your own writing of Jason, which inspired me to put these thoughts to words. I always love reading what you have to say (both your own work and your responses to my asks) and this has become a fun outlet for me so thanks <3

this post is actually genius. i agree *so* much.

it is all fueled with the fact that Jason canonically yearned for being someone's big brother, taking care of kids so natural for him, but the situation with Damian is so different for many reasons, including Jason's own state at that moment. he tries so hard to become Damian's safe place, something he himself yearned at that age — but how one can become that if all he knows is ruination (of himself and his surroundings) and anger?

i think Jason eventually (starting with LoA and later on, after Damian joins the family, it becomes more prominent) settles down for the role of a quiet shadow protector for Damian. in LoA, he feels like he can try not only to protect Damian but also to connect with him. gifts, conversations, memories. but in Gotham, when he sees Damian getting his own place in the family, becoming closer to Dick, seeing him as someone so, so close, he minimises their contact (again, for many reasons) and ends up just becoming his shadow. he protects him quietly, from afar. he gives subtle hints to Bruce and Dick about Damian, things the boy would never tell aloud to others. he kills his enemies, helps him out from afar, but never actually gets closer; not anymore.

but is he still Damian's big brother? yeah, of course. i think Damian just has no idea how to communicate with him, especially considering that Jason himself is not cooperative unless something happens. perhaps Jason failed to become a brother he wanted to be for Damian (not for the lack of trying), but he is still his brother. and he can offer him something others do not necessarily can — full understanding. they are opposite sides of the coin, but they are still a one.

and i also wrote it once in another post here, but i feel like this summarises their struggle with being Bruce's sons, real ones, or not:

p.s: i love talking with you, too, omg. your asks are always so on point and interesting to discuss :3 i wouldn't mind if you gave yourself a short nickname/emoji to put it by the end of asks, so i could know that it is you, he-he.

[clearexpertarcade]

The Freshman Belly Chronicles

When Jason arrived on campus for his freshman year, he was ready for freedom—ready to leave behind the curfews, the rules, and his mom’s constant nagging to eat his greens. College was his playground now, and nothing could stop him. Or so he thought.

The first few weeks were a blur of late-night gaming marathons, spontaneous pizza orders, and vending machine binges. There was always something to do—an all-you-can-eat pancake night at the cafeteria, free donuts at the club fair, or “study breaks” with soda and chips. Jason kept promising himself that once midterms were over, he’d hit the gym. No rush. After all, what harm could a couple of cheat meals do?

But then came the morning that would change everything.

Jason stood in front of the dorm bathroom mirror, pulling his maroon T-shirt down over his belly. It didn’t quite fit the way it used to. He sucked in his stomach and held his breath. The shirt shrank back into shape—sort of—but the second he exhaled, his stomach popped back out, round and prominent. There it was. A perfect little beer belly, just peeking over the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Whoa,” Jason muttered, patting it experimentally, as if it belonged to someone else. His reflection jiggled back at him.

His roommate, Trevor, wandered in with a toothbrush dangling from his mouth. He caught sight of Jason’s struggle and burst out laughing. “Dude, you’ve got the ‘Freshman Fifteen’ belly already? It’s only October!”

Jason groaned. “It’s not that bad, right?”

Trevor walked over, poked Jason’s gut, and watched it wobble. “Nah, man, it’s worse. That’s a full-on Freshman Keg right there.”

Jason stared at the reflection in disbelief. How had this happened so fast? He had always been a lean kid—fast metabolism, never cared about portion sizes. But now his body was fighting back, and it looked like pizza and ramen were winning.

Over the next few days, things only got worse. It seemed like his belly had become the center of attention.

At the dining hall, the lunch lady smiled knowingly as she added a second scoop of mashed potatoes to his plate. “Growing boy needs his energy,” she winked.

In biology class, his friend Emily noticed how he absentmindedly rested his hand on his gut like an expectant father. “Aw, Jason,” she teased, “when’s the baby due?”

Even the guys on his dorm floor started calling him “Kegster” during their late-night hangouts, each new snack he devoured fueling the legend. Jason laughed along at first, but deep down, he knew he needed to make a change.

One night, as he lay on his bed scrolling through Instagram, he came across an old picture from high school. There he was, grinning at the beach, abs faintly visible, wearing swim trunks that now wouldn’t make it past his thighs. He sat up, his gut folding into two soft rolls.

“This... has got to stop,” Jason declared aloud, like the hero of a cheesy action movie.

He hatched a plan. No more midnight pizza orders. No more endless fountain sodas. He’d start small—just one salad a day. And maybe a jog. Okay, half a jog. He even downloaded a fitness app that reminded him to drink water. It was a slow start, but it was something.

The next morning, Jason put on the same maroon T-shirt that had betrayed him, expecting it to still cling tightly to his gut. But as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, he noticed something surprising.

It didn’t fit any better. If anything, it hugged his belly even tighter.

And strangely… he didn’t hate it.

Jason took a deep breath, let his gut relax, and gave it a proud pat. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all. College was about learning and growth—literally, in his case. He’d figure it out eventually.

But for now?

He smiled at his reflection.

“Guess I’ll be Kegster for a little while longer.”

And so, Jason embraced his freshman belly with a newfound confidence. He didn’t stop working on himself, but he also learned the most important lesson of all: College wasn’t just about studying—it was about finding yourself, even if that meant discovering the unexpected joys of elastic waistbands.

The end.

[ravisinghs-wife]

The seven + Nico and Reyna and their red flags ✼

warnings: not proofread, swearwords, lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: okay I'm sorry I didn't post for like two months, ngl I simply forgot that this blog existed😭

notes to the fic: reader is written as gn (one mention off y/n), but pls don't read Nico's part if u identify as female! :)

masterlist

Percy

he's always barefoot during spring and summer

you'll never catch him with shoes on because he things that they are "blocking the fresh air his toes need"

at least they never get that dirty because he can't survive five minutes without jumping in the sea

when he was younger sally had to force him wear shoes to school, to the parkt et cetera and he was always so angry at her after that because he hated it with all his passion

that anger quickly faded after she baked some blue cookies

after growing up he learned that he should wear shoes to school et cetera but the second he is at camp he gets rid of them

after you dressed it he delegated that he always washed them and kept them clean so there was no wrong doing it and that it's actually healthy for your feet

Annabeth

listen, I love annabeth

but she's always mansplaining

Like u could be talking about ur close family that she only met once and she‘d say something like „actually, i had the impression that…“

It’s so annoying

she doesn't even mean it mean or something

but it also could be just a conversasiation that she isn't even involved in and she'll just randomly pop up and mansplain the topic

jason

That boy doesn’t have any basic knowledge

Like he is at camp jupiter since he’s three or something

I‘m not sure if they even knew what they where teaching him

Like that boy doesn’t know algebra

You could be talking about something in history and how deeply that event infected the way society lives now and he‘d be like „what do you mean?“

And he’s serious

Everytime Percy and Leo make fun of him for not knowing something he‘ll run to you and beg you to explain it to him

Most of the time you make a bit fun of him too because a 17 year old boy who doesn’t know what the french Revolution was is kinda funny

He knows that you‘re just joking though

hazel

I love her but she's like one of the extra careful mom's whose world break when their child hears a swear word

every time you are someone near both of ou swears she has this weird shocked and impressed look and looks around the room

you had to stop swearing around her bc she always starts blushing and looks at you in awe

they don't even have to be the "bad" swear words, it could be something like shit and she'd still be shocked

you had to learn to find alternatives like fudge or fox

she made you browse for the alternatives to swear words for around two hours at midnight and made you subscribe to the mommy blogs incase they had "more cool little alternatives"

piper

she's a die hard romance book hater

she always gives you the weird look when you read one or even only look at one at the bookstore

like she doesn't even have a plausible reason besides that they "always have the same ending and are very predictable"

I mean she's right but still

when she was 14 she had an instagram where she just talked shit about romance books because she was bored

it's not even that she doesn't like reading or books that much, she just doesn't like them because they (as already said) have the same ending and because she gor sick of the perfect romantic ending after drew talked night in and out about it

you once convinced her to read your favorite romance book and she tried her best to be nice

she actually didn't find it that bad and liked the ending but she would never admit that to you

leo

that boy either doesn't shower for one week or takes two hour showers

it's a bit better in the summer but especially in winter he never shower because he "would just get dirty later again"

you have to force him too properly shower because he would just forget it again

and when he actually showers for once he takes two hour showers

but especially in summer he's just gonna swim in the lake and call it a day because he basically "got clean already"

frank

I love frank sm but he would 7 in 1 shampoo

he doesn't get why it's bad and insists that it makes his hair shinier

you try to explain it to him once but he just doesn't understand 😪

he also tries to convince you all the time that it's so much better than owning body wach, shampoo and conditioner

nico

is a pop music hater

he always has this annoyed look on his face when you play pop music

he always makes this disappointed dad sigh and says "again?"

nico sounds so disappointed

he secretly loves it about you tho

reyna

she's like a confused mom and never gets jokes

"what do you mean by that, y/n? I never do that"

you try to explain the joke to her but give up after 10 minutes

she's grumpy for the rest of the day because you wouldn't finish explaining it to her

eventually she gives her pride up and asks you again

and after another ten stressful minutes she finally gets it

she kept arguing that what you said doesn't make sense

[sammrapp]

CHAPTER ONE: THE FIRST DAY

I wake up before my alarm and I stare up at the ceiling nervous for today. I sigh as my alarm goes off and I shut it off and get dressed and do my make up. Afterwords I skip breakfast and have my mom drive me to school. I walk in and take in my surroundings nervously. After a few classes go by I eventually bump into Janice and Damien in the restroom during lunch. They explain cliques to me and ask if any fit me and i suggest if i can sit with them and they agree. And as I'm about to sit with them Regina calls me over. "Hey you." I pause and turn towards her "Yeah you." I point at myself and she nods and much to Janice and Damien's dismay I walk over to the plastics table approaching Regina, Gretchen, Karen and Cady. They all watch me suspiciously as Regina speaks to me. "Why don't I know you?" Which makes me shrug, "it's my first day, I'm sam. Nice to meet you."

Regina smirks at me and then eyes me up and down before speaking up. "Well, Sam," Regina says, crossing her arms over her chest as she continues to study me. "You seem interesting. How would you like to sit with us for the rest of the week?"

I blink in surprise, looking over at Janice and Damien who are watching our exchange with wide eyes, but before I can respond a boy approaches us, "hey new girl. I can guess any girls bra size all you have to do is jump one time." I make a look, obviously annoyed but Karen jumps immediately, "Oh do me!"

Regina rolls her eyes and speaks up, "Jason, there's no way you go with Gretchen to my party and then try one with the new girl right in front of us.. and this thing your doing where you lower your voice is making everyone really sad.." she pauses and then turns to the rest of the cafeteria, "everyone who wants Jason to go back to his normal speaking voice raise your hand." The whole cafeteria then raises their hand along with some teachers and staff. Jason scoffs and in a high pitched tone says, "bitch" before walking away. I smirk slightly amused by this. Regina then looks at me again and smirks. "Sorry about him, he's an idiot. And where were we...?"

Gretchen then speaks up, finishing her sentance. "would you like to sit with us for the rest of the week?"

"Um, sure," I reply, trying to keep my cool. "That'd be great."

"Perfect," Regina says with a satisfied smile, patting the seat beside her. "You can sit next to me."

My cheeks flush red for a moment as i sit down, feeling out of place but determined to make the best of the situation. The rest of lunch is a blur of conversations about clothes, boys and the upcoming school dance. I find myself laughing at Karen's innocent remarks and Gretchen's desperate attempts to make 'fetch' happen. Even Regina's snarky comments have me amused. I find myself staring at Regina occasionally when she wasn't looking, admiring her features and how pretty she was.

During lunch Regina questions the calorie percentage and Cady gives her a whole math formula to explain the percentage which Regina shrugs off and leaves to get cheese fries.

Karen then turns to me, "any cute boys you've seen yet?" I shake my head in response, "oh.. no one has caught my attention yet." I lie which Gretchen and Karen believe right away, Karen then takes a drink of her soda through her nose and Gretchen then has a conversation with her about it. As I poke at my food Cady leans over and in a whisper says, "maybe a cute girl?" Which makes my cheeks flush red again and I shake my head. "Uh.. what do you mean?" Cady sneers slightly and nudges me, "come on.." she pauses and leans closer to me to whisper, "I saw you starring at Regina you know." I look at her and give her a pleading look, "please don't say-" she cuts me off with a nod, "I won't say anything but be careful, I heard she has an ex boyfriend." She says sadly which makes me furrow my eyebrows, and she sighs, "I have a crush on him, his name is Aaron." I nod but before I can respond Regina returns and Cady goes silent to not raise suspicion.

As lunch ends, I give Janice and Damien a quick wave before heading to my next class. They seem a bit surprised, but I hope they understand. I'm just trying to make the most of my first day at a new school.

Over the next few days, I continue to sit with the Plastics at lunch. I start to learn more about them, about their dynamics and their rules. Regina is the queen bee, the one who calls the shots. Gretchen is her loyal follower, always eager to please. Karen is the ditzy one, but she's also the sweetest. And Cady... Cady is the newcomer, just like me. She's still trying to find her place in the group, and I find myself relating to her the most.

Despite their reputation, I find myself enjoying their company. They're not as bad as everyone makes them out to be. Sure, they can be mean and petty at times, but they also have their moments of kindness and genuine friendship.

I still hang out with Janice and Damien outside of school, sometimes in school and they're surprisingly understanding about the whole situation. They warn me about getting too close to the Plastics, but they also assure me that they'll be there for me no matter what.

One day during lunch I sat outside by a tree with Janice and Damien speaking about the plastics and Damien eventually asks me if I like anyone and my cheeks flush red which makes him get giddy, "oh! Who is it? Who is he? Tell me everything, is he a Junior like us too?" I nod and then bite my bottom lip before speaking up, "she's a junior too, yeah." And he gets giddy again and welcomes me to the club and Janice as well but then she asks, "and who is she?" I bite my bottom lip as I ponder for a moment but then I decide to tell them anyway, "it's Regina." Once her name leaves my mouth they both scream at the same time, "what?!" Damien shakes his head at me, "girl that's a bad bad idea! Do you know what she did to Janice in middle school she-" Janice cuts him off, "don't like her sam, she's a bad person who will ruin your life and make fun of you. She's nice right now but she won't be when she knows your gay"

Damien then sigh, "it's bad news girl, steer clear"

Before I can respond Cady joins us and greets us, "hey guys, what are you talking about?"

I scoff, "my forbidden crush"

She laughs, "we're alot alike. Mine is because of Aaron"

Damien shakes his had again and speaks, "you guys ate going down a long bumpy road, this is all bad." Janice agrees and me and cady promise to be discreet and careful.

By the end of the week, I feel like I've found my place in the school. I've made friends with both the Plastics and the 'art freaks', and I couldn't be happier. I've managed to navigate the treacherous waters of high school social hierarchy and come out unscathed.

But as I sit down at the Plastics' table on Friday, I can't help but feel a sense of unease. Regina is glaring at Cady, Gretchen is anxiously chewing on her nails and Karen is looking more confused than usual. I exchange a look with Cady, who shrugs helplessly.

Regina breaks the silence, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. "Cady," she starts, her tone icy. "You've been acting really weird this week."

Cady blinks in surprise, seemingly taken aback by Regina's accusation. "What do you mean?" she asks, her voice shaky.

Regina raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk. "You've been spending a lot of time with Janice and Damien," she says, her words dripping with accusation. "They're not our friends, Cady."

Cady looks down at her hands, staying silent. I can see the guilt on her face, and I know she's been caught. She's been trying to balance her time between the Plastics and Janice and Damien, and it seems like Regina has finally noticed.

Before I can step in to defend Cady, Regina turns to me. "And Sam," she starts, her eyes narrowing. "You've been acting strange too. Hanging out with Janice and Damien, mooning over someone..." she trails off, a knowing smirk on her face.

I feel my cheeks heat up at her words, and I quickly shake my head. "I don't know what you're talking about," I lie, avoiding her gaze.

Regina chuckles, leaning back in her chair. "Whatever you say, Sam," she says, clearly not believing me.

The rest of lunch passes in an uncomfortable silence. I can't help but feel guilty for lying to Regina, but I know I can't tell her the truth. Not yet. Not when I'm still unsure of my own feelings especially when I might lose her if I tell her, atleast this way I can like her and still talk to her.

After lunch, I find Cady in the hallway. She looks upset, and I quickly pull her aside. "Hey," I start, trying to sound comforting. "Are you okay?"

Cady shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "Regina's mad at me," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "She thinks I'm betraying her by hanging out with Janice and Damien."

I give her a sympathetic look, squeezing her hand gently. "She's just being paranoid," I assure her. "You're not doing anything wrong."

Cady gives me a small smile, wiping away her tears. "Thanks, Sam," she says. "You're a good friend."

The rest of the day passes in a blur. I can't help but feel anxious about what happened at lunch. Regina's words keep replaying in my mind, making me question my actions. Am I being disloyal to the Plastics by hanging out with Janice and Damien? Am I betraying Regina by not telling her about my feelings? Will she really ruin me when she knows I like her?

As I lay in bed that night, I can't help but feel conflicted. I don't want to lose my friendship with the Plastics, but I also don't want to hide my true self. I want to be honest about my feelings for Regina, but I'm scared of her reaction.

I eventually fall asleep, my mind filled with thoughts of Regina and the plastics. I know I have some tough decisions to make, but for now, I just need some rest.

CHAPTER TWO HERE

[dazedandconfused-15]

Heaven's in your eyes (Part 3)

If you guys like it, I would greatly appreciate a reblog, it helps spread this fanfic around🫶

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Female Reader

Summary: Life in Hawkins is dull and lonely, especially after your mom abandoned your family, leaving you even more isolated amidst school rumors. Already shy and with few friends, you find solace in your solitude—until Billy Hargrove, the intriguing new boy from California, comes into the picture. To your surprise, Billy seems to seek you out, finding ways to talk to you despite the odds. Never in a million years would you have imagined forming such an unexpected bond with someone.

Link to: Part 1, Part 2 and Part 4

@tatumrileyslover @littlenosoul @nocturnest Part 3 is here!!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You weren't sure how things would go with Billy after that night. Technically, you still owe him for the day at the museum, There are parts of Hawkins he hadn’t seen yet. Plus, you hadn’t talked about when or if you’d see each other again outside of school. So, it's a surprise when the following week, as you're grabbing books from your locker, you feel a presence behind you—the warmth of someone's body lightly brushing against your back. You look up and see a hand resting on your locker. Turning around, you met his curious and slightly amused eyes. 

"Oh! Hey, you scared me…”

"I saw that," he replies. "Am I that ugly?"

You stay still, feeling the cold metal of the locker against your back, aware that some students are probably watching you. But Billy doesn't seem bothered by this; if anything, he seems indifferent. He's wearing the same black leather jacket he lent you the other night, over a partially unbuttoned black shirt. He knows he’s not ugly, and you know he’s teasing you. But his closeness throws you off, and you can’t find the words to play along. You stumble over a nonsensical and incomplete sentence. Meanwhile, he takes the books from your hands and moves his hand away from the locker, finally giving you space, and it feels like you can breathe again.

"Physics?" he asks, looking at the first book on the pile in his hands.

"Uh, yeah." You turn to close your locker, taking the opportunity to pull yourself together. "It's my first class, actually."

"Sweet. I'll walk you there."

"Oh, okay. Thanks." You struggle to hide your astonishment as you walk toward the classroom with him beside you.

And during the following days, he does the same. He makes it seem so natural that it slowly becomes routine for you. In history class, he sits next to you. During lunch break, you sit at the table at the back of the cafeteria. He always sits at a table next to Jason Carver, Chrissy Cunningham, and other popular jocks, but between bites of food, he always gives you a look. Eventually, at the end of the meal, he always gets up from their table and comes over to sit beside you. In history class, he always sits next to you. Strangely, Tommy Hagan makes no comment. After the first few times, the rest of the class seems to get used to it.

When the history teacher assigns the paired presentation on "The Role of Propaganda in World War II," the teacher lets you choose your partner. Billy and you are already sitting next to each other, so it’s automatic that you’ll work together. Part of you doubt he would choose to work with you if he wasn’t sitting next to you, but you decide not to think about it too much. You don’t mind the idea of working with him on the project. He offers to work on it at his place the following Saturday, as his dad and stepmom are in California for family matters.

It takes you twenty minutes to reach Cherry Lane. Billy’s house is about halfway there. His navy blue Camaro is parked out front, and as you approach, you see him on the opposite side of the car, rubbing a sponge against the back window. It’s warmer than usual, and he’s wearing a white tank top with basketball shorts. He notices you approaching and greets you with a nod, a cigarette clutched between his lips.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you greet back. You see a young red-haired girl walking past Billy. She has a skateboard under her arm, baggy jeans, and a short-sleeved T-shirt. She sees you, momentarily startled, and slows down, her blue eyes scanning you with detachment. Billy walks in the open garage, leaving you alone with her. You greet her with a hesitant wave of your hand, introducing yourself.

“I’m Max,” she replies. She must be Billy’s stepsister. He mentioned her a couple of times.

“Did you bring the books?” Billy returns with a bucket of water, setting it down beside the car.

You lift your linen shoulder bag slightly, indicating that your books are in there.

You feel Max’s eyes on you. Her blue eyes soften slightly, and she seems to recognize something. “You’re the girl who called last week, right?”

"Yes, that's me," you nod with a small smile. 

Max nods in acknowledgment, silently. She then sets the skater down on the ground. “You’re the first one who comes over to actually study.” 

An embarrassed smile breaks out on your face at her innuendo and you look away, feeling your cheeks heat up. The image of Billy with a girl while...no, you can't think about it.

“Piss off, Max,” Billy grumbles around his cigarette as he squeezes the sponge over the bucket, then jostles it twice to get rid of the water before scrubbing the windshield. 

Max rolls her eyes, but steps on her skateboard. She gives you a small smile. “See you.”

“Bye, Max.” you watch her skate away along the road.

“And don’t go too far,” Billy calls over the roof of the Camaro.

For a moment you get lost watching how the muscles of his back move under the tank top as he rubs the side of the car sponge.

“Almost done.” he calls over his shoulder. 

“You’re taking good care of it.” you observe as you approach the car, your hands tucked into your back pockets.

“You bet your sweet life I do. This baby cost me a good amount of money.” 

“When did you buy it?” you lean against the tree near the uneven stone steps leading up to the entrance of his house.

Billy takes the cigarette from between his lips, puffing some smoke into the air. “I was sixteen. Worked at a garage near my house for a couple of years before that. The owner found her after being on the hunt for months. She had roughly 10,000 miles on her already and was a little banged up. So, I had to use my savings and kept working there for a few months to pay for the repairs.”

He puts the cigarette back between his lips and pours the bucket of water over the car, washing off the soap. Then he takes a few steps backward until he’s next to you as he takes in the newly washed car.

“Not bad, huh?” 

“She’s really pretty.” you confirm with a nod. 

You've never been particularly enthused with cars, but you must admit that Billy's Camaro stands out in Hawkins. Moreover, the care he takes of it only enhances its shiny navy blue colour.

“Just like you.” 

You turn toward him, caught by surprise by his comment. As you do, he’s just taking the cigarette from his mouth after another drag, his eyes revealing a faint warmth that’s hard to perceive, blurred by the seemingly bored look his long lashes give him. But you see it. Even if for a second, you see it. The smoke curls lazily around him.

He luckily saves you from any clumsy answer, jerking his chin toward the house. “Come on, let’s get inside.”  

You hum while nodding in obligement, walking toward the house so he can avoid your flustered expression. Billy follows closely behind you, resting his hand on the back of your neck as you walk up the stone steps. He’s been doing that quite a few times. It’s nothing crazy, not an open hug or anything, but to you, his touch makes your heart glow and fills you with a comforting warmth. The house has a front screened porch, where two plants in a pot rest on the floor. You spot a grey rocking chair on the right side. 

“I like it.” you say. You wish you had a porch.

“Yeah, sometimes Max sits over there to read.” 

It’s a simple house, you notice, with modest furnishings. You both walk into Billy’s room, and you take in your surroundings. It’s a simple room. Apart from his bed, a few pieces of furniture, a mirror, and a wardrobe, there are things distinctly him that give the room character and warmth. Hanging on the wall are posters of bands like Metallica and Mötley Crüe. You also notice a stereo with two speakers. On the fireplace, there are some books.

“You brought it with you?” you ask with a smile, pointing to a yellow surfboard fading to green, leaning against the wall.

Billy sits on the bed, leaning his back against the wall. “Yes. It was out of the question for me to leave it in Cali.” with a wave of his hand, he invites you to come and sit next to him. 

You sit gingerly on the bed, books on your lap as he pops a piece of chewing gum into his mouth and offers you one. You take it, thanking him. Sitting so close, the warmth of his body seems to transfer directly from his thigh to yours.

“Are you gonna go back?” you ask, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. You pull your pencil case and a notepad out of your bag.

Billy snorts. “Hell yeah. I’m not staying here.”

It shouldn’t, but his statement stings a little. At the end of the school year, he will leave. After all, it was a foregone conclusion. There’s nothing to keep him here; his home is in California. He never told you specifically why he moved here. You had asked, jokingly, if his parents wanted "a change of air," and he had replied, ‘Something like that,’ without adding any explanation. So you had not pressed the issue any further. You learned that about certain things, Billy did not feel like talking. He clams up even more. If he wants to, you decide, he will open up to you.

“Yeah, I get it.” 

“Might work during the summer to save some money, though.” 

“There’s a garage downtown.” you offer, remembering what he said earlier.

“I was thinking more about the pool. Heard they pay very well.”

“Oh really?” 

“Yeah. Heather works there during summers,” he says, grabbing the history book from his bedside table and putting it on his lap.

“Heather Holloway?”’ you ask, your finger lingering along the edge of your notepad. 

There is only one Heather at school. Billy must be talking about her. She’s a pretty girl who comes from a good family. Her dad owns the Hawkins Post. She’s got it all.

“Yeah, you know her?”

“Oh, not directly. But yes, I know her. Her dad is pretty respected in town.” you bite your lip, fighting the urge to ask how he knows her. Are they friends? Did he date her? Is he still dating her?

You conclude it's none of your business, and thinking about it makes you feel weird. So you change the subject, finally opening the book and proposing to start working on the project. In between, you see Max walking past his room from the open door, her skateboard under her arm. After an hour of working, Billy stretches and a yawn escapes you. He lights a cigarette, inspiring a long puff of smoke, and titls his head up, looking at the ceiling. When he exhales, he also seems to sigh with relief. You realize how much smoking seems to be a way for him to relax, a need. 

“When did you start smoking?” you ask before you can stop yourself. Then immediately rush on adding “If you don’t mind me asking”.

“Must’ve been fourteen.” he says, “A friend of mine, Wayne, had been smoking for a year or so. Tried from his cig’ once, never went a day without smoking from there.” 

You hum pensively. 

Billy lolls his head to the side, a lazy smile plastered on his face. “You must think I’m fucking up my health, huh?”

“No, no.” you shake your head. Then you reconsider. “I mean…yes,” at which Billy starts laughing, a low gravelly laugh. “But, I know it must be hard to stop too, once you start. I can’t know, I’ve never tried.”

A second later, his cigarette appears in front of your eyes. He arches an eyebrow at you, looking at you expectantly. 

“Oh, I’m fine, thank you.” 

“Ah, come on. It’s not like you’re gonna get addicted after one drag. Live a little.” he gently nudges your thigh with his. 

You look at the cigarette with a mix of curiosity and hesitation. You've always wanted to try it, not because you want to start smoking, but just to confirm if it tastes bad so you can put the thought to rest.

“Okay. Just once, though.” you gingerly take the cigarette from between his fingers, holding it awkwardly and feeling as if it might fall off any second. You bring it to your lips, feeling his eyes on you. 

“Take it slow.”

It’s easier said than done. As soon as you breathe in the smoke, the end of the cigarette burning bright orange wildly, your lungs get filled with an unbearably burning sensation. You feel on fire. You can’t breathe. You start coughing non-repeatedly, your vision going blurred. 

Billy laughs again, taking the cigarette from your fingers as you try to fill your lungs with air. “Jesus, I said to take it slow.” 

Your face turns red from the effort, and your eyes water. You can't help but glare at him briefly as tears escape, your nose scrunching in disgust. He reaches out with his other hand, cups the side of your face, and gently brushes your tears away with his thumb.

“Breathe, now,” he says between chuckles.

“I don’t like it. It’s gross.” 

You say it both because you mean it and because it keeps you grounded under his touch. When he settles back against the wall, your heart keeps hammering against your ribcage.

"You're cute," he says before taking a drag, as if he's talking about the weather, and it only makes your flush an impossibly darker shade of red.

After he finishes his cigarette, Billy asks if you're hungry. You both head into the kitchen, and you sit at the table while he makes tuna sandwiches. He tells you it was the first thing he learned to make for himself when he was younger, back when his father used to work late before marrying Max's mother. He had to fend for himself. Over time, he learned to cook more dishes, especially when his father and stepmother were away for the weekend or running errands. A few years ago, he started weightlifting, which motivated him to learn even more about cooking. Despite all that, he still enjoys tuna sandwiches. Billy puts the sandwiches in the toaster and serves them to you on plates. As you take a bite, the taste of pickles and mayonnaise gives it an extra kick. It's delicious.

“Hey, can you make me one too?” Max emerges from the hallway, leaning against the kitchen doorway. 

Billy looks up from the cutting board he’s chopping pickles on as he makes his own sandwich, scowling at her. “Make it yourself.”

“Come on, you know I’m not good at this.”

“Well, you better learn how to make it. It’s a fucking tuna sandwich, not rocket science.” 

Max sighs, almost exasperated. "Fine, you stubborn ass. I’ll make it myself, but don’t cry to me when your precious pickles are all gone."

Billy looks up, irritation flickering in his eyes. "Hey! Language," he chides, pointing the knife in her direction, as if he hadn't sworn himself just a moment ago. He then gestures toward the empty chair beside you. "And sit down, if you want me to do it.”

Max quietly sits down next to you, a cheeky smile plastered on her face. Billy mutters under his breath, resuming chopping down the pickles. 

“With loads of mayo, please.” 

You’ve never seen Billy in a step-brother role before, and the dynamic between them is intriguing. You're suddenly curious about their relationship and how it has evolved since they first met.

“You’re lucky I’m even making this for you,” he grumbles, spreading the mayo generously on the bread.

“This is really good.” you say, pointing at your sandwich. 

“Yeah, Billy’s tuna sandwiches are rad.” Maxine approves. Then she shrugs. “He's an asshole, but if there's one thing he's good at, it's cooking.”

“Woah, thanks Maxine.” he ironically says. “Really portraying me well here.” 

You chuckle softly under your breath as Max ignores him, carrying on. “Can I go to Family Video later? I need to give back the movies.”

“Later when?” he asks as he assembles her sandwich. “We gotta work on the school project.”

“Like, in an hour?” 

“You’ll have to wait ‘till I drop her home.” 

Max huffs. “C’mon, Billy. I can skate there, it’s mid afternoon.”

“Ain’t no way I’m letting you go there on your own. It’s on my ass that Neil will be then.”

“I’ll be back before they’re home!” she tries again. “And I’ll bring back some good stuff.” 

You watch as Billy sighs heavily, walking in silence over to the table and setting Max’s dish in front of her. Then he points his finger at her, looking at her hard. “I’m warning you. If you’re not back here by four we’re gonna have a serious problem.”

Max mutters something along the lines of “Yeah, jeez, okay” as Billy walks back toward the counter.

He shoots a mildly warning look over his shoulder, his eyes glinting sharply. “And you better bring back some good stuff this time.”

Max gasps in outragement. “It wasn’t that bad!”

“It was crap.” 

Max turns toward you. “Have you watched Children of the Corn?”

“I don’t think I have.” you say. “What’s it about?”

“It’s a horror movie.”  

“Oh. I don’t really watch horror movies.” you smile sheepishly.  “Too scary, I can’t sleep for months then. I’m more into comedies or romances.”

“Those aren’t bad once in a while.” Max agrees. “We mostly watch horrors, but sometimes we happen to watch romances too.”

“You watch rom-coms,” Billy stresses out, as he adds the tuna-mayonnaise mix to his toast. 

“Please. How many times did you stay on the couch until the end?

“That’s because the NBA played later at night.” 

Max arches an eyebrow in disbelief. “Oh, really? And what about all those times you pretended to get a snack from the fridge, and I caught you hanging around in the hallway, peeking at the screen?"

“Are you eating or not?” Billy cuts her, “Tic tac, shitbird. You better hurry to the videostore before I change my mind.”

It’s hard for you to hold your laugh. You look down at your plate at your half-eaten sandwich, hearing him approaching with his plate.

Max huffs loudly, standing and grabbing her plate. “Whatever. See you.”

She waves at you before disappearing in the hallway. 

“See you, Max.”

Billy sits down beside you with a sigh, taking the spot where Max was just sitting. He immediately starts eating his sandwich, and you notice he eats much faster than you. You try not to let your eyes linger on his biceps as he leans forward to take another big bite, crumbs falling onto his plate. You repeat to him that his sandwich is really good, mentioning that when you make it at home, it’s usually dry and tasteless. You just don’t know how to combine the right things, and it gets boring.

“She seems to care about you a lot,” you observe as you both finish eating, referring to Max.

Billy rubs the back of his neck, a sigh leaving his lips. Then he leans back on the chair. “Yeah. Things weren’t, ah…things are better now.”

“You didn’t get along at first?” you tentatively ask.   

“Yeah, not really. Moving together was tough. But I was a dick back then.”

“You?”

You can kind of see it, but the person he’s shown to you is the opposite of what he’s describing. 

“Believe me, sweetheart.” he shakes his head, a rueful smirk on his face. "I'm no saint now, but you're lucky we didn't meet when I was younger.”

“I’m sure you didn’t have it easy.” you offer. 

“Well, Max didn’t either. Her dad doesn’t give a crap about her, her mom only dated assholes before my old man. Then she meets him, thinks she hit the jackpot, turns out he can compete against all of the previous ones together. They really found each other.”

“Is she bad?”

Billy shrugs. “Nah, just weak. And Neil has his way easy with weak people. He found the right woman to mold between his hands like he wants to.”

You listen to him attentively, your hand supporting your head as you rest your elbow on the table, facing him. Neil must be his dad. There’s always some distance, and coldness in the way he speaks about him. He never once referred to him as his dad. 

“It must’ve been hard for her…” you recognize. “Especially being that young.”

Billy stands, grabbing the three dishes as he grimaces. “Yeah, I was so wrapped up in my own anger that I completely overlooked that,” he says as he drops them in the sink, and then starts washing them. You stand up and bring him the two empty glasses. “Just didn’t want any of that crap. Moving in with these people I’ve barely seen a couple of times and act like a happy little family. Fuck that.” 

“Then the move…” you supply. 

"Then the move. Blamed her for all of it. Especially for the move, when in reality the whole thing was my fault. But yeah." 

Your eyes fall on his hand, noticing the harsh way he’s scrubbing the glasses with the sponge. You wonder what happened. What caused the move? What could Billy have done? You don’t want to press on it further, realizing how you could easily touch a sensitive nerve.

“Well, you seem to take good care of her. And I see how she looks at you.”

You could swear for a moment he's caught off guard, almost uncomfortable. Then he sniffs, drying his hands with a towel, his eyes wandering outside the kitchen window. "Yeah, trying to make up for all of it. It’s best to stick together in this crazy house."

There is something about all of this that puts you on edge, makes your skin prickle. Something unsettling is happening in this family. There are subtle but numerous hints you pick up on in your interactions with Billy. It's a month later that you uncover the ugly truth.

------------------------------------------------------------

A couple of weeks later May finally arrives, bringing longer days and warmer weather. You can already breathe in the summer air. The trailer park seems a little less gloomy now, with trees in bloom and green grass. In the evening, you hear crickets singing from the open hayloft in the kitchen or your room. On clear, sunny weekends, you and Billy go to Lovers Lake. It's not warm enough to swim yet, but you lie on the shore or on one of the deserted docks. You often do your homework or read while Billy smokes a cigarette or dozes. Your relationship has progressed; you feel much more comfortable around him. Though you don't know each other completely yet, you've gone out enough times to welcome the occasional silence, which no longer frightens you. Slowly, you feel yourself shedding layers of your shell. You think you can consider yourselves friends.

You were supposed to hang out that morning. He was meant to come over to study at your place before heading to Lovers Lake as planned. However, today, the familiar rumble of the Camaro doesn't show up. After a few hours of hesitation, you try calling his house. A man answers, presumably Billy's dad, and informs you that Billy is not home. The rest of the day passes in anxious waiting, but Billy never arrives. You try to push away thoughts of the worst-case scenario, but as the hours drag on, those fears keep creeping back. By Sunday, still no word from him. Billy has always been the opposite of what you expected—he never ignored you at school, never stood you up. Yet now, your fear seems to be materializing. Perhaps he's grown tired of you and found more captivating company. You wonder what you could possibly offer him. You're not as interesting or outgoing as his basketball team friends, nor do you provide the same entertainment as the high school girls he's dated, or might still be dating. Perhaps he's realized that after delving beneath the surface, there's nothing particularly captivating about you.

At dinner, your dad notices something is bothering you and asks what's wrong. You barely touch your plate, feeling like an amoeba. But he's dead tired from his factory shift, and you don't want to burden him with your worries, so you lie and tell him that you're not feeling well. Later, he rises from the sofa, gives you a kiss on the head, and advises you not to stay up too late before retiring to his room. Despite the sound of the TV in the background, you feel lonelier than ever, and the resignation settling over you is almost worse than the whirlwind of emotions you've experienced all day. Hours pass, and you start to doze off curled up on the sofa, the movie you started barely catching your attention. Then, you're jolted awake by the roar of a familiar engine outside the trailer. It's as if a shot of adrenaline has pierced through your lethargy. You sit up abruptly, heart racing, straining your ears to confirm what you've heard. The noise ceases, prompting you to hurry to the door, moving slowly to avoid disturbing your sleeping dad. Your heart skips a beat when, through the window, you spot Billy's familiar silhouette in the dim light cast by the bulb outside.

When you open the door, Billy seems momentarily surprised to see you. As if he didn't expect you to open it so promptly. But then that expression is washed away by his usual smirk.

“You sure were waiting for me, huh?”

You stifle a gasp of horror at the sight of his bruised and battered face, instinctively bringing your hands to your mouth to muffle any sound that might wake your father. To say he's in a bad state would be an understatement.

"Oh my God, Billy."

Closing the front door softly behind you, you step out into the night air, standing in front of him, your concern palpable.

"Good to see you too," he jokes, but his playful expression fades as he realizes his attempt to lighten the mood isn't working.

"Oh God..."

You draw closer, taking in his state. There’s an angry bruise around his left eye, dark purple and almost black, with hints of red and blue around the edges, swollen and puffy. Traces of dried blood linger around his nostrils, and his nose is swollen, the bridge as purple as the area under his eye.

"It's fine," he says.

"Sorry... can I just..." setting aside your shyness, you gently take his face in your hands, tilting his head slightly backward. You won’t fail to notice his small wince as you do so. His lip is cut and swollen. "Does it hurt a lot?"

“Nah. It’s okay.”

"What happened?" you ask softly as you brush his chin with your thumb, almost afraid of causing him further pain.

Billy doesn't seem concerned at all, contrasting with your likely alarmed expression. He looks almost unfazed, the corners of his eyes crinkling into his usual amused expression.

"Got into a fight with a guy. He was just drunk, and I was there."

You frown in confusion. "Were you... at a bar or something?"

"Yeah, I uh...at the pub downtown. Just happened to cross paths with him. He thought I was looking at his girl or something."

"A major dick," you mutter under your breath, your eyes still scanning his cut. It looks deep, like the blood struggled to stop flowing. There's still some dried blood on his chin.

Billy chuckles, then after a moment, he speaks quietly, "Yeah, a major dick. Got him good, though."

“You didn’t clean it. It’s going to get infected, I’ll quickly get…”

“S’fine, really.” while exhaling a sigh through his nose, his hand encircles your wrists, prying yours gently away. 

You lower your gaze to his hands to examine the damage there. But that’s when you notice it. His knuckles are completely fine. There isn’t a single cut on them.

“Billy…” you hold his hands, then look at him.

He seems to pick up on what you’re thinking because he pulls his hands away, scratching his nose with his knuckles, acting as nonchalant as ever. You notice how his hands seem to twitch, like he’s got this nervousness he can’t shake off. As if he’s itching for something. Itching for a smoke. 

“I’m gonna clean it when I get home. Wanna go to the quarry? I’ve got some sweets Max forgot in the car earlier,” he suggests, nodding towards the Camaro parked behind him at the beginning of the trailer park. It's likely he didn’t want to wake anyone, especially your dad, given how late it is.

“But…”

“Sweetheart. Please,” he cuts you off. You freeze in place at the harsher tone of his last word. Billy sighs, running a hand through his curls. “M’sorry. Can we just not talk about it?” he looks tired, but not physically tired—mentally tired. You can sense the exhaustion in his gaze, a silent plea underlying his question.

A twist forms in your stomach as the reality sinks in. It confirms that something very wrong, something dark, is happening in his life. You begin to reflect on how you might have overlooked the signs. You feel the urge to ask him if the person causing him harm is who you suspect. You want to help him. But you push down those thoughts and emotions.

“Okay. Okay, of course,” you softly say. “Can I just go and grab the first-aid kit before we leave? Please.”

Billy clenches his jaw and looks away. You can see how hard this must be for him, and the last thing you want is for him to feel like he can't be vulnerable around you. 

“All right.” he finally says.

After quietly retrieving the first aid kit, you get into the car with Billy. You’re not too worried about your father waking up since he sleeps like a rock, and it’s a Friday night after all. The car ride to the quarry is unusually silent. You try to break the ice by asking Billy how the basketball game went a few days ago or how Max liked the movie you recommended the last time you saw her. However, Billy responds with noncommittal short answers, clearly not fully present in the moment. Something must be weighing heavily on his mind. Sensing his mood, you decide to fill the silence by sharing what you’ve been up to lately. You mention that your father's co-worker, Wayne Munson, who lives in the trailer right across the street, came over for coffee the other day. Wayne has a son who’s a year or two older than you. You’ve never really talked to him, as he tends to keep to himself, but he seems nice enough. Now that the weather is warmer, you often see him sitting on the porch of his trailer, either smoking or reading a book. He always greets you when you walk by or take out the trash. You know he struggled in school, having flunked twice in his senior year, but he graduated last year and now works as a mechanic downtown. Talking about the mechanic job seems to catch Billy’s interest. You remind him of the conversation you had a while back when he mentioned wanting to work as a mechanic during the summer. Billy starts to loosen up and tells you that he plans to stop by the car shop in the next few days.

On this warm night, the air is balmy and filled with the earthy scent of blooming wildflowers and fresh foliage. As he has a couple of times before, Billy parks the car near the edge of the quarry, just where the thick line of trees begins. Gravel crunches softly under the tires, the only sound of the quiet evening.

The towering trees cast shadows blurred in the moonlight, their leaves rustling softly in the warm breeze. Before he can say anything, you open the first-aid kit on your lap and gently shush him when he objects. As you gently clean the dried blood around his nostrils and the cut on his lip with an antiseptic wipe, Billy winces slightly but doesn’t pull away. You then apply a bit of the antibiotic ointment to the wounds to prevent infection. Finally, you use a gauze pad to gently dab at the bruised areas, careful not to press too hard. Throughout the process, Billy remains mostly silent, his eyes closed, occasionally taking a deep breath. The temperature feels good outside, so once you’re finished you both get out of the car. Billy rounds the car and sits on the ground with a wince, resting his back against the side of the car. So you do the same. You stand in front of the quarry. Under the pale light of the crescent moon, the quarry walls loom like ancient sentinels, their rough surfaces casting long, mysterious shadows. The water at the bottom of the quarry is a dark, mirror-like expanse, reflecting the twinkling stars above.

"Here," Billy says, holding up some green candy canes along with a pack of cigarettes. It looks different from his usual pack of Marlboro Reds, but you don’t think much of it initially.

"What flavor is it?" you ask, taking one of the candies from the packet.

"Must be sour apple."

As you begin to chew, the taste of apple indeed invades your taste buds. From the corner of your eye, you see Billy pull a cigarette out of the pack, then hear him swear.

"Shit." Billy curses. "That's a candy. Didn’t even notice it."

You see the candy cigarette between Billy's fingers and an amused chuckle escapes your lips.

"Don't worry, it's an easy mistake. Guess even tough guys can mix up their vices sometimes."

That makes him snort a quiet laugh, and even if it’s without a real smile and it’s short-lived, you managed to make him laugh a bit.

Billy leans his head against the metal of the Camaro, his hand holding the lighter dropping to his thigh. "They must be in the car."

He must be referring to his cigarettes. You remain silent for a few seconds, contemplating whether to offer to go get them for him. You look at his tired profile: eyes closed, head resting against the car, throat exposed, Adam's apple slightly prominent. Looking at his bruised face makes your stomach twist with concern, your heart sinking. At least his wounds are clean now. You feel the urge to reach out and brush aside the curl that falls over his eye. But you don’t. Instead, your gaze shifts to the quarry.

“You’ve been really smoking a lot, Billy.” 

Your words slip out quietly, as if afraid of disrupting the fragile balance of the evening. You’ve observed Billy smoking ever since you met him. Lately, though, you’ve noticed how his fingers are more often occupied by a cigarette than free of it. You’ve seen his nervous fidgeting in class—how he jitters his knee, taps the rubber end of his pencil on the desk, scratches his stubble with his knuckles, and frequently shifts position in his chair. And now, whenever you’re together, he’s pulling one out from his pack at least once.

Billy opens his eyes slightly, glancing at you. He sighs and looks away, his expression hardening a bit. "Yeah, well, it helps," he says gruffly, but there's a hint of something softer in his voice. "Don't worry about it. I'll cut back... someday."

He sees the probably worried look on your face. He’s so young, and he smokes already this much. You don’t even realize how you’re worrying at your lip. 

“I’ll try and slow down, alright?” 

You nod hesitantly as he offers you a cigarette candy that you take. 

“Just ‘cause you can't stand the smell of smoke.” he teases you, his eyes sleepy and slightly amused. 

“What? I…that wasn’t…” you stutter, feeling embarrassed he caught you. “That’s not why I think you should stop! It’s for your health…”

“But it bothers you too,” a grin forms on his face as he reaches out, and before you can stop you he pinches right above your knee, making you jump and squeal in surprise. He’s learned how ticklish he makes you, and he’s never stopped teasing you with it ever since. l “I know you do.”

“Stop! Stop it!” 

“You alway scrunch up your nose like it’s the most disgusting thing in the world.”

“Stop it, okay!” you try to free your leg with a high-pitched laugh as he tries to pinch you again. “You’re right, I hate it! Hands off, now.”  

You push his hand away as he finally relents, trying to catch your breath. Billy shakes his head in amusement. He tugs at his candy stick with his teeth.

“Knew it,” he says. 

You simply take another candy from his hands, avoiding his gaze as he chews on his. You’re hyper-aware of how flushed you are now, embarrassed that he noticed. You didn't want him to realize that his smoking bothered you.

“I haven’t even realized I do that…” you then say, breaking through the quiet.

“It’s kinda cute.”

His comment makes your heart race and your face flush even more. You glance down, fiddling with the wrapper of the candy in your hand. “Thanks”, you mumble softly, barely audible.

“You sure as hell would make a good nurse.” he mumbles then, shifting his position, wincing a bit and you notice how he brushes his hand over his left side. “All caring and everything. You took care of my wounds pretty well.”

If it wasn’t for what he just said, you would ask him if he got hurt there as well. You try to mask your embarrassment with a casual shrug. "I don't think I'd like being a nurse," you say, managing to keep your voice steady. "Too much pressure and responsibility."

Billy nods, taking your words in stride. "Fair enough," he says. "Then what would you like to be?”

You let out a soft sigh, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the question. "I don't know," you admit, staring down at your hands. "It's hard to figure out."

"Tell you what, it’s pretty simple," Billy says. "What do you like?”

You lift your eyes from your hands, a bit surprised by his question. “What do you mean?”

Billy pops another candy in his mouth. “See, I like cars and I’m pretty good at working on them. So, I know I’m gonna be a mechanic.” he lazily gestures at himself, then at you. “What do you like?”

You ponder his question for a moment, thinking about the things that bring you joy. "I like to take pictures," you say finally. "Especially portraits of people. Capturing their expressions, their emotions... it feels special."

"Then you should be a photographer," he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

You smile at his straightforwardness, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Maybe," you say, considering the possibility.

Billy leans his head back against the car. "You know, the guy I was working for in San Diego once told me something," he says. "He said that at the end of the day, it's simple. You need to find something you like and you're really good at, then make it your job. That's how you'll make it in life."

His words resonate with you, and you find yourself nodding in agreement. "That makes sense," you say softly. 

Photography has always been your favorite hobby. Until recent dramatic events, you used to do it a lot. You have a lot of pictures in the drawer of your desk. Billy tells you he wants you to show them to him sometime. He also says it’s a shame you stopped and that you should start doing it again. You haven’t spoken specifically about your mom leaving yet. You’ve noticed he’s very sensitive about it, careful not to push your boundaries. He’s never asked questions. However, tonight he simply tells you that if photography makes you happy, it’s important to not give up on it, as passions have a way of pulling us through hard times.  You realize how Billy has a way of making things simpler, of helping you see what's important. And in that moment, you feel a deep sense of gratitude for his presence in your life.

You stay at the quarry until two am, and it’s when you start yawning repeatedly that Billy says it’s time to go. Sitting in the car, despite the warm weather, feels good as the night has gotten chilly. You feel sleepy, but nonetheless, you continue to think about the current situation. You don’t want Billy to go home, there’s something that makes you feel on the edge, you want to talk about it with him so bad but don’t even know how to approach the subject. Despite that, sleep starts to take over you, but once halfway through the ride to the trailer park, a brownish silhouette crosses the road in front of you.

“The fuck.” Billy floors both the clutch and the brakes, and you’re thankful for having your seatbelt on. Your body slams forward and back again, and you hit your head against the headrest for the impact. 

A deer, froze into place a few seconds before, rushes toward the the other side of the road, running wildly and disappearing through the trees.

“Ouch.” 

Billy heaves a loud sigh. “God…frickin’ stupid forest.” 

Your heartbeats slow down as you recover from the surprise, your hand feeling the back of your head. 

“Yeah, we have lots of them here,” you mumble. 

“Jesus.” he looks then at you. “You alright?” 

His hand comes up, touching yours so you drop it. He gently rests it on the back of your head where it still throbs. It’s warm and big. He literally could crush you if he wanted to. But his touch is soft. 

“It’s fine.” you squeak, the sudden touch making you burn. 

“Hurts a lot?” he mutters’, his thumb petting the skin at the nape of your neck. 

“A little bit. It’s gonna pass.”

“Alright.” he relents after a few seconds, then pushes on the gas again. 

The remainder of the car journey passes in silence. Billy stops exactly where he had stopped before, the headlights briefly illuminating the 'Forest Hills' panel before he switches off the engine. Darkness envelops you, blending with the night's silence and the quiet of the car. You're not quite sure what to say. You're uncertain how to bid him farewell. Truth be told, you have no desire to say goodbye to him. The last thing you want is to let him go, sensing that he will likely return to danger as soon as you step into the house. 

"I'm sorry," he says, breaking through the quiet.

You turn toward him, confusion and surprise evident in your expression. "For what?"

"For standing you up."

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not though.” you can see him shake his head from the corner of your eye. “That was a dick move. Could’ve at least called you.” 

Turning your whole body towards him, you lean against the passenger seat. Now that a couple of hours have passed, his eye is swollen and darker.

"Billy, it's okay. Really. I know you..." you hesitate, then look down at your hands, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. You try to find the right words, careful not to touch the subject again, especially not to delve into details. "I know you weren't at the pub earlier."

At these words, Billy turns his head and looks away, towards the window. Sensing his discomfort, you hurriedly continue speaking. "And that's alright. I don't need you to explain yourself to me. I get it. I just want you to know that I know. 

Tentatively, you extend your hand towards his, resting on the shift gear. Holding your breath, you anticipate a possible rejection. 

“And I understand."

Billy doesn't shoo you away but remains as still as a statue, his elbow resting against the window, his knuckles against his mouth. Your heart tightens as you imagine the pain hidden beneath the shield he wears, the horrors he must have endured so far. Just as you begin to release the pressure on his hand, preparing to withdraw, Billy sighs and turns his hand palm up, slipping his fingers between yours and squeezing. His touch is warm, sending an electric signal throughout your body, causing your heart to leap. Reassured by his welcoming touch, your thumb caresses the back of his hand.

“I know we haven’t known each other for long,” you say softly, careful not to disrupt the fragile connection between you. “But I care about you. And I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Billy rests his head against the headrest, his eyes closed. He squeezes your hand. “Thanks, sweetheart.” his voice is low and gravelly, as quiet as yours.

You stay like this for a moment, perhaps him relishing in the weight lifted by your confession, and you in his acceptance of your attempt to bridge the gap between you.

“I should go now.” you whisper, glancing at the house, though that’s the last thing you want to do. 

Billy releases his hand from your grip and then reaches for his pack of cigarettes in the center console, his gaze avoiding. “Yeah, it’s late.”

“Will you be okay?” you ask him. 

“Yeah, don’t sweat it.”

Even as you look at him, Billy avoids making eye contact with you. He takes a cigarette, lighting it up, the flame piercing through the darkness and briefly illuminating his bruised face. It's as if he's peeled back one layer too many for his liking. You understand this, though it leaves you feeling distant from him. You miss the warmth he usually radiates. Quietly accepting the situation, you purse your lips and reach for the door handle. 

You glance back at him, failing to lock eyes with him as he exhales the smoke whilst tilting his head back. “Try to rest. And…uhm, call me if you need it. Please.”

Billy merely nods. “Yeah. Night.”

As you walk toward your house, the chilly night air envelops you, and you try to shake off the feeling of helplessness and emptiness that grips you. You're still trying to wrap your head around it, to accept the extent of his condition. It's kind of a shock.

As you hear his car door slam, you turn back to him.

"Did you forget something?" you ask, keeping your voice low as he approaches, the cigarette dangling between his fingers.

You don't understand his actions as he draws closer and closer, and for a second your body tenses, until he reaches out and pulls you toward him. It’s only when you’re pressed against his body that you realize he has his arms wrapped around you. Speechless, you allow your arms to encircle his neck, his face nuzzling into your neck, his breath mingling with your hair. You can sense the weight of unspoken words in the fierceness of his embrace, his forearms pressing against your back. Standing on your tiptoes to meet him, you ease the strain as he's slightly bent over you due to his height. But it doesn’t last long, so you simply allow yourself to be engulfed by his tall figure. You hope he can't feel how fast your heart is pounding against your chest, but at the same time, you find yourself not caring. Relief washes over you as the distance he had put between you earlier dissipates into the night air. And it feels good. You could easily get used to all of this. The butterflies in your stomach, the profound happiness as he’s everywhere, around you, against you. You realize that you could stay like this forever, and the thought scares you.

After what feels like an eternity, yet somehow not enough, he finally pulls away. Your hair is tangled with his, and with a gentle touch, he first separates his from yours. Then, with the same hand, he carefully sweeps your hair behind one of your shoulders. With his other arm releasing you, he taps the cigarette with his finger to release the ashes. His eyes carry a sleepy gaze, and this time you're certain they're sleepy in every sense of the word. Nonetheless, they bore into yours with the same overwhelming intensity.

“You sleep tight, okay?” 

You nod a couple of times, still speechless and unable to function by his proximity. 

As you watch his retreating form and assured stride, you feel your heartstrings pulling more strongly towards him with each step he takes, as if he's carrying your heart with him.

[valentinelocks]

Trash Reality TV shows I know they watch

Dick: Hoarders + Decorating Cents

He accidentally sent a sc of a house from decorating cents to Bruce once with no context and received a transfer to his bank acc a few minutes later with “people go to school for this - leave it to the professionals” in the description 💔

The cleaning frenzy Hoarders had him in though was unprecedented and honestly, his place hasn’t reached quite the same level of messy since.

Jason: Real Housewives of Gotham + Cake Boss

He got into a twitter feud once with the guy from Cake Boss and has hate watched his show since 😭 literally celebrated when the show tanked 😭

Isn’t sure how he started watching RHoG but definitely prefers the older seasons and will judge you for who you pick as your favourite cast member.

They actually read out his comment the one time he wrote in during a reunion?? Needless to say - crime alley got off lightly that week 🤩

Peter: My Strange Addiction + Love Island

Has been using Love Island terms to ragebait jason for the last two weeks 😭 (“…can I pull you in for a chat—“ “FUCK OFFF-”)

As for MSA…he’s fascinated by the spectrum of experiences within the human condition and I respect that.

Tim: 90 Day Fiancé + Catfish

Bets on couples with Steph. Is it toxic? Yes. Did he win the last three couples? Also yes. Money talks people 🤭

On a more concerning note though, he enjoys watching CF for “research” and “ideas”…like oh that’s not-

Damian: Worlds Strictest Parents

After consuming enough WSP, he got curious and actually pretended to smoke once, just to see if Bruce would get mad enough to ship him off (spoiler alert: he didn’t - but he did call Talia on him which was arguably, worse)

Roy: Teen Moms

Got in trouble one time after Will received a fathers day card from Lian thanking him for dropping out of high school to raise her (he helped her write it)

Artemis: House Hunters

Got into the show when she and Wally were looking for apartments.

Actually crashes out when couples don’t pick the same house as her 😭 it’s sooo serious 😭

Wally: The Bachelor

Got hooked when he was still living with his parents and believes it to be 100% real - has cried on certain eliminations.

Calls mama west to debrief after every new episode 🫡

——

Loosely based on my Peter x Young Justice fic