#((Jason is the one who hit him with the car))

[pomegranatelifethis]

Shadows of Valor

The grand chandelier of the Wayne Manor ballroom glittered like a constellation trapped in crystal, casting a warm, golden glow over the sea of Gotham’s elite. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes, the clink of champagne flutes, and the low hum of polite conversation. You stood at the edge of the gala, a vision in a deep emerald gown that hugged your frame before spilling into a cascade of silk. Your hair, usually left to its natural, untamed state, was swept into an elegant updo, each strand meticulously pinned to play the part of the perfect Wayne daughter. The spoiled princess, as the tabloids loved to call you. The family disappointment.

You weren’t a hero. You didn’t wear a cape, didn’t patrol the shadowed streets of Gotham, didn’t have a codename whispered in the dark. Unlike your siblings—Dick with his effortless charm, Jason with his raw intensity, Tim with his brilliant mind, or Damian with his fierce determination—you had no desire to chase danger. You wanted peace, or at least as much peace as a Wayne could claim. A quiet life, away from the chaos of the Batcave, away from the weight of a legacy you’d never been invited to carry.

Your family didn’t understand. To them, you were a mystery, a puzzle they’d long since stopped trying to solve. Bruce, your father, had once looked at you with something like hope, but that had faded when you’d politely declined his offer to train, to join the family business. Dick had tried to coax you into the fold, his warm smiles and gentle encouragement almost tempting, but you’d held firm. Jason had scoffed, calling you soft. Tim had barely noticed, too absorbed in his own world. And Damian—well, Damian had never considered you worth his time.

So, you played the role they’d assigned you. The frivolous one. The one who spent her allowance on designer clothes and charity galas, who smiled for the cameras and let the world believe she was nothing more than a spoiled heiress. It was easier that way. Easier than explaining the truth.

Tonight, though, the role felt heavier than usual. The gala was in full swing, and you were doing your part—mingling, laughing at the right moments, letting the older socialites pinch your cheeks and coo over how much you’d grown. Your siblings were scattered throughout the room, each playing their own version of the Wayne charade. Bruce stood near the center, his presence commanding, his smile practiced. You caught his eye once, but he looked away quickly, as if you were a ghost he couldn’t quite see.

Your phone buzzed in your clutch, a sharp vibration that cut through the haze of the evening. You excused yourself from a conversation with a particularly chatty councilman, slipping the phone out as you stepped toward a quieter corner of the ballroom. The screen lit up with a name that made your heart lurch: *Martha*.

Martha was the director of Gotham’s Hope Orphanage, a place you’d been volunteering at for years, far from the prying eyes of your family or the press. You’d poured your heart into the children there, especially one little boy named Mathew. Two years old, with wide brown eyes and a laugh that could melt the coldest heart, Mathew had claimed you as his favorite person. You’d spent countless hours reading to him, playing with him, holding him when nightmares woke him in the night. He was your secret joy, a piece of your life no one else knew about.

You answered the call, your voice low. “Martha? What’s wrong?”

“Y/N,” Martha’s voice was strained, urgent. “It’s Mathew. There was an accident—a car hit the playground fence while he was playing. He’s at Gotham General, but he’s hurt, and he’s asking for you. He won’t let the doctors touch his leg. He’s terrified.”

Your breath caught, the world around you fading to a dull roar. “I’m on my way.”

You didn’t think. Didn’t pause to tell anyone where you were going. You slipped through the crowd, your heels clicking against the marble floor as you made for the exit. Outside, the cool night air hit you like a slap, but you barely noticed. You flagged down a cab, your heart pounding as you gave the driver the hospital’s address.

The ride was a blur, your mind consumed with images of Mathew—his tiny hands clutching your fingers, his trust in you so absolute it humbled you. You couldn’t let him down.

At the hospital, you found him in a small, sterile room, his little body curled on the bed, his face streaked with tears. His left leg was bandaged, the sight of it making your chest tighten. The doctors hovered, frustrated, as Mathew whimpered, shaking his head at their attempts to examine him.

“Y/N!” he cried when he saw you, his voice breaking.

You rushed to his side, dropping to your knees beside the bed. “I’m here, Matty. I’m right here.” You took his hand, brushing his damp curls from his forehead. “You’re so brave, you know that?”

With you there, he calmed, his sobs easing into hiccups. The doctors explained the situation—a fractured leg, not life-threatening but requiring surgery. Mathew clung to you as they prepped him, his small hand never leaving yours until the anesthesia took effect and his eyes fluttered closed.

You stayed through the night, sitting by his bedside, your gown crumpled, your hair falling loose in wild strands. Your eyes burned with unshed tears, but you held it together for him. For Mathew, you could be strong.

ᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥ

Meanwhile, across town, the gala continued without you. No one noticed your absence at first—not your siblings, not Bruce. But a reporter, a vulture named Carl Hensley, had been watching. Hensley was desperate for a scoop, his career teetering on the edge of obscurity. He’d followed you when you’d left, snapping a photo as you stumbled out of the hospital in the early morning hours, your appearance disheveled, your eyes red. He didn’t know why you were there, didn’t care. He saw an opportunity.

By the next morning, the headline was everywhere: *“Wayne Princess Ditches Gala for Wild Night Out!”* The article was vicious, painting you as a reckless party girl who’d abandoned her family’s event for a night of debauchery. The photo of you outside the hospital was splashed across every tabloid, your expression twisted into something that looked like guilt or shame.

You didn’t see the article until you returned to Wayne Manor, exhausted and emotionally drained. You’d stayed at the hospital until Martha arrived to take over, promising to call with updates on Mathew’s recovery. The cab ride home was silent, your mind still with the little boy who’d clung to you like a lifeline.

When you stepped into the manor, the air was thick with tension. Your family was gathered in the living room, their faces a mix of anger and disappointment. Bruce stood at the center, his jaw tight, the newspaper clutched in his hand. Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian flanked him, their eyes fixed on you with varying degrees of accusation.

“Where the hell were you?” Jason snapped, his voice cutting through the silence. “You just disappear in the middle of a gala, and then *this*?” He gestured to the newspaper, the headline screaming its lies.

You blinked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Damian said, his tone venomous. “You’ve humiliated us. Again.”

Bruce stepped forward, his voice low and controlled, but the anger in it was unmistakable. “You left without a word, Y/N. And now this—this garbage is all over Gotham. Do you have any idea what this does to our family’s reputation?”

You took the newspaper from his hand, your eyes scanning the headline, the photo. Your stomach dropped. “This isn’t true,” you said, your voice trembling. “I didn’t—I was at the hospital—”

“Hospital?” Tim cut in, his voice skeptical. “For what? A hangover?”

The words hit like a slap. You opened your mouth to explain, to tell them about Mathew, about the orphanage, about the truth, but Dick spoke before you could.

“Y/N, we’ve given you everything,” he said, his voice softer but no less cutting. “And you keep throwing it back in our faces. We’re trying to keep this family together, and you’re out there making a mockery of us.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You don’t understand,” you said, your voice breaking. “If you’d just listen—”

“Enough,” Bruce said, his tone final. “You’ve done enough damage. You’re grounded, Y/N. And until you can prove you’re capable of responsibility, you’re not leaving this house.”

You stared at him, disbelief washing over you. “You’re grounding me? For something I didn’t do?”

Bruce didn’t answer. Instead, he gestured to the staircase that led to the basement—a cold, windowless room used for storage, a place you’d always avoided. “You’ll stay down there tonight. Maybe some time alone will help you reflect.”

Your blood ran cold. “No,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Not the basement.”

You’d never told them about your fears, never shared the way tight spaces and darkness clawed at your mind, suffocating you with memories of a childhood trauma you’d buried deep. They didn’t know because they’d never asked.

“Bruce, please,” you said, your voice rising. “I’m telling you the truth—”

“Now,” he said, his voice unyielding.

You looked at your siblings, searching for an ally, but their faces were closed off, their eyes hard. With no other choice, you turned and descended the stairs, each step heavier than the last. The door closed behind you, the lock clicking into place.

The basement was a tomb. The walls seemed to press in, the darkness swallowing the faint light from the single bulb overhead. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your heart racing as the familiar panic set in. You backed into a corner, sliding to the floor, your arms wrapped around yourself as the world closed in.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours—you couldn’t tell. The fear was too much, the darkness too heavy. Your vision blurred, your chest tightened, and then—nothing

ᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥ

The truth came to light the next day, as it always does. A news report flashed across every screen in Gotham: *“Orphanage Director Sues Reporter for Defamation, Defends Wayne Daughter’s Honor.”*

Martha stood before a crowd of reporters, her voice steady as she recounted the real story. She spoke of your years of volunteering at Hope Orphanage, your quiet dedication, your love for the children—especially Mathew. She explained the accident, your rush to the hospital, the way you’d stayed by his side through the night, calming him when no one else could. She revealed the donations you’d made, millions of dollars funneled into the orphanage under a pseudonym, never seeking recognition. She called you a hero, the kind Gotham didn’t deserve.

The Batfamily watched the broadcast in stunned silence, the weight of their mistake settling over them like a shroud. Bruce’s face was a mask, but his hands trembled. Dick’s eyes were wide, guilt twisting his features. Jason cursed under his breath, his anger turned inward. Tim stared at the screen, his mind racing to piece together the clues he’d missed. Damian, for once, was speechless, his usual arrogance replaced by something like shame.

“Oh God,” Dick whispered, the realization hitting him like a freight train. “She’s still in the basement.”

He bolted from the room, the others close behind. They reached the basement door, Dick fumbling with the lock in his haste. When it finally swung open, your body tumbled out, limp and pale, collapsing into his arms.

“Y/N!” Dick’s voice cracked as he cradled you, his fingers brushing your clammy skin. “No, no, no—come on, wake up.”

Bruce was there in an instant, checking your pulse, his training kicking in even as panic clawed at him. “She’s breathing, but she’s in shock. We need to get her to a hospital.”

Jason scooped you up, his usual bravado gone, replaced by a quiet urgency. “I’ve got her,” he said, his voice rough. “Let’s move.”

They rushed you to Gotham General, the same hospital where you’d spent the night with Mathew. The doctors worked quickly, diagnosing a severe panic attack brought on by claustrophobia and nyctophobia—conditions your family had never known you had. They stabilized you, but you remained unconscious, your body exhausted from the ordeal.

In the waiting room, the Batfamily sat in silence, each grappling with their guilt. Bruce stared at his hands, the weight of his failure as a father crushing him. He’d locked you away, ignored your pleas, dismissed you without a second thought. Dick kept replaying your desperate words, the way you’d begged them to listen. Jason’s anger simmered, directed at himself for believing the lies. Tim felt sick, realizing how easily he’d accepted the narrative without question. And Damian—Damian felt something he rarely did: regret.

When you finally woke, hours later, you found Dick at your bedside, his eyes red-rimmed. “Y/N,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

You looked at him, then at the others gathered around—Bruce, Jason, Tim, Damian, all looking at you like you were a stranger they were seeing for the first time.

“We didn’t know,” Bruce said, his voice low, heavy with guilt. “About the orphanage, about Mathew, about… you.”

You turned your head away, your throat tight. “You didn’t ask,” you whispered.

The words hung in the air, a quiet indictment. They stayed with you through your recovery, through the awkward attempts at reconciliation. Your family tried to make amends—Bruce with his quiet presence, Dick with his gentle encouragement, Jason with his fierce protectiveness, Tim with his thoughtful gestures, Damian with his rare, halting apologies. But the hurt lingered, a scar that would take time to heal.

Mathew recovered, his leg healing under your careful attention. You returned to the orphanage, to the children who needed you, to the life you’d built outside the shadow of the Bat. And though your family began to see you—truly see you—the road to forgiveness was long, paved with the truths they’d ignored for too long.

But you were strong. You’d always been strong. And in the end, you didn’t need their approval to shine. You were enough.

[myadagoat22]

BAT AND SUPERFAMILY OUTING PART5

Warning: word count 3000+, SMUT, fluff, and honestly Bruce is warning

The house was its usual Saturday chaos.

“Where’s my hoodie? The one with the Superman logo!” Duke called, half-dressed and standing in the hallway like the world was ending.

“It’s in the laundry room where you left it,” Jon said, already fully dressed and trying to look like he had it all together—except his socks didn’t match.

Clark, always patient, crouched beside Duke to help with his sneakers. “You sure you want the Superman one?” he asked with a grin. “Might get us kicked out for showing off.”

Duke rolled his eyes. “Dad.”

Jon laughed. “He’s not wrong though.”

Meanwhile, in the master bedroom, Bruce was buttoning up his dark shirt while watching Y/N try to wrangle her hair into something photogenic. “You know,” he murmured, stepping behind her, “if you wear that lip gloss again, I’m not going to make it to Top Golf without getting us banned for public indecency.”

Y/N smirked in the mirror. “Promises, promises.”

Behind them, Stephanie passed by the doorway, phone in hand. “Can we not flirt within six feet of me? This is a family outing, not a CW drama.”

Jason walked past after her, still half-asleep. “What’s a Top Golf?” he mumbled.

Connor shouted from downstairs, “It’s like golf but with food. And chaos.”

Damien appeared in full black, of course. “If there’s not a leaderboard, what’s the point?”

Tim, carrying a backpack that probably had at least one book and three snacks, muttered, “This is why we never go anywhere on time.”

At Top Golf

By the time they got there, the energy was buzzing.

Clark was helping Jon adjust his swing. “Elbows loose. You're hitting like you’re fighting Doomsday, not a golf ball.”

“I am fighting a golf ball,” Jon said. “It’s winning.”

Bruce stood behind Y/N, hand lightly on her waist as he guided her stance. “You’re aiming too far right,” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear. “Let me fix that.”

She gave him a side-eye but didn’t move away. “This better not be another excuse to grab my waist.”

“Can’t it be both?”

Meanwhile, Duke and Connor are arguing about the aim while Damien tries to calculate the wind speed with his phone. Dick was texting Starfire, laughing quietly, while Stephanie recorded a TikTok with Jason photobombing in the back.

Tim, surprisingly good at this, hit the ball with ease and immediately went back to his book.

“Dad!” Jon yelled, pointing to Bruce. “He just kissed Mom on the cheek after she missed the shot!”

Clark, lining up his own swing, smirked. “That’s her reward system.”

Y/N added, “I only get kisses if I’m terrible at golf?”

“You get more if you're great at it,” Bruce said.

Clark added, “And if you beat me, we’re getting ice cream and back massages.”

“Just back massages?” y/n asked with a smirk.

“God, I want to take you both to that VIP booth,” Bruce said with heart eyes.

Clark replied “You need dinner before dessert”

Ride Home

The ride home was sleepy, full of chatter and low music. Damien was reading something on his phone. Stephanie had her headphones in. Dick and Connor were laughing at some inside joke. Jason had passed out, again.

Duke leaned against Clark’s shoulder in the backseat, still buzzing from the day. “That was fun.”

“I told you,” Clark said softly, carding a hand through his curls. “Sometimes it’s good to take a break.”

Jon, riding shotgun, looked back at them. “Can we do it again next weekend?”

Bruce glanced at Y/N, who smiled. “We’ll see if your homework’s done.”

“Lame.”

“Necessary,” she replied.

As the SUV pulled into the driveway, Bruce put the car in park and glanced over at Y/N. “You looked good out there.”

“Yeah?” she teased. “You like watching me miss shots?”

Clark leaned in from the back. “He just liked having a reason to keep his hand on your waist all night.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Like you didn’t wrap your arms around me every time I needed help with my swing.”

Bruce hummed low in his throat. “I might need help with something later tonight…”

Clark just smiled. “Only if I get to go first.”

Y/N looked between them, amused, flattered, and maybe a little flushed. “Boys, we just got home. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Goodnights & Glances

Back at home, the house dimmed and quieted like it was finally exhaling. The chaos of Top Golf was replaced by the hush of bedtime routines and sleepy footsteps padding across wood floors.

Dick was perched on his bed, legs crossed and grinning down at his phone. [Text to Starfire] Dick: Had fun today. Wish you were here. Call me tomorrow. He sent it with a soft smile, then clicked his lamp off and curled into bed, content.

Across the hall, Stephanie was going through her extensive skincare routine, brushing her hair in rhythmic strokes, music low on her Bluetooth speaker. “Glow-up starts at bedtime,” she whispered to herself like a mantra. She winked at her reflection before turning off the light.

Jason? Already out cold. He’d faceplanted into bed fully dressed, Top Golf wristband still on. A small snore escaped him as he sprawled starfish-style across the mattress.

Tim was in bed, propped up on pillows with a book in one hand and a highlighter in the other. Occasionally, he’d underline something, the glow from his reading lamp painting soft shadows on his face. Focused. Peaceful. Probably hours from sleep.

Connor had kicked off his shoes and flopped on his bed, YouTube playing on his phone as he scrolled half-watching some random science channel. “Huh,” he murmured, learning how volcanoes worked. “Cool.”

Damien, to no one’s surprise, was already asleep. He had gone to bed straight after his post-dinner chess game with Tim, tucked in military-style and absolutely motionless like sleep was a mission he refused to fail.

Down the hall, Jon and Duke were finally knocked out too—curled up under Star Wars sheets, empty water cups on their nightstands, remnants of the sugar rush now just gentle breathing. Duke muttered something about “laser tag rematch,” and Jon snored softly in reply.

In the Living Room

Clark was sprawled on the couch, legs outstretched, sipping what was left of his wine. Bruce leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Y/N move through the room as she tidied up abandoned sweaters and dropped socks—every movement was calm, intimate like it belonged only in this hour of the night.

“Kids are finally down,” she said, voice soft and satisfied.

Bruce smirked. “I thought Duke was going to start climbing the walls at one point.”

Clark chuckled. “He tried to wrestle me and Jon during teeth-brushing.”

Y/N smiled and plopped between them on the couch, drawing her knees up. “I love them. But man... bedtime feels like a boss level.”

Clark’s arm slipped around her shoulders, pulling her close. “You handled it like a champ.”

Bruce moved to sit on her other side, his hand finding hers. “We make a good team.”

The air warmed a little—not because of the wine, not because of the hour—but because they all knew what this was. Quiet. Safe. The kind of peace that comes after noise and love and effort.

Y/N leaned her head against Bruce’s shoulder, fingers brushing Clark’s thigh. “I really love nights like this.”

Bruce hummed, leaning down to kiss her temple.

Clark kissed her other cheek. “It’s only 10:45. The night’s still young.”

She turned her head, glancing between the two of them, a small, knowing smile creeping across her lips.

And somewhere down the hall, one of the kids snored like a freight train.

The Real fun

Bruce closed the door softly behind him, a predatory glint in his dark eyes as he turned to face his lovers. "Alone at last," he purred, reaching out to pull Y/N into his arms. His lips claimed hers in a searing kiss, tongue delving deep to taste her.

She melted against him, hands fisting in his tailored shirt as he dominated her mouth. Clark pressed up behind her, big hands smoothing over her curves possessively. "Hey there, beautiful," he rumbled, nuzzling into her neck. "Did you have fun today?"

"Mmmm, not as much fun as I'm about to have now," Y/N moaned, grinding her ass back against his prominent bulge. Bruce chuckled, fingers slipping under her shirt to tease the sensitive skin of her stomach.

"Greedy little slut," he taunted playfully. "Always so eager for our cocks." He cupped her breasts, thumbs stroking over her nipples through the thin fabric of her bra. They pebbled instantly, aching for his touch.

Clark reached around to undo her jeans, shoving them down her thighs along with her panties. Cool air hit her heated flesh, making her shiver. "Fuck, she's already so wet," he groaned, fingers delving between her slick folds.

"Let's get these clothes off her," Bruce commanded. They worked in tandem to strip her bare, leaving her exposed and wanting between their hard bodies. Her husband knelt before her, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her mound.

"So pretty," he breathed against her skin. "All pink and swollen for us." He lapped at her slit, tongue circling her clit. She whimpered, threading her fingers through his hair.

Bruce rose to claim her mouth again, plunging his tongue between her lips so she could taste herself on him. His hands roamed her body as Clark moved behind her, grinding his erection against the cleft of her ass.

"Look at you, so desperate for our dicks," Bruce growled approvingly. "Bend her over the bed, Clark. Let's give her what she needs."

Clark obeyed eagerly, bending Y/N at the waist and exposing her dripping cunt to Bruce's hungry gaze. "Gonna fuck this sweet pussy so good," he promised, giving her ass a sharp smack. She yelped at the sting, feeling herself grow even wetter.

Bruce knelt behind her, large hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "Keep those legs spread for me, slut," he ordered. "Gonna ruin you on my cock."

He notched the thick head at her entrance, rubbing it through her folds. She moaned, trying to push back onto him. But he held her steady, teasing her mercilessly.

"Please Bruce," she whined desperately. "I need it."

"Since you asked so nicely," he smirked. With one hard thrust, he sheathes himself to the hilt, her cunt stretching obscenely around his girth. She cried out at the sudden invasion, nails scrabbling at the sheets.

"That's it, take it," he snarled, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. He set a brutal pace, pounding into her with deep, driving thrusts that made her tits bounce.

Clark took advantage of her open mouth, shoving his fingers inside to fuck her throat. She gagged around them, tears leaking from her eyes. He just grinned down at her, tweaking her nipples roughly.

"Our little cumslut, so eager to be used," he taunted. "Bruce is going to fill this pussy up so good."

"Fuck, she's so tight," Bruce grits out, pistoning his hips faster. "Gonna pump her full of my seed, breed this needy cunt."

"Yes, please!" Y/N wailed, pleasure overwhelming her. Her thighs began to tremble, walls fluttering around Bruce's plundering cock.

"That's it, cum on my dick," he growled, fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave marks. "Squirt all over me like a good little whore."

Her orgasm crashed over her then, back bowing as she screamed. Bruce snarled, slamming into her one last time before emptying himself deep inside her spasming pussy. She could feel his hot cum painting her insides, marking her as his.

Clark pulled his fingers from her mouth, replacing them with his thick cock. She sucked him down greedily, still twitching through the aftershocks. He fucked her face hard and fast, using her mouth like a cheap fleshlight.

"Gonna cum down your throat," he grunted, balls tightening. "Swallow it all like a good girl."

With a guttural moan, he spills himself on her tongue. She gulps it down, licking him clean when he's finished. He pets her hair approvingly.

"There's my perfect little cocksleeve," he praises. "So good for us."

Bruce pulls out of her still fluttering pussy with a wet squelch, come dribbling down her thighs. He gives her ass a parting smack before sprawling on the bed.

"Come here, you insatiable whore," he beckons, cock already starting to stir again at the sight of her debauched and dripping with their seed. "We're just getting started."

Clark chuckles darkly, dragging her up the bed to straddle Bruce's lap. "That's right baby, we're going to ruin you for anyone else," he promises, positioning his own rehardened cock at her messy entrance. "Now ride us like the filthy little cock addict you are."

Bruce's eyes darken with lust as he watches Y/N ride Clark's cock, her full tits bouncing hypnotically with each thrust. He reaches out to squeeze the heavy globes, thumbs flicking over the stiff peaks.

"Fuck, look at you, taking him so deep," he groans appreciatively. "Our little cumslut, always so eager for dick."

Clark smirks down at her, hands gripping her hips bruisingly tight. "She's fucking insatiable," he agrees, slamming up into her hard enough to rock her. "Can't get enough of our cocks."

Bruce leans in to capture her lips in a filthy kiss, tongue delving into her mouth to taste himself on her. "I'm going to wreck this tight little ass next," he promises darkly when he pulls back. "Stretch you out on my fat cock until you're screaming for mercy."

She moans wantonly at the threat, clenching around Clark's pistoning length. He grunts, fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to leave bruises.

"C'mon slut, cum on my dick," he snarls, angling his hips to hit that magic spot inside her with every thrust. "Milk me dry with this greedy cunt."

Bruce moves behind Clark then, pressing against his back and reaching around to stroke his own cock in time with Clark's deep thrusts into Y/N's pussy. "Look at how good you fuck her," he praises, nipping at Clark's ear. "Such a dirty slut for our cocks."

Clark shudders, head falling back onto Bruce's shoulder. Bruce takes advantage, licking and sucking at the column of his throat. "Wanna taste you," he rumbles, voice rough with need. "Wanna suck your dick until you flood my mouth with cum."

Clark makes a strangled noise, hips stuttering. "Fuck yes," he groans, voice strained. "Want your filthy mouth on me."

Bruce smirks, giving his neck one last hard suck before dropping to his knees behind him. He grabs Clark's ass, spreading the firm cheeks to expose his tight pink hole.

"Gonna eat this ass until you're begging for my cock," he promises darkly, leaning in to drag the flat of his tongue over the furled muscle. Clark jerks, hands scrabbling for purchase on the sheets.

"Oh fuck," he moans, fingers fisting in the bedding. "Just like that."

Bruce chuckles, blowing a cool stream of air over the wet skin. He laps at the quivering hole with broad strokes of his tongue, saliva dripping down to the pool at Clark's balls. The lewd sounds of his mouth working fill the room, punctuated by Clark's increasingly desperate moans.

"Please Bruce," he begs shamelessly, trying to push back onto the insistent tongue. "More, I need more."

Bruce obliges, sealing his lips around the tight ring of muscle and sucking hard. Clark howls, thighs trembling as he fights the urge to cum from the intense sensation. She can feel him pulsing inside her, so close to the edge.

"That's it, open up for me," Bruce coaxes, tongue spearing into Clark's hot, clenching hole. He fucks into him with filthy slurps and groans, spits dripping down his chin.

"Gonna wreck this ass," he growls when he finally pulls back, leaving Clark gaping and twitching. He rises to his knees, lining his thick cock up with Clark's slick hole.

"Beg for it," he demands, rubbing the broad head over the fluttering muscle. "Beg me to split you open on my dick."

Clark whimpers, head thrashing on the pillow. "Please Bruce," he sobs, trying to push back onto the tempting length. "Please fuck me, I need it so bad. Need you to ruin me."

Bruce smirks, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Since you asked so nicely." With one brutal thrust, he sheathes himself to the hilt in Clark's ass, making him scream.

"Fuck yes," he snarls, setting a punishing pace. The bed creaks beneath them as he pounds into Clark's willing body. She can feel every powerful snap of his hips through the thick wall of Clark's cock still buried inside her.

Clark is mindless with pleasure, head thrown back and eyes rolling wildly in his head. He claws at the sheets, babbling brokenly as Bruce fucks him into oblivion.

"Take it slut," Bruce growls, one hand wrapping around Clark's throat possessively. "Gonna fill this ass with my cum."

"Please," Clark chokes out, voice hoarse from screaming. "Cum in me, mark me."

Bruce snarls, hips stuttering as his orgasm overtakes him. He slams into Clark one last time before stilling, buried to the hilt in his spasming hole. Clark keens high in his throat, his cock jerking inside Y/N as he's flooded with heat.

She comes with a ragged cry, pussy clamping down on Clark like a vice. He moans brokenly as she milks him for every last drop, hips grinding into her as he fills her up.

When it's over, Bruce pulls out of Clark's messy hole with a wet pop. He reaches down to scoop some of the pearly fluid leaking out of Clark's used hole, pushing it past his stretched rim. "Look how well you took my cock," he croons approvingly, gathering more come and feeding it to Clark. "Such a good little slut for us."

Clark licks his lips submissively, eyes glazed with pleasure. "Thank you," he slurs, still floating on his high. "I'm yours."

Bruce pets his hair tenderly, the other hand reaching around to stroke Y/N's sensitive clit. She whimpers, still so sensitive from her multiple orgasms.

"There's my good girl," he praises, fingers circling the swollen nub lightly. "Took both our cocks so well."

Clark nuzzles into Y/N's neck, peppering the sweat-slick skin with soft kisses. "So perfect for us," he agrees hoarsely. "Our filthy little cumslut."

She moans weakly, hips twitching as Bruce continues his relentless teasing. She's not sure she has another orgasm in her after that mind-blowing session, but her body doesn't seem to care.

"Gonna make you cum again," Bruce promises darkly, adding a second finger to rub mercilessly at her G-spot. "Gonna have you squirting all over Clark's cock like a good little slut."

She mewls brokenly as he works her towards another peak, thighs beginning to quiver. Clark licks and sucks at her breasts, rolling the stiff peaks between his teeth until she's writhing.

When her third climax hits, it's almost painful in its intensity. She screams hoarsely as liquid gushes from her cunt, soaking Clark's softening cock and balls. They moan at the sensation, continuing to stroke her quivering body as she rides out the aftershocks.

When it's over, she collapses against the bed in a boneless heap, completely spent. Bruce and Clark arrange themselves around her, strong arms and legs twining together to cage her in their heat.

"Rest now, sweetheart," Bruce murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "We'll take care of you."

She hums contentedly, nuzzling into Clark's chest as he brushes damp hair back from her sweaty face. In this moment, surrounded by their love and their scent, she's never felt more complete.

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

Brucie Wayne gets into a mild accident in public (read-got hit by a car). And Batman would just walk it off (“it’s barely a bruise”), but Brucie obviously… can’t.

So he has to suffer the ordeal of having civilians call paramedics, getting fussed over, and having-

Having his dead son get into the back of the ambulance with him.

Oh- oh no. He must have hit his head worse than he thought. He thought he was past this…

[bruciemilf]

Scary boyfriend privilege? No. Scary sons privilege.

Bruce who can’t go anywhere without his newly adopted ward. He follows Bruce like a sunny shadow, grin always in place.

“Dick, can I hold your hand when we cross the street?”

Dick, very sweetly, “No.”

Bruce sighs, but accepts easily. Some guy scoffs at that and asks Bruce if he’ll let his kid just talk to him like that. His kid. His heart hurts in a very good way.

He’s about to say something, but Dick interrupts him, his teeth bared full, “Weren’t you on the news for hitting an old lady with your car?”

Bruce freezing. Dick goes back to his gameboy. They hold hands when they cross the street.

It’s both scary and comforting how little he changes when he’s an adult.

Jason, on the other hand.

Although he refuses to admit it, he does follow Bruce around, too, when his dad actually has to leave the manor. It’s when Alfred says he needs sun.

“You signed a contract, sir.”

Bruce sighing, “I signed it when I was 4. In black crayon. Those don’t count.”

Damian gasped, as if discovering a vile fact, sending an accusing glare Bruce’s way. “They don’t?”

Bruce needs an excuse to haul ass fast and that’s how Jason ends up chaperoning his socially awkward, disaster of a father in his quest to pick up food.

He’s a titanic presence next to Bruce, glaring off whoever stares a little too long or too appreciatively, strong arms crossed and his eyes hard and sharp.

Bruce gently taps his bicep and he hates the way he melts. “Do you want the chicken nuggets with or without apple slices?”

“Without.”

“Jay.”

“FINE.”

Give Jason his “he asked for No pickles” moment. It has to embarrass Bruce enough to jump in traffic, thought.

Damian has his own league and none of them can really compete with it. I think, during parent’s night, he drags Bruce off to proudly showcase his gallery of portraits.

Bruce is very moved when he realizes they’re almost all him.

There’s portraits of Dick, too, and Alfred, and a comically bad one of Tim. “Damian, they’re very beautiful. Thank you.”

“I painted them with the blood of your enemies.”

“…Thank you.”

[ditzybat]

okay i know that everyone has tim get hit with deaging powers in fics or headcanons, but i would like to see one where a tiny ittybitty damian pops up from his discarded robin costume on the floor and the family has to deal with a baby demon child.

tim in his red robin suit holding up a one year old damian wrapped in his robin cape: uh, i don’t really like babies very much, we need to get you to agent a

damian imprinting on the first vaguely parental shaped figure he sees:…ummi?

tim getting that mama bear sense of ‘lifting a car for your baby’ maternal love: i will kill everyone and then myself if you were to ever get hurt habibi

and i think it’ll just be hilarious to see damian’s interactions with everyone else because they’ve never had to deal with him so vulnerable and vaguely friend shaped.

dick on the verge of tears: he screamed when he saw me and ran to tim, to tim, then tim glared at me and told me to never touch his baby again - HIS BABY JASON

jason: you poor thing??

and an awkward bruce, who’s never actually dealt with babies despite being a father of (vaguely) nine kids, trying to interact with this chubby little toddler.

bruce: hello chum

damian throwing a knife at him giving the biggest cutest belly laugh when bruce catches it:

tim smooshing his chubby baby cheeks: isn’t he such a cutie patootie ?

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Hit The Gas

[Written to 'Renegade (We Never Run)' from Arcane]

Technically speaking, Mr. Masters, Gotham's new aspiring crime lord, did provide them with a getaway car. It's just that, in Tim's honest, objective opinion, said car sucks major ass.

First of all, it's white, which is, well, not the best color for disappearing into the night. Then, it's old — not vintage old, thank fuck, but definitely made before 2005 — and long overdue for a makeover. Tim doesn't see a single part of it that doesn't have a scratch or a dent on it, and are those bullet holes on the passenger door?

Eh, whatever, this is a staged escape anyway. Tim doesn't need it to be successful, he only needs an alibi. Someone — their driver, in this case — to later tell Masters that Alvin Draper did everything he could to keep the package safe. So he can stay in the man's moderately good graces even after they get caught by Batman tonight.

Tim makes it to the car first, throws the back door open and slides inside in one motion, slamming it behind him. Jason, the drama queen, jumps in through the open window and into the front passenger seat.

"Hit the gas, they are on our heels!" He yells at the driver, struggling to turn himself over and put his ass in the seat. Serves him right, opening the door and getting in the normal way would have taken literally two seconds.

The car jolts into movement without a moment of hesitation — so at least the driver has a good reaction time — but Tim still hears a dull sound of a betarang hitting the rear end of it. Nice throw, Cass!

It's only then that he cares to actually look around and realize a few things. A few, arguably, very important things. Like the fact that their driver is a redhead girl who looks barely sixteen. Or that there are two kids, looking no older than ten, in the back seat beside him.

He blinks and stares. The kids — both boys, one of them white as milk with a dark mop of hair and the other one black, wearing glasses and a red beanie — pay no mind to either him, Jason in the front seat, or the speed the car is going at. In fact, they pay no attention to the outside world as a whole, hunched over an outdated PSP. They are playing it together, one of the kids in charge of action buttons and the other one controlling the D-pad, so Tim can understand the need to focus: it takes some impressive teamwork to sucessfully go through the game like that. And they are using some complicated combos while at it, wow.

Wait, no, this is such a wrong time to marvel at videogame skills! They are kids, in a car, in a getaway car, in the middle of a car chase with the fucking Batman!

They take a sharp turn, and Tim grabs onto the handle in order to not bump into the door.

"Oh, you didn't tell me we're racing with the Batmobile," the redhead girl says, but it sounds surprisingly nice and polite, like she's merely asking about the weather.

"Yeah, well, we didn't expect that kind of trouble either," Jason snaps back, scrunching his nose, but the girl just laughs softly.

"No, don't worry. It's no trouble," she assures almost gently, and then reaches one hand behind the seat without looking, tapping the black boy on the knee, "Tucker, sweetheart, switch with me?"

Hold on, what?..

"But Ja-a-azz," the white boy whines.

"We've just got to the boss fight," Tucker pouts, but the redhead just taps his knee more insistently.

"And I'm sure you'll get to it again after we make it out," she says, still perfectly polite and collected. Tim glances out the window. Either this girl has nerves of steel or there's something very wrong with both her and the kids; they are going at least 95 mph, and she keeps only one hand on the wheel like it's nothing.

"Ugh, fine," the kid rolls his eyes and nudges his friend in the shoulder, passing him the console, "Save it, I'll get the cord."

"What cord?" Tim asks because he thought this was a simple undercover mission, but now he gets a sneaking suspicion there's a lot more to it than it looked.

Tucker, with one hand under the driver's seat and searching for something blindly, turns to glare at him.

"The control-cord," he answers like the dumb one here is Tim, "How else do you think- A-ha!" His face lights up as he emerges victorious from under the seat, holding... Yeah, a cord, okay. Which he plugs into the PSP that the other boy hands him without prompting.

"Maybe fasten your seat belts, this is about to get interesting," Jazz offers, but doesn't do so herself. Neither of the kids do it either, and Jason just snorts dismissively.

"You're saying it wasn't 'interesting' before?" There's definitely some teasing in his voice. Tim looks down to the package in his lap, a metal box holding some unknown but evidently very important content.

He fastens his seat belt just in time. The car jerks and speeds up — they are definitely past 110 now. And Jazz is not holding the wheel.

It only takes a moment for Tim to connect the dots and look to the PSP in Tucker's hands. Sure enough, instead of a game, his screen is now a perfect replica of the car's windshield in real time, and his fingers are firmly placed on controls. Like he's done it hundreds of times.

They are racing the Batmobile, and a ten-year-old is driving. This mission is fucking wild.

"Brakes, brakes, BRAKES!" Jason yells from the front, and Tim only gets a moment to notice the quickly approaching back of a truck in front of them and realize they are going to crash before their car just goes through it with no resistance. He even looks in the back window to make sure he didn't hallucinate the truck, but no, it's still there and still real.

Did they... Phase through it?..

"What the fuck," he mutters under his breath.

"Language, there are kids in the car," Jazz chides him with a huff of laughter, and then there's a click.

"What the f- fudge," Jason repeats the question, albeit much louder and way more alarmed than Tim before.

When he turns back around, the redhead is holding a grenade launcher. It doesn't look like a model Tim is familiar with, but it's for some reason painted white, just like their car. Is that some kind of Masters' thing?

Wait, that's a grenade launcher.

Jazz ties her hair in the back in less than two seconds and then reaches up to the roof of the car, pressing a button to open the sunroof.

"Wait, you can't shoot a vigilante, they'll-" Tim yells over the wind, but Jazz just smiles at him and stands up on the driver's seat, peeking out and taking position. Tim throws a panicked look at Jason — they sure didn't plan for anything like this. The car chase was supposed to be over in less than a few minutes, none of them thought that Masters, a fairly new figure in the Gotham underground, would have a kind of vehicle that can phase through things and drive at- at 150 mph through the city roads! Not to mention some strange fucking kids and a teenage with grenades!

"She won't kill anyone," a voice comes from Tim's side, and when he turns his head, he finds the other kid, the one he doesn't know the name of, looking at him, his eyes calm and unblinking. And slightly glowing, okay, and here he was, thinking this clusterfuck of a ride can't get any weirder.

"How do you know?" Tim snaps because there's only so much he can deal with at once in the span of five minutes. The kid shrugs.

"It's Jazz. She has morals," he says, like the word disgusts him, and Tucker huffs a laugh.

"You have them, too. Vlad and Dan killed people before, though," he argues, his eyes still glued to the screen of the PSP.

"Not in Gotham," his friend adds, seemingly just for the sake of having the last word in the argument.

Whatever Tim wants to say back gets cut off by a sound of a gunshot. He turns to the back window again, his heart stuck in his throat, but it looks like the white kid was right: the roaring Batmobile is still on their heels. Whatever the redhead tried to do, she missed.

"Danny, on three!" Jazz yells from above, and the kid springs to action like he's been waiting for this moment his whole life.

"One!"

Tucker moves out of the way as Danny climbs over him and towards Tim, unceremoniously shoves the precious metal box away and all but falls into Tim's lap despite his loud yet wordless sounds of protest.

"Two!"

The boy yanks the latch and throws the door open, leaning down while still sprawled over Tim's knees, and Tim grabs the back of his shirt out of reflex. It doesn't matter that the whole thing is a disaster, he's not letting a ten-year-old fall out of the car on his watch.

"Three!"

There's a loud pop somewhere behind them, and the car suddenly turns and drifts sideways, the sound of skidding tires grating on Tim's ears. Yet, he still feels Danny move and sees him reach and touch the ground. There's a short moment of panic — at this kind of speed, the pavement will shave the skin off the boy's hands in seconds — but then there's a shimmer of white bursting from Danny's palms.

When Tim looks up, the road behind them is covered in ice, the smooth surface of it shining in the yellow light of streetlamps. And, a bit further, there's a thick layer of smoke that should definitely hide them from the view of pursuers.

Smoke grenades. And ice powers. That explains the glowing eyes, Danny must be a meta.

The car shifts again, changing directions, and Tim, almost like in slow-mo, sees the metal box that they've gone to such great lengths to steal, slide towards the open door and tip over the edge.

He is still holding Danny's shirt, and the boy is still hanging halfway out of the car.

The seat belt is pressing tightly into his chest.

The box falls out, and Tim shuts his eyes close. Fuck it, he can fail the mission, it's not the end of the world, Jason can still try and weasel his way into Masters' close circle, and Bruce would understand if Tim explains why quickly enough, it's okay, no big deal-

"Gotcha!" Danny yells cheerfully as the car makes a sharp turn and comes to a halt all of a sudden.

Tim opens his eyes.

Danny, a wide, wicked grin on his face, is holding the box in his hands.

"You're a little shit," Tim breathes out, and the boy laughs, wiggling on Tim's lap and trying to get back inside the car.

"Born and raised," he answers with such a shit-eating expression on his face that Tim doesn't even bother holding back his urge for petty revenge. He releases his death grip on the back of Danny's shirt and gleefully watches the brat lose his balance and faceplant the ground.

The 'quick' undercover mission is sure getting an extension, but somehow, he can't bring himself to feel bad about the fact.

[stealingyourbones]

Jason startles as a stranger on the streets of Gotham takes one look at him, looks at him in absolute horror, and then runs to the closest dumpster and vomits into it.

Jason is mildly offended. He doesn’t look that bad does he? — Danny glances back to look at the undead staring at him on the sidewalk and nearly vomits again. His soul is shattered. It’s like looking at a human after being hit by a car at 60mph who’s acting like they’re perfectly fine as they walk towards you. — Jason approaches the stranger, one hand hovering over the shoulder of the guy and asks; “Hey man what’s your problem? What's the deal w-”

The once retching passerby moves imperceptibly quick. His hands go through Jason’s chest and before he can even react he feels something snap back into place.

Jason can barely remember screaming as he near instantly blacks out from the pain.

[prlssprfctn]

During one of the missions, Jason gets hit with a new serum; not exactly a truth one, rather the one that doesn't allow a person to control their process of thinking. They just vocalise all their thoughts all together.

"Fuck, I forgot to buy milk... Wait, am I babysitting Laura's kid this Friday or next one? Urgh, Tim was right, I should get myself a Google Calendar, this is getting embarrassing... Fuck, Tim. I need to deal with the intel he sneaked me behind Bruce's back... Fuck, whoops—"

It took some time for Bruce to chase away the rest of the family from the Batcave. Jason insisted that if they are going to stick up and try to make fun of him, he will either open shooting right there or just return home. And he really, really wanted to help his son this time. So he shooed his kids away and promised not to interact with Jason and his vortex of thoughts until he finishes with an antidote.

"Ignore it, old man," Jason sighs, rubbing his face. "Of course, you won't. You only ignore when it is stuff related to me."

Bruce sighs back.

In all truth, all this thing is a little bit of a... delight. He hadn't heard his son speaking so much since he was fifteen, and... well. He misses it. A lot.

From the other side, he is a little bit concerned about the amount of dark thoughts in the back of his head. For example, when they hauled him in the car, he kept reminiscing of vans back in the Crime Alley.

It is either this or casual thoughts about his daily life. Or quotes from somewhere.

He can relate to the chaos in Jason's head for the most of it. It is also not surprising at all that he always complains about headaches — is his head ever rests with this train of intangible thoughts?

"I hate being stuck in the cave. And this stupid memorial is still here," Jason groans. Bruce's eyes automatically dart towards the mentioned memorial, mentally making a note to, perhaps, finally, hide it away somewhere. Or break. "I wish I could kill myself."

Bruce pauses. His fingers freeze above the keyboard, shoulders tensing, and it takes everything not to turn around to face Jason.

"They should invent suicide for these, who keep coming back alive," Jason jokes — because it is a joke, he laughs at it — but Bruce feels his heart stopping for a second, because... because if Jason jokes about it, then it means he tried it before.

"What?"

He knows he promised not to answer to Jason right now. But strangled words escape his mouth before he can realise it.

"Jason—"

He feels his son flinching behind him. Perhaps, he hadn't even realise that he said until now, because for a minute there is nothing but a string of repetitive curses, all over again. And then Jason just pinches his shoulder, voice heavy:

"Work. Dad."

For the next hour, Jason does nothing but feverishly read aloud books around the Batcave, desperately trying to muffle down any personal thoughts.

Bruce finishes working on the antidote when Jason is on the thirty page of Damian's forgotten biological book. The lump in his throat doesn't disappear for the rest of the night, even when Jason storms out of the cave with a rushed gratitude.

No one asks what had happened.

Bruce silently shatters the old memorial the same night.

[cosmosluckycharms]

Bug Like Angel

pt5

Animal noises

hey guys warning might be ooc cause i am writing this half asleep

"SHOOT- I'M LATE AGAIN!"

You had band practice with the others today

Why are you always late?

You promised them, and you accidentally slept through your alarm. Again.

You forgot Lyla was down for today too, she was focused solely on the anomalies today, so she couldn't wake you up.

Shit.

You scrambled around in your room getting ready for the day.

You put on your clothes and quickly do your hair.

You tried looking for your guitar and forgot you left it downstairs.

You ran downstairs and almost tripped.

You stopped when you saw everyone eating breakfast at the table.

Without you.

It made you less mad that they were together without you, you were used to them being together without you.

It made you sad how you never even realized.

"..You guys have been having breakfast together? Without me?"

They all went silent. You could see the guilty looks on their faces. As soon as Dick opened his mouth to talk, you shut them up.

"Why would you even-" You stopped yourself, you had things to do. "You know what? This is a problem for future y/n."

You grabbed your keys and put it in your bag while you ran around trying to finish getting ready.

"Alfred, I'm gonna be gone till later, I promised my friends I'm gonna be at band practice"

You ran into the bathroom to finish brushing your teeth.

"Also if one of them shows up at the door, please let them in! Hobie's my ride today!" You called out from inside the bathroom

"Alright, young miss." you heard Alfred say from the kitchen.

You did your makeup quickly and put on your shoes.

You grabbed your bag that had your guitar picks inside, along with some essentials like money, a hairbrush, makeup, etc.

You just needed your phone, which you had left in the kitchen.

As soon as you run out of the bathroom and into the dining room you get jumpscared.

"Boo." Hobie jumped, scaring you.

You screamed before play hitting him

Okay, screw you too, spidey-senses!

While you explained to Hobie you were almost done getting ready, you could slightly feel the others glaring at you and Hobie.

it wasn't them trying to figure him out,it was them judging him.

Damian couldn't understand, why were you hanging out with someone like him?! He's too punk and crazy looking, it's so dumb you were excited to hang out with him.

He snapped out of it as soon as he saw you and Hobie about to exit the manor.

He was about to demand to know where you were going, but suddenly as soon as you were about to walk out the door, you felt Hobie pull on the back of the collar of your shirt.

"Hm?" you asked Hobie

"Don't you think you're missing something, Tinkerbell?" Hobie asked, pointing to your back.

"what do you mean? I have everything, I think. I have my lipgloss and everything.." you started rambling to yourself for a bit, checking the mental checklist you had for yourself.

After a few moments, you realize you thought you had your guitar with you!

You did not!

You ran to grab it, everyone looking at you both.

You grabbed your guitar and said bye to everyone.

Jason does not like Hobie.

He didn't even get to introduce himself to your family.

He straight up ignored all of them, besides Alfred, to see you!

He didn't like how excited you were to just be around him.

He didn't like how naturally you guys play fought like siblings.

He didn't like how close you guys seemed.

He didn't like how he walked around like he's been here before.

He didn't like how he had a nickname for you.

He needed to know who this guy was.

But how?

He followed you both to your practice. While dressed in a red hood.

Oops.

He watches as you both get into your car and go to a place to practice music.He sees a tiny 12-year-old girl with short black hair playing electric guitar, like you.

He sees a blonde girl with half her hair of hair shaved off getting her guitar ready while talking a curly haired boy with big doe eyes.

He sees the boy next to her getting his keyboard ready while awkwardly flirting with the girl.

He sees a boy with stupidly luscious hair getting the amps up and ready.

He can see them all getting slightly anxious, he assumes it's because of you being late.

He didn't know its because they could all sense someone watching them.

Finally, you and Hobie walk in and immediately feel the presence.

You text Miguel that you feel a tiny bit anxious and send him your location.

Better safe than sorry!

After an hour or two of playing, you all decide to sit down and take a break.

The feeling someone was watching you was still there, it just died down the slightest bit.

After a while, Pavitr finally spoke up.

"Am I the only one feeling that someone watching us?"

Immediately you all said different variants of yes.

It was so strange, why would anyone watch you guys?

You assumed it was maybe a kid on the street who was listening to your music, but that didn't explain your spidey senses going off.

As soon as you were about to talk about it, all your spidey senses went off, and someone popped up in front of you.

Red Hood, or your brother, Jason Todd.

Immediately everyone got up and gave you knowing glances.

Sure, you never told anyone about your family's identities, but technically everybody in the spiderverse and their moms knew.

Something about you being a mix of two multi-verses.

"Woah! No need to get so defensive!" Red Hood said, putting his hands up.

"why are you here?" you asked, glaring at him dead in the eyes. Well, he was wearing a mask so you looked at him where his eyes were supposed to be.

"Can't someone drop by for a visit? You guys were great, by the way," he said. You weren't sure what he wanted.

At this point, you had Peni hidden behind you. Sure, he wouldn't ever do anything to any kid, but it was a force of habit you had to protect her.

You didn't notice Hobie slowly moving beside you to protect you if anything happened.

"Welp, I just came in to check on regular civilians, nothing wrong with that," he smirked. he knew he was getting under your skin.

"well, it's a good thing we don't need help. Goodbye." you shooed him away like he had done multiple times to you.

He scoffed and left.

You all let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

It was getting late anyway. You should all start packing up and go out someplace to eat.

It was your turn to choose which place to go, and you immediately chose Batburger.

As soon as you all ordered and sat down, you all immediately started talking about why Red Hood popped by.

Your friends all knew about the neglect from everyone, no one understood why they were here.

Why now?

The topics changed throughout everything, from school drama to plans for the future, to plans for future hangouts.

Everything was great, you all grabbed your meals and were eating the mountain of food you guys ordered.

"I'm telling you, the food in my universe is so much better!" Miles argued with you.

"it's so not! It's greasy!" You argued back

"like batburger isn't?" Miles smirked, you both played arguing.

You gasped dramatically. "YOU TAKE THAT BACK!" you play slapped Miles.

"LISTEN DINGBAT I SAID-" Miles rudely pointed his finger in your face.

"GET YOUR FINGER OUT OF MY FACE!" You and Miles started throwing fries at each other's faces, everyone else at the table laughing at how stupid you guys are.

Suddenly, your spidey senses went slightly off. Not enough for you and Miles to notice, but the others stopped laughing.

You didn't understand until you heard a very familiar voice.

"Is there a problem here?" You looked up and saw your other brother, Dick, looking at you guys with his stupid signature smile.

The same smile that made the hairs on your neck stand up.

Immediately you and Miles straightened up. Not in fear, but because you didn't want him to see you enjoying yourself.

"No, Richard."

You see him flinch at the use of his full name and not his nickname. His smile slightly faltered, but not enough for anyone other than you to notice.

"All alright then." he started walking away and you noticed behind him were your other siblings, Tim and Damian.

Shit.

You needed to get out of here.

Gwen immediately noticed you looking slightly panicky and immediately started holding your hand to calm you down.

It worked.

Everyone looked at each other, almost to say "Let's go."

You all left and decided to go to a park to calm down.

You all lay down on the grass in quiet. It was nice.

You don't mind doing anything with them, as long as you are together.

You wish you could stay in this moment forever.

After a while, you and Peni ended up falling asleep.

Noir came and picked up Peni.

Gwen, Miles, and Pavitr had to go home to their respective universes.

Hobie took and carried you home, there's no way he was gonna leave you lying in the middle of Gotham at night.

He made sure to carry everything you had with you into the manor.

Alfred let Hobie in as soon as he saw you being carried by him.

As soon as he got inside, Jason offered to carry you to your room, but Hobie had already started walking toward's it.

"Nah, sorry mate. She's knackered right now and moving her around might make her go mad."

As soon as he got to your room, he dropped you off on your bed took off your shoes and tucked you into bed, kissing you on the forehead, something that he's done to all the spider kids as a form of affection.

As soon as he went downstairs, he started getting questioned by everyone there.

"Who are you?" asked Damian.

"Wouldn't you like to know, weather-boy?" Hobie teased.

"Why is she so attached to you?!" Asked Jason.

"I ain't got a scooby doo," Hobie replied.

Soon, the questions turned into everyone yelling at Hobie for no reason.

You woke up from the commotion.

You went downstairs to see Hobie having a serious face.

That was not a good sign.

You kept walking further until you were on the same floor as everyone else.

"What's going on?" you asked rather meekly.

No one heard, so you spoke louder.

"What's going on?"

Still, no one heard, so you had no choice but to yell.

"WHAT IS GOING ON?!"

Everyone stopped to look at you. Everyone but Hobie was surprised to see you speak that loudly. They weren't used to you using that tone.

Everything was silent and tense for a moment.

"Well? is anyone gonna say anything or are you all gonna act stupid?" You were cranky. You needed a nap.

"We don't want you hanging around those guys anymore." your father, Bruce said.

"I don't care. I still am gonna be with them," you said.

"You don't have a choice," Damian added, agreeing with his father.

"Well nothing is stopping me, I'll still see them," you replied, glaring at Bruce.

"You're under my roof. You can make your own decisions when you aren't living here." Bruce said, rather mad you won't be obident.

"Maybe I don't want to live under your roof..." you muttered, thinking no one would hear.

"What was that?" you heard Dick say, clearly expecting you to crumble and apologize.

"Maybe I don't wanna live under your roof!" you turn to look at Hobie. He looks proud.

"Then leave." you hear Tim say.

"All alright." you start walking to your room to pack your essentials.

Everyone suddenly looks shocked. They weren't expecting that. You felt Hobie put a hand on your shoulder and help you pack. You grab your phone and see you never replied to Miguel's texts where he asked if you're okay.

You reply to him and tell him you're alright. You ask him if you can stay at his apartment because of family problems.

He immediately replies and says yes.

You finish packing up and go downstairs.

You didn't say bye to anyone as you left.

You went to a random abandoned building to use your bracelet to make a portal to Miguel's universe.

Hobie tagged along, to keep you safe.

As soon as he saw Miguel take you inside, he waved bye and went to his universe.

As soon as you got inside, you broke down.

Over how tired you are, over how your family treated you, and how you just wanted a hug.

You fell asleep hugging Miguel that night

hi guys this is kinda bad but like idk i might make a fluffy oneshot of the spiderkids js hanging out cause reader deserves a break idk

tags (please let me know if i missed anyone!): @bath1lda @mariadvorak @coralaura @tsxukikami @hjgdhghoe @coffeeaddictxd @cxcilla @kaitense1 @star-girl-interlud3 @sukaretto-n

[rin-may-1103]

The Eyes of Death. Pt 2

Prev. | Master post | Next

"Robin!" Orcale cried through the coms, startling Damian as he ducked beneath a punch thrown his way. Growling, Damian Sparta kicked the goon before him, spun around, and throat-punched the last one standing.

"What?" he huffed, glancing around his area to see if he had missed something; Father was facing off against Penguin, Tim was taunting Mr. Freeze, and Jason was plowing his way through the rest of the goons down on the ground floor.

Gunshots flashed by and up toward the roof, drawing his attention.

Turning around, Damian watched as Dick jumped from the rafters and dropped two other goons with brutal precision, their guns clattering to the ground. That's four. He could still hear Steph and Cass fighting in the other room over the comms, which makes it six. (Seven if he counted Duke, who was at home resting after a long patrol) They were still up and fighting, which meant nothing was out of place.

"Your boyfriend wouldn't happen to be named Daniel Fenton, right?" Barbara's voice was strained. She practically begged him to correct her and prove she was mistaken.

Damian tensed up but rushed over to help down the goons surrounding Dick, his heart thundering away in his chest. "What happened?" he growled, drawing his katana when a goon quickly pulled a knife. The sound of metal against metal almost blocked her voice, but Damian could still make out what she said.

"He's been taken by some cultists, they're broadcasting everything. They're setting up the ritual right now; they cut his arm and are using his blood mixed with black paint to mark the ground. I'm pretty sure he's in shock, he barely reacted to the cut."

"Oh, shit!" Steph cursed, "not the boyfriend!"

"Where?" he grunted, parrying the knife away and kicking the guy over the railing. The man's scream cut out as his body hit the floor. "Robin!" Father hissed in anger, quickly tying up Penguin.

"He'll live!" Damian shouted back as he marched toward the door and reached for his grapple gun, "Oracle! Where is he?"

The others could finish up here without him, they had already dealt with what the two rouges had been planning. All that was left was to gather up the goons and hand everyone over to the GCPD. His boyfriend, who hadn't texted him to tell him he had gotten home safe because apparently he'd been kidnapped by cultists, was more important than beating the crap out of some lowly goons.

"The Financial District, warehouse seven on 4th street." she huffed, the sound of keys clicking as she sent him the live footage. Clicking the side of his mask, he was met with the sight of his boyfriend bound to a chair and glaring up at the camera. His blue eyes were filled with more annoyance than fear, but that didn't reassure Damian at all when the camera backed up and revealed Danny's heavily bleeding arm.

They must have cut an artery with how deep the wound looked. The only reason he wasn't already dead from blood loss was because of how tight the ropes were, it seemed.

"Shit," Damian hissed as he shot his grapple up at the building across the street, "make sure an ambulance is en route, Danny's going to need it. They must have cut through his radial artery if not both."

He could hear Dick hold back a gasp at his words but ignored it, as he flew toward the roof and started running. A loud thud landed behind him, followed by footsteps as Father's gruff voice echoed into his ear as they ran. "Jets on its way, it'll be faster than the car." Damian silently changed direction, continuing to jump roofs.

"I'm coming with," Dick demanded, landing a couple buildings behind them. Damian grunted in acknowledgment, not caring what they did. He needed to be there, he needed to be there thirty minutes ago; when he should have been walking Danny home like he asked him too.

"GOTHAM!" the person holding the camera shouted with a slip of paper in their other hand, allowing the camera a glimpse of the words. Danny's eyes narrowed even more, something like disbelief filling his eyes as the man continued talking, "Tonight, you shall join us as we summon the most powerful being in the world!"

"Danny looks so disappointed," Dick snorted, pulling out his own grapple at the sound of the jet approaching. Of course, Danny was disappointed, it was a waste of paper just to remember so little. Damian agreed but couldn't do anything other than huff at his brother's comment, most of his focus on watching the video.

Dick wrapped an arm around him, firing at the jet just as it rocketed overhead. They were launched into the air and dragged over buildings as the jet flew toward their destination. Father dangled across from them for a second before the three of them latched onto the rail under the jet designed for quick departure. They sat in silence as all three of them focused back on the video feed.

"Now," the leader shouted, coming into view as the cameraman backed up. Danny and the freshly painted circle were in full view, but so was the group of people off to the side. Damian recognized two of the people on the ground. Nancy and Wyatt, Danny's forcibly appointed college guides or "parents".

Damian remembers the day Danny had been introduced to them, spouting vitriol in anger about them being acephobic and how the college wouldn't allow him to switch guides. Nancy was crying, her mascara running down her face. Wyatt was deathly pale, all the blood bleeding away from his face as he watched the cultists in what looked like horrified guilt.

"Let us begin," the leader cheered, grabbing Danny's shoulders from behind him. Danny glanced worriedly at the group and then at the camera like he couldn't decide what he should focus on, subconsciously cringing away from the man behind him.

"Join me as we summon our lord and savior!" Danny narrowed his eyes in anticipation, "The great tyrant of the dead!" he now looked confused, "The embodiment of war and bloodshed!" back to worried, "The one named PARIAH DARK!" amused, because of course, his boyfriend would find the name amusing, "THE HORRIFIC GHOST KING!!!" now he was back to confused and worried.

The leader turned and walked back over to one of his followers, snatching an old book and opening it. Without any fanfare, the man began chanting, guiding his followers like he was the director of a twisted play.

"ten minutes," Father grunted, "Oracle, get everything you can on the ghost king. We need to know what we're about to run into. Call someone from Dark, we'll probably need their guide on how to deal with this."

Dick readjusted his grip, tightening his arm in reassurance as Danny's eyes glanced up and toward the rafters like he was looking for one of them. No, not like. He was looking for them; because Damian had promised him in the past that if he was ever in trouble, the bats would save him. And if not them then he would. Danny had rolled his eyes at the time, sarcastically calling him his hero. But he believed him because Damian had promised.

Damian growled as one of the cultists smashed a bowl on the ground, splattering Danny in what he had to assume was the blood and paint mixture Barbera had told him about earlier.

Damian watched as Danny glared at the black stains all over his front with disdain, trying to mutter something through the gag in his mouth the camera couldn't catch. "Is he seriously worried about his shirt?" Tim huffed over comms, the sound of police sirens growing louder.

"I would too if that's the only nice shirt I had," Steph grumbled before shouting something at someone.

"My boyfriend owns more than one shirt, Spoiler." Damian hissed.

"No offense, Damian," Steph laughed, "but your boyfriend looks like he crawled out of a dumpster after losing a fight against one of your raccoons."

"Oh, give him a break! The poor boy's just been kidnapped, of course, he looks bad." Barbera chided.

Damian went to respond but stopped to watch as another cultist stepped forward and tossed salt at Danny. Danny shook his head and glared at the cultist, only to be slapped in the face with another handful of salt for his efforts.

"That's one way to rub salt in the wound," Jason huffed, "make sure you kick that one in the dick for me."

"With pleasure," Damian grumbled, leaning back to try and see the warehouse they were heading toward. "Seven minutes," Father added, noticing how impatient Damian was starting to get.

they silently watched as the cultists continued chanting, Barbera occasionally telling them things she'd found. (She was having difficulty connecting with The Dark members, something about an unexpected mission off-world.)

Danny was starting to look tired, his face paler than usual (A hard feat, considering his boyfriend looked like a fresh corpse on a good day. If he didn't know any better, he would think his boyfriend had never spent a second in the sun his entire life.)

Suddenly, Danny started to cough, shaking his head, clenching his eyes closed in pain for a second before focusing back on the leader. "The blood loss is starting to catch up to him," Tim commented as Danny glanced up at the rafters again, "let the hospital know to have extra blood ready."

"Got it," Barbera agreed, still typing away. "No one's answering, I'm going to try Constantine, now."

"Two minutes," Father warned, getting ready to jump. Damian steadied himself, leaning forward to time his jump correctly. "Shit," Jason cursed, drawing Damian's attention back to the video in time to watch as a cultist raised a bloody blade into the air and slammed it into Danny's chest. "You need to get there, now!"

The cultist yanked out the knife and handed it to the leader, who was now standing in front of Danny. Danny's chest quickly stained red, his eyes wide in shock and horror.

"Take this lowly sacrifice as a sign of our eternal loyalty, and grace us with your presence! Your humble servants plead that your godly ears hear our prayers! Join us in this mortal realm and bequeath us your power and name to rectify the sins of our brethren!" the leader's voice echoed in the silent warehouse like a gunshot. but Damian couldn't hear a single word the man spoke as he watched Danny lean forward in pain, trying to grab at his chest.

His restrained hands pulled against the rope, causing more blood to leak from his wound, his eyes clenching shut as his left hand started glowing green. He suddenly started screaming, his voice strained like it was being ripped out of his throat, barely muffled by the gag.

A bright light flashed, spreading from where he'd been stabbed and crawling over his body. His skin turned gray, almost blue, like a body found out in a snowstorm. His hair started floating in an absent current like he was underwater. and his eyes started glowing a bright blue, growing brighter and brighter.

"NOW!" Father shouted, launching off the railing and gliding through the air. Damian didn't hesitate to follow, all his training allowing him to go on autopilot as he used his cape to guide his fall.

Danny slumped forward, his head hanging limp as the warehouse went deathly silent.

Twisting in the air, Damian aimed his grapple hook and fired. It latched onto the warehouse and tugged him forward, his fall turning into a swing as he rocketed toward the glass window. "Your Highness?" someone asked, their voices glitching in and out with the video feed.

Damian watched as the Danny in the video slowly lifted his head in time with the Danny he could see through the quickly approaching glass. Damian only had a split second to register that his boyfriend's eyes were no longer blue, but bright green before his feet smashed through the window and he was landing in a roll on the ground.

Immediately, the camera feed disappeared from his view, allowing him to focus on what was around him. Father crashed through the skylight, showering the cultists in glass as he landed on the other side of the room. Dick landed next to him, fluidly popping up from his roll.

"Shit!" someone shouted, "it's the bats!"

"run!" someone else yelled.

Damian lunged forward, burying his fist into the first cultist's face with a satisfying crunch. The warehouse flooded with loud screams and rapid movement.

"Dammit!" the leader cursed, dragging Damian's attention over to him. He had left the circle at some point, crazily looking around to try and find a quick exit.

Abandoning the cultists he was fighting, Damian quickly sprinted at the man. Unsheathing his katana, Damian attacked. The leader used the bloody knife to parry, scrambling back to get away. Damian growled, about to follow when his eyes landed on Danny's black and blood-stained face right behind the man.

Bright Lazarus green eyes stared back.

~

Danny's vision tilted, or was that just his head? It felt like he was in one of those twisty things NASA shoves their astronauts in under the claim of training for departure and reentry into Earth's atmosphere. or maybe it felt like a hundred pounds of soaked cotton balls shoved behind his eyes and lit on fire?

he couldn't tell, at this point, his head could be detached for all he knew. Wait, no. He's done that before, this feels nothing like that. So, he still had his head... but does his head still have a body???

He would glance down, but he's afraid he won't be able to lift his head again... Had he lifted his head? or had the world moved around him like it does in the realms? Where was he?

Danny's core pulsed in confusion as someone stepped over the circle, quickly followed by someone else. No one was supposed to enter unless a deal was about to be made. Had he made a deal?

Blinking, he focused his blurry vision as much as he could on the figure slowly approaching him. Had he already been looking at them? His vision tilted again, making his gut roll in nausea. A voice slowly broke through the static ringing in his ears, and his shirt suddenly pulled in frightened hands.

"Your Highness! these are the sinners I told you about!" the voice screeched, a pitch so out of the norm that Danny could only assume the voice belonged to a small fly-turned-eldritch little girl.

Wait a moment, that was his title? Your Highness? seriously? Was everyone going to be calling him that? He was the king; wasn't it supposed to be majesty??? He'll ask Dora later; now wasn't the time.

"Oh great ghost king!" the high-pitched voice cracked and lowered back to one he was starting to get familiar with, "Pariah Dark, lend me your power so I might defeat him!"

Did he seriously just call Danny, Pariah??? The man, the leader of the cult, Mr. totally-read-one-fake-ritual-book-when-he-was-a-teen-and-now-has-to-make-it-everyone's-problem, kneeled in front of Danny, his hands twisted into Danny's ruined shirt. The blurry figure froze, not moving now that Danny had broken eye contact to look down at the horrible man.

Danny might be completely out of it and have no idea what's going on anymore, (he was in so much pain, why was there so much pain? he wanted it to go away, why wasn't it going away?) but he's been trained for moments like this. He can't let anyone see him as weak, not when he has to protect the realms as is his kingly duty.

Clockwork thought it would be a good idea to drop him in the middle of a meeting with some demons right after Danny had pulled an all-nighter and fought three of his rouges. let's just say, Danny was not pleased with the old goat after that. On the other hand, every time he meets a new demon, they seem to respect him much more than before. (he's still not sure what he did to earn that, but whatever)

So, acting like nothing was wrong would be easy peasy.

Sitting up straight, like Dora taught, Danny gazed down at the man who had demanded his attention. He turned his jaw intangible, dropping the gag and allowing him to speak freely again, "why should I?" His voice was echoey, cold, and devoid of the usual emotion.

It was completely different than what it usually was. Like he was a completely different person. (He sounded like Dan) which caught Danny off guard, but he had to ignore it for now. Clockwork had said that Danny Phantom was different from King Phantom, maybe this is what he meant. (hopefully not, he hated sounding like Dan. Was this permanent? was he always going to sound like this???)

"Why?" the leader stumbled, letting go of Danny's shirt in surprise, "because I summoned you! I control you!"

He looked outraged like it was Danny's fault he was in this mess.

Snorting, Danny smirked at the man. "Why should I lend you my power when you haven't even gotten my name correct?" That was like common summoning courtesy 101, right? Frostbite said something like that... or was it Pandora? Wait... wasn't that the demon etiquette? What was the ghost-summoning etiquette then? Also, could he even lend his power to someone else??? like, demons could, but could Danny???

"Who cares!" the man snapped, picking up the knife he had dropped next to him and slashing it at Danny. He didn't even have to think as he instinctively turned his right arm intangible and snatched the man's wrist, clenching it tightly to make him drop it. He was not going to let the man stab him again, thank you very much.

his core grumbled in annoyance, scattering his thoughts for a moment. What was he doing? his arm burned like it had been shot with an ecto blast, but that wasn't right, it was cut by-

Oh, right. cultists. Gotta deal with that.

Fazing the ropes off, Danny carefully stood up. An almost silent whine drew his attention up; it was the fuzzy figure, or now that Danny could actually see a little easier, Robin. Huh, looks like the bats actually made it after all. A little late to the party, but oh well.

Wait...

Shit, he didn't need the Bats up in all of his business. Especially since everything the ritual did to him was recorded, the ghostly stuff included. (Was Damian watching? Did he think Danny was dead now? a normal person would have died right?) He'd have to clear up any misinterpretations later, right now he has to focus on gaslighting the Fuck out of Batman and his partners.

Maybe he won't even have to deal with the Justice League if he pulls this off.

ok, what do they think the situation is? A Cult recording themselves sacrificing some random dude, the dude gets stabbed in the chest (probably assumed dead, he'll have to fix that...), then some ghostly shit happens, and the dude has glowing eyes... which basically lines up with the socially accepted symptoms of possession.

Cool, cool, cool. Danny'll just act like he's possessing himself then. No need to make it weird. Or reveal that he's a halfa.

...

How the fuck was a ghost king, who for all intents and purposes, knows nothing about mortal life, supposed to act when possessing a random body????? does he call it his body?? vessel? homing beacon?

"-leas me this intance! I summoned you, you listen to me! ME! I summoned you. Therefore, you have to do as I say!" the leader's voice broke through Danny's thoughts, bringing him back to the present. Again. Man, he seriously needs to get his shit together. Maybe it was the blood loss, they had cut him pretty badly earlier...

Sighing, which hurt a lot actually... he should probably fix that. Mentally shrugging, Danny allowed his ectoplasm to heal his wounds, which in turn settled his core a lot more than he expected. Maybe he shouldn't suppress it so much in the future... OR he should, and just not allow himself to be used in other rituals. Yeah, that's probably it. Man, he's going to have to talk with Frostbite after this is all over.

"You know nothing of which you speak, mortal," Danny grumbled, turning slowly to examine the warehouse. The bats had been fast, or Danny was just really out of it, because not only were all the cultists knocked out but the other hostages were gone.

"I know enough!" the man screeched, hitting his free fist against Danny's arm in an attempt to get Danny to release him. The only thing that was going to do was leave a bruise. Robin growled almost silently in response, which was weird. Why would Robin be upset about this man hitting Danny? or was he more upset along the lines of believing the random "hostage" Danny is "possessing" being hurt?

Yeah, that was probably it. All right, time to act all Ghost Kingly or whatever. If he was about to do something stupid then Clockwork would intervene. Since he hasn't so far, Danny was taking this as the old man giving his permission to proceed.

"Stop bruising my new favorite vessel, or I'll show you why it's a bad idea to mess with the dead." Danny hissed, pulling the man up so they were eye to eye. (it wasn't that hard, considering Danny was short as fuck. Who knew dying would stunt your growth?)

The man leaned back, his eyes wide in fear. His face turned green, or was that just the light from Danny's eyes? how bright were they glowing???

Oh, right, old ghost king, you need to focus here Danny.

Rolling his eyes, Danny harshly (not as hard as he could have though, even if he wanted to punt the man into the sun) tossed the man out of the circle and toward Robin. Nightwing, who Danny had just noticed was also there, quickly rushed over and wrangled the man over to the pile of cultists and tied him up.

"Your vessel," Batman grunted, stepping up to stand next to Robin. (Danny wasn't sure when, but Robin had left the circle. Which meant they probably had someone with magic experience telling them what to do now.)

"Yes, mine," Danny huffed, slowly turning to study the broken windows. his head was killing him, like four migraines stuffed into one killing him...

Do they not know how to use a door? Like, how often do they break through windows? Like, sure, it probably saves them a few extra seconds during a fight, but seriously? Do they at least pay the owners back for the property damage?

"He's not yours," Robin hissed, unsheathing his katana. Batman rested his hand on his shoulder, likely to warn Robin from doing something stupid.

Lifting his brow, Danny glanced down at his body. Did Robin know him? Or was he really just that protective of the people in his city? Even though Danny wasn't technically a Gothamite? He remembered Damian telling him at one point that if he was ever in trouble, the bats would save him. Hmm, yeah, probably just very protective of the people in their city then.

Danny was the same way when he was Phantom; those tourists might not be native Amity Parkers, but they were his tourists. So back off, ghost number 700 of the week. Or something along those lines.

Yeah, that's probably it.

"He," oh wow, speaking about himself was so weird, "was used as a sacrifice to summon me, which makes him mine." Ignoring the fact that his body belonged to him beforehand because, again, this is his body, but you know, can't tell them that. Also, even if this was someone else's body, it'd technically be Danny's. Look, being the ghost king meant Danny owned a lot of weird things, one of those being literally anyone's dead body. (He refused to think about the fact that Pariah had technically owned his body.)

Glancing up, Danny watched as Batman tightened his grip on Robin's shoulder. "Release his body at once, you lowly demonic pit waste! His body-"

"OK!" Nightwing cut in, clapping his hands. "How about this," he glanced at Robin and then back at Danny, clearly nervous about Robin's outburst. Also, what the hell was pit waste? Like, obviously Robin was insulting him, but he could have at least used an insult Danny would understand.

Also, why was Robin insulting a supposedly all-powerful king of the dead? Wasn't he supposed to be one of the more rational vigilantes? Maybe he just got emotional when he thought he failed to protect someone? Which is completely understandable, Danny did not react well when he failed to keep someone safe.

"We apologize for any wrongdoing Robin's words have caused. You willingly go back to your realm, leave your vessel's body behind, and we" he gestured at himself and the other two, "don't get other magic users involved? how does that sound?"

"Is that a threat?" because seriously, that sounded exactly like a threat. Did they seriously not know how to talk to other dimensional beings? Shouldn't they, as Justice League members, know how to diplomatically converse with others? Especially ones that could kill them with a glance? (like, Danny obviously wouldn't do that, but come on!)

His core stuttered again, drawing his attention to the fact that Danny was running out of power to keep up whatever transformation he'd taken on. Which was weird because he's obviously not in his ghost form, so why was it so draining??? And there's plenty of ectoplasm in the air, so, like, this was just ridiculous.

"Whatever," Danny huffed, looking down to study the circle as Nightwing started waving his hands in denial. "I already healed the vessel, he'll technically live." He could feel the pull it had on his core, which meant he had no idea what would happen once it was broken. Would he feel the same things he felt earlier? or would it just be like letting go of someone's hand?

Man, he was too tired for this crap. He wanted to go home and sleep. maybe steel his boyfriend's hoodie and cuddle with Cujo.

You know what? Danny didn't care, he should just break the circle and act like nothing happened. Yep, that's the plan. Still, he should probably prepare for if something goes wrong, you know, like passing out.

Carefully, both because the world was still kind of spinning around him, and to keep the bats from reacting badly, Danny made his way to stand in front of the Vigilantes. They should have quick reflexes; if he passes out, they should be able to catch him, right?

Without warning, Danny dragged his shoe over the line and broke the circle. Immediately his core hissed and all of his energy disappeared. Crumpling forward, Danny barely processed the sight of Robin's panicked lunge to catch him before everything turned dark and his body felt on fire.

Next?

[ditzydoe444]

MDNI 18+

mechanic jason! smut

older mechanic jason who is always covered in grease and oil whilst working on cars, and either wore a flimsy white tank stained with lil and grease or completely shirtless. though, it was usually the latter.

his large hands could easily grip the tools which looked comically small in his grasp, like children’s toy. the muscles in his bicep would flex and become more pronounced as he worked on the car, and the veins on his hands becoming more prominent.

his garage was old, rusty and dark. the lighting was quite dim with only one main source of overhead light, oil and grease stains on the dark concrete floor and the sound of his occasional grunts and curses when working on a stubborn car.

essentially, this place was not meant for a girl that looked soft, prim and proper. he remained focused as he worked on an old convertible, with the hood popped up. the summer heat and the lack of air ventilation resulted in jason ditching his tank and working shirtless, his bare skin glistening with sweat.

when he heard small footsteps coming closer he spoke up gruffly,

“what can i help you with?” he asked without even looking up, still focused on fixing the car.

“i need an engine repair, i think,” a soft voice responded which resulted in him turning his head.

he tried to suppress the shock that entered him when he first saw you, the juxtaposition couldn’t be more obvious. prim and proper against his rugged dirty state.

“an engine repair?” he questioned, as he wiped his grease stained hands on an old rag before walking to where she had parked outside his garage, the pink convertible couldn’t be more telling of her personality. spoiled, princessy, high maintenance.

he watched as you followed him like a lost puppy, as you nodded. clearly, you didn’t know a thing about cars.

“i can take a look at it now, i just finished up with the other one back there,” he motioned to the black convertible he was working on in the garage.

he tried to turn his gaze away from your exposed legs in the small mini skirt you were wearing, but he just couldn’t. when you were talking about the car’s issues all he could focus on was either your plump pink glossy lips, or your legs. when you had went to grab the lip gloss that you left on the passenger seat, your skirt rose up to a shockingly short length, though he quickly averted his gaze before he could see anymore.

it was inappropriate.

**

though it didn’t stop him from being balls deep in you when the price of the fix was too high, where his mind drifted off into other ways you could repay him. at first, he brushed it off thinking someone as prim and proper as you wouldn’t even think of it and he was just being dirty. however he was wrong, very wrong.

hence why you were sprawled out on the rough work bench on your back, random incoherent mumbles coming out, filling the empty garage with your lewd noises.

the small mini skirt and panties discarded on the dirty concrete floor, it was like a sign of your prim and proper self gone.

his large hands encircled nearly the whole of your waist, gripping the sides tightly as he moved harshly.

“never thought a girl as prim and proper as you would be doin’ somethin’ like this,” he grunted, his large hands roaming, one slid up, going over your breast before sliding higher to grip your throat.

you couldn’t even form proper thoughts, your mind going blank when you saw the small bulge in your stomach as he moved. he was big, too big.

“jay,” you mumbled your hand reaching out but falling back to your side when he continued to hit deeper.

he gave a low tut, almost mean, before a small sly smile formed on his rugged features.

“i know, i know” he cooed, bending to kiss your neck, one of his hand still wrapped around your throat squeezing it slightly.

“you gon’ keep this our lil secret huh?” he whispered as he bit your earlobe softly, “can’t have the word getting out i’m getting dirty with my customers,”

you didn’t even know what he said, but the sensation was too much, his was deep inside, and kissing you senselessly.

you mumbled a response, tears stained your face, mascara running.“glad to know we are on the same page sweet thing,” he whispered before both of his hands went to squeeze your stomach a little, just around where the outline of him was.

“all this for me?” he questioned a little breathless, as he stared at the mess you were making, small damp spots on the rough working bench, and a small white ring around his fat cock.

you nodded, you were too dazed to do anything else as he used you like a rag doll. he slipped two fingers into your mouth, shoving them down, whilst his other hand remained glued to your side, holding you down. you didn’t want his hand there, you wanted it somewhere else and he knew it. he was just being mean.

“jay,” you cried, though it sounded more muffled with his fingers stuffing your mouth as you choked out a response. though he knew exactly what you wanted, his fingers slipping out before going down, to the small sensitive bundle of nerves. he was rough, the sensation was too much, you kicked your legs, attempting to wiggle out but he kept you in your place, bullying your cunt.

he moved more vigorously, his harsh thrusts moving the work bench slightly, the table legs scratching against the concrete floor. “sweet thing, you ok?” he cooed, though you probably looked like anything but ok. your mascara was running down your cheeks, your lipstick and gloss was either smudged or completely gone, and saliva dripping down your chin.

“give me a smile baby, and i’ll give you want you want,” his grip on her was tightening. god you were so desperate for it, you attempted to give him a smile, the immense pleasure making it hard to do anything really. you gave him a soft smile, that lasted quite short when he kept hitting deeper.

“there we go, love that smile,” he grinned before giving you exactly what you wanted.

[dc-comics-enjoyer]

One night, Jason and Roy, who have been married for two years, pull into the Batcave in their car. Bruce looks up, intrigued because 1) They’ve come over which is odd in and of itself, 2) They’re in a car instead of on their bikes, and 3)... Bruce blinks. Jason is getting a stroller out of the trunk? 4) Roy steps out, cradling a small baby in his arms??

Turns out they’ve finally brought home the baby they’ve been secretly trying to adopt for months. When Bruce holds his grandchild for the first time, he stares down at the little bundle, eyes misting over, and for a moment, the world feels brighter. Bruce’s voice cracks as he whispers, “She’s perfect.”

Then it hits him—he’ll have to compete with Oliver to be the best grandpa. No way I’m letting Queen win this one, he thinks. Roy notices the terrifying smile stretching across Bruce’s lips and raises an eyebrow, slightly concerned.

When Ollie meets her, he thinks the exact same thing.

Bonus : Lian is over the moon at the prospect of getting a little sister.

----

Got low-key inspired by this hc to write a fic about Jay and Roy adopting a kid !

Please let me know your thoughts on the fic !

[sanguineterrain]

Hello sanne! I have a request, if it inspires you: what about reader who's been hurt and has amnesia when they wake up. And Jason is there and reader gets all flustered because pretty boy alert!! Pretty boy is speaking gently to them!! And in actuality Jason and reader are together. I hope that made sense 😭 love your writing so so much!!

this is such a sweet request!

jason todd x gn!reader. tw medical setting, reader is on pain meds and has been in an accident, major major fluff, established relationship.

****

The first thing you notice is that your mouth tastes... not good.

You try to swallow and clear out the taste. All that happens is a useless smack of your tongue. Your throat is too dry for any swallowing to happen.

"...been out for about twelve hours. Yeah, I've been here the whole time."

You're pretty sure that you know that voice. You're drawing a blank on that voice's name, but you swear you know the voice.

"They're awake. Yeah, bye."

It's deep and warm and soft and yes. You definitely know the voice.

Okay. Opening your eyes.

You do so with substantial effort. Your vision is bleary. All you can make out are blobs of gray. You've got a lot of eye boogies in your eyes. You can feel them.

But you're not really sure about where your hands are at this moment in time, so the eye boogies will have to camp out for a little longer.

"Hey." The bed shifts. That warm voice gets closer. "Hey, hey. Y'thirsty?"

A straw taps your lips. You clumsily take it and drink until it gurgles and there's no more water.

"Yeah, I'll bet you're thirsty. Want more?"

You shake your head. A cool, rough hand pets your forehead. Oh, that's nice. That's very nice. The bedside manner in this hospital is impeccable. A little forward, but you don't mind. The voice and his hand are both very polite.

Time to try to actually see some shit. You hone in on your vision, putting every iota of brainpower into processing what your eyes are telling your brain.

A figure. A man. Huzzah!

Oh. Oh, wow. A very beautiful man. A big, hulking, beautiful man.

He's young, boyishly handsome. His eyes are bright. A scar is etched from the top of his right temple to his lip. There's a white streak in his dark hair. Is that a trend now? You can't remember.

"Where 'm I?" you ask.

"You're in the Batcave. How much do you remember, honey?" the gorgeous, beautiful, dreamboat nurse asks.

Well, you remember being in a car, and then being ejected from that car, and then hot, blinding pain, and then... waking up.

"Car accident?" you manage.

Pretty Nurse nods. Is he a nurse? He looks more like a biker, with his leather jacket and empty holsters. He looks like he could pin you down with one arm and—

Whoa. Chill.

"Yeah, kinda. There was an explosion. You hit your head pretty hard." He strokes the back of your head, frowning. "How do you feel?"

You feel like your head has an anvil tied to it. But it's okay, because look at this biker-nurse! Wowza!

He takes your hand (you have hands! Huzzah!) and strokes your knuckles with his thumb, which is fine, actually, because he has really nice eyes. You want to tell him.

"You h've nice eyes," you say.

Pretty Nurse blinks, looking startled. His cheeks go a little pink. "Oh. Um, thanks, baby. Y'sweet."

Baby? Do you really have that much rizz as a medical patient? You can't imagine how irresistible you must be when you haven't been in an explosion.

But then everything shatters when you look down and see a silver band on his hand. What the shit! He's married? Or engaged, at least. Son of a biscuit.

And he's flirting with you? What a pig!

You snatch your hand back, suddenly sour. Pretty Nurse raises his eyebrows.

"What's a'matter?"

"You have a ring," you say, voice dripping in contempt.

"I—" He looks down. "Uh, well, yeah. I do."

Devastating. "If you're taken, you shouldn't be flirting with me, jerk."

He squints. "Wh—oh. Oh. Huh."

Pretty Biker Nurse looks like you've just said something funny. You don't see what's so funny about infidelity. May God strike him down!

He smiles coyly. "D'you know who I am, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you say, glowering. "Y'just a no-good philanderer who should be ashamed of hi'self. Don't care how handsome you are; I won't enter your web of lies!"

He laughs, bright and sweet. Damn him! You need a different nurse. This one is the epitome of temptation.

"Oh, baby. Oh, you're too cute. Can I take your hand?"

"Not if you're gonna flirt more," you say, lifting your chin. "Dirtbag."

"Your moral code is incredible, honey. Good to know I'll never have anything to worry about, though I never doubted you. Can I show you something, though?"

He lifts your hand and on your finger is a gold band. More delicately shaped than his ring, but similar.

"Oh my God," you say, panic growing. "I'm cheating on my husband."

He laughs louder this time. "Your fiancé, actually. Wedding isn't till August. And no, honeylove. You're not cheatin', 'cause I'm right here."

He leans in and kisses your forehead. Your hackles raise for a moment until... wait...

"You're my fiancé?" you ask, eyes huge.

He smiles shyly. "In the flesh. Y'remember my name?"

You feel like it's a J name. "J..."

"Jason," he says gently. "Yeah, wow. They got you on some pretty strong meds, huh? Leslie said you should start to remember more stuff in a day."

Jason. Pretty Biker Nurse Jason. Holy moly. He's engaged to you? About to marry you?

"You are so pretty," you blurt.

That makes Jason more shy. He smiles like he's done something he's not supposed to do. "Not as pretty as you, honey pie."

"No, you're... I mean, wow. Sorry I called you a jerk. How did I get with you? That's crazy. You're fine as hell."

Jason snorts, wide shoulders shaking. His cheeks are red. "Jesus, you're shameless."

Well, yeah. You're still not sure this isn't a dream. You have to let your fiancé know exactly what you think about him.

You prepare to tell him something smooth and romantic. Something about how kissable he looks.

"Y'look like a sexy biker."

Hm. Not exactly what you had in mind. Your brain feels like a blue raspberry slushie.

Jason grins. "Oh, yeah? That why you been starin' at me? Didn't know you had a thing for bikers. You're terrified of going on my motorcycle."

How does he know that? It's true; you like bikers from afar but you're not about to get on a death machine, thanks.

"You can rev my engine," you say, head slumping against the pillow.

"Oh my God," Jason says, clearly delighted. "Don't think I've ever seen this reaction to pain meds."

"Can't believe we're engaged," you say again. "How'd we even meet?"

"Well, I'm a vigilante of sorts, and the first time we met was after I saved you from a mugging. And then we kinda just... kept running into each other. You bought me coffee without realizing who I was. And we, uh, fell in love. As people do."

"You proposed to me in Spain," you say suddenly, the memory rushing back. "You... you wanted to prove you wouldn't put work above us."

Jason nods, lacing your and his fingers together. "Yeah, that's right. Three weeks in Spain." He pulls out his phone and shows you the lockscreen. It's of you two. Jason has sunglasses on. You're smiling. You can't remember ever smiling like that before.

Tears suddenly spring to your eyes, emotion smacking into you like an eighteen-wheeler. Jason leans in, concerned.

"Baby? Hey, what's wrong? Something hurts?" he asks, inspecting your head.

Your mouth quivers. "You... you love me so much."

Jason stops, tilting his head. "I... uh, yeah. 'Course I do. You're the person I love the most in the world."

That makes you cry, tears running down your cheeks. Jason's eyes widen in alarm.

"Sweetheart? What's—hey, it's okay. Why're y'crying, huh?"

He brushes your tears away with his thumbs, cradling your face. You sniffle.

"I'm s-sorry I called you a dirtbag," you blubber. "Y'not a dirtbag. You love me so much."

"Oh-ho, oh, honey. Baby, you've been unconscious for twelve hours. You're under heavy medication. I know you didn't recognize me, it's okay. Trust me, I've been called far worse," Jason says tenderly.

Dear God, you're a beast. What kind of person doesn't recognize their own fiancé?! You cry harder.

"I should've remembered you! I'm a bad fiancé," you wail.

"Aw, sweetheart. No, no, it's okay. C'mere."

Jason scoots you over slightly and pulls you into his arms. You cry into his shoulder, slobbering all over his sexy biker jacket. He rubs circles on your back.

"You're really cute and nice and I'm glad y'marrying me," you say, muffled in his shoulder.

Jason hums, the sound vibrating through you. "I'm really happy to be marrying you, sweetheart. You rock my world."

You sniff. "Really?"

"Mmhm." Jason kisses the side of your neck. "How 'bout you sleep a little more, hm? I bet you're exhausted."

Now that he mentions it, you do feel pretty worn-out. Especially after crying. And almost getting blown up.

"Will you be here when I wake up?"

"Absolutely, honey. I swear."

Jason eases you onto your back. Your eyes are beginning to feel heavy.

"Sleep, beautiful. I'm right here."

[clemmmmmmmmmmmmmm]

“The monsters gone and your daddy here…”

Batboys as fathers

⸻

1. Jason Todd(ALLL girls, 2-4 girls)

• Protective but soft dad: Looks like he’d teach his kid how to hotwire a car (and maybe he does), but he’s the first to tear up during a school play.

• Reads bedtime stories with dramatic flair: Does all the voices, sometimes throws in a few expletives before quickly correcting himself.

• Rides or dies for his kid: Anyone bullies them? Jason shows up at school with the most terrifying “talk” a teacher or principal has ever had the misfortune of enduring.

• Teaches them practical skills early: Like street smarts, how to throw a punch, and the importance of carrying snacks.

• “If anyone hurts you, just tell Dad” vibes: Then he vanishes for a couple of hours. No one asks questions.

⸻

2. Dick Grayson(3 girls one boy)

• Golden retriever dad: Super involved, enthusiastic, and emotionally available.

• Dance party central: His kid knows every 80s and 90s pop hit. They have choreographed routines.

• Always has a band-aid, a snack, and dad jokes ready: And somehow manages to make even the worst day better.

• Takes a million pictures: Captures every moment — first step, first fall, even the tantrums.

• Teaches empathy and kindness first: Encourages emotional expression and gentle strength.

⸻

3. Tim Drake(2 boys)

• Anxious but dedicated: Googled “how to be a good dad” about 1,500 times.

• Coffee-fueled midnight cuddles: If the kid’s up late, Tim’s probably already awake working on something — but drops everything for them.

• Super into educational toys: Probably has flashcards and a toddler coding game by the time they’re three.

• A quiet anchor: His love is subtle but steady. He might not always know what to say, but his presence means everything.

• Raises a tiny, smart-mouthed mini-detective: And secretly loves it.

⸻

4. Damian Wayne(Twin dad, one of each)

• Surprisingly gentle (with his kid): Doesn’t trust most people with them and is always watching with eagle eyes.

• Teaches discipline, but cuddles in secret: Has a hard time being emotionally open but melts when his child hugs him first.

• Introduces them to animals early: His kid is on a first-name basis with most of the zoo. Also knows how to feed a bat properly by age five.

• Mini-me energy: His kid is probably as stubborn, blunt, and deadly smart as he is.

• Takes parenting as a sacred duty: He’ll raise a warrior, yes, but one who understands mercy and love.

⸻

5. Bruce Wayne(girl)

• Trying his best: He has no idea what he’s doing, even though he has so many children

• Overprotective to the extreme: GPS tracker in their shoes, private security at the playground — you name it.

• Teaches with stories: Lessons often come through stories about “a friend” who was also a vigilante and made mistakes.

• Rare but meaningful vulnerability: Those quiet, late-night talks where Bruce opens up just a little are life-changing.

• Sees being a father as redemption: He’s determined to give his child the safety and love he never had.

⸻

[krilati]

Tim, who is not Robin, but still feral

Okay, let's say Tim's parents decide that even if their child doesn't need a nanny, they want someone to check on their son's well-being. So Tim is required to go to the doctor once a week. And after he tried to bribe his first one to just tell his parents everything was fine. Janette decided it would be someone else each time.

Tim gets a car once a week that picks him up to see a doctor he doesn't know.

That way he doesn't have time to search for dirt, and he can't bribe anyone, since everyone is more afraid of his mother than of him.

So after Nightwing turned Tim down (Dick later claimed the boy was black-haired and blue-eyed, but since he was often hallucinating Jason at the time, even he wasn't sure). The guy realized he couldn't go to Batman and insist on being Robin. The first fracture (which is 100% likely to happen in the early days of jumping on roofs and kicking angry adults) and the doctor would hand him over to his parents.

So Tim came up with a Plan.

Batman was angry, for a month now someone, every patrol, has been standing up for criminals. If he's lucky, he manages to land 5 hits (dude, your 1 hit can put a person in the hospital, Tim just has short legs, he still needs to run to the edge of the necessary roof) when someone distracts him.

Last time, they poured a bucket of paint on his head, it became almost impossible to see through the mask. Another time, they shot paintballs at his head until he left.

There was another memorable incident when something small landed on his head, and the next moment he was attacked by bats.

But today he finally cornered the attacker, it was a child whose face was hidden behind a mask that completely covered his face, and his hair was hidden behind a hood. He slowly approached the boy, he needed to find out who he worked for. Who decided that they had the right to interfere with him punishing criminals.

Only when Batman grabbed the attacker by the shoulder he felt dizzy and then everything around him went dark. Tim quietly patted himself on the head for the backup plan of the backup plan.

After waking up, Batman did not feel calmer, on the contrary, this meeting ignited even more rage in him.

How dare this child run around Gotham so carefree when his son was killed, how dare he protect criminals when one of them killed his son, how dare he..

That day, a file on a new criminal with high priority appeared on the Batcomputer, Alfred only reproachfully pursed his lips.

By the time Red Hood escaped from Talia (Yes, he escaped here, I don't know for sure, but I think Talia was pitting Jason against Tim to ensure her son had direct access to Bruce's legacy). Batman and Tim's confrontations became legendary.

Tim even had his own name and merchandise! Several names, actually, he was called Gotham's Whisperer, the Soul of Shadow, or Little Shadow. And in various Gotham stores you could find little figurines of him with various weapons that he demonstrated during this time.

Nightwing adored the little guy, although he had never met him in person. In fact, no one except Bruce had ever encountered the kid. And although Oracle never officially supported the boy, she never warned Batman if she saw a small dark silhouette through the cameras. Although Dick really wanted to know where the kid got the sniper rifle with tranquilizers, or how he hacked the Batmobile to put a sleeping Bruce in it and send him to the Cave, or how he got so many incriminating photos of Batman that he scattered all over the city when Batman didn't take one of his threats seriously.

Simply put, Nightwing was a fan, and had wanted the kid's autograph ever since the kid evacuated an entire alley, including Bruce, by playing the sound of a pack of rabid dogs approaching.

Batman, though he had passed the peak of his rage, still made Gotham afraid if he was spotted patrolling alone.

Red Hood was furious, not only did his father not have the courage to avenge him, but he also dared to splash out his aggression on anyone who was not breathing smoothly on HIS Alley of Crime.

[nikkeora]

jason todd puts flowers on his own grave.

it wa curiosity at first. after he'd spent a while at the league and mellowed out, formed a proper plan besides simply burning wayne manor to the ground, he wondered what his grave would say. they'd told him there had been a funeral, after all. probably closed casket, with an altered death certificate saying he'd died in a car crash or something. not like bruce could face the truth if it beat him with a crowbar.

beloved son? a generic lie.

loving brother? much the same.

something bitter rises in his throat as his feet hit worn, damp stone. the streets aren't familiar anymore.. even crime alley has changed - there must've been a turf war or something, because those goons following him most definitely aren't black mask's usual pick. then again, maybe old roman's changed, too.

he sighs in frustration when he meets a dead end. gone for just how many years and they brick up an entire street? ridiculous. he hears the telltale sign of weapons being drawn behind him before he turns around with his own.

gone but not forgotten? they'd moved on fine without him. everyone had.

he stashes their bodies behind some dumpsters and moves quick. he's not in much of a mood for a fight right now. he isn't in a mood to do much of anything; there's a strange sense of melancholy in his chest.

he makes it the rest of the way to gotham's main cemetery without another incident. it's relatively easy to find his place there. thomas and martha wayne have a large tree next to their joint grave, and he just assumed he'd be somewhere near them. he's a little surprised to see his headstone right on their left. that spot used to be saved for bruce.

tentatively, he reads the inscription.

jason todd.

...

he shouldn't be surprised, really, what else did he expect? he wasn't in any of their lives for long, they barely knew him. he thought he knew them, he was wrong. they didn't care. the only thing they wanted to remember about him was his name, birth and death date, he doesn't doubt they would've had a blank headstone if they could, hell, maybe there wouldn't even have been a funeral if he hadn't existed in the public eye, he might as well have been buried in an unmarked, shallow grave next to that goddamn warehouse-

a drop of rain tears him out of his spiral.

...inhale...

...exhale.

maybe he'd hoped they cared.

that little boy who died that night deserved to have someone that cared.

...because that boy had cared so, so much.

come next morning, he's gotten himself a shitty apartment in crime alley and there's a small bouquet of flowers in his hand as he visits his grave for the second time. there's none already there, not even wilted ones. but as he crouches down to give himself what he believes to be the first flowers that boy has ever gotten, something in the grass glitters, catching his eye.

his first thought is a used needle, but as he looks a little closer, he realizes it's a little bracelet.

it's a little rusty and definitely made for a kid. the chain is cheap and a bit chunky. but the charm, a tiny, half heart meant to be a matching set to another bff bracelet, brings back a flood of memories.

he knew he'd forgotten a couple things when he'd come back. most of it was unimportant stuff. there's a jane austen book he doesn't recall reading? great, he gets to experience it for the first time again. his favorite color? well, he knows it's not green for sure, and that's really the only thing he needs to know. which floor his room was in the manor? he was never going to go back, anyway.

but how could he ever have forgotten you?

that tiny bracelet, tucked away from prying eyes and grubby hands in the taller grass near his headstone and meant for a boy he no longer was, said that someone had cared. enough to visit him. enough to leave something he would have wanted to take with him.

and maybe, just maybe, if he keeps coming back... he'll see you again one day.

so jason todd puts flowers on his own grave. every week, every day. same time, same place.

for that boy who had cared, and his friend who missed him.

and one day, a little while after his grand plan had gone to shit, there are flowers in his hand again. he doesn't get to place them on his grave, though. when he spots someone standing there - different clothes, different hair, but the same eyes that had been his first love all those years ago… it’s like seeing you for the first time all over again.

those flowers are for you now.