#he needs to get with the program and use wayne

[batgeance]

really very interested in exploring the dichotomy of bruce wayne and the batman and how bruce himself at this moment sees the two as entirely separate persons despite knowing damn well that the goals of both should align even though the paths of either are completely different

[terrestrialnoob]

Gut Feeling

DPXDC

Commissioner Jim Gordon meets an odd kid in the precinct.

--

“Come on, you really don’t have a way to directly contact Batman?”

Jim smiled. Kids came to the station and asked that all the time. Usually, it was just curiosity and showing them the signal was enough to get them to sign up for the Junior Police program. This one looked a little older than most, teenagers were often “too old” to believe in Batman, but again, give them a little faith now and they’ll never loose it.

“Lookin’ for the Bat, kid?” Jim asked, knowing he was about to make this kid’s –

Jim froze. The kid turned to face him and it was Bruce Wayne. Not playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne, but freshly a teenager Bruce Wayne. The Bruce Wayne who Jim had checked in on time and again from age eight until he ran off on a globetrotting trip to find himself. The little Bruce Wayne with too pale skin and dark bags under his eyes, and not enough love to make up for all the grief weighing him down. And he didn’t look like Damian either, where Bruce was obviously his father but there were distinct traits from his mother. This was a carbon copy of a boy Jim remembered vividly.

“I am.” He even sounded like teenage Bruce. All business, like he was on a mission.

“I might be able to help you, but it’ll take a while.” Jim said and the officer the kid had been talking too gave him an odd look. He waved her off and told the kid to follow him to the commissioner’s office. Normally, he’d be more dramatic, put on more of a show for the kid, but his gut told him this was different, this was important. He offered the kid a styrofoam cup of water then closed the door behind him. “So, what do you need to talk to Batman for?”

“It’s personal. I need to talk to him in person.”

Jim took a sip of coffee from his cup. “He doesn’t appreciate me calling for no reason in the middle of the day.”

“So you do have a direct line?” The kid nearly jumped out of his seat. “If he’s upset, it’ll be my fault, just call him, please.”

“Who should I say wants to talk to him?”

The kid hesitated. “He doesn’t know me, but I have to talk to him.”

Jim frowned. “What’s your name, kid?”

He swallowed and looked like he wasn’t going to answer for a moment. “Danny.”

“Danny…?” Jim wanted a last name but Danny kept quiet. Jim sighed, “He’s likely not going to show up until sundown.”

“I can wait, as long as you guarantee he’ll show.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why you need Batman?” Jim just got a glare in response. “What about one of the other heroes?”

“Only Batman, no one else can help.”

“You sure about that? Not even Superman?”

“Not unless Superman can get me in the same room as Batman.”

“Why’s it so important that you meet him in person?”

“It’s personal.”

Jim liked this less and less by the minute. “Do your parents know you’re here?”

Danny looked away but right when it looked like he wouldn’t say anything he mumbled. “They wouldn’t care anyway.”

After another moment to give the kid time to reconsider, Jim pulled out the Bat-phone. It was a normal Wayne-Tech cell phone, but Jim had been given very specific instructions on how and when to use it. The phone listed all the Gotham Vigilantes without visible numbers so they couldn’t be copied and handed out. He pressed the one for Batman.

“Stand outside, would you?” The kid gave him a look, but followed the request. Jim could see his shadow in the door’s window, not so subtle eavesdropping.

It rang a few times, and Jim sat there awkwardly with a teenager listening to his every move. Finally, a familiar voice picked up the other end of the line. “Commissioner Gordon.”

“Sorry to call you out of the blue Batman, but I’ve got a kid here who needs your help.”

“Who?”

“Says his name is Danny, that you’ve never met him but you’re the only one who can help him.”

“Why?”

“Refuses to tell me.”

“What’s your best guess, Commissioner?”

Jim looked at Danny’s shadow, it looked like he was straining his ears to try and hear what he was saying. Danny had given him almost nothing to work with. Just his name, that he’s never met Batman but needs to talk with him in person. But Jim was here because he listened to his gut. A feeling like when you see a random rock on your neighbor’s doorstep but you’d never go in without an invitation. A feeling like you know what’s in the present and are preparing your surprised face. A feeling like when you cheated on your wife and you know she knows.

“He looks like Bruce Wayne.”

A beat of silence. “What?”

“Danny looks exactly like Bruce when he was a teenager. Exactly the same.” Jim hoped Batman would get it, feel in his gut what Jim felt.

“And he wont say why he’s there?”

“No, and he demands to see you in person.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

“10-4.” The line cut off before Jim had finished saying it. He called Danny in again. “He’s on his way.”

Danny glared at him. “If he’s not, if you called some social worker or something, you’ll regret it.”

“I’m sure.” Jim sighed and downed the rest of his now cold coffee.

The sun hadn’t set, but only just barely. Jim ended up taking Danny up to the roof in the end after all, if only to save his window from being broken into. The kid had a red hoodie on, but he was still shivering in the autumn chill and it was just going to get colder by the minute as the sun made its way behind the horizon.

Jim checked his watch and, at exactly an hour from when he called, he acted surprised when Batman and Robin appeared out of nowhere. “Bats.”

“Commissioner.” Batman greeted but his eyes went straight for Danny. “Danny, I assume.”

“Yeah, I…” Danny hesitated, looking at Jim and Robin.

All it took was four words from Batman. “What do you need?”

The kid held out his hand with a flash drive in it. “I’m your clone. My par- The people who made me wanted to make a stronger version of you, but they got ahead of themselves. My DNA is degrading and I’ll die if I don’t get your DNA to stabilize me.”

Holy cow.

“You don’t expect us to believe that, do you?” Robin sneered at him.

“The flash drive has all the info on it. All the data about the cloning process and the, uh, relevant experiments after that.” Batman gave the kid a look. “I didn’t want to waste time on unnecessary data.”

“If what you’re saying is true, why are you here, alone? Are they working on a different solution?”

Danny’s shoulders hiked up. “I’ve been a failure for a while now, I’m not worth the resources and they’d learn more from an autopsy.”

Oof, kid. Jim looked at Batman who seemed to feel the same… if Jim was reading him right.

“So, you wont object to a DNA test?” Robin asked with a cocky head tilt, at least he was relatively easy to read.

“You can try.” Danny said, and then realized what that sounded like. “I mean I wont stop you, but my DNA degrades faster outside my body. You’ll have to take me to whatever lab you plan on using.”

“Then we will.” Batman said and jerked his head towards where they’d probably parked that ridiculous car of his. But then he looked at Jim with a nod. “Commissioner.”

“Batman.” Jim returned the nod. “You’ll tell me how things turn out, yeah?”

“I’ll give you a report.” Batman joked – Jim could tell, it was gut feeling.

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

Blossom Reverse (Yandere Batfamily x Neglected! Poison Ivy's Daughter! Reader)

Chapter 5

A/N: oki here we get to know more about my boy Tim!! and quite a lot about Y/N's emotions. I'm going to start writing for other fandoms soon too!! and are any of you fellow lactose intolerant people and get the feeling when you consume too much dairy (ice cream in my case) and now you're regretting all of your life choices...

btw I tried to add everyone from my taglist post on the taglist, if you‘re still not on it then text me privately:)

There was too much to figure out.

And too little time.

YN sat on the floor of her room, knees tucked to her chest, her back pressed to the side of her bed. The faint hum of her phone charging on the desk, the scent of dying lavender in the corner, and the emptiness of the room made it feel like she was caged in glass.

Seven days.

That’s all she had.

One week before the landlord gave the apartment to someone else.

One week to fake a signature.

One week to secure enough money to hold the place.

One week to find freedom.

Or at least— survival.

⸻

Her heart was pounding in that quiet, pulsing way that made everything feel wrong. Her fingers wouldn’t stop picking at the threads of her sleeves. Her thoughts looped in circles.

She’d never done anything like this.

She didn’t lie.

She didn’t forge.

She got straight As. Smiled at teachers. Shared her notes. Brought cookies to class on test days.

She wasn’t supposed to know how to survive alone.

But she didn’t have a choice now.

Not after she knows what her fate will be in the future. Not after her brother‘s weird behavior and how she does not want to get even more hurt by them once again.

Her phone buzzed with a low battery warning. She glanced at it, then reached for the notebook on her desk. The one she used to plan out real things—school schedules, homework lists.

Now she flipped to a blank page.

And started writing:

✦ Money

• trust fund balance: ❌ (can’t touch it, Bruce sees it)

• Cash on hand: ~$400

• Part-time jobs? No ID

• Fake bank account?

✦ Signature

• Needs to look like a Italian parent

• Has to pass legally

• Needs someone good. Discreet. No questions.

She stared at the words for a long time.

Then, almost against her better judgment, she wrote down what she’d been avoiding:

One week or I lose the place.

Her stomach twisted.

But then—

A spark.

A memory.

She’d overheard some classmates once. Talking in the hallway. About a guy at school who could “fix grades,” “clear detentions,” even “make permission slips appear.”

Not a real criminal.

But the type of person who existed in the gray space.

She didn’t know his name.

But someone would.

_____

The next day, she was sitting with her school friends at the launch table. 

The courtyard buzzed with spring breeze and quiet laughter. YN’s friend group was circled under the trees as usual, books and bento boxes spread around them.

She smiled. Laughed. Ate half a sandwich.

And then, when the conversation shifted to something else—she leaned a little closer to the girl beside her.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Can I ask you something… a little weird?”

The girl blinked. “Sure?”

“I, um…” Y/N played with her straw. “I kind of need someone who can fake a signature. Just once. For something small.”

Immediately, three heads turned toward her.

“What?”

“You?”

“Why?!”

YN let out a soft, nervous laugh and waved her hands.

“No, no—it’s nothing bad, I swear. I just—my dad’s been super busy and stressed lately, and I didn’t want to bother him for something this small. But I need this form signed or I can’t submit my entry for a scholarship program. It’s silly.”

Her voice was light. Sweet. Convincing.

It always was.

They believed her.

Of course they did.

YN Wayne didn’t lie.

Didn’t cheat.

Didn’t need to fake anything.

⸻

One of the girls bit her lip. “I mean… there is someone.”

“Who?”

The group exchanged looks.

“He’s kind of… off-limits,” one of them whispered. “Not in a scary way, just… he’s not exactly PTA-approved.”

“People go to him when they want things handled,” another said.

“Things they don’t want teachers—or parents—to know.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Handled how?”

“Fake IDs. Signature work. Lab grade bumps. Stuff like that.”

She tried not to flinch.

“Do you know his name?”

A pause.

Then one of them finally leaned in and said it.

“His name’s Silas.”

She found him exactly where her friend said he’d be.

Back wall of the school, behind the arts building, where the vines were dry and the shadows hid the rusted fences. A place students weren’t supposed to linger—let alone the sweetheart of Gotham Academy.

He was sitting on a low concrete ledge, knees wide, blazer unbuttoned, a black pen flipping rhythmically between his fingers. The faint scent of cologne, cigarettes, and old ink hung in the air. He was an average tall teenage boy with dirty blonde hair and sharp facial features. His brown eyes showed a maturity above his age.

She stopped just short of the wall.

He looked up.

And blinked.

“…Huh.”

His voice wasn’t surprised exactly. Just curious. Dry. Like the universe had just dropped a snowflake into his cigarette ash.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Princess.”

Y/N clasped her hands in front of her.

Her uniform was perfect. White shirt tucked, skirt neat, hair braided into soft waves over her shoulder. Stockings uncreased. Shoes polished.

She looked like she belonged in a floral ad campaign, not standing in shadows near someone like him.

“I need a favor,” she said.

Silas raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought you were gonna report me for existing too close to the east wing.”

“I won’t ask questions,” she said calmly, “if you don’t.”

He leaned back on his palms.

“Now this,” he said, eyeing her with quiet amusement, “this is interesting.”

YN reached into her bag and pulled out the folded application form.

“I need a signature,” she said softly. “A parent one. For someone named Lucia Forenzi. Can you do it?”

Silas took the paper, flipping it once in his hand.

“Lucia Forenzi,” he repeated, smirking. “Let me guess. Italian ballet prodigy studying abroad?”

Something twisted in her throat.

She didn’t answer.

Just looked at him, wide-eyed and pleading.

He studied her.

She wasn’t shaking.

But her eyes were too still.

Too trained.

Too controlled.

It was the kind of look people had when they were lying about something they were terrified of anyone finding out.

“Right,” he muttered, sitting up straighter and pulling a different pen from his inner pocket. “No questions.”

He clicked the cap.

“Still gotta charge you, sweetheart.”

“Of course,” she said quietly. “How much?”

He looked her over, calculated something she wouldn’t understand.

“Sixty-five.”

Her brows lifted for a breath—but then she nodded, already reaching into her bag.

No hesitation.

No negotiation.

Definitely hiding something.

She passed him the cash folded neatly in an envelope.

“Neat,” he muttered, sliding it into his jacket. “Didn’t even crumple it.”

He bent over the paper and began working the signature with practiced, deliberate strokes—flourishes, pressure points, the little inconsistencies that made fakes real. He was good. Too good.

She watched silently.

When he finished, he blew lightly on the ink and handed the form back to her.

YN took it carefully. Slipped it into the protective folder in her bag.

Silas leaned back again, like the job meant nothing.

“You’re not built for this, you know,” he said lazily.

Her gaze flicked to him. “For what?”

“Lying.” He smirked. “You twitch every time you breathe wrong.”

She looked away. “I’m not lying.”

“Sure.”

She hesitated—then, voice lower:

“Do you know how to make money?”

He tilted his head.

“I mean… quickly,” she added. “A lot. Like… maybe a few thousand.”

That got his full attention.

His brows lifted.

Silas straightened slowly, eyes scanning her again, this time truly seeing the stress behind her face.

“You asking for you?” he asked.

She nodded.

Barely.

Silas looked at her longer than he should have.

Her question—so quiet, so sincere—echoed oddly in the air between them.

A few thousand dollars. Quickly.

Not pocket change. Not school lunch money.

Real money.

And from her.

He should’ve shrugged it off.

Should’ve handed her a few names, offered her options—favors-for-cash setups, under-the-table digital work, hush-hush favors for the rich kids who liked to get dirt without getting dirty.

He knew all those doors.

But he didn’t say a word about any of them.

Because she wasn’t the type of girl who knocked on those doors.

And he’d seen enough people walk through them and never come back out right.

⸻

“Why do you even need cash?” he asked, tapping the edge of the concrete beside him. “You’re Bruce Wayne’s daughter, aren’t you?”

Her eyes darted away.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t lie.

But the silence stretched.

Her shoulders were stiff. Her eyes fixed on the sidewalk. Her cheeks flushed pink—not the pretty kind, the embarrassed kind. Ashamed.

And in that moment, Silas actually pitied her.

Because she really didn’t belong here.

Not in his part of Gotham.

He watched her for another second, then exhaled slowly.

“You don’t want to do what it takes to make that kind of money,” he said flatly. “Trust me.”

She looked up at him again, startled.

“You’re not like the others who come to me,” he added. “They already made peace with the kind of things they’re willing to do. You? You’d cry if you saw how fast that road burns.”

Y/N’s mouth parted.

But she didn’t speak.

She just listened.

Silas reached back, adjusting the chain around his neck, then muttered, “I’m not gonna say anything about this. Don’t worry. But don’t come back here asking about that again.”

She blinked fast.

Then nodded.

And smiled—gently, sweetly, the kind of smile that shouldn’t belong on someone trying to break the law.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Really. And… I hope you find your way, too. I think you could.”

Silas didn’t respond right away.

But he watched her walk away.

Watched her braid swaying behind her, her shoes clicking too neatly on cracked pavement.

She didn’t look back.

Unbeknownst to her, three boys down the alley had been watching.

One of them stepped forward the moment she was gone.

“Yo, that was her, right? The Wayne girl?”

"Did she just pay you for something?”

“What’d she want?”

Silas didn’t flinch.

Didn’t look up.

Didn’t answer.

He just lit a half-burnt cigarette and said flatly:

“She wanted nothing.”

______

The building still smelled like old cigarette smoke and forgotten furniture polish.

The same chipped door. Same crooked number on the outside.

Same old man behind the cluttered desk, now flipping through paperwork and scratching his balding head with a tired sigh.

When she stepped in, he barely glanced up.

Until he did.

And blinked.

“Oh. You again.”

She nodded. “I brought the signature.”

She walked across the dusty floor, careful not to make her footsteps too loud, and handed him the form tucked in its sleeve.

The man squinted at it, pulled on his reading glasses, and grumbled under his breath as he scanned it.

“Lucia Forenzi… yeah, this’ll work.” He leaned back, letting the form rest on top of a stack. “Now we just gotta finalize the rest once you get your deposit together.”

YN hesitated.

She folded her hands together. “Do you think I could ask… for one more week? For the deposit, I mean?”

He eyed her.

She wasn’t trembling. But her voice was gentle. Careful. Like she’d been rehearsing it in her head for hours.

He sighed again.

“Kid… I usually don’t let stuff slide like this.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just—my ID is still stuck in customs back in Milan. And my bank account—American one—isn’t ready yet. I’m trying to… get something together.”

He stared at her.

Young face. Braided hair. Nervous posture. Accent just strong enough to carry the lie.

If she’d been anyone else—he’d have told her to get lost.

But she looked like a girl completely alone.

And despite the fact that he spent half his pension at poker tables and owed a guy named Ray twenty bucks from last month’s betting pool…

He had a daughter once.

Long ago.

She never looked this scared.

“One more week,” he said finally. “That’s it. No more games.”

She smiled—grateful, glowing, almost guilty.

“Thank you. Really.”

He cleared his throat. “You said you don’t have cash yet, right?”

She nodded. “I… I was actually thinking of trying to get a job.”

“A job?” He barked a short laugh. “You got papers for that?”

“No,” she admitted, softly. “But I’m good with plants.”

He squinted again.

“Plants?”

“I grew up around a lot of gardens. I know how to take care of things. Keep them alive.”

He looked around his office.

Half-dead potted thing in the corner. Wilting ivy on the window ledge.

“Tell you what,” he muttered. “The building’s got some rooftop planters the old tenants abandoned. Overgrown with weeds now. You clean ’em out, replant something nice, keep it alive? I’ll knock a bit off your deposit. Even give you a little cash if you do a good job.”

YN’s eyes lit up.

“You’d let me?”

He waved a hand. “Not gonna stop someone from doing free labor. Especially if it means I don’t gotta call some overpriced nursery.”

She smiled—real this time.

And for a moment, she didn’t feel like she was running.

Just planting something new.

“Thank you,” she said again, shouldering her bag. “I’ll come back after school tomorrow. If that’s okay?”

“Door’ll be open.”

She nodded once.

Turned.

And left.

The air outside smelled like pavement and car exhaust and early spring.

She took the bus home.

One hand on her bag.

One hand curled quietly in her coat pocket.

___

Tim

The hum of cooling fans filled his room.

Screens glowed softly around him—multiple tabs open, city feeds on low volume, encrypted Wayne Enterprises backend files half-scrolled through. He didn’t really need to be there. Most of his work for the day had been finished hours ago.

But he was restless. Edgy.

Something was gnawing at the edge of his mind.

He didn’t know what.

That’s when he saw it.

An unlabeled USB left near the base of one of the older servers—something Alfred had probably pulled from the manor archives or the mainframe logs.

Tim plugged it in without much thought.

Inside: dozens of folders. Video files. Unmarked. Untouched.

Most were labeled by year.

He opened one at random.

Then stared.

The footage was grainy but clear.

A school auditorium.

A handmade banner above the stage: Gotham Academy Winter Performance.

Kids lined up in stiff uniforms and glittery costumes.

And there—center left, third row—YN.

Maybe six. Seven.

Singing. Slightly off-pitch, swaying back and forth like she’d practiced a hundred times.

In the bottom corner of the footage, he could hear the applause.

Not much of it.

Definitely no one from the family.

Tim frowned.

Why hadn’t he seen this before?

He clicked through another.

Grade 4 Science Fair. YN Wayne.

Her booth was filled with little potted flowers and soil diagrams. He saw her holding a laminated sheet, explaining something with shy excitement to a panel of judges.

And again—no one from their family there.

Not even Alfred.

⸻

Tim leaned back slowly.

And something in his chest twisted.

He hadn’t seen her in weeks—months even.

Not really.

She’d always just… been there.

Quiet. Predictable. Not part of the mission. Not part of the crime board, or the investigations, or the emergency Gotham alerts.

Just soft footsteps in the hallway. Soft baking smells from the kitchen.

A small knock on his door, back when she used to knock.

He remembered when he first arrived.

Jason had just died. Bruce was… hollowed out.

And Tim, desperate for validation, had stepped into Robin’s boots with too much weight and not enough air.

She was small back then. Four? Maybe five.

Always trailing behind Alfred with wide green eyes. Always hugging something—blanket, plush rabbit, her own braid.

She’d tried to talk to him.

At first, it was just questions.

“Do you know how to make things explode without hurting the garden?”

“Why do your hands always have ink on them?”

“Do you like stories about space?”

Tim had nodded politely. Answered once or twice.

But Bruce needed him.

Dick kept him moving.

There wasn’t time.

And when she tried harder—when she came into his workshop with sticky notes and clumsily drawn circuit boards, when she made him a chess board with mismatched floral pieces to match the ones in the cave—

He’d smiled.

“Thanks. Maybe later.”

Then closed the door.

Later, he said something to Dick.

He didn’t even remember what sparked it.

Just a comment about how she was “always hanging around,” how she was “cute, but a distraction.”

“She’s kind of a liability,” he’d said.

And behind him—

She had been standing in the doorway.

Chessboard in hand.

⸻

Y/N

She hadn’t cried.

Not then.

Just smiled and nodded and said it was okay.

But she never brought him another project again.

She still helped him, sometimes, when she thought he wouldn’t notice. Repaired a snapped wire. Left tea near his monitor. Cleaned up wires on the floor.

But she stopped knocking.

Stopped asking.

Stopped trying.

Because what was the point?

He didn’t want her.

None of them did.

⸻

Tim

Tim sat still, staring at the paused frame.

Her tiny hands. Her proud smile.

And not a single member of the family had shown up.

Not even once.

His gut twisted.

How had he missed her?

How had they all missed her?

He opened another folder.

And another.

And another.

And slowly, it stopped feeling like research.

And started feeling like regret.

He searched her full name on instinct.

He wasn’t expecting much—maybe a locked account, maybe nothing at all. 

But it popped up right away. She was not that secretive or paranoid to even have a private account. Not that that would have stopped him.

@y/n.wayne_loves_poppies

Gotham Academy | Greenheart Club 🌿 | 🧁 Sometimes I bake, sometimes I bloom 💚

Her profile picture was soft. Smiling. Just slightly blurred in that way that made it feel unfiltered, uncalculated.

It hit him harder than it should’ve.

She looked… older. Not by much. Just enough to make his stomach twist.

He hadn’t even known what her current face looked like.

She still had the same eyes. Same gentle expression.

Same softness. Same adorable delicateness. 

He opened her highlights.

“Flowers” was the first one.

Clips of blooming vines, petals unfolding in slow motion. Her fingers gently touching the edge of a stem.

“Baking” came next. A video of cupcakes she made for a class birthday. Another of heart-shaped sugar cookies dusted in gold powder. Kids laughing in the background. Her voice behind the camera, barely heard.

She’d tagged her friends. Liked their comments. Replied with hearts.

There were no comments from any of them.

None of her family.

Not one from him.

Tim swallowed.

He scrolled down to her posts. The oldest one still up was from two years ago. Her sitting in the greenhouse. A short caption:

“🌸 Sometimes things only grow when they’re ignored.”

He hadn’t seen it.

Didn’t even know she had an Instagram.

He clicked through dozens of pictures.

Birthday cupcakes she made herself.

Class awards she never mentioned.

Photos at the museum—her smiling with two friends in front of a lunar exhibit.

She liked astronomy.

He hadn’t known that.

She liked baking.

She liked poppies.

She watched weird indie romance films with sad endings.

He hadn’t known any of it.

Tim leaned back in his chair.

His throat was tight.

His chest was quiet—but hollow.

He had missed everything.

She had been right there.

For years.

And he’d let her walk past him like she was just background noise.

But not anymore.

He reached forward slowly. Hands steady. Mind turning.

I’ll fix it.

He could ask her to play chess.

Tell her about his newest case.

Ask her about her favorite constellations.

Share her posts. Leave comments. Make her feel like she mattered.

Like she existed.

It wouldn’t happen all at once. She wouldn’t trust him yet.

But that was okay.

He had time.

He’d be different now.

He’d be better.

        He’d be her brother. 

_____________

Y/N

The familiar scent of lemon polish and old books greeted her as she stepped through the manor’s doors.

Alfred was in the hallway, arranging a vase of cut lilies—probably delivered by a vendor she’d never met, for a dinner party she’d never be invited to.

He turned when he heard her.

“Miss YN,” he said, surprised. “You’re home early.”

She gave him her usual small, polite smile. “I didn’t feel well. Just a stomach ache.”

He didn’t respond right away. His eyes stayed on her face longer than usual.

Searching.

Reading.

He’d always been the only one who looked.

But even now, his gaze held something else—worry.

She shifted under it.

He finally nodded.

“I’ll bring you some tea. Chamomile?”

She nodded quickly. “That would be perfect, Alfred. Thank you.”

⸻

She walked up the stairs without another word.

Every step felt heavier.

Her bag weighed more now—holding the fake signature, the crumpled plan, the reality of how little time she had left before she needed to vanish.

When she stepped into her room, she took a moment.

Let the door close behind her.

Then just stood there.

It used to be pink.

Green lace trim.

Fairy lights.

Stuffed animals in the corner.

After she came back—after she knew what was coming—it all went away.

She changed the curtains to gray. Folded the soft blankets into storage boxes. Swapped her old bedspread for something plain, something neutral.

Something invisible.

Because that’s what they wanted from her, wasn’t it?

Not sweetness.

Not softness.

Not the girl who drew them family portraits and wrote their names in glitter pens.

They wanted quiet.

So she became quiet.

She sat at her desk and slowly unpacked her notebook.

To-do lists. Rent deadlines. Sketches of job plans. A fake identity plan she knew would fall apart in front of any real system—but she had to try anyway.

She stared at it blankly, trying to remember which lie came next.

And that’s when the knock came.

It was soft.

Two short taps.

She blinked.

“Alfred?” she called, gently.

She opened the door—

And stopped.

Her fingers froze around the knob.

Because it wasn’t Alfred.

It was Tim.

⸻

He stood in the hallway, backlit by the glow of the antique sconces, hands shoved into his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them.

His hair was slightly messy—like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. His posture unsure. His eyes… searching.

And behind all that awkwardness—there was a smile.

Forced.

“Hey,” he said, voice quiet. “Didn’t know you were home early.”

She stared at him.

He was tall. Way taller now. Broader than she remembered. Dressed in one of his clean-casual post-Enterprise outfits, too neat to be an accident.

And she felt tiny.

Small. Frail.

Forgettable.

Her doe eyes flicked up to meet his for a second.

Then away.

She stiffened without meaning to.

Her voice came out softer than she intended.

“…Hi.”

Tim’s gaze drifted over her head, into her room, and lingered.

His brows pulled together slightly.

He wasn’t trying to be obvious, but he couldn’t help it.

The room was… muted.

Clean, neat, and stripped bare of her.

No soft colors. No floral bedspread. No paper flowers, no paintings on the walls. The only thing alive was the half-drained diffuser on her desk and a dying succulent on the windowsill.

It didn’t match what he’d seen online.

Not the photos. Not the tone of her captions. Not the girl who made cupcakes in cat-shaped molds and cut strawberries into hearts for her friends.

The Y/N on Instagram smiled in pink and baked things for people who didn’t deserve it.

This one?

This one was standing in a doorway, blinking up at him like he was a ghost.

Tim pulled his eyes back to her and offered a slightly nervous smile.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

She didn’t say anything.

He scratched the back of his neck and stepped back, giving her space.

“I, uh… I realized I hadn’t talked to you in a while. Just wanted to check in.”

Still no response.

So he tried again.

“School going okay?”

Her fingers curled slightly around the doorframe.

She gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

He tried not to fidget.

“And… you’re feeling alright? I heard you left school early today.”

Her eyes widened—just for a second. A flash of instinctive fear.

Then she quickly covered it with a half-smile. “Just a headache. I’m okay now.”

But her voice was tight. Careful.

Like she wasn’t sure what game he was playing.

Tim could feel the wall between them.

He hated it.

But he also knew he’d helped build it.

He cleared his throat.

“Cool. That’s good. Uh… I was thinking maybe sometime—if you want—we could play chess again? I still have that old board. The one you made when you were little.”

He smiled at the memory.

She didn’t.

Her lips parted slightly.

Her eyes dropped.

And then—quiet, confused, almost painful:

“…Why are you here?”

Not angry.

Just… asking.

Like it didn’t make sense to her that he’d show up at all.

Because it didn’t.

Not in her first life.

Not in the years where she had knocked on his door a hundred times and only ever heard “I’m busy.”

Tim blinked.

And for the first time, his smile dropped entirely.

He looked at her.

Really looked at her.

And all the data in the world couldn’t tell him why the question hurt so much more than he thought it would.

Tim’s awkward smile didn’t quite match his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging, scratching the back of his neck. “I just—y’know. Miss my baby sister, I guess.”

It didn’t sound right in her ears.

Not with the years of silence still echoing in her memory.

Not when she remembered standing outside his door for hours, holding something she’d made for him—only to be brushed off again and again.

But now he was here. Smiling.

Like it hadn’t all happened.

Like none of it mattered.

He stood for a second longer, maybe expecting her to say something.

She didn’t.

So he nodded toward her desk. “Need help with schoolwork?”

“No, thank you,” she said quickly. “It’s… a group project. I have to call Maya soon.”

That name again. The lie she’d built to protect her escape.

Tim nodded. “Got it. Well… I’ll let you get back to it then.”

She gave a small nod. “Okay.”

He hesitated.

Like he wanted to say something else.

Then didn’t.

He stepped back and left.

She closed the door behind him slowly.

Then locked it.

And exhaled.

⸻

The light outside was dimming into gold.

She sat cross-legged on her floor, her notebook open, sketches of furniture and ornaments she’d seen lying unused around the mansion: antique vases, decorative trays, crystal bookends—small enough to pack into a backpack, valuable enough to sell at any downtown collector’s shop.

She hated it.

She hated the idea of stealing.

But this wasn’t theft—it was a last resort.

And she was careful.

Nothing from the family’s main rooms.

Nothing with names etched into them.

Nothing anyone would miss.

They already forgot her birthday every year.

Already forgot her when she left the table.

This wasn’t new. They were good at not missing lost things.

In the back of her notebook, she was already drafting the lie she’d tell her friends:

Mom is an Italian businesswoman. Wants me back home to get more familiar with my roots.

No forwarding address. Just a long goodbye.

Her fingers trembled a little as she wrote.

But her voice in her head was calm.

You can do this. Just make it through one more week.

That’s when the knock came.

Sharp. Heavy.

Not gentle like Alfred.

Not hesitant like Tim.

Her heart froze.

She scrambled, grabbing her notebook, papers, burner phone, shoving them under the blanket and pulling it flat with both hands.

She stood up, forcing her face into something neutral—her eyes wide, breath tight.

And then she opened the door.

He stood there like a statue.

Tall. Broad. Impossibly built.

Bruce Wayne.

Her father.

Dark suit, no tie. Shirt collar open. Shoulders squared, posture perfectly relaxed—yet utterly intimidating. Shadowed jaw, sharp cheekbones, tired, steely eyes. His presence filled the doorway like a wall.

And her body forgot how to breathe.

He had never stood there before.

Not since she was three years old and Alfred had shown her the room.

Never once.

And now?

Now he looked at her like he was searching for something he’d misplaced.

She stared up at him.

Small. Still. Shaking without showing it.

Bruce

It had been a week since Alfred brought it up.

A full week since that quiet, direct conversation—the kind Alfred rarely initiated unless he knew something was slipping too far.

“She’s asked for money, Master Bruce. Not out of greed. Out of fear.”

Bruce had nodded, said he’d look into it.

And then he hadn’t.

Not because he didn’t care.

But because some part of him had locked the thought away. Too proud to admit what it really meant.

Too afraid to admit that somewhere along the way—he’d forgotten her face.

Until now.

He walked through the upper hallway slowly, unfamiliar with this wing despite technically owning it. The shadows here were deeper. The air, stiller. This part of the manor was quiet in a way none of the other children’s corridors were.

And when he reached the end of the hall and saw her name—engraved gently on the door, the paint fading—his chest clenched.

Why was she this far away?

From everyone?

From him?

He made a decision right then.

She’d be moved.

Her room was too far.

Too far from him.

That would change.

He lifted a hand and knocked twice.

Sharp. Measured.

And the door opened.

⸻

Y/N

She looked up at him, and the breath stalled in his lungs.

She was…

Still small.

Still delicate.

Still had those wide, soft doe eyes he remembered vaguely from the time Alfred had first placed her in his arms. Her hair a little longer now. Her expression tighter. Guarded.

But the girl who had once followed him with awe and silent hopes was standing there, now looking at him like—

She didn’t know who he was.

Or maybe, like she remembered too well.

⸻

Bruce

Bruce’s voice didn’t crack, but it softened more than he expected.

“…Hi, little leaf.”

It was a name he’d never said before.

A nickname he’d never used.

Not even when she was a toddler.

But it came to him then—natural, instinctive, like something that had always waited behind his tongue.

“Little leaf.”

Because she was so small.

So quiet.

So easy to miss in the wind.

He glanced over her head with ease—she didn’t even came past his chest.

His eyes swept her room.

Muted.

Cold.

Devoid of life.

Nothing on the walls. No bright colors. No scattered crafts. No signs of who she was—just a blanket on the bed covering something, maybe books.

It looked less like a home.

More like a holding space.

Something in him twisted sharply.

⸻

Y/N

What. The. Hell.

Her thoughts were loud.

Exploding behind her face as she tried to keep her features neutral.

First Dick and Damian

Then Tim.

Now him.

Bruce Wayne.

Her father—in name and blood only—who hadn’t stepped into her room since she was two years old.

He looked… the same. Towering. Dark. Dressed in one of his half-armored casuals, broad enough to block the entire hallway behind him.

His voice had been low. Calm.

Little leaf.

She nearly recoiled.

He’d never called her anything before. No pet names. No warm nicknames. He barely called her by her name at all.

So why now?

She stared up at him, stunned, her hand still gripping the doorframe. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

Her thoughts twisted violently in her head.

Why is he here? Why is he suddenly pretending like I exist? What is wrong with them?

Is this some game?

Is this part of whatever’s going on with Tim and Dick? Did something happen?

Did someone tell them to prank me now?

Her fingers curled tighter.

She wanted to scream.

To ask what the hell do you want?

But she couldn’t.

Because he was Bruce Wayne.

Because she was YN Wayne.

Because her entire plan depended on no one noticing her.

And now—suddenly—everyone was.

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[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fanfic Idea: The Contingency plan

Alfred Pennyworth has lived a long life. As a child, he was chosen to train for the Queen's army in exchange for dorms, education, and food. It was a golden ticket to a better life for a young orphan with no connections and no future.

He dug his way out of poverty by gritting his teeth and excelling in whatever task they gave him.

He has seen and done things in the name of his Queen and her country that keep him up at night. When he was free from his services, he started a family with a stranger, then realized he was too weak to raise that family, leaving them and his home country behind.

He found love in a woman promised to another.

He watched her marry a man he loved and hated in equal parts because while he could not have her, he at least lost to one of the kindest, most honorable men he'd ever met.

He raised their son when they were stolen from them too young. Stood by the lad's side as the boy slowly lost himself to his vengeance, edging on the line of madness and wondering if he would one day have to be the one to reunite his love with her son if he ever went over that line.

She would have never forgiven her son for becoming the kind of monster Alfred was raised to hunt. In the darkest, broken part of his heart, he often wondered if he would do it when Bruce wasn't looking—to save him the pain of being killed by the man who raised him as a favor for a lost love.

Alfred could never bring himself to, and when Master Bruce returned from his training, he doubted he could. He was good, but Master Bruce got better. He became dangerous to a near-uncontrollable level.

Alfred watched him set up his tools, prepare for his big reveal, and battle against crime with a passive expression and a hand curved around a hidden gun. He waited a few weeks to make sure Master Bruce wasn't the monster that he so clearly was capable of being.

He never told Master Bruce, never allowed a single hint of doubt to show in his words or actions, but he waited, watched, learned, and searched for an opening.

He was a master spy; an actual spy can wait years before they struck. Alfred had been gathering information since he was seven years old, searching for a way to make the older boys regret every looking in his direction. It became apparent that he would never win if Master Bruce turned his skills on him and went on a murderous spring.

So Alfred contacted the same program that made him a success story. They sent him a child who was more than ready to convince Master Bruce he was nothing more than a poor, unfortunate soul searching for a foster home.

Daniel Fenton. A young boy who appeared in England a few years ago in a swirl of green. He fell from a portal to an unknown world that the English hoarded. He was placed in a deep underground lab, used a lab rat, and slowly trained into a weapon for the crown. He was ready to bring Master Bruce to his knees should the need arise.

Alfred instructed him to only strike if Master Bruce ever stopped being the city's defender. The boy agreed, apparently willing to do anything to get out of the government's hands. Alfred had been counting on that.

He remembers those childhood days. The scars on his body are a gashly reminder of whether he ever dared forget. It helped that Daniel had an American accent- though from where was hard to pinpoint.

It was almost as if the lad was from a state that did not exist—and it was easy to slip him into Gotham's streets, easy to convince him to break into one of Master Bruce's cars to sleep in under the pretense of escaping the cold, and far more straightforward to persuade Master Bruce to offer him a warm bed for the night after his ward found the lad while parking in Wayne Manor's garage.

Alfred Pennyworth has seen many things in his life and has always had a contingency plan. He didn't like using them, but if there was one motto he lived by his entire life, it was this: "A good man can not kill a monster. Only another monster can do so."

It was cruel to place Daniel, who was abused by his countrymen, into this house only to kill the other boy he raised as a son. But it was necessary, as he had long ago accepted.

He just hopes he does not become attached to Daniel. He's seen that look in the younger recruits' eyes before, shining like a soft glint in the far corners of their eyes.

The glint of hope that one day, he would escape. Alfred would hate to have to take out his own contingency plan.

[brucewaynehater101]

Time Travel AU: Timothy "Trash" Drake Edition

Tim, to save his family and the world, travels back to when he was a kid. Considering the super powerful shadow organizations that are trying to take over the world (and to prevent his family from becoming targets [or he doesn't trust them. Your pick]), he elects to take on a persona:

Timothy "Trash" Drake.

Instead of the kind, charming, intelligent kid he used to be, Tim methodically mucks up his reputation. He's an asshole, he's self-important, and he's like a typical Gotham Socialite but worse. By 16, he's practically a drunk idiot who's only passing school by the Drake name. He's like Brucie Wayne, but he's hated instead of being a loveable fool.

In the background, he's subtly saved people from their tragic events in the timeline. Drake industries has been booming (try as he might, he couldn't save his parents and became the CEO at 16 as an emancipated minor), and a lot of their funds goes towards better wages and benefits for their employees. Continually, they spend a lot on Gotham infrastructure and social programs. This doesn't match the CEO's arrogant, asshole, and greedy ways. Most assume he's just a figurehead anyway.

The important part to note is that the Waynes hate interacting with him and have a strong dislike for him. They don't know that his demeanor is a persona. Jason, in particular, hates his frivolous, wasteful guts.

Tim has been somewhat successful in mitigating the shadow organization's plans and stopping the world from ending. He's still got a few plans in the works, but he's overall satisfied by what he's accomplished.

Issues start to arise when the Waynes notice contradictions in Timothy Drake's behavior.

Timothy is an asshole who only cares about himself, so why did he give away his coat to someone in need? Sure, he complained that it was of poor quality and not to his standards, but he could've just thrown it away.

Someone else notices that he crashes into the champagne tower when someone was getting harassed at a gala. It was supposedly an accident, but the person was able to get away from the harassment.

Timothy also slapped a homophoic asshole when he kept going on and on about their prejudice. The kid played it off as him being mad at them for stealing his look, but are all of these incidents coincidences?

The final nail in the coffin? Cass goes to her first gala where Tim in in attendance (he has purposefully avoided anywhere she would be). She takes one glance at him, smiles, and then softly says, "Little Brother."

Safe to say everyone promptly looses their shit.

Anyways, I kind of want to see a Trash of the Count's Family AU with Tim Drake

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

pt. 2

you just saw your ex boyfriend, dick grayson, for the first time since he broke up with you.

you ran into him on the street.

no, like, literally ran into him.

you were walking your mom’s dog for her, a german shepherd she got when you moved out. she’d aptly named him trouble. despite his name, trouble was usually a mellow guy, even if he was huge. walking him was just another thing you were doing to try and ignore the thoughts constantly pounding out a beat in your head.

oh, dick would think this is funny! that’s dick’s favorite color, i should buy it! dick and i should go there on our next date!

and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on and-

anyways, you were definitely trying to keep yourself busy.

any time a memory popped up in your brain of him—

laughing at your jokes, holding you close while you fell asleep, kissing your neck while he thrust into you

—you’d empty the dishwasher, paint your nails, (any color but blue) turn on reality tv, read a book, stuff your face, whatever.

anything to stop fucking thinking about him and his stupid blue eyes and his dumb smile.

you’d been been watching the news, sprawled across the couch. just the regular gotham news: don’t use main street, mr. freeze’s ray iced out the pavement. the iceberg lounge had been raided by the police for the third time this month. the justice league defeated yet another extraterrestrial threat to humanity, blah, blah, blah. you weren’t really watching. the news program ended, and the next one started. a gotham gossip show. they were doing a special segment on the wayne family.

of course they fucking were. even your tv was conspiring against you. you had to resist the urge to chuck the remote at it.

you turned it off instead, heading to your room to get ready for a run.

(running for exercise or running from your thoughts?)

your mom had asked you to take trouble right before you’d walked out the door, and so you grabbed him and his leash and headed out. you’d forgotten the bags for his poop, but you didn’t think you would be out that long, so you just kept on going.

you were wearing the leggings dick had bought you, ones he joked should be a specific blue color. you hadn’t understood then, but you more than understood now. it was warmer, and so you just had on an old sports bra on top, and some converse.

you were not the athletic type. that was dick. probably still was. you wouldn’t really know.

you hadn’t talked since it happened, like three or four weeks ago.

time had become a little fuzzy. your mom said you could stay with her as long as you needed, but you were starting to get the itch to move out.

nothing against your mom, it’s just hard to sob really loudly into a pint of ice cream when she’s there.

and she keeps trying to wash the one shirt of dick’s you still have. you know, fully well, how dumb it is, (and a little gross) but you’re still wearing his shirt every night to bed. and maybe it’s all in your head, but it still smells like him. you aren’t ready to wash it. besides, now that you’re sleeping by yourself, you’re pretty sure it’s helping you fall asleep. something that was hard to do the first few nights without your big warm boyfriend next to you in bed.

it probably isn’t good for you, to keep wearing his shirt.

you’d had your hand between your thighs more than once late at night thinking about being enveloped in his scent. your nights were haunted with thoughts of his body over yours, his phantom voice in your ear. calling you angel, asking you if this was heaven, like the last time you’d had sex.

it definitely isn’t good for you.

but neither is life without dick grayson.

you try not to dwell on the fact that dick had given you a sort of non-reason for the breakup. sure, it got lonely sometimes, or you got anxious for your masked boyfriend, so you cried. so what if your patience wore thin after a few too many “i’m sorry, angel, i can’t make it this time”-s.

you were human!

but you’d never, never once complained about his absence or his commitments to his family.

never.

he’d just assumed you were silently suffering and it really irked you if you thought about it for too long. you still weren’t sure if you were mad at him or sad, or whatever. it felt like your brain couldn’t decide on an emotion so you just got twelve at once. but what you did know for sure was that he was 110% worth it to you. you just wish he’d realize that. see that. instead of just the times you were a little emotionally strung out. your ex boyfriend was too willing to sacrifice his own mental health for the sake of yours and you were sick of it. but you didn’t know if you had the courage to say that to him. or even see him, after the way this breakup had hit you.

your friends had managed to get you out of the house, a few times now.

you’d gotten almost too drunk every time, escaping your friends and going outside to get some air. this time, you saw a guy that looked just enough like dick, and it’d all been too much. so you got out of there. you sat yourself down on the curb, looking up at the hazy rooftops. you were always looking up. always.

and since the break up, you’d noticed the vigilantes of your city more often. maybe there was more criminal activity. maybe you were just paying more attention than you used to.

you’d seen spoiler and orphan, pounding the pavement behind you to run after some seedy looking guy holding a briefcase. you think spoiler tried to high five you on the way past, but there was no way. you wrote it off as your memory embellishing things.

you were pretty sure red hood had nodded at you before disappearing down a fire escape on the other side of the building.

your mom had recently gotten a delivery of security cameras for her house. but she hadn’t ordered them. the shipping address had only the address of some warehouse on the dock, the name just, ‘R.R.’ you’d set the cameras up, but you and your mom both were still baffled about it.

and here, sitting on the curb, you were staring at what looked like a dark figure crouched on the rooftop opposite. they’d been there when you’d entered the club, too.

you squinted, trying to make out shoulders and suit colors, when they stood up, and the light bounced off his shiny cowl.

fucking batman?

you shook your head, trying to shake your drunk brain like an etch-a-sketch. there was actually no way.

a smaller figure, one you hadn’t seen behind the shape of batman (!?) pulled a weapon, a gleaming silver sword, and pointed it at you. your head spun. batman (there was no way) shook his head at robin. he sheathed his sword, throwing his hands up in what looked like annoyance. you blinked, and they were gone.

you weren’t really sure if it had happened or not. you’d been trying not to think too hard about the fact that you still hadn’t seen nightwing. you’d really been trying.

so instead, you were walking your mom’s dog.

trouble had, in fact, pooped, and you were frantically looking around for something to pick it up with. gotham was already shitty enough without the addition of, well, literal shit. the streets were busy, but not crowded, and someone down the block whistled for a cab, catching your attention. you turned, and at the same time, trouble jerked your arm, pulling you backwards into someone walking on the sidewalk. the stranger made a choked sound.

“trouble??”

your heart stopped. you held your breath, turning around.

trouble was at attention, looking up at your ex-boyfriend with his head cocked.

dick’s eyes were wide. his hair shorter than you remember. he leaned down to scratch trouble behind the ears, his biceps and shoulder muscles in hard relief. are you dreaming? you didn’t recognize the shirt he had on, but he was wearing your favorite jeans of his, and his matching converse. your mouth felt like a desert.

trouble trails around the two of you, the leash long. he loves your ex-boyfriend, you know he won’t go anywhere.

“did you cut your hair?” you take a step forward. dick does too.

“i-” he clears his throat. “i did. do you like it?” he shifts his eyes, his cheeks bright pink.

you make a show of looking it over. he turns his head so you can see it from all angles. like he always did when he got a haircut.

your chest hurts.

you nod approvingly, flashing him a weak smile.

“it looks really nice. you’re very-” your face heats as you stop yourself. “it looks very handsome.”

that’s an understatement. you would’ve climbed him like a tree the minute he’d come home looking like that. the way his biceps were bulging out of his shirt sleeves could not be good for his circulation. it was great for yours, your heart was beating a mile a minute.

dick smiles down at you, stepping forward again.

“thanks.” he looks down, taking in your outfit. “nice leggings, ang-” he’s cut off when trouble spots a squirrel and darts, barking wildly. the problem is, trouble had been walking his leashed self around you and dick.

you’re now chest to chest with your ex boyfriend in the middle of a sidewalk, tied to him by rope. you vaguely hear trouble whine at the way his collar bit into his neck from the leash pulling taut. you didn’t even have the time to process the fact that he had almost called you angel. which was probably a good thing.

you’re breathing heavily, while dick doesn’t seem to be breathing at all.

he’s put his arms around you on instinct, and you hate the way you feel like you’re home. a shiver runs up your spine at the sudden closeness, and dick peers down at you through half-lids. your mouth dries up again. you suddenly feel indignant.

“you are not allowed to breakup with me and then show up and look at me like that!” you hiss at him.

you would throw up your hands in exasperation if they weren’t basically pinned to dick’s body. a smile breaks across his face, his bright blue eyes telling you everything you need to know. he stares at you, studying you. you wonder if he can feel how hard your heart is beating.

“alfred taught me a new recipe.” he blurts, his hand clutching at your back.

he’s adorable. but you school your face and raise an eyebrow at him.

“..oookay?”

dick blushes, his face sheepish. “i could make it for you, if you wanted.”

“what i want is an apology.” you look him up and down.

your ex boyfriend grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut. “understandable.”

“on your hands and knees. i think this is one of those begging-for-my-forgiveness type situations, don’t you think?”

dick nods, a strand of hair falling across his forehead. his eyes flash.

“you don’t have to worry about getting me on my knees.”

one heartbeat pounds behind your ribs, the other one between your legs. you huff out a weird sort of nervous laugh.

“oh, i’m not joking.” his lips curve up in a smile, one you know very well. he obviously plans to make up on lost time.

you forgot how charming he was. you have to practically force yourself to breathe. you’d do anything to have the real thing over his old t-shirt. you give yourself a mental shake.

he can flirt all he wants, but what about your heart? you look up at him, and his face softens, his pupils huge.

“can you get us untangled?”

dick nods, whistling for trouble. he frees an arm and grabs trouble’s collar, guiding him back around so the leash falls to the sidewalk. you step back, taking a deep breath. you’re cold at the sudden loss of his body heat. it’s a harsh reminder of reality. you grab trouble’s leash, having him sit. you look at your ex boyfriend.

“thanks.” you take another deep breath. “can you promise me something, though?”

he nods, his face serious. “anything. anything at all.”

“promise you won’t break my heart again?” you hold out your pinky finger.

dick coughs, surprised at your words. he looks down, taking a shaky breath. he’s in disbelief, he’s ecstatic, he’s on top of the world, he…has a lot of apologizing to do.

when he looks back up to offer up his own pinky, his eyes are shining. the sight makes your heart melt. you take his finger in yours, beaming up at him.

he gives you a soft smile in return. “i promise.”

you take your hand back, feeling the most hopeful you have in a month.

a breeze picks up, and the whiff you get reminds you of your earlier predicament. you look down. dick looks down too.

shit. literally.

you forgot about the fact that trouble had used the sidewalk as a toilet.

“is that trouble’s?” he asks.

you nod, making a face. “i forgot the poop bags.”

“rookie mistake.” dick shakes his head, smiling. you look him up and down, and then turn, walking back the way you came.

“text me about that recipe!” you lift your hand in a wave.

“but-..uh, the shit?” he calls after you.

“that’s alllll you, baby!” you yell back, practically skipping away. you feel like you’re floating.

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Academia

Masterlist

Pairing: Aged up Damian Wayne x f reader

Tags: academic setting, rivals to lovers, friends with benefits, smut, fingering, edging, oral, p in v,

You guys have been in the same program for a year now. Being who he was and having the skills, family, and privilege he had, Damian was used to getting what he wanted. He could tell you wanted him too. There were the obvious signs like the pink blush under your glasses coloring your cheeks whenever he'd challenge a point you raised during your physics lecture. Then there were some hidden signs like the way your breathing would pick up whenever he made his presence known. To any clueless passerby wouldn't think twice of it, but for someone like him who'd trained in the art of detective work - you were practically panting.

Every day, you came into your lab dressed pristine like you were in some prep school. Today, you wore a white button-up tucked into a plaid skirt, dark leggings, and some leather shoes that looked like they belonged on a doll. Damian grinded his teeth, grasping at his bicep as he watched you make your way to your seat, ignoring something his friend, Felix, was saying about their previous night's escapades. So prim and proper. Always. He wanted to tear that skirt off you. He wanted to untie the bow, holding your hair in a ponytail. He'd let you keep your glasses, thinking they made you look so, so cute. He wanted to see how much cuter you would be disheveled and writhing under him.

"Are you boys coming to tonight's kegger?" A feminine voice spoke up, and his view of you was disrupted by a pair of women taking their seat at the table in front of Damian and Felix.

"Kappa is hosting!" One of the girls, Joanna excitedly spoke. "It's gonna be fun! Damian?"

"Hmm?" Damian raised a brow distractedly before remembering what was just said at him. "Oh, sure. I might need to leave early, but I'll drop by."

The second girl, Marcy, tisked, pursing her lips in mock dissappointnent. "You always leave the parties early! I swear to God you're like the only sophomore I know who's bedtime is at 10 pm!"

Sure, he was fine with them thinking that. Most nights, Damian went off to patrol gotham with his brothers and father. Sometimes, he went to meet with his mother and granfather. But he still wanted the campus experience. He still made an effort to show up.

"Yeah, Wayne tech isn't going to run itself when Daddy retires." Felix jabs, leaning back and giving Damian a cocky sideways glance.

Damian turns to him, unbothers and winks. "You know it won't."

Joanna and Marcy both flush red in their cheeks. Damian presumes it has something to do with the reminder of his bloodline and power, which Felix just provided, in an attempt to put him down. From his peripheral vision he can see Felix's shoulders slump as the man realized he fumbled his goal. It's okay, tiger, there's always next time.

"Is y/n going?"

Marcy tilts her head. "Who?"

Damian nods towards you, sitting a couple rows below them and reviewing your notes. From where he sat, he could see your writing was organized but not neat at all. You were in the wrong major.

The girls follow his gaze to you and share a look.

"We didn't ask everyone yet." Marcy nudges Joanna, who goes down to talk to you.

Damian watches as you look up from your notes as Joanna talks to you, nodding along with what she's saying before politely smiling and shaking your head before turning back to your notes. Joanna nodded and walked back up to rejoin the group. She opened her mouth to speak, Damian was eager to hear the excuse you offered, but at that moment, your professor walked into the lecture hall.

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"Y/n,"

You turned away from your phone and towards the source of the masculine voice that's just spoken to you. A tall, broad shouldered freshmen who you came to know by now strutted out of your lecture hall, hand clutching the strap of his bag while the other was in his jean pocket.

Damian wayne had caught your eye fairly easily - as you're sure he did with everyone else. For starters, he was the only man in your engineering major who didn't come to class everyday in sweatpants.

You detested the inequality you saw each day, where girls put an effort to dress nice, no matter how they felt and guys just gave up. We were representing the future of our country, you once thought while cringing at your freshmen year gathering, if we cant even dress ourselves well, how are we supposed to inherit our responsibilities well.

Damian was a breath of fresh air. He typically wore some variation of neat button ups or golf tees tucked into his jeans, and the sleeves usually rolled up, emphasizing muscular, tattooed forearms The top button was typically undone, showcasing his necklace, the symbol of which you were unsuccessful in spotting, above a hard muscle chest. Sometimes, he wore his signature leather jacket, creating an image that had popped up more than once in your head before falling asleep. He also smelled like some sage.

Today, Damian went the casual route with a Gotham University hoodie and jeans falling into classic black Converse. He exceled at his rugged look. Facial features sharp as usual, with angular eyebrows that often give him a serious, brooding expression, like his father often held in conferences. Black hair swept slightly forward. His green eyes were always striking. They mesmerized you when you first met him, and they mesmerized you still.

"Damian, hi." You said, gathering your textbooks in your arms. "How are you?"

"I heard you're not coming to today's kegger at Kappa." He didn't answer your question.

"No, I can't tonight." Or any other night, until I graduate, you wanted to add.

"I haven't been seeing you much around lately," he raised a sharp brow.

You grasped your textbook against your chest, chuckling nervously. "Yeah, I went and got myself the idea of doing a double major. And now since we're sophomores, I have a whole year to catch up on. So I spend most of my free time studying."

"What's the other major?"

"Math. Statistics and probability." You said, then opened your mouth to tell him you'll see him around.

"How come?" He beat you to it. Students and faculty were making their way past you in the hall, and you made sure to get out of their way. Damian hadn't moved an inch.

"Uhm, it's kind of a long story."

In truth, interning at Wayne Tech for the summer has been eye-opening. You loved getting to work with the engineers developing weapons and defense systems, but you also found yourself constantly curious about the work the data analysts did. It didn't take long to realize you found their skills and knowledge in predicting contingencies to every possible outcome really cool and wanting some of it for yourself. The next week, you went to your academic advisor and asked how you could do a double major.

"Come to the party tonight." He ordered. "We'll have plenty of time."

"I..." you rushed to refuse but his gaze wasn't leaving room for argument.

"Come to the party. And tell me what possibly inspired you to take up maths and physics simultaneously." He took a step closer to you, crowding your space. You swallowed nervously, looking around to see if anyone was watching you. He gazed down at you.

You nodded, swallowing nervously, then something caught your eye. There was a bandage on his neck, just below his ear. "What happened to your neck?"

"I'll see you tonight." He brushed past you and kept walking to his next class.

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Damian dropped his gym bag in the trunk of his Camaro and slamed it shut before making his way up the busy street on frat row. It was still early in the night, but Kappa's party was already in full swing. People were out on the lawn, on the porch, and the muffled music from inside the house could be heard down the street.

Someone offered Damian a drink, which he politely waved off as his keen eyes searched the first floor for a particular person. It didn't take long, surely enough he zeroed in on you, standing with your drink awkwardly linking hands with a girl he remembered to be your roommate, Alice. You exchanged your sweater and skirt for a t-shirt over a maroon colord silk dress. You let your hairdown, styled in perfect curls, one side pinned up by a maroon pin. Ever the color coordinating type, Damian snorted.

"You came," he approached you slowly.

You offered him a timid smile. "To be honest, you intimidated me into thinking I had to."

He raised a brow, pursing his lips. "Good."

He then turned to your roommate, tilting his head towards you. "Mind if I take her for a moment?"

Beside you, Alice gave you both a knowing look. "Take her for longer than that." Before gently unlinking your hands and walking off somewhere.

Damian tilted his head towards the window behind you. "It's nice out, wanna go for a drive?"

You followed his gaze to a black, shiny Camaro parked out front, and you felt your face flush. Did you just get offered a ride in Damian Wayne's muscle car?

"Umm, I wasn't planning on staying long -" you began.

"Just long enough to tell me why you changed your major."

"I didn't change it, I'm doing an additional -"

"Tell me in the car," he says and takes you by the hand, leading you to some cheers and hollers from your classmates and fellow program students. Some are patting Damian on the back, others are catcalling the two of you for being the "fist fuck of the night". You're in disbelief that even in college, people behave like they're in high-school. Damian mostly ignores them. You avoid eye contact as much as you can.

When you two are seated and on the road, you're still as tense as always. You turned to look at him in the drivers seat. Always so at ease, with one hand on the wheel, the other resting between your seats, ringed fingers tracing a pattern on the skirt of your dress.

"Where are we going?" You ask.

He doesn't meet your eyes, watching the highway intently. "My place."

"Oh, umm." Your heart picks up and you feel a tingle between your legs and especially on that spot where his finger is fidgeting. "I'm - Damian I think you're really nice. Definitely attractive," you babble nervously.

"Thank you."

"And what's more is you're smart, and that ticks off a lot of boxes." You continue.

"Does it?"

"And from a well off family."

"Very much."

You go on, unable to stop yourself. "I mean, I'm so flattered. I could do so much worse."

"So much worse." He supplies.

"But I'm just in a state in my life where I'm not really looking for a relationship." You scratch behind your ear. "Which is true, I'm not just saying it to you, I said the same to another guy who asked me out last week."

"Who asked you out last week?"

You saw his hand tense around the wheel, and your eyes widened. "No one! It doesn't matter since I'm not really dating right now."

"Who said anything about dating?" He asked.

You blinked at him. "Huh?"

"Sweetheart," he turns to face you, the speedometer showing the speed excelerating as you two merge onto the highway. "I'm not interested in dating you either."

"Damian, watch the road, please." Your hand shoots to the handle bard as your breathing speeds up. "A- and then why are we going to yours?"

You turn away from the highway and back to face him only to see the smirk he's giving you. "What?"

"Why do you think?"

You turn away, unable to hold his heated gaze. "Well..."

"Y/n, I want you. And I know you want me. In order for us to move on happily with our lives, we need to get each other out of our systems. Capiche?"

Not expecting such blunt honesty, even though your should be used to it by now, whitnessing it in your joint lecture halls for three semesters now. Your gaze travels down to where his hand is now holding your thigh. Your skin is so warm there. "I... yes. Capiche, I mean."

He grins, turning back to the road. "Good."

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Damian's building was in the upper side of Gotham, where most of the upper class resided. His elevator led straight into the penthouse suite. You followed him into the big room, taking tentative steps and looking around. Like his wardrobe, his apartment was clean and crisp. Every item was organized or folded in its dedicated spot.

"You have a nice place."

"Nicer than the Gotham U dorm room?" He asked from the kitchen, making you snort, covering your mouth.

"You want something to drink?" He asked from the kitchen island.

"No thanks, I'm good." You shook your head.

"Perfect." It took him three strides to reach you. He cupped your face in his hands, lowering to kiss you.

Surprised by his dedication not to wasting time, you were too overwhelmed to resist as he walked you back into a wall, all while his lips never leaving yours. His kisses ranged from playful bites of your lips to long licks against your tongue as he tilted his head to fit you against each other like two puzzle pieces.

One of his hands left its place on your cheek to travel down to your shoulder, lowering the strap of your dress and reaching in to lift the t-shirt under it, exposing your maroon colored bralette. Your hands slowly brought themselves to his hair as he moved the cup of your bralette aside, circling your exposed nipple with his finger. You let's out a breathy moan against his lips, and he drew back to assess the "damage."

There you stood, leaning against the wall, panting. Your parted pink lips were shiny with saliva, and your pupils were wide, gazing up at him with a glazed look. The left strap of your dress hung off your shoulder, the left side of your shirt lifted, and your cute breast was exposed, pretty nipple raised in excitement.

Damian felt a surge of extasy gazing at your mouth. "I wanted to mess up that lipstick all day."

Your knees buckled, and you were afraid you were going to fall, only to look down in surprise to see his knee had wedged itself between your thighs. "Why did you stop?"

"I just wanted to see what else I could mess up about your perfect look." He said before his hand traveled to your panties under your dress. "Are you wearing a matching set?"

"Yes," you panted.

Damian raised his brows. "For who?"

"For- ah!" You moaned as his finger found your clit, rubbing slow circles on it. "For me."

He lowered himself onto his knees in front of you and lifted your dress, then you heard a tear and realized he'd just ripped off your panties. You gasped. "Damian! They're expensive!"

"Oh no!" He whined, mimicking you. "Feel free to charge me for your troubles."

"That's not funny - oh!" You tilted your head back as he licked circles around your clit. "I won't forget this." You struggled to say.

"I wasn't kidding." He wispered against your pussy, licking eagerly. "I'll buy you a new pair."

You whimpered, your fingers tightening around his hair as he ate your pussy. "Fine,"

You arched your back, feeling the familiar tremors of orgasm start in your core. "Oh!"

Suddenly, he pulled away before you could reach your climax.

You tanned, looking down at him. "I was close! Why did you stop?"

He gave you a shit-eating grin and shrugged, those green eyes shining with mischief. "I wanted to see your reaction."

You didn't understand him. "Well, umm could you... please..."

"Please...?"

"...Make me come?"

He shrugged again, as if to say 'well see' before spreading your legs and diving in to lick your pussy again.

He eged you three more times. Each time, he stopped just as you were about to climax. You let out a frustrated whine, pouting. "Damian!"

"Y/n!"

"Why are you doing this?"

He stood up to wisper in your ear. "Because you like it."

He lifted you up with ease and carried you to his bedroom, laying you down on his massive bed. Your mind was swimming on oversensitivity and overstimulation that you'd barely registered him taking off his clothes and positioning himself at your entrance. Only when he was on top of you again did you have time to take in his glorious physique. Muscles upon muscles from his arms to his shoulders to his back and his abdomen. When he finally entered you, all of the edging you'd experienced until then made you nearly come simply from the first penetration.

You moaned, arching as your hands grasped against the black silk bedsheets.

Damian groaned above you, causing your ears to vibrate with the erotic sound. You gazed down at you. "You look perfect. Just like this."

You bit your lip, whispering. "Wait, please give me a moment."

"No." He began thrusting slowly.

"Damian, its too much-"

"You can take it. You excel in everything." He let out a sound which was a mix between a moan and a chuckle. "My little perfectionist."

You arched your back, feeling him fill you up. "I'm close again!"

"I know." He smirked, grinding in and out of you. "I know. You're so good, baby. Come for me again."

His hips increased their speed against you. The both of you moaning with each movement. Your nails clawed on his back as you felt him hit your g spot.

"Please, don't stop!" You begged.

"I won't," he panted. "Kiss me," he ordered.

You lifted yourself to meet his lips as he sped up, his finger back on your clit, making you whimper into his mouth, the two of you reaching your orgasm.

That was the last thing you remembered before falling asleep.

[messenger-of-babel]

First Fallen

Summary: Jason's first snow back, but you wouldn't know that. (Jason Todd x reader)

Word Count: 1.5K

Notes: I feel like I'm constantly trying to defend the fact that I'm not dead so please take my apologies, a fic I dug up from the Christmas event last year (stopped due to emergency), and my four hours of sleep.

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"Slow down, you need to put your jacket on." Jason grumbles, eyeing you busying around his room. He follows a step behind you like a disgruntled parent, hands hovering in case you trip over something.

"But it's snowing!" you chirp back excitedly, casting a glance to him over your shoulder. "We need to get out there and enjoy it before it goes all slushy."

When you send him that smile his breath stutters in his chest, and it pulls a grin from his own lips. It makes his brain short circuit, the way that you look at him like that. The way that you looked at him, it was like he had never disappeared. Like he hadn't left you alone and grieving. You looked at him like he was still as free spirited and snarky as he used to be, the kid that gave Bruce Wayne and Alfred an equally frustrating headache (even though he still did at times). Like he had never died, or what you had thought, been put in a witness protection program. You didn't question where the muscle suddenly came from when you hugged him, or how he grew a full head taller than what he was last. You never commented on the green in his usually blue eyes, or the white in his hair that never washed out.

He knew that you'd seen the scars across his back and down his arms, and the burn pockmarks left on his hands and shoulders, but you still kissed along the skin like it had never been marred. There was so much change in this one bedroom that now felt too young for him, but your smile was the same that he remembered.

You were there sending him that same damn smile.

"Snow ain't going anywhere, sweetheart." he says back, helping you sling one of his jackets over you and funnel your arms through the sleeves.

"Yeah, but still." you protest, sending him a pout before pecking him on the cheek. "Come on, grumpy, let's go." you pat his arms and reach down for his hand, his fingers interlocking with yours on instinct.

"You don't have gloves," he points out as you begin to lead him out of the room and into the manor hallway.

"Don't need them." you say, eyes still forward but you raise your linked hands together. "Your hands are warm enough."

"What if I let go?"

"Then don't." you tease back, dragging him to the front door.

The snow falls gently outside, and you race forward without fear, footfalls crunching with each step that you take. He watches as you track marks through the fresh white carpet, beaming all the while. The white powder is slowly starting to decorate your hair, covering the oversized sleeves of the jacket. He watches you from the doorway, laughing to himself as you trip over your own feet and stumble in the snow, racing around like a child and taking large handfuls of it. Once your hyperactivity has worn off, he pushes from the doorframe, shaking his head as you return. He takes your hands back into his, bringing them to his mouth to blow warm air into them.

"Told you, you needed gloves." he scolds, the biting temperature of your frozen digits bleeding into the warmth of his palms.

You don't say anything as he heats up the frozen fingertips, you just stare at him with that soft gaze.

"What?" he huffs, lips tilting and making the scar at the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Come outside with me." you say softly, folding your hands so you can take his in yours instead. "Come enjoy the snow."

His smile tilts downwards a little. He isn't against it really, he's just more surprised than anything.

"Nah, I'll stay here sweetheart, you go enjoy. I'm cold enough to last another lifetime."

However the defiant gleam he loves so much takes over your eyes, and you tighten your grip on him. Wordless and with a clenched jaw you tug at his hands, leading him step by step outside. He feels a shiver rush over him as the chilled breeze darts across his exposed skin, biting into the flesh of his hands and the tips of his ears.

"It's cold." he says, tone warning but it only makes you smile wider.

"of course it is, smartass. it's snow."

you pull him a good distance from the door, the warm light from inside hitting your backs. you watch as the scar on his lip dips down slightly in a frown, his eyes reflecting the glow as he looks over his shoulder towards shelter.

You would never tell him this, but you thought he looked beautiful right now.

There was something angelic about the curves and contours of his face, the slight sheen of red making its way over his nose. He grumbled anytime you called him a name, whether that was beautiful or handsome or cute. Any form of endearment was merely brushed off with a shake of his black mop and a wave of his hand. So, you kept it to yourself, eyes flitting over him soft and reverent. So lost in trying to capture the picture in your mind that you were unaware of your hand tightening in his instinctually.

"Hey." Jason manages to snap you out of your daydream. "What are you thinking about?"

Blood rushes to your face and warms your cheeks. Your brain flips into overdrive, thinking of how to play it off. "Nothing." you bite out a bit too quickly. "Just this."

Without thinking about it you crouch to the ground and grab fistfuls of fluffy snow, crushing it between your fingers before grabbing the back of his hoodie and shoving in down his back.

Jason, who had been too curious to respond in time, screams as the cold snow hits his back. His hands reach for the back of his hoodie to flap it, trying to create space between the snow and his back. He whirls away from you, huffing when he empties the flakes from the bottom of his jacket.

"You brat." he grins back, dropping to the ground for a second before flinging a handful of loosely packed snow at you. You shriek as it collides on the side of your head, smattering the cold particles through your hair and down your neck. "Jason!" you scold, hands coming up defensively but grinning widely.

"Don't 'Jason' me," he grins, covering the distance to wrap his arms around your waist and spin you. "You're the one that started it."

smiling you lean back, taking in the glimmer of his eyes as they look back down at you. They were warmer than they had been before, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something behind those blue irises, something behind the curtain you were blocked off from.

"You make me feel alive again, you know that?" he breathes out. Your smile falters slightly but you keep it up.

"You make it sound like you were dead," you scold slightly, whacking him playfully in the chest. "Trust me, if you were dead, I'd be the first to know about it. I'd be inconsolable." you giggle, the downturn of his lips and the sad flicker in his eyes going unnoticed by you.

He knew that you knew about the scars but chose not to say anything. He had no shame in showing you those, the lines and bruises that you traced so reverently with your fingers and sealed lips. It would be a silent ritual between you both, except in those few times where you'd mumble under your breath how strong he was, how strong he must be to endure whatever he was keeping from you. But one thing he would never tell you was that those scars you so gently praised as a symbol of his strength, murmuring quietly of his survival, were the opposite. When he looked at the mirror he didn't see the evidence of a survivor, and his heart ached at the idea of trying to tell you that those scarred over wounds had in fact claimed him.

So, for now he'd settle with you in his arms, grinning up at him like the world revolved around him. He'd forgive the snow dusting his hair if it meant he got to stare into those glimmering eyes of yours for just a moment longer, withstand the biting cold if it made your nose crinkle more often.

"Merry Christmas, babe." he murmurs silently, voice full of a heavy warmth as he places a soft kiss on your forehead, looking out at the rest of the gardens gradually succumbing to the winter blanket.

It may not have been his first snow with you, but as he held you in the garden, he couldn’t help but feel like a stranger reliving his own memories again.

[invincibledc]

Nerdy Tactics

————————

Yandere!Batboys Highschool AU

Prologue | I.Riding Pays | II. The Gray Side | IV. Lucky Artistic Charm

Previous… on the Yandere!Batboys

You jolted up to see a boy with neat fringe hair cut, and nerdish glasses. He looked at you with softness, his hand lifting up to wave at you. You swore you could see a small bit of blush on his pale cheeks. There stood the Wayne brother of this class.

Tim Drake.

Present time. Time: 8:10 am. Date: Wednesday , 7th, 20XX.

You stared at Tim in shock before you looked away from him. The boy frowns as he sits next to you, “Hey… Y/N? Is something wrong?” He quizzes as he places his hand again onto your shoulder.

You tensed up as memories blared into your brain.

Blood, blood all over his hands as he grabs you along with a small brown skinned boy who stranded by him.

“We had to do this for you… they aren’t perfect like we are for you.” The voice says, echoing in your head. The last thing you felt was something inserted into your neck.

You snapped out of your thoughts when Tim kept calling your name. You looked at him, flashes of his dark cold face of that switched with his concerned soft one. You started to breathe heavily, you felt as time was going slow. He reached his hand lifts off of your should and goes towards you.

Your mind kept switching to him dragging you across the floor. How his younger brother was just coldly staring at you.

Before Tim could touch you, you slapped his hand from your face with wide eyes and narrowed brows. The boy moves back, pulling his hand to his chest. Shock written on his face as you started to calm down from him moving back.

“S..sorry.” You said softly, chuckling it off. How weak and embarrassing can you get. Showing that the accident was getting to you. “Guess I’m not feeling that well after all.”

Tim’s eyes soften as he nods, “I see. Well, I’m glad you’re back in school now. I’ve been worried that you may had it be homeschooled.” You nodded, really wishing he would be quiet. You looked forward at the teacher who was showing the programs of coding. Tim continued talking, looking at your side profile with soft dilated eyes.

“And if you did, you wouldn’t be safe either ways.”

“What?” You turn back to him who was looking forward like you. Tim looks back at you with a raised brow. “Hm? What’s wrong?” “Did… did you say something?” You felt yourself get nervous now. You swore you heard what you heard.

“I didn’t say anything? Are you sure you’re okay?” Tim says worried, a frowns appeared on his face. “Wow, you weren’t really joking about not being okay still..”

“Yeah…” you gazed onto his face, studying him to see if he’s hiding anything. You point to the glasses on his face.

“What’s up with the glasses? You never wore them before?” You said with a raised brow. That seem to make Tim’s face burst red, he messed with the glasses a bit before looking at you with a wide smile.

“Well with programming classes and coding a lot in robotics, my eyes started to get a little weak. So I had to get checked out and yeah.” He says as he stares at you with a soft stare.

Raising a brow, you looked at him confused. Tim always had 20/20 vision. He told you himself, he never needed glasses…

“But didn’t you always use to—”

“MX. [LASTNAME] & MR. DRAKE!”

You and Tim jolted at the teacher’s loud voice as the coding character has finished the programming. Classmates turned at you with either annoyance or confusion.

“Stop talking. Pay attention or I’m writing you both up.” With a stern look, the teacher turns back to the board. Leaving you with your hand in your hair and a confused face.

What the fuck was happening?

Tim could see you breaking down a little beside him, only moving his eyes to glance at you. His eyes started to darken.. he remembered.

“[name], what’s your type?” A girl with pigtails said, she looked at Jason. This was all in middle school. “My type is Jason! He got this bad boy vibe about him.” She giggles behind her hand. “You’re so lucky to have Jason by you.. I would die the second they say hi to me..” you awkwardly chuckled, “I don’t know what my type is.. I’m not really into dating.” You rubbed your arm. The girl gives you a raised brow, “No way you don’t have a type! You have to have a type at least…”

“Okay okay.. fine. I guess I like nerdy guys? Like Andrew Garfield spider man wise.. yknow? He looked hot with the glasses on.” The girl’s eyes widen as she shook you hard. “Omg yesss!!! I agree as well!!”

You and the girl walked away from where you were standing by the swing sets, not knowing a certain boy with a fringe heard what you said.

“So they like nerdy guys….” Tim looks down before a dark smile itched across his face.

“Okay.”

After class ended, you got from your seat ignoring the calls of Tim fumbling to get his notebooks and bag. You didn’t think a certain Wednesday would be like this when coming back from a few days.

Next class is Art, ah yes the peacefulness of creating the art inside of your mind and into the world. You smiled a genuine smile as you went to the 2nd floor of the school and into the class.

Sitting down, you let out a fresh breath of air.

Nothing can go wron—

“Hello, [last name].”

And it can.

When you turned to your left, there sat the worse of them all.

Damian Wayne.

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[bet-on-me-13]

Danny is Cass's brother

So! Back when David Cain was making his "Perfect Weapon", he came across a complication.

Lady Shiva, the woman who was set to give him his Weapon, was pregnant with Twins.

He decided that the Spare was useless to him, and that he needed to devote all his time to the Weapon. He was about to give it up, or maybe just dispose of it, when he decided that it was fine to keep it. A Spare is still a Spare after all, if the Weapon ever failed or died, he could start from scratch.

So, Danny was raised for the first 8 years of his life as a Spare Weapon. He didn't get the same rigorous training that Cass did, as she was the main focus, but he was still trained in the basics. Even a Spare Weapon need maintenance after all.

Then, when he was 8, Cass broke into his Cell Room and ran from the Base with him. She knew that once she escaped, Danny would be the next one to suffer, so she took him as well.

Unfortunately, they got seperated somewhere in Illinois when they got caught by some of David's mercenaries.

Cass kept going, running all across the country before ending up in Gotham at 15 (1 year earlier than normal). There, she got adopted by Bruce Wayne and became the Vigilante, Orphan. She never stopped looking for her brother, but at the very least she knew that he must have escaped David Cain's men. They were focused specifically on her after all.

Cass had enlisted the help of her new Family to search for him. DNA tracking, Facial Recognition, even asking some of their Underworld Contacts for information.

Unfortunately, they had no leads. Until one day when one of their Facial Recognition Programs finally picks up on a Match.

The face of a Small Time Hero in Illinois.

...

When Danny and Cass got seperated, he ended up in Amity Park. After a few days of Wandering, he was found by Jazz, who then took him to her Parents and convinced them to Adopt him.

When Danny is 14, he is in a Lab Accident that turns him into a Halfa. Using his New Powers and Old Training, Danny manages to keep his new Family and Home safe from the Ghosts coming through the Fentons Portal. He becomes a Hero basically, even though he doesn't really want to attention.

He thanks the Ancients when he finds out about the Media Blackout Amity is Under. He guesses it's not great, but at least he is safe for now.

He continues like this until one day when he is 16, and there is a knock on the Door.

He opens it, and stands shocked when he sees his Sister. Not Jazz, the wonderful woman who took him in and taught him how to speak all those years ago. The one who has acted as his Older Sister for the past 5 years.

His Sister. His Twin. Cass.

After a moment of Shock, they simultaneously go in for a Hug and start to cry a little.

After a few minutes of calming down, Danny introduces his Sister to his bewildered Family. Cass likewise introduces her Adoptive Brother, Dick, who came along to make sure she was safe on the trip.

While Dick and the Fentons get acquainted, Danny takes Cass up to his room to talk.

She explains what happened after they got seperated, what she is doing there, and how she found him.

She tells him that she had originally come to Amity to bring him to her new Family, but she could see the love he held for the Fentons. Also the town needed its Hero.

Danny is shocked that she even found him through the Media Blackout, but not so much at the fact that she nailed his secret identity on sight. She was always observant after all.

After that, Cass and Dick stay in Amity for a few weeks so Danny and Cass can catch up. He introduces her to his friends, shows her around his parents Lab, and even let's her meet some of his kore friendly Rogues.

They are just having a great time.

...

Back in Gotham, Batman just got a very frantic call from Barry.

"Bruce, I just came back from the future!" Shouted Barry through the Comms.

"Explain." Demanded Batman. Barry knew better than to Time Travel without just cause. If he was forced to time travel, it was serious.

"A Villain shows up, an Apocalyptic Level Villain." Barry explains, "He destroys Everything. And I mean Everything. None of us can stop him, he has too many powers to combat. Flight, Invisibility, Intangiblity, Energy Beams, Energy Constructs, Ice Manipulation, Weather Manipulation, Electrokinesis, the list goes on."

"How do we stop him?" Asked Batman. This was dangerous, a Villain with even half of those powers was deadly already.

"It's complicated, but I think he followed me and another Hero back in Time. I think it may be a Closed Time Loop. He is the catalyst for his own creation."

"Is there any way to break the Loop? What is the main driving force to his Creation?" Asks Batman.

"Well, I know his name at least. He goes by Phantom, but his real name is Danny Fenton." Barry explains.

Bruce feels his heart grow cold. He knows both of those names.

Phantom, aka Danny Fenton, aka Daniel Cain.

Cassandra's Brother.

Barry seems to hesitate, before continuing, "...and as far as I know, the catalyst for his creation is the death of Orphan in Amity Park."

[yj-polycule]

What each Batkid got Bruce for his birthday, but none of them talked to each other beforehand when getting their gifts.

Dick: A certificate to his favorite massage therapist (one that's hero certified and won't question his scars), a day trip to a hot springs outside of Gotham and a pair of fuzzy black socks and bathrobe.

Barbara: A pair of blue screen glasses because she knows he is staring at screens just as much as she is and the last thing they need is his eyesight. She also got his a pair of socks with those grippies on the bottom so he doesn't slip while sleep exhausted on the manor floors.

Jason: Tires. He gets Bruce tires every single year, but hides something under the hood cap for Bruce to find when he eventually uses the tires (sometimes it takes months for Bruce to find the gift underneath). This year was a pair of patterned socks.

Cass: An IOU of sort that allows Bruce to have Cass sub in for him for Batman business twice a year when he just really does not want to deal with either the current rogue situation or the Justice League (mostly the Justice League). She also got him a pair of Batgirl socks.

Tim: Teamed up with some of the rouges (Harley, Ivy, Selena and Ed) to create Bruce a city wide puzzle taking him to some of his favorite places in the city. (Ed helped Tim make the puzzles while the Sirens handled any crimes that were happening so Bruce would be uninterrupted) It lead back to Wayne Manor where his present was waiting, a pair of new dress socks for WE.

Steph: A custom made T-Shirt that says "I'm not the Step-Bat, I'm the Bat that Stepped Up". Wrapped inside the shirt is a puzzle box that she had built and programmed herself to change its passwords every time it was successfully opened, leading to a harder challenge. Inside the box was a pair of neon purple socks.

Duke: Clears both his and Bruce's schedule to do a full marathon of the Grey Ghost and anything else Bruce wants to watch. He basically blocks out the rest of the world for them to have their marathon go entire uninterrupted for them. He also gets them matching socks to wear during their marathon.

Damian: Got Bruce a cane, but one of those cane that has a sword hidden within it. Damian forged the sword himself and helped carve the cane that cases it himself. Damian makes a joking comment that Bruce is getting up there in age and it's better he has it now rather than later (real reason is his own back was acting up and assumed Bruce's could only be like 15x worse). He also got him a pair of grippy socks similar to Babs.

This is the third year in a row they all got him the exact same thing as a gift without talking to each other before hand. Last year was ties and the year before that was mugs.

[yourcutelittlegayfriend]

LEMME TELL YOU SOMETHING! LEMME TELL YOU SOMETHING!!

*grabs your shirt and pulls you close*

DC/Batfamily x Witwicky! Reader x Transformers (Completely Platonic only)

where reader gets sent to Gotham when they're still a baby for their safety as a last resort (which is fckn crazy like cuz pick which one is worse Joker or Megatron) by their Witwicky relatives because of Optimus orders so they can distract the decepticons first and find them again when it's safe (Sam may or may not exist in this au).

First origin After that Reader grew up in an orphanage but became a prodigy because of their high IQ and fascinating inventions due to inheriting their -unknowingly- great great grandfather Archibald Amundsen Witwicky's intelligence (idk im just winging this) then becoming the youngest engineer/mechanic in the gotham (world idk) that caught the attention of Batman when they accidentally hacked the batcomputer something they kind of jokingly bet to their professor so they don't have to do their thesis but was peer pressured in the end.

Batcomputer : *Starts glitching*

Batfam: *slightly tensed but wants to figure out who's the insane dummy that tries to hack THE Batcomputer*

Screen:

Reader: Heeeeeyyyyy it's meeeeee a hard working college student that needs proof that I actually hacked your computer, so Imma just take a lil pic and we'll just go back to our regular programming okie? Okay! *takes a selfie with the whole ass batfamily in their screen*

Reader: Thanks Batman! keep up the good work now to destroy evidence of the crime scene (still on the screen) *Shuts their laptop and proceeds to throw it out the window after*

*Gets adopted by Bruce Wayne anyway because a 13 year old kid in college needs money -preferably in cash- support and a Billionaire with the history of adopting wacky kids wants them for funsies*

Reader : *sits in the batcave with the hacking video on repeat in the batcomputer, surrounded and outnumbered by the batfam* Fuuuucccckkkk

Or 2nd you were sent instead by Edmund Burton, Alfred was the best option to protect and take care of the last descendant of Merlin and youngest member of the Order of Witwiccans, you grew up under Bruce Wayne but used the last name Pennyworth as a disguise to hide your true lineage, you still end up becoming a prodigy and the sort of mechanic of the family (you literally 80-90% engineered and build the Batmobile and most of Batman's gadgets) you didn't end up becoming a vigilante/hero because you stive to be the normal one or The civilian member in the family, You're either a nephew/niece to Bruce or the living in Cousin to the kids, you bet your ass you're either partner in crimes with Tim/Barbara or you kept -humbly- beating their asses over being the smart ass in the family.

Tim: *Best at hacking, Tech and gadgetry, the more smart robin and on the line to become the Wayne inc CEO* I'm not bragging or anything.

(All robins are smart he's just abit on top)

Reader: *looks at their name in all of the blueprints of gadgets, weapons, suits, transportations, the batcomputer, the batmobile, the watchtower, the JL headquarters security/bldg and the upgraded batcave system* That's great Timmy! you really are the smartest! *side eye the stacked up and approved projects for Gotham Structural proposals as well as the contract papers for the new in line brand of Tech you're making and quickly hiding the shiny nameplate 'CEO of the most famous electronics brand' with your name engraved on it*

It can also be x Neglected Reader as well where any of the 2 is your origin but you barely get noticed by your family other than your inventions and because you really don't like being into the family business due to not having the physical advantage of literally punching someone in the face without breaking your hands first.

so you just exist and try to finish college and live away to find your other family/ Find Edmund or just travel the world.

Origins aside

The reason why you are so important is the location of the all spark that was supposed to be imprinted to Archie's glasses was transferred to his brain instead become wired inside and somehow passed down to you that's why Optimus needed you safe until they can send the Decepticons away and find you.

I can imagine it going down like this

The world was under a new threat either by Megatron, the decepticons, Unicorn or even The Quintessons no one yet knows other than J'onn J'onzz /Martian Manhunter and Hal or the whole Green Lantern Corps who were close or worked with the Autobots before were alerted by them to ask for help.

Optimus and the rest of the growing Autobots that were left in the planet as well as Edmund met up with the Justice League to have a discussion about the new threat and was surprised that they only need someone instead.

Batman: Why do you specifically need this someone?

Edmund: I have sent orders to the Witwicky family to send their child here in your city for their safety due to the facts they have the location of the all spark also being the last and youngest member of the Order of Witwiccans.

Zatanna: Wait The Witwiccans? the one Merlin founded?

Edmund: Precisely my dear but should also add that they are the last living descendant of Merlin

Constantine who drops his lit cigarette: Fuckin hell and here I thought that man died a virgin HA!

Superman: And what is the all spark?

Optimus Prime: The All spark is a very powerful and ancient artifact from our old planet Cybertron, it has been documented by our people that it has the essence of our creator Primus himself.

Justice League looks more concerned:

Batman: And what danger does it bring to earth?

Optimus and the rest file them in about the years of war between the Autobots and decepticons, the destruction of Cybertron, they're arrival to Earth and explaining why the All Spark must never land in the hands of someone like Megatron or anything one with evil intentions.

Superman: Then as a fellow Alien that has took refuge and promise to protect Earth, We will help you but you must promise not to endanger the life of this Witwicky kid.

Batman: Now the only problem we need to solve is their whereabouts.

Edmund: Oh don't bother with that I had Hot Rod and Bumblebee fetch them earlier this morning.

Cue in a racing expensive red Lamborghini and yellow Chevrolet Camaro before transforming in the air and lands with You in Bumblebee's hand.

Reader: Hi! I don't know what's happening I didn't do it if you think I'm the suspect, I won't tell you anything till I get my lawyer.

The rest are in shock to see tiny you while Edmund greets you and distracts you from the rest.

The batfam and the rest of the league looks at Batman for an explanation

The younger heroes and sidekicks are amaze when they got a proper introduction from who you are.

Not Neglected Reader part:

Batfam are more proud about you but a bit worried because of the large problem you now have to carry on your shoulders but is happy you got tons of literal giant robot aliens to protect you along with the other heroes.

Neglected Reader part:

Batfam are shock to know the real you and what amazing things you've been hiding from your family, not only are you this legendary person that can locate and has the power to use a life giving artifact you've also been hiding your true self from them as they watch you interact with the Autobots and how you become comfortable and be expressive to them, you might be small and just a kid to their eyes but to the Autobots it's like you're their world.

----

THAT'S ALL I GOT FOLKS!

Tell me if ya like it I might make this after I finish or laid down NMC! this doesn't have to be Yandere btw

[alyakthedorklord]

Bat Poker Face Training

Dick, Steph, Cass, Tim, and Jason all crammed into someones room, with a kidnapped Duke sitting awkwardly with them, kinda scared.

Duke: “Uh… what’s going on?”

Steph, completely blank faced and standing ominously in the corner: “It has come to our attention that you require training.”

Duke: “Bruce is already teaching me really well-“

Jason, also blank faced: “That’s bat training. This is robin training.”

Cass, carefully but without a single emotion: “Sibling training.”

Dick, face just as blank as all his other siblings: “It’s much more fun.”

Duke, freaked out by the empty faces: “Am I being hazed?”

Jason: “Eh, maybe. Scared?

Tim, not giving Duke a second to reply: “Yes, he is. It’s written all over his face. And while its okay to be scared, sometimes hiding your true emotions in the field is a matter of life, death, and secret identities.”

Dick: “You’re going to be flustered. Humiliated. Terrified. Angry. Relieved. Your vigilante ID dragged through the mud in front of you as a civilian. Someone worried about your civilian ID and you need to keep them away.“

Tim: “Not just as a Bat, but a Wayne. Some dinosaur at a gala is going to say the most out of pocket thing you’ve ever heard in your life and you’ve just got to stand there.”

Duke: “So that’s the reason you’re doing the creepy thing?”

Steph: “Yes Duke. You need to have a poker face that Even Superman can’t break. That even a Fifth-dimensional Imp can’t crack! And that is the purpose of our training tonight!”

Duke, getting the program now: “Okay. I’m ready.”

Jason, allowing a creepy grin to slide over his face: “Don’t be so sure. Because what we are about to show you… it has broken Batman.”

Dick: “Damian is too innocent to see it, which is why he isn’t here.”

Steph: “If you can handle this, you can handle anything.”

Tim, tapping on his computer, chanting under his breath: “the horrors, the horrors, the horrors…”

Duke, terrified of what Tim is about to pull up, on the edge of his seat wondering what on earth can shake the Bat of Gotham, what the family considers too awful for thier arguably LEAST innocent member to see, what vile images he’s about to be shown…

Tap. The screen lights up white.

Duke: “No.”

Jason, grin widening: “We’ll be reading this aloud, for your entertainment.”

Duke, trembling and inching towards the door: “No.”

Steph, vice grip on Duke’s arm: “There’s no escaping it, Signal. This is your mission- to stay completely pokerfaced through Real Person Fanfiction of us- the Batfamily. And co, of course.”

Duke, sobbing: “Please, why… why would you do this to yourselves… oh god, is that… is that… is that Kate with Bruce? She’s a lesbian! And his cousin!”

Steph: “They don’t know that, Duke. They know nothing. And the depths of a human imagination is comparable to the depths of the ocean… there’s some weird shit down there.”

Tim, without a single emotion on his face, least of all mercy: “I had to sit through Young Justice fawning over Dick and Bruce. Do you know what they said? About my own father figure? Right in front of my salad? I was lucky I was wearing a mask. I cried, and I cried in silence. They knew NOTHING, because I showed nothing. This is what you must achieve.”

Jason: “I’ve had to listen to criminals talk about what they’d do to the ‘Prince of Gotham’ and not twitch. I’ve had to listen to both goons and civilians play fuck marry kill with our vigilante identities and not move a muscle. I know this feels like overkill, but trust me, it’s not.”

Dick: “Don’t worry, we’ll keep it mostly PG. Tim? Begin with the wildly out of character and aggressively heteronormative Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman love triangle. Then maybe we’ll work our way up to slash readers and…” shudders in horror, “…batcest.”

Duke: “NOOOOOOOO!!!”

[thegeassking-blog]

Progeny Lost and found

To Amanda Waller.

Considering that you're moving all assets (soldier boy, soldier girl, drones) of the soldier program to your Suicide Squad this report will the last you receive, we do apologize if it gets long, but it will allow us to be thorough.

17 years ago Diana Prince AKA Wonder Woman gave birth to a son at XYZ hospital and the child was seized in a fake villain attack and placed in the soldier program, genetic testing has shown that the child's father is indeed Bruce Wayne AKA Batman, both are known, active and founding members of the Justice League.

For the first four years not much is to be reported other than calm mind.

However at five years old we successfully taught him how to read and that seemed to "click" something in his mind, he started reading everything we had on hand magazines newspapers books on top of that he also started disassembling and reassembling basically everything and anything he could get his hands on, including our "personal project" to our chagrin. The fact that he seems to understands what he diss/reassembles speaks for enhanced mental abilities. Further testing is required

On top of that he demonstrates greater physical than a child his age should be able to possess we are again chalking this up to genetics considering who his parents are, further testing is required.

At 6 years old we started harvesting blood, stem cell, saliva and hair from soldier boy for cloning considering that the clones won't be viable for several years for the fact that the technology needs to be calibrated for the subject being cloned we suspect that the first successful batch won't be around until the subject is at least nine to 10 years of age, we have also started on physical and mental training.

At 8 years old we can confirm that soldier boy does indeed possess an erratic memory Needless to say for a soldier this is quite good considering that you may not get more than a glance at something in the field. This was confirmed when he rebuilt one of our "personal projects" from scrap and literal garbage we had lying around the the lab, nearly burnt the place down with that ecto blaster.

As for physical abilities he's demonstrating nearly 50% more than what normal children his age should possess, his physical conditioning should only enhance this, biologically his muscles are denser, his bones are stronger, on top of that he also seems to possess not quite a meta level but definitely accelerated healing factor. The limit of this ability requires further testing.

at 10 years of age our theory has been proven correct for both physical and mental abilities, the more we seem to push him the more he seems to grow. no longer is he learning just theory we've also started martial arts training as well as weapon training, he doesn't master a weapon the moment he picks it up but it only takes him a couple minutes have usage to figure out the most effective way to use a weapon be it melee or firearm.

Sad to say it might take another year or two for the first batch of clones. No stable clones have been able to survive outside the birthing tank for more than a few minutes however we believe we found the problem, the Y chromosome in his DNA seems to be unstabilizing all the clones we believe that removing it would stabilize them but it would also make it so that we would no longer have "perfect" clones of soldier boy. The reason behind this is unknown however we believe it is due to his Amazonian DNA.

At 12 years old we have continued physical and mental training however we've also started adding in psychological conditioning fit for a soldier. we have also started swapping out the targets for specialized training dummies that actually bleed when they are cut or shot.

We are also happy to announce that we have our first clone, while we were aiming for the batch of 5, as the accelerated aging evened out it was obvious that only one was capable of higher thought the. other four were terminated. we are planning on keeping them separated until the clone (from here on out shall be known as soldier girl) at least basic knowledge and we finish up running some tests.

Sadly the rest of the report was corrupted however there were two signatures at the bottom of it

Doctor Jack and doctor Madeline Fenton

[brucewaynehater101]

your posts about Tim being the parent in his time with Bruce+ Richard's parentification + Tim always planning of being a placeholder, got me thinking

What if Tim started off like that, playing parent for Bruce, ensuring he doesn't cross any lines or overworks himself

And just never stop?

His civilian life is starting to crack, and he's doing worse than he could be, but Batman has to be taken care off

In comes Jason who tries to kill him (great another Bruce) so his workload is doubled, and also Damian who has to be untaught murder

Well it's an escalation of what he's used to, but if he can deal with Batman, he can deal with his kids, time to bust out the books on therapy and deprogramming cult teachings

Besides, he's a placeholding for the two of them until they're better like Batman, so who better to teach them the ropes than him?

Let's toss in comments here and there that will clear misunderstandings between the Bats (excluding himself— he's temporary) and what about their interactions keeps the family apart

Like boy is neglecting himself to high hell, only stopping when it's literally impossible, and barely has a civilian life, but it's worth it for Gotham's betterment and the Batfamily's stabilization

Timestream? Well shit, he has to get Bruce back as per his job of keeping the family in order but the family is either not getting better or worse,

Let him just leave a bunch of personalized self-help guides and programmed schedules that'll ensure the bats are getting better while he's away

Oh hey Ra's, midn if I secretly learn everything about how Damian grew up in this fine League of yours so I can teach Damian what is so wrong about his childhood once I'm home?

So everything is getting better post BruceQuest, Richard can be a brother more (because Tim took on his job as parent-brother), Damian and his family are able to bond and understand each other (because Tim untaught an awful upbringing) and Jason feels like a member of the family (because Tim got Jason up to speed with how much he has always been loved) plus Bruce gets to be a father with his kids (because Tim kept the man out of his otherside inevitable self-made grave)

And say Batfamily, in a miracle of communication, realize that Tim has subsumed Bruce's role as caretaker and father

Not to the entire family of course, but even parenting for one sibling or parent as a kid yourself is one too many

And they remember all the comments Tim said to help the family get better subtly suggesting everybody but Tim is family

Like he's said "Your family," never "Our"

He says "You're a Wayne, a member of their family,"

He has to be referred to as Tim and Drake, never Wayne to catch his attention

And also imagine Richard saying "You can't keep being a parent to your brothers and father" and Tim going "glass houses, *tires to parent Rich*"

"NO—"

The shit storm that would happen if the batfamily realized that Tim donned Robin with the intention of always playing parent for Bruce, and then leaving once his intervention isn't need anymore

Yes! I absolutely love the ideas you incorporated with this. I didn't manage to hit all of them in my post, but I tried to expand upon them a bit:

At first, Tim wouldn't realize that's what he's doing. He just wants to help Bruce (even if that includes taking away the Batmobile keys, locking him out of the batcomputer, and using a rewards system when the man successfully takes care of his wounds).

Tim only comes to the realization that he's Bruce's parent when the YJ are being lectured by their mentors. At this point, the team has done far more dangerous stunts and missions than whatever the JL was lecturing them about. When the mentors come, Robin allows Batman to lecture him in front of the others. Tim knows they have to keep up appearances and can listen to a hypocritical discussion from Bruce to maintain the image of Batman Tim has spent so much time propping up.

After the other mentors leave, Tim pulls Batman into a private room for a chat. Bart, fearing that Robin is getting a second lecture, almost bursts in to save Tim. He's slowed down by the glare Tim sends his way. He's stopped by the conversation he overhears.

Tim, with his hands on his hips as he glares up into the cowl, lectures Bruce on all the behavior issues the man displayed the month that the YJ were away.

Bruce is just standing there, head slightly hung, as Tim goes on.

"This is why I feel I can never get away, B. I can't even leave you for a month before your excessive force statistics skyrocket! What am I supposed to do with you?"

Bart quickly leaves as he has a mental breakdown at this discovery. Two hours later, when Batman leaves, Bart asks Robin if he's Batman's father. Tim laughs it off at first, but after Bart lays out the evidence, Tim spirals for a few days at this discovery.

Once Tim accepts that he *is* like Bruce's dad, he decides to just embrace it. He and Alfred can share custody of the man-child (and this is also why Tim has the view of family that he does. His three examples of being a father are his own dad who constantly leaves, Alfred who maintains a professional distance, and Bruce who's his grieving son). Tim sees Dick as his brother, but he sees Bruce as his kid. It's confusing as hell, complicated, and Tim also doesn't see himself as part of the family at the same time.

While the teen is finally settling into his role as Bruce's parent, Jason comes back and tries to kill him. He doesn't know whether or not to laugh that Jason becomes his new responsibility at the same place Bruce officially (in Tim's mind) became Tim's.

The teen treats Jason similar to a grandson and son. He parents Bruce on how to interact with Jason, takes a few college classes and reads a few textbooks on PTSD, and interrogates LoA agents on the Pit. He slowly starts to feed them both phrases and perspectives so that they understand and interact with each other better. He almost wants to hit them both upside the head for their miscommunication.

It's not great, and Tim is so fucking tired, but they are getting closer to being a family. Tim can almost taste his retirement.

Then Damian comes into the family and tries to kill him. Tim wants to scream.

Damian isn't exactly friendly to Tim, but the teen spots a breakthrough when he catches how Dick and Damian interact. He, in what he later calls foolishly, drops some of the weight onto Dick's shoulders. Tim's tired trying to wrangle both Jason and Bruce into somewhat, even unhealthily, communicating with each other.

Then Bruce dies. It's unfair because Tim has lost someone who's both his son and his father to him. No one except Cassie could know about the amount of grief Tim is under because of that. Cassie, who Tim isn't talking to after the whole basement scientist cloning thing.

So, Tim finds evidence that Bruce is alive. He watches as Dick cracks under the weight of Batman and being a father to Damian. He's hurt (oh gods does it burn to lose his self-made but suffocating role that ties him to Bruce), but he understands why Dick gives Damian Robin.

Tim leaves, and he starts to discover himself. He became an adoptive father at thirteen. For once, even though he's heavily lost in the thralls of grief, he's free of that responsibility. He only has to take care of himself (an exhausting task he's never quite accomplished before) and he doesn't rely on anyone.

Still, despite his freedom, he sees Ra's offer for what it is. It's an opportunity to learn more about Damian. Bruce will need Tim's support when he returns, after all. If he takes down Ra's both for himself and Damian, that's neither here nor there.

When Bruce finally returns home, Tim starts to see his retirement again. He sees the progress he's enacting out of the family in all of their relationships. Like Tim's messy relationship with Bruce, Dick is both a father and brother to Damian. Jason and Bruce will occasionally meet at a diner. Damian and Bruce will have father-child outings outside of Batman and Robin. Cass returns home more often. Steph barges into the Manor for food or bugs different Bats on patrol. Babs is able to take time for herself outside of wrangling the Bats together. Duke is starting to join the family, but Tim doesn't imagine too much tension or difficulty with that transition. They'll be fine without him.

It's looking up. Tim can leave behind his the Wayne family.

Then Damian points out how Tim often uses "your" or "their" instead of "our" family.

Godsdamnit.

[kimberly-spirits13]

I wanted a batboys headcanon, a reader brother who is an Android, like Marvel's Vision, what would it be like for them to have a brother who is a robot? Pleaseee me notice

Hellooooo thanks for the requests 😂 I’m in AP Exam season so I’m not on here too much rn but here’s my two cents on the matter

okay so if batbro is like Vision, there’s some sort of power source that is VERY visible and easy to access

They are all super protective of you in that sense since they don’t want you getting hurt *rip vision* *you were ✨almost✨ indestructible*

Bruce or Tim would probably make some sort of mask or armor to protect the energy source

When you were younger or first introduced into the batfam, they’re always running diagnostics and computer programs to see what’s up with you so get used to it

Jason had a can of WD-40 that he threatens you with sometimes to be funny

Bruce is always concerned that you’ll get programmed or hacked by a villain and they’ll have to have some sort of terrible contingency plan

Dick is mostly just trying to help you incorporate into society normally

It helps if you can disguise the robot/ cyborg part but he’s always making sure your social life is an A+

Damian wants to push your limits and see how far you can train and fight

It takes him a while to not see you as a computer tbh but he comes around after you save his butt a few times

Duke models his armor off of your systems and Luke is typically trying to incorporate little pieces of it into Wayne Tech

Stephanie is the type to write on you with expo markers if you have a metal armor body or something

Cass doesn’t treat you as if you weren’t human but treats you like everyone else so she’s super awesome to be around

Babs has definitely sat down with you to go through diagnostics if you’re cool with it and she’s the best for that since she’s not testing you like a machine but trying to understand how you can best live

You’re often called in for League problems and the entire batfam worries about it since there protective

Alfred doesn’t bat an eye and anything since he’s used to everything by now

Is of course, very kind and understanding of anything you need or are going through