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redflagshipwriter · 4 months ago

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Ghost Driver 4

masterpost

Danny was starting to suspect he had kidnapped a child. He rapped his fingers against the steering wheel nervously. Jeeze. That was bad. Was Danny the stranger danger? He hit the brakes hard and turned the wheel hard to pull off a parking trick. He didn’t intend to be the stranger danger!

‘I think that is a human child. Wow, I hate myself.’ Danny turned off the car and resisted the urge to beat himself into unconsciousness against the steering wheel. ‘But he’s been helpful. Maybe it’s fine?’

He put that anxiety away to deal with later.

“Here we are.” Robin unbuckled gingerly, another nail in the coffin he definitely didn’t have. What kind of ghost would use a seatbelt? Danny wanted to slap himself in the face. Maybe Robin didn’t know what Danny had thought. He hadn’t called him a ghost, right? Not directly. Maybe there was a way out of this social situation that wouldn’t be really awkward.

‘He appeared out of like, nowhere,’ Danny defended himself miserably. ‘In a graveyard! He moves weird- he’s just a spooky little guy.’

It was probably the kind of mistake that anyone could make.

Whatever.

He let Robin take the lead, mind and stomach churning. This had been such a weird day. First off, Victor had turned out to be not Victor, and also to be a total knockout babe. Then, Jay did like, a big hero thing promising to keep Danny safe and kissed his hand and—

His face burnt at the memory. Anyway, of course he was trying to find the guy. Anyone would want to secure a date.

‘I am starting to wonder if he’s dead, though, and I just didn’t notice. The news articles about his death and also the headstone are pretty compelling evidence. Did I fail to notice he was dead?’

In past he would have said “fat fucking chance, I am an expert.” But, uh.

‘It’s not like I’ve never been fooled before. I thought Spectra was alive at first. And...’

He cut a look at Robin. Christ, his chest was expanding. Yeah, he was breathing. Danny wound fingers through his hair and pulled. Real. Human. Child. He grimaced.

He was going to jail for like, ever.

“I’m a disgrace to ectology and the afterlife,” he said mournfully.

Robin cut him a surprised look, movement sharp and aptly birdlike. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” Danny dismissed. “Get the door open, it’s fine.”

“Like it’s that easy,” Robin muttered, but he went back to whatever arcane stuff he was doing. Because he was not a ghost, and couldn’t just phase through. Danny stuck his hands in his pockets, resigned to seeing how this played out.

It took Robin nearly ten minutes to disarm the security system, but he opened the door to the safe house gingerly. Nothing shot them.

“Lemme go first,” Danny said, because he sort of still hoped that Batman wouldn’t break his fingers with a novelty bat-shaped hammer for this offense. He edged past Robin and into the apartment. He flicked on a light. “Oh, there he is,” Danny said, relieved.

Robin ducked in under his shoulder shockingly fast. “Jason?” He pulled up short.

“Yeah, he’s out of it,” Danny agreed. Jason was slouched on the sofa, hand hanging over the side. He had some kind of road rash up the side of his face, scabbing up to his left ear. He had bandages around a hand and his neck. He had stripped down to the sleeveless undershirt and sports leggings. Unf.

“Nice,” Danny said appreciatively.

“Is he dead?” Robin asked, sotto voice.

Danny shrugged. “Not more dead than he was before?” He hedged.

“….Are there quantifiable variations of being dead?” Robin asked.

Shit. Danny went stiff. “No, finish your milk,” he snapped.

“I’m… not drinking any milk.”

Danny frowned, thrown off his groove.

Right. This wasn’t the neighbor’s kid he occasionally babysat. That tactic wouldn’t work to shut down unwanted questions. Or would it?

“Go get some, the kitchen is over there.”

Robin stood still and looked very offended. That was good enough. Danny pushed past him to check Jason over a little more closely. He noticed a cheap flip phone on the floor near where his hand was dangling. He picked it up to see a message on the screen that said “serry I canf come but I call latert”. It was unsent. He checked. It was almost directed to his phone: Jason had gotten the last digit wrong.

“Aww,” Danny said, charmed. “He tried.” He snapped the phone shut and made sure the guy was breathing and not bleeding through his bandages or anything. Danny checked the color of his fingernails for oxygen discoloration, his heart rate, his pallor. He finished and stood back with his hands on his hips.

“Well?” Robin snapped.

Danny shrugged. “His blood is inside? I’m not a doctor yet and it’s not like there’s any equipment here. His pulse is fine, color looks good…” He scratched the back of his head. “I think he’s just sleeping off a concussion.”

“A concussion?” Robin’s voice went high.

Jason groaned, head lolling.

“He’s up!” Danny hovered off the ground. “Hey, you undead?” He poked at Jay’s chest gently.

Jay batted at his hand, poorly. It didn’t connect. “Mm not dead anymore,” he complained, face scrunched up. “Joker’s not dead either. Leave me to suffer.”

“…Do you want Joker dead?” Danny asked. He cocked his head to the side. “I think we can hide that.” There was nothing saying that a prisoner transferred to the Infinite Realms had to be kept there alive. In fact, it might be more convenient for Walker if the guy fit his usual prisoners’ general description.

“We can not hide that,” Robin interrupted. Party pooper.

He cut a sideways glance at the child. Hmm. “Isn’t it your bedtime?” Danny asked casually. They needed to ditch him to get anything done.

“It’s time for breakfast,” Robin snarked. “Look outside.”

“…Do I have to feed you?” Danny asked, alarmed by the expanding nature of responsibility. He didn’t wait for a response, because it was obvious. When you cart around a child, you have to feed them at mealtimes. What did Jay even have in this kitchen? Danny wasn’t a particularly accomplished cook. He crossed the apartment in a panic to peer around the fridge.

12 eggs, still within date. Uh… there was some butter in the fridge as well, and milk with two days left. He shook the carton. Basically full. Um…. He opened cupboards in search of carbs. Nothing.

“Freezer,” Robin suggested.

Danny checked. “I didn’t know you could freeze bread.” He turned it over in his hands dubiously. “Okay… toast and eggs.”

Thank god he didn’t have any classes today. He was going to crash so hard once he’d finished everything important.

Jason didn’t react to anything they had said or done. Danny stuck his head out of the kitchenette to squint at him. The guy was still immobile on the sofa.

“Maybe breakfast is what he needs,” Danny decided, dubious. But that was a real thing! People need food to recover. Calories might help him.

Robin perched on the counter and watched Danny with a weird intensity. “I’m just melting butter in a warm pan,” Danny told him. Maybe the kid didn’t know how to cook. “Wanna help? Put the bread in the toaster.”

Robin didn’t move. “You’d better do it.”

…weird.

Danny took out two slices of frozen bread and stuck them in the toaster. “It’s easy, bro,” he said, nonplussed. “Insert, and pull this lever down.” He demonstrated. “Check the time— I’ve got it for two minutes, it probably won’t be enough but we can check on it.”

He turned back to the fry pan. The butter was bubbling now. He cracked two eggs in. It sizzled pleasantly.

The sound helped him think things through. How was he going to do this? Skulker might fight to keep his new guest. And Walker- Danny grimaced. Walker had never really forgiven him for that prison break thing.

‘I might need to lean on someone else’s authority,’ Danny mused. ‘Walker respects other cops. So I should, like, get that police guy to come and ask for the paperwork directly.’

It felt like no time at all until he scraped an egg off onto a piece of toast and handed it to Robin. He put the other on a plate and made one more toast and egg for Jay.

Robin followed him to the living room, toast in hand.

“Go on, eat up.” Danny shoved his own toast into his mouth in one ghastly crunch. His cheeks stuck out as he began chewing on it. Then he plopped down on the floor next to Jay and started prodding his face again. “Hey. Hey.” Poke. “Breakfast.”

Jay groaned. He unsuccessfully tried several times to bat Danny’s hand away, but eventually gave up and clutched the open-faced sandwich.

“Gucky,” Danny said, observing the very odd way Jason was gripping the egg directly. Yolk leaked out under his middle finger. But he ate it, though, so it was fine.

He turned on Robin when he remembered he was there. “Can you get home by yourself?” He asked.

Robin looked at him with his creepy white eyes. “…No.” His wrist was flashing red. Was that like, a bird message system? Was it some kind of alarm going off because he had gone out of the acceptable Robin roaming range? Robin was pretending not to notice it.

Danny groaned and let his head rest against Jason’s leg. “Fine,” he complained. “Uh. I’ll take you home, then go move the Joker, get paperwork from Walker, and come back to give it to- what’s up?” He looked up through his bangs. Jason had grabbed onto his hair.

“Joker?” He peeled an eye open. “No…”

“You heard the man,” chirped Robin. “He doesn’t want you to interfere with the course of justice.”

Jason, Danny discovered, still had the egg yolk in his hand. He discovered this because Jason flung it dead center on Robin’s face.

“Ha,” Danny said. The child was a downer, what could he say? “I think he wants me to interfere with the course of justice,” he parroted snootily. Even though that wasn’t at all what was going on.

“Dangerous,” Jason said. He peeled one bloodshot eye open. He looked terrible.

“You look awful,” said Danny. “Lie down- no, don’t get up, what are you doing?”

“I’m coming with you,” Jason grunted. He waved a hand at Robin. “And this hallucination of my childhood innocence.”

“Actually-“

“Sh.” Robin rushed to get the door open. “Support his arm, will you?”

“You still have an egg face,” Danny told him sulkily. He picked Jason up effortlessly. He ignored the muttered:

“I can fly?”

from his passenger. “Come in, bird, we gotta get you home before someone murders me.” Danny jangled the keys and sunk down through the floor to make a point. Robin’s shouted “hey!” was muffled through the floor. Danny snickered and settled Jason in the passenger seat.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dead on main #red ghost driver

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kitkatscabinet · 21 days ago

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Early Morning Meetings

Summary: your brothers have no boundaries, guess it’s time to teach them a lesson.

Pairing(s): Platonic Batfamily x fem! reader, Kyle Rayner x fem! reader.

A/N: 18+ nsfw themes, minors evaporate! Published on my phone so unedited.

You've always been a light sleeper, even before you'd been inducted into the bat brand of paranoid lifestyle that had you jumping at shadows, living in Gotham would do that for a person.

The second you hear the slightest clatter of movement, you're up, eyes flickering open as you're already mid-roll off your bed. Beside you, Kyle sleeps on, blissfully unaware of the potential intruders in your apartment. A slight pout on his face as he unconsciously reaches for the body no longer sleeping beside him.

There's a creak, the whine of the broken cabinet door you'd yet to fix alerting you to the definite presence of an intruder. Cursing, you ran a hand down your face, reaching for the bat you conveniently kept at the side of your bed.

Phone in one hand with Oracle on speed dial and bat in the other, you swing your bedroom door open. You step out into the kitchen, winding the bat back over your shoulder ready to rain down hell, only to groan at the sight of two of your brothers.

Not wanting to wake Kyle, you close the bedroom door quietly before slumping into the seat beside Tim. Damn that man and his ability to sleep like the dead.

"Hello people who don't live here." You groaned, "And by that, I mean what the fuck are you doing in my apartment at..." You blearily blink the sleep from your eyes, swearing when your phone light blinds you, "2:18 in the fucking morning!"

"Having breakfast." Dick hummed through a mouth full of dry cereal, his silhouette illuminated by the still-open fridge door. "You're out of milk, by the way."

"I know, you finished it yesterday. And close the fridge you animal, you'll ruin my groceries."

"A baseball bat? Really?" Tim squinted in judgement.

"Oh, I'm sorry, the next time suspicious individuals break into my home at fuck ass o'clock, I'll get the Glock I keep under my pillow."

Tim eyes you warily, slightly hesitant. "You don't actually have one of those, do you?"

"Of course not", You scoff, interrupting Tim's premature sigh of relief, "I've got a colt - Dick seriously, close the fridge door!”

“I can’t see though.” He whines and you stare at him in sheer disbelief.

“Turn on the fucking lights?” One of the world’s greatest detectives your ass.

The sound of a door swinging open catches your attention and you nearly apologise for waking Kyle when you notice it’s not your bedroom door opening.

"What the fuck guys, it’s 2 in the morning." Jason’s voice is husky with sleep as he yawns, trudging into your kitchen and planking down beside you like nothing was wrong.

"Jason! What the fuck are you doing here?" You can practically feel the oncoming aneurysm. Why had you wanted brothers again? Maybe you could go back in time and convince Bruce the Wayne’s were a single child household. That could be nice.

"I was sleeping in my room." He groused.

"It's not your room, it's a guest room, and guests are supposed to let their hosts know they're here!" You hissed. Fingers twitching as you fought the urge to reach across and strangle the little shithead.

"Am I not a guest? Ergo, my room."

"Ergo." Tim mocked, barely dodging the spoon Jason had taken from Dick's hand mid-bite and thrown at Tim.

"Jason!" Three voices sing out in varying levels of despair.

Dick looks at the leftover contents of his bowl appraisingly, shrugging before tipping the ceramic back like a drink. Predictably, bits of cereal fall over his face and the floor you’d just fucking mopped yesterday.

“Murder is illegal and you love your brothers very much.” You whisper to yourself under your breath. Tim surreptitiously scoots his chair away from you.

"Baby?" A groggy voice called out, and you would have smiled at how cute your sleepy boyfriend was as he stumbled toward you, burying his face in your neck, if it weren’t for the laser focused stares of your younger brothers.

“Kyle?!” Dick choked.

“A Lantern?!” Tim moaned in despair.

“Don’t start this game with me Timothy. You won’t win.”

“People?” Kyle mumbled, finally looking up with sleepy eyes. “Baby, why are there people in our apartment.”

“Our?” Dick’s falsetto voice was honestly a little impressive.

“Because my brothers are animals that don’t understand boundaries.” You told Kyle, ignoring Dick’s ongoing stroke.

“Isn’t he unemployed?” Jason muttered with narrowed eyes, to which you flip him the bird.

“So are you fuckface! Also, I’m literally a millionaire.”

“So what he’s your sugar baby?”

“Please don’t call me that.” Kyle weakly moaned.

“He’s unemployed? How’s he going to help support you?” Dick was tugging at the roots of his hair now.

“Um wow? The 1950s called, they want their brand back.” You scoffed. "Besides, unlike you and Jason, I have no interest in cosplaying being poor. Kyle and I are both living on daddy’s money.”

Tim holds his hand up for a high five, which you grant, as Jason groans. “Please don’t ever call Bruce daddy again.”

“Oh I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable, Jason?” Kyle snorted against your neck, still draped over the back of your chair and hugging you as he left you to deal with your family’s bullshit.

“Stop touching my sister Rayner!” Dick was practically vibrating now.

In response Kyle reached up and squeezed your tits, causing all three of your brothers to start screaming once again as you smack his hands away. He’d definitely regret that when he woke up fully later, but for now your brother’s horrified reactions had given you an idea.

It’s a terrible one, but your head’s starting to pound a little and you’re beyond cranky and tired and you just want them gone.

Fuck it. You pull your shirt off, leaving you in just a pair of Green Lantern underwear.

Predictably, they scatter like rats, with Dick slamming into the still open fridge door.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Jason screams as he stumbles blindly toward the window, Tim screeching about his eyes as he falls backward off the chair.

“You’ve all got about three seconds to get the fuck out of my apartment or risk witnessing me fuck my boyfriend right on this table.” You warned, already pulling a startled Kyle into a bruising kiss.

You moan loudly and obnoxiously, smirking in victory when your apartment is vacated in less than 10 seconds.

You may have just signed Kyle’s death warrant, but you’d make it up to him now, and later.

Kyle wakes before you. He’s never up before you. In the first few months of seeing each other he’d been convinced you didn’t sleep.

Frankly it’s only your love of garlic that has you beating the vampire allegations.

He’s awake before you and that means something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Turning his head to the side, his soul nearly vacates his body at the sudden sight of blank white eyes and a terrifyingly familiar black cowl.

He blinks and the bat spectre is gone. Kyle doesn’t fall asleep again. He doesn’t want to even blink for fear of suddenly seeing a bat shaped apparition.

You sleep on blissfully unaware. Even while Kyle becomes increasingly convinced he’s being menaced. You don’t even stir, because the presence of your dad isn’t a threat but a comfort.

Kyle wants to cry. You’re so lucky he loves you enough to put up with your psycho family.

He blinks and he swears he sees the afterimage of a looming Batman standing at the foot of the couch.

Ok so maybe, he loves you enough.

#x reader #batfamily x reader #platonic batfamily x reader #fem reader #female reader #kyle rayner x reader #kyle rayner x female reader #dc x reader #batfam x batsis #platonic jason todd #platonic dick grayson #platonic tim drake

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latenightdaydreams · 8 months ago

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Jason/Masked Killer!Konig who’s been watching camp counselor reader tend to the kids. She’s so motherly and perfect, and all he wants is her with her stomach swelled up. So he takes what he wants (reader dont mind cause she a freak). Anyways, He’s seen the way her fingers reach deep and deep but never hit that spot when she’s in her private bunk.

JasonAU!König x Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Part 2

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, stalking, mommy issues, breast milk, p in v, breeding kink, voyeurism

1.1k word count

🏕️

There is something about you that is different from all of the other camp counselors he’s come in contact with over the years. You have a certain light that emanates from your eyes and the way you smile. The children all flock to you and feel secure when you’re near, like a natural mother figure. It’s something König himself has always craved.

Typically, the camp counselors are hyper sexual and negligent; drinking and smoking while having unprotected sex. Yet here you are in your bunk, a little after midnight watching a video on your phone. You have the blankets kicked off because it is so hot. Your legs are spread open, revealing you aren’t wearing any underwear underneath your nightgown.

You have dainty little fingers that you do desperately slip in and out, but you never cum. König watches with his cock out in his hands, vigorously, stroking his cock as he watches you. It’s sad to watch how… unfulfilled you look when he knows he can give you everything you need.

König is up early the next morning, waiting on you. You are always the first one up and the only one cooking breakfast. The thought of you in a home with him, cooking for him and your large family drives him wild. He closes his eyes and listens to your soft little hums, letting his mind run wild with the thought.

He envisions you in a tight house dress with a big belly and milk stains from your leaking breasts. You serve him his breakfast and sit on his lap, cutting up his food for him and feeding him. When he’s thirsty he pulls down the front of your dress, suckling in your breast and drinking from you.

The sound of other voices snaps him from his thoughts. Other counselors have woken up so he backs off, keeping a close eye on you throughout the day. Tonight is the night; he can’t wait any longer for you.

As the sun sets over the lake you walk into the kitchen to gather items for smores. You hum the same tune as earlier as the sound of children and counselors enjoying themselves in the water is in the background. König slowly stalks behind you with steady steps to not cause the old wooden floors to creak.

You stop humming and the small break causes you to hear a light thump of someone’s footstep. Assuming that it is just one of the other workers, you ignore the footsteps and continue to hum. As you lean forward to reach the box of graham crackers on the top shelf, an arm wraps around your waist. The box goes flying into the air as you react with shock. A scream leaves your lips but is quickly muffled by his large hand covering your mouth.

König effortlessly lifts you into the air and walks you across the way to your cabin. His shoulder slams the door open. He then tosses you onto your bed, watching as you scramble and turn to look at him. A mask covering his face, only his piercing blue eyes visible. His body is muscular, towering over your smaller frame.

“Please don’t kill me.” Your voice trembles with fear.

“You’re mine.” König growls.

König turns to shut the door before marching over to you on the bed, grabbing you by your hair and yanking you down to the bed. His eyes meet yours, there is a fearful look, but also something else. He tilts his head, studying you for a moment. With his free hand he lifts up your shirt and looks down at your soft looking flesh.

His eyes dart back up to yours as he slowly releases your hair, making sure you wouldn’t try to run. You don’t move, instead you watch him closely as he pulls up more of your shirt to expose your bra. He wastes no time in pulling down your bra to expose yourself to him.

There is a sparkle in his eyes as he’s finally seeing your breasts. He lifts his mask slightly to expose his badly scarred lips. His tongue comes out and lightly flicks back and forth over your nipple before wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

It’s just like in his imagination, except there is no sweet milk filling his mouth- yet. His cock twitches in his pants and leaks precum from the excitement of having you like this. He looks up at you to see you watching him while he enjoys himself, biting your lower lip as you hold back your small moans.

Your eyes follow him as he sits up, he grabs the waistband of your pants and pulls them down. The soft fabric of your cotton panties came into view, driving him insane. Between your legs is a small wet spot forming on the light-colored fabric. Instantly his eyes dart up to yours; you’re actually enjoying this.

König wastes no time in pulling them off, exposing the sweet little pussy that he’s been watching you rub for the last two weeks. His fingers finally get to graze across the soft texture of your public hair before letting his fingers caress your wet folds. A low groan leaves him as he feels how wet he made you. All of this for him.

“I’m going to fuck until you’re full with my seed.” He whispers to you as he pulls down his pants to let his cock spring free.

You say nothing, simply nod your head in submission. Internally, you’re dying to be a mother… to be fucked. His hand wraps around one leg, allowing himself more room between them. He rubs his cock up and down between your folds to cover himself if your sweet creamy cunt; pressing against your clit with each swipe making your legs tremble.

With a small push forward, the tip of his cock slips into your tiny little cunt. Your eyes widen as he slowly leans his weight on to you, sinking himself deeper. A loud pathetic moan comes from König. His hips pull back and he slams himself into your again with more force. He watches as your face contorts with a mixture of heavenly bliss and immense pain.

“Oh fuck—” You cry out.

One of his hands snakes around your neck and squeezes lightly as he positions himself to get deeper, attempting to shove every single inch of himself inside of you; even if you struggle. With slow and hard thrust, he repeats that you’re his. It’s been so long since his cock has felt the delicious feeling of a tight wet gummy pussy swallowing him.

Outside, everyone continues to enjoy the warm day. None of the adults seem to realize that you’re even gone so no one is looking for you. If they were to, they would only find you sweating with König’s warm sticky cum dripping from your pussy.

Part 2

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glitter-stained · 2 months ago

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The thing you need to remember about comics ages and timelines is that yeah it's messy there are retcons at stuff and it will never be clear and perfect. But also, DC has an interest portraying age the way they do. They have an interest in aging Barbara down so she can be Dick's pretty girlfriend with whom he raises a cute dog (and maybe a cute little family next perhaps?). They have an interest in trying to keep Tim young and draw him younger than he looks so they can milk his Robin's popularity for as long as possible. They have an interest in drawing Jason to make him look 40 when Bruce slits his throat, to make him look like a grown man fighting a teenager when fighting Mia even though they're the same age (though i mantain that mia is a little bit older), in having him call Tim kid even though they're the same age, in having him offer Tim a drink and Tim pointing out he's not legal when Jason isn't either. They have an interest in Jason looking older in Jim Aparo's art style in ADITF than he looked in precrisis or in 308. They have an interest in Steph magically looking older in War Games, where she gets tortured and brutally murdered, than the fun colourful round and much more youthful art from her Robin run. There are probably many more examples but bottom line it's not fucking innocent. DC knows how to hire artists that know how to draw children it's really not that hard. Characters who look young, characters who remind you that they are young, create more empathy; which is good when you want the public to continue to root for them, and bad when those characters challenge the status quo or that excess of empathy might create pushback after you decide to have them brutally murdered. DC can't have Batman grievously wounding and causing the death of his underage son, but if he looks as old as Batman? DC can't have Jason making a valid point about vigilantism being unsafe for Mia and relating with her with childhood sexual abuse subtext because it makes the heroes (and especially Batman) look bad, but if it looks like this is a grown ass man harassing a teenage girl, then it's clear who is the villain, it's okay, no problem. DC needs Barbara to be younger so the power dynamic between her and Dick fits their idea of a perfect little nuclear family much better and they can shove Barbara back into the role of Batgirl even though she is very much a girl rather than a woman. DC needs Steph to look older when she's tortured so they can be edgy without people being too horrified at them doing something horrifying, DC needs Jason and Steph to look older on the day they die because young looking= innocent which makes it so much harder to victim-blame. DC needs Mia to look younger than Jason so they can make it look like the good old "good victim/bad victim" dichotomy and even though that's not what the story is actually about, regardless of how much it disrespects Mia's character to do so. DC needs Jason to look ugly because it's harder to empathize with ugly people and it makes it so much clearer who is the bad guy and who is the good one, and it's a much easier dichotomy, so much more comfortable than challenging the whole mythos around which Batman is built. DC needs Barbara to be sexy in their traditional male-gaze way, because this is the audience they're trying to appeal to.

So like, I know that I'm nit-picking when I say "actually according to any and all logic Jason is younger than Tim by a couple of months and than Mia by around three years". Or when I say "they should bring back Dickbabs' old age difference" or even interact with Dickbabs as if they still have that difference and refuse to interact with Tom Taylor's version of the ship. I know comics are incoherent and the timeline is messy; but just because it's messy, just because it's always been, doesn't mean it's innocent. So I'm gonna keep nitpicking, and I'm gonna stay an annoying bitch, because I refuse to allow comics to manipulate me out of my empathy. And because I don't see everything and am very aware of how easy it is to be manipulated even when you're careful, I encourage you to add to this with things you've noticed whether it's in portrayal or in art about character age, appearance, or any other device they might use to manipulate our perception of the characters -and what narrative these resorts serve.

#i couldn't find any specific example there so I didn't include it #but that also works for the infantilisation of Cass both in the fandom and canon #why are you portraying this grown adult woman as younger than she is?? could it be because she's disabled and asian? surely not #anyway stay annoying stay critical and remember if the opportunity arises it's never a bad time to egg tom taylor's car #dc #dc comics #dc critical #also like do not come at me and “correct” me with the tim jason and mia age difference thing #i have in fact read those comics you can ask me to explain and you can disagree with that analysis but don't “um actually” me #please and thank you

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debilsposts · 2 months ago

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Dumb long-ass hc time because my writer's block blocks me from writing

Jaytim, but no one really knows what their relationship status is anymore BECAUSE they act differently around each other every time depending on whether they’re wearing masks or not.

1. Red Robin & Red Hood: Professional Rivals (and a disaster duo)

When RR and RH are together, the volume automatically goes up. They argue in briefings, in the middle of fights, over comms. Those two show up all suited up and everyone knows that it will take one tiny shove from RH or a comment from RR to start it. Or none of that – when someone is dumb enough to ask if they can act civil around each other.

RH calls RR a “detective” in the most mocking tone ever. RR says that RH is clearly better fed than taught.

When they’re on a mission together, it’s a competition – Who takes down more guys? Who gets the last word? Who can piss off Batman faster?

RH threatens to kill RR at least once a week. RR dares him to try.

2. Tim Drake & Jason Todd in Public: Pretending to be Normal (they are not normal, in fact!)

In public, Jason will hold the door open for Tim, but close it right in his face, too. Tim will bring Jason tea exactly how he likes it but take a sip first and dramatically gag. They insult each other constantly, but sometimes something too genuine slips out, and they both pretend not to notice.

Tim complains that Jason never comes to see him when he works, so Jason starts dropping by WE unannounced and sitting silently in Tim’s office, making eye contact but refusing to speak. Tim hates it. Jason loves it.

Bruce’s galas are a nightmare, even Dick’s acrobatics can’t make it more embarrassing for the big Bat. They are too flirty and no one knows what it means.

At some point, a clueless socialite always asks Tim, “Do you know that Jason Todd man?”

Tim: “Oh, we’ve met.”

Jason, walking by: “Barely. But yeah, we know each other.”

Tim: “Intimately.”

Jason chokes on his drink.

Jason waits until Tim has his own drink in hand, then deliberately bumps his elbow, making Tim spill it.

Tim subtly badmouths Jason to the rich snobs, saying things like, “He doesn’t even own a yacht. Can you believe that? I plan to give him one for his birthday, poor thing.”

SugarDaddyTim vibes

They kick each other on the shins under the table, but at the same time, they grin and tell stupid jokes. Bruce invites them less and less.

3. Red Robin & Jason Todd (Civilian): Red Robin has a Jason problem

Tim is a little feral about Jason when he’s in costume. It’s not professionalism. It’s personal.

Jason will take one step in Crime Alley, and Red Robin will be there like a demon summoned by bad life choices. AT THE SAME TIME Red Robin refuses to acknowledge Jason Todd as a vigilante. He acts like Jason is just a guy off the street who keeps showing up in his crime scenes. Oftentimes Jason is his primary suspect, and even Bruce is tired of it.

Jason will be walking home with groceries when Red Robin lands dramatically in front of him.

Jason: “Unless you’re offering to carry my bags, move.”

RR: “Where were you an hour ago?”

Jason: “Buying milk???”

RR: “That’s what they all say.”

Jason: “I literally have the receipt???”

RR: “That proves nothing.”

Jason tweets that Red Robin fights like a girl. Next day, Spoiler, Oracle, Black Bat and Batwoman are waiting for him to have a little talk.

4. Red Hood & Tim Drake (Civilian): The World’s Most Deranged Thirst Posting (Tim is also the most frequently kidnapped man alive)

Tim has made it his life’s mission to objectify Red Hood online

“Red Hood could snap me in half like a glowstick, and I’d say thank you.”

“I would let Red Hood throw me off a building. No hesitation.”

“You guys don’t understand. He’s so big. His thighs are so thick I want them to crush me. He’s so–”

Tim will also randomly start talking shit on Red Hood from his burner account. He’d post something like “Red Hood’s helmet is actually pink, I tried it on his photos. If you take an eyedropper and read the colors, it’s actually closer to pinky-orange than it is to red.” RH naturally answers him by telling to stfu because he’s being picky, and Tim writes back that this is how eyedropper actually works.

Tim posts blurry, unflattering photos of Red Hood mid-fight.

“Caught in 4K looking stupid.”

Jason hates it. He keeps trying to smash Tim’s phone.

Tim also loves spreading misinformation on purpose.

“Red Hood listens to MCR. I have no proof, but I have no doubts.”

Red Hood will kidnap Tim in the middle of any event chosen by Tim. He just has to text Hood in advance. RH will keep him for a few hours and return him slightly bruised, hair messy, clothes disheveled. Poor Tim must have been tortured, since his eyes are glossy as if he was crying, his neck and shoulders are covered in bruises, and his face is awfully red.

When someone asks, he says that Red Hood is lame, and he could take him anytime (in a fight, right???)

EXTRA:

5. Tim Drake & Jason Todd when they’re alone: The Part That Matters

In private, Jason clings to Tim like a drowning man holding onto something solid. He buries his face in Tim’s throat, breathing in like he’s afraid of forgetting what he smells like. Tim doesn’t say anything, just cards his fingers through Jason’s hair, steady and slow, letting Jason take what he needs. He reads him a Jason’s books of choice sometimes.

Jason puts his head on Tim’s chest when they cuddle, sometimes even holds his wrist – fingers pressing against his pulse, reassuring himself: Here. Alive. Breathing.

There’s no bark. No fighting. No masks, no Red Hood, no Red Robin.

Just Jason and Tim. Just the things they don’t have to show to the world.

#jaytim #tim drake x jason todd #headcanon #my headcanons #someone write this for me #I'm a yapper if you give me a chance

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shortbcofkoffee · 3 months ago

Text

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 Next >

CW: Cursing, child abuse via parentification

Bruce didn’t cry. He never cried. Bruce whined and sulked, but he never cried. Tim hated it when Bruce whined and sulked. He hated when Bruce acted like a kicked puppy because he had to take care of him. Tim thinks Alfred is happy he doesn’t have to do it anymore. Bruce is well into his 40s; he shouldn’t need this. Either way, Tim is closing Bruce’s bedroom door behind him and turning to the man in bed.

“Alfred wants you to come to dinner.” Tim sits on the foot of the bed, placing a hand on Bruce’s calf. The man is facing away from him, lying down but not pretending to sleep.

“I’m fine.”

Tim sucks his teeth and furrows his brow. “What’s wrong?”

Bruce shrugs and curls into himself.

Tim purses his lips. “C’mon, chum. You can tell me.” Tim swallows and his stomach twists. He tells himself that it feels numb on his lips. He’d says he’s long past feeling gross, disgusted with himself, as he gently runs his thumb back and forth over Bruce’s calf. Bruce needs this, he reminds himself. He needs me.

“It’s nothing, I just-... It’s nothing.”

Tim frowned, Bruce wasn’t usually one to share but still. “Is it a case?” He knew Jason had mentioned one. Something about a seemingly normal family leaving their kid with the Falcones before the parents were murdered. It wasn’t the type of thing to stress Bruce out but it was the only one Tim could think of. Bruce didn’t answer. “Okay, well, you don’t need to tell me. But let's get some food in you, yeah?”

Bruce shifted but made no attempt to get up. Tim sighed.

“Alright, chum, I’ll bring dinner to you. Just wait here.” Tim patted his leg and stood up.

“Thanks, Dad,” Bruce said as Tim reached the door.

His eye twitched. “Anytime.”

When he steps out of the dark bedroom, he’s Brother Tim, the Tim the rest of the Waynes like. He makes his way to the dining room where everyone is filing in. Luckily it wasn’t everyone tonight. Just Tim, Dick, Cass, Jason, and Damian. They all sat at the table in their unofficial spots. Tim usually sat between Bruce and Dick with Cass right across from him. He eyed his seat, thinking maybe he could ask Alfred to bring the plate. He wanted to sit down and eat. Dick raised an eyebrow as Tim passed his chair.

“You’re not gonna sit down?”

Tim shook his head. “I will in a minute, Bruce isn’t coming down so I’m bringing him food.”

Jason scoffed. “Why do you need to bring it, ask Alfred.”

God, he wanted to. “Alfred does enough, I’ll do it.”

He could feel their eyes as he quickly moved past them to the kitchen. Alfred is there, garnishing a casserole. The Butler meets his eyes and frowns.

“I assume Master Bruce has elected to stay in his room?”

Tim nods. “I’m gonna fix him a plate.”

Tim thinks Alfred knows because Alfred somehow knows everything. Maybe he doesn’t know how far it’s gone, but he knows. He also needs Tim, but not for himself like everyone else. He needs Tim for Bruce.

Alfred hums. “Master Timothy, please come here. I want to show you something.” Tim stepped closer, watching as Alfred cut a perfect square out of his casserole. “Master Bruce has a very particular way he likes to be served. You’d do well to memorize it. All foods must be separated by one-third of an inch, vegetables should be opposite the meat. He drinks milk right after his water, if he plans to sleep right after dinner crush two valium pills and mix it well into his milk. If they’re fully dissolved he won’t notice the difference.”

Tim nodded along. God, this was so final. He already knew most of this but Alfred never took the time to actually teach him. It took the butler less than a minute to finish Bruce’s plate, he placed it on a tray with two glasses of milk and water. He handed Tim the tray and sent him on his way.

Tim felt eyes on him again as he passed back through the dining room. There’s a pang of anxiety in his chest telling him they know, they know. He doesn’t know what he’d do if they did. They’d be disgusted, disgusted with Tim for going along with this for so long. They’d think he’s a freak, that somehow he enjoys this. Tim doesn’t know how he’d handle it.

The walk to Bruce’s room was quiet, the whole manor was quiet. Tim had mixed feelings about long, quiet halls. It meant he was alone; either for the moment or months on end. It was lonely but there was a freedom in that emptiness. He didn’t have responsibilities, he could do whatever, whenever, however. No one was watching him, he didn’t need to be anyone. Tim took a deep breath in. As long as he was in this hallway, he’d be fine. Unfortunately, he was only a few yards from Bruce’s door.

He balanced the tray in one hand and opened the door with the other.

“I’m coming in, chum.”

Bruce turned over in his bed and sat up. “What did Alfred make?”

“Hamburger casserole, broccoli, and turmeric rice. If you want dessert, though, you’ll have to come downstairs.” Tim placed the tray on Bruce’s lap. “Spend time with your kids.”

Bruce stared blankly at his food. “What’s for dessert?”

“Tiramisu, I think. Your favorite.”

Bruce nodded and started to eat.

Tim ruffled his hair, letting Bruce lean into his touch for a moment. It’s… a lot. “Come down when you’re ready.”

Tim was two steps from the door when Bruce spoke again.

“Wait. Dad…”

Tim turned around and shifted his weight onto one leg. “What’s up, bud?”

Bruce didn’t meet his eyes and poked the food. “Recently I was made aware of… a situation.”

“Uh-huh.” Tim walked back to the bed next to Bruce.

“Jason has let me know about a development in a cold case involving the Falcones.” So he was right. “There was a child involved. I found him, he’s… traumatized. He saw them kill his parents, he told me and I just- I… He doesn’t want to leave the Falcones. He told me he loved it there, they were nice to him. And I just left him. He wouldn’t come with me, he fought so much, I left him.”

Tim pouted. “I’m sorry that happened, bud. You think you’ll go back for him?”

Bruce leaned onto Tim’s shoulder. “Jason said he’d deal with it. I just wish I did some more. I could’ve, I can, I just. It’d be encroaching on Jason’s territory. Where they’re keeping him. I should do something. I can.”

Tim wrapped an arm around Bruce’s shoulder and scratched his scalp. It felt weird, warm. Bruce had probably washed it earlier, poorly, but at least it was washed. “Yeah, Jason has been on edge with you hasn’t he?” Bruce nodded. “It’ll be alright, bud. Jason can handle this, and besides, this case could be a lot for you. I think you should sit this one out instead of beating yourself up about it.” Tim unwrapped his arm. “Okay?”

“Alright.”

“Good. I’m gonna go eat dinner, you can come down for dessert.”

Tim finally got away, slipping off the bed and out the door. When Tim steps outside the room again and walks a few feet before leaning against the wall. He pressed his forehead against the red wallpaper and placed a hand over his stomach. He doesn’t want to touch anyone ever again. His stomach is churning with that familiar weird feeling. It’d go away soon, a few minutes to a few days, but it’d go away. This wasn’t weird. This isn’t- Bruce needs this, he needs this. As long as Bruce needed him, Tim would be there. He couldn’t just abandon Bruce. His hand gripped his shirt and he took a deep breath. He was okay. Tim stood up straight and walked back to the dining room.

He slid back into his seat next to Dick and Bruce’s empty chair. Alfred already put his plate out, just how he liked. Tim looked around the table at the subtle differences on the other’s plates. He wondered if they noticed and if this would be his life from now on, learning the specific ways he needed to care for everyone. If it’s like that he’s happy only Bruce needs him. He was prepared for a few questions, it’d be weird if he didn’t get any. Bruce’s kids would be worried about him even if they hated to admit it.

“You’ve been fussing over the old man a bit much lately,” Jason started.

“I guess,” Tim shrugged as he began to eat. Had it been more than usual lately? It felt a little less frequent.

“Is he okay?” Dick asked.

Tim frowned. “He’s upset about a case.” He nodded at Jason. “One of yours, actually. About the kid with the Falcones. He’s eating himself up because he wants to help the kid but he doesn’t want to piss you off. I told him you could handle it.”

“Thank God,” Jason huffed. “That asshole keeps straining my alliances every time he steps foot in the alley.”

“How old is the kid? We don’t need him trying to take another kid in,” Dick joked.

That seemed to satisfy the table as they all went back to eating and their individual conversations. Mainly small talk and meaningless arguments, Tim wanted to contribute but he still felt weird. He felt awful. The food didn't settle the churning in his stomach, unfortunately, the feeling was here to stay. Begrudgingly, his thoughts wandered back to Bruce. What would he need next? When? He could feel the man’s hair on his hand still. It was warm and a little greasy from product that hadn't been washed out. Tim roughly swallowed. He didn't like this feeling. He should be grateful, if it wasn't for this he wouldn't be needed here. Of course, he was CEO of Wayne Enterprises but his professional relationships weren't fulfilling enough to replace personal ones. He needed Bruce to feel useful. Bruce needed him to feel better. It wasn’t weird. It wasn’t disgusting. Tim was okay with it.

He didn't want to finish his dinner. He didn't want to be here when Bruce came down for dessert. Oh God, he’ll probably have to put him to bed if he’s still upset after dinner. He stood with his only half-empty plate and started to the kitchen. Cass grabbed the back of his shirt and tapped him twice, asking where he was going.

“Ah, I'm done eating. Wasn’t too hungry anyway.”

Cass frowned but waved him off but Dick stopped him too.

“Hold on, Timmy, dude, you barely ate.”

“I'm not hungry,” he reiterated. “And besides, I have a meeting with some shareholders tomorrow, I need to prepare.” A lie so quick it surprised even him. “Do you want my food?”

Before Dick could answer Damian slammed a hand on the table. “Drake! Give me your vegetables!”

Tim quickly dumped his food on Damian's plate and walked to the kitchen. Alfred was still there, preparing dessert, and to Tim’s luck, it was actually Tiramisu. So now he didn’t accidentally lie to Bruce.

“Should I throw this out or keep the leftovers?” He asked Alfred.

The old man looked between him and the plate a few times. “You only ate one thing.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Just place it on the counter, I’ll deal with it.”

Tim muttered a thanks as he did and left. Unfortunately, always unfortunate for Tim Drake-Wayne, Bruce was there. Smiling at his kids, carrying his tray to the kitchen. Tim didn’t have to look closely at Bruce anymore. Every line crinkle was there whether he liked it or not. He could read Bruce’s face better than anyone he knew and he hated it. Bruce’s smile faltered a little when he was Tim but no one seemed to notice. It wasn’t weird , he reminded himself. He brushed past Tim with a “hey.” The interaction was short and impersonal but it didn’t make the feeling go away. Tim left the dining room. Bruce would probably go to the cave tonight, to look over whatever he’s working on. By tomorrow morning only Dick would be back in Bludhaven and Cass and Jason would be back at their apartments. Tim hoped he wouldn’t have to scold Bruce for staying up too late.

Tim’s lungs felt light like the air was barely tickling them. He wanted to sleep, he’d set an alarm for three and if Bruce was still up he’d drag him to bed. Soon enough he was in a quiet hallway again. Just alone with no one watching. He jumped as high as possible, fingers barely touching the high ceiling. Tim liked being alone for these small bits of time when he felt like this. It gave him just a little release when he did little things with no one else around. He jumped again. He wants to go on patrol. He wants to jump from building to building and breathe in the night air. He should do it soon, tomorrow maybe.

Tim reached his room, set his alarm for three, and let himself relax into his pillow. Bruce has been better lately, this case was gonna be a huge setback, especially if it involved Jason. Tim hated to say it because it wasn’t true but every problem he had with Bruce was because of Jason. Tim knew it wasn’t fair to blame him, he had no stake in how Bruce would mourn him, but if he never died in the first place… That was so unfair. It made Tim feel disgusting for even thinking that. Bruce wasn’t entirely to blame either, no one is how they mourn. Tim took the role of caretaker quickly and easily, it was a lot, especially for a thirteen-year-old, but Tim could take it. Tim could take everything. He did and will.

Tim didn't know when he fell asleep or if he had a dream but the alarm clock on his bedside table was screaming. Tim groggily rolled over and hit it off. If Bruce wasn't in the cave Tim could go back to sleep sooner. If he was, Tim would have to drag him to bed. Bruce needed as much sleep as possible, the holidays were coming up and that always put Batman on overtime. Tim got out of bed and dragged himself over to Bruce’s room, but of course, he wasn't there. Tim groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He found his way down to the cave and followed the sound of typing to the Batcomputer.

“It's late.” Tim came up behind Bruce.

“I'm working.”

“And you'll have time to work tomorrow. The sooner you sleep, the sooner you wake up.” He put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “C'mon let's get you to bed.”

Bruce made no effort to move and Tim leaned on his shoulder.

“I’ll go to bed soon.”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Listen, bud, I’m not going to sleep until you do. And I’m tired.”

“No one is asking you to do that.”

“I know you’re tired too. You’re not at your best when you’re tired, you could slip up and miss something.”

“I won’t. I slept yesterday, I’ll be fine.”

Fair, Bruce could easily stay awake for three to four days without shutting down. Unfortunately, with the aforementioned holidays, sleep would be few and far between. “Yeah, well I’m not asking. We’re going to bed.” Tim looked up at the screen. “What are you even working on?”

“I told you. The case with the Falcone kid. I haven’t updated the report yet.”

“I thought I told you to let Jason deal with it.”

“I can help.”

“He doesn’t want your help.”

Bruce paused his typing for a moment before resuming. “Did he tell you that?”

“I told him that I told you to let him deal with it. He didn’t thank me but he was appreciative.” Tim pulled away from Bruce’s shoulder making the man twitch. “Besides, I don’t want you working this case. It won’t be good for you.”

Bruce just grunted, an unintelligible one that meant he was acknowledging but ultimately ignoring you. It’s like a toddler throwing a quiet tantrum.

“You know I’m right. C’mon, chum, let’s go to bed,” he tried again. The man didn’t answer. “Okay?” He said with more force. Bruce silently saved the report he was working on and logged off. “Thank you. See that wasn’t so hard.”

“Sorry, Dad,” Bruce grumbled.

“Mm-hm.” Tim held out a hand and pulled Bruce from his chair.

Bruce held onto his hand as they started to walk, he seemed like he needed it. He didn’t let go until they were halfway to his room. Bruce, for someone who craved it so much, hated physical affection. He only accepted it from certain people. Alfred was one since he raised him practically by himself. His kids, obviously, he’d never turn down a hug from one of them, he actually hoped for it. Though Tim had never personally seen it, according to others Bruce didn’t seem to mind being touched by Clark Kent. Lastly, there was Tim. Tim was the only person Bruce reached out to first for affection. Usually just a hand on his shoulder or arm but sometimes Bruce wanted a hug or a hand to hold. It was always over quicker than it happened when Bruce acted first.

Once he got Bruce to his room it was 3:14. He could still get a good amount of sleep and still be good in the morning. He yawned as he walked the dark halls back to his room. Sleep would be good, Bruce was exhausting. TIm just wanted to melt into his pillow and disappear forever. Tim jumped, almost yelped as he turned a corner and came face to face with a mop of white and black hair. Jason stared at him quietlywith his jaw locked in anger. Neither of them spoke but Jason nodded in the direction of the library. Jason was here, why was he here? Tim hadn’t noticed him come in so it must’ve been when he was dealing with Bruce.

Oh, God, had he seen him with Bruce? The seeing wasn’t the hard part Tim knew how to lie and deflect. He could say that he asked Bruce to hold hands. It wouldn’t explain why it looked like he was guiding Bruce but it was a start. The hearing was the bad part. If Jason had heard the end of their conversation Tim doesn’t know. An inside joke maybe? That was the only thing Tim could think of at the moment. He bit his lip nervously. The disgusting feeling was back. His hands and feet felt heavy. Tim was tired, he just wanted to sleep.

“Why are you here?” He asked nervously.

“Left my commlink in the cave. Came back to get it,” Jason said.

“Ah.”

So he was in the cave. When they entered the library Jason sat down in one of the lounge chairs and motioned for Tim to sit across from him.

“The fuck was that?” Jason started.

“What was what?”

Jason leaned forward and sighed. “Okay. Are you… okay?” He asked through gritted teeth.

The question felt weird coming from Jason. “Fine. Why?”

“I heard you talking to Bruce.”

Tim is pretty sure all the color left in his face drains. He’s pretty sure Jason noticed it too. “Oh.”

“So are you okay?”

Tim pinched his fingertip with the opposite hand. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just- just forget what you heard, okay? It’s nothing weird, just an inside joke, y’know?” Tim feels a little stupid for deflecting immediately. He could’ve played it off better, but the mental exhaustion was getting to him.

“It didn’t sound like a joke.”

Tim pinched harder, sinking his nails into his skin. “Then you misread the situation.”

Jason leaned back, splaying his arms over the back of the chair. “Alright humor me. What’s the joke then.”

“If I explained it it wouldn’t be very “inside” anymore. It’s private.”

“Kay, so how long have you and him had this private “joke.””

Tim grimaced. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not. Just answer.”

Tim scoffed. “Why do you care? It’s a joke me and Bruce have, that’s it.”

“Why do I-?! Why do I care?! You know I kill abusers?”

Tim took a deep breath in and rolled his eyes. “Don’t call it abuse just because you think it’s weird. I get it, you don’t buy the joke thing but that’s all it is.”

Jason was quiet for a moment before his eyes widened. “Oh my God, is that why he listens to you? Because you have this dad thing going on?”

Tim’s stomach churned. God, he wanted to throw up. He wanted to run away and hide under his cover until this was all over. “Nothing’s going on, leave it alone.”

“Listen, I’m trying to help you.”

Jason? Help Tim? When he was the reason for this in the first place? Tim couldn’t help but smile at the irony. “Yeah right. I don’t need any help, it’s fine. If it makes you feel better, I started it, not Bruce.”

“So, what, you started calling Bruce “ chum” and shit.” Tim almost gagged. “And he just went along with it?”

“It’s complicated, okay? Bruce needs someone to deal with him.”

“Why not Alfred? That’s literally his job.”

“It’s different-”

“Is it? Alfred’s practically raised him and I don’t see Bruce calling him dad.”

“It’s different,” Tim repeated. “You weren’t there, you don’t know.”

“Okay then explain it. I’ve got all night.”

Tim clenched his jaw and glared at Jason. “I’m going to bed.” He started to stand but a throwing knife stuck into the bookshelf behind him, barely missing his head.

“Sit. Explain.”

Tim sat back down. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“When did this start?”

“Four or five years ago.”

Jason hummed. “That’s what you meant by I wasn’t there. Alright then, why is he calling you dad?”

That one was loaded. Tim wasn’t a psychic, he couldn’t read Bruce’s mind. He only had his best guess. “He likes to be parented. Talking to him like he’s a teenager sometimes helps when you need him to do something. Like shower or eat.”

“So… you act like his dad because he’s an overgrown teenager.”

“No. He only acts like that when he’s depressed, or stressed, or wasted.”

“Bruce doesn’t drink.”

“Not when you guys are around. He used to drink himself stupid after you died. That’s also why it’s me and not Alfred. Alfred was grieving too, Bruce wasn’t something he needed to deal with.”

“So you took Alfred’s place.”

“Only when he needed it.”

“But it never stopped. You’re still doing this weird shit just to make him feel better.”

“He still needs me. I can’t abandon him.” Tim shifted uncomfortably.

“Tim, you’re 17, Bruce isn’t your responsibility.”

“He is. I need to take care of him. You don’t understand, you don’t get how bad he needs me.”

“You’re right, I don’t. He’s grown, he doesn’t need you.”

“Well he does, okay? And I’ll do it until he stops needing me.”

“Do you think of him as your son?”

Tim was silent. He didn’t like to, it made him feel gross to say it so he’d never actually verbalized it before. “It… can make it easier.”

Jason shook his head. “I don’t get you. Both of you know how fucked up this is, you kept it a secret this whole time. You’re clearly feeling shitty about it, you just never said anything. He’s not threatening you, is he?”

“He’s not threatening me, I just… He needs me. That’s all there is to it.” Tim was tired. He wanted to go to bed. “We didn’t tell anyone because we knew you would react like this. You’d think it was weird.”

“It is.”

“You’re not even making an effort to understand. You don’t get it.”

“Oh, believe me, I get it. I get all there is to get. Tim, I’m sure you know this, but I don’t like you. I think you’re a stain and you never should’ve been Robin. But I’m on your side, I’m trying to help you . Because I’m supposed to protect people like you.”

“I’m not a victim, Red Hood, I’m telling you, I’m just taking care of him.”

“You don’t need to.”

“We’re talking in circles. It’s fine if you don’t get it, just don’t tell anyone and keep it alone. Me and Bruce are fine, this has worked for years. If I left Bruce wouldn’t be able to pick himself up again. I can take care of him as long as he needs me.”

“Do you want to?”

Tim rubbed his arm. He didn’t, he liked feeling needed but he didn’t want to do this. But that’s how it was, it was how Bruce needed him. Since he couldn’t, he wouldn’t change a thing. “Yeah.” He felt disgusting.

Jason raised his hands in surrender. “Then I’ll leave it alone. But if I find out something I don’t like, I’ll act. Trust me, I will.”

Tim finally pushed himself out of the chair. “Thank you. I’m going to bed, it’s late.”

Jason stayed behind in the library leaving Tim alone in the long dark hallway. He was alone again, he exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding before his chest sank again. Oh God, someone knew. Jason knew, probably the last person Tim wanted to know. Jason had called Bruce an abuser and threatened to kill him. That’s the last thing Tim needed. He wanted to sleep, he should sleep.

The fic that inspired it here

#fic #batman fanfiction #tim drake fic #tim drake whump #bad parent bruce wayne #bad parent bruce is good for the soul #batfam #parentified tim drake #angst #tim drake #bruce wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #cassandra cain

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pedrasacorn · 5 months ago

Note

after that little blurb about jason still caring about reader even after breaking up with her for her own safety i now desperately need an angsty but also a comfort fic where they break up, reader is comfused and sad, jason is even sadder and maybe evn regrets his decision and then something important happens to reader and jason realizes what a mistake it was to push her away and apologises and its all good again! … lol sorry if this is too long i just liked your idea a lot :)

Jason breaks up to protect you

A/n: thank you for requesting :3 it’s so exciting and getting to challenge myself was fun!

Warnings: Blood, injury, brief description of depression, not proof read

5:30pm

Far above the city Jason watches you.

The rain and smog almost conceal his view as you exit your apartment.

But he knows your habits, the way you walk.

It’s only easy to get through your window because he’s the one who goon proofed it.

Your room is clean, as if untouched. Except the bed.

He takes stock of your fridge. Rotting vegetables he tosses, along with the moldy bread and…whatever the hell that was.

His heartache is good. And earned. Deserved even.

All it took was for one rogue to mention your existence, and that was it. Didn’t have a name; just a vague idea of your existence.

He clung to the feeling of panic lacing his veins, keeping it vivid in his mind. He used it to replace the urge to hold you, to wipe your tears, and reassure you. He knew better than to have been in your life.

He uses fresh milk to replace your…chunky one.

“I did not raise you this way…” He mutters; humorously.

As he broke up, he managed to look at your face, he imagined what it would look like dead, and bloody.

It didn’t help. Because you weren’t dead, but you looked something akin to it.

Eggs, and cheese. You don’t like eggs. He knows this.

More bread even if it goes bad again. And snacks. Easy freezer meals.

He shouldn’t, but he stays. He stays hidden in the dark where he belongs, needing to know you make it home okay.

6:31pm

Everything is a fog of grey.

The half eaten sandwich you had at work tasted like nothing.

You couldn’t even cry because—what was the point? You didn’t even really feel anything.

That nothingness multiplies when you get into your apartment. Locking everything up the way Jason taught you.

Although the stab wound, and blood dripping down your side doesn’t feel like nothing.

Sweat beeds down your face, collecting in the neck of your sweater. You just have to get to the kit Jason gave you; the medical bills were not worth it right now.

Your eyes meet his.

Your heart nearly falls out of your chest, releif flooding your veins.

“Jay I’m hurt.” Your voice breaks as tears warp your vision, softening out the world.

6:34

You, are still the most beautiful thing, he has ever beheld.

What was he doing? He had only meant to bring you food. Knowing your tendency to neglect yourself when you were heartsick.

It wasn’t your fault; he’d never blame you. Just wanted to know you weren’t going to fade out of existence the way he faded out of your life.

He runs to you, immediately ripping off your sweater, pressing his hand into your side.

“I’m not going anywhere sweets. M’right here.” He murmurs against your ear, “Who did this?”

“Some stupid—son of a bitch in an alley.” You rasp as he lies you down.

“Yeah? What son’uva bitch? You tell me. Now.”

His accent was so thick when he got upset; like when you forgot to eat, or drink water instead of caffeine.

He’s stunning.

“Hi…” you rasp.

“…hi surga’…” He soothes your cheek.

8:40pm

When you come to you’re alone in your bed.

A sob breaks through the quiet.

So light on his feet, you don’t hear him until he’s halfway into your room.

“Shhh baby it’s okay…hey, hey I’m right here.” He cups your tear streaked face.

You whimper. “You left.”

“I know but I’m not ever going to leave again okay? Yeah?” He tilts your face upward.

“You…you just think you know all the things.” You sniffle.

He can’t help his fond smile; he doesn’t mention how your words make little sense.

“Yeah?” He croons.

You nod.

“You just do things. All the time and it’s…just so you.”

Your glare holds little heat.

Even if it did, any heat from you is warmth to him.

His emotions are bared to you, he’s filled with guilt. Staying wasn’t rational, but he needed you.

He smooths your cheek with his thumb.

“Can you find some forgiveness in that pretty heart of yours?” He murmurs.

He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but it’s the best he can do to ask without begging.

“…I just missed you…the most.” You say, a bit delirious.

“Yeah I missed you too…” He kisses your forehead.

“Is that how you kiss the love of your life?” You glare.

There’s his sweetheart.

“Well you didn’t give me permission now didya?” He smirks.

You meet each other half way, his lips caressing yours.

#jason todd x reader #I like this one :3 #my writing

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incorrectbatfam · 9 months ago

Note

batfam members being the smartest and dumbest person in the room at the same time

Damian: Here's the plan: we wait for your mother to put the pie on the windowsill to cool. Then, I'll spoof a call to her work phone in order to draw her away. That's when you come in and take it. Are we clear?

Jon: *walks up to Lois*

Jon: Mom, can Damian and I have a piece of pie?

Lois: Of course, here you go.

———————

Cullen: I tripped over my shoelaces again.

Harper: I can make self-tying shoelaces that can only come apart when you use a password-protected app.

Cullen: ...I was just thinking of wearing velcro.

———————

Duke: Check out my project! Not to brag, but I think I know who's winning the science fair.

Izzy: What is it?

Duke: It's a chamber that excites nanoparticles to generate short-term high-intensity thermal energy that can alter organic matter to make them suitable for human consumption. What do you think?

Izzy: Funny, I have one at home. Only I call it a microwave.

———————

Dinah and Babs: *talking*

Dinah: One sec, I'm getting a call.

Dinah: *answers her phone*

Dinah, immediately hanging up: Never mind.

Barbara: Was your number leaked? I have a list of possible suspects and plans for dealing with each one.

Dinah: Relax, it was just spam.

———————

Bernard, with a mic: Welcome back to MasterChef: Young Justice. We're down to our finalists, Red Robin and Spoiler. Let's see what they brought us today.

Tim: I made a nutrient-dense mass-conserving meal replacement with all essential components compressed in a gelatinous cube for a quick, on-the-go meal during our off-world missions. I'm serving it with a protein shake served in a vacuum-sealed pouch made completely out of recycled materials.

Steph: I made authentic Belgian waffles using techniques dating back to the 1958 Brussels World Fair. I'm serving it with a warm Swiss chocolate ganache, Japanese white strawberries, and homemade ube powdered sugar. For a drink, we have a cappuccino made with fair-trade Colombian dark roast beans and milk sourced from local farmers.

Kon, Bart, and Cassie: *taste and discuss*

Kon: You're both eliminated.

Tim and Steph: What?!

Cassie: Red Robin, the point of this competition is to showcase taste and culinary artistry, not just your engineering skills.

Bart: And Spoiler, you were supposed to make soup.

———————

Cass: *sneaks out her room*

Cass: *rolls down the hall*

Cass: *jumps over the couch*

Cass: *crawls through the vents*

Cass: *climbs down the rafters*

Cass: *slides down a gas pipe into the Batcave*

Cass: *lands in front of the door*

———————

Dick: I'll infiltrate the Iceberg Lounge with my state-of-the-art wearable camouflage that uses reverse psychology to throw all suspicions off of me by catching people's attention in a completely different way.

Jason: Pfft, lame. You should check out my latest tech. It's a potassium nitrate–based mixture that can be activated with a built-in timer to both create a diversion and incapacitate more of the Penguin's cronies at once.

Dick: That's stupid. We need to be subtle.

Jason: No, what we need is efficiency.

Dick: Roy, what do you think?

Roy, looking up from his phone: I think one of you wants to dress in drag and the other made a bomb.

———————

Bruce: I need the kids to steer clear of Crime Alley tonight so I can deal with a situation but I don't want to bench them because then they'll be mad at me. Any ideas?

Alfred: Give them paperwork.

Selina: Send them on a wild goose chase.

Kate: Get them to bench themselves.

Renee: Wow.

Renee: You all suck.

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clubsoft · 14 days ago

Text

⠀

⠀ ⠀ GOT MUSCLE? ⠀ ⠀ CLINT FLOOD / F ! READER⠀⠀

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summary · clint looks good in his old t - shirt , too good . tags · 3rd person POV ; no use of Y/N / chokehold , chokehold , chokehold / fingering / slight overstimulation / clint loves her / gestures to a size gap but not rly / if there's spelling errors no there's not !! ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⓘ poc friendly . word count · 2 . 08 k notes · immm a lil rusty w linear smut so if this sucks , keep it to urself !! </3 ( jk pls tell me what u think ) ty to @almostempty for feeding this idea more && @stellamarielu for proofreading cuz i almost cried while finishing this .

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Friday night is movie night.

One year ago, Clint and his girlfriend moved house. Three bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, grimly unfurnished and requiring more than just love to mold it into a home. New wallpapers, new flooring, new fixtures, all which he took upon himself to install, too headstrong to accept help. One evening, as he crashed atop the newly assembled couch, his girlfriend flitted through the door, plastic bag at her hip, eyes bright as the streetlights outside.

“Look what I got! The video store down the block just opened, and they had so many new things. Can you believe it?”

He could. It didn’t carry disbelief, not in the slightest. A new store with new things, who would’ve thought? Yet, Clint never denied her a single thing, not even a second of excitement. The honest route was left untaken because a shake of his head earned him kisses, brought the silkiness of her thighs within his grasp while he chased her lips. Hours later, with her weight on his chest, voices shrunken to a murmur with frame after frame flicking away on TV, Clint unearthed true bliss.

He would make it a ritual. Thursdays, he dropped a pretty penny on VHS tapes. Friday evenings, he scribbled the titles of his selections on slips of paper, shuffled them into a ceramic bowl. It was on clearance — white trim, botanical embellishments, an olive green inner base with an off-center heart. They can’t sell it full price ‘cause the heart ain’t in the middle, he said, grinning, gleaming, presenting his purchase pridefully. Just like that, the most extravagant item in the kitchen became a prop for their film selection fishbowl.

“I got one extra, since it’s our Friday movie anniversary and all,” Clint mumbles, lips to her jaw, kissing up from her cheek to her temple, remaining there as she sifts through the stack. The Untouchables, The Goonies, Fatal Attraction, and Heathers. His girlfriend lingers on Heathers, the corners of her mouth twitching up, feeling his nose crinkle against her hair. The glimmer in her eyes is distinct, unmistakable. Clint treasures their decompression period — her affinity for horror, mayhem disrupts that often. They couldn’t be more different. Her, an agent of chaos, one to smother her giggles when the scenes got bloody, or a character took a fall. In stark contrast, Clint is the sort to startle, shrink toward the sofa, casting judgement only once the gore runs its course. All in vain, the luminescence of her smile abates him as milk does to a pastry, yielding a sugary, gooey mess.

Heathers wins the draw.

Jiffy pop, caramel sodas — whipped cream, moschino cherry — on the coffee table, the couple tangles themselves atop suede cushions, twenty minutes trek by quietly. Veronica has yet to become an accomplice to Jason’s evil antics when Clint unfurls his arm from his girlfriend’s shoulder, tilting away to grab a sip of his drink. His eyes stay plastered to the screen. Behind him, her gaze wanders. Clint replaced his flannel with a t-shirt hours ago. His favorite one, plain black aside from the small, chipping logo at the center of his chest. Subdued by time, the cotton was delightfully soft, the sleeves wrinkled against his biceps, struggling to encircle the brawn one can only acquire from ages of hard work. She had always liked it — loved it, found it mouthwatering.

The dim light is the culprit, the humming glow of the TV accentuating the contours of his flesh — like the gloss of lotion under the sun. When he drags his fingertips over his sweatpants to wipe condensation away, every muscle in his arm ripples, visibly. An array of urges arises; to bite, lick, imprint her teeth on the skin — wrap the limb around her throat, press until she’s woozy. Clint’s spine meshes with the backrest. She seizes the opportunity. As his arm returns to encircle her, she twists, just enough for her to tilt her head and shape her cheek to the curve of his bicep. True to form, he draws her closer, his large hand winding down her chest to her rib, thumb dimpling the underside of her breast. His palm is heavy, warm, and if he notices the hitch in her breath, he doesn't bare it.

Minutes flow by, her cheek squished against muscle, his hand stroking absently at her side. His scent clouds her senses, heat enveloping her, disarming — leaving her malleable, putty in his palm. The worst part? He couldn’t be more oblivious, fascinated by the onscreen havoc. For her, it serves as white noise, a backtrack for her aberrant thoughts. She readjusts his arm, her chin resting within the crook of his elbow. If he wouldn’t tease her halfway to hell, she would ask him to squeeze, indulge that tiny fantasy and keep it from decaying her mind further. Her restlessness is evident, for Clint’s lips come to settle against the crown of her head, “You okay?” The flutter of her body is his answer, she feels his mouth bend into a grin above her head. “Not okay?”

“No, I’m okay—”

He flexes — tugs scantily, forcing her chin to recline, delicate neck lengthening to accommodate the breadth of his arm, her eyes twirling back to meet his. Espresso brown, glinting with mischief. His lips are bent in a sneer, and she draws her brows together, her hands on his forearm — small, voluntarily powerless. He knows. Of course, he does. Years spent enlightening himself to the patterns of her desires, he’s learned a thing or two.

“Yeah? Enjoying the movie?” He rasps, his breath fanning the shell of her ear. Another shiver rattles her frame. No, but I’m glad you are, her lips part to quip. His arm constricts, locking the words in her throat, heaving the wind from her lungs. A whine threads past the force of his arm, coupling with the soles of her feet driving into the cushion below her. Her thighs rub together. “Fuck, baby, look at you.” He contracts more, reducing the residue of her thoughts to a pile of a mush, her brain airy, wispy. “Why didn’t you just ask, honey? What am I here for if not to keep this sweet little body satisfied?” His answer is a shift of her hips, one set of fingers fumbling for his unoccupied wrist, until his hand rests upon her belly. “Somethin’ else you want?”

The first of his questions that wasn’t rhetorical, for his hold slackens just enough for her to gasp, and choke out, “Make — me cum…”

So pitiable, so desperate — a sight he can’t resist. He wastes no time refastening his arm. His other slinks around her waist, raising her body, rotating his own, placing her between his legs. The bulge in his sweatpants sits comfortable below the curve of her spine. His thumb plunges under her waistband, remaining digits grappling below her hip. He tilts back, hikes up her figure by her throat — her back to his chest so he doesn't outright break her — and glides her shorts down her legs. To Clint’s amusement, the gusset is soaked through. The girl in his clutch knocks the fabric from his hand, ruffled, pouting for he doesn’t mask it. He chuckles, urges her thighs apart, one leg dangling over his off the edge of the couch, hooking his fingers under her opposite knee, exposing the sweetness at her center. When he peers down at the glistening, pulpy flesh of her folds, he moans into her hair.

“This pussy’s so pretty, baby… Never gets old.” The warmth of her cheeks, the faint grunts spur him on, dotting each of his movements. He scatters sloppy kisses along the side of her face, his fingertips brushing over her pelvis, descending between her thighs. He doesn’t delve into her, not at once, using his pointer and ring finger to spread her instead, divulging the precious bundle of nerves, deliberately catching it with the pad of his middle. The last of her air is used up in a delirious whine. Her hips stir up, a pathetic attempt at placing herself into his hand, and he chuckles, low, amused against her ear. “Okay… Okay, fine.”

Clint seeks to savor — toy with her until she begs, cries for him to indulge her. This time, the poor angel couldn't come close, hardly able to fill her lungs, much less speak. Generously, he obliges, doing so while nipping at her cheek, his thick center digits coming together to slip inside her, pausing at the first knuckle, letting her squirm eagerly, then sinking in until he’s nearly buried to the third joint. The fullness is sudden. She warbles a honeyed noise, her back arching. With a simper, he mumbles against her ear. “Ready, baby?”

Her thighs jolt, and he groans, dragging his fingers out, driving them in harder, burrowing his nose in the hinge of her jaw. His pace builds gradually, little by little, mirrored by the volume of her sap-like noises, lashes fluttering above her cheekbones as her eyes roll back, perfect, manicured nails scoring crescent marks into his forearm. The sounds her pussy makes are obscene, overshadowing the movie even as utter mayhem ensues amongst the characters.Too far removed, lost to the pleasure, modesty has become foreign, each mewl, each cry echoing in the living room. Clint, captivated, wishes nothing more than to brand his brain with the image of her. He’s let go, relinquished his hold, finding space within the lust to worry that his darling girl might truly faint. Though, in her euphoric state, he’s disposed to believe she wouldn’t mind. Her gummy walls pulse around his digits. She bucks her hips up, pursuing her high faster than he’s willing to give it.

“Easy, sweetheart, I got you.” Conflicting his words, he eases his movements to a lazy crawl, and she all but sobs, one hand blundering to capture his wrist, tugging, as though she would take charge of her own ecstasy. Clint laughs, much to her lovable irritation, earning him a huff. Cruel as it was, her tears were precious, and it simply wouldn’t have been characteristic of him to not impel them. He sucks a mark behind her ear, brings his thumb to her clit in slow, firm circles, in apology for his oh so horrible taunting. Soothed, pacified, her figure softens, head tips back against his shoulder. As she calms, he pauses for a heartbeat, then two, abruptly curling his fingers up to massage the starry spot that would bring her ruin. His palm beats against her clit with unrelenting swiftness.

“C’mon, baby,” he rumbles. Panting, she grips his arm again, scrapes her nails over his skin. Clint reads that as a sign, tightens his arm around her throat, intense, steady. Her breath jerks, silky insides clench his digits, signaling her oncoming climax. He slows the drag of his fingers to lower his thumb over her clit, no movement, just pressure. The knot snaps, harsh and wet, a buzz lighting up every nerve in her being, her frame going rigid as she cums, thighs twitching. Her moans jolt from her mouth, strangled by struggle. “There you go… There you go, sweet girl.” One hand still nestled between her legs, the other snakes her waist, lips showering her neck and jaw with kisses. He continues to slowly circle her sensitive clit, subduing her high. “Look so pretty when you cum, could spend my Friday nights doing this instead.” He noses at her cheek, and she cants her head sideways to meet his gaze, reaching to wrap her fingers around his thumb. He sighs out, molding his lips to hers while withdrawing his fingers from her syrupy wetness, swallowing the sound she makes when his fingertips graze that perfect spot one last time.

Fucked out is an understatement. Clint would use the word sinful. Her eyes are droopy, a dewyness to her lashes, justified by the onslaught of sensation. Clint dips his head down to flatten the tip of his nose against hers. “Good?” He murmurs, delicately pivoting her legs to hang over his thigh, his palm leisurely stroking her back. A part of their usual journey in coming back to earth. Well pleased, she gazes moonily at him. Clint hardly notices, raises his digits to his mouth, his tongue curling out to lick her essence off his flesh. Her chest lifts with a puff of air, tilting towards him, tongue darting out to sweep over the back of his fingers.

“Good.”

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taglist · @babynueva / @hopelessromantic727 / @zelena89 / @ithinkimokeei / @choania / @qtmoonies / @illyrianbrat / @lovetoloveyoubaby / @dontlookatme121 / @gothcsz / @mandaloriankait / @almostempty / @lilacspider / @akotafi / @itwasntimethatdidit40 / @newsfl6sh / @letsgobarbs / @salingers if u would like 2 be added 2 my tag list 4 my fics , pls click this link && fill out the form !! u will be added immediately && get a notif for my next fic !!

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#clint x reader #clint freaky tales x reader #clint flood x reader #clint x reader smut #freaky tales fic #clint flood #clint x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fic #fic.

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