#With Dickie being the fluffiest

[azol-otl]

Jaybin has to play arm candy for Dick undercover, Rickie Malone? or smth

For the Ask Game

Would you believe me if I said that I actually had an idea with this exact plot?

Matches Malone is know for being a fake, an alias. Someone they keep around because he's helped guys he's cosplaying as out and that's useful in many ways. Rickie Malone isn't like that. Through some poorly worded explanations from Matches while he was at odds with Bruce and some of the traits Dick chose for Rickie (sexist, short tempered, egotistical, hands that love to roam) back when he was making a persona, people think of Rickie as two steps away from being a monster.

This means that he's the perfect alias to go undercover for a specific trafficking ring run by people just like Rickie...and Dick hates every second of it

To make matters worse, he can't take Babs along with him because the last time she tried to be "Rickie's girl" she almost actually murdered Dick because that's how foul he has to play.

Dick wants it known that he's against taking Jason along. Actively doesn't want to do it, but Jason would help solidify Rickie's descent and also be backup once Dick gets in over his head.

They end up having to "prove themselves" as the real deal once caught. Dick hates how much he wasn't acting when Jason started blowing him, nor about how hard he was getting when Jason was passed around.

The "Little Brother" that slipped out of Dick's mouth was not planned, but it meant that Rickie Malone was a certified bad man in the underworld, which he hates hates hates so much but he can't let go of this opportunity (Jason refuses to let go of this opportunity to shut these places down and they are both using this to harm themselves and also get their rocks off).

[bruciemilf]

Factually, I know Bruce is a bad cook. In my wonderland brain, however, he's a baker in some Hell's Kitchen-esque neighborhood, both flourishing and festering down the Narrow's ribs.

Curiously, The Bat seems particularly focused on protecting this joint. And whoever walks in it.

The classic myth of food is that it brings people together; That's the one thing everyone, under the greyscale rainbow in Gotham, has in common. Everyone has to eat, and everyone has to die.

And all kinds of people walk in there.

You get thieves with watchful, observant eyes nemorizing the concise, expert movement of your fingers and wonder how these machines of pain and violance can be delicate enough for sweets.

"I know what you are. I know who you are."

"I'm not exactly hiding. "

" I'm gonna rob you now."

" Take some tuna for Iris while you're at it,"

You get jesters with runny make-up and busted lips and a heartbroken hope in their eyes, crying over their fried ice cream,

" I'm stupid. I know -- I know what he's doing to me. And my mom's voice is just pounding in my ear, every fuckin' day, ' You're letting him, Harley. You're letting him and you deserve it. You should've married that fucking doctor. At least he didn't hit you, he just yelled and screamed and called you nasty names.'

Bruce drizzles some extra rainbow sprinkles on her ice cream. " And that voice is wrong." And he'll keep saying that voice is wrong till the day Harley doesn't like ice cream anymore. And that day doesn't exist.

And slowly, you learn not to be impressed. When you live with wolves, you sharpen your teeth. Dogs do what dogs do; they eat. An angry dog is a hungry dog.

And this boy, with a red scarf over his nose, waving a gun in Bruce's face, is looking plenty angry.

"Just fucking stay there, okay?" He'd probably sound more threatening without the glass tremble in his voice. "I'm just gonna take some cash, and,--"

Bruce's calm is frosty; He's got experience with guns being pointed at his face. " Your safety's on. "

Teal eyes are glossy, shining with feral, living fear, like it's Bruce who has him cornered, backed up to a wall and looming death over him. there's no kids in crime alley.

Whatever they are, they can't afford that title. But he looks exactly how boys in crime alley look; Young and scared and haunted.

"What's your name, honey?"

"...Jason."

" Are you hungry, Jason?"

The way he wolfs down three plates with tears running down his cheek answers Bruce plenty.

"You can have the cash, " I don't really need it, goes unspoken. It already feels slimy enough to take it. The charities and well- filled cups of homeless people don't ease that. "I'm guessing you need it."

"It's for my dad," 'Dad' drips from Jason's lips like liquid hatred, " He told me to rob you cause you never call the cops."

" Calling criminals to stop other criminals seems a little counter-productive, " He needs to do something with his hands; Or he'll take Jason and hug him and drag him to the manor, where Alfred can prepare the fluffiest bed, and the warmest bath. So he's packing him something extra, to take at home.

Still. Hearing Jason laugh makes it worth it.

" You can say you got dinner, too."

" I'm not giving Willis shit, " Willis. One of Harvey's guns. They need a chat about working hazards. " Gonna take this to Dickie and Timmy, thought. Dick's gonna love this..."

And Jason, Bruce comes to find out, doesn't know himself half as good as he knows his siblings.

He learns Timmy, the baby brother, loves to skate, and he's the reason they go to the ER every other Thursday. He learns Dick can never run out of energy; Learns he's running on spite alone and they can't go a day without fighting.

And when Bruce is fighting Nightwing, the newest villain in Gotham, he learns both he and Dick can land the meanest Produnova recorded.

[sparkypantaloons]

Batdad Begins

Bruce has been Batman for three years, has been a Dad for one, and managed to keep his night-job a secret from his kids for a grand total of approximately five minutes.

But still, raising toddlers and being the Dark Knight? It's nothing he can't handle... right?

Or; family fluff of the fluffiest kind. Starts when Dick is five and Jason is two and Bruce is only just figuring out what it is he's let himself in for.

~~

Chapter One

The first time Bruce manages getting Jason down for the night, reading Dick a bedtime story, and making it out on patrol as scheduled, he’s buzzing. By the time he’s managed it successfully every night for over a month, even he’ll admit to being smug.

Granted, he’s not always there to read to Dick in person. But it was simple enough to create a secure line into his comm that’s just for his boys. It means he can read Dick a bedtime story on his way to the City if he has to, and that if either boy wakes and he’s not there, they (or Alfred) can call him.

The line has it’s own special ring tone and everything, which regrettably is ‘We Don’t Talk About Bruno’, but Dick, thinking it was a normal phone (and not a highly sophisticated secure channel so encrypted not even the CIA could hack it) insisted. Either way. Being Batman and a Dad? Piece of cake.

“On the other side of the road was a Park,” Bruce says, his best narrator voice on, as he speeds through the darkness towards the City. ”Very popular with local hedgehogs on account of the good hunting it offered. As well as worms and slugs and snails—“ Dick giggles down the line, as the Batmobile turns left onto the Trigate Bridge. “There were special attractions in the Park.”

“I think snails would be— be—“ Dick’s five year old musings are cut off by a yawn. “Would be tastiest.” He finishes, words slurring into each other with sleep.

Bruce can’t help but chuckle. “Why’s that, chum?”

“Crunchy.” Dick replies, clearly half asleep now from the sound of his voice.

“Crunchy, huh?” Bruce grins, and can’t help but think again just how lucky he is that he gets to officially, legally, call this kid his.

“B?” Dick mumbles.

“Yeah, Dickie?”

“C’m’n see me when you—you” another huge yawn “get home.”

“I promise chum, sleep tight.”

“Nunight.”

The line goes silent, just as Bruce pulls into the alley behind GCPD. A spring in his step as he climbs out the car and heads to the roof.

“Commissioner.” He says, the deep gravel of Batman’s voice comes out of his throat. Drastically different from the story book Dad voice he just used.

“Batman.” Jim says, grim look on his face. But when doesn’t he look grim. “Glad you’re here. We’ve got a situation, just for a change—”

“Batman?” Comes a very different, very young voice.

Batman freezes. That’s not good.

“You okay, Batman?” Jim asks, eyebrow raising as the caped vigilante seems momentarily stunned.

“Batman?” Comes Dick’s voice again through the comm, all trace of sleep suddenly gone. “B, do you know Batman?”

Batman is panicking. He holds a finger up to Jim, tries to make a face that says ‘give me a second’ through the cowl. It doesn’t work but he turns on his heel anyway, trots awkwardly in a half-jog-half-walk to the edge of the roof.

“Dickie,” He whispers. “I thought you’d gone to sleep.”

“Do you know Batman, B?” Dick says louder, his voice high with excitement.

“It’s bed time Dickie, I’ve got to go. Go back to sleep.” Bruce hangs up the call. Turns back to the commissioner. He clears his throat. “What’s the situ—“

We don’t talk about Bruno-no-no-no, we don’t talk about Brun—

Batman rejects the call. Jim raises both eyebrows this time. Doesn’t say anything.

We don’t talk about Bru—

“You wanna get that?” Jim asks.

“Hn.” Batman replies, as the song starts up again for a third time. “Give me a moment.” He turns away from the commissioner.

“Dickie,” Bruce has his cross Dad voice on now. “It’s far too late for this.”

“But B,” Dick’s voice is reedy and thin with excitement. “Batman!” He breathes.

“Buh-buh-buh—” Comes another impossibly young voice.

“Did you wake your brother up?” Bruce scolds.

“No.” Dick replies, not at all convincing.

“Buh-buh-buh-buh—”

“Jas’n stop slobbering on me.”

“Buh-buh-buh—”

“Dickie!” Bruce says, ever so close to snapping because he really needs to get off this call. He keeps his frustration just about in check.

“Yes?” Dick asks sweetly.

Bruce sighs. “Where’s Alfred?”

~~

And that’s how, not three years after he became Batman, Bruce blows his cover. It’s also how Jim Gordon discovers Batman is a Dad, and jokingly suggests they should take their kids on playdates. Every time he does, Bruce feels a headache coming on.

It takes him a little while to convince Dick how important it is, that this is kept a secret. But anytime anyone so much as mentions Batman, the five year old starts bouncing, hands flapping at his sides in excitement. When they go into the city he points out every single poster, newspaper, graffiti, merchandise that has The Bat on it. Even some things that don’t, but look like they could be a bat. He insists on wearing Batman pyjamas, having a Batman bedspread, a Batman backpack for school. He even wears his tiny little dressing gown with the hood over his head, his arms free of the sleeves, so that when he runs up and down the corridors of Wayne Manor after bath time, it billows behind him like a cape.

“Freeze crime baby!” He says, pointing at Jason with a rubber duck in lieu of a batarang. Jason is sat in Bruce’s lap, hair sticking everywhere as Bruce towels it dry.

He makes grabby hands for the yellow duck. “Wack-wack.” He tries to make a quacking sound, squirming away from Bruce’s attempts to comb his hair.

“It’s Arkham for you!” Dick says again, letting Jason pull the rubber duck out of his hand. The two year old shoves it straight in his mouth.

“You’re gonna send your brother to Arkham?” Bruce asks, eyebrow raised.

Dick crosses his arms. “Yep. I’m Batman.” He says seriously. Then he gives Jason a shifty look, and leans over to whisper in Bruce’s ear. “It’s just bed, but bed is as bad as Arkham.”

“Is that right?” Bruce asks, managing to pin Jason between his legs. He starts to drag a comb through his unruly curls. Jason grunts and squirms in protest.

“Yeah, B. Bed is the worst.” Dick says, then he gives Bruce a conspiratory look. “Jason should go to bed though, because he’s baby.” Jason is red faced, trying to escape Bruce’s hold.

“And what should you do?” Bruce asks, now trying to wrestle a pyjama top onto his squirming two year old.

“I should come out with you.” Dick says puffing his chest out. “Duh. We can both be Batman.”

Bruce would laugh but one of Jason’s flailing hands has just smacked him in the mouth. “Jay, darling, can you just—“

“Freeze crime baby!” Dick says again, just as Jason manages to slip out of Bruce’s hold and run out of the bathroom cackling.

“Stop!” Dick squeals delighted as the two year old streaks past him. Then he’s in hot pursuit, bathrobe trailing behind him as he goes. “Na-na-na-na-na-na-Batman!”

Batman!”

Alfred appears at the top of the stairs as the boys speed past, milk and cookies on a tray. He looks at Bruce. “Bath time going well then?” He asks, moustache twitching.

Bruce wanders over, reaches for a cookie. “Nothing I can’t handle.” He says.

Alfred moves the tray out of his reach. “These aren’t for you. You know you get indigestion if you have too much sugar before patrol.”

Bruce scowls at the back of his head.

Two bedtime stories, three cookies and two attempts at teeth brushing later, Bruce is tucking Dick into bed.

“Please, please, pleeeease let me come.” Dick begs, gripping the top of his Batman duvet. “Please, I can help. I can fight Penguin and I can fight Joker and I can fight Riddler—“

“Dickie,” Bruce says gently, for what must be the fifth night in a row. “Batman isn’t fun, he isn’t cool, he isn’t— he isn’t playtime.”

Dick looks forlorn. “But I just want—“

“He’s here to keep you safe. And he— I can’t do that, unless I know you’re safe here at home. With Jason and Alfred. And unless we keep it our secret. Do you understand?”

Dick nods, but still looks sad. “But—“

“No buts, Dickie.” Bruce says. “Please, chum, I really need you to understand, okay?

Dick nods. “Okay.” He says quietly.

Bruce kisses him on the forehead, pulls the covers up to his chin. “G’night, Dickie.

“Night, B.” Dick says, voice still small.

Bruce smiles, and ruffles his hair. Then just as he goes to switch out the light hears a tiny voice say—

“But B, who keeps you safe?”

Bruce is pretty sure he feels his heart break straight down the middle, his throat suddenly tight. He turns back to Dick, gives him a smile. “You don’t need to worry about me, chum. Promise.”