#bruce is stretched thin

[night-wilf]

Writing prompt 119:

Bruce is an odd father, his children can tell you that much. Though they are unaware of his patrols through the city under moonlight.

Meerly a crypid they consider to be a quirk of Gotham.

'Batman' is a forgien figure who not many have ever seen. Bruce is glad of this and protects his family/citizens from the monsters among them.

[gaddaboutgriffon]

The Year of the Dragon.

(Name edited, credit to @jedipirateking for the suggestion.)

A joke the fandom has been making for a while is that Tim is forever stuck at 17. What if we make that something the rest of the Batclan notice too? (I am not following cannon.)

It was just after the annual Family picture day and the new group portrait was taking the place of last year’s and looking at it they noticed 15 year old Damian is now almost the same height as Tim. And Tim is pretty much the same as last year.

Jason and Damian take the opportunity to tease Tim calling him a shrimp and other short jokes. Which Tim rolls his eyes and goes to work on a case or something with Wayne industries. But Bruce, Dick, and Alfred are more concerned, may feel guilty thinking letting him be a vigilante stunted his growth. And looking back at the photos they have of him notice that he wasn’t growing as much as a normal teen boy should have.

Bruce decides he is going to be more active in running Wayne Enterprises while Alfred plots to cut back Tim’s coffee limit. And Dick is going to help out coordinate the patrols. (He had to move back to Gotham when the Bludhaven city spirit forced all the people out before the city got blown up. It’s a long story but dick has been really down and unmotivated after that.)

Tim is not taking any of this well, and feels like his family being stifling. So he decided to start going through the basement and vault of Drake manor. Which he has been putting off since he didn’t really have time for it between patrols and WE. And in the family heirlooms vault, shoved way in the back with covered in dust and many other things sitting on top, he finds an oak box with an ornately caved dragon on it. Opening it up he finds it is velvet lined and has a large pendant that looks a silver dragon curled deep violet amethyst egg. And next to the pendant is a scroll made of thin leather.

He pulled out the scroll first and tried to read it but it was too faint of lettering to make out in the somewhat dim vault light. But what little he could make out it it was really old 14th century English and mentioned something about a coming of age. He rolls it back up and puts it aside to instead pick up the pendant. When he touches it there is a faint static shock that surprises him other then that the silver and purple necklace doesn’t seem out of the ordinary.

His phone lets off a chime to remind him that diner is in an hour, so he pack the pendant and scroll back in the box and places it in his bag with a few other items he finds interesting and wanted to look into more later. Then returns to Wayne manor to eat before patrol. It isn’t until he wakes up the next morning he realizes that he should have probably read the scroll before touching the pendant.

He wakes up to knocking on his bedroom door and someone yelling at him to get up. He had gotten into the habit of locking his door back when Damian first moved in. He yelps in surprise, falling over because his center of balance is all out of whack when he tried to stand. Now he is fully awake and takes stock of himself.

Scales?

Scales! Why are his arms covered in scales?! His hands look like a mix of paws and talons. He struggles out of the sheets to look at the rest of himself. His pjs are stretched and torn in places to accommodate the new digigrade shape of his legs. Not to mention he now has a long tail and wings and a longer neck. He rushes to his personal bathroom and awkwardly stands up on his two legs so he can get a good look in the mirror. And yep that is a distressed dragon face looking back at him. He catches himself making a weird keening sound as he plops down to sit on the bathroom floor.

Moments later he hears the sound of his bedroom door’s lock being picked. Bruce calling his name and Duke explaining he had heard animal noises from the room. Tim scrabbles to try and get the balcony door unlocked so he can escape and find a way to change back before anyone can see him, but moving on all fours and the new talon hands he is not used too take up too much time and the bedroom door is open.

Living in a family of vigilantes, their reaction time and fight or flight instincts are quick, and Tim is tackled to the floor by Duke while the others start looking at every inch of the room for clues as to what happened to their seemingly missing brother.

Bruce is looking at the dragon in Tim’s pajamas for a second before saying, “Tim? Is that you chum?”

Tim tries to answer but all that comes out is a warbling chuff. Which takes Tim by surprise and has him nearly start to cry in panic. He can’t Talk!

“Hey, you’re ok Tim. Deep breaths. Duke get off him. Breath with me Tim. In 1, 2, 3, 4. Out 1, 2, 3, 4.” Bruce spoke in his soothing a scared child voice. Tim was half annoyed at himself for how much it helped.

“B, Look at this!” Dick said holding the box with the scroll and dragon pendent instead open. Now the gem is a very pale see through purple with only a sliver on the bottom the original color.

They take it down to the bat cave and get to work deciphering the scroll. Turns out the Drake family line are descendants of some ancient medieval prince named Aragorn and that there was a family tradition that on the sixteenth birthday the child would have to live a year in dragon form to let it catch up in maturity. But after the dragon form catches up they will be able to freely shift between forms. But if they don’t follow the tradition they don’t age properly, and the longer they put off the tradition the longer they have to spend as a dragon.

And that is all I had time for before bed. So who does this affect the family dynamic? What about the relationship between Tim and Damian? How do we bring Danny Phantom into this? Does he think Tim is a ghost dragon at first?

[jasmines-library]

CAN YOU PLEASE DO SOMETHING WITH OLDER BROTHER DAMIAN WAHNE?? LIKE 11 ISH YEAR OLD READER?? Reader is also an ex child weapon. Just a silent cutie pie. I just wanna see Damian spoiling them. Or something with like reader not following his orders and telling Damian to go away and does reckless stuff that Damian did when he was younger and his older siblings are just laughing at the irony

Brotherly Love

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Note: Sorry again for the wait! but two in one day woo.

Warnings: Just fluffy

Word Count: 800.

ALSO THIS IS MY 100TH FIC 🎉🎉

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

“If you walk out that door I swear to God-” Damian curses as you slink out of the door of the batcave. He had explicitly told you that he didn’t want you going on this mission because he had deemed it ‘too dangerous’ as soon as Bruce gave the details. For a boy who claimed he ‘didn’t give a shit’ he was rather protective. Of course, being the highly trained, and rather confident 11 year old you are (which basically meant you were an adult) you had decided that you weren’t going to listen to him. With a sly smirk, you slipped out of the door. “God dammit!”

Damian kicks the wheely chair beside him. It slides across the room.  And then there’s laughter.

It was Jason, geared up in his suit, minus the signature hood. He was leaning against the wall, an amused smirk on his face. 

“Finally getting a taste of your own medicine, huh Demon Spawn?”

“What?” Damian half snapped, his temper wearing thin as he spun around to face his brother.

This made Jason’s grin widen. “Don’t act as if you weren’t exactly the same.”

Damian glowered. “That’s different.”

Jason just raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

“....shut up. Where are you going anyway?” Damian nods towards Jason’s suit. 

“Someone has to go and get them. And it certainly won't be you.”

~

“Hi Dami.” You smiled as you sat yourself beside him on the couch. He was still in a grump, grumbling about your excursion. Jason had gone to find you, but instead of bringing you home, he let you finish the mission. This royally pissed Damian off, and he was almost 100% certain that Jason had done it just to spite him. But as much as he wanted to, Damian just couldn’t stay mad at you. Especially when you looked up at him with those bright and mischievous eyes. You very much reminded your other siblings of Damian when he was your age. Though of course, now he would claim he was all grown up and always has been. And, even though Damian wished he could keep holding his grudge against you, his face couldn't help but melt. 

“Hey, kiddo.” he greeted, looking down at you curiously.

“What are you doing?” You ask. You had always been fond of your older brothers, but you had an especially soft spot for Damian, as he did for you. 

Damian held up the book that he was half reading, but then gestured to the TV that he kept getting distracted by. “I don’t even know why I bothered trying to be honest.”

“Oh.” You acknowledged before reaching forwards to pick up the video game controllers. You raised an eyebrow and held one out for him to take. He snatched it up and turned it on. Damian was very clearly competitive, however he let you win the first few rounds before he decided he had had enough and wanted to take all of the glory for himself. 

At some point, the two of you deemed it time for a break. It didn’t last long, but it gave the two of you long enough to stretch your legs. When you returned, Damian was already back on the couch. On the coffee table he had placed two steaming mugs of hot cocoa, topped with cream and marshmallows. He had also haphazardly placed a bunch of crisps in a bowl and had collected an extensive array of snacks that he had chucked onto the table too. 

You raised an eyebrow, looking curiously at him. 

“What?”

“You got snacks.”

“Yeah….well you looked hungry.”

Your face melted at Damian’s tenderness. Damian rolled his eyes as you took a sip of the hot chocolate, getting whipped cream on your face. He chuckled and gestured for you to wipe it away. You grinned up at him again.

“Thank you, Dami.” you beamed, nudging his side affectionately. 

“Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.” He grumbled, unable to hide the sliver of a smile creeping up onto his face. 

The two of you eventually fall asleep, still in front of the TV and half gripping the controllers as the game idles on without you. It’s Dick who pokes his head around the door to see what the noise is. He is surprised to see you with your head on Damian’s shoulder as the two of you snooze. With a soft smile, he turns off the TV and places a blanket over the two of you. But not before snapping a quick picture of the two of you which he would definitely use to wind up Damian some point in the not too distant future.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

BATFAM TAGS

@hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx @hell-o-kittys @harleycao @batfamsstuff @alicedawitchbish

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[choerrysjubiles]

Stars in His Eyes

pairing: Anton x fem!reader

warning: smut! cunnilingus, cum eating, backshots, unprotected sex, pulling out, also reader has tattoos :3

wc: 1.4k hehehe

a/n: anton to me is dr bruce to gayle waters-waters uhm anyways I'm insane and I whipped this bad boy up in a day 💪🏼

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"You have tattoos?"

Anton's voice was a little loud, surprise volumizing his discovery. His eyes fixed on the small star along y/n's elbow. Situated right above the joint, a fine line tattoo that could easily be overlooked.

Laughing, "I do," she smiled at him, amused at his shock, "I have a couple, actually."

"A couple?" His eyes shoot to her face, feeling his cheeks flush at her amused smile.

"I'll show you them sometime."

Y/n returned to her phone, scrolling through something or reading another thing. Anton tried to distract himself, he really did. He tried looking at instagram, twitter, even videos on tiktok didn't help him. But he stayed sat, glancing every now and then at the star, thinking a hundred questions about it. Did it hurt? She mentions a couple, how many make a couple? What was her first tattoo?

"When did you get it done?"

Y/n looked over at Anton, seeing him fidget lightly.

Amusing him, "Maybe a year ago?"

His eyes shot all over the place, nervousness making him fidget and move even when he wanted to stay composed.

Maneuvering closer to him, "Do you wanna see them?"

Her arm caged him in, her hip touching his left thigh as her arm held her torso up hovering over his lap. His hand unconsciously moved onto her hip, guiding her into his lap.

"A little." He whispers. His eyes were staring onto her collarbones, nervous of what confidence he'd see if he looked into her eyes.

Leaning down, y/n kisses the corner of his mouth. Hearing him whimper, she felt his hand move to hold her head to properly kiss him.

Sitting better in his lap, y/n got a better feel at Anton's growing boner. Deepening their kiss to grind onto him, his hand traveling throughout her body to anchor himself onto her, feeling himself sink into the couch.

"You-" He's gasping for breath trying to find his words. "You said you had a couple."

Leaning in to kiss and bite onto his plump lips, "I do."

"Where?"

"Here."

She stretched the the neckline of her top down to show a small tattoo right along her sternum, a little bit above her breasts. Seeing the sight Anton's breath hitched.

"You can touch, if you want."

His hands carefully moved upwards, tracing the line work, feeling the bone beneath. His hands rested along the bottom hem of y/n's shirt, looking up at her for permission.

"You can take this off, as long as I can take your shirt off."

Her voice grew more husky, his cheeks warmed more hearing the arousal in her words.

Anton's hands moved under the thin material, feeling the soft skin of her ribcage before pulling off her shirt. Seeing her exposed skin, he immediately leaned in to kiss her stomach, her breasts, her tattoo.

"Not so fast." She teased, pulling his shirt off of him.

She leaned in and deeply kissed him, his tongue licking her bottom lip before he cradled her, one hand stretching across her back and the other hooking into her knee, moving y/n onto her back. He left wet kisses down her neck and onto her shoulders, hands moving her bra straps to the side to kiss as much skin as he could.

She lifted her back up enough to slide her hand behind her and unfasten her bra. Anton threw her bra onto the floor as he began kissing and licking her breasts. Large hands cupping and massaging them as he alternated between her left and right breast.

He continued his way down, kissing and lighting touching her stomach and waist until Anton got to the hem of her shorts.

Before Anton could finish his "Can I?" y/n was already begging "Yes, please."

He slowly dragged her shorts off, sliding them all of the way down her legs before crawling back up to her soaked panties. He gave a light kiss to both hips bones before hooking his fingers into the sides of her underwear and sliding them down.

Anton grabbed y/n's calf to throw over his shoulder, situating himself right into her heat, leaning down to drop a light kiss onto her clit before giving a light lick upwards. His tongue was flooded with the taste of her, sweet and salty. Her gasps and whimpers gave him the confidence to continue. Holding onto her hips and thighs as he lapped at her, flattening his tongue to collect as much of her honey as he could. Lightly sucking onto her clit before sucking up the dripping wetness in her hole.

"You're so sweet." Anton looked up at her, fingers rubbing her clit as she's fallen back, hips jerking upwards as she gasps for air.

"Anton, please."

"Please, what? Lick you? Fuck you?"

"I really need to cum." She whined.

"Of course, baby."

He moved his arm to insert two fingers into her core as he continued licking and sucking onto her clit. The louder she moaned he faster his movements became.

"Yes, yes, fuck- Fuck you're so good! Yes!"

He continued his movements, slowing down as y/n came. Removing his fingers, he licked up her cum, continuously dripping out of her.

"Anton, mmm."

She tapped at his arm, "Please, can we fuck."

"Can you go again?"

"Please."

"Okay, baby." He sat up before shedding his pants and boxers.

Panting and calming down from her high, y/n still wanted to tease and egg on Anton.

"You wanna see the tattoo on my back?"

As if his dick couldn't get harder.

"Yes."

Moving to turn away from him, Anton could see the small tattoos along her back. A word here, a small image there.

"Can I fuck you like this?" He asked, hands tracing along her skin noticing how she arches a little more the longer he touches.

"Please."

Leaning over y/n folds downwards and gasps when Anton grabs onto her hips pulling her up to a doggy position. With her back arched and ass in the air, Anton positions himself, teasing the head of his cock up and down her slit. Her whimpers tell him to stop teasing and he slowly inserts himself.

He slides in as slowly as possible, seeing how wide he's stretching her out. A low moan escapes him as y/n's walls clamp around him. They both sigh-moan as Anton is fulled inside y/n.

He holds still, hands gripping her hips tightly as she's pulsing around him.

"You can move."

With that, he slowly slides out, about halfway before pushing in again, a touch faster. As he continues, he grows more confident in sliding almost out, leaving his tip in before grabbing y/n's hips to push back in.

He leans down and cages her in with his wide frame. Hips melodically thrusting as he hands move from her hips to the sides of her head. Y/n tilted her head, still moaning, to look back at him. Face flushed, saliva pooling and dripping down her lips.

Anton shifts a little, trying to go a little slower with stronger thrusts, moving he finds her other arm.

"Fuck."

Anton grabs her elbows, lifting her up as he continued pumping in and out of her. Her gasp fills the air.

"You have them on both arms?"

All y/n can reply with are moans and gasps.

feeling her tighten even more around his dick, Anton thrusts faster, hips unconsciously going sloppier and harder.

"Shit."

He holds her up with his left arm, having a tight grip onto her arm, as his right snakes across her front, rubbing circles into her clit. His climax is coming but he's racing to finish y/n off well before he can cum. Feeling her walls clench and spasm, y/n cums with a loud moan, he continues rubbing her clit as he pulls out.

He grabs onto his dick and finishes himself off, cumming onto the couch and y/n's thigh. He holds onto her as they drop onto the couch, catching their breaths and cooling off. Anton rubs and traces shapes across y/n's hip and thigh.

"I didn't you liked tattoos that much." Y/n teased, leaning over at him with a wide grin.

"Don't do this." Anton sighed, unable to hide a smile as he scoffed at her.

"I should get more, maybe even a matching out with you." She giggled.

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+ WARNINGS: f!reader | dom!bruce | vag fingering | sexual content | size difference | brief descriptions of intoxication.

“What did you say your name was?” The words of YOUNG!BRUCE WAYNE speak against you, muffled by his lower lip caught between your teeth and the pounding music of the club. You grin coyly, shaking your head as you tug back on his lip, releasing it to let it bob.

“I didn’t.” you reply, reinforcing the mystery of it all. His black hair had a sort of intentional messy look to it, longer in the front and hanging over his forehead in an edgy and fashionable way. The silken locks tickle your forehead as the two of you stand impossibly close together, refusing each other any breathing room as if you’re exchanging the most sacred of secrets.

You don’t know who this guy is, and frankly you couldn’t care less. All that mattered was that he invited you up to a platinum pass VIP floor of this nightclub, got a few drinks in you, and now you’re all over him. Instinctively, you raise your leg to tuck him between your thighs, and he takes the extra mile of hooking his fingers in the crook of your knee to lift it a little further. He’s tall, and there’s a good stretch when he gets you up to his hip.

Lips locked, you can’t ignore what an expert he is with his tongue. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but with specific swipes of his tongue you whimper. If he could hear you above all this noise, he might think you’re in the longest dry spell of your life. To your knowledge, it doesn’t appear like he’s judging you, in fact he’s spurred on by your enthusiasm, tangling tongues like inexperienced teenagers in the dark corner of the floor. Unconsciously, you begin grinding. A subtle rut chasing friction, the thin fabric of your dress separates your bare cunt from humping his crotch. You don’t register fully the kind of desperation you’re giving off. He doesn’t seem to mind at all, clutching onto your leg tighter to encourage you.

When things escalate to an inappropriate degree for his level of comfort regarding PDA, his hand cups your chin, directing you back to break the kiss. You emit a sound of disappointment, your eagerness cut short. To make up for it, he affectionately strokes your skin with his thumb. A kind smile curls his lips, swollen and pink from all of your sucks and bites, but there’s a delicious darkness in his eyes. “Let me show you something.”

You knew this guy was loaded, but you didn’t know exactly how wealthy. He’d brought you to a private room because apparently he owned this place. Your shock was brief, staring at him long enough that he interrupted you with another long and tonguey kiss. He couldn’t be more than a couple years your age. How can he own anything in his twenties? However, as he guided you to a cushioned seat, directing you to straddle his lap, you’d completely forgotten about money. The only thing on your mind now is how cups the back of your neck like his hand belongs there, firmly fixed as he keeps you where he wants you, diving his tongue far into the back of your throat. It’s demanding, and it shoots right through you. Hopelessly aroused, you can feel your slick coating the insides of your thighs. It only worsens when he begins to take off his rings. One by one, silver bands are removed from his long and thick fingers.

An omen. A filthy and delicious omen of what’s to come, pulsing your cunt until he gets his bare hand on it, sweetly caressing you through the tasteful slit in your dress. “Knew you were gonna get some?” he asks, a frustratingly handsome expression of pride and joy on his countenance.

“Shut up.” you respond with a roll of your eyes, patting his shoulder scoldingly. Your nonchalance doesn’t last long because he starts taking your pussy seriously. The tip of his middle finger swipes through, a chill running up your spine because of it. Nervous energy has nowhere to go, and you claw his upper arm, seeking out the provided friction with a gentle rock of your hips. He watches you with interest and parted lips, gauging your every minute reaction as he experiments his touch. As if you’re a puzzle, he’s curious about you, alternating between dipping shallowly into you and rubbing at your little clit. At a particularly sensitive motion, you throw your head back, sitting onto his hand fully. A mild chastising is in order, his free hand clutched onto your hip picks you back up, but he doesn’t withhold giving you more of what you need.

“Easy, pet, we’ve got all night.”

[makethatelevenrings]

Puzzle Pieces // J. Todd x f!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: discussions of pregnancy, allusion to abortion, pregnancy scare, emotions

Summary: You and Jason are doing a last minute grocery run when you walk by the period products and realize that you’re late. You’re never late. One negative test, however, could change everything.

“Jay?”

It was the cadence of your voice that alerted something was wrong. A subtle hitch at the end of his name that sent a wave of icy cold chills down his spine. He turned from where he was collecting a massive amount of cup ramen and stared blankly at the thin box in your hand.

Jason was due to go out in an hour, but the two of you realized belatedly that you were out of ingredients for breakfast in the morning. There were two options: run by the corner store and grab some things or send you out alone in the morning while he slept in.

Jason Peter Todd would have to be six feet underground again before sending you out into Gotham when he knew that all the active vigilantes were fast asleep. If you were venturing out alone, it would be when someone was awake.

That found you two in the corner store near your apartment, snickering and trading jokes over your shoulders as you shuffled through the aisles. You were clad in one of his sweatshirts that practically drowned you in the cotton fabric and some basketball shorts underneath that he’s pretty sure you stole from Steph. He kept a close eye on you, his body inching around in the smallest increments to ensure that, no matter what, he was always between you and the door. He’d be damned if he lost the one good thing in his life.

“I…I didn’t realize, but then I saw the pads and…I’m late.” Panic was evident in your voice and no matter how desperately he wanted to fucking throw up in the middle of the bodega right then and there, Jason needed to keep it calm and cool right now. He quickly placed the ramen cups back on the counter and reached out, taking the pregnancy test out of your hand.

“Okay,” he said simply. One of his calloused hands came up and rested on your cheek, cradling your face. Your eyes fluttered shut at his touch, but he could feel the slight tremble in your body.

Fuckfuckfuck. He was on autopilot as he approached the counter, tossed a twenty onto the plastic shelf, and walked out with a pregnancy test in one hand and yours clasped in the other. Jason wants to say something, the right words or placating phrase that will make this all better but he can’t because he can’t fucking think about anything except for the fact that he will be the worst goddamn father on the planet.

Pregnant. Fucking hell. You could be pregnant. They were usually so careful. You were on the pill and he made sure you took it religiously. How the fuck could you be pregnant? He couldn’t be a dad. Willis had been a piece of shit who beat Catherine and basically fucked off into the sunset, leaving him and his mom to fend for themselves. Jason had been just a kid yet he picked his mom up off the ground when she was high out of her mind. Then there was Bruce…

Jason ushered you into the apartment and nudged you gently towards the bathroom. He made sure to lock up behind you and then slowly walked to your bedroom. He leaned against the doorframe and took a moment, just one single moment, to inhale deeply. He needed to be steady and calm for you. He could freak out later when he was patrolling.

Shit, he needed to be suited up and patrolling the Bowery in an hour.

“Babe?” he asked, his knuckles gently hitting the door. You murmured out a quiet welcome and he slipped in before shutting the door behind him. You were curled up against the tub, staring blankly at the wall, and the test rested on the edge of the tub face down.

Jason sat down on the floor across from you and leaned back against the sink. He stretched his legs out and motioned for you to shuffle over to him. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

You dragged yourself across the cold tile floor and settled yourself between his legs, your head resting on his chest. Pressing your ear against the warm scratchy fabric of his shirt and relaxed at the sound of his heartbeat.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Christ, babe, why the hell’re you apologizing?”

“I don’t know,” you sobbed. “We’ve never talked about it. God, Jase, we’re barely adults ourselves. We’re still trying to figure out how to take care of Merry and Pippin, for fuck’s sake!” You were referencing, of course, the two cats Jason had rescued from a dumpster one night that now slept every night cuddled up against you. Jason had insisted that they were only staying for the night to get them out of the cold.

That had been three months ago and the furry little bastards were currently asleep on top of your pillows.

“Hey, hey.” His lips brushed across the crown of your head as he shushed you. You were shaking in his arms and he hated this. He hated not being able to protect you. Hell, he’s the one that got you into this situation.

“No matter what happens, I’m all in, okay?” His voice sounded weak to his own ears, but you needed to hear this as much as he did. “Whatever you choose, I will support you all the way, you got that?”

“But what if…”

“Sweetheart, you’re the one in control of your body. Whatever you choose will be the best choice for us.”

You fisted the front of his shirt in your hand and bit back a sob. Jason scruffed the back of your neck in a loving gesture, his other arm curling around your waist and tugging you impossibly closer. Jason felt helpless and for a man accustomed to beating the shit out of his problems, he hated that he couldn’t fix this for you.

Your phone started to sing a little chime and you sniffled, reaching over to shut it off. “That means it’s ready. I…I can’t do it.”

He soothed his hand over your hip and kissed your temple. “I’ll do it.”

Truth be told, Jason was terrified. He tried to ignore the slight tremor in his hand as he reached for the bathtub. He didn’t know how he would react to whatever that little stick said. Christ on a handbasket, one little mathematical symbol might change his entire life. He loved being a brother, not that he would ever tell the little gaggle of brats, and he loved being an uncle to Lian, but a father? Could he do that?

There was one thing he didn’t doubt. You would be the best mother in the world. Fiercely loyal, kind, caring, didn’t put up with his bullshit…he could almost picture a toddler on your hip as you smiled at it. But he didn’t see himself there.

Maybe this was a sign that he had tried clinging to his ill-fated happiness for too long.

“Bubs?” Your murmur knocked him out of his thoughts and Jason shook his head.

“Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“‘S okay,” you said. “I get it.”

Jason inhaled sharply and then flipped over the test. His shoulders dropped at the sight of the minus sign and he extended the test to you. You clasped your hands over the little stick and bowed your head.

Silence enveloped the small, cramped bathroom. Jason studied the broken tile over by the toilet and made a mental note on looking into how to recaulk the shower tiles. They needed another bulb over the sink and maybe a better shower head. Hell, maybe they should paint the bathroom. Anything would be better than the garish lime green the landlord thought would make it look “70s mod”.

“I don’t know what to think,” you finally croaked out. You shuffled out of his hold and turned to face him. His head snapped up and he met your eyes, finding them red rimmed with tears clinging to the edges of your lashes. Jason scooted forward and laid a heavy hand on your knee, his thumb rubbing back and forth.

“Talk to me,” he urged. Selfishly, he needed to hear you voice your thoughts because he was fucking terrified that one day he would come home and find all of your things gone. This life couldn’t be easy for you. He needed to stop doing this shit to you. You deserved a better life.

“I think I need some time to process,” you admitted. “Can I…can we talk about this after you get back?”

That sinking feeling in his chest now felt like leaden rock in his gut. He might prefer a crowbar to the chest instead of the dread that currently consumed him.

“I’m not mad at you,” you blurted out once you saw the wounded look cross his face before he schooled his features like he had been trained. “I’m just feeling a lot of stuff right now and I want to be able to think it out before I say something stupid. I’ll be here when you get back. I promise.”

You reached out and touched his cheek. He turned his head to lay a featherlight kiss against your palm and then stood. “I’ll be home by four.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

He was off his game all night. Jason nearly got shot twice when he finally called it quits and let Steph and Cass take on the Bowery. Dick had tried coaxing out why he was in a piss poor mood, but Jason merely muted his comms and shoved the little device in his pocket. His helmet sat next to him on the roof ledge, leaving him in just a red domino mask.

It was creeping towards three and the tiniest light began to creep across the horizon. The inky black night sky dominated Gotham still and Jason took a little solace in the fact that he was cloaked by the shadows.

It wasn’t enough to hide him from Bruce.

The large shadow of his adoptive father landed beside him. Jason didn’t bother turning to look at him and instead focused straight ahead at the slowly rising sun. Bruce silently sat next to him on the roof, his legs dangling over the side.

Side by side, just like they had all those years ago when Jason was still dressed up as a traffic light and Bruce had been…lighter, for lack of a better word.

“Pregnancy scare,” Jason finally admitted. He knew Bruce wouldn’t ask, but he also knew that Bruce wouldn’t leave until he got a clue as to why Jason was sulking on a rooftop instead of beating the face in of some wannabe trafficker.

Bruce stiffened just slightly and Jason huffed out a laugh. “Relax, it was negative.”

“I thought you would be relieved,” Bruce said. None of his kids had ever expressed any interest in reproducing. In fact, Alfred had money on them picking up his serial adoption habits. Clark was in on the bet too. Bastards.

“I’d be a shit dad,” Jason grunted. “I’d fuck that kid up in the head and probably leave it out on the streets like Willis.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Bruce said it so calmly. So matter of factly. He said it as if it was the truth engraved in granite.

Jason barked out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, and you’re father of the year, right? You get to bestow that honor on the next asshole?”

There was a slight twitch in Bruce’s jaw, one that no one would notice unless you were one of his family members. His piercing gaze stared out on the city he loved so desperately and then he looked at the son he had lost so painfully.

“You would be an amazing father because you would ensure that you didn’t make the same mistakes Willis and I made.”

Jason sucked in a sharp breath at his father’s soft words. He clenched his jaw shut and shook his head. A gloved hand landed on his shoulder and Jason raised his head, meeting the white lenses of the cowl so many feared.

“You love this city so much that you are willing to go to lengths that I can’t bring myself to do. You do things I don’t approve of, but you do it because you care so much that you feel the pain the people feel. You love deeply, Jaylad, you always have. I failed you as a father so many times. I should have never let you become Robin. I should have never let any of you out in the field. You were…you were just a kid.

But the one thing I will never regret is bringing you into our home and our family. Being your father has brought me the greatest sorrow and immense joy of my life and I would never, ever give that up.”

Bruce pulled away and stood up. “You should go home. Talk.”

Jason swallowed against the growing lump in his throat and nodded. “Right. Thanks. Fuck you or whatever.”

Batman’s lips quirked up at the corner and then he sighed. “Nice to see you too, Hood.”

Jason waited until he slipped back into the shadows before he pulled on his helmet and grappled back to the Bowery. He landed on his fire escape and quickly slid in through the window. His entry disturbed Merry who had been sleeping on the windowsill. The cat hissed at him and then hopped down, probably in search of his brother.

“Sorry,” he whispered to the cat. God, he was so whipped.

“Bubs?” Your tired voice came from somewhere in the direction of the kitchen. Jason closed and locked the window and headed towards you. All the lights in the apartment were off except for the small, single bulb that hung over the kitchen. It bathed you in a warm light, highlighting the tired circles under your eyes.

A lukewarm mug of tea and a thousand piece puzzle was scattered on the table before you, your usual routine when you couldn’t sleep and decided to stay up and wait for him. Jason stripped off his gloves, weapons, and jacket and dumped them on the floor and then he tugged off his helmet.

You loved seeing him right after patrol. Not only were you able to reassure yourself that he was safe, but you also got to see him when he was in his element. Sweat strands of hair curled across his forehead and beads of moisture trailed down his neck before seeping into the collar of his undershirt. His powerful thighs were bracketed by his tactical pants and thigh holsters and you sighed at the mere sight of his legs.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart,” Jason teased. His voice was warm, but it lacked the confidence he normally possessed. You curled your hand around the bottom hem of his shirt and tugged him closer, your lips meeting his in a delicate kiss. His hand came up to cup your jaw and he deepened the kiss.

“I want a baby.” The words spilled out of you faster than you could rein in the thought. Jason’s eyes widened and you cursed under your breath.

“You want…a baby,” he repeated.

“With you. I want a baby with you. Not right now. Not even this year. But, I want a kid someday with you. When I saw that negative, I was relieved and then I was-”

He cut you off. “Disappointed. You were disappointed because for a moment, you thought about it and realized that you actually wanted this. Just not right now.”

You nodded and pushed his curly, sweat-drenched hair back from his face. “A little boy with your eyes and smile.”

“Or a little girl with your hair and attitude.”

“I want that, bubs,” you assured him. “I want it all with you. A kid, a life, a house with a picket fence and two point five kids or whatever the fuck the American Dream is supposed to be.”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he replied in a choked voice. “I’m not a good man, sweetheart.”

Now you stood. You pulled his head down so his forehead pressed against yours and you rested your other hand on his chest, right over his heart.

“Don’t you dare say that to me, Jason Peter Todd,” you said fiercely. “You are the only man I love. The only man I trust. I wouldn’t want to do life with anyone other than you. I want it all, the good and the bad. You do so much for me and for this city.”

Your hand smoothed down the hair on the back of his neck. “Let me take care of you for once. Let me protect you from that mind of yours. I want to have a baby with you, bubs, because I trust you more than anyone that you would love and cherish and protect us with your entire being.”

“I would crawl out of a grave and dip into the Lazarus pit again and again if it meant keeping you safe,” he whispered fiercely.

“I know.” Tears were spilling down your cheeks. “I love you, Jason. So much.”

He clasped his hand over the one that rested on his chest. All of the doubts and insecurities started to ebb away with your gentle touch and soothing words. He burned with the very thought of you filled with a reminder of him. A signal that he was somehow lucky enough, good enough, blessed to be able to worship you the way you deserved.

Jason slid one of his hands under your ass and hauled you up so your legs wrapped around his waist. He scooted past the now cuddling cats and headed towards the bathroom as you laughed and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“What are you doing?” you exclaimed as he sat you down on the sink counter. Jason reached for the back of his shirt and shot you an incredulous look.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Strip, we need to practice.”

The sun emerged from the darkness finally and bathed Gotham in a rare cloudless sky, but it went unnoticed to the two of you. You were, well, busy.

Tag List: @khaetiin​ @mcrmarvelloki​ @gone-batty-fics​ @someoneimsure​ @perpetual-fangirl900​ @visagebrise​ @cursedandromedablack​ @alexxavicry​ @havingarebelliousstage​ @the-wayward-daughter​ @raging-trash-of-mind​ @kat-nee​ @khaylin27​

[lazycats-stuff]

Im so sorry ,in advance, its okey to ignore the request Batfam x child here this scenario:

Batfam where on a mission catching some criminals, like usual but then hearing crying noise on the dark alleyways, when Batman or anyone in the batfamily check to see,

When they looked, they saw a crying child with little bit blood on their face , they asked “why are they crying?are you hurt?” or “ are you okey? What happened?”

The child pointed at darkest corners of the alley. they looked where the child was pointing at, they saw two of the parents died

in the same manner like Batman backstory , when the child look up at them still crying , they lift their arms and said “ c-can I-i *sob*have a-a hug?*sob* p-please”

How would the batfamily react? Or what to do to calm the child reader

Oh my poor reader... Bruce would jump in immediately.

Summary: Bruce sees a child in a similar situation like he did many years ago.

Warnings: murder, corpses, Bruce sees himself in (Y/N), protective batboys.

This is an important mission. They have been preparing for this mission for months on end. Endless intel, interrogations, surveilling, scouting the buildings, research on the important members... The entire family was on the verge of killing someone.

Even Bruce was ready to commit murder, despite the strong moral code and despite his self control. They were stretched thin and the moral of the team was down. Bruce didn't think it could ever get so low.

This a breaking low. But none the less, they have persevered and through some teamwork, they got the intel that they needed. That's why they were on the roof top, waiting for a perfect moment to strike. Bruce was ready.

Everyone was tense and waiting in the darkness of the roof top, watching and waiting. Bruce was perched over the edge, ready to go at the moment's notice.

He looked back when he heard gunshots. The others were ready to jump, but Bruce stopped them. It felt off. Bruce looked down and saw it was their target. And a small shadow running. Bruce jumped, knocking the criminal out.

The others spread out, going to the building to check the location out. According to the intel they gathered, the drugs they had been looking for should be here.

Bruce moved into the dark alley listening for any sounds. What he didn't expect to hear was crying. And it didn't sound like it's an adult crying. It sounded like a child crying.

And he was proven right when he saw a child, shaking and sobbing. Bruce could see some blood on his face.

" Hey, are you okay? " Bruce asked softly, trying to see if the child was hurt. The child pointed at the dark corner and Bruce was hesitant at first. He thought that he was going to stop breathing when he saw the dead parents.

They were shot in the chest, one each. It felt all too familiar. Bruce's breath hitched for a moment. This was just like him, all those years ago. He closed his eyes and he calmed down. There was a child that needed him.

He walked back and the child cried harder. He put his hands, flexing his little finger. " Please, I- I need a h-hug, I-I'm scared... "

Bruce picked him out without a word, putting the child's head in the crook of his neck, just to make sure he didn't see anything. He gently patted his back.

" What's your name? " Batman asked, walking towards his sons.

" (Y/N). " The child mumbled, clutching onto Bruce tightly.

Everyone stopped in their tracks when they saw Bruce holding a child. Everyone wanted to ask questions, but they saw that it wasn't the time. They saw that child was under a lot of stress and Bruce softly shook his head.

It was a clear sign of not now. Everyone understood what it meant and they understood that something happened. But it seemed like (Y/N) wasn't hurt.

At least one good thing tonight. If you exclude the drugs and the drug ring they brought down.

" We called Gordon, he is on his way. " Dick said softly, walking up to the child. (Y/N) was still crying, but not as hard as before. He was crying quietly.

Bruce was torn. Does he adopt him? Does he put him at a foster home? What does he do?

One thing was for sure. There wouldn't be any help in the foster home. Or even the orphanage. Wherever he went tonight.

The others knew that sooner or later, Bruce was going to adopt him. Emphasis on the sooner. Maybe even tonight.

[innorogers]

Veil

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: Every inch of him missed you, his skin aching for the warmth of your touch, his mind desperate for the sound of your voice, the light in your eyes. 

Warning: Desperate Steve /Protective Steve / Steve in despair

Characters: OC, John Walker, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton.

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare | 5: Awakening | 6: Dusk | 7: Hypnagogia | 8: Lull | 9: Vigil | 10: Eclipse

John woke up three days after your disappearance, groggy and disoriented, in the ICU. The world he knew was now in chaos. His room was heavily guarded, and the first familiar face he saw was Sam’s, stationed constantly at his door, watching over him in case of another attack and monitoring any communications. 

He wasn’t a normal hospital of course, he was under strict surveillance within the Avengers compound. They’d done everything to save him: used the best medical care, cutting-edge technology, but he wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was anyone else. 

No one was leaving. 

Not until Steve, Hill, Natasha, and every spy loyal to Tony Stark had wrung out every last shred of information, every hidden connection, every detail that could bring them closer to understanding that attack, or finding you. 

Everyone was interrogated, everyone needed to provide a hundred versions of their answers, and they had to match. 

They’d match the lie detector, they’d match the CCTV, they’d match every record, every email, every sentence they’d said and that was captured by Jarvis.They’d match the fucking employee’s survey they filled two years ago. They’d match, otherwise they were facing hours and hours of ruthless, avenger’s style interrogation, led by Natasha, by Clint, by Sharon, and by Hill herself.

Vision and Wanda were busy, they worked tirelessly. 

The mind stone explored its infinite powers: Vision immersed completely in the network, sifting through an endless flow of data: emails, files, surveillance footage, security reports…searching for any inconsistencies or traces that might have been overlooked. 

Every security feed, every encrypted message, every buried piece of information was being drawn to the surface, handed to Jarvis and the team for analysis. 

Wanda’s powers moved through the compound like an unseen force, a red wind that blew around the entire facility, spinning and sorting through the air. Looking for patterns, intuitive insights beyond what the data could reveal, in the hopes to catch something others had missed. 

The barest flick of her fingers were like an instinctive hunter, reaching out to sense any lingering energy from the attack, any psychic residue that might hint at who was behind it.

Both in the search for answers, and for you.

Everyone had been looking, every single resource and agent was deployed, tearing through every lead, every rumor, every fragment of information to try to find you, but there was nothing—no trace, no sign, as if you had vanished into thin air. 

Stark’s resources were being stretched to their edge: satellites repositioned, private networks hacked, and entire cities put under surveillance, but still, they came up empty. 

Every asset, every favor, every underground contact was called in, yet there was only silence. 

A terrible and horrible, empty void, It was as if the entire world had conspired to swallow you whole, leaving the Avengers grasping at shadows in their desperate search.

Steve was on the edge of breaking. 

Days had blurred together, each one gnawing away at his sanity as he ran on scraps of sleep and barely a bite of food, his focus single-minded, unyielding, burning in a sleepless fear.

Half of his time was spent in the command center, his eyes fixed on every screen, every update, driving the team harder, faster, demanding more, obsessing over every detail, driving everyone, including him, insane but yet restless.

The other half he spent in the training room, pushing himself until his body was trembling, his muscles screaming, sweat pouring off him in sheets, and every cell in his body was begging for rest. 

And then, maybe, he could get some sleep, only to wake up in some kind of nightmare with the worst scenes of his imagination.

He needed the pain—it kept him from losing his mind, kept him from the raw, pulsing panic threatening to choke him. He could feel it in every clenched breath, every aching bone: you were out there, alone, and every second he wasn’t by your side was a second he’d never forgive himself for. 

And there was this enormous emotional pain too, an ache so deep it was almost physical. He could hardly bear the emptiness left by your absence; it was like a shadow that followed him everywhere.

He saw you in every corner: at the command center, at the dining table, in the lab, even in the training room that held the precious memory of the day you’d first met.

Every inch of him missed you, his skin aching for the warmth of your touch, his mind desperate for the sound of your voice, the light in your eyes. 

He’d turn around at the hallucinated sound of your steps, the ghostly echo of your voice calling his name, and it was driving him mad, angry, sad, and scared.

He stepped back home just once, hoping, needing, to find some clue, any thread that might lead him closer to you. It was almost unbearable. 

Your scent lingered in the air, filling the place with traces your left behind: mugs you used for breakfast left at the sink, the recipe book open and bookmarked to the page of the meal you were so excited to cook for him, his favorite wine in the fridge ready to open…everything only amplified the pain, the crushing sense that you were just beyond his reach.

And then, when the forensic techs arrived, the room was transformed into a crime scene: every item cataloged, every paper analyzed, every personal belonging scrutinized and stripped of its warmth. Steve could only watch, helpless, as every piece of the life you’d built together was dismantled and laid bare, a reminder that you were gone.

But he wasn’t the only one panicking, overwhelmed by fear and anger. 

Tony and Maria were just as desperate. The breach was massive, and among the thousands of employees within the compound, there was no one, like literally no one, they could fully trust outside of themselves. 

Every project, every ongoing research initiative was paused, and all information was locked down. 

The world wanted intel? Advanced technology to defend itself? Was there any other alien army attacking? Well, it would have to rely on the UN or any other organization out there, because the Avengers were facing something worse than Thanos. This was a breach that had struck straight to their core, hitting the heart of everything they stood for—and they had no idea where it came from or how the fuck to fight back.

The Command Room’s lights stayed on 24/7, no one ever left. 

Even Wakanda joined the investigation, cutting off all outside contact to protect themselves as they worked.

And after King T'Challa himself added his network of intelligence operatives, a hint finally emerged.

It happened 18 days after your disappearance. 

And in these eternal days, to everyone’s horror and surprise, it looked like Steve was…normalizing. Exhaustion and fatigue were evident in him—something that had never, ever happened to Captain America. 

He had a few gray hairs in his beard, and the dark circles under his eyes were plainly visible. It took some serious talks from Sam and Natasha, and a few heated discussions with Tony, to make him eat or sleep and keep him from spiraling into a state of self-destruction.

The news came back from General Okoye herself.

“There was only one…” The general was measuring her words. “Only one suspicious transmission. It was on a hidden frequency; we almost missed it. It was…lost, too short to intercept, but too strange to ignore. Hidden within encrypted channels, and when we got it, it actually took days to decode. Which made it even more suspicious.”

“Where is it leading to?” Steve listened with clenched fists, his gaze sharp, and his heart pounding in his chest.

The general sighed; she was being careful. “Most of the transmission was fragmented, but there was one mention that was unmistakable. It referenced The Void.”

“That…doesn’t exist.” Natasha replied immediately. “The Void has existed for ages and decades in the intel world, but only as a rumor. It’s a legend…like…fictional. It’s just a reference.”

“What’s The Void?” asked Sam.

“It’s a reference.” Natasha emphasized. “An urban legend, talked about over drinks, referring to an old, nearly forgotten facility on the outskirts of a war-torn city, once controlled by a covert organization that operated in the deepest shadows. It’s called that in intelligence circles: The Void, because supposedly no one has ever set foot in it. It’s empty; it’s…shadows and ashes. It isn’t real.”

“Yup. That’s true.” replied Clint. “The Void has been whispered about for years. It’s like…a ghostly facility that never existed on any official maps. It’s said that it was once a stronghold, buried deep in hostile territory. But that’s all…you know, legendary talk.”

“But that was years ago.” Black Widow still wasn’t fully convinced. “I haven’t heard of it in years. No one knows if it’s still standing, if it’s fortified, or even if it still exists.”

“It exists.” Suddenly, a voice interrupted in the room—John’s. 

His voice was hoarse, the cut you’d given him had seriously injured his neck, and he looked somewhat funny with all the bandages around it. His eyes were darkened by heavy circles, and he had to pause before speaking again because his throat was burning.

“I was there three years ago on my first tour. It’s in the Altai Mountains of Kazakhstan. It’s nestled in a ridiculously hidden valley that’s…you know, inaccessible for normal people: extreme weather, uneven terrain. Something that would be impossible to reach for most folks, but probably looks like your training field number three.” He coughed as he talked.

“You sure?” Steve’s eyes narrowed, a glimmer of hope rising behind the exhaustion, but his jaw tightened with worry. He wanted to believe—he needed to believe—that John’s confirmation meant something real, something that could lead him to you. But doubt gnawed at him, a quiet fear lingering just beneath the surface, reminding him that this might still be another dead end. Or worse, it could lead to an end, one he was not ready to bear.

His fists clenched, his voice low and firm as he asked. “Are you certain?”

“Well…” John approached the screens and enlarged the map in front of him, showing it to everyone in the room. He tapped a point on it. 

“Here. We could search for those files in the army from my first tour…” And as he spoke, Tony was already typing on the keyboard.

“But it should be here, look: secluded area, dense forests, jagged cliffs…Can I get a satellite view? Look at these buildings—sparse, abandoned Soviet-era infrastructure…see? And in winter? Dude, the place becomes even more desolate, with heavy snowstorms cutting it off completely from the outside world. Hey, Man in a Can, any chance you can overlay those X-rays or layer scans on the map?” He said, snapping his fingers at Tony.

Tony studied the map a bit longer, and under Steve’s expectant gaze, he frowned and ordered: “Cross-reference geological information with everything in Twelve’s archives. Don’t limit the search to her data only—look into her siblings, check the Winter Soldier’s files…Jarvis, search back and forth across 80 years of data.”

Bruce added, “Any chance we can get an energy scan below the surface? Whatever they’re developing, I don’t think it’s just there for a tour visit.”

Jarvis took less than a minute to complete the analysis.

“Sir, according to information found in files M001, M002, LocM001-X025-T29, and LocM001-X025-T31, test results were located in the indicated area.”

“M001 and 2?” Steve stood up immediately. 

Those were the first two prototypes. He remembered you mentioning them when you told him your story: the ‘Apollo and Artemis’ siblings, the first successful models. When they began to fail, they created you and the rest of you.

“Run the analysis as we move.” Steve said, his fists tight and his eyes intense, as if he could see The Void itself before him. This was the first real lead they’d had, and the mystery of ghost town that didn’t even exist, added an unsettling layer—no one knew what they’d be facing. 

But he didn’t give a fuck, even if it was hell itself, he would go to the deepest end of the abyss if that’s what it took to find you.

“Gear up. Moving out in 10.” He ordered, and as everyone started to move, he stopped Tony. “You stay here with Vis.” His expression was unwavering. “We need to keep the fort secure, safe. I need it cleaned when I’m back with her.”

Tony wanted to say something. He didn’t want to encourage Steve to pursue a ghost idea, but he just couldn’t muster a word. He patted Captain’s shoulder heavily and nodded.

“You sure?” Tony knew Steve was desperate, but he was also anxious, fearing Steve’s hopes might be raised, only to face the worst later. Tony brushed his hair back nervously. “Take Banner with you, then.”

“I’m sure.” For the first time in 18 days, Steve’s eyes held a glimmer of hope. “Vis and Wanda stay; I need the compound secure. Make them scan every last corner before we set foot out there.”

“Look,” Tony added solemnly, unable to help himself. He had to speak up. “It could be abandoned…or it could be more fortified than ever. We’ll need caution—and the element of surprise. If they suspect our arrival, they might vanish again…taking her with them.” 

Or maybe she is already there, in a state that no one wants to think about. He thought to himself, not daring to make a comment about it.

“I know.” Steve’s gaze hardened as he looked around the room. Whether it was a ruin or a fortress, he would face whatever waited in The Void. He was ready to tear through every wall, every shadow, if it meant finding you.

“Ok.” Tony inhaled and forced a smile. “We’ll be ok.” His eyes fixed on Steve. 

“We’ll be ok.” He repeated it, but he didn’t know who he was talking to—Steve or himself.

Steve didn’t say anything; he just nodded.

The Quinjet took flight in less than 10 minutes, with another ship following close behind. The team was geared up, and they weren’t going alone—the Strategic Operations Unit followed, fully armed with the latest tech, while Maria Hill and Tony Stark directed the operation from the Command Room. 

The Unit was composed of the best military and special forces personnel: soldiers who had once served with S.H.I.E.L.D. or in elite units from around the world. They were humans who came just after the Avengers in strength and capability. And they were excited, determined. The Void was a legendary place, and they were eager to explore it. 

Or tear it apart and burn it down to ashes and dirt if that’s what the Captain commands.

Steve sat in the back of the Quinjet, his mind a whirlwind. 

There was an urge burning inside him, consuming him like wildfire: the desperate need to know that you were okay, that you were safe. 

But alongside that, there was the crushing weight of the entire situation, the analysis you, Bruce, and Tony had pieced together days ago: Who took you? What dark, powerful organization had stolen you away? And what were they trying to achieve? Bruce had said they were close. That you were the missing piece in completing something monumental, something so massive it could render the enemy fearless, powerful enough not to fear the wrath of the Avengers anymore. 

And that…was terrifying.

After defeating Thanos, the combined forces of the Avengers and Wakanda had been enough to prove to the world that they alone held the power to defend Earth. 

But were they? Enough?

Because after all, power isn't just about brute strength or advanced technology; it is about control, strategy, and deception. The Avengers had faced gods, aliens, and everything the world had thrown at them, but this felt different. 

This wasn’t a threat that announced itself with an army or a cosmic weapon. This was something calculated, something buried in shadows, pulling strings in the dark. And if there was one thing the Avengers weren’t particularly skilled at: navigating schemes or playing diplomatic and political games.

It was the kind of threat that could allow an organization to infiltrate so deeply, take one of their own without leaving a trace, and expose the Avengers as far less untouchable than the world believed.

And he, Steve Rogers, wasn’t as indestructible as he thought. 

He had a weakness now, something that could shatter him entirely in the blink of an eye: You.

“Landing in four.” Sam announced from the pilot seat as the Quinjet began its descent, breaking through layers of dense clouds. 

The scenery below unfolded like a haunting portrait. 

It was exactly as John had described: hidden valleys carved from jagged rocks, hollowed mountains looming like forgotten sentinels, and a decaying forest cloaked in a heavy shroud of fog. Surrounded by high cliffs and dead ends mountains, almost impossible for common people to access. (And it was actually, looking really similar to Training Field 003 where the simulator portrayed a similar landscape.)

Everything seemed drained of life, abandoned, lost in time, cast in muted shades of gray and black, as if the place itself had given up—and every living thing within it too.

The streams of fog wove through the dried and skeletal trees, clinging to the ground like ghosts. Crumbling remnants of abandoned structures dotted the landscape: cracked walls and rusted metal consumed by time. 

A biting chill seemed to seep through the Quinjet’s walls as they neared the ground. It felt as if they could be swallowed into this endless forgotten state, taken by the invisible hands of the oppressive atmosphere.

“Yeah, this really looks like…a ‘The Void’.” said Clint, stepping out of the Jet. “Whoever put the name definitely hit on the spot.”

Sam raised his eyebrow. “What are we, like in…Silent Hill?”

“Shush.” said Natasha. “The element of surprise is our only ally now. Any leads?” She pressed the comms. The complete team was on the other side, watching everything from the Command Room, scanning beyond their sight.

“Move forward.” Maria ordered. “Buildings at your twelve. I want complete silence. Team Alpha, take the right; Beta, take the left. Steve, you lead.”

“Got it.” Steve nodded. He noticed in the distance, nestled deep within the valley, an unnatural symmetry: rows of long-forgotten buildings that didn’t belong to nature’s chaos. It was subtle, almost hidden by the fog, but it was enough. 

His jaw tightened. 

This was the place.

“Gear up, and move.” He said, his voice low and steady, though his grip on the rail betrayed the tension surging through him. “We’re not leaving without answers.”

The team moved swiftly, like shadows. The jagged rocks and crumbling buildings provided perfect cover as they advanced, their movements silent, steps as light as feathers.

“Scan.” Steve ordered, his voice low but firm as he led the team deeper into the abandoned structures. 

“What are we seeing? Or not seeing?” He pressed the comms, his gaze scanning the area with sharp precision.

Jarvis’s voice filtered into their earpieces. “Sir, a series of passages leading beneath the surface.”

“That’s a surprise.” Natasha chuckled. Typical. 

“Looks like an underground stronghold.” Maria informed the team: “Seems like a water fortress. A helm, maybe? Dried out and abandoned.”

Steve’s jaw tightened as he glanced at the rest of the team. 

“Let’s move.” He ordered. 

The air seemed heavier as they pressed forward, entering what had once been the heart of the fortress. Everything around went stale and damp as they descended, the passage’s walls bearing cracks, rust, and faint traces of water lines that hinted at what the place had been before it fell into decay.

The deeper they went, the darker it became, the dim light from their gear casting eerie shadows across the ancient stone and metal. 

It was a place that felt hollow, lifeless, but beneath the stillness, there was an unnerving sense of something waiting. 

Steve raised his fist to signal a stop, and the rest of the team felt it too: they weren’t alone. There was a slight, almost undetectable sound in the thick air that ran through the place, something that only elite soldiers with hundreds of battles' worth of experience would recognize: someone was breathing around them.

“Sam.” Steve muttered, and the Falcon’s glasses started a laser scan around the place.

But before the results even came in, John, who was next to Sam, put a hand on his arm and lowered it.

“I don’t think we need that.” Walker said, barely above a whisper. When Sam removed his glasses, he saw it too, along with the rest of the team.

Eyes.

Lines and lines of people surrounded them, staring back at them with lifeless, empty gazes.

"Holy shit." said Sam and John at the same time.

“Attack from the nerds 2.0?” John grimaced. 

“Stay sharp. Circle formation,” Steve ordered, clenching his fists around his shield. “Give me your best, and give them your worst. Got it?”

The eerie look on the enemy sent a cold shiver through everyone’s back. The team stayed silent for a moment, but when Steve’s commands dropped, they responded in unison with a roar.

The stillness shattered in an instant as the first wave of attackers surged forward.

“Engage!” Steve roared, his shield flying through the air and slamming into the nearest enemy with a thunderous crack before returning to his arm. 

“Okay, to the dancefloor!” To his left, Sam launched into the air, his wings spreading wide as he maneuvered above the chaos. His goggles highlighted the attackers’ positions. “Commander, give me the source path. Where are these guys coming from?”

“Scanning…” Maria’s commands came through as Jarvis synchronized the analysis. Tony’s helmet illuminated as he synced all the data to the team’s gear.

“There’s some kind of base at your two o’clock, Sam,” Tony said as the heat map displayed the information. “Extremely low temperatures… Shit, what are you guys even fighting?” His expression darkened as the heat analysis became clearer.

“Gonna be hard to reach that two o’clock! They’re everywhere!” Sam shouted, firing his wing-mounted machine guns to clear a path below. One of the enemies leaped toward him, but Natasha’s knee struck first. She was a blur of lethal grace as she slipped between attackers.

“Wow, new toy?” Sam asked, spotting Natasha’s twin batons crackling with electricity as she took down two enemies at a time with each sweep.

“Keep moving! Don’t let them pin us down!” She called, her voice calm but sharp as she dodged an incoming strike and slammed her baton into an enemy’s temple. “Could use some help opening the line to two o’clock here!”

A chuckle came through the comms as Hawkeye stood back for a moment, his bowstring taut, stretched to its maximum capacity as he aimed for the target. The string was charged with an electrifying blue blast.

“Bruce?” Clint muttered as he loosed his fingers, sending an explosive-tipped arrow into the crowd ahead of the Hulk.

The blast tore through like a comet, breaking multiple enemy lines and clearing space. The Hulk charged through with a roar that shook the ground. He swung his massive fists in wide arcs, scattering attackers like leaves in a storm.

“Move!” commanded Natasha, leading the rest of the operations team as they tightened their formation, trying to push through and make it to the source.

Above them, Sam spotted reinforcements swarming in from the cliffs. “Guys, more incoming from the ridge!”

“More?!” John fought alongside Steve, his shield clashing against the attackers with raw force. “What do you mean, more? What is this? Like an army?!” he shouted, slamming his shield into one enemy before spinning and knocking another to the ground with a powerful kick.

“These are not regular soldiers,” said Maria through the comms, watching the live data analysis with a mix of nervousness and horror.

“No shit, really?” John replied. “Is like fighting an army of your finest tactical teams. I don’t think you see this on an everyday basis.”

“They just keep coming!” Steve replied, his voice strained as he deflected a strike aimed at his head and countered with a devastating blow to the chest of his attacker. “Tony, we need to know what’s at that source!”

“One sec.” Tony replied, commanding the screen with furious speed as he analyzed the scans. “Shit, I could really use your girlfriend’s powers right now. What the hell is in there? Something really powerful is blocking my signs.” He muttered while typing, overriding thousands of codes. “Commander, I think we’ve found what the lens from Steve’s fake brother-in-law was leading us to…”

“Okay, Jarvis, get me Robert Lin. NOW.” Tony ordered, his voice sharp as he broke through more passcodes. “I need him to reproduce that same cringy sound that woke my tech team from their Walking Dead state. And Steve, don’t try breaking through the entire World War Z wall… just send Sam over. I’ll have the command ready; he just needs to plug in.”

“You heard that?” Steve asked Sam as he slammed his shield into another enemy. Seeing the Falcon take flight toward the destination, Steve commanded with unwavering determination, “We push through. Everyone fights, no one falls.”

“Bruce, block them!” Steve shouted.

Bruce growled in response, grabbing a massive boulder and hurling it into the gap between the team and the incoming wave, creating a temporary barrier. 

But the moment the rock landed, a sharp white light sliced it clean in half, the massive stone splitting as if it were paper.

As the dust and debris settled, a figure stormed into the battle, moving faster than the eye could follow, a cold blade weaving through the air in deadly arcs.

“Watch it!” John shouted, raising his shield for the first strike. 

A muted sound echoed as the blade clashed against the shield, sending a shockwave that threw everyone nearby to the ground. John hit the ground hard, his arms numb and nearly unable to hold his shield.

“Shit…” he muttered through clenched teeth as he struggled to stand, but his face went pale when he saw you. Standing there, your eyes were cold, unrecognizable—hollow and devoid of emotion.

“Um… Steve?” John muttered as you spun the blade with an elegant yet deadly precision.

“Step back.” Steve replied, his voice thick with pain and fear he could barely suppress. 

“I’ve got this.” His gaze met yours, and in that moment, his heart broke.

The End but TBC.

Oh this was a stressfull but fun one to write, sorry for being late in posting, but lately seems my stress levels are on their highest. The story will continue but I'm maybe one or two days of delaying on posting, but still will try my best to continue posting on fridays ✨ Thank you all for the lovely posts and messages you've sent last week when I was having a breakdown, this community is just magical, I'll continue writing and try my best to have the best stories! (BTW I just love fighting scenes, they are so fun to write, and I love these groups interactions) 💓 See you next week!

Love., Moon.࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim / @otterlycanadian / hisredheadedgoddess28

let me know if you want to be added! 🥰

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

Pretty As A Picture - Chapter 1

Marvel

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Theme: Soulmates - Feeling the connection as soon as you see each other.

Summary: When Bucky fell from the train, their soulmate was told he was gone. When Steve Rogers disappeared into the ice, their soulmate was again told one of her soulmates were gone. But she didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. Committed to a mental health institute, she dies of a broken heart. That's at least what the hidden S.H.I.E.LD files say, but if that's the case than why is there a photo of her. A photo that shows her side by side two redhaired Avengers.

Warnings will be per chapter.

For this fic reader will be British, but let your imagination replace if needed.

Chapter Summary: The team are back together and their soul family back in place. Emotions run high, their exhausted and a photo is about to shake Bucky to his core.

Chapter Warning: Mentions of death, sad Bucky.

Natasha looked around the room, scanning her weary team mates. Her soul family. It had taken a while to get here but they had. Sure Tony and Steve continued to be at each other’s throats and Bucky’s face got more broody by the day but they were together.

Knowing Wanda was also back in the Compound, Vision at her side as they settled into their new quarters brought a smile to her face.

The rush of emotions of everyone being together had been too much for Wanda, and when Steve and Tony had squared up to each other for the third time in as many hours, Rhodes and Wilson forced to keep them apart as Bucky packed a bag to leave, she’d had enough.

Natasha had ushered Bruce away to avoid a code green, as Vision had tried to do the same with Wanda. But Wanda had reached her breaking point and had enough of the arguments, the intense negative energy that surrounded her soul family had brought her to breaking point. Her nights were plagued with nightmares about her family, Pietro, and her days were a living nightmare with her soul family at each other’s throats. Wanda had screamed as she’d nearer collapse.

“Enough!” she’d yelled as Vision looped an arm around her waist to keep her upright, “do you see? You never see do you? The damage you’re doing? To our family? To each other?!”

She paused as she took a breath.

“I’m leaving.”

There were calls of her name as Vision led her from the room. An hour later they were in a Quinjet over the Atlantic, directions to a safe house and a contact of Natasha’s. The rest of them didn’t speak to each other for a week following Wanda and Vision’s departure, the only exception their own soulmates. When Natasha wouldn’t say where they were, they didn’t speak to her for a few days longer.

Wanda’s return came three months later, sure there was still bickering but they’d learnt the hard way to keep it away from her. As much as they’d had preferred a longer break, missions and their skillsets had meant a need for them to return.

The Hydra clean up had originally been going well but a repeat of dead leads and bad intel had caused any more arrests to dry up. 

As the digital map displayed across the meeting room showed the dead ends and places still be searched. Natasha scanned the faces of her team mates and soul family in the room. Steve was seemingly staring into thin air. Tony flipped a pen between his hands. Rhodey rubbed his eyes. Sam had his eyes on a screen full of text but the movement of his eyes indicated he was reading the same sentence over and over again. Bucky stared at a spot on one of the maps. A no go area in part of Germany. An old Nazi bunker that they had very little chance of getting permission to search even with the New Accords. 

Unless she asked for a favour. A favour from you. Her attention was brought away from her stray thoughts as Bruce wrapped himself around her, a soft kiss to her forehead.

“They need a break.”

She smiled warmly at him.

“Guys, let’s take a break, half an hour and regroup.”

The only responses were sighs, stretches and yawns. Bucky was the first one up and out of the room rubbing his hand down his face in frustration as he went. Tony’s voice broke the silence. 

“Is there a reason he keeps staring at the same spot?”

“The same reason I keep rereading this.” Sam replied pointing at the screen. 

“It’s one of the no go areas left from the war, but it feels to me like that’s the next stop” Steve added.

“Has he been there before?” Tony asked.

“We both have.” Steve replied.

“Recently or before?” Asked Natasha, referencing before Steve was in the ice and Bucky was in cyro.

“Before.”

“Look if it’s a no go area you know the chances of us getting in there are real slim.” added Rhodey.

“Not necessarily.” added Nat.

“Let me guess” Sam enquired “you know a guy?”

“A girl actually.” she replied. 

Tony cocked an eyebrow and glanced round at his soul family.

“Spill it Romanoff.” 

Meanwhile down the hall Bucky splashed cold water on his face. He knew the next spot was likely to be that bunker and he knew he wasn’t going to like it. If they could even get in there it would bring back too many memories. 

Memories of when they’d raided it. Memories of when he was back there twelve years later. He needed coffee or something stronger. Where was Thor when he needed him. 

He headed out of the bathroom and along the corridor to the coffee station and began to start up the machine and root through the snacks. In the distance he could hear the hums of Wanda from the printing room. The room was barely used, the team opting for electronic devices or projections instead but Steve still liked paper copies and every mission had a pack of freshly printed paper maps just in case. Two packs in fact. One for use and one just in case. 

Every time Steve would drop the two packs on to the meeting room table or fiddle with them on his lap in the Quinjet he would give Bucky a sad smile and nod his head, which Bucky would return. 

It was silly really how things reminded them of their shared soulmate. Their soulmate had prepared maps for British Special Forces during the war and their eye to detail had been the best around, making Peggy quick to recruit their girl to her team. The fates leading her to Steve first and then Bucky. Their soulmate would do anything to keep them safe. Nagging Howard for better equipment and weapons. Telling him to “quit flirting and stop trying to fondue anything in a skirt and bloody get on with it”.

Howard never let on he was slightly scared of their soulmate, not to any of their faces but the panic in his eyes gave him away. Steve had nicknamed their soulmate a Spitfire, like the British fighter plane. The look on their girls face said he shouldn’t have.

Her way of keeping them safe was to slip extra bandages into their gear, sew small bits of metal into their suits to cover key areas but not too much to weigh them down. Then there was the packs. Always two packs of maps, just in case. Bucky sometimes wondered if their girl slipped extra copies to the other Howling Commandos. 

“Can’t have you getting lost lads. You Yanks are awful with directions.”

Bucky would always tap her ass playfully as she passed by for that comment. 

His thoughts were soon snapped back by Vision’s soft voice. 

“James?”

Bucky cleared his throat to answer, and wiping his face roughly when he realised he was crying.

“Yeah? You need something?”

“Actually I wanted to check if you needed anything.”

“No, I’m good, thanks Vis”

“Were you thinking of her again? If you’d like to talk about her, Wanda and I would happily listen.”

Bucky turned away, dipping his head, gripping the counter of the coffee station. He tried to take a deep breath but it came out shuddered. 

“James, I maybe speaking out of turn and uninvited but there is no shame in grief and you certainly don’t need to hide it from us. For anyone in the outside world it is a lifetime ago but for you, it is not, and there is no timeframe or timeline for grief.”

Bucky heard Wanda’s soft footsteps approach. 

“James, take it from someone that’s knows, it is better to talk than it is to keep it inside. You listened to me talk about my brother, I’d be honoured to hear about her.”

Bucky nodded and turned towards them both teary eyed.

“Whenever you want us to, we’ll listen” added Vision.

He rubbed his face and nodded again. It was then he noticed a pile of photos in Wanda’s arms. All different sizes clutched in her hands, he was puzzled as he had barely seen a printed photo since being out of cyro, Sam telling him that people don’t often print them anymore. He then noticed Vision was holding picture frames. 

“Did you print these? I didn’t think people did that anymore?”

“Not always but I like them,” Wanda answered “reminds me of home. This one Tony found for me on an old friend’s social media account” as she handed him a picture of Pietro. 

“This one is when we were away” she handed him another. A picture of the couple near a lake, Scotland, Bucky thought to himself.

“This one is from” Wanda started only to stop abruptly as some of the photos scattered to the floor. She cursed in Sokovian as she went to pick them up.

“I’ve got it” Bucky said as he reached for them. He passed the first two up to Wanda but the third made him freeze.

To anyone else it was a normal picture. Three friends side by side. Two red heads and a (Y/H/C). Only it wasn’t a normal photo at all. Because alongside his two redheaded soul sisters, Wanda with a soft smile and Natasha looking nonchalant, was another woman. A woman that haunted his dreams. 

His soulmate.  Their girl.

Enjoy this fic? Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

[k-howlett]

Breaking and Entering | Bruce Wayne(Batman) Xgn!reader pt II

TW: Character Death (Jason Todd), Grief, and eventual age-gap relationship (Bruce is mid-late 40s, reader is 17, soon to be 18)

Rating: Gender Nonspecific, General Audience, SFW

A/N:

Thank you so much for all the love on pt I, I’m so happy to get back into the swing of things.

as always,

with love and healing,

-Lark(ly)

⊹₊⟡⋆ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⊹₊⟡⋆

“I thought you weren’t going to show,” Y/N said as their footsteps crunched softly against the fall leaves. Still in their school uniform, they carried a backpack lazily slung over one shoulder. Jason Todd’s jacket hung loosely around them, its weight a small comfort against Gotham’s persistent gloom.

Bruce’s blue eyes flicked up from where he stood, his gaze sweeping over them. His tall, broad frame dwarfed theirs as he finally spoke. “I told you I’d come.”

“You said you’d consider it. Thats usually code for ‘go fuck yourself’ but in a polite way” they quipped, a playful edge in their voice as they leaned closer to him.

Bruce rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance, and gently nudged them away. “In my case, it means ‘I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep and stretch myself too thin,’” he countered, his tone firm but with a subtle warmth.

Y/N’s eyes drifted to the lilac-colored box in Bruce’s hands, wrapped carefully with a white bow on top. “What’s with the box?” they asked, curiosity piqued.

Bruce handed it to them with a slight nod. “You were right. Titus completely demolished your shoes.”

“Seriously?” They raised an eyebrow, half-amused.

“Mmhm. And Alfred’s rose bush,” Bruce added, rubbing his temples as if the memory itself was a headache.

“Oh… no, that one was definitely me,” Y/N admitted, a bit sheepish.

Bruce looked at them incredulously. “You flattened Alfred’s roses?”

“I, uh, fell off the fence,” they mumbled.

“You climbed my fence?” Bruce’s tone shifted slightly, the disbelief clear in his voice.

“How else do you think I got in? I certainly didn’t just waltz through the front gate,” they said with a small grin, carefully peeling back the paper to reveal a New Balance box. “You got me... dad shoes?”

Bruce’s expression remained neutral, but there was a slight arch to his brow. “Dad shoes?”

“Yeah, you know, the stereotypical dad shoes. The kind you’d wear golfing.”

“I don’t golf in sneakers,” Bruce replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

“People do,” they quipped, opening the box to get a better look at the shoes.

“These have excellent arch support,” Bruce pointed out, his voice firm but with an undertone of practicality.

Y/N glanced up at him, a hint of disbelief in their eyes. “Titus ate my Converse, and instead of just replacing them with another pair, you got me... these?”

“They’re durable and better for your knees,” Bruce said, his gaze steady, as if daring them to argue with his logic.

They paused, holding one of the shoes, with a smile. “So, you care about my knee health?”

Bruce met their gaze, his expression unreadable, but his tone was calm. “You’ll thank me when you’re older.”

“I’ll thank you now,” they say with a smile, holding up the shoes. “I think these are pretty neat, even if they’re a little… dated.”

“Dated?” Bruce scoffs, his tone slightly indignant. “They’re the top brand on the S&P.”*

“They’re kinda retro, Wayne.”

“Retro?” Bruce repeats, narrowing his eyes. “How old do you think I am?”

“...When’s your birthday?”

“I’m not disclosing that,” Bruce replies, his tone firm.

“Why not?” they press, amused by his sudden defensiveness.

“Because I don’t do birthdays. And I have a feeling you’d try to surprise me at the office, and I’d rather avoid the attention.”

“You flatter yourself,” they tease, sitting down to try on the shoes.

“You mentioned your birthday is coming up,” Bruce says, slipping the comment in with calculated nonchalance.

“My birthday? You want to know mine but won’t share yours?” they challenge, eyebrows raised.

“Just making conversation,” he replies smoothly, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

“Uh-huh. Well, can we pick a different topic?” they shift their tone, tugging at the laces. “I haven’t celebrated in four years, and I’m not about to start now.”

Bruce pauses, his smirk fading as he meets their gaze. “Fair enough,” he says, the respect in his voice mingling with a hint of understanding. “But if you change your mind, I’m here.”

“You want to celebrate my 18th birthday with me?” they ask, glancing up at him as they tie the right shoe.

“Turning 18 is a milestone,” Bruce states with quiet authority. “Jason never got that chance.”

They shoot him a sharp look. “You’re really going to bring up my best friend—right in front of his grave—to guilt me into celebrating?” There hand gestures at the imposing concrete headstone, as its eye -to-eye with them.

Bruce’s gaze remains steady, unfazed. “It’s not guilt, Y/N. It’s perspective. Life is fragile, and not everyone gets to see their milestones.”

“Mine are limited, and so are yours,” they fire back, a hint of defiance in their tone.

“That’s exactly why they matter,” Bruce responds, his voice calm but firm, emphasizing each word as if it were a lesson.

“Oh yeah? Then why are you so evasive about your birthday, hm?” Y/N asked, their curiosity piqued.

Bruce’s expression remained inscrutable, though a flicker of annoyance flashed in his eyes. “It’s not evasiveness,” he said firmly. “I just don’t see the point in making a fuss over my birthday.”

“That’s a double standard,” Y/N countered, a hint of exasperation in their voice. “For someone so keen on celebrating life, you’re reluctant to acknowledge your own significance.”

“It’s different, Y/N,” Bruce replied, his tone carrying a hint of finality.

“It’s not different,” they shot back, shaking their head. “It’s a matter of acknowledging what’s important. If I’m going to celebrate my milestones, then you should too.”

Bruce sighed, his frustration evident. “Tell you what,” he said reluctantly, “we’ll celebrate yours when it comes around.”

“And?” Y/N prompted, expecting a bit more.

“That’s it,” Bruce said firmly, as if he’d made a decision that should settle the matter.

“That’s not it,” Y/N laughed, a playful glint in their eye. “If I celebrate mine, you’re going to have to celebrate yours.”

“You’re a pain—almost worse than my kids,” Bruce muttered, though there was a trace of affection in his voice.

“They like to celebrate?” Y/N asked, intrigued.

“Dick does,” Bruce admitted. “But no, I meant your stubbornness.”

“Thank you!” Y/N grinned, clearly pleased.

“That’s not a compliment,” Bruce hummed, though a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, betraying the partial admiration he felt for their persistence.

Y/N finished tying the other shoe and looked down with a playful frown. “I look like I have clown feet,” they complained.

Bruce regarded them with a mix of amusement and practicality. “It’s not about the appearance; it’s about the support,” he said, offering his hand.

Taking his hand, Y/N let him pull them up. Standing a bit taller now with the shoes, they grinned up at him. “So, you got these so I’d be in line with your neck vein?” they teased.

Bruce’s lips twitched slightly, betraying a hint of amusement. “Haha, Very funny, Y/N. I got these because you were headed towards flatfoot. Converse aren’t exactly known for their support.”

“Converse are not terrible shoes,” Y/N countered, still playfully defensive.

“Says who?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow.

“2014 Tumblr,” Y/N replied with a smirk.

Bruce looked puzzled. “I don’t even know what that is, nor do I want to,” he said with a hint of dismissive amusement. “You know you might actually appreciate the comfort once you’ve broken them in.”

“I do appreciate them. I just like giving you a hard time,” Y/N hummed with a playful smile.

Bruce huffed dryly, a trace of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you do, kid.”

Y/N bent down to collect the New Balance box and the wrapping paper, carefully shoving it into the large pocket of their bag. As they straightened up, a thought crossed their mind. “You took off work for this?” they asked, a hint of surprise in their voice.

Bruce crossed his arms, his expression neutral but his tone a little more serious. “I can make time when it matters.”

Y/N’s expression softens, and they gently grab Bruce’s hand as they both gaze down at the name etched in stone. “It means a lot,” they say quietly, their voice barely above a whisper.

Bruce’s grip tightens slightly, his thumb brushing over the back of their hand. “I know,” he replies, his tone even, though the weight behind his words is unmistakable.

They stand together in silence, the world around them muted by the gravity of their grief. Y/N’s voice trembles as they speak again, “He was my friend.”

“He is,” Bruce responds without hesitation, his eyes still fixed on the grave, the words carrying a quiet, unwavering conviction.

Y/N’s voice falters, thick with emotion. “He was your son.”

Bruce’s expression doesn’t waver, but there’s a slight softening in his eyes. “He always will be,” he says, his voice steady, as if stating an unchangeable fact.

Tears well up in Y/N’s eyes, and they blink rapidly, trying to hold them back. “I miss him,” they admit, their voice breaking.

Bruce pulls them into his side, wrapping an arm around their shoulders with a strength that’s both protective and comforting. “I know,” he says, his voice low, the words carrying the weight of shared sorrow. “I miss him too.”

Y/N leans into him, their tears starting to fall as the grief they’ve been holding back overwhelms them. “It never goes away,” they sob, their words muffled against his chest.

Bruce tightens his hold on them, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles against their back. “No, it doesn’t,” he agrees, his voice calm and measured, though there’s a depth of feeling beneath it that only someone who knows him well would recognize. “But we learn to live with it.”

They stand there for a long moment, Bruce’s presence solid and unwavering, offering them the quiet strength they need. In the silence, there’s a sense of understanding—an unspoken bond.

₊‧⁺ ⊹₊⟡⋆

Damian Wayne prided himself on his situational awareness and keen observation. Lately, his father had been behaving differently—disappearing for hours on Fridays, far more secretive than usual. Damian couldn’t ignore the shift and was determined to get to the bottom of it.

“Why are we following Bruce around again?” Tim asked, trailing beside Damian and Dick.

“Yeah, I thought you called me for backup over an emergency, Damian,” Dick added, crossing his arms as he followed his younger brothers.

“It *is* an emergency!” Damian hissed, his tone sharp. “Father’s acting weird. And I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

“Weird how? Bruce has always been suspicious and dodgy,” Tim pointed out, raising an eyebrow at Damian.

“It’s different this time!” Damian insisted, his frustration evident.

“Okay, little man, no need to get testy.” Dick ruffled Damian’s hair, a habitual gesture that never failed to annoy him.

“Don’t do that, Grayson,” Damian snapped, swatting Dick’s hand away. There was a significant age gap between them, and Damian always felt the need to assert himself as more than just the youngest.

“Shut up, shut up! They’re right there!” Damian whispered urgently, ducking behind a nearby tombstone.

“Oh hey—Is that Y/N?” Tim asked, squinting at the figures standing in the cemetery. One was unmistakably their father, and the other, a teenager who was familiar to him.

“When you said emergency, I wasn’t expecting lukewarm gossip, Damian,” Dick hummed, leaning casually against the fence, though his eyes betrayed a more serious curiosity.

“Who the hell is Y/N, and why is Father hanging out with them?” Damian growled, narrowing his eyes at the sight.

“I just told you, Y/N Y/L/N, they attend GA with us, they’re two grades above me,” Tim explained, though he knew it wouldn’t satisfy Damian’s questions.

“That doesn’t answer the ‘why,’ Drake,” Damian snapped, his frustration bubbling over.

“Oh wait, whoa whoa—Y/N Y/L/N? Jay’s friend?” Dick’s expression shifted as realization dawned on him.

“Well, that would explain the atmosphere,” Tim said quietly, gesturing to the graveyard.

Damian frowned. He had never met Jason Todd, and the family tragedy surrounding him was something he still struggled to fully grasp. “So?”

“So, the anniversary of his death is coming up,” Dick said, his tone more somber. “They’re probably in mourning.”

Damian’s expression faltered, his usual bravado dimming slightly. The weight of what Dick said hung heavily in the air.

Tim stood silently for a moment, then, without a word, started walking through the fence to join Bruce and Y/N. Dick, catching Tim’s intent, followed, but paused when Damian grabbed his wrist.

“Grayson, where are you going? Where’s he going?” Damian demanded, his voice tinged with confusion.

“We’re already here, Damian. Might as well pay our respects too,” Dick said gently, looking down at his youngest brother.

“He was our brother,” Dick added softly, the words carrying a gravity that Damian couldn’t ignore. “You’re welcome to stay out here if it makes you uncomfortable. But the family is in there.”

Damian hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. “Alfred’s not,” he said indignantly, trying to regain some control of the situation.

“But he would be if he were here,” Dick replied, his voice gentle but firm. “We all mourn in our own way, Damian. You don’t have to go in if you’re not ready.”

Damian’s gaze flicked between Dick and the figures at the gravesite, his usual resolve shaken. After a moment, he released Dick’s wrist, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“Fine,” Damian muttered, his voice quieter now. “But don’t expect me to get all emotional.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dick said with a small smile, giving Damian a reassuring pat on the back before following Tim through the fence.

Damian lingered for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing as he watched his brothers join Bruce and Y/N. Then, with a deep breath, he steeled himself and followed, his steps slower, more deliberate. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, but for the first time, he didn’t feel the need to fight it.

After all, as much as he hated to admit it, maybe he was starting to understand what it meant to be part of this family.

Tim stepped up beside Y/N, his presence calm and reassuring. He gave them a soft nod of acknowledgment, his eyes flickering with understanding as he noticed the tears and the way they leaned against his father. Tim didn’t need words to convey his support; his silent companionship was enough.

Dick moved to stand beside Bruce, resting a hand on the older man’s shoulder. A shared look of understanding passed between them, one that spoke volumes without a single word. This moment was heavy, but they had each other, and that made all the difference.

Finally, Damian squeezed between Dick and Bruce, his small frame nestling close to his father’s side. His sharp eyes narrowed slightly at Y/N’s closeness, a flicker of something protective crossing his face. He discreetly clung to Bruce’s sleeve, a silent claim of territory that only someone as observant as Damian would make.

Y/N’s gaze shifted to the Wayne siblings, their eyes widening a fraction in surprise to see all of them here. The sight of the entire brood gathered around Jason’s grave added a weight to the moment that they hadn’t expected.

Pennyworth’s steps were light as he approached, his presence as impeccable as ever. Despite his age, Alfred carried himself with a dignity and grace that belied his years. He stood behind the five, a steady pillar of support. “I don’t suppose any of you brought an offering?” he teased lightly, his tone gentle yet playful.

Bruce’s normally stoic eyes softened, a rare warmth bubbling up from his chest as he glanced at Alfred. “Figured that’s your department,” he responded, a hint of affection in his voice.

“White lilies, daffodils, and forget-me-nots,” Alfred announced, setting the beautifully bound bouquet in front of the grave with care. His selection was thoughtful, each flower chosen with intention and meaning.

“It’s quite beautiful… A shame they’ll wither,” Y/N said softly, their voice tinged with melancholy.

“All things wither with time, dear. That doesn’t make them any less meaningful,” Alfred replied with gentle wisdom, his tone reassuring.

Y/N shot Bruce a look, a mix of surprise and familiarity in their eyes. “Someone gave me an eerily similar speech,” they remarked, their lips quirking into a small, knowing smile.

“I did. My wisdom comes from somewhere,” Bruce acknowledged, his voice carrying the weight of years of experience.

Alfred gave a wink and a nod, his expression warm to Y/N before his attention shifts to Dick. “I didn’t expect you to be here, Master Richard,” he said, his tone affectionate.

“Ah, I left Blüdhaven in good hands for the night,” Dick replied with a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Wouldn’t miss a reunion for the world.”

Bruce’s gaze swept over his family, the people who had become his anchors in this world of shadows and loss. In moments like this, he was reminded of what he fought for—what they all fought for. The past could never be undone, but standing here together, they honored it, even as they looked toward the future.

And for a moment, in the quiet of the cemetery, with the scent of flowers lingering in the air and the presence of loved ones all around, the Wayne family found a fleeting sense of peace.

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*(Please note New Balance is not actually on the S&P because its not publicly traded, I just thought it was a comical interaction)

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Approx. Word Count: 2,917

pt I - pt II - pt III (coming soon)

//Series Tag List: Available Upon Request!

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[probablyjustturtle]

I've always thought/headcanoned that during Young Justice season 2 Dick took over Bruce's duties similar to the arc (I don't actually know what the arc is called) where Bruce is 'dead' for a bit and he has to take over being Batman and training Damian.

Like the whole reason he has to be Batman is because Gotham cannot survive without him. Crime rates go up significantly when criminals realize Bats hasn't been seen in awhile.

Batman is off world for most of season 2.

So therefore, my headcanon is that Dick would take on the same responsibilities he does in that arc.

So to add them all up, Dick's responsibilities are:

1. Leading the Young Justice team and their missions.

2. Secretly running a double agent/undercover mission to infiltrate the light.

3. Being Nightwing and protecting Bludhaven.

4. Being Batman and protecting Gotham.

5. Taking care of Tim.

6. Probably taking care of WE.

7. Being Dick Grayson (keeping up civilian responsibilities and relationships)

8. Probably training the team too.

Like this man is BOOKED. On top of that his BEST FRIEND is mad at him because he put his girlfriend undercover and his other close friends don't know the extent that he is working. AND Jason recently died so he's suppressing THAT grief the WHOLE time.

I'm pretty sure this guy probably passed out or nearly passed out from shear exhaustion. There were probably a few times he started confusing Bludhaven and Gotham missions for YJ missions which normally isn't a problem but he hasn't slept for 72 hours.

M'gann touched his mind and was like "hey, woah. How are you standing?? You just finished patrolling as Batman, did a YJ mission as Nightwing, did the reports for both, and you're planning on going to go do patrol as Nightwing right now??? No, go to bed???"

Or even Tim going up to M'gann and Conner like "hey, Dick is really going through it. I don't remember the last time I saw him sleep. Maybe he fell asleep at the batcomputer the other night and Agent A has to chase him down to get him to eat a proper meal."

Here is your angsty fanfiction fuel. Basically overworked Nightwing stretched far too thin.

(if anyone writes fanfiction for this please let me know I would LOVE to read it)

[necrotic-nephilim]

"I think you need a little something to remind you of who you belong to." - JayTim

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

god this one is so good. this idea just. sat in my brain goo for days until i had the time to write it. this takes place like. right around Search For A Hero and before Battle for the Cowl, i would say, with dead Bruce and all, but before Red Robin. very fucked up one-sided feelings bc Jason is Jason and i love him. it's like 3.6k words and my partner edited it for me so. enjoy <3

It took Tim longer than it should’ve to notice the change.

With Bruce gone, Gotham was in upheaval.

No matter how much Tim did, there was always more. A new villain to fight, a new gang to take down, a new murder to solve. Gotham knew that the Batman was gone, for good this time.

Which meant they knew someone, something, could kill Batman.

That made Tim the fresh meat to go after. If the Batman could be killed, it shouldn’t be any harder to take down his Robin. Tim knew that every villain would want a piece of him and he had to prove himself. And for a while, he did. Tim was personally targeted by rogues, ready to be the Joker to his Robin.

Then it changed.

No one was pulling their punches, necessarily. But there was a change. Gangs that once had no problem facing Tim down were running in the opposite direction. Rogues gave up too easily, with an amount of fear in their eyes that didn’t quite match Tim’s reputation.

He should’ve noticed it sooner.

Tim knew something was wrong, at least. But he’d been so slow to notice it; now he was scrambling for answers. He’d interrogated half a dozen thugs and none of them gave him anything. Tim used every trick Bruce had taught him and still. He had nothing. It was just confirmation that they were hiding something. He was missing something, and he had nothing to show for it.

It reminded Tim of how the tide receded right before a tsunami- a quiet, deadly calm rolled over Gotham.

Someone was pulling strings. Someone was going right over Tim’s head, probably planning a big attack to sweep Tim undertow to drown in the chaos. And Tim didn’t have a single lead.

Waiting was always the worst part.

And still, the fires in Gotham burned. Whatever was going on kept getting pushed to the back burner so Tim could stop everything from human trafficking rings to street muggings. He knew he was stretched too thin, too exhausted to hold himself up.

It was a matter of time before Tim got pulled into a merciless riptide.

He just didn’t expect it to be in some grimy alley, losing a fight to a second-rate mob that jumped him.

Tim should’ve gone back to the Batcave when his shoulder got dislocated an hour ago by Harley Quinn instead of just setting it and carrying on.

He should’ve called for backup an hour before that, when he had to face all the Gotham Sirens on his own, leading to the chase with Harley in the first place.

And he definitely should’ve stayed home from patrol altogether, with ribs that were still cracked from a run-in with Solomon Grundy less than a week ago.

But Tim didn’t do any of that. Because if he was going to carry on any part of Bruce’s legacy, it was this: fighting until his body gave out under him.

Tim just hoped if this mob killed him, they wouldn’t dump his body somewhere embarrassing.

Though it was starting to look less like if, and more like when. Tim didn’t like to be pessimistic in a fight. There was always something more to do, one final trick to pull out of his arsenal. Just like Bruce taught him.

This time, though. Tim wasn’t so sure about that.

There was blood in his mouth. Blood in his eyes. He could barely stand, let alone hold his bo staff. It took every ounce of worn-out effort to block the endless blows raining down on his battered body, let alone try to punch back.

Tim always figured he’d meet a violent end.

He wasn’t sure where his comm link had skittered off to. It got knocked out of his ear under a particularly vicious blow to the head, cutting Tim off from any hope of backup. He was in this one alone.

Someone kneed Tim in his already brutalized ribs. He doubled over and groaned, falling to the ground.

He needed to get back up.

Tim’s arms were too shaky to support his weight. He just collapsed again. A steel-toed boot was raised above his head, ready to come down. Tim just closed his eyes and covered his head as best he could with his hands. Better broken fingers than a broken skull.

The boot never connected.

Instead, Tim heard gunfire.

He knew some of the men had guns, but this was a different kind of gunfire. The automatic kind, coming from a different direction. All Tim could do was watch with wide eyes as his attackers started to drop like flies tinged with red.

The ones who managed to survive the first volley of bullets were scrambling around, yelling at each other in a foreign language. Russian, maybe? It was hard for Tim to tell with his head swimming from blood loss, eardrums pulsing to the infernal beat.

From the darkness, a figure jumped down, landing in front of Tim, holding an automatic rifle over their shoulder. Tim blinked hard, trying to make out who it was.

“I only gave you miserable fucks one rule,” a cold voice growled. “Who wants to remind me what it was?”

Damnit. Tim knew that voice.

He was beyond screwed.

All the men froze. Stuttered apologies and pleas came out of half of them, messy and incoherent. They all sounded positively terrified, cowering in front of the figure.

“We didn’t know it was-”

“-just wanted to scare him-”

“He came to our territory first-”

“-but we weren’t going to kill him-”

Jason Todd fired a few shots into the sky, silencing all of them. Tim swallowed a mouthful of blood, his own heart reverberating against copper-stained teeth.

“I asked what the rule was,” Jason repeated slowly. He cracked his neck and pulled a knife off his belt, flipping it around for show.

One of the men was brave enough to step forward. “No one’s allowed to touch Robin. Sir.”

Tim’s breath caught in his throat.

What the hell?

Jason nodded slowly. “And last I checked-” he made a show of turning back to look at Tim. Under the helmet, Tim couldn’t begin to guess Jason’s intentions. “-there’s only one kid with a big R on his chest fighting with a bo staff. I was being pretty generous with all of you. Protection from the cops, from other gangs. All for one fucking rule.”

“Why are you protecting him, anyway? Vigilante freaks cause us nothing but problems-”

The man’s yelling was abruptly cut off by the bang of Jason’s gun and his brains splattering across the alleyway. A smear of pink landed on his bo staff; there was no coming back from that one.

“I guess I should’ve had two rules. No touching Robin and no asking questions,” Jason hummed lazily, as if he hadn’t just taken a man’s life. He shrugged. “I’ll add it to the tab.” He reloaded the gun.

Tim grabbed Jason’s ankle. “Don’t…” he coughed up a mouthful of blood, “don’t kill them.” It was pathetic. He could hold his own in a fight against Jason. He had before. But now, Tim couldn’t even stand and was left with barely enough strength to even grab Jason.

Like shooing away an insolent child, Jason pulled his leg free and clicked his tongue at Tim. “I’ll get to you in a second. Wait your turn.”

Then, he let loose. And there was nothing Tim could do but watch in horror.

Jason tore through every single one of the men like paper. their bodies dropped one by one because instead of the gun, Jason jumped in with his knife. For the fun of the fight, Tim guessed. Because it definitely sounded like Jason was enjoying himself, flipping through the crowd and throwing out a vile quip now and then.

In seconds, it was over. A pile of bodies with Jason as the indisputable victor, wiping his bloody knife off on his jacket. He walked over to Tim, perfectly casual.

Maybe he was saving Tim for the finale, to be killed by Jason’s own hand around his neck. That was the only reason Tim could think of for Jason being the reason rogues had pulled back so much over the past few weeks. Jason wanted Tim’s blood for himself, so he could make some kind of statement out of killing Robin. Or something like that, anyway.

“Up we go,” Jason said with a grunt, leaning over to Tim up like a sack of potatoes. Tim was hauled up with Jason’s hands under his armpits, then tossed over Jason’s shoulder, with an arm supporting him around his thighs.

At least the dead bodies couldn’t judge Tim for how utterly embarrassing he must’ve looked.

“Put me down,” Tim tried to say, but the words were so slurred they sounded like one long syllable. His head was spinning. Tim had heard of double vision, but never triple. Was that a bad sign??

“It’s pronounced thank you, actually,” Jason said, walking off with Tim in tow. Each step made all of Tim’s injuries feel far worse and he hissed, uselessly trying to claw at Jason’s back, the material of his gloves squeaking pathetically. “As in, thank you for saving my sorry ass, Red Hood.”

“Fuck you,” Tim sputtered. He was getting blood all over Jason’s jacket and it was the only thing he could see, as his vision got more tunneled by the second. “Where are you…” everything hurt and consciousness was slipping away from Tim.

Jason said something. Tim didn’t hear it. His hands went slack, followed by the rest of Tim’s body.

His last coherent thought was a long string of expletives cursing Jason Todd out.

It took over a liter of blood to stabilize Tim. Stitches on his arm, stomach, and forehead littered his battered body. He was still unconscious on Jason’s coffee table, with a makeshift IV drip giving him fluids, stripped down to his boxers.

Jason was torn between being supremely pissed off at Tim getting jumped and being sickly fascinated by the sight of Tim being bruised and bloody. Perfectly laid out for Jason.

Maybe he should’ve thanked that Russian mob before killing them.

Jason knew it was just a matter of time before that mob caused him issues. They were no real loss to his empire. He was lucky he caught them in the act before it was too late.

One simple rule and some idiots went out of their way to ignore it.

Tim was Jason’s meat and no one else’s. Jason hadn’t been ready to mark his territory yet. This sped up his plan. There were so many steps Jason had to skip to save Tim. He had been waiting for Gotham’s trust in Robin to grow secure and rooted down, putting Tim on top of the world. Then a new Batman would step up, probably Dick. It’d leave Tim aimless and vulnerable, quickly forgotten by his city the moment they had someone in a Batsuit to worship instead.

And that was supposed to be the moment Jason swooped in and claimed Tim. Protecting him from all the big mean supervillains who were salivating for Tim’s blood that Jason had been holding back for so long.

He would be Tim’s fucking savior.

But a no-name Russian mob had to go and screw it up. Leaving Jason sitting on his couch, feet propped up on the same coffee table Tim was sprawled out on. Every now and then Jason nudged Tim with his boot, just to check how out cold he really was.

The latest boot nudge to Tim’s hip actually got him to stir.

Tim groaned, trying to move. His attempt to sit up failed pretty spectacularly. His arm gave out and he slipped, head loudly bonking on the coffee table. With the concussion he definitely had, that had to hurt like hell. Jason smirked, lighting a cigarette. Another pretty groan out of Tim’s mouth before he managed to open his eyes, blinking hard to adjust to his surroundings.

Jason didn’t rush him. He just watched as Tim looked around the safehouse, craning his neck. He ran his hands over his body, feeling the neat bandage work. Finally, his eyes settled on Jason, widening slightly. Jason could see the wheels turning in Tim’s bright mind, remembering what had happened.

Tim opened and closed his mouth a few times, presumably trying to decide where to start. Jason took a long drag and blew the smoke in the direction of Tim’s face, making him cough.

“Why?” Tim finally said. His voice sounded a little raw.

Jason arched an eyebrow, playing innocent. “Why what?”

“You know what,” Tim snapped. He gestured to himself. “Why are you… doing this? Telling everyone I’m off limits and…”

“And saving you?” Jason finished, earning him a lethal glare. About as lethal as a kicked puppy could be, anyway. Jason snorted and shrugged. “Because I can.” No point in sharing a plan that was all fucked up.

“I don’t need your help,” Tim said through gritted teeth. He tried to sit up, slower this time. He still didn’t manage it.

Jason stared at him. “I’m sorry, would you have preferred Nightwing scrap what was left of you off the pavement after those asshats were through with you?”

“I can fight my own battles.”

“And lose them too. Clearly.”

An angry noise came out of Tim’s throat. “Did you just want to save me for yourself, or something?” Tim prodded, fist clenched at his side.

“Probably not in the way you’re thinking,” Jason said. He flicked ashes off of his cigarette onto Tim’s skin, pulling a hiss out of him.

Tim frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Figure it out yourself. Isn’t detective work your whole thing?” Jason made a show of adjusting how he was sitting on the couch as if he was getting comfortable. He moved to prop his feet up on Tim’s leg, one of the few places on his body that wasn’t covered in injuries. Using him like a little footstool.

Oh, that really pissed Tim off. Jason grinned wickedly, watching Tim try and fail to pull himself free. There wasn’t much weight on his leg, but he was still too weak to get his body to cooperate, leaving him to sluggishly struggle.

Tim’s face twisted. “If you think you could convince me to be your sidekick, you’re out of your mind.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a lap dog, actually,” Jason tilted his head back. “Much more submissive and obedient, that way.” He didn’t hide the obvious innuendo in his voice.

Tim recoiled. “Very funny.”

“I’m dead serious,” Jason shot back. “I don’t kill for just anyone.” Contrary to popular belief, murder was purposeful, with Jason. If he killed a lot of people, it was for a specific reason. It was a careful image of the unstable madman to make people fear him. But in reality, it was all planned. Every single body in the grave was carefully counted.

“You’re psychotic if you think I’d ever… submit to you.” Tim’s mouth twisted just having to say the words, utterly disgusted by them.

Jason scoffed. “I think there’s a misunderstanding here, Drake.” He pulled a butterfly knife out of his pocket, flipping it open. “You already belong to me. Every criminal in Gotham knows you’re mine. You’re alive because I’ve allowed it. You’re protected because I called for it. It’s a done fucking deal.” He took his feet off of Tim’s leg and brought them to the floor so he could lean up close to Tim’s pale face. “Understood?”

Like a perfectly rational person, Tim tried to headbutt Jason.

Jason pulled back, more for Tim’s sake than his own. He caught Tim’s head with his hand, forcing it back down on the table.

“I didn’t ask for your protection,” Tim hissed, breathing hard. “You can go to hell, Jason. I can handle this city just fine on my own.”

“I don’t really care if you can or not.” Jason pressed the knife to Tim’s throat, a dangerous warning against any more stupid attempts to fight Jason. “You can be Robin all you want. You can crawl back home to that disgusting cave and play house with all the other bats. I don’t give a shit how you live your life, Drake. So long as you know you’re mine at the end of the day-” he shrugged- “we can take all this slow. I was planning to anyway.”

“You were planning to…” Tim echoed, turning the words over as it sank in for him. “You were planning… what? To make me fall in love with you or something?”

Jason gave another nonchalant shrug. “If that’s how you want to dumb it down, sure.” The plan was far more sophisticated than that. Jason didn’t just need Tim to love him. He needed Tim to crave Jason, need him down to the marrow, and dedicate himself wholly to Jason. Be by Jason’s side as a strategist and partner.

They would get there eventually. Soon Tim would see and understand things from Jason’s perspective. His approach just needed to be a little more head-on.

More fun for Jason in the long run.

It was hard to read Tim’s expression. Maybe Jason was too hopeful to believe there could be some kind of arousal or intrigue there, but he could at least tell there wasn’t nearly as much anger as he expected.

Nor was there any disgust.

For a split second, anyway. Then Tim seemed to snap back to reality, trying to pull away from Jason and the knife.

“Over my dead body,” Tim said with as much venom as it seemed like he could muster.

“You know, I’ll do you a favor, Drake.” Jason lifted one leg over the table so he could sit on Tim’s midsection, making him yell in pain. Jason was a heavy son of a bitch, and his body weight did no favor for Tim’s sore ribs.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tim tried to shove Jason’s chest. He looked a little panicked, like a caged animal.

“I think,” Jason dragged out the words, just for show, “you need a little something to remind you of who you belong to. So I’ll be nice, to make sure you don’t forget it.”

He grabbed Tim’s jaw and jerked his head to the side. Tim cried out and tried to get away. He hit Jason in the chest as hard as he could. Which given his current state, was about the same as being smacked by a toddler.

“You should probably stay still if you don’t want a knife in your eye,” Jason warned. He lifted the blade and pressed it into Tim’s cheek, going deep enough to scar.

He didn’t even have to think about it. Jason knew exactly what he was doing the moment he pressed the blade to Tim’s skin.

A mark that anyone would recognize.

A mark just like the one Jason had been given, years ago.

The letter J could stand for a lot of things. And right now, it stood for marking Tim as Jason’s territory.

Jason dragged the knife down and curled it upward. Then he went in for the second cut, dragging across Tim’s cheek.

Tim had the sense to stay perfectly still while the blade moved. Pained noises came out of his throat and he was giving Jason a death stare, but he stayed still.

A perfectly obedient lap dog.

Jason hummed in satisfaction when his work was done. He flicked the knife closed and slipped it back into his belt, watching fresh blood pour down Tim’s face.

Now they matched.

For good measure, Jason bent over and pressed a kiss against the cut, holding his lips there and feeling Tim’s breath on his skin.

Jason pulled away, licking the blood off his mouth. His first time tasting Tim. It definitely wouldn’t be the last.

“I’m going to kill you,” Tim bit the words out through grit teeth.

Jason just smiled. “Don’t you have pesky bat morals about that?” He climbed off Tim, flicking more ashes onto Tim’s skin from the cigarette that had stayed between Jason’s fingers the whole time. He lifted it to his lips, breathing in. “Your suit is over there.” Jason gestured vaguely to the heaped pile of Tim’s suit.

“You’re-” Tim sputtered on his words. “You’re just going to let me leave?”

“I told you,” Jason hummed, wandering toward his fridge, “you can go live your life. I don’t care. You’ll crawl back to me when I want you to.”

“Like hell.” A loud grunt came from Tim and Jason looked over his shoulder, watching Tim slowly move. Every inch looked painful for Tim, but slowly, he managed to get his stiff joints to obey him.

All while Jason watched, offering absolutely no help.

Tim got dressed with a lot of swearing and groans of pain, occasionally shooting Jason a dirty look. He put a small bandage on his cheek, then limped away, leaving behind the shreds of his dignity.

Jason just smiled, finishing his cigarette and stubbing it out on the floor with his heel.

Tim would be back. He would make damn sure of it.

[oatlystrawberryicecream]

i know the whole point of it is that bruce would never do it but if we set that aside for a bit what difference does it make that instead of shooting jason in the face in utrh bruce sliced his neck?

if bruce had gone for the shot jason left him and jason had died and come back (as he usually does) it would have been a clear statement on where they stand and jason would know there is nothing there for him anymore so maybe he could mourn the loss and move on

the batarang leaves this horrible ambiguity about intent and priorities so jason has to keep testing to see what the parameters are for him now and as much as he dislikes what he finds he sees enough love still to keep a wisp of hope and since he has always been so good at making do with very little he can stretch that thin little hope long enough to get all tangled up in bat business and end up worse off than any of them and still all alone

[gilverrwrites]

Okay, but how would you know if Bruce is really into you or committed to you? I'm curious to know your take on this 🫶🏼 Thank you for always taking the time to answer xx

Thank you for being interested in my opinions, and I love to yap about Brucie so any question is appreciated. Thank you for always being patient with me 💖

I think the key things to look out for would be;

He makes time for you. He has a busy social life, many business related duties, a huge family, and a dual identity in the night. He’s stretched thin and far between, so for him to be deliberate making the attempt to spend quality time with you is big.

He introduces you to said family. Sure, you’ll meet Alfred pretty early on, and you’re likely to run into Duke and Damian who live at the manor at some point. Some, once they’ve caught wind of you might try ty to ‘accidentally’ bump into you (Steph, Dick) But there's a lot more than that, and they’re chaotic, and loud, and just a lot, but they’re his. So if he throws you in the deep end it’s because he’s routing on you to come up swimming.

Sidenote: While difficult, if possible he will try to introduce you to Damian last. Not because of any weird family/step parent-esque concerns. Because Damian has impossibly high standards and he's hoping Dick might be able to but in a good word first.

He tries to communicate with you. Obviously, he talks, but emotionally he’s very closed off, not without good reason, but also not in a healthy way. It’s a good trait to have when you don’t want people getting attached, but he knows it’s a habit he has to break if he wants you to stick around. It’ll be slow and difficult, sometimes it’ll feel like 1 step forward, 3 steps back, but he’ll work on it and that’s what’s important.

[blueflipflops]

Blessed is The Fruit of Thy Womb III

Chapter 3: Then God Asked Cain,"Where is Abel, your brother?"

First Chapter | Prev | Next

Inspired by @cyrwrites 's prompt of Talia being pregnant from exposure to the Lazarus Pits.

...

" Tt. How should I know? I'm not his keeper."

"Dami you just implied that you have a younger brother still in the hands of the League."

The Robin clicked his tongue again, frustration and familliar irrational anger building up inside him.

"It doesn't matter."

"Dami—"

"It. doesn't. matter."

Dick furrowed his eyebrows in concern as Damian quickens his pace towards the elevator, not wanting to continue the conversation.

When Damian first arrived he was angry, eager to prove his worth and word. It seemed that whatever Talia told him, didnt include Bruce having other sons than him. So finding out about this from not even the highly praised father he has, he had to be told of this by said not known brother.

He demanded Batman.

But there is no Batman. Bruce was dead declared missing for more than months now without any contact or notice. Dick has been relunctantly picking up the slack while juggling his own responsibilities as Nightwing back in Bludhaven. Its been a hard time and believe him, he has juggled before. Both literally and figuratively

When he tried to offer the robin mantle to him as maybe to calm him down a bit, he just got angrier and snippy. He rejected the offer but demanded to be trained for the whole duration of his 'stay'.

"I was sent here to be trained by batman and I won't leave until I finish my goal. If it has to be from batman's...successor then so be it."

Okay, that kinda hurt. He doesn't want to be Batman either y'know.

That was what he claimed as he strolled up jnto the mansion like he owned the place. Ever since then, Dick has organized a somewhat schedule for trainings that he deliberately stretched out at first to test him. Which is. Um. Wrong move. This only serves to piss him off more and more prone to lethal attacks.

Yeah. Okay. That attitude needs a little work.

He tried to rudely order around Alfred the first few days and just got more frustrated and angry when Dick scolded him for it. The kid doesn't even want to eat with them even if they lived together (although that might be stretching it a bit since Dick doesn't even live in the manor anymore.) He still try to include Damian in his activities with Tim (who doesn't seem to concern himself too much about the addition. Too occupied in proving that Bruce is still a-alive. ) , to get him out of his shell and maybe talk about what exactly is Talia thinking and what the actual fuck is going on with the LOA. With all the bull happening around with B's death and Tim's insitence on his non-death then him suddenly disappearing to who knows where and everything else the world decided to pile up on him recently.

Fuck. He's so not paid enough for this. In fact, he's not getting paid at all.

And that was 3 years ago, Tim came back with a clusterfuck of a report and possibly a few ill-advised stuff that he's turning a blind eye on. For now.

Tim brought back Bruce, (which is a whole other cans of worms Dick won't open. He will tho. He will. He will process this shit. Just not today. Nope.) declared that he has outgrown Robin, that he's trying his hand on a solo act and after a little help, Cardinal flew in the streets of Gotham. Dick is proud of his brother spreading his wings and leaving the nest but this leaves Damian with Bruce. While Bruce is still recovering, a new Robin picks up the slack. Dick and Damian were a team and the kid was so desperate to prove himself worthy of the mantle that he has been streching himself as thin as Dick lets him and while he follows orders, he's quick to taking advantage of all and any loopholes. If it weren't making his job 10x harder, he would've been amused of such a Robin Move. In all of those years, they grew close to each other, the kid even respects Tim now!

So when Damian mentioned—no, implied that he has another brother still back in LOA, no one can blame Dick for being blindsided.

"Dami. What brother?" He chased after the short feral child.

"Tch. I don't see how that's any of your business, Grayson." He gave him a derisive look as he pushed the button to lift back to the manor. "Your only use here is to instruct and teach me as is your responsibility as Father's succesor not meddle in my personal life. After Father has recovered, he shall continue my training and things would go as it should be." He gave Dick one last sneer before the door closed and a faint hum echoes out in the cave along with what he said.

A brother?!?!

...

When Tim first met Damian Al Ghul Wayne, the demon brat tried to kill him. Which is. Just how his life is now, he guess. The kid was 4"6 beansprout with a sword and is not afraid to use it. Apparently, he tried to stab Dick the first time too. The kid is clearly delusional but after several blood tests Tim has had to admit defeat.

This brat really is B's kid and he hates him already.

This could be a plot.

Ra's would do anything to gain power over Batman and Gotham but mostly Batman.

It smells like a plot.

Dick couldn't get anything out of him other than that he was 'the Blood Son of Batman' and that he was sent here for Bat Training by Talia and he's not leaving. He also said something about his birthright to being the next Batman and being his robin. Which is. Yeah. Hurts a bit. He knows he hasn't been able to be Dick's Robin (oh the combination of those words) being too busy proving that Bruce is still alive. He knows it. But he's still Robin.

He's still Dick's Robin and Dick is not going to give the mantle away just because demon brat here throws a temper tantrum about it. But he did. Well, he didn't exactly but. He offered making Damian his robin. Tim knows logically, this would be the best plan of action given everything with them and then everything with him but he still can't help the sharp insecurity inside him.

But the brat did something surprising, given his whole rant of birthright blah blah blah. Tim wasn't really listening. He looked at Tim with such disgust and derisiveness and then looked away with a click of his tongue. Which is so uncalled for what the hell??? What the fuck did he do? The Batling even had the gall to look so offended for even offered the position he claims was always his. What the fuck.

He says he doesn't want a position already claimed by somebody else and suggested to create a new identity if he has to. Dick was quick to veto that. Thank god. The kid looks like a ten year old. A ten year old from hell, yeah but still. Even Tim was at least thirteen when he started the whole gig. It might not seem like a lot but three years is a BIG difference. Assassin training from birth or not.

The kid looked at Tim with pity and disgust that he doesn't even know why... well whatever but for some reason despite the hostility, the kid would not so subtly support him. Not that anyone else would notice if they weren't a bat, but the kid kinda grew on Tim despite his own attempts not to. And while Tim isn't Dick, he would like to think that they've grown on him too.

After returning with Bruce, a new vigilante identity, and one less spleen, Damian has finally and officially took over the Robin mantle. Despite the initial denial, he was quick to adapt into the role with a hidden child-like enthusiasm. Well. For an assassin raised kid in a role that allows him to beat up grown people in the streets every night. Thank god Dick has already given the kid numerous lectures on the "no killing" rule because Tim is so not doing that.

And no, he is not processing his little LOA escapade.

Although looking back at it, it seems a lot more suspicious with how Ra's was a lot more confident and smug. More... reckless yet defensive.

Of what exactly?

That question has been eating Tim up ever since he had a better headspace for it coming back and it has been driving him crazy. No matter what angle he mentally review everything that happened, Tim still can't for the life of him tell what exactly was Ra's hiding. No matter the connections nor channels he has gave anything away other than the fact that they've been training an heir but Tim already knew that with Damian in the picture and yet...

Something's missing...

When they found out that Red Hood was actually the deceased Jason Todd aka Robin II, Tim thought that was it. That was what was missing and try to bury it along with the annoyance, a bit of resentment, and his many broken bones as a result of that little... reunion of theirs.

Like seriously? An adult robin suit? Cringe, mr. Robin sir. Tim can't believe he idolized you. If it wasnt for the fact that Jason broke his jaw, he would've said something about how if he's gonna kill him wearing the robin suit then the least he could do is not be a coward and wear the original scaly panties. It's like as if nothing is sacred in this world anymore. Really.

After a while, Hood started working with... well not with them. But uh... adjacent might be a better term for it. Tim notices when Jason is strangely quick to startle when Damian is in the picture. It's only recently that Dick was able to convince him to switch to non lethal rubber bullets but before they had to dodge a ricochet of actual real bullets when Damian is near Jason. And the self proclaimed ex-crime lord won't even explain why he reacts to the shortstack like this. Very rude. It's like getting beaten to near death doesn't even have benefits or whatever.

It wasn't until another case that involves the reluctant team up between Cardinal, Red Hood and a likely not supposed to be here Robin, that Tim got a clue as to why. As usual, Hood somehow does not notice Robin and almost shot Tim. Again. For the fifth time this night. Jason said something about a pit demon or something fucking up something something. I'm sure this will all make sense tomorrow. But then Robin snaps back, geniunely offended. Something about how he's not a...

"A fucking what?!"

"Tt. A Lazarus Pit baby, Cardinal. Do keep up."

"Wait hold the fuck up. Hold the motherfucking fuck up. What the fuck do you mean your brother is a Lazarus Pit baby?"

At least Tim wasn't the only one getting a rug pulled under their feet tonight. A bit concerning how distressed Hood was sounding but Tim is flexible. He can handle this. Before he can ask many reasonable questions, Robin turned to glare at them. Impressive how a kid as short as him make Tim feel like he's being look down on when the brat has to crane his neck up high just to see their faces.

"Hood called me a pit demon. Which I am not."

Damn. Touchy. So he's got opinions on pit demons now. What even are pit demons? It certainly doesn't sound good. "

"Hood has trained with the League for a time, did he not? So he must have confused me for my... younger brother."

"The fuck are on about? I couldn't be more obvious that I'm talking to you."

"Wait. What brother?!"

"Robin what brother?!?!"

....

My parents made me subscribe to christianity just so I can make fic titles like these

Damian + fam POV of Child of Lazarus Danny AU

A whole ass POV and setting change can be a bit disorienting especially with a time skip mixed in but at this point we moved away from the creepy cult and into a somewhat normal outside world. Damian has a slightly better relationship with his brother here at the same time a lot more distant than canon. Damian has been able to establish himself as Robin a bit later than canon and Tim was able to decide for himself to hand over the mantle and step out of the Robin training wheels. Didn't like the Red Robin name sorry its just as if Tim wasnt ready to part with robin just yet and hadn't had the time to find himself before making Red Robin. A bit of a fan of the Cardinal name for my boy which is also red.

Funny how Dami subconsiously called Danny a pit demon all these years when all his other brothers subconsiously called him that too. He's so offended its hilarious lmaoo

Also funny how Tim thinks about his relationship with Jason. For me I think Tim won't sink back in fear Jason cuz in the comics man Tim has been roasting the dude any chance gets like Jason hasn't been roasted enough. Love my cringefail asshole Jason. Would've love to punch him in the face.

This was supposed to have Jason and Bruce's POV too but it was getting too long. so. Yeah.

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Them Tags:

Btw y'all should probably just follow the Child of Lazarus!Danny tag

@emergentpanda-blog @skulld3mort-1fan @rosecinnamonbun @ver-444 @learning-to-fly-on-my-own @dannyphantomphan @yasminerd00 @blep-23 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @vythika96 @terzatheunderscorerima @ballzfrog-blog @readerzj @overtherose @undead-essence @justwannabecat @fisticuffsatapplebees @satoshy12 @thegatorsgoose @meira-3919 @mynameisnotlaura @gmkelz11 @chrysanthemum9484 @aph-mable @lizisipancardo @rasalghul777 @writers-extraordinaire @u-a-wizard-jamie

[dairy-farmer]

I haven't been able to stop thinking about the bats being obsessed with Tim's tits. They keep groping and spanking his tits and pinching and playing with his nipples to the point where it's odd when Tim's tits aren't sore and aching from how often they're played with.

I'm torn between this being a part of the normalized public sex au or if the bats are groping Tim's tits secretly and trying not to let the other bats find out out about their obsession with Tim's tits.

Cause for the normalized public sex au, I doubt Tim would even bother with wearing a shirt around the manor cause of how often said shirts would be pulled up (or down, causing the necklines to get stretched out) or even torn off completely so that his tits would be fully accessible for biting and groping. Besides, with tits as sore as Tim's, even the softest fabric would probably feel agonizing rubbing up against his aching tits.

Bruce could pinch Tim's nipples as a form of affection. Dick could squeeze his little brother's tits as a greeting (it's like a hug but for Tim's tits). Jason could smack Tim's tits as casually as one would do a particularly hard pat on the shoulder or back. Cass could grope Tim's tits while they're having a movie night and have it be just kind of like stroking someone's hair.

Also Tim could get away with not wearing a shirt in public despite the many bite marks that cover it, or, alternatively, he could wear very thin shirts that barely hide anything at all and very clearly show his nipples.

Or! Dick and Cass being excited to get Tim to try on "jewelry" :) such as nipple clamps of all types. Ones with little hearts on them, ones with weights, ones with bells that could be used for "stealth training".

Or...Tim getting nipple piercings. I love the idea that Tim's always wanted piercings, and he casually mentions that he wants piercings to Jason, and Jason goes "piercings are a great idea - I know a very reputable piercer around here. let's get you pierced right now" and Tim's excited so he goes along with it, only for Jason to functionally trick Tim into getting nipple piercings cause it's not like Tim specified what kind of piercings he wanted <3

Sure, the nipple piercings will take a while to heal, and everyone will have to wait to play with Tim's tits until they heal (but perhaps they can turn their attention to other things...like playing with Tim's clit until cumming is physically painful), but once Tim's piercings heal, they can go back to adding weights and bells to them for "training" purposes, and he can wear them for much longer now because they're piercings and not clamps (which have to be taking off periodically for health)!

And then there's the alternative...where the bats are groping Tim's tits and desperately hoping that no one else finds out about it, doing their best to coax Tim into not saying a word about it to anyone else. Not that Tim would. He wants his tits groped just as much as the bats want to grope them.

Bruce started doing it when he was helping Tim with some first aid, and he maybe ghosted his hand over Tim's tits for just a little bit too long for it to be an accident, and perhaps there was even a point in time when Tim got hurt enough that someone had to help him bathe or clean himself...and if Bruce spent a little bit too much time cleaning Tim's tits, well, he was just being through, right? Except afterwards Bruce started using any excuse he could figure out to get a chance to freely grope Tim's tits while having some kind of "justifiable" excuse on hand.

Dick doing it on accident first...they're sparring and Dick was pinning Tim down, and his hands landed on Tim's chest instead of his shoulders, and everything would be normal except Dick squeezed a little bit and Tim let out the prettiest noise, and now, well, now Dick can't get enough of it, wanting to hear more of those pretty little noises coming from Tim, but if he wants to hear those pretty noises, he can't do anything at the manor or else he'll get caught, so he extends more invitations to Tim to his apartment where Dick and grope Tim as much as he'd like and Tim is free to be as loud as he wants.

Jason was probably originally just making fun of Tim, or he went to playfully smack Tim on the back, but Tim turned around before he could, and Jason ended up smacking Tim's tit instead. And, well, one thing led to another and now Jason takes every opportunity he can to smack Tim's tits around and maybe even leave a handful of bite marks while he's at it. He's probably a lot less careful than everyone else, but he's not gonna go out of his way to actually say anything about what's actually going on.

Cass, I imagine, is absolutely aware of what everyone else is doing to Tim, but she is also aware of how much Tim likes it, so she starts to do it herself. It becomes a game to her to see how often she can grope Tim's tits without anyone realizing that she is. They're having a family movie night and Cass managed to convince Tim to come cuddle with her underneath a blanket, and she's using that opportunity to grope Tim's tits and pinch his nipples all while Tim is desperately trying not to let a single noise out because he doesn't want anyone to actually stop touching his tits like this.

There's just many possibilities and thoughts to be had, and I love tits and nipple play, and I just think Tim's tits deserve to get lots and lots of attention <3

!!!!!!!!!!!! yes!! i LOVE the idea of everyone groping tim's tits and hiding it from the rest of the family, hoping no one else knows about what they're doing. bruce being the first of them is soooo good because it makes perfect sense.

the idea that bruce was training tim in basic first aid, using one of those medical school dummies to teach tim how to do chest compressions, how to insert iv's, how to draw blood. all basic things. but there were a few exercises bruce had to teach tim by guiding his hands and adjusting his limbs. like placing his much larger palms over tim's while he's giving the dummy chest compressions to make sure they're placed correctly. hovering over tim's shoulder with both arms boxing him in...it's the first time bruce truly realizes how much...smaller tim is.

tim is so light and small that bruce finds it easy to just adjust his positioning, his body, and limbs with hardly a thought.

bruce is showing tim how to put injured people into a recovery position when his palms brush against tim's small tits and they're...so soft. so plush and they give under the slightest pressure of his fingers that have mistakenly grabbed a tit. bruce bites back the choke that wants to push out of his mouth and keeps his hands moving. he doesn't want to bring attention to the accident, it would just be too humiliating for either of them so instead bruce says nothing. its an accident, a simple accident and there's no need to bring it up.

but bruce can't stop thinking about it. he doesn't know why. its not like he's never had tits in his hand. fuck, its not like bruce couldn't go out and bury his face in a supermodels tits if he wanted to. one phone call and bruce could have tits in his mouth if he was that desperate.

but no. bruce sits tensely on the edge of his bed later that night, tim has been gone for hours, driven home by alfred. tim probably didn't think of what happened on the training mats but here bruce was sitting and agonizing by staring down at the palm that comitted the offense. his fingers keep flexing, squeezing around nothing while his brain replays the feeling.

god bruce has had his dark days but never did he think he'd be sitting around thinking about a teenager's tits.

tim's were small, barely even a handful. they were little and perky. tim also didn't wear a bra. bruce knew that now because of the...warmth and the fact that he hadn't felt any padding or underwire.

asking tim to start wearing bras or even giving him a training bra would draw too much attention to something that was. just. an. accident.

so bruce says nothing and tries to put it behind him. he tries to forget.

but its hard. he didn't think it'd be hard to NOT stare at a teenager's tits.

when training tim wore exclusively a combination of running shorts or sweatpants with a fruit of the loom fitted tank top, the kind that came in packages of six. and bruce swore if he stared enough he could see the barest outline of a baby pink nipple.

when tim was sweating he'd tug up the bottom of his sweatshirt, exposing his smooth stomach that was steadily hardening with muscle, and dab at the sweat on his brow and nose.

bruce is mindful of his hands after that. even while showing tim how to floor wrestly and get out of being restrained, bruce never lets his hands wander.

until tim is injured.

it's a few months after he debuts as robin and a rogue gets lucky with a syringe full of some street made paralytic. tim will be fine but he'll need some help until it wears off. normally alfred would be around to help- to assist in undressing and bathing tim free of all the street grime but alfred's plane from new york has been delayed due to weather and he knows better than to attempt the nearly four hour drive to the manor, so bruce is on his own.

he does his best to act normal. he undresses tim carefully, lowers him into a tub of warm water and does his best to murmur assurances to tim that it'll be alright, just a few more hours. bruce is using a washcloth lathered up with soap and is carefully scrubbing him. bruce is kneeled beside the tub and while one hand cleans tim the other is wrapped gently around tim's waist to keep his head above water. bruce's hand is spread open as he glides the cloth along tim's thighs, gently between his legs, up his stomach and...

bruce takes an audibly shaky breath as he spreads the small towels over a tit, the water making it almost stick to tim's skin. bruce's palm is resting, unmoving over it, his palms resting on tim's plush tit and just...squeezing. bruce's hand alternates strengths between light to hard squeezes and it becomes very obvious bruce isn't cleaning tim anymore.

bruce has to force himself to move when tim makes a soft questioning sound behind his closed mouth and bruce quickly finishes before drying tim off, trying not to linger on his tits while he dries him and dresses him. but bruce still catches himself staring at a pair of perky, luscious tits that are so clearly begging to be kissed, squeezed, and bullied.

bruce puts tim to bed in a guest room and hurries out with barely a word or explanation.

clearly bruce is pent up. he's horny and that's why he's fixated on his robin and his tits and he has until morning to come up with a damn good explanation and apology to tell tim. and even with that bruce should be prepared for tim to never want to see or speak with him again.

in the morning alfred has left him a message that he'll be getting a hotel for the night and waiting for his flight the next day and tim is in the kitchen quietly eating a bowl of cereal when bruce comes down for a glass of orange juice and lightly burnt toast.

bruce tries thinking of the speech he prepared. tries recalling the words. but he stares at tim sitting in dick's old college shirt and a pair of his pajama pants that are rolled up at the ankle that bruce mindlessly put him in the night before. the shirt is too big and hanging fully off one shoulder.

and instead of the apology bruce's quiet offer to help tim find a better shirt comes out. bruce has tim stand shirtless in dick's room while bruce digs through his close to find a smaller shirt, and he finds one, a bright blue gotham knights jersey from when dick was 13.

tim is shirtless and rocking on his heels while bruce is tightly gripping the shirt in his hands and...god with each back and forth rock tim's little tits are pushed out and back and they're so...pink. and sweet looking and bruce can't help but shakily reach a hand out and...cup one.

bruce swallows, a shrieking 'what are you doing?! what are you doing?! whatareyourdoing?!!!!' filling his head.

tim tilts a head at him, humming softly as bruce's other hand comes up to squeeze his other tit, discarding the shirt it had been holding on the floor.

"it feels nice when you do that." tim offers like his sentence hadn't just felt like a sledgehammer to the skull.

in response bruce leans closer, breathes shakier, and squeezes both little baby tits in his palms. tim hums sweetly again, closing his eyes like he's enjoying the sensation.

bruce's tongue feels like it's grown to the size of a sausage and he can barely get a word out.

he does, eventually.

and its not an apology. not an excuse. no. it's a whispered question of if tim liked bruce touching him, if he'd like bruce to keep touching him, that if he did then tim couldn't tell anyone about it, that it was a secret just between them.

and god bruce should feel guilt, should be falling to his knees in revulsion and disgust for what he's doing.

but instead. bruce just adds a zipper to the front of tim's robin vest and counts down the seconds for when patrol ends so tim can excitedly unbuckle his seat belt and turn to face bruce while tugging at the zipper to pull out his tits.

bruce needs to sneak the moments where they can do this. after patrol in the batmobile, in the privacy of tim's room when the manor is empty.

sometimes bruce will get daring and sneak a squeeze while passing tim in the hall or during movie night under the blanket. he never dares try anything when someone else is in the room- the risk is just too high. but bruce's affection for tim grows and he ends up showing it in ways that can't be seen by others like pinching a pit until it's warm and red.

so bruce has a bit of a fixation on tim's tits and as tim grows bruce gets...possessive. of course bruce isn't the only one paying attention to tim, bruce sees the bruises and the bitemarks from the overzealous lover tim no doubt has. and bruce tries not to let it bother him. but he can't help it if the next time he has tim's tits in his hand he just...squeezes harder than he should just to hear tim make a sweet little yelp.