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crow-aeris · 2 days

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More of TBUBF :3

(ft. cuddle pollen and Tim angst)

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Tim hisses, his body wracking with shivers and trembles as he coughs. Chalky, dry, yellow pollen coated his entire face and the front of his body. Gods, he was cold- he was so fucking cold.

"Wraith," someone calls through the comline, their voice wavering, "Rreport."

"...Cold," he whines lowly, his feathers dragging uncomfortably against the grass as the abnormally large plant loomed over him, "It's so- s-so..."

"He's in Robinson Park," Duke's voice filters through the line, and Tim couldn't help the pathetic calling chirp that escapes his lips, "Anubis, you're closest."

"I'll cover your route, Annie," Steph's distinct voice flits through Tim's ears, "go bring the birdie home. Robin should be with Seraph."

"I'm on the way," Bruce grunts,

He curls into a tight ball, a desperate whine peeling from his lips as he tried to rub warmth into his skin. Why was he so cold? It was so. Cold.

Where was Kon? Kon would help, he was warm. He was always warm... But wasn't he up north with Clark?

"Wraith," a steady voice calls to him, both in and outside of his ears, "Can you stand?'"

Tim tries, but exhaustion pulls unforgivingly at his limbs.

"...Very well. Seraph, alert Agent A and have him prepare the showers. Wraith is covered in Pollen C901134."

"Just say cuddle pollen, jesus!"

Tim hisses with irritation as Damian helped him to his feet, shame burning in his chest. He was so pathetic and feeble. What would his mother say if she saw what he's become?

"I will not call it by such an improper name!" a familiar voice huffs, hooking his hands under Tim's armpits, "Seraph, link the cave."

"You mean, the Batcave?" Steph giggles, and Tim peels his eyes open to blink blearily into Damian's eyes.

He flinches at the sight of emerald before falling dangerously quiet and still.

"Wraith?"

He flinches, a fearful croon building in his throat as he tilts to the side and purposefully exposes his throat and a low whimper.

Wings flare out to blot out what little light there was. There was a sharp prick against his side, a chilling feeling spreading throughout his body, but not only did the warmth not work, it only seemed to exasperated the chilling, biting cold.

A strangled wail filled the air, and it took a few seconds for Tim to realize that, oh, the wailing was coming from him.

"What happened?!" a distant voice, distorted by the fog in his mind, shouted in worry.

"Report," growled a low, thundering voice followed by the flash charcoal-gray.

"Wraith is incapacitated," Damian bites out, "Cuddle Pollen. It appears to be a new strain, seeing as the general antidote not only hasn't taken effect, but has worsen Wraith's state. He is delirious."

Tim whined, feeling like he was once again a small child, seeking comfort under red-white wings that were always out of his reach.

"He'll be okay, Robin. Shadow, assist Anubis in bringing Wraith back to the cave, understood?"

"Got it."

The world spun by in a nonsensical haze, and it took everything Tim had in himself not to keel over and curl into ball.

He hears voices distantly curl around him, but he was unable to focus on anything other than fleeting names. Then, he was set down on a cold surface, and the warm hands left his side.

Suddenly, the chill returned with a vicious craze, tearing and clawing at his flesh like an untamed beast.

He yelps, whining as a wet object was rubbed across his maskless face, and the overwhelming cold began to recede ever so slightly.

"Is he okay?!"

"Calm yourself, Jason. Timothy will be fine, he is hardier than most."

"I mean yeah, it's not always that someone dies and gets better."

"Mast Jason, I requested you not make these sorts of jokes, especially when the subject of is currently indisposed."

"...Sorry, alfie."

Tim takes in a shaky breath, his eyes blinking blearily open as he clumsily surges toward the closest person with panicked and confused chirps falling from his lips.

"Timothy! Everything will be-"

"Dam-" Tim chokes burying his face in the crook of his brother's neck, relaxing at the reassuring and comforting flood of warmth that soaked his skin, "Damian."

"...I am here."

"D-Don't leave," Tim whines, unsheathing his claws and sinking them into the back of his brother's shirt, "please... please don't leave... I- I don't want to be alone."

"I won't leave you. I promise." "P-promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

And with a shaky nod, Tim feels himself fall boneless against his brother, wings drooping in relief, and he falls victim to sleep.

When he wakes up the next morning, he and Damian would both deny the happenings of the prior night as something that occurred under the pollen's influence.

(Though while Tim forces himself to think his words were true- and Damian believing it as such- all the other Bats know better.)

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cease-your-release · 10 months

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"To What Do I Owe This Pleasure, Papa?"

You are summoned to Papa Emeritus IV’s office, where a pregnant Copia awaits your attention, which you are more than happy to give him. (Fluff, 2,210)

Content warning(s): VERY light angst, mention of gender dysphoria, MPREG

I have such brain rot for pregnant Copia,,, wanna kiss his tummy,,,

As a wise someone on here once said: “I am a man who can get pregnant writing about men who get pregnant.”.

Also on AO3!

The tap of your leather shoes against the freshly polished tile floor of the ministry halls is striking and quick.

You were doing your usual duties, going about your job as normal, until the phone of your department rang. “Papa has asked for you.” Said to you the sister who answered it. To them, it may have seemed cause for concern. You knew better.

It wasn’t long at all before you reached the doors of his office, excitedly knocking at the wood. In response, you hear a voice equally as giddy call out for you to “Come in!”. You do, shutting the entrance behind you, and are met with the image of your partner, sitting behind his desk with a stupidly lovestruck grin on his face.

“Amore, what took you so long?” Copia asks with exaggerated distress, though the ruse doesn’t work as well when he can’t stop cheesing.

“It wasn’t even two minutes!” You respond with a laugh, making your way over to him. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Papa?”

He rolls his eyes and giggles. “Very funny…” His voice drips with sarcasm, turning his chair while you round the corner of the large desk.

And oh, what a sight it is.

His papal robes may hide it well enough, but to you it was unmistakable, especially in a seated position. When facing you, unobstructed by the table before him, the slight outline of his subtly rounded stomach was immediately in your focus. Copia is roughly 6 months along now, though it’s fairly difficult to tell when you cannot utilize the on-site medical professionals in the workplace, and getting an outside visit would not go unnoticed by one Sister Imperator. The others may have their suspicions about your relationship, but none were aware of his pregnancy, you weren’t even sure most of them knew of his ability to bear children. You estimated based on time frame and size, and kept telling yourselves that you would coordinate a day off to take a trip to the local clinic to see for sure. That had not come to fruition yet.

“It’s nothing too pressing, tesoro. Just that I- we… wanted to see you.” He answers your question, bringing a hand to rest atop the bump. That causes the jeweled fabric to shift, and accentuates the shape. You honestly can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not anymore.

“Ah, of course.” You say with a knowing smile. “Did they tell you that?” You lean forward to press a kiss to his forehead, which he hums happily at. One of your hands supports your weight on the armrest of the chair, the other settling over the one of his on his belly.

“Sì, they did! Bambino has been using me like a punching bag, and I could hear them calling for you. I told them ‘Mi dispiace, Bambino, Baba is hard at work, you’ll have to wait’, but…” He gestures to himself with the free hand. “You know how it is, eh?”

The two of you had thought of names by now, but nothing was truly settled on just yet, and you still didn’t know the sex of the baby. His solution was to simply call them “Baby”, like a temporary name, though you both preferred the way it sounded in his mother tongue.

You laugh at his reenactment, and nod in playful agreement. “I do know, Papa.” You say, sliding your hand down to the side of it. You go in a circular motion, a gentle caress. That earns a soft noise of appreciation from him.

“Will you ever tire of that?” Copia asks.

It was a little joke you had thought of shortly after the discovery. About a week in, you were trying your best to go about your work day like nothing was amiss, and you saw him in the hallway. A formal greeting, you bowed your head and said “Good afternoon, Papa.” and that was when it clicked. Later that night, in the safety (what little there was, anyway) of his bedroom, you revealed it to him. “Because you are Papa, and you will be a Papa!” You said. “Ahh, I see! That is very clever, amore.” He laughed along with you then, but now it was like a bad pun- and he liked those, so that meant something.

“Mm.. no, I don’t believe I will.” Is your answer to his question back in the present. He scoffs. “How are you feeling?” Your voice turns much more genuine, almost serious, and your expression reflects that. You could always be lighthearted, but the underlying worry never really subsided.

“I am… better, now that you are here with me.” He sighs, eyebrows pinching upward. His eyes meet yours, and you notice they suddenly seem much more tired than just a moment before. "Non è poi così male quando sei in giro..." Comes from him in a near whisper.

Pregnancy was no easy feat, a fact only made more evident when you throw gender dysphoria into the mix. There were good and bad days, and this one was erring on the side of the latter. You helped Copia throughout all of the steps of top surgery, and were more than happy to do so, but that was a lot of time off, of which neither of you had enough left that year. Bottom surgery was top of his list, but he had to wait at least a few months to get there. In that time is when it happened. Despite the hormone therapy and consistent protection, one day you were waking up to the sound of retching in the suite’s bathroom. That could have been a one-off, but after a week you took an unpermitted trip to the corner store. He called his doctor to figure out the best course of action, but in the end it was up to him. He mulled it over for days, you hardly talked about anything else. You made sure to tell him that there was absolutely no pressure, no need to do this if he was not absolutely positive he wanted it and was able to. In the end, he wanted children, biological if it could be helped, and it could. He temporarily stopped taking testosterone, and now here you are.

“I’m glad I can be that for you, sweetheart.” You say. The hand on the armrest raises to cup his cheek, albeit carefully so as not to smear his paint. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, since he nuzzles right into your palm. The other stays on his abdomen, which allows you to feel a most heartwarming occurrence. From within, something small presses against your fingers. Both of you notice immediately, and don matching, beaming smiles within the second.

“You see? What did I tell you? I’m getting beat up here, huh?” He jokes, each word laced with a giggle.

“I do! That one was pretty strong, I think you may have watched those ‘Rocky’ movies too many times.” You return the humor, though your excitement is palpable- you may even be a little proud. Strength is a good sign in development, right?

“There’s no such thing!” Copia replies in faux offense. A lot of his free time, especially once he started showing, was spent watching films from his vast collection. As much as he loved movies in general, the iconic boxer had always been somewhat of an inspiration for him, so they played quite a few times over the months. “I believe Bambino would like some kisses from you, caro.” He suggests, biting his grinning lip as he gazes up at you from his seated position.

“Oh, would they now?” You ask, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. “They told you that too, I take it?” He nods. You let out a small chuckle at his antics, and slide down to your knees before him. Already, you can’t wipe the smile off of your face, just loving seeing him like this. It is a nice angle. Carefully and slowly, you raise the intricately bedazzled fabric of his robes. He holds it up as you pull it past his ankles, then knees, until finally his midsection is revealed. You meet his eye. “No shirt again?”

“None of them fit anymore, tesoro.” He reminds you matter-of-factly, which is fair enough. None of his usual under-attire, anyway, but he refused to wear his casual tops with the papal getup.

You make a face as if to say “You got me there.”, and turn your attention back to the task at hand. Your gaze falls before you, to the swelled bare skin peeking out from under the bunched up regalia and over a pair of black pants. Perhaps just because it was him, and with your child, but the sight was truly something you could never stop adoring. Subconsciously, the fact that it was kept hidden may have influenced your feelings, the idea of nobody else being able to tell while you couldn’t not notice was enticing to say the least. On either side of the bump is black suspenders, which he found he had to use after not being able to properly fasten his trousers. You gently unclip them, and he sighs in relief. They did put a visible amount of pressure on the underside of it, metal clamps pushing up against his skin. “You could always just undo them when sitting here all day.” You offer, and instinctively begin stroking the flesh with your fingers where imprints of the buckles had formed.

Copia hums in response to the touch before answering. “Yeah, and if a clergy member walked in I would have to stand, and then my pants would drop to the floor.”

That was a good point… and an admittedly amusing image.

“You could wear no pants at all…” You say playfully, glancing back up at him.

“Ah, you would like that, wouldn’t you?” He replies with just as much humor, and nudges your side with his knee, which pulls a laugh from your throat.

You wink at him, but waste no more time, and lean in to press your lips to the top of his rounded belly in a soft, tender kiss. You hear a gasp, but can’t quite get a good look at his face from down here. Even so, you grin, and bring both of your hands to rest on his sides. You trail kisses down the bump steadily, all the while faintly caressing the peripheries of it, which causes him to make a series of tiny noises ranging from sharp intakes of breath to chuckles. Evidently, pregnancy didn’t make him any less ticklish. Nearly halfway down, you manage to catch a glimpse of him. He’s looking at you through one open eye, a faint flush painting his ears, and an adorably wide smile. You swear he could truly melt you if he tried hard enough- or not at all, really. After reaching the end of your path, you add a few more around less calculated spots here and there, and rest your forehead against it with closed eyes. He’s quite warm, but perhaps that’s due to your actions.

“Anche noi ti amiamo, caro.” Copia mutters after a few long moments, and brings a gloved hand to your head, lightly stroking over your hair.

You smile, then press one last kiss to his stomach, right above his belly button, which you had observed has been turning into an “outie”. You go to reattach one of the suspenders to his pants when his hand blocks your view.

“Leave them, per favore.” He requests quietly.

“Not worried about flashing the clergy anymore?” You inquire lightheartedly in response, and begin to pull the robes back down over him, watching as the fruit of your labor disappeared underneath.

“Ah, they probably won’t come see me today.” He answers with a sigh. “Besides, I might have to call you back before the day is over.”

You raise yourself from your spot on the floor, having unfolded the garment to its end. “My department is already wondering about these frequent visits, Papa.” You warn, though only half of you really cares right now. You lean over him again, your faces mere inches apart.

Copia straightens his posture, which allows him to reach you for a quick kiss. “It’s not up to me, yell at Bambino.”

“I could never.” You respond with a quickness, your tone only half joking, and reciprocate his little peck before standing upright. You had spent a suspicious amount of time in his office by now, and the both of you knew you had to be leaving soon.

“I know, amore…” He says, stroking your upper arm before watching you step back, not taking your eyes off of him just yet. “I will call and tell them that I kept you, that it’s my fault.”

Before you can tell him not to worry his pregnant head about it, the landline on his desk rings.

He presses his index finger to his lips, and with his other hand makes a “shoo” motion. You blow a silent kiss to him before opening the door and stepping out, trying to fix your expression to be anything less than elated.

You know he’ll send for you again.

Translations (kind of):

"Non è poi così male quando sei in giro..." : "It's not so bad when you're around..."

“Anche noi ti amiamo, caro.” : "We love you too, dear."

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