#jason was still there and refused to leave

[deansbeer]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐎 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆).

♡ ⋮ read at your own discretion.

pairing 𓏵 jason todd x fem!reader.

synopsis 𓏵 you refuse to let jason be buried after his second death, spending six days holding his cold hand while his ghost watches on helplessly.

warnings 𓏵 angst | major character death | no happy ending | hurt/no comfort | ghost!jason | batfamily mentioned | unhealthy coping mechanisms | descriptions of a deceased body | mentions of early decomposition | self neglect | hallucinations | dissociation | severe depression | suicidal ideation | reader collapses from dehydration/starvation | funeral/burial themes | parental loss (bruce deals with losing his son for the second time) | self-destructive grieving | references to past trauma (jason’s first death / resurrection).

sticky notes 𓏵 i’m genuinely soooo sorry for this, please forgive me 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼 <3 the idea came to me during my shower and when i listened to piano man by billy joel & strangers by ethel cain afterwards. it also has a lot to do with bree sending me and oct a jaybin playlist and making us going through it lol.

the casket sits open in the drawing room of wayne manor, mahogany wood gleaming under the soft light filtering through heavy curtains. you’ve been here for three days now, refusing to move, refusing to let them close it. your fingers are intertwined with his, and you can’t stop staring at how wrong they look — too pale, too still, missing the warmth that used to make you feel safe. jason’s face is peaceful in a way it never was in life, all the tension and anger smoothed away by death’s cruel hand.

“honey, you need to eat something,” your mother’s voice drifts from the doorway, but you don't turn around. you can’t look at her pitying face, can’t bear to see the worry etched into her features. she’s been trying for hours, bringing plates of food that sit untouched on the side table. bruce offered to have alfred bring meals directly to you, but you’ve refused everything except water. even that tastes like ash in your mouth.

the room smells like lilies and formaldehyde, a sickening combination that makes your stomach turn. but underneath it, if you lean close enough, you can still catch the faintest hint of jason — leather and gunpowder and that cologne you bought him last christmas. you press your face against his chest, searching for a heartbeat that will never come again. his body doesn’t give beneath your weight like it used to when you’d curl up against him on lazy sunday mornings.

“please come back to me,” you whisper against the fabric of his suit. it’s the nicest one he owned, the one he wore to galas when bruce could actually convince him to attend. you remember helping him with his tie, how he’d grumble about formal wear while you smoothed down his lapels. now someone else has dressed him, arranged him like a doll in this wooden box. “you’ve done it before. you can do it again. please, jay.”

dick stops by every few hours, always with the same gentle concern in his voice. “hey,” he says softly, crouching beside your chair. “tim’s ordering pizza. your favorite kind. why don’t you come eat with us?” but you just shake your head, thumb stroking over jason’s knuckles in the same pattern you’ve traced a thousand times. dick sighs, resting a hand on your shoulder briefly before retreating. you know they’re all worried, talking in hushed voices in the hallway about what to do with you.

“they want me to leave you,” you tell jason, as if he can hear you. as if those green eyes might suddenly snap open with that familiar fire. “but ‘m not going anywhere. not until you wake up.” your voice cracks on the last word, and you have to swallow hard against the sob building in your throat. crying won’t bring him back. nothing will bring him back this time. no lazarus pit, no divine intervention, no last-minute miracle.

the worst part is how beautiful he still looks. death hasn’t stolen that from him yet, though you know it will soon. his dark hair falls across his forehead the same way it always did, and you reach up to brush it back with trembling fingers. the white streak is still there, a reminder of his first resurrection. you’d teased him about it, called him your old man while he tackled you onto the bed, tickling you until you took it back.

“remember when we went to that terrible diner at three am?” you murmur, needing to fill the silence with something other than your ragged breathing. “you said their coffee tasted like motor oil, but you drank three cups anyway. kept stealing my fries even though you had your own.” the memory feels like a lifetime ago, even though it was just last month. back when his hand was warm in yours, when his laugh could fill a room, when his presence meant safety instead of this crushing grief.

alfred appears with tea, setting it down beside the untouched plates. “my dear, master bruce is very concerned about your health,” he says gently, his usual composure cracking slightly. you’ve never seen alfred cry, but his eyes are red-rimmed now. jason was difficult, stubborn, angry — but alfred loved him like he did all the wayne boys. “perhaps you might consider taking a short break? just to rest?”

“i can’t,” you whisper, not looking away from jason’s face. “what if he wakes up and i’m not here? what if he thinks i abandoned him?” the words sound insane even to your own ears, but you can’t stop them. part of you knows he’s gone, really gone this time. but a larger part refuses to accept it, clinging to desperate hope like a lifeline.

bruce himself comes in as night falls, his footsteps heavy with exhaustion. he’s barely slept since it happened, you can tell. the weight of losing a son — again — sits on his shoulders like a physical thing. “we need to let him rest,” he says quietly, and you hear the barely controlled emotion in his voice. “he deserves peace.” but you shake your head violently, grip tightening on jason’s hand.

“he deserves to be alive,” you snap, anger flaring hot and sudden. “he deserves to grow old and complain about his knees hurting. he deserves sunday mornings and terrible coffee and—” your voice breaks completely, dissolving into sobs. bruce doesn’t say anything else, just stands there like a sentinel in the growing darkness. you know he blames himself. he always blames himself. but you can’t comfort him, can’g even comfort yourself.

“you’re still so beautiful,” you whisper to jason when you’re alone again, tracing the strong line of his jaw with one finger. “it’s not fair. not fucking fair at all. you shouldn’t look like you’re just sleeping.” his lips are slightly parted, like he might draw breath at any moment. but his chest remains still, no rise and fall, no sign of life. you’ve watched for hours, waiting for even the slightest movement.

sometimes, in your exhaustion, you swear you hear him respond. little mumbles like he used to make when you’d talk to him while he was half-asleep. that soft “mhm” he’d hum against your neck, or the way he’d murmur your name and pull you closer. but when you blink, when you focus, there’s only silence. your mind is playing cruel tricks, giving you what you desperately want to hear.

“i brought that book you were reading,” you say, pulling it from your bag with shaking hands. “the one you left on the nightstand. dog-eared on page 347, you heathen.” you try to laugh but it comes out as more of a sob. “want me to read it to you? i know you hate when i do voices for the characters, but tough luck, babe.” you open to the marked page, clearing your throat.

the words blur on the page as you read, tears making it impossible to see clearly. but you push through, needing to do this one normal thing. jason always said your reading voice put him to sleep — not because it was boring, he’d insist, but because it was soothing. safe. you read until your throat is raw, until the moon is high outside the windows, until your eyes can barely stay open. and still, he doesn’t wake up.

what you can’t see is jason standing right beside you, translucent and desperate. he’s been here the whole time, watching you fall apart, and it’s killing him in a way that actual death couldn’t. “baby, please,” he says, reaching for you with hands that pass right through. “you need to let go. you need to let them bury me.” but you don’t hear him, can’t hear him, and it’s the worst kind of torture.

he tries everything — yelling, pleading, attempting to knock things over like in those stupid ghost movies you used to watch together. nothing works. he’s stuck in this in-between space, tethered to his body but unable to interact with the world. unable to comfort you as you sob into his chest, unable to tell you it’s okay, that he’s okay, that you need to take care of yourself.

“fuck,” he curses, running incorporeal hands through his hair. the white streak is gone in this form, he notices absently. he looks like he did before the pit, younger and less scarred. but none of that matters when you’re destroying yourself over his corpse. he can see how pale you’ve gotten, the dark circles under your eyes, the way your hands shake constantly now.

jason has died before, but this is different. last time, he didn’t have anyone to mourn him like this. sure, bruce grieved, but not like you are doing now. you’re holding onto him like if you just refuse hard enough, death will give him back. and jason loves you for it, even as it tears him apart to watch. “please eat something,” he begs, knowing you won’t hear. “please, baby. don’t do this to yourself.”

stephanie brings coffee on the fourth day, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside your chair. “black, two sugars, just how you like it,” she says, pressing the warm cup into your free hand. “i know you probably don’t want it, but humor me a bit, yeah?” there’s a forced lightness to her voice, but you can hear the concern underneath. everyone’s walking on eggshells around you, afraid you’ll shatter completely.

“he always said i put too much sugar in mine,” you murmur, taking a small sip. it burns your throat, the first hot thing you’ve had in days. “…said i was gonna rot my teeth out. hypocrite drank energy drinks like they were water.” stephanie laughs softly, but it’s watery. she reaches out to squeeze your knee gently.

“yeah, he was one to talk. i caught him eating cereal straight from the box at three am last week. said it was too much effort to get a bowl.” she pauses, swallowing hard. “god, i’m gonna miss arguing with him about stupid shit.” you nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. you’ll miss everything — the arguments, the laughter, the quiet moments, the loud ones.

tim appears in the doorway, laptop tucked under his arm. “i’ve been looking into... options,” he says carefully. “there might be ways to... bring him back. constantine knows some people—” but bruce cuts him off with a sharp gesture. “no. no more resurrection. let him rest.” the words hang heavy in the air, final and devastating. you want to scream at them both, beg tim to try anything, everything. but deep down, you know bruce is right. jason deserves peace, even if it means leaving you behind.

“your hands are so cold, baby,” you whisper, rubbing jason’s fingers between both of yours like you might warm them up. “you always ran so hot. like a human furnace. used to complain when you’d stick your feet on me in bed.” the memories hurt, each one a fresh wound. his body temperature had been one of the side effects of the lazarus pit, just like the green eyes and the white streak. now he’s cold as marble, and no amount of holding on will change that.

barbara wheels in silently, maneuvering her chair close to yours. she doesn’t say anything at first, just sits with you in the oppressive quiet. finally, she speaks. “the first time he died, i wasn’t there. none of us were. he died alone, afraid, in pain.” her voice is steady but thick with emotion. “at least this time... this time he knew he was loved. he knew you loved him.”

“i never told him enough,” you confess, the words spilling out. “i mean, i said it, but not enough. not every morning like i should have. not every time he left for patrol. what if he didn’t know? what if—” barbara grabs your free hand, squeezing tight. “he knew. trust me, he knew. boy never shut up about you once.”, that breaks something in you, and you sob harder than you have yet.

cassandra appears like a ghost herself, pressing a granola bar into your hand with a pointed look. you know she won’t leave until you eat it, so you take small, mechanical bites. it tastes like cardboard, but you force it down. she nods approvingly, then stands guard by the door like she’s protecting you from the world. or maybe protecting the world from your grief.

“remember our first date?” you ask jason’s still form, needing to lose yourself in happier memories. “you were so nervous you knocked over your water glass. twice. kept apologizing like i was gonna run away.” you smile through your tears, remembering how his cheeks had flushed red. “but then you walked me home and kissed me goodnight, and i knew i was gone for you.”

jason’s ghost paces restlessly beside you, watching your face with an expression of pure agony. “that was the best night of my life,” he says, even though you can't hear him. “until every other night with you topped it.” he remembers being terrified you’s realize he wasn’t good enough, that you’d see past the charm to the broken thing underneath. but you never ran. you stayed through nightmares and panic attacks and all his sharp edges.

“aqnd that time we got caught in the rain,” you continue, lost in the past. “you gave me your jacket even though you were freezing. we were both soaked by the time we got home. made hot chocolate and watched movies under every blanket we owned.” your voice drops to barely a whisper. “i can’t do this without you, jay. i don’t know how.”

damian enters then, and for once the youngest wayne looks his age — just a child faced with death. he stands stiffly by the casket, jaw clenched. “jason was... good,” he says, which from damian is practically a declaration of love. “he once said i could have his bike. i’m holding him to that.” then, quieter: “i’m sorry for your loss.” he flees before you can respond, but you appreciate the effort.

duke brings sunlight with him when he visits, his presence somehow less heavy than the others. “hey,” he says softly, pulling up a chair beside you. “brought you some fresh clothes. figure you might want to change.” he sets the bag nearby, not pushing. “jason and i were gonna fix up that old camaro of his this weekend. he was excited about it. kept talking about teaching you to drive stick.”

“i already know how,” you murmur, almost smiling. “but—he insisted i was doing it wrong. said i was gonna burn out his clutch.”

duke chuckles softly. “sounds like him. never trusted anyone else with his vehicles.”

the two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while, and you’re grateful. duke doesn’t push, doesn’t plead. he just exists in the space with you, solid and warm and alive.

“he loved you, y’know,” duke says eventually. “like, stupid loved you. made us all sick with how much he talked about you.” fresh tears spill down your cheeks. “he was planning to propose,” you whisper, the secret you’ve been holding burning your throat. “found the little note he had in his jacket pocket.” duke sucks in a sharp breath, and you see him wipe at his eyes.

jason’s ghost stops pacing, staring at you in shock. “you knew?” he breathes. “shit, baby, you knew?” he drops to his knees beside your chair, ghostly hands hovering over yours. “i wanted it to be perfect. wanted to give you everything. a life, a future, babies with your eyes and my stubbornness.” he’s crying now, tears that don’t exist, grief that no one can see.

your friends have been texting nonstop, offering condolences and support. but you can’t bring yourself to respond, can’t form the words to explain that your world has ended. how do you tell them that the man who was supposed to be your forever is lying in a casket? that all your plans, all your dreams, died with him? your phone battery dies on the fifth day, and you don’t bother charging it.

“jason used to bring me flowers,” you tell the room, unsure if you’re talking to his body or his memory or just yourself. “not fancy ones. just wildflowers he’d pick on patrol, or grocery store bouquets he’d grab on his way home. said they reminded him of me.” your voice breaks. “who’s gonna bring me flowers now?”

alfred returns with more tea and a sandwich, setting them down with practiced grace. “master jason spoke highly of you often,” he says quietly. “when was planning to ask for your hand properly, he requested his mother’s ring from the family vault.” the words hit you like a physical blow, and you double over, keening. alfred’s hand rests gently on your shoulder. “he loved you very much, my dear. never doubt that.”

bruce hasn’t left the manor in days, you realize. no batman, no patrol. just a father grieving his son. again. you see him sometimes, standing in the doorway like he wants to come in but can’t. the guilt radiates off him in waves. he should have been there, should have saved him, should have done something. but all the should-haves in the world won’t bring jason back.

“i can’t let them close it,” you whisper to jason, your voice hoarse from days of talking to a dead man. “once they close it, you’re really gone. and i can’t... i can’t do that. not yet. please understand.” his skin is starting to change now, death finally claiming its due. but you still hold on, fingers interlaced with his like you’rr anchoring him to this world.

jason’s ghost is sitting beside you now, having given up on trying to make contact. “i understand,” he says, even though you can’t hear him. “but baby, this is killing you. and if there’s an afterlife, if i’m going somewhere after this, i can’t go knowing you’re doing this to yourself.” he watches as you sway slightly, exhaustion and dehydration taking their toll.

“you promised,” you continue, and jason’s heart breaks at the accusation in your voice. “you promised you’d always come back to me. you promised we’d have more time. you lied.” the anger feels good, better than the numbness. “you stupid, reckless man. why didn’t you wait for backup? why did you have to play hero?” you’re hitting his chest now, weak blows that barely disturb his suit.

“i’m sorry,” jason says, wishing desperately that you could hear him. “i’m so fucking sorry. i thought i had time. thought i was invincible. thought love was enough to keep me alive.” he tries to brush away your tears, his hand passing through your face. “it should have been. love like ours should be enough to conquer death.”

on the sixth day, your body finally gives out. you collapse beside the casket, still holding jason’s hand as darkness takes you. the family rushes in, alfred already calling for medical assistance. they move you to a bed, hook you up to ivs, try to undo the damage of a week without food or rest. but your hand reaches out even unconscious, searching for jason.

when you wake, the casket is closed. the burial happened while you were sedated, they tell you gently. he’s in the ground now, at peace. his mother’s ring is in your hand — alfred must have placed it there. it’s beautiful, vintage, perfect. everything jason was and everything you’ll never have. you slip it onto your finger anyway, a promise to a ghost.

jason’s spirit is gone now, moved on to wherever souls go when their bodies are laid to rest. but sometimes, when the manor is quiet and you’re alone with your grief, you swear you can feel him. a whisper of warmth, the faintest pressure of lips against your forehead. maybe it’s just your mind trying to cope. or maybe love like yours really is enough to transcend death, even if just for moments.

you visit his grave every day, bringing those wildflowers he loved. you tell him about your day, about the book you’re reading, about how tim’s coffee addiction is getting worse and damian actually smiled yesterday. you wear his ring and try to live, because that’s what he’d want. but you never stop looking for him in shadows, never stop hoping that somehow, someway, he’ll find his way back to you. because jason todd has conquered death before.

and maybe, love will be enough to bring him home again.

[batsandbirdbrains]

Thank u @my-life-is-a-bad-sitcom for inspiring this little scenario

So imagine an AU where Batman never joins the Justice League. He’s had run ins with them a few times, mostly to chase them out of Gotham. And he’s been convinced for years that they all knew about the Robins, since Dick was just eight years old and started running across the rooftops. He even forced all the boys put a Kryptonite capsule disguised as a crown on one of their molars from the time he takes them in. In case Superman ever tries to kidnap them, he tells them.

Dick had grown up terrified of one of the other superheroes trying to kidnap him. Bruce had put the fear of God in him, repeating frightening scenarios of what might happen if any superhero managed to get their hands on Robin. There were no bedtime stories in Wayne Manor, only warnings of what might happen if Robin didn’t follow Batman’s orders to the letter.

Bruce Wayne was never a very good father. He tried, at first. Dick likes to think so, anyway. But he grew harsher and harsher as the years went on, and now when it comes to his sons, it’s harder and harder to find where Batman ends and Bruce begins. Batman orders his Robins around like soldiers, and Bruce makes up for it by funding lavish lifestyles and paying for his sons’ affections. The Wayne boys all have the latest Wayne Tech phones and they drive fancy cars with all the bells and whistles and the two who don’t live in the manor were given penthouse apartments, but it comes at a cost the Gotham public will never understand.

Dick lives in Blüdhaven now, and Nightwing is a solo vigilante, but he’s still very attached to the Bats. The bat’s claws sunk deep into him a long time ago, and Dick wouldn’t even know how to begin to pry them out. Besides, Dick loves his family. He loves his brothers. And Bruce may be heavy handed and short tempered, but it’s the only family Dick has. He won’t give it up, no matter how often Dick finds himself in a screaming match with him because he found out he almost hit Tim the night before, or because Damian came to Dick shaking because Bruce raised his hand at him and Damian was so sure he was going to hit him.

Dick can take the heat. He can take the brunt of Bruce’s anger. But he refuses to let Bruce hit his brothers. Jason hardly comes around these days, and it doesn’t matter that he’s taller and bigger than Dick now, Dick will still push Jason behind his back if Bruce looks like he’s about to start throwing punches.

And now, Nightwing has been invited to join the Justice League. He didn’t tell Bruce at first, because they approached him in Blüdhaven, they only spoke about Nightwing, Batman wasn’t mentioned even once. So Nightwing took them up on their offer, went to a few meetings, and then was publicly handed a membership card on live television with the other new members (including the second Flash [Wally West, who Nightwing has become fast friends with], along with a few others).

The Batfamily meetings later that week was tense, full of shouting, and ended with Dick gasping for breath on the floor of the Batcave, blood running down his chin from a split lip. He spits at Bruce’s feet, staining his shoes with spittle and blood, and leaves the cave while revving his motorcycle more than necessary. He only feels a little bad about startling the actual bats as he zooms out to get back on the street. Damian is sitting behind him, hugging him tight, and Dick feels terrible when he feels how Damian is shaking like a leaf.

Damian is staying with him the next few weeks. It had been planned for a while, since Damian is on summer break from school now. Dick is surprised Bruce didn’t force Damian to stay at the manor, considering how pissed he is about Nightwing joining the Justice League. He must’ve been in a good mood tonight, even if the way Dick’s left eye is starting to swell shut says otherwise.

“Are you okay?” Damian asks once they’re tucked away safely in Dick’s apartment.

“I’m fine, baby bat,” Dick reassures him. “Don’t you worry about me. We’re gonna have so much fun these next few weeks, don’t even think about B. I stocked up on ice cream and soda and all the junk B never lets anyone have at the manor, and I have Mario Party ready to play.”

Damian smiles at him, but it falters a little bit when he sees Dick wiping at the blood on his chin with the back of his hand.

“Can I help you clean up first?”

“How about you get started in the ice cream,” Dick suggests, “while I go get cleaned up?”

“If you insist.”

“I do,” Dick says with a smile. “Make me a bowl of mint chip?”

“I’ll put extra whipped cream for you.”

They both grin, and move in opposite directions, Damian towards the kitchen, Dick towards the bathroom with the best med kit. Dick spends ten minutes cleaning himself up, surveying the damage. His face is only mildly fucked up compared to his torso, but it’s not as bad as Dick expected it to be. He really thought joining the JL was going to get a worse reaction out of Bruce than this. He’s actually a little relieved.

Dick is changed in pajamas and sitting on the couch next to Damian a few minutes later, and they clink their spoons full of ice cream in a silly cheers before they start playing video games.

The next morning, Dick only regrets how much sugar he consumed and how late he stayed up just a little bit when he remembers he has a weekly JL meeting to attend. He makes breakfast for Damian, who’s still sleeping sprawled out on Dick’s bed, and wakes him just enough to let him know where he’s going and that Dick brought breakfast for him and left it on the bedside table. Then he heads down to the bunker under the building to change into his Nightwing gear and take his bike to the nearest zeta tube.

He’s rolling his shoulder (the bad one that Bruce knew to twist just enough to leave Dick in near-constant pain for the next few days) and chatting with Wally as he enters the meeting room, and he catches how everyone already in attendance takes note of his fucked up face and stiff body. He just puts on his most charming smile, but sees how Superman tenses just a little.

Dick is sitting in his usual seat, still chatting with Wally when Superman walks over to them, his brows furrowed.

“Nightwing, are you alright?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dick forces a laugh, leaning back in the chair to look casual. “Just a slight disagreement last night, is all.”

“And do you…have Kryptonite on you?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Why?” Superman questions.

“In case you try to kidnap me.”

He realizes it was the wrong thing to say as soon as he sees everyone in the room tense up. He sits up straighter, but tries to keep the calm demeanor. He smiles at Superman, who now looks like Dick just kicked his puppy or something.

“Is that something you’re usually concerned about?” Black Canary asks from across the table.

“Well, no, it’s not me!” Dick tried to tell them. “Superman’s always been my favorite, but my dad is so paranoid, you know? I’ve had it so long I sorta forget it’s even there!”

“How long have you had Kryptonite on you?” Green Arrow asks. “Wait, where is it?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Dick says quickly. “B would totally kill me, way more than he tried last night even. But I’ve had it since I was a kid, he was always freaked out one of you would try to snatch me up, and I can hold my own against most of you, but he insisted I have the Kryptonite. Just in case.”

The whole room is frozen, staring at him, and Dick feels the back of his neck starting to sweat, but he keeps the cool smile on his face. It only tugs at the cut on his lip just a little, but it doesn’t sting too bad, he doesn’t even wince, not even when it opens again and he can taste blood in his mouth.

“Is your dad Luthor or something?”

“Ugh, ew, no way,” Dick gags. “Is that a sick joke?”

“Well then who is? Who else has access to Kryptonite?” Green Lantern asks.

And now Dick is confused, looking at all them, but even Wally looks concerned.

“You…don’t know?” Dick asks. “But, but he always said – are you fucking with me?”

“Nightwing,” Superman says, his tone tight, careful, and it makes Dick’s skin crawl because he can hear the pity, but he doesn’t know why it’s there. “Who’s your dad?”

“Well…Batman,” he tells them. “You seriously didn’t know? He’s such an ass! Does that mean you didn’t know I was Robin, either? And he said you only asked me to join because you knew I was his! Fuck, I wish I knew this last night, I could’ve totally rubbed it in his smug-ass face!”

“Wait a minute, Spooky is your dad?” Green Lantern asks, gaping at Nightwing from a few seats down. “Big and Broody? That guy is your dad? Are you adopted or something?”

“Yes.”

Green Arrow and Barry-Flash are poorly muffling their laughter behind their hands, and Green Lantern sits back in his seat, a sheepish look on his face.

“Oh, uh, right. Sorry.”

“You guys seriously didn’t know that?” Dick asks, scoffing. “That son of a bitch. He was always so sure–”

“Nightwing,” Superman says, snapping Dick’s attention back to him. “Did Batman do that to your face?”

The room freezes again, including Dick. His heart drops into his stomach, and he tries to swallow the lump that just formed in his throat.

“It’s not important,” he says quickly. “Don’t we have a meeting to start?”

“This is important,” Superman tells him. “Your health and safety is important. Are you not safe in Blüdhaven? Are you in danger? We thought Batman only stayed in Gotham.”

Dick opens and closes his mouth a couple times, then runs his tongue over the cut on his bottom lip. He moves his eyes over the room, taking in the concerned and freaked out looks on everyone’s faces.

“I’m fine,” Dick insists. “It was just an argument. Happens all the time. I left Gotham and went back to Blüdhaven as soon as he was done with his little tantrum.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Wally says gently from his seat next to him.

“He’s not exactly World’s Best Dad,” Dick snaps. “He’s not even World’s Okay-est Dad, but it’s fine, I’m fine. It’s all under control.”

“Your face says otherwise,” Green Lantern snorts. Dick glares at him, the sentiment not completely lost behind the mask.

“Is it just your face?” Black Canary asks. “You were rubbing your shoulder earlier.”

“It’s fine,” Dick hisses slowly.

“Why were you even in Gotham?” Green Arrow asks. “It’s a no-fly zone for a reason, kid. The Bat isn’t exactly friendly to visitors.”

“It was a family meeting. And I’m not a visitor, I’m from Gotham.”

“Oh God, there’s more than just the Bat?” Green Lantern asks with a groan. “How many little batlings are there running around?”

Dick turns to glare at him again, his hands clenched beneath the table, but he’s getting nervous. Bruce will kill him if he lets too much slip, especially now that he knows the JL never knew about the Robins.

“I have brothers,” he says, his voice strained. “I won’t tell you how many. B thought you know about all of us, but if he finds out I’m the one who gave you all your info, he’ll be…unhappy.”

“Are you in danger?” Superman repeats. “Are your brothers in danger with him?”

“It’s not like that,” Dick says, his voice taking on a desperate edge. “He doesn’t hit them or anything, he’s just an asshole.”

“Oh, so he only hits you?” Green Lantern snorts.

“Better me than them!” Dick snarls at him, one hand moving to grip the edge of the table. “And he knows if he ever lays a hand on them, I’ll take them all away from him. He knows that.”

Dick takes in a deep, shuddering breath. He runs his hand through his hair, then pushes himself away from the table while muttering fuck! under his breath. He leaves the room to pace in the hall, tugging at his hair, muttering under his breath. He tries to calm himself down, tries to stop the way his heart is beating erratically in his chest.

It’s Wally who comes out and talks him down from the impending panic attack. It’s Wally who tells him the others are letting it go for now. It’s Wally who tells him he should just go home, relax, and maybe ice the shoulder he keeps rolling.

“My littlest brother is staying with me for a while,” he admits to Wally. “He goes by Robin. It was my name, when I first started going out with Batman. All my brothers have been Robin at some point. If you come by Blüdhaven this week…maybe you could meet him?”

“You want me to meet your brother?” Wally asks, a smile on his face. “Even though he’s a bat?”

“He’s really a bird,” Dick teases.

Wally chuckles along with him, and pats Dick’s good shoulder.

“Bring Donna, she’s been cool, too,” Dick suggests. He’s gotten along well with Troia since he joined the JL, but she’s supposed to be on a mission with Wonder Woman for another day or so.

“Sounds like a plan,” Wally agrees. His smile falters a bit, then he tells Dick, “But you know if you ever need help, anyone here would come running, right?”

“I mean, that sounds kinda dramatic.”

“You’ve made more friends here than I think you realize,” Wally teases him. “Plus, none of them really like Batman all that much.”

Dick snorts, “Yeah, well, join the club.”

Dick is sitting on the couch in his apartment half an hour later telling Damian the broad details of the meeting, and they both laugh about how wrong Bruce was about the JL knowing about the Robins. It will be their little secret, including the meeting between Troia, Flash, Nightwing, and Robin on top of a Blüdhaven warehouse later that week.

[sebystann]

Shadowed Hearts

Summary: In a city where darkness never sleeps, an unlikely bond forms between a sassy civilian who refuses to back down and the Red Hood—a vigilante with a haunted past.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Notes: pulled this one straight out of the drafts not proofread and it was written so long ago! Enjoy my trashy writing. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated.

The night air in Gotham was heavy with rain and sirens. You were darting through an alley, clutching your tote bag like it held your life—which, technically, it did. Your phone, keys, and the last granola bar you’d bothered to buy this week. But your shortcut home had turned into a nightmare when a mugger with a knife decided you looked like easy prey.

You’d barely stammered a threat of pepper spray when a red-helmeted figure dropped from the fire escape like a demon out of the storm. Gun raised, leather jacket swirling—he was terrifying and magnetic all at once.

“Drop it,” Red Hood’s voice boomed, low and menacing. The mugger didn’t need to be told twice; he bolted into the shadows, leaving you standing there, chest heaving.

You looked up, rain dripping down your face as he loomed over you. “You’re welcome,” he said, voice dripping with arrogance.

You blinked. “Oh, am I supposed to throw you a parade right now?” you shot back, sarcasm cutting through your fear.

He cocked his head, clearly surprised. “Most people are a little more grateful when someone saves their ass.”

You rolled your eyes, adrenaline still pumping. “Yeah, and most people don’t jump out of the sky scaring them half to death.”

He stepped closer, his helmet inches from your face. Even without seeing his eyes, you felt his glare. “It’s Gotham. Stay out of dark alleys. You might not be this lucky next time.”

You planted your hands on your hips. “And what? You’ll drop in to scold me again?”

A low, disbelieving chuckle echoed from his helmet. “Jesus. You’re mouthy.”

“And you’re bossy,” you shot back, lip curling into a smirk despite the situation.

A beat passed. His shoulders relaxed just a hair. “You know, you’re kind of funny when you’re pissed off.”

You scoffed. “You’re kind of a dick when you’re…alive.”

He actually laughed—a raspy, genuine sound. The rain was letting up, misting around the two of you. You noticed the way water rolled off his helmet and glistened on the red bat symbol on his chest.

“Tell you what, smartass,” he said, pulling a battered card from his pocket and pressing it into your hand. “Call this number if you get yourself into trouble again.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So you can swoop in and insult me some more?”

He started backing away, voice teasing as he melted into the shadows: “Exactly.”

You watched him go, heart hammering with equal parts irritation and…something else. Maybe you were in shock. Maybe you were an idiot. But you looked down at the card in your hand, a grin tugging at your lips.

You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon. But Gotham had other plans.

Two weeks after your mugging, you were walking home from your late shift at the café when the screech of tires made you jump back onto the sidewalk. A black SUV roared past.

Before you could process what you were doing, you ducked into an alley and looked up. There he was: standing on a rooftop, framed by the neon of a flickering sign, gun in one hand, leather jacket billowing in the night breeze.

You cleared your throat—loudly. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore people who are trying to get your attention?”

His helmeted head snapped toward you, his voice crackling through the modulator: “What the hell are you doing here?” His tone was sharp with anger—and something else.

“I live here?” you shot back, planting your hands on your hips. “Sorry my existence is inconveniencing your rooftop brooding.”

A low groan came from his helmet, almost a growl of frustration. He leapt down in one fluid motion, landing in front of you with a heavy thud. “I told you to stay out of trouble.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m walking home. That’s not exactly trouble.”

His voice lowered dangerously as he stepped closer. “This city doesn’t care about your definitions. And neither do I.”

You tilted your head defiantly, refusing to move back. “Oh, I think you do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have given me your number.”

He was silent. Even with the helmet on, you could feel the air shift—something hot and electric sparking between you.

Then he sighed, barely audible over the rain beginning to fall. “You’re impossible.”

You smirked. “You like it.”

He stepped forward until your back pressed against the damp brick wall, the rain misting around you both. “Do I?” he murmured, his voice rough with something you couldn’t place.

Your pulse jumped. “Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out.”

A moment of silence stretched between you—charged, tense, neither of you willing to look away. Finally, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, sleek object.

A black tracker.

He pressed it into your palm, his gloved fingers brushing yours. “Keep this on you,” he said, voice softer but edged with steel. “I’ll know if you’re in danger.”

You arched a brow. “So you do care.”

He huffed a quiet, reluctant laugh, stepping back into the rain. “Go home. And don’t make me save your mouthy ass again.”

You watched him fade into the shadows of the alley, heart hammering—and for the first time in a long while, you felt safer knowing someone was out there…even if he was an infuriating, armored vigilante with a smart mouth of his own.

A week later, you found yourself at Wayne Manor, of all places.

It turned out the café you worked at had an event catering gig for one of Bruce Wayne’s charity galas. You’d been in the kitchen when you got a text from a number you hadn’t saved—but knew all too well:

> “Meet me in the garden. Now.”

You almost ignored it, but curiosity—and something deeper—won out.

The gardens behind the manor were a labyrinth of hedges and rose bushes glowing in the soft pool lights. And there he was: Jason, mask off, leaning against a stone bench, eyes shadowed and tired. His dark hair was damp with sweat or rain—you couldn’t tell which.

“Wow,” you said quietly, stepping closer. “You actually have a face.”

He cracked a tiny smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

You hesitated before sitting beside him on the bench. Up close, you could see the lines of exhaustion, the small cuts along his cheekbone, the haunted look in his eyes.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he shot back, voice defensive—but his tone lacked heat.

You tilted your head. “Because you look like you haven’t slept in days. Because you texted me to meet you in the middle of a gala. Because you look like you’re carrying the whole damn city on your shoulders.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “That obvious, huh?”

You shrugged. “I’m a people person.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling shakily. “Some nights, I wonder what the point is. Save one person, and ten more get hurt. And when I close my eyes, it’s just…noise. Screaming. Gunshots.”

Your heart squeezed. Without thinking, you reached out, brushing your fingers lightly over the back of his hand. He flinched at the contact—but didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to do it alone, you know,” you whispered. “You don’t have to carry all of it by yourself.”

He looked at you then, really looked—his blue eyes raw and vulnerable in the moonlight. “Why do you care?” he asked, voice cracking around the words.

You hesitated, your own breath catching. “Because you care, even when you pretend you don’t. Because you saved me. Because…you deserve someone who sees you as more than a weapon.”

For a moment, the world went still. His hand turned under yours, fingers intertwining with yours, warm and trembling. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. The night was quiet except for the distant music from the gala and your shallow breathing.

“Stay,” he whispered hoarsely. “Just…for a little while.”

You nodded, closing your eyes as you held his hand, the two of you sitting in the shadows of Wayne Manor’s garden—two stubborn souls who’d finally found a fragile piece of peace.

A month passed quietly—or as quiet as Gotham ever got. You hadn’t seen Jason since that night in the manor garden, though he’d texted you every few days. Short, gruff messages like “Don’t get yourself killed” or “Still alive?” that always made you smile.

But tonight, trouble found you again.

A gang of low-level thugs cornered you outside your apartment, knives drawn, their breath reeking of alcohol. You barely got a word out before a red blur crashed into the scene, a roar of gunfire scattering your attackers like leaves in the wind.

Red Hood emerged from the shadows, smoke rising from his pistols, eyes blazing behind his helmet. “I swear,” he growled, voice thick with fury as he grabbed you by the shoulders, “you attract psychos like a damn magnet.”

You blinked up at him, heart pounding. “Nice to see you too.”

He shook his head, exasperated. “This isn’t funny.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you teased, a breathless laugh escaping as adrenaline coursed through you. “You, me, some guys trying to kill me—it’s practically our thing.”

His helmeted head tilted, as if he couldn’t believe you were making jokes right now. “You are infuriating.”

“And you’re overdramatic,” you shot back, even as your hands fisted in his jacket to keep from trembling.

A tense silence settled as he stared down at you. Then, in one swift motion, he tore off his helmet, revealing stormy blue eyes and a jaw clenched with worry.

“I can’t keep watching you almost die,” he rasped, voice raw. “It’s driving me insane.”

Before you could reply, he pulled you into him, his mouth crashing down on yours. The kiss was desperate and fierce, all teeth and heat and pent-up longing. You melted into him, your fingers curling into his hair as the world fell away.

When you finally parted, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m serious this time,” he murmured. “Stay with me. Let me keep you safe.”

You smiled, thumb brushing his cheek. “Only if you promise to stop being such a grumpy asshole.”

His eyes cracked open, a reluctant laugh escaping. “No promises.”

“Figures,” you whispered, pulling him into another, softer kiss under Gotham’s pale moonlight.

Three months later, Gotham was still Gotham—dark, broken, and dangerous. But some nights were quiet enough to pretend the world wasn’t always on fire.

Tonight was one of those rare nights.

You were curled up on an old, worn couch in Jason’s safehouse—some half-finished apartment above an abandoned laundromat. Rain pattered against the cracked windows, a soothing backdrop to his soft breathing.

Jason sat beside you, freshly showered, hair damp and messy. He wore a faded black t-shirt and gray sweatpants—so human and real it made your chest ache. His arm was draped over your shoulders, his other hand absently tracing circles on your thigh.

You broke the comfortable silence. “So, do you ever, you know, take a vacation? Like, go to the beach and not terrify criminals?”

He huffed a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You think Red Hood does well in the sun? I’d probably spontaneously combust.”

You poked him in the ribs. “Maybe if you actually smiled more, you’d reflect some light.”

“Watch it,” he warned lightly, but his grin was real this time, bright and boyish and almost unrecognizable on him. It made your heart skip.

You sighed happily, leaning your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. “I like this,” you murmured. “You. Here. Not bleeding.”

His arm tightened around you. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”

The rain kept falling, soft and rhythmic. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you both let yourselves believe this—being together, laughing in the dark—could last. That maybe, just maybe, you’d found home in each other, no matter how broken the city outside might be.

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

Went to sleep, dreamt of the most gut wretching batfam angst I woke up in literal tears- now I must accept this idea has to die with me because writing it would leave me dehydrated and devestated jesus christ-

I need to yap to process wtf the horrors but read more at your own risk-

The idea started simple enough, universe shenanigans another batman appears in the watch tower (with convinently the entire batfam there, dont ask why, doesnt matter)

This Batman basically says "Hey theres a universe virus host from my dimension I thought I destroyed- its now here and we gotta kill it"

JL & Other bats are ofc wary as this Batman begans demanding all these precautions and despite OG Batman's insistance- refuses to disclose anything else. Any attempt of martian mind tricks or golden lassos is thwarted so they just have to go along with it

This part of the dream gets fuzzy but then it was a time skip to this like space universe storm- kinda like the ITSV reactor scene where everything is floaty and suspended but still movible.

This Batman takes the tech gun thingy he had this universe build and aims it- only for POV shift a figure begin to form in the storm.

Batclan tries to interfere, wanting to understand wtf is going on- but is stopped by a voice suddenly cutting through the chaos

"Oh my boy..."

Its Bruce voice-

The Batman's gun clatters to the ground, they scream about this being a cruel trick, to themselves? To it? Unclear. They scramble for the gun but their hands are shaking too much

Bruce emerges but its- so bad. He looks like a half abstracted ADC character- half his face and body seeming to fracture and distort as if hes moments from falling apart at the seams.

Then faster than they can react- Bruce moves and is suddenly looming over The Batman. But instead of looking like a threat- he just looks sad.

The glitching hands wrap around The Batmans head and slowly lift off the cowl to reveal to everyone-

Its Dick.

Older, and bright blue eyes already spilling with tears "Its not you," repeting over and over.

But seems he realizes this IS his Bruce- at least enough of him- and they embrace. Dick begins rejoycing that he was wrong- that he wasnt too late- that they can fix this. But Bruce just looks sad again and explains he has time- but that its running out fast.

And the part that fucking killed me- and I curse my vivid dreams is Dick starts just SOBBING- and spilling every little thing.

He says he and Kori finally got married, and that shes pregnant. That Jason finally got his degree and wore a stupid pink bowtie because Lian picked it out for him.

Tim moved out of the stupid houseboat and was planning to take a summer backpacking with Cass-

Steph developed her own clothing line and was in the new york times last week-

The Thomas's were cured, that Duke went home but still visits just about every day-

And that Damian got a gallery in Chicago- that the main display is a painting of Bruce, before they lost him (the exact words- I was dying)

Bruce is crying now, Background Batfam as well- so am I to the point I started becoming more aware and the dream was slipping which was NOT HELPING

Because self aware lucid ass meant Bruce started crying harder saying he wished Dick hadnt taken the burden of the cowl- and Dick says some stupid shit about its not a burden its a path and one he cant stand walking without his dad-

"Dick?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." And Bruce discorperates as the virusy storm cloud self implodes and leaves Dick kneeling on a chunk of rubble.

Oh no- but thats not the end- because Dick then keels over and SCREAM sobs for his dad- while the rest of Batfam and JL try to contain the mess and reenter the tower

Hes inconsolable- im half awake, and ending the cream de la resistance- Is OG Batman approches and for once (to my dismay) gains emotional competency

Goes "Im not your dad- but I am a dad, and if you'd let me, id like to hug you kiddo-"

Dick accepts, and practically collapses into his grip still wailing- and then finally, mercy kicks in, and I wake up

Now this was 1000x more emotionally devestating considering I had a VIVID animation style reel of this whole ass thing- and even now writing this I cannot do it justice because jesus christ I have no words to come close to this madness.

Anyways rant over- im going back to sleep- if I happen to dream anymore of this- might become an all nighter- to be determined

[calmcoldevening]

Jealousy slasher x reader?😏

How do they show jealousy

Michael Myers

• If you spend too much time with someone, it's a little annoying. But Michael is all calm. He'll quietly remove the "rival," and you'll wonder where he went. Oops.

• He'll start following you around like an invisible shadow, just to make sure there are no more "new lovers."

• At night, he'll return covered in blood, and you'll have a hot night. He won't stop until he's convinced you that he's the only one for you.

Jason Voorhees

• If someone comes near his territory (and you are his "territory") he will destroy the offenders. No one dares to touch what is his.

• He is quite insecure, so on the background of jealousy, he may start to behave more infantile and childish, he will compare himself with who you are communicating with (you just ordered a pizza to the camp, God is the courier)

• He'll have a little tantrum, and then he'll try to spend the whole evening and night in your arms. He needs reassurance that you won't leave him, that you love him no matter what. He won't mind if you wrap your arms around him and cuddle under a blanket by the fireplace.

Thomas Hewitt

• The chainsaw is already wound up, it hasn't tasted blood for a long time, and it's hungry.

• He will lock you in the basement while he deals with the intruder, and then hang his corpse on a meat hook downstairs as a trophy.

• When he is jealous and feels that his "property" is being stolen, his breathing becomes heavier and his movements become smoother and slower, like a predator preparing to pounce.

• He will mark you with blood and force you to wear his clothes (which are large). to make you smell like him.

Vincent Sinclair

• Surprisingly, a new wax figure has appeared in the museum after your interaction with that guy. Oh, it doesn't have a face? Hmm, perhaps Vincent didn't like the face of this victim, dear. Can you hear the pitiful moans coming from the wax? You have a vivid imagination, shall we have some tea?

• He will come out of the basement more often so that you can spend more time together. Perhaps you are interested in someone else because he is always away? Nothing, he already found a recipe for a cookie he wants to make with you.

• Vincent is turning into a pussycat because of jealousy. It's important for him to know that you still love him. You wanted matching tattoos a couple of months ago, right? Let's go now!

Bo Sinclair

• Bo doesn't tolerate competition, and he becomes more rigid and aggressive. He will lock his rival in his workshop, and then, while you're not looking, he will slowly torture him and literally peel off pieces of his skin.

• Bo is the king of sarcasm in normal times, but jealousy makes him a true impenetrable man. Every word or question you say is met with biting, venomous comments.

• He will leave a multitude of hickeys on your most visible areas, bring you to several intense orgasms, and dress you in his clothes. You're so cute, all messy and sleepy, wearing his clothes and holding a cup of coffee. It's so domestic. Maybe you should have a baby so you can only think about Bo?

Brahms Heelshire

• Brahms becomes a real child and has a terrible tantrum.

• He will walk around the house breaking paintings, throwing things and just making a mess. He needs to let out his emotions so he doesn't kill anyone.

• He will refuse to eat or sleep. Brahms will lock all the doors in the house to isolate you from the outside world.

• In the evening, he will crawl to you on his knees and beg for forgiveness for his bad behavior.

Hannibal Lecter

• To begin with, he will play a highly intellectual game to turn you against your "rival" and cause a heated argument between you.

• Later that evening, Hannibal will "kindly comfort" you in his arms, accompanied by red wine and fresh meat in a delicate sauce.

• He will spend a very romantic evening with you, leaving a lasting impression. A few days later, you will see news about your "rival's" disappearance on the news, prompting you to recall the strange but delicious meat.

• Hannibal will give you a beautiful ring in the coming days with his name on the inside. He just loves you, honey.

Will Graham

• He will start to have bad thoughts and try to suppress his jealousy, knowing that he should trust you completely, but he can't help himself.

• Will will stay up all night, driving himself to exhaustion and hallucinations, because he has nightmares about you leaving him for someone else.

• He will distance himself from you, worried that he might hurt you or that person, but in the end he will call you late at night with a pitiful, quiet "Please come to me."

• He will spend the rest of the night in your arms and tell you about his feelings and bad thoughts. But your support and hugs will help him get back on track.

[cherry-amores-blog]

hi!! i’m a sucker for platonic fics and yours are one of my favs <3

can i request a hurt/comfort fic with father figure jason todd and gn teen reader where jason saves them after they get kidnapped and tortured by a villain? (like black mask or joker) ty!! :3

Title: Not you too

❥︎Pairing: !Platonic Dad Jason Todd/Red Hood & Reader

❥︎ ︎Content Warnings: !Mentions past violence, smoking.

❥︎ ︎Summary: Someone used his kid against him, the way they did it brought up bad memories.

❥︎Author notes: So coincidentally, I had this sitting in my drafts, which is why this request was completed so quickly, I apologize if it isn't exactly what you had in mind anon or if it's too short. Either way, I hope you enjoy!

If you like this work and would want to see more, my requests are open.

Jason leaned against the windowsill, the dim orange glow of a cigarette ember flickering between his fingers. The night air was cool, brushing against his skin as he exhaled a long stream of smoke into the silence. Gotham was quiet for once, too quiet. The kind of quiet that leaves your thoughts too loud.

His jaw clenched. He couldn't stop seeing your face, bruised, pale, too still. That haunted look in your eyes had carved itself into his mind like a scar.

Someone had gone after you. Used you.

Used his kid.

To get to him.

And even then, you’d stayed quiet. Refused to give them what they wanted. You endured it. The threats, the pain, the fear. He wouldn’t have blamed you if you broke. If you gave him up.

But you hadn’t. You’d looked them in the eye and kept your mouth shut.

The cigarette trembled slightly between his fingers before he took a drag to steady his nerves. His lungs burned. Not as much as his heart did.

He hadn’t even realized it until he saw the crowbar on the floor of that warehouse. Blood on the end. Your blood. It made his vision go red.

He'd lost it.

He hadn't said a word, he couldn't. All he could do was scoop you up in his arms, your small body limp against him, and run. Every step he took to get you out of that place was agony.

Now, back home, the silence wasn’t peace. It was punishment.

Jason crushed the cigarette with a little more force than necessary, then stood still for a long moment, trying to decide if he could even face you again. He hadn’t slept. Couldn’t eat. Since bringing you home, he’d hovered like a ghost. Lingered in the doorway. Listened for your breathing. Walked past your room ten times an hour, just to reassure himself that you were still there.

He pushed the door open slowly now, careful not to startle you. His eyes adjusted to the dim light of your bedroom. The blankets were tangled around your legs, your body curled tightly in on itself like you were trying to disappear.

His heart cracked a little more.

Jason moved to the bed and sank down onto the edge. The mattress dipped beneath his weight. He hesitated, then gently reached out, resting a hand on your leg. Just enough to feel your warmth, to know you were really there. He expected you to stir, to roll away, but you didn’t.

He didn’t speak.

What could he say?

That he was sorry? That he should’ve been there faster? That he should’ve protected you better?

That he’d never forgive himself for letting what happened to him happen to you?

Jason bowed his head, fingers curling lightly at the fabric of your blanket.

You were his kid, his blood, someone he was supposed to keep safe. And he failed. The world had sunk its claws into you like it had into him. And all he could do now was be here. Sit with you. Keep watch. Try again tomorrow.

And for the first time in days, he let himself breathe.

So he stayed.

[katyawriteswhump]

Purr-fect Moments at the Omega Café, part 2/3 🐈‍⬛

part one here or on AO3

Rating M; CW: panic attacks. I’m still struggling with a bout of meh atm with writing, tho’ hope somebody enjoys this chapter. The final part is in the works, as is more of my ‘taming your omega’ series… honest 😊

🐈‍⬛💚🐈‍⬛💚🐈‍⬛💚🐈‍⬛💚

 “Steve, I’m possibly breaking your rules with this question, and I’m sorry. Feel free to kick me out of your fine establishment right away, buuuuut… You fancy hanging out together later? I mean, somewhere else?”

Steve was nodding madly in Eddie’s face before his brain had the slightest chance to catch up. “Yes!” he squeaked, “Yes! I’d really, really like that a lot.”

A short while later, sprawled boneless on top of Eddie, Steve was pleasantly rocked by his lack of regrets.

His arms draped loosely around Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie’s hand rubbed in the small of Steve’s back, melting him like he was warm butter. His entire being rose and sank with the flow of Eddie’s breath, and soft purrs thrummed through the both of them.

Nah, Steve had no inkling of fear about moving things on between them. How could a togetherness that felt this perfect, be anything but a good idea?

When Eddie stopped nosing at Steve’s hair and sighed that he’d “really gotta go,” Steve slid off him with a barely contained whine. He’d been nibbling at Eddie’s t-shirt along the line of Eddie’s collar bone, and whoops, he’d left another dribble mark. Eddie pushed himself to his feet. Steve was about to apologize when, delighted as ever, Eddie rubbed a finger across the damp patch, sniffed it, then crossed his eyes goofily.

“Wow. Should I recommend the living, breathing weighted-blanket experience to all my friends?”

“It’s a very exclusive service,” said Steve, then, before he could help himself: “That’ll be 99 dollars plus taxes, please, Mister Munson.”

Eddie’s mouth hung open.

“Joking!”

Eddie cackled, and Steve gifted him another little squeeze before relinquishing him to the big bad world.

“Was that too much?” Steve panicked at Chrissy, after Eddie left. “Pretending we were gonna charge him?”

“Nah,” interjected Carol. “You’re a snarky bitch, Steve. Your Alphas gonna have to find out sooner or later.”

“He’s not my—”

“Hush!” Chrissy’s fingers landed splat-bang on his lips. All he could do was jokey-frown and send goodwill and healing vibes through the ether to Wayne.

Unfortunately, after that, the day descended rapidly into somewhere really shitty.

Jason turned up before noon, when the café was uncommonly empty, and demanded an hour with Chrissy. Steve refused—arms folded, shoulders squared, puffing himself up and blocking the doorway best he could. He had to protect his terrified kitty, who had fled to the restrooms.

“Chrissy needs an Alpha,” hollered Jason, barging his way in anyhow, and leaving Steve rubbing a sore arm. “It’s gonna be me! You’ve brainwashed her, forcing her to degrade herself like this! Omegas should allow Alphas to touch them whenever they damn choose!”

Yeah, the guy was a moron. How the heck did those two statements follow?

Steve muttered something about Omegas having to make a living somehow, and at least here they had some control. Was it so hard to imagine they didn’t want to be holed up in some Alpha’s, or worse, a pack’s mansion, getting yelled at if they wanted to make a decision of their own?

“Oh, and if your hairy freak bodyguard shows up again,” ranted Jason, sniffing the air and stalking around. He was blatantly pissed there was no obvious sign of Chrissy. “He’s the one who’s gonna get gutted!”

“Jesus, think of an original threat why don’t you?” Steve was not gonna back down on this one. Yeah, he was terrified, arms huddled protectively around his ribs. He clung to his anger, praying it would ground him.

Why did boorish Alphas always have to ruin everything?

Jason peeled his lips back and bore his fangs.

Steve’s every Omega instinct urged him to cower in a corner, and he nearly lost it. Instead, somehow, he squeaked, “Get lost!” pointing to the door. That was when Carol arrived back from her break with Tommy in tow.

Tommy promptly called the police, and Jason snarled and left.

Steve plopped down heavily on a beanbag before he fell down. His little café, his entire life, seemed to judder in an ongoing earthquake. He was grateful Tommy and Carol showed when they did tho’ wished the Beta hadn’t called the cops. He knew how they would react:

“What do you expect, Omega?” said the bored-looking Alpha cop, when they finally showed. “We’ve received a complaint about you from the Carver pack.” Oh, great. Jason had to be a pack animal. “Any more incidents like this, we’ll launch an investigation into exactly what service you little poppets are offering in this so-called café.

For the rest of the afternoon, Steve forced himself to remain strong for Chrissy. She blamed herself, hunched over and sniffling on the couch, her make-up wrecked and her ribbons drooping. He curled his arms around her and tried to purr. His own distress had them raking and grazing through his chest: “It’s gonna be fine, Chrissy. They don’t scare me.” Liar liar, panties on fire! “We’ll get through this, okay?”

His mom fought through worse, right?

Eventually, Carol and Tommy took Chrissy home. One glance at the clock, and Steve was tugging his hair. He texted Eddie to say he was gonna be late for their… was it a date? Was this courting?

This morning felt like a year ago. Eddie was an Alpha. Steve didn’t do Alphas, and he’d been slapped in the face with a reminder as to why. Yeah, Eddie was different. But did Steve really want to be alone with any Alpha right now? He was so confused, plus he needed to go home, shower and put on extra blockers. However shitty a day Steve had had, whatever his doubts, he didn’t want Eddie to sense how stressed-out he was. The Alpha deserved some hardcore time out.

Steve lost more time rifling around for an outfit, plumping for a faintly cropped emerald-green vest and tight-but-not-obscenely-tight pants. Eddie was chill and waited at the bus-stop for Steve near a bar he’d suggested they try. When the doors opened, Eddie rushed forward, offering Steve help alighting onto the sidewalk. The instant Eddie’s hand engulfed his, the clenched fist that was Steve’s stomach began to loosen.

Eddie’s dimpled grin was beyond to-die-for: “Almost didn’t recognise you without kitty ears.”

“Christ, should I get them surgically attached or something?” Steve threw an arm up in mock despair, giggling anyhow. 

“Nah, you’re just as irresistible without.”

Eddie brushed his thumb across Steve’s hand, lifted and kissed it. Steve shimmered, inside and out. To be fair, he had a soft band with kitty ears in his pocket. He didn’t really know why he’d brought them, other than… Wow, he was trying to please this Alpha so hard.

“You look different too. Mega hot. I mean, with your hair down,” Steve said, desperately shifting the focus. He was dying to tangle his fingers in the ice-cool rockstar mess. Oh, and brush and style it maybe? Braids and beads perhaps? Oookay, he was so getting ahead of himself. He totally loved the way Eddie’s habitual gore-spattered t-shirt clung to the contours of his chest, also displaying glimpses of creamy collarbone and those sweet ‘n’ scary tats. “Don’t keep me hanging. How’s Wayne?”

“He’s doing really well. I’ll tell you about it. How about you, Honey?” Eddie slung an arm around Steve, guiding him along, and his narrow-eyed, sidelong glance seemed to probe deep as Steve’s soul. “You look… smell … kinda anxious?”

Steve inwardly sighed. So much for the blockers. Eddie’s nose must be super-sensitive. “Been a long day, Eddie. I’m good. Ready to go.” They strolled past the bar. “Aren’t we going in?”

“Changed my mind. Listen, I’m new at this dating business. Figured you deserve something better than a grungy bar, and I’m gonna level with you. I was dying waiting to see Wayne and needed a full-fat distraction. I googled first dates with Omegas and got some ideas.”

Oh. My. God.

This really was a date. With an Alpha. And yes, now Steve was here with Eddie, he was totally fiiiine with it.

“Then Wayne went in for a scan and I had more time to kill,” said Eddie. “Straight up, I googled ‘dates for kitties.’”

“You’re shitting me? Did you get an answer?”

“AI is a deadly beast.” Eddie whipped out his phone, started scrolling.

Steve grabbed it from him: “Eddie, oh my God! This is… weeeeeird.”

“I dunno, it’s hardly sexy cat-boi stuff. It’s basically all about having a cosy night in with your actual kitty-cat, proper feline-style.”

Steve defiantly scrolled through: “Cat naps, dinner dates, sunbathing, breakfast in bed—” He arched a brow at that one. “Catnip—so basically drugs. Playtime, and… tunnel of love?”

Eddie flushed beetroot, and it was hilariously adorable. “They mean building a play-tunnel out of cardboard and stuff. You know how much real kitties like hiding. For play.”

Yeah. And to get away from predators.

Steve bit his lip, his mind ricocheting back to earlier. Chrissy hid, and boy, had Steve wanted to. He pushed those demons back into the dark corners of his ditzy little O-head and smiled as he handed back the phone. “Which one are we going for?”

“It’s your shout, Steve. We can go anywhere you like to hangout.” As they strolled onward, Steve’s ears pricked up to the sound of crowds. A breakneck pop-beat crossed with bursts of old-fashioned jingly music, and the boisterous odors of a large crowd mingled with the saccharine-smokiness of smoldering popcorn. “I was wondering, tho’… about playtime?”

They rounded the corner, and Steve stopped dead in his tracks.

It all checked out. A funfair. Eddie was taking him to a freakin’ funfair.

The rides were set up in the city’s largest park, which he’d been to a few times as a kid. With a lone Omega mom, it’d been tricky to go anywhere without hassle and questions about what they were doing out and about without their Alpha.  For similar reasons, Steve rarely went out much now, apart from to Omega-friendly gyms and fast-food joints.

He sure as heck hadn’t been to a funfair in years.

“It’s kind of playtime, evening sunbathing, and a dinner date rolled into one,” Eddie was saying. “For catnip, we can get high on corndogs and a cotton candy sugar-rush. What do you say?”

“I love it! I’d purr but I’m too hyped!” Ooops, and before he knew it, he’d thrown himself at the Alpha. Eddie caught him clumsily and swung him around, hands slapped to Steve’s butt. Steve inhaled Eddie—yup, high already. Then he slipped through Eddie’s awkward grasp and back onto his feet. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

Steve seized Eddie’s hand and made a beeline for ‘The eye of the tiger,’ the scariest looking roller-coaster ride there.

“Better to bite that totally metal bullet before food than after.” Eddie appeared stuck between a cringe and a daft gurn. “Warning you now—I might hurl anyway. Uuuuuh, how about the swing-boats? Waltzer? Chair-o-planes? Hey, that ride has got teacups and cute little baskets.”

“Jesus, that one’s for pups.” Steve pulsed Eddie’s hand, and almost sniped in fun, You scared of a fairground ride, you cowardly great mutt?  He swallowed it back to read Eddie carefully. “Look, we don’t have to—”

“Oh, we absolutely do.”

They rode ‘Eye of the Tiger’ and screamed their heads off. Their hair was wrecked by the wind, and they were pissing themselves laughing so hard they didn’t give a damn.

“Dinner date time?” suggested Eddie, as the color began to seep back into his face.

“Hell, yeah.” His apewire heartrate having calmed, Steve’s tummy grumbled.  “I’d slay for cheesy fries.”

Soon enough, they were wandering arm-in-arm, sharing the fries, which made Steve all kinds of cuckoo-happy. They found an empty bench to sit down on, tucked together, and it happened.

Steve plucked up one cheesy fry, and Eddie plucked up another. They both stuffed them in their mouths, leaving a string of melted cheese tight-roped between them.

Eddie, chewing, waggled his brows. One glance at those pillowy lips, glistening with grease, and Steve was gone. He literally inhaled the cheese—which, dammit, snapped—and swiftly swallowed his barely tasted fry.

“Alpha,” Steve whined, tipping his face up, and Eddie let himself be reeled in. He dumped down the fries, and took Steve in his arms, licking hungrily at the corner of Steve’s mouth. Steve parted his lips with a gasp, pretty much inhaling Eddie.

Eddie’s mouth covered his hungrily, a nibbling caress of lips and then of gently probing tongue. Steve had, literally, never been kissed. He couldn’t have guessed it would be as incredible and all-consuming as this. Eddie tasted ridiculously fine—that pastry sweetness crossed with those earthy low notes, which hit hard. Steve discerned his own flavor, delicate green-tea and vanilla, mingling with Eddie’s. He perfumed wildly, at the same time running his fingers, tangling and tugging, through Eddie’s sumptuously floofy hair.

When Eddie broke the kiss for air, the fond look in his eyes reduced Steve’s brains to a crazy, needy mush. A thick honeyed warmth bloomed at his innermost core. He gnashed his teeth playfully, rearing up for another brief taste of Eddie’s lips.

Eddie hugged and rocked him. “Aaaah, my gorgeous flirty, bitey Sweetheart."

The sharp vibrations from Eddie’s pocket startled the life out of Steve. Probably because he was trying to scramble into Eddie’s lap. Eddie drew out his phone and hissed sharply.

“It’s the hospital. Raincheck. Crap, only one bar of coverage.”

“Oh, reception was better over there.” Steve vaguely gestured toward the entrance to the funfair.

Eddie nodded his thanks, and headed off, trying to answer: “Hello? Helloeeeee? Is that Doctor Hyde?”

Steve started to follow, then fell back, not wanting to intrude. To be fair, Eddie strode pretty swift, and Steve wasn’t sure he could keep up. His lips were glowing, warm and swollen, his panties damp, his sticky thighs chafing, and his head was spinning waaaay too giddily. Every part of him felt shattered, in a good way.

Well, a tolerable way.

He lost sight of Eddie.

It was like a thermal sweater had been yanked off him. Everything rushed back, chilling him to the bone. Jason. The cops. All of them Alphas and making his life unbearable, as usual. And now he was on a date with an Alpha, maybe starting a courtship, and yeah, Eddie was different for sure.

Whatever. He could tell himself that till the cows came home, slept their eight hours, got dolled up and went out mooing again. This evening was starting to feel like waaay too much, and nothing made sense. He was shivering while the evening sun suddenly baked him alive.

He found some shade beside a closed toy booth, which he leaned against. He tried to shut out the scary, unfamiliar scents that battered him from all angles. He needed a moment, then he’d go find Eddie.

“Who left you here all alone, Omega?”

Steve jumped a good inch in the air. Oh, great, some random dude stood leering over him. “I, uh… I’m with someone. My… um…”

His unwanted company was an Alpha, that was for sure. His scent was punchy and pungent, slightly fishy. His deep voice struck dissonant chords, not only in Steve’s ears, but his brain and his tummy, which reverted to that tight knot. 

By now, he couldn’t even fathom what the guy was saying. Whether he was yelling or whispering, being mean or innocuous.

Steve’s breaths were a shallow quiver in his chest, and he couldn’t get enough air in. His skin prickled with a thousand tiny electric shocks. Oh shit, oh crap, he was gonna die. He was gonna die!

“Omega, are you… Woah, take it easy!"

Somehow, Steve heaved enough air into his lungs to jolt his feet into action. He shoved past the Alpha and fled, blindly. Someone caught his arm at some point, and he yanked himself free—muscle memory mimicking something his mom taught him, long ago, about getting out of wrist-holds. He stumbled a little farther, and his legs finally gave out.

He landed heavily on his ass, sweating and shivering, staring at deathly-white hands that he couldn’t move. He knew he was having a panic attack. It wasn’t the first. The knowledge didn’t help much. He tried to breathe deeper. Nope, wasn’t happening, throat too tight. He couldn’t move at all now, couldn’t flee. If he didn’t die of fright, something was gonna eat him.

“Steve?”

Steve braced himself into a tight ball, arms huddled over his head.  The thing… the predator… the Alpha… touched him. A fresh strike of terror jack-knifed through him, and he wailed.

“Steve? Holy crap, I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. What happened? I shouldn’t have left you.”

The softly-spoken words and the closeness of something… some fresh, reviving scent… comforted him enough to breathe a little easier.

He glanced up, scared and bewildered. Eddie. It was Eddie, crouching besides him, looking nearly as distraught as Steve felt.  Steve reached for Eddie, collapsed into him, and everything happened in a blur. Next thing he knew, Eddie had scooped him up, and was half-cuddling, half-carrying him through the garish nightmare of people and noise. Eddie wrangled them both into a taxi. “Where do you live, Steve?” He tucked Steve under his arm. “Steve, Honey?”

Steve buried his face in Eddie’s t-shirt and burrowed into his side, aching with the confusion of it all and a faint thread of embarrassment.

“Stevie?” Eddie squeezed him gently. “Omega, please. I just wanna help you. You gotta let me help you, Omega.”

That set Steve jerking his chin up. Stripped bare as he was, he trusted Eddie, a trust that resonated deep as his bones, and it was crazy.

“Please, Alpha,” he whispered, feeling the solace of Eddie’s closeness seeped through him. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Soon enough, Eddie helped him out of the taxi, into some strange apartment block in a strange part of town. Steve clung numbly around Eddie’s midriff and went with it.

A clanking elevator ride later, and they reached a cosy apartment. Steve was finally starting to feel more alert again. Knickknacks cluttered every surface, and an epic collection of baseball caps festooned the walls. There was a second scent hanging in the air, one faintly familiar and friendly.

“This is Wayne’s place.” Eddie deposited Steve on a couch draped with crocheted quilts, which Steve instantly curled up and hunkered into. “And the only true home I’ve ever known. You can stay as long as you like. Do you wanna text Robin or something?”

“Wanna rest,” whispered Steve. Panic attacks always wiped him out. “If that’s okay with you?”

“More than okay. My turn to take care of you.” Eddie had been bustling in a kitchenette and now crouched down before Steve and passed a glass of water. Steve sipped it, leaning toward Eddie, and stupidly grateful when the Alpha steadied his shaky hand.

“Reckon I need something stronger,” he smirked, passing it back.

“My sweet kitty, that would noooot be chivalrous.”

Steve sighed. Alcohol wasn’t the answer after a panic attack, he well knew. On the other hand, they should still be at the fair, chugging jello shots or something equally dumbass and carefree. “I’m sorry I ruined our evening,” he mumbled, licking his lips. “Is Wayne okay?”

“Yeah, it was good news. He’ll be out either tomorrow or the day after.” Eddie sat down besides Steve, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“It wasn’t that. Usually, I can deal. Listen, stuff happened today—” Briefly, he spilled what’d occurred with Jason. He didn’t hate Eddie’s cliché Alpha reaction—teeth grinding so hard his jaw muscles bunched, face congesting with fury. “It’s okay,” continued Steve, as the seething Alpha settled down beside him. “I’d been trying to forget it. I mean, you’d had a hard day too and it was easy to forget. You make me feel safe… and then that kinda fell away when I lost you… and… and… Oh crap, can we just snuggle already?”

Eddie scooped him up in a heartbeat, holding him safe and snug.

“Listen, Honey,” he said, warm voice ruffling Steve’s hair. “Your dad sucked at being an Alpha. That Jason Carver a-hole is a humongous douchebag loser and the worst kind of bully. There’s a lot of shitty Alphas out there, sadly. Truth is, Alphas and Omegas shouldn’t be polar opposites, with one lording it over the other. We’re all nurturers and protectors at heart.”

“I guess.” Steve exhaled long and slow and blinked the moisture from his vision, if only to lose himself in Eddie’s kind eyes. “Problem is, you’re the first genuinely nice Alpha I’ve ever met.”

“Actually, I’m sort of the second. At least for argument’s sake.” Another soft chuckle, and a tender sweep of Steve’s hair from his brow. “Wayne presented Alpha, you know that?”

Steve gawked up at Eddie. “You’re kidding? I always assumed he was a Beta.”

“He doesn’t believe you have to live by your designations, Honey. Like me, he’s always opposed designation laws, particularly ones that subjugate Omegas. He doesn’t identify as Alpha anymore either—he’s designation neutral. I’m not saying I’m the perfect Alpha, far from it. I got no excuses, really, ’cos I learned how to be a human animal from the absolute best.”

Steve sniffed, then let the tears fall, and yeah, it was okay. He wasn’t sure he’d taken everything in properly, but he was suddenly so relaxed, so weary, and he trusted Eddie. He trusted so deeply he wasn’t even beating himself up anymore, about trusting too soon, about his entire life spinning out of control.

“Can I stay here forever?” he slurred, nose skating to the crook of Eddie’s neck, snuffling sleepily.

“Sure,” whispered Eddie. “Good night, my little kitty.”

“Night,” murmured Steve, fast losing the battle against a warm, fuzzy slumber. Eddie cradled Steve a little tighter against his hip, and crazy though it was, Steve honestly felt in his heart…

… that everything might turn out all right after all.

🐈‍⬛💚🐈‍⬛💚🐈‍⬛💚🐈‍⬛💚

no pressure tag @wheneverfeasible 💕💕💕💕💕 if anyone else wants tagging, pls let me know or follow this tag for the series #steddie omega cat cafe

my steddie fic on AO3 💕💕💕💕💕

[faramirsonofgondor]

Ok but one day it gets out to the Batfam that Bruce kicked Dick out when he was 16, when all of them had thought Dick had left of his accord. They’re all upset, because leaving and getting kicked out are two very different things. They all thought that Dick had left and stayed with his friends until he decided to move to Blüdhaven. They all thought that Dick had left with a plan in mind - with clothes, food, money, and other essentials all safely stowed away with him. Yet, when they talk to the Titans and Dick’s other friends, none of them quite have an answer for where Dick was at the time. But surely Bruce wasn’t so cruel as to leave Dick homeless and without any money or care, right? Except Bruce has apparently thought that Dick was staying with his friends as well.

Dick refuses to tell them much about what happened besides that he’d gotten a job pretty quickly, and that he’d had a place to stay and money. Never mind the fact that Dick spent most nights sleeping in an unused room at the strip club, after deciding that buying food was more important than the safety and security of renting an apartment. Still, the family isn’t satisfied by Dick’s avoidance and they try to snoop more. They can’t find any records of Dick having a job before he turned 18 - so there’s two whole years missing where Dick could’ve been unemployed. Furthermore, there aren’t any address under Dick’s name until a few months before his 19th birthday.

The family is getting more and more angry and desperate for answers - Bruce especially. He feels guilty for kicking out, and the pit in his stomach is growing more with every piece of information they get. In the end, it’s not their research that gets them the answers they’re looking for. No, it’s a conversation that Steph and Jason overhear that tells them everything they need to know. A whispered conversation about Bruce Wayne’s eldest looking familiar, and hey isn’t he that kid from the old strip club down in Blüd, the one that got turned into a homeless shelter? I heard he’ll let you fuck him if you pay extra-

It takes all of Bruce, Tim, Cass, and Steph’s combined skills and strength to hold Jason back. None of them bring it up to Dick, but he can tell that they’re acting off. Bruce is drowning guilt, Jason’s tired and angry, Tim is hiding behind his research and cases, Cass leaves to process everything, and Steph keeps her distance as well after failing to be the mediator - the role Dick usually fills.

When Dick finds out that they know, he turns on his heel and leaves, and when he’s back in the safety of his apartment, he cries. He cries because it may not have been his family’s fault, but he can’t help but feel like another choice has been ripped away from him. He doesn’t understand why they couldn’t just back off and leave it alone - why they had to act like they cared now. Dick was fine, he’d been handling it all for years. In fact, Dick didn’t even understand why they were all so torn up about it, at least he had chosen to do it, on some level, that time around. It was better than being leered at, being harassed and catcalled, being touched, without his consent. They couldn’t just - just ignore all the other shit that Dick had gone through and then choose this to be upset about it.

Dick almost wants to confront them - to yell those very thoughts at his family, but he doesn’t. He knows that it would hurt them, and despite the fact that they’ve hurt him with their pushing and nagging, he doesn’t want to hurt them back. Not now, when Bruce had looked so forlorn, and the rest of them had looked so lost. He doesn’t want to hurt his family, but he can’t go back either. Not when he knows that they’ll be looking to him for some form of placation, some form of comfort. Dick has given so much of himself to so many different people over the years, and for once, for one goddamn minute, he wants to be able to mourn himself, he wants to just exist without an audience, he wants to be alone.

Wait your last post about Dick doing work as a stripper is so interesting cuz I’ve headcannoned Dick doing work as a stripper/dancer after Bruce kicked him out. Like there’s so much angst potential there because Dick goes from living in a mansion to essentially being homeless and having no way to support himself. And he’s been so objectified by people that he might think it’s a logical option for him to support himself by stripping. Idk this is just a little headcanon thingy.

Honestly there are so many ways you can take this and they’re all tragic.

Like, depending on the timeline you pick, Dick is underage when he’s first kicked out. He might not even have his high school degree yet.

So you have this child who doesn’t want to use Bruce’s money because clearly he isn’t wanted anymore (or maybe he doesn’t even have access to any of it), and he can’t get a job because most places won’t hire him with a lack of documentation or credentials, or because they don’t want someone so young.

But he’s had a lifetimes of people leering at him at galas, at villains making evocative comments about him and his costume, of paparazzi photos that border on creep shots. He knows he’s attractive. He also knows, or at least thinks, that his brains and his brawn aren’t good enough. They weren’t good enough for Bruce. They weren’t good enough to keep Robin.

So that leaves him with his looks. He starts stripping, despite hating the eyes on him, despite being underage, despite being inside of operations he would have been part of dismantling only months ago, because he has no where left to turn.

He feels filthy and used, but then hasn’t Bruce also used his body? Maybe not in the same way, maybe not under the same implications, but he had always been a puppet who acted on the whims of its master — whether those commands were to distract the Penguin’s goons or to give a lap dance. At least now, his clientele thanked him for his time.

.

.

When he becomes Nightwing and resumes his crime-fighting career, he now always makes sure to leave the working girls and boys a chance to flee during raids. No one ever comments on it.

[starry-bi-sky]

Sometimes in cfau, the song lyric chapters are meant to reflect the chapter in terms of the mental state of the character the pov is from, what might happen in the chapter, or the feelings of the chapter itself.

Sometimes though, the chapter lyrics and the summary are meant to be me/the narrator mocking the character directly.

If I ever make a chapter to the song “Time Will Change You” by the Crane Wives, trust me it WILL be the latter. And it will also be a Jason POV chapter.

[somegrumpynerd]

@wickjump you will never not be an absolute genius

[lemonfizzyy]

The rest of the Bats find out at some point, because of course they do. I don't think Dick could keep that bottled up, the fact that his dad killed him. I don't think Bruce could either.

So they find out.

Obviously the assumption would be a catastrophic fallout, murderous rage from all sides for doing something so horrible as killing his own son.

Personally though I'd like it if there's no anger at all... just this intense sort of grief felt by everyone. Because they almost lost Dick... and their dad was the perpetrator. This is a situation that only ends in losses. There is no way to reconcile this, to gain back the family that existed before Bruce did this horrible thing.

I'd like to think Damian takes one long look at Bruce after learning this happened... and just shakes his head. That's it, Damian's line. As of now, he no longer has anything to do with Bruce or Batman or Gotham at all.

He disappears along with Dick that night. Just... gone. No one says a thing about it, because there's really nothing to say.

Then the next morning Tim hands in everything. His suit, his weapons, his cases, his photos, his childhood Batman pajamas. Everything that held connection to Bruce is returned with all the care of someone who used to treasure these things. He leaves soon after.

The morning after Duke's room is cleared out. His armor left strewn on the floor.

Every connection the Batcomputer had to Oracle's network is severed. Every piece of information that was originally her's taken back. All the trackers Bruce had on them for safety are deactivated.

Cass comes to hand him her uniform. She refuses to look him in the eye.

Jason doesn't come at all, which is the real surprise I know. But by my view every qualm Jason has ever had with Bruce operated under the assumption that he was still a father to him in some regard, that he still mattered at all to him. Bruce doesn't any longer though. Not after that. So Jason doesn't come at all, nor will he ever.

Alfred takes longer. It's over the course of a couple months that the Manor is slowly shut down. Furniture that won't be cleaned has plastic coverings thrown over them. The finer decorations are carefully tucked away into boxes where they won't grow dusty or dirty. Items that the Bats left behind are sent off to them.

Finally Alfred packs his own things. He's the only one who says a word to Bruce as he leaves... which is simply "Goodbye".

...Anyway what I'm saying is "Wouldn't it be really messed up if Bruce had to watch the house he filled with new life slowly turn back into the mausoleum it was when he was a child?"

I genuinely think he'd quit being Batman if that happened. Because this time it isn't Joe Chill and a gun to blame for this catastrophic loss of his family... it's himself. It's Batman.

ok this is hella dark but i keep imagining an AU where when bruce starts hitting dick to convince him to go to spyral after dick wakes up from his whole coma thing, bruce hits him too hard and dick dies. i’m imagining bruce being horrified at what he’s done - and not being able to do anything but hold dick (like the artwork ‘ivan the terrible and his son ivan’). like i feel like it could realistically happen - dick had just been tortured and killed, and realistically any hit to the head could cause death or any hit to the body could lead to internal bleeding or organ damage. like just imagine the horror of watching dick die, then getting him back, only for bruce to lose him to his own hubris - to his own mission. i feel like that would push bruce far enough for him to either go off the rails and start killing, or for him to quit batman entirely and go be a hermit or some shit.

NO NO NO IM IGNORING THIS I DO NOT SEE THIS 🙈🙈🙈

Anyway I think Bruce would immediately take him to a Lazarus Pit bc he’d be insane with grief and guilt and then it would all triple when he sees what the pit does to Dick when it brings him back

NO ONE DIES PERMANENTLY ON THIS BLOG unless they’re an asshole in that AU that’s an outlier and does not count!

[n0tsketchyy]

The Bat kids definitely all know each others' most embarrassing moments and leverage this knowledge mercilessly.

They have an unspoken rule that these stories never leave the family, but within Wayne Manor, everything is fair game.

Tim can't live down the time he sleepwalked into a Justice League meeting and gave a twenty-minute presentation on why hotdogs are basically a taco before anyone woke him up.

Dick is still haunted by the security footage of him practicing pickup lines in the Batcave mirror while wearing the Nightwing suit. ("Hey there, they call me Nightwing, but you can call me... anytime." finger guns)

Jason refuses to acknowledge the existence of his teenage poetry journal that Damian found and distributed to everyone. No one is allowed to mention the phrase "darkness of my bleeding soul" in his presence.

Damian pretends he doesn't know about the video of him baby-talking to a kitten for forty-five minutes straight while thinking no one was home.

Bruce has no embarrassing moments because he's Batman. Except for the time he got his cape stuck in the Batmobile door and dragged himself halfway across Gotham before realizing.

The only person with no embarrassing stories is Alfred, because Alfred has never done anything embarrassing in his entire life. He does, however, have a comprehensive file of everyone else's moments that he threatens to show at galas when they misbehave.

[jellofish-plant]

Proof of Existence

Pairing: Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Reader Summary: You were used to waiting up for Jason after patrol, but you weren’t expecting Robin to be the one to climb through your window instead. Damian Wayne is determined to prove that Jason was lying about having a girlfriend, and unfortunately, that means invading your apartment at an ungodly hour. Things only escalate when he calls in reinforcements, and by the time Jason actually arrives, he finds you in the middle of a full-blown Wayne family interrogation.

Warnings: Fluff, sleep deprivation, Batfamily chaos, Jason being grumpy but soft

[Masterlist]

You sighed, rubbing your eyes as you glanced at the clock. 2:37 AM.

Jason was late. Again.

You weren’t exactly worried he was Red Hood, after all but you hated waiting up for him, exhaustion pulling at your limbs while the city lights flickered outside your window.

You barely had time to close your eyes before you heard a rustling noise near the fire escape. Immediately alert, you tensed, but before you could reach for your phone, the window slid open.

A small, caped figure landed silently in your living room.

You blinked. “You’re not Jason.”

Damian Wayne Robin, Gotham’s tiniest menace straightened up, arms crossed over his chest as he scrutinized you with a critical gaze.

“So you are real,” he muttered.

You stared at him, still half-asleep. “Excuse me?”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “Todd claims he has a girlfriend. I assumed it was a delusion. But…” He took a step closer, inspecting you like a rare specimen. “You exist.”

“Uh… yeah?” you said slowly, watching as he started pacing around the apartment.

“This is unfortunate,” he muttered to himself.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “It’s almost three in the morning, Damian. Did you break in just to confirm I’m not imaginary?”

“I could have waited for Todd to bring you to the Manor, but that would’ve taken forever.” Damian wandered over to the bookshelf, tilting his head as he scanned the titles. “Hmph. Your taste in literature is acceptable.”

“Oh, thank God, I was really losing sleep over that one,” you deadpanned.

Damian ignored you, already moving to your kitchen. He opened the fridge, scowled, then closed it again. “You don’t eat enough protein.”

You groaned, flopping onto the couch. “Jason is going to kill you when he finds out you’re here.”

“Tt. I doubt it.”

Unfortunately, before you could kick him out, he pulled a communicator from his belt.

“You’re not—”

Too late.

“Drake, come in. I have urgent news,” Damian said, voice completely serious.

There was a brief static crackle before a groggy voice responded. “Damian, it’s late. What could possibly—”

“She’s real.”

Silence.

Then—“No f**ing way.”*

You groaned loudly, covering your face with a pillow.

A few minutes later, your front door actually opened, this time with a key Tim Drake, still in his Red Robin suit but looking like he regretted every decision that led him here.

“Oh my God,” Tim breathed, staring at you like he’d just seen a ghost. “Jason actually has a girlfriend.”

“Why does everyone think I’m fake?” you demanded.

Tim grinned. “Because Jason refuses to let us meet you. Honestly, I thought you were just an excuse for him to leave family dinners early.”

Damian huffed. “As if Todd would be clever enough for that.”

You sighed. “Okay. Great. Mystery solved. You guys can leave now—”

Knock knock.

Oh, come on.

The door opened again, and in strolled none other than Dick Grayson—Nightwing himself—looking far too excited for this hour.

“Ohhhh, this is fantastic,” he said, beaming as he took in the scene. “We finally have proof! Jason’s not making it up!”

“I hate all of you,” you grumbled, pulling Jason’s discarded hoodie over your head as if that could make them all disappear.

“Are you being held against your will?” Dick asked, only half-joking.

“No, but I will commit a crime if you don’t let me sleep.”

Before Dick could respond, the window slammed open again.

“What the hell is going on?”

Jason stood on the fire escape, mask half-off, hair a mess, and murder in his eyes.

“Oh, hey, Jason,” Tim greeted casually. “Nice place.”

Jason’s eye twitched. “Are you—why—” He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “It is three in the goddamn morning.”

“Yes, I noticed,” you said dryly.

Jason turned to you, taking in the way you looked tired, wrapped in his hoodie, blanket half-falling off the couch. His jaw tightened. “Baby, why are you still up?”

You gestured vaguely to the three idiots in your apartment. “Ask them.”

Jason’s glare could’ve set the building on fire. “What the hell are you all doing here?”

“Confirming she’s real,” Damian said simply.

Jason groaned. “Are you kidding me? You—” He pointed at Damian. “Go home. You—” Now at Tim. “Stop enabling this. And you—” Dick raised his hands before Jason could finish.

“Relax, Jaybird,” Dick said, smirking. “We’re just excited to meet the girl you’ve been hiding.”

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hate all of you.”

“Are you two really dating?” a new voice cut through.

Stephanie Brown Batgirl was standing by the window now, her blonde hair messy from a night’s patrol. She crossed her arms, raising a brow at you. “I’m sorry, but I had to see for myself. I really thought it was just some weird ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ thing.”

“Oh my God,” you muttered, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m just here for the popcorn,” Duke Thomas The Signal grinned from the doorway, joining the chaos with his own brand of enthusiasm.

Jason stood frozen, arms crossed, looking like he was about to explode. “This is not happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening,” Dick teased, leaning in and nudging Jason. “You can’t hide her anymore.”

Jason groaned, rubbing his face. “I swear to God…”

“Jason, relax,” you said, trying to calm him down, but your voice still laced with amusement. “Your family’s just a little... excited.”

Jason turned to you, his expression softening just a little. “I’m sorry, baby.” He pulled you close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I didn’t expect them to turn up like this, but…” He shot his family one last glare before pulling you closer. “I think I need some alone time with my girlfriend now.”

Everyone groaned in unison.

“You know what, fine,” Tim sighed, pushing himself off the wall. “We’ve gotten the proof we need. No more interruptions. You two have a good night.”

“You guys are the worst,” you muttered, laughing as Jason huffed beside you.

And when they finally filed out, leaving you alone with Jason, you sank back into his arms, letting the chaos of the Batfamily fade into the background.

Jason chuckled softly, kissing the top of your head. “Well, at least they like you.”

You smirked. “Yeah, I think I’ve officially been inducted into the Batfamily now.”

Jason snorted. “They’ll never leave us alone again, will they?”

“Not unless we’re really convincing at family dinners,” you teased.

Jason sighed, but there was a fond look in his eyes. “Maybe we’ll make a run for it next time.”

You laughed softly. “Sounds like a plan.”

[prlssprfctn]

Every time another joke about Batman/Bruce Wayne passes by me, I can't help but imagine that the whole rumour about these two dating was originally (and probably accidentally) created by Bruce himself.

Just imagine, a teen Bruce, still only starting with his vigilante career, makes a crucial mistake - he pays with his own credit card in front of people, while being Batman. A stupid, absolutely instinctive mistake, but in his defence he wasn't sleeping normally for a week, and had an open wound in his stomach that day, so. Whoops.

And then someone asks Bruce Wayne about it, in front of a thousand cameras. And he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind.

Reporter: So, mister Wayne, recently citizens had reported that they saw Batman paying for the damage in the city... with your credit card. Care to explain details behind this?

Bruce, smiling stupidly: Oh, he is my ex. I sometimes sponsor him.

The crowd: (goes wild)

Alfred, starting at the interview back in the Batcave: ...We are never going to get rid of this, are we?

And guess what? They don't!

Bruce thinks that with time passing, with his love interests switching and new rumours spawning in the world, they might forget about it. He was young, he was stupid - he fucked up, alright?

But decades pass. He has a whole football team of kids. Everyone still ship Bruce and Batman.

And when this stupid video accidentally gets resurfaced on the internet again, his family goes insane. They start creating even more stupid rumours on galas.

Reporter: Mister Wayne... For years now, the crowds are speculating... Who is exactly your mother, and where is she now?

Damian, sighing pitifully: My father and my mother don't enjoy contacting each other, sadly. My mom says that their relationship was just a rebound; father desperately tries to forget Batman... Still, to this day.

Bruce, gripping the glass of champagne: ...

Talia, watching this interview with Ra's: Now, that's my son right there.

Dick: Oh, why I was screaming at Batman in the middle of the street a few days ago? Oh, this bastard- I mean, this respectable vigilante, he dared to get in the argument with Bruce. He can't really leave him alone, really! They are so insane about each other... So toxic, but so, uh, captivating... But you know, Bruce! He has such a fragile heart...

Gotham: Aw-w, poor mister Wayne!

Bruce, sighing: Jesus Christ.

Tim, shaking his head to the camera: I hate Red Robin, really. Did you know that his existence is just a direct offence to my father? Yeah, actually, Batman took this kid under his wing with another man - I am not going to tell who - to make dad jealous. This is disgusting!

Jason, who returned from the death by pretending that all this time he was under the child protection system after becoming an accidental witness of the second Robin's death: Oh, yeah, it was tough... Poor kid exploded in front of my eyes! Reporter: But, mister Todd-Wayne, what were you doing in that warehouse?

Jason, wiping fake tears: They were like my divorced parents, you know... Batman and Bruce. Batman really tried to mend things with dad back then, and wanted me to like him... We just wanted to spend some time together with him, and that Robin kid... God, it was terrible... Batman refuses to contact me now. I miss my second dad...

Bruce, back in the Batcave, watching as Batman's reputation goes lower and lower: ........................... Alfred: Well, master Bruce... Bruce: Not a word. Al. Please.

[msfantasy-comics]

The BatParent Dynamic

Bruce Wayne x Batmum! Reader

Summary: A fluffy story in which Dick and Jason would climb into bed with you and Bruce.

Nothing was more meditative than listening to the muffled sounds of the crickets chirping, as the cold night air filtered though the high ceiling windows. The opposing warmth exuding from your husbands form as he pulls you in closer. Melting around your napping figure.

His airy breath tickling your ear, nuzzling further into your neck.

He’s taking his time, holding you close, breathing in your scent as he presses chaste kisses to your shoulder slowly waking you from your bliss dream into his blissful arms.

Not a single word is spoken, both just enjoying the romantic lul.

But of course, this is the Wayne Manor, where any number of things can happen that leads to loud and rambunctious events.

“Ma! I need a hug!” Dick shouts outside the door, a quick twist of the door nob and the door is slammed open, destroying any sense of peace within your shared bedroom. “Jason is being Jason again!” Dick jumping into a swan dive, aiming to land in the middle of the bed where you and Bruce are currently huddled.

Bruce quickly slides out of the way leaving Dick to land perfecting in the centre of the mattress, he rolls over wrapping his arms around you. Cheek pressing against your arm making his lips press into a pout just like they always did when he was a young boy clinging to you for comfort.

You look down at your eldest son with a warm smile. Eyes almost sparkling at his cute demeanour, even as an adult, Dick will still be your sweet child.

Bruce, however, is feeling other feelings.

“For some silly reason, I assumed that when you boys grew up. You’d finally stop seeking your mothers comfort. In MY bed.” He grumbles irritatedly which only makes Jason’s hulking figure shake with laughter as he takes a quick snapshot of Dick snuggling up to his parents like the man child he is.

“Seriously bro? You go cryin to ma because I wouldn’t share my sandwich with you?” Jason muffles with a mouth full of bread.

He strides towards your bed, stepping up onto the mattress ignoring Bruce’s refusal to move, he shoves himself into the small space left between Dick and the almighty Batman.

Bruce grumbles irritably as he accepts his fate.

Your heart couldn’t help swelling at the sight of your two grown boys, still behaving like the naughty trouble makers.

You still remember a younger Dick, crawling under your sheets so that he could finally sleep though the whole night without being awoken by his nightmares.

Often the young boy would have reoccurring and vivid nightmares about his parents, and would more often then not, come to your bed seeking comforts.

Slinking up the centre between your sleeping forms, Dick would snuggle up towards you as your sleepy arms encircle around Dicks anxious form.

Whilst Jason was already a grown pre-teen when he came into your home. However, when traveling around South-East Asia, Jason caught an aggressive parasite from stagnant water. He was so Ill and weak, you were too nervous and tired to leave him alone, so he slept between you and Bruce until he made a full recovery.

Now you look at your boys, they both lay between you and Bruce, arguing, elbowing and shoving eachother. You look at your husband sweetly, as if silently discussing how this scene warms your heart.

It’s moments like these, you remind yourself how lucky you are to have such a loving family.

[yintous]

💭 thinking about waking up next to the batboys in the morning ｡ ｡ ｡ [masterlist]

notes. not proofread, more content under the cut, lowk cheesy, written in second pov, the only thing my writer’s block allowed me to finish 😭

Night and morning, DICK GRAYSON is all over you, his acts devoid of shame. His hair, his limbs, his everything, are wrapped against you. He is shamelessly generous with his physical affection and gives you his utmost attention, asleep or awake.

His subconscious refuses to let you get away from him, ever.

Waking him up is surprisingly easy because one move away from him results in his leg wrapping even tighter around your hips while a subtle whine falls from his lips. He would only let you go if you told him you needed to pee.

However, that does not mean his patience would magically grow. No, he will stand outside the bathroom door, so he would be able to droop his figure over you again once you were done with your business.

Once the sun rises and the curtains radiate a light that makes your eyes squint in retaliation, it will be the same— an endless cycle of his displayed devotion and adoration for you. As long as the pair of hands that are waking him up is yours, DICK'S smile will effortlessly ghost upon his lips before he kisses you; a morning without a kiss, he insists, is a form of torture.

Plus, the smell of your shampoo and the soothing note of your voice are enough to convince him that he is still asleep, helplessly indulging in a sweet dream; he is just a weak man, at least for you, who is he to deny such a glorious opportunity?

JASON TODD, like his older brother, is easy to wake up. A whisper or a slight movement is enough to make his eyes open involuntarily; it’s likely muscle memory.

Unbeknownst to him, he slightly drools in his sleep, leaving a dry trail on his cheek by the time he wakes up, right next to one of the scars on his face.

The confused and slightly dazed expression on his face is as endearing as it is absurd. Despite spending many mornings with you, his brain sometimes struggles to register that you are truly his.

Just as your hand caresses his cheek, he instinctively hovers his palm over yours, momentarily thinking of you as a potential threat. But then the sight of you softens him; his thumb gently brushes against your hand, and his lips press to your palm.

Normalcy can be elusive for him—he is acutely aware of that. Yet cooking breakfast with you, combined with your irresistible smile, makes him feel like an ordinary man. With you by his side, the day suddenly doesn’t seem so dreadful to seize.

Waking up next to TIM DRAKE doesn’t always mean waking up on a soft mattress, especially if you indulge in his tendency to nap anywhere at any hour. There are numerous places you might find yourself waking up: a mattress, a couch, the stools near the counters, or even on a random rooftop.

The one constant, however, is the sight of your boyfriend actively trying to pull you closer in his sleep, even when you’re already as close as you could be. His subconscious leads him to hold you as tightly as possible—one might think he’s having a nightmare.

But no, he simply enjoys holding you.

Waking him up feels like pulling teeth. He is definitely not the type to rise early and make breakfast with you; he is the complete opposite of a morning person. Without hesitation, he will drag you back into bed when you attempt to get up, eager for a few more moments of rest with you.

If you persist in waking him up, he may reluctantly comply—on the condition that his fingers can thread through your hair while you shower him with kisses on his face. In those moments, mornings don’t seem so bad to him, and he will consume your love for breakfast.

DUKE THOMAS wakes you up with morning kisses. He makes it his mission to rise before you, the early morning light casting a warm glow in the room, ensuring that your day begins wrapped in the love that flows so effortlessly from his heart.

His love is a rare treasure, so pure that it's the kind of longing poets can only dream of capturing in their sonnets.

He mutters your name with utmost care, as if it's a sacred incantation, kneading away the tension in your muscles with the hands of a delicate lover; a gentle touch enchanted with an intimacy that speaks of years shared.

It isn't long before the tantalizing aroma of breakfast wafts through the air, drawing your attention to the small tray perched on the bedside table.

Your heart swells as you take in the sight—each item perfectly arranged, your favorite breakfast lovingly prepared with attention to every little detail. From the fluffy pancakes dusted with powdered sugar to the perfectly brewed coffee, it’s clear that DUKE has poured his heart into every aspect of this morning ritual, just as he pours his heart into your life.

Each meal together is another chapter in your love story, written one delicious bite at a time.

© yintous do not copy, repost, plagiarize, or feed any of my work into ai.