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apocalypse-shuffle · 10 days

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JASON TODD & CASSANDRA CAIN (generalized fanon | maybe wfa)

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“Blind Spot” (Jason Todd x Fem!Reader) and (Cassandra Cain & Platonic!Reader)

| Reader is introduced (this time “formally”) to the second of their new boyfriend’s extended family.

| SFW, stalking(?), batfam shenanigans, worried!Jason

| The pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (pic sources: beg.=batman:under the red hood, middle=dceaced, and end=batgirl#1 • all comics)

| part of the meet the bats series

| 3k+ words

Jason’s roof is bumpy. Not like asbestos bumpy or anything, though in Gotham you could never be too sure, but it certainly wasn’t smooth.

“Hey, baby, was your apartment built before or after 1989?”

Jason answers immediately.

“After. I needed a place without a sprinkler system though, so I wouldn’t bet anything special on this building being too up to code.”

“Mm,” you hum, letting your head drop to the side. That still didn’t rule out asbestos.

The new view that greets you is of the back of Jason’s head and the broad scarred expanse of his back.

You’ve decided you’re not going to worry about the possible poison in the walls yet. Hopefully Jason’s paranoia extends to that type of stuff and he’s checked it out already.

“Hey baby?”

In the beat it takes for Jason to let out an acknowledging grunt your eyes catch the black glint of yet another weapon being picked up. You snort.

“You got all those guns, any of ‘em actually do anything interesting?”

His shoulders shake as he laughs.

“Like what?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, just...” your brown fingers snap and you sit up, legs crisscrossed over the cushions, “…there was a rumor going around the other day ‘bout Harley and a beanbag shotgun. Got anything like that?”

Jason scoffs, “You have got to stop listening to whoever is spreading these rumors and giving you your theories.”

“Shut up.” You wait until he’s taken the last piece of the pistol in his hand apart to knock him in the head with one of his throw pillows. “Answer the question, Todd.”

For a good minute he can’t, keeled over laughing as he is, but you have no problem waiting him out, laughter of your own occupying you.

“Alright,” he gasps in air, talking through his giggles. His voice is a little higher than usual. “Short answer is no.”

When he’s done he lets his head fall back into the couch so he can look at you with raised brows.

“Satisfied?” He grins, voice back to normal.

“Believe it or not,” you wiggle around so you can bend over and smack a wet kiss onto his lips, feeling his smile widen, before sitting back up, “no. What’s the long answer?”

He shakes his head at you, muttering something that sounds a lot like ‘insatiable’ under his breath, before going back to his assigned task for the night. You shrug, but a shiver down your spine cuts off whatever response you might’ve given.

Brows furrowing, you lean back on the couch as an uneasy feeling settles in your gut, gaze moving to slide around the apartment until you settle on a familiar item on the small table near the window.

The aloe plant you’d gifted Jason a few weeks ago sits atop it. Surprisingly, it still looked healthy, which was nice. You’d gotten it for him because they were low maintenance, but you could never be too sure with the vigilante schedule he operated on. There’s a small bit of movement behind the plant though and - without your say so - your eye focuses on it instantly. Or at least tries to. For some reason what you’d thought was a bug ends up disappearing on you though.

The longer you look out at what amounts to nothing the more severe your frown gets, face morphing into a grimace.

The darkness feels like it’s watching you back and the prospect makes you queasy. The possibility of a potentially deadly game of hide and seek runs through your mind; somebody popping up from the darkness and smashing the window—

A particularly harsh clink from in front of you snaps your mind back to reality. Jason’s reaching for his briefly disregarded rag and gun oil, parts of a good sized rifle laid out before him, shoulders rising and falling in easy, tempered motions. Instantly you begin matching your breaths with his own, doing your best to shake the feeling of unease off.

Jason starts talking again with a low contemplative tone and you let his voice settle over you like a blanket, slumping back into the couch as you watch the back of his head.

“The barrel of a shotgun isn’t even big enough for a regular sized bean sack—”

“—Bean sack,” you parrot quietly and Jason flips you off without looking. You snicker.

“A bean sack gun,” he continues like you hadn’t interrupted, “just isn’t practical as a primary weapon. It’ll probably lock up and misfire then - look at that - you're dead.”

You huff, “Jason this is supposed to be a fun conversation.”

“This is fun,” he grunts, picking up a tiny brush to clean with.

Your eyes roll.

“Alright, whatever, what about glitter?”

“Please stop.”

You buss out laughing.

“I don’t think I want to. But- just hear me out,” you cut in when you see the furrow that takes over his face, “If Sam and Dean can shoot salt guns then I don’t see how much different glitter would be if you factor in the weight difference.”

The new expression that takes over his face is even worse than beforehand and he gives you this narrow look like he can’t believe you’re being serious.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Those guns aren’t designed for impact, just range, and,” he scoffs, “to look cool probably.”

“Ohhh—” you stop as the confusing patch of night outside the window catches your attention again before scooting farther away from the window. Why it’s even throwing you off you can’t tell, but you don’t want to stress over nothing. You clear your throat and go back to joking with him. “—You don’t think the salt shotgun is cool, Jay? Is the Red Hood too good for the Winchesters?”

“Absolutely.”

He grins at you over his shoulder and you scoff, kicking out to shove him with your foot. He barely rocks from the force of it.

After that an easy silence fills the space once more and you rest your head onto the back of the couch, breathing in deep in an attempt to quell the clench in your stomach.

When you look over again the image through the window is clearer. On the apartment across from Jay’s there’s a fire escape just slightly above his own and — you squint, crawling to the end of the couch to get a better look — and there! Right there! A short burst of breeze causes a heavy piece of fabric to flutter and what’s wrong finally becomes obvious.

You lean even further.

What should be the rest of the metal railing is blocked by a large patch of darkness that you do your best to follow with your eyes, only going a little cross-eyed and blurry in your efforts.

Passively, it occurs to you that maybe this was something you should bring to Jason’s attention. The night coming to life and inching closer wasn’t normal after all, but—

There! The fabric shifts again, another larger piece this time, and with your gaze now having something concrete to focus on more and more of the misplaced darkness starts to come into place.

Glinting stitches, a brief flash of yellow as another gust of wind displaces fabric. Then a light in the house across from you flicks on. Barely any of it leaks through their curtains, but it’s just enough to make the outline of a person perched on the railing, what you can now tell is the smear of a cape draped over the outside of the fire escape and catching the breeze every few seconds, come into staunch focus.

Your eyes go wide.

“Jason?”

His head whips around and he’s looking up at you from his disassembled cache of guns on the floor, gaze sharp. You don’t know what the hell he detected from your voice, but you can see the way his face crests once he gets a look at your expression and your stomach twists.

You didn’t think you looked that alarmed.

Jason’s gaze follows yours when you turn your head back for confirmation, and it’s brief but for a second still the same blotch of black is there before you take your next breath and it’s - the person’s - disappeared.

“Crap,” he curses and you go rigid, falling back as the sounds of him quickly reassembling a gun fill the room.

Next thing you know he’s up and walking over to open the window.

You scramble up from the couch, “Jay! Hold on, are you sure—?”

The window slides open with a small click and a few beats pass before - baffled - you watch Jason sigh and set his firearm down on the side table beside the aloe.

He sticks his head out the window.

“Cass,” he whisper-yells.

From behind Jason you watch nothing happen. It’s quiet except for the city’s usual ambiance and there's a cursory creak of old metal before—

“No, not you too, get out of here. Don’t you have a city to patrol?”

—a face appears in the window, right in front of Jason, and you take in such a harsh breath you stumble back a few steps.

So close to the window with the light from the living room as an aid you can make out the long pointed ears at the top of what you can now tell is the person’s — Batgirl’s, that was Batgirl’s — mask.

Right. Okay. You suppose if Robin popped in to visit and your boyfriend rocked a red helmet and killed people in his spare time then Batgirl also popping in wasn’t too far a stretch of the imagination. You suck in a breath until your lungs fill with enough air to make your chest twinge.

Batgirl’s low scratchy voice fills the quiet.

“The city.” Batgirl seems to fix Jason with a look but the mask makes it hard to tell, before finishing, “Will survive…five minutes.”

Then she pats the hand he still has on the window sill. “Kind of you,” you hear her say before she’s slipping in past the width of his bulk. Jason makes an exasperated noise and moves to let her in - not that she wasn’t already doing that perfectly fine on her own.

After the incident not even a full week ago Jason can’t seem to not throw you a panicked look from behind the woman. You only shrug, heartbeat steadily settling back down. At least you were awake this time. You look over the faceless vigilante, not an inch of skin - of the person underneath - showing. Though you were no less perturbed.

The only huge difference is that it was the blank mask of the Black Bat that’s staring at you from the darkness and you’re not at imminent risk of being beheaded. That was…something. You purse your lips, rocking back onto your heels with your heart in your throat.

The Bat doesn’t say a thing, just looking at you with indents that probably indicate eyes behind them and a face full of more of those glinting stitches.

Jason clears his throat, moving around so he can stand beside you.

“Is this some kind of trend now?”

His irritated grumble brings Batgirl’s attention back to him and you relax, leaning into the arm he presses into the dip of your back.

“Oh,” she breathes. You’d be pressed to think she was being sarcastic if it wasn’t for: “Heard about Robin. Seemed like…fun,” she proclaims.

You briefly wonder at the fact that you’re apparently an interesting enough deviation for Jason that you’re piquing the interest of vigilantes.

Then Batgirl’s attention shifts squarely back to you and you can’t remember how to breathe again, let alone what you were just thinking about.

“Um,” you choke out, “Hi.”

Jason’s tan hand snakes under your shirt to rub at the dark brown skin there. You focus on the warmth from the point of contact, breathing out slowly.

Batgirl’s head shifts, indicating the window behind her. “You noticed me.”

It’s not a question.

“I mean - barely,” you say. A half aborted chuckle falls past your plush lips. “I pretty much just thought I was losing it.”

“That’s good,” she says and you pause confused. She turns to Jason, tone brightening. “Robin was right. She’s impressive. For a civilian,” she concedes at the end.

When she walks up to you next she holds a hand out. After a moment of hesitation you reach out to take it, her grip is strong and when she shakes your hand you have to steady your arm or else risk her jerking you around.

“You have a good eye. Good instincts. Useful starting point…for learning.”

“She won’t be,” Jason grunts. You roll your eyes at him, you didn’t even want to be a vigilante but he didn’t have to shoot the idea down so hard.

Batgirl shrugs, “I know,” she dismisses. She squeezes softly at your hand. “Y/n. It was nice meeting you. Had to see. Who’d…put up with him,” she ends snidely.

Jason huffs and you laugh despite yourself, squeezing her hand back in turn. That seems to have been enough for her because you can just make out the smile underneath her cowl before she lets go.

She sends a parting nod Jason’s way and he scoffs quietly.

“Yeah, I know,” he says to Batgirl’s retreating form. "See you later, yeah?” he adds, voice dropping.

She stops part way through slipping out the window, half her body already lost to the darkness, before giving a curt nod. A jaunty wave is sent your way next and then…nothing.

You don’t even hear the fire escape creak before she’s melted into the shadows and disappeared back into the night.

Jason doesn’t know how to conceptualize this, but he has to know. He needs that confirmation before he can truly rest easy.

There’s no one else who reads people as well as Cassandra. Maybe she’ll be able to finally get rid of the way he can’t help but jerk away from your closeness sometimes, from the natural pull you have over him. How much he can’t stay away even as reluctance and fear pulls at him.

Jason sighs.

Or help him figure out how comfortable you really were with the whole Red Hood thing. It’s not that he didn’t trust you to keep the secret, just that he wasn’t sure if you were saving face with him or not. The last thing he wants is for you to feel obligated to stay with him. Or intimidated.

Cass waits until he’s just settled beside her on the roof before speaking.

He’s silently grateful for it. For some reason verbally asking for her assessment seemed like more a betrayal than needing the read at all.

This way he can delude himself into thinking she offered the information up unprompted. Something tells him it won’t change anything; he ignores that voice.

“She’s good,” Cass nods. She pointedly doesn’t leave it at that though so Jason stays still, let’s the wind lap at his hoodie and whisp at his hair.

Cass sighs, so still her shoulders barely move, and then turns to him. There’s a low tuft in her voice like she knows exactly what he’s doing here, knows he’s looking to her for salvation.

“Good,” she stresses. Breathes in once. Exhales. “But hiding.”

Jason’s heart doesn’t skip a beat but his gut does twist, caving in on itself in a bid to hide. He starts shaking his head.

The thing about Jason, he stopped trusting his heart a long time ago. Too late to save him from some other grievances in his life but good enough to keep him alive for this long. To protect this second chance, trusting his gut has been crucial. So why did it feel like he was being gutted?

“…hiding what?” When she takes too long to answer Jason finally turns. “Cass—”

She intercepts him easily, barely a rustle of fabric before her closed fist is pressed against his breastbone. It holds him in place more firmly than it has any right to.

“She’s hiding.” She manages somehow to make him feel the weight of her eyes meeting his own before tutting at him. “So are you.”

The plea Jason’s about to let out gets stuck in the base of his throat and he clears it.

“What do you mean?”

Even in the cowl the disbelieving look Cass throws his way is clear, fabric over her brow creasing.

“You are…leading her.” Her head canters barely a centimeter to the side. “You won’t move. So. She won’t move.”

All he can do for a moment is breathe deep and swallow back the argument bubbling up his throat. They both know Cass didn’t talk if she wasn’t sure, and Cass didn’t make mistakes about these things.

He shakes his head, hands shoving into his pockets, “How am I supposed to fix that Cass?”

Cass gives a blithe little shrug, turning away from him again. Her cape billows out wide behind her, wingspan almost large enough to wrap the whole of Gotham in her protective embrace.

She snipes, unrepentant, “You need it. Spelled out…for you?”

Her voice carries on the wind with more leniency than the question suggests.

Jason sighs, rolling his shoulders back and shifting to look out over the stretch of rooftops laid out before them also.

“I don’t,” he murmurs.

She nods.

“Good,” she says. “Because. I’m not…your mother.”

He can almost hear the smile in her voice though. He imagines it’s the little barely tolerate one she tends to give him. Cass never treats him like he’s a ghost, more so like she’s doing him a favor; looking past all the skeletons peeking over his shoulder to see Jason. Just Jason.

It’s not great. It’s not the way you look at him; like he’s whole. Like the him that you want is exactly what’s in front of you, not some specter from the past or poor imitation you have to put up with.

One of Cass’s hands moves to rest against the holster on her belt and she raises one foot to prop up on the border surrounding the roof before leaning into his space.

She punches his shoulder, softly for her, and he takes it.

“She stays…a civilian. Jason,” she stresses. “An alive one.”

Jason hasn’t even begun to react before Cass is tilting forward, firing off her grappling gun and dropping off the roof in a second.

‘I’m trying,’ Jason thinks at the charcoal of her cape.

He takes another few minutes to look out over the city, let the sounds of a broken metropolis and its people wash over him - for his gut to settle back into stone - and then he climbs down the fire escape.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!

Alright, so, this is my first time really writing Cass so don’t hate me. I didn’t want to shove her into a ‘woman who soothes a man’s woes’ role, but I did still want to give her and Jason a more tolerant and supportive relationship than they’d ever have canonically (and this is a Jason-centric story so some centering is inevitable). Also, I tried to match her speech patterns from the 2000’s comics so don’t come for me, she usually only speaks in four word sentences at the longest and breaks her sentences up so she can presumably search for the word she needs, otherwise her grammar is totally fine so yeah, hopefully my portrayal of her wasn’t too too bad. I will be advancing her sentence structure and speech patterns when she shows up again in a later part in order to depict how her speech advances in the comics too, just because I want to practice with her some more. Also just believe that once Cass realized the Reader-Insert had sensed her she stayed in a more compromising position (in front of a potential light source) just to really test how well she’d be at actually finding her after sensing something was off.

Keep in mind that this is “wholesome” bat family fanon, but that I lean towards post-crisis when it comes to characterization and comics I read for reference (except for Duke obviously) because I largely like post-crisis canon more. Though, how I write Damian is definitely more based on the DCAMU version of him because that was my introduction to his character, but I am working on getting closer to his canon character voice for my own sake since he will be showing back up later in this series (& just in general I’ve slightly shifted how I write Jason as well since part one).

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

Alt. Banner (scrapped) —

(source - Batman: Wayne Family Adventures)

Tagged: @bandshirts-andbooks

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lokalblackie · 4 months

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"-In other news, Gothamites rummage to pack their bags because a sudden wave of death has spread through the nocturnal streets of the more crime ridden parts of Gotham. The spontanious deaths of three of Gotham's supervillains has put citizens in a panic. Is this the rise of a new crime lord or... something worse?"

News reporters everywhere scrambled to get a few good words in before this story gets swept under the rug. Before exaggerated headlines like; "NEW GOTHAM CRIME LORD HAS PEOPLE ESCAPING TO CALIFORNIA OF ALL PLACES?!" are forgotten in the matrix. Before this story isn't relevant anymore.

Podcasters and commentary media outlets are getting their few good theories in too. Saying things like; "Y'all, the government is messing with us. Scarecrow ain't dead. It's probably the same fake terrorist attacks Hitler implemented to get the German's under his rule. Don't fall for this trap y'all."

And homeless druggies are getting a few couple bucks out this story too. Charging journalists a big buck for false news. The street scammers are jumping for joy right now. "I was there! I saw it happen! It was one of them Russians. The Soviets are comin' for us."

Bruce was amused. Everywhere he went, this shit was smeared. Popping up in his face as if he hadn't seen the other hundred different pop-ups of this story yet. He thought what any other reasonable citizen thought. "This shit's gonna disappear in a week. Trust me bro"

...

Its been a week.

People are still on this?! Maybe it is serious... Should he take a look into this? Nah it's fine. Give it another week or so. It'll blow away like all other "viral" stories...

...Right?

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rainnyydaysworld · 4 months

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Tim: Hey, do you know the password to Damian’s computer?

Duke: Fuck you, Tim.

Tim: Hey!!

Duke: No, you misunderstood, the password is "fuckyouTim".

Tim: Oh, no numbers? Not very safe.

—

Reader: Get on my level!

Steph: Unfortunately, to "get on your level" I'd need a boat trip to the Mariana Trench and a pair of cinderblock shoes.

—

*Dick is fighting a monster*

Barbara : Just stay calm! You already have everything you need to beat it!

Dick: The power to believe in myself!?

Barbara : No, a knife! Stab it!

—

Reader: Sorry I'm late, I was doing stuff.

Jason: YOU PUSHED ME DOWN THE FUCKING STAIRS!

—

Damian: Tim, this morning, I called you abhorrent and reprehensible, and I’d like to withdraw that statement-

Tim: Aww, thanks-

Damian: But I can't. Those are the 2 words that best describe you.

—

Reader: So, Steph is no longer allowed to take the trash out at night.

Cassandra: Why?

Reader: Because I've caught her trying to train raccoons to fight five times in a row.

Steph, arms crossed and pouting: You'll be thanking me when the third raccoon battalion saves your ass.

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jasmines-library · 6 months

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Batfamily headcanons with batsis that used to be a Black Widow please?

Note: Thank you for requesting, I hope this is okay as I don't tend to write headcanons a lot, but I had fun with this and I thought that the idea was so cool!

The first time they met you, you had taken them by surprise, which was unusual for them as being vigilantes meant that they were always on high alert.

⛤ They were on patrol and you had snuck past them, taking out the criminals before they even had time to blink and then pinning them down from behind.

⛤ Although they were skeptical at first, it hadn't taken long for the four boys to develop a liking for you, especially Damian who was in complete awe of the way fought and slunk around the streets, although you would be lying if you said that he wasn't the teeniest bit jealous.

⛤ They saw you a few times after that. Your training made you hard to track down, but they were skilled to and with some digging, Tim had managed to find you.

⛤ You all became thick as thieves after that, often going out on patrol with each other.

⛤ And soon Bruce invited you to stay.

⛤ At first, you were hesitant. Your time in the Red Room had lead you to develop some trust issues but you took a leap and boy were you glad you did.

⛤ There is always something to do with the vigilantes; training, reading, watching movies. and you quickly became a part of their weekly routines.

⛤They love having you around too, often asking you to help them with their stealth and training.

⛤ You had to work around the assassinations with Bruce because they broke his 'no killing rule.', but after discussing with him and Jason, the three of you came to a suitable compromise and you become a huge part of protecting Gotham and of their lives.

⛤ You would do anything to protect them as they would for you.

#Batfamily x reader #dc x reader #batfamily headcanons #marvel x dc #batfam x reader #batfam x sister reader #black widow #red room #writing #head cannons

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minimoxha · 8 months

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kinktober 2023 - the album

௹ sᴏɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ - ᴅᴜᴍʙɪғɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ AND sex pollen

௹ ғᴛ- ᴊᴀsᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴅᴅ, sᴇx ᴘᴏʟʟᴇɴ, degregation

i was gonna do soilja boy but do people like the boys still?

"You are nothing more than a dumb whore, I swear." Jason pushed out a struggled moan as he thrusts deep down your throat. Even though I did sit there, hands tied behind my back and taking Jasons cock on the floor you I wondered with my brain three seconds away from becoming useless, where this had come from.

Sex pollen was what his new attitude had come from. After a run with Ivy's sex pollen, Bruce had mistakenly allowed Jason to come home to you because he was showing no signs of symptoms and he urged the man to let him go home. Though a late bloomer, the pollen was still there and took Jason by storm which led to the current events.

The brunette man let out a long moan as he shook with his pending orgasm on the rise. "Fuck your mouth is amazing." He sped up his assault on your throat while holding my head tighter as if I was going to go anywhere, to begin with. His dick twitched as he came down my throat with loud moans. His grip on my head loosened as he shut his eyes in pure bliss, allowing himself to feel the bliss of his orgasm that probably felt 10x better because of the sex pollen he was currently on.

When the last spurts of cum finally sprayed all over my mouth he let me go and stumbled to the other side of the room. Shakily lifting myself up, I look at the man as he hunched over our shared apartment bed, making all types of noises. For a second, I thought about the best way to approach him before creaping up behind him.

"Jay? Are you alright?" You spoke with a waivered tone to your voice. It wasnt fear, no, it was worry because Jason sounded like he was truly in pain. And when he turned to face you, cheeks red and dick hard, he looked as if he was in pain. How could he be like that after he just came down your throat? His cock hard as if he didnt cum at all? "Jay? What the hell?!"

I'd be muttering those same words when Jay grabbed mefrom where I was , steps behind him and slammed my body on the bed pretty damn harshly. "I'm sorry- I have to be inside of you, Y/n." He said, pretty damn warn out and in a rather scared tone as if he didnt know what was coming. That did set red flags in my head but the way he was whimpering and treated me made the red mix into green really quick. Slowly moving my hands up his chest in an attempt to be sexy, I nodded at him.

Jason had all the confirmation he needed even though he didn't really need confirmation in the beginning. He just came home and placed me on my knees before ramming into my mouth at the start of the night anyway. However, once he got the confirmation he decided to use me as he pleased, starting with flipping me over on my hands and knees and allowing me to put all my weight down on his face to eat me out. I was lucky that his hands had somehow found their way in an unbreakable grip on my hips or I might have tried to lift myself up from the pleasure I was receiving. It made me think, when was the last time Jason had sat to properly eat me out? To damn long, obviously, as I was shaking and convulsing from the movements he had made with his tongue. He moved and twisted his tongue like my pussy was the last meal he'd ever have, I moaned loudly. My hands rushed to find somewhere that I could hold me as my orgasm snuck up on me and crashed. Jasons assault got worse as my orgasm subsided, his grip getting tighter and his tounge going faster, leaving me extremely overstimulated.

Jason didn't stop until he felt my hands banging on his head, using every attempt to move that I could. By the time he was finished, my mind was starting to feel pretty cloudy again. "Jay- I need a break." I attempted to mutter out but I'm sure it came out as a moan and a whine mixed in with some broken English.

However, even If it didn't come out in broken English and moans, there was no way that Jason was stopping now. In a flash, he flipped me over to lie on my back. I could see him, slowly moving his hands up my body until he got to my pussy which was dripping from his tongue and my arousal. It only got wetter as he started to position his cock to line up with my entrance. He roughly pushed in and started his thrusts at a brutal pace, not giving my pussy any time to adjust to his size. Not that I needed it anyway, my mind went hazy before either of us could finish. All I could hear was Jaon let out curses of " You dumb baby bitch." And "I'm just going to turn you fucking stupid before I completely went (temporarily) brain-useless. I did feel the many orgasms gave me throughout the night before he even finished himself. And even when he did, he wasnt completely out of commisison yet, he took a minute (if that) before moving me in whatever positions he wanted and changing my guts.

In the morning, I awoke to an aching pain in my ass and a weak feeling in my legs. It felt like I was hit by a bus but I wasn't. I was hit by the after-effects of the sex-pollinated man who lay next to me, finally asleep.

IM TRYING TO GET BETTER AT WRITING SMUT- WAIT!

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pugh-pugh-pugh-pugh · 6 months

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The Black Guy Law

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲; 𝐸𝑙𝑖 𝑊𝑎𝑦𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑦 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑖𝑛𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑑.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠; 𝐵𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑒 𝑊𝑎𝑦𝑛𝑒 𝑥 𝑀𝑎𝑙𝑒!𝑜𝑐 (𝑏𝑎𝑡𝑑𝑎𝑑)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬; 𝐸𝑙𝑖 𝑊𝑎𝑦𝑛𝑒, 𝐵𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑒 𝑊𝑎𝑦𝑛𝑒, 𝐷𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑦𝑠𝑜𝑛, 𝐽𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑇𝑜𝑑𝑑

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; 𝑇𝑟𝑎𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑐 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑒, 𝑃𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝐵𝑟𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦, 𝑉𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 (𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑛)

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬; 𝐼 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑛𝑜 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑣𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑/𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑠𝑚, 𝑎𝑛 𝑢𝑛𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑦. 𝐴𝑙𝑠𝑜, 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒, 𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑠 𝑒𝑡𝑐. 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑝 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑒...

The time was around 3 in the afternoon, an hour of anticipation for teachers, parents -whichever ones bothered to show up to pick up their children anyways and didn't send their chauffers instead- and students alike, all waiting expectantly for that almost euphoric ring of the bell.

Outside the Gotham Academy's grounds, somewhere amongst the awaiting crowd of adults, there was Eli Wayne, smoothily leaning against a wall, absentmindedly conversing with some of the other parents, occasionally taking short drags from the lit cigarette resting between his fingers.

Eli was usually the one that went to pick up his kids from school. With Bruce being busy with his business work and Alfred busying himself around the house, he had offered to take over miscellaneous tasks. The man was a stay at home dad of shorts, not feeling the need to work, his husband's fortune being more than enough to provide for their family.

Soon enough the familiar ringing sounded through the halls and the outside areas of the school and was followed by shuffling and a mixture of a plethora of young children's shouts and laughter as they rushed to their respective caretakers.

"BABA!"

"BA!"

Eli heard a couple childish shrieks through the crowd, coming from behind him, a fond grin subconscious overtaking his features. The man put out his cigarette, before turning at the direction of the frantic light footsteps and kneeled down, arms wide open.

Soon enough, the small bodies of his 8 and 6 year-old sons, Dick and Jason, collided with his chest, small arms wrapping around him in a tight embrace.

"Hey, boys. How was your day at school?"

After letting them say their goodbyes to their friends, Eli took his sons' hands, starting their usual walk back home. His youngest was bouncing around blubbering endlessly about his day, while Dick was excitedly butting in to talk about his experience as well, skipping on his steps like his brother. Eli was humming along, enjoying his time with his sons.

So far everything seemed like any other day. That was until Eli caught something seemingly incospicuous out of his peripherals. A police car pulled up behind them, as they walked in the sidewalk.

Dick noticed the sudden change on his father's posture and stared up at him in confusion.

"What's wrong, baba?" the 8-year old asked, only receiving a slightly tighter grip from his father in response.

"Hey!" a voice boomed from behind the three, gaining their attention. Eli glanced over his shoulder at the men getting out of the vehicle, but decided to pay them no mind, unconsciously gripping his childrens' hands a bit tighter, feeling uneasy.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" Eli softly tensed his shoulders, turning to face the two policemen rushing behind him obviously on edge. Eli frowned, glancing down at his children who looked back at him in confusion.

He knew what was coming. He knew exactly the situation that was unfolding before his own eyes, yet he dreaded it with his whole being.

Not in front of the kids.

Bruce and him had tried their best to keep their boys protected from the brutality of the world, of Gotham. Unfortunately, coming in contact with the reality was inevitable. They just wished it wasn't so early.

"Is there a problem, officers?" Eli tried to keep his calm, glancing between the two men opposite of him, as the kids moved a tiny bit closer to him, sending the hostility of the policemen.

"Where'd you get these kids?"

The man almost flinched at the bluntness, immediately getting frustrated at the situation. Here we go, he thought.

"They're mine, sir." growled the father under his breath in distaste, before glaring sharply at them.

"Do you have any paperwork to prove it?" the second man grumbled in disbelief, obviously staring between him and his noticeably light-skinned sons.

Eli was fuming by that point. He almost wanted to laugh by the ridiculousness of the situation and most importantly at how unlucky he was to even encounter those morons. He decided against it, instead he responded with sarcasm.

"No, I don't happen to carry the legal paperwork of my sons' adoptions on me. Now if you excuse us we have to go home."

Eli went to turn around and leave, both Dick and Jason, scurrying along, now visibly upset by the atmosphere. However, not even taking a step they heard a frantic movement and a loud click sound, before a booming voice called after them.

"Don't you take another step, buddy!" Eli immediately froze, holding his breath in shock.

Jason, not knowing any better, turned to look at the two men, his eyes immediately filling with tears of fear, as he spotted the guns in their hands. Even at his age, the boy was fully aware of how dangerous they were, and fearing for his ba, he immediately hugged his father's leg.

"Let the kids go."

The father's heart was pounding in his chest. Not because of him being in gunpoint, but for his kids' wellbeing. He could feel the terror radiating from their small figures. That exact feeling was confirmed because as soon as Eli hesitantly let his grip on them loose, they both latched on each of his side tightly, as they tried to keep their cries quiet.

By that point, they were all downright terrified.

"Come here, boys." one of the men demanded, his gun still aimed at the back of their father. Seeing their hesitation only infuriated him more, as he barked louder at them. "Come over right now!"

Eli hung his head low, glancing at his children with a heavy heart and whispered at them, his voice breaking softly. "Go, boys. Baba's gonna be just fine."

Two pairs of teary eyes met his gaze.

"But, baba-" sobbed his eldest in protest, as Eli shook his head.

"Go."

Jason glanced at Dick, as their gazes met, and they both slowly let go of their father, immediately grabbing each other's hand in dread, as they dragged themselves to the scary men.

Once the kids were on their side, the two white men placed all their focus on the adult across them.

"Turn around slowly with your hands raised in the air."

Eli did so, now having a full view of the other four.

"Look, man, I'm sure you know Bruce Wayne. These are his kids-"

"Oh, so you kidnapped Mr. Wayne's sons, huh?"

"What?! No, I-"

"You are under arrest for the kidnapping of minors." declared the first man, quickly pulling a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket and approaching Eli

"Hey, hold on-" exclaimed Eli startled, hearing his sons' cries in the background.

Without anybody noticing, the second cop, who still had his gun pointed at the man just in case, had become a bit uneasy, seeing the children's reactions from up close, finding odd how the boys could react to the arrest of their captor in such manner.

"Ron, maybe we should-" tried the second cop, but was cut off by his elder, who slammed the other man on the hood of their car with force making him groan, feeling his nose start bleeding heavily by the contact, as his arms were firmly pulled behind his back.

"Get the kids in the car now." grunted Ron, as Eli struggled under him.

"Hey! Get your hands away from my kids!" hollered Eli, eyes flaring with outrage, as he pushed and kicked back at the officer behind him.

And, suddenly, it was as if time froze.

There was so much noise, all at once.

High-pitched shrieks and sobs, an electric buzz and a scream.

Yet all Eli could hear now was the ringing in his ears, as he felt his muscles spasm as an effect of the taser firmly pressed against his lower back. And, just as suddenly, all he could see was black as he collapsed on his attacker's grip.

The boys cried endlessly screaming for their father at the top of their lungs, being actively held back by the second cop. Soon more police cars arrived at the scene.

Rushing towards the five, two other men pulled the now unconscious man's body into another police vehicle, away from the children, who continued to forcefully struggle against the cop's hold, were softly placed into the first police car, being taken to the GCPD.

Bruce Wayne was on his office at the manor, swallowed in his work, blissfully unaware of his beloved husband's and children's state. He was reading one of the legal documents he had recently been given for approval, when he received a phone call -not on his business phone- but on his personal one.

Bruce checked the room's clock. They were late. He knew because the kids hadn't burst into his office yet to greet him after arriving home, Eli following in tow, giving him a short peck before gathering the kids in his hands and leaving him continue his work. So, he assumed the caller would had been his husband calling to inform him of a reason why they were late.

And in a way he was right. He just couldn't have guessed what had happened.

Picking up his phone, he answered the phone without bothering to see the number.

"Hello?" answered Bruce, immediately noticing the intense amount of background noise from the other side of the call.

"Daddy?" Bruce froze, his heart coming to a halt, as he pulled his full attention to the phone call, hearing his youngest sniff and hiccup from obvious crying. He immediately panicked a million scenarios rushing into his head.

Why was his 8-year-old son on the phone with him crying? Where was-?

"Dick, son, what happened? Are you and Jay okay?" Bruce rambled at the phone, sitting up on his desk chair, as he received a tiny muffled hum in response. "Where's baba?"

"The big bad men took him!" he heard his Jason shriek, which caused him to immediately stand up and rush to leave the Manor.

"Who took baba boys?"

"The police, daddy." Bruce almost tripped over as his whole body froze eyes wide in realization of the severity of the situation. Something had happened and he was sure as hell his husband wasn't the one that provoked the police. "They brought us here and took baba away."

"How was baba when they took him away?"

That caught Alfred's attention who, with furrowed eyebrows poked his head from around the hallway he was dusting, concerned.

"Ba was screaming and then he fell asleep." Jay announced innocently yet with a noticeable discomfort in his voice.

Jason didn't quite grasp the reality of this situation, he was merely 6 years old after all, yet he knew the bad men did something bat at Eli that made him cry and fall asleep and then took him away. He knew they were bad, but he knew his dad would come save them like he always did.

Dick was quite aware that his baba was getting hurt for something he didn't do. They didn't believe him when he told them they were his sons and punished him under an assumption. It was scary because it didn't seem fair. And now Dick didn't let go of his brother's hand in fear of them taking Jason too.

"Boys, I'm coming to take you and baba home. Don't talk to any of those people until I get there, you hear me?" Bruce rushed out to a car, spotting Alfred following behind him.

"Okay, daddy." he heard from the other line, before they hung up the phone and Bruce stepped on the gas.

By the time they arrived at the station, both adults were fuming, dragging themselves through the doors enraged.

"Mister Wayne, he-" squeaked the receptionist startled, as the man passed right by her not paying any attention to her, Alfred staying behind to ask for the men who had made the arrest.

As he walked into the main area of the establishment, he spotted his sons sitting by a policeman's office silently. They both spotted him in a matter of seconds and rushed into his embrace as he picked them both up in ease, holding each other tightly as they cried.

"Are you both okay?" Bruce mumbled under his breath, still holding onto them protectively as he scanned them for any possible collateral injuries, breathing in relief as he found none.

The man stood up noticing Alfred approaching them with a few officers by his side, the kids immediately hugging him as well, as he softly took both their backpacks that were still place on their backs. Bruce felt his rage coming undone, as he was faced with the men that were obviously responsible for this travesty.

"Are you responsible for all this?" he heaved dangerously, as the first policeman, Ron, grinned proudly -yet oh so obliviously- at his accomplishment of rescuing the kids of one of the most powerful men in the country.

"Yes, sir. I'm glad I could do my job and bring your sons back to you safe and unharmed."

Something in Bruce snapped. The smugness, the audacity.

"Get me your superior now!" Bruce shouted, causing the whole room to freeze, chills running down every present person's back.

In just a few moments, a uniformed man around his age came out of his office and approached the situation.

"Mister Wayne. I was informed of your children's kidnapping and I-"

"They were not kidnapped!" Bruce exclaimed with a crazed look in his eyes. "That's my husband for f*ck's sake!"

"Husband?" gasped the second cop, starting to feel cold sweat running over his face, a wide-eyed expression matching his partner's.

"Now wait a sec-" tried Ron, being cut by the booming voice of Bruce.

"Don't you tell me anything and get him out right now!"

The police chief nodded disheaveldy at some of his men to grab the man they previously thought -or better off assumed- to be a criminal.

Minutes later, while Bruce was calling his lawyers, Eli was practically dragged out of his cell, him barely able to walk by his muscles being strained by the electrocution. His face was covered in sweat, tears and a trail of unwiped blood coming from his nostrils, indicating just how poorly he had been treated there.

The boys burst into tears once again as they ran to their other father, slamming into him as he took staggered towards them, exhausted yet beyond relieved to be reunited with his untouched sons.

"Oh, thank god." the man cried in desperation, hugging his sons as tight as possible, close to his chest, breathing heavily.

"Mister Wayne we are so-" hurried the superior, looking startled at the misunderstanding.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves." Alfred cut in, a deep frown itched on his face, frustration evident in his eyes.

"You'll be speaking with my lawyers." grumbled Bruce as they all stormed off the department, Eli with the help of Alfred, piling into the car, the older man driving while the rest sat in the spacious back seat embracing each other in relief. This was supposed to be another normal calm day. But then again when did things go their way.

Bruce and Eli were now layed on their bed sleeping away the pain and exhaustion, their sons huddled between them cozily. They would soon have to have a talk with their boys, give answers to their innocent questions such as 'why did they think ba stole us?' but for now they all stayed cuddled, finally at peace.

291 notes · View notes

bizbat · 7 months

Text

And I Wake Up Alone.

~ Bruce Wayne x Black!Fem!Reader

~ Mild Smut

~ Angst

~ Wc: 880

~ The first part in a series based on Amy Winehouse's discography

~ Crossposted to AO3.

~ You can find more of my works here.

~ It's hard loving Bruce.

It's okay in the day, I'm staying busy.

Tied up enough so I don't have to wonder where is he.

Got so sick of crying, so just lately,

when I catch myself, I do a 180.

I stay up, clean the house, at least I'm not drinking.

Run around just so I don't have to think about thinking.

It's not hard to love him.

It's not hard to care about him, he's probably the most selfless man you've ever met. It's not hard to be comforted by his presence, there's something so soothing about his muscular arms wrapped around your waist. It's not hard to find him beautiful, even the parts of his skin that have been marred with scars still get soft kisses whenever he's shirtless in your presence. It's not hard to love Bruce. It's just hard to be in love with him.

It's hard knowing that some nights, he won't be coming back to bed. That one night he might not come back at all. And it's not too much different during the day. So you stay busy. In the morning, you get dressed, wake up Damian and Duke, and together you go eat whatever Alfred's made for breakfast. Then you go to work. Throughout those eight hours you keep yourself occupied, sometimes with work that's not even due till next week, just so you have something else to focus on.

Then, when work is over, you go home. You help with whatever homework Duke is pretending (for your sake) to struggle with, watching documentaries with Damian where he will correct the narrators, and having tea with Alfred after dinner.

That silent sense of content that everyone gets

just disappears soon as the sun sets.

It's almost perfect.

He's fierce in my dreams, seizes my guts.

He floods me with dread,

soaked in soul, he swims in my eyes by the bed.

Pour myself over him, moon spilling in.

It's almost perfect when he slips into bed beside you, the alarm clock on the dresser beside you reading 3:49 AM. It's almost perfect when his scarred hands brush over your soft, brown skin, caressing your sides and pressing chapped kisses to your neck and shoulders. When his hands and tongue give you all the love he neglects from you during the day, kissing, and sucking, and stroking. When he holds you to his bare chest, your hearts beating in tandem with one another. When he holds you tightly, as if he's trying to consume you in the sweetest, gentlest way possible.

And I wake up alone.

It's not perfect when you dream of him. When you can so vividly see the announcement of his death on the front page of The Gotham Gazette. Or when you see him laid in his casket, his face and hands red with blood and dark with bruises, ready to be buried beside his parents. It would be a nightmare if it wasn't so prophetic, if it wasn't true.

If I was my heart I'd rather be restless.

The second I stop the sleep catches up and I'm breathless.

As this ache in my chest, as my day is done now,

the dark covers me and I cannot run now.

My blood running cold, I stand before him.

He, surprisingly, is still there when you jolt awake. He's there when you're rapidly breathing in and out, terrified at the prospect of what will likely be his future.

It's not the feeling of his cold hands rubbing "comforting" circles into your skin, or the almost robotic way he tells you to breathe, or the sip of icy water he gets out of bed to get for you that calms you down.

It's the feeling of his weight in the bed beside you, his strong thigh lightly pressing against your own, the warm concern in his eyes that brings you back to Earth. He pulls you into his chest and you just breathe him in. All of him, the clean scent of his skin after his shower, the flowery detergent that you insist on using for your bedsheets, the smokey scent that seems to always accompany him no matter what. Once he sees that you've calmed down, once your heart returns to beating at its normal pace, he asks what’s wrong.

It's all I can do to assure him.

"Nothing."

When he comes to me, I drip for him tonight.

Drowned in me, we bathe under blue light.

He doesn't believe you, he's not stupid, but he knows it's not something you want to talk about. He can't blame you. He never wants to talk when you ask him what's wrong. So he won't make you. Instead he lets his gaze linger on your own, his lips press to your own, lets you love him. Let's you be in love with him. He lets you be soft against his muscles. And you let him be firm against your plush body. You let him love you back. Still wrapped in his warm, slightly sweaty, embrace, the both of you drift back off to sleep, legs intertwined and bonnet slightly askew.

And I wake up alone.

165 notes · View notes

toulousewayne · 19 days

Text

🌿🍃Toxic Lover: Pt: I

Nightwing X male!reader with a former team who had become Poison Ivy like meta-human.

Summary:Your a former Titan teammate, you and Dick have unresolved feelings and you become infected with the same toxins and chemicals that turned Poison Ivy into a meta-human.

————————

It was a simple mission. Get in and get out. It wasn’t supposed to go the way it had.

Y/n was a skilled fighter and vigilante, he trained with Black Canary, WildCat, Wonder Woman and the League of Assassins. He operated as solo vigilante since he could remember.

He worked with most of the league and helped them as much as he could. He helped Batman and Robin a lot since he did very similar missions to them. When Dick formed the Titans and went solo as Nightwing he asked Y/n to join him. Y/n worked well with Starfire and Raven, he had fun playing games with Cyborg and Best Boy. He often hung out with Dick and Donna and Wally would visit often too.

Y/n took some time from the team and did solo missions for a while before being called by Dick to help him,Wally and Donna with a rescue mission in Metropolis.

“We just need to find the data bank with the information containing Ivy’s records and research. Luthor was help to gather and stored it in his lab. We need to get the information and destroy any bioweapon schematics.” Dick instructed.

“Anything we should be aware of,”Y/n perked up from his seat in the jet. Donna adjusted her sliver lasso to her waist,”Is Ivy herself involved?”

“As far as Batman’s intel can confirm she’s been missing for the last three months.” He confirms.

“Great so no giant kale bushes to crush us, noted.” Wally quipped. Y/n chuckled as Donna and Dick rolled their eyes.

——-

The Quad split into pairs;Wally and Donna and Dick and Y/n. Donna and Wally took the research offices upstairs meanwhile, Dick and Y/n took the lower levels.

Dick sneak into some of the office while Y/n found a hidden lab. He took photos, and took a flash drive to take the data from the server. He found several vials, tubes and plants on a desk and took photos.

“Nightwing, I’m in this lab. It looks they’ve extracted some of Ivy’s original pheromones and try to weaponize them.”

“I’ll be there soon…kinda busy.” He heard a loud bang and a punch. Y/n turned around to see a scientist and three guards at the doorway.

“Sorry you found this, but unfortunately Mr. Luthor doesn’t what this getting out. Boys don’t let him leave.” The scientist quickly fled as the guards moved in.

“Sorry lapdogs,but I’m leaving with the drive.” Y/n sprang into action and started fighting.

“It’s a trap,you have to get out of that room.” Nightwing’s voice filed the hero’s ear. Y/n managed to take out two goons but the last one was the biggest and blocked the only exit. He rushed Y/n and managed to forcefully shove him into the computer and servers. Knocking Y/n off his balance and disorienting him. He had cuts on his faces and blood trickled from his lip.Then, while he was stunned he took him and threw him into the desk with vitals and pheromones.

The two guard got the their feet and assisted in beating him to a pulp. Y/n was loosing his consciousness and went in and out. “..Dick—help.” He winced.

The large goon took the remaining vitals and smashed them over the hero. He threw the plant cart on him too and took out a lighter.

“Mr. Luthor sends his regards.” He threw the lighter at the spilled chemical and engulfed the room in flames.

——

The fire spread through out the facility and Nightwing managed to find the source. Toria and Flash managed to get to him but the flames were to high.

“We need to save him!” Nightwing tried to go towards the labs but Toria stopped him.

“You can’t go in there you’ll die!” He tried to push her but she wasn’t budgeting. Tears streaming down his face he begged his friends.

“Please, we have to try, please.” Wally nodded.”Get him to the surface I’ll try to get to Y/n. Go now!” He barked. Toria grabbed Nightwing and sped out of the lower levels as Flash created tornados to clear up the flames.

—-

Dick set on the jet without his mask, tears, bruises, and soot. Donna stood guard watching as the building’s flames were put out by firefighters. Wally entered the vessel with a stretcher with a white sheet on top.The form on it was Y/n’s body. Dick didn’t say a word as more tears formed in his eyes.

“It’s all my fault.” He hissed. Donna placed a hand on his shoulder,”It’s not Dick, you can’t blame—“

“It is. I asked him to come, I asked both of you to come and it nearly killed you all. I—l..” Dick broke down in tears and shouted. He rocked hisself and sob and Donna comforted him. Wally placed a hand on his other shoulder and talked him through it.

——-

Dick sat in his seat at the cemetery in Gotham. The small crowd of heroes dressed in black one by one left the small private ceremony for Y/n. Dinah gave a worried look at Dick whose gaze hadn’t left the spot where Y/n’s casket had been lowered into the earth and covered with fresh soil.

Bruce stood next to her and they didn’t speak right away but Dinah broke the silence. “Diana told me what happened from Donna. He hasn’t been the same.” Bruce didn’t reply.

“Well he be okay?” She hummed. Bruce turned to his friend and looked back at his son.”They were in love Dinah, it was obvious to most of us but not them. I’m not sure he if knew he loved Y/n as more than a friend, but I know he won’t stop until he can give him justice.”

“You think he’ll kil-“

“I hope not but I can only help him through this, I’ve learned a long time ago to not try to pressure him into a decision.” He walked to Dick and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“Let’s go son.”

——-

Y/n saw his life flash before his eyes during his attack. Between each rib being fractured, another punch to the back, or kick to the stomach he felt his favorite memories flood his eyes.

From training the younger members of Young Justice with Dick’s little brother the third Robin, game nights with the Titans, going to a concert with Dick he practically dragged him to.

That concert was the best night of his life he felt so carefree, not birdied with the responsibilities of being a more experienced hero. Not feeling like he couldn’t tell his best friend how he truly felt, and just watch from a distance as he went out dates with other girls or laughed with the guys at games nights.

Y/n knew he was in deep shit from the moment he met the Last Flying Grayson, and he didn’t care.

The band was one he like since he was in Middle school,and he begged Dick for weeks to go with him, eventually he agreed to go because he felt bad for missing so many plans to help his family with their own missions.

“I hope they aren’t a snooze fest because I could have stayed home and listened to Tim explain Quant-Time travel.” He joked as Y/n pulled on his hoodie he just purchased.

He shoved his shoulders,”Don’t even Grayson these guys are the best. You’re not gonna regret it. Plus, don’t act like you don’t love Timmy’s rambles.” Y/n fired back.

He held his hands in surrender. “Hey I had to think of something.” Y/n took Dick’s hand and dragged him into the arena just as the music blared through the speakers. Y/n was unaware of the crimson color that painted Dick’s face. And to busy to notice the stole glances Dick took through the night.

—-

The smell of smoke burned Y/n’s nostrils and he chocked on it. But the blood in his mouth took out some of the harsh smells. The flames were roaring in the room and shortly everything began to spin. Y/n barely regained consciousness before everything swiftly went to black.

Then it went Green.

The green light became paler and paler and the sound of a heartbeat echoed. Almost in slow motion. Most of the light became closer too. Became bright white and the sounds of Gotham City came hard and fast like a gunshot.

Y/n stood up in the middle of the street and he noticed something wasn’t right. The last thing he remembered was dying in Metropolis and now he’s in old Gotham. To his left was the build up of traffic and to his right was Gotham Cemetery. He tried to move but fell to the ground.

“The fuck.” His hoarse voice choked out. He noticed his arms were covered in slime of some kind and leaves. He saw a small puddle and took a glance at his reflection. His face was the same but more beautiful, sharper features, deep green iris, and fuller lips.

“Hey freak,get outta the way!” A voice shouted and honked his horned.

Y/n snapped his head up and grew easily frustrated,his head was still spinning and blaring horn was causing more pain.

“Ugh, can’t you be idiotic somewhere else.” With his hand on the ground it began to shake and large vines jumped through the concrete and began to crush the car. The driver managed to get out before it was crushed to pieces. Y/n slowly got to his feet and stumbled.

“That’s new.” Several other drivers fled their cars and screams. Two officers drew their weapons and order Y/n to freeze. Something in Y/n slowly turned and began to change in his feelings toward the police.

“Freeze Freak!” The older officer hisses,Y/n cocks his head to the side with smirk.

“Pathetic pigs, you never appreciate the things you take for granted. You worthless meat sacks.”

The two officers look at each other,”Meat-what?” It’s short lived as vines bursted through the growing and take them prisoner. Y/n strolls over to them. He chuckles.

“Mother Earth wouldn’t be to proud of you. Nature will always win.” He takes his nails and scratches both across the face and then plants begin to grow out their faces and they gag. More large vines rise and take Y/n underground.

—————

He re-emerges in the old Gotham Greenhouse in Robinson Park. More vines and flowers bloom in the old building giving it a new look. The old overgrown plants become green and flourish again with life.

“Men have ruined you, I don’t know what yet, I know can revive you. But I promise you will be avenged. I am Mother Nature’s new branch and I will take Gotham first then, we will cleanse the rest of this planet.” He laughs to himself before the sound of glass shatters.

He worlds around to see Nightwing.

“Y/n,what happened to you. You were dead.” Y/n felt conflicted. On one hand he wanted run to Dick and get his help, but on the other hand he wanted to crush him and turn him into mulch.

Nightwing drew closer, “This isn’t you N/N. I don’t know what happened in the last 72 hours but you aren’t yourself. I can help you but you have to let me.” His voice was strained like his had been yelling or not speaking. It didn’t go unnoticed but something in Y/n didn’t care and he was constantly fighting a battle within himself.

“Dick—what?”

“I can help you,Y/n you have to understand I care about you. But you have to stop.” Nightwing earpiece buzzed and Y/n could heard the voice of Robin from a nearby plant. The words: Cops. Killed. Poisoned. Y/n.

Nightwing turned to him with a blank expression and a tighter grip on his weapons.

“Y/n, let me take you get help. I promise I won’t let anyone harm you.” His voice wasn’t as raw as it was. It was stern yet cautious.

The switch in Y/n flipped and the smirk and sultry voice returned.

“Dick, join me,” he persuades, “Become my Adam and help me flourish this place into a new garden. Just for the two of use.”

Nightwing took a defensive stanch. “Can’t do that. I’m sorry.” The last part was a whisper but Y/n caught it.

“Well then I’m sorry too.” With the flick of his wrist and two large flowers sprouted. The plants around Nightwing were now healthily and quickly attacked him.

Y/n rose several feet in the air on a seat of large leaves and petals. Nightwing dodged the vines but is eventually became captured after miscalculating a step after trying to not harm Y/n.

He’s wrapped in vines and is unable to move. The vines bring him closer to Y/n who purrs.

He runs a thumb across Dick’s lips. “I never noticed.” He whispered.

“What?” Dick huffed. Y/n takes his face and brings it closer. He has a soft smile and Dick is conflicted.

“How much I wanted to do this.” He kisses Dick. He tries break free of his binds but after a few moments he stops and kisses back and soon the kiss deepens and Y/n has to stop. He places his forehead against Dick’s and sighs.

Dick’s eyes are glossed over and his blue eyes are a pale green.

“Dick?”

“Yes, my Love?” He says deadpans. Y/n sighs to himself and releases him.

The virus in Y/n grows stronger. And he laughs to himself.

“We have a few housewarming gifts to give out. Fetch them for me Darlin.” Nightwing mindless obeys and leaves Y/n who glances at his appearance in the water fountain for the first time noticing the torn up suit he was buried in.

“It’s time for a new Harvest.”

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liyawritesss · 2 months

Text

𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 — 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍:

𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜

—> SYNOPSIS

—> Being stuck in the Belfry while her siblings pour their time, efforts, and grief into solving Bruce’s last case, (y/n) is virtually alone. She has not spoken since the funeral and is often caught spaced out in thought or staring at the display of what is left of her father’s Batman suit. Upon expressing her grievances, her brothers Dick, Jason, and Tim, and honorary sister Barbara, concoct a plan to bring their beloved eldest sister back to them.

⚠️This Series Will Contain: canon-accurate violence with weapons such as guns, knives, batons, customized batman gear and other vigilante gear, hand to hand combat, mentions of blood, injuries, heavy talk about grief, depression, anxiety, major character death (bruce wayne/batman). Readers discretion is advised.

“The news is certainly having a field day this morning.”

The sound of hot tea being poured into porcelain china is one of few that echoed throughout the large and imposing tower in the early morning. The sun’s beams peak through the glass if the tower’s window, flickering across the hardwood floor, dethawing the hideaway from the cold of night. They even cast a halo around the tall and foreboding supercomputer that was nestled into the middle of the room, warm golding casted across matte onyx as morning protrudes its way into the Belfry.

Alfred Pennyworth pours the morning tea, five cups of white decorated with gold trim resting on the serving tray and he pours into each one. In the background, one of the many monitors of the Bat-Computer details the morning news, reporting the events of the night prior.

“What can you say,” comes the thick rasp of Jason Todd as he approaches behind Alfred, who hands him one of the five dainty cups, and the broad man accepts saucer and cup in his hands, albeit with hesitance, “it’s not everyday you get to see Gotham’s Darling break down like that.”

The video is of horrible quality, blurred and unfocused in some points with desaturated coloring, but it shows to the whole of Gotham City, clear as day, (Y/N) Wayne breaking down at the news of her father’s death. The shrill scream which tore through the surrounding crowd of paparazzi stilled every human being within proximity to the young woman. Just as it was that night, those tuning in to the news that morning saw (Y/N)’s form crumple into the arms of her eldest brother, Dick Grayson, another adoptee of Bruce Wayne, completely distraught and devastated.

It brought both men to discomfort, as they tore their eyes from the screen; Jason turning to sip at the brown liquid in his hand, Alfred attending to dropping sugar cubes into their respective teacups.

“I hate that video.” Dick Grayson enters, light as a feather on his feet despite the newly added weight of grief which lingers in his eyes. He wipes the towel around his neck across his forehead to rid of the sweat from his morning workout, bidding Alfred a nod of acknowledgement.

“What, ‘cuz they didn’t get your good side?” Jason taunts.

Dick delivers a look, one that feigned irritation, towards Jason as he accepts the cup of tea Alfred offers. Three sugars, mild sweetness, just as he had always liked it. “No,” he responds, finally, “because it’s got her bad side out for the world to see.”

(Y/N) Wayne. Gotham’s Darling. Bruce Wayne’s first child and heiress to the Wayne Family. Many had dubbed her to be the city’s saving grace. She provided a breath of fresh air and a sight of beauty to the city that had not been seen in the city since her father. Although never officially introduced to society, (Y/N) started her pursuits young and with a gift for all things art, put her passion to the test and began to introduce to the city numerous art programs and residencies involving hundreds of different art forms and mediums. While city officials would never admit it, her efforts, having started as young as fourteen, gave several opportunities for the underprivileged and marginalized communities of the city, from jobs to after school activities to possible career paths. All while doing so with grace, poise, charisma, and confidence instilled in her by the man who’d taken her in at twelve.

(Y/N) Wayne was truly Gotham’s Darling. She loved the city with everything she had, and regardless of blood relation, saw Bruce as her true father. One could only imagine the pain she was going through. Not even her adopted siblings, of which she was undoubtedly close to, could father the despair that clung to their sister's very heart; always full of joy and kindness, now aching with pain and loathing.

“She still hasn’t talked, has she?” Dick asks Alfred, who releases a baited sigh.

“Unfortunately so, Master Richard,” Alfred says, “not even at the taunt of her favorite pastries, I’m afraid.”

(Y/N), by all accounts, had fallen mute following the moment in which Dick had disclosed to her the god awful truth that Bruce was gone. Not a word left her lips since her arrival at the Belfry with Alfred in tow, with sentiments that all of Bruce’s children should convene under the same roof for the time being. While the weight in the room was already heavy with frustrations and disagreements amongst the initial four vigilantes, (Y/N)’s aura carried an air of solemness and devastation that speed into the wooden interior of the Belfry far more prominently than any childish fighting that ensued between the siblings. At the head of the congregation, Dick could only watch helplessly as (Y/N), suitcase in hand, rejected any attempts at comfort, trudging off to an unoccupied room that she would claim for the indefinite future.

“I-” Dick wants words to leave his lips, but the barrier of uncertainty controls his brain and provides him very little to speak on. After one sip of the tea he’d taken into his hands, he sits it on the desk in front of him.

“We’ve gotta do something,” he says, “we have to get her back- back to normal.”

Jason cocks an eyebrow and scoffs, “Normal?”

Dick turns to the younger, eyebrow cocked, as if gesturing for Jason to explain further.

“Yes, Jason,” he emphasizes, “or some semblance of it. Have you seen her?”

“Have you?” Jason retorts. His nose scrunches in vexation, the scar trail rippling under his intense frown. He rises from his initial seat in one of the many office chairs that surround the looming monitors, and his hands start to speak before the words leave his mouth.

“I don’t know if your head’s really wrapped around this whole situation here, Dick,” the larger man starts, hand gesturing in a swirling motion in the space before his temple to emphasize his wording, “but that girl up there was the closest to Bruce out of all of us. As far as any of us are concerned, there IS no kind of ‘normal’ anymore for her. What ‘normal’ can she ever go back to?”

“So, what do you say we do,” Dick counters, arms flying out at his sides, matching Jason’s frustrations, “let her rot away and become a shell of herself?”

Dick continues even though Jason has turned from the older, as arguments between the two have always held the same standpoint; where one tries too hard to fix it all, and the other challenges the notion of pushing too hard for a solution that would come in due time. “She’s our sister, and if anything, right now she needs us to help her-!”

“-and if she really wants the help, she’ll come to us!” Jason rebuttals. “(Y/N)’s got a mouth of her own she can use very well, Dick. It’s not like we’ve never encountered this kind of situation before!”

And maybe it’s that Dick Grayson pride that’s shadowing whatever truth may come from Jason’s words, whatever truth that he’s too proud to admit on. Or maybe it’s the helplessness that sinks into his bones whenever he’s seen you at your worst, and he couldn’t do anything about it, and yet it only pushed him harder to try. Yet, Jason would argue that he knew better. He knew better than to peck at a festering wound without allowing it time to register its identity, its origins, its truth. What good would any kind of ‘help’ they could provide, when the verity of your own pain had yet to make itself known?

Bruce’s death killed a piece of all of them, there was no denying that, even for Jason. From you, however, the old man took more than a piece of your heart. No, with the incineration of the Wayne Manor and everything within, Bruce and his death didn’t merely chip off a piece of you with him to the afterlife. His death broke you in ways he, nor the others, nor even yourself could ever understand.

The option was clear to Jason at the time; when you came to terms with the pain, when you would make the first move, then, and only then, would it be fit to provide whatever kind of comfort or support you required. On your terms.

“If she wants help, she knows where she can find it,” Jason reiterates firmly, “on her terms. Pushing it is only gonna make matters worse.”

Dick never listened to Jason, though, never gave his words the benefit of the doubt. Though the cold-shock of an ache in his abdomen told him that perhaps the raven haired man with the white streak of hair had a strong claim, Dick couldn’t back down. He wouldn't. He couldn’t sit by when the voice in his head screamed to knock on your door every morning, willing to risk being met with staggering silence if it meant you knew he was there, or have his ears strain for the slightest chance to hear your door creak open as a sign of life. He couldn’t sit by without at least attempting to try.

“I can’t do that, Jason,” Dick says straightforwardly, “I can’t sit by and watch for the possibility of things to get better on their own; not with her.”

The bickering grew so potent and consuming of one another that the presence of two other individuals had not yet caught their attention. Such has always happened whenever Dick and Jason’s spats grew. Though they rarely happened out of despise or resentment. Their passion lied with the care they had for each other as brothers, and a sibling love as trauma-bonded as theirs was bound to always reach intense heights.

“Well, maybe this experience will humble you,” Jason grumbles, “Golden Boy can’t solve every problem that he runs into-”

“Okay!” Bellows Barbara Gordon, her head-turning introduction silencing the bickering between the eldest boys. She, alongside Tim Drake, make their entrance into the center of the room. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, the glint from the sun flashes across the lenses and reveals the stern gaze she holds that contrasts with the light lilt in her voice.

“Let’s take a break from your pissing contest,” Barbara says, voice decorated in a warning tone, “so we can talk about what Tim was able to uncover.”

There stands Tim Drake with a smile on his face that screams with pride, and for a second, Jason and Dick’s facial expressions shift into confusion when the younger boy struts towards the monitor display, parting the tension as well as Jason and Dick’s bodies from their close proximity. Tablet in hand, he taps the back of the black case with his fingers giddily. There’s a light in his eye that catches everyone's attention. “I decrypted it!”

“Decrypted what?” Falls from Dick’slips. Barbara allows Alfred to pour her a cup of tea, drinking the dark, warm liquid with gratitude.

“So remember that weird file that popped up after Batman’s last video? The one that was bugging out on the screen, and no matter how many times we tried to open it, it wouldn’t budge?” He doesn’t necessarily wait for an answer; connecting the screen of his tablet to that of the large monitor setup behind him. “So, I tried everything in the book to get it to open. Hex dump, breaking down the encryption algorithm, I even made my own program with a variety of inputs, outputs, passphrases, keys-”

“-you’re losin’ us, kid,” Jason droned, reeling Tim back to the original topic at hand, “just spit it out.”

“-okay, okay,” the young Robin took a deep breath, dramatizing the reveal of his findings, “turns out, it wasn’t encrypted at all! Well, not in the traditional way.”

“Traditional?” Dick raises an eyebrow.

“Remember when Bruce made us all learn Morse Code as part of the beginning stage of our Robin training?”

“Worse part of it, if you ask me.” Jason gruffs.

“Wasn’t particularly fond of it, but yeah, I remember.” Dick hums.

“Geez, maybe that’s why he left this part to me,” Tim muses, unable to shake the sly smile that creeps onto his lips, “he did say I caught on to it faster than you two.”

“The file, Tim! The file!” Barbara reminds him. “Before they start arguing again!”

“Okay, okay! I’m getting there, I promise!” Despite the urging to reveal his findings from all members in the room, Tim’s giddiness was just boiling over. He surely was making the revelation a dramatic endeavor; even Alfred began to tune in to the show. He sets down Tim’s cup of tea in advance for the younger.

“I had to really sit down and analyze the tricky parts of the encryptions - the binary code, the encryption algorithm, trying to find weaknesses in it - and I finally, FINALLY got it!”

Tim grabs one of the rolling chairs, setting his table to the side on the table and taking a seat. He picks up the teacup, takes a swig of the smooth, blended drink, honoring Alfred’s work before setting it aside. On the display monitors, it shows Tim dragging the mouse cursor over to the bugged-out file. Silence follows as mouse clicks fill the room. Dick approaches quizzingly, watching with squinted eyes. Then Jason. Then Barbara. Then Alfred. They all look on with suspicion.

“Bruce must’ve known that as the only Morse Code addict, I would try this at some point,” Tim explains, “and from the banged up passphrase code, I could catch some letters that were used, and so I did the process of elimination…”

He trails off, his careful clicking soon coming to an end. A second passes before the screen goes black. Then, a pop-up appears on the screen.

“Would you like to open this file?” Dick reads.

“Well, duh,” Jason scoffs. Dick and Barbara side-eye him, but he pays no mind to it.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” Tim clicks the ‘yes’ icon on the screen, and as the pop-up closes, the screen shifts as several pop-ups of other files open into different monitors on the setup. The three older vigilantes (plus one butler) step back, either impressed, in awe, or a state of confused wonder.

“Welcome to Operation: Brown Eyes.”

The other three vigilante look amongst themselves. There's an air of cautious curiosity that covers the room.

“So, on top of this ridiculous last case Bruce left, we also get assigned a side-quest?” Jason concludes.

Dick shoots Jason a cocky smirk, “Looks like my idea wins.” The words reminiscent of Jason's own previous ones spoken upon their first arrival at the Belfry, spoken out of frustration, makes the younger roll his eyes.

Attention shifts to Barbara as she struts past the two men, joining Tim at the desk. A few series of clicks and clacks on keyboard shoots pop-ups of images and description boxes. Alongside them also appear newspaper articles detailing charitable feats that (Y/N) had dedicated time, labor and money towards for the betterment of Gotham. Among them appear the establishment of an arts studio, book drives, and art exhibits, the pages liters with praise and gratitude for the young woman's efforts.

Then, there's the pictures of items also shown, and upon further examination, Dick recognizes at least one of them.

“That paint box,” he starts, once furrowed eyebrows unfurl into an expression of realization, “that's an antique. I remember Bruce getting that for her for her birthday.”

The pictured items, in fact, were all items that had some relevance or connection to (Y/N). Jason figures this out as he notes the hardcover novel amongst them, the jacket being distinguishable to him. From there, it doesn't take him long to figure out the objective of this surprise operation. “He knew.”

Jason grumbles. “The bastard, he knew what to have us do to help her.”

“What do you expect,” Barbara says with a raised eyebrow, “it's Bruce. He prepares for everything; especially the unthinkable.” She directs her gaze up towards the monitor display, biting the inside of her cheek. “As bittersweet as it is.”

“It's like the last case file he gave us,” Tim chimes in, “incomplete. He was probably writing this when Ra's Al-Ghul jumped him, too.”

The soft cluttering of porcelain against silver reminds the four of Alfred's presence, as he gathers the tea pot and accompanying condiment bowls onto the serving tray, “Another thing he'd want the four of you to work together complete, I'm sure.”

His words hold more meaning than what they may appear to have, and the four vigilantes know this for certain. As Alfred takes the tray and embarks towards The staircase to the second level, he can hear the gathering of the four of them, and a faint smile crosses his lips.

Alfred's destination is the one room far off to the southern part of the Belfry Tower. He drops three sugar cubes into the last remaining porcelain teacup as his feet slow, approaching the door. He knocks three times, only to alert the person on the other of his presence, as he did not expect a response.

“Your morning tea, Lady (Y/N),” he announces, setting the teacup and saucer on a smaller serving tray he had tucked under his arm. After rising, clears his throat and speaks again, “I'll return shortly for breakfast.”

Alfred then pads away, serving tray in hand, ears straining for the faint sound of her door creaking open.

Tag List: @punkeropercyjackson @insomniac-jay @neesieiumz @honeypotsworld @honeybleed @hellkaiserinphoenix @saintriots @agent-nobody-knows @badass-dora-milaje @sincerelyzee @anuttellaa

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c-nstantine · 2 years

Note

Black!batsis and dad Bruce moment pls beloved??

"First of all, fuck you," Y/N's voice could be heard across the manor. Bruce was a bit sleep deprived, but that woke him up. Duke and Cass were snickering in the corner of the kitchen as they watched Alfred cook breakfast.

"What's wrong with her?" Bruce asked as he grabbed his morning paper, looking towards his children.

"Oh, she's breaking up with her boyfriend of the week," Damian noted as he fed Alfred the Cat. He didn't care for any of Y/N's partners but every time she broke up with one of them, she took Damian to an arcade.

"Oh," Bruce whispered. It was very common for Y/N's breakups to be a little loud and emotional due to her passion.

"You think I need your dumbass. The only man I will ever need is my daddy, and he pisses me off sometimes. So, if you think I need you, you should re-evaluate your narcissism." Bruce sputtered his coffee a little and Damian broke out into laughter. It was well known that Y/N was a daddy's girl but to hear her say it aloud nearly melted Bruce's heart.

"That is your daughter, Master Bruce," Alfred passed Bruce some napkins with a smirk on his face.

"I know, I know," Bruce dapped coffee out of his newspaper as he made a mental note to check on his daughter. Later, though. If he checked on her now, he was sure that she would curse him out in the process.

"Y/N, you okay?" Bruce asked as he opened her bedroom door. Her room was suprisingly clean, and everything was in it's place. Y/N was lying ontop of her bed in pajamas and her embroided bonnet sat on top of her head. She was scrolling mindlessly through her phone.

"Yeah, can we go get ice cream?" She asked looking at her father.

"Of course, kiddo," Bruce watched his daughter's eyes light up as she raced to the garage.

#bruce wayne x reader #batdad #batfamily fic #batfamily blurb #black!reader #x black reader #black reader #x black!batsis #black!batsis #x batsis!reader #batsis #bruce wayne x batsis #c-nstantine

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blackcupidangel · 1 month

Note

Not a request! I like to imagine Joker lowkey being scared of Bat mom when she's on a mission to save the batkids from him.

Oh without a doubt. As most men with a complex…Joker thought he was being smart. He is the definition of insanity, doing something over and over again testing, searching, analyzing for a different outcome. An outcome where Batmom will lose or fail…

Now I will give him some credit Joker is methodical, and the way he banks it all on the kids missing a minuscule detail, causing them injuries, dividing them and conquering them, just to get them to this point. His grand finale all thanks to crazy intelligence and a mix of dumb luck.

And just when he thinks he’s got her exactly where he wants her, in the darkness there’s a calculated call. (Like that scene where Neytiri calls to her kids) He can’t pinpoint it, that was his first sign. And when he looks over and see how the kids get extremely calm and straighten up….oh bless his heart. He would soon find out that the signal not only meant that she was there, but Batman was NOT with her.

“Demon…I will kill you as many times as I have too.”

Let’s just say he knew not to test that outcome about her again.

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apocalypse-shuffle · 1 year

Text

RED HOOD | BATFAMILY (assorted canon)

────────────────────

“Long Overdue” (Jason Todd & Batmom!Reader) and (background Bruce Wayne x Batmom!Reader)

| Reader was with Bruce in the past but grew distant after Jason’s death. No one tells her when he comes back from the dead until Bruce is forced to bring her in on a raid when they’re overwhelmed. -Jason and Batmom!Reader reunion.

| SFW, canon typical action/violence, cursing?, crying?

| This is like half fanon half UTRH/Batman:Hush. I’m really just fucking around with canon rn. Also the pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (pic source - Batman: Three Jokers comic)

| 2k+ words

| parts: one, spurt, two, three, four, five, six/six point five, seven.

Ma. God, no one called you that anymore. The way your eyes begin to prickle is a clear indication.

With you Dick wasn’t the type. Once he’d worked himself up to it he’d called you mom; slightly different from the few ways he referred to his bio mother, but something shared between the two of you all the same.

And Tim? Well he wasn’t your child plain and simple. Tim still had his parents for one, and for two he was intrinsically Bruce’s. By the time he’d figured his way into the Batcave you’d been gone, most of your shit moved out of the manor, and desperately waving divorce papers Bruce refused to acknowledge in the air. You didn’t have anything to do with his indoctrination outside of exactly one instance of him finding you to ask if you’d reconsider the separation. Some Batman needed a Robin and Bruce Wayne needed his wife type shit.

Either way Tim didn’t call you any rendition of mom because you weren’t his. The most you got was him addressing you by your maiden name and then eventually your first and you were content with that.

Then if he didn’t call you mom, the girls sure as hell didn’t either. Outside of Barbara the others never even became regular conversation partners. Cass was a rare sighting in your life and Stephanie and you’s relationship would never progress past the casual advocacy you tried giving her because she was another dead Robin to add to what’s now technically a list.

At the end of the day, out of all the people who considered you a mother, only Jason added that ‘a’ and you wanted to grip that name tight and hold it to you. Break your ribs open and force it into your chest cavity. The need to fulfill that ache cuts deep and you take a step forward.

Jason startles though, undoing all his own forward progress, and you falter. That’s right. Jason didn’t like for people to touch him. Definitely didn’t like hugs either. Not surprise ones at least. Before his death you’d gotten close enough he didn’t mind when you swooped in, but now?

“Can I-? Can I hug you?” You press trembling lips together for another horrible swallow. “Please…?”

Jason jerks, two hastily aborted movements at once, before his obstructed voice meets your ears.

“Fine.”

You practically fall on him before pulling him into you. Unfortunately he’s just as stiff as his voice and you have to take a second to figure out how to slot against him.

Jason fits in your arms differently than he used to - broader and taller by a mile - but after a few beats he relaxes into them just the same. The subtle addition of weight makes a sob bubble up your throat.

You rap your knuckles on the side of the helmet.

“Take this shit off.”

He hesitates and a sharp pang manages to worm its way into the already shitty cocktail of emotions you’re feeling. It hits your spine like lightning, forces you up and has you an arms length away in half an inhale.

Maybe before now you’d been going through too much all at once for the trepidation to hit, but it was hitting now. You’d never seen Hood without- well without the Hood. Only Jumbie raised from the dead the way Jason did, and while you’d take your son anyway you could get him you wouldn’t accept some Thing parading around in his skin.

Reading your burst of movement for what it is, Jason backtracks, rising arms dropping to his sides. “Maybe I shouldn’t…”

“Jason Peter-” you inhale deeply, catching yourself, and hold a hand up to stop him. You both ignore the obvious way it trembles. “-only… if…if you want to. I’m not trying to force anything.”

He’s slow to nod, weight shifting from his left to his right leg and back again before he says something too low for you to hear. You’re about to ask him to repeat when he speaks up, this time aiming his voice somewhere around your shoulder while bowing his head.

“No, I- Alright. Just hold on.”

Haunches suitably raised and heart in your throat you pay close attention as the helmet comes up, Jason having released some catch in the back.

It goes over, the helmet clatters to the ground, and the man who stares back at you is…hard to place.

The low fluorescent lighting of the narrow room combined with the concrete walls casts soft enough shadows over his face that while his features are warped they’re not discernible. Which means you can’t completely rule out the uncanniness wafting off of him as just your brain (along with your entire perception of the universe) splinting in half.

It makes your face heat up. He looks familiar, but you can’t say you wouldn’t have passed him straight if you’d seen him on the street. He’s too big for one, even for how you’d all imagined he’d look grown up, standing more than a foot taller than the last day you saw him. Taller than malnourishment would’ve ever let him be.

The sob you let out makes you both flinch.

One hand snaps to your mouth, the other waving him off.

“I’m sorry I- I don’t-. This is just-”

Even with the way he’s leaning away from you he shakes his head. “I get it, it's fine.”

His voice is faint, cut up and hoarse like he hasn’t used it in a while, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve heard in ages.

“Oh,” you laugh. The wet kind that makes your throat sticky. You can only stare at him, blurry form and all, words lost to you.

Eventually, after watching your fervent effort to wipe away tears that are in no way inclined to give you a break, arms crossed Jason takes a half step forward with a shrug.

“We can…try again?”

The next little laugh you let out you practically choke on but you nod all the same.

When Jason’s the first to move your heart starts speeding away like an overexcited middle school drumline. You roll with it though, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes so they’re dry enough for you to actually see him clearly for a few seconds.

When he’s directly in front of you your hands come up slowly, giving him plenty of opportunity to move away. Or maybe to vanish.

When he does neither, only giving you a guarded look, you allow yourself to touch.

Problem is, the domino mask he’s wearing very quickly gets in your way and on your nerves when you move to frame his face. Quickly feels like if it’s not gone, if you can’t see his eyes, you’ll throw up.

To stop yourself from taking the risk and ripping it off you have to take a deep breath. Have to force down the thick build up of saliva gathering in your mouth so it pushes back the bile climbing up your throat.

“I’d like to see my son, Jason. All of you.”

To emphasize your point you tap the tip of your nail against the mask. There’s no intention on your part to cross his boundary but Jason’s hands snap up to hold onto your wrists all the same.

You look into the white lenses of his domino, fingers buzzing along the corner of the mask closest to them. His mouth twists into a frown.

“Please?”

You beg with the same ferocity a grieving mother once used when begging for her child back.

“You’re asking for a lot.”

He lets go and he takes a couple steps back and you don’t cry.

No, instead you swing your hands behind you. Clasping them together in a poor attempt to stop the buzzing sensation that travels from the tips of your fingers to take over your entire hand.

“Mmm,” you incline your head. “Well. I did help a boy get over first date jitters with a made up song once. Let that same boy talk me through an entire dissertations’ worth of his analysis of Their Eyes Were Watching God - as choppy as it was - because TWMS wouldn’t allow him to present it in class. Let him skip going to that same school and cry to me for hours after the death of Gloria Stanson. Remember a knife hidden in the corner on the highest shelf in his closet, and I remember not revealing any of that when I gave his eulogy because he once asked me to keep the important things between the two of us. So you don’t have to show me, but I think I make a pretty good qualifier when it comes to keeping this safe.”

You point straight to where his heart is tucked safely behind layers of gray armor before shrugging.

From the way his brows furrow over the domino you know he’s at least thinking about it so you step away to pick up your disregarded mask and stuff it in your waistband.

One blink. Six.

“You remember Rena?”

In front of him again, you rock back on your heels. “Mhm. And the ‘how to tie a tie’ lessons me and Bruce walked you through even though you didn’t wear a suit to that date. Remember that too.”

Jason’s smile is crooked on his face but it’s nonetheless present as he makes a noise of agreement.

“I’d just wanted to spend time with you two, I was never planning on wearing a suit to go to the skating rink.”

“We figured.”

You’re rolling onto the balls of your feet when that small smile drops and he shakes his head.

“I’m not that same boy anymore.”

You take in the way he could raise his hand and so easily touch the ceiling without having to jump. You clear the phlegm from your throat.

“I can tell.”

Jason grunts and makes a general gesture indicating something somewhere behind you.

“And I got no interest in trying to live up to whatever fucked up embalment Bruce’s got going on with my burnt suit in that case.”

That suit. Bruce’s memorial. His warning. Your breath hitches as you think of the smell of crisped blood and methanol. If Jason didn’t want to talk about it you sure as shit weren’t going to.

“I will one hundred percent take that into account.” You keep it simple, rocking on your heels again. He wasn’t asking for anything unreasonable so there wasn’t really any debate to be had. “You wanna be treated as you are? I can do that.”

Moments pass once you’ve said your peace where Jason does nothing but stare at you. The only indication he’s at all alive being his shoulders still moving - and you are watching. Eyeing that tell tale up and down like your own life will end at its falter. The pattern is slow enough to come off as pacivity but the time between each rise and fall is too measured to be uncontrolled. Exactly three point eleven seconds one way and three point eleven seconds the other. Every time.

Then he sighs, curses, and the little veil of dissolvent for the adhesive that adheres the mask to his face is in his hand. A different vial and color than when he was Robin; you don’t know why you thought it’d be the same. Or why it makes your heart clench that it’s not.

Between one thrum of the fluorescent lights and the next Jason is peeling away the domino, and you would be lying if you claimed to know where it disappeared to after that. Too caught up on what he’d been hiding to track it.

Blue. Nothing more and nothing less. Just blessedly familiar, vibrant blue. Not the dull gray they’d become by the time you were given the chance to put a gruesome sight of a child six feet under.

The “Oh wow,” tumbles from you without permission and then there’s zero hope for the waterworks you’d been holding back. The levee fails and you’re bawling before you know it. Barely holding back snot and who knows what else since you already feel like screaming.

At that point there’s no carefully thought out sentence for you to spew, no more hesitancy, no more measured breathing, and linear thought. Just the crushing need to have him close to you again.

You’re rushing forward before you know.

Wrapping your arms around Jason the next go around is both the best and the worst thing. You accommodate his new size faster, already writing over the ways he used to fit against you with the ways he does so now, but he’s still so stiff and he’s not reciprocating the hug either.

Maybe you should let go. You crossed the boundary too fast. Were too reckless. You literally have training on this and now you’re crowding him.

Okay, you’re pulling away. It’s a herculean effort but you’re forcing your arms from around his middle. You’ve got to, you don’t want to scare him off. Not when you just got him back.

There’s a soft “Not yet,” mumbled into your shoulder and then arms finally come around yours and you don’t hesitate to snap your own back into place.

He’s hugging you back.

You cry a little harder and bring one of your arms up to drape across his shoulders, pulling him closer. When you start rocking and Jason copies your momentum you press a kiss onto his temple.

“Hi,” you stutter out. Another sob. “Hi baby.”

Since he’s finally letting his arms wrap around you you don’t hesitate to run dark fingers through the truly unruly mass of black curls on his head. His hairs’ damp - most likely from sweat - but cool. Probably being tempered by the cold air blowing into the room.

It’s when you press a kiss to his forehead that you feel something else wet and your breath stutters.

“It’s okay. I got you, everything’s okay,” you whisper.

“God Ma-” his voice cracks and then you can hear the sobs he’s trying to muffle into your suit. “No it’s not.”

“I know,” you sob. “I’m sorry- so so fucking sorry.”

You sniffle and pull away to see him better. Jason’s face is flushed, his eyes wet, and cheeks streaked with tears shed. You hold your hands up to frame his face for a second time and run your thumbs through the tear tracks. His chest heaves as his body tries to regulate his breathing.

Jason clears his throat, gaze boring into yours. “Hi,” he says.

You smile, finally beginning to map out his face. First you move to frame his cheeks, too feel the warmth in them. To see if they still feel familiar. They don’t; you force yourself to accept that fact without letting it show in your expression, letting out a measured exhale before continuing. You find his jaw is more defined now too, cheeks devoid of the baby fat of five years prior.

From then on brushing your thumbs along his brows, over the bridge of his nose, traveling over his ears and skirting around his hairline - it all fills your mind with incoherent cheers.

Your thumbs hover over Jason’s eyes and you hum when he closes them for you.

The skin underneath your shaved off pads is soft. The thin layer of protection allows you to feel how his eyeballs shift, to see the way his veins show stark under light skin, to clock the life thrumming through him.

It makes your heart feel so goddamn light. You can’t stop smiling at the sight of him. Eyes still wet but clear.

“I feel like such a horrible mother,” you hiccup, hands slide down so you can once again cup his face. “I barely recognize you.”

Jason’s breathing shakes nearly in tandem with yours and his eyes squeeze tighter shut, head turning away.

“Don’t.” He takes a second to look up. Look right through you. Lashes wet and glassy eyes open, voice grating over his next words. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame any of you for that, but especially not you.”

What you want to do is argue. You should’ve never let him put on that suit in the first place, one fucked up son should’ve been the end of it. You should’ve dropped the case you were working the second you’d heard he’d run away and you should’ve found him. Instead you keep your thoughts personal, pinning them to your brain as if it’s a cushion so that you’ll never forget, and pull your son closer. An action which he allows, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re back,” you whisper into his hair. The way he instantly shakes his head makes the cool strands tickle your jawline.

“You can’t mean that.”

“If I didn’t mean it I wouldn’t have said it, Jay.”

Jason tenses before responding, words spewing without warning.

“Yeah except I’ve killed people, and I don’t regret it, and Bruce hates that - and you probably do too - but his way isn’t good enough. The people in this city deserve better so I’m doing what’s necessary-”

And that has you bristling. He must notice too because he stops short and edges away, face steeping. Caught somewhere between wanting to leave and wanting to fully kick start an argument.

…TBC

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed! I had to split this bitch in two cause it was 5,000+ words and I’m not in the business of under-indulging myself.

Listen, I’ve looked into it. Every mother/mother figure Jason’s ever had he’s referred to as “Mom”, but me personally, I didn’t grow up addressing my own mother that way so I wanted to play around with “Ma” (differentiate a little). What's funny though, is that I’ve read Dick referring to his mother as both “Ma” and “Mom” so that’s fun.

• TWMS = Thomas Wayne Middle School

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it. this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

Tagged: @aarinisreading, @niphredil-14, @mxtokko, @calsjack, @brunnetteiwik

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