author dizzie stardust @dizziedupthewriter - Tumblr Blog

Sep 12, 2025

not a lot, just forever

summary: Kyle Rayner's ecstatic to learn about your pregnancy — you are too, but that doesn't exempt you from being a little scared of telling your family. Weirdly enough, the last one to find out is, apparently, the world's best detective himself.

pairing(s): kyle rayner x batsis!reader, platonic!batfamily x batsis!reader

word count: 7.5k

warnings: pregnancy (duh), vomit, swearing, bruce is GOING THROUGH IT, mentioned that reader has a therapist, reader was adopted before dick and was the first batgirl, mostly fluff, mention of reader's parents dying, every similarity between damian and dick was intended and premeditated, nothing else i think?

author's note: might feel rushed because I'm trying to learn to write summed up one shots instead of fucking books💔💔💔I love writing long fics but I often lose interest in them and after 30 pages and 16k words I really don't need that. this is also a love letter to milka's cookies because I am hungry and technically on a diet but I want them so bad

dividers from @uzmacchiato and @cursed-carmine!

You’ve been dating Kyle Rayner for three years and living together for one when it happens.

Your period’s two weeks late. You don’t think much about it until the nausea and weird cravings start kicking in — and if there’s one thing Bruce taught you right, is to be aware of your body’s signals about something being off; another thing he’s unfortunately passed down to you is the ability to go completely blank in situations that require the emotional stability that neither of you has.

(No wonder Kyle had spent years trying to get you to agree to a single date — you weren’t even mentally prepared for one.)

So when you spend a whole day throwing up — which, by the way, you never do — there’s only two possibilities in your head: it’s either a weird space virus that Kyle brought home from last week’s mission or pregnancy. Your bet’s on the space virus, but first it’s better to ensure that the latter is not an option, and your chance presents itself when your dearest boyfriend — tired and sad of hearing you suffer — gets ready to go to the store to buy the ingredients needed for chicken noodle soup.

He still insists that his mother's recipe is much better than Alfred’s one — also, a miracle that you got yourself a partner that knows how to cook, because growing up with Bruce Wayne also means being unable to light a single stove. Alfred tried his best to teach you how to, but not even him knows how to make miracles happen.

Kyle kisses your temple and hums, “I’ll be back soon, I promise,” he says, brushing your hair out of your forehead. He’s been tied to your side all day even if he’s got a deadline just next week and hasn’t even started drawing the first panels, and if you weren’t as stoic as you usually are, you would swoon for him. “Ah, could you buy another thing for me at the store?” you ask casually, cheek leaning against the cold tile of the toilet for comfort.

He nods, “Anything you want, babe.”

“A pregnancy test,” you say it like it’s the most normal thing ever, “and a Milka cookies sensation pack. The XL one.”

Kyle blinks, and you can almost see his brain short-circuiting in that thick head of his. “Oh.” he blurts out, “I… okay. Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

He’s going to come back home spiraling, you think as the door closes.

“Okay, I’m totally not spiraling right now,” he says as soon as he gets back home, plastic bag in hand, hair messy from the wind outside, “Like, are you sure it could be pregnancy? How long have you known? Because these aren’t the kind of things that you just guess, right? Are there specific symptoms?”

You sigh from your place on the couch and get up to rummage through the bag as he continues yapping, “I mean, should I have noticed? Could I have noticed?” the yapping doesn’t stop as you take the test he bought and go back to the bathroom, because he follows you and continues talking while you pee on the stick and hope to not wet your hand, “Do you even want kids?” you place the test on the counter and wash your hands, “I mean– I do, and I would love to have a baby with you, but we’ve never talked about it and with the whole ‘tragic childhood with an emotionally unavailable father’ thing you have going on I’m not sure you’d want that and you don’t have to worry about what I want– it’s totally your choice and I’ll be there whatever you want to do–”

You turn and take his face into your hand, squeezing his cheeks and making his lips pucker. “Kyle.”

His voice comes out a bit muffled, “Yeah?”

“You’re spiraling.”

His shoulders sag a bit. “I am. Are you not?”

You blink, “We’re adults in a healthy relationship, Ky. Even if I’m on birth control, I think at least one pregnancy scare was bound to happen.” you raise an eyebrow, “I am surprised that it wasn’t earlier on, though.”

“Okay. Okay.” his foot’s been tapping on the floor since he got back from the store, “Um– how long do we have to wait? For the test to show the results, I mean. I bought the most expensive one just in case and I hope it wasn’t a scam, because if it was I will cry.”

“It probably was,” you didn’t even know that brands of pregnancy tests were a thing until now, and you highly doubt that one is more reliable than the others. He’s already got tears in his eyes, but you continue, “But I do appreciate the thought, honey, thanks.”

He sniffles, nuzzling into your hand, “The pleasure’s mine,” he just hopes that the test is the right one, because as much as he knows how to cook, the premium adult in the house it’s you. You do the taxes, make sure the bills and rent are paid — God, is he a sugar baby? Because with the trust fund and place at Wayne Enterprises that you have, he might as well be. His job as a comic book artist probably looks like a kid’s summer job in comparison.

The timer from your phone buzzes — when did you even set up a timer? — and your hand flies to the test, angling it under the bathroom’s light to see better the results. “Fuuuck.” it’s not a ‘Fuck, this shouldn’t have happened’, it’s more a ‘Fuck, it’s kinda crazy that this is happening’ kinda fuck.

Kyle peeks from behind your shoulder, “Lemme see–” you hold out the test for him to take, and he gapes. “Stop.” It comes out as a much less virile ‘Stawwwp!’ and soon enough, he’s jumping around the house with a test showing the words [PREGNANT — 3+] written on the screen. “I’m gonna be a dad! I’m gonna be a dad! I’m gonna be–” he stops once his hopping brings him back to the bathroom and looks at you with his big doe eyes, “I mean, uh… am I gonna be a dad?” he’s not begging — he would never force you to do anything you don’t want to. He just needs confirmation.

You huff, and a rare smile blesses your face. “Yeah,” you murmur, eyes soft, “you’re gonna be a dad.”

He whoops, hoisting you up by the waist and spinning you around, all while continuing chanting “I’m gonna be a dad!” over and over again. He stops every once in a while just to place kisses everywhere his lips can reach, smothering you in love and spit.

You let him, mentally already making a list of things to buy — a house, first of all, then a crib, onesies and all of that — and the medical appointments to schedule — OB-GYN and, oh God, your therapist’s going to have to work overtime to make sure you don’t mess this baby up with your ears worth of trauma.

But, of course, you don’t say anything — not now. You don’t want to ruin the moment, and more than anything, you don’t want to think about the hardest part of the journey ahead of you — that is, telling your father.

The first months you make sure to keep things low-key, mostly to assure that everything goes well before you tell anyone about the baby.

You go to your appointments, take your vitamins and try not to stress about everything going on at Wayne Enterprises — because at the end of the day, you always come home to Kyle, and you two look for houses in the nicest neighborhoods that Gotham has to offer as he rubs the expensive ointment for stretch marks that you bought on your belly (even if it’s mostly useless, as you’re not even showing yet, you don’t tell him to stop, because he’s got hands that just know how to give a great massage — you make a mental note to yourself to ask him for a back massage one of these days).

You tell Bruce about your search in the house market just in case he knows someone on Crest Hill who’s thinking about selling their property, because that’s honestly the nicest zone in Gotham and it’s the same where the Manor is, so he’s bound to know some of the neighbors. He frowns at your question, grimacing a bit, “You two are… buying a house? Isn’t it too early for that?”

You raise an eyebrow, “Dad, we’ve been together for three years — I think that’s more than enough.”

His frown deepens. “But you two aren’t even married. Not that you have to move in together, but aren’t you two a tad bit too young to buy a house together?”

“You had two kids at my age.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever taken me as inspiration, so that doesn’t count.”

You roll your eyes, “Do you know if any of the people living on Crest Hill are selling their house or not?”

He sighs. “I’ll let you know.”

Later that day, when you’re laid down on the couch and half napping as Kyle cooks dinner, you get a message from him with your response. Henry Solten’s selling one of his houses. Nice garden, two-story house with an attic. I can see it to get you two a tour if you want. Tell me if it was what you were looking for.

You look a bit more into it, and you’ve gotta admit that Solten’s house is nice — suspiciously what you and Kyle were looking for, actually. Big enough for a kid — and any that might follow, for that — and your boyfriend looks as pleased as you about it. You two agree to still wait for the second trimester to make any permanent decision, but set up an appointment through Bruce for next week to see it in person. I can probably get you a favouring price, your father adds in one of his texts, even if he has to know that between your exorbitant salary and embarrassing trust fund any price is not a problem — because he’s the one who made sure of that.

That same night you go to bed with your belly feeling pleasantly warm thanks to Kyle’s pasta, and as you’re between dream’s world and the real one you hear something. “Psst. Hey.”

It takes you a moment to realize that Kyle’s not talking to you — he’s talking to the baby. His hands come up to your hips, gently raising your shirt as he presses his ear to your belly. “I know you can’t hear me — you kinda don’t have ears yet. You’re just a weird blob of cells for now, I guess, but it's not fair that your mom gets to spend the whole day with you and I can’t get a minute alone with you, is it? This is me making it fair.”

He presses a soft peck to your bellybutton, nuzzling into the soft skin of your midriff, “I love you and your mom so much, kid. You can’t even imagine.” it’s a miracle you don’t burst into tears, really.

After that, you let him have his ‘alone time’ with the baby, even if most of the time you’re awake — it actually lulls you to sleep, Kyle babbling about everything and anything to a baby that isn’t even a baby and can’t hear right now. It makes you wonder if Bruce would’ve done that for you, were you his biological daughter — you know for sure that your biological father didn’t.

You buy Solten’s house — against all of Bruce’s protests to let him pay for it — one week after the start of your second trimester, and thanks to all the strings that the Wayne name can move in real estate, the procedure of buying it is much quicker and easier than it would’ve been normally. The process of moving soon starts, and Kyle spends half the time grumbling about not being allowed to use the ring to move all the boxes down the apartment to the rented truck you got in one go and the other half telling you to please not lift anything heavier than a pillow.

It’s during the last day of packing boxes and getting them into the truck — you don’t even know you had so many things, by the way — that you tell Damian about the baby, even if it wasn’t really in your plans.

He comes over to the apartment after hearing from Bruce that you’re moving out, hands in his pockets in the most nonchalant way a twelve-year-old kid that’s basically three apples tall can manage. “Heard you were making the worst decision of your life and thought I’d step by,” he mumbles, inviting himself in and down-right slumping on the couch that you had yet to bring to the new house.

Damian’s distaste for Kyle isn’t something new — nor the distaste your whole family has for him — but you know better than that. You know that behind their voiced doubts and teases lies fondness and just mild concern. You ruffle his hair, going to the kitchen to get the snacks you keep there just for him, “Fought with Bruce again?”

He freezes. “Your ability to always guess right about things like that scares me.”

“Oooh, the Damian Wayne scared? I must’ve scored really big.” you pat his head, dropping the paprika carrot chips you took out of the pantry in his lap while lowering your elbows to rest on the couch’s headrest, “Kid, I’ve been with Bruce before the Justice League was even a thing. I know that frown because it’s the same one I had at your age when he made me mad. C’mon, spit it out.”

“He’s just been so annoying these past few months!” oh, God, here we go, “It’s always ‘We’re not doing enough, Robin’ and ‘Maybe you should step away from the scene for a bit, Robin’ — well, what about he steps away from the scene for a bit? He’s the one who’s been hogging all the limelight since the dinosaurs were still around!” It could be a joke, but knowing Damian, he’s referring to the giant dinosaur kept in the Batcave — which would make the saying ‘since dinosaurs were around’ quite true.

“It’s just weird, you know? He just started acting like this out of the blue. One day he was happy about how we were doing with the criminals, and the next, BOOM! We’re not doing enough because some of them are still around. What am I supposed to say? It’s his fault if after twenty years and counting in the business the city’s yet to be cleaned out from all the scum of the slums.”

He starts angrily munching on his chips, and if that’s how he treats those poor fried carrots, you don’t want to think about how he’d deal with the supposed 'scum of the slums' if Bruce wasn’t looking. The things he’s saying are weird, though — while Bruce has always thought he wasn’t doing enough, it’s not usual for him to voice out these feelings. He mostly understands that there’s only so much he can do, so venting to Damian of all people about not doing enough is completely bonkers. “I’m starting to think someone has possessed him to irritate me to death,” he grumbles out, cheeks puffed out like a hamster.

You almost melt. God, you love your little brother so much. And that’s when you decide that maybe — just maybe — telling him about the baby wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Just to keep up his morale. “Hey, Dames,” you murmur gently, brushing the hair out of his face — he really needs a haircut. “Do you still have Bitey?”

Bitey’s the first toy you ever owned, and a gift from Bruce from when you first moved into Wayne Manor. It’s a grey wolf plushie that’s definitely seen some things, as you passed it down to all your siblings once they came to live in the Manor, but it always got back to you in one way or another — all of them have always returned it, even if you never asked for them to. Now, you feel bad about asking Damian to give it back in just a few months, but it’s for the sake of the tradition of having Bitey passed down.

He squints, looking at you suspiciously, “…I do.” he really can’t tell you that he’s been sleeping with it since you gave it to him. “Why?”

You shrug, “Um… you know, I usually wouldn’t ask this, but could you give it back to me in, say… a few months?”

He gasps. “No way! You’ve never asked Grayson or Todd or Drake or Cass to give it back– why me? I have the right to keep Bitey until I deem it appropriate for it to be returned to you–” he goes on as you reach for a folder on the kitchen table, passing it to him as he goes on, “What’s this? Whatever it is, sister, it won’t make me overlook the blatant favoritism that you showed towards the othe... oh.”

It’s the hospital folder, the one with the latest ultrasounds showing the mass of cells that’s building up to be your baby. Damian gasps, “I think I should be happy for you — but the only concern I have right now is that the baby isn’t Rayner’s. Please, tell me you have cheated on him.”

You frown. “That’s not a nice thing to say, Damian.”

“Please! He’s a total cretin!”

You wave your hand at him, “That’s not true–”

At that moment, the front door opens. Kyle emerges from the hallway of your complex, voice ringing out throughout the apartment, “Hey, babe, have you seen the boxes with my comics? They weren’t in the truck when I–” he promptly falls face down after tripping on a box labelled in bold, red ink, KYLE’S COMICS, making Damian point the scene like an obvious proof as you sigh, exasperated. “See? What did I tell you!”

Kyle merely raises his face from the floor, smiling at your brother, “Oh, hey Damian! Didn’t know you were coming over.”

You make Damian swear on his life that he’s not going to tell anyone about the pregnancy yet before he goes back to the Manor, and he scoffs as he does it. “Please, sister, do not think of me so low to be confiding in the others about such things.”

The fourth month of the pregnancy comes around, and with it the realness of it all. As you get used to the new house, you also start preparing the nursery, and Kyle comes back from every morning run with a different souvenir — a plushie, a onesie, you name it. The time to tell the family about the pregnancy gets closer and closer, and with it your brothers’ unexpected visits seem to multiply, because two weeks after moving to Crest Hill Dick presents himself at your door unannounced.

It’s Kyle who gets the door, and he happily greets your brother — the only member of your family who actually kinda likes him. “Heard you two bought a house and thought I’d pass by,” he says as your boyfriend invites him inside, “y’know, to see my sister be the responsible adult I’ll never manage to be,”

You get down from the upper floor at that moment and frown at the sight of your brother swaying on the balls of his feet. One look at his face is all you need. “What did B tell you this time?”

He groans, “God, you’re too good at this game,” he slumps on the new couch without too many problems and starts ranting. “I’m really happy that I’ve moved to Bludhaven, you know? Because he’s been unbearable as of lately, and I don’t know how long I will manage to stand him. He’s running the Manor like the navy and I’m suffering the consequences of it. Damian’s sneaking out more and more to hang around my flat and he says that nothing’s wrong but I know that something happened.” he finally looks at you, distressed, “Do you know something? Is it like some virus spreading around these days or what?”

You raise an eyebrow as you and Kyle get comfortable on the sofa in front of him, skeptical. “I mean, Damian told me something about it, but no. I’ve seen Bruce pretty much every day at work and he looks like the same ol’ guy to me.”

“Could this be about Poison Ivy’s last break out?” Kyle asks, his arm slung over your shoulders, “I knew he was beating himself up for it, and I tried to help, but he refused. Said he’d handled these things alone for the last two decades and didn’t want or need my help.”

You facepalm, “God, he’s always so– so insufferable when it comes to needing some help. I don’t understand, what’s the problem with it?”

Dick looks at you blankly, “One time I asked you if you needed some help in cleaning out your weapon inventory and you told me that getting help was for the weak.”

You wave your hand at him, “That was a long time ago, I was young,”

He blinks, unamused, “That was two weeks ago.”

Kyle chuckles as you groan, “Okay, maybe we have problems with getting help in this family, but it’s not like we can send him to a therapist like he did to me. He couldn’t even tell them one quarter of his problems– at least I can tell mine half of them. Besides, he doesn't even really do things alone; he's got you, Babs, Damian, Alfred–”

“Well, I was actually wondering if you could talk to him,” Dick adds, a little… embarrassed? Is that embarrassment on Dick Grayson’s face? “Just… not as your civilian self, y’know. I was thinking that if your Batgirl were to come out just a little bit again–”

“No,” the reply comes simultaneously from both you and Kyle, stern, even if you doubt that the motives are completely the same. For him, it’s because you’re pregnant, for you… well, for you it’s because Batgirl has carried too much in her life for you to go back to her. “Dick, I left that life behind a lot of time ago. If you want, I can try to talk to Bruce, but I’m never stepping back into the costume. Not now, not ever.”

His hands are joined like in prayer, “Please, not even a little easter egg comparison, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it?”

“No,” your answer is final, “there’s a reason I stopped being Batgirl, okay? And you out of all people should respect my decision even more.” you cross your arms as Kyle’s hand goes to your bicep, rubbing it delicately to comfort you, “I’ll talk to Bruce. Is there anything else you need or can you just go?”

He smiles sheepishly, “Actually, could I use the bathroom?”

You sigh. “Upstairs, first door on the left.”

Off he goes, leaving you and your boyfriend alone with your thoughts. “Maybe your father’s having, like, a midlife crisis or something,” he whispers, “y’know, it happens to people his age. You start thinking about being old and all that…”

“Please, Ky, he’s had worse and handled with it better–” you both yelp when a full-on banshee screech comes from upstairs, and Dick comes running down the stairs, seemingly terrified, “What was that?” he yells, looking at you both with crazy eyes.

You and Kyle look at each other, confused, “What was what?”

“That– that room! You said it was the bathroom!”

It takes you a moment to understand — but then you remember Dick’s absolute shit knowledge of left and right, and guess that he might’ve mistaken left for right again, and entered… the nursery. The very still-in-making nursery, with the box of the crib that still has to be built and the chest with the onesies that Bitey is sitting on. Your face becomes red, because that’s absolutely not how you wanted your brother to find out about this, “Well, Dick, I say you put two and two together,” you hint, unamused and a bit shrill.

He stares at you two, mouth wide open, and then starts screaming again. “You knocked up my sister? That’s so not cool, bro! You’re, like, two years older than me! She’s my age! Does that mean I’ll have to get my shit together someday too?” he falls dramatically to the floor, clutching his chest, “I’m not ready for you two to have a baby! Who will I go to when I need to be reassured about being an irresponsible adult if you’re too busy being a dad, man?”

You blink as your boyfriend starts laughing like a hyena. “You’re… not ready for me to have a baby? Because you’re irresponsible?”

Kyle’s still howling, “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard! Man, this is absolutely going in the photo album written behind every pic of you and the baby–”

They both end up kicked out of the house, because honestly, you’re not patient enough to deal with their shit. Kyle comes back with a bouquet of flowers and cookies three hours later, begging for forgiveness, while Dick has the great idea of aggravating his situation by sending a message to the siblings group chat that reads: DID Y’ALL KNOW ABOUT THE KID OR WAS I THE ONLY ONE NOT INCLUDED💔💔💔

One very angry phone call and a deleted message later, not one but three very confused siblings show up at your door — and you know that things are getting weird when it’s Cass, Tim and Jason that team up. “Yo,” it’s the latter who greets you first, “it’s like everyone went crazy lately — first B, then Damian, then Dick with… whatever that message was. We knew you just bought a house and were just wondering if you did it thanks to this freaky virus going around or something.”

You really can’t take this anymore, and are grateful that Kyle is out of the house for last minute GL business. “Oh, just get in.”

Cass is the only one who takes the news well. She immediately comes to hug you, snuggling into your shoulder like a cat while Tim and Jason just stare in disbelief. “You’re what?”

“You two could at least try to act like you’re happy about it.”

You’re pretty sure you just saw Tim’s eye twitch. “Does B know? Is that why he’s been acting like a maniac?”

You frown, “He doesn’t know, I meant to, like, organise a dinner together or something to tell you all but you’re all too nosey to mind your business. Dick literally snooped around and found out.” nevermind that you were the one to tell Damian.

Suddenly, a smile graces Jason’s face, “Does that mean Damian doesn’t know? Because I’ll never let him live this down–”

“Damian was the first one to know.”

“…You just had to ruin the moment, huh?”

“This is supposed to be my moment, dumbass.”

You choose to go to the Manor that same night, because now that the whole family knows, it won’t be long until Bruce finds out, and you'd rather be the one to tell him. Kyle doesn’t ask you if you want him to come — smartly, you should add, because it’s best if you talk to your father alone before he decides to settle things between them privately.

Alfred greets you at the door, his presence stoic as ever. “Good evening, Miss, at what do we owe the ple–”

“I’m pregnant.”

He blinks, unmovable. “Well, that’s wonderful. I imagine you came here to tell Master Bruce the happy news?”

You come up to hug him, and after a brief moment of confusion he reciprocates. “Thanks, Alfie,” you mumble, “you’re the first person after Kyle that said that this is good news. I really needed that.”

He gently pats your back, “Do the others know?”

You scoff, “None of them were too pleased about it. Cass was happy about it, but… you know she doesn’t really talk.”

His eyes soften, “It’s just the way they cope, Miss. I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding; they’ll come around.”

Bruce is, as he always is, in the Batcave. These days it’s hard to find him anywhere else. His eyes are fixated on the screen of the Batcomputer, and he doesn’t even seem to acknowledge your presence until you call out, “Hey, Bruce,”

He turns, bags under his eyes prominent, and he looks almost worried to see you there. He says your name, getting up from his seat, “You shouldn’t be here,” he mumbles, his hands cupping your shoulders as you frown, “it’s too cold. I should have a jacket somewhere–”

“Please, Bruce,” you cut him off, “it’s September. I would like to say that the temperature down here is perfect, actually.” you look at the giant screen in front of you, various news pamphlets open and surveillance footage replaying over and over again, “New prison break out to manage?”

He shrugs, “Dent’s been dealing some weapons in the black market for the last two weeks, if what my sources are saying is true. By the way, it’s almost October, so no, the temperature isn’t perfect.” he insists on getting that jacked he mentioned on you, even zipping it up for you like you’re some kind of hyperactive toddler. “There you go.”

You almost laugh. “The others told me you were acting weirdly, but I didn’t think it was this serious,”

He barely reacts. “Hn. I’m not acting weirdly, I’m just being careful,”

“Are you the same man that gets into active shootings with a costume and a dream?”

He glares at you. “Why did you come here?”

You hop on a stool near the computer, “To check on you, dad. The others seemed worried, and I know that we haven’t had much time to talk these last few weeks, but I’m worried about you.”

“Well, don’t be. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Please, Bruce, you don’t look nor act fine. We just want to help.”

You just can’t seem to get his attention, because as soon as his gaze goes back to the screen, it’s like you’re not even there anymore. As clearly this isn’t working, you make a drastic decision: to just spit the truth out. “Dad,” you start, voice trembling, “I… I’m pregnant.”

He doesn’t even blink. “I know.”

You stutter, “You– what– I– oh, you know what? I’m so tired of you knowing everything. Is that why you’ve been acting so weird? How did you even find out, and why didn’t you say anything? I was pretty sneaky with it, you know!”

“I found it weird when you asked me about the house,” he merely explains, not seeming bothered with this invasion of privacy like he’s done this his entire life — well, he kinda did. “I got suspicious and thought you were being mind-controlled or ill. It took me a quick check through your medical records to find out your… condition. I thought it best not to say anything in case you wanted to do a big reveal with the others and wanted me to act surprised.”

“You really should stop doing that.” guess his weird behavior is explained, but the why of it all still confuses you. “I mean, I get that it may weird you out, but I still don’t get why you’ve been so odd since finding that out. I’m an adult woman in a loving relationship, Bruce, and even if me and Kyle never mentioned having kids, you could’ve guessed that something like this would’ve happened.”

Finally, he stops. His stare is so blank that you’re honestly kinda scared. “I’m… I’m getting old.”

You blink. “O… kay?” wait. Wait. Is your emotionally unavailable father opening up to you after almost two decades of stony facades save for a few crash outs? And it’s because you’re about to have a baby? Dear God, Kyle was right about him having a midlife crisis.

“I’m not the Batman I was once,” he mutters grimly, “but Gotham is as relentless as ever.”

“I mean, you’re still kicking butts left and right,” you say, “and I doubt that Gotham’s criminals actually think that you can age. They probably think that you’re, like, immortal or something.”

Finally, his gaze turns to you, and he doesn’t seem too relieved. “My hair’s starting to turn grey.”

It's genuinely starting to creep you out. “My God, Bruce, you’re fourty-four! Stop talking like you’re Santa Claus’ age, because Alfred is on the brink of his seventies and I’ve never heard him complain about a single joint creaking.” you stop when you take a better look at him, because– are those tears in his eyes? You’re not even sure you’ve ever seen him cry after Jason’s death. “I– God, will you just tell me what is going on in your head? I can’t read minds, Bruce.”

He fucking sniffles. “I… my baby’s going to have a baby. I’m not ready for that.” you almost melt. This is Bruce Wayne, Batman, your father — reduced to a puddle of sad emotions when faced with the fact that his first child will become a mother in a few months. “I… it just feels like yesterday when I took you to the Manor for the first time.”

You didn’t come from a perfect family like he did, nor had a nice house and a butler — but you guess that your parents dying during an armed robbery in an alleyway, even if you weren’t there to witness it, hit him a little too close to home to ignore the story when it was published on the newspaper. You were the first kid he fostered, and probably also one of the biggest messes, seeing the way your version of Batgirl was deemed to be far too violent by basically everyone — including Damian, and Damian got here after you dropped the costume and has killed multiple people.

(One time, when he told Jason that he didn’t get why you stopped being Batgirl, he showed him footage of you beating up some of Black Mask’s goons completely unprompted and with weapons that he was pretty sure were now banned from the Batcave. Damian blinked and said Yeah, okay, now I get it.)

“And I know that I wasn’t the best father– I was never prepared to be one. Nor was I a really good mentor. But through it all, all of you — you, your brothers, your sister, have managed to go on despite everything. But you — you’ve managed to do something I’m not sure any of us will ever be able to actually do.”

His head turns towards the costume display cases, where your suit is still set up despite not being used in over three years. “You’ve left this life behind.”

“It wasn’t easy,” you mutter, “Batgirl literally haunts me, and it’s just a stupid costume.”

It’s true, she does; your violent past and all the definitely too-near-death experiences you've had are still present in your recurring nightmares. You still get a little scared when you see Barbara or Stephanie in the costume, thinking that it came back to finally finish you off, and the relief you felt when you found out that Cass modified the suit was indescribable.

The truth is, Batgirl isn’t just a costume to you — it’s a reminder of years spent amidst violence and the loss of yourself. “And, I mean, a good therapist does help with anger issues. I can’t tell her about the nights spent fighting crime and all the traumatising experiences I’ve had because of them, but I can tell her about my crippling fear of becoming a bad mom and the other thousand issues unrelated to vigilantism I have.”

He forces a smile. “You’ll be a great mom, I’m sure of it.”

“And you’ll be a great grandpa,” you nudge him with your elbow, “I can already see the headlines: Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne retires from his nightlife activities at only forty-four following the birth of his first grandchild: women and men all over the world declare grief-stricken strike.”

He perks up, “Speaking of which, is everything going well with the gestation?”

You almost laugh at the way he says gestation like you’re some kind of lab rat. “Oh, yeah,” you muse, cupping the underside of your small bump, “it’s a boy.”

You don’t entertain the idea of a babymoon until Bruce gives you and Kyle two tickets for the Bahamas and a reservation in one of the most exclusive resorts of the area for Christmas.

Truly, you didn’t notice how tense and sore you’ve been these last few months until you’re laid out on a sunbed, fresh out of an all-inclusive spa treatment, and your biggest worry is making sure that none of the women eyeing up Kyle while he’s ordering drinks at the refreshments boot try something with him.

Your belly is big enough that you often feel like an inflated balloon, even if the small kicks and your boyfriend’s constant and undivided attention are nice. The kid loves to hear your voice (or so you think, by the quantity of the kicks you get when you talk to him) but gets quiet when Ky has his alone time with him, which makes you wonder if he either likes you or him. That ointment you got back when you first found out you were pregnant does wonders, because you’re one month away from your due date and there’s not a single stretch mark in sight on your skin — even if you have to also credit Kyle for it, because he was the one who never forgot to put it on you every night before going to bed.

The prodigal son finally comes back to your sunshade with your non-alcoholic drinks in hand, all giddy sun-kissed. “There!” he holds out the straw of your fruity drink for you to take a sip, “I asked the bartender about those cookies you asked about, but she told me that they don’t have them. I’ll pass by the deli later and get them for you.”

He gives you your glass, setting down his to take the sunscreen and drop a blob of it on his hands, moving to smear it on your legs. “Looking a bit red here, lovie.”

“I can’t even see my legs, Ky. What did you expect?”

He shrugs, a lazy smirk on his face, “Nothing else, don’t worry. I’m here to help.”

And when it gets a bit too hot all you have to do is take the inflatable donut Kyle bought as soon as you two landed and sit on it while floating away, your boyfriend leaning on one of the donut’s side admiring the view — aka, the very pregnant love of his life basking in the coolness of the water.

The vacation is a dream come true. You get to relax before you have to think about the stress of the labour, tan quite nicely and don’t have to think about anything because Kyle is at your beck and call; sore ankles? He gives you a massage. Thirsty? He gets back from the bar with the whole drink inventory. You’ll be two weeks away from the due date when you get back, and honestly, you’re sure you’ll miss this.

Except you really don’t — because once they place your little boy in your arms after almost a whole day of labour, all the pain and struggles suddenly feel like nothing.

Tommy Rayner is born, healthy and with a prominent scowl on his face, on February 19th, effectively stopping Bruce’s birthday party. He’s also a bit late on the schedule, but the doctors assure you that he just didn’t have any rush in getting out of the little sanctuary you made for him.

The scowl he’s got on softens as he settles on your chest, only to come back not even a minute later as Kyle approaches, tears in his eyes and hands trembling while rubbing tender caresses across his back. He almost glares at him, then seems to be turning to you almost as if to ask ‘Really? You couldn’t find better?’. Needless to say, he’s a miniature copy of you, and the mystery regarding his silence when Kyle talked to him is suddenly solved.

He latches onto your breast without any fuss as you and his father stare at him, enamoured, his little hands making grabby motions on your skin like a cat making biscuits. “He’s so tiny,” Kyle manages to mutter out, camera in his hands, snapping pictures of you and your boy. “Do you need anything? I’ll bring you everything you want. You deserve it, sweetcheeks, because I’ve seen some freaky stuff — but that was something I’ll never get over.” he shivers, kissing your forehead, “If you never want to have another kid, I’ll understand. I’ll schedule a vasectomy right away, just say the word.”

He gets out of your room with the intent to buy Milka cookies, the biggest boat of sushi to-go he can find and gets swarmed by your family members instead — he doesn’t even know how they got here, because none of you called them when your water broke. They drown him in questions, with Is she okay?s and How’s the baby?s as he barely manages to breathe with the little space they’ve given him. Bruce is in front of them all, and Kyle would’ve never thought to see the man who swore to find a way to skin him alive legally if he ever let anything happen to you or your son with tears in his eyes. “So — tell us, how is she?”

Kyle excuses himself back into your room amidst their protests, only to come back outside with a blue bundle in his arms, “This is Tommy,” he whispers, careful not to wake him up, “His mommy’s sleeping at the moment, but I’m sure she’ll be elated to see you all once you wake up.”

And you are — even if he’s not sure if it’s for your family or the mega sushi boat he found at the nearest takeout place. Kyle feeds you the pieces as you hold Tommy in your arms while the others make what feels like a thousand questions per minute, silencing only when your son makes any type of sound. Alfred fluffs your pillow and takes his opportunity to take a better look at your son, “He does look incredibly like you, miss.”

They crowd his bassinet once Kyle places him back down to let you properly demolish the sushi boat, and Damian looks like the proudest of them all as he carefully tucks Bitey near Tommy. "It's a miracle he didn't get your stupid genes, Rayner, it would've spoiled the whole family tree."

Later, when it’s time for everyone to go home, it’s only Bruce that stays. Kyle needed a shower — he got the call about your water breaking from the hospital while fighting a slime monster in space and was still covered in weird alien goo — and so, it’s your father occupying the seat beside your bed, looking at you and his grandson with dazed eyes. “You want to hold him?” you husher as Tommy stretches and blinks, content in your arms.

He flinches. The big bad Batman, scared of holding a newborn. “Oh, I, uh… I don’t think it’s the best idea, I’ve never held one before.” well, that doesn’t really surprise you — you and all your siblings came to him already too old to even be picked up, often.

“Aw, c’mon– here, hold him,” despite himself, his hands reach out when you hold your son out for him, “careful with his head, place it on your elbow– there, just like that!”

Bruce finds himself with a very disgruntled newborn in his arms, looking at him like he just did him a big wrong. “Hey, don’t look at me like that,” his tone is the softest you’ve ever heard him use.

The baby responds by proudly and loudly farting, leaving his poor grandpa speechless. You laugh, “Well, that explains it,”

A dim light comes from outside the window — the Bat-signal shines in the clouds, just like most nights in Gotham. Bruce looks at it through the window, but doesn’t move an inch. “If you have to go, you can,” you murmur softly. You’ve stopped getting angry about his disappearances ages ago. “Kyle will be back soon, and we’ll still be here tomorrow morning.”

He looks at you, then down at Tommy, whose eyes are getting heavier and heavier. “No,” he whispers, finally getting comfortable in his seat, “I’m just fine here.”

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author dizzie stardust