Update: fuck packing tape. It sucks, I recommend duct tape because what do you mean I try to peel up the tape to try and shut a box and it fucking TEARS INTO FIVE PIECES-
End rant.
I have four boxes packed. Four. It seems like a lot to pack but it’s really all just Knick knacks and half of this crap is going to be donated (clothes, shoes, etc) and the other will be dumped (furniture that quite literally is broken and cheap).
US based but it’s similar reasons in other countries. and of course many companies have international locations. idk if that’s why it’s happening with sour patch kids but this is a thing
My nephew is very allergic to eggs, peanuts, tree nuts, and sesame. Last year my sister discovered all hot dogs and hamburger buns now contain sesame. Not "may contain", but listed in the ingredients. This year basically every brand of sliced bread also now contains sesame, making it very difficult to find bread items he can eat.
They're just adding it to their products, so they can just list it as an ingredient and not bother with worrying about cross contamination. And they aren't even bothering with telling anyone. Capitalism is going to kill us all.
"Which brings us back to Kellogg’s. Back in 2016, the company found a way around the added burden and expense of complying with the FSMA: they simply began adding trace amounts of peanut flour to their cracker products. Doing so allowed them to list peanuts as an ingredient of the product, freeing them from having to prevent cross-contact.
At the time, Kellogg’s notified Food Allergy Research and Education (FARE) about the impending change and left it to them to warn the allergic community. In this case, Pearson’s didn’t even bother as near as we can tell."
If this sounds ableist, I swear it’s not. But PLEASE make your own bread, breakfast bars, cookies etc. it is much easier for you to know what is being put into your food and body.
I have more time than the average person to make all of our own hamburger buns, hot dog buns and bread. Few ingredients and really only takes about two hours total.
It is also cheaper to just buy all the ingredients and make these things multiple times!!
Not everything I’ve listed is 100% okay with certain allergens but there are alternatives. But here is one that posts, all gluten free, nut free and egg free recipes. And dairy free recipes.
544K Followers, 824 Following, 2,793 Posts - See Instagram photos and videos from Lee McGuire (@laneandgreyfare)
I have recipes for a lot of things, like Oreos, breakfast bars, cosmic brownies.
Browse hundreds of kitchen-tested baking recipes perfect for home bakers at any skill level. From bakes to candies to cookies find a new fav
The hotdog buns, bread and hamburger buns I make. As well as pretzels are from this lady on instagram.
This wasn’t in any way, meant to take away what the actual post is saying in terms of companies being total dickwads and just willing to hurt people just to save some money. This was an alternative for people because if these companies aren’t going to care for you, then I will.
I don’t want to see anyone get hurt because of a company/product that was once safe and you could trust, so you ate it without looking at the packaging, and then you or someone you love is in a bad situation. The company would not be taking any fault for it.
Even these companies that are supposed to be healthy, are not because they’ve been bought out. Or they cost a lot of money.
Hi! How are you? I really wanted to request a setting where the reader and Damian live in Nanda Parbat because he's kind of in charge there, but he still has contact with the Batfamily. Also, they could have one or two children!
Thank you so much! I hope you're doing well!
-🌺
I’m great, hope everyone is well!! I don’t know when I’ll be able to get to this, we are in the process of buying a house so for like the next month and a half, I’m going to be stressed out as we get further into the process. But I will eventually get to doing it, I swear!!
Locking the door to your apartment angrily. Kicking off your shoes and watching as they fly across the floor.
This is the last time. He can’t keep bailing last minute!
Over two hours late for a date that was planned months ago and has been rescheduled over the course of those months, multiple times!
You’re pissed, you’re tired and you’re just hurt.
Pulling out your phone and clicking on his contact.
Look, at this point I’m not sure how to feel other than upset and exhausted at this. This isn’t the first instance, Tim. I love you so much…. But I can’t keep doing this, it’s humiliating.
Baby, please, I know you’re upset but just give me a few minutes and then we can talk about this…
You’ve said that a lot, Tim. It’s hard to know when you’re actually going to take the time.
[5 missed calls]
You turn your phone off for the night and head to your room. Staring at yourself in the mirror.
You dressed up nice for the first time in a while. You turn away from the mirror slowly.
You’re about to get undressed until you hear a thunk in your living room. You freeze, slowly grabbing your knife from your night stand and walking as quietly as possible.
You pause because why is Red Robin standing in your living room. What. The. Fuck.
He stares at you like a kicked puppy. He looks bruised and bloody.
You’re still holding your knife out, staring at Red Robin of all people.
“Robin, is there a reason-“
“Hey baby”
He cuts you off. You still as you hear his voice, it’s tim. Oh my god.
He slowly walks toward you as he raises his hands to take off his mask. You frown as you see the bruise around his eye and the cut lip.
Closing your knife and setting it on the coffee table. You watch him get closer. In a moment, he’s on his knees in front of you, grasping your thighs gently and staring up at you.
“Tim you’re hurt…”
“M’fine baby, just let me apologize.”
He pleads as he presses his forehead into your torso. He places a gentle kiss before looking back up at you again. His hands rubbing up and down your thighs as a form of comfort for the both of you.
“I know I’ve messed up and this is why. I’m sorry” he croaks, his eyes show desperation.
His fingers squeeze your thighs as he mutters.
“You look fucking amazing by the way…..look I- I didn’t know how to tell you about being Robin. It’s not like we can tell everyone that’s in our lives…so im sorry, incredibly sorry for every rescheduled date, every disappointment, just please don’t leave”
You yell for him at the bottom of the stairs. He’s at your side in a second.
“Yes gorgeous?” He grasps your chin and pecks your lips. His eyes shining brightly as he smiles.
You let out a content sigh and lean into his body.
“Our daughters are speeding on the slip n slide outside. You know I can’t keep up with them, my love.”
“I’ll take over, go take a bath, relax.” He peppers kisses all over your face.
You let go of him and he’s gone in a second.
Have babies with a speedster, it’ll be fun.
Don’t think about the possibility that the kids will inherit the power.
A few minutes later your bath is ready, bubbled up and hot. You lay in it and soak. Candles are lit, the lights are off and you’re playing some music in the background.
Your eyes are closed until you hear a whoosh.
“Well hellooooo Mrs. West.” Wally says cheekily, leaning against the wall.
You peak an eye open.
“Where are calliope and Cassandra?” You grumble.
“Down for a nap, they got all tuckered out. So we’ve got an hour and a half before they wake up and before your brothers come over.” He wiggles his eyebrows and winks. In a second he’s at the edge of the tub.
“These pesky bubbles…” he clicks his tongue.
“Wally.” You warn with a smile.
“Come on out of there and let’s have another baby” he teases.
“The girls are only three and they have your speed! I’m outnumbered and outpowered!!” You swipe bubbles into his nose.
“This next one might not.” He leans in, caging you into the tub.
“It probably will and watch, we’d end up with another set of twins.”
“Could be boys this time!”
“Don’t get so excited over that!!” You laugh as he presses his forehead against yours.
“Come onnnnnn”
“I’m in the tub Wally.” You caress his cheek. He raises an eyebrow and steps into the tub.
Hello!! How are you?! I wanted to know if you would also accept requests/suggetions of Wally West!!
If so, I would like to request a slice-of-life with him and Batsis!Reader, where they are already parents and have twins. <3
Obrigadaa
-🌺
I’m good!! I’ll accept requests of any kind really! I can definitely work on that. It might take a bit, I just got a handful of comics today and I want to read them. Also might be buying a house??? Wish me luck!! I love Wally from what I have seen, he’s such a cutie.
Bruce and reader who grew up together. You didn’t start dating till you were 16.
Bruce and reader who got married at 20. Hidden from the world, he wore the ring on a chain around his neck.
Bruce and reader who got divorced at 25, five months after he became Batman.
He was secretive and he snuck out at night. You could tell when he lied to you about where he was.
The rift formed, your heart shattered. You thought he was cheating, he drifted so far from you. You brought it up for the last time, asked if he was cheating. He let you believe he was. He didn’t know how to tell you he was a masked vigilante beating criminals up and locking them away. He should’ve just told you.
So when you asked, standing at the foot of the once shared bed, and he stared at you like you’d grown two more heads.
“Bruce, you’re gone. You sneak out in the middle of the night, I never know where you go! You lie to me every single time. Just be honest!” You pleaded, desperately. Your sobs racking through your body.
He got silent and his face remained emotionless. Pressing his lips into a thin line. He lied to you, this time way better than before.
“You’re right, I am cheating…” it broke a part of him to lie to you like that. He didn’t know how to explain to you that a part of him so damaged, dark and angry at the criminals in this city, was running around at night locking them away. (Like that, you big idiot)
You went into the shared closet, grabbed a suitcase and packed. Shaking hands, tears streaming down your face and your heart shattered.
Bruce was still sat on the bed, his head now in his hands. He heard you walk back into the room, his head lifts slowly as he looks at you. His life, his home, his world. Packed and ready to leave him. All because he couldn’t tell the truth, all because he felt like he couldn’t juggle Batman and you.
“You can keep everything, I don’t want…any of it.” You mumble, defeated.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing Bruce.” You stated flatly as you took of the rings.
You walked out of the bedroom, and then out of his life for good.
He tried to move on over the years. Nothing lasted and his mind always came back to you. He checked on you from time to time. The first time he did it, it was a month after you left him.
You’d move to metropolis in that time. Away from him, a new start.
Divorce papers showed up the next day. You literally wanted nothing from him.
He signed, he would’ve signed even if he you had wanted things. He wanted you happy.
Those last five months, he saw the life slowly drain from your eyes and he knew he was the cause.
So to see you twenty years later, back in gotham, at night and walking through an alleyway. His heart stopped. You’re back and you still look amazing. He watches over you, a good thing too, because a mugger is now pointing a gun at you.
He drops down from the rooftop, takes the guy down and grabs your purse out of his hands. You smile, your chest heaving as adrenaline courses through you.
He hands your purse to you and asks if you’re alright. You thank him and take your purse back. He thought he’d moved on, he definitely hasn’t.
Your brows furrow and you squint.
“Bruce?”
He stills, he tries to find something to say, something to not confirm that it’s him.
“Oh maybe I’m wrong, sorry you just smell like him.”
You stutter as heat creeps up your neck.
“You remember how I smell?”
He shouldn’t have asked. That confirms it’s him.
“Bruce!” You smack his arm.
“I -yeah of course I do. We were together for years it’s kinda hard to forget.” You mutter shyly.
He grabs onto you and grapples the both of you to a rooftop. He takes off his cowl and stares at you.
You smile and then it quickly fades.
“Wait, were you always Batman?”
“Yes.”
“So when I thought you were cheating on me??”
“I was Batman…”
“Right. So you chose to tell me you were cheating instead of telling me this?” You cross your arms over your chest.
⋆˚࿔ when you find out you're pregnant you're so excited to tell jason, you want to make everything perfect as you can already picture the emotion on his face and his joy. but when you get mugged and lost your baby before you had the chance to tell him you can't give him this pain, so you hide it from him as long as you can, suffering alone as the purest act of love
⋮ request
You wake up in Jason’s bed, curled into the warmth he left behind, his side still clinging to the heat of his body even though he’d slipped out at dawn for patrol follow up with Bruce. He kissed your forehead before leaving, he always did, murmuring a sleepy “Be back soon, sweetheart” before his boots carried him away. And you had smiled into the pillow, your fingers curling around the pregnancy test hidden beneath Jason’s t-shirts in the drawer.
Three weeks. You were three weeks along. Barely a whisper of a life, barely the smallest flicker of existence, but it was there, and you’d been holding the secret so carefully, keeping it tucked inside like something sacred. You had planned to tell Jason tomorrow night. You had planned everything. You’d even cooked an actual dinner reservation, not something you ever do lightly, not something Jason ever did without teasing you, but you wanted it to be special. You imagined the look on his face when you told him, the widening of his eyes, the way his breathing would stutter, the complicated twist of emotions, shock first, of course, then fear (he always felt fear when he cared too much), and then finally that softening he never let anyone see except you.
You imagined his hand trembling when he touched your stomach. You imagined him whispering “We’re gonna be parents?” with that gravelly wonder in his voice. All of that swirls inside your chest as you spend the morning at work pretending everything is normal, even though you’re smiling more than usual, even though you keep touching your stomach in distracted gestures, even though you feel strangely light despite the exhaustion you’ve been carrying for days. You should have known nothing good stays untouched in Gotham, you should have known that even tiny miracles are fragile in this city. You’re walking home after your shift, taking the shortcut Jason always tells you not to take, but the only reason you take it is because you want to get home sooner, you feel nauseous, dizzy, but you tell yourself it’s normal, it happens, it’s early. You don’t notice the men following you until it’s too late. Three of them, shadows peeling themselves from the alley behind the shuttered florist shop.
They don’t look like the usual Gotham scum, they’re too intentional, too quiet, too clean for the chaotic criminals who usually roam the city. The tallest one blocks your exit. “You shouldn’t walk alone this late” he says, but the way he says it tells you this isn’t about robbery. It isn’t even about you. It’s about who you’re connected to. “I don’t want trouble" you manage, stepping back, hand instinctively going to your stomach even though they don’t know. They shouldn’t know. They can’t know. “No trouble,” the man says, too calm. “Just a message.” You try to run, you really do. You fight, too, Jason taught you well, taught you how to kick your way out of a grab, taught you where to aim when someone bigger grabs your arm, taught you to never freeze. And you don’t freeze.
But three against one, and you haven’t eaten properly all day, and nausea hits you like a fist in the gut. They shove you down, your back hits concrete, a foot drives into your ribs. You hear one of them say, “He’ll get the picture.” The world splinters into noise, a ringing in your skull, the cold scrape of pavement against your palms, the jolt of impact when a boot catches your side so close to your abdomen you scream without meaning to. Everything flashes white, then black, then somewhere in between. They leave you there, of course they do, because they’re not trying to kill you, they’re trying to hurt him.
You drag yourself up eventually, shaky and trembling, vomiting once in the gutter from pain. Your hands are shaking so violently you can’t get your phone out at first. You want to call Jason, god, you want to call him so badly, want him to find you, want him to hold you, want to feel safe. But something stops you, because you know what’ll happen if Jason sees you like this. He’ll burn the city down. And worse, you’re terrified of what you already know deep in your bones. You’re terrified something is wrong, terrified that the ache low in your stomach isn’t just bruising, terrified that the small miracle you carried this morning might already be gone.
You get home on autopilot, stumbling into the apartment you share with him, locking the door with hands that don’t feel like your own. You go straight to the bathroom. You barely get there before the pain hits you in a way that steals your breath. It’s sharper than anything you’ve ever felt, an internal collapse, a tearing grief you’ve never known. Blood comes too fast, too much, too bright. You bite your hand to keep from screaming. You know. You know. You know. You slide to the floor and curl forward, forehead against your knees, gasping through the pain and the horror and the realization that the tiny flicker of life didn’t survive the violence you took. You cry, silently, violently, painfully, shaking until your whole body feels hollowed out. And all you can think, again and again, is you were going to tell him tomorrow. Tomorrow. And now there is no tomorrow.
When you finally crawl to the sink to clean yourself up, you stare at your own reflection. You look like someone else, someone emptied, someone scraped raw. You shower until your skin burns, you scrub away the blood, the dirt from the alley, the smell of fear, but nothing takes away the ache, nothing closes the wound inside you. When you step out, the apartment is quiet. Jason isn’t home yet. You’re grateful, you’re terrified, you’re destroyed. You put on one of his hoodies, the big gray one you always steal, because it makes you feel like you’re wearing armor. You sit on the couch and stare at nothing, hands wrapped around your middle.
When the door finally unlocks, your body jerks like you’ve been shot. Jason steps in, tossing his helmet onto the table, shoulders stiff from patrol, hair damp from rain, eyes tired but still sparking when he sees you. “Hey, babe” he says with that softened grin, walking over to kiss you. You go still, frozen, but he doesn’t notice. Not yet. He kisses your temple, warm and safe and so heartbreakingly gentle that it nearly knocks the air out of you. “Why’re you up?” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “You okay?” You nod, you lie. “Yeah. Just… long day.” Jason sighs, dropping onto the couch beside you. “Tell me about it.” Your throat tightens. You can’t. You can’t breathe the words, you can’t watch his face fall, you can’t watch hope die for a baby he’ll never know existed. So you lean into him instead, carefully, so carefully, resting your head on his chest while he wraps his arms around you without hesitation. His heartbeat thumps steady under your ear. Strong. Alive. Warm. And you break silently against him, eyes burning, throat tight, grief swallowing every corner of you while you keep your body perfectly still, perfectly calm, perfectly composed. He doesn’t know, he has no idea his arms are around someone who is bleeding on the inside.
You bury your face deeper into him so he won’t see the tears slipping down your cheek. He strokes your back and murmurs, “I missed you.” Your lip trembles. You force it still. “Missed you too” you whisper. Your voice cracks, barely, but he doesn’t push, he doesn’t know to push.
You want him to know but you can’t let him know. Not now. Not like this. So you cling to him quietly, sinking into his warmth, while inside you grieve alone for a future that vanished before it ever had the chance to bloom. And Jason holds you, completely unaware that tonight, in the safety of his arms, you are breaking beyond repair.
The days after the attack become a blur, a slow suffocating fog that never lifts, no matter how much sunlight touches the windows, no matter how often Jason reaches for you, no matter how many times you tell yourself to breathe. Every morning you wake with a bruise deep inside yourself that no one can see, every night you lie next to him with your back pressed to his chest, feeling the weight of his arm around your waist and swallowing down the sob that claws up your throat. He sleeps peacefully, unaware. Unaware that you lost something he never even got the chance to dream about, unaware that every time he kisses your stomach absentmindedly, like he always does when he pulls you closer in bed, your entire chest caves in. You get good at pretending. Too good. You laugh when you’re supposed to, you answer when he talks, you smile when he looks at you with those blue eyes that always saw straight through everyone, everyone except you now, because you’re blocking every window, every crack, every opening.
You don’t let him see. You can’t let him see. You tell yourself it’s to protect him. You tell yourself the guilt will destroy him. You tell yourself that if he knew, Jason would blame himself until he bled for it. But the truth is simpler and more selfish: you can’t survive watching the devastation on his face. So you bury it, deeper and deeper, until it feels like you’re walking around with a secret grave inside your ribcage.
Jason notices something is wrong almost instantly. He’s Jason, hyper observant, hyper attuned, made of instincts sharpened by trauma. He starts small. “Babe… you’ve been quiet” “You’re not eating much” “You okay?” “You’re jumpy.” “Did someone bother you?” You brush him off every time and every time it chips at him. He’s patient at first, trying to coax you in those soft ways he only ever shows you, sitting close, resting his hand on your thigh, brushing your hair back behind your ear, murmuring, “Talk to me, sweetheart.” But when weeks pass and you still stay curled inside yourself, he starts pacing more, starts clenching his jaw when he thinks you’re not looking, starts watching you with that particular kind of tension that only Jason Todd can carry, like he’s preparing for a battle he can’t see.
The problem is that Jason doesn’t know how to deal with secrets between the people he loves. He can’t. He’s lived a life full of them, used as weapons against him, used to hurt him, used to betray him. So every day that passes with you shutting him out feels like another betrayal he can’t name out loud. And you feel it. You feel the distance tightening like wire between you both.
Eventually the strain becomes something alive in the apartment, something you both tiptoe around. You start sleeping with your back turned to him, he starts getting home later, staying out longer on patrol, throwing himself into danger with more recklessness than usual. You hear it in his boots when he walks in at 3 am, the heavy, tired, angry stomp of a man who doesn’t want to be asked where he’s been. He still kisses you goodnight, every night. But sometimes the kiss lands on your cheek instead of your lips because you’ve already turned away. Sometimes his hand hovers over your hip but doesn’t settle, like he’s not sure if he’s welcome. And sometimes, those are the ones that break you, he lies down beside you but leaves a few inches of space between your bodies, breathing slow and controlled like he’s holding himself together with nothing but stubbornness. The worst part is that he doesn’t say a word about it. Not one. Jason stays silent, because silence is the only weapon he has left that won’t hurt you. But it hurts anyway. It hurts so much.
A month passes. Then two. Then three. And you think maybe you can just keep pretending until eventually the grief dulls enough that you can tell him the truth without breaking apart. But grief doesn’t dull, it grows teeth, it gnaws at you at unexpected moments, when a child laughs on the street, when you pass a maternity ad, when Jason puts his hand on the small of your back and the instinctive picture of a family flashes before you like a ghost. You start losing sleep, you cry in the shower so he won’t hear, you cling to him at night like you’re afraid he’ll disappear. And he knows. He knows something is wrong but you still say nothing. It gets to the point where he pulls away from a kiss one evening and murmurs, “You don’t want me anymore, do you?” You freeze, your lungs collapse. “What? No, Jason, no—” “Then why won’t you touch me?” His voice cracks on the last word and you realize you’ve hurt him more by hiding the truth than you ever would’ve by saying it. But still, you can’t. You can’t. Not yet, not like this. “I’m just tired” you whisper, lying again, hating yourself for it. Jason nods, jaw tight, eyes hollow. “Right. Tired.” He walks away, you curl into the couch and shake.
Two more weeks pass. You don’t see the explosion coming, not until it hits. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed folding laundry, staring at nothing, drowning in the same grief you carry every day, while Jason storms in, helmet still on, shoulders rigid, breath unsteady like he just barely survived a fight. He pulls off the helmet and slams it onto the dresser so hard the wood cracks. You jump and he notices, his eyes narrow. And something in him just breaks. “Just tell me,” he says, voice low, too controlled. “Tell me what I did.” Your stomach drops. “Jason—” “No.” He steps closer, running a hand through his hair, pacing in small, agitated circles. “No more. No more of this—this silence. This distance. You flinch every time I touch you. You look like you’re drowning and you won’t let me help. So just—fucking tell me what I did wrong.” Your throat closes completely, you shake your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” “Then why won’t you let me in?” His voice breaks. It shatters something inside you.
“I can’t lose you” you whisper, trembling, because it’s true, the moment you tell him, you’ll have to face it again. You’ll have to relive it. You’ll have to watch him bleed for something he didn’t even know he’d lost. Jason stares at you, chest heaving. “You’re already losing me.” The words cut through you like a blade. “Jase, no—” “You don’t trust me.” “I do—” “No, you don’t.” His eyes are burning now, blue and furious and heartbroken. “You shut me out. You don’t talk to me. You’re scared of me touching you. And you won’t even tell me why. So maybe you should just say it. Maybe you should tell me you don’t want to be with me anymore.” It’s too much, your chest crumples, the grief twisting so violently you can’t hold it back anymore.
“I lost our baby” you choke, and the words rip out of you like they’ve been waiting, festering, clawing through your throat for months. Silence. The kind that swallows the world. Jason goes absolutely still, every muscle, every breath, every flicker of expression freezing at once. His mouth opens, closes. No sound comes out. Everything pours out in one long, strangled flood. “I was going to tell you the next day—I had everything planned—I was so excited—Jason, I was so happy—and then I was attacked, and I tried to protect them, I tried—” Your body shakes so violently you can barely speak.
“I lost it in the bathroom while you were out on patrol. I was alone. I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want you to hate yourself. And I just—I couldn’t—” Jason’s breathing is uneven, ragged, like someone is squeezing the air out of him. He steps back, a full step away from you like the weight of your words physically pushed him. His chest rises and falls too fast. His hands are shaking. You’ve never seen Jason shake. “We…” His voice cracks. He swallows hard. “We had a baby?” You nod, tears streaming down your face. Jason looks like someone just shot him. “And you… you went through that alone?” You sob, he scrubs a hand over his face, pacing backwards again, eyes wide, horrified, shattered. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I was scared.” “Of me?” “No. Of course not. Of watching you blame yourself.” He lets out a broken, humorless laugh. “I blame myself anyway.” “Jason—” “I wasn’t there.” His voice is getting louder, wilder, trembling with grief he doesn’t know where to put. “I should’ve been there.” “You didn’t know—” “I’m Red Hood. I’m supposed to protect the people I love. And you—you were out there alone and—god—” He turns away, pressing a fist to his mouth, shoulders shaking. Your heart cracks open watching him break. “Jason,” you whisper, reaching out.
He flinches, not because he doesn’t want you, because he doesn’t believe he deserves to be touched. “I can’t—” his voice fractures, “I can’t look at you right now.” The world stops, your knees go weak. Jason sees it instantly and the horror on his face deepens. “I didn’t mean—fuck—no, baby, I didn’t mean that, I just—” He squeezes his eyes shut, breath shaking. “I’m drowning.” “I know” you whisper, “I know, I am too.” “Why didn’t you let me drown with you sooner?” The question guts you because he’s right, because you kept him outside the pain and now he can’t find his way in. You sit on the bed, covering your face with your hands. Jason stands across the room breathing like he’s trying not to break everything he can reach. And for a long time, neither of you moves. It feels like the end, it really does, like something between you is splintering under the weight of everything you didn’t say.
Hours pass in silence. Eventually Jason sits down beside you, not touching, just close enough that his presence warms the air. His voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m not mad at you.” You nod weakly, still crying. “I’m mad at the world. At myself. At them.” He swallows. “But not at you.” You look up at him and his face softens in the way only Jason’s can, fierce and grieving and full of impossible love. “We almost lost each other tonight,” he says quietly. You nod. “I don’t want to lose you” you whisper, voice breaking. He reaches out, finally, hesitantly, and cups your face with both hands like you’re something fragile but precious.
“I’m right here,” he murmurs. “I’m angry and I’m hurting and I’m fucked up, but I’m here.” You break all over again, leaning into his touch, and he pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you so tightly you can feel his heartbeat pounding against your chest. He buries his face in your shoulder and you can feel his tears. Jason Todd does not cry easily but he cries for this, for you, for the child you both lost without ever having the chance to know. “We’ll get through this” he whispers into your neck, voice raw. “It’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna take time. But I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.”
You cling to him like he’s air, like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the world. And slowly the fracture between you begins to close. Not perfectly, not immediately, but together.
Damian x Brazilian wife reader. (Translated with Google Translate so it’s probably not 100% correct) I hope you like it 🌺, if you want something different just let me know!!
Not proofread so there’s probably mistakes.
Damian looking at you, his pregnant wife. His beloved, carrying his babygirl that will be here in less than a month. (GIRL DAD DAMIAN)
You look beautiful, in a yellow sundress that accentuates your bump. He admires you as you walk to the freezer in the kitchen. He’s leaning on the counter, just watching and waiting just in case you need help with anything.
He prefers you sit down and rest. You’re tired, sore and just cranky as hell. But you’re nine months pregnant, it’s to be expected.
So when you open the freezer and find your ice cream gone? You turn to him with a glare. It was there last night, you sure as hell didn’t finish it off. The culprit, is staring at you lovingly while leaning on the counter.
He should’ve known better than to eat the last bit of your ice cream and not replace it. To be fair, he meant to go out shopping but he wanted to stay home with you today.
And now here you are, scolding him in your native language.
Você acabou com o sorvete que eu estava desejando e não comprou mais?! (You finished the ice cream I was craving and didn’t buy anymore?!)
You throw your hands up in the air in frustration as you speak. Your bottom lip juts out and your eyes get watery as you rub your bump.
Eu queria muito aquele sorvete, Dami. (I really wanted that ice cream, Dami)
All he does is smile and embrace you while mumbling an apology into your hair. He loves when you speak to him in Portuguese. Of course when the two of you first started talking, he learned it immediately.
He loves when you do it, doesn’t matter if you’re scolding him or praising him. He thinks you sound so beautiful when you do it.
The past nine months, you’ve asked for a lot of things that you’ve been craving. He has brought home every single one of them.
He left in the middle of the night to go ask Alfred if he could make you spinach and artichoke dip. When he came home with it, you kissed him happily.
Meu homem perfeito, eu te amo. Obrigada. (My perfect man, I love you. Thank you.)
He smiled and brushed your hair behind your ears. Pecked your forehead and went to sit on the couch with you as you ate the dip with some chips.
Minha linda esposa. (My beautiful wife)
He muttered, staring at you. You smile at him, you feel your babygirl kick and you quickly grab his hand to place it in your belly. He places a kiss onto your bump as he mutters.
Tim walking past the coffee shop you frequented years ago. He glances inside the window as he carries on.
Until his eyes glaze over you, and his heart stops.
He stops in his tracks and turns to look back through the glass almost desperately. Searching for you.
He thinks he hallucinated, until he sees you typing on a laptop. He stares. His hand lowers the umbrella that he was holding. His movements automatic as he closes it.
The rain hasn’t stopped, It’s pouring. But he’s too stunned to see you. The rain soaking his hair and his clothes.
You look the same to him, just a bit more refined.
Fucking ethereal
He’s trying to get the courage to actually go in, say hi. Catch up. Something
But he’s stuck in that spot, reminiscing of what could have been if he didn’t dump you years ago.
You were too good, too sweet, he cared so much about you but he became robin. He couldn’t juggle you and being robin. He was hurting you. He kept lying about his whereabouts.
You brought it up to him. He lied. You could tell, but you didn’t say anything. He was young, he didn’t know he could have both.
His thoughts are interrupted when your eyes meet his through the coffee shop window. Yours widen in shock, as you witness the man you love, standing there. You tried to date, a little over a year after he left you. It never worked out.
He was it for you and now he’s outside. Staring at you, like you’re going to slip away. He is soaked, head to toe and it doesn’t even seem to register in him.
You wave him inside, a bit worried he’s going to get sick. He comes in and makes his way toward your table.
He sits down across from you and is at a loss for words.
“Hi, Tim”
He breathes out a sigh of relief.
“Hi….wow, look at you!”
You chuckle awkwardly, heat rising to your cheeks.
“I didn’t realize I had that effect.”
You tease lightly.
“On me? Yeah, that never went away”
He spoke earnestly. You raise an eyebrow, a bit shocked at the honesty coming out of him.
He smiles as he combs through the hair on his forehead. Still as handsome as ever.
He stares, like he’s memorizing every bit of your face.
He did that before he dumped you. He catalogued every line, every freckle, every small scar, the specks in your eyes. He hasn’t forgotten you. To see you in person again, god his heart is beating out of his chest.
“You okay Tim?”
He clears his throat and looks down at his hands on the table.
“Yeah I uh— I just want to be honest about everything….Can I?”
