while looking at my writing from high school, i've realized that i've been writing in present tense since i started writing again, and i think that's why i've hated everything i've written recently
content/warnings: mdni! unprotected p in v, ngl barely smut because i made kyle sad halfway through
a/n: was going to do kinktober but lowkey had a mental breakdown and have not written anything since this
Becoming a Green Lantern made you feel like you were on top of the world. Everyone loves you, you can will almost anything into existence, and you’ve made some pretty interesting friends.
The only problem is that Kyle Rayner is an asshole.
Everyone’s favorite golden boy. He treats people with kindness and respect, only pushing back when necessary. You, on the other hand, he treats as if you’re nothing more than a speck of dust.
When you first met Kyle, you thought he was amazing. Not only did he have a lovely personality and a handsome face, but he also held the power of the entire emotional spectrum. It was easy to idolize him. That was until he publicly shamed you every time you made a mistake. Or when he embarrassed you in front of everyone. Or when he called you a slut in private.
Though you’re not too sure you mind that last statement.
“God, you’re so fucking easy, y’know that?” He pants into your ear, slamming his dick into you from behind. “You this much a slut for everyone? Or just me?”
“Jus- just you,” you stammer out. It wasn’t long after you met that the two of you realized taking out your anger in different ways might be more efficient than yelling on the battlefield. One pissed off conversation later and you ended up in his bed. After the tenth time going back, the shame wore off.
“Good,” your body feels as if it’s on fire as his hands roam. He caresses you much more gently than his words and actions portray. “Only I can have you.”
As his cock assaults your core, you can’t help but think about how his words have softened and his harsh ways have become almost protective. When you’re on missions, his usual insults have become more teasing. Though he won’t admit why his hatred is so strong, you can feel it beginning to crack.
He knows though. Kyle wears his shame in the form of hatred, not too sure how else to manage it.
The first time he had you, his guilt took over after the fact. You’re the first girl he’s been truly attracted to since his ex, Alex, was murdered.
He knows he has to keep living. He knows he should let himself feel love and attraction, but he also can’t get the nagging thought out of his head that tells him Alex was his fault. Hence why instead of being normal, he’s a fucking dick.
You tense up as his cock prods relentlessly at your cervix, forcing an orgasm out of you.
He looks down at where he is skewering you, and he watches as his cock gets painted in your release. The sight of your cum claiming him starts to send him over the edge.
After letting you ride out your orgasm, he pulls out, squirting cum down the center of your back. All while rubbing his length through the fold of your ass, encouraging more cum out of him.
Cleaning your back off, he almost feels ready to confess in this moment of softness, but of course, his own pride and shame get in the way. He quickly gets dressed and makes his way out, leaving your thoroughly fucked out and completely and utterly conflicted.
a/n: anyways, do yall use come or cum? i can't decide which one i hate more
a/n: ooc jason essentially bc this is a 500 word fic where nothing really happens
“Did you rake my whole yard?”
“The kid wanted a leaf pile, so I made him a leaf pile,” standing in your backyard, Jason Todd holds a plastic rake. Despite the autumn chill, he’s sweating through his tee shirt. This must’ve taken awhile.
You didn’t know what to expect—leaving your son alone with your boyfriend for the first time. It’s not that you didn’t trust Jason, but you didn’t want to force him into the role of “dad.” He clearly doesn’t seem to mind as he watches your son run through the leaves with a fond expression on his face.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you say.
“Eh,” he shrugs the comment off. “The kid’s happy. Kept him busy.”
“Did he help?”
“If you call him ruining every small pile I made helping,” he smirks over at you. “Then yeah, he helped.”
“Sorry,” you frown, coming to stand right next to him. “He’s a pain.”
“He’s a good kid,” he shakes his head.
“He likes you.”
“Does he?” An uncertain expression bares his face. Jason would never admit it, but he so badly wants your boy to like him. He already knows that the minute the kid says something bad about Jason, he’s out the door. And he kind of really wants to stick around.
He also kind of really likes the five-year-old.
“Yeah,” a smile forms on your face, thinking of all the private conversations you’ve had with your son. “He’s always asking when you’ll be over next, and if you’ll cook his favorite meal. Sometimes, when I read him a bedtime story, he says he wishes it was you reading it to him instead.”
The disdain is bright on your face at the last thought. Damn kid is starting to like your boyfriend more than you. But the smile that comes over Jason’s face takes away any jealous thoughts you have about the matter.
“You gotta do the voices for each character,” Jason wags his finger at you. “He likes the voices.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you smack his arm. “Well, you don’t have to worry about him liking you. He likes you almost as much as I do.”
“You like me?” Cocky bastard.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” you move to turn away, but Jason grabs your hand and pulls you into him.
Your lips touch, and you instantly feel at home. Though you’ve had your ups and downs in your relationship, he never fails to make you feel like you’re the most loved person in the world.
“Yuck!” You hear a high-pitched voice from off in the distance. It sems your son noticed the public display of affection happening in his very own backyard.
“Shuddap!” Jason pulls away to yell before briefly kissing you again and then runs off to grab the little boy playing in the leaves.
You feel the chill in the air and the sunlight hitting your skin. Laughter fills your ears as you take in the sight of your two favorite boys. You’re home.
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.”
congratulations! you've reached the end of the fic :) have some memes:
GALE was the vocal one during sex. He was helpless and mewing half the time. His hands pawing and clawing at your hips with his head thrown back. He tried to watch you ask much as he could, but his eyes would slip shut. Especially when you anchored your hands on his chest to give yourself a better angle, to have more leverage. He was a mess of moans and panting out your name like a prayer. Every few rolls and snaps of your hips he'd groan and whine, a soft noise, quiet, deep from his chest.
"That's it- God's, that's lovely. You're wonderful at this, are you- ah-" A sharp moan left him, his hands gripping the meat of your ass. He kneaded it, using it to help you fuck him just the way he liked. "I worry I might not survive this.." He swallowed hard, choking back a pathetic whine. "My love.. You're a delight-"
He couldn't help it. You sounded like an animal, your keening moans and open mouth cries. You had made his dick creamy, like a crown at the base. His pubes sticky, navel tacky. You'd come once or twice on his cock. He loved that. He loved feeling those pillowy walls clench around him, trying to milk him for everything he had and more.
"I can't last- not like this-" His hands shook. He was tempted to pull you off of him, so he could have a breather. He was no stranger to edging, you found this wildly hot. How he'd force himself to pull out, panting against your neck in between mouth mouthed kisses on your neck.
Instead, he rolled you over, your legs hooked around his waist from the position change. He pressed your thighs to your chest, angling them apart. He pistoned into with abandon, the wet slaps mixed with your combined moans was a symphony of sin. His forehead pressed to yours, his eyes barely open.
"Look at me. Please." He was barely able to get the words out. His chest tight from the gasps for air, it was like your hot cunt squeezed the air from his lungs. You couldn't deny your wizard what he wanted, such a simple request. When your eyes met, one hand left your thigh to hold your cheek. "Hello, my love.." His words soft and sweet. So sweet. It went straight to your pussy. She was battered by all the attention he'd given her. It was all too much, he was pounding all rationality from you. The waves of another orgasm threatened to crash over you and sweep you away. Gale knew this. From the beginning he was so in tune with what your body was doing.
He used his shoulders to keep your legs pinned, his now free hand dropping down to circle your clit with precision. He felt the grip on his hair tighten, nails raking his back. "That's it, my sweet. Absolutely divine. Like you're a gift from the gods themselves.."
His hips stuttered, eyes fluttering as your cunt clenched him. "Gods above and below.." He buried himself one last time, staying in place as he spilled himself deep inside. His legs trembled as his seed coated your walls. he didn't pull out right away, his face resting into your neck, breath wavering.
His cum oozed out in thick gobs with every twitch and flutter from both of you, ruining the sheets.
summary: When the batfam receives a call--claiming they know Bruce Wayne is Batman--they attempt to figure out who is calling.
content/warnings: fluff, no warnings just silly batfam stuff, gn!reader
word count: 1.1k
a/n: i was only going to do a short blurb, as i don't think anyone will particularly care about this. but, alas, i can't stop writing sometimes
“The call is coming from inside the house,” Oracle announces over the phone.
“Is that a joke?” Tim questions. You snort.
“No, you idiot,” you can hear Babs audibly sigh. “Whoever is calling is inside the manor.”
“How would anyone be inside the manor?” You ask, confused.
“Maybe someone’s pranking us,” says Tim, suspiciously glancing from person to person.
“It can’t be any of us,” Damian reminds him. “Everyone was together when the calls started.”
“I’ll search the house,” Bruce huffs.
“I’ll join you,” Alfred says. Babs hangs up—letting the group know that if she finds any new information, she’ll call back immediately—leaving you, Tim, and Damian to your own devices and theories.
One hour ago, the house phone received a call. A deep, grainy voice filled the silence, saying that he knows Bruce Wayne is Batman. He has cold-hard evidence that Bruce is the Bat. Before anyone could reply, the call ended.
Thirty minutes later, the mystery man called back, stating the Dick Grayson is Nightwing. And just a few minutes ago, Red Hood’s identity came through the call.
The group assumes blackmail, but there’s never any added information. After Alfred picked up the first call, Bruce picked up the second two. As he tried to butt in, the man kept talking. Completely ignoring Bruce’s comments.
Dumbfounded, the supposed World’s Greatest Detective’s called Oracle, Barbara Gordan, to see if she could track the number. And as she said prior, the call is coming from inside the same building you are standing in.
“Anything?” Tim asks Bruce and Alfred as they reenter the cave.
“No,” Bruce answers gravely. “There is no one in the manor. We checked everywhere.”
“I can’t imagine anyone would get through the security protections,” Alfred supplies.
“It’s weird,” you say, but are cut off before you can say anything else. The phone started ringing again. You look at the clock. It’s the thirty minute mark, not a second to spare. Odd.
Bruce picks up the phone and sets it on speaker. “I know that Cassandra Cain is Batgirl. I know that she is on patrol toni-,” Bruce slams the phone down with a growl, pissed at the thought of someone threatening his family.
“It’s age order,” Tim hums. “My name will be next.”
“The calls come in every thirty minutes,” you state. “Next call, I’m going to wander the house and see if I hear anything.”
“Assuming Babs is correct, you should hear someone talking,” Tim agrees with your plan.
“I don’t think anyone is here,” Bruce grumbles out, staring at the phone. He is undeniably a smart man, but when it comes to his family and his secrets, he gets a bit… stressed. And right now, it seems as if he wants to tear the entire city apart.
“Yeah, I doubt there is,” you agree, giving his arm a pat. “But it doesn't hurt to check.”
He nods in agreement, and you go on your merrily way out of the cave. But not before taking note of how quiet Damian has been.
He’s not usually loud per se, but he seems to be unusually quiet tonight. You could chalk it down to the stress of their identities being revealed, but considering his slightly smug face, you’re not that stupid. And suddenly, you have a sneaking suspicion you know what’s happening.
You walk toward the generally more polluted area of the manor and wait for the clock to strike. Once it does, you begin your hunt.
Walking straight to the younger Wayne’s bedroom, you find a locked door. Easy enough to pick, but you’re faced with another conundrum. There’s a chair blocking the door handle. If there is someone inside, the door makes sense. If not—which is the more likely scenario—your concerned on how the perpetrator got out of the bedroom. There aren’t any other ways out, nor is there a way out of the window that didn’t involve scaling the building.
You recall that Bruce’s office has an adjacent window, so that is where you head.
“Huh,” you say, as you stare out the window. Directly angling the office is Damian’s bedroom window. In a slim opening, a rope hangs from the window—which is on the third story—down to the grassy floor. Someone clearly has too much free time.
Opening Bruce’s window, you shimmy out. There’s not anything to grip onto or stand on while outside, so you sit on the windowsill and hold the inside of the room as you prepare to jump. Luckily, you have a lot of practice scaling buildings, jumping from place to place, and doing much more complicated things, but the lack of an opening will make it difficult to grab onto the window.
How the hell was he planning on getting back in here? You think right before making the leap, pushing your feet against the outer walls and releasing your hold on the office wall.
The window opening is smaller than you originally thought, and you slip. Grabbing onto the rope, you’re propelling in the air. You are going to kill that kid.
Hoping that whatever this rope is tied to is sturdy, you begin your ascent back up to his room. Pushing open his window, you slide inside, basking in the warmth. And, alas, you were correct.
On his desk sits a burner phone hooked up to his laptop. On the laptop is strange coding that initially confuses you, but you soon realize that it’s coded to make the call every thirty minutes.
You then notice that there is another burner phone attached to the laptop. One with recordings on it. Damn kid.
Making your way back into the cave, you make out quiet conversation—clearly, they are still trying to figure out who the mystery caller is.
While facing their backs, you begin to play the next message. Your message. “I know y/n is…” It’s not even necessary to finish the recording. The look on Damian’s face is priceless.
“You have some explaining to do,” you point at the young boy.
“T- t,” he stutters before his explanation. “Father threw out Alfred’s favorite toy!”
“Alfred the cat?” Tim asks. “Or are we about to have a very different conversation?”
“You did this because I threw out a cat toy?” Bruce asks, exasperated.
“Yes,” Damian huffs. “You didn’t even ask him if he wanted it.”
“He’s a cat.”
“So?!” Damian exclaims.
“Hold on,” you pause their conversation. “Let me get this straight. You created an elaborate code to automatically call the house phone, scaled the outside of the manor, and just sat here—watching us stress over nothing—all because you wanted to get revenge on Bruce for throwing out a cat toy?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” you reply. “Cool.”
“He scaled the manor?” Tim questions, not expecting much of an answer from the astonished group of people.
a/n: done with my smut attempts. i shall only write silly stuff for the foreseeable future
i'm busy thinking about boyfriend TIM DRAKE helping a hopelessly restless girlfriend study by rewarding her with his fingers every time she gets a question right...
mhmm.
"c'mon, baby," he coos into your ear, lips pressing a chaste to the skin underneath the shell of your ear, "you know the answer to this one."
his free hand taps on the screen of your laptop expectantly; the question, 'what is an operating system?' glowing mockingly against your face. tim's busy hand works tirelessly against your clit-- rubbing, circling-- pinching, every time you get a question wrong.
"i- i don't know," you stutter out, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he presses the pad of one of his fingers to your clit hard.
his movements cease, before a soft smack! echoes throughout tim's bedroom. muffled by your panties, the spank tim delivered to your throbbing cunt sounded nothing short of filthy.
"yes you do." he says plainly, removing his hand entirely from your underwear, only to greedily shove his soaked fingers into his mouth. he hums at the taste of your arousal, turning his head to look at you through thick, dark lashes. "tell me."
you wrack your brain for an answer-- really, really trying to ignore how fucked out your boyfriend looks just from getting a lick of your slick from his fingers. "a software system; it manages, the... hardware n' software resources."
your babbling seems to have pleased tim (never mind how basic your answer had been)-- as his hand dives straight back into your needy pussy. he nods, grinning, "good job, baby-- told you you knew the answer, my smart girl,"
his praises send shocks to your core-- pussy clenching around nothing. you whine, bucking your hips at an attempt to get tim's slender fingers inside you. he teases you, fingers dipping in and out, barely past where you need them the most.
"next question," he hums, clicking something on your laptop; a new question appears, and you're already internally groaning. "what is inheritance? c'mon, this is intro stuff, s'easy," he coaxes, pressing another sloppy kiss to your jaw.
"god-- s'like, the child class can inherit behaviours n' shit from-- fuuuuuck!" tim cuts your answer in half, suddenly going knuckles deep inside you. you feel his fingers curl almost immediately, and your head lolls backwards onto your boyfriend's shoulder. dipping his head low to kiss the newly-exposed skin of your throat, tim hums.
"that's good, you're on the right track," his tongue darts out to lick the salty flesh of your neck, before he whispers, "keep goin',"
tim's adamant in his movements, fingers unrelenting as they press insistently upon your g-spot. "the d-derived can inherit behaviours from pre-existing parent classes," you gasp out, hips rocking against his hand, craving more friction, "it promotes code re-use--shiit!-- right?"
tim's free palm that had been resting on your laptop suddenly moves to grope your tit-- squeezing and molding the fat in his hands, tim grins against your neck. "good job, sweets," he purrs. "see? i knew you could study," tim swallows, fingers pulsing in and out of you with a purpose.
"you jus' needed the right motivation."
PLUVOiA '25 ® - masterlist
loren's thots: "nobody caaaaares about tim drake" i do have u SEEN johann fitch???
summary: While at the fall fair, you and your boyfriend enter a mirror maze. He suggests playing a game. What could go wrong?
content/warnings: afab!reader, reader wears a skirt, porn without plot, unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, oral (f!receiving), implied that reader is shorter than dick if you squint, established relationship, mirror sex, it's implied that reader is a vigilante or hero but it's not important, petnames used: baby
word count: 2.6k
a/n: i actually hate this but im still posting it because idgaf
“I’m glad we came here on a weeknight,” you say, wrapping your hand around the curve of Dick’s arm. “Not too busy.”
“Not as many screaming kids as usual,” the colorful lights reflect off his face, giving him a color changing hue.
You look around and see various carnival games, food stands—all of which solely sell fried goodies, and a clown blowing up balloon animals. The crisp chill in the air causes you to shiver and further lean your body into Dick’s.
“I love the fair,” you say, as he maneuvers his arm out of your grasp and around your shoulders, shielding you from the breeze. “It’s my favorite part of autumn.”
“Reminds me of the circus kind of.”
“I bet the circus didn’t have fried Oreos and corn dogs wrapped in bacon.”
“We had popcorn and cotton candy,” he gives you a look. “Stuff that won’t kill you after one bite.”
“Sorry, I only eat food that leaves behind a grease stain,” you respond and let your gaze wander. “Oooh, let’s go there!”
Standing in your line of sight is a large, bright red tent. The massive sign on the front of the erect building says “House of Mirrors” in red and gold lettering.
“A mirror maze?” He gives an amused hum.
“Yeah, it sounds like fun,” you say excitedly. “I’ve never been in one before.”
“It sounds like a headache.”
“Come on, Nightwing. I didn’t realize being a crime fighting vigilante causes you to outgrow excitement,” you pull at his arm. “Live a little.”
“And by living, you want to go into a disorienting, dimly lit tent?” His eyebrows bunch up in a judgmental look.
“All I know is that Robin would’ve gone in with me,” you say with a humph, reminiscing on your childhood years.
“You act like I died once the suit changed,” he rolls his eyes, but starts walking towards the mirror maze.
Entering the tent truly is disorienting. It’s dark, with small amounts of brightness illuminating from the emergency lights that line the floor and the copious amount of strobe lights coming from the ceiling. This place is in dire need of a seizure warning.
There’s loud carnival music playing from a hidden speaker—or maybe multiple speakers as the music comes from all directions. The kind you’d hear at your average traveling circus or while spinning round and round on a carousel.
The first thing you see is… well, a mirror. Just one mirror. You see yourself, dressed in an oversized sweater, matching skirt, and sheer tights. Beside you, with a hand resting on the small of your back, is Dick. He is dressed in a blue sweater—one that causes the color of his eyes to pop—and a pair of jeans.
Together, you look like a copybook couple. Happy and in love; the ideal American couple archetype. A perfect pair—the type of people who might go to church together and marry young.
“It looks like we’re the only people who think that going in here sounds fun,” Dick says with sarcastic cheer, alluding to the noticeably empty area, the sound of other life obviously absent from the maze. His gentle hand guides you further into the tent, and alas, more mirrors. All of them are places along a large wall that seems to be blocking the maze goers from seeing the main event.
“Oh, shut up,” you smack his side causing a false wince. Silly boy. “It’s for sure crowded on the weekends. Plus, this way we can be as loud and annoying as we want without disturbing anyone.”
“Loud, you say?” He hums. “We should play a game.”
“A game?”
“Yeah,” Dick’s gaze is almost predatory, though you blame the look on the lights and shadows. “A game.”
“Okaaay,” you rock on your heels, an innocent looking move. Dick thinks it’s cute. “What kind of game?”
“You run,” his mouth forms a ghost of a smile. “I’ll catch you.”
“Like tag?”
“I was thinking more like hide and seek.”
“Hm,” you turn and walk through the official entrance of the maze, Dick trailing behind you. With mirrors in all directions, you suddenly feel a bit overwhelmed. If not for the fact that Dick is standing just a few feet away, you might have had difficulty figuring out where he really was. Each mirror shows a different angel from a different perspective. An optical illusion of sorts. “I think we should just stay together.”
“What? Where’s the fun in that,” he pulls you towards him, the front of your bodies almost touching. “Live a little.”
“Ah, using my own words against me,” you smack his chest. “Fine but turn around and give me a head start.”
He turns around and makes direct eye contact in the mirror. “I can still see you.”
“You idiot,” a dramatic sigh releases from your lips. “There are mirrors in every direction. Close your eyes.”
“Should’ve specified,” he shuts them anyway.
“Annoying bastard,” you grumble under your breath as you make to run away.
The tent looked big from the outside, but it somehow feels ginormous inside. As you run deeper into the maze, you wonder how the two of you will make it out without getting lost. You also wonder if Dick will even be able to find you.
He didn’t say how long you would have before his search begins, so you’re not sure when to expect him. As a few minutes pass, you continue to wander through the mirror maze. At one turn, you swear you see him, but when taking a second glance, he’s nowhere to be seen. You figure it’s not him as he would’ve seen you and in turn, gone after you. You’re the one hiding, not him.
Turning a different corner, you see him with certainty. You turn to run in a different direction, and there he is again. Damn mirrors. You then move back in the other direction and make your grand escape.
Time ticks by, though you don’t know exactly how much time has passed. It had to have been at least fifteen minutes.
Though he definitely saw you during the last encounter, he makes no quick pursuit. Choosing, instead, to trail behind at a slower pace.
What you don’t know is that he’s seen you far more times than two. He’ll admit he jested when you asked to come in here, but he’s also not ashamed to admit that he’s enjoying this. Enjoying the sight of you glance around and take cautious steps. You trust him entirely, but your anxiety at the thought of him—or anyone sneaking up on you is clear as day.
He sees you slip into a corner created by two mirrors. It’s a shitty hiding place and he can see an opening to sneak around without any mirrors giving him away. All he has to do now is wait. And as it turns out…
Dick Grayson enjoys the hunt.
Minutes pass and you still don’t hear any footsteps. Decidedly bored, you think it might be time to move spots.
What you don’t anticipate is someone grabbing you from behind the minute you turn the corner. Letting out a yelp, you struggle in his grasp. Realistically, you know it’s Dick. A little more irrationally, this game—and being alone in the maze—freaked you out more than you’d like to admit.
“Gotcha,” he murmurs into your ear.
“No fair,” you whine and turn around in his grip. “If I hadn’t moved-“
“Nope,” he cuts you off. “I’ve been standing there for about two minutes. Would’ve caught you anyway.”
“How’d you see me?!”
“Baby,” he gives you a look that says really? “We’re surrounded by mirrors.”
“Yeah,” you jut out your lower lip. “But I didn’t see you.”
“You could’ve seen me, but you weren’t paying attention,” he sing-songs into your ear and grabs your hips when you continue pouting rather than responding. “Sore loser.”
“Nuh uh.”
“Uh huh.”
“Let’s leave,” you shiver. “This place gives me the heebie jeebies.”
“No no no,” he shakes his head at you. “I won. Where’s my prize?”
“Your prize?” You knit your eyebrows together. “I don’t think we agreed on a prize.”
“Well, I deserve one.”
“Hm,” your face still forms a confused look. “How ‘bout I buy you funnel cake?”
He chuckles lightly. “I have a different prize in mind,” he leans down and gently kisses your neck a few times before nipping at your pulse point.
“Dick,” you scold. “We’re in public.”
“There’s nobody here,” he pulls back a bit before attacking your lips. His grip on your hips tighten as you attempt to pull away.
“But anyone,” you mutter out between kisses. “Could come in.” Though your cheeks burn at the thought of being caught, you kiss him back with the same intensity you’re receiving.
“Don’t worry,” he hums. “I have good hearing. I’ll hear them coming before they even walk into the tent.”
He pushes your back against a mirror next to you and goes back to sucking on your neck. You lean your head back, giving him better access. Over his shoulder, you watch in a mirror as your face contorts in pleasure and shock as your boyfriend moves a hand between your legs.
“Dick…”
“Shh,” he taunts as he slides down into a kneeling position. “Someone’s gonna hear you.”
You’re too mesmerized by his clear blue eyes to pay much attention to how his hands run up your clothed thighs. Once his hands reach the section of your body he wants, he frowns slightly. “That won’t do.”
Suddenly, you hear a tear and feel a rush of cold air on your legs. The asshole ripped your tights.
“Dick!” you exclaim. “What the hell!”
“I’ll buy you new ones,” he huffs out a laugh. You almost forget your anger as he slowly pulls down your lacy panties. Clearly, someone was expecting to get laid tonight. Not that you’d ever admit it.
“Don’t rip those, too,” you grumble.
He ignores your complaints and shoves his face up your skirt, causing you to stumble. Dick grabs your sides as you find your footing. It’s impossible to stop a moan from escaping your mouth as his tongue swoops through your folds.
He begins slowly fucking you with his tongue. The strange sensation and wetness makes you grab at his shoulders. His tongue is going in and out of your pussy while his nose prods at your clit.
In a state of frustration, you begin gently grinding on his face, conveying how it’s not enough without actually speaking. Lucky for you, Dick Grayson is a very smart boy.
While removing one hand from your body, he runs his tongue from the core of your cunt up to your clit. His hand comes up between your legs and he slowly pushes a finger into you. Thank god Dick has never had a problem finding your g-spot.
The sensation of his mouth sucking on you and his long digit pushing at all the hard-to-reach places, forces a breathy moan from your mouth. He groans at the sound and adds a finger before shoving back into you.
As his fingers curl, you can feel an orgasm building up. With nothing else to do but hold onto him, you look at one of the mirrors again and watch him worship your body.
Your cunt begins to pulse at the sight, and you let out your release on his hand, whimpers and chants of his name falling from your mouth. It feels as if Dick is the only word you know. That’s a crazy euphemism, you think as you come to a saner state.
He pulls back, still kneeling, and he looks straight up sinful. Bringing his fingers up to his mouth, he begins to clean them off, sucking every last drop that you gave him.
Your boyfriend stands up and grabs to fix your underwear but stops when you reach for his belt buckle.
You start undoing his belt, but Dick grabs your hands. “We don’t have to. Already got my prize.”
“We never agreed on what the prize was,” your hands break free, and you free his belt from his jeans, now making your way through his zipper. “I think your prize still has more to offer.”
“Fuck,” he hisses as you pull his cock out of his jeans. His size never ceases to amaze you. You run your finger over the vein that protrudes down the underside of him and he closes his eyes. “You make me crazy.”
“I want you to fuck me, Dick,” you smirk up at him as he groans. Your confirmation makes him flip like a switch, and he immediately shoves you against the mirror again. Raising your leg up, he helps you wrap it around his hip. It’s not the most comfortable angle to hold, but he makes it easier by supporting your ass.
With the now easy access, he grips his dick and slams into you in one movement. You both gasp at the feeling as he gives you a moment to adjust.
“Fucking hell,” he briefly leans his forehead against yours. “You were made for me.”
All you can do is nod in agreement as he starts moving. With your leg up, his cock manages to hit as deep as possible.
The two of you kiss, bite, and fuck as if you’ll die the moment this is over. You feel your second orgasm form in your lower stomach, and you start jutting your hips in rhythm with his, craving that release. That is, until Dick suddenly pulls out.
“Wha?” You can’t even finish your question before he makes you switch places, except now your back is to his chest.
He moves his body to an angle where he can easily access your dripping core again and slowly enters.
“Look at us, baby,” he says into your ear. With a hand beneath your chin, he forces you to look directly forward at the mirror in front of you. “Look how hot you are while I’m stuffing you with my cock.”
And he’s right. You both look hot. You can’t do anything but fall limply into him with shaking legs. It’s a mystery how you’re still standing. Meanwhile, Dick fucks into you with a rabid pace. His chin is leaning onto your shoulder as he stares into the mirror, eyes never leaving your face.
At this point, anyone could walk in, and you’d probably let him keep fucking you.
Without any warning, your pussy starts clenching around him and you’re coming. You throw your head back on his collarbone and let out a moan that is far too loud given the circumstance.
Feeling your walls closing around him, Dick releases inside of you. He wraps his arms firmly around your body and takes advantage of the view. In the mirror, you look thoroughly fucked out. Your facial expression is pornographic, and Dick can’t help but feel smug that this is all for him.
Once you’ve both caught your breath, Dick uses your newly obliterated tights to clean the inside of your thighs. Though the idea of you walking around with his come dripping down your thighs turns him on, he figures you’ve had enough of his kinky desires for one night.
“You know how to get out of here?” You ask, glancing around hopelessly.
“Uhhh, yeah,” Dick replies. Totally convincing.
“Ugh,” you grab his hand and head off to what you think is the direction you came from. “Better start looking.”
Not sexually - though, sure, it could lead there if you wanted - but more in the casual, cozy, yours and his little bubble kind of way. Just perched on top of him like you always do. Whether it’s on the couch, your bed, or even the floor, he prefers it that way. He likes it when you’re close. When he can lean back and look up at you, all bright-eyed and soft-lipped, when his hands can rest on your body and he doesn’t have to reach too far to kiss you.
There’s something about the way you settle against him, your knees on either side of his hips, your weight pressed gently into his lap. It makes him feel grounded. Needed. Yours.
And Dick, well, his hands always have to be doing something. That’s just how he is. Sometimes, he traces slow, absentminded lines up and down your thighs, his touch feather-light, thumbs brushing the curve of your legs. Other times, they hold your waist, gently squeezing, like he’s reminding himself you’re real and here and his.
If you’re having an off day - if your voice is a little too quiet, if your shoulders droop - he doesn’t hesitate. He just tugs you down into his chest and wraps his arms around you tight. You go willingly, cheek to the soft cotton of his worn T-shirt, his scent wrapping around you like a blanket. He sways you slowly, side to side, cheek pressed against the top of your head, whispering little comforts into your hair.
And other times, when it’s quiet, when your laugh is still echoing in his ears, he says it softly under his breath, barely loud enough to be caught.
“You’re so pretty.”
And when you get all flustered, ducking your head or trying to hide your smile, he just grins, that crooked little grin with one dimple and eyes crinkled at the corners. His bright blue gaze finds yours, and he tilts your face up with one warm hand, his thumb stroking your cheek as he coos with so much affection it makes your chest ache: “My pretty girl.”
He kisses you. A slow, sweet kiss. The kind that tastes like love and home. The kind that makes you sigh against his lips and melt a little further into his lap. His nose brushes yours when he pulls away, still smiling, dark hair falling into his eyes.
No masks. No hero talk. Just you and him, sunk deep into each other like you were always meant to be.
hopefully theses are the blues you’re looking for, Anon ! they’re more towards the darker, more royal blues. :3 also i wasn’t sure what style you were looking for, so I just went with my typical banner style. good luck with your jjk theme :) !!
feel free to use; please like, reblog, and credit 〜
heyy!! love your fics and was hoping you could do a wally x batsis reader? I was thinking of wally going to barry for advice (dating/sexual (?)) and then it suddenly gets brought up that is batsis!r he's dating and barry freaks because its bats daughter lamo. obvi only if you have the inspiration! love your other wally fics <3
FORGET EVERYTHING I SAID ( Wally west! )
summary | Wally goes to his aunt's house to ask Barry for some advice on a cute girl he's dating, only Barry doesn't know he's talking about Bruce's daughter.
pairing | Wally West x Batsis!reader
cw | This really inspired me to write about Wally again, it revived a dead stage(?
wally mlist
Wally had been a bit lost in his life lately. It wasn't that he didn't like what he was doing right now, but he had a strange feeling of not being satisfied with himself and his actions. He had only recently started dating you, and when he said short, he meant maybe two months. And yet, he couldn't deny that there were times when he didn't feel like he was enough for you.
I mean, you were a fantastic girl: pretty, smart, funny, and with a great family to support you. You were a great catch for any guy, and Wally couldn't help thinking that sooner or later he'd realize he wasn't enough.
That feeling had brought him that afternoon to Central City, to the house where his Aunt Iris and Barry lived. The place always smelled of coffee and freshly printed newspaper pages, and although there was a certain amount of chaos on the table covered in papers, for Wally it was a space where he could breathe and, perhaps, find answers.
She rang the doorbell somewhat nervously, bouncing from foot to foot until Barry opened the door with his easy smile and a cup in hand.
"Hey, Wally," Barry smiled. "What are you doing here? Your aunt didn't tell me you were coming."
Wally swallowed, digging his hands into his jacket pockets. “It’s just, I… Can I come in?”
Barry stepped aside, still bewildered. The boy slumped onto the living room couch, bouncing his leg at an impossible pace. Iris peeked from the kitchen and waved, too preoccupied to notice how restless he was.
"Okay," Barry sat down across from him, placing his cup on the table. "Tell me. Any problems at school? Something with the Titans?"
"No, it's nothing like that." Wally ruffled his hair nervously. His cheeks were flushed. "It's... more personal."
Barry watched him, amused. "You have that look on your face where you want to ask something but I'm dying of embarrassment."
"It's not that bad," Wally muttered, though he knew it showed on his face.
Barry raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “So…personal type…?”
"Something like..." The word came out almost in a whisper " a girl..."
Barry let out a light laugh. “Oh. I see.”
"Don't laugh!" Wally leaned forward, red-faced. "I just... I don't know who else to ask."
Barry raised his hands. "It's okay, calm down. I'm not making fun of you. It's normal, Wally. Everything seems more intense at your age."
"Yes… "the boy admitted.
"So tell me, what's up with this girl?" Barry looked at him.
Wally took a deep breath, as if he were about to jump off a cliff. “She’s amazing, Barry. Smart, funny, beautiful. I really like her. But I don’t know if I’m… doing it right.”
"Doing it right?" Barry repeated, sounding amused. "Do you mean dates, or what comes after dates?"
Wally's ears turned scarlet. "Barry!"
"What?" Barry smiled, leaning back in his chair. "I'm trying to understand."
Wally mumbled something inaudible, playing with the zipper of his jacket between his fingers. "I don't want to ruin it. She... she's worth it."
Barry's smile softened, noticing the seriousness in his nephew's voice. "If she's worth it, Wally, what matters isn't 'doing it right' perfectly. It's listening to her, respecting her, talking things through. Believe me, no one is born knowing. We all stumble. I'm sure she's nervous about everything too, but it's normal. It happens to everyone, and here we are."
"Thanks Barry, I needed something to feel safe."
Barry took a deep breath. "So... you two... you know, you moved to second base?"
"What?"
"Look, the important thing is that you're both ready. The first time is never perfect, there are always nerves, there are always awkwardness. And that's okay." She leaned toward him, her tone more serious. "The only thing that matters is that you both love each other, that you care for each other, and that there's respect."
Wally nodded, swallowing.
"And, uh… while we're at it… "Barry stood up, went to a drawer in the hallway and came back with some small packages that he left on the table.
Wally's eyes widened. "Barry, really?!"
"Hey, don't make that face." Barry raised his hands, laughing. "I'd rather you have them and not use them than not have them when you need them."
Wally sank into the chair, red to the roots of his hair, but he finally took them. "Thanks... I guess."
Barry nodded, patting him on the shoulder. "Welcome to the adult world, Walls. Don't worry so much. If you care about her, you're already doing the right thing." Barry leaned back in his chair, satisfied. "So... can i know who's the lucky one?"
Wally hesitated, but finally murmured your name.
Barry blinked. Once. Twice. The last name echoed in his head like thunder.
Barry sat up straight as if he'd been shocked. "Are you... are you dating Batman's daughter?"
"Shhh!" Wally practically threw himself on top of him to cover his mouth. "Don't say it so loudly. Do you want me to bury myself alive?"
Barry stepped back, his face pale. He stood up and started pacing the room. He froze, staring at the small box in Wally's pocket as if it were an explosive.
"Oh, God..." He immediately snatched the condoms from her hands. "Give them to me! Forget everything I told you!"
"Hey!" Wally protested. "You gave them to me!"
Barry looked at him desperately. “Do you remember everything I told you?”
"Yes," Wally replied, confused.
Barry pointed at it with a trembling finger. “Forget it. Everything! Absolutely everything. And these, especially these”—he held up the package, shoving it back into the drawer he’d taken it from—“too.”
"Hey! What's up? Everything was great up until now," Wally protested.
“There’s no ‘hey’ that’s worth it!” Barry stood up, pacing. “I refuse to be an accomplice to your suicide! Do you have any idea what will happen if Batman finds out I encouraged you to…” He stopped, too horrified to finish his sentence. “In fact, I’m sure he already knows.”
Wally's head snapped up. "What? What do you mean, you know?"
Barry opened his mouth, closed his eyes, and then opened them again as if gasping for air. “I don’t know, Walls. But think! Bruce Wayne isn’t exactly a clueless dad. He’s got eyes everywhere,” he said, making quotation marks with his fingers. “Cameras, butlers, private investigators—people. If there’s a way to find out, Bruce has it. And if he finds out, and he thinks I encouraged you…” He gestured dramatically at his own figure, “He’s going to hang me from a chandelier in his big mansion and leave me there for decoration.”
Wally stifled a laugh, trying to sound serious. "Relax, Barry. He's not going to find out that way..."
Barry froze, pointing at Wally, his eyes wide. "You don't know what you're getting into! If Batman finds out... and if I...!"
Wally rolled his eyes, amused and a little overwhelmed. "Barry, relax..."
From the kitchen, Iris's voice cut through the air calmly but firmly: "Are you going to keep talking or are you coming to dinner? The food's going to get cold, Barry!"
Barry slumped back in the chair, defeated. "Let's go. I don't want to upset him, because if Batman doesn't kill me, your aunt will."
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