ღ summary: Bruce is late for patrol. Damian doesn't have the patience of a saint.
ღ pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader
ღ warnings: Damian. (<3)
"Father. Wake up."
If anyone were to see a child dressed in a Robin costume squatting on their headboard in the dead of night, staring at their sleeping figure with unnatural silence, they'd probably freak. But not you or Bruce, who's lovingly laid in each other's arms with years worth of experiences under your belt.
Bruce had fallen fast asleep after coming home from Wayne Enterprises, careless with his attire which was still simply strewn messily on a hanger by the closet. He was only dressed in his boxers, one heavy arm slung over your waist while the other pillowed his head, your own tucked right under his chin. The absence of the usual hardness present on his face made him look peaceful, relaxed. His mouth was opened slightly, soft breathes puffing out a steady rhythm. If you were awake right now you’d have your phone out to take a picture.
Usually the vigilante is quite punctual with his schedule, but it had been a tough week for him. One which included not one but two galas, a criminal breakout from Arkham and one nasty visit from the Joker.
You recall him muttering something about "resting his eyes for a bit" before patrol, but it feels like age is catching up to him because he's well passed out beside you without a care in the world.
Damian must've been too impatient to let the man bring himself down the cave, so he resolved it by approaching his father himself.
But of course, Damian couldn't just wake him up normally. The young boy was bent down right onto Bruce's face, gloved fingers physically prying apart the older man's eyelids to show a peek of blue underneath. And Bruce with his killer instincts,—even when half-conscious—snapped right up at the intrusion, only relaxing slightly when he was greeted by Damian's masked face. Naturally, he sported an irritated face, as if his father had inconvenienced him by being asleep.
Another perfectly normal night at the Wayne household.
"Come on, let's go, patrol time. The streets are waiting." Damian insisted, still with his fingers all up in Bruce's eye. The older man blinked out into the darkness of his bedroom, making shape of blurry dark eyes, nostrils sticking out and a pair of eyebrows that looked like his own.
Damian was practically vibrating with energy, Titus panting heavily on the side of the bed as if mimicking his owner. He was always like this ever since he took the mantle of Robin. The first to be up for patrol, the first to stand in the Batcave with full gear on. Always so eager to be the one fighting crime. He had that same thirst for justice like all your other kids did.
Bruce let out a low grumble, sighing deeply as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He remembered the weight of you in his arms and peeled you off gently, keeping an eye on your face to make sure none of this ruckus awoke you from your well-deserved slumber. He would much rather stay with you in the very expensive sheets he exclusively bought for the master bedroom, but he equally wouldn't let Damian run around Gotham alone. Despite whatever reason he came up with each week to go out as vigilante alone, Damian is his son before he is Robin. No amount of training and Assassin 101s could take away the fact that Gotham doesn't discriminate when it comes to showing no mercy.
So with a resigned sigh, he ran a hand through his tussled dark hair, the motion doing absolutely nothing to tame the mess. Without even looking, he reached his left arm out to point at the door, muttering a tired but firm, "Cave."
Damian leaped from the wooden headboard, yellow cape bellowing behind him and landing with a sound thud. Though he was light on his feet, Bruce still whipped his head around to warn him sternly, mindful of his sleeping wife beside him.
"Quietly, Damian. Don't wake your mother up."
He was just about to check on you when he noticed the dog not hot on its heels behind Damian, followed by the quiet croak of your voice.
"Dami?" You stirred, hearing muffled voices of what you could guess as your husband and son.
Well, neither Bruce nor Damian woke you up, because Titus was already in front of you, panting and licking your cheek.
Even if usually well-behaved, the Great Dane had a certain affection for you. You and Alfred, aside from his owner, were the two people constantly around him around since he was a small puppy. Especially when the boys were out doing their nocturnal activities, the two of you would feed him treats and play with him.
Before you could turn around to confirm who the voices belonged to, you felt the heat of pants right in front of your face. One that suspiciously smelled like beef and dog treats. Titus seemed to respond even more eagerly seeing that you were awake, pushing his head onto yours as he sniffed the hand that laid in front of you. "Oh hello Titus.."
Damian, like the good son he is, stopped right in his tracks and immediately responded to your call. He zoomed past to your side of the bed, bending down to your level when you reached a hand out.
"Ummi." He greeted, melting under your palm on his head. You smiled sleepily at your boy. Despite the darkness tempting to swallow you back up into sweet dreams, you could still make out the bright green of his eye mask and the silhouette of his spiky hair. And especially the special lift at the corner of his lips that only showed when you showered him with affection—like he was proud to be noticed by you. You love him so much. He's just like a little cat.
A stubborn, homicidal little cat.
As much of a heartwarming scene this was, Bruce could tell that you were nearly fully awake. It wasn't helping that Titus was getting louder with his excitement, pawing the floor while his collar rustled loudly. Even if his life felt a hundred times better when you waited up for him to come home, he didn't like when you skipped out on resting time.
He needed Damian and Titus out of the room stat, but it didn't seem like the former noticed, too busy being fawned on by his mother.
Bruce stared down at his son with just enough intensity that Damian could feel a definite weight on the side of his face. When he turned, they engaged in a staring contest when Damian started fighting back with defiance. Prideful little thing. Once he finally piped down with a quiet "tt" (which Bruce couldn't bother to scold him for), the man jerked his head to signal for Robin to leave for the cave.
Damian for once, happily obliged Bruce's command.
He didn't forget to give your hand a squeeze before he left, getting up with a newfound vigor as Titus bounded behind him.
Immediately the older man leaned forward to settle his weight next to you, one bare arm finding the strewn duvet to cover your body before softly landing beside your shoulder.
"Go back to sleep, sweetheart. We're leaving for patrol." He whispered gently, closing in on your face to nose at your cheek.
You were already back on your side at this point, sleep starting to set back in once the room quieted down. When you felt his breath on your cheek, you lazily reached a hand to land on the side of his stubbled face and gave it a soft pat. "Oh.. okay. Be careful. Love you both."
Bruce felt your arm slacken and smiled at the way your voice trailed off into small breathes. Cute. He lifted his left hand to take your palm off his face, pressing a small kiss to the center before doing the same to your temple. He took the chance to pause and breathe in the moment, staring at you with deep, unabashed love. With reverence. As if the mere sight of you slumbering could solve all the problems of this world and fight the darkness that plagued it.
He placed one more soft kiss to your cheek, promising his and Damian's safe return before he got up from the bed, knees cracking in a weak protest.
"We love you too."
And off he goes, Gotham University shirt only halfway on, trudging behind his eager son to go fight crime while his wife slept soundly at home. Maybe not a normal one, but it was a perfect night at the Wayne household.
CHAT WE LIVE FROM GOTHAM CITY. Thought this comic scene was really cute!
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bruce wayne x wife!reader (+ batmom!reader x platonic!jason)
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: bruce had promised he would always come back to you, his last mission makes his word difficult to keep. when news spread of mrs. wayne being all alone, suitors and trouble start to appear. all while your husband is trying to return to your side!
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst, crack, fluff, violence, happy ending, sexual innuendos, diana + clark + dick cameo, pervy men, bitchy women, a little bit of everything, bruce being the #imissmywife final boss, 11k words, this was absolute HELL to edit so if there are mistakes please tell me and i’ll happily fix them! REALLY recommended to play somethin’ stupid by frank + nancy sinatra, you’ll know when to play the song trust, also idk if the format is weird PLEASE tell me if it is
THE artificial hum of the Batcave buzzes around you, the only glow coming from the massive screen of the Batcomputer, its harsh glare in the dark making you squint.
You wrap your robe closer to yourself, softly rubbing the silk between your fingers for more comfort. In the late hours of night, the steel walls and long shadows of the cave don’t feel familiar— the glint of metal or the actual depths of the place make it all feel more distant.
Your eyes get used to the screen’s light and you make out the message that’s written in a computer font.
COMPLICATIONS IN MISSION. DEEP SPACE. MAY BE ANOTHER MONTH. I LOVE YOU.
Your heart drops and you’re all too aware of the cold in your body, not the one that comes from the chilly breezes of the place. No; it’s the coldness you get when the other side of the bed is empty, the cold bathroom without its vapor because no one has used it before, the cold that comes when you miss an essential part of your being.
Luckily, crime has been low. Dick and his hero friends have taken over patrol and are doing a fantastic job. Jason tags along for the easier missions. He’s not getting into any dangerous situations under your watch any time soon, thank you very much.
You pinch the silk again, but it slides through your digits. You had forgotten to bake brownies for Dick and his friends. Oh well, you can do it now— there’s no point coming up to bed again— you haven’t been getting much sleep anyway.
You check the time: 3:29. With a small sigh, you go up to the kitchen, careful not to wake Alfred. By four, there’s a fresh batch of fudgy, crusted-top but gooey-inside brownies. You bite one; the hollow feeling in your stomach is still there. You take another bite, it just feels like throwing crumbs into an empty space.
I love you too.
Next morning you’re in a chirpier mood, humming a familiar tune under your breath (Frank Sinatra). Jason is grumbling sleepily beside you, stuffing his mouth with toast and eggs and really everything else on the table— including the no-sugar cookies he claims taste like cardboard. That kid will eat about anything, and with Flash speed.
You open the morning paper before pushing your plate of eggs towards Jason.
“No, Ma, it’s your breakfast.”
You smile softly, brushing some of his loose curls, the end of the newspaper flopping forward. “It’s okay, baby, I’m not very hungry.”
Jason doesn’t look too convinced, but after a bit more insisting he happily gobbles them up.
Your stomach drops when you read the heading of today’s article.
IS THE WAYNES’ FAIRY TALE LOVE STORY OVER?
Bruce Wayne hasn’t been seen in Gotham for over a month, and despite Wayne Enterprises claiming it’s for business reasons, close sources to the family confirm this is a lie. Apparently, he and Mrs. Wayne are undergoing a long and tumultuous divorce. For some reason— yet to be uncovered— he’s left their adoptive son (Jason Todd-Wayne) and the ancestral Wayne home under her care. Something doesn’t add up, and this reporter will find out what! While I personally rooted for the young couple, life happens and it is often not easy…
The article continues, droning on about possible reasons why the divorce might have happened and blah blah blah. You finish your coffee and turn to the economy section; the gossip always makes your stomach churn. It has gotten better with time, of course, but this particular topic… there’s not much you can do about it, only choosing to ignore it.
Besides, who reads the gossip section of the Gotham Gazette?
Apparently, everybody.
While you drop Jason off at school, the other mothers look at you with a mixture of pity and thinly veiled disgust. You just give them a polite smile before getting into your car again. Inside— and hidden by the tinted windows— you pinch your nose and put on some more Frank Sinatra. The weekend can’t come soon enough.
You start the car and secretly stare at the other mothers from the rearview mirror; they’re still huddled amongst each other, their designer purses brushing as they lean closer to talk in hushed tones. One of them glances at your car and her lips turn into a mocking smile while she laughs with the others.
You drive away.
When you’re going through Old Gotham— where the trees are more naked and time is more evident on the wasted bricks of buildings and the gothic elements crowning certain places— Lucius calls you.
The music halts at the same time as the light turns red.
He greets you with your name. “I assume you’re on your way.”
“Yeah, I’ll be at the office in five.” The light turns green. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know,” the man sighs, “two of the board members were acting a bit… weird— it’s probably nothing, but I thought I’d tell you just in case.”
“Weird how?”
“Whispered conversations mostly. Again, it’s probably nothing. But with Bruce out of town they might get funny ideas.”
Shortly after the League was funded, Bruce created a protocol; if he had to be away for more than three weeks, all of his power as owner and CEO and major stockholder of Wayne Enterprises would go to you. You insisted it had to be Lucius, but it was legally easier for it to be you. The downside is the other board members don’t respect you as much as they respect (or fear?) Bruce. But so far they haven’t been out of line.
You hope they don’t start now.
“Thanks, Lucius. I’ll be on watch just in case.”
You say your goodbyes as the familiar Wayne building comes into view; bright, sleek, impossibly tall, with that massive W looking down at you.
The moment you enter the office you feel the stares, from interns to higher-ups. People at the Wayne building always react the same way to you. Just like clockwork, you think.
They’ll look at the length of your legs, settle on your hips, climb a little higher and— oh. Finally, your face and a soft smile that greets them.
Some try to initiate conversation, but you don’t want to be late, so you just make polite small talk before continuing your path to the elevator. The moment the metallic doors close, the outside world, and your smile slips, you blink at the metal and press the button for the last floor.
You’re looking at your phone— checking if either Alfred, Dick or Jason need something— when the doors slide open.
The neutral female voice announces the floor the person clicked. Huh, the same as yours. You lift your eyes from the screen and meet his.
You immediately recognize him; medium build, blonde fine hair, an elongated nose, and startling blue eyes like two pale beams. Nolan Morrison, one of the main shareholders of the company.
“Mr. Morrison,” you greet, “good morning.”
He grins, a phony thing that makes your eyes narrow. “Mrs. Wayne.” His eyes study your figure. “Looking as good as ever.”
You flash your ring, the great rock catching the light of the elevator. “You’re too polite.”
He laughs. “Oh, don’t be modest. You surely know the effect you have on people.”
Your stomach starts tightening and you don’t allow yourself to look at the rising elevator numbers, just pray the doors open.
Nolan doesn’t notice your discomfort.
“That’s probably why Bruce married you, huh?”
Your eyes snap back. “Excuse me?” Your tone lacks all of its characteristic warmth.
He still grins— that stupid, stupid grin— he must think himself very smart. “You’re still hot.” He laughs, amused by himself. And you’re too in shock to put into words everything you want to say to this man. “I don’t mind you being someone’s seconds, is all.”
“Mr. Morrison,” you snap, “I’m still very happily married, thank you very much.” You force yourself to slow down and flash your ring— oh honestly! How do you miss a ring that big?— “You’d do well in remembering that until Bruce comes back, which he is, I’m your boss. So either you treat me with respect or I’ll be forced to take action.”
Nolan opens and closes his mouth, his grin wiped off, and you internally smile. However, it’s quickly replaced with a sneer and the upward tug of his mouth.
Before he can reply, the doors finally slide open; smiling softly is Lucius, a cup of coffee in each of his hands. He greets you by your first name, and you reciprocate with an even brighter smile.
Your heels click against the floor, and you don’t even spare Nolan Morrison a glance.
“Oh, Nolan, hello.” Lucius hands you one of the coffees. “The rest are already there. Why did you leave?”
You look at him, waiting for his response, but he doesn’t dare even flick his eyes your way. “Just stretching my legs.”
“Good, good.” Lucius turns to you again and you both leave for his office, leaving a very humiliated man.
When you’re out of earshot, Lucius’ voice drops. “Did something happen?”
You snort. “He’s just unbelievably rude, that’s all.”
Lucius doesn’t look calmer. If anything, his eyebrows sink even further. “He’s one of the two I saw whispering.” He opens the office doors for you.
You hum and step into the familiar space. “Figures.”
After revising some shared notes on the meeting and other miscellaneous matters, you and the man go to the main room where the shareholders’ meeting will be held.
Everyone is already seated, chatting amongst themselves, but the noise quickly dissipates as you two step inside.
Lucius takes the seat closest to the door, while you have to walk the length of the long table until you reach your seat.
You neatly set your notes down and take out a nice blue ink pen, clicking it open. “Where should we start?”
First comes the heavy-loading company numbers and more technical matters. You write clean notes on your pad and the rhythm of comments and feedback flows seamlessly.
Then comes the new integration to the multinational insurance plans for outside Gotham.
“So,” you look at your printed notes, “we now cover alien damage in Metropolis?”
Margaret, the shareholder in charge of the project, nods. “We cover what LexCorp covered, with the addition of pet and emotional damage.”
You smile. “Perfect. How are the results coming along?”
Margaret shares the numbers, and they’re actually really good.
“But what about Queen Industries?” someone else asks. “They’ve also gotten into the insurance business.”
You wave your hand lightly. “We’re Gotham-based. Anything happens in this city on the daily and we survive. People buy our insurance because we have a credible background— the worst thing that can happen in Star City is if a cat gets stuck in a tree.” The whole table laughs and nods in agreement. You obviously know this is not true; Oliver works incredibly hard to keep his city safe, but a little humour doesn’t hurt anybody. “Plus, our packages are cheaper.”
Things go well until the last point on the agenda comes up; the Martha Wayne scholarships. You and Bruce had started the initiative a few years ago, and apparently its success was… rocky at best.
You have a stack of a hundred papers or so in front of you, not a single corner out of place, just simple crisp white papers. But your gut is tugging down.
You try to read the first page, but it’s only a simple compulsory introduction for legal requirements. The wrongness in your gut expands to your stomach.
“Is there something wrong?”
You snap your eyes away, but you don’t move to grab your pen and sign. “Not at all, I’ll just sign them later. Let’s go back to this month’s numbers,”
you dart at your notes despite knowing there’s nothing amiss, “the IT department could ease up on the company’s spending on that nearby bakery.”
You miss the worried glances (everyone else does, as a matter of fact), and the uncomfortable feeling in your body hasn’t left you.
Your dress glitters like moonlight and flows like the sinuous waters of a river. Beside you, Jason tugs at his tie.
He huffs. “I hate these stuffy galas.”
You laugh and crouch down to his eye level. “We just have to be here for an hour and then we can go back home.”
“And we can continue reading Emma?” he asks excitedly.
You smooth his tie and kiss his forehead, slowly rising again. “Mm, no. You have school tomorrow.”
He groans. “Why can’t Bruce be here to deal with this?”
“He’ll be back soon enough,” you reply easily.
Jason hums, and the topic quickly shifts to his day at school. People greet you both, pinching his too-rosy cheeks and assessing your figure. As always, pleasantries are exchanged until the next batch of people arrives.
But tonight is unlike past galas; you feel more… stared at. Jason has disappeared to the dessert table and you talk with some shareholders, but you can’t ignore the looking and whispering.
You internally roll your eyes. It appears everyone does read the gossip section of the Gazette.
You politely excuse yourself and go to the bar. As you make your way there, you see one of the moms from school whispering to another group of women. You meet her eyes and she smiles brightly at you.
“A martini, please.”
The bartender nods and begins mixing your drink.
“Mrs. Wayne?”
A chair scrapes beside you and a man sits down. You recognize him as one of the company’s seniors.
“Mr. Carlisle, hello.” You greet.
He smiles, pleased to be recognized. “I just wanted to thank you in person.”
The bartender slides your drink over to you, the stem cold under your fingertips. “For what?” you smile curiously.
“The Martha Wayne scholarship,” he replies with a slight blush, “my daughter is studying medicine thanks to it.” He smiles. “She’s in her second year now.”
You feel light in your chest. “That’s great! Does she know what she wants to specialize in already?”
He nods. “Yes, yes. She wants to be a paediatrician.”
You are about to reply when suddenly the entire room falls silent.
“And you don’t get to say that about my Ma!”
Your back stiffens; you recognize that voice. You rush a goodbye to Mr. Carlisle and hurry toward Jason.
The people are still frozen, almost caught in a spell, as they watch Jason shout at a man.
You have to shove a woman aside to reach him.
“What is going on here?” you glare at the man and squeeze Jason’s shoulder, your hand settling at the small of his back.
The man scoffs, his face red and the flute of champagne in his hand dangerously empty. “Tell this kid to respect his elders.”
“Maybe his elders should learn to behave first.”
Someone gasps behind you.
“Let’s go, Jason.”
Jason’s chest is rising and falling too quickly, the anger practically radiating off him. The moment the cold air of the street hits your skin, you text Alfred to pick you up.
“Jason,” you meet his eyes, “what happened?”
“Nothing,” he bites out.
“Jason,” you say softly. “Things are easier when you share them.”
He sighs, and the rhythm of his heart slows. “They were saying mean things about you,” he looks down at the pavement. “And I got angry.”
You wrap him in a hug, his small head pressed against your stomach. He hugs you back. You tighten your hold and press a kiss to his hair. “People always have something to say. The best thing we can do is ignore it. They’ll eventually get bored.”
He pulls back slightly. “But it’s wrong— what they were saying. It doesn’t matter if they stop or not, they can’t say that stuff.”
You’re not going to ask what they said. “You already fight as Robin. I don’t want you fighting for me too.”
He hugs you again. “I love you, Ma.”
Your eyes sting, and your heart is practically going to burst with the love you hold for this boy. Your son in everything but blood. “I love you, Jay.”
You sit crossed legged in Bruce’s chair, the cold leather sinking under your weight. The scholarship papers are spread out before you. Your pijamas— which consists of one of Bruce’s shirts and a pair of sweatpants— are losing their scent, you inhale the cotton and realise his perfume is much fainter now than a month ago.
You perk up the moment the study’s door open, thinking it’s Alfred again reminding you to sleep. It’s not, it’s Jason. Rubbing his eyes and hair sticking in odd angles, he comes up to you.
“How long have you been here?”
“A little while only.” About an hour give or take. “You should be sleeping, baby.”
He nods, now reading the papers. “Yeah well, you should too.”
You laugh but don’t reply. “See anything interesting?”
A beat passes. “Yeah actually,” he points at one of the papers, “this neighbourhood doesn’t receive the Martha Wayne scholarship money.”
Your stomach falls. “What?”
He notices your worried face. “No, no. I say it because they don’t need it. This neighbourhood is under Penguin, and a year ago some of his senior goons unionised.”
“Penguin has to deal with unions?”
Jason nods. “Yup. So anyways, he now offers funding for those kids who have great grades.”
You blink slowly and pick up a bright yellow highlighter, you swipe it evenly through the name of the neighbourhood. “That’s actually really helpful.”
“So I can help you?” His eyes light up.
“Hah, no way.” You pick up your computer and the papers. “But we can move to the couch, you sleep and I finish this.”
He pretends to think about it. “I think it’s a deal.”
When you call Lucius to cite an emergency board meeting for this same afternoon, you’re actually in a better mood than yesterday.
Luckily, you don’t bump into Nolan into the elevator. But when you step into the room, he and the others look slightly worried.
“Good afternoon,” you sit in your place, “this is about the Martha Wayne scholarships, and I understand the entire board has to be present for this.” You look at the woman from legal, she nods.
You pull the stack of papers down. “I will not be signing none of these until I see the evidence that the money is going where it’s needed.”
You show them the third page. “Everything that’s in yellow are the discrepancies, I’ve already sent the copies to the department.”
“But that’s going to take us another week,” one of the shareholders says— Conrad, you think. “We don’t have time.”
“Time for what? Last time I checked your department is in charge of energy.”
He goes red. “I’m just saying.”
“Well, this is what is going to happen.” You look at Nolan. “I understand your department does this sort of thing.”
He nods slowly. “We do, but Conrad is right, time is tight.”
You pinch your eyebrows. “Don’t we have interns? It’s a simple task. Just check that the money is going where it needs to.”
Nobody else says anything, and you internally smile.
You and Nolan are the only two people in the elevator. And again, it’s moving far too slowly.
You’re staring at the elevator doors, painfully aware of his eyes trained on your face. Someone else comes in, you sigh in relief, they come out again.
“Is something wrong?” You ask, finally acknowledging him.
He works his jaw. “There is.”
You’re two seconds away from getting off the next floor. “Is something related to Wayne Enterprises? Our HR department—"
“You’re an absolute bitch,” he snaps and grabs your wrist. His thick hand exerting pressure on your skin and bones.
You immediately bring your knee to his crotch while simultaneously, with his free hand, you punch his throat. “Don’t you even think about touching me.”
Nolan is gasping, knees crouched and a hand on his heaving chest. You slam the button for the next floor, desperate to get out as blood rushes in your eyes.
But the moment a thread of light slowly appears, Nolan hits you cold in the head.
The first time Bruce was in space, he found it magnificent. Now? He’s two seconds away from gauging his eyes if he sees another fantastical boulder.
Everyone is working at their full capacity to make the ship work, but the damage is big and the distance to Earth— to you— too large.
Bruce inhales, taking up precious oxygen. He doesn’t really mind. He’s focussed on stepping away from a moment, go behind that massive boulder and take out the only thing that has been keeping him sane for this past month.
The moment he knows he’s alone, he greedily grabs the picture. It’s a dog eared thing about the size of his outstretched hand. In it, Alfred, Dick, Jason, Bruce and you. You’re all smiling at the camera, your arms wrapped around him, the picture doesn’t show it, but his hands were settled on your hips.
He has a small smile gracing his lips, eyes locked on your face. Alfred is looking all softly at the camera, Dick and Jason are both grinning but he remembers they were shoving each other and bickering for the past five minutes.
His eyes meet yours— or well, the picture version of yours.
He feels your absence like a ghost limb. A cold, hollow, feeling lives in his chest and isn’t going anywhere until he sees you. His hold body feels submerged by absolute cold and in the depths of the night, his mind doesn’t stop playing you— your voice, your scent, your face, your jokes and your quirks— until daylight comes. Then he has work to do in order to come back home. It's exhausting, he's exhausted.
“Bruce.”
Clark and Diana are there, with a swift movement he hides the picture. “Any news?”
Diana shakes her head. “No, we just came to check up on you.”
Clark nods slowly. “You’ve been acting… strange, during this past week. Disappearing a lot.”
“Hal was convince it was to—" She shakes her head. “That’s not important. What’s important is that you’re our teammate, our friend, and we’re here to help you.”
Bruce stares at them without making a sound.
Clark rubs the back of his head. “Are you going to say something?”
Another beat of silence. Then a long sigh. He decides to give up.
“I just want to go back to Earth.”
Clark watches him carefully, his arms are folded across his chest, cape resting heavy against his back.
Diana tilts her head slightly, eyes narrowing. Her gaze is not unkind, just assessing like it usually is.
“You miss your family,” she says finally. It’s not phrased like a question, its ’s a fact. Her voice is even. “Your wife.”
Bruce doesn’t respond immediately.
His gaze stays forward, fixed somewhere past the bulkhead. His hand rests beside him. He appeares calm but his posture is too rigid, too precise.
Clark notices the tension in his posture immediately. The way his shoulders sit just slightly too sharp for someone standing still.
Bruce exhales through his nose; slow and controlled, but he isn't really feeling calm. His fingers flex once against the great boulder's wall. A small movement, but it’s enough to show pressure building somewhere underneath. The gaping hole in his chest flutters.
Bruce finally looks at them.
“You are not as alone as you behave,” Diana says. “Stop acting as if you are.”
Clark nods once, small but firm. “We’ve got your back,” he says simply. “But you don’t get to vanish on us and call it fine, Bruce.”
The man exhales slowly through his nose again, deeper this time. “I know how to get back,” he suddenly says.
Diana’s gaze sharpens instantly. “Then stop standing still,” she replies.
The three of them quickly move to join Barry and Hal again, impatient to get to work.
Bruce can’t wait to have you in his arms again.
The ropes burn against your skin, your head is heavy and there’s a slow but strong beat of a drum inside it— shaking up all of the bones of your crane.
You try to remember what had happened; cooking with Alfred, picking up Jason from school, the meeting, Nolan—
“What the fuck are we going to do?” A voice snaps. “This is Mrs. Wayne, for crying out loud. Everyone will notice her being gone.”
“Oh relax, we’ll figure something out.”
“You messed up Nolan,” a familiar voice says, “she saw your face. What do you think she’ll do if we let her go?”
“She didn’t see ours,” the first voice says, “we still have a chance to get out.”
You screw your eyes tight, before relaxing them trying to appear still unconscious.
Nolan lets out a sharp laugh. “If I’m going down you’re going down with me.”
You hear footsteps against concrete but before you can think of anything else, a sharp crack resonates through the room as the skin of your cheek flares up with pain
“Dude!” A gasp. “You don’t hit girls!” A voice calls through the sharp ringing in your ears.
Your eyes snap open and see three men staring down at you; Nolan, the shareholder that questioned you at the meeting, and the man from the gala’s bar…
Nolan rubs your painfully raw cheek, nothing about the caress is comforting. If anything it makes bile rise up your throat. “Morning.”
Your head is blaring with panic and fear— and pain, but you desperately try to keep your composure.
Nolan sighs. “You just had to sign the scholarship papers like Bruce does.” He mock pouts and takes a step away from you. “Now you’re here."
“You’re stealing from children who need it,” you rasp out and look at the others, “why? You already have money.”
Nobody says nothing for a moment, then the other shareholder shrugs. “You can never have enough.”
“So,” you swallow painfully, “what’s going to happen now? Are you going to kill me?”
Mr.Carlisle winces. “You just have to sign the papers.”
Immediately, a plan forms in your head.
You let your body go slack, like something in you has snapped clean in half. Your breathing stutters, shallow and uneven, and you drop your gaze to the floor, watching the faint smear of dirt dragged across the concrete by the shareholder’s shoe.
“Fine,” you whisper, voice thin, fraying at the edges. “I’ll sign it.”
Silence follows.
Nolan studies you, eyes narrowed, but greed wins— it always does with men like him.. You see it in the way his shoulders loosen, in the slight curl of his lip.
“Thought so,” he mutters.
Carlisle hesitates. “Untie her.”
The ropes scrape as they loosen, fibers dragging harshly over your skin. It burns; sharp and raw, like your wrists have been peeled open. You swallow the reaction, biting it down until it settles somewhere deep and sharp like little crystal shards.
Your hands fall into your lap, numb for a second before the pins and needles start— violent, prickling, almost worse than the ropes.
They shove the papers in front of you. Those damn papers, with the Wayne name stamped across the top mocking you.
A pen follows, cheap and plastic, nothing like your elegant ones. You take it, but your fingers slightly tremble and this is not part of the act.
“Right there,” Nolan says, tapping the line with the tip of his long and bony finger.
Your heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might crack your ribs open. You lean forward slightly. A small pause, pretending they buy your dizzy act.
Then—
You move.
It’s fast enough but the angle is wrong and desesperation curls out of you like a bad stench. The pen lurches forward with everything you have, jamming into the soft space just beneath Nolan’s jaw.
For a split second, reality stops. You just feel like a puppet with your limbs being tugged by a strange entity your adrenaline made up to save you.
There's some resistance from the skin at first, before the initial force and despondency do the job. Then it gives. Nolan chokes— a wet, broken sound— stumbling back as his hands fly to his neck, eyes wide in shock more than pain.
Nobody moves, the other two men simply stare in absolute shock.
You shove yourself up, legs screaming in protest, and slam into Carlisle’s shoulder hard enough to knock him sideways as you run past.
“What the—?!”
You’re already out the door; your footsteps echo— loud and uneven, the pattern is all wrong. Behind you—
“GET HER!”
You run like you've never before. Your lungs burn almost immediately, your calves ache and dragging in air feels too thin, too sharp on your frail lungs. Your legs threaten to fold with every step, muscles shaking from disuse and adrenaline. But you force yourself to not look back.
You don’t—
A hand claws on the flesh of your back, near your hip. You let out a raw, animal sound.
It yanks you sideways, slamming you into the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of you. Lights flash in your vision and you gasp with pain.
Nolan.
There’s blood— too much of it— slicking his pure white collar, his hand pressed desperately to his neck, but his other hand is on you, fingers now digging into your throat.
“You—” he gasps, voice wrecked, “you fucking cunt— think you can—”
His grip tightens, you gasp.
Your vision sparks. Your hands claw at him, nails scraping, trying to pry him off, but he’s heavier, stronger, fueled by something frantic and dying— And then he’s gone.
Not pushed or pulled. No, literally ripped away from you. Your neck goes from the extreme pressure of his hold to cold, you sofly rub it with your fingertips as you greedily breathe in air.
He hits the ground hard, dragged back by something that moves too fast to track. Your heart recognises him before your eyes do.
Batman.
He doesn’t hesitate.
The first punch lands with a sickening crack, snapping Nolan’s head to the side. The second follows instantly. Then another. And another.
Nolan tries to fight back, but it’s sloppy and the hits-- if you can even call them that-- land weak, his limbs and movements futile against the assault.
Batman grabs him by the front of his shirt and slams him into the wall.
Again.
And again.
The sound echoes down the hallway and reverberates through the walls.
“Stop—” Nolan chokes, barely conscious now.
Batman does not stop.
His grip tightens, gauntlet curling into fabric and skin like he might just—
“Batman!” Your voice tears out of you, still raw.
He freezes. So subtle is almost not there, but just enough to reprieve Nolan of the next hit.
His head turns slightly toward you.
“Don’t,” you manage, pushing yourself upright, your legs shaking violently, he notices and his hold around the man tightens. “Please don’t do it.”
A beat too long.
The tension in him coils tighter— then breaks; he lets Nolan drop.
The man crumples, barely more than dead weight now.
Batman turns to you fully. And in two strides, he’s there. For the first time in months, you feel all of the cold fizzle away, for the first time in months, you relax.
His hands are on you instantly; checking, grounding, moving over your arms, your shoulders, your face like he needs to confirm you’re still in one piece. Oh his touch, so delicate and tender... despite the cool texture of his suit, you feel eneloped in a cocoon.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine,” you breathe, even though your throat burns and your wrists feel flayed open and your whole body is trembling. “I’m okay.”
He pulls you into him. He holds you tight, almost desperate— steals the air from your lungs in a completely different way. You can't feel his hearbteat, but its thundering in his chest just as yours is now.
Your hands fist into him without thinking.
For a moment, everything else falls away. Then he pulls back just enough to look at you.
And then he kisses you.
It’s not soft or careful. It’s quick, urgent— like he needs to make sure you’re real, not a figment of his imagination, that you’re really here and alive.
Your breath catches.
“There’s more,” you say, voice still uneven, pointing weakly back toward the room. “Inside. The other two.”
“Stay.” He commands, but the tone is... off. Was Batman put out by a kiss?
You nod, sinking back against the wall as your legs finally give out beneath you.
He’s already gone.
The hallway swallows him in seconds.
Then— noise. Thuds and some shouting. The sharp, controlled rhythm of a fight that doesn’t last too long. It ends quickly as it usually does.
Sirens split the air open, their jarring noise ricocheting through the hallway.
Red and blue lights flood the space, washing over everything; Nolan’s unconscious body, the blood, you. You’re sprawled against a cold wall, trying to calm your heart and quiet your head.
Batman doesn’t come back; he’s not there as the paramedics rush you into the ambulance, or as the cops flood the scene like ants around honey.
You desperately search for his figure in every face, every dark crook. At some point, you ask where he is. The paramedics reply that your family are on their way.
“Mom!”
You look up from where you’re sitting. Rushing through the crowd are Jason and Dick.
Immediately, Dick scans you for any possible injuries the paramedics might have missed. He hugs you, and you melt into him.
“Is your hair longer?” You ask.
“Mom,” he frowns.
You brush a rogue strand from his face, just like he did when he was much younger. “Dick.”
Jason is on you like a tiny leopard, clutching your body like it’s a lifeline.
“Uh, Jay, Mom is a bit—”
He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck. “I don’t care.” He looks up at you. “We were so worried. We thought—”
You rub soothing circles on his back. “I’m okay now.”
Jason hides again.
Your eyes spot a worried Alfred walking in your direction, his breath slightly uneven.
Your eyes meet his above Jason’s body.
“My dear—”
You soften immediately. “Hi, Alfred.” You frown. “You don’t have to worry,” you look at Dick too, who is still looking at you like you might disappear if he blinks, “I’m fine now.”
His eyes flick over you, taking everything in. “We shall have words about your definition of ‘fine,’” Alfred says gently. He mutters something about you and Bruce being annoyingly stubborn.
You almost smile.
But then the entire world— the whole of planet Earth with its billions of inhabitants and thousands of living creatures— stops. Everything stops the moment his voice reaches you.
“Where is my wife?”
Bruce’s voice is nothing but stern and demanding. Both Dick and Jason turn toward the source.
Jason unpeels from you and goes to stand between Alfred and Dick.
Your eyes find Bruce’s instantly, and before you even realize it, he is in front of you, cradling your head in his hands, consuming you with a kiss.
You’re alive. You’re here. I didn’t lose you. I love you.
He tries to say with just the language your lips and his can speak.
“Hello to you too, Bruce,” Dick says.
Bruce’s forehead is pressed against yours, the kiss broken but his face still close. “Children.”
He spins around, and before anyone can say anything else, he pulls Dick and Jason into a tight hug.
“Let go!”
A laugh rumbles in his chest. “Can’t.”
You four end up at Batburger; huddled in one of the booths at the back to avoid people staring.
Bruce hasn’t left your side for a second, even on the ride there. It was Alfred who drove. Jason and Dick ordered enough food to feed an army, while Alfred pretended to disapprove and only ordered a glass of water. You weren’t really hungry, but occasionally dipped your spoon into your Mr. Freeze ice cream.
Bruce has an arm around your waist, your body and his impossibly close. So close he can hear your heartbeat— though you suspect that’s one of the reasons why.
As Jason and Dick steal fries from each other, Alfred laughs, and you and Bruce finally allow yourselves to rest against each other.
The pier is mostly quiet, aside from the soft lapping of waves at the shore and the chatter and laughter from nearby restaurants.
You and Bruce walk under the moonlight, your bodies sharing the same warmth. Alfred, Dick, and Jason have already headed home, but you two needed this alone time.
“I missed you,” he says.
You laugh, a soft and crystalline sound ringing through the night. “I was about to say the same thing.”
“I thought I had arrived too late,” he confesses. “I saw his hands on you and I just lost it—”
“But you didn’t. You stopped, Bruce.” You rub his knuckles with your fingers, your wedding ring brushing against his, a testament to your love.
Suddenly, a soft familiar song begins playing. You cannot see the source, but it’s probably one of the street musicians that roam Gotham, especially near restuarant areas.
Bruce perks up. “That’s our song.” He softly grabs your hand, the other settling around your waist.
You smile and begin swaying to the music.
The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red.
Bruce spins you, and you cannot help the laugh that bubbles out of you. His small smile widens into something rare and honest; his blue eyes sparkle, and you wonder how anyone can love someone the way you love him.
Frank Sinatra’s voice continues as you let your bodies do the talking. It doesn’t feel like just flesh and bones— it feels like your souls are intertwining, his soul not only touching yours, but kissing, craddling, caressing, it too.
Hey, you know, the young justice show, right? I was wondering if you can make one with like hot bombshell batmom and she visits dick at young justice league's base and like Wally and all the rest of the guys, start flirting on her.
YOUR MOM IS SUCH A MIL- ( batmom )
Summary: You didn't want to attract attention, you just wanted to spend a few minutes with your oldest son.
batmom!reader, Dick grayson
open request - dick grayson masterlist
There weren't many occasions when you went to visit Dick, the boy still lived in the mansion but perhaps spent a few weeks away busy, since the young Justice was created, and Bruce decided that his protégé was ready to work as a team, the weeks began to feel longer.
So once or twice, when your schedule wasn't jam packed with charity events, Wayne Enterprises meetings, or nights spent patrolling with Bruce, you'd indulged yourself in a quick trip to Mount Justice. Sometimes just to see him for five minutes, to leave him a gift, or other times, like today, with a small, foilwrapped box filled with those coconut cookies Alfred taught you how to make.
What you didn't expect was to cause a little chaos in the group of teenagers as soon as you set foot inside the place.
"Isn't that Mrs. Wayne? Look at her shoes, Z!" you heard someone whisper.
"It can't be his mother, she's not old enough," said another.
"Maybe the league sent her to show us something, I'd like it to be her locker room."
You turned with a friendly smile, letting your dark glasses slide down the end of your nose. "Hey girls, how are you? I'm looking for Robin."
M'gann's eyes widened, dropping the rag she'd been wiping the table with. She'd seen you several times in the magazines she'd bought about the world of entertainment, or on television when there were galas and all the cameras were waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Wayne to arrive. You were definitely more imposing in person. Zatanna giggled nervously. Her friend's mom? She was truly dazzling, and Artemis simply crossed her arms, sizing you up and down with a raised eyebrow, trying to hide her surprise at your arrival.
"I knew it was you!" Zatanna exclaimed, delighted. "Wow... Mrs. Wayne, it's a pleasure."
“And a sight,” Artemis muttered under her breath.
Behind you, a burst of speed announced the arrival of Wally, his hair tousled and his expression ecstatic. "I knew it was your perfume" he said breathlessly, stopping right in front of you. "How are you, Mrs. Wayne?"
You smiled at him with the same warmth you used years ago to serve him hot chocolate in the mansion's kitchen. "Oh, Wally boy, I'm doing great. Thanks for asking. How have you been?"
Wally smiled like he'd won the lottery. "Better now, definitely better now that I see her."
Dick arrived just in time to stop the conversation before it escalated, as always. His gaze flicked from you to Wally and back to you, visibly irritated… and blushing. "Flirting with my mom again? Go away."
Wally threw up his hands as if he were innocent of it all. "Hey! I'm not flirting, I'm being cordial, polite, im appreciating your mom, bro"
"Take your words back, she doesn't want you to like her," Dick muttered, crossing his arms. "Do you realize she's my mom? You son of a b-"
"Boys..." you interrupted, your voice soft, but enough to silence both of them immediately. You walked over to Dick and gently smoothed back a strand of his unruly hair. "Don't fight with your friend over me. I came to visit you, and it's too early for a jealous scene."
"I'm not jealous!" he said, almost indignantly.
"Okay, enough with the drama," Wally came up from the side, his expression pleading. "Can I get a pity cookie?"
"I don't know... Are you going to keep staring and saying things to my mother?" Dick snapped.
"Only the truth."
"Then no."
M'gann appeared at the side of the table, smiling curiously. "What are the cookies made of?"
"It only have coconut and love," you replied, opening the box and showing the perfectly arranged cookies.
Zatanna came over too, intrigued. “Wow. Did you make these?”
"Some of them are mine. Others… Alfred, obviously the best ones are Alfred's."
Wally sniffed from a distance. “Is that… coconut with white chocolate chips?”
Dick squeezed the lid of the box tightly. "Don't even think about it.
"You're cruel," Wally replied, turning to you with an expression that sought mercy. "Could I at least touch the box?"
"Do you want to have both hands?
Wally paused for a second, assessing the threat and still, he reached out. "It's worth the risk."
Dick growled. "Don't touch the box."
But it was too late. You had taken a cookie and offered it to him yourself.
Wally grabbed it like it was an Olympic trophy. "I promise that... well, I don't really promise anything," he said, and brought it to his mouth before Dick could swat it away.
Dick sank into the armchair with a dramatic sigh. "Can we go back to the part where my mom came to visit me and not steal the show?"
"What's your mom's fault she's pretty?" Conner asked before popping a cookie into his mouth, completely ignoring Dick's glare.
That was the last time you visited Mount Justice at Dick's request. He truly loved you, but he preferred you not to go there. From then on, you'd see him at the mansion. Or he'd come looking for you after a mission, but you never returned to the Mount.
But never say never, even though it wasn't common for you to visit the new facilities. In fact, you hadn't done so since your son asked you to years ago.
But this time it was different. It was necessary for you to go there since your husband had asked you to carry classified information and couldn't leave the computer, so you were the only person trustworthy enough available to carry the sensitive file.
Although your clothes were more sober than before, you were still yourself. You liked comfortable clothes that didn't look like you were at home, something elegant that allowed you to feel confident. But even though you made a great effort with your appearance, the common room fell silent as soon as you entered.
"Who... is that?" Bart whispered, stopping mid-comment about video games.
"Oh, Nightwing and Robin's mom"M'gann approached to look at the situation."Hello Mrs. Wayne!"
"Wow, is that their mom?" Jaime asked, his eyes wide.
You just smiled, politely and distantly. Greeting the team was quick, efficient, maternal, yet professional. You handed the sealed envelope to Kaldur, and when you saw Dick appear in the hallway, you gave him the same gentle smile as always.
"I didn't know you were coming," he said to you in a low voice as he approached.
"Bruce didn't have many options available to him," you replied. "So here I am."
"Yes, it shows, Mom."
You spent a few minutes talking with him. Not much. Just enough to catch up. You asked him if he was eating well, if he was sleeping at least five hours, if he was talking to Alfred more often. He pretended to be bothered by the questions, but he didn't take his eyes off you; he had a pending visit at the mansion.
When it was time to leave, you walked back toward the Zeta Tube without rushing. Dick accompanied you for a few meters.
"Thanks for coming," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "I know you don't like being in the middle of all this."
"I don't mind," you said. "I just don't want to inconvenience you."
Dick smiled faintly. "You don't. At least the rest didn't show up."
You stroked his face with your fingers, just like when he was ten. "You have a good team, and you're doing a good job."
Dick blushed, as if he hadn't expected to hear that from you. He looked down and nodded. "I'll call you tomorrow" he promised.
"I hope so." And you were gone, the sound of the Zeta Tube filling the room for a second, and then, nothing. Silence.
Just at that moment, the side door opened.
Wally and Conner entered, carrying bags of food and chatting animatedly. They both stopped when they saw the blue light trail from the portal dissipate.
"Who left?" Conner asked, putting the food on the table.
"Was it... a visitor?" Wally raised his eyebrows, turning to face the group. "Don't tell me your mother finally came!"
Jaime nodded, trying not to laugh. "Three seconds ago. He was here."
Conner turned to Dick. “Was that your mom? She looks… prettier than last time.”
Dick glared at him. “Conner…”
But it was too late.
"Yeah, dude. Your mom's such a milf" Wally said cheerfully, as if he'd just made the most harmless comment in the world.
Dick froze for a second, until he exploded. "WHAT DID YOU SAY!?"
"THAT'S A COMPLIMENT!" Wally shouted, backing away.
"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" Dick launched himself after him without a second thought.
Wally was already running, but he was laughing. "Say it with pride, bro!"
The shouting moved away through the corridors at an absurd speed.
Conner looked at the rest of the group. "I just said she looked pretty."
Tim sighed. “Can we just agree that no one else talks about our Mother? Thanks.”
“Still… your mom is gorgeous,” Cassie murmured with a smile.
And from the hallway, an angry voice shouted, “DON’T CALL MY MOTHER A MILF!”
Dick was the one who found the photo album. He, Jason, Cass, Tim, Duke and Damian were tidying the attic. A punishment given by Alfred, and approved by you. It was for a mixture of being careless on patrol, sneaking out when banned from patrol the night after, and a build up of disobedience.
The only reason Bruce wasn’t up there with them right now, was because he claimed he had “important work” to finish, but you promised the children that Bruce would join them shortly. Plus, Alfred remarked that the Christmas decorations needed to be found up there anyway.
Dick pulled the album out of an old box, and opened the cover to be met with a photo he had to blink twice to figure out properly.
It was very obviously you in the photo, but much younger. You looked like you were college age, standing with a group of girls that were clearly your friends, judging by the arms around each other.
After flicking through a few more pages, Dick held it out and called, “hey look, it’s all old photos of mom.”
Damian’s head appeared from above the small wall of junk he had built while searching through the different piles. He made his way to Dicks side, stepping over whatever Tim or Jason had carelessly tossed over their shoulders. “Let me see.” He demanded, before humming a little as Dick lowered his hands.
Cass had appeared at the other side of Dick, also interested in the pictures of her mother. Duke had also made his way over, equally as interested. Jason shrugged, deciding that it was definitely better than continuing to clean and walked over. Tim was also interested, wanting to see any picture that he wouldn’t have seen when he was doing his previous research.
When they properly turned each page of the album, they found that the pictures started when you were a baby. There was a picture of you, small with chubby cheeks blowing spit on a birthday cake with a big ‘1’ decoration on it.
A couple of pages later, there was a picture of you, a couple of years older. You had hair that was just past your shoulders, flashing small teeth in a smile with one missing in the front. There was a small note underneath the picture that said “First day of school.”
First school play. Graduating elementary. First day of middle school. First day of high school. Prom, homecoming, and you with your diploma. You throughout different years crouched by a Christmas tree or you with different costumes through the years on Halloween.
That was the first half of the album.
Dick flipped the second half, when you had started college and most of the pictures were now taken by you or your friends, rather than your parents. They varied from different locations, from parties to your dorm room.
In one picture, you’re taking a shot with one of your friends, the clock in the background showing that it was 2:30AM. “And she tells me not to stay out too late.” Jason rolled his eyes, but had no real bite to his words. “She was cool.” Duke said, his voice laced with awe.
When Bruce made his way up the ladder to the attic, the album was open on a page that showed a picture of you getting ready for some event. You had rollers in your hair, and a bathrobe on as you beamed at the camera. The lighting made your eyes sparkle and your smile shine. There was a different look of happiness that the children hadn’t seen on your face. You looked much more carefree, and you had the look of someone that could never fathom the horrors the world had to offer you. It wasn’t that you weren’t happy now, it was just clearly different back then.
“What are you all crowded around?” Bruce asked them, making each of their heads fly up to notice him.
“A photo album of Mom.” Tim answered him before swiftly turning back to the photo album.
When Bruce cast his eye on the photos of you, he didn’t look surprised. A small, easy smile appeared on his face. Cass reached out to flip a couple of more pages, and they reached the section where you had clearly just started your relationship with Bruce.
The picture was the two of you in a kitchen that looked very different from the one in the Manor. Even though it was barely seen in the background, it was clearly smaller, with much simpler looking furniture. You were both dressed in pyjamas, the morning light coming knocking through the window in the background.
The camera was held in your hands, just the upper half of your bodies shown. You were making a face at the camera while Bruce wasn’t even looking at it. His eyes were closed, his lips pressed to your cheek as he stood behind you. Bruce looked younger too. He had some lines on his face, and there were a couple of scratches on his shoulder from presumably the previous night as Batman. But still, younger.
Bruce’s fingers reached out, eager to see more pictures of the two of you from the past. That’s when they heard somebody else enter the attic.
“Are you all doing alright up here?” Your voice was heard before you found them huddled around something in the middle.
“Grayson found an album of you.” Damian answered, already taking a step towards you as you joined their huddle.
You smiled upon seeing the different pictures of you when you were younger. There was a picture of you when you first appeared at a gala with Bruce. Your face was smoother back then, the crease between your brow not yet there. you weren’t yet aged with the stress of having a husband who likes to throw himself into danger every night, and six children who did the exact same.
“I was fairly pretty back then.” You said, “Been a while since that was a relevant fact, though.”
Bruce’s head immediately turned to yours at your words, his mouth opening. But a couple of people got there before him.
There was a chorus of outraged sounds, shouts of confusion and overlapping voices of siblings that don’t know how to speak in turn.
“Absolute nonsense.” The smallest boy at your side said, shaking his head. Damian was acting as if you had gotten a simple question wrong on a test. “You were beautiful then and equally beautiful now.”
“Exactly.” Tim nodded. “You’re gorgeous, mom. The amount of camera flashes when we’re forced to galas should prove it.”
Cass had slid herself close beside you, so that your arm subconsciously went around her. She shook her head at you too, before saying quietly, “very pretty.”
Dick looked downright horrified at your words. “How could you even think that?” He said. “Mom, you’re literally inspiration for like, five different clothing brands.”
“You’re stunning.” Duke declared. “In all these pictures you are. And you are now.”
Jason also tutted. He looked pained to agree with all of his siblings, but he had no choice. “Saying nonsense.” He muttered. “You’re beautiful, ma, always have been and always will be.”
You were silent for a moment before you smiled. “Thank you.” You said, a little sheepish. You pressed a kiss to the top of Cass’ head and ruffled Tim’s hair. “You know how to make me feel special, anyway.”
They continued fussing over you before you eventually reminded them to return to their ‘punishment’.
Later that evening, Bruce found you in your shared en-suite bathroom, washing your face before bed.
He stared at you for a moment, letting that indescribable feeling settle in his body again. Even after years of marriage, gentleness is still unfamiliar to him. He would’ve stayed there for hours if you hadn’t noticed him.
You caught his eye in the mirror before turning to him, “you okay?”
Bruce just nodded before walking the few steps to put his arms around you. “i’m okay.”
and that was enough.
“they’re weren’t lying earlier, you know.” he mumbled into your hair. “when they said you were still beautiful. you are. you’ve always been.”
You smiled against his shoulder. “thank you.”
And Bruce took every opportunity he could to remind you of it. because it wasn’t just your face that Bruce found beautiful, it was everything.
How you loved and cared for his children, how you put up with him and his late nights for years, how you cry and laugh at movies and books, how you treat Alfred with kindness and respect, how you were able to bring in so much love into his life when he thought it wasn’t possible, how you held him even when he couldn’t admit he wanted to be held.
Bruce Wayne might be the best detective in the world, but he’ll never figure out how you didn’t see how gorgeous you are.
If you had told Bruce Wayne five years ago that he’d officially be married to the woman of his dreams, he would say there’s no way.
If you were to tell him that not only was he married but he also finally got to experience the baby stage of having children, he’d tell you to get out and stop trying to mess with him. Yet here he is, finally experiencing the stage of a child’s life he never got to with his other children.
Who knew that the best way for Bruce Wayne to settle down was to be nap trapped by a twelve pound three month old. It hasn’t been easy for anyone in the family, it was the biggest adjustment the both of you had to face. Having six children and bypassing the baby stage made it even harder. By the time each child came into your lives, they could already talk, walk, and basically survive without the both of you constantly hovering over them.
However the minute little Martha was conceived, the life you knew was over.
“Bruce I’m telling you, that’s a second a line.”
“It could be a faulty test, an evaporation line.”
“For the world’s greatest detective, your deduction skills need to be brushed up on. You watched me pee on four other tests. All of which confirmed that there’s a fetus,” you sighed and set the last of the pregnancy test on the sink counter before turning to him.
“What’re we going to do? We have no idea how to take care of a baby”
“We will figure it out. We always do.” He replied and pulled you in for a hug.
“A baby.” You say again still in disbelief.
“Our baby,” he confirms and rubs your back.
“What’re you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that this baby is going to be loved and that they’ll have to learn to survive in a house with six older siblings,” he replied softly with a teasing tone. You laughed and hugged him a bit tighter.
Since then the two of you did figure it out. Well… as much as you could. Bruce panicked a bit when you heard the heartbeat for the first time. Instead of talking it out like he knows he should’ve, he used Batman.
“Are you and Bruce fighting?” Dick asked one day as he came to Wayne Enterprises to have lunch with you.
“What? No, why would you say that?” You replied as you shuffled papers around at your desk so he could set the food he brought down.
“He’s been more stressed than usual. Swearing that our patrols haven’t been enough. That we’re not getting enough done.” Dick replies as he flopped in the chair across from you.
You bite the inside of your cheek and sigh. “We’re not fighting but he is stressed. I’ll talk to him about it”
You and Bruce did talk about it later that day. It was honestly more like you chewing him out.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard, you’re pushing the kids too hard.”
“I’m trying to make everything go smoothly so when you’ll need me further in the pregnancy I can be there”
“Gotham’s always going to need you Bruce but it can survive without Batman. It’s not like there’s not at-least six other vigilantes that can keep watch in your place.” You say a bit teasingly.
He grumbles, a sign he’s not impressed.
“We should tell the kids. I’d rather they hear it from us than figure it out on their own”
“You’re barely nine weeks along, we should wait.”
“I’m two months along, and luckily the first trimester has been good to me. I want to tell the kids.”
“Okay”
Cue trying to gather all your children before patrol and trying to make sure everyone is in Gotham for the announcement. This was a much harder task than you thought it’d be but you succeeded.
In front of you and Bruce, all dressed in their uniforms stood Dick, Jason, Cass, Tim, Duke, and Damian.
“Right, so before everyone gets going for patrol. I want to tell you all something important.”
“Are you dying?” The question came from Jason followed by a “Are you sick?” From Tim.
“No and No. I’m pregnant.” You say, figuring the best way to get it over with was just to say it outright.
It was quiet for a bit then the yelling came,
“Pregnant?! You guys are having a baby?” Jason reacted first
“I knew Bruce was acting weird when I went to see you last week!” Dick yelled over Jason.
“Congratulations mom! How far along are you?” Cass, comes up to hug you and then Bruce.
“Congrats you two,” Duke came up next and gave you both a half hug.
“Does this mean we all have to help orrr?” Tim asked next.
After the initial shock went down, the boys gave their congratulations, all except Damian who just stood there silent.
“Dami? You alright?” You asked softly approaching him.
“I’m fine mother, congratulations to you and father,” he says a little harsh before turning away.
It took a lot of encouragement and reassurance for Damian to finally come around to the idea of being a big brother.
The rest of your pregnancy was relatively easy going if you consider always having a bodyguard in the forms of your husband, sons, and daughter, easy going. Everyone hovered but it was out of love.
When you finally went into labor, everyone lost their minds. Bruce, for once lost his cool.
“We need to get you to the hospital. Your water broke.”
“Bruce my contractions aren’t even consistent right now. We have time.” You argued.
That argument didn’t last long as baby Wayne was just as impatient as their father.
Less than three hours later in a private suite at Gotham General, your sweet baby girl Martha Alice Wayne was born. Bruce cried when he heard her cry. He cried again when he cut the umbilical cord and held her for the first time.
“She’s perfect” he whispered as he held her to his chest.
“She is. Bruce Wayne officially a father to two girls now. How’s it feel?”
“Unreal, I don’t have any idea what I’m doing but having her in my arms just feels right”
Since that day in the hospital when Martha was born, Bruce felt like a whole new person. Which is how now, even after the more lack of sleep than usual, the millions of dirty diapers, the tantrums, and spit up, Bruce does his best to enjoy every second of it.
Even if that means being nap trapped and screamed at by a three month old.
A.N: I literally couldn’t get this out of my head since I went on a Batman rereading spree. DC give him a tiny baby now. I can definitely see myself making more fics on this in particular, especially with Bruce and processing his feelings and Damian’s reaction. Hope you guys liked it! Love ya
Age regressed!Dick Grayson ft batmom! reader x batman
divider by: @cafekitsune
word count: 1.5k
synopsis: When an age regressed Dick Grayson wreaks havoc on the Justice League.
a/n: Wanted to write something light and humorous, this idea is inspired by something I saw on tik tok giving a similar scenario.
The Watchtower medbay looked like a warzone.
“—How the hell is he still moving?!” Barry Allen exclaimed, clutching his ribs as a small, dark blur zipped past him and slamming a fist into his knee before launching himself at Hal Jordan.
“Ah—ow! He bit me! He bit me!” Hal yelped, clutching his arm.
Earth’s greatest defenders—gods, aliens, meta-humans—stood in disarray, thoroughly outmaneuvered by one small, barefooted terror: Nightwing. Or rather, a ten-year-old, age-regressed version of him with no memory of the team and no mercy to spare.
“Did he just throw a bedpan at me?!” Barry cried out, ducking behind Hal as a metal object flew past his head and shattered against the wall. “Was that filled?!”
“Focus!” Diana barked, deflecting a flying needle with a sharp clang of her bracers. The boy dove straight through the air like a missile, teeth bared and expression wild. “He’s a child! Contain him, don’t kill him!”
“The little shit’s trying to kill us!” Hal snapped back, clutching his forearm—now sporting a fresh, red crescent from a vicious bite.
“Language,” Superman muttered absently. He hovered midair, cape billowing, eyes carefully tracking the boy as he darted like a wolf through shadows. “He’s de-aged and disoriented. Likely under psychic regression. But—”
A sudden blur of blue and black shot from the ceiling like a launched arrow.
With a feral yell, the boy dropkicked Hal Jordan square in the back of the head.
“SON OF A—!”
The Lantern hit the ground with a heavy crash.
“Do not swear at the child,” J’onn said calmly from the corner, watching with the detached exhaustion of someone who had already tried and failed to telepathically soothe him.
“Child?!” Hal sputtered from the floor. “That’s not a child. That’s a miniature assassin in spandex! He's worse than Robin!”
“I’m surprised the suit shrunk down to fit him,” Barry commented, peeking from behind a toppled stretcher. “Who knew Nightwing was this feral as a kid? Where the hell did he grow up—the circus?! He’s like a deadly little raccoon.”
“And armed,” Diana added, eyes narrowing as a third batarang embedded itself in the wall just inches from her face.
Another smoke bomb detonated.
Thick grey fog billowed out, blanketing the medbay in a choking haze. Even with enhanced senses, thermal vision, and metahuman reflexes, the League found themselves disoriented. The child was too quick, too unpredictable—a wraith of his own, slipping through their fingers every time they thought they had him cornered.
“…You know what?” Flash coughed, waving smoke from his face. “I think I prefer having a bedpan flung at my face.”
“Fantastic,” John Constantine muttered grimly. “Why did the bloody Bats have to be in Gotham today?”
Superman finally exhaled. “That’s it. I’m calling him.”
“No!” Hal and Barry both snapped in unison, panic clear in their voices.
“We can handle the kid!” Hal added quickly, just as another tray came flying from the smoke and narrowly missed his head.
They could not, in fact, handle the kid.
After another five minutes and three minor injuries—plus one deeply bruised ego—J’onn and Clark made the call.
It didn’t take long.
The Zeta-Tube flared to life behind them with a mechanical chime and the light blue glow of teleportation.
“ZETA-TUBE ACCESS: BATMAN. ZETA-TUBE ACESS—”
The moment Dick saw the glow, he froze mid-swing—one hand still holding a scalpel, the other mid-throw with a stolen IV pole. His head whipped toward the portal with an almost animalistic instinct. Before the system could even finish the second name, the boy bolted like a bullet, launching off the medbay bed and leaping over Diana’s shoulder.
“MOM!!!”
Every head turned.
And who they saw wasn’t Batman.
It was you.
Still dressed in full gear—sleek black tactical armour molded to your frame, twin daggers crossed on your back, and a black half-mask framing your sharp eyes. You had only just stepped onto the Watchtower floor, barely blinking in the artificial light, when a small body slammed into you at full force, arms and legs wrapping around you like a vice.
You staggered back a step under the momentum.
But old instincts had you swiftly catching the small body mid-air.
“Hi, baby,” you breathed with a soft grunt, arms tightening instinctively around the ten-year-old clinging to your front like a baby koala. “I’ve got you.”
Dick buried his face in your neck, panting, heart racing against yours as he trembled in your arms. You just rocked him gently, hand sliding up to cradle the back of his head, thumb stroking through his sweat-damp hair.
Behind you, Bruce stepped out of the Zeta Tube in his full Batsuit, gaze sweeping the Watchtower, assessing the stunned and dishevelled heroes, the utter destruction of his multi million dollar medical bay, and finally to his son, perfectly still in your arms.
He turned back to league, levelling them with a disapproving glower that could freeze blood.
“…What did you all do?”
No one answered at first.
Superman blinked. Green Lantern’s mouth opened and closed. Flash lifted a hand and pointed limply at his bruised knee.
“He’s—he’s been like this for three hours,” Barry finally blurted. “He got hit by some rogue spell, de-aged to, like, ten, and then just snapped. We tried to sedate him, but he kept dodging and fighting—he made traps, Bats! He booby-trapped the medbay with firecrackers and fishing wire!”
“The little—” Hal started, then faltered when Bruce’s gaze narrowed on him. He cleared his throat, backpedaling quickly. “The kid bit me.”
“Almost knocked him out too,” Barry added helpfully.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Hal muttered, cheeks flaring red as he tried to hide his bruised pride.
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.
You said nothing.
Your entire focus was on the boy in your arms—no longer Gotham’s golden prodigy, no longer Nightwing, or physically the eldest of your brood, but once again your baby boy. You gently smoothed your fingers through the back of his hair, rubbing slow, comforting circles at the nape of his neck, just like you used to when nightmares woke him at the manor. You could feel his breathing ease, chest no longer heaving with panic, lashes fluttering against your collar.
“Are you okay?” you whispered against his temple.
“’M okay now,” he mumbled sleepily, his voice muffled but laced with comfort. He was crashing, worn out from the adrenaline and the confusion, but safe.
Bruce stepped in beside you, his presence relaxing Dick even further now that both his parents were in his sleepy sight. Something in Bruce’s stance shifted as he looked down at his first son— the shift was small, nearly imperceptible—but you saw it. You always did. No one else would’ve caught the way his shoulders eased, the faintest softening his mouth as he continued staring down at Dick.
“Wait…” Diana’s voice broke through the quiet, her eyes looking at the three of you in confused curiosity. “Why did he refer to you as his mother?”
You glanced up, arms instinctively tightening around Dick before glancing at Bruce who gave a barely perceptible shrug, clearly telling you it was your choice whether or not you wanted to share the truth.
“Because he’s my son,” you said simply.
Hal blinked. “Wait, I thought he was one of Spooky’s brats…” He paused. His gaze pinged between you and Bruce, taking note of how close Bruce stood beside you and the subtle way his arm almost brushed yours. Something clicked behind Hal’s eyes. His jaw dropped. “Wait a second—are you and Spooky a thing?!”
You tilted your head slightly, teeth catching the inside of your cheek to suppress the smirk threatening to break loose. Still, you couldn’t resist shifting a little closer to Bruce, letting your shoulder bump his.
“Sev— What?!”
Diana looked genuinely stunned. “I… How did none of us know this?”
“I knew,” J’onn said calmly.
“You always know everything,” Barry muttered under his breath.
“So did I,” Clark shrugged.
Hal was still flailing. “No. No way. You two have been on the team for years! How did we not know this?!”
“Because the two of us know how to be professional,” you replied smoothly, one brow raised in amusement.
Diana turned back to study you both again—more carefully this time. Her gaze sharpened, eyes narrowing slightly. And then her expression shifted, something else dawning. “…How many children do you have?”
Bruce grunted.
Your smirk widened. “Define ‘have.’”
“HOW MANY?” Hal all but shouted, throwing his arms into the air.
“Too many,” Bruce muttered tiredly. “And they’re all worse than him.”
“I heard that,” came a muffled, sleepy protest from your arms.
“Of course you did,” Bruce said dryly.
J’onn stepped forward, his tone calm and even. “He has calmed in your presence. Your bond appears to stabilize his regressed state. I recommend removing him from the medbay. For everyone’s safety.”
Bruce gave a short nod. “John, contact Zatanna. Have her meet us at the cave.”
“Alright. Just bloody get that demon out of here,” Constantine muttered, exhaling a puff of smoke and glaring at the scorch marks on the floor.
You adjusted your grip on Dick, who had already begun to drift off against your shoulder, then turned toward the Zeta-Tube.
Hal found his voice again—just in time. “Wait—what else have you been hiding from us? Do you have a dog? A Bat-cave under your Bat-cave?”
You didn’t even glance back as you stepped into the light.
“We also have a Batcow,” you called over your shoulder, voice light with mischief before you vanished, Bruce following a moment later.
thinking about Bruce Wayne x bat mom!reader angst where the two of them are getting a divorce.
This is Dick’s somewhat early mid life crisis.
This is Jason’s quarter life crisis.
Tim is playing investigator but getting nothing out of Bruce since Bruce is to busy getting himself drunk.
Cassandra hovers by your side like a pet dog knowing its owner is leaving for work.
Duke has been pestering Alfred for answers for hours.
The youngest—Damian—is 17 and is still calling Talia to figure out what happened. Talia is compleatley on your side and offers you to come live with her. Damian hangs up the phone.
Pairing : Bruce wayne x Pregnant!batmom!reader + Damian wayne
Synopsis : The Wayne family learns a baby girl is on the way. While everyone is overjoyed, one of the boys slowly withdraws, convinced he'll soon lose his place. One night, youdecides not to let him hide anymore.
divider from @pixopix
The manor was quiet, only disturbed by the crackling fire in your bedroom's fireplace. It was almost midnight, and you had given up trying to sleep, choosing instead to sit in the large armchair by the window, a blanket over your shoulders and your hands resting on your eight month round belly.
The door opened without a sound. Bruce, still dressed in his suit from the evening, tie loosened, jacket over his arm, froze for a moment when he saw you awake at this hour.
"You should be sleeping," he said softly, closing the door behind him.
"She won't stop moving. Impossible to fall asleep."
A small smile, barely visible, crossed his face. The kind he saved for so few people. He set his jacket on the back of a chair, undid his tie completely, then came closer to kneel in front of you, something he had started doing often these past weeks.
"She's giving you a hard time," he murmured, gently placing his hands on your belly.
"She gets that from her father, I think. Always moving, never still."
Bruce looked up at you, amused. "I think she gets her personality from you."
As if to prove him right, a small kick could be felt under his palm. Bruce went still, almost suspended, as if the whole world had stopped at that exact moment. You had already seen him face impossible situations with icy calm, but nothing disarmed him quite like these small movements under his hands.
"She's doing it again," he whispered, a hint of wonder in his voice that he no longer bothered hiding from you.
"She knows you're here."
He rested his forehead against your belly, closing his eyes for a moment, as if he simply wanted to stay there, suspended in this moment. You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the tension of his day, endless meetings, maybe an earlier patrol, all the weight he carried without ever complaining, slowly dissolve under your touch.
"Did you think about names today?" you asked after a while.
"I sat through a four hour board meeting thinking about girl names instead of listening," he admitted, lifting his head with a guilty half smile.
"Bruce Wayne, distracted in a meeting. Now that would make headlines."
"For that alone, I could live with the headlines."
He straightened up slightly to sit on the arm of the chair, one arm behind your shoulders, the other hand still resting on your belly as if he couldn't bring himself to move it. You let yourself lean into him, the exhaustion of pregnancy finally settling over you now that you weren't alone in the silence of the room.
"She's going to be so loved," you murmured, half asleep already. "You know that?"
Bruce pressed a kiss into your hair, his arm tightening slightly around you.
"She'll never have to doubt it," he answered quietly. "I promise you that."
Outside, Gotham kept living its restless life, indifferent. But here, in this room bathed in firelight, there was only the three of you. And for once, Bruce Wayne was nowhere else but exactly here.
The next morning, you wake up in his arms, pale dawn light filtering through the curtains. Bruce is still asleep, one hand resting out of habit on your belly even in his sleep, as if he refused to move it unconsciously. You take his sleeping hand and press it gently against you, and that's what wakes him, a still drowsy smile on his lips.
"Today," you say simply.
He understands right away. "Today," he repeats, and the barely contained excitement in his voice, from a man who always controls everything, makes you laugh softly against his shoulder.
Half an hour later, you go down to the kitchen together, hand in hand. Dick is already at the table, tearing through his breakfast. Jason flips through a newspaper with a detached air. Tim, eyes half closed, clings to his coffee cup like a lifeline. And off to the side, near the counter, Damian is playing with one of the manor's cats, just as serious as always.
Bruce gives you that nervous, happy look he reserves only for you, then clears his throat.
"We have something to tell you."
Four sets of eyes look up at you.
"It's a girl," you say, a hand resting on your belly.
Dick springs out of his chair with a shout of joy, nearly knocking over his coffee cup. "A girl! I'm going to be the favorite big brother, that's official!" He pulls you into a careful but overjoyed hug, then throws himself at Bruce, laughing. Jason shakes his head with a genuine smile. "A little Wayne princess. Gotham isn't ready." Tim mumbles sincere congratulations between two sips of coffee.
You look for Damian. He hasn't moved, the cat frozen in his arms. He nods once.
"Congratulations," he says, brief, before setting the animal down and leaving the room without a sound.
No one else seems to notice. You do.
You find him a bit later in the library, a book open in front of him that he clearly isn't reading. You sit down across from him.
"You okay, Damian?"
"Perfectly fine."
"You didn't say much this morning."
"There was nothing to add. Dick covered it for ten people."
You try to catch his eyes. "You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever it is."
"I'm fine," he repeats, closing the book with a sharp motion. "If you'll excuse me, I have training."
He's gone before you can add anything else.
Over the following days, you feel him pulling away a little more each day. He leaves rooms as soon as the baby comes up in conversation. He stops coming near you when you talk nursery plans with Alfred. Bruce, caught up in work, doesn't seem to have noticed yet. You have, and you don't intend to let it go.
The chance comes one evening, while the whole family watches a movie in the living room. You're curled up against Bruce on the couch, his hand resting on your belly, tracing slow absent circles with his thumb. You turn your head to include Damian in a comment and notice his empty seat.
"I'll be right back," you whisper to Bruce, who follows your gaze to the empty chair and nods, understanding without a word.
Damian's door is slightly open. You knock softly before stepping in. He's sitting on the edge of his bed, Titus lying at his feet, his shoulders slumped.
"I wasn't feeling well," he says without looking up. "It's nothing."
You sit down next to him, carefully, despite your belly. "I'm not leaving until you tell me the truth."
The silence stretches. Then it breaks all at once.
"You won't need me anymore." The words come out fast, bitter. "She'll be your real daughter. Your child, both of yours, by blood. Not... not some training mistake forced on you. Not the son of an assassin you had to mold into someone decent. I'm not stupid. I know how it works."
His voice shakes at the end. He looks away.
Your heart breaks on the spot. You place a hand on his arm, gently turning him to face you.
"That little girl is never, ever going to replace you. You are not a mistake, and you have never been a burden anyone had to accept. You are our son. You were before she existed, and you still will be after. She's going to be born into a family where you're already her big brother. She's going to be lucky to have you, Damian. So lucky."
He tries to keep his composure, his usual mask. But his lip trembles, and for once, he doesn't pull away when you draw him against you. He lets himself fall into your shoulder, stiff at first, then his arms wrap around you with a force that feels almost desperate.
"I didn't want..." he murmurs against your shoulder. "I didn't want to feel like this. It's stupid."
"It's not stupid at all," you answer, stroking his hair. "It's human, Damian. And I'm glad you told me."
You stay like that for a long moment, in silence, listening to Titus breathing at your feet. Then you look up and notice Bruce standing in the doorway, one hand resting against the frame. He hasn't said anything. He didn't want to interrupt. But his smile, quiet, genuine, says enough.
Damian looks up too, spots his father, tenses slightly, embarrassed. Bruce steps forward, kneels down in front of both of you, and rests a firm hand on his son's shoulder.
"She's right, you know," he says softly. "About all of it."
A real smile, small, unsure, but real, finally lights up Damian's face.
"You coming to finish the movie with us?" you ask, pushing yourself up with one hand on your lower back. "Dick's already spoiled the ending three times, you're not missing anything."
A huff of amusement escapes him, almost against his will. "I suppose someone has to remind him to be quiet."
"That's the spirit," Bruce says, ruffling his hair on the way out, a gesture Damian actually tolerates, for once, without protest.
The three of you head back down to the living room together, Titus trotting behind you, and when Damian sits back down in his chair, a little closer to the couch than usual, nobody comments. You settle back against Bruce, his hand finding your belly again, and for the first time in days, Damian laughs freely at one of Dick's jokes, without holding back
