The hand beneath your chin guided you along with his voice. "Open your mouth, you lazy thing." Your eyes stayed closed as you melted against the palm beneath your jaw. With your mouth obediently open, you let your lover brush your teeth for you.
You were standing but your brain looked at the act of walking the way it would a distant, foggy memory. Completely open to being guided, like a puppet. To him though, it was the complete opposite. You were adorable.
"Lower your head now." he said while rinsing the toothbrush under water and setting it aside. With eyes barely cracked open, you allowed him to slowly lean you over the sink and bring the half handful of water in his palm to your mouth.
"Rinse." The gentle command never fully reached your brain. Instead, you swallowed the water and suddenly, with a harsh shake at the back of your neck, whatever remained was forced back out into the sink.
Like a raccoon caught in headlights, you blankly stared into the mirror while he muttered under his breath and wiped the toothpaste stained water from your mouth and neck with a cloth. "Tastes disgusting…"
At your half mumbled complaint, he let out a faintly amused sigh. "Of course it tastes disgusting. You drank something you weren't supposed to." He tilted you back toward his palm again and pushed water into your mouth once more. Bent down close enough to your face, he watched you with complete focus. "This time, rinse."
You lazily swished the water around in your puffed cheeks, your eyes already beginning to drift shut again. Eventually growing tired of it, you spat the water out. With a cupped handful of water, he gently washed your mouth. Something soft brushed against your lips, leaving behind the fading trace of warmth.
"Come on let's go back to bed, big panda." You grumbled as if protesting the teasing tone but still allowed him to pick you up. Your legs dangled off to the side while your arms lazily wrapped around his neck without even bothering to open your eyes.
As he carried you away with him, you tucked yourself beneath his chin for the soothing feeling of his pulse. No matter what happened, having a man who would take care of you felt as lovely as a soft breeze.
pairings | platonic! bruce wayne, barry allen, hal jordan, oliver queen x fem! reader. ex bf! dick grayson, wally west, kyle rayner, roy harper x fem! reader. + surprise pairing at the end
summary | your ex’s father/mentor begs you to take his miserable mentee back
a/n | crack. ngl i really lost the plot in kyle's part.
WALLY WEST & BARRY ALLEN
Three days. That's how long you managed to avoid Barry Allen following the end of your relationship with Wally. A bit pathetic, really, but you're not sure what else you expected trying to avoid a man that could move faster than light.
Why had you been avoiding Barry?
Because, simply put, even before your relationship with Wally evolved into something more romantic in nature, there was nothing worse than disappointing him.
You'd always adored Barry. He was smart, and kind, and in little you's eyes, the coolest hero ever! He'd always been so supportive of you, and a small part of you even believed that Barry had been nearly as ecstatic as Wally was when you'd started dating. He certainly acted like it sometimes.
The familiar soft call of your name and a warmer-than-average hand on your shoulder have you stopping in your tracks. Shit! You were so close! The zeta was literally within steps' reach, but Barry Allen was just too goddamn fast.
Mentally bracing yourself, you turn to meet Barry's gaze, face devoid of his cowl, leaving you to read every ounce of concern with perfect clarity.
"Barry," you sigh, traitorous voice already a little wobbly as you valiantly tried to keep the tears at bay.
For Fuck's sake! He hadn't even said anything yet, and already you were crumbling under the weight of his stare.
"Hey, kiddo. Heard you'd hit a bit of a rough patch with Wally, wanna talk about it?"
"No." Though you try to remain strong, to sound disinterested, your traitorous voice cracks, lower lip wobbling pathetically. You maybe could have played it off, if it weren't for the sudden onslaught of tears spilling down your cheeks.
"Oh, sweetheart," Barry murmurs, already pulling you in for a hug, one of his hands cupping the back of your head. "Let's get you somewhere more private, yeah?"
Barry doesn't wait for an answer before the world is blurring around you, and within a blink, you're in a different room. It's modest, bare bones, with a small desk and bed, and you realise this must be Barry's room on the watchtower. You doubt he'd ever even used it. Why would he, when he had Iris waiting for him at home?
The thought sends a pang through your chest, a harsh reminder that your once shared space with Wally is now barren of his presence, bereft of his warmth, leaving you cold and alone.
Abruptly, the tears start anew, loud and gut-wrenching sobs filling the silence as Barry pulls you in for another hug.
"Let it out, kiddo." Barry hums, rubbing comforting circles on your back as you soak his shoulder.
"He's such an idiot!" You wail.
"Boys usually are."
"I just don't understand, why would he even—"
"I don't know, you'll have to ask him that, but I know Wally regrets the things he said." At that you pull back a little, an unimpressed scowl covering your face.
"I'm not just taking his side. You're both miserable, and I know Wally's a stupid idiot boy, but do you think maybe there could be a conversation?"
"Only if you're there to back me up." You mumble, averting your gaze from Barry's deadly earnest gaze.
"Course, kiddo." The warmth in his tone nearly makes you cry anew because for as much as you'd missed Wally, you'd nearly missed Barry just as much.
If you're being honest with yourself, you were always going to fold the second Barry turned those big blue eyes of his on you.
As if on cue, the door slides open and a dishevelled Wally stumbles in. There's a brief moment of satisfaction as you notice that Wally looks worse than you do before you betrayal shoots down your spine.
"You set me up!"
"Sorry kiddo, would it help if I said it was only because I missed you?"
Before you can respond, a pair of arms wrap around your waist, as Wally looks up at you like a pitiful puppy as Barry stifles a laugh.
"Please, baby, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't mean it, I'm a mess without you, I can't do this without you. I'll do whatever you want, please—" The words come out rapid fire as mortification floods your veins.
"Oh my God, yes fine! Just get up!" You practically shout, accutely aware of Barry watching the scene.
"Yes! Thank you! I won't let you down!" Wally celebrates like he's been chosen to be team leader instead of you giving his pathetic ass a second chance and it's nearly enough to make you take it back.
But then he looks at you with with such adoration in those wide, watery green eyes of his and you know you never truly stood a chance against him either.
KYLE RAYNER & HAL JORDAN
You were being hunted.
Donna called you paranoid. Kori tried to reassure you that no, Hal Jordan wasn't staring at you ominously across the watchtower, plotting your death. (Though Gar insisted he was, little shithead.)
It only worsened in the week following your fight with Kyle, the feeling of being constantly watched. Everywhere you went, there was suddenly a Green Lantern staring intently.
John, to his credit, did his best to give you space, throwing you somewhat pitiful glances. Likely just checking in on you, a little embarrassing but kinda sweet. Guy just leered but had yet to try and approach you, annoying, but ultimately harmless.
It was Hal who was the problem. Hal, who suddenly stared with the intensity of a horror villain. Hal, who you swore nearly vaulted the table after a mission debrief, in his quest to get to you.
Hal, who was now chasing you through the streets of your hometown, desperately calling your name, "Why are you running?"
"Why are you chasing me?" You yelled back, stopping only momentarily to wave off a few concerned citizens with a strained smile. It's in the midst of one of these reassurances when a large green hand scoops you up and into the air.
"Hal, what the hell! Put me down!"
"No can do, little lady." His voice is a little hysterical, and it's enough to make you stop squirming and really look at him. Hal's normally perfect hair is in disarray, his skin a little paler than usual, and though you can't see his eyes behind the mask, you can practically see the widened, manic irises.
"Hal... are you okay?" You ask, suddenly a little concerned for his mental state.
"Am I—Am I okay?" He repeated shrilly, reaching out to place his hands on your shoulders, making you freeze as he suddenly leaned in as if to deliver a secret.
"You need to take Kyle back."
"Hal—"
"No, no, listen to me! He's been crashing at my apartment, figured it couldn't be that bad, help him get back on his feet, right?"
"Right?" You agreed, only to instantly feel like you'd chosen wrong.
"Wrong! At first, he was just depressed, you know how sensitive he is, but then I tried to get him to take a shower, and you know what he said? He said he couldn't even shower because it reminded him of you! I don't care what kind of sex life you two had, but the man needs to shower!"
"That's—"
"I'm not finished!" He burst, "He won't stop painting you! Everywhere I turn, there you are! I'm running out of space in my shitty apartment!"
Before you can even think to respond, a secondary green blur appears, knocking Hal away from you and disrupting the construct keeping you afloat.
A scream tears from your throat as you suddenly free-fall, heart hammering frantically against your chest until another pair of arms catches you.
"Are you okay? He didn't hurt you, did he?" Kyle's voice is frantic, one of his hands cupping your cheek, forcing you to look at him.
"Hurt me? Kyle? What are you— Did you just bulldoze Hal?!" You yell in disbelief, attempting to turn in his arms to find the other Lantern.
"Hurt him?" It's Kyle's turn to be confused, "Why are you concerned about him? He kidnapped you!"
"Hal didn't kidnap me. Why would you even think that?"
"Because it's all over the news—Wait, Hal?"
"Yes, Hal!" An irritated voice snaps, as a scowling Hal Jordan flies toward you and Kyle, "What the hell, man, I'm on your side!"
"Hal?"
"Is there an echo in here or something? Yes Kyle! It's me, Hal, the guy whose couch you've been soaking with your tears for the past week."
"I thought—the news said you'd kidnapped her." Kyle stammered, voice suddenly a little quieter, "I thought maybe Parallax had gotten to you again."
The absurdity of the situation settles over you amidst the stunned silence, and it's not long before the silent giggles you'd attempted to hide erupt into full-blown laughter. Tears slide down your cheeks as you hold your aching side.
"Ok, well, it wasn't that funny." Hal grumps, which of course, makes you laugh harder.
And maybe, you lean a little further into Kyle's touch, a move he accommodates easily. And maybe, you don't hate the way he still feels like home.
ROY HARPER & OLIVER QUEEN
You wake to a persistent knocking on your front door, pulling you from the few hours of sleep you had managed to get. Fury and irritation flood your veins as you wrench the door open with a snarl. "Oh my god, Roy, go home alrea—" You trailed off, blinking at the sight of a dishevelled Oliver Queen instead of the ex-boyfriend you'd been expecting, "—dy"
You go to slam the door closed, but Oliver's faster, jamming his foot in the threshold, only to yelp when you nearly crush the appendage. One of your neighbours even pokes their head out at all the noise, to which you nervously laugh him off before pulling Ollie inside.
"Oliver, what the hell are you doing here?" You seethe, patience already frayed from Roy's constant attempts to contact you, raging from lengthy voice messages, to sleeping outside your door.
"Please take him back." Oliver barely waits a second before he's pleading with you.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, not you too." You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.
"Please! I know he can be an idiot sometimes—"
"Wonder who he gets that from?" You murmured, but Oliver ignored you, continuing his pitch.
"But Roy's a good kid, and he loves you! You're the best thing that's ever happened to him!"
"Yeah, and now he's sending you to fight his battles, huh?" You remained unimpressed, even if internally your heart ached with longing for Roy.
"No, Roy doesn't know I'm here; he'd probably kill me for interfering," Oliver admitted, running a hand through his hair before coming to sit next to you on the couch you'd collapsed into.
"Look, I made a lot of mistakes with Roy. Lord knows I haven't always been there for him, but somehow, despite me, he's turned into someone to be proud of. I just, I want you to remember that. To remember how much he loves you. Trughtfully, I think Roy's loved you since before he even realised what love was."
"Oliver..."
"I have to admit part of this is a selfish venture. I've always hoped I could one day officially call you my daughter."
Oliver's words bring tears to your eyes before you can stop them, and the man's face suddenly becomes comically panicked at the sight of your tears.
"Wait, no, if Roy finds out I made you cry, it's game over for me." He fretted.
"I won't tell if you won't." You laugh through the tears.
"Sounds like a deal to me."
Of course, Roy chooses that exact moment to crawl through your window, blasting Haddaway's What Is Love' through a shitty speaker.
DICK GRAYSON & BRUCE WAYNE
Of all the places you'd ever thought you'd meet your end, an elevator had never made the list. You'd forever curse yourself for allowing Batman to corner you like this, but in your defence, you hadn't expected him to launch through the closing doors like a missile as you frantically shoved the 'close door' button.
Batman hits the emergency stop button without a word, and your stomach sinks. He really is going to kill you. You broke his son's heart, and now he's here to enact parental vengeance on behalf of his beloved eldest son.
He reaches toward you, and you, highly trained vigilante that you are, freeze like a deer in headlights. Batman's hands clasp firmly on your shoulder, eyes wide behind the cowl as he looks at you with the intensity of 1000 suns. "Please take my son back."
You blink, flabbergasted as the words sink in, the dread in your gut morphing into something near incredulous. Batman, the Dark Knight, terror of Gotham and scourge to petty criminals and villains alike, was begging.
Barreling over your confused silence, he keeps going, "He got a haircut. It looks atrocious. I'm told this is a result of extreme emotional distress caused by your breakup."
Were you hallucinating? Was this some sort of alternate reality? Too dazed to even begin to formulate a response, you simply blink, gaping like a fish.
"I don't know what he did, but I'm sure it was stupid, and I will personally ensure it never happens again."
"I don't think—"
The elevator moves, and the doors fling open as a concerned-looking Superman peers inside, "You two ok?"
"Fine." Batman saunters out, not even sparing you a backward glance, no indication of the near manic energy he'd just unleashed upon you.
"Sweetheart?!" Nightwing barrels past Superman, reaching for you instinctively, only to freeze at the last second.
Despite yourself, fondness fills your heart at the sight of him, even as you cup your hand to your mouth to hide the gasp.
It truly was a horrendous haircut.
MICHAEL CARTER & J'ONN J'ONZZ
You could safely say that you liked most of your colleagues, closer to friends, really, on the Justice League. Even Guy Gardner had squirmed his way into your heart, though he still tended to piss you off most days of the week.
J'onn, though, had always secretly been your favourite. Not a fact you hid from him, it would be pretty difficult to, given his set of powers, but more so, Bea and Tora didn't pout over it.
So it wasn't exactly a surprise when J'onn sought you out almost as soon as you boarded the watchtower after a personal weekend away. What was a surprise, however, was the slight furrow to his brow and the palatable concern that seemed to be floating off him in waves.
"J'onn, is everything ok?" You mentally asked, unsure if this was a conversation to be had around prying ears.
J'onns' telepathy had never bothered you the way it still did for many others, likely what had contributed so greatly to your close friendship over the years.
"Yes, I am fine, Booster, however..." He trailed off, an interesting experience during a telepathic conversation.
"Oh, you heard about the breakup then?" You outwardly cringed before projecting a sense of gratitude that he'd thought to check up on you.
"Yes, I... heard. Loudly." J'onn spoke, horror threatening to overwhelm you as he realised his meaning. "I've done my best to maintain his, and your, privacy, but he is quite...sad."
A polite way of putting pathetic.
"Are you talking about the boss? He's been crying into tubs of ice cream all weekend."
"Skeets!" You scolded the little robot, gaze swivelling to see if there were any eavesdroppers.
"You wanna see videos?" Skeets buzzed, almost excitedly.
Yes.
"No! Skeets, that's horrible!" You tried to maintain the outraged facade, but one look from J'onn let you know your performance was weak at best.
"Not even the one where he compares your smile to the 'dawn's morning rays, chasing away the frost and bitterness of the night?'"
That's— "He said that?" You fiddle nervously with your necklace, something you just now realise Michael had bought for you.
"You dumping him has created a poet, it seems."
"What," you cough, pretending to be nonchalant, "what else has he said?"
"That you were his only reason for living and he couldn't bear to face the cold, cruel world without you."
"What?" You gasp, "Skeets, that's legitimately concerning!" Hurriedly pushing past the now seemingly callous little robot. Suddenly desperate to see the man you never stopped loving.
"Too far?" Skeets questioned the Martian as they both watched you frantically scurry to find Michael. Neither seemed too concerned.
"Not if it stops the constant barrage of sadness against my mental shields, my little friend." J'onn hummed with a commiserating glance at his unintentional companion to Michael's misery.
"Wait, I need to film this!" Skeets suddenly flew after you, leaving J'onn alone in blessed silence.
For approximately two minutes, before Michael's joyous proclamations of devotion and never-ending love breached his senses. Maybe it was time for a holiday, he decided. One far, far away from Booster Gold.
*✩‧₊˚ YOU THINK YOU'RE GETTING CHEATED ON - PART ONE
( PART TWO / comic masterlist / main masterlist / taglist )
⋆ starring: dick, jason, wally, kyle
⋆ cw: NSFW 18+ mdni, f!reader, swearing, established relationships, angst, crack, light fluff
⋆ a/n: LISTEN I MADE JASON A YAPPER. SUE ME.
froggi yaps -> it's been so long since i did a multi-fic i feel like these lowkey suck :,) i had some planned for the other guys (jason, booster, bruce, clark, constantine) but couldn't commit to doing them rn </3 if this one does good tho i can do another part ^^ hope you guys enjoy
Dick Grayson (Roy):
Dick’s jaw drops when you walk into the bar, greeting your table of friends with a little wave before settling on Roy’s lap. Roy’s lap. His hand tightens around his glass.
The redhead raises his eyebrows, instinctively placing a hand on your hip to steady you. He tilts his head up, flashing you an easy grin. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you say casually, grabbing his glass of ginger ale and sipping on it.
In your peripheral, you can see Dick’s jaw clenched, fingers digging into his palms. Roy rubs his thumb in circles around your hip, ignoring the inquisitive stares coming from your friends.
You watch as Dick downs his whole drink and forces a smile. A breath, and then he’s back to normal, making conversation with Donna across the table.
The night is normal after that, laced with jokes and easy conversation. It’s so normal you’re beginning to think Dick’s forgotten about your antics now that you’ve moved from Roy’s lap to the seat between them.
It’s when you’re on your way out of the bathroom that shit hits the fan.
“So, you and Roy?”
He’s standing in the small nook where the bathroom doors lay, looking at you expectantly. His arms are crossed over his chest, muscles bulging out of his t-shirt.
You flinch at the sound of his voice, hand clenched over your chest in shock. You recover quickly. “Why do you care? We’re just friends, aren’t we?”
“Friends? I—” He laughs incredulously. “Is this because of what I said?”
You scoff and shake your head, shoving past him only for him to catch you by the arm.
“C’mon, don’t be like this,” he pleads. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
You spin around to face him. “Then how did you mean it, Dick?”
“I just meant that we aren’t dating.”
“So why does it matter so much to you if I flirt with Roy?”
He looks puzzled, brows knit together as he tries to find an answer for your question that doesn’t involve him confessing his feelings for you in the back of a bar. He doesn’t find one.
“I-I don’t know.” He runs a hand through his hair, “we’re not just friends, alright? It was—it was stupid for me to say that. Just, please stop flirting with my best friend.”
“Okay,” you say quietly. “Good to know.”
You retreat to the bar, getting another drink, while Dick returns to the table. You give it a few minutes, letting him stew before making your way back.
You’re about to sit back down on Roy when Dick catches your wrist, tugging you towards him. You stumble, falling into his lap. Your eyes widen, looking up at him curiously.
“No chance in hell,” he mutters into your ear, “nice try.”
Roy flashes you a thumbs up under the table. Mission accomplished.
Wally West (Kyle):
Wally’s clenching his glass so tightly it might break.
Standing in the corner of the bar, leaned against the wall and watching you dance with Kyle of all people, he can’t help but wonder what it would be like to toss the glass at his head. It’s a tempting thought, Wally’s fingers wandering up the side of the glass.
It’s payback. He knows it is. He hurt your feelings and now you’re taking it out on him via grinding on Kyle. It’s whatever. He’s not going to fall for it. Whatever.
It’s when the song ends and you press yourself real close to Kyle, laughing in his ear about something he said, that Wally really loses it. One minute, Kyle has a hand on your hip, basking in the radiant sound of your laughter, and the next, you’re gone.
The cold night air is unforgiving, clinging to the sweat soaking your skin. You shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself.
You scowl at the redhead who dragged you out here. “What the hell, Wally?”
He paces the alleyway in front of you, long strides casting dark shadows across the brick wall of the club. He has a hand in his hair, the other fidgeting nervously.
“Kyle? Really?” He laughs humourlessly, “he can’t even dance.”
“He dances better than you.”
Wally’s jaw falls open in offense as he clamps a hand over his chest.
“Why do you care, anyway? We’re just friends.”
“Yeah, cause friends fuck the way we do.”
It’s your turn to be shocked, turning your head away from him to try and hide it. “You’re—” You take a deep breath, fighting the heat rising to your face, “you’re the one who said we’re friends.”
“That doesn’t mean you can just—just go and fuck Kyle!”
You shake your head. “We’re not fucking, Wally. We’re dancing.”
You turn away from him, starting to leave the alleyway to get back in the club. Still, you can’t help yourself. “But, now that you mention it…”
Wally’s in front of you before you’ve finished blinking. He’s breathing heavily, a dark look in his eyes. He presses closer to you, squeezing out all the space.
“Don’t,” he breathes, “fuck Kyle.”
Something in his tone tells you to tread lightly. Something in your core tells you to press him more.
“Yeah? And what if I d—”
Wally’s lips are on yours before you finish speaking, his hands settling into your waist like they belong there. They roam your sides, feeling every inch of you. His tongue slips into your mouth, marking his territory.
He pulls away, looking at you seriously. “Come home with me, I’ll show you how friendly we are.”
Back in the club, Kyle smiles to himself. Your plan must have worked.
Roy Harper (Dick):
Roy almost faints when he walks in the living room, a necessary stop on his journey to grab a glass of water, and finds you and Dick snuggled up on the couch. He rubs his eyes, thinking this must be a result of a nightmare, but when the stars dissipate from his vision, the two of you are still laying there.
You’re face down in Dick’s chest, your head buried in his t-shirt. Dick’s laid down on his back, watching a movie while idly rubbing your back. It’s so domestic that it has Roy’s heart wrenching, his mouth suddenly dry.
Dick notices the redhead immediately, cheekily raising a finger to his lips to signal him to be quiet. He gestures to you with his eyes, putting emphasis on the fact you’re trying to rest.
Roy, with frustration bubbling up in his chest, does not give a fuck. “What are you guys watching? You look cozy.”
And just like that, your head is perking up, puffy eyes landing on Roy. There’s dried tears on your cheek, the skin around your eyes still wet and shiny from crying. Shit.
“I didn’t—fuck, I’m sorry.”
You push yourself away from Dick’s chest, untangling your body from his. “Can I speak to you for a minute?”
Roy only nods, not wanting to say anything else and risk upsetting you. You lead him back to your room, the gesture so familiar it has your heart hurting.
“Literally what is your problem?” Your voice is thick with tears, “can’t you leave me alone? Since we’re ‘just friends’.”
“You’re crying,” is all that he says, evidently stunned by your disheveled state. “Is that why you’re crying? Because of what I said?”
“Does it matter?”
His voice cracks. “You’re sad, of course it matters.”
You avert your eyes, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. Drawing your arms around yourself, you take a big step away from Roy. Like that will be able to keep this conversation from happening.
“It hurt when you said that, Roy.”
“So you go and cuddle up with Dick?”
“Jesus Christ.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, “he’s my friend. He was comforting me. And last I checked, according to you, friends do a lot worse than cuddle.”
He sucks in a breath. Touché.
“You either care or you don’t, Roy. Make up your damn mind.”
“I care, okay?” He runs a hand through his hair, “I care too much to see my best friend using you as a blanket.”
“But not enough to date me?”
He takes a deep breath and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to leave. If he’s going to storm out and leave you here and never speak to you again. Instead, he does something that surprises you even more.
He drops to his knees in front of you, looking up at you through his lashes. He says your name, reaching up for a hand. Reluctantly, you peel a hand from your shoulder and offer it to him.
“There is nothing I want more,” he says seriously, “than to be with you.”
Your vision blurs with tears. “You mean it? No more mixed feelings?”
He kisses the back of your hand. “Promise.”
Kyle Rayner (Guy):
Kyle doesn’t think anything of it when you don’t respond to his good morning text. Barely even notices it when you choose to sit next to Guy instead of him. Forced himself to ignore the way you seemed glued to the ginger all day. But this? This—seductively biting your nail while rubbing a hand up Guy’s chest—cannot stand.
He stands in the corner and watches the two of you flirt, waiting for his time to interject. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, fingers clenched to his palms. Any minute now, there’ll be a lull in the conversation and he could pull you aside to talk this out.
‘Any minute’ doesn’t come for at least another ten minutes, your rampant flirting with his partner only growing to annoy him more and more. He’s pacing now, twisting the ring around his finger.
“Jeez, Rayner, can you cut that out? You’re making me nervous.”
Guy’s voice grates on him, adrenaline pumping through his chest. Kyle forces himself to take a deep breath, to think reassuring thoughts and then—
“Ignore him, he doesn’t know what he wants.”
It’s something in your tone that sets him off, that has him creating a bucket of water and dumping it over the top of you and Guy. He’s barely even registered he’s done it until you’re turning on him with a scowl, looking like a wet cat.
“Really, Kyle?” You scoff, “real mature. I’m soaking wet.”
“Yeah, you are.”
You ignore Guy’s innuendo, rushing out of the room to go and dry yourself off in the bathroom. You’ve pulled off your shirt, holding it under the hand dryer, when the door swings open and Kyle’s coming in and stammering an apology.
He barely pays any mind to your half-naked figure, too busy talking himself in circles. “I don’t know what came over me, seriously.” He tugs off his sweatshirt, tossing it to you to cover yourself up. “I’m so sorry.”
You catch his sweater, your own ruined shirt dropping to the floor. “No you’re not.”
He opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it.
“What do you want, Kyle?” You pull his sweatshirt over your head, “you say we’re just friends and then you get all weird and jealous when I try to move on. It’s bullshit.”
And Kyle’s at a loss for words because you look so fucking cute in his sweatshirt, hair still damp and messy from the water.
“And you’re not even listening to me.”
You shoulder past him, about to leave the bathroom when he suddenly grabs your hand and spins you around to face him. He says nothing, only tugging you into his chest and holding you tightly.
“I don’t want you to be with anyone else,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to be just your friend.”
You nod slowly, letting his words sink in. And just as he’s pulling away, you squish your hand into one of your wet pockets, gathering the water and wiping it on the back of his neck.
Kyle cringes, loosening his grip. “I deserved that.”
Barry Allen (Hal):
Six laps. Barry’s done six laps of the planet, changed in and out of his costume in the bathroom, and eaten an entire burger in the time you and Hal have been playing pool. It’s not the game that bothers him, really. It’s the way Hal has his hands on you, bending you over the table and pressing himself into you.
The sight ties Barry’s stomach up in knots, the deluxe bacon cheeseburger he just devoured threatening to come up again. He sits back, watching the two of you play a game against Ollie and Dinah and trying to keep the jealousy from rising to his throat.
It should be him down there. Those should be his hands wandering too close to your chest. He’s about to take another lap when Hal’s crotch is suddenly flush with the swell of your ass and he can’t take it anymore.
One minute, he’s sitting on a bar stool and the next, the two of you are standing on a beach somewhere far, far away from Hal Jordan.
“Barry?” You frown, adjusting to your surroundings, “where are we?”
“...Brazil.”
“Brazil? I—why are we in Brazil?”
“Because Hal isn’t,” he mumbles.
“What?”
“Because I need to talk to you.”
You blink. “And you needed to talk to me in Brazil?”
“Can you forget about Brazil for a minute?” He sighs, “can I—am I allowed to ask what’s going on between you and Hal?”
You burst out laughing. “Me and Hal?”
“...yes? I don’t see what’s funny about this.”
You reach for one of his hands, kneading your thumbs over his warm palm. “Barry, nothing’s going on between me and Hal. What you saw—” You scrunch your nose, embarrassed, “I was trying to get your attention.”
“You always have my attention.”
“I don’t want to be ‘just a friend’, Barry,” you confess, looking at him through your lashes. “Friends don’t do the things we do.”
Realization dawns on his face, his lips tugging into a frown. “No, that’s not—I didn’t mean it like that. God, I’m an idiot.”
You think back to the conversation in question, wracking your brain to decipher what else he could’ve possibly meant by that wording.
He rubs a thumb over your cheek, leaning in until his lips are inches away from yours. “You could never be ‘just’ anything to me. You mean so much to me and I—”
You cut him off by kissing him, swallowing his words.
Hal Jordan (Bruce):
Of all the people Hal expected to find you flirting with, Bruce Wayne was the last on his list. Guy? Absolutely. Barry, Clark, Diana…he wouldn’t cross off the possibility. But Bruce? That would almost be as bad as if you were cozied up to J’onn himself.
You offer Bruce a radiant smile, resting a hand on his shoulder while he tells you and a few other stragglers from Oliver’s charity gala a story. You cling to his every word, nodding along eagerly.
Hal clenches his fist and raises his glass to his lips, downing the whiskey in one go. Adrenaline, or liquor, or maybe some unholy combination of the two rushes to his head. He finds himself stomping over to the little group that’s formed around Bruce.
He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he sidles up next to you and flashes the group a fake smile. “You guys don’t mind if I borrow y/n for a minute, do you?”
He’s already starting to tug you away when he’s met with resistance, Bruce’s other arm looped through yours.
“Actually,” he says, giving Hal an even faker, even shinier smile, “I promised I’d show everyone the pictures from my newest Gotham development.”
Hal yawns, addressing you directly. “You don’t really want to see that, do you?”
Bruce’s hand slides from the crook of your arm to the small of your back. A vein bulges in Hal’s forehead. His frown deepens when you pull yourself away from him, sidling up to Bruce.
“Actually, I’d love to see those photos, Bruce.”
Hal shrinks, defeated. He hates the sudden cold in your tone, he hates the way you barely regard him. Above all that, he hates how good you look on Bruce’s arm.
He slinks away to a far away corner, Barry waiting with a new glass of whiskey and a comforting pat on the back.
Hal finds you an hour later, half drunk with booze heavy on his breath. You’re just finishing up a dance with Bruce when the pilot saunters up to the two of you. You suck in a breath. Here we go.
“Mind if I cut in?”
Bruce looks at you, assessing every miniscule expression on your face in less than a second. He sizes up the pilot, a silent reminder not to fuck with you.
“Do you want a drink?” Bruce asks, posture much more relaxed talking to you. “I could use a drink.”
“Yes, please.”
And then he’s disappearing into the crowd, leaving just you and Hal.
“Really? Bruce?”
You scoff at him, tensing when his hands find your hips and he guides you back onto the dance floor. “Keep your voice down, you’re gonna make a scene.”
“I’m not the one everyone’s been drooling over tonight.” His jaw tics, “of everyone, why Batman?”
“Bruce just wanted to help me take my mind off of things. Pissing you off was just an added bonus.”
He blanks.
“You can’t really be that dense, Hal.”
He thinks on it for a minute and you can practically see the exact moment the light goes off in his head. “Is this about what I said? The friends thing?”
Your silence speaks volumes.
“Why’re you so mad about that? I didn’t mean anything by it.”
You smile sweetly. “So you wouldn’t be mad if I went home with Bruce? I wouldn’t mean anything by it.”
His grip tightens, fingers digging into the meat of your hips. He pulls you closer until his face hovers close to your ear, breath fanning over the side of your neck.
“I will cuff you to me right now. Don’t even joke.”
You intentionally step on his foot. “Admit it, then.”
“Why does it matter so much to you what we are?”
You groan, pulling yourself away from him and starting on your way back to Bruce. He grabs you before you get very far, pulling you back to him and locking his arms tighter than before.
“Fine, fine. I’m sorry, okay?” His gaze softens, “I didn’t mean it. Please, please do not go home with him.”
You kiss his cheek. “That’s what I thought.”
Oliver Queen (Hal + Dinah):
Oliver thought things couldn’t get worse than seeing you and Hal hug after winning beer pong. Oliver thought wrong.
Seeing Dinah kiss your cheek, her arms around your shoulders while the two of you pose for a photo, feels worse than any injury he’s ever received. It’s no help that the two of you look so damn good together, it’s near unbearable.
Dinah pulls away but the slight shimmer of her lipgloss is still visible on your cheek. Oliver can feel the envy bubbling up inside him like magma in a volcano. He tries to focus on something—anything—else.
He looks to Booster Gold and Blue Beetle, playing something on Ted’s Nintendo. He looks to Guy, currently having a very intense conversation with J’onn who looks like he’d rather be doing anything else.
It doesn’t work, he always finds a way to come back to you. Always.
You and Dinah are now wrapped up in a conversation with Hal and Barry, the smile on your face glowing brighter than the sun. He should be there, standing at your side, talking proudly. Instead, he’s lurking in the corner, watching from afar and trying to pretend his blood isn’t boiling.
And then Dinah’s hand rests on the small of your back and he can’t take it anymore.
He clears his throat, approaching you. “I need to talk to you.”
No pleasantries, no sugarcoating it, nothing. He doesn’t even bother to hide his annoyed expression.
Dinah flashes you a knowing smirk, nudging you towards him slightly. “Go on.”
Ollie leads you away from your gathered comrades, from the overlapping chatter and swell of bodies. He’s just barely gotten you out of view when he’s slamming you against the wall and pressing his lips to yours.
He can taste the remnants of your dirty shirley temple, along with something that tastes suspiciously like Dinah’s usual lipgloss. He thumbs at your waist, slipping a leg between your thighs and pressing his chest further into yours.
You gasp, shoving him off of you. “Ollie, I—what—I—”
He’s breathing heavily, feet planted less than a foot away from you. His cheeks are pinkened from your impromptu makeout session, his beard just barely hiding how flustered he is.
“What was that for?” You frown, “there’s people around.”
“And?”
“And?” You scoff in disbelief, “and you said you didn’t want anyone to know and that we’re nothing more than friends?”
“Fuck that,” he growls, reaching for you again. “You’re mine.”
Heat washes into your core, travels up your spine, floods your cheeks. You’re suddenly feeling lightheaded, unsteady on your feet.
“You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” he admits. “Do you want me, or not?”
You sigh, beckoning him in. Defeated.
Guy Gardner (Booster):
Pretty much every hero you’ve worked with was confused by your relationship with Guy. It was clear the two of you had something going on, not that any of them were brave enough to inquire about it. No one thought too much about it.
That is, until you started cozying up to Booster Gold. As if Guy Gardner wasn’t bad enough.
Guy tried to ignore it. He really, really did. He tried to play it up to himself. At least this way he could see other people, too. He didn’t have to worry about hurting your feelings or dealing with jealousy. And yet, despite his sudden freedom, he couldn’t get you out of his damn head.
Maybe that’s what led him here, outside your house at two in the morning, banging his fist on the door.
Booster Gold answers the door, buttery hair disheveled and shirt nowhere in sight. “Hey, Guy.” He blinks, eyes shooting wide, “oh, shit.”
His jaw clenches, something snapping behind his eyes. Guy shoves past him, barrelling his way into your house. Booster rushes after him, trying to catch him before he slams open your bedroom door.
You wake with a start, rubbing your tired eyes to face your attacker. “Oh,” you say casually, sitting up. “It’s just you.”
Michael’s head pops over his shoulder. “I tried to stop him.”
“You tried your best, sir.” Skeets pipes up.
“Like you could,” Guy scoffs. “What the hell is he doing here, anyway?”
“Spending the night? What does it look like he’s doing?”
Your response does little to quell the angry look on his face. Guy clenches and unclenches his fists.
“What are you doing here? I’m sure whatever this is could’ve waited til morning.”
He ignores you. “Are you guys fucking?”
You laugh humorlessly.
Booster slinks away, “I think that’s my cue to leave.”
Your shoulders slump when you watch the familiar head of gold hair disappear back into your living room, presumably resuming his residence on your couch.
Guy crosses his arms, looking at you expectantly. “Well?”
“It’s none of your damn business, really.”
He closes the door behind him, stepping closer to you in the dark of your room. “Does he make you cum? I bet he doesn’t.”
“Jesus, Guy.”
“What? I’m just saying.”
“We’re not fucking, for fucks sakes.” Your head is still fuzzy with sleep, “he’s crashing on my couch. We hang out sometimes. What’s the big deal? It’s not like we’re dating.”
He clocks the bitterness in your tone, the way your voice falters on those last words. A cheshire grin fights its way to his lips.
“So that’s why you’ve been so mad.” He’s standing at the end of your bed now, looking up at you, “cause I said we’re friends?”
“And what if it is?”
“C’mere.” Through the dark, you can just barely make out his hand gesturing you closer.
Despite your better instincts, you find yourself crawling towards him on the bed, kneeling just in front of him.
He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You’re really that upset about it?”
You can only nod.
He leans in, lips pressing against yours. You relax in his grip, letting the world fall away from you while he kisses you.
He pulls away, offering you a toothy grin. “Yeah,” he concludes, “still mine.”
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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
He'd mutter under his breath, two hands wrapped around the skinny twig of a willow tree prepared to snap it in two. He sounded half-joking as he spoke the wish, embarrassed that he's desperate enough to try wishing for your love instead of asking you out like a normal person.
But if there was even a slight chance it would work, he'd do it. He'd do anything for you.
A snap. The 'one wish willow' broke apart in his hands. Two smaller pieces now in his grasp promising him that his wish would come true.
─────────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ────────────
Obsessed ( pun intended ) with the idea of a yandere x reader fanfic with the same plot as Obsession and y/n brings the horror/yandere part instead of whoever the character is :')
If you look close enough, you might see a wagging tail and perked up dog ears on his head when you thank him, whether its for him shielding you from an attack or simply holding the door open for you, his eyes soften and he bites his lip in an attempt to stop the dopey grin threatening to overtake his face (he fails). A “you did good” from you is enough to raise his spirits, any fatigue he once felt now gone. Everyone notices his doglike behaviour, even himself. But he’s more than happy to act like a stray begging for scraps of affection when it comes to you. (Please stroke his head—)
Booster Gold, Johnny Storm (“Who’s my good boy?” “ME!”), Roy Harper, Kyle Rayner (Plans out things to do to impress you the night before and gets disheartened when you seem indifferent and refuses to tell you why he’s in such a mood), Kurt Wagner (his tail physically reacts to your praise causing his cheeks to darken, yet his grin remains bright; a devoted man)
He laughs it off, partly due to not being willing to completely accept the compliment and casually redirects your attention. Later, he replays your words and finds himself wanting to hear more from you, even if he thinks you’re being a bit too generous with him. It’s not that he’s unused to praise, but it feels more…precious coming from you. Subconsciously starts trying to appeal to you more through acts of service or bringing you food and trinkets, and then waves off your thanks despite the satisfied look on his face.
Ted Kord (your personal IT guy but tells you that you give him heart palpitations every time you thank him), Barry Allen, Dick Grayson, Peter Parker, Wade Wilson
His thoughts and even body come to a screeching halt at your words, not expecting to hear you commend him so earnestly, suddenly feeling a rising heat at the back of his neck. He doesn’t even know why he’s going through a hard reboot right now, it’s not that he’s never been complimented before (well, maybe he might be in need of a little more love these days…), but your words fill him with a bashful sort of pride. Awkwardly compliments you back but it comes off more clumsy than intended, but at least you’re laughing.
Jean Paul Valley, Scott Summers, Bucky Barnes
He accepts your praise rather easily, the tone of your conversation remaining casual, but your words settle somewhere deep in his chest, solid and clear. He feels warm, almost like you’ve left a mark on him. So, when people notice his smiles come out more effortlessly and his shoulders have lost some tension… well, that’s something he’ll keep between you and him.
Hal Jordan, John Stewart, Bruce Wayne, Logan Howlett, Marc Spector
Just smiles and says ‘and?’, moving closer before he tries to coax out more honeyed words, nose brushing against yours, as he tilts his head coyly. Don’t get shy on him now, he likes it when you’re sweet, it makes him greedy for more but you knew that, didn’t you? So when his fingers begin tracing patterns over your waist, don’t be surprised if he ends up asking for a little more than praise.
Hal Jordan, Wally West, Matt Murdock, Remy Lebeau
It goes to his head (…both of them) but you’re more than aware of that, and maybe you’ve taken advantage of that fact before but he’s also aware of that and is more than willing to play into your hand. But sometimes when every inch of his exposed skin is covered in scratches and bruises, his hair a tussled mess, you soften, words kinder and smile a little more genuine, and he leans into your touch, quiet for maybe the first time in his life.
Guy Gardner, Pietro Maximoff
“Um, anyway—“ Scoffs and throws in a teasing remark for good measure, but even after he redirects your attention, he feels guilty, that you think you’re beginning to really know him, see the best in him, the part of him that’s a hero, but he’s more than familiar with this scenario. He’ll disappoint you eventually. It’s what he does best, after all. He can only try to soften the blow.
Clint Barton
You smack his ass and claim it’s a compliment. He stares back at you with dead eyes.
John Stewart (could have at least gotten him some coffee first…), Bruce Wayne, Logan Howlett (gets you back as soon as your turn your back), Scott Summers (did you have to do it during a team debriefing), Marc Spector (will get you back, and the suspense may kill you)
You end up repeating something you’ve said during sex before (“good boy”, saying ‘thank you’ with a certain tone, etc) and he excuses himself with flushed face. You end up bookmarking this delightful tidbit and torment him with it.
Jason Todd, Jean Paul Valley (don’t be surprised if he gets his revenge if you push him too far)
You’ve inadvertently conditioned him. Continues to make your life easier by doing chores and trying to pamper you in attempt to get his fix. You tell him his hair looks nice, and he starts rubbing your shoulders. You might break him if you ever forget to praise him. Pavlov would be proud.
Booster Gold, Ted Kord, Guy Gardner, Johnny Storm, Peter Parker (the only one to realize what you’ve done, but quickly accepts his fate), Bucky Barnes
Pulls a reversal and ends up saying something so heartfelt and specific, you end up being the one that gets flustered.
Wally West, Dick Grayson, Matt Murdock (makes it his mission to always leave you weak in the knees with just his mouth—), Remy Lebeau, Kurt Wagner (his gaze is so tender, your heart almost explodes.)
The first time you met him, you expressed your admiration and he immediately fell in love.
Guy Gardner (after you get to know him more you find yourself regretting acting so starstruck because he won’t let you live it down), Wade Wilson
Finds himself in perpetual loop of you saying something nice to him and him becoming too tongue tied to saying anything back. This happens several more times before he’s able to gain a resistance to your casual praise and actually try to charm you.
Barry Allen, Kyle Rayner, Roy Harper
Mind blanks if you give him a sincere compliment and ends up saying something weird (and maybe inappropriate) back. Yes, he’s aware of his own idiocy.
Clint Barton, Pietro Maximoff (Wanda is disappointed but not surprised)
Notes from the Batcave: for ✨this✨ request! Enjoy! 
Bruce Wayne
At first, Bruce stills completely when you kiss him, because normally you’re so shy about initiating affection.
But when you don’t stop at just one kiss and instead press closer, taking his face in your hands like you mean it, his brows lift slightly in surprise.
You guide the pace, mouth insistent, and he lets you… for a moment. It’s rare you’re bold like this, and he finds it incredibly attractive.
Eventually though, that dominant edge of his pushes through. He flips the script with practiced ease, deepening the kiss, pinning you back against the couch or mattress, murmuring lowly against your lips, “You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you?”
Dick Grayson
You catch him completely off guard when you straddle his lap and kiss him without hesitation. He was about to crack a joke, but your mouth on his leaves him momentarily speechless.
When you deepen it, tugging at his hair and tilting his head the way you want, his eyes go wide, before fluttering shut as a little groan slips out.
Dick doesn’t fight for control right away; he loves seeing you confident, taking what you want. He’ll grin into the kiss, hands steady on your hips, letting you push him around.
Eventually though, he’ll turn it into a playful tug of war, lips and teeth brushing yours as he teases, “Didn’t know my shy little bird could kiss like this. Gotta warn me next time, I nearly lost it.”
Jason Todd
You kiss him out of nowhere, and Jason freezes, because you never do that.
But when you keep going, hands on his chest, tilting your chin up stubbornly when he tries to take over, his lips curl into a dangerous smirk. He lets you keep control for a little while, curious how far you’ll push it, but his breathing gets heavier the longer you linger.
You press your mouth harder, bolder, and Jason’s hands slide to your waist, his patience fraying fast. Finally, he growls against your lips and grabs back control with a kiss that’s all teeth and fire, making your boldness crumble into breathless little sounds.
“Cute. Real cute. But you know damn well I don’t give up the reins that easy.”
Tim Drake
You surprise him. Tim’s used to you waiting for him to initiate anything, so when you lean across the desk and kiss him mid-research, his brain practically bluescreens.
The kiss deepens, your hands sliding to cup his jaw, and he’s stunned into stillness before he finally kisses you back. When you keep steering the pace, pulling him closer until he nearly knocks over his cup, Tim is breathless, flushed, and if he’s honest, kind of overwhelmed.
He lets you lead far longer than he thought he would, savoring this new side of you, before whispering against your lips, “I, uh, you’re… wow. I didn’t know you could… do that. Don’t stop.”
Duke Thomas
Duke is mid-sentence when you suddenly grab his shirt and kiss him. He blinks, stunned, then muffles a laugh against your mouth when you kiss him again, firmer, more confident than he’s ever seen you.
When you pull him down by the collar and keep taking charge, Duke’s heartbeat goes wild. He lets you lead at first, hands hovering awkwardly before settling at your waist, not wanting to break the moment. But the longer you keep him under your thumb, the more he feels the need to flip it back.
Finally, with a shaky breath, he deepens the kiss hard enough to make you stumble. He grins against your lips, voice warm and a little smug, “Okay… wow. Remind me never to underestimate you again.”
Damian Wayne
You kissing him first already throws him off balance, his eyes fly wide open. When you don’t stop, tugging him closer and steering the rhythm like you own it, Damian bristles immediately.
He does not give up control easily. His pride flares when you press harder, taking the upper hand with your lips, and he refuses to let you get away with it. With a sharp growl against your mouth, he seizes your wrists and slams you back against the nearest surface, kissing you fiercely, reclaiming dominance in seconds.
When he finally pulls back, breath ragged, his glare is softened by a faint flush, “Do not think you can best me, Beloved. Not at this… not at anything.”
(…Though the way he lingers close, ready for another kiss, betrays how much he enjoyed it.)
Roy Harper
Roy is delighted. The moment you take control, fisting your hands in his shirt and kissing him like you’ve been waiting forever, he lets out a low hum against your lips.
He doesn’t even fight back at first, he’s grinning the whole time, thrilled at this new bold side of you. Your shy demeanor had him pegged as sweet and hesitant, so when you take the reins, Roy’s pulse jumps.
He lets you keep control longer than anyone else would, teasing between kisses, “Damn, where’ve you been hiding this side of you, sweetheart?”
But don’t think he won’t snatch it back the second he feels like turning the heat up. Roy’s hands grip your thighs, spinning you into his lap with a hungry kiss that leaves you breathless.
“Cute as hell when you’re bold. But I think I like it better when you’re bold and pinned under me.”
Wally West
You surprise him mid-ramble, he’s talking a mile a minute when you grab his face and kiss him. His brain short-circuits, and for once in his life, Wally goes quiet.
When you deepen it and keep pulling him closer, steering the whole thing like you’ve been planning this forever, he just melts into it, grinning against your lips.
Wally loves this. loves that you’re usually shy but suddenly stealing control. He doesn’t fight back, not right away; he’s too busy enjoying every second.
But when your kisses keep coming faster, bolder, he finally chuckles breathlessly and flips you under him in a blur of speed, “Okay, okay, hot stuff… I’m not complaining, but if you keep kissing me like that, I will combust.”
Kyle Rayner
Kyle’s holding a sketchbook when you climb into his lap and kiss him without warning. The book drops instantly. He stares for a second, wide-eyed, before you kiss him harder, your hands in his hair, your mouth hungry against his.
Normally he has to coax you into affection, so this sudden takeover leaves him dazed and flustered in the best way. He tries to let you lead, he really does, but when you tug his lip between your teeth and keep going, it knocks the restraint right out of him.
He groans low, grabbing your hips and kissing you back rougher than he meant to. Pulling back just enough to breathe, he laughs, breathless, “Holy shit… who are you, and where have you been hiding from me?”
Conner Kent
You kiss him first, soft but insistent, and Conner blinks, startled. When you don’t stop, when you kiss him again and again, taking control with surprising confidence, Conner flushes red to his ears.
He’s strong, invulnerable, but in that moment, you’re the one overwhelming him. He freezes for a beat, then kisses back, tentative at first, but you keep pushing harder. You tug him down by the back of the neck, and his breath hitches, he’s not used to you being the bold one.
For a second, Conner actually lets you take the lead, heart pounding like crazy. But when you try to deepen it even more, his self-control snaps, and he suddenly pulls you flush to his chest, kissing you with enough intensity to make your knees buckle.
“…not fair. You can’t just do that to me and expect me not to lose my mind.”
⭐️DCU Masterlist⭐️ 🦇Return to the Batcave🦇
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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
(you can read the sequel to this story here)
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 years 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 be 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 she wakes up.”
And you are — even if he’s not sure if it’s for your family or the mega sushi boat he found at the nearest takeout place. Kyle feeds you the pieces as you hold Tommy in your arms while the others make what feels like a thousand questions per minute, silencing only when your son makes any type of sound. Alfred fluffs your pillow and takes his opportunity to take a better look at your son, “He does look incredibly like you, miss.”
They crowd his bassinet once Kyle places him back down to let you properly demolish the sushi boat, and Damian looks like the proudest of them all as he carefully tucks Bitey near Tommy. "It's a miracle he didn't get your stupid genes, Rayner, it would've spoiled the whole family tree."
Later, when it’s time for everyone to go home, it’s only Bruce that stays. Kyle needed a shower — he got the call about your water breaking from the hospital while fighting a slime monster in space and was still covered in weird alien goo — and so, it’s your father occupying the seat beside your bed, looking at you and his grandson with dazed eyes. “You want to hold him?” you husher as Tommy stretches and blinks, content in your arms.
He flinches. The big bad Batman, scared of holding a newborn. “Oh, I, uh… I don’t think it’s the best idea, I’ve never held one before.” well, that doesn’t really surprise you — you and all your siblings came to him already too old to even be picked up, often.
“Aw, c’mon– here, hold him,” despite himself, his hands reach out when you hold your son out for him, “careful with his head, place it on your elbow– there, just like that!”
Bruce finds himself with a very disgruntled newborn in his arms, looking at him like he just did him a big wrong. “Hey, don’t look at me like that,” his tone is the softest you’ve ever heard him use.
The baby responds by proudly and loudly farting, leaving his poor grandpa speechless. You laugh, “Well, that explains it,”
A dim light comes from outside the window — the Bat-signal shines in the clouds, just like most nights in Gotham. Bruce looks at it through the window, but doesn’t move an inch. “If you have to go, you can,” you murmur softly. You’ve stopped getting angry about his disappearances ages ago. “Kyle will be back soon, and we’ll still be here tomorrow morning.”
He looks at you, then down at Tommy, whose eyes are getting heavier and heavier. “No,” he whispers, finally getting comfortable in his seat, “I’m just fine here.”
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