꒰ Jason still doesn't know how to accept he deserves to be loved too. ꒱
If there was one thing Jason never expected, it was that someday, in his miserable life, he would find someone who loved him—not some random hookup, not someone he spent a night with and forgot the face of by morning.
Someone who stayed. Who didn’t give up on him, even though he himself had given up a long time ago.
Meeting you gave Jason a double-edged sword; on one hand, he was no longer living a routine that slowly killed him for the second time. But now, with a relationship, he couldn’t help becoming five times more paranoid, more doubtful.
Obviously, he had no doubts that you loved him—the problem was that he couldn’t stop doubting whether he deserved the love you offered him. And occasionally, that led him to think about the possible future day when you would realize it too, that maybe he didn’t deserve you, and you would leave.
That night, after a half-assed patrol and an accidental run-in with Bruce, he was on edge. Jason dropped himself onto the couch, helmet hitting the floor beside his boots.
He stared at the ceiling, refusing to look at his own reflection in the turned-off television. He didn’t want to drown any deeper into his own pit. Didn’t want to see the newest cut on his cheek, the one that would probably turn into yet another scar.
He didn’t even hear you at first when you walked out of the bedroom, rubbing your eyes.
That was how deep in his own head he was—sinking, spiraling, chewing on the same rotten thoughts that always crawled back after nights like this. Nights where Bruce’s disappointed stare lingered longer than any bruise, where another name got added to a list Jason never wrote down but never forgot either, where he had a reminder he wasn't a good person.
“Jay?” He swallowed thickly, looking up at you. “…Rough night?” you asked.
He huffed out something that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Something like that.”
Silence followed.
Jason expected you to turn around, head back to the bedroom, and sleep peacefully after seeing that all his limbs were still attached. Instead, he felt the couch dip beside him as you sat down, your thigh pressing lightly against his. He took a slow breath.
“Got another one,” he muttered after a moment, voice rougher than usual.
You frowned. “Another what?”
He tilted his head just enough for you to see it—the fresh cut across his cheek, still red, still angry, thin, but likely to stay there for a long time as a scar.
“Scar,” he said flatly.
You leaned closer immediately, your hand hovering near his face, his closing around your wrist and lowering it. “Don’t. It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” you repeated, frowning. “Jason Todd, that is a cut on your face.”
“Just another one. Gonna run outta space eventually,” he added, tone dry. “Face’s gonna look like a damn roadmap.”
You didn’t laugh. You just kept staring at him like he was something fragile, something worth taking care of.
It made something ugly twist in his chest.
He felt guilty—besides making you waste your time being with someone like him instead of a better man, now he was also the center of your worries.
“I’ve got worse,” he cleared his throat. “You’ve seen worse.”
Jason watched you stand up and disappear into the bathroom, coming back with a small bag of cotton and alcohol. You ignored the way his shoulders tensed at the sting of the soaked cotton pressed against the cut.
You weren’t wearing the same expression as before—you looked more irritated when you stood to throw away the dirty cotton.
“You ever think,” he started, voice low, careful, like stepping on thin ice, “that maybe you picked the wrong guy?”
Your neck turned so fast it hurt slightly, your eyes locking onto him like he had just insulted you. You opened your mouth to respond, but he interrupted.
“I mean it,” he continued. “You could’ve had anyone. Some normal guy. Some asshole with a nine-to-five and a normal past.”
His gaze dropped to the floor as he kicked off his boots. “Instead you’re stuck with me, someone who comes home bleeding half the nights of the week and with a body count longer than a damn obituary notebook.”
“Look at me,” you said, walking to stand in front of the couch, crossing your arms.
Jason didn’t dare lift his head.
“Jason.” You grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you. “How dare you."
“How dare I—?”
“How dare you,” you repeated, voice rising now, trembling with both anger and sadness, “sit here in my living room, in front of me, and talk about my boyfriend like he’s some kind of unlovable disaster.”
He swallowed thickly, blinking in confusion. “Your—”
“Yes, my boyfriend,” you cut him off sharply. “My sweet, stubborn, ridiculously self-sacrificing boyfriend who buys me my favorite snacks without me asking, who walks on the side of the sidewalk closest to traffic, who checks the locks three times before bed because he wants me safe.”
His lips parted slightly, but your stare shut him up.
“Who lets stray cats eat from his hand like some princess,” you continued. “Who worries about those kids down the street. Who cries over romance novels and movies.”
“That’s—”
“Don’t,” you warned immediately, eyes narrowing. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence unless it’s an apology.”
He fell silent.
“And if you ever,” you added, sitting down on his lap, “ever talk about my boyfriend like he’s anything less than the most handsome, kind-hearted, terrifyingly loyal man in this entire city…”
You pinched his cheeks. “I will personally fight you.”
Jason lowered his head, lips curling into a smile he couldn’t hold back, a low chuckle leaving his throat. “You threatening me now?”
“Yes,” you snapped, feeling his hands slide to hold your waist. “Because how dare you sit here with that ridiculously handsome face and those stupidly beautiful eyes and act like you’re not the most handsome and kind man I’ve ever met in my entire life.”
“I don’t think the streets would agree with the ‘kind’ part…”
“Shut up—I’m fighting you if you dare say something like that ever again.”
“…You’d lose,” he murmured hoarsely.
“Try me.” You leaned forward, pressing a stubborn kiss right over the cut on his cheek. “Now go take a shower. I’m gonna make you something to eat before we go to bed.”
꒰ Damian decided to pay Jason a visit & notice how his body got softer after getting a girlfriend! ꒱
Damian didn’t usually visit his brothers of his own free will. Most of the time, he only stopped by the apartment to grab a quick snack or pick up some accessory that might be useful to him.
But, surprisingly, on that day—on that perfect day—he had decided to be an inconvenience to Todd, simply because he had nothing better to do.
You were in the kitchen, finishing plating the dessert that would accompany one of your movie nights with Jason.
Used to your boyfriend’s entrances and exits through the window and balcony, you didn’t startle when you heard one of them being opened, continuing to hum absentmindedly.
It was only when you turned to wash your hands that you remembered a small detail—Jason was in the shower.
The humming slowly died in your throat.
You dried your hands calmly—much calmer than you actually felt—and turned your head toward the living room, just enough to peek through the doorway.
And there he was, sitting on the couch like he owned the place, legs crossed as he ate popcorn. He chewed slowly, eyes focused on the turned-off television, as if he were waiting for something to start.
He stopped the moment he noticed you.
You stopped the moment you noticed him.
For a long second, neither of you moved.
His green eyes narrowed slightly, calculating, suspicious. “…You are not Todd.”
You blinked once.
“No…” you answered slowly. “And you are definitely not Jay either.”
Jason appeared in the hallway, hair dripping, but already wearing sweatpants. “You started it without me? I told ya I wanted to watch the opening too—”
He stopped mid-sentence, falling silent, his mouth parting in shock—maybe at the scene? At your calmness with the intruder? Or at the intruder’s sheer audacity?
“Just what I needed,” Jason growled, voice sharp with irritation. “Why the hell are you in my apartment?”
Damian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, chewing calmly. He simply shrugged—after all, how was he supposed to explain that he had only come to check if he was still alive? It had been a whole month since he last saw him. But he wasn’t worried!
“That’s mine—Damian, you should be at home. Your home.” Jason sighed, running a hand down his face. “Get off my couch. And stop eating my food.”
Damian ignored him completely. He leaned further back into the cushions, posture relaxed in a way that made Jason’s eye twitch. Then his gaze shifted slowly toward Jason.
“You look… fuller. Softer,” the younger one commented, his gaze drifting briefly toward you, who watched the argument in silence, before quickly returning to his brother.
Damian tilted his head to the side, as if evaluating a painting.
“Have you reduced your training frequency,” he continued, his voice strangely neutral, not teasing, just observational, “or simply increased your intake of nutritionally void food?”
“Did you just call me fat?”
“…No,” he replied, but then paused to think for a few seconds. “Did I? I merely commented on your body fat—“
Jason crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.
“…Whatever,” he continued, tone quieter now, more thoughtful than before. “You no longer smell like cheap takeout grease and smoke. That is an improvement.”
“…That would be because he finally eats real food now,” you cut in, smiling, proud of your contribution to your boyfriend’s health.
Jason shot you a look over his shoulder, a little wounded that you had indirectly agreed with the little demon.
Damian reached out to grab more popcorn, but Jason slapped his hand away.
“Stop. Eating. My. Food. Okay. Great. Family bonding moment over.” Jason clapped his hands once, sharp and final. “You’ve seen me. Now out. Door. Window. Vent. I don’t care. Pick one.”
Damian’s attention snapped back to you, still ignoring his brother. He straightened slightly where he sat, gaze narrowing with renewed interest.
“You prepare the food?” he asked.
You nodded once. “Most of it.” You smiled. “Do you want to try the dessert?”
“…Dessert?” he repeated.
“I made chocolate cake,” you added casually. “With ganache.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed again. “…Homemade?” he asked.
“Yes.”
You disappeared into the kitchen before your boyfriend could protest.
Jason took a deep breath and dropped onto the couch, far too tired to argue any further. When the younger one opened his mouth to speak, he cut him off immediately.
“Not one more question,” Jason muttered. “Eat in silence.”
Jason kicked the front door open, then kicked it shut again. His shoulders flinched when it slammed a bit too hard. He stood still, waiting for your scolding shout—but when it didn’t come, he let out a relieved sigh.
Soon, he appeared in the living room, arms full of grocery bags that he carried with minimal effort. Half of it was stuff you actually needed, the other half were cravings you had decided you loved ever since getting pregnant.
“You left without even telling me,” you said, tossing the book you’d been reading to the side.
You were sitting at the table in one of his oversized hoodies, legs propped up on a chair, your belly round beneath the soft fabric. One hand rested gently over the bump, stroking it absentmindedly.
“I got that disgusting yogurt you like,” Jason said, placing the bags on the counter before coming back to you. He sat on the floor at your feet, pulling your legs into his lap, kissing your knee as his hands massaged your soles.
“How are you feeling today? Are we hating on me or back in love again?” He laughed when you rolled your eyes at his sarcastic tone. “You should’ve called me. I would’ve come back earlier to make your breakfast.”
“You disappeared before sunrise, Todd,” you muttered, but your voice came out more fond than annoyed. “I figured you were out saving the world or killing someone.”
“Close enough,” he replied, eyes absentmindedly focused on your belly. “I saved the last tub of dulce de leche ice cream from a dumb teenager who thought he’d walk out of the store with it.”
“National hero,” you murmured, trying to keep a straight face, but you couldn’t help the smile that slipped out. Jason grinned back, pleased. He lived for moments like that.
He rested his chin on your knee. “Bruce’s been whining that you never visit the manor anymore.”
You raised an eyebrow, but he only gave you a look of fake innocence. He was partly the reason you hadn’t been going out as much—he’d rather stay paranoid something might happen to you than go to therapy.
You both fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, until he finally broke it. “Can’t believe I get to make a family with you.”
“Technically, I’m making it.” you teased.
Jason chuckled under his breath, his fingers still drawing lazy circles over your ankles.
“Fair enough,” he murmured, looking at you with that soft, dumb smile he only wore when he thought you weren’t watching.
For a moment, he just stayed there, quiet again, watching you. And then, like he’d made a sudden decision, he stood up with a heavy sigh, his knees cracking softly.
“Alright, enough lying on the floor like some lovesick dog.” He held out a hand to you, eyes still glowing with that tender light. “Come on. I’m gonna cook you something decent. Can’t let my wife starve, can I?”
Hear me out. This fic but it’s not us who answers. He told us to close our window for a reason after all 🤭
Sorry I just love a bit of angst
THE TRAUMA 😭💔 He would blame himself so much it hurts :( And if it was any of his enemies (or family) and not just another Gotham random criminal, it would be even worse.
Like, the guilt from not coming sooner? Or not apologizing for that fight?? 😭😭😭
oii, voce parece tão legal e eu vi que voce é brasileira!! adoraria conversar com voce sobre ideias de fanfic/compartilhar fanfics. eu sou novo no fandom da dc e queria alguns amigos para conversar <3
oiii!! vamos amigar 💞 PODE ME CHAMAR QUE EU RESPONDO, VIU?? :)))
CAN YOU PLS PLS PLS BRING MORE ABOUT GRANDCHILD!READER PLEASW PLESSE PESEASW PLeaSE 🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾
꒰ Yes, Bruce does love his children. A lot. But they can’t really try to compete with his grandchild. ꒱
Grandchild!Reader ✿ Fem!Reader ✿ Not proofread
❝ Tim ❞
Tim was having a good day.
He had managed to sleep more than five hours, and his schedule was full, but there was still time to rest for a few minutes and have lunch with his partner. He even had time to stop by the manor before his meeting with the Wayne Enterprises board.
However, when he entered Bruce’s office, looking for a specific folder, the first thing he saw was the drawing.
That wax-crayon abomination with pointy ears, three eyes, and a black cape. Beside it, written in crooked handwriting: “Bamtan.”
Tim blinked. Frowned. Stepped closer, thinking he might need glasses. “Who…” He opened and closed his mouth, searching for words.
Bruce smiled, his granddaughter on his lap, tongue out in concentration, eyes focused on the paper on the desk. You were pressing the crayon so hard that, if they stayed quiet enough, it was possible to hear the table creaking.
Tim looked at him, silently pointing to the drawing. Bruce didn’t even glance at him, just shrugged. “She tried really hard. And it’s the first time she’s drawn five fingers on each hand.”
“She drew six.” He murmured, his original goal forgotten. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate his daughter’s… artistic skills, he just didn’t expect Bruce to value the drawing enough to frame it and display it to anyone who entered the room.
“Even more progress,” Bruce said. “That draw is a masterpiece made by your child, you should be proud.” he added, adjusting the little tiara on the child’s head.
“Daddy!” You smiled, finally noticing him. You held up another drawing proudly, showing him. The main figure looked like a red grape with arms and legs. “I drew you.”
❝ Dick ❞
Despite having many responsibilities, Dick always found time to play with his daughter. He usually took you to watch movies or came up with some game at home—which was always far too dangerous, and you two always got scolded afterward.
But when he got home that day, he didn’t see his little ball of energy running up to hug him like usual. He sighed, already knowing exactly where the kid must be: at Grandpa’s house.
“It’s really… realistic… Who is this again? I recognize it, it looks identical! Your grandpa just has a terrible memory for names.” Bruce’s voice echoed from the hallway, and Dick followed it immediately.
His daughter was on the floor, modeling clay scattered everywhere, and Bruce was sitting beside her, holding a green clay ball with toothpicks for arms.
“Alright, princess,” Dick said, kneeling beside his daughter, who was busy rolling out another strip of clay. “Let me see—who’s who here?”
Bruce leaned over. “That one’s me,” he said, pointing to the Bat-shaped blob made of black and yellow. “And that looks like Clark, and that—”
“Green Lantern!” You chirped, pointing to the figure with a suspiciously oversized head.
“…Yes, I knew it was him.” Bruce coughed.
“Right,” Dick nodded, chuckling. “And this one in blue looks like—wait, is that me?”
“No.” You replied plainly.
Dick blinked. “No— no?”
“That’s Aquaman.” You grinned and held up another clay creature. “He has a shark.”
“And where’s your favorite hero?” Dick laughed, raising a brow—but his smile faded the moment you pointed to the clay Batman. “…I thought I was your favorite hero?”
Bruce smiled but said nothing.
“You know people say Nightwing is the best acrobat in the world?” Dick pinched your cheek, but you just shrugged.
“Yeah, you’re cool. But grandpa has a car. And a cape. And he’s a bat.”
Jason takes his baby to the manor for the first time. And everyone absolutely loves her.
forgot to proofread oops ♡ divider by @uzmacchiato
Thirty-five days. Thirty-five nights.
Damian had been counting each one—quietly, from a distance—but he had.
While everyone else was constantly invading Jason’s house, desperate to see and hold the newest member of the family, Damian had only visited her once, even though he was always watching from afar.
It took thirty-five days for Jason to finally be convinced to bring his precious baby girl to the manor.
He agreed because he couldn’t take Tim showing up in the middle of the night anymore—though he did help take care of his niece and let Jason and his partner get at least one hour of sleep.
He also couldn’t deal with Stephanie constantly asking for baby pictures—when she wasn’t showing up in person and ruining every attempt he and his partner made to just nap together in peace.
Still, Jason didn’t want to bring her into the hyena pit that was his family. Was he sleep-deprived? Yes. Did he cry four times in the shower and twice in his partner’s arms? Yes. But he was fine.
“Oh my God, how can something so adorable even exist?!” Dick bit his fist. “I wanna squish her until she explodes.”
“Dick…” Bruce looked at him, partially horrified by the choice of words. His arms subtly tightened around the sleeping baby in his hold—he was afraid of holding her too tight and hurting her, or too loosely and dropping her. But with a “threat” like that, his concern shifted entirely.
“She smells like milk,” Damian said, sitting next to his father on the couch, his fingers twitching in his lap. He wanted to hold his niece—he really did—but he knew Tim and Jason would tease him to death if he did.
“It’s literally her only source of food,” Tim said, that sarcastic tone of his making it clear he’d heard something obvious.
The baby opened her eyes, blinking, scanning the room until she locked eyes with the youngest uncle. “She’s staring at me—” His eyes widened when Bruce turned toward him and gently handed over the tiny human. “No, take her back—”
He inhaled deeply, trying not to scream when Dick tried to sneak a picture and forgot to turn off the flash. Jason snatched the phone out of Grayson’s hand and smacked his arm. “You want to blind her!?”
Despite the chaos, Damian’s attention returned to the niece in his arms, just as she sneezed against his hoodie. “She got my clothes dirty.”
“It was just a sneeze,” Stephanie said, poking the baby’s chubby cheek with her finger.
“I’m burning this hoodie,” Damian muttered.
“Oh my God—give her to me!” Tim jumped at the opportunity to finally get his turn, but Damian shoved him away with his foot.
“No. I got attached,” he said as the others stared, watching him try to rock her—awkwardly, but just enough that she didn’t cry.
“You’re seventeen and have never held a baby before?” Duke raised an eyebrow.
“What do you think?”
“Okay, Dami. You’ve held her long enough. As the oldest, it’s my right—”
Before Dick could finish, Cassandra took the baby right out of Damian’s arms. She smiled. “She really looks a lot like you, Jason.”
“There’s still time to get her exorcised.”
Cassandra adjusted the baby in her arms, settling her comfortably. Her tiny hand clutched the button on Cassandra’s blouse like she refused to let go—even with all her uncles fighting over her.
“She bit my finger once,” Tim said, pushing Damian aside to take his spot on the couch. “She wasn’t even hungry. It was just for entertainment.”
“She doesn’t even have teeth yet—”
“She should’ve gone for the throat!” Damian complained.
“Seriously, when is it my turn to hold her!? You’re all gatekeeping my niece from me!” Grayson whined.
Damian considered himself someone with a mindset far too elevated to be bothered by someone’s absence.
He definitely didn’t care about how empty the manor’s study room felt when he was the only one there. He loved silence. He focused much better without someone complaining about the subject next to him, or asking which answer he picked on the last question. He had been trained by his mother—there was no chance he’d get attached to someone and feel upset just because she said she’d rather study at home for the rest of exam week.
That’s what he kept telling himself—trying to forget the small argument the two of you had during your last study session.
Damian was definitely not missing you.
But as he flipped through the pages of his book, something about the silence felt wrong. It was as if the emptiness of the room weighed heavier than he wanted to admit.
He refused to acknowledge it, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t just your voice that he missed. It was the way your annoying complaints mixed with laughter, the way your presence—loud, intrusive—filled the space better than any solitary silence ever could.
Damian wasn’t missing you.
But somewhere in the middle of his patrol, he found himself slipping into your room through the window, ignoring the fact that you had forgotten it open—despite the many times he’d scolded you for it. Not that he minded tonight.
His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. Closer. Until there was no space left between you. His voice came out muffled, his face hidden against your neck.
“I missed you…” A pause. “…Say something stupid so I can insult you and feel normal again.”
i can see tim and jason (and maybe damian) correcting their kids and making sure to keep them in line, only for them to stay ONE day with bruce and then come back all spoiled and smug, and all their efforts are gone
THIS!!!! I can picture it too, it’s so funny to imagine Jason and Damian trying to raise their kids to be more polite and less judgmental and sarcastic than they are, but Bruce just go and make them feel and act like they’re the owners of the whole planet (he’s just paying back what they did to him!!!)
𝓒𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻: They grew up hearing “don’t touch that,” “you’re not ready,” “that’s dangerous”—but when it comes to his grandchild, Bruce is simply incapable of saying no.
While Bruce was strict with his kids, he turns a complete blind eye when it comes to his grandkids. And he doesn’t even try—or want—to hide it.
I mean, he’s already retired from his vigilante career, his kids are living their own lives, and he’s loaded. What’s wrong with just relaxing and enjoying his free time with his very first grandbaby?
Assuming all the kids are now adults, but still visit the manor constantly, they’ve had to come to terms with the fact that under that roof, it’s the tiny human that rules. Not that they don’t love the little ball of energy too, but it does sting a bit to watch Bruce let them do whatever they want—things they never had permission to do back then.
Like that time Damian needed to do some upgrades and maintenance on the Batmobile—except oops, it wasn’t in the Batcave. In broad daylight. The reason? Bruce couldn’t say no to his grandkid asking for a ride. He had so many cars but the little menace had to ask for the Batmobile.
Or the time Bruce was so focused on tracking Tim’s patrol over comms that he didn’t notice the kid abandon their coloring pages and start painting everything they could find—gear, weapons, uniforms. Jason was outraged when he saw Bruce calmly cleaning up the mess while the tiny culprit sat in the chair eating snacks.
Don’t get him wrong—he wasn’t about to tell Bruce to scold the kid, no matter how much chaos they caused.
But seriously? When he did that as a kid, he got grounded for a whole month and had to clean everything up by himself.
Dick remembered the day Alfred told Bruce that one day, he’d soften up—even more than he already had. But honestly, he hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. He wished he’d taken a photo of Bruce’s face when they heard a noise in the hallway followed by a little grunt from the grandkid.
Bruce ran like he’d just witnessed a major accident—it was just a scraped knee, but Bruce, the same man who had seen every member of that family bleed, nearly cried with them.
“When I fell, you told me to get up,” Dick said, Jason and Tim silently nodding in agreement.
“You were a vigilante,” Bruce defended, while applying a themed band-aid on the minor injury. He ignored Grayson mumbling something like “vigilante or not, I was a child,” and got up to make hot chocolate.
There was also that one time when Tim had to drop several important tasks from his day just to cover a Wayne Enterprises meeting Bruce bailed on—because he got an urgent phone call.
His grandkid wanted to show him a drawing of Batman.
It wasn’t even a good drawing—one of the few things Tim and Damian could agree on. It had three eyes and six fingers.
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