#bruce wayne ficlet

[hannaswritingblog]

'Not the One' | Gotham ficlet

Requested by anon [x/x] | requests are open!

Word count: 1.1k

Also available on AO3 [here]

Summary: Even though you come from completely different worlds, you were noticed but Bruce Wayne and asked to be his girlfriend. When you're at your happiest, things take a bitter turn after you get stood up on a date.

A/N: I know, I know. I kept everyone waiting awfully long. This one was sitting on my to-do list since the end of January and a lot has happened since then, but it doesn't really justify the wait. I absolutely love how patient the person requesting was and I hope I was able to make it up to you with this finished work.

It’s one of the weirdest feelings in the world when you’ve known someone for what feels like forever only to realize they’re a complete stranger, the stranger that they’ve always been, a person you don’t know at all.

It becomes even worse when you get stood up on a date, which is definitely a hard pill to swallow on its own, by the very same person. The trust that you were starting to build turns to dust within seconds.

Being a citizen of Gotham by birth, you’ve been hearing about the Wayne family since you can remember. This also meant recognizing Bruce, noticing him when he accompanied his parents during public events, instantly knowing who he was when you happened to pass him on the street.

Beyond the rare occasions when you passed each other in public while growing up, you’ve never really had a chance to get to know Bruce better. It probably shouldn’t surprise you, after all your family wasn’t a part of the same circles as the Waynes. Everything changed when both you and Bruce became frequent visitors to the Sirens nightclub.

It was never really clear why he turned his attention to you specifically, but you definitely felt flattered when Bruce Wayne himself asked if you’d agree to be his girlfriend. You had no idea why he would want you specifically to be his partner, but any doubts that could come with it weren’t strong enough to beat how flattered and excited you were. Even if you’ve never really strived to go up in the city hierarchy, you just couldn’t pass up this one chance.

Accepting Bruce’s courtship turns out to be a good decision as you quickly build what seems like a deep bond. It’s harder and harder to go even a day without seeing him and you feel more and more free to be yourself with him.

This was meant to be one of your ‘special’ meetings. You often go out to crowded places like clubs, but sometimes you also see each other one on one, and this was supposed to be one of the latter. Bruce has chosen a fancy restaurant you’ve never been to before; you two decided to meet at your destination and take your date from there.

You’ve been awfully long before realizing Bruce probably won’t show up at all. Showing up early yourself didn’t help, although it’s something you could blame the long wait on, but when you look at your watch and see it’s already 6:35 and you were supposed to meet at 6:00, you know it’s not worth your time anymore.

Mad at both Bruce for playing you and yourself for trusting him, you decide to spend a fun evening anyway, even if only by yourself. You opt for the safe option: the Sirens. You don’t know too many other places anyway (besides the places Bruce introduced you to and where you don’t always feel like you belong), while spending some good time there is a sure thing.

Your attitude changes the second you enter the club. It’s painfully obvious there is one person in there that managed to make themself a center of attention and it doesn’t take long to notice that this person is the boy that was supposed to meet you earlier, the one and only Bruce Wayne.

You spot him in the middle of a crowd on the dance floor, with a drink in his hand. Without hesitation, you approach him and ask:

‘What are you doing here?’

For a split second Bruce seems surprised to see you, but he quickly regains his cool.

‘No, what are you doing here?’ he asks back.

‘Trying to have fun on this beautiful evening, after my boyfriend decided to stand me up.’

You get interrupted by a girl approaching Bruce. She leaves a kiss on his lips, which he returns. You can’t help but let out a grunt of disgust and roll your eyes.

‘Hey, who is she?’ she asks him, pointing at you.

‘Oh, it’s no one, sweetie.’

It’s slowly starting to be too much for you. You scoff and turn around, trying to walk away from the conversation. At the exit Bruce catches up with you and says:

‘Why do you have to make a scene, Y/N? Get over yourself.’

‘Oh, I need to get over myself? You could’ve just been honest with me if you wanted to avoid a scene, instead of leading me on, making me feel I’m special.’

‘Look around, Y/N. Did you really think you’re special to me? With all those girls I can have… maybe you’re just not the one I want to be seeing right now.’

‘Yeah. And you’re not the one I want to waste my time on.’

You know your comeback probably didn’t do him much harm. You’re not there to see his reaction – you immediately turn around and leave the club – but you can clearly visualize how he shrugs his shoulders and goes back to his friends and his new girlfriend.

You stop right outside the club to take a deep breath and calm down a bit. It takes you a moment to realize someone has followed you out of the Sirens. When you turn around, you see Selina Kyle, one of the club co-owners and, as you have always suspected, Bruce’s friend.

‘It’s okay, you probably won’t see me here anymore,’ you say, annoyed and sure she wanted to ask you not to come back to the club after the fuss you made.

‘No, no! I didn’t mean to make you think that. You’re always welcome here. I just want to talk.’

You stop in your tracks. You must admit, this is the only thing that crosses your mind.

‘Oh. So, what do you want to talk about?’

‘Sorry for asking, but… are you the girl Bruce was supposed to meet tonight?’

‘Yes, it must be me. How do you know he was supposed to meet anyone?’

‘I might have overheard him brag about it. Don’t worry too much about what happened though. It’s not really him.’

‘What do you mean it’s not him?’

‘I don’t know,’ she says with a shrug, ‘but he’s been like that for a while and it just… doesn’t feel like him. And I’ve been by his side for quite some time now, so I think I know what I’m talking about. Maybe it’ll pass.’

‘Sure,’ you respond, wiping a single tear from your cheek. ‘Thank you.’

‘Of course.’

She disappears inside the club and you start walking home, trying to forget about Bruce and whatever was between you. It’s going to be a long process, of course, you know that very well, but since there’s nothing more to come out of your relationship, you might as well try.

#Hanna's writing #hannaswritingblog #fanfiction #ficlet #gotham #gotham fanfiction #gotham ficlet #bruce wayne #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne ficlet #bruce wayne x reader #reader insert #female reader #requested #anon request

[cloakedsparrow]

Clark calls the Batcave.

Jason: Hello?

Clark: Robin? It's Superman.

Jason: Yeah, you were ID'd before I even answered. What's up?

Clark: Uh, I stopped at a store after flying back into town and bumped into someone from work. We walked out together, so I had to pretend my car was stolen, but it's still at my apartment building. I wanted to know if Batman had any ideas for a cover.

Jason: Oh, no worries. I got you.

Clark: What do you mean?

Jason: I'll take care of it.

Clark: Oh...kay. Thank you, Robin.

Jason: No sweat!

Later, Clark discovers his car truly is missing. It's found with the tires, stereo, and catalytic converter removed, the wiring stripped, and the hood ornament knocked off. The police tell him that, sadly, this sort of thing has been happening more and more, even in their fine city.

Clark calls again.

Jason: Hey! Did everything work out with your car story?

Clark: Yes, thank you, Jason.

Jason: Great! Swing by later and I'll give you your cut.

Clark: You mean the missing parts of my car?

Jason: What? No. That shit's serial numbered. The cops would think you were pulling an insurance scam or somethin' if you put it back and anyone noticed. I sold the parts to a chop shop here.

Clark: You sold-?

Jason: Don't worry, my guy ain't a snitch. Your secret's safe!

Clark: ...Thanks.

Jason: No problem. I had to tell him you needed the car disappeared 'cause you were cheating on your old lady so he wouldn't think it was tied to something too bad, though.

Clark: I'll keep that in mind.

Jason: Oh, hey, B's here. You wanna talk to him?

Clark: Yes, please.

Jason: Cool. Talk to you later!

Clark: Bye, Jason.

Bruce: Clark.

Clark: I take it you know what happened?

Bruce: Yes. You learned a valuable lesson, didn't you?

Clark: Next time, I will definitely ask how he intends to take care of it.

Bruce: Good. I don't want my son arrested because he was doing you a favor.

Clark: I had no idea he was going to strip my car and sell the parts to a chop shop!

Bruce: You know how I found him. You knew the risks.

Clark: ...

Bruce: And you're letting him keep your cut.

Clark: Of course.

#ficlet #fanfiction #bat family #jason todd #robin #clark kent #superman #bruce wayne #batman #dc #comics #bruce goes full thug when it comes to his kids #batdat #bruce wayne's adopted children

[bruciemilf]

It’s been exactly fifteen years, two days, 4 minutes, and 33.5 seconds since the Wayne murder. Bruce can feel time crawling under his skin, like filth under fingernail, like it’s a breathing, screaming thing.

It’s an endless, infinite supply. And yet, he feels like he’s running out of it.

The details are carved deep; Alfred’s cologne lingering on both his mother’s Stefano Cabbana fur coat, Snow White and fluffy, and his father’s sharp-looking leather jacket.

The gunsmoke. The pearls bleeding on the pavement.

“Your mother wore Armani, actually.”

The Waynes are known to cheat Death, but this is getting ridiculous.

“You’re not here.”

The Riddler, — Edward. His name is Edward Nashton, 29-years-old, forsenic accountant, Bruce’s former classmate at Gotham University.

He’s just a man, not a monster, — gasps, wide eyes confused, “Who are you talking to?”

Thomas watches Bruce’s, — Batman’s hands tighten around the swamp green jacket with mildly tamed amusement. Almost like Bruce is an infant again, shaking on his first steps.

“Pretty sure I am, chum. Also, you might wanna move Eddie here to a coffee table. That shit looks sturdy. YOU were made on one, I think,—“

He cringes, but does as he’s told. Edward’s coffee screeches when Batman slams him across it like loose change, “I’d rather not think about that.”

“Honey, it’s a very romantic story, and I resent Alfred for not talking to you about it. Now go grab a drill and some duct tape. Oh, don’t make that face, — His adrenaline levels are higher than a fucking drop head.”

Bruce doesn’t want to do it. Something just compels him to. Thomas scoffs but Bruce is too focused on the drill biting through bone to notice. Edward doesn’t feel any pain. He’s just under the illusion of it, which seems much crueler.

“You would’ve KNOWN that if you stayed in school. “

“Why are you here?”

“Now that,” His father’s smile is a serpentine, alluring and full thoothed and stained with Maverick cigarettes. His hair is slicked, crowned by red lensed sunglasses.

He looked for a dead man. “Is a smart guy question.”

—

He doesn’t sleep. He can’t.

“Your father was a hundred different things, “ Alfred sighs at him, stitching up his wounds in a tight, secure pattern. Thomas’. The ghost of the hour. “And I never understood any of them.”

Bruce is about to ask more, expand a stream of curiosity, when footsteps bang against the cave’s massive interior.

He knows each child by foot, by volume, by rhythm.

He’d know Jason dead or alive.

He’s about to greet him, choosing to ignore his father’s ghost flirting with an unsuspecting Alfred, when his baby bird beats him to it.

“Why the fuck is your dead mom following me?”

#girls after they watch fight club: #Thomas is supposed to be revenge and Martha is supposed to be redemption btw!!! #love that for them. smiley face #bruce wayne #dc #dc comics #text #batman #text post #thomas wayne #battinson #writing #ficlet #jason todd #batdad #batfamily

[clockwayswrites]

There was that post going around (that I'm too lazy to find) about the mother who gave her son a shovel to go dig and his whole mood improved.

In a no capes AU that would 100% be Bruce with Dick.

Bruce, intellectually, knew that children were high energy. He understood that adopting Dick meant a great number of life changes and responsibilities. He didn't expect the tornado of energy that was Dick.

See, Dick, being a circus kid, was used to always moving, doing having a task. If he wasn't performing he was practicing. If he wasn't practicing he was helping around the circus. Even on the road there were uniforms and nets to mend and animals to tend to and-- well, Wayne manner is all very calm, isn't it? And poor Dick is hurting and angry and needs to do something.

The gym Bruce installs help, but that isn't enough-- that isn't a task.

One day, in a fit of exhaustion and much needed rest, Bruce goes out to the shed attached to the garage, grabs a shovel, and hands it to Dick.

"Alfred is planing to plant a vegetable garden, why don't you help him dig the plots."

And Dick is off like lightning.

Alfred raise one far too judgemental eyebrow at Bruce. "Am I now, Master Bruce?"

"Hn."

They quickly learn that they have to tell Dick very clearly where to dig and how deep or they'll have to get a ladder and pull him out of a hole halfway to the cave system under Wayne manner.

(Bruce has nightmares that night about Dick being lost to the caves.)

And so the manor gains a garden, Dick learns how, a bit, to be a child outside of the circus, and Bruce actually gets to do some work. It's several months later when Alfred comes to Bruce.

"While I understand that the garden has been useful.... enrichment for Master Richard, I do think that perhaps you should inform him to stop digging."

"Wonderful timing, Alfred. I'm about to be in China for a month. I'm sure that I could extend the trip to two, maybe three months if I tack on some service work in South East Asia and visits to old friends."

"...perhaps an orchard wouldn't be remiss."

#dc comics #batman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #batfam #ficlet? #promt? #something

[nerdpoe]

AU where little Timmy actually did break away from his dad and try to deck Batman after Dick's parents died.

But super AU where Tim was, like, younger. Like five.

Little five year old Itty Bitty Timmy streaking down from the bleachers towards the scene of a horrific crime, only to sucker punch Batman in the gut.

All while screaming at Dick to run.

Dick, in return, hoists the enthusiastic child behind him and puts himself between the small child and the intimidating adult dressed like a bat.

Bruce is just worried the kid hurt his hand on his body armor.

In the stands, Jack and Janet are furiously fighting against the crowd to drag their wayward son away from the crime scene and probably pissed vigilante.

#batman au #tim drake #dick grayson #bruce wayne #jack drake #janet drake #story prompt #ficlet #story idea

[bbbbbbbbatman]

Bruce rolled over in bed.

Then he rolled back to his other side.

Then he rolled onto his back.

He opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling in his dark room. His blankets were twisted around him from all the moving around.

He couldn't sleep.

He squinted at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It read 3:42 in red letters. He had been trying to sleep for nearly two hours. He glanced over to his other side, to the empty bed beside him and sighed.

Bruce was no stranger to insomnia, but his sleeping patterns had drastically improved in the past few years--especially the last few months. He had patrolled earlier, so he should be tired, nice and worn out, but sleep eluded him. He pondered on the possible reasons why he might not be sleeping.

A flash of Clark's sleeping face next to his passed through mind and he immediately sat up and waved it off. Perhaps a snack would help.

He wandered down to the kitchen and rummaged through the fridge, squinting at the bright light.

"Couldn't sleep either?"

Only years of intense training prevented him from jerking at the sound, and he would deny being startled to his dying breath.

He looked over at Tim, standing in the entrance of the kitchen, holding a coffee mug, illuminated by the light from the fridge. His small smirk said he knew he had caught Bruce off guard.

Bruce straightened up. "No. I haven't been able to fall asleep yet."

"Cute."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"

Tim just huffed a laugh and walked further into the kitchen to rummage in the cupboards. "You. You're cute. You've gotten so used to sleeping with Clark since he moved in and now that he's off world on a mission you can't sleep," he said, turning back to send Bruce a teasing smile.

Bruce immediately bristled at the accusation. "Clark has nothing to do with me not being able to sleep," he defended, crossing his arms over his chest.

How stupid, to think that he, who had slept alone his entire life, couldn't fall asleep because his boyfriend was away like a child who had lost his favorite teddy bear. Preposterous.

"Sure, B," Time said sarcastically. He pulled down the snacks he had been looking for.

"I'm serious, Tim. Sometimes, I just have trouble sleeping, it's not any deeper than that."

Tim patted Bruce on the shoulder on his way out the kitchen. "Whatever you say." Then he disappeared down the dark hallway.

Grumbling to himself, Bruce shut the fridge and went back to his room, no longer in the mood for food. He climbed into his bed which had gotten cold from the few minutes he was away.

Ridiculous. That Clark has anything to do with his insomnia.

But, Bruce thought, turning on side facing where Clark normally slept, it'll be nice when Clark gets back.

#superbat #batman #bruce wayne #superman #clark kent #dc #dc comics #ficlet #mine

[luffyrose]

Mistaken - DC x DP

Idk man- this one fully just came to me. So have fun. Cry.

~~~~~~

Another rogue attack.

Bats coming to save the day.

It was a never-ending dance between the two.

Casualties were often low. People got hurt but fewer and fewer people died. Even major injuries had lessened over the years. It wasn't the focus of the villains to necessarily kill people, it was simply a byproduct of their goal.

So why was it different?

Why now?

Sure, Gotham's rogues weren't afraid to kill to gain attention, but this was different. The attack came from nowhere, no sign of it before it had already begun, and when Batman arrived...there was no villain there. Just the destruction in its wake.

He'd been quick to call the others for help searching for injured, and no doubt dead from the destruction, before getting to pulling people from rubble and fires. His kids arrived and did the same until another call came from Oracle. The fire department and ambulances had arrived, so they left it to them.

It had already been nearing the day, so when they finished dealing with some goons, the family had turned in for the night. Yet Bruce couldn't stop thinking about the explosion. The camera's from the building, he'd learned it was a lab of some sort, were far and few, really only showing the entrance. Even then they cut out before the explosion.

The news was talking of it, the owner of the lab was on it by now claiming it was an accident with some chemicals and they were investigating possible causes. He knew it was a lie, and from his children's faces when they heard it, they thought the same.

It didn't take him long to head there, not as Batman, but as Bruce Wayne.

He had planned to speak to the owner of the Lab, he really only remembered he wore a pristine white suit. Parking nearby, and offering help to those he saw as he passed, Bruce slowly made his way toward the main part of the crowd.

A quiet sob and cough made him freeze in his tracks. It was so quiet he doubted anyone would have noticed if they weren't trained. Glancing around, he slipped into the alleyway he'd heard the noise from. It was close to he accident, but far enough away no one would look down it...so why was someone here?

Bruce cautiously looked through the alley, his gaze hardening as he found a smaller figure curled up on itself, trying to hide behind a dumpster.

"Hello?"

The kid, because it really could only be a kid, flinched eyes darting toward him.

And Bruce froze.

Green eyes were staring back at him. Glowing, Lazarus, green eyes. Yet, his eyes were quick to drift from the color to the blood soaking the boy's clothes. Gritting his teeth, he crouched, holding up his hands. He couldn't see the boy well with this distance, but he couldn't risk not finding a way to help the kid.

"I'm not gonna hurt you...I promise."

The glow fluctuated for a moment before the other tried to move, wincing harshly as his arm gave out and sent him careening into the floor. Bruce had moved forward when he fell, worry clear on his face, and when the boy growled, only for it to fade into a whimper, he paused again.

"Let me help you. I can get you to a hosp-"

Panic filled the other's eyes, scrambling further away. "No! No, hospital. No, no, no no nononono-" Bruce kept his face from changing at the boy's voice. It was hoarse as if he hadn't used it or had been screaming.

Putting his hands up placatingly, he carefully shifted on his feet. "Okay. No hospital. But you need help...can I help you?" The boy seemed to be looking for something in his face, maybe a lie, but after a few moments, the kid's head bobbed before he collapsed onto the ground completely.

Taking the moment, Bruce moved beside him, careful not to touch him as he pulled out his phone, messaging Dick and Leslie. She would need to prep for some stitches no doubt from the blood, and he definitely couldn't get the boy elsewhere without some help. As he finished sending the messages, he felt a hand grab onto him weakly. Looking down at the boy, his heart absolutely sunk.

He could see him now. How his black hair fell over his eyes. Blue eyes. The green was temporary, probably powers, but now with those blue eyes, he looked like one of his many children. More specifically...a younger Jason. His heart clenched, gently taking the boy's hand despite himself.

This wasn't Jason...it wasn't.

It was clear the boy had started to grow delirious, his eyes unfocused for the most part, but staring so intently at him.

"...dad...?"

Oh.

Bruce could hear the harsh swallow he did, but smiled softly at the boy. Carefully sitting, he dragged the boy onto his lap, gently moving his hair. "You're gonna be alright..." It wasn't Jason, and he knew that...but that didn't mean he couldn't comfort the boy. If he happened to look like his father...Bruce wasn't going to try and correct him when he was so delirious, not when it may give him some kind of comfort.

He couldn't help the pain in his heart though as the kid practically melted into the touch, unfurling slightly and revealing some of his injuries. It wasn't his kid. It wasn't.

Maybe he could have comforted any of them like this if he'd listened in the past.

Shaking his head, he pushed down the feelings. He couldn't focus on that, not right now. Looking back at his phone, he saw a message, saying Dick was almost there. Part of him hoped he was alone...he knew that probably wasn't the case.

"I'm scared..."

Gazing back toward the kid, he put the phone back in his pocket. Putting his hand on the boy's cheek, he gently rubbed away some tears that had begun to fall. Before he could respond the boy's eyes drooped the little consciousness he had fading. "Hey, come on, try to stay awake." It was no use as the boy drifted off, only the too-slow rising and falling of his chest assuring Bruce he wasn't fully gone.

"Kid, come on you can't sleep yet-"

Two pairs of footsteps came from the entrance of the alley as Bruce tried to wake the boy, glancing back to see his oldest boys. What was slight, but worried, amusement turned to horror the closer they got, seeing the pool of blood. "Leslie is waiting." Without needing to say anything else, Dick was quick to carefully scoop the kid up, looking back to Jason. He seemed shell-shocked, staring at the boy. Bruce couldn't blame him.

They looked so similar.

~|0|~

Danny had...what had he been doing? He remembered the GIW, and lab equipment-

Oh.

The lab.

He had gotten out...but someone had seen him. Where was he now? Fighting to open his eyes, he saw the ceiling of a car. He could also see two older guys. He was in the back seat with his head...on someone's lap? Or was it a ghost? They felt like a ghost...but not.

Frowning, his eyes slowly drifted shut again. He'd thought he'd seen his dad...but, the man had been too kind. His- Jack was...he wouldn't have ever comforted him like that. Not now. Not in the past. Feeling himself drift off again, he felt small tears fall down his cheeks.

Why had his dad never comforted him like this stranger had? Why had he hurt him? Given him to the GIW after he'd told them what he was? If they truly hadn't believed him...if they had thought he was mimicking "their beloved son" then why not do everything they always said they would.

More tears fell, but he felt someone wipe them away again. It was a different hand...it was still rough, but gentler than the other had been. With a stuttered breath, Danny let the darkness take over his mind again. He probably wouldn't have let himself fall asleep again...but he would rather these people who reminded him of his family have him. Hurt him or not...he just didn't want to be alone.

A hum was the last thing he felt, a warmth he couldn't remember having in a long long time rumbling beneath his skin.

~|0|~

Jason had felt something when he'd seen the kid. The pits went quiet before pure worry erupted from them. He didn't know why...but it didn't help that this kid look like him. Looked like that little kid who'd never gotten help.

It didn't help that deep down Jason knew that this kid hadn't either.

He'd ended up carefully cradling his head in the back seats while Dick drove and Bruce messaged who he could only assume was Leslie or the family group chat. Either way, when he felt something wet land on his hand, he hadn't expected the kid to be crying.

Gently wiping the tears, he felt the frown on his face grow. "He's crying." He heard Bruce shifting, probably looking at the two, yet he ignored the other, just wiping the small tears. As he did, a warbling cry made him jump slightly. Glancing toward the other two, he saw the shock on both their faces.

"Well, he's definitely some kind of meta."

Bruce hummed, but Jason simply looked down again. The pit was silent for a moment, the non-stop worry having paused at the noise. So when a rumbling almost purr-like hum came from himself, he almost froze. Almost. His shock had been overrun by how the kid seemed to relax, one of his hands gently grabbing onto him.

"That...that was new."

He didn't need to look to know the two were even more shocked, if not worried. Jason couldn't bring himself to care for once, wiping the last of the falling tears before running his fingers through the fluffy and bloody locks of their mysterious meta-kid.

He wasn't a meta...he knew that deep down as well.

It didn't take long after for them to get to Leslie's clinic, taking the boy inside in a rush. He was quickly moved onto a stretcher and taken into one of the more medically equipped rooms. The three weren't far behind, entering the room as Leslie worked on removing the bloodied clothes, mainly his shirt.

A large y-shaped and inflamed gash met all of their eyes. It wasn't the cause of the bleeding, but it clearly had been done not too long before the large gash next to it. They weren't the only injuries he had, and he'd had plenty if the scars were to say anything. The most concerning was a Lichtenberg scar that stretched from his hand across his entire chest.

None of them had been ready for it. Dick covered his mouth as Jason audibly took a deep breath. Bruce was silent, but from the stare, they knew he was just as horrified.

Leslie was equally as horrified to find a child in the condition he was in, but gritted her teeth and got to work. It took a long time, but the boy didn't stir. She and the others had checked his vitals multiple times just to make sure he was still fine. He was...if the low heartbeat and temperature were normal. The temperature probably was to an extent at least, they'd figured that out after a frost had covered the bed he was on.

Finally, his injuries were stitched, but as Leslie left to get everything he would need the boy bolted upright.

His breathing was heavy, flinging himself out of the bed and into a corner. Jason reacted the fastest, getting over to him and enveloping him in a hug. It was definitely not the right thing you're supposed to do, but he'd done it before he'd even thought about it.

And when the boy's arms tightly wrapped around him, a loud echoey sob being muffled against his jacket he knew it had been the right instinct.

Neither let go nor did they move.

Dick came over, carefully sitting beside them and hugging them both, taking a moment to wipe a tear that had fallen from Jason's face...when had that happened?

With a quiet click of a door opening and closing, Jason buried his head into the younger black-haired boy's head. Leslie wouldn't have had silent footsteps. Bruce had left the room. He didn't know whether he was thankful or not for that. From the brief information, he'd told them, the kid thought Bruce was his dad.

"...I'm sorry..."

Shaking his head slightly, not bothering to lift it, Jason rubbed the other's back.

"Nothin' to be sorry for. You're alive."

Another rumble noise escaped him, but he couldn't bring himself to worry and wonder about it yet again as the kid clung tighter, a similar yet much sadder noise coming from him.

Both could feel the short breath of a small laugh from Dick, who still held them both.

"You both sound like birds, your nicknames pretty fitting now, Jaybird."

A laugh came from the boy, slightly startling the older two. But, it was a welcome sound, the rest of the tense air finally fading.

After a bit of silence, the kid spoke again.

"I think I called your dad my dad."

Jason couldn't help the smirk that grew on his face.

"Just sounds like you're the next sibling to be adopted."

"New baby bird!"

Danny was both incredibly confused and...pleasantly surprised by their words. He knew for a fact they'd seen his powers at some point. But then again, the one he was clinging to, Jaybird if the guy's nickname was to be used, wasn't entirely alive either.

"Honestly I should apologize for thinking he was my dad...he's probably worse."

Jason snorted out a laugh. He probably shouldn't, but damn if the kid with the scars all across his body said it, he was probably right. Dick made the noise he does whenever Jay makes a joke about his death, only causing the kid to look over.

"What, it's a very grave mistake."

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dc #dc comics #danny phantom #danny fenton #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #jason todd #batfam #batfamily #fic #ficlet #fanfic #fanfiction #I meant to make the end angstier #but I got dragged off to have dinner for my sister's birthday and completely forgot what it was #so you get off with some lighter jokes though heavily implied trauma that needs to be dealt with but probably won't #Bruce was really trying his best here but he is still only just getting better with talking #and Dick doesn't know whether to be alarmed happy or cry at the puns #they're puns! but they're death puns D: #Jason knows this kid is kinda dead like him though still different #he just don't wanna admit it

[saw3amanda]

The thing is, Clark doesn’t even like coffee. Yet there sits a shitty drip coffee maker, glass carafe and everything, on his worn linoleum countertop. The office was throwing it out, as they had recently upgraded to some single-serve machine (pods full of damp coffee grounds soon filled the break room trash can, and Clark has to hold back a gag every time he passes it) and was giving away their old one.

Clark stares at the chipped black paint on the coffee maker from his bed. Gentle morning light filtered through his curtains in his studio apartment, and Clark turned to watch how the glow and shadows played along Bruce’s bare back. HIs hand starts reaching out of its own accord, determined to feel if the sunlight had warmed Bruce’s skin. But millimeters above a scarred, broad expanse, Clark stops and lets his hand hover.

Because him and Bruce? They don’t do that. There’s no loving caresses, no morning kisses with horrible breath. Each touch is purposeful, yanking off shirts and ripping down zippers. There’s slamming against walls and hungry hands, and, if Clark is really lucky, rough kisses and wine-stain marks left on his neck. Bruce is, if nothing else, an efficient man, so Clark knows why they do this. Bruce will come in after patrol, peppered with bruises, and push Clark against the wall. Or Clark will hover over the entrance to the Batcave after flying halfway across the world for a tsunami, screaming of those he could not save ringing through his head, until Bruce will let him in. They aren't gentle, and they aren’t romantic, and Clark has almost gotten used to having this. Tantalus finally gripping onto the fruit to take a bite, and having it yanked away after the first taste.

Because he wants it all. He wants to cook for Bruce in the early hours of the morning after patrol. He wants to wrap gently around him in bed, for no reason other than he wants to be close, and he wants forehead kisses. He wants to soothe Bruce from nightmares and have dinners with Bruce’s kids. He wants Bruce to look at him with a soft smile and gentle eyes.

He wants to make Bruce coffee in the morning. 

And so the coffee maker sits in Clark’s kitchen, glass glinting as if to make sure Clark can’t ignore it. 

Clark sighs and lays back in the bed with a thump. He glances over to Bruce, sheets pushed around his torso and the rise and fall of his hips,  If this is all he gets, he will gorge himself on these small moments. Clark zeroes in on Bruce’s heart rate (something that is halfway to an obsession at this point. He’ll find himself reaching for the steady beating multiple times a day, just to check, he tells himself. Just to check.) and realizes the tempo has increased too much for Bruce to still be asleep.

Clark doesn’t rouse him with doting kisses on his neck, or wrapping his arms around his waist. He doesn’t thread his hand through Bruce’s foppish hair and he certainly doesn’t run his fingers lightly down his back.

So Clark waits. He glances around his room, something to distract him from gazing at Bruce with what he is sure is an entirely too honest face. His eyes catch on the glare of the coffee-machine in the kitchen once again and he feels his heart pick up its pace.

It was an impulse decision to bring it back to his apartment, fueled by some pipe dream that maybe he could be something for Bruce besides a stress-reliever. He regrets it immensely. Every time he saw it, it was a stark reminder of what he couldn’t have and hopes that would never be realized. He should just throw the damn thing away. Clark rubs his hands over his face and sighs heavily, then glaces over to Bruce. Soft grey eyes peer up at him.

“G-goodmorning,” Clark stammers, feeling caught.

“Goodmorning.” Bruce says, low and even. 

Neither of them move, and for a moment the two meet eyes. In moments like these, where Clark is not only looking, but he’s being seen, that he has hope. He feels it flutter in his chest now as he takes in Bruce’s pillow wrinkled face and sleep-laden expression. 

Clark wants to be brave in love. He wants to reach out and try and not be ashamed if he fails. He wants to stand on that precipice and see if he’s caught when he falls. And as Clark stares, he smiles gently, and swears he sees something reflected in Bruce’s eyes. Bruce breaks contact and looks away, and the moment should be gone. The ache in Clark’s chest should dissipate, and yet he can see a light flush in Bruce’s cheeks.

Maybe Clark can be brave. If Bruce doesn’t leave, if he stays in the bed for one more minute, Clark will ask him. 

So Clark waits, counting silently along with the beat of Bruce’s heart. He stares up at the ceiling, the glow of sunlight trapped in his curtains, down at his hands. He avoids and he waits.

Bruce shuffles to sit up in bed around the 45 second mark, and Clark’s heart drops. But Bruce simply props his pillow up and lounges, glancing over.

“Clark,” Bruce clears his throat. 50, 51. “Are you..alright?”

Desperate to not lose count, Clark holds up a finger. 58, 59, 60.

He finally turns and faces Bruce, only to see a softly furrowed brow and concerned eyes. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

His heart drops and Clark wants to be brave. He can feel each word lodged in his throat, ready to be spit out, and distantly he’s aware that he is simply about to ask if Bruce wants coffee, as any mid-westerner raised properly would. But he knows Bruce, despite the distance the vigilante tries to create. He knows what this invitation would mean to both of them.

You are the ledge I leap off of, and you are the ocean I fall into, he thinks.

“Bruce, would you like some coffee?”

Bruce schools his expression immediately and Clark feels the wind whipping his clothes as he falls.  Clark glances down at his hands curled in his lap, and he waits and he waits. He hears Bruce clear his throat once, twice.

“I would.”

Clark feels a grin lift his lips, unbidden, and he laughs a gentle huffing thing.

“Yeah?” He looks over at Bruce and sees a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Let me, um, let me get that started then.”

He lifts the sheet and quickly walks over to the nearest pile of clothes (he may have superspeeded a bit) to grab a shirt. He throws it on and walks towards the kitchen, hearing a shout of, “It better not be that awful bottled shit you drink, Kent!”

Clarks laughs again, giddy, and yells back, “Shucks Bruce, I had just picked some up at the gas station for you!”

CLark moves around his kitchen, grabbing a mug and the bag of grounds he had picked up the day prior, before moving over to the coffee machine. His coffee experience is limited to glass bottles of cream and sugar with the barest hint of coffee in only the direst of circumstances (days of no sleep or after battles with kryptonite), so he tries to emulate the movements he’s seen at the office. He dutifully fills the carafe with water and pours it into the machine, then reaches over to grab one of the filters he had stolen from work. After successfully filling the filter with grounds, he reaches over to flip the switch and … nothing. He hears a teasing huff from behind him.

Bruce leans against the counter and Clark marvels at how quietly the man moves. Bruce forwent a shirt, standing only in boxers. Clark stares for a moment, taking in sharp hip bones, a stark v-line, and pale skin before realizing Bruce had spoken.

“I’m sorry?” Clark asks and tears his eyes away back to safety.

Bruce huffs once more.

“I said the machine wasn’t plugged in.”

Clark flushed and quickly went to plug it in, fumbling on the way there. He tried once more to push the button, and lo and behold, the machine started with a small whirr. Coffee collected and dripped into the glass carafe, the sound filling the silence left in the kitchen.

The light had shifted to something brighter, heartier as it fell through Clark’s windows. It hit the side of Bruce’s face and Clark let himself look unabashedly, for once. He felt almost hedonistic, basking in the presence of a sleep-warm Bruce and the morning light.

“So you’re a big coffee drinker, huh?” Bruce said, a smile playing at his lips.

“Rao, no.” Clark protests. “I just thought it might be nice for when I have, uh, guests over.”

Clark can see the ghost of a smirk and has never felt more transparent. He takes the leap.

“You’ve never stayed.” 

“You’ve never asked.” Bruce replies and the two let that hang in the air.

“I wanted you to一 want you to.” Clark breaks the silence with a sheepish smile. “I just never thought you’d want the morning-afters.”

Bruce moves to grab a mug from the counter and starts to fill his cup up. He takes a sip, and Clark knows that the coffee is too damn hot just as he knows Bruce needs a second to process. And he’s more than happy to wait.

“I wasn’t sure of the parameters of … this. So I erred on the side of caution.”

Clark stares at him for a moment, trying to decipher what Bruce meant. Reading Bruce has become a skill (an artform) that he’s honed over years. He tries to rid himself of a hopeful bias as he discerns what Bruce meant, but it almost sounds like一

“I was happy to take what I could get too.” Clark says softly. He can feel every desire he has bubbling in his chest, fueled by hope. He wants to say it all, but he swallows down his words. He couldn’t break this fragile moment. Now was not the time. But there would be a right time, Clark knew now. 

They let the minute stretch quietly, both content. Bruce takes another sip of coffee and grimaces.

“Clark, this is terrible.”

Clark laughs, a bright, surprised thing and looks over at Bruce. Both men are smiling, carrying a lightness that Clark hadn’t seen before. 

You are the ledge I leap off of, and you are the ocean I fall into, but you are the hand I grip as we slip off the edge. Clark thinks.  

#superbat #superbat fic #clark kent #bruce wayne #batman #superman #dc comics fic #ficlet

[t4tmagicians]

steph doesn't have a dad. just a shape of one, haunting her whenever she glances at a newspaper, whenever she hears the front door open.

he never hit her. her dad never hit her. maybe threatened to, once or twice. she only has a few memories of him, before he was in and out of the apartment like a breeze in summer.

at four years old, she'd toddled into the living room, filled with men she didn't recognise and smelling like smoke. her dad picked her up, and she had a sip of something sour before her mom appeared to take her to bed.

that was terrifying, in hindsight. but it didn't explain it. steph didn't have a dad, her dad never hit her.

"Steph," Bruce repeated. "Are you alright?"

she'd flinched. it was just a spar, she'd done it a thousand times, but Bruce was looming and she had flinched too hard, throwing herself to the ground. now she was sat on a bench, with a cold bottle of water pressed into her hand, and Bruce was speaking to her like she was a skittish horse.

"I'm fine." She said, her tongue numb. "You just looked like my dad. For a bit."

Bruce was silent. Steph knew what he was thinking, what his mind jumped to.

"He should be home soon, is that right?" He asked, voice soft. "You want to stay for dinner?"

She swallowed a mouthful of icy water. "I wouldn't want to be a bother." a bother to a billionaire. they both knew how it sounded, Bruce had the decency to not mention it.

"Has he hit you before?"

"No." she swallowed again. It was almost easier to be blunt like this. "I'm still scared of him, though."

"I'm scared of him too." Bruce said quietly. "I'm scared of anyone who can treat their daughter like that."

Steph thought of Cassandra, beaten into a living weapon, Jason, sold out by his mother, Tim, who never saw either of his parents for months on end, Duke's parents who cackled insults at him from hospital beds.

"He didn't do anything, though. I'm just... being stupid." Steph mumbled.

"He scares you." Bruce said. "That's enough."

They were silent, until, "We're having marzipan for dessert. Are you sure you don't want to stay?"

Another mouthful of icy water. "Well, if there's marzipan."

#dc #batfam #stephanie brown #bruce wayne #ficlet

[incorrectbatfam]

I saw one of your posts saying Bruce is secretly most overprotective of Jason and literally everyone knows it and basically what I'm asking is can we see that 👀 (I also just want Jason to be like completely oblivious to it as well)

Bruce makes Jason buckle his seatbelt even if the villain is getting away

He takes the Joker cases himself and refuses to let Jason (or any of his kids) touch them

Bruce conveniently needs to use the bathroom every time Jason gets done showering and unplugs the hairdryer

He always leaves extra snacks and cash in Jason's jacket

And a bottle of water in his bike's compartment

And an extra jacket in case it gets cold

And a spare batarang... or dozen

He checks movies on DoesTheDogDie.com to make sure they don't have anything personally upsetting

For big missions, he runs the worst case scenarios in his head and lets Alfred talk sense into him before sending Jason off

He'll "randomly" walk in and out of the Batcave when Jason is pulling an all-nighter

Like "Heeey I just forgot my towel here" "Mhm"

Or "Alfred made cookies and there's no way I can finish them all" "Leave 'em here"

Or "Check out this new app I got" "Cool"

Bruce puts dangerous weapons on high shelves forgetting that Jason isn't 4'1" anymore

On days when Bruce's anxiety is acting up more than usual, he'll assign Jason to desk duty

Including one particular evening when everyone is on desk duty

Jason's mad because he wants to be on the field but Bruce called in Huntress, Batwing, and even some Metropolis heroes instead of utilizing their usual first line of defense

He doesn't realize what's going on until he's complaining to and Damian says, "You know we're only here to keep Father's peace of mind." Steph nods and adds, "Normally it's just you" and Jason short-circuits. By the time he processes it, the rest of them already moved on to another topic

Later that night, Jason confronts Bruce about it

He tells Jason he timed this months ahead of time and says, "There were explosives planted on every block for miles. We had to evacuate everyone."

Jason says, "I could've helped"

Bruce shakes his head as he drapes his cowl on his bike handle. "I couldn't risk having you out there"

Jason goes off, asking if Bruce relegated him to easier things because he didn't trust him, or if it was the guns, or a number of other things, and Bruce says none of that is true and he trusts Jason fully

Jason: "Then tell me what it is!"

Bruce: "I needed to know you were there for me to come home to!"

There's a hitch in the air, as if time got punched in the gut and is reeling for a breath

Jason envelopes Bruce in his arms and Bruce just whispers, "You've gotten so big"

And in the future, if Jason randomly requests desk duty, it has nothing to do with how stressed out Bruce looks

Nope, not at all

#ask #anonymous #bruce wayne #batman #jason todd #red hood #batfamily #batfam #batbros #batboys #batkids #batsiblings #batman family #dc comics #headcanon #ficlet #tw death mention #tw angst #my writing

[kryptonian-bat-thing]

The Calm After The Storm

(a short fic heavily inspired by frownyalfred's post)

Clark rushed out of work as soon as he could. There was a single message on his phone from an unregistered number, but he already knew it probably came from one of his secretive friends in the next city over.

"Mister Kent,

It is with a sense of urgency I invite you to pay a visit to Gotham. The details will be discussed in person, but as you may guess, this does concern our friend in common.

- My sincere gratitude, A."

Alfred. Something had happened with Bruce, he knew. Flying through the clouds, he already had some idea of what the situation was: Jason Todd. The boy was declared deceased not more than a week or two prior, and both Bruce Wayne and Batman seemed... off.

The socialite wouldn't appear as much on events and interviews, and when he did, he acted like everything was fine, but never stayed long enough to prove. Batman wasn't showing up to some of the Justice League meetings, leaving most of the leadership to Wonder Woman and Superman. They didn't even hesitate to allow him some time away from his duties. The criminals of Gotham began getting more bruised when caught, more scarred than usual.

Clark's only regret is that he didn't get to it sooner.

Arriving at the Manor's grounds, he paced to the door, glad that the nightfall hid his figure from any prying eyes. Alfred was already at the door.

"He's underground." The old man cut the chase, a thank you rushed his lips. A single drop of concern showed in between his wrinkles. Clark put a hand to his shoulder and shot him with what he hoped looked like a comforting smile.

Heading inside, behind the grandfather clock, down the spiral staircase, into the dark cave. He'd been there before, but not unaccompanied. It feels more eerie than ever.

The man in black was turned away from him, facing many screens at once. Every time they'd start a conversation, Bruce would acknowledge his friend first, even when he tried to sneak up on him. However, Clark beat him to it.

"Bruce," the man of steel kept his voice soft and reassuring. "I heard about what happened. Listen, B... If you need anything, you know the League and I are here for you."

No response. Bruce's heart had the same rhythm as always, steady and calm, like the ever lasting beat of a sad song. The dim light kept the kevlar cape and the removed cowl glistening, creating such an abnormal ambient. Clark sighed before continuing the speech he heartily organized on the way.

"I understand that you may be sad right now, but... no matter what, I--" Clark's thoughts and voice were cut off by a dry laugh that came out like thunder. It sounded almost masochist, a single "hah!" from the deep pit of Bruce's lungs.

"Sad? I'm not sad..." the suffering chuckle gave away to a Batman low and static voice, turning into a growl as he grit out of his teeth:

"I'm furious."

The response left Clark with furrowed brows and wide eyes. He almost took a step back, before hovering around to the side to better see his friend. Bruce's eyes were puffy and red, as wide as his own, furrowed brows in concentration and a deep scowl. His hair was stranded and oily like he forgot to wash it and he could use some shaving too. Wasn't looking much like a celebrity right now, his friend thought with ache.

Following his eyes, he saw what was on the screen: Joker sightings, evidence saved from a blown up ware house, what was once a crowbar but now is burnt and bent like a pretzel. Pieces of the Robin's suit with DNA scans all over, as well as... blood.

Bruce's hands weren't typing anymore, they were turned into fists. A huff or two came out of his lips, soft enough that only enhanced hearing like Clark's could have picked up on.

His heart rate hadn't changed at all. It didn't speed up as the scowl burned with anger and pain, those baby blue eyes filled with vengeance to the point of burning.

"He won't do anything like that again," Batman almost whispered. "he won't get the chance to." And rushed a turn around to his Batmobile. Before he could reach for his cowl, though, a soft and warm hand caught up his wrist.

"You don't want to do this, Clark." a threatening growl. "You know it must be done."

"I know you, B, and this isn't it." his frown was still present as he didn't let go when Bruce struggled to pull his hand out. Even as Bruce took his hand to his belt, he didn't budge. They stayed like this until the older man gave into the touch.

"Fine. Fight me, then. I'll still try, I'll try until you have to kill me. And you will," he spat words unlike his alter ego would do, pushing his voice louder and louder. "You might get it to happen, but I will not let this man go! So end it, Kal, end it here and now! Do it!"

Bruce's face was close to his own now as he yelled. If he was wearing his glasses, this would be much more uncomfortable than it already was. Bruce stared into the sapphire eyes that shone willingly upon him until he exhaled the rage out of his body.

"Please..." his voice almost cracked as it came out of his breathless self. He couldn't hold back the tears anymore, and he hated it. Bruce hated everything about crying, from the running nose to the vulnerability it puts him in. He looked down so that his best friend wouldn't see what a mess he was.

"Bruce, listen to me..." Clark finally let go of his wrist and lifted the older man's chin towards his own so he could look him in the eye. "We can't let our lowest moments define us. You were the one to teach me that, remember?"

Avoidant of his glance, the dark knight furrowed in response. The broad man grasped his shoulders and pursed his lips before speaking again.

"How many times haven't I lashed out and wanted to fix things my way, and you convinced me to use my brains for once?" a shine crossed Bruce's eyes in a second as he reminisced such moments. Kal could be such a hot headed person in battle he would often launch himself into trouble without planning. And he'd get hurt, because he was fighting for the wrong reasons. Many anger issues born from his habit of never leaving matters unresolved could sometimes take the best out of him, but luckily Batman and Wonder Woman would always be there to rescue him.

"This... this is different, Clark." he shook his head twice and took a step back, turning around from a pitiful glance.

"It might be, but still." taking a step forward, he embraced Bruce's shoulders from behind. They didn't display so much affection in front of others, but Clark knew he'd accept it. "Don't shut me off, please. I don't want you to lose yourself to that thing, B."

That thing. That mound of darkness that lured in every corner, the thing that kept him awake after completing every single one of his duties, what made him fight until he could no longer stand and would still come back crawling if needed. It wasn't driven by any heroism or narcissist policy, but born from rage, grown in vengeance and flourished in madness. He sighed and leaned into Clark's touch, allowing a single sob to come out.

"It was my fault, Clark... I wasn't there when he needed me and now..." another sob. He pulled himself inwards to hide from Kal but the man only snuggled him closer.

"You did all you could, B. I'm sure Jason wouldn't want to see you like this."

Turning around in a swift move, Bruce returned the hug, half of a sobbing noise escaping his throat. His legs trembled as Clark reached under the cape to rub his back in comforting motions.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered, his knees giving in. Kal held him with no problem, lowering them to the floor so he wouldn't be hanging. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

Words turn into sobs, that slowly turn into exhales. Fingers buried in both capes as this embrace holds something sweeter than honey and stronger than steel, a bond so deep they drown in each other's touch.

Bruce feels the weight in his shoulders lift off as he drifts to a light sleep in the current position, holding onto the red cape as hunky forearms lifted him and he rested against biceps covered in blue. He hadn't slept in days, just like Clark had thought.

On and off consciousness, Bruce didn't fight being carried into his bedroom. His friend didn't use his superspeed, only carried him carefully and used his cape to cover his eyes from the brighter lights. Laying him against the bed, he removed the cape and armor from the bat suit and left them hanging on a chair, leaving Bruce in his under armor, which wasn't much comfortable, but at least he could sleep in it.

"I'll go now... Call if you need anything, okay?" Clark whispered, not to disturb the almost asleep man. As he pulled away, a hand grasped his cape with laziness.

"Don't," Bruce's voice still strained out of his throat. "I can't sleep. I keep dreaming of him and I feel so..."

He didn't finish the phrase. He didn't have to. Clark took off his own cape and sat down beside his buddy, looking at him in the heavy lidded pearl eyes that blinked slowly, a silent thanking as the rest he craved approached him.

"Don't worry, B." he smiles, letting a hand slide through the one's hair, who sighs and snuggles into the feathered pillow. Clark pulls the sheets over Bruce as he feels the man starting to snore.

"I'll make sure you're okay."

#no beta we die like jason todd #sorry i just had to #dc #superbat #dc comics #superman #batman #clark kent #bruce wayne #bruce x clark #clark x bruce #mini fic #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #short fic #ficlet #superbat fanfiction #fluff #hurt/comfort

[cloakedsparrow]

Tim: ...so that's how I ended up in Bludhaven with a fake uncle.

Jason: ...

Tim: What?

Jason: Let me make sure I'm understanding this correctly before I respond. Your dad was murdered. Your stepmom, who never adopted you, was in a mental hospital. Dick was awol. Cass was still basically a baby as well and was finding herself. B was avoiding you because he felt guilty about getting your dad murdered.

Tim: He didn't-

Jason *speaking over him forcefully*: Then you dropped out of school, so no one could possibly miss you while you lived with a man who was a complete stranger to you and who knew you had money and no adults worth a damn in your life.

Jason *takes deep breath*: Why the fuck would you do that?!

Tim: Well, at first I wasn't sure what was going to happen to me and Batman needs Robin, but we also both needed some space to grieve. I had to make sure I was still available to Bruce while also leaving us some breathing room. Plus, Dick was out of town, so Bludhaven needed a vigilante anyway.

Jason: Okay, ignoring the twenty other things wrong with that statement, did it never occur to you that Bruce could just adopt you?

Tim: Well, Yeah. But he'd just adopted Dick, which was a really big deal for him, emotionally, you know? I was worried he'd feel bad if Bruce turned around and adopted me.

Jason: You were worried Dick would feel bad if Bruce adopted you when you had literally no one else?

Tim: Yeah. I was used to being alone anyway and you know how he can get when it comes to Bruce.

Jason: So you decided to move in with a strange man who was down on his luck and might, oh, I don't know, murder the weird, wealthy child whose bank account he had access to?!

Tim: I paid him. I never gave him direct access to my bank account.

Jason: Oh, well that makes everything fine then. He'd just have to force you to hand over more cash. Or hold you hostage against Bruce. Or blackmail you to keep you as his baby sugar daddy.

Tim: I set up everything about his fake identity so he couldn't try to blackmail me without looking really sketchy himself and he never knew about Robin, so what would he blackmail me with anyway?

Jason: How about telling Bruce what you did, since the charade was obviously mostly for him?

Tim: Then he'd risk losing everything while I moved in with Bruce. Nothing he could do against me would gain him anything, so what was the worst that could happen?

Jason: He could have murdered you in your sleep! He could've jumped you while you were vulnerable! He could've threaten to report you to a truancy officer if you didn't do something he wanted! He could've drugged you and sold you to traffickers! Fuck, I don't want to keep thinking about all the horrible things that could've happened to your idiotic baby past self. So let me just reiterate the important question: What the fuck were you thinking?!

Tim: Why does every funny story I tell you end up with you freaking out and yelling at me?

Jason: Because every story you think is a funny childhood anecdote is actually a fucking terrifying misadventure that you just somehow survived!

#fanfiction #mine #ficlet #funny #BatBros #BatPups #Bat Family #Jason Todd #Tim Wayne #Tim Drake #Red Hood #Robin #Red Robin #DC #Comics #Bruce Wayne's adopted children

[bruciemilf]

Hi, the anon that sent the Duke ask here. I’ll start signing off with “🐌” every time so you’ll know it’s me. :)

Anyway to add onto my idea: what if ghosts couldn’t remember their final moments? What if they think that they’re still alive? What if instead of being vengeful over their deaths or watching over Bruce, they’re stuck—bits of their memory missing like those few last puzzle pieces that you can’t find no matter where you look.

Think about how that would affect Duke. Duke who’s new to Wayne manor and is still figuring out who he is and where his place is amongst the bat family, starting to see dead people around them. Going on with daily life as though they’re memories rather than spirits.

He can just ignore them. Act as though he didn’t see anything super natural of the sort. But a part of him feels obligated to help Thomas and Martha; it’s the least he can do after Bruce has been so wonderful to him.

But how?

—🐌

I think it’d be really sweet if, maybe, Thomas and Martha can’t remember certain notes and elements from their life, like a lost translation of a written poem, told before and told again, buffering with interruptions, but they remember Bruce very well.

I can imagine Duke, not helpless, never helpless, but guileless and directionless and lost between shore and ocean, just wanting a shepherd. A line. A clue.

And Thomas? Thomas relates. Imagine Duke escaping to the roof, wanting to be lonely, but not alone, and being comforted by his ghost grandpa :(( wahh.

“It feels like I’m taking someone else’s place. Like… Someone better could be here instead of me. I took a spot meant for someone great, and I’m just,” he gulps, “Not that person.”

“Yet. But you’ll get there. At your time. “

“But how?”

“Kiddo, if there’s one good thing about Gotham city,” Thomas’ touch feels ghoulish and warm both, “is that no one can tell you what you are. You just become that, and don’t let anyone take it from you.

“Gotham’s been waiting for something like you. It can wait another day.”

#I love thomas can u tell #thomas wayne #duke thomas #dc #dc comics #asks #text #batman #batfamily #I love these two actually #Duke reminds Thomas of baby Bruce ty pass it on #ficlet #writing

[frownyalfred]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Lois Lane Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Lois Lane Additional Tags: Platonic Relationships, Weddings, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Clark Kent is Superman, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Clark Kent Needs a Hug, Identity Porn, Secret Identity, Identity Issues, minor ones at least, Friendship, me holding onto this fic and hoisting it up in the air:, I CAN WRITE PLATONIC BRUCE AND CLARK I SWEAR, BAMF Lois Lane, the author is jewish and doesn't fully understand churches, and that's ok, is it really a wedding if you don't have a minor crisis about immortality, Bruce Wayne ships Clois, no beta we die like jason todd Summary:

“I’m going to lose her,” he says, the words spilling from his lips as soon as Bruce’s eyes meet his, “I’m going to outlive her. Hell, Bruce, I might outlive our kids. We don’t even know if we can--”

“Clark,” Bruce says.

“--and I don’t really think that’s fair to her, you know?” Clark says, chest heaving, “I mean, maybe she won’t. Maybe we’ll die on a mission and she’ll never know what happened or where I was. Just waiting and I can’t do that to --”

“Kal-El.”

Kal-El snaps to attention, the words dying in his throat. He stares at Batman, spine rigid and hands at his sides. Steady heartbeat, even breaths. Waiting.

#myfic #theresurrectionist #bruce wayne #clark kent #batman #superman #lois lane #dc #dc comics #dc fic #clark kent & bruce wayne #new fic alert! #little tiny ficlet for the vibes

[nerdpoe]

Dick forgot something Big, and now that he remembers it's going to be Everyone's problem.

The night that Dick's parents died, he took a picture with a kid and his parents.

The night that Dick's parents died, he'd been late to joining them because he'd overheard something he shouldn't have, and was waiting for the Bad Guys to leave.

Then everything happened, and he got taken in by Bruce, and then he'd gotten kicked out, and then Jason, and then Jason's death, and-

-He'd almost forgotten until he saw Tim, standing in front of him and telling him that Batman needed a Robin.

Staring at that tiny face, Dick is suddenly back then. Right before his parents died, tucked away in a corner, hiding from the "Bad Guys".

He'd overheard Tim's father trying to negotiate a price with Zucco's men. He'd overheard Tim's father trying to sell Tim.

He barely hears Tim's spiel, and instead of chasing him away sits him down and forces him to eat.

Dick then goes out of hearing range for a few seconds and pulls out his phone.

He doesn't take that long to consider.

It sounds like Tim still lives with his parents, and that puts Tim square in danger. Danger from the rich and elite of Gotham. Danger that Dick can't protect him from.

But he knows who can.

He calls Bruce.

#batman au #robin au #batman #robin #nightwing #dick grayson #tim drake #bruce wayne #story prompt #ficlet #idk where it's going or even if dick is remembering correctly #lmfao

[escapismisaddicting]

The boy groaned into his pillow as he turned to the side, not noticing the dangerous presence at the corner of the room.

Talia didn’t understand what Father saw in Timothy. From where she was standing he didn’t seem so special. In fact, he looked weak. Only 2 years younger than Jason yet so frail in comparison. His body slim and nearly collapsing in on itself. Eye bags dark and pronounced on his face.

Does he eat?

Or even sleep?

Even though Father and her disagreed plenty about Damian’s upbringing, he had never depraved the boy of food. Claiming that he would need a sufficient diet to stay in perfect fighting condition.

And this boy… was in no position to fight.

He looked like-

Jason.

Talia remembers when she had found Jason. Prowling the streets of Gotham. Mind half-formed and body still aching from the torture it had endured. She told herself it was a strategical move. To use him against her beloved. But in truth it wasn’t strategical at all. Something about Jason had screamed at her to take in. To protect. To care for.

Jason hadn’t liked Timothy. Had wanted to hurt him.

So did her Damian.

A reoccurring trend in Timothy’s life it seems.

The boy whimpers and struggles in his sleep. A nightmare. And Talia’s fingers find themselves combing through jet black hair, a familiar lullaby on her lips. And he slowly relaxed in her hold, his breathing steadied. Her beloved would come looking for him soon. Would not let father keep him here.

And she will let him go. Like she always does.

And she will yearn to go with him. Like she always does.

#batman #dc #batfamily #batfam #tim drake #jason todd #bruce wayne #damian wayne #demonbat #brutalia #talia al ghul #talia al ghul being motherly #fanfic #ficlet #short drabble #writing #light angst #or heavy #idk #you decide #ras al ghul #kidnapped tim drake #but like only cause ras wants him to sleep #ooc ras tbh #does talia ever interact with tim #whoever created talia/jason can die