Ariathefaeking

All of Bruce’s other relationships were heavily abusive, they would scream, hit and do so much worse to him. And whenever he showed any sign of his bad mental health he could barely be walking the next day (not in a good way). But these are the only relationships Bruce’s has ever been in, so he assumes this is how they all are and that movies are just another fantasy.

When Bruce first gets with Clark, he’s hesitant since Clark is such a good guy and it will suck to watch him change but he gets into the relationship since he really likes Clark. He’s already confused at first when Clark isn’t hitting and shouting but he assumes Clark’s talking it slow so that Bruce doesn’t leave the relationship early in. Bruce purposefully hides his panic attacks and much more, but one day Clark walked in on one and Bruce’s mind is just “fuck I’m done for”. But instead Clark is being all loving??

The moment Bruce sees Clark standing there watching him having a panic attack, it makes it much worse.

Bruce is sure he's going to get hit any moment now, but Clark appears in front of him speaking to him softly. Doesn't even touch him.

For a moment, Bruce gets worse once again because Clark's behavior is so confusing, but then Clark's attempt at calming him down actually works and Bruce comes down from his panic attack.

He tries to apologize instantly, but Clark shushes him and tells him to just breathe.

So that's what Bruce does, while Clark just holds him close and strokes his hair lovingly.

"I don't understand," Bruce mumbles eventually, tucked against Clark's chest.

"Don't understand what, baby?" Clark asks, resting his chin on Bruce's head.

"Why aren't you angry?" he questions. "I had a panic attack."

Bruce whimpers when Clark gently pulls him away to look down at him.

"Why would I be angry for that?" he asks, confused.

"They all always were," Bruce says vaguely. "Said I should be normal if I don't want them to hurt me."

Bruce can feel Clark's grip on him tightening briefly before relaxing again.

"Bruce," he speaks the name softly, cupping Bruce's face with his big, warm hands.

"I don't know what exactly your exes did to you, and you better not tell me the details if you don't want them dead, but I will never hurt you, okay?" he promises. "Not for having a panic attack, not for anything else, even if I will get angry from time to time."

Bruce still doesn't exactly know how's that possible that Clark isn't like his other partners, but he isn't going to question it when he feels so safe in Clark's arms right now.

He doesn't want to make Clark change his mind and realize Bruce is broken goods, so he nods.

you're so right Anon.

Also I did NOT make this video but it does a great job using Qifrey's gradually blurring vision:

“For most dialogue, use a comma after the sentence and don’t capitalize the next word after the quotation mark,” she said.

“But what if you’re using a question mark rather than a period?” they asked.

“When using a dialogue tag, you never capitalize the word after the quotation mark unless it’s a proper noun!” she snapped.

“When breaking up a single sentence with a dialogue tag,” she said, “use commas.”

“This is a single sentence,” she said. “Now, this is a second stand-alone sentence, so there’s no comma after ‘she said.’”

"Shh, shh, it's okay," Bruce whispers, bouncing his arm up and down gently. The baby in his arms fusses, a mitten-covered fist smacking himself right on the nose before going further up to a scrunched up eye. The baby lets out a whine, cracked and irritated. "It's okay, sweetheart, mommy's here."

The baby won't feed, his diaper's clean, the room isn't cold or hot enough for the baby to be fussing so much, yet, it seems that he just won't fall asleep.

Bruce can feel his own frustration, eyes stinging with tears, throat closing up as he roams around his bedroom, bouncing his arms and humming in an effort to put the baby back to sleep. The baby lets out another annoyed whine, mouth parting as a stuttered cry is let out.

"No. No, no, no, it's okay. It's okay, don't cry, baby, please," Voice cracking, Bruce tries his best to blink back the tears, leaning forward and tucking his head close to the baby in his arms. "Please. Don't cry." He doesn't know who it's directed toward—himself or the baby, but it seems enough, for the moment, to calm the young one down.

When Bruce takes a step toward his bed however, the baby lets out a whine and it's only a split second later that the baby lets out a loud cry. Fists swinging wildly in the air as he fusses, head thrashing side to side. Bruce is trying to his best to calm him down, remaining in the same spot as he shushes the newborn, only to pause when his bedroom door opens and a frowning Alfred stands at the threshold.

"A—I can—"

Alfred's jaw clenches as he strides into the room, looming over the teen with his brows furrowed, a sneer drawn on his mouth. "A baby?" He utters with vitriol, "Whose is it?"

Bruce bounces the baby in his arms, glancing down when he realises the baby's noises tittering off, "He's mine."

"Do you know its father?"

"I—I don't, but—"

Alfred's nostrils flare, eyes widening. Before he even gets to say another word, Bruce's cheeks line with tears, holding on to the baby, "Please, please, don't make me get rid of him. I promise, I promise he'll be quiet. You don't need to take care of him. Please, Alfred."

Alfred blinks then suddenly turns, making his way toward the door, Bruce subconsciously holds his breath, hiccuping through the tears still staining his face.

"Pack its things."

"No!"

"We're placing it in an orphanage."

"Alfred, please—"

"Now, Master Bruce!" The door slams shut, shaking the walls of his bedroom. His baby whines and whimpers and Bruce can't help but whimper too, falling to the floor as he swallows down his sobbing.

He packs his son's things, cramming them as best he can into a single bag. Placing all the bonnets, mittens, socks, and onesies that he'd bought in secret on the top to make sure it's seen immediately.

Then, he grabs a pen and paper, sits on the bed with his baby still wide awake, arms and legs raised in the air and waving in thoughtless, baby patterns.

"I'm sorry," Bruce whispers, leaning down and smothering the baby in kisses, "But you're going to have to stay with someone else for a bit, okay? Mommy's sorry, baby."

The baby turns his head to look at him, wide blue eyes looking at him, mouth parted slightly, breathing through the mouth, cooing in hushed noises. Bruce giggles, swallowing down another bout of tears, and gets to writing.

Alfred is waiting by an open door when Bruce makes his way down, coat closed tight and car keys within his grasp.

He stops just before the landing, the distance between him and the older man a canyon he doesn't want to close yet. "Alfred," he starts, clutching on tightly to the strap of the bag over his shoulder, "I-I lied." Alfred's face remains impassive, staring blankly at the young master, "I know who his father is."

Alfred turns, and Bruce feels his heart lurch into his throat, stomach clenching in panic, "Wait! Please, let—let me take him there. I don't want—I don't Richard to be an orphan. Please. I-I won't see them again, can I at least have this?"

"Getting pregnant, hiding it from me, and giving birth to it—is that not enough for your selfishness, Master Bruce? Must you beg? I must say it is unbecoming of a Wayne."

"I don't care!" Richard whines in his hold, "If I'm never seeing my baby again, can't he at least be with his father—?"

Alfred's eyes roams, from head to toe, scanning Bruce with silent scrutiny. "I shall entertain your childish whims one last time. Get in the car."

The drive is quiet, and Bruce tries his best to reign his tears, trying his best to play with young Richard in hushed tones. Alfred remains stoic in the driver's seat, both his hands on the steering wheel, the roads are scarce with vehicles at this time, still so early in the morning, lamp posts shining down, windows closed and curtains drawn.

The quiet is soothing—draws him in as he stares out the car window, hypnotized by the silence, by the serenity it holds as if frozen in time.

Then, the car turns—for a brief moment, Bruce imagines Alfred purposefully swerving the car, just enough to get them into an accident, just enough to kill his Richard, just enough to bind Bruce down on a hospital bed, however none of that happens.

Instead, they roll unto a street lined with brownstones, some are gated, some have front steps, some just have a door.

Rolling to a stop, Alfred doesn't even look at him, and Bruce does the same. He gathers the bag and slings it on his shoulder and bundles up his baby, tugging down his beanie and tucking his ears into it to keep him warm before opening the car door and stepping out.

The air is cool in his lungs, refreshing against his cheeks. The street is quiet, distantly there's an echo of a motorcycle's engine racing down a road. Here, the street lights are a warm slightly yellow tint and the sky is painted starless with that hue of deep violets and blacks.

Breathing in, Bruce walks up to a house, and stares for just a moment at the door. "Ready to meet your dada?" He asks with humourless quirk to his lips. "Okay, let's go." He sighs out, taking the first step up a short flight of stair steps.

The door is a welcoming, cozy deep brown shade with a little black door knocker hanging below a closed peephole.

His fingers tremble as he stares, immovable. Richard makes a noise and when he looks down, his pretty blue eyes are looking up at him, lashes fluttering and mouth gaping, his chin spit-slick but the corners of his lips are tipped up in a smile.

Bruce hiccups with an airy sob, his gaze turning hazy. "Here we are," he mumbles, stroking a knuckle on a ruby red cheek, "I'll miss you." He whispers, "Mommy will miss you." Richard coos, his mitten-covered fist coming up and smacking Bruce's chin.

Taking the hand in his, Bruce nuzzles into the tiny fist with a shaky grin.

Facing the door once again, Bruce bites his inner cheek and knocks on the wooden door, hand falling limp by his side.

It takes a moment and wrenches at his heart, stabs at his chest, as Bruce forces himself to knock again, louder this time.

There's a light in one of the windows then the stomping of feet, suddenly the door swings open and he's met with one of the sweetest women he's met in his life.

"Is Clark here?"

Martha's eyes goes from Bruce's no doubt rosy face. Then her gaze darts down to the baby in his arms and she's quick to step to the side, opening her door wider in a wordless offer to enter, but Bruce shakes his head, "I was just wondering i-if Clark was—If I caught Clark before he leaves for Metropolis."

"W-well, yes. Hold on, let me get him." She turns and leaves her door wide open, without a second glance, running as fast and able as she can up her stairs to her son's bedroom.

With the door open like it is, Bruce can hear Martha banging on Clark's bedroom door, can hear Jonathan's muffled voice, then soon after, Clark's.

Turning his attention to his son who he bounces in his arms, "Here comes daddy, baby. He'll love you so much." Richard tries to grab on to Bruce's face but with his mittens in the way, all he does is pap at a cheek and chin to which Bruce giggles wetly at.

Clark emerges, shirtless and sleep rumpled. "Bruce—Ma said you were—..." He trails off as he stops right at the door, honing in immediately at the baby.

Bruce shrugs, "Surprise."

"I—I, what?" Shaking his head, Clark looks up to Bruce face, "W-why, what—You didn't say anything."

"You were leaving, I—I didn't want you to feel like you'd be bogged down."

Clark's face falls with heartbreak, moving forward and reaching out toward them but Bruce subtly shakes his head, instead reaching Richard out for the other teen to take. "His name is Richard. He's about a month old."

"A month—"

"I'm sorry," Bruce looks down, eyes firmly on his baby's who seems intrigued by the new person holding him, "But I—I can't keep him. And I figured you'd want to at least meet your son." Clearing his throat, Bruce slips the bag from his person and hands it out, "Everything you'll need for the time being will be in here, his diapers, bottles. I made sure to pack pouches with my milk but I suggest weaning him off and starting him on formula as soon as you can."

"Bruce—"

Shaking his head, Bruce sniffles, quickly wiping the tears staining his cheeks, "Just—Take care of him, please." Stepping closer, Bruce hunches down and gives his son kisses on the forehead, each of his cheek, the tip of his nose, "Mommy loves you so, so much, Richard. And mommy's sorry. He's so, so sorry, baby."

Richard's eyebrows scrunches and Bruce is quick to wipe it away, "Don't cry, okay? You'll be with daddy and daddy will love you, and feed you and take care of you. Better than mommy ever could." Richard makes a displeased noise as if he knows that Bruce is going to leave.

"I'm sorry for springing him on you so last minute, Clark. I-I hope it's—I'm sorry."

Clark blinks, tears on his face, "No, it's okay. I'm happy to meet him. My little Richard." Chewing on his lip for a moment, Clark drops the bag on the floor unceremoniously to free his hand, going up to cup Bruce's face instead. "I'm sorry, if I ever made you feel like you couldn't—"

Bruce shakes his head, stopping Clark from continuing, "I chose to not tell you, it's all right." Bruce gently wraps his hand around Clark's wrist and pulls it away from his face, "Please love him."

"I will. I already do."

Richard opens his mouth, eyebrows furrowing again as he turns his head to look at his mother. Bruce smiles, "Bye, bye, Richie."

He turns swiftly, biting down harshly on his inner cheek as the first few fusses and cries Richard lets out tugs at his heart. Once he reaches the car, Richard is full on wailing now, with Clark audibly trying to calm him down. Bruce slams the car door shut with a slam, wiping his face clear before turning to the front. "There. Happy?"

"You've done the right thing." Alfred utters as he starts pulling away from the curb, "Imagine what your parents will say."

Bruce Wayne, who was raised by a beta and had no guidance other than instinct and health textbooks on how to be a conventional omega.

Bruce Wayne, who hated his second gender for getting in the way of his mission, Bruce Wayne who learned to deal with it anyway—learned to stack scent patch atop scent patch despite the burn and adjust his suit to hide his clear, predestined weakness.

(with your hand in a bunch of pages of ao3’s source code)

I [tumblr or ao3 username], do solemnly swear that all my slop is my own, and that no ai was ever used in the creation of it,

and that while it may be shit, it is my shit, created with my own two paws.

I acknowledge should I ever break this oath, I will be banned from ao3 for life, and will face execution by firing squad.

amen.

gay men.

EDIT: that’s it, I’m turning off notifications on this post. Thanks for loving this post so much yall

EDIT TWO: this is insanely popular so imma just put in here that should kick your local ice agent in the balls

EDIT THREE: if this hits 100k by the end of the year I will let the most liked comment decide my fate. Start commenting my fate. (within reason, I get to veto things if I feal uncomfortable doing them)

EDIT FOUR: what do I do? This is the most liked reply but I already made it gay men!!

EDIT 5: were a 1/4 of the way through the year and nearly halfway there.