JAY NAKAMURA in SECRET SIX (2025) #1-6

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JAY NAKAMURA in SECRET SIX (2025) #1-6

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Spideytorch is the marvel version of Blue & Gold.
Walk with meâŠ
BATMAN, 1989. TIM BURTON.
You know? I always wanted there to be more interactions between Billy and Oliver. I don't know, I think they would get along well.
Sharp edges and soft landings.
pairing: jason toddâred hood/ kain kent- kyrus
Summary: The Batfamily notices Jason has been... different. Less explosive. More on time to patrol. They blame the new vigilante in town, Kyrusâuntil they learn Kyrus is actually Kain Kent, Supermanâs eldest, and heâs got a sharp tongue that matches Jasonâs bulletproof one.
(i haven't really decided what universe this would be in, but most likely I think it would be in wayne family adventures)
P.S: hi creator here, this is a whole different one than my other work, (wrench in the work) as this is NOT a part two of it! this is just another fic <3
this is also a jason healing and actually going to therapy arc!
enjoyy!!
The Gotham rain was a special kind of miserable cold enough to bite, heavy enough to drown in. Jason Todd crouched on a gargoyle overlooking the Bowery, his leather jacket doing fuck-all against the damp. His comm crackled.
âHood, youâre two minutes late to your checkpoint.â Barbaraâs voice was flat, unimpressed.
âTick-tock, Babs. I was getting a coffee.â
âAt two in the morning?â
âCrime never sleeps. Neither should baristas.â
From the fire escape below, a low, familiar laugh drifted up. Jason didnât turn. He didnât need to. Heâd felt the shift in air pressure half a second before the voice came.
âYouâre impossible,â Kain Kent said, hoisting himself up onto the gargoyleâs shoulder like it was a park bench. His black hair was plastered to his forehead, middle part almost lost to the rain, the short sides making the sharp lines of his face even more severe. A single dark mole sat under his left eye like an afterthought of charm. âYou told me you were wrapping up an hour ago.â
Jason finally looked at him. Kain was wearing his usualâdark blue tactical suit, no cape (heâd laughed at capes once, called them âflying trip hazardsâ), the symbol on his chest a silver eclipse split by a single sharp line. Kyrus. The name the underworld had started whispering. The vigilante who moved like a ghost and hit like a meteor.
âPlans change,â Jason said.
âYou mean you wanted to brood in the rain instead of coming home to bed.â
âHomeâ meant Jasonâs latest safehouse. The one with the heated blanket and the stack of dog-eared paperbacks. The one Kain had started leaving his boots by the door.
Jasonâs jaw tightened. âYouâre not my keeper, Kent.â
Kainâs blue eyes. the kind of blue that shouldâve been warm but usually ran cold as Lois Laneâs best glare softened just a fraction. âNo. Iâm your boyfriend. Which means I get to call you on your bullshit.â
Before Jason could snarl something back, a scream ripped through the alley below. Old habits: Jason moved first, grapple in hand, but Kain was already goneâjust a faint whoosh of displaced air and the distant crack of someoneâs jaw meeting a half-Kryptonian fist.
By the time Jason landed in the alley, three muggers were unconscious, and Kain was wiping a smear of blood off his knuckles. He didnât have a scratch.
âLearned from the best.â Kainâs smirk was razor-thin. âMy dad punches hard. My mom punches mean. I just combined them.â
âShow-off,â Jason muttered.
Laterâmuch later, after patrol, after Jason patched up a graze on his arm that Kain couldâve healed in three seconds but didnât because Jason hated feeling fragileâthey sat on the roof of Jasonâs safehouse. The rain had stopped. Gotham glittered like a half-drowned jewel.
âTimâs been running facial rec on you,â Jason said, passing Kain a beer he didnât need but appreciated anyway.
Kain snorted. âLet him. Heâll hit the same wall the League did. My face isnât in any database. Mom pulled strings.â
âParanoid.â
âPractical.â Kain tilted his head, raindrops sliding down his temple. âYou havenât told them about us.â
It wasnât a question.
Jason stared at the skyline. âItâs none of their business.â
âJason.â Kainâs voice lost its usual sardonic edge. It went quiet. Soft in a way only Jason ever got to hear. âYou flinch every time Dick mentions âthat new Kryptonian guy.â You changed patrol routes so you wouldnât cross paths with Babs when sheâs with Steph because youâre bad at lying. Youâre a terrible secret-keeper for someone raised by the worldâs greatest detective.â
âBruce isnâtââ
âHeâs already figured it out. Heâs just waiting for you to say it.â
Jason set his beer down. Turned to face Kain fully. The light from the street below caught the mole under Kainâs eye, the sharp architecture of his cheekbones, the way his mouth curved like it was permanently two seconds from a cutting remark.
âYouâre a lot,â Jason said quietly.
Kain raised an eyebrow. âThank you?â
âNot a compliment.â
âWith you? Always is.â
Jason laughedâa real one, rusty and surprised. âYouâre a pain in my ass.â
âAnd youâre emotionally constipated. We match.â
âTomorrow,â Jason said. âDinner. The manor. Iâll tell them.â
Kain blinked. âYouâre serious.â
âYou were right. Bruce knows. And Alfredâs been making your favorite pie for three weeks hoping youâd come in out of the cold.â
âAlfred knows?!â
âAlfred knows everything.â Jason stood, pulling Kain up with him. âBesides. If Iâm gonna be a Wayne-adjacent disaster with a half-alien boyfriend, I want Kon to see the look on his face when he finds out youâre dating his brotherâs sort-of-kind-of-not-really murderous adopted rival.â
Kain groaned. âJonâs going to be insufferable.â
âYour little brother adores me.â
âJon adores everyone. Itâs his whole thing.â
They went inside. The safehouse was small, cluttered with books and ammo boxes and one of Kainâs hoodies draped over the back of the couch. Kain kicked off his boots. Jason locked the door.
Outside, Gotham rumbled onâsirens, shouts, the distant wail of a police cruiser. âyouâre an idiot"
And tomorrow, heâd watch Tim choke on his coffee, Dick cry, Damian scowl, and Bruce do that tiny almost-smile he pretended not to have.
part two: Dinner and other controlled explosions.
The Batfamily dining table had seen a lot. Alien invasions. Midnight strategy meetings. Tim Drake falling asleep face-first into his cereal. But tonight? Tonight was something new.
Jason Todd was nervous.
Not the jittery, trigger-finger kindâthe quiet, jaw-clenched, staring-at-his-own-hands kind. Heâd showed up to the manor fifteen minutes early. Fifteen minutes. Dick had checked the windows for signs of mind control.
âHeâs not brainwashed,â Tim said, not looking up from his laptop. âHeâs just⊠wearing a clean shirt.â
âItâs unsettling,â Damian muttered.
Stephanie grinned. âMaybe heâs finally telling Bruce heâs dating someone.â
The room went quiet.
Duke set down his water glass very slowly. âWait. Is that why he asked if we had any of those fancy vegetarian options Alfred makes?â
âJason Todd,â Cassandra signed, a tiny smile playing on her lips, âis scared.â
âI am not scared,â Jason growled, walking into the dining room earlyâbecause of course he had perfect dramatic timing. âIâm⊠strategically managing expectations.â
From behind him, a new voice drawled, âYou literally paced the car for five minutes before knocking.â
Kain Kent stepped into the light.
He was dressed simplyâdark jeans, a charcoal sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, his black hair still damp from the rain. The mole under his left eye was more noticeable indoors, a small dark comma against pale skin. He looked like heâd rather be anywhere else. But his hand didnât leave his pockets, and his eyesâthat sharp, startling blueâswept the room with quiet assessment.
âEveryone,â Jason said, sounding like he was reciting a eulogy, âthis is Kain. My boyfriend.â
Silence.
Then Dick made a sound like a deflating balloon. âTHE ELDEST SON OF SUPERMAN?!â
âTechnically,â Kain said, âIâm the eldest adopted son. Kon and Jon are biologically Clarkâs. But yes. Thatâs the one.â
Timâs laptop snapped shut. âYouâre Kyrus. The vigilante whoâs been operating in the Bowery. The one I couldnât ID.â
âYouâre good,â Kain said, and it didnât sound like flattery. It sounded like acknowledgment. âYou almost found my MetU student records. Almost.â
âI knew it,â Tim hissed.
Damian narrowed his eyes. âTodd. You are dating the spawn of the alien whoââ
âFinish that sentence,â Jason said pleasantly, âand I tell Grayson about the hamster incident.â
Damian went red. Then purple. Then sat down very quietly.
Stephanie ignored all of it, leaning across the table with her chin in her hands. âSo. Kain Kent. Lois Lane and Clark Kentâs kid. Reporter genes and Kryptonian genes. Thatâs terrifying. Are you scary?â
Kain considered her. âMy mom taught me how to ask questions that make people cry. My dad taught me how to bench-press a building. You tell me.â
Steph beamed. âI like him.â
Alfred appeared in the doorway like a very polite ghost. âMaster Jason. Master Kain. Welcome home. Dinner will be served in ten minutes. Shall I fetch extra bread?â
Kainâs posture shiftedâjust slightly. Less defensive. Almost warm. âYes, please, Mr. Pennyworth. And thank you for the pie last week. It was the best Iâve ever had.â
Alfredâs eyes crinkled. âYou are most welcome, young man. Itâs a pleasure to finally meet the young man who makes Master Jason smile.â
âI donât smile,â Jason said.
âYou did,â Cassandra signed, âwhen he walked in.â
Jason looked like he wanted to sink through the floor.
Bruce entered lastâbecause he always did, like he was born for dramatic entrances. He was out of the cowl but still wearing his sternest dad expression. He looked at Kain. Kain looked at him.
Neither blinked.
âMr. Kent,â Bruce said.
âMr. Wayne,â Kain replied. âThank you for having me.â
âYouâve been in my city for six months without introducing yourself.â
âYouâve known for five of them without saying anything.â
A beat.
Then Bruceâs mouth twitchedâthe tiniest, most microscopic almost-smile. âAlfred likes you. Thatâs a better endorsement than any background check.â
âI know,â Kain said. âHe already sent me home with leftovers last week.â
âHe what.â
Dinner was loud.
Not in the Batfamily wayâno shouting, no thrown utensils. Just the comfortable chaos of too many people talking at once. Dick asked Kain about Metropolis (âDo you ever miss it?â âSometimes. But Gotham has better coffee and worse villains, which is exactly Jasonâs brand.â). Tim grilled him about his patrol routes (âYouâre avoiding the Diamond District on purpose.â âThe Diamond District has seventeen cameras per block. Iâm not stupid.â). Duke asked about his powers (âCan you actually hear my heartbeat?â âNo. And please donât test that.â).
Damian, still nursing his wounded pride, stabbed a brussels sprout. âYou trained with the League of Assassins?â
âI trained with my mother,â Kain corrected. âShe learned from the League. I learned from her. Thereâs a difference.â
âWhich is?â
âShe didnât let anyone throw me off a mountain.â
Jason snorted into his water glass.
Stephanie grinned. âSo whatâs your deal? Youâre half-Kryptonian but you donât wear a cape. Youâre Lois Laneâs son but you punch people at night. Youâre funny but you look like you want to commit a crime.â
Kain set down his fork. âMy deal,â he said slowly, âis that I grew up watching my dad save the world and my mom save it with words. I wanted to do both. So I help people. Quietly. Without press or parades or Capes with a capital C.â He glanced at Jason. âAnd I met someone who doesnât need me to be a hero. Just needs me to be real.â
The table went quiet.
Jasonâs ears were red. He didnât look up from his mashed potatoes.
âOh my god,â Tim whispered. âYouâre romantic.â
âSay that again and I tell Kon about your embarrassing fan edits.â
âYou wouldnât.â
âI have screenshots.â
After dinner, while Alfred served apple crisp and coffee, Kain found himself on the back porch with Bruce. The manor gardens stretched out in the dark, wet and green and impossibly peaceful for a place owned by Batman.
âYou donât trust me,â Kain said. Not accusatory. Just fact.
Bruce leaned against the railing. âI donât trust anyone my children bring home.â
âFair.â
âJason has been hurt by people who claimed to care about him. He acts like heâs fine. Heâs not fine.â
Kainâs jaw tightened. That one landed. âI know.â
âIf you hurt himââ
âYouâll find a way. I know.â Kain turned to face Bruce fully. Moonlight caught the mole under his eye, the sharp lines of his face. âIâm not here because heâs a project. Iâm not here because heâs a Wayne or a Red Hood or a redemption arc. Iâm here because when he laughsâreally laughs, not the mean oneâit sounds like my motherâs typing when sheâs just broken a story wide open. Like something important is being made.â
Bruce was quiet for a long moment.
Then: âYour mother taught you well.â
âShe taught me people arenât projects,â Kain said. âTheyâre stories. And Jasonâs is worth staying for.â
Inside, Jason watched them through the window, heart in his throat.
Stephanie appeared at his elbow. âHeâs holding his own.â
âHeâs a Kent,â Jason said softly. âTheyâre stubborn.â
âLike someone else I know.â
Jason didnât answer. But when Kain came back insideâshoes wet from the grass, blue eyes finding Jasonâs across the roomâhe didnât move to touch him. Didnât need to.
He just nodded.
Kain nodded back.
And the Batfamily, loud and ridiculous and theirs, kept eating apple crisp like this was the most normal thing in the world.
Because maybe it was.
Part Three: Healing.
Dr. Hale, the third therapist he'd tried (the first two had quitâ"too hostile," their notes said; Jason had framed one), had asked him six months ago: What do you want, Jason? Not what you're fighting against. What are you fighting for?
He'd said "Nothing" at first. Then, quieter: "I don't know how to want things that arent for other people."
Start small, she'd said.
So he'd started with coffee. Then a safehouse with a heated blanket. Then Kain's boots by the door.
Laterâmuch later, after patrol...
Jason told Kain about the therapy sometimes. Not the heavy partsâthe parts where he talked about the pit, about the anger that still lived under his ribs like a second heartbeat. But the small victories.
"You're a terrible secret-keeper," Kain was saying.
Jason snorted. "My therapist says I have 'guarded attachment patterns.' Apparently I'm textbook."
Kain raised an eyebrow. "Your therapist used the word 'textbook' about you?"
"No. I'm paraphrasing." Jason stretched his legs out on the rooftop. "She says I'm getting better at letting people in. That I've stopped treating relationships like something I have to earn."
"That's good."
"It's annoying. She's always right."
Kain's mouth curved. "Sounds familiar."
"Don't let it go to your head
They kissedâ
And when they pulled apart, Kain's lips were red, but Jason wasn't shaking anymore. That was new too. The first few times they'd been intimate however loosely you defined that word Jason's hands had trembled afterward. Not from cold. From waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It never dropped.
Dr. Hale had called it "relearning safety." Jason called it "Kain."
Because Kain had been the one to say, three months into dating, You should talk to someone. Not because you're broken. Because you deserve to not hurt all the time.
And Jason,who had told every other person to fuck off when they'd suggested therapy had made an appointment the next day.
He'd never told anyone that part.
P.S I loved writing this fanfic tbh, as a yumeshipper, I think jason needed someone who would actually support him through his journey. jason NEEDED therapy, imo if he didnt get therapy while hes in a relationship I dont think it would work out, either way, jason does need comfort most of the time.

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hi, this is a DYNAMICS CALL. like this and i'll come rolling into your IMs to discuss potential dynamics between our characters ( could be anything! romantic / platonic / familial / antagonistic, etc. ) and if we have an existing dynamic, i am also open to discussing possibilities of becoming mains / ship exclusives / affiliates!
@dividedbybinaries -- ;
The Iceberg Lounge was the frosty heart of a criminal empire; a bulwark for the Rogues Gallery and organized crime alike. A neutral ground as much as it could be, for someone like the Scout, this was where you deployed your eyes to see and ears for hearing, keeping two fingers on its pulse to read that sordid beat.
As one of the waitresses, Svetlana wasn't a standout among the crowd, and that was her strength. Clad in a form-fitting sheath as many of the cocktail waitresses did, balancing a brass tray upon which drinks were served, one order at a time. Oswald Cobblepot cared about quality, not quantity, after all.
But, there was one face among the crowd she actually sought.
Lowering the dark liqueur and cream cocktail in distinct layers, it clinked softly as it was set on Binary's table. The brunette regarded the woman knowingly, gaze intent.
"Your drink, ma'am." A subterfuge; a confirmation of a covert meeting.