#pregnant!reader

── .✦ Law:

Law notices it before you ever do.

He’s a doctor before he’s anything else… other than pirate captain, other than Warlord, other than your partner. The signs are small, almost unnoticeable to you, but to him they’re loud.

The way you get tired faster. The nausea that hits you in the mornings. The faint changes in your vitals when he checks on you.

So he starts adjusting things quietly.

When someone offers you alcohol, he reaches out first, takes the cup, and drinks it without comment. If you look confused, he just mutters something about not needing distractions.

“Why did you take my drink?” you ask, eyebrow raised as he downs the glass someone just handed you.

“You don’t need distractions like this.” he replies flatly.

“…You drank it.”

“And?”

When the smell of food makes your stomach churn, he’s suddenly there with water, a cloth, steady hands holding your hair back as you throw up. He never makes a big deal out of it, just cleans you up, rubs slow circles on your back, helps you lie down.

“Easy,” he murmurs “I’ve got you.”

When you’re done, he rinses the cloth, cleans the counter, helps you sit.

“You’re hovering.” you mumble.

He doesn’t deny it “You’re not feeling well.”

“That’s been happening a lot lately.”

“…I’ve noticed.”

You start noticing he doesn’t let you overwork yourself anymore. Doesn’t let you stand too long. Keeps you close during fights, positioned just behind him, with you doing literally nothing.

You think he’s being overprotective.

Law, meanwhile, is terrified of being wrong.

He runs the calculations again and again. Checks, rechecks. Watches you with that quiet, unreadable stare, because if he says something too soon and he’s wrong, he’ll hurt you. And if he’s right… then everything changes.

When he’s finally sure, one evening, he knocks on your door.

“Come to my studio,” he says “we need to talk.”

That’s when you get nervous.

He makes you sit down first. That alone tells you something’s wrong. Law stays standing for a moment, arms crossed, jaw tight. Then he removes his hat and sets it on the desk.

You swallow “You’re scaring me.”

“I don’t want to,” he answers quietly “But I won’t lie to you.”

There’s a pause. He exhales slowly, controlled.

“I’m going to say this plainly,” he continues “And then I’ll explain.”

“…Okay.”

“You’re pregnant.”

The words don’t register at first “I— what?”

“I’m sure now,” he says immediately, like he’s been preparing for this “I noticed the symptoms weeks ago. I confirmed it as carefully as I could without alarming you.”

You stare at him “You knew?”

“I suspected. Then I knew.”

Silence stretches between you. Your thoughts are a mess.

Law speaks again, softer now “Before you say anything — listen to me.”

He kneels in front of you so you’re at eye level. His voice doesn’t shake, but his eyes do.

“This is your body.” he says “Your choice. Your future.”

Your breath catches.

“If you want to keep the baby, I’ll support you.” he continues “If you don’t… I’ll support you. If you need time, space, or answers, I’ll give you all of it.”

He swallows “I will understand any decision you make.”

You whisper, “Law…”

“I’m not saying this as a doctor,” he adds quickly “Or as a captain. I’m saying this as me.”

Your hand moves to your stomach before you even realize it “…We’re having a baby?”

Law’s eyes flicker to the motion. His breath stutters barely.

“Yes,” he says “If you decide to keep it.”

Fear slips into his voice then, raw and honest.

“I don’t know anything about children,” he admits “I don’t know how to keep something that small safe in a world like this. I’m a pirate. I basically put targets on the people I love.”

You look at him “You love me.”

He doesn’t hesitate “Yes.”

His hand hovers near yours, unsure “That’s why I’m scared.”

You lace your fingers with his.

“We’ll figure it out…” you say.

Law closes his eyes for a second, pressing his forehead to your knee.

“…Then I’ll learn,” he murmurs “Whatever it takes.”

Later that night, half-asleep, you feel his hand resting gently on your belly.

“So small,” he whispers, thinking you can’t hear “I’ll protect you too.”

Months Later

You barely make it three steps onto the deck before… “Stop.”

You halt mid-stride and slowly turn.

Law stands a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in that familiar way that means he’s already decided “…What?”

“You’re holding something.”

You look down “A mug.”

“And you shouldn’t be.”

“It’s tea.”

He walks over, takes it from your hands without ceremony, and sets it on a nearby table “You don’t need to carry unnecessary weight.”

You stare at him “Law. It’s liquid.”

Before you can say anything else Bepo pops up beside you “I-I can get you another one!! I’m sorry!!”

“I didn’t even—”

He’s already running off.

You pinch the bridge of your nose “Law. This is excessive.”

“I disagree.”

From behind the mast, Penguin leans out “She’s been on her feet for a while, Captain.”

Shachi nods gravely “Yeah. That’s dangerous.”

You blink “…You’re both encouraging this?”

Penguin shrugs “Doctor’s orders.”

Law clears his throat and they immediately straighten.

You slowly turn back to him “You idiot.”

Later, you try sitting on the edge of the ship, legs dangling, enjoying the breeze.

“Careful!!” Bepo yelps.

You flinch which immediately makes Law snap his head up.

“Don’t startle her.” he says sharply.

“I-I’m sorry!! I just— what if she slips?!”

Shachi appears with a cushion “For your back.”

Penguin hands you a blanket “Wind’s picking up.”

Bepo gently places a snack in your hands “You should eat…”

You look down at the pile now surrounding you “…I just wanted to look at the ocean.”

Law watches, silent.

You groan “I’m pregnant, not sick or fragile.”

He steps closer, lowering his voice.

“You’re not,” he says “We just want you to feel safe and comfortable.”

You sigh, eyes softening.

Law sits beside you, his hand resting naturally on your stomach.

“You’re smiling.” he murmurs.

“I’m irritated.”

“You’re smiling.”

“…I might be both.”

His thumb moves in slow, unconscious circles.

After a moment, he speaks again.

“I know it’s too much,” he admits “But this… it’s important to us.”

You glance around at the crew, at Bepo pretending not to watch, at Penguin and Shachi lowering their voices the second they notice you looking.

Then back at him.

“I know,” you say softly “And… I love it. Even when it drives me insane.”

Law exhales, tension easing from his shoulders.

“Good,” he says “Because it’s not stopping.”

You laugh softly and lean into him.

And for the first time in months, surrounded by a crew that won’t let you lift a mug, a captain who’s terrified and devoted in equal measure, and a future you never expected, you feel completely safe.

── .✦ Koby:

You don’t plan it.

You just… blurt it out one evening, sitting together after a long day, the world unusually quiet for once.

“Koby…” you say suddenly.

He looks up immediately “Yeah?”

You fidget with your hands “I need to tell you something.”

That alone makes him straighten “Oh, okay. Is everything alright?”

“I think so…” you reply. Then, quieter, “I’m… pregnant.”

The silence that follows is heavy.

His eyes widen. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“You’re…?” he whispers “Pregnant?”

You nod “Yeah.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Then all at once “Oh my god.”

You panic “That’s bad?”

“No— I mean… I don’t know…” He runs his hands through his hair, pacing a step, then stopping “I’m not upset. I’m just… scared.”

“Me too.” you admit.

He swallows hard and looks at you again, eyes shining.

“The world’s… awful,” he says “And our jobs, and pirates, and Marines, and danger everywhere… what if I can’t protect you? What if I’m not strong enough?”

“Koby…”

“What if something happens?” he rushes on “What if I fail you? Or the baby?”

His voice cracks on the last word.

You reach for him. He kneels in front of you instantly, like instinct takes over.

“I’ve dreamed about a future with you,” he says quietly “A peaceful one. A home. A family.” He laughs shakily “I just didn’t think I was allowed to want and even have that.”

You cup his face “You are.”

He presses his forehead to yours, breathing unevenly.

“I’m terrified,” he admits “But I’m also…” He hesitates, then smiles through tears “I’m happy. So happy it hurts.”

You laugh softly “Yeah?”

He nods “A family with you is everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Even if it’s scary.”

You place his hand over your stomach.

He freezes.

“…There’s really a baby in there…” he whispers.

“Yes.”

He lets out a breath that sounds like relief and awe mixed together.

“Then I’ll get stronger,” he says firmly “I’ll make the world safer. I promise.”

You smile “You already are.”

He looks up at you, eyes full of determination and love.

“I don’t know how to be a parent yet,” he says “But I’ll learn. I swear. For you. For them.”

You pull him into a hug, and as he holds you carefully and hopeful, you realize that no matter how frightening the world is, with Koby beside you, the future suddenly feels possible.

Months Later

“Careful!”

You step over the threshold completely fine.

Koby trips “I’M SO SORRY!”

You turn just in time to see Koby catch himself on the wall, nearly saluting it in the process “…Koby.”

“I was trying to watch your step,” he pants “But my foot and then the floor and… are you okay??”

You blink “I walked. Normally.”

He rushes to your side anyway, hands hovering awkwardly in midair, unsure where he’s allowed to touch.

“You didn’t strain anything? You didn’t lose balance? You didn’t—”

“I’m fine” you say, trying not to smile.

You fail.

Later, you’re reaching for something on a shelf.

“I’ve got it!” he yelps, leaping forward.

Too fast, so he bumps his elbow. The item falls. But you catch it effortlessly.

There’s a long pause.

“Oh,” he says softly “…You did it.”

You grin “I do most things.”

“I was supposed to,” he mutters, mortified “I practiced.”

“You practiced… grabbing things?”

“Yes!”

You laugh. Full, warm, uncontrollable laughter.

He freezes then relaxes.

“Oh,” he says again “You’re laughing.”

“That was adorable” you manage between breaths.

“I almost dropped it on myself…” he admits.

“But you didn’t,” you say “And now I’m happy.”

That seems to recalibrate him entirely.

Later still, you’re walking together when he suddenly stops “Wait!”

You stop. He crouches.

“There was a crack in the ground.” he explains seriously.

“…Koby.”

“You could’ve tripped.”

You sigh fondly “You’re terrible at this.”

“I know,” he says immediately “I’m really bad at being cool.”

You reach for his hand “But you’re great at making me laugh.”

He looks up at you, startled “I am?”

You nod “Every single day if you haven’t notice.”

He smiles, shyly but brightly.

“That’s good,” he says softly “Because the doctor said stress isn’t good for you.”

You tease, “So this is medical?”

“Absolutely,” he nods “I’ll keep embarrassing myself if it keeps you happy.”

You laugh again, leaning into him, and as clumsy as he is, as much as you end up doing instead, you wouldn’t trade a single moment.

Because in a dangerous world, with an uncertain future, your laughter, his devotion, and the love you’re building together are more than enough.

── .✦ Kid:

You don’t ease into it. There’s no gentle setup, no careful wording.

You just look at him one day and say, “I’m pregnant.”

He stops.

Not dramatically, he just… freezes. Metal clinks as whatever he was working on drops to the floor “…You’re what?”

“Pregnant.”

Silence.

Then “WHOSE?”

You blink “…Yours, idiot.”

He scowls “I HAD TO ASK.”

You gasp, shocked “WHO YOU THINK I AM?”

He turns away, pacing, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to tear the thought out of his skull.

“Say that again.” he mutters.

“I’m. Pregnant.”

He laughs once, sharp, disbelieving “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“…The hell are we supposed to do?”

You shrug “I thought you’d yell more.”

“I’M THINKING!” he snaps then immediately winces “Not at you. I mean—”

He groans, grabbing his face.

“I don’t know anything about kids,” he mutters “I break things. I explode things. I piss off half the world for a living.”

You cross your arms “Comforting.”

“I’M NOT DONE.” he growls.

He looks at you then and his voice drops.

“This world chews people up,” he says “And it’ll come for you harder if they know.”

That’s the fear. Raw. Ugly. Honest.

“…Are you… scared?” you ask quietly.

He scoffs “Of course I am.”

Then, almost inaudible “But I’m also… kinda proud.”

You raise a brow “Proud?”

He huffs “You and me. Making something. That’s—” He clicks his tongue, frustrated, as he panics, as if he’s talking too much and too softly for his character “That’s metal.”

You laugh.

He grins despite himself “Don’t get used to it.”

Later, when you sit, he hovers “Don’t lift that.”

“I can handle a chair.”

“I don’t care.”

He moves it anyway, aggressively gentle.

Killer watches from the side, amused.

“You gonna glue yourself to them now?” Killer asks.

Kid snaps back, “Shut up.”

Then, lower, to you “You need anything?”

You smirk “You’re hovering.”

“Yeah,” he admits “And I hate it.”

You catch him one night, staring at your stomach like it might bite him.

“…It kick yet?” he asks gruffly.

“No.”

He nods “Good.”

“…Good?”

“If it kicked and I wasn’t ready? Or if it hurts you? I’d punch something.”

You snort.

He scowls “Not funny.”

But his hand hesitates, then rests there anyway.

Awkward and careful.

“I don’t promise soft.” he says quietly “Or safe. Or normal.”

You look up at him “I didn’t fall for you for soft, safe or normal.”

His jaw tightens.

“…Then I’ll promise this,” he says “Anyone who comes after you or the kid? They don’t walk away.”

You lean into him, smiling.

For a man made of rage and metal that’s his version of love.

Months Later

You barely have time to react.

You let out a small breath, more surprised than hurt, and instinctively bring a hand to your stomach.

Kid’s head snaps up instantly “What.”

You blink “What?”

“Did it hurt you?”

“No, I just—”

He’s already at your side, crouched in front of you, eyes sharp, furious, searching your face for pain.

“Did it hurt?” he repeats, slower this time, like the answer matters more than anything else in the world.

“It was just a kick,” you say “They do that now.”

His jaw tightens “…It kicked you?”

You can’t help it, you smile “Yeah.”

He looks down at your stomach like it personally offended him.

“The hell is it doing that for” he mutters.

You laugh “Kid…”

He places his hand there carefully. Careful. Like he’s handling glass despite all that strength.

“If it hurts you,” he says quietly, voice rough but restrained, “it’s gotta stop.”

You bite back another laugh “You can’t threaten a baby. Your baby!”

He scowls at your stomach anyway “I can try.”

There’s another movement, subtle but enough.

You hiss softly “Oh—”

Kid stiffens immediately “That one hurt.”

“It startled me more than anything.”

His brows knit together “You sure?”

“Yes.”

He exhales, slow and controlled, thumb rubbing gentle circles where his hand rests.

“…You tell me if it ever hurts,” he says “Immediately.”

“I will.”

He hesitates, then adds, lower, “I don’t like not being able to do anything.”

You soften “You’re doing plenty.”

He snorts “I can’t punch it.”

“THANK GOD!”

Another kick, stronger this time.

You laugh without thinking.

Kid freezes “…You’re laughing.”

“Because it’s funny,” you say “Seems like they’re already stubborn.”

His lips twitch despite himself “Sounds familiar.”

He leans in, resting his forehead briefly against your stomach, voice dropping.

“Hey,” he mutters “Go easy on your mom, yeah?”

You grin “Talking to the baby now?”

“Don’t make it weird.”

But he stays there, hand steady, expression calmer than you’ve ever seen him.

Rage-forged pirate captain. Terrified of hurting you. Already protecting something he hasn’t even met.

And somehow, it’s the softest version of him you’ve ever known.

── .✦ Shanks:

The sun dips low over the horizon, painting the ocean gold. You find Shanks leaning against the railing.

“Shanks,” you say softly, your hands fidgeting “I… I have something to tell you.”

He looks at you, eyes warm, attentive, a gentle grin tugging at his lips “Hm? You’ve got that look… I like it already. What is it?”

You take a deep breath “…I …I’m pregnant.”

He blinks for the briefest moment, long enough for your stomach to flutter, then his grin spreads, genuine, easy “Well… I suppose I should have guessed. You’ve been hiding it pretty terribly, though.”

You laugh nervously “I wasn’t hiding it. I just… I didn’t know how you’d react.”

Shanks steps closer, his hand finding yours. His thumb brushes your knuckles in a lazy, comforting circle “I think you know me better than that. I’ve never been anything but happy to have you around… and now this.” He gestures to your stomach, voice soft, warm “Our little one.”

You swallow, eyes wide “You… you’re not worried?”

He shakes his head, still grinning “Worried? Why would I be worried? We’ll take care of each other. We always do. And now… we get to take care of someone new too. A little Y/N. That’s exciting.”

You press your hand to your stomach “I… I was nervous. I didn’t know if you wanted another child, after everything… Luffy, Uta…”

Shanks chuckles softly, shaking his head “You worry too much.” He leans down, brushing a kiss across your forehead “I’ve handled chaos before, love. A little more adventure never scared me, and it won’t scare me now. We’ve got this.”

You laugh, heart thudding “You really make it sound easy.”

“That’s because it is,” he says confidently, eyes sparkling with warmth “With you, I can handle anything. And I’ll protect you both, no matter what. I promise.”

You tilt your head, smiling through tears of relief “I… I trust you.”

He squeezes your hand, voice softening “And I’ll make sure that trust is never misplaced. You and our baby… you’re both my world now.”

You rest your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady, calm presence you’ve always loved.

“And,” he adds with a playful smirk, “if this little one turns out half as mischievous as me, we’re in for a lot of fun.”

You laugh again, leaning fully into him “I think I can handle that.”

Shanks chuckles, lips brushing your hair “I know you can. Because together? There’s nothing we can’t handle.”

And for the first time in days, you feel completely, utterly calm, because Shanks isn’t scared. He’s steady. He’s strong. He’s here.

That’s all that matters.

Months Later

The ship rocks gently beneath your feet as you settle into the deck chair, stomach full from a snack Shanks insisted you eat.

“Careful there,” he says, leaning casually against the railing, his hand on your chair “Wouldn’t want you tipping over.”

“I’m fine,” you reply, smiling “I can sit like a normal person.”

Shanks grins, the kind of easy, teasing grin that makes your heart flutter “Normal? Pfft. That’s boring. We don’t do boring on this ship.”

You laugh, and he leans closer, resting his chin on your shoulder “Besides… someone’s got to keep an eye on you. And this little one.” He rubs gently over your belly, thumb brushing soft circles.

“It’s… weirdly comforting.” you admit.

“You mean you like it.” he teases, squeezing your hand lightly.

You roll your eyes “Maybe.”

Shanks chuckles, then glances toward the crew “Don’t let anyone else spoil my job, though. I’m still the captain here.”

He watches over you with that calm, confident air, playful but never careless. When a breeze tousles your hair, he tucks it behind your ear, smiling softly.

“You’re ridiculous.” you murmur.

“And you love it.” he replies, grinning.

A few minutes later, the baby kicks. You flinch slightly, and Shanks’ head snaps toward your stomach.

“Did it hurt?” he asks immediately, voice low and serious.

You shake your head “No, just startled me.”

He presses his hand there, thumb brushing lightly “…Good. I’ll protect you. Both of you. Always.”

The sun dips lower, casting a golden glow over the deck. You lean against him, head on his shoulder, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his presence, the steady beat of his hand on your stomach.

“You really are impossible…” you whisper.

He chuckles softly, lips brushing your hair “And yet, here I am. About to start a family with you. Making little Shanks… and… absolutely yours.”

“Last time you said they were little me… now they’re little Shanks?” You look at him faking confusion.

He laughs and say “Could be the perfect mix of both, or twins. Who knows!”

You laugh softly and say “Can’t wait to see it.”

You close your eyes, heart full. The sea stretches endlessly before you, the ship rocking gently, and everything feels right.

Because with Shanks, playful and confident, doting and soft, you know that whatever comes, you, him, and the little one are safe.

── .✦ Mihawk:

The castle is quiet, as it always is.

You find Mihawk seated at the table, a glass of wine in one hand, the other resting idly near his sword. He looks up the moment you enter, golden eyes sharp but calm.

“You’re pacing.” he observes.

You stop mid-step “…Am I?”

“Yes.”

You sigh and sit across from him, fingers lacing together “Okay, you’re right. I need to tell you something.”

He sets the glass down immediately. His full attention is on you now “Go on.”

You take a breath “I’m pregnant.”

There is no sudden movement. No sharp inhale. No shock.

He simply looks at you.

“…I see.” he says.

That’s it.

You blink “That’s— that’s all?”

He tilts his head slightly “Would you prefer panic?”

You huff despite yourself “I don’t know. Maybe something.”

A corner of his mouth lifts barely “You are safe. The child is safe. There is nothing urgent that requires alarm.”

You relax a little “You look really calm about this.”

“I am,” he agrees “Because panic serves no purpose.”

He reaches across the table, covering your hand with his, steady, warm.

“You are carrying my child,” he says evenly “That is… significant.”

Your chest tightens “You don’t sound unhappy.”

“I am not.” He pauses, gaze softening in a way only you ever see.

“This life will be quiet,” he continues “Stable. Protected. No needless danger.”

You whisper, “You’ve thought about this already?”

“I think about all possibilities,” he replies “Especially those involving you.”

You smile “You’re going to be a terrifyingly calm parent.”

“Good,” he says “Children require consistency.”

You laugh softly “They also cry. And scream.”

“Then I will adapt.”

He lifts your hand, pressing a deliberate kiss to your knuckles.

“There is nothing to fear,” he says calmly “You are not alone. And you never will be.”

You lean back, heart steady, breath easy.

With Mihawk… everything feels controlled. Safe. Certain.

And thanks to that, the future doesn’t feel intimidating at all.

Months Later

The castle is silent except for the faint sound of pages turning.

You shift slightly on the couch, adjusting your position. It’s subtle, barely anything at all.

… but Dracule Mihawk looks up immediately “Uncomfortable?”

You blink “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to.”

You sigh fondly “I was just moving.”

He closes the book and sets it aside without hesitation “Then you should move again. Slowly.”

You do, and he watches, attentive, eyes following every motion until you settle.

“Better?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He nods once, satisfied, and resumes reading but his hand remains resting near your knee, close enough to reach you instantly if needed.

After a while, you stand “I’m going to get some water.”

“I’ll go.”

You pause mid-step “…Excuse me?”

He looks up, calm as ever “You stood too quickly. Also, I was about to go there anyway.”

“I stood normally.”

He rises smoothly, already moving past you toward the kitchen “Remain seated. I will bring it.”

You cross your arms “You know, I can still do things.”

“I am aware,” he replies evenly, returning with a glass and placing it in your hands “That does not mean you must.”

You take a sip, trying not to smile “You’re very controlling.”

“I am being efficient.”

You hum “Convenient excuse.”

He doesn’t deny it.

Later, as evening settles in, the light in the room softens.

You sit at the table, staring at nothing in particular, fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of your cup.

Mihawk looks up from his book.

“You are tired.” he says.

You blink “I didn’t say anything… again.”

“You exhaled differently.” he replies calmly.

You huff a small laugh “That’s… unfairly observant.”

He closes the book and stands, moving toward you with unhurried steps.

“You have been pushing yourself today,” he continues “More than usual.”

“I didn’t feel like I was.”

“Fatigue does not always announce itself loudly,” he says, placing a hand at your lower back “Come. Sit properly.”

You let him guide you to the couch, where he arranges cushions with quiet precision until you’re supported just right.

“There,” he says “Better?”

You relax almost immediately, shoulders loosening.

“…Yeah,” you admit “Much.”

He sits beside you, close but not crowding, his presence warm and constant.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

Then he says, evenly, “Your breathing has returned to normal.”

You smile “You really monitor everything, don’t you?”

“I would call it awareness,” he answers “You are not a burden. You are a responsibility I accept willingly.”

Your chest tightens.

You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder.

Mihawk adjusts without a word, arm coming around you with quiet certainty “You are safe here.”

You close your eyes.

And in the stillness you understand that with Mihawk, care is never loud. Protection is never chaotic. Love is shown in small, deliberate acts that never waver.

The world may be sharp and unpredictable.

Jack had sort of resigned himself to the idea that he wasn't gonna have a kid. He and his wife had been trying when he was younger, had more of a deep yearning for a family and been able to keep up with the kid. Then well he lost his wife and he sort of thought maybe it was the universe’s way of saying he’s not meant for a happy family, it’s okay he’s worked through this in therapy.

Then in walked you, this pretty young thing who was a new night shift nurse and when you weren’t glued to Lena learning the in’s and out’s of the PTMC you were glued to Jack. You seemed drawn to him and from then on it he was gone for you. However you being young and quite fertile and being an insatiable bunny rabbit that never wants Jack to pull out and well…you get pregnant. It was kinda early on in your relationship and so you were a little scared that Jack didn’t want kids, he was in his late 40’s nearly 50 and didn’t already have one so you assumed he didn't want any and would leave you.

You cry and vent all this out to Jack, hormones and everything already running rampant when you tell him about the pregnancy and he is so so soft. He calms you down and proceeds to tell you about his wife and well now you're just a waterfall of tears. But after all the anxiety and crying, Jack is the absolute most cautious and gentle baby daddy ever.

Being the diligent doctor he is he has reminders set in his phone for you to take your prenatals, even if they go off when he’s at work he shoots you a quick text:

— prenatal time honey, gotta keep my two girls healthy! there’s some dinner for you two in the fridge by the way <3

Now does Jack know yet if you’re having a girl? No but it’s how his heart feels is right to refer to you and the human being growing in your belly as.

He also insists on you having the baby in the hospital, he’s not exactly opposed to a home birth I mean he is a doctor after all. He knows what to do but he’d rather you be around more than one medical professional in case anything goes awry, that poor old man can’t possibly handle losing the second love of his life and your baby.

Sammy Bryant —

Oh sweet sammy boy who wants to be a daddy so bad. He is beyond ecstatic when he walks into your shared bedroom after a long shift and is met with the little presentation you set up of a cute baby onesie, your positive pregnancy test, and a little bear on the bed. He’s not surprised I mean he did have you bent in the pro bone position, filling you up with load after load almost every night. He was very eager to make you a mommy and he is quite proud of himself.

Sammy’s favorite part of his days now consist of going on late night gas station runs for your odd pregnancy cravings and laying in bed with you discussing baby names, who’s eyes the baby will have, who’s nose, who’s feet (sammy swears it’ll be his)

He is practically beaming when you come into the station, belly all big as you grow his son or daughter and bring him his lunch he left at home. He is quickly up off his feet to bring you a chair to sit so he can dote on you and show off his pregnant beautiful wife a little. (sue him okay he’s a happy man)

Somehow Sammy gets far more anal about your safety once you’re pregnant, no walking alone at night, you’re not allowed to pick up anything that Sammy deems too heavy, he’s just grateful there are no stairs in your house he’d probably have a heart attack at work worrying himself grey.

Pope Cody —

Pope who deserves more than anybody to be a dad and boy do you deliver. You are just about as stubborn as Pope himself and even though you and him are dating and very clearly serious, when baz tells him no one would ever have a kid with him? Oh you’re happy to prove the bastard wrong, you are on Pope just about 24/7 after hearing that and you get pregnant shortly after.

Pope, ever worried about you when you’re in pain, immediately notices when your morning sickness starts up and he’s witnessed Smurf pregnant enough that he runs out to buy 4 different pregnancy tests in the blink of an eye. He sits on the edge of the tub while you take each test, rubbing soothing circles on your knee with his thumb. His eyes instantly glaze over with tears when the two of you watch those 2 lines appear on all four of the tests. Pope kissing you as tears burst out of both of you.

He is beyond protective about pregnant you, making you sit down when you get up to grab something saying he’ll get it for you, reminding you about vitamins and prenatals, making sure to always keep you hydrated even if you already pee just about every 10 damn minutes.

Pope who can’t help the dopey smile on his face when near the end of your pregnancy he walks in the house to find Lena putting stickers on your round belly, writing out baby girl and decorating it with butterflies and hearts. He supposed it’s fate that he grew up in a house almost full of boys that his will be filled with all girls and he can’t complain he loves all 3 of his girls.

And Andrew Pope Cody who already couldn't get enough of you before you were carrying his kids becomes glued to you after. Hands groping at your body, telling you how gorgeous you are growing his baby, how good of a mama you’ll be and how proud of you he is.

Nothing major. Just a small gathering with a few familiar faces, some friends and agents, and good food. Maybe a few games, some music and conversations. Bucky only agreed because you batted your eyes and promised that you wouldn’t overdo it. 

As if he could ever say “no” to you. 

“You could smile a bit more, you know,” Steve teased, handing him a beer. 

He scoffed, the bottle cool against his warm hand. “I am smiling,” he argued.

His general demeanor had improved since you came into his life. He liked to think he smiled more than he scowled most days. Well, at least he smiled more when you were around. Or when he thought of you, which was all the time.

So, yeah, his demeanor was much better. 

“You only smile like that when you look at or think about your wife,” Steve pointed out, like he knew exactly what he was on his mind.

Bucky’s gaze softened immediately when he heard you laughing, watching you from where you stood a few feet away. 

You were glowing.

A pregnancy glow, yes, combined with something warmer. The dress you picked somehow flowed while showing off the shape of your body perfectly. Your smile lit up your face and you had a hand on your belly like you’d done for weeks now without thinking. It was beautiful. 

You were beautiful. 

“Can you blame me for having a smile just for her?” Bucky asked.

“Not at all,” his best friend replied. 

You shifted your weight before you took a seat, your smile brighter when you spotted Bucky watching you. He never strayed far from you. Didn’t even sip the drink in his hand. He had his eyes on you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. 

You and Sprout. 

Pride flickered through his chest when his gaze dropped to your belly. His wife and his baby. His family. 

Everyone was waiting on you hand and foot. At least, they tried to. The moment someone tried to bring you a drink or food, he stepped in. He couldn’t help himself. Once you were taken care of, he went back to his spot. The perfect place to keep an eye on his surroundings since some old habits died hard.

And you just smiled, soft and bright. 

Steve nudged him with his shoulder. “You deserve this, you know.”

Bucky swallowed hard. It didn’t always feel like he did. The past liked to seep into his mind at unexpected moments and make the world look a little darker. Depending on the day, he’d either hug you close or take you to bed to drown out the noise. Sometimes both.

And no matter what, you made the world look brighter again.

“So, you’re saying I deserved to knock up my wife?” he joked to deflect. 

The blonde snorted. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying,” he said, giving him a small smile. “Also saying you deserve this life.”

His chest tightened when you laughed at a joke Sam made, your head tipping back slightly and your hand going back to your belly. There was no fight to worry about. No past to haunt him. Just small precious moments like this. 

His lips twitched upward when you found his gaze again, your love for him burning bright in your eyes.

He did deserve this kind of life.

“Thanks, punk,” he mumbled, clinking their bottles together.

“Jerk.”

You turned your attention back to Sam and Bucky pushed off the wall to move closer before a voice stopped him.

Something low and careless.

“Is that chair gonna break? Jesus Christ, she’s fucking huge. How many are in there?”

The thought of domesticity and peace left Bucky’s mind, replaced by something cold and dangerous. 

You were blissfully unaware that some prick had just insulted your beautiful body, still smiling and enjoying yourself. As you should be. You only deserved good things. No one else around you seemed to notice the change in the atmosphere either.

But Steve stiffened out of the corner of his eye. He heard it. They both heard it. 

Super soldier senses really were handy at times.

Ice took over the blue of his eyes, his head slowly turning to look at the fucker stupid enough to open his mouth and even breath the same oxygen as you. A new agent with a very punchable face who wore too much cologne. There was a good chance that you kept your distance for that very reason since some smells still overwhelmed you. The snickering prick certainly wasn’t a friend of his or yours. He was only “invited” because someone else thought it would be good for him to hang out outside of work. 

That wouldn’t happen again. 

“Better snag a brownie before she stuffs her face with the whole tray.”

My wife can have all the fucking brownies she wants, you fucking piece of shit.

The bottle in his hand began to crack. It would shatter if he kept squeezing. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

Not yet.

“You know that’s Barnes’s wife, right?” The asshole’s friend shifted uncomfortably. “She’s really nice, and he’s… well, he’s pretty protective of her.”

Bucky’s gaze flicked back to you, much softer, before looking at the soon-to-be-dead fucker again.

No. Can’t kill the guy. I have a wife and kid to think about.

The prick had the nerve to laugh. “So? Does that give her a pass to look like a whale?”

…He’s fucking dead.

Steve took the cracked bottle from his hand. “Want me to handle him?” he asked, his voice low. 

He exhaled through his nose. Steve didn’t like bullies. Never had. But he knew why he was asking instead of just stepping in and taking care of it.

Because you were his wife. His to defend. His to love and care for. 

This was his fight.

“I got this,” he replied, subtly nodding to where you were sitting. “Just keep an eye out for a minute?”

Steve nodded in understanding, positioning himself to block your line of sight without looking too obvious. 

Bucky took deliberate steps toward the table, his movements controlled and measured. His jaw tightened the closer he got, his fingers itching to toss the guy out with his bare hands. He wouldn’t cause a scene out of respect for you. 

But he wasn’t going to stay silent. 

The atmosphere shifted the second he got to the table, the chatter ceasing immediately. 

The prick, of course, had the nerve to smile. 

“Hey, man! You-”

“You got something to say about my wife?” he asked, his voice as cold as his stare. 

The man’s eyes widened, maybe from shock that he was overheard or that he was being confronted. “I… What?”

Had no problem using your words seconds ago, asshole. 

“You were talking about her.” Bucky tilted his head slightly, his eyes flat and unreadable. “My wife.”

The air shifted more, something cold settling over the surroundings as the guy sputtered to come up with an excuse. 

“Say it again,” he ordered, placing his hands on the table and leaning down to his eye level. He made sure there was no warmth in his expression. “Where I can really hear you.”

The idiot swallowed and looked to his friend for help and found none; his friend was suddenly very interested in the beer in his hand. “Um… Barnes, I-”

“My wife, the love of my life, is carrying my child. Our child.” His lip raised in a small snarl and he leaned in enough that Agent Asshole had to back up. “And you think you can sit here and make fun of her? You think I won’t do something about it?”

“I-It was a bad joke,” he tried to reason.

Reasoning only worked with people when they were in a forgiving mood. 

He wasn’t. 

“Oh, now it’s a joke? You think you’re funny?” He smiled with no trace of friendliness behind it. It was likely how a wolf looked baring their teeth before sinking them into their prey. “You think I’ll laugh while you crack ‘jokes’ about my wife?”

The prick looked like he was a heartbeat away from pissing himself, which made Bucky question the hiring process for agents. This sort of “interrogation” was nothing. Child’s play. 

Then again, how many agents could say they had the former Winter Soldier in their space?

“I-I really didn’t mean-”

“Don’t.” His voice dropped even lower. “Don’t insult my intelligence.”

He glanced back and saw Sam looking his way, his eyes narrowing when he sensed the tension. Steve subtly shook his head. There was no reason to intervene. He was still in control.

Barely.

But you were still smiling, which was the important thing.

“You know what I see when I look at her?” he asked rhetorically, his chest tight. “I see the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

He smacked his hand on the table hard enough to make the bottles rattle and the guys flinch. 

Sam, thankfully, chose to tell another joke at the same time and Steve cackled so the noise at the table wouldn’t draw your attention.

I really do have good friends. 

“I’ll say it again. She’s carrying our baby. She’s uncomfortable and exhausted and guess what? She still walks into a room smiling and thinks of others first. And you sit here and act like she’s something to mock when she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” His jaw clenched even as his heart swelled with pride. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

The guy shrank lower as every word washed over him.

Good.

Bucky stared at him for another long moment before something colder settled into place behind his eyes.

“Get up, Chet,” he ordered.

“Chet’s” mouth fell open. “That’s not my-”

“I know what your name is, and I don’t care,” he cut him off, straightening up. “Because you don’t respect my wife, so I refuse to respect you.”

A bright shade of red passed through his cheeks before he paled. 

As someone who was stripped of his own agency for years, identity mattered to Bucky. Basic decency mattered. So, maybe it was a little petty to call him by the wrong name, but it was also a good way to put him in his place by letting him know he didn’t matter.

Chet, as his name was Chet to him now, got to his feet on shaky legs. “Sorry.”

“I’m sure you are sorry now, but it’s a little too late for that.” 

Bucky clamped a hand on the back of his neck. To just about anyone looking over, it would’ve looked casual. Almost friendly. But they would’ve missed the firm squeeze. 

“Move.”

The prick didn’t need to be told twice.

He guided him away from the table and made sure to smile as he did so. He shot his friend a quick glare for good measure, but at least he stuck up for you. That was the only reason he didn’t make him leave, too. 

The chatter continued behind him, but he barely noticed it over the sound of Chet’s pounding heart and his own blood roaring loudly in his ears. But then he heard your laughter and he took a deep breath, picturing your loving smile and hand on your belly. 

It kept him from snapping completely.

Once they were in the driveway, Bucky shoved him forward. Hard. He stumbled, but somehow managed to stay on his feet. He wished he could punch him for good measure, but he seemed like the type of coward who would cry and call the cops. 

Even if they let him off with a warning, he didn’t want to add any stress to your plate.

“Christ, man,” Chet muttered.

“You stay the fuck out of my house and never come back,” Bucky said, his voice low and lethal as he stepped forward. “And don’t you ever disrespect my wife again.”

Chet nodded quickly. Too quickly. “I won’t.”

Bucky looked every bit like the Winter Soldier wrapped in civilian clothing when he added, “You’ll never speak about her like that again. You’ll never look at her like that again. And you sure as hell will never come near my family again.”

“I understand,” he swore, his voice cracking.

“Good.” Bucky’s nostrils flared as he looked him over one last time, disgust curling in his stomach. “And the next time you come across someone pregnant, maybe try showing them some goddamn respect.”

He looked down at his feet, avoiding his gaze and swallowing any excuse he had left to give.

Fucking coward. 

Bucky pointed toward the street. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”

The idiot practically ran to his car. 

Bucky glared as he drove down the street, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck once he disappeared. He exhaled the remainder of his anger through his mouth, his hand moving through his hair. There was nothing to be upset about anymore. Agent Asshole was gone and now he could get back to you.

Where he belonged. 

The second he walked back to the yard, his eyes found you automatically. 

Still smiling, safe, and his.

He grabbed a couple of brownies from the tray before he walked over, giving Steve and Sam two nods. One to let them know everything was fine. The other to thank them for shielding you from that display.

They nodded in return. 

You were his wife and family, but you were their family, too. 

“There’s my handsome husband. I wondered where you went off to for a minute.” You smiled up at him when he approached, his heart skipping a beat. “You okay?”

Bucky stared at you in awe. 

God, she’s so fucking beautiful it makes my chest ache.

Up close, your glow was even brighter. You looked at him like he put the sun in the sky just for you. He would if he could. And your belly moved slightly under your hands, and he wanted to feel Sprout move, too. 

“I should be asking you that,” he replied, his brows furrowing. “Are you okay? Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

He observed you carefully, looking for signs of discomfort or fatigue. The conversation with Chet and kicking him out didn’t take very long, but it felt like hours now being apart from you. Steve and Sam had been watching over you, but it wasn’t the same. 

“I’m just fine,” you assured him, and he knew you weren’t just saying that for his benefit. “But you didn’t answer my question,” you added teasingly. 

Always thinking of me. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, gentler than he had spoken all day. “Everything’s fine now.”

You studied him for a moment, sensing something underneath the surface. He didn’t falter under your gaze. There was no need to. 

“Everything’s fine now, which means it wasn’t fine before,” you guessed. 

Bucky sighed. He should’ve known you’d feel that something was off. You were too intuitive for your own good. That was one of the things he loved about you. And part of him loving you was trying to protect you from harm, physically, mentally, or verbally. 

But there was also no hiding from you, even when he did his best to shield you. 

“Just… needed to throw some trash out,” he said carefully. 

It was true. 

Chet was trash. 

“That’s one way of putting it,” Steve muttered into his drink, making Sam snort. 

Before you could question him further, he set the brownies down and crouched slightly in front of your chair so he could rest a hand gently over your belly. He didn’t chastise Sam for snapping a photo, and he didn’t care who saw him like this. The two of you were his world and he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. 

“Hey, Sprout,” he murmured, his entire expression softening. “You behaving for your mama?”

The baby kicked almost immediately beneath his palm.

He smiled wide, making him temporarily forget about the dickhead he just  threw out. 

“Sprout’s just fine, too,” you promised, placing your hand on his, your gaze thoughtful. “You sure you’re okay?”

He leaned up slowly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He remembered sitting on the couch and comforting you after the mean voice in your head made you doubt that you’d be a good mom. And how you didn’t think your stretch marks were pretty but he thought they were so beautiful. You were so strong and inspiring. His wife. The mother of his child. 

He wasn’t about to ruin your fun and relaxing afternoon by telling you what happened. 

But as much as he wanted to protect you, he would tell you later once everyone left because he refused to keep secrets from you. There was a good chance you’d cry. Not because of the cruel words spoken or hormones, but because he stuck up for you so fiercely. He would always stick up for his family. 

And if you wanted him to punish Chet even more, he’d do it without question.

That was how much he loved you. 

And he’d take you to bed later, kissing and touching every inch of you he could. He’d make you feel beautiful and cherished if any of your insecurities began to surface. He’d silence any mean voice in your head, hopefully for good, the same way you drowned out the horrors he experienced and made him feel loved. 

I love you both so much. 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he whispered, glancing down at your stomach with so much love. “I’m better than okay.”

We all deserve to have someone in our corner. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

You’ve been dating Kyle Rayner for three years and living together for one when it happens. 

Your period’s two weeks late. You don’t think much about it until the nausea and weird cravings start kicking in — and if there’s one thing Bruce taught you right, is to be aware of your body’s signals about something being off; another thing he’s unfortunately passed down to you is the ability to go completely blank in situations that require the emotional stability that neither of you has.

(No wonder Kyle had spent years trying to get you to agree to a single date — you weren’t even mentally prepared for one.) 

So when you spend a whole day throwing up — which, by the way, you never do — there’s only two possibilities in your head: it’s either a weird space virus that Kyle brought home from last week’s mission or pregnancy. Your bet’s on the space virus, but first it’s better to ensure that the latter is not an option, and your chance presents itself when your dearest boyfriend — tired and sad of hearing you suffer — gets ready to go to the store to buy the ingredients needed for chicken noodle soup. 

He still insists that his mother's recipe is much better than Alfred’s one — also, a miracle that you got yourself a partner that knows how to cook, because growing up with Bruce Wayne also means being unable to light a single stove. Alfred tried his best to teach you how to, but not even him knows how to make miracles happen. 

Kyle kisses your temple and hums, “I’ll be back soon, I promise,” he says, brushing your hair out of your forehead. He’s been tied to your side all day even if he’s got a deadline just next week and hasn’t even started drawing the first panels, and if you weren’t as stoic as you usually are, you would swoon for him. “Ah, could you buy another thing for me at the store?” you ask casually, cheek leaning against the cold tile of the toilet for comfort. 

He nods, “Anything you want, babe.”

“A pregnancy test,” you say it like it’s the most normal thing ever, “and a Milka cookies sensation pack. The XL one.” 

Kyle blinks, and you can almost see his brain short-circuiting in that thick head of his. “Oh.” he blurts out, “I… okay. Yeah, yeah, I can do that.” 

He’s going to come back home spiraling, you think as the door closes. 

“Okay, I’m totally not spiraling right now,” he says as soon as he gets back home, plastic bag in hand, hair messy from the wind outside, “Like, are you sure it could be pregnancy? How long have you known? Because these aren’t the kind of things that you just guess, right? Are there specific symptoms?”

You sigh from your place on the couch and get up to rummage through the bag as he continues yapping, “I mean, should I have noticed? Could I have noticed?” the yapping doesn’t stop as you take the test he bought and go back to the bathroom, because he follows you and continues talking while you pee on the stick and hope to not wet your hand, “Do you even want kids?” you place the test on the counter and wash your hands, “I mean– I do, and I would love to have a baby with you, but we’ve never talked about it and with the whole ‘tragic childhood with an emotionally unavailable father’ thing you have going on I’m not sure you’d want that and you don’t have to worry about what I want– it’s totally your choice and I’ll be there whatever you want to do–” 

You turn and take his face into your hand, squeezing his cheeks and making his lips pucker. “Kyle.”

His voice comes out a bit muffled, “Yeah?” 

“You’re spiraling.” 

His shoulders sag a bit. “I am. Are you not?”

You blink, “We’re adults in a healthy relationship, Ky. Even if I’m on birth control, I think at least one pregnancy scare was bound to happen.” you raise an eyebrow, “I am surprised that it wasn’t earlier on, though.” 

“Okay. Okay.” his foot’s been tapping on the floor since he got back from the store, “Um– how long do we have to wait? For the test to show the results, I mean. I bought the most expensive one just in case and I hope it wasn’t a scam, because if it was I will cry.”  

“It probably was,” you didn’t even know that brands of pregnancy tests were a thing until now, and you highly doubt that one is more reliable than the others. He’s already got tears in his eyes, but you continue, “But I do appreciate the thought, honey, thanks.” 

He sniffles, nuzzling into your hand, “The pleasure’s mine,” he just hopes that the test is the right one, because as much as he knows how to cook, the premium adult in the house it’s you. You do the taxes, make sure the bills and rent are paid — God, is he a sugar baby? Because with the trust fund and place at Wayne Enterprises that you have, he might as well be. His job as a comic book artist probably looks like a kid’s summer job in comparison. 

The timer from your phone buzzes — when did you even set up a timer? — and your hand flies to the test, angling it under the bathroom’s light to see better the results. “Fuuuck.” it’s not a ‘Fuck, this shouldn’t have happened’, it’s more a ‘Fuck, it’s kinda crazy that this is happening’ kinda fuck. 

Kyle peeks from behind your shoulder, “Lemme see–” you hold out the test for him to take, and he gapes. “Stop.” It comes out as a much less virile ‘Stawwwp!’ and soon enough, he’s jumping around the house with a test showing the words [PREGNANT — 3+] written on the screen. “I’m gonna be a dad! I’m gonna be a dad! I’m gonna be–” he stops once his hopping brings him back to the bathroom and looks at you with his big doe eyes, “I mean, uh… am I gonna be a dad?” he’s not begging — he would never force you to do anything you don’t want to. He just needs confirmation.

You huff, and a rare smile blesses your face. “Yeah,” you murmur, eyes soft, “you’re gonna be a dad.” 

He whoops, hoisting you up by the waist and spinning you around, all while continuing chanting “I’m gonna be a dad!” over and over again. He stops every once in a while just to place kisses everywhere his lips can reach, smothering you in love and spit.

You let him, mentally already making a list of things to buy — a house, first of all, then a crib, onesies and all of that — and the medical appointments to schedule — OB-GYN and, oh God, your therapist’s going to have to work overtime to make sure you don’t mess this baby up with your years worth of trauma. 

But, of course, you don’t say anything — not now. You don’t want to ruin the moment, and more than anything, you don’t want to think about the hardest part of the journey ahead of you — that is, telling your father. 

The first months you make sure to keep things low-key, mostly to assure that everything goes well before you tell anyone about the baby. 

You go to your appointments, take your vitamins and try not to stress about everything going on at Wayne Enterprises — because at the end of the day, you always come home to Kyle, and you two look for houses in the nicest neighborhoods that Gotham has to offer as he rubs the expensive ointment for stretch marks that you bought on your belly (even if it’s mostly useless, as you’re not even showing yet, you don’t tell him to stop, because he’s got hands that just know how to give a great massage — you make a mental note to yourself to ask him for a back massage one of these days). 

You tell Bruce about your search in the house market just in case he knows someone on Crest Hill who’s thinking about selling their property, because that’s honestly the nicest zone in Gotham and it’s the same where the Manor is, so he’s bound to know some of the neighbors. He frowns at your question, grimacing a bit, “You two are… buying a house? Isn’t it too early for that?” 

You raise an eyebrow, “Dad, we’ve been together for three years — I think that’s more than enough.” 

His frown deepens. “But you two aren’t even married. Not that you have to be to move in together, but aren’t you two a tad bit too young to buy a house together?”

“You had two kids at my age.” 

“I don’t think you’ve ever taken me as inspiration, so that doesn’t count.” 

You roll your eyes, “Do you know if any of the people living on Crest Hill are selling their house or not?” 

He sighs. “I’ll let you know.” 

Later that day, when you’re laid down on the couch and half napping as Kyle cooks dinner, you get a message from him with your response. Henry Solten’s selling one of his houses. Nice garden, two-story house with an attic. I can see it to get you two a tour if you want. Tell me if it was what you were looking for. 

You look a bit more into it, and you’ve gotta admit that Solten’s house is nice — suspiciously what you and Kyle were looking for, actually. Big enough for a kid — and any that might follow, for that — and your boyfriend looks as pleased as you about it. You two agree to still wait for the second trimester to make any permanent decision, but set up an appointment through Bruce for next week to see it in person. I can probably get you a favouring price, your father adds in one of his texts, even if he has to know that between your exorbitant salary and embarrassing trust fund any price is not a problem — because he’s the one who made sure of that. 

That same night you go to bed with your belly feeling pleasantly warm thanks to Kyle’s pasta, and as you’re between dream’s world and the real one you hear something. “Psst. Hey.” 

It takes you a moment to realize that Kyle’s not talking to you — he’s talking to the baby. His hands come up to your hips, gently raising your shirt as he presses his ear to your belly. “I know you can’t hear me — you kinda don’t have ears yet. You’re just a weird blob of cells for now, I guess, but it's not fair that your mom gets to spend the whole day with you and I can’t get a minute alone with you, is it? This is me making it fair.” 

He presses a soft peck to your bellybutton, nuzzling into the soft skin of your midriff, “I love you and your mom so much, kid. You can’t even imagine.” it’s a miracle you don’t burst into tears, really. 

After that, you let him have his ‘alone time’ with the baby, even if most of the time you’re awake — it actually lulls you to sleep, Kyle babbling about everything and anything to a baby that isn’t even a baby and can’t hear right now. It makes you wonder if Bruce would’ve done that for you, were you his biological daughter — you know for sure that your biological father didn’t. 

You buy Solten’s house — against all of Bruce’s protests to let him pay for it — one week after the start of your second trimester, and thanks to all the strings that the Wayne name can move in real estate, the procedure of buying it is much quicker and easier than it would’ve been normally. The process of moving soon starts, and Kyle spends half the time grumbling about not being allowed to use the ring to move all the boxes down the apartment to the rented truck you got in one go and the other half telling you to please not lift anything heavier than a pillow. 

It’s during the last day of packing boxes and getting them into the truck — you don’t even know you had so many things, by the way — that you tell Damian about the baby, even if it wasn’t really in your plans. 

He comes over to the apartment after hearing from Bruce that you’re moving out, hands in his pockets in the most nonchalant way a twelve-year-old kid that’s basically three apples tall can manage. “Heard you were making the worst decision of your life and thought I’d step by,” he mumbles, inviting himself in and down-right slumping on the couch that you had yet to bring to the new house. 

Damian’s distaste for Kyle isn’t something new — nor the distaste your whole family has for him — but you know better than that. You know that behind their voiced doubts and teases lies fondness and just mild concern. You ruffle his hair, going to the kitchen to get the snacks you keep there just for him, “Fought with Bruce again?”

He freezes. “Your ability to always guess right about things like that scares me.” 

“Oooh, the Damian Wayne scared? I must’ve scored really big.” you pat his head, dropping the paprika carrot chips you took out of the pantry in his lap while lowering your elbows to rest on the couch’s headrest, “Kid, I’ve been with Bruce before the Justice League was even a thing. I know that frown because it’s the same one I had at your age when he made me mad. C’mon, spit it out.” 

“He’s just been so annoying these past few months!” oh, God, here we go, “It’s always ‘We’re not doing enough, Robin’ and ‘Maybe you should step away from the scene for a bit, Robin’ — well, what about he steps away from the scene for a bit? He’s the one who’s been hogging all the limelight since the dinosaurs were still around!” It could be a joke, but knowing Damian, he’s referring to the giant dinosaur kept in the Batcave — which would make the saying ‘since dinosaurs were around’ quite true. 

“It’s just weird, you know? He just started acting like this out of the blue. One day he was happy about how we were doing with the criminals, and the next, BOOM! We’re not doing enough because some of them are still around. What am I supposed to say? It’s his fault if after twenty years and counting in the business the city’s yet to be cleaned out from all the scum of the slums.”

He starts angrily munching on his chips, and if that’s how he treats those poor fried carrots, you don’t want to think about how he’d deal with the supposed 'scum of the slums' if Bruce wasn’t looking. The things he’s saying are weird, though — while Bruce has always thought he wasn’t doing enough, it’s not usual for him to voice out these feelings. He mostly understands that there’s only so much he can do, so venting to Damian of all people about not doing enough is completely bonkers. “I’m starting to think someone has possessed him to irritate me to death,” he grumbles out, cheeks puffed out like a hamster. 

You almost melt. God, you love your little brother so much. And that’s when you decide that maybe — just maybe — telling him about the baby wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Just to keep up his morale. “Hey, Dames,” you murmur gently, brushing the hair out of his face — he really needs a haircut. “Do you still have Bitey?”

Bitey’s the first toy you ever owned, and a gift from Bruce from when you first moved into Wayne Manor. It’s a grey wolf plushie that’s definitely seen some things, as you passed it down to all your siblings once they came to live in the Manor, but it always got back to you in one way or another — all of them have always returned it, even if you never asked for them to. Now, you feel bad about asking Damian to give it back in just a few months, but it’s for the sake of the tradition of having Bitey passed down. 

He squints, looking at you suspiciously, “…I do.” he really can’t tell you that he’s been sleeping with it since you gave it to him. “Why?” 

You shrug, “Um… you know, I usually wouldn’t ask this, but could you give it back to me in, say… a few months?” 

He gasps. “No way! You’ve never asked Grayson or Todd or Drake or Cass to give it back– why me? I have the right to keep Bitey until I deem it appropriate for it to be returned to you–” he goes on as you reach for a folder on the kitchen table, passing it to him as he goes on, “What’s this? Whatever it is, sister, it won’t make me overlook the blatant favoritism that you showed towards the othe... oh.” 

It’s the hospital folder, the one with the latest ultrasounds showing the mass of cells that’s building up to be your baby. Damian gasps, “I think I should be happy for you — but the only concern I have right now is that the baby isn’t Rayner’s. Please, tell me you have cheated on him.”

You frown. “That’s not a nice thing to say, Damian.” 

“Please! He’s a total cretin!”

You wave your hand at him, “That’s not true–”

At that moment, the front door opens. Kyle emerges from the hallway of your complex, voice ringing out throughout the apartment, “Hey, babe, have you seen the boxes with my comics? They weren’t in the truck when I–” he promptly falls face down after tripping on a box labelled in bold, red ink, KYLE’S COMICS, making Damian point the scene like an obvious proof as you sigh, exasperated. “See? What did I tell you!” 

Kyle merely raises his face from the floor, smiling at your brother, “Oh, hey Damian! Didn’t know you were coming over.” 

You make Damian swear on his life that he’s not going to tell anyone about the pregnancy yet before he goes back to the Manor, and he scoffs as he does it. “Please, sister, do not think of me so low to be confiding in the others about such things.” 

The fourth month of the pregnancy comes around, and with it the realness of it all. As you get used to the new house, you also start preparing the nursery, and Kyle comes back from every morning run with a different souvenir — a plushie, a onesie, you name it. The time to tell the family about the pregnancy gets closer and closer, and with it your brothers’ unexpected visits seem to multiply, because two weeks after moving to Crest Hill Dick presents himself at your door unannounced. 

It’s Kyle who gets the door, and he happily greets your brother — the only member of your family who actually kinda likes him. “Heard you two bought a house and thought I’d pass by,” he says as your boyfriend invites him inside, “y’know, to see my sister be the responsible adult I’ll never manage to be,” 

You get down from the upper floor at that moment and frown at the sight of your brother swaying on the balls of his feet. One look at his face is all you need. “What did B tell you this time?” 

He groans, “God, you’re too good at this game,” he slumps on the new couch without too many problems and starts ranting. “I’m really happy that I’ve moved to Bludhaven, you know? Because he’s been unbearable as of lately, and I don’t know how long I will manage to stand him. He’s running the Manor like the navy and I’m suffering the consequences of it. Damian’s sneaking out more and more to hang around my flat and he says that nothing’s wrong but I know that something happened.” he finally looks at you, distressed, “Do you know something? Is it like some virus spreading around these days or what?” 

You raise an eyebrow as you and Kyle get comfortable on the sofa in front of him, skeptical. “I mean, Damian told me something about it, but no. I’ve seen Bruce pretty much every day at work and he looks like the same ol’ guy to me.” 

“Could this be about Poison Ivy’s last break out?” Kyle asks, his arm slung over your shoulders, “I knew he was beating himself up for it, and I tried to help, but he refused. Said he’d handled these things alone for the last two decades and didn’t want or need my help.” 

You facepalm, “God, he’s always so– so insufferable when it comes to needing some help. I don’t understand, what’s the problem with it?” 

Dick looks at you blankly, “One time I asked you if you needed some help in cleaning out your weapon inventory and you told me that getting help was for the weak.”

You wave your hand at him, “That was a long time ago, I was young,” 

He blinks, unamused, “That was two weeks ago.” 

Kyle chuckles as you groan, “Okay, maybe we have problems with getting help in this family, but it’s not like we can send him to a therapist like he did to me. He couldn’t even tell them one quarter of his problems– at least I can tell mine half of them. Besides, he doesn't even really do things alone; he's got you, Babs, Damian, Alfred–” 

“Well, I was actually wondering if you could talk to him,” Dick adds, a little… embarrassed? Is that embarrassment on Dick Grayson’s face? “Just… not as your civilian self, y’know. I was thinking that if your Batgirl were to come out just a little bit again–”

“No,” the reply comes simultaneously from both you and Kyle, stern, even if you doubt that the motives are completely the same. For him, it’s because you’re pregnant, for you… well, for you it’s because Batgirl has carried too much in her life for you to go back to her. “Dick, I left that life behind a lot of time ago. If you want, I can try to talk to Bruce, but I’m never stepping back into the costume. Not now, not ever.”

His hands are joined like in prayer, “Please, not even a little easter egg comparison, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it?”

“No,” your answer is final, “there’s a reason I stopped being Batgirl, okay? And you out of all people should respect my decision even more.” you cross your arms as Kyle’s hand goes to your bicep, rubbing it delicately to comfort you, “I’ll talk to Bruce. Is there anything else you need or can you just go?” 

He smiles sheepishly, “Actually, could I use the bathroom?” 

You sigh. “Upstairs, first door on the left.” 

Off he goes, leaving you and your boyfriend alone with your thoughts. “Maybe your father’s having, like, a midlife crisis or something,” he whispers, “y’know, it happens to people his age. You start thinking about being old and all that…” 

“Please, Ky, he’s had worse and handled with it better–” you both yelp when a full-on banshee screech comes from upstairs, and Dick comes running down the stairs, seemingly terrified, “What was that?” he yells, looking at you both with crazy eyes. 

You and Kyle look at each other, confused, “What was what?” 

“That– that room! You said it was the bathroom!” 

It takes you a moment to understand — but then you remember Dick’s absolute shit knowledge of left and right, and guess that he might’ve mistaken left for right again, and entered… the nursery. The very still-in-making nursery, with the box of the crib that still has to be built and the chest with the onesies that Bitey is sitting on. Your face becomes red, because that’s absolutely not how you wanted your brother to find out about this, “Well, Dick, I say you put two and two together,” you hint, unamused and a bit shrill. 

He stares at you two, mouth wide open, and then starts screaming again. “You knocked up my sister? That’s so not cool, bro! You’re, like, two years older than me! She’s my age! Does that mean I’ll have to get my shit together someday too?” he falls dramatically to the floor, clutching his chest, “I’m not ready for you two to have a baby! Who will I go to when I need to be reassured about being an irresponsible adult if you’re too busy being a dad, man?”

You blink as your boyfriend starts laughing like a hyena. “You’re… not ready for me to have  a baby? Because you’re irresponsible?” 

Kyle’s still howling, “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard! Man, this is absolutely going in the photo album written behind every pic of you and the baby–” 

They both end up kicked out of the house, because honestly, you’re not patient enough to deal with their shit. Kyle comes back with a bouquet of flowers and cookies three hours later, begging for forgiveness, while Dick has the great idea of aggravating his situation by sending a message to the siblings group chat that reads: DID Y’ALL KNOW ABOUT THE KID OR WAS I THE ONLY ONE NOT INCLUDED💔💔💔

One very angry phone call and a deleted message later, not one but three very confused siblings show up at your door — and you know that things are getting weird when it’s Cass, Tim and Jason that team up. “Yo,” it’s the latter who greets you first, “it’s like everyone went crazy lately — first B, then Damian, then Dick with… whatever that message was. We knew you just bought a house and were just wondering if you did it thanks to this freaky virus going around or something.” 

You really can’t take this anymore, and are grateful that Kyle is out of the house for last minute GL business. “Oh, just get in.” 

Cass is the only one who takes the news well. She immediately comes to hug you, snuggling into your shoulder like a cat while Tim and Jason just stare in disbelief. “You’re what?” 

“You two could at least try to act like you’re happy about it.” 

You’re pretty sure you just saw Tim’s eye twitch. “Does B know? Is that why he’s been acting like a maniac?”

You frown, “He doesn’t know, I meant to, like, organise a dinner together or something to tell you all but you’re all too nosey to mind your business. Dick literally snooped around and found out.” nevermind that you were the one to tell Damian. 

Suddenly, a smile graces Jason’s face, “Does that mean Damian doesn’t know? Because I’ll never let him live this down–”

“Damian was the first one to know.” 

“…You just had to ruin the moment, huh?” 

“This is supposed to be my moment, dumbass.” 

You choose to go to the Manor that same night, because now that the whole family knows, it won’t be long until Bruce finds out, and you'd rather be the one to tell him. Kyle doesn’t ask you if you want him to come — smartly, you should add, because it’s best if you talk to your father alone before he decides to settle things between them privately. 

Alfred greets you at the door, his presence stoic as ever. “Good evening, Miss, at what do we owe the ple–”

“I’m pregnant.” 

He blinks, unmovable. “Well, that’s wonderful. I imagine you came here to tell Master Bruce the happy news?”

You come up to hug him, and after a brief moment of confusion he reciprocates. “Thanks, Alfie,” you mumble, “you’re the first person after Kyle that said that this is good news. I really needed that.” 

He gently pats your back, “Do the others know?” 

You scoff, “None of them were too pleased about it. Cass was happy about it, but… you know she doesn’t really talk.” 

His eyes soften, “It’s just the way they cope, Miss. I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding; they’ll come around.” 

Bruce is, as he always is, in the Batcave. These days it’s hard to find him anywhere else. His eyes are fixated on the screen of the Batcomputer, and he doesn’t even seem to acknowledge your presence until you call out, “Hey, Bruce,” 

He turns, bags under his eyes prominent, and he looks almost worried to see you there. He says your name, getting up from his seat, “You shouldn’t be here,” he mumbles, his hands cupping your shoulders as you frown, “it’s too cold. I should have a jacket somewhere–”

“Please, Bruce,” you cut him off, “it’s September. I would like to say that the temperature down here is perfect, actually.” you look at the giant screen in front of you, various news pamphlets open and surveillance footage replaying over and over again, “New prison break out to manage?”

He shrugs, “Dent’s been dealing some weapons in the black market for the last two weeks, if what my sources are saying is true. By the way, it’s almost October, so no, the temperature isn’t perfect.” he insists on getting that jacked he mentioned on you, even zipping it up for you like you’re some kind of hyperactive toddler. “There you go.”

You almost laugh. “The others told me you were acting weirdly, but I didn’t think it was this serious,” 

He barely reacts. “Hn. I’m not acting weirdly, I’m just being careful,”

“Are you the same man that gets into active shootings with a costume and a dream?” 

He glares at you. “Why did you come here?” 

You hop on a stool near the computer, “To check on you, dad. The others seemed worried, and I know that we haven’t had much time to talk these last few weeks, but I’m worried about you.” 

“Well, don’t be. I’m perfectly fine.” 

“Please, Bruce, you don’t look nor act fine. We just want to help.” 

You just can’t seem to get his attention, because as soon as his gaze goes back to the screen, it’s like you’re not even there anymore. As clearly this isn’t working, you make a drastic decision: to just spit the truth out. “Dad,” you start, voice trembling, “I… I’m pregnant.”

He doesn’t even blink. “I know.” 

You stutter, “You– what– I– oh, you know what? I’m so tired of you knowing everything. Is that why you’ve been acting so weird? How did you even find out, and why didn’t you say anything? I was pretty sneaky with it, you know!” 

“I found it weird when you asked me about the house,” he merely explains, not seeming bothered with this invasion of privacy like he’s done this his entire life — well, he kinda did. “I got suspicious and thought you were being mind-controlled or ill. It took me a quick check through your medical records to find out your… condition. I thought it best not to say anything in case you wanted to do a big reveal with the others and wanted me to act surprised.” 

“You really should stop doing that.” guess his weird behavior is explained, but the why of it all still confuses you. “I mean, I get that it may weird you out, but I still don’t get why you’ve been so odd since finding that out. I’m an adult woman in a loving relationship, Bruce, and even if me and Kyle never mentioned having kids, you could’ve guessed that something like this would’ve happened.” 

Finally, he stops. His stare is so blank that you’re honestly kinda scared. “I’m… I’m getting old.” 

You blink. “O… kay?” wait. Wait. Is your emotionally unavailable father opening up to you after almost two decades of stony facades save for a few crash outs? And it’s because you’re about to have a baby? Dear God, Kyle was right about him having a midlife crisis. 

“I’m not the Batman I was once,” he mutters grimly, “but Gotham is as relentless as ever.” 

“I mean, you’re still kicking butts left and right,” you say, “and I doubt that Gotham’s criminals actually think that you can age. They probably think that you’re, like, immortal or something.” 

Finally, his gaze turns to you, and he doesn’t seem too relieved. “My hair’s starting to turn grey.” 

It's genuinely starting to creep you out. “My God, Bruce, you’re fourty-four! Stop talking like you’re Santa Claus’ age, because Alfred is on the brink of his seventies and I’ve never heard him complain about a single joint creaking.” you stop when you take a better look at him, because– are those tears in his eyes? You’re not even sure you’ve ever seen him cry after Jason’s death. “I– God, will you just tell me what is going on in your head? I can’t read minds, Bruce.”

He fucking sniffles. “I… my baby’s going to have a baby. I’m not ready for that.” you almost melt. This is Bruce Wayne, Batman, your father — reduced to a puddle of sad emotions when faced with the fact that his first child will become a mother in a few months. “I… it just feels like yesterday when I took you to the Manor for the first time.”

You didn’t come from a perfect family like he did, nor had a nice house and a butler — but you guess that your parents dying during an armed robbery in an alleyway, even if you weren’t there to witness it, hit him a little too close to home to ignore the story when it was published on the newspaper. You were the first kid he fostered, and probably also one of the biggest messes, seeing the way your version of Batgirl was deemed to be far too violent by basically everyone — including Damian, and Damian got here after you dropped the costume and has killed multiple people. 

(One time, when he told Jason that he didn’t get why you stopped being Batgirl, he showed him footage of you beating up some of Black Mask’s goons completely unprompted and with weapons that he was pretty sure were now banned from the Batcave. Damian blinked and said Yeah, okay, now I get it.)

“And I know that I wasn’t the best father– I was never prepared to be one. Nor was I a really good mentor. But through it all, all of you — you, your brothers, your sister, have managed to go on despite everything. But you — you’ve managed to do something I’m not sure any of us will ever be able to actually do.” 

His head turns towards the costume display cases, where your suit is still set up despite not being used in over three years. “You’ve left this life behind.” 

“It wasn’t easy,” you mutter, “Batgirl literally haunts me, and it’s just a stupid costume.” 

It’s true, she does; your violent past and all the definitely too-near-death experiences you've had are still present in your recurring nightmares. You still get a little scared when you see Barbara or Stephanie in the costume, thinking that it came back to finally finish you off, and the relief you felt when you found out that Cass modified the suit was indescribable. 

The truth is, Batgirl isn’t just a costume to you — it’s a reminder of years spent amidst violence and the loss of yourself. “And, I mean, a good therapist does help with anger issues. I can’t tell her about the nights spent fighting crime and all the traumatising experiences I’ve had because of them, but I can tell her about my crippling fear of becoming a bad mom and the other thousand issues unrelated to vigilantism I have.”

He forces a smile. “You’ll be a great mom, I’m sure of it.” 

“And you’ll be a great grandpa,” you nudge him with your elbow, “I can already see the headlines: Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne retires from his nightlife activities at only forty-four following the birth of his first grandchild: women and men all over the world declare grief-stricken strike.”

He perks up, “Speaking of which, is everything going well with the gestation?” 

You almost laugh at the way he says gestation like you’re some kind of lab rat. “Oh, yeah,” you muse, cupping the underside of your small bump, “it’s a boy.” 

You don’t entertain the idea of a babymoon until Bruce gives you and Kyle two tickets for the Bahamas and a reservation in one of the most exclusive resorts of the area for Christmas. 

Truly, you didn’t notice how tense and sore you’ve been these last few months until you’re laid out on a sunbed, fresh out of an all-inclusive spa treatment, and your biggest worry is making sure that none of the women eyeing up Kyle while he’s ordering drinks at the refreshments boot try something with him. 

Your belly is big enough that you often feel like an inflated balloon, even if the small kicks and your boyfriend’s constant and undivided attention are nice. The kid loves to hear your voice (or so you think, by the quantity of the kicks you get when you talk to him) but gets quiet when Ky has his alone time with him, which makes you wonder if he either likes you or him. That ointment you got back when you first found out you were pregnant does wonders, because you’re one month away from your due date and there’s not a single stretch mark in sight on your skin — even if you have to also credit Kyle for it, because he was the one who never forgot to put it on you every night before going to bed. 

The prodigal son finally comes back to your sunshade with your non-alcoholic drinks in hand, all giddy sun-kissed. “There!” he holds out the straw of your fruity drink for you to take a sip, “I asked the bartender about those cookies you asked about, but she told me that they don’t have them. I’ll pass by the deli later and get them for you.” 

He gives you your glass, setting down his to take the sunscreen and drop a blob of it on his hands, moving to smear it on your legs. “Looking a bit red here, lovie.” 

“I can’t even see my legs, Ky. What did you expect?”

He shrugs, a lazy smirk on his face, “Nothing else, don’t worry. I’m here to help.” 

And when it gets a bit too hot all you have to do is take the inflatable donut Kyle bought as soon as you two landed and sit on it while floating away, your boyfriend leaning on one of the donut’s side admiring the view — aka, the very pregnant love of his life basking in the coolness of the water. 

The vacation is a dream come true. You get to relax before you have to think about the stress of the labour, tan quite nicely and don’t have to think about anything because Kyle is at your beck and call; sore ankles? He gives you a massage. Thirsty? He gets back from the bar with the whole drink inventory. You’ll be two weeks away from the due date when you get back, and honestly, you’re sure you’ll miss this.

Except you really don’t — because once they place your little boy in your arms after almost a whole day of labour, all the pain and struggles suddenly feel like nothing. 

Tommy Rayner is born, healthy and with a prominent scowl on his face, on February 19th, effectively stopping Bruce’s birthday party. He’s also a bit late on the schedule, but the doctors assure you that he just didn’t have any rush in getting out of the little sanctuary you made for him. 

The scowl he’s got on softens as he settles on your chest, only to come back not even a minute later as Kyle approaches, tears in his eyes and hands trembling while rubbing tender caresses across his back. He almost glares at him, then seems to be turning to you almost as if to ask ‘Really? You couldn’t find better?’. Needless to say, he’s a miniature copy of you, and the mystery regarding his silence when Kyle talked to him is suddenly solved. 

He latches onto your breast without any fuss as you and his father stare at him, enamoured, his little hands making grabby motions on your skin like a cat making biscuits. “He’s so tiny,” Kyle manages to mutter out, camera in his hands, snapping pictures of you and your boy. “Do you need anything? I’ll bring you everything you want. You deserve it, sweetcheeks, because I’ve seen some freaky stuff — but that was something I’ll never get over.” he shivers, kissing your forehead, “If you never want to have another kid, I’ll understand. I’ll schedule a vasectomy right away, just say the word.” 

He gets out of your room with the intent to buy Milka cookies, the biggest boat of sushi to-go he can find and gets swarmed by your family members instead — he doesn’t even know how they got here, because none of you called them when your water broke. They drown him in questions, with Is she okay?s and How’s the baby?s as he barely manages to breathe with the little space they’ve given him. Bruce is in front of them all, and Kyle would’ve never thought to see the man who swore to find a way to skin him alive legally if he ever let anything happen to you or your son with tears in his eyes. “So — tell us, how is she?” 

Kyle excuses himself back into your room amidst their protests, only to come back outside with a blue bundle in his arms, “This is Tommy,” he whispers, careful not to wake him up, “His mommy’s sleeping at the moment, but I’m sure she’ll be elated to see you all once she wakes up.” 

And you are — even if he’s not sure if it’s for your family or the mega sushi boat he found at the nearest takeout place. Kyle feeds you the pieces as you hold Tommy in your arms while the others make what feels like a thousand questions per minute, silencing only when your son makes any type of sound. Alfred fluffs your pillow and takes his opportunity to take a better look at your son, “He does look incredibly like you, miss.”

They crowd his bassinet once Kyle places him back down to let you properly demolish the sushi boat, and Damian looks like the proudest of them all as he carefully tucks Bitey near Tommy. "It's a miracle he didn't get your stupid genes, Rayner, it would've spoiled the whole family tree."

Later, when it’s time for everyone to go home, it’s only Bruce that stays. Kyle needed a shower — he got the call about your water breaking from the hospital while fighting a slime monster in space and was still covered in weird alien goo — and so, it’s your father occupying the seat beside your bed, looking at you and his grandson with dazed eyes. “You want to hold him?” you husher as Tommy stretches and blinks, content in your arms. 

He flinches. The big bad Batman, scared of holding a newborn. “Oh, I, uh… I don’t think it’s the best idea, I’ve never held one before.” well, that doesn’t really surprise you — you and all your siblings came to him already too old to even be picked up, often. 

“Aw, c’mon– here, hold him,” despite himself, his hands reach out when you hold your son out for him, “careful with his head, place it on your elbow– there, just like that!” 

Bruce finds himself with a very disgruntled newborn in his arms, looking at him like he just did him a big wrong. “Hey, don’t look at me like that,” his tone is the softest you’ve ever heard him use. 

The baby responds by proudly and loudly farting, leaving his poor grandpa speechless. You laugh, “Well, that explains it,” 

A dim light comes from outside the window — the Bat-signal shines in the clouds, just like most nights in Gotham. Bruce looks at it through the window, but doesn’t move an inch. “If you have to go, you can,” you murmur softly. You’ve stopped getting angry about his disappearances ages ago. “Kyle will be back soon, and we’ll still be here tomorrow morning.” 

He looks at you, then down at Tommy, whose eyes are getting heavier and heavier. “No,” he whispers, finally getting comfortable in his seat, “I’m just fine here.”

congratulations! you've reached the end of the fic :) have some memes:

Conrad woke up from feeling the empty side of your bed. His blurry eyes looked around the room, hoping that you were just standing in front of the crib, which wouldn’t be the first time.

His friend Agnes introduced you to him; she thought the two of you would make a cute couple, plus it would get him to move on from his brother's girlfriend. You and Agnes met at the coffee shop, and she noticed a pin on your backpack was from a show she also enjoyed. So the two of them clicked and became best friends.

Towards the end of the fall semester, Agnes was hosting a Christmas party. She practically dragged the two of you to come. She pushed you into a conversation and would tackle anyone who tried to get one of your attention. You guys have been talking and taking it slow, and now you’ve been dating for two years.

Well, except for your first anniversary in January, when you told Conrad you were pregnant. You were so scared to tell him, not knowing how he’d react. He smiled and assured you that it was going to be okay because you’re in this together.

Conrad noticed you weren’t in the room. He was trying to keep his anxious thoughts at bay, but it was hard. What if you fell and you both got hurt? How could he be so careless? He should’ve noticed you weren’t gone and waited up for you.

He bolted out of the bedroom, about to scream your name, but he saw the kitchen light on. Conrad walked into the kitchen, and his heart relaxed at what he saw.

You are sitting at the kitchen island, wearing a short lounge set, which had your showing off your five-month bump proudly. From what Conrad could see, you were eating a bowl of Cookies and Cream ice cream with whipped cream, chocolate drizzle, and… jalapeños? Not the weirdest craving you’ve had, but maybe top three.

“You scared me, love,” Conrad smiled, towering behind you, “I’m sorry, bub. I was going to come back from the bathroom, but she wanted this.” You smiled before taking a big bite of your snack. Conrad chuckled before pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

Conrad moved next to you, his brows furrowed when he saw the abundance of jalapeños you had in your bowl. Now Conrad didn’t want to say anything because he never wants you to be insecure about your pregnancy, but the need to protect you overrides him. “Just be careful with the jalapeños, love. I don’t want you getting heartburn,” Conrad's voice softened, rubbing your back. You gave him your best puppy dog eyes. “More?” You threw in a pout.

The power you had over Conrad was insane. You could ask him to rob a bank, and he would ask which one. Conrad never minded about your power until you used it for evil, like now.

Conrad shook his head, sighing, but his small smile gave him away. “Fine. But only one,” Conrad agreed. You smiled brightly before littering his face with kisses. To this day, Conrad had no idea how he survived life without your kisses.

Conrad opened the jalapeño jar with ease, “You’re going to make me spill the jar.” Conrad smiled, trying to keep his hands steady. You pulled away and looked at him like he had committed a war crime. “Do not drop my jalapeño, Conrad!” You sassed, Conrad, knowing the consequences if he did. Conrad hated when you called him by his real name. It's always his way of knowing when you’re mad at him. Which would make Conrad's chest physically hurt; he never wants to hurt you. He wants to be with you forever, to pick you up when you’re feeling down, and he wants to protect you and his baby girl, Susannah.

You never met Susannah, but from the stories Conrad told you, it feels like you do. You could tell how much Conrad loved his mom, so when you found out you were having a baby girl, it was a no-brainer what her name was going to be. As a way to honor his mom and a thank you for raising such a wonderful guy.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, love,” Conrad smiled, pulling out a big and juicy one. Hoping that this was his ticket to earn back his status as your bub. Conrad dug the jalapeño deep into your snack to make sure it was covered in every sweet treat.