cleoradays

[cleoradays]

I perhaps need a pick me up so could I get a little Nacho and Lalo dealing with a reader that doesn't eat enough for their own good and it's dragging them down 👉👈

the way i jumped up when i saw this request because hurt/comfort yes always. also, as someone with bad eating habits/who forgets to eat, this is too real.

you could feel the grueling headache from behind your eyes, slithering its way around your skull. you were so incredibly uncomfortable, but you didn’t know what to say to either of them. you didn’t want to say a word. so you were fine just hugging yourself in lalo’s backseat, running your hands up and down your arms in an attempt to distract yourself.

lalo was humming a quiet tune, sometimes glancing over at nacho, who was biting his lip and starting out into the window. deep in thought. you guys hadn’t been working together a long time, and you were still finding out how you all connect best. such different people it was hard to place how to get shit done. lalo, the ever so charming individual, tried to make this trio work as much as he could. it was starting to grow, not by much though.

the awkward tension still lingered at times, the fidgeting, the clumsiness, all of it was definitely still there. so you sat in the backseat, your familiar trembling leg being what you could only consider a nuisance. you just pressed your head against the window, trying to curl your body in an attempt to find heat. it was cold outside, yet lalo of course found it “comfortable.”

“conejito, we’re heading to el michoacáno. hungry?” lalo asked, glancing at you through the rear view mirror with an impish grin.

“i’m okay, lalo. really, can you just drop me off home?” you said, littered with faux happiness, unsure if he was going to choose to obey your demands or not today.

“wow, i thought you were home already.” lalo pursed his lips, mustering up a giggle. “you know… home IS where the heart is.” he said, drawing out the last s in is.

when you and nacho didn’t laugh with him, he backed off, rolling his eyes. you were sure you heard him mumble something about how the two of you were no fun.

nacho definitely noticed your.. lacking posture, shaking leg, and dull eyes. he was the most observant out of the three of you. he could just tell something was off. he didn’t want to say anything, maybe it was just the winter air taking its toll. he looked at lalo when he reached a stop light, coughing so lalo would look at him. he glanced back at you, tilting his head. it was like some odd, secret language they’d formed. lalo just nodded, running a hand under his chin.

you decided to rest your eyes, yet of course the next time you opened them, you were headfirst into eye contact with none other than lalo, who has holding your car door open. his other hand was grandiosely signaling to the restaurant in front of you. you crossed your arms, giving the man a nasty stare. his smile didn’t falter, not even once. he knew you at this point.

“i know you want to go home, but come on.” he spouted, so loud it practically made you jump. “just trust me?” he shrugged, motioning with his hand to el michoacáno in front of you.

when you didn’t budge, he just tilted his head down and kept staring, teasingly, like he knew you couldn’t take the heat. when you groaned and unraveled your arms, timidly stepping out of his car, you were met with a strong hand patting you on the back.

“see, my friend! i told you.” he laughed, hand guiding you inside.

inside, you sat in a booth, across from nacho. lalo was in the kitchen doing god knows what, and of course one of his favorite songs was playing so he had to make a performance. you played with the joints on your fingers, pressing them together to see the skin pull apart. anything to avoid awkwardness with the man in front of you.

he had this look in his eyes, a shimmer you hadn’t seen before. his eyebrows were furrowed, eyes wide as he stared at you with two hands under his chin.

“you okay?” it was quiet, simple.

“me?” you asked, awkwardly laughing. “yeah, no- i’m fine. perfect.” you put a hand on your neck, massaging the flesh.

“you shouldn’t lie, you know.” he teased, small smiles etching their way onto both of your faces.

after the wholesome exchange, you heard a loud sizzling making its way closer and closer to you. before you knew it, you were met with some of the most gorgeous steak tacos you’d ever seen.

“family recipe.” lalo smiled, wrapping a towel over his shoulder and putting the tacos in front of you, fingers twinkling as he sat them down, sliding in beside nacho.

he also laid out beers for the three of you, elbowing nacho the slightest bit.

lalo popped open his beer, elbow on the table as he started to drink. “you know, no somos estúpidos.” he started, giggling as your eyes widened.

“what-“ nacho started, lalo and nacho now in a staring match at the cut off. “-he’s trying to say-“ still staring at each other. finally, he glanced back at you. “is that we do notice when a colleague is-“

“down in the dumps! ai yai yai! i haven’t seen you this depressed in a minute, god!” lalo said, pointing at your exasperated face.

“so i decided,” he continued, laying his chin on the palm of his hand. “you need some energy. some fuel, eh?” he pointed at the tacos presented neatly in front of you, reaching over to open your beer.

you rubbed your palms over your eyes, ignoring the heat finding its way into your body, heart seemingly stopping at the kind gesture. you mustered up a smile.

“that’s sweet, guys.” you said, genuine smile forcing its way onto your face as you saw lalo tilt his head, wanting you to say more. “thank you, lalo, for these show stopping, jaw dropping, gorgeous steak tacos.

nacho put out his beer, making a toast. “to heightened energy, to fuel.” “-so we can kick ass!” lalo interrupted.

you simply laughed, listening for the clink as the bottles pressed together. you took a sip, but you still hadn’t eaten. lalo and nacho were eyeballing you, waiting for you to respond.

“okay guys, i appreciate this but you are freaking me out with your staring.” you said, watching as both of their eyes softened, only softening more as you took a bite.

“holy shit.” was all you could muster at the explosion of flavor in your mouth, holding a fist in front of lalo for a first bump. he returned the gesture, throwing you a wink.

the three of your stayed there until the late hours of the night, warmth radiating off of all of you in different ways. there was a glimmer in your eyes like they’d never seen, a genuine smile on nacho’s face, and a look of endearment in lalo’s eyes for the two of you. no matter how long it took for you to finish, they stuck by you through all of it, conversing about the most random things like, “would you rather work at los pollos hermanos or die?”

“die.”

“yeah, die.”

when you were finally brought home, nacho walked you up to your door, shoving a couple gas station snacks into your arms. you opened your mouth, and he pressed into your shoulder blade.

“don’t fight with me on this.” his expression was stern but still loving, unlocking your door for you and standing against the doorframe as you pressed the food down.

his arms were crossed, just smiling at you. you walked back up to the door, waving goodbye to a wide-smiling lalo in the driver’s seat. finally, you turned you gaze to nacho, who stepped in front of the door so lalo couldn’t see.

he held his hand out in front of you and instinctively you grabbed it, face contorting into confusion. his palm pressed into yours, thumb rubbing over your skin. his hands were warm, and once he felt how cold yours were he grabbed both of yours and held them together with both of his.

“just-“ he looked down at his feet. “take care of yourself, okay?” he squeezed your hands.

“yeah, okay.” you smiled up at him, squeezing back. “goodnight nacho.”

“night.”

[cleoradays]

How it feels to fall for Zane Julian

🩰, Had to keep you guys waiting. Enjoy <3

Gender neutral reader, dividers, no warnings just romance xx

Now playing … Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy , Queen

Falling for Zane is feeling the warmth spread across your face when you finally go in from playing in the snow. It’s the aesthetic joy of coming home to a warm fireplace, dancing with your lover in front of your winter decor while records play in the background of it all.

He’s the crisp, chilly fragrance in a candle store that leaves you heaving at the mere thought of the scent. the smell taking over your whole being and making you crave nothing but him.

Zane is the most precious and best boyfriend you’ll ever have. Please do keep him safe.

During his free time, he enjoys cooking with you, just having you in the kitchen helps him feel at peace throughout all the chaos. It’s simple domestic life that makes him smile and wish for a few extra moments with you.

His hands shaking around you and resting his hands against yours, guiding your hands as you slice vegetables or fold a sweet mixture together. His classic pink apron tied perfectly onto you, the mess of your kitchen shenanigans splattered against the bright yet faded fabric. Chin resting against your shoulder as he repeats instructions or reads off a recipe. Lost in how loved he feels when he’s close to you.

When he refers to you, he’s always so sincere and serious, barely even using your name.

“My dove” “Darling” “Angel” “Dear” “Sweetheart” “Dearest”

Parting ways will always leave you with a kiss to your temple, cheek, knuckles, and finally your lips. His cold titanium lips feel like heaven on your skin and his quiet chuckles just drive you to desperate insanity. His deep, sweet voice telling you he loves you and he’ll see you soon leaves the most pleasant butterflies in your stomach.

You’d fallen for each and every one of his gears, every faulty wire, switch, and piece of metal he’s made up of. Most importantly, you fell for Zane. Every aspect of him just reminds you of how unique he is, no matter who’s constructing, there’ll never be another Zane. Human, Droid, his only category is Lover.

You’d always known him as a robot, and that’s one of his biggest insecurities. Not being able to prove anything a human could. Despite all the times you say you don’t care, you can manage, how you adore him the way he is..he won’t truly accept it. he’ll believe you, yes, but nothing can fix how he feels about himself unfortunately

The team will always tease and berate him for how hopelessly in love he is, and how he acted so oblivious before you two became one. He’d never felt a feeling such as this, and he was very eager to learn. With a little time and effort, you taught him, building it up from the tiniest speck until it’s larger than Ninjago as a whole.

His mates will always welcome you into their home, seeing how you spark the greatest feeling Zanes ever felt, the Monastery is like a second home to you.

You’re his favorite topic, his favorite person, the only thing on his robotic mind. He’s vowed to protect you until the end of time. To love until there’s no more to give. Brief example; If there’s 100 people who love you, Zane is one of them. If theres 10, Zane is one of them. If there’s 1, it’s Zane. If there were none, Zane wouldn’t exist.

Transitioning to dates and such. He’s very old fashioned but still oh so romantic.

He enjoys taking you out to dinner, candles lit brightly amongst the dark room. Going out into the city, matching his clothes with yours and spoiling you with gifts and treats. Preparing pretty picnics for the two of you in the sunniest part of a flower field. Ice skating over a freshly frozen lake.

When there’s no time to plan, he can live with a simple movie date. But he tends to recommend the same movies a bit too often

“What about this one?” “Dear, we’ve watch Dead Poets Society twice this week.”

He likes sticking to the things he’s seen. No matter how much he watches it he’ll always wanna watch it again. He likes dramas, and romance movies, curled up with you by his side the whole time, fingers toying your hand as he watches the movie.

But he will admit he likes watching comedies from time to time.

I won’t sit here and lie, tell you he’s 100% perfect, because he isn’t. He’s the dryest texter you’ll ever meet.

He eventually came around to your emoticons and hearts made with 3’s.

Falling for Zane is a plethora within your heart. It’ll stay full of joy and sweetness.

[cleoradays]

The best cover for Bruce Wayne would be dumb carefree playboy who is also Instagram Optimistic, everyday he’s posting a selfie of his smiling at his breakfast with a caption like “it’s a waffle day! #goodvibesingotham #grateful” or a picture of a sunrise with a caption that’s just “wow #blessed” 

[cleoradays]

Hey @identityconstellations this is basically a tangent of that hc of yours a few days ago (Bruce accidentally scaring his tiny Robins) that got me thinkin: what happened when the smols got upset as Robin, but were so afraid of disappointing Batman by not staying stone cold in the field?

Like imagine baby nine-year-old Dick getting one of those injuries in the field that doesn’t quite incapacitate but just hurts. Like banging your head or getting your face smashed into the side of a building by some goon. And he’s just stunned for a few seconds before the tears start to leak out. So of course a furious and mortified Batman just decimates the guy before scooping Robin up and carting him off to the nearest secluded rooftop. But Dick is trying so hard not to cry because if he can’t even keep from crying like a baby in the field then there’s no way Bruce will let him be Robin. So Bruce sits him down on the roof and sits cross-legged in front of him, only for Dick to hide his throbbing face in his hands to keep Bruce from seeing tears despite his now-audible sobs. But Batman just calmly pulls out his first aid kit, and it’s only when he gently pries Robin’s hands away from his face to reveal a mouth and chin covered with blood running out of his nose and bruising already spreading across his cheekbones that Dick really starts to cry his eyes out. And it’s breaking Bruce’s heart, so he just shushes Dick softly, cleaning up the blood, grime, and tears and gently prodding his face to look for broken bones. After finding none, he just pulls Dick close, presses an instant ice pack to his nose, and holds him in his lap until the crying stops. Then, after calming down a few minutes later, Dick wipes up the last of his bloody snot with his cape and they continue patrolling.

Or Jason, who’s so stubborn about keeping up his tough street kid image, having no fear and pushing down any vulnerable feelings, having his first Robin the Boy Hostage incident. Robin being taken away kicking and screaming from Batman, yelling himself hoarse as the latter is brutally incapacitated. Being badly frightened by the villain and the thought that Bruce might be dead somewhere, snarling and trying to play off his shaking as rage-filled rather than terrified. And later, after Batman rescues him and it’s all over, his fear of getting tortured or killed along with losing Bruce, plus the aching adrenaline comedown, plus being so angry with himself for feeling so helpless, and the fact that god Batman’s probably so mad at him for needing to be rescued instead of getting out of it himself, all becomes a little too much to repress. And Bruce can see that he’s trying so hard to keep it together, but he’s tense and shaking and trying to hyperventilate as quietly as possible, which Bruce has come to learn are the warning signs of one of Jason’s rare, explosive, infamous meltdowns. But when Bruce reaches out to him Jason flinches away, which cuts Bruce deep that Jay would think he’s angry with him for getting upset in the field, and also notes that he may need the talk again about of how Bruce will never ever lay a harmful hand on him. So he reaches out again, cups the back of Jason’s head, pulls him into his side, and feels Jason pressing his face against him and tiny fingers clinging to his suit. Jason begins to have those long wheezing gasps that mean he’s trying so hard to control his breathing and keep himself from crying, but quickly failing. So Bruce just tucks him up in his cape, stroking his hair and back, murmuring to him over and over that he’s safe and everything’s alright, that it’s not his fault and he did very well. And later, when Gordon shows up with the GCPD to chat with Batman, he pretends not to catch a glimpse of green boots underneath the swish of Batman’s cape, or the red-rimmed domino eyes that peer out from the face pressed into Batman’s side, briefly visible through the part in the cape.

And with Tim, imagine the first time he needs some serious patching up, like Bruce brings him back to the cave with a big nasty gash running down his leg that needs a bunch of stitches. And Tim’s anxious because he’s never gotten hurt like this before, has never had to get stitches, and there’s so much blood that Bruce and Alfred have to clean up and they have to be very careful when cutting the tights off because his leg (along with the rest of him) is shaking so badly. And he’s trying so hard to still himself and keep quiet because he trained for so long to be Robin and he can handle pain but it’s never been like this. But it’s times like these when Alfred really pours on the kindness - he’s so sweet and gentle with his hurt little birds, throwing in some “love”s and “darling”s when speaking to them. He gives Tim a couple shots of Lidocaine, which hurts like hell on its own, and then starts in with the stitches. Tim is gripping the sheets of the medical bed and clenching his jaw and screwing his face up to keep the tears from bubbling over, but quickly ends up sobbing. Bruce is sitting there just kind of awkwardly rubbing across his shoulders, and Alfred is talking softly and reassuring Tim the whole time, trying to stitch as gently as possible. But when Tim isn’t looking, he keeps shooting glares at a bewildered Bruce, both as a where were you when this happened and you know how to be more comforting than that. So Bruce slowly puts an arm around Tim and lets him cry into his shoulder, occasionally raising a thumb up to wipe a stray tear off Tim’s cheek. After Alfred finishes and they get him cleaned up, an exhausted Tim has earned being carried to bed by a heart-heavy Bruce. 

And after all of these Bruce just feels awful because they’re so young and who is he to put them in these positions? They’re just babies they don’t deserve this kind of trauma, and he hates himself for it and always goes on a very sweet dad kick for a while, and makes them take at least a couple nights off patrol after one of these incidents, less for them making mistakes and more for him to get used to the idea of how he could possibly let them out there again.

[cleoradays]

Reasons Bruce Wayne is Stressed

Duke has been on a kick recently where he absolutely loves mug cakes. He eats the hell out of them, and consequently, every mug in the house is always dirty. It’s getting out of hand. Bruce has to drink his morning coffee in a bowl one morning. Tim made hot chocolate in a wine glass. He doesn’t understand why Duke doesn’t just make a full sized cake.

Jason keeps pretending he can’t see/hear Bruce. He’ll come by the manor and even stay the night on occasion, but whenever Bruce asks him a question he just looks around like he’s confused and asks if anyone else can hear that wind

Bruce made Damian a sack lunch for school when Alfred was sick. Dick snapped a picture of Bruce standing in the kitchen in an apron, holding a tiny sack lunch and fixing Damian’s hair. He posted it to Twitter. Dad pages keep retweeting it. Selina won’t stop making fun of him.

Clark sent him a corn emoji and a thumbs up emoji and Bruce doesn’t know what it’s supposed to mean. It feels ominous. He loses sleep over it. (It means the crops have been growing well back at the farm)

Tim doesn’t have a spleen. Bruce has conniptions every time that boy even coughs.

Cass and Dick moved everything in the living room so they could dance together. Bruce went to fix the furniture and can’t remember where one of the vases goes. It troubles him deeply.

Stephanie keeps barging into his office and forcing him to listen to her freestyle rap. She does it solely to annoy him. She doesn’t even live here-

Jason shot Bruce’s doorknob off, just to do it. Bruce has no privacy. Now he can’t even escape to his room when the heathens begin arguing and trying to drag him into it. He is forced to participate in family arguments and also game night.

Stephanie won’t leave.

Bruce got a very bad sunburn on a public outing as Dad Bruce Wayne. The internet is now full of photos of Alfred insistently rubbing aloe vera all over pasty white shirtless Bruce’s sunburn while Damian stood 10 feet away and pretended not to know him.

Tim fell asleep in Duke’s room. When Bruce tried to move him, he found Cass asleep in Tim’s. When he tried to take Tim back to his previous spot, Duke had reclaimed his bed. Bruce has now been standing in the hallway for 10 minutes, awkwardly cradling Tim as he tries to figure out where to put his sleep deprived workaholic teenage CEO

Damian’s voice cracked the other day, and he coped with his embarrassment by flying ninja kicking Jason through a window. Bruce wishes he had a normal family. No, he doesn’t

pt. 1

[cleoradays]

Bruce Wayne doesn’t swear. The man raises so many kids and is trying to set some sort of example, and still lives with his very polite butler guardian who would most certainly scold him every time he swore in front of the children. He also doesn’t use substitutes cause that’s too goofy, every time Bruce wants to swear he instead just stares intensely into the middle distance

[cleoradays]

i was thinking about amazonian telepathy and i don’t think i can use this anywhere so

There were responsible ways to deal with being bored during League debriefs. Rather than do any of them, Diana adjusted her legs so that her knee touched Batman’s. A ragged tear in his suit meant that it was skin-to-skin contact.

She reached out tentatively.

Black Canary’s hair looks cute today, she ventured, an idle thought to share. She was careful not to go searching for any answers he did not give. She expected him to say nothing, and break contact.

Doesn’t matter, came his answer, so terse a dismissal it almost startled her. He didn’t move his leg. It seemed unlike him, but this form of communication did tend to be more honest.

How unfortunate, to imagine this was what he thought of their occasional conversations.

I’m sure she put a lot of work into it, Diana tried again. The bright blonde locks had been curled into ringlets before being drawn up into a ponytail.

Not for me.

She frowned. That doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate it.

Don’t need to.

You’re being awfully rude.

It’s fine.

If I’d gone through such trouble, I’d want you to notice.

Not for me.

It will be, Diana decided. I’ll do my hair just like that, to spite you, and it will be the cutest.

Batman said nothing. Then he leaned back just a little, only enough to see where their knees touched. He glanced at Diana, then away. Was that you? he asked finally.

Of course, she said.

How long have we been having a conversation? he asked.

Since I pointed out the cuteness of Black Canary’s coiffure? she said. Batman did not respond. What did you think was happening?

Intrusive thoughts.

She tried to look at his face sidelong, though she didn’t know why. Looking at him directly would make it no easier to decipher his minimal expressions. Do your intrusive thoughts often sound like me making observations about other women?

Sometimes.

Can you two keep it down? asked J'onn. Some of us are trying to pay attention.

No you’re not, Diana accused. You just heard gossip and wanted in.

We’re not gossiping, Batman said. Don’t make me break truce.

I had also noticed Black Canary’s hair, J'onn said, ignoring Batman.

Isn’t it cute? Diana asked.

Batman sighed.

Do you think I could pull it off? J'onn asked.

Batman had a sudden coughing fit.

[cleoradays]

the mental image of clark in a nightwing t-shirt popped in my head this afternoon and i just couldn’t not write something like that, so here’s 1.2k of dick grayson + uncle clark eating pie. gen.

dick glares at doorbell, bouncing the toe of his sneaker off the brick and trying to decide whether or not to press the buzzer. it’s a gamble coming here; there’s a chance bruce already knows where he is and is waiting upstairs, and dick shouldn’t be this far from new york city but he wanted– he wanted– 

he wanted to talk to someone, someone who wasn’t an idiot, and that really narrowed down the list. especially when bruce and alfred were on thin fucking ice, playing house with their new robin, their new child, and screaming dick out of the house–

“you gonna come up or nah?” clark’s voice ripples through the static of the intercom but dick can hear the amusement. his cheeks go a little warm. he jams the tip of his finger into the rubber button. 

“how long did you know i was here?”

Keep reading

[cleoradays]

The Mechanics of a Hug

Written for kaciart. Sorry it took so long! Hope you like it;; Summary: “So,” Tim ventures. “It's… what, a cuddle pollen?” Bruce just shrugs. “Something like that.” Characters: Tim, Dick, Bruce, a bit of Damian. A brief warning. It’s hurt/comfort, and there is discussion of depression and a brief mention of suicidal thoughts. It’s, um, a lot fluffier than it sounds? –

Keep reading

[cleoradays]

All of Mine, Beloved

Hey everyone! I’ve got a new fic at last! This is just like 4 super super soft scenes between Bruce & Dick, Dick & Damian, and Bruce & Damian with snuggles, forehead kisses, and all that good father son bonding. 

I hope you enjoy! 

AO3 Link

~

i

A rustling noise from outside caused Bruce to glance up from the book on aviation he was reading. His eyes scanned the driveway that led up to the front of the house, searching for a car. There was nothing but the swaying of trees, their leaves caught by a sudden burst of wind. It felt like the seventh such sudden in five minutes.

Bruce was sure it had been longer than that, but looking at the progress he’d made through his book one would think he’d only just sat down. Normally a fast reader, especially with content he was familiar with, Bruce would have been fifty pages further on a normal day, settled in his office with a cup of coffee or tea. Today, he was waiting, and that waiting kept dragging his attention up, off the pages, and outside.

He forced his attention back down to the chapter on early engine development and made it a few more paragraphs before he realized he’d taken in almost none of the text. Bruce sighed, and plucked the thin sticky note from where he’d put it on the cover off, placing it instead by the last bit of text he’d really understood and folded the book closed.

It was then that the actual sound of a car pricked at his ears, the hum of the engine and crunch of tires on the driveway declaring the arrival of those he’d been waiting on.

Keep reading

[cleoradays]

bruce looks at his boys for once in his goddamn life | dick grayson & bruce wayne

Bruce Wayne wonders when Dick Grayson stopped fitting under his cape. 

Once upon a time, a decade and a lifetime ago, he had a small little boy who was all of ten years old, whose smile tore at the very foundation of his being, who made every other important thing pale in comparison. A little boy who, if he had to, he would tear the world apart for, burn it down to ground to protect. 

A little boy who would hide under Bruce’s cape, clutching softly at his waist, cheek pressed against the small of his back, covered entirely in the fabric where no one who looked could tell there was anyone but Batman. He did it for no other reason than because he wanted to. It wasn’t because he was shy (Dick never was), or that he was afraid (Dick sometimes was, but he would never let Bruce know). To Dick, it was as simple as wanting to hold his Dad. 

Bruce remembers the first time it happened. It had been a slow night, and he knew that Robin was bored. He was looking at the streets carefully, making sure that nothing bad was happening when he felt two little arms wrap around him carefully. 

Bruce remembers tensing up, unsure of exactly what to do, swallowing a few times. The touch was so gentle, so fragile, so comforting. How long has it been since anything had comforted him the way this has? It was, for single moment in all of Bruce’s adult life, peaceful, like all the years no longer wore him down, like there was no sound of a gunshot that ringed in his ears every second of the day.

He remembers thinking that there must be a multiverse out there where Dick is doing the exact same thing, but this time he and Bruce are not in the dark streets of Gotham, awaiting a crime, but in the comforts of the Manor, a father and a son who is happy and undamaged and together. And Bruce - Bruce who does not pray, who does not believe in any other higher being than science and logic - thanks whatever god is up there for every multiverse with Dick Grayson in it. 

“You okay, chum?” 

“Yeah, B,” Dick says, nuzzling his face against Bruce’s back (comforting, comforting, comforting), “Juss’ tired is all.”

Bruce remembers removing his hands from his waist, turning and crouching down to look at Dick. 

The boy scratches his eyes, yawning, and he looks at Bruce. And when he smiles, he thinks that this right here is every good thing in the world. 

“Let’s go home,” Bruce says, scooping him up in his arms. Dick protests (like he always does), but he wraps his arms around Bruce’s neck and buries his face in his neck anyway, and Bruce wishes they could stay like that forever. 

But they didn’t. 

Somewhere between then and now, his son had grown up, and he wonders where all those years had gone. When was the last time he carried him to bed? Read to him? Hugged him after a bad dream? Who let his son grow up without him? 

Dick couldn’t hide under his cape even if folded into himself. A part of Bruce wanted him to be able to, to be able to use his cape as a shield between his first son and the whole wide world, to be able to know he could protect him the way he only way he knows how. 

But Dick would hate that, he knew. He raised nothing if not a fighter. 

Because he’s looking at his son right now - really looking at him - and Bruce realizes he has a young man who is twenty-four, almost twenty-five, whose smile still tore at the very foundation of his being, who still made every other important thing pale in comparison. 

A young man who is beside him, with him at every battle, as they save the world together. 

Right now, he is carrying Damian on his shoulders while Jason carries Tim. They play fight for a while in the pool, and Damian falls. The boys laugh (comforting comforting comforting), and Dick looks at him, and he smiles. 

And Bruce thinks that this right here is every good thing in this world. 

[cleoradays]

23 year old Bruce at a party, chatting up a supermodel, stiffening suddenly and hissing, “Shit. Shit.”

Her luminescent smile slides off her face. “What’s the matter?”

Bruce closes his eyes. “I came here with a little boy. Black hair, blue eyes, about three foot ten. I need to find him.” Bruce steps around her, but she stops him with her hand.

“We can help!”

“Pardon?”

“The girls and I?” She gestures to the models staggered throughout the room. “We can help you find him.”

And that’s the story of how twenty or so models went dashing around the venue, peeking under chairs and searching nooks and crevices. 8 year old Dickie Grayson was found napping under the bar counter by the new face of Prada.

[cleoradays]

ok but Damian almost slipping up and almost calling Bruce ‘Batman in public’ and he changes it to baba 🥺

Damian: “baaaa…ba”

Bruce: [shook]

[cleoradays]

Reassurances

Dick would call it stalking, Alfred would call it ridiculous, and Bruce calls it checking up.

Whatever the preferred term, it entails ensuring Jason’s not bleeding out on his bathroom floor without Jason knowing about this. He doesn’t do it that often, but Jay had a run-in with Crane earlier tonight and he has no idea what happened.

Usually, the answer is nothing. This time, the cowl does not show the apartment’s solitary skeleton going to bed or watching TV or what-have-you. This time, the skeleton is curled on the bathroom floor.

Breaking in is easier than it should be, but he reasons that Jay may not have been in the right state of mind to reset his security all the way. Whatever the case, he’s inside in under five minutes.

Jason’s huddled in a ball, arms over his head. He’s still in his work clothes, sans helmet, but most of his weapons are in a pile (unlike him) outside the bathroom. Bruce can’t see any blood on him, but he’s clearly been exposed to Crane’s poison; he’s whimpering softly and trembling, occasionally flinching at noises outside.

“Jason.” Bruce settles down next to him and tugs the cowl off. “Jay. Can you hear me?”

“Please…”

“Jason.”

“No more, please, sir…m’sorry…won’t do it again…”

Oh, God.

It’s only rational, really, that he’d be thrown back to his time with Joker, but Bruce has no idea how to make that better. Before, on the handful of instances this had happened, Jason had been comforted well enough with a hug and a soft, steady stream of reassurances. Now? Bruce has no idea.

“Jay-lad, it…it’s Bruce.” Jason doesn’t react, poorly or otherwise. “Can you hear me?”

His only answer is a whine and a soft, “Please, stop…”

This particular batch, Bruce knows from unpleasant experience, has to wear off. And it will, eventually. Unfortunately, sedating the victims causes a deadly reaction, so there’s no other choice but to stay and make sure Jason doesn’t hurt himself, regardless of the fallout.

“Okay, Jay,” he breathes, “okay. I’m going to take your jacket off, all right? I’m not…” He knows (hopes) it’s the toxin, but that doesn’t make this easier. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Jason doesn’t respond at all the time, and Bruce leans over, starts working him out of his jacket. He’s boneless, breath coming in harsh pants and eyes barely open, and Bruce isn’t sure whether to be grateful or whether to wish for some kind of struggle, some echo of the fighter he picked up all those years ago.

But then, Jason was never one to resist during the other episodes. It wasn’t until the third time that Bruce determined why.

“Okay, Jay-bird.” Bruce turns him onto his back. “It’s all right, you’re all right. You ran into Crane earlier, do you remember?”

“Mm…”

Removing the body armor is a little harder, and that does provoke a reaction-a half-hearted attempt to get up, to get away.

“Hold still for me, Jay, please.”

He goes limp again, limbs slack and head lolling, and for a few sickening seconds Bruce is transported back to a small black tape and a too-loud gunshot.

“Hurts…”

“Shh.”

Boots next, and several knives, and as much as it kills him, Bruce leaves him there to hunt up something a little more comfortable.

And to put his weapons where he won’t be able to get to them easily. He suspects that was the idea behind the pile outside the bathroom door.

He finds sweats and a t-shirt that’s clearly loved and returns to the bathroom. Jason’s curled back into himself, eyes squeezed shut and hands clenching his hair.

“Jason.” Nothing. “Jason, I’m going to get you into some comfortable clothing, all right?” Still nothing. He lets go of his hair when Bruce tugs on the hem of his shirt, though, and remains pliable (though nowhere near helpful) while being redressed. “Okay, Jay-bird, okay. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

He’s still silent and unmoving when Bruce gets him up (he grew up, dear God, last time Bruce had carried him he’d been fourteen, all knobby knees and elbows that were a damn menace to anything on a table) and half-carries, half-drags him out of the bathroom. His eyes are open, though, when he’s laid in his bed.

“B?”

“I’m here, Jay.” He tucks him in and smooths his hair out of his face. “I’m right here.”

“Mm…”

Any water Bruce tries to give him won’t stay down. His best bet is to sleep through this, if he can.

“Are you warm enough?”

Jason doesn’t look like he understands what Bruce is asking.

“Don’ go.”

“I’m not–”

“Please don’ go, I’ll be better, I swear–”

Jay, no, no, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.

“Shh, Jason.” There’s no way to make this right, but he has to try. “Shh. I’m here now, you’re okay.”

Jason’s not hearing him, or worse, not believing him.

“Please don’ leave me here, I’ll be better, jus’ don’ go I don’ wanna die–”

Bruce weighs the risks, figures he can handle the fallout, and pulls Jason into his arms.

“I’m here, Jay. I’m right here. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I’m here now, you’re safe, you’re in your own bed…”

Jason doesn’t struggle; for once, Bruce got it right. All he does is knot his hands around the cape and tuck his head under Bruce’s chin.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please don’t leave me with him.”

He’s trembling again, practically vibrating in Bruce’s arms, and Bruce peels a hand away and feels around until he comes up with a squishy blanket (that’s Nightwing’s symbol…Dick does not need to know about this, but Bruce is tempted to tell him anyway) that’s half-falling off the bed, wraps it around his shoulders.

“You’re okay, Jay, you’re okay. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

The shaking doesn’t stop but the pleading does and eventually he slumps a little more, frantic pants slowly easing into shallow, even breaths. Bruce cups his head (his hair’s still soft, and it’s grown out enough that it’s trying to curl at the ends) and winces at the feeling of old scars on his scalp.

“M’I dead?”

Oh, Jesus…

“No, Jay.” He tightens his grip. “You ran into Crane earlier, that’s all. You’re okay.”

“But y’re here.”

“Yes.”

There’s a spell of confused silence before Jason apparently deems it too much work to think about things further-he presses tighter against Bruce with a breathy, “’Kay.”

There’s a crackle in his ear and Dick’s voice comes over the coms.

“B? You there?”

“Mm.”

“You find Jay?”

“He made it home. He’ll be fine.”

“Do I need to go over there?”

There’s canned laughter from somebody’s TV set and Jason cringes, draws into a ball as best he can. Bruce moves his hand over his shoulders, feeling old scars. They’ve blended together, now; there’s one he knows is from a run-in with one of Ivy’s plants, but it’s intersected by another he doesn’t recognize.

“No, I’m here already. Thanks, Dick.”

“You sure?”

Sometimes he thinks Dick thinks he’s incapable of making sure they don’t d-hurt themselves. He would like to point out that Dick not only made it to adulthood, he made it without falling off the ballroom chandelier and cracking his head on the floor. (There may or may not have been some barbed wire up there as a deterrent.)

“Yes.”

“Okay. Call me if you need me. I mean it.”

“Hn.” 

Jason’s fingers loosen on the cape and Bruce feels him force in a shuddery breath.

“B?”

“I’m here, Jay. I’ve got you.”

“Don’ go.”

“Shh.” He rubs his arms, feels him shiver. “Shh, shh. I’m here. I’m here and you’re safe, I promise.”

He moves so he’s more propped against Bruce’s shoulder, head against his collarbone. Bruce has an old (painful, now) memory of him doing the same at fourteen, after a screaming nightmare.

“Dad?”

“I’m here.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He nods, sort of, and slumps further.

“’Kay.”

And that, Bruce thinks, is as good as it gets right now.

THE END

[cleoradays]

wait can i ask for duke and dami headcanons pls 🥺 i love them sm

ok forewarning i really am just pulling these for my own enjoyment.. fanon is my safe zone who knows what canon is Really

damian and duke bond after being the two youngest official waynes in a way that damian was never able to do with any of the others, with dick being his closest but still being closer to a mentor than just a fun brother figure so when duke comes in it’s like. what is this new thing

and duke realizes that neither he nor damian has had this fun of having a brother to just have fun with and instead of the pranking and sometimes mean stuff between the other siblings it’s very close in a way that hasn’t existed in the wayne house.. maybe ever?? bruce is fascinated by the fact that duke came in and damian just bonded so easily- practically unprecedented with him

so they learn each other stuff where damian and duke venture into the kitchen to spend time learning from alfred but also from each other, duke makes damian watch all his favorite artsy movies bc duke enjoys the writing and damian loves the cinematography, damian immediately gets duke roped into his pet adoption schemes and suddenly duke is right there alongside him begging for the next hamster or lizard to join the batfamily roster, they just bounce off each other so Well that it’s a common thing now that there’s not really a need to call in dick to calm damian down bc duke’s gonna be right there comforting him until the nightmares and fear pass

overall. best brothers i love them. also they make fun of their aggressively white siblings and bruce with cass bc Someone has to call it out

[cleoradays]

It started as a normal dream.

Damian was in the Cave, waiting by the computer while Batman typed up the report for the night’s patrol. Nothing unusual had happened, just a mugging or two.

The roar of a powerful engine interrupted the quiet. Two motorcycles peeled into the Cave, and Red Robin and Red Hood and Cass and Duke dismounted while engaged in some lively conversation.

“Hey, B. Robin,” Timothy called.

Damian humphed, and turned back toward the screen.

The four vigilantes disappeared into the locker rooms, taking their rowdy laughter with them.

Damian could see the reflection of the bikes in the computer monitor.

He looked back, and he had been mistaken, before. There were three motorcycles.

The third was Richard’s.

This wasn’t right. Damian reached back to tap on his Father’s shoulders, but he must have left already because the chair was empty. In an absurd burst of childish fear, Damian ducked under the desk and hid.

Richard couldn’t be here. He was dead.

Keep reading

[cleoradays]

Only Happiness

Warmth tickled the back of his neck and eased Dick into wakefulness. The realization that there was pressure on his chest, and small arms wrapped tightly around him jerked him awake. He looked down to see a mess of dark curls, long eyelashes brushed against his Gotham Knights shirt, and a tiny form pressed close to him that was all Damian.

Damian who’s face seemed scrunched closed. Who’s grip was one of a child desperate for something. Though what that was Dick wasn’t sure.

Dick shifted, legs slipping down the sheets from where he’d apparently curled against Damian, and pulled the child just a little closer savoring his warmth and the smell of Dick’s own shampoo on him.

Had he come in after patrol? Why had he come at all? Dick was only recently in Bludhaven and he’d seen Damian last week. His hand tangled in his brother’s hair, smoothing back sleep tousled curls, letting the soft, just barely damp, hair bring back memories.

“Go back to sleep.” A tired voice mumbled, “You are supposed to sleep in today.” A yawn.

“And why is that?” Dick whispered, a smile touching the corners of his lips. Damian’s desperate hold seemed not for him at all, but for Dick. He wondered what he’d missed.

“ss my job.” The sleepy voice murmured, “That’s what they thought I’d be best at. Keeping you in bed and sleeping.”

They? Dick frowned. What had he missed? Or forgotten? Had he somehow gotten hurt last night? But he felt fine. No illness wearing down his bones. No ache spreading through him like fire. He didn’t even feel lingering effects of a toxin or days spent recovering.

Which begged the question of who set Damian to keep him asleep? Who had directed his little brother to snuggle close and act as a human restraint against Dick getting up too early? Obviously it would work. Dick need only think about how little sleep Damian himself got and he was willing to keep the kid close just to make sure he was the one getting proper rest.

“You are not sleeping.” A green eye opened to give a sleepy glare.

The sun that was still streaming against Dick’s neck was playing across Damian’s face. Warming the dark skin with soft light and making his opened eye glitter like a jewel.

“Have I ever told you that I love your eyes?” He said, his own voice slow and sweet with sleep.

Damian’s nose wrinkled as he frowned, “Stop it, Richard. Go to sleep.”

“But how can I when I’ve got you to talk to?” Dick asked.

And now here, as surprising as it always was, Dick felt a spike of pain in his heart. A memory of the days when he’d been sure he would never get to talk to Damian again. The words ‘we were the best Richard’ dancing through his mind. Phantom memories of a made up scream of anguish. Green eyes widening falsely in front of Dick’s face because he had not seen it. Had not heard it. Had not been able to stop it.

Like he had sensed Dick’s fall into failure, Damian pressed his face into his chest, fingers at his back gripping Dick’s shirt.

“I am here.” He whispered. “I am fine.”

He had a scar that covered his chest. A white jagged thing that screamed wrong against the sun kissed skin everywhere else. He had nightmares and freezing terror at a blade turned the wrong angle.

“That is not what this is about.” Damian said, voice muffled by Dick’s shirt. “I was not supposed to upset you. Today should be a day of happiness only.”

“Oh, kiddo.” Dick sighed, and pressed his face into his hair, “I am happy. I’m happy to hear your voice and see your face and love your eyes.”

He did not say ‘I’m happy to have you alive again. To be allowed to mourn the fact that you had such pain and still deal with its consequences.’ Because that would only hurt Damian and ruin whatever sweet plans he had come up with.

“Will you tell me why it’s your job to keep me tucked away in bed?”

Damian hummed and curled a bit closer, “Will you go back to sleep if I do?”

“That depends on the answer.”

He could almost feel the frown against his torso.

“Mr. Kent asked me to.”

Well that answered nothing, and only gave Dick more questions. He pulled his face reluctantly away from his brother’s hair so he could look at Damian, who was still curled against him. Like being there would erase any hurt Dick had.

And honestly? It did. Even if it was a temporary fix that lasted about as long as the warmth of Damian lingered in Dick’s arms.

“And why did Clark ask you to?”

“Because.”

That seemed all Dick was going to tease out of him at the moment. Damian closed his eyes and pretended to fall back asleep. Maybe in an attempt to lure Dick that way. The sun was warm and so was Damian. Warmth pressing in on Dick from two sides when he got so little sleep anyway was a sure promise that he could fall back asleep. Especially now that he knew Damian wasn’t here because he was hurting.

Dick let his eyes start to drift closed again. Heavy with sunlight and the comfort of a family member in his arms. He really was tired. And mystery or not. Seeing him last week or not. Dick loved being able to snuggle Damian close.

“I was dead for your birthday last year.” A tiny, almost inaudible, voice said. “Everyone else thought you were too.”

Dick’s eyes snapped open.

“I’m sorry.” Damian whispered again. “If anyone should only have happiness on their birthdays it is you, Richard.”

He didn’t seem to have realized that Dick was still awake. And Dick didn’t want him to know quite yet in case he said anything else. He made sure his breathing was even and deep.

The pieces clicked together. It was the right time of year. Spring just peeking its way into existence, days warm enough to linger in, nights chilly enough to keep him cool on patrol. Damian wishing him happiness. A chance to sleep as late as he’d like. Clark coordinating something mysterious.

“Today will be the best. Even if I have already messed it up a bit.” He was serious, like he was laying out a plan of attack for a mission. “Everyone has come. Even Father and your infuriating friend Wallace. You will have to thank Mrs. Kent and Pennyworth, but I suspect you will guess they organized it.”

Little hands balled his shirt tighter in them, “I hope it erases whatever sadness you had last year. I’m sorry I was dead. I would not have stood for you being alone. I–” his quiet voice cracked and then went silent. His knees curled closer to himself balling tightly against Dick. “I love you, Richard.”

And now Dick couldn’t stop himself from pressing a kiss into Damian’s hair, “I love you too, Damian.”

He had to hold tight as Damian tried to jerk away, embarrassment flushing his cheeks, “Richard! It is not polite to eavesdrop.”

“Is it eavesdropping if you were telling it to me?” Dick smiled against his hair.

“You were supposed to be sleeping.”

“And now I am very much awake and excited for this surprise party. Do you think we’ll surprise them if we go out now?” Dick asked, and before Damian could answer or react he scooped him closer and stood on the bed, tucking Damian under his arm.

He had to hold tight as Damian started kicking and squirming, “Put me down, Richard. You can’t go out yet.”

Dick hopped down off the bed and heard Damian oof, “How about we make a deal?” He asked, “I’m not putting you down because it is my birthday and if I want to carry my brother I will, but I’ll give you a piggyback ride and we can enter into the unfinished preparations triumphantly.”

His brother huffed and crossed his arms, glaring up at Dick from his overturned position. “I thought you liked surprises.”

“I do.” Dick grinned, “But I like surprising better.”

He didn’t wait for Damian to agree, only hoisted his brother up and over his shoulders to settle on his back. “Ready to go?”

“Kent will not be surprised.”

“But the others will.”

“Tt.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Damian wrapped his arms around Dick’s neck and leaned himself over Dick’s shoulder just far enough to look him in the face, “Fine. But allow me to wish you a happy birthday now.”

Dick smiled at him, “Sure thing, Dames.”

He was expecting a solid happy birthday, so when Damian leaned a little bit further and kissed his cheek he couldn’t do anything but freeze until his brother had leaned back and resettled himself against Dick’s back, pressing his face there, “Happy birthday, Richard.”