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#just like. someone: ‘you’re bats’ son?’
charlieeenby · 2 days
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let me show you how to kill a man
the bat won't kill, it's a line he won't cross. his birds, however, are a different story
warnings and tags: murder, violence, injury
title from how to kill a man by bloody civilian
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What everyone knows, is that Batman doesn’t kill. He can’t, or won’t, cross that line, and he doesn’t think that killing is the answer.
But he knows that it’s necessary sometimes, and while he’ll never kill, he knows that his children don’t share the same sentiment.
So when it comes down to it, he lets them, and over the years, he’s gotten a little more lax with that rule, trusting his children’s judgement of a situation, and when they need to, he turns his back, doesn’t acknowledge it, and let’s them do what they have to.
But he’s managed to keep it a secret from most, only a select few surviving his the feral sides every one of his children hid from most of the world.
A group of four men stood with their backs facing each other, knives and fists up, ready, for a fight.
But they wouldn’t get one. Batman dropped down from the rafters, but he seemed focused on the kids the men had placed in cages.
Before any of them could react, Nightwing dropped on top of one of them, snapping his neck in one fluid motion. Then he lunged for a second. The other two tried to attack him, but he was able to fend them off, on taking a blow to the face from an escrima stick, the other, a kick to the knee.
Nightwing snapped the neck of the man under him, then stepped to the one who’s knee he’s kicked in. He reached down and snapped his neck. Then he moved over to the fourth man, who swung his knife at him. Nightwing grabbed it, twisting it out of his hand, then stabbed him in the throat, no screams able to escape.
He stood, made sure there was no blood on his suit, then made his way over to Batman and the kids, helping his father get all of them home safe.
Afterwards, Batman asked him if the goons had been handled.
“Of course. Quick and quiet. Hood’s gonna take care of the rest.”
“Good. Let’s go home.”
“Batman doesn’t kill, which means you can’t stop me!”
Gordon growled under his breath, wishing at that moment that Batman did kill, because if someone didn’t kill this weeks psycho, he’d end up leveling the city a few months down the line.
When he looked over to Batman, he was surprised to see that the man had straightened up, hands relaxed at his sides. He had an odd expression on his face, on Gordon couldn’t quite read.
Then he said, very calmly, “You’re right. I don’t kill. I can’t stop you.” Gordon watched him put a hand on his belt for a brief second before dropping it to his side.
The rouge started cackling, ranting and raving about how he was going to be the first to beat Batman, but when he looked down at Batman, and saw the smirk on his face, he stopped.
“Why are you smiling like that?” he yelled, panic clear in his voice.
“I don’t kill, but he does.” Batman said.
“Who -” he was cut off by a gunshot and a bullet piercing his skull. Gordon looked up and found the Red Hood with a rifle.
“He killed almost an entire army, Batman!” Ra’s screamed. “He blew them up because I upset him.”
Batman leveled him with a blank look, but said nothing.
“You don’t kill. Are you going to just let your son kill of thousands of people?”
For a beat, Batman stayed quiet. Then he said. “I don’t let Red Robin do anything. He does what he wants, and you tried to blackmail and kill him. You threatened him, his friends and his family. What he did to keep them safe is not in my control.
“I don’t kill, but if he found it necessary, then I trust his judgement. I’m sure you’ll recover, Ra’s.”
Ra’s stared at him, and Batman turned and guided Red Robin and his team out of Ra’s’ palace.
“Batman, control your hell spawn!” Black Mask screamed, though it was cut off with a gurgle. Robin drove his sword through the crime lord’s throat, and Batman turned away, working through the files on the computer.
Robin came over to his side, blood on his face and sword.
Batman glanced at him, then said, “You have blood on your face. Please clean it off before we talk to the Commissioner.”
“Yes, Father.” Robin did as asked, making sure his face was clear of blood, then followed his father out of the hotel and onto the street where Gordon and his men were waiting.
“Batman. Are we clear to enter?”
“Yes. Black Mask is dead.” Batman said, handing over a flash drive to Gordon. “I have a copy as well.”
Gordon nodded slowly. “Dead?”
“He attacked Robin. Robin defended himself.” Batman said simply. Then he used his grapple gun to launch himself to a roof, Robin following closely behind.
“Okay, then.” Gordon said to himself, not sure how to react to that, especially after he'd seen Red Hood shoot a man after it seemed like Batman had given him the go ahead. 
While Barbra was Batgirl, she was safety and a warm light for the victims they all saved together. She was inspiration for little girls. She was violence, sure, but she was comfort, too.
Tonight, she was all violence. She and Batman had arrived a moment too late, and she was angry. She wanted vengeance and she would have it. Not even Batman would stop her.
No one could stop her when she rose from that little girls body and stepped forward, pulling out the knife her father had given her for her birthday. No one could stop her when she lunged, blade plunging into the killer’s throat, tearing it open. Blood spirted, spraying across her face.
And no one stopped her.
When the man was dead, and she was the killer, she stepped back, and looked to Batman.
He had bundled up the dead girl, wrapped her in his cape and covered her face. And then he had waited for Batgirl to finish. He looked at her for a moment, then nodded once.
“Go back to the cave and clean up. I’ll handle this.” he spoke softly, and there was no anger in his tone.
“Okay,” she said, and that was that.
Cass, Steph, and Jason were thick as thieves, and these days, Bruce rarely sees one without the other, especially on patrol.
So it didn’t come as much of a surprise when Spoiler called in saying that she, Orphan, and Hood needed backup.
Batman responded to the call, Nightwing a minute behind. When he arrived, he could hear fighting in the alleyway, but no gunshots, which worried him. Hood was quick to fire his guns when his siblings were in danger, and of all the times for him to use them.
But the air didn’t echo, it was still, quiet.
Batman dropped into the alleyway in time to watch Spoiler yank a knife from Orphan’s shaking hand, spin on her heel, and plunge the blade into a man’s eye, grinning under her mask as he screamed.
Hood came up behind the man and pulled a batarang across his throat, blood spilling down his chest. Even though he couldn’t see Hood’s face, Batman had the distinct impression that he had a grin that matched Spoiler’s.
Not pausing to hesitate, Batman moved to Orphan’s side, making sure she saw him before pulling her into a firm embrace. It was then that he saw the half dozen other bodies in the alley, all dead.
He looked to Spoiler and Hood.
Spoiler spoke up. “They attacked Orphan. She couldn’t kill them, so we did.” there was no room for argument, not that he had one.
“Thank you.”
Looking down at Orphan, he realized she was still shaking. “Sweetheart, it’s over. You’re safe.” he tried to soothe, though he wasn’t entirely sure what was wrong.
A hand rose and signed, “I thought I’d have to kill them.”
The shaking made sense now. “No, sweetheart, you will never have to kill again. I swear. And even if you did, I would still love you. You’d still be my daughter. Nothing will change that.”
Orphan laid her head on his shoulder. “Thank, you, Dad.”
“Love you, kiddo.”
Batman stood on the rooftop, watching Spoiler go after her father, a flash of purple here and there the only sign of her.
Cluemaster was no match for the girl he claimed to be the father to. He’d only hurt her, sharpened the blade.
But Spoiler was who she was in spite of her father, not because of him.
She became the one to beat him so she could save people. And when Batman had found her, he’d helped her hone the skills she already had, helped her improve. And while he’d done that, he’d given her a home, a family, and most importantly, he’d given her love.
Now she was gutting her father, preventing him from causing anymore suffering.
And when she swung up to the roof Batman was on and saw him, she ran to him, ran into his arms, and clung to him.
“He’s gone, sweetheart. He can’t hurt you or anyone ever again. You’re safe.” he whispered, holding her gently. “I’ve got you.”
While the other’s killing had never surprised Batman, Signal came as a slight surprise. But only slight. He was a bright, warm light, often reminding his family of the sun.
But the sun was fire, and fire burns. So when Signal came face to face with the Joker only a few months after losing his parents, Batman wasn’t sure what to expect.
When Signal caught sight of Joker, he snarled, and tensed up, ready to fight. The Joker had cackled and started taunting Signal.
Red Hood was about to step in when Signal grabbed Hood’s gun and fired every round into the Joker’s head, until his face was obliterated and unidentifiable. Then he’d dropped the gun and fell to his knees.
Batman stepped up next to him and set a hand on the teen’s shoulder. “He’s dead, Signal. It’s over.” he said, voice as gruff as ever.
“I know.”
For a moment, they were all quiet, not sure what to do. Then Batman offered a hand to Signal and helped him up. “You good?” he asked, looking his son over.
Signal didn’t answer right away, but then he said, “I will be… thank you.”
Batman smiled. “Of course.”
Of all the times for his children to start killing people, now was the worst time. He couldn’t just ignore it because the Justice League was here. So Batman was not having a good time.
“Batman,” Flash started, voice shrill. “Nightwing just tore a man’s head off.”
To his left, Orphan snickered, not that anyone would know aside from him, but she did. Batman sighed.
“I saw that, Flash, thank you.” What was he supposed to do?
“Batman, almost all of your… children are actively killing people. Signal and Orphan are the only one’s who aren’t.” Superman said. “Why aren’t you reacting?”
Batman looked at him. He hesitated.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” Superman was an inch away, worry clear on his face.
On his right, Signal cleared his throat. “I feel like it’s a good time to point out that one, the people they’re killing are all of the rapists that have ever existed on earth, come back to life, and two, no one else is doing anything about it.”
Batman grinned. Well, the corner of his mouth ticked up, but it may as well have been a grin with the way Superman stared at him.
“Batman?” he asked incredulously.
“Hn?”
“Do something!”
Batman tilted his head, grunted, then walked over to the ledge they were all on. “Hey!” he yelled and the fighting stopped, all of his children stopping and staring at him. “Superman wants you to stop killing.”
For a good thirty seconds, no one moved or said anything. Then on the comms, Batman heard Hood snort.
“B, will you please tell Superman to, respectfully, get fucked?” Nightwing said in a sickeningly sweet voice.
Batman grunted, then turned to the League. “Superman, Nightwing told me to tell you to get fucked. Respectfully.” he said, deadpan. Then he walked back to where he was standing.
Bonus:
It had been twenty years since the Wayne’s brutal murder in that alley way, ten since Batman had started, and one since Dick had joined the family. Today, someone was breaking into the manor.
Alfred sighed as he loaded his shot gun. This would be messy to clean up, but he never missed and he didn’t share the same sentiment as his son.
So he after he finished loading it, he stepped into the hallway, moving silently towards the living room. Must be idiot intruders, thinking there’d be anything to take there.
When he stood in the doorway of the room, he raised his riffle, counted the men – there were three – then spoke.
“Hello.”
They all spun around staring wide eyed at the shot gun.
Alfred grinned. “Goodbye.” he fired three shots in quick succession, all three of them dead. Footsteps pounded down the stairs and Bruce flew around the corner, panic on his face.
“Nothing to fret over, Master Bruce.” Alfred said calmly. “I’ve handled it. The mess will be cleaned up before breakfast. Now go back to bed, dear boy.”
Bruce gave him an odd look, eyeing the shot gun, then nodded and went back to bed.
In the morning, when Bruce looked into the living room, it was spotless, nothing out of place. No one said anything about it. 
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spicyhamsamson · 1 year
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I am. So fucking tired of Batman being portrayed as a bad parent and a toxic person. And it’s so goddamn widespread. Fuck, it might be as bad as the whole “Superman being a kindhearted Boy Scout is boring” take.
I get it, the man’s not exactly stable, he watched his parents get murdered in front of him and spent years of his life training to fight crime dressed like a giant scary bat, of course he’s not perfect.
But to say that Bruce Wayne isn’t caring, isn’t empathetic, to call him abusive…it just misses the point of who the character is to me.
Why do you think he fights crime? Yes, part of it is because he’s bitter and sad because his parents were cruelly ripped from him as a child, and he’s lashing out against the corruption of his city. It’s arguably the focus of his earlier years. But he learns to become more than that. He learns to bring hope, a chance to be better.
Harleen Quinzel is the Joker’s right hand lady, but she’s also a victim of an abusive relationship and a woman with a surprisingly strong moral compass and a love for animals, and wants to get better. That’s why we see time and time again that he has a noticeable soft spot for her, because he knows that she’s a good person at her core.
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Harvey Dent is a man who will decide someone’s fate on a coin toss(and a pretty inaccurate depiction of DID), but he’s also Bruce’s close friend who clearly needs help learning to live with his condition, rather than try to get rid of it, and someone who he still goes out of his way to visit, even after everything, because he recognizes he’s not just a criminal with a weird gimmick, he’s a man who is struggling with a condition that he’s mishandled his whole life.
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Victor Fries is a cold, emotionless man who will callously discard allies and blame them for being careless, but he’s also a man who’s either lashing out because he had the love of his life taken from him, or just desperate to make sure she isn’t taken from him, and is willing to do anything just to guarantee her survival. Of course Batman would understand, his whole life was defined by having people he loved taken away from him.
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Even the Joker, arguably one of the most morally bankrupt characters in all of fiction, is someone that Batman has offered a chance to. After the guy shoots the daughter of his friend, a girl he cared for like she was his own kid, and paralyzes her from the waist down, he tells the Joker that he doesn’t want to hurt him. He wants to get him help. He looks at this monster who has taken countless lives and says “You don’t have to be alone.”
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For fuck’s sake, he sat with Joe Chill in his last moments so that he wouldn’t be alone. Joe Chill, the man who murdered his parents, who took so much from him, the person responsible for all of the misery and suffering he’s gone through. And he sits with the man to comfort him while dies. Do you know how much emotional intelligence and maturity that must take? To comfort someone who arguably ruined your life?
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And you’re gonna tell me the man who did that would abuse his kids?
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That he’d hold up the young man whose death was his greatest failure, the boy he grieved, and say this?
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That he’d look his goddamn son in the eyes and say this to him?
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Why the FUCK do you think he took in Dick Grayson in the first place? It wasn’t because he saw the kid and thought “Ah. A potential soldier.”, it was because he saw a boy experiencing the same heartbreaking loss he had so many years ago, and wanted to make sure he didn’t end up as bitter and miserable as he was.
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Why do you think he smiled when Tim Drake presented him a broken watch for Father’s Day? Because he was just happy to see the boy alive and safe.
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DAMIAN LITERALLY POINTED AT A COW AND SAID “I’m keeping her. She’s Bat-Cow.” AND BRUCE JUST WENT WITH IT. DIDN’T EVEN NEED TO ARGUE WHY BRUCE SHOULD LET HIM KEEP HER. HE SAID “this cow is my pet now” AND BRUCE SAID “aight, bet”.
The thing about Batman is that he wants to make sure nobody else ends up feeling the way he does. That’s not just about stopping a mugger so a boy’s parents aren’t gunned down. It’s about giving his loved ones the support and care that he couldn’t have, because it was taken from him. It’s about comforting someone who just went through a traumatic experience and letting them know that they’re going to be okay. It’s about going to someone locked away in a cell who thinks that they’re a lost cause and a burden to society and telling them that he wants to help them get better. It’s about EMPATHY and COMPASSION.
That’s what makes him a HERO. He’s meant to inspire us, to show us that we can have that same empathy for others around us, that we can turn our suffering into hope for a better future.
I just wish more people at DC would start recognizing that. But I might as well follow that example myself. Maybe through this struggle of having to see this hero mistreat the people around him and act like a grade-A jackass, people will start to recognize that missing compassion, and slowly but surely, it might come back. After all, what is this post, if not trying to bring attention to the matter in the hopes of fixing it?
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augustinewrites · 7 months
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once shoko opens her door, you offer her a half-hearted smile and hold up your bottle of wine. if there’s one person you can count on to help drink your feelings away, it’s—
“i actually can’t tonight,” she sighs. “i have an exam tomorrow and i already had a few drinks so…”
“wait, shoko—” you catch the edge of the door, sighing as you admit, “i think satoru is cheating on me.” 
she pauses for a second, as if checking to see if you’re serious. 
then, “you open that up. i’ll get the glasses.” 
“thanks,” you grin, following her inside. 
“do you need anything else?” she calls from the kitchen. “a hug? baseball bat? an alibi?”
“no need for glasses, and we don’t need the other stuff…yet,” you grimace, twisting the cap off the bottle and taking a swig, kicking the door shut behind you. “and i don’t know for sure that he’s cheating, but he’s just been so weird lately.” 
“weird how?” your friend asks, pushing aside the textbooks she has open on the couch cushions before gesturing for the bottle. “it’s gojo, you’ve gotta be more specific.”
you hand her the tequila, shaking your head. “it was small things at first. showing up late for dates or just cancelling them. not telling me where he’s been all day. then last night i saw this text on his phone…”
shoko’s brows raise. “you were looking at his messages?”
“no!” you exclaim. then, when your best friend sends you a look, “okay, i didn’t mean to! he left his phone on the nightstand while he was in the shower and i looked at it when it buzzed with a text from someone named megumi.”
“oh,” shoko realizes, eyes widening. “that’s a girl’s name.” 
you both sit in silence for a moment, passing the bottle back and forth. your phone buzzes a few times in your pocket - undoubtedly satoru asking why you’ve been avoiding him all day - but you ignore it.
“let’s confront him,” shoko proposes once you’re halfway through the bottle. “find out once and for all.”
“okay!” by now, you’re buzzed enough to think this is a brilliant idea, standing on unsteady legs as shoko calls for a cab. 
_____
“hey,” your boyfriend smiles weakly once he opens the door. “wait, what’s shoko doing—”
“where is she?” she asks, pushing past the both of you to walk into his apartment. she begins flipping up couch cushions and checking behind curtains. 
“what’s going on?” satoru asks, letting you push him inside. he looks down at you, concern clouding his expression. “what’s she talking about?”
you’re not sure if it’s liquid courage or frustration that causes you to blurt, “are you cheating on me?”
“what? of course not—”
“then who’s megumi?”
“he is toji’s six year son!”
your eyes widen. shoko freezes, halfway through opening a cabinet. 
toji…had a son? “so he’s a— a—”
“he’s a zen’in,” your boyfriend confirms. it’s as if all the air leaves your lungs when he says that, catching in your throat. “his mom passed, and after toji…i couldn’t just leave him alone. apparently toji made some deal to sell the kid to the zen’in clan, and i didn’t want…so i filed for guardianship.”
“guardianship,” you echo. “you’re planning to raise the kid on your own?
“his sister too.” 
“i’m gonna go get a cab home. let you two talk,” shoko laughs nervously, speeding out the door. 
satoru walks over to the couch once she’s gone, sitting the edge and hiding his face in his hands. “i’d get it, you know.”
“get what?” you ask, sitting next to him.
“you didn’t sign up for this,” he sighs. “taking in two kids— it’s a lot. but i couldn’t do nothing. he’s going to need someone to help him. teach him. care about him. so he doesn’t end up like…”
he doesn’t finish his sentence. you don’t make him. even after a few years, the heartache of losing your friend causes a dull ache in your chest. 
though…he’s right that you didn’t sign up for any of this. kids were the furthest thing from your mind at this stage of your life, not to mention this stage of your relationship. 
but if satoru, who is barely an adult himself, can find it in his heart to do what you know in your mind is the right thing…
“then i guess it’ll make the next few years of our lives pretty exciting,” you sigh, resting your head on his shoulder. 
“our lives?” he repeats, sounding shocked. “you’re…staying?”
you draw back to meet his pensive gaze, though it melts away when you offer him a small smile. you see him in this moment. 
so you cup his face in your hands, thumb softly stroking his cheek. “you didn’t think i would want to stay?”
“i hoped,” he murmurs, lips brushing against the inside of your wrist. “but i didn’t know for sure.”
“well, i’m not going anywhere,” you assure him, kissing the tip of his nose. “even if you’re a monumental pain in my ass.”
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saetoru · 1 year
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Imagine how funny it’s be if it was the “break up with my son” trope with rich boy gojo but instead of break up it’s his mother begging you to stay with him forever because he gets insufferably sad/annoying when you’re not around
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[ FINALS WEEK ] GOJO SATORU.
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“satoru.”
“please don’t leave me,” his voice is croaked, frail, broken. you roll your eyes—gojo has always had a knack for being the most dramatic person in the room, but you think of all his moments, this one might just take the cake.
“this is ridiculous—”
“please,” he even pretends to sniffle, and for a moment, you almost consider actually leaving him. “i’m nothing without you. empty with no meaning—”
“satoru, it’s just for this week,” you say flatly.
gojo has always been spoiled, and truth be told, you don’t hold yourself to the standards you’d like to be able to say you do in order to break the cycle. but really, it’s not your fault—his pout is rather dangerous, and he’s pretty damn good at whining, and he knows how to bat his lashes just right to get what he wants. this time, however, you’re determined. this time is strictly a no-giving-into-satoru time, and he can shed pretty tears all he wants, but you’re not relenting.
“what if you fall in love with someone else during our one week break up? i won’t make it if you do,” he gasps dramatically. you have to hand it to him—his ability in theatrics is at least persistent, even if quite a bit overdone sometimes.
“i’m sure your house would be peaceful then,” you snort. you can just picture the offended pout on his lips even though he’s not here, and you’re somewhat happy that he can’t see the smile you crack over the phone—that would only add to the drama, and he’s already a handful without the addition.
“baby, don’t do this,” he begs, making you sigh. 
it’s finals week. meaning all the days of class gojo has made you skip in order to coddle him (again, he’s very spoiled) will soon come back to really bite you in the ass while you have to make up for what you missed to pass your exams. meaning no gojo satoru will be allowed anywhere near your vicinity as an added distraction to keep you from studying. you know your boyfriend, and you know him well. you know that i promise i’ll just sit and be quiet will turn into his head resting in your lap, which will turn into pouts for your fingers to play with his hair, which will turn into complaints of boredom, which will all end with forced cuddles and an earful of his blabbering as he steals your attention. 
and you cannot afford a single failed final. 
so, with careful and deliberate consideration, you come up with your solution—which seems to have utterly broken your (painfully) spoiled boyfriend. no staying over the nights for a week is a very hard thing to grasp for rich and spoiled boyfriends who rarely hear the word no, apparently, and gojo is not taking the news lightly.
in fact, he seems to be taking the news a lot harder than you initially anticipated. never did you think a one week ban from sharing a bed with gojo so you can earn your degree would turn into his mother phoning you with a desperate plea to not break up with her son. it takes you by surprise, makes you stare at your phone with a double take to make sure you’re really talking to who you think you’re talking to—and that she’s really said what you think she’s said.
which begs the real question…where did the words break up even come from? and then you realize a certain somebody has exaggerated your rule for the week to something entirely new.
“satoru, you are entirely too much,” you groan, “one week of no sleepovers will not kill you. stop being bratty. and stop telling your mother i broke up with you, liar.”
“you practically are,” he huffs. “you don’t see me all day when you study. now you’re taking away the night too? just say you stopped loving me.” you scoff, and he pauses. “don’t actually say that, though,” he adds quickly.
“some of us have to pass,” you scowl, “i don’t have trust funds to swim in.”
“you can—”
“if you say i can spend your money, you might have to tell your mom we actually broke up.”
“so mean,” he whines, “well, why can’t i just sleep in your bed? i don’t even snore, i wouldn’t bother you,” he protests. he’s stubborn—which sometimes makes your heart flutter (like when he defends your honor to his snobby father) but sometimes (like now, for example) it’s enough to make you wish his lips would sew shut. permanently. 
“because,” you sigh exasperatedly, “you never sleep unless i’m in bed with you, and i’m going to stay up very late. stop being difficult—”
“i promise i’ll be good—”
“you are never good,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes. “and you break this promise every time. no sleepovers for this week until all my finals are over. and no more bothering your mom. got it?”
“but this time for real i’ll be good—”
“no, toru,” you say firmly, a hint of finality in your tone. it’s silent, and you can just imagine him deflating, and a small part of you feels just a little bad. “baby, i promise i’ll try to squeeze in some time every now in then, okay? we’ll meet for lunch or something.” you try to ease his conscience, but it doesn’t do much to persuade his sulkiness. 
“yeah, whatever,” he mumbles under his breath. 
a sulky gojo is a nightmare to deal with—you silently send your prayers to his mother for the next week, and you almost consider saving up for a fancy gift to offer her as an apology. but you also feel just a little bad for your sweet (though annoying) boyfriend. it’s at least the slightest bit endearing that he enjoys your company as much as he does, and you’d be lying if you say you don’t enjoy it just as much. 
so you relent—not fully though, you reason. “you can stay only the night,” you mutter, huffing as you hear his breath hitch with excitement, “and you have to stay in the living room until i’m ready to sleep.”
“i’ll tell my mom we’re back together,” he grins.
“we were never broken up!” you hiss as you pinch your nose, but before you can help yourself, there’s a light giggle that spills past your lips.
“she’ll be thrilled,” he chuckles, making you roll your eyes fondly. 
“cause it means you’ll leave the house to see me.”
“true,” he laughs this time, soft and sweet and enough to make you think spending nights with gojo this week isn’t the worst thing to happen. “i love you.”
“i know.”
“say it back—”
“okay bye. i have to study,” you grin as you cut him off, hanging up the line with a snicker.
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© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok
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thesuperiorrobin · 8 months
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➳ Reminder that all of these are Female reader insert
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─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── one shots ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
✶| Headline |
➳ Dating Damian Wayne was It’s pros and cons, cons being the press follows you almost every where when you’re alone or with Damian.
✶| Truth hurts |
➳ you find the truth about that scar on his chest
✶| He has feelings? | part two |
➳ Damian has been coming home late after his patrol, coming home smelling like strong feminine perfume. His brother follow him one night and they are in for a surprise
✶| Her laughter brings me joy |
➳Damians is in loved with the way you laugh. His brothers tease him about it
| “I promise I’m not scared of you” |
➳scarecrow uses you as bait and an experiment for his fear toxin leaving you in fear of someone precious to you
✶ | Is that my shirt? |
➳ playing with Titus a fun but sometimes he gets a little to competitive
✶| “Kind hard to focus when you look like that” |
➳ Damian find you staring at him while he does his daily workout session
✶ | “I don’t like sleeping alone anymore” |
➳ Damian confronts you after acting weird this past couple of days only to find out you haven’t been sleeping, but for what reason?
✶| “He’s only soft with you ” |
➳ Damians really whipped for you if he’s nice
✶ | “He lost his virginity!?” |
➳ the batfamily notice Damian acting off these past couple of months and come up with weird ideas as to why
✶ | “Don’t say a word about this” | Ft: Alfred|
➳ Pennyworth has to keep yet another secret
✶ | Media is stupid |
➳ you and Damian play with social apps—giving people taste of your love life
✶ | “Dance with me ” |
➳ you and Damian dance together at one of Bruce’s Galas and the attention is set on both of you.
✶ | lipstick Stain | part 1 | Part 2 |
➳ a TikTok trend that leads to the media coming crazy
✶ | “Crazy idea let’s make out” |
➳ teens being teens Y’know?
✶ | punished by my body |
➳ period are never fun. Especially when they keep you from killing you for seeing Damian.
✶ | untitled |
✶ | Rainy days |
➳ Damian realizes that the rain rain always put you in a mood—getting moody once you fix your attention one the thunder rather then his lips
✶ | Thoughts |
➳ Damian is neglecting his duties as being your husband—I’m result puts bad thought in your head that make your two confront him about it.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Headcannons ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
✮ Damian Wayne, the blood son of playboy billionaire Bruce way. Damian Wayne doesn’t live up to the playboy title like his father back in the day
✮ Fem!Reader having a crush on Damian Wayne
✮ Boyfriend!Damian Wayne
✮ Hispanic!Fem!Reader
✮ Damian Wayne doesn’t get crushes
✮ husband! Damian Wayne
✮ bat boys type
✮ random Damian Wayne headcannons
✮ Platonic reader
✮ Quality time
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── scenarios─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
❀ Damian Wayne hates galas , more then he hates his brothers.
❀ Damian ‘Clingy’ Wayne
❀ his bed is more comfortable
❀ “I loves you’s” coming from him
❀ Damian’s not a big fan of holidays
❀ thinking about league of assassins! Damian Wayne
❀ he’s sick to his stomach every time he looks at you
❀ never question why’s your hair is always up
❀ Damian doesn’t get sick often but when he does…
❀ argument | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Random─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
✄ incorrect quotes!
One, two, three, four, five, Six, Seven(Jason Todd)
✄ Instagram!
One, two, three
✄ message between you two!
One, two
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This is a years worth of writing that I managed to put on one page 🥲
Just let me know if any of the links aren’t working
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ghost-bxrd · 3 months
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okay so this is an idea I’ve seen brought up maybe once before, but maybe Jason (before the Bats find out who he is) accidentally lets something slip that makes them realize that he’s literally, like, a child (seventeen, sixteen, I’m not sure how old he is at that point exactly, but either works)
and Bruce “adoption addiction” Wayne promptly looks at this obviously traumatized teenager and decides that he should adopt Red Hood.
I just think Jason would be so confused (maybe a little pissed too)
I’ve touched on that a little bit in What you’re longing for (you claim to abhor)!
I think this trope is wayyy underrated. Like, Jason is still so, so young. Basically a child. Even if he died at sixteen and then spent two years with the league (even if we’re counting the time he spent dead as aging). He’s barely even legal when he returns to Gotham. Or if we’re being generous let’s say he’s nineteen.
Doesn’t matter, he’s barely out of his teens (maybe he’s still IN his teens if you bend the timeline of your fic a little) and he’s experienced horrors that would have most people become utterly unable to function. But Jason? That boy takes his trauma and channels it into anger. Which, not exactly healthy, but well.
Anyway, getting off topic:
YES. Jason is still basically a kid when he debuts as the Red Hood, and you know what else he is? A good boy who’s not gonna touch any alcohol until he’s officially 21.
“But why would he do that? He grew up in Crime Alley! Ain’t nobody got time for age limitations!”
Hear me out! Let’s assume he grew up in a household where his father, Willis Todd, drank quite a lot on the regular in addition to his mom’s addiction. Jason experienced the aftermath of this (perhaps domestic violence?) every time his dad returned from a job/jail and he grew to loathe any and all substances, including alcohol. Knowing Jason and his convictions it wouldn’t be too far fetched to assume he’d never touch a single drop of alcohol at all.
So that’s one way he could slip up while taking to his goons (and having the bats overhear) or even straight up talking to one of them where maybe Dick banters a bit and goes “Hey, perhaps you should chill out a bit. Have a drink maybe” and Jason just instinctively goes “Fuck you Dickwing, I’m seventeen/eighteen/nineteen! I’m not allowed to drink!”
And Dick just— bluescreens. And immediately goes to tell Bruce, obviously.
OR
The Bats assume Jason is this old guy (Bruce’s or Drathstroke’s age maybe) and consequently they keep alluding to things that happened way before Jason was ever even born and at first he’s so? Confused??? But eventually it just gets really annoying and eventually he just— snaps.
“How the fuck would I know which Nokia gen hit the market that year? I was born in fuckin’ XXXX, I’m an iPhone kid!”
“Stop referencing the Cold War dipshit, I’m fucking seventeen! I’m glad I remember my own damn birthday!”
“I don’t know, I was like— two back then.”
Bruce, obviously, would take .1 seconds to realize:
“Omg. That’s- that’s a whole child. That’s a whole damn TRAUMATIZED child, killing people and sawing off heads. Omg someone must have hurt him so bad. Don’t worry tho, son, Batman’s got you. You won’t have to hurt anybody ever again. We’re here for you. Would you like the room next to Tim’s or Dick’s?”
Meanwhile Jason: “what the fuck”
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miroana · 8 months
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Elite moments in the Odyssey
A curated selection of my favorite details in this silly epic that changed storytelling forever. Homer is hilarious.
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- Whenever anyone asks Odysseus where he’s from and he seizes the opportunity to lie continuously for several pages.
- Victims of his elaborate, entirely false backstories include: the cyclops, the suitors, the swineherd, the goddess Athena (who immediately calls bull), his son, his wife, and his father. Odysseus just loves lying
- Every time Athena makes Odysseus hotter and taller so he can rizz someone up
- His brilliant strategy to survive Charybdis’ whirlpool (cling to fig tree “like a bat”)
- When Telemachus casually drops that he is well aware that Mentor is actually Athena and she pretends not to hear and continues to act like she’s just some guy
- When Odysseus falls asleep while the Phoenicians give him a lift home, and instead of waking him when they reach Ithaca, the sailors just pick up the corners of his blankets to dump him on the shore and leave
- Odysseus subsequently waking on a random beach and spending several pages violently confused until Athena, slapping her forehead, has to appear to tell him what’s going on
- Penelope’s weaving and unweaving of the tapestry to get out of marrying the suitors. it’s so stupid that it’s brilliant
- When Odysseus goes to the land of the dead and Achilles and Patroclus appear together <3
- That time Odysseus and Athena sit down on a rock together to plot and scheme etc
- When the maid who raised Odysseus recognizes the gigantic scar he used to always brag about and he grabs her by the neck and tells her to shut the hell up. Elegant elegant man
- Odysseus’s dog who stayed alive for over 20 years so he could lay eyes on him before dying on the spot
- Every time someone says bro you’re kind of hot for a beggar and Odysseus says yeah I know right?
- When Circe was like oh dude I can’t kill you? Guess I’ll sleep with you
- “‘You bitch!’ retorted the ready-witted Odysseus”
- Penelope later calls this maid a bitch too
- When Odysseus avoids competing in the Phoenician games until one of the Phoenicians calls him weak and lazy. so he thoroughly wipes the floor with them
- The sheer number of boats Odysseus crashed
- The sheer number of times Odysseus started sobbing in public
- When one of the Suitors smacks beggar Odysseus with a stool and it takes everything in him to not go insane on them
- Every time Odysseus anonymously gasses Odysseus up
- And last, but not in any way least, the Trojan horse plan. We all know it. We all love it. But take a step back and think for a moment how delightfully absurd it is
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msfantasy-comics · 9 months
Text
The Perfect Match
Bruce Wayne x Reader
Summary: A head cannon on how you’re the perfect match for Bruce.
Warning: Established relationships
Masterlist - Tip Jar
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Bruce had always considered the concept of a perfect match to be a feeble notion. The idea that a someone could be perfect and perfectly compliment one’s self was simply illogical and just not possible.
But that’s the thing about hypotheticals, they’re just theories until proven otherwise. Bruce can distinguish five instances on when he recognised you to be his perfect match.
Intelligence:
You weren’t a genius capable of rattling off theories and solving impossible equations. Not by any means. You were, however, incredibly intelligent when it comes to people and making them feel important.
It wasn’t a super power or psychological trickery. It was that you listened to people and ask them questions about their hobbies or family.
It was the way that you leaned in as if you were keen to hear what that person had to say.
It was the way you smile softly when people start to babble off in excitement as you reciprocate the conversation
Whilst you didn’t fully comprehend quantum physics or the engineering to Bruce Wayne’s degree
You sat there happily indulging Bruce as he discusses a new equation he solved
It was the way you made him feel like he could talk about anything without judgement or without your eyes wondering elsewhere in boredom.
Bruce: “Anyway, you probably have more important things to do.”
Y/n: “Don’t be silly. You’re just as important. Go on, finish what you were saying.”
Independence:
Bruce dreaded needy women who are utterly incapable of being self-sufficient. Who required rescuing and constant entertainment like a puppy.
Bruce: “I have an emergency work trip for an unspecified amount of time. I probably won’t be able to contact you too much. Will you be okay without me?”
Y/n *acting like a damsel in distress*
Y/n: “Oh no! I’m being abandoned in the biggest mansion with a butler, a library and a black Amex card. What could one do with one’s self? What a travesty!”
Bruce would return from his two week trip excited to see you again after not being in contact the whole time.
Only you weren’t at the mansion at 4pm on a Tuesday.
Bruce *calling your phone*
Y/n: “Hi honey! I missed you so much!”
Bruce: “Come home and show me how much you’ve missed me.”
Y/n: “What? I finish work in an hour, surely you can survive 60 more minutes without me- oh I have to go, I’ll see you soon my love!”
Supportive:
Bruce didn’t make it to your anniversary dinner.
He didn’t even have a chance to call you and cancel.
He exited the bat cave feeling utterly guilty for abandoning you on such an important occasion.
Bruce felt utterly defeated. A failure of a father. Batman got into a one on one fist fight with Red-Hood, attempting to save the Jokers life, only for his son to forsake himself. Now he had to face his failures as a husband.
Opening the door he sees you laying in bed, scrolling away at your phone.
As soon as you noticed him you tossed the phone and made a mad dash, pulling him into a bear hug.
Y/n: “Honey, I’m so proud of you. Being there when your son needed you most. You’re such a good man. Don’t be hard on yourself, remember that Jason is a grown man who made his decision.”
Pulling Bruce to bed, you pull him into a tight hold and continue to comfort him.
Bruce really appreciated that you didn’t bring up his absence.
Bruce: “I missed our -“
Y/n: “You didn’t miss anything. Your with me now aren’t you? Happy anniversary my beloved.”
Emotionally Stable:
Damian was over your nagging.
Y/n: “Damian, you need to get more sleep. I’m worried your burning yourself out.”
Y/n: “When was the last time you had a proper meal? You can’t survive off burgers alone you know.”
Y/n: “When was the last time you saw Jon? You have to maintain your friendships or else they fall apart.”
Y/n: “Stop having these energy drinks! It’s basically poison for your body - have you had any water today? You look dehydrated!”
You snatched the can out of his hand and threw it in the bin.
Damian lost his absolute shit.
Damian: “Enough with your incessant criticism!You’re getting on my nerves!”
Crosses his arms over his chest and looks off in irritation.
Bruce stands frowning behind him, ready to give his son the scolding of a life time.
But instead your laughter booms across the bat cave.
You find Damian’s little outburst amusing and adorable rather than rude and hurtful.
Y/n: “You’re right D, I’m sorry, I’ll lay off you a bit.”
You’d pull him into that tight hug he says he hates but he always leans into your comforting hold.
Y/n: “You boys be careful tonight, I’ll see you both in the morning”
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ddejavvu · 2 years
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Lost and Found - Eddie Munson x Reader (Part 2) | Part 1
WC: 7.0K / navi / preview / request
Summary: Eddie is happy to teach you everything he knows about DnD, he just wishes you weren't so goddamn distracting
Contents/Warnings: eddie n wayne, besties forever <3 very very fluffy lots of yearning and ridiculously cheesy moments, lovesick!eddie, reader wears a skirt and eddie's hellfire shirt from part 1, suggestive material, but still minor-friendly (part three will not be)
feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!
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“Christ on a cracker, son,” Wayne swears, nearly pushed to the ground as Eddie slams the trailer door open, “Calm down.”
“Sorry Wayne!” Eddie barely takes a second to breathe before he flies through the space, feet pounding on the matted carpet of the trailer as he races to his bedroom. 
“What’s the rush?” Wayne is well aware of his nephew’s recreational habits, as well as his business endeavors, and shudders to think that there might be some drug-crazed lunatic after the boy. 
But Eddie pops his wide-eyed face out from his bedroom only seconds later, shirt and pants torn off to leave him in his boxers as he darts for the shower, “There’s a girl coming over.”
That’s a new one. Wayne has heard a few feminine voices outside the trailer before, when they’re out of stock and need replenishing, but Eddie never showers for them. He probably should, Wayne always tells the boy that if he stinks any worse he’ll have to move out, but he’s never shown an interest until now.
“And,” Wayne peers into the bathroom, seeing Eddie frantically combing out his hair, the plastic nearly snapping under the pressure he’s putting on it, “This is a special girl?”
“I- I don’t know,” Eddie huffs, his crazed panic still alive as he whirls around the bathroom for a clean towel, “Sort of. I don’t really know her yet.”
“Y’know ‘er enough to care.” Wayne prompts him, and Eddie deflates slightly. He’s looking in the mirror, trying to part his hair neatly so that he can wash it easier. He stops, his hands falling from his head to his sides as he stares hard at his reflection.
“I want to impress her.” Eddie admits, his usual self-assuredness now gone, “Or- impress isn’t right,” He puzzles for a moment, his eyes drifting over his features, “Just- I don’t want to scare her away.”
“Well I think it’s good you’re showering then,” Wayne lightens the mood, “‘Not sure she could handle your B.O.”
“Shut up,” Eddie takes the out, shoving at his uncle’s shoulder with no real force, “I’m gonna order pizza for us. She wants to learn how to play DnD.”
Wayne’s eyebrows skyrocket, “She wants to learn? Or have you kidnapped and brainwashed her like those basketball players tell me you do?”
“She’s under my control,” Eddie rasps, his voice thick in his throat. 
Wayne snorts, standing up straight from where he’d been leaning against the doorframe, “Alright, boy. I’ll leave you to it, but if you need help getting ready for tonight, I’m here.”
“Thanks,” Eddie breathes, flashing his signature grin at his uncle before he shuts the door.
Wayne watches the closed door with something light and airy filling his chest, maybe laughing gas at the way he chortles hearing Eddie drop the comb into the sink for the tenth time since he started. Then he turns, and the reality of their home hits him.
It’s messy.
Far too messy to accept company, which is why the pair hasn’t for years. Aside from Eddie’s trusted friends, all of whom are far too sloppy themselves to bat an eye at the general clutter around the trailer, no one has set foot in their space for five long years.
Now, he’s all for encouraging Eddie to be himself, that if someone doesn’t like who he is, then they’re not fit for a friend. But he’s sure that you’re far too important to Eddie for that test just yet, and he’s not sure he wants you to get to know his nephew as messy when there’s so many other qualities he possesses. That’s something you can discover later, when you’re hooked on his charm and wit and won’t mind stepping on a pair of boxers or two to get down the hallway. He gets to work clearing away mindless clutter, collecting shirts strewn over the furniture and paper plates tucked under the couch.
By the time Eddie finishes showering (and falling, twice), Wayne has the entire living room de-cluttered, although most of the loose papers and items have made their way onto the kitchen table instead of being put in their places. Eddie steps out of the bathroom, towel tucked around his waist and a hand in his curls, dragging his fingers through the wet tangles, and he stops dead in the doorway, eyes wide.
“Shit,” He breathes, watching his uncle crouch to tug an empty beer can out from behind the door and stuff it into the trash bag he’s got going, “Wayne, what are you doing?”
“Cleaning up,” Wayne states the obvious, raising an eyebrow unimpressed at his nephew’s cognitive skills, “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Are-” Eddie stops combing through his hair, standing limply in front of his uncle, “Are you doing this ‘cause Y/N’s coming over?”
“That’s her name?” Wayne smiles, “‘S a pretty one.”
“You are,” Eddie marvels, “Uh, thanks, Wayne.”
Wayne’s hands and knees burn against the scratchy carpet, the beer can in his hands sharp from being crushed. He stands, the worn fabric of his flannel falling limp against his distressed jeans. He stands there, tattered and messy, looking at the way Eddie’s cleaned himself up.
He’s wearing a tank top, a KISS shirt that he was gifted on his tenth birthday. It’s got tour dates on the back, one of which Wayne took Eddie to as a present. Apparently it didn’t look good enough as a t-shirt though, because the boy had taken scissors to it a few years back, carving out holes the size of craters that expose part of his side. 
His hair is bundled up in a bun atop his head, scrunched up and crimping itself while it dries. He always tells Eddie not to do that, to leave it down so that each strand can dry individually, but Eddie hates the feeling of wet hair on his skin, so he pulls it up and leaves it sitting until he can blow-dry it.
The same ripped jeans he’d worn to school are back on his waist, belt cinched tight around him with his handcuffs pinned there. Wayne always tells him he’ll confuse someone, make them think he’s an undercover cop, but Eddie only laughs at him. There’s a chain hooked through his belt that rests on his hip, dipping close to his knee and gleaming in the artificial light above them. 
There’s two necklaces bouncing against his chest as he walks over to help Wayne with the overflowing trash bag, his typical guitar pick and a dog tag he’d found in the street one day. It says Sprinkles on one side, but Eddie swears that it looks metal if he turns it the other way, the owner’s number stamped across it. 
He has an earring in. Eddie almost never puts an earring in, because his at-home ear piercing hadn’t produced the most sanitary results. He says it burns when he wears earrings, but here he is, a heavy silver hoop through one ear and a black cuff pinched tight at the helix of the other.
Wayne looks at his nephew, his boy, and pride surges through his chest. Pride, a little bit of awe, and happiness. He cares. This is something Eddie really cares about, you are something Eddie really cares about, and it’s obvious by the things he’s done for you before you’ve even come over. Eddie has always cared, perhaps a bit too much, and it’s easy to tell when he does from the little things he pieces together to show it.
“You look good, boy.” Wayne breaks the careful silence the two had slipped into, watching Eddie tug the straps to the garbage bag. He reddens slightly, his cheeks flaring in color, something akin to the shade of the tomato soup he’d managed to botch for last thursday’s dinner. How the boy had undercooked a can of soup, he’d never know.
“Thanks, Wayne.” Eddie mumbles, forearms flexing as he ties a knot into the strings of the garbage bag, “I’ll take this out.”
“We should start on your room,” Wayne points out as Eddie tries making his frantic exit, spooked by praise. Eddie nods once, and Wayne lets him escape to the dumpster to process the emotions he’s got swirling inside of him. 
He knows the boy gets shy around praise, which is why he tries not to overwhelm him. But today is different, today is a bigger step than he’s seen Eddie take in a long time, and it’s hard not to burst with pride.
When Eddie comes back inside Wayne is already tiptoeing around his room, dodging suspicious socks and cassette tapes strewn about. Eddie gets to work stacking those, a comfortable silence falling over the pair as they set to work.
“Wayne?” Eddie’s voice is timid, meek.
“Yeah?” Wayne reaches under his bed, pulling out a magazine that he shouldn’t have and a sock, something Wayne doesn’t want to think about as a pair.
“Do you.. Do you really think I look nice?” As soon as the words are out of his mouth he’s stammering, shaking his head so that his bun wobbles dangerously, “I- I mean, like- not like nice, but do you… you think she’ll like it?”
“Son, if she asked you to teach her about your game, I’m sure she’s not scared of you.”
“But is that enough? Shouldn’t she,” Eddie abandons the cassettes in his hand, scratching bashfully at the back of his neck and combing through the stray hairs there, “I dunno, like me? Not just not hate me?”
“Well I’d give her some time if I were you,” Wayne chuckles, reminded of the restlessness of youth, “You’ve only known her a day.”
“Right.” Eddie nods frantically, eyes glued to the tapes he busies himself with again, “Yeah, I will.”
“Hey,” Wayne reaches out, bracing a hand on Eddie’s knee that’s bouncing frantically, “You’ve got this, boy. You can do this. She’ll love you.”
The word love has Eddie’s cheeks flaring the color of it, a deep red that Wayne sees most often on valentine’s day cards. He chuckles once more at his nephew’s crush, shaking his head and getting back to sorting through clutter.
--
By the time Eddie’s watch beeps, a tinny, mechanical sound that has him leaping onto his feet to rush for the door, they’ve gotten his room mostly under control. There’s a pile of dirty laundry stull bulging out of the closet, but that can’t be avoided, as the hamper is broken from a rather unfortunate sledding endeavor a few months back. You’ll just have to live with the sight of yesterday’s t-shirt in the corner, they decide.
“Okay, uh- thanks, Wayne.” Eddie brushes his hands on his pants, already sweaty from nerves, “I’m gonna go pick her up now.”
“Right,” Wayne stands, trash bag in hand with all of Eddie’s discarded food wrappers and beer cans, “Good luck, son.”
The term flares up Eddie’s blush again, but Wayne doesn’t comment on it, offering him a quick hug, a simple pat to the back. It’s all Eddie can handle right now, already a bundle of nerves that he doesn’t want spilling out.
“There’s a $10 on the fridge,” Wayne calls out after Eddie bounds down the steps of the trailer,tugging the rubber band out of his hair and letting it spill over his shoulders,  “Use it for pizza!”
“No, no,” Eddie waves his uncle off, plunging his hand into his pocket to retrieve his wallet, “I got it!”
“Eddie,” Wayne glares at the stubborn boy, “Use the money on the fridge.”
Eddie balks at the aggressively kind gesture, but a wry smile curves over his lips, “Whatever. I’ll just sneak cash into your jacket while you’re asleep.”
“You will not,” Wayne huffs, but Eddie’s already taken off for his van, slamming the door behind him with a hearty laugh at his uncle’s grouchiness.
When Eddie pulls up to your house, having checked the little slip of paper buried in his pocket, oh, around a thousand times, one of the upstairs lights is on. It’s the only one on, the rest of the windows pitch black, and Eddie worries that maybe something is wrong. Your house looks near abandoned, but at the rough chugchugchugging of his engine, a downstairs light flicks on. He catches your silhouette thumping down the stairs and sees the outline of a skirt over your hips. His stomach flips and he shuts off the van, hurrying out so that he can beat you to the door. It seems gentlemanly, something he’s never been too concerned about, but it feels right in the moment.
He’s inches from the door as you wrench it open, a fist raised to knock while you step out of it, not expecting him there on the other side. Your eyes widen but you can’t stop your momentum, stumbling clumsily into his chest despite your efforts to slow down.
“Oh!”
“Eddie!” You speak in unison, your voices mingling just as your limbs do. His arms wind around your waist, laying over his hellfire shirt that you’ve tucked into the waistband of your skirt. The material is soft under his touch, but not as soft as your face, which hits his shoulder in your scuffle. Eddie feels a burst of warmth flood through him at the skin-on-skin contact, and holds you steady as you right yourself against his chest. Your hands brace themselves frantically on his stomach, your chest heaving as you gape at him, “I’m so sorry! I- I wasn’t paying attention, I just heard you coming, and- and,”
“If you were that excited to see me,” Eddie doesn’t know how he’s being as suave as he is, because his heart is practically hammering through his ribcage to affix itself to you like a lovesick leech, “You could have asked me to come earlier.”
You feel your cheeks flare with heat as you slump forwards, the crown of your head hitting Eddie’s clothed chest, “Stoooop.”
Eddie chuckles, adjusting the pitch of his voice to your own, “Stoooop.”
“You’re mocking me!” You shove at him lightly, making him stumble a step backwards, “You’re the worst.”
“Hey,” Eddie finally lets you go, his skin instantly cold where it had once touched yours, “You gotta be nice to me. I’m teaching you DnD, remember?”
“Fine,” You huff dramatically, “You get a pass, but only for tonight!”
“Deal.” Eddie’s eyes gleam with mischief, “Ready?”
“Ready.” You confirm, bouncing excitedly on the balls of your feet.
“Van’s there,” Eddie gestures to his van, nearly tripping over his own feet when you grab his hand, eagerly tugging him along, “Woah!”
“I told you I was ready.” You gush, the words coming out in a soft giggle that makes his heart burst.
You look out of place in his van, too heavenly to be wriggling comfortably into his worn seats. There’s a half-drunk water bottle by your feet that crunches beneath your shoe, and you apologize hurriedly for crushing it.
“‘S okay sweetheart,” Eddie snickers, reaching down to pluck it out from under your feet, “It’s, like, months old.”
“Eddie,” You chide, “It’s probably growing something!”
“It’s fine,” He urges, snickering at your horror, “It’ll put some hair on your chest.”
He leaves you with that, shutting the door to your side of the car and jogging around to the driver’s side door. He wrenches it open, his hair bouncing against his chest as he sits down with a flounce. The radio that he has is already preloaded with the cassette tape he uses whenever he drives Wayne anywhere, his favorite metal artists and their less-overwhelming songs. Wayne always says heavy metal ‘makes his ears bleed’, he’s more into classic rock, but Eddie will be damned if he isn't listening to Mötley Crüe on any drive longer than two minutes. He figures that he’ll be courteous to you at first, just in case metal isn’t your thing either.
To his surprise, a minute into Merry Go Round, your brow dips in concentration.
“Mötley Crüe, right?”
Eddie swears he nearly passes out. His usual response to surprising information, a dramatic flailing of his limbs, doesn’t seem very safe just now, and you’re lucky he doesn’t jerk the wheel to the side.
“Yeah,” He grins dazedly, “You listen?”
“Sometimes!” You pick at a loose thread on your skirt, “I’m into a bit of everything. Really jus’ whatever comes on the radio.”
Eddie suddenly likes you more, if possible. Everything new that he learns about you only adds to the little list of Reasons he Cares, the first and most important being that you’re kind to him. He would never admit it, but he’s like a little lost puppy, trailing after the first person to scratch behind his ears.
“I like your van.” You muse, and it’s so genuinely sweet it nearly makes Eddie scream. You brush your fingers over a Black Sabbath sticker that’s peeling off of the dash, reaffixing the dusty backing to the smooth plastic. It doesn’t stay, it pops right back up again, but you’re onto the next detail now, a pair of old sneakers in the door, autographed by the patrons that watch him perform with his band.
“These are cool,” You marvel at the sloppy, mostly-drunken signatures scrawled over the canvas, “Who are they?”
“Our fans,” Eddie boasts proudly, even though he’s sure seven hammered 40 year olds aren’t the most impressive thing in the world when it comes to an audience, “They watch us perform, remember my band I told you about?”
Eddie watches your eyes light up from the rear-view mirror, but you’re lucky he doesn’t take his eyes off the road completely to see them unfiltered.
“That’s right!” You remember your earlier conversation, “That’s so cool, Eddie, you’ve got fans!”
“We do,” He chuckles, fingers sweating against the steering wheel as you near his trailer, “You should come to one of our shows sometime.”
“If I do, do I get to sign the sneakers?” You’re far too excited to put your name on a pair of ratty old shoes, repurposed as a trophy, but Eddie would be willing to buy a new pair just so that your name can be the only one on the fabric. He thinks about that, about having your name displayed over him, and blushes. He hopes you don’t catch it.
“Of course you can,” Eddie promises, turning much more carefully than he normally does into his typical parking spot, the van sputtering to a stop when he removes the key. He turns to you before you open the door, “How about this saturday?”
“Next,” You compromise, “My parents get back Saturday night and I can’t be out without them knowing.”
“Your parents are gone?” Eddie cocks his head to the side, crimped hair bouncing as he does.
“They’re getting the last of our stuff from our old house,” You nod solemnly, “We don’t even have mattresses here yet.”
“No shit? What have you been sleeping on?” 
“The couch,” You recount sadly, “It’s not very comfortable, but it’s better than the floor.”
“Damn,” Eddie sympathizes, yanking on the latch of his door and hopping down, “Well, babe, I’ve got a mattress inside, if you’re interested in staying the night.”
It’s bold, brazen, uncouth, but he tops it off with a teasing grin, so it’s okay. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you, happy that it mostly filled the empty van as he slams his door, rounding the front to open your own for you.
“Very gentlemanly,” You praise him, slipping your hand into his to step down from the lifted van, “I’m impressed.”
“Well don’t get used to it,” He teases, squeezing you against his side with a hand that drifts suspiciously low, “I’m not usually this nice.”
“I must be special.” You concur, giddiness in your grin that sends Eddie’s stomach into a cartwheel. 
You are, Eddie nods once at you, afraid to voice his thoughts in case they somehow ruin the unspoken adoration between you, More than you know.
Eddie’s pleased to find nothing but a slight oil stain in Wayne’s usual parking spot, his uncle having predicted that Eddie would want alone time with you. He’s half expecting to find a box of condoms on the kitchen counter when he walks in with you, but flicking on the light of the trailer reveals only a spotless living space, junk shoved in drawers to be dealt with later.
“I like it.” You decide with a curt nod, eyes landing on the array of DnD paraphernalia stacked on the couch, “Oh, I almost forgot! I brought you this.”
You reach into the waistband of your skirt, the slim paperback book you were reading earlier neatly molded to your side. It doesn’t retain the curve of your side, flattening back out into its shape as you hold it out to Eddie.
You swear you catch his eyes wandering towards the spot that you’d just pulled the book from, but they snap up to meet your own before you can verify it. He takes the book from you with an eager grin, “Thanks, sweetheart.”
“Y’wanna swap?” You stride over to the couch, plucking a book titled Players Handbook: Compiled Information for Players and Dungeon Masters out of the pile.
Eddie falters slightly, surprised that you’re so eager to get into what might be the least exciting part of learning DnD: the rules. 
“Sure,” He nods carefully, taken aback, “Lemme just clear the couch.”
He bends over to do so, and you can’t help that your eyes trace the newly-exposed skin of his chest. The shirt he’s wearing already reveals his side, but as his arms stretch to grab boxes and papers off of the cushions in front of you, it shifts to show his stomach.
You don’t realize you’re staring until he stops in front of you, an eyebrow raised that you don’t catch because you’re ogling him.
“Everything okay?” To your horror, there’s a twinge of amusement in his voice, and you’re certain he’s caught you.
“Yes!” You scramble to act casual, thumbing past the cover of the book to appear busy, “Yes, let’s get started.”
Eddie sits before you do, surveying you with that same cocky gaze. It makes you nervous, your stomach churning slightly, and you perch on the end of the couch that he’s not spread out over.
He lets out a scoff, reaching out, “You can get comfortable, Y/N, I don’t bite.”
He does, however, grab, which you find out when he yanks your legs out from under you, tugging them outwards so that they rest over his lap. He’s reclined against both the arm of the couch and the back cushion of it, looking far too composed for the rampage of butterflies against his stomach.
You melt into your new position so naturally that it scares you. It feels right, cracking the spine of the handbook while your legs are draped casually over Eddie’s lap. Stretching out and getting comfortable on Eddie’s couch seems just as casual as it does on your couch, and you can’t help the dizzy grin that spreads over your face as you realize this.
“Somethin’ funny?” Eddie’s brow quirks at your expression, and you bury it behind the book, shaking your head.
“Right,” He sets a hand over your ankles, locking your legs into their position on his lap, “Lemme know if you’re confused, babe, I’m here to help.”
--
Though the DnD handbook is informative, and slightly exhilarating to peruse, you hope that the actual gameplay is less complicated than it sounds. You’re barely twenty pages in, a good 40 minutes gone by, and you’re not sure you can keep all of the information straight in your head. Hopefully Eddie cuts you some slack, or else you might seriously slow down their game.
"Page?" Eddie glances up from the pages of your novel, peering over at the handbook in your grip.
You look to the corner of the page from where you'd been reading up on character classes, "23."
"The Fighter." He speaks in a low voice, raspy and dramatic. You giggle, half amused by his theatrics and half impressed that he's managed to memorize the 130-page handbook in front of you.
"What about you?" You glance pointedly at the book in his hands, shifting your feet in his lap slightly. You don't realize it, but they press against a rather sensitive spot, and Eddie hunches slightly, his stomach caving in as he tries remaining composed.
"Uh," His eyes frantically skim the page, wide and panicked until they lock on a familiar name, "Weylin- Weylin is just, uh, crossing over the Bridge of Lost Souls."
"Ooh," You wriggle slightly in your place on the couch, consequently burrowing your feet further into Eddie's lap, "I love that part! You meet Ionia soon, you'll love her!"
He can’t take it anymore.
“Uh,” He shoots off of the couch, lowering your feet carefully back down to the cushions where he was sitting, “I’m getting kinda hungry. Pizza time?”
“Pizza time.” You nod jovially, flipping a page in the handbook, seemingly unconscious of Eddie’s predicament, “Pepperoni?”
“And sausage.” Eddie nods, “Be right back.”
When he comes back, tugging a crumpled bill out of his pocket to use for the food and pointedly avoiding his uncle’s money, you tuck your legs up under you to set him sit down. He peers over the top of the handbook, eyes drifting to the words appearing upside-down in front of his face.
His nose hooks over the tops of the pages, and you can’t help it: you giggle. He glances up amusedly at you, his own sweet laugh filling the air as he crumples into your lap. You raise the book over your head so that he doesn’t have to slip under it, and his eyes meet yours from where he lays on your legs.
You stare down at him, entranced by his features. His soft cheeks, his sloped nose, the tinge of red that spreads over his skin. His eyes, shiny and smooth, like melted chocolate that you can taste on your tongue. You brush a hand over his forehead, gathering up loose flyaway hairs that have gathered there. They’re malleable and wiry in your grip, and you twirl them around your finger once, twice, thrice, until they form a spiraled curl.
His eyes follow your finger, doe-like as they cross to track your movement. When you let the hair go it springs off of your finger, bouncing down to rest over his nose, and his eyes dart inwards to follow it.
Apparently it tickles his nose, because he scrunches it up, miniscule wrinkles etched like waterways on a map into his skin. You smooth the terrain, running the soft pad of your finger down the bridge of his nose and marveling how his face relaxes as your touch waves over it.
He shivers slightly under your finger, and you notice a bridge of freckles, the lightest you’ve ever seen, dotting his nose. They stand strong over all of the rivers you have yet to flatten, stretching down towards his mouth in beautiful smile lines.
“You’re pretty.” You muse, your voice barely more than a whisper as you trace his features. He lets his eyes flutter shut when your fingers brush under them, his lashes tickling your skin. 
“Thanks, sweetheart.” He coos, the softness of his voice gaping that growing sinkhole of adoration that’s been tugging at your chest ever since you met him. His pretty face, his sweet words, his kind actions, all of them mark him as safe, as good, as loveable.
With his eyes closed, you’re allowed to be as obvious as you want when ogling him, not that you were very subtle before. Your eyes latch onto his lips in a similar fashion as you want your own to do, roving over every crease, mark, and indent in the soft, pillowy muscles. 
Before you can think about it, you touch them. Your fingers, their pads soft and hesitant, prod gently at his lips. That has his eyes shooting open, carmeled brown irises meeting yours in shock. 
Though you feel his gaze on you, you don’t stop. You let your hands linger on his face, soaking up every second of dazzlingly intimate contact you can get with the man. He studies your face while you study his, the both of you barely breathing while watching the other sit pretty. You swear you feel Eddie’s lips shift under your fingers, puckering ever-so-slightly to kiss the tips of your fingers, but then-
The hollow, sharp knock on the door of Eddie’s trailer shatters the intimacy of the moment, plunging you back into reality from the serene haze you’d been trapped in. You both fall from the clouds you’d lounged atop, plummeting back to earth with the thump of your hearts in your chests.
“I’ll get it,” Eddie scrambles up from where he’s draped over your lap, rushing to the door and snatching the cash off of the counter. You straighten yourself out while he grabs the pizza, cheeks aflame as you look around the room to avoid looking at him. You see a stack of vhs movies in the corner by the television set, and your eyes catch a familiar title. 
Labyrinth.
“Okay,” Eddie sets the pizza on the counter, grateful for the paper plates the place provided you, “One slice or two?”
“Two,” You grin eagerly, reaching for the tape, “Are you the reason this was missing from the video store yesterday?”
He laughs at the sight of the VHS in your hands, “Yep, ‘had it since it came out.”
“Rude,” You scoff, “I wanted to watch it last night!”
“Bummer,” Eddie scrunches his brows, faux-sympathy written on his face, “‘Guess you’ll just have to come over whenever you wanna watch it.”
“Well I’m here now…” You push, clutching the case hopefully.
“Pop it in,” Eddie laughs, gesturing towards the machine, “‘Should be rewound already.”
You kneel by the VHS player while Eddie brings your plates over, and your back faces him. It gives him the perfect opportunity to ogle you, only feeling slightly guilty when his eyes trace the curve of your ass.
You turn before he can admire how the Hellfire shirt exposes the angles of your shoulders, abandoning its post and leaving your neck bare. He watches the skin there shift, muscles beneath the surface tensing as you crane it downwards to slide the tape into the receiver.
“We’ll work more on DnD later,” Eddie promises as the main titles roll, music filling the otherwise silent trailer, “We’ve still gotta get a character figured out for you.”
“‘M excited,” You speak through a mouthful of greasy pizza, pepperoni sticking to your lip, “Thanks for the pizza, Eddie.”
“‘Course sweetheart,” He grins at you, then hides his blush in the red tomato sauce on his bread.
Eddie truly believes that you’ll go over more later for the game. But when you finish both slices of your pizza, hands covering your stomach tenderly as he’s sure it’s stuffed, and curl up against the arm of the couch, he knows nothing else is getting done tonight. Your eyes are glued to the screen, Sarah’s dress glittering as her hair flounces with every movement of the couple. He’s never been a Bowie fan, but he reckons you are by the way your eyes shine whenever he’s on screen.
He’s jealous of David Bowie.
Oh, fuck, he never thought he’d sink this low. But he feels something unfamiliar and sharp prod at his chest whenever you pay just a little too much attention to the man on screen, and he prods at your feet with his own.
“Hoggin’ the couch,” He chides you, with no real scorn as he tangles his legs with yours, “Stretched out like you own the place.”
“Sor-ry,” You huff dramatically, clocking his teasing grin and knowing he’s just messing around, “It’s not my fault your couch is comfier than mine.”
Eddie remembers your admission, that you’ve been sleeping on your couch for god-knows-how-long, and his stomach sours. He studies your face, the way that your eyelids droop even though you’re clearly enjoying the movie, the wrinkling of your chin as you yawn. You’re clearly exhausted, and his space is the comfort you need.
He feels something akin to pride at that. You not only feel comfortable enough around him to curl up on his couch, but you feel comfortable enough to fall asleep. He might be new at this, the whole relationship thing, but he knows that’s big.
Suddenly he doesn’t feel such a large blade of jealousy stabbing at his heart anymore, because you’re not cuddled up to David Bowie on David Bowie’s couch, are you? No. You’re curled up with him, on his couch.
Take that, Bowie.
--
It’s around the one-and-a-half hour mark, only ten minutes before the movie ends, that he realizes he’s the only one watching. He’s been glancing back and forth between the screen and you for ages now, but when he checks up on you this time, you’re asleep. He can see your chest rising and falling, his shirt still worn proudly over your frame, and a sleepy smile curves over his face. Your lashes kiss your cheeks, casting shadows down your face that look like spiderwebs. It looks cool, and he makes a mental note to ask you if you’d let him put eyeliner on you to see if he can turn it into a spiderweb. It’s a design he’s been meaning to do on himself, but if he needs a model, why would you turn him down?
The end of the movie isn’t so entrancing to him anymore now that you’re snoozing, and once more he lets his eyes drift over your frame. Your skirt is tucked neatly under your bum, but your thighs peek out of it, soft and plumped by the way you’re laying. Then his eyes rove over your shirt, the familiar, hand-crafted design looking better on you than it ever has on him or his friends. It’s odd, seeing the shirt on anyone but the boys in his friend group, but he quickly decides that it’s his favorite outfit of yours, and that nothing in the world could top it.
The end credits announce themselves in an encore of the film’s soundtrack, and Eddie reluctantly parts from the cozy embrace you’ve found yourself in. He ejects the tape, stuffing it back into its case and tucking it carefully back onto the stack. Now that he knows it’s his ticket to time spent with you, he’s much more reluctant to take it back to Family Video tomorrow like he’d planned. Maybe he’ll keep it, late fee be damned.
“Y/N,” He hates the thought of waking you, but he hates the thought of inconveniencing his uncle even more, and you’re curled up on what will become Wayne’s pull-out.
“Y/N,” He tries again, soft and soothing as he taps your shoulder gently, “Wake up, we’ve gotta get you home.”
The clock only reads 10:23, but he’d feel guilty getting you home at an indecent hour. Typically, Eddie’s philosophy is etiquette be damned, but he has a feeling you wouldn’t be too happy about being dumped on your front porch after two in the morning.
“Y/N,” He slips a hand under your torso, his other sliding under your legs, “C’mon, wake up.”
You don’t. You must have really had trouble sleeping on your couch, because now that you’re dozing off, you don’t seem to wake up easily. Worry gnaws at Eddie’s chest as he hoists you into his arms and you don’t wake, only sighing contentedly and curling closer to him.
His eyes widen and his cheeks burn as you snuggle up to him unconsciously, your cheek pressed against his KISS-clad chest. Your nose nudges into his neck and he swears he sees stars, his knees weakening at the intimate contact like you hadn’t just been touching his lips hours beforehand.
“‘Gonna be the death of me,” He mutters, voice devoid of any real anger as he trudges down the hall to his room. His bed is neatly made, pillows stacked at the head that he reaches up and kicks down with one of his socked feet. It flops flat onto the mattress with a thump, and Eddie lowers you as carefully as humanly possible onto the bed. You aren’t too keen to let go, though, because your arms stay tightly wound around his neck. He tries straightening but you come right back up with him, brows scrunching in displeasure at being jostled around. 
“Sweetheart,” Eddie laughs, lovestruck, “‘Gotta let go.”
“Eddie,” You mumble hazily, sound far too much like a lover he’s just accidentally jostled by getting out of bed to get ready for work in the morning, “Don’ go.”
“I can’t leave you here,” He reasons, returning your favor and smoothing out the wrinkle in your brows with his thumb, “I’ve gotta grab my keys and shoes, then we’ll take you home.”
“Nooo,” You whine, sleep tugging at your voice, “‘S too cozy here. I don’t wanna leave.”
“But no one knows you’re staying here,” Eddie’s afraid that your parents might come home early, discover their child missing, and storm his trailer with pitchforks, “Don’t you wanna head back home to your own bed?”
"Couch.” You mumble grouchily, “My parents aren't home," Your voice is groggy and weak, but Eddie swears it's more angelic than any hymn he's ever heard, "'S okay."
"Are you sure?" He reaches up, smooths a hand over your forehead then down your cheek without thinking, but before he can panic over the intimate gesture you're leaning into it, letting out a contented hum that quite reminds him of a kitten's purr.
"'M sure," You promise, already curling up cozily beneath his blanket, looking far too natural and perfect in a space you'd never occupied before, and Eddie feared, never would again.
"Okay." He's breathless and weak as your eyes drift shut, his hand lingering against the curve of your face, "G'night sweetheart."
He isn’t sure what to do from there. He could move his hand, he probably should move his hand, so that he doesn’t stand there for hours holding you, but that seems all the more tempting with every passing second. He marvels at his luck, how he’s managed to get to heaven without dying. Unless he is dead. But he’s almost certain he’ll be sent to hell for the sheer amount of drugs he’s sold to high school students, so he’s sure it isn’t that. 
You must be an angel, he decides, one that isn’t afraid of the devil everyone says he is. He gets a brief vision of matching halloween costumes to that effect, a wiry halo perched on your head while devil ears adorn his. The scene’s unfiltered domesticity stuns him, along with how perfect it feels. It doesn’t feel awkward or forced, instead like something you’d come up with on the phone at ungodly hours and commit to months before the holiday.
He’ll bring the idea up to you tomorrow.
For now, he has to figure out where he’s sleeping. He’s not taking Wayne’s bed, but you’re in his, and that would be wrong.
Right?
Eddie studies the way your body is laid out on his mattress, knees tucked towards your chest and arms bundled up below your face, clutching the blanket he’d thrown over you. You take up a fraction of the mattress, the side that he normally sleeps on still unobscured.
Would it really be that bad if he laid opposite you? He wouldn’t touch you, he wouldn’t throw an arm over your waist, he wouldn’t tangle his legs with yours, he wouldn’t press a soft kiss to your forehead before drifting off. He wouldn’t.
He wants to, though.
He gives into another temptation, hopefully his last for the night, and lets himself indulge in your presence. He slides onto the end of the mattress, careful not to disrupt you as you slumber. 
It feels weird, having someone in his bed beside him. Weird, but good. He decides, in fact, that there’s no better feeling aside from your fingers on his lips, than you in bed beside him. He stares up at the ceiling, willing the urge to kiss your nose away before he can screw up the best thing that’s happened to him in years. 
One single, cautious glance thrown your way, and it’s all over.
Your hand is bared towards him, the smooth skin on the back of it in perfect kissing-range. He would be an idiot not to, right? That’s what gentlemen do, after all, they kiss the back of their lady’s hand. Typically not without her knowledge, or while she’s in bed with him, but it’s the principle of it, not the specific scenario. 
He reaches for your hand hesitantly, and once his skin brushes yours he sees fireworks that light up the dark room. They nearly short out his vision, and when he sees clearly again, your hand is poised directly in front of his lips, his own hand still clutching it securely.
“Sleep good, sweetheart.” He whispers, near-inaudible in the darkness, then his lips press delicately against your hand. 
Such unimaginable warmth and giddiness fill his chest, that he’s sure he’ll explode. There’s going to be Eddie Guts on the walls and ceiling, rotted sickly sweet from how infatuated with you he’s become in such a short time. Kissing you, albeit only your hand, feels like something he wants to do for the rest of his life, and he can only hope you’re gracious enough to grant him that privilege.
That’s a discussion for the morning, though, or never, Eddie reminds himself. He’s just kissed your hand in the middle of the night while you’re sleeping like a creep, he might not be too eager to admit that to you in the morning in a desperate plea to do it again. He refrains from peppering the rest of your skin in adoring kisses, but keeps your hand clutched in his own, marveling at the way that you can warm him up completely from a single touch. 
It must be an angel thing, he decides, as he drifts off into a happy slumber, tomorrow he’ll ask you if it hurt when you fell from heaven.
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beingsuneone · 5 months
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Memories & Delusions
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PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE
SYNOPSIS: Jason Todd is dead, you have to remember that; even if the newest villain in town is both incredibly sexy and reminds you of the boy you used to love.
FANDOM: DC
PAIRING(S): Jason Todd x Fem!Reader
RATING: PG
CHARACTERS MENTIONED: Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Tim
GENRE/AU: fluff, different timeline AU (not mentioned in detail but the timeline is different than canon), canon divergence, reader is kind of like Stephanie so NOT Bruce’s kids but she does live in the manor.
WORD COUNT: 3.9k
WARNINGS: Swearing, mentions of blood and injuries.
A/N: I could fs do a part two to this ;)
DEDICATIONS: Myself for having this idea for more than two years and finally getting it out in writing in some way
CREDITS: N/A
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“Jesus Christ! Who the fuck is this guy, Batman?” You exclaim, panting hard through your mask; whoever this Red Hood guy is… he really knows your team's weaknesses. It’s disconcerting.
Weirdly enough, he’s left you mostly alone.
Bruce shrugs from across the room. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
It’s a blur of movement as Red Hood tries to attack mostly Bruce, only attacking Dick or you if you get in the way.
He’s said almost nothing since this fight started.
After a few minutes, Bruce sends a signal and jumps out of the half destroyed building; Dick follows and jumps out shortly after.
Leaving just you and Gothams latest criminal.
You’re about to turn to jump again, when suddenly your wrist is caught in Red Hood’s hand.
The familiarity of it makes you gasp and freeze.
He stares down at you, intimidating and silent through his red helmet.
Returning his stare, with as much fiery energy as you can muster, you try to pull your wrist away; His grip is like iron and you can’t.
“Don’t get in my way, Y/n.” He says, making your heart drop with the use of your civilian name. “I won’t choose between you and my goal.”
Your back is rigid and you’re breathing has stopped… if he knows your name, that means he probably knows everyone else’s too.
Fuck.
He finally lets go, brushing past your stiff body.
You’re too shocked to follow him.
….
“He knew my name, Bruce!” You say, feeling panicked. “Do you know what that means?”
Bruce nods curtly. “It means you aren’t suiting up until we’ve taken him down.” You try to protest but Bruce holds a hand up to cut you off. “It’s not up for discussion.”
You fidget with the small red pendant hanging around your neck, something you do whenever you’re feeling too many emotions.
It reminds you of Jason, the first boy you’ve ever been in love with and also the last; Jason was also Bruce’s second adopted son.
Jason Todd died five years ago.
But when he was alive… There was something special about him. He was always so eager to help Bruce by being robin.
That was back before you had your own suit; really, you’d only gotten a superhero identity so you could hunt down the joker and get revenge for Jason, but Bruce had managed to convince you not to do that in the last five years.
Probably for the best, even if seventeen is too young for someone to die; even if having a strong bond ripped away from you before it could become anything still hurt so badly.
You follow Bruce down into the batcave. “What do we know about Red Hood? Do we have any idea how he originated? It seems like he just popped out of nowhere.”
Bruce contemplates his answer as he unlocks the bat computer. “All we know is that he would have had to fly under our radar for months in order to take over the whole underground drug ring.”
You over hover his shoulder, trying to see what’s on the screen below him. “I don’t understand how we wouldn’t hear anything about him? With that many people who work for him, you’d think one of them would mention something.”
He hums in response. “They must be terrified of him.”
Alfred inserts himself into the conversation and ushers you back into the main part of the manor. “Alright, Miss. Y/n, You’re officially off duty indefinitely.” He pauses. “Like Master Bruce said, it is safer if you disconnect yourself from your hero identity.”
You frown. “If he knows my real name, he probably knows where I live.”
“He also told you, quote ‘don’t get in my way’ end quote.” Alfred tuts. “He clearly has no intention of hurting you as a civilian.”
You huff and head up to your bedroom, feeling like you really need to be out there but not really knowing why.
You suppose you don’t know what to do with your time anymore, now that you’ve been superhero-ing for so long.
When was the last time you read a book? Or watched a movie, just because you wanted to? It’s been too long…
Your bookshelves mostly carry decorative encyclopedias and other books that would bore you to sleep, so you leave your room and head just down the hallway.
The door creaks as you push open and clicks when you push it shut; then, you’re left in the silence of Jason Todd’s bedroom. Unchanged and untouched from the last moment he was in here.
It’s a little messy but nothing out of the ordinary for a teenage boy; the bed was never made, and his clothes were ever put in his drawers despite them being washed.
There’s books pulled out and just scattered in places, schoolbooks, comic books, novels… finally you spot what you wanted to find.
It’s a very old and very worn copy of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, something the two of you used to read together when you’d sneak onto the roof of the manor at nighttime.
You’d watch the stars and one of you would read the book out loud, until eventually you both would pass out and give Bruce a heart attack the next morning.
Maybe it was time to revisit that tradition, even if you were only reading to yourself.
Bruce and Alfred are in the Cave so you find your way into the roof and lay back. The shingles are definitely more uncomfortable without Jason to lay on, but it’s still a nice feeling nonetheless.
Just the act of laying under the stars with that book in your hands, makes you feel a kind of warmth that you haven’t felt in years.
You close your eyes and take a long, deep breath of night air; It’s fresh and ever so slightly damp, but in a way that makes you feel nice. The cold nips at your body in all the right ways.
Unfortunately, all bliss is momentary, and someone clearing their throat makes you jump a couple centimeters upwards.
You’re met with the bright red helmet of Red Hood.
“Pride and Prejudice, huh?” He says casually, though you're pretty sure he has a voice changer on, which makes his voice sound more irritated than it probably is.
You back up a few inches. “Bru-” Red Hood slaps a hand over your mouth before you can finish yelling for help.
You squirm in his grip, but he just maneuvers you so that your back is to his chest and you can barely move which makes your body lock up again— you can’t help the feeling of familiarity that settles in your stomach, or the way your body reacts to his.
Worst of all, he smells just like… no, it must just be where you are.
Jason Todd is dead.
And yet.
“Relax, Y/n, I’m not here to hurt you.” Something about him makes you listen and you relax your body. He kind of half-scoffs in response. “Are you done?”
You nod as best you can. He releases you.
“Who— why are you here?” You say, trying to ignore the fact that everything about this masked man reminds you of Jason.
Your chest rises and falls irregularly as he stares at you.
His head snaps away randomly. “Why should I tell you that?”
“Don’t answer my question with a question.”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”
There’s a look of defiance shared between the two of you, or, at least, on your end. You can’t actually see his face so you’re really just assuming.
You spin away and blow out a labored breath. “God, I must be going insane…” Even the way he talks with you sounds like Jason.
“You’re so short, you look like a bunny who lost its carrot.” He says with a laugh.
“I do not!” You exclaim angrily, your mouth dropping open. “Okay, that’s it, I’m calling Bruce.” Your hand slips into your pocket to pull out your phone, and just as it's out of your pocket, Red Hood grabs your wrist; he traps it in one spot and yanks the phone from your hand.
He gently sets it on the ground. “Tell that fucker whatever you want, but wait until I’m gone.” The tone in his voice sends a chill down your spine. He seems so angry…
With that, he leaves, taken the same way that you took off the roof.
You stand there until you hear the roar of his motorbike, and then you finally retreat from the roof with the book clutched tightly to your chest.
…..
“I’m going with you, Bruce. You can’t stop me.” You say, already moving to try to grab your suit.
“No, you’re not.” He says sternly, blocking your path. “You need to stay out of this fight.”
You raise your eyebrows in challenge. “I’m going whether you let me wear that suit or not.” Bruce apparently doesn’t like this because he frowns even harder than before. You continue, “You can’t go alone. Dick is out of town and Tim is at school. Let me come.”
“You forget I did this by myself for quite a while before I adopted Dick.” He says firmly, leaving no room for argument.
Bruce doesn’t need your help, you know that; helping him isn’t your real goal.
Ever since the rooftop incident with Red Hood you’d gone into some sort of obsessive spiral over his similarities to Jason.
You feel like you need to talk to him again, touch him again… just to see why he’s so familiar; you feel insane.
The deepest parts of your brain scream at you that it’s not just similarities, that he really is Jason but… he can’t be; you watched them bury Jason’s body.
“There’s something else going on with you.” Bruce says, basically sizing you up.
You stiffen, which unfortunately gives away your next lie. “There’s nothing going on with me.” No excuse comes to mind so you don’t say anything more.
Bruce pauses for a beat.
“This has nothing to do with Red Hood.”
“Okay? Why would that matter?” You say dismissively, but also way too fast. “I don’t think keeping me locked up at home helps anyone.”
He sighs and finally caves. “Fine, you can come.”
…..
You aren’t sure how this situation devolved so quickly, but your communications got cut off a while ago and you haven’t been able to find Bruce or navigate very well through the rubble.
You’re bleeding heavily from a few different cuts and you’re pretty sure you sprained your ankle.
The faint cackle of the Joker makes you dive under a fallen piece of concrete, because if he comes this way he’ll surely kill you.
But the laugh recedes so you crawl out and sit against it instead.
You’re just about to start sobbing from the pain when you hear footsteps again; you go silent and try to move but you don't allow that.
You see a flash of red, and then Red Hood turns a corner into your line of sight.
“Christ’s sake, Y/n.” He mumbles. “What happened?” He approaches and drops down so he’s sitting on his feet, he stares for a moment, and you assume he’s assessing your injuries.
“You can’t call me that— here.” You hiss when he presses a finger against your ankle.
He stands up and takes both your hands, completely ignoring what you said. “Up. But don’t stand on your bad ankle.”
You grip his hands and stand up, holding your bad ankle in the air; Red Hood scoops you up bridal style not a moment later.
You squeal. “What are you doing?”
He stops walking and turns the face of his helmet directly toward you. “I’m taking you back to my base so I can help you get fixed up.” He interrupts you before you can speak, answering the question you were going to ask. “Batman isn’t here anymore, he went to follow after the Joker.”
It’s a rough walk to his bike, and it lasts for about ten minutes; ten awkward minutes of you being carried by Red Hood.
Red Hood who’s supposed to be a criminal and your enemy. Red Hood who brings you more comfort than he should just because of who he reminds you of.
He settles you onto the bike, pulling out an extra helmet before he speeds off.
…..
“Jesus, you sprained your ankle really badly.” He curses, performing whatever medical procedures as you hiss and whine at the pain.
He’s already stitched and/or dressed any of the open wounds you had and he saved the worst for last.
“Okay,” he says absent-mindedly. “I can’t do this properly with this thing.”
He reaches for his helmet but you stop him. “You’re taking your helmet off?”
He hesitates, then nods slowly. “I have to. If you don’t want to see, then shut your eyes until I’m done.”
You nod and squeeze your eyes shut.
He sighs softly and gets back to working on your ankle.
…..
“I swear to god, Bruce, it’s him. Red Hood is Jason.” You say, purposfully making your voice flat and void of emotion. “He has to be.”
Bruce just stares.
And stares.
Sympathetically, softly. But he stares.
“Jason has been dead for a long time, Y/n, and you know that.”
“No— I know, but he can’t be— that has to be him.” You back up into one of the chairs in the batcave, trying to calm your racing heart; you still try to keep a calm outward facade.
“What makes you think he’s Jason?” Bruce asks.
You weakly gesture at nothing with your hand. “Just look at him. He’s— everything about him is the same.”
Tim snorts from the computer. “The running drug rings and murders?”
“Not appropriate, Tim.” Dick says flatly and Tim’s face falls quickly.
You don’t blame him, you probably would have made a joke like that too.
Shaking your head, you stare at the floor past Bruce. “They sound the same, they talk the same way, they look similar— hell, they even smell the same.”
Bruce’s brows furrow. “How do you know what he smells like?”
“Uh…” you stall. “You know, close combat.”
Apparently, he drops it even though he clearly doesn’t believe you, because he asks another question. “We’ve never seen Red Hood unmasked, how do you know they look similar?”
You shrug. “They just do. There’s just something about him. I haven’t been able to shake the feeling for a while.”
It’s silent again for several long moments.
Then Bruce shakes his head absentmindedly.
“Jason is dead, Y/n. No matter how much we miss him, he can’t come back.”
But he’s wrong, he has to be.
Because no one is that similar to someone. You’re sure of it.
……
Your cheeks are wet and your eyes are starting to become raw from you rubbing at them.
Sobbing pathetically on the rooftop of the manor because you had to be reminded about a death that happened a long time ago is not the highlight of your day.
It’s stupid, going from sure of yourself, to telling yourself you’re so stupid for ever thinking it could be true in the first place.
There’s footsteps beside you, but you don’t look up. You don’t care enough to see who it is.
You fidget with the necklace around your neck as you sniffle into your knees.
Something clicks and then hisses as if air pressure is being released before you hear a tiny thud, and then someone pulls you into them.
You know who it is now.
“What’s wrong?” He asks quietly. You know you could look up and confirm your suspicions at any moment but you just can’t bring yourself to do it.
It’s not true, after all, because it can’t be. It’s not possible.
You shrug against him. “I’m reopening old wounds for no reason.” You pause. “Why do you trust me?”
He’s silent, contemplative for a while. “You’re you.”
You laugh dryly. “That doesn’t explain anything.”
“You haven’t even bothered to look have you?” His hand strokes lines in your hair. “You could. I don’t think I’d mind.”
“I don’t want to know.” You say, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m not ready for that.”
He nods, you can feel the movement through his body, even though it’s subtle.
You sit, wrapped up in his arms for a long while before he clears his throat softly and asks, “what old wounds have you been reopening?”
Your eyes well again, but you choke back the tears. “An old… friend, I guess. He died.” You start to pull back but you don’t look at his face.
Instead, you bury your face in your hands again. He lets you pull back. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
You shrug. “It was a long time ago, he just meant a lot to me— and it’s really hard because you remind me so much of him.”
He makes a sort of strangled sound and then clears his throat again but more rough this time. “Why do you say that?”
His voice sounds even more similar without the helmet and voice changer. This man is going to be the death of you. Maybe literally. “I don’t… I don’t know. It’s just everything.” You shake your head and laugh sardonically. “It’s driving me insane.”
“How did he die?” His voice is darker than before, and there’s a sort of undertone you can’t place.
“Brutally.” You stop, take a deep breath, and offer only a bit more context. “The Joker.”
He hums. “The Joker‘s alive and ruling this dumb city.” He pauses. “How do you think your friend would feel about that?”
“Probably about the same as I do. Sick.” You run a hand through your hair, purposefully trying to avoid seeing his face. “That’s why I became a hero, you know. I wanted to kill the joker because he killed Ja- um, my friend.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“People stopped me before I did something I couldn’t come back from.” You say, wrapping your arms around your legs. “I hope the joker suffers a terrible death, but I don’t think it should be by my hands. He wins if I spend the rest of my existence regretting it.”
Red Hood picks up his helmet and clicks it back on. “Right.” He stands and stares down at you. “I have to leave now.”
You shudder at his sudden coldness, and stand abruptly. “Okay, I— um, goodbye…?” You want to smack yourself at how unsure you sound. “Did I say something wrong?”
He shakes his head. “I just don’t know why you would ever regret ridding the world of someone like The Joker, that’s all.”
Stiffly, you nod and wipe your hands on your pants.
“Sorry about your friend.” He finishes, before leaving you alone on the roof again. “Too bad I didn’t know him.”
Basically, crushing any hopes you might’ve had that he was Jason.
……
This is an atrociously stupid idea, you know; driving directly into the den of Gotham's biggest drug lord is the smartest thing to do.
But Gotham's biggest drug lord is Red Hood, and you’re fairly sure he won’t hurt you. Mostly.
His lackeys though, don’t seem so forgiving.
“Who the hell are you?” The man who barks the question at you, is raggedy looking and has the worst, most distasteful tattoos you’ve seen in your life.
“I’m here to see Red Hood.” You amend quickly, “I’m a friend of his.”
“Yeah, right.” The other guard says, a bulky looking woman who is also insanely beautiful… unsettlingly so. “A fragile little thing like you, friends with our boss… please.”
You scoff. “Trust me, I’m not fragile.” Stopping, you contemplate whether it’s a good idea to start something, considering your ankle is still healing. “Just call him.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine, whatever.”
An old phone hangs on the wall and she picks up the receiver and quickly dials a number. “Hey, I have a woman here who says she’s the bosses friend— her name? I have no clue— Oi, what’s your name?” The woman barks at you.
“Y/n.”
“Her name’s Y/n.” She’s silent for a minute while we all wait, then she hangs up the phone aggressively and yanks your arm into her grip. “Lucky. Let’s go.”
The corridors are a bit confusing to navigate, but you’re mostly just following the woman, who seems very familiar with them.
After ten minutes you reach a door, it matches almost every other door, but it has ‘boss’ written crudely on it in spray paint.
“You’re on your own from here.” She says gruffly before stomping away.
You take a moment to collect yourself before you knock, and the door swings open before you can even finish knocking.
“Why are you here?” Red Hood sounds breathless behind his mask, as if something winded him. “How did you remember how to get here?”
“I’m… actually not sure.” You chuckle quietly to yourself as Red Hood pulls you inside.
He sits down at a desk after pulling a chair out for you to sit in. “Again, why are you here?”
Your heart seizes for a moment as if the reason why you’re here hit you all over again. “I want you to show me who you are.”
“Are you sure?” Red Hood questions slowly, his body locking up. “You’re not going to like it.”
You nod curtly. “Yes, I need to know.”
He takes a deep breath and stands up, coming right up close to you. Far enough that you could see his face clearly but close enough to have your knees buckling.
He reaches up and presses a button you can’t see. The helmet hisses and opens, he pulls it off.
And your jaw drops.
Standing there, in grown up glory, black hair, green eyes that used to kill you, is Jason Fucking Todd.
“You’re— You’re not— dead.” You stammer, almost reaching out to touch him before you yank your hand back.
You’re so irrationally angry and also relieved and devastated all at the same time.
Jason sets the helmet down. You can’t decide whether to hug him and never let go or slap him for waiting so long to tell you. “That’s a… complicated story.” He pauses. “I promise I’ll tell you that story but I just— can’t get into that right now.”
You nod slowly. “Okay… that means I can get fucking pissed now.”
You’ve clearly confused him when you wrap your hands around his waist and squeeze tightly while also cursing him out. “I can’t believe you waited this long to show me.”
You can see the smart-ass comment on the tip of his tongue but he bites it back. “I knew you’d find out eventually.” His eyes caress your body and there’s a look of longing lingering in his eyes; he seems to be contemplating something. “Fuck it, I’ve been waiting too long to do this.”
You barely have time to react as Jason lowers his face down to yours and kisses you; As soon as you realize what he’s doing, you kiss back.
His hands go to rest on your hips, as you slowly get pushed back into his desk behind you. When you hit the ledge of if, Jason lifts you onto its surface, and pulls back.
“I’ve wanted to do that since we were kids.” He says quietly.
You gently touch your lips, almost in disbelief. “I’ve been wanting you to do that since we were kids.”
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All content belongs to @beingsuneone , do not repost, copy or post on other platforms without my permission.
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cyrwrites · 5 months
Text
There's Something Really Fucked In That Manor…
... and it's not Jason. Look, if you wanted to hear that Jason was avoiding everyone because of his daddy issues, you would have been only half correct about that. But something had been tripping him up about Bruce lately, and the Green didn't like it.
By rule of thumb, what the Green doesn't like should have been plenty awesome, but something about that didn't ring too well in Jason's head. So here he was. Avoiding Bruce, like a coward, because his inner Mountain Dew was pissed at his father figure about something.
Too bad Dickface hadn't gotten the memo.
"Get out," Jason growled.
"Nice place," the bastard in black and blue beamed at him. "Real cozy."
"Fits right in with the Alley," Jason retorted, lips pursed.
"The patch of mold growing on the ceiling would probably agree."
"I don't know what you're playing at, Dick," Jason said. "But this is the perfect time to stop."
There was nothing right about their so-called family. Dick Grayson may have been the prodigal son out of the bunch, but he and Jason ran in very different circles - their association as part of "Team Bat" notwithstanding. Dick may have been smiling, but no emotion ever reached his eyes while he was in Jason's presence. They had a way of adding baggage to an already taxed to hell relationship; it would never be better than a truce. Back to present, the man meant business and Jason would thank him if he ever got to the point and stopped wasting their time.
"Cranky," Dick teased.
"And you're too cocky for someone without a gun," Jason said.
Dick sighed.
"Take the fun out of it, why don't you," he said.
"Make it fast, Boy Wonder, or I'll turn up the fun by a thousand," Jason threatened.
Dick squinted, probably thinking about the explosives and grenades in Jason's person. No one could ever accuse him of not carrying, even when he forwent firearms and bazookas. Heck, he'd gone back to using his old helmet trick just in case he didn't have enough explosives.
"That's- Okay, fine. Let's keep it simple. Bruce has the Batcave on lockdown. No one can get in- no one is coming out. Do you know anything about that, Little Wing?"
“You’re asking me? That’s golden.”
“It was a long shot, asking you,” Dick admitted. “But you were the last person to talk to B before he went dark.”
“Oh, when Bruce started attacking me because I shot Carr in the dick for being a piece of shit rapist, you mean?”
“I try not to keep up with whatever you and Bruce are going through,” Dick said, his face doing a complicated thing that Jason had no intention of looking into. “You said you got into a fight?”
“Another fight,” Jason corrected, “We’re never not fighting.”
Dick sighed and pivoted around, using the soles of his feet. Jason could barely hear him whispering something into his comm. A female voice responded back. That was Oracle, Jason was sure. He supposed that it was pretty weird that Barbie hadn’t gotten to the bottom of this already.
Bat-Daddy is keeping secrets, a sinister voice whispered into his ear. As it cackled in delight, Jason didn’t think about how the voice sounded similar to an old enemy he was never ever going to kill.
“How long has the lockdown been?” he asked.
Dick flinched, as if he’d already forgotten he was standing there.
“He’s almost past the forty-eight-hour mark,” Dick told him.
Jason tried to think back. That was probably around the same time that he’d come back to his apartment, looking all kinds of messed up. Sounded like Bruce had done the same as him.
“So, he’s been moping,” Jason gritted out, feeling the Pit screaming at his idea of going out to investigate this mystery by himself. “Sucks to suck. Maybe leave the old man to his misery for once, Big Bird.”
Dick was looking at him strangely.
“You’re actually scared of him,” he said.
Jason recoiled.
“Scared of- As if. In your dreams, Dick!” he shouted.
His good-for-nothing brother didn’t look convinced, but also didn’t press. He, out of all people, had seen (time and time again) how much Bruce affected him on a bad day.
“Okay! So. We’ll be staging an intervention,” Dick said. “It’s your choice if you come or not. But if you don’t want to-”
“I’m going.”
Despite the Pit screaming and the incredible well of anxiety gnawing on his gut, Jason couldn’t deny the spark of curiosity in the backburner. The way Jason’s luck worked, he bet that if Daddy Bats was being this open about being secretive about something, then it would come up later, anyway.
“Really?” Dick asked, surprise in his tone.
“What? Are you retracting your invitation, like a true dick?” Jason shot back.
“No, it’s just-”
“Then put on your big boy shoes and let’s get going!”
Nightwing flew alongside Red Hood that night, despite any grievances Dick may have had with having a crime lord tagging along to Wayne Manor. Perhaps that was part of a plan Barbie and Boy Wonder had come up with; if it was, Jason had decided he didn’t care. He was not going alone into this farce, and that was enough for him.
Breaking into the Manor was a child’s play, which he told Dick as soon as he’d opened the front door for him. The Cave was a little more difficult, but Jason’s propensity for breaking and entering couldn’t be denied, in spite of any of the new fancy tech Bruce had added to safeguard his newest dirty secret.
No, the problem came when they went through the door and saw the tanks filled with Green.
“Holy shit,” Dick said. “Bruce, what the hell are you doing?”
Jason didn’t say anything, because there wasn’t anything to say. He bent down and swiped with his fingers the green viscous liquid that was dripping from one of the tanks, praying that he was wrong.
He wasn’t.
“This is Lazarus Water,” Jason said, voice devoid of emotion. “Was B working on something from Ra’s?”
Dick said no. Oracle would be looking into it.
Jason hated that the Pit’s screaming was making more and more sense as they prowled around the Cave. There was no one around and they didn't dare call for Bruce yet, just in case there was a rogue around.
To be fair, at this point, they were begging for a rogue to be hiding somewhere in this mess, despite the poor probability of that happening.
“Jason,” Dick called quietly, pointing to one of the tanks.
“I see it,” Jason muttered.
There was a person in one of the tanks. A little too small for it to be a proper child – a little too underdeveloped to be alive.
A fetus.
Quietly, the duo advanced through the myriad of used pods, warily watching out for any sign of life. There was none, even though the test subjects seemed to be getting more and more complex as they went on. They also started getting on in years, becoming more teen-like.
“He’s finally cracked,” Jason said, ignoring his voice wavering. “Adoption must be getting old if he’s making people now.”
Dick stayed quiet for a hot second and then-
“I don’t think he’s making someone new,” he said, voice terse.
Jason looked at the specimen Dick was eying and froze.
“That’s-”
“You?” Dick asked.
The dead boy in the tank did look like him. The old him, when he was young and stupid, and he’d taken up Dick Grayson’s legacy as Robin without asking for his blessing. In fact, it wouldn’t have been too much of a stretch to say that the boy was his exact age when he was taken off the streets.
Jason swallowed and mentally reviewed all of the people that they’d found in the pods.
“What the fuck?” Jason whispered, his brain frying instantly. “What the fuck is this?”
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radiance1 · 6 months
Note
dc x dp (trans Danny btw)
saw this one where Danny is in a big brother program where he converses with Dick who is helping Fanny until the incident then he goes radio silent and then like gets an emergency text with his location and Dick takes the fucking bat jet and gets there to see Danny limping with a bear trap on his leg, baby Ellie in his arms, clothes fucked to hell, and tears in his eyes. Dick immediately takes them gets him some medical attention before he gets the gist of it from Danny who just says he was trapped my the mayor/god father/guardian since the Nasty Burger explosion and he got custody and while he was trapped with him he tried to “make” a perfect son since Danny would be and after a few failed attempts got Ellie but he was able to get out and sent “hunting dogs” to try and get him back and now their there which makes Dick think of the worst because Danny is trans and “making” a baby means you know and so Dick is planning murder and is heading to the mansion (I can’t fucking find it so if someone does than please link it o just couldn’t fucking find it)
anyway I’m adding to that, Danny is obviously traumatized since the whole electrocution and clone thing so he doesn’t want to tell anybody but he has to take care of Danny since she was forced to her core but was able to reform quickly which led her to this state and hes trying to comfort her, they end up at the manor and he’s clinging to Dick since he remembers how nice it was to have someone to talk to and he saved him to Dick is practically his lifeline at the moment and only trusts him right now, Dick gets Danny and Ellie a room first before answering any questions and Danny before letting Dick go says, “Thank you for answering even when I was being a bad little brother and getting you into this mess” he tries to say it light heartedly and jokes about being brother because of the program and Danny sees this as dragging more into the whole ghost secret which he is going to reveal soon but not right now he’s tired and injured but Dick sees this as Danny blaming himself for getting in the situation and Dick says, “You didn’t ask for this. You are not in the wrong. That… man. He didn’t have the right to do what he did to you and he never will. You were brave and strong, and you’re not half bad for a little brother” Dick smiles and Danny relaxed as he gives a hug to Dick who is surprised but so glad that Danny is willing to even get close to him and takes it gracefully while being giddy on the inside, “Okay time to get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow” he waved as Danny waved back with a weak but soft smile. Dick didn’t close it completely but watched for a moment to see Danny holding Ellie and whispering sweet assurances and a small lullaby which made his gear ache that a boy could love his daughter so much no matter what happened, as he took a rest for the night
I don't uh, believe myself well equipped to handle this so I won't be able to add anything here so uh.
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flowersandbigteeth · 1 year
Note
I’m obsessed with Levi, absolutely smitten. Thank you for sharing him with us.
If you feel up to it could we get a snippet of someone maybe a rival vampire trying to plant doubts in Levi about the reader. Maybe accusing them of cheating on him and using him, only for Levi to laugh in their face because he knows how devoted and loyal they are to each other.
Just like the opposite of the miscommunication trope. Please and thank you🥺👉👈
I'm so happy you like Levi ^_^ This is just a little thing, but I thought it turned out cute and it's nice to do something lighter after the last one omg :D
Vampire (Levi) x female mom reader
Word Count: 1k
W: sfw vampire fluff
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“Ugh,” Levi’s cousin Ivan and leader of his clan in Russia grimaced looking down at Meryl over his glass of blood, “don’t you have a nanny?” 
Levi nudged him away from the baby sleeping peacefully in the crib he’d put in his office so she could be nearby. He’d wanted to give you a spa day and he knew you weren’t yet comfortable with the nanny, so he happily offered to keep his favorite cinnamon roll with him.
He also wanted you out of the house when his cousin arrived. He didn’t like males seeing you and he knew how frivolous vampire’s could be. Their lives were long and got boring, rare jewels intrigued them, if only for a time. He’d sent you surrounded by a handful of Amazonian vampire bodyguards, so he felt confident no one would bother you. 
“(Y/N) and I have decided to keep her caretakers to a minimum,” he said, “she’s already been exposed to so many different germs and people, there’s no reason to add anymore.” 
Ivan snorted. 
“So she’s got you babysitting her brat?! Cousin, are you a fool?” 
Of course in his time, the idea of a vampire Clan lord carrying around an infant was preposterous, let alone one that was not his son, specifically. Many vampire mothers immediately gave their children to wet nurses so they wouldn’t look weak carrying a drooling baby around. 
Levi growled at his cousin, prompting him to lower his voice so as not to wake the baby. 
Ivan hissed lightly back, his eyes flashing. Vampire lords didn’t like being told what to do. 
“Who is this trollop anyway?” he snapped, though a bit quieter, “I’ve never seen you so wrapped around anyone’s finger.” 
Levi looked a little wistful. 
“Just an angel I came across in a fish store,” he murmured, his eyes resting fondly on Meryl. 
Ivan raised an eyebrow. 
“Fish…store…? And you’ve taken in her bastard? You’re babysitting it? Levi, I know losing Karen must have been hard but-”
Levi’s face hardened and his voice boomed. 
“Don’t say her name in my presence!” he snarled. 
Meryl cooed that she was waking up and started to whimper realizing she was alone. Levi looked distraught and hurried over to her, picking her up and bouncing her in his arm. 
“I’m sorry baby bat, did I wake you?” he cooed, and she gave him a gummy smile, doing her “daddy is picking me up” dance in his hand. 
Something about the happiness on Levi’s face when he looked at Meryl and how innocently she completely trusted him incensed Ivan. 
“This is absurd Levi. No one can be this happy! How do you know she doesn’t have some lover on the side and she’s just using you? Tugging a vampire lord on a leash?! She’s probably making another one of those things right now! Aren’t you concerned with how this makes the family look?!” 
Levi tipped Meryl’s head to his chest so she couldn’t see before he bared his fangs, transforming his face into a more animal version of itself as a warning. 
“Now you sound absurd, cousin,” he ground out, more offended that he’d say such a thing in front of his darling baby than taking it seriously, “(Y/N) is a devoted mother and wife. I won't listen to you slandering her in front of our child.”
Ivan snorted and crossed his leg with annoyance, spinning his blood around. 
“Goddess, modern romance is so disgusting,” he retorted, turning his face away from the tooth achingly sweet sight of Levi tossing Meryl in the air to make her giggle, “If it were me, I’d never see the thing.” 
“That’s why you’re a cold, lonely bastard,” Levi chuckled, “and I have a warm, beautiful family.” 
Ivan rolled his eyes. 
“Until she backstabs you like your mother,” he snapped. 
Levi growled more loudly. 
“I told you not to mention her,” he snapped, flipping Meryl over his shoulder by one foot so she wouldn’t see his anger and making her laugh out loud. 
“Ugggggh,” Ivan let out the longest groan ever at her pure joy as Levi pulled her back to his chest and found her one of the toys strewn on his desk to play with. 
“I’m back my loves!” you sighed as you walked into Levi’s office and breezed past the vampire sitting in one of Levi’s overstuffed chairs. You tossed your purse lazily on his desk, then tipped up on your toes and gave Levi a kiss, then smooched Meryl. 
“Feel my face,” you beamed, taking his hand and putting it on your freshly worked over skin, “they did some kind of laser thing to it! It’s super soft!” 
He grinned down at you, taking the opportunity to circle your cheek with his fingers. Maybe it was softer than normal, it always felt soft to him, but he was happy you wanted him to touch you. You'd been seeking out his touch more and more, each time delighting him more than the last.
A bit of a tug in the back of your mind reminded you the other vampire was still there and you glanced over your shoulder at him. 
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?” you asked, looking him over. He looked a bit like Levi, as well, but with wheat blonde hair cropped short and bright blue eyes. 
“Uh…this is my cousin, Ivan,” Levi said with as little enthusiasm as possible, “he’s in town for the wedding.”
He was eager to see you since you’d been gone all morning, but he still didn’t like males looking at you, disappointed your spa treatment ended early. For Ivan’s part his mouth dropped and his eyes grew big. He hopped up from the chair and crossed the room, looming over you. 
He took your hand and gave it a kiss, smiling down at you with the eyes of a predator behind baby blue irises almost flashing green with envy. 
“Levi told me many things about you and I thought he was exaggerating, but he wasn’t lying when he said you are truly lovely. Now I think I understand his fascination. I look forward to seeing more of you, my dear,” Ivan purred, “Levi loves to throw parties so I’m sure there will be plenty of occasions for us to get more acquainted.”
You blinked up at him and extracted your hand from his. 
“Er...good to meet you,” you said, wondering if it was a generational gap thing that made him sound so weird to you. Many of Levi's vampires had odd dialects hinting to their time of origin.
Levi bared his teeth and handed Meryl to you, practically shoving his cousin from the room. 
“I’ll see you later, cousin!” he growled, slamming the door behind him.
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suzukiblu · 2 months
Text
WIP excerpt: the last son of Krypton meets Hypertime Kon.
“Half-Kryptonian, half-human,” Bruce reports flatly, clearly not liking the answer. Clark feels his heart clench painfully in his chest again at the confirmation, even as obvious as it was to his eyes. “Specifically, fifty-four percent Kryptonian to forty-six percent human.” 
“I think it’s more like fifty-two and forty-four, technically,” Kon says. Bruce looks irritated again, but Clark’s immediately curious, since that obviously doesn’t add up to a full hundred percent and also he just wants to know everything about this kid. “They custom-built the last four percent or something, I guess, so it’s kinda . . . synthetic DNA, probably? Or something, I dunno. That’s where the TTK and the part where I haven’t collapsed into clone soup comes from, though. Apparently, anyway.” 
Clark feels briefly nauseous at the mention of collapsing into . . . “clone soup”, which just leads to all sorts of horrifying mental images, but Kon says it casually, as if it’s not an actual concern and more just a morbid reference, which is . . . still concerning, admittedly, but at least less concerning than it could be. If he’d had to watch Kon degenerate to death while knowing his other version would never even know what had happened to him . . . 
That sounds like a literal goddamn nightmare come to life, yes. And he can’t imagine being that version of himself, either, and just never, ever knowing. Just having that empty place in his life forever, and never knowing why it had happened or what had happened to the person who belonged in it, and just hoping against hope, without knowing it was already too late. 
God, what a thought. 
“Satisfied, Batman?” Clark asks, trying not to think about it. They’ll get Kon home. If there isn’t a way to track down his home reality with science, magic is still on the table. The League is full of resourceful, well-connected people who are owed a lot of favors, and someone always knows someone.
“Not even remotely,” Bruce replies, stepping away from the scanners and gesturing Kon towards Diana. “Lasso.” 
“Batman . . .” Clark sighs, folding his arms. “You’re three Robins deep and they’ve never had to answer to the Lasso of Truth.” 
“None of them showed up already wearing a bat on their chest and claiming ties to one of the most singularly powerful people on Earth,” Bruce retorts flatly. “And even if he’s telling the truth, for all we know this boy’s Superman is a supervillain.” 
“He is definitely not, actually,” Kon says, shooting him a dubious look as he folds his own arms the exact same way Clark just did. Clark resists the urge to take the imitation as flattery. Bruce looks exasperated, very briefly.
“Then you won’t mind telling Wonder Woman’s lasso that,” he says. 
“Robin would tell me to ask for a lawyer, I’m pretty sure,” Kon says, still more dubious. Bruce looks very exasperated. 
“Well, he isn't wrong,” Diana says, clearly amused.
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youunravelme · 1 year
Text
head start
author’s note: s/o to @ethancale for making me come out of a writing slump of like two/three years. it should be noted that the reader is one year younger than jack. it should also be noted pt. 2 that i am just now understanding hockey so if the timelines don’t match up or i mess up terminology, oh well, i tried. this is my first thing i’m posting on here so please be nice, or don’t, i can’t tell you what to do.
pairing: jack hughes x reader
summary: you’ve had a crush on the middle hughes brother for as long as you can remember. and really, why wouldn’t you? he’s everything. so why would he ever fall for you?
warnings: a little mention of drinking. cursing? writing in all lowercase? is that a warning?
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13/14
summers at the lake house used to be fun, full of wakeboarding, the scent of sunscreen, the feel of fresh water hitting you in the face. but that was before you turned thirteen. before you realized your best friend unintentionally sent a shiver down your spine that couldn’t be blamed on a cold wind.
and it’s not like he noticed, jack hughes still referred to you as his little sister as he tousled your hair. you were just fortunate enough that he was too focused on hockey to really care about other girls so you didn’t have a direct line of comparison. 
“are you gonna come swim or not?” jack burst into your kitchen, your parents, who sat at the table with you, didn’t even bat an eye. you had a spoonful of cereal halfway to your mouth that was quickly dropped back in the bowl.
“why? are you bored?” you teased, secretly hoping this would be the moment he confessed his undying love for you, but he just shrugged and moved his wet hair out of his face.
“i need someone to help me drown luke.” your heart sunk a little bit, but what did you expect? a love confession in the artificial lighting of your kitchen?
you sighed and pretended to think about it, like you weren’t two seconds from sprinting upstairs and changing just to spend time with him. “alright,” you started, not missing the way he smiled in triumph. “just let me get dressed.”
while you changed, he made small talk with your parents. your dad was really into hockey, and probably resented not having a son who would play though he would never admit it.
you came back downstairs dressed in a one piece (your parents still insisted you were too young for bikinis) and lathered in sunscreen. “let’s go!” you said as you ran past your parents and out the back door. 
“race you to the water!” you screamed over your shoulder as you sprinted barefoot towards the dock. you could hear his feet pounding behind you, knowing you only had a few seconds before he inevitably caught up, you pushed faster.
only for him to beat you at the last second, jumping straight into the water with you following shortly after.
“you had a head start and still couldn’t beat me!” he yelled at you once you breeched the surface.
pretty was the only word you could think of to describe the way he looked at that moment with water falling down his face and the sun lighting up his eyes.
“you okay?” he asked, his voice softer than before.
“i--”
“incoming!” luke launched himself over you and jack, splashing the both of you and ruining whatever moment you thought you were having.
if you were hesitant about helping jack drown his brother, you were sure now.
17/18
“new jersey's a long way from michigan,” was the first thing that came out of your mouth when you saw jack after he was drafted. you both sat on the dock outside his house, feet dangling in the water, shoulders close enough to brush against each other.
he shrugged it off, like he always did. “that’s why we have phones.”
but a phone can’t recreate your hugs or the way your laughter feels inside my chest is what you wanted to say. but you settled for: “you’re right. but you have to promise to always pick up when i call.”
“that’s a hefty promise.”
“this is a hefty friendship.” he still didn’t look convinced. “look, it’s not like i’ll call when you’re at practice or every friday night. i just don’t want you to forget about me when you become rich and famous.”
jack laughed like it was the funniest thing he ever heard. “i could never forget about you.”
your heart soared in your chest much like the birds above the lake. everything about what he said sounded sincere and it lit a flame in your stomach that you’d never experienced before. 
“i mean,” he continued. “ at the very least, the buck teeth you had as a kid are seared into my mind. i couldn’t forget those even if i tried.”
and there it was: the reminder that he’d always see you as a child, even if you were only a year younger. it sucked knowing he’d only ever attribute you to your awkward phases and never the growing woman you were slowly becoming. the year age gap never seemed like a problem when you were younger, but the older you got, the more he seemed to reference it.
a flicker of confusion appeared on his face before you realized you hadn’t laughed at his “joke.” so you plastered a smile on your face and playfully rolled your eyes. “funny,” you said because it was easier than confessing that it hurt.
“hey,” he started, bumping his shoulder with yours. “regardless of what happens, you’re still my best friend.”
“and you’re mine.”
and maybe that’s as far as your relationship goes, maybe you never get to experience what his lips would feel like on yours, but you’d settle for sunsets on the dock if it meant he could stay a little longer.
18/19
his rookie year might’ve sucked, but your senior year didn’t. you don’t know what it was, maybe it was your hair, or the fact that you cared a little bit more about your appearance, maybe it was because you stopped giving a fuck what others thought and just lived your life.
or maybe, and the saddest maybe, was that you stopped being jack’s little shadow.
you used to wait around for him to answer the phone, knowing his practice schedules and games like the back of your hand and working around them. you’d watch him play on the tv and wait two hours before attempting to call him. and to his credit, he did pick up the first month of living in new jersey, but then it was every other call, then every other week, then once a month until you stopped calling altogether.
luke noticed the difference, often walking over to your house to find you not at home, only to see you getting out of a car at 2 in the morning, stumbling drunk up to the front door.
he caught you one day in the hallways of school between classes. “are you alright?”
you opened your mouth to answer, but you were cut off by a pair of lips swooping down and planting one on you. your boyfriend, matt, mumbling a quick hello before he headed to class.
“sorry about that,” you said once matt disappeared down the hall. “what were you saying?”
luke didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at you and the retreating back of your boyfriend. “jack’s in town tonight for a game last one of the season, just wondering if you were going.”
“did he get tickets?” you asked.
luke nodded. “one for mom, dad, you, me, and rachel--”
“rachel?” you said quietly, already feeling the dread rise up in your chest.
luke rolled his eyes, not taking notice of the panic bubbling underneath the surface of your body. “jack’s new girlfriend,” he explained. “she’s nice and all, just not who i saw him being with.”
“oh,” you said. then a beat later, “can i bring matt? i’ll pay for his ticket.”
luke looked hesitant but nodded anyway. “i don’t think it’ll be a problem, let me text jack and i’ll let you know.”
by the end of the school day, you got a text confirming that matt could come, ellen and jim opting to just pay for it instead of bothering jack about it.
the game itself was good if you ignored jack’s mediocre performance, something you never thought you’d ever say out loud. and for the most part, you didn’t pay attention, choosing to focus more on explaining the game to matt. when the game ended, you kept close to matt and luke, ignoring the excitement of rachel (who was not as bad as your jealousy led you to believe), and completely unaware of the looks ellen and jim kept shooting each other. 
after what felt like ages, jack finally appeared from the locker room, freshly showered. rachel ran up to him first, hugging him tightly before he could even take in the appearance of anyone else. 
“you did great, babe!” she cheered.
you had to keep a snort to yourself because he did not, in fact, do great, and judging by the look on his face, he knew it too. 
jack pulled away from the hug and finally looked at who came to support him, but his eyes stopped on the arm around your waist. three things seemed to happen at once and so quickly that you couldn’t really understand their meanings. his eyes darkened, his jaw clenched, and he swallowed like he was being force fed something he could barely tolerate.
but they all disappeared in the moment his parents hugged him, luke following up with a smaller hug until the only people left to greet him were you and matt. 
“hey,” you said, unsure of how to greet someone who essentially dropped off the face of the earth.
“who’s this?” he asked, eyes locked on yours.
you furrowed your brows. after months apart, little to no communication, this was how he greeted you? but a quick glance at his family and rachel told you it wasn’t the place to pick a fight.
“this is--”
“matt, i’m her boyfriend,” matt cut in, extending a hand to shake.
jack glanced at the hand and then you before hesitantly reaching out to shake. “jack, her best friend.” was all he said.
but matt didn’t stop there. “the one who stopped answering her phone calls?” he asked right as you felt the blood drain from your face. he tilted his head to the side to appear innocent, but you were familiar with that gleam in his eye.
jack didn’t back down, he just clenched his jaw. “and you’re the boyfriend no one mentioned? must sting, knowing you weren’t important enough to be invited in the first place.” he smiled and shrugged before turning around, kissing rachel, and heading back towards the locker room.
you shot a glare at matt before chasing after your best friend.
“jack wait!” he stopped walking, but didn’t turn around until you tugged on his wrist.
“what?” he asked, sounding tired and burned out, unlike the heat of his words just seconds before.
“i’m sorry he said that, he’s usually not...” you trailed off.
“such a dick?” he deadpanned. “i’d hope not.”
“jack...”
he held his hands up. “sorry. that was out of line.”
“little bit.”
jack sighed and ran a hand down his face. “why didn’t you tell me you were dating someone?”
you looked at him with your brows furrowed once again. “when should i have done that? the fourteenth or fifteenth phone call you didn’t answer?”
“i’m sorry--”
“you broke your promise, jack. and i get it, you’re busy but you said you wouldn’t forget about me and you did.”
“i never did!” he insisted. “listen, i know there aren’t enough excuses in the world to make up for how i’ve treated you the past few months, but i didn’t forget about you, i swear. i just didn’t want you to hear about hard it was playing professionally, i didn’t want you to be disappointed in me. my family’s reactions were hard enough.”
“i never thought less of you, jack. i was just waiting for you to talk to me about it.”
“well now that we’ve established that i’m an idiot for ignoring you, can i take you and everyone to dinner? as a treat for being a shitty best friend?”
for the first time that night, you left a genuine smile grace your face. “of course.”
you broke up with matt two days later.
20/21
when you were younger, you dreamt of going to ivy league schools and living out the dark academic lifestyle, but being at michigan proved to be better than anything you could’ve imagined. the culture, the campus, the sports all had you in a chokehold.
which was why you were grateful that luke continued playing hockey (as if there was any doubt).
“are you coming to my game this week?” he asked one night while you both were hanging out in his dorm. “jack will be there.”
you did a double take and nearly spit out the water you were sipping. “he will?”
“since he’s not an all star this year, he has a bye week. said he’d come see me play.”
your heart pounded in your chest. “oh,’ was all you could say.
“but if you ask me, i think he has ulterior motives,” luke said, wiggling his eyebrows in the process.
“okay stop that,” you threw a bottle cap at his head. “it’s weird and freaking me out because i have no idea what you’re implying.”
“don’t play dumb with me now,’ luke started. “you’ve had a crush on my brother since you were like twelve and you haven’t dated anyone seriously since matt.”
“and?”
“and? jack hasn’t really dated anyone since rachel.”
“he said he was too focused on hockey.”
luke scoffed. “if a guy wants to date someone during hockey season, he will make it happen. the point is, jack isn’t interested in dating just anyone.”
you blinked.
“do i really have to spell it out for you?” he asked. “jack likes you.”
“no,” you immediately replied. “i’m not getting my hopes up on a chance.”
“there is no chance! it’s the truth!”
“did he tell you that?”
“...not in so many words.” you opened your mouth but he butted back in. “but i know my brother, even better than you do, i know what he looks like when he’s in love.”
“jack doesn’t love me like that,” you mumbled.
“why couldn’t he? you’re a catch, and he’s known you forever. hell, i’d date you if there was a chance that you’d go for me and that jack wouldn’t absolutely murder me.”
“you’re out of your mind, luke,” you said before standing up. “and i’ve got to head home. i’ll see you at the game, alright? don’t suck.”
a few days later, you found yourself freezing your ass off sitting front row when a sweatshirt was tossed onto your head as someone plopped down in the seat next to you.
“why can’t you ever remember to bring a jacket to these things?”
jack.
you smiled and shoved him in the arm. “you made it!”
“of course i did, wasn’t gonna miss seeing luke play.” when you took a look at him, you noticed how his hair had gotten longer but was hidden under the baseball cap he wore, probably in a sorry attempt to keep things low-key.
“how have you been? how’s the team been?”
jack clutched at his chest. “you mean you haven’t been keeping up?”
you rolled your eyes but laughed anyway. “it’s better to hear from your mouth than random sportscasters.”
“it’s better, i really love it.” you made eye contact and for a second, the chatter around the room dissipated. the only ones who mattered were the two of you. “how have you been? how’s school?”
but you were lost in the cerulean color of his eyes. all you could muster to say was “fine,” before the buzzer went off, signaling the start of the game and snapping you both out of whatever trance you were in.
when one of luke’s teammates scored, you both jumped up and screamed, but it was jack who leaned down and yelled over all the noise. “you better cheer this loud when you come to my games.”
“i don’t think so!” you yelled back. “luke is my favorite hughes brother, now.”
you barely got the words out before his hands attacked your sides, pulling shrieks and laughs out of your mouth. “take it back!” he said. 
you kept laughing until you couldn’t take it anymore. “fine! i take it back.”
“say ‘jack is my favorite hughes brother.’“
you opened your mouth--
“no wait, say ‘jack is my favorite hockey player of all time.’“
you rolled your eyes but did it anyway. “jack hughes is my favorite hockey player of all time. there, you happy?” he nodded and suddenly it didn’t matter that you had to sacrifice some of your pride. how could you care about anything else when jack hughes smiled at you like that?
you both met luke down by the locker rooms, jack swearing to take you both out to dinner to congratulate his brother on a game well played. the three of you went to a small diner in town. luke sat on one side of a booth, jack on the other. you stood contemplating which seat to take before jack tugged you into the booth beside him, throwing his arm over your shoulder like it’s always found a home there. luke smirked but said nothing.
it would be another few weeks before you got to see jack in person again. both of you tiding yourselves over with facetime calls and texts.
he brought up being in town for another game and wanting you to attend. you drove yourself and luke to the arena, dressed in jack’s jersey you bought from a merchandise section.
“i’m sure he would’ve given you one if you’d just asked,” luke said.
“it’s not that big of a deal.”
“jerseys are expensive.”
“thanks luke, i had no idea.” 
“i’m just saying, you could’ve gotten it for free. he would’ve done it gladly.”
by the time the both of you made it to your seats, the game was about to start.
jack was having a great game. with multiple assists and goals scored, you found yourself wondering how he was even human. there were seldom times where you and luke were actually seated because the both of you were cheering and jumping so much.
at the end of the game, both you and luke made your way down to the locker room, waiting for jack to finish with the interviews as he got off the ice.
“don’t look so nervous,” luke said. “he’ll be happy to see you.”
and sure, that was true, but there was something about that night that felt different. he kept moving his sweaty hair out of his face and glancing around. it wasn’t until he caught sight of you and luke, that jack quickly wrapped up his interview and all but ran towards them.
“good game jack,” you smiled. but his was brighter.
“you came,” he breathed. you could vaguely register luke walking away, but didn’t think much of it.
“you asked me to, why wouldn’t i come?”
“you’re entirely too good for me.”
“jack what’re you talking about--” but your words were cut off when his hands grabbed your face and pulled your lips to his.
it didn’t feel like fireworks, or butterflies, or anything you imagined it was be. it felt like coming home. like the culmination of all your dreams met in that exact moment. his lips were chapped and he smelled like sweat but you couldn’t have imagined this moment any more perfect than it already was.
you only stopped when the need for air overrode the need to stay close to each other.
“what was that?” you whispered.
“a few years in the making,” he replied. “how long for you?”
“since i was twelve.”
he laughed and kissed you again. “you had a head start and i still beat you.”
fin.
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thethirdtriplet · 5 months
Text
Head cannon for the Batkids:
So, we’re all aware that out of all Bruce’s kid Tim is the only one that’s ever gotten away with lying to him on more than one occasion.
And we know how smart he is, right, so if over the years he just keep doing it, lying to Bruce, about small things that wouldn’t really harm anyone. Just so he could observe and keep track of how much he can get a way with, for future reference of course.
But he gets so good at it that Bruce, Bat “the most paranoid person on the planet” man, immediately trusts his words, just like that.
Honestly why wouldn’t he? Tim hasn’t given him anything to doubt. He’d been carful over the years. 1-Hiding his tracks, 2-being overly truthful, 3-keeping his reputation as clean as possible.
1-He breaks something? Bruce wouldn’t know, cause he hid the evidence, bought a replica or straight up gaslights Bruce into thinking it never existed.
2-He stirs up trouble with the YJ, he’d tell Bruce with all honesty what happened, to the point where Bruce just expects the truth when Tim reports a mission to him, unbeknownst to him, that half of it is lies.
3-He keeps this up in his years as Robin to stay in his good graces, obviously, he’s polite, diligent, reliable and responsible, who wouldn’t trust a boy that’s so mature for his age?
Of course then his sibling find out about this certain skill of his and employ him to lie for them.
——————————
Dick, broke a chandelier he was not supposed to be swinging on? No problem; Timmy’s on it:
Dick: *tries giving Tim the puppy dog eyes that have virtually no effect on him*
Tim: *sends him an unimpressed look*
Tim: Bruce, just look at that ancient looking chandelier and tell me it wasn’t going to fall on someone’s head one day or the other?
Bruce: …
Tim: *sighs exasperatedly*
Tim: Do you have such little faith in your own son that you would believe he would endanger himself doing something that could potentially injure him, that you specifically told him not to do.
Tim: *sends a pointed look towards dick*
Dick: *sends him a sheepish smile*
Bruce: …
Bruce: *relents*
Bruce: I guess you’re right.., and the chandelier is quite old,..I’ll have to buy a replacement..
Bruce: *walks away*
Tim: You owe me, for this.
Dick: Yeah, I know, but thanks anyway Timmy!
——————————
Jason, scratched the Batmobile, he wasn’t permitted to drive? Bribe Tim; to deal with Bruce:
Jason: I’ll cook for you, anything you want, as payment.
Tim: *sighs*
Tim: Bruce, are you really sure you were careful with the Batmobile, last nigh? I seem to remember, you were in quite a rush to catch up to two-face, who was escaping in his getaway car.
Bruce: I checked on it last night, and don’t remember any scratches…
Tim: You were dead on your feet last night, barley even able to change out of your gear, write a full report, then head to bed, it shouldn’t be surprising that you missed a few scratches on the car.
Bruce: …
Bruce: I guess so… I’ll just have to keep a more attentive eye on it, next time…
Bruce: *walks away*
Tim: I’ll be expecting breakfast burritos, to appear on my plate, in the morning.
Jason: You can expect anything you want, and I’ll make it happen, after that save, nerd-bird.
——————————
Damian, snuck in an injured cat to take care of, before sending them off to the shelter? ‘Force’ Drake, to help:
Damian: While I usually wouldn’t resort to you for assistance, Drake, I must reluctantly admit, I am in need of it.
Tim: I’ll only agree, if you name the cat Drake.
Damian, who already named the long haired, black furred, blue eyed cat, after Tim: Very well.
Later on:
Bruce: *spots the new cat*
Bruce: Tim, is it just me or does Alfred the cat look.. different.
Tim: I’m not sure what you’re talking about, B.
Bruce: I could have sworn his eyes were yellow, not blue?..
Tim: Are you sure, though? Perhaps you’re mistaken. Maybe it’s a trick of the light? There’s a lot of reasons, as to why you could have mistaken the cat’s eye colour.
Bruce: …
Bruce: I guess… if you say so…
Later, later on:
Damian: Drake, Drake, the cat, has been adopted, as of late, by a loving and nurturing family (as loving and nurturing a family can be, in Gotham).
Tim: Cool.
——————————
Cassandra wants Bruce to attend her recital, but he’s busy? Ask Tim for help:
Bruce: Odd, I remember I had a few more cases to finish today…
Tim: Ohhh, those? Yeah, you gave them to me, not long ago.
Bruce: …I did?
Tim: Yeah! Just last night, when you told me you promised cass, you’d attend her recital, tonight. So I suggested, to handle those cases for you.
Bruce: …
Bruce: That does seem like something I’d do, thanks for reminding me, Tim, I’m glad I can count on you.
Tim: Of course, B.
Later on:
Cass, hugging Tim; to show her appreciation.
——————————
Duke, may or may not have skipped school after first period? Get Tim to help:
Tim: Bruce, is the school absolutely sure, he hadn’t attended his classes, I mean you can obviously see, from the security camera, that he entered the school gates this morning.
Bruce: The teachers stated that he didn’t answer when his name was called in class, and that they didn’t see him all day, on school grounds. None of the security cameras captured any sight of him, other than when he entered, through the gates.
Tim: Ohhh, I see, he must’ve been honing his bat-skills, you know sneaking around, undetected, in school, that must be why no one noticed him, not even the security cameras.
Bruce: …
Bruce: You’re right. I’ll be speaking to the principal about the staff’s inability to locate him, when he was obviously on school grounds.
Bruce: Then, I’ll talk to Duke about refraining from using his bat-skills in our civilian lives. Even if it’s for training purposes. Although I’ll have to commend him, for attending the whole day, undetected.
Later on:
Duke: Are you sure I can’t do something to repay you, I mean, you saved my hide, just now.
Tim: Well.. there is this new juice bar I’ve been wanting to check out, I could use the company.
Duke: No way! I heard about it too, hold on let my grab my phone, then we can head out.
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