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toowildintheseventies · 5 months

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Trade Mistakes

Chapter 4: Used To Be My Girl

A/N: oops 🫣

Pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: You’re a woman with many vices. Smoking, drinking, spending time in shitty clubs, and your undying love and obsession with your ex-boyfriend, Bruce Wayne. You had spent your entire adolescence with each other until he had unexpectedly broken your heart and disappeared. For the last few years, you two had lived separate, mysterious lives. Until you are reintroduced under strange circumstances and fictitiously rekindle your relationship.

Warnings: none!

Tag list: @midnightmystic @doetic @toowildintheseventies-fan @avengersgirllorianna @allgaslynobrakess @1lellykins @elliesbabygirl

You adjust quicker than expected.

The first evening is too slow. You sleep for most of the afternoon, on an old, worn couch in a room near Bruce’s. When you wake up in the early evening, your belongings have already been brought into the East wing of Wayne Tower, which sat abandoned without guests or visitors for two decades. It’s a quick move, without many things belonging to you, and the large space seems even emptier once all of your things are thrown onto window stills and inside drawers.

It’s painfully unfamiliar, even if your special wing of Wayne Tower is almost identical to the one you frequented years ago. The walls are darker, the floors colder. You find yourself getting lost looking for the bathroom in the bleak darkness. Without Bruce at your side, the Tower seems foreign. You hate it.

You call Bella as the sun begins to set on your first evening back as Bruce Wayne’s girlfriend. She’s already seen the news articles online, and she’s pissed. Rightly so, you think.

Bella tells you that you’re being “a fucking idiot”. You don’t disagree.

She eventually calms down, after a few, long minutes of scolding you on heartbreak and irrational decisions. You promise to visit her at least once a week, along with the promise that you’ll still be paying your half the rent. Even though she says she loves you before hanging up the phone, it takes her a few days to answer your texts in the days that follow. Her life continues, along with the hidden life of the Lounge and the dirty night that you once recognized. Now, it seems as if your life is at a total standstill.

You don’t see Alfred on the first night of your stay. At first, he seems to be hiding away, same as Bruce, as if you’re a secret guest that cannot be disturbed. But the next morning, he’s at your door with a cup of tea and a warm smile. You sit together in the dining room, discussing simply just as you always had. He doesn’t mention Bruce, but you don’t expect him to. For years, the two of you met once a month and had a friendly conversation. Bruce’s name never once came up, an unspoken rule. Instead, the two of you pretended to be old friends. You discussed work and city life, and Alfred shared a few memories of his life before working for the Wayne’s. It was obvious that he cared deeply for you, and you returned the sentiment. You don’t think you would’ve survived without him.

The mention of Bruce never seemed awkward during those visits. Now, though, his absence is obvious and painful. If it was just another day like before, Bruce would’ve been sitting next to you at the table, ignoring his breakfast and instead, talking to the two of you.

You assume that Alfred had already talked to Bruce about this new arrangement, only because it seemed to be his idea in the first place. Alfred always was strict about keeping up appearances and Bruce stayed true to his family’s name.

In the middle of breakfast, you see a quick shadow appear in the hallway, just to quickly disappear again. You know it’s him. Expertly escaping just before you see him, but just dumb enough to make it too obvious. You look at Alfred with your eyebrows raised, daring him to mention it. He doesn’t, and your simple conversation continues until the food is gone and you go back to your bedroom.

The next morning, after breakfast with Alfred, you enroll in classes at Gotham University and take your first class that same afternoon. You take the bus to campus instead of the black SUV that’s parked in front of the building, waiting for your command. The campus is old and dark, but small enough that it’s not difficult for you to find the English building and your first class. Classes are boring, but it’s exciting to continue what you once started. It feels good to be productive again and to have a goal. It’s been a long time since you felt like you were working towards something.

Later that night, the first agreed-upon fake date begins. While getting ready in your bathroom, there’s a loud knock at your bedroom door. You’re quick to finish getting ready, putting in your last earring and finding your shoes, and then standing in front of your door, waiting.

Waiting for what, exactly? You aren’t sure. Another knock at the door, maybe. Or him opening the door himself, instead of leaving the hard work to you. You’re hoping he would just disappear. You’d wake up back at your apartment, and this whole situation would just be some sick, depressing nightmare.

Your hand reaches for the doorknob, and before you can change your mind, you open the door wide to find Bruce standing before you, his hands clasped behind his back. You haven’t seen him since yesterday morning when he disappeared into his bedroom after breakfast. He had given you a meaningless, polite smile and a funny little ‘good night’ that seemed to be an attempt at a joke. You hadn’t responded.

No though, there’s no smile. Just a quick nod at your presence and a step back, letting you step into the hallway. Once outside in the light, you let yourself get a good look at him. He’s wearing white button-down and brown pants, looking brand new, as if he bought them just for tonight. (More likely, Alfred bought them just for tonight.) His hair is styled, and all remnants of black paint are gone from under his eyes. Instead, he’s clean-shaven and surprisingly, looks well rested. Well, at least as well-rested as Bruce Wayne can be. He looks…handsome. It makes your heart ache.

“You look nice,” you murmur, walking past him down the hall. When you back at Bruce, he’s still standing in the same spot in the hallway, eyes wide and hesitant.

“We have reservations, Bruce,” you say, trying to keep your tone playful.

He quickly snaps out of his daze and follows you down the hallway. Walking down to the car parked outside Wayne Tower, Bruce is careful to walk a few steps behind you, as if he’s afraid to get too close. Even with him far behind you, you can still feel his overwhelming presence and pressing gaze.

Once inside the car, Bruce turns to you.

“You look nice, too,” he says, “I remember that dress.”

You look down at your outfit, confused. You don’t remember the dress. It was just the first one you pulled out of your closet this afternoon after classes. It was a simple black dress, probably bought after graduating high school.

“You do?” you ask, looking over at Bruce.

He nods his head briefly, “You bought it directly after we received our first invitation to a benefit gala. The night before.”

You stared at him, stunned. What a meaningless thing to remember. You think about the first benefit gala the two of you went to, probably at Gotham City Hall. The two of you were still trying to figure out your place in Gotham, outside of your family’s shadows. Even within the uncertainty, things were simple. Galas were always the most fun, with places to hide away and plenty of Gotham’s luxurious residents to ridicule secretly. You don’t remember the dress, but you do remember that night. How the two of you had shown up late with a swarm of reporters still awaiting your arrival, the dozens of politicians and influential people lining up to shake Bruce’s hand, and how the two of you had ended the night finding your little, secret door.

You had found it on accident that evening, in a desperate attempt to hide from the crowds of people wanting to talk to you. You had pulled Bruce away from the chaos and into a darkened hallway, laughing and pulling him closer as you walked backward down the hall. Eventually, the two of you stumbled into an abandoned coat closet, with a tiny overhead light that flickered off and on, and broken furniture that you happily made your own. You had spent the rest of the evening in your secret room.

It had become a ritual after that night. At every gala and event held at Gotham City Hall, the two of you eventually snuck away to the little room and spent the rest of the evening in total, hazy bliss. After that night, the two of you had it all figured out, and stabilized yourselves in the world of Gotham. Friendly, obnoxious smiles walking in, firm handshakes, fake laughter. All must be done. A few romantic moments, giggles in the corner, and a slow song dance as the night begins to end. Play the game, and excite the masses. Then, finally, release. Disappear into the little secret door, and become yourselves again.

The car stopping directly outside the restaurant forces you out of your memory and back into the present, where Bruce is looking at you anxiously, awaiting instructions.

You’re more nervous than you expected. Though, anxiety isn’t exactly right. It’s more of a feeling of absolute dread, something you hadn’t expected. Everything felt wrong as if you were expected to perform in a play you hadn’t read the lines for. You felt completely unprepared.

You try not to let Bruce see your breathing hitch as he grabs your hand to help you outside the car, or when his hand finds the familiar spot on your back as he leads you up the steps. He’s not paying much attention to you, though. Instead, he’s busy shielding himself from the blinding lights and crowds of people waiting in front of the restaurant.

The restaurant is quiet inside, enough to make you nervous. Underneath the dim lights, though, you find the anxieties disappearing. Sitting across from Bruce calms you in a small way, the familiarity is comforting.

Possibly too familiar, however. Enough that you find yourself settling into your seat too quickly, and smiling at the waiter with your friendly, kind smile you haven’t used in years. Typically, your smile is used only as armor, like baring your teeth. Now, though, it’s genuine. A gesture of sweetness from Gotham’s favorite lover.

Bruce reclaims his usual position, too. Ordering drinks and food for both of you and making friendly, common conversation as your order is taken. It’s unintentional, but the Wayne charm shines through just as it always had. A gentle smile that looks like his mother’s, and a polite handshake that represents the training from his father. He’d rarely notice it, never mention it. But it’s there, his rich-boy persona, the brilliant son skills.

Once the waiter disappears and it’s just the two of you – the performance dissipates. You find yourself looking around the room, avoiding eye contact and instead freakishly focusing on the vintage flooring and shiny glass lights. The two of you are silent for a long time, the conversation already stalled.

You’re distracted as two men are ushered towards a booth a few feet away from you by an anxious and jumpy hostess, who scurries away from them suspiciously quickly after dropping their menus on the table. They’re both dressed in expensive, vintage suits, with thinning hair combed neatly and a gold tooth poking through one of the man’s polite smiles at his companion. You think you recognize them, and as you continue to stare the man across from you matches your gaze, his eyes go wide with something like recognition.

You fully recognize them now, as two frequenters of Iceberg Lounge, one of them the man who was beaten to a bloodied pulp two nights ago, who had run off with a broken nose, brought upon him by the man sitting across from you.

Bruce calling your name pulls you away from the images from that night, of drunken haze and bloodied hands. You look away from the table and towards Bruce, who is looking at you with intent, wild concern.

“What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, trying to pretend that the man isn’t there, that he isn’t staring at you like he knows you.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asks again, leaning towards you.

He’s able to read you without fault, from your eyes alone. Even after all this time, and all your change, he knows you. It’s impossible to ignore, the way just a simple glance can allow him to know every thought going through your mind.

“That man across from us,” you whisper, finally, “He’s the man from a few nights ago. He recognizes me.”

You watch as Bruce tries to control an almost burst of laughter as if the thought is so absurd. He quickly contains himself, but still shakes his head in disbelief.

“He doesn't recognize you. Is he staring?”

“Staring, yes. Uncomfortably so.”

“He’s probably just enraptured by the fact that he's sitting across from the most beautiful girl in Gotham,”

Bruce says the last statement with such confidence, not an ounce of irony or sarcasm. There’s a sense of humor, though, from a small little smirk as he watches for your reaction. He says in the same way he once called you princess, a joke that eventually became something of total sincerity. His small smile and amused eyes show a confidence you hadn’t been accustomed to in the last few days, a confidence that only existed when he was seventeen years old and still hopeful. The familiar disposition comforts you for just a moment, but you’re quick to roll your eyes dramatically in response.

“Be serious. He could recognize you, too. Like I did.”

“You recognizing me was an unavoidable fluke,” Bruce says.

He’s interrupted for a moment by the waiter coming up to the table with plates of food. Bruce leans away from the table with a polite, kind smile of thanks and when the waiter disappears – he leans back towards you, even closer.

“You’re too smart, and you know me too well. You would have recognized me in any way during any circumstance. But you’re the only one who can.”

“That’s a dangerous philosophy for the line of work you’re in.”

Bruce shrugs with the same hidden, familiar smirk – then pauses for a moment to look over at the table away from you. You follow his gaze toward the men sitting there, noticing that they’re both talking and drinking, paying no mind to you.

“Maybe,” Bruce says, looking back toward you, “But I’ve done this for three years now. I always knew you’d be the one I needed to look out for.”

“Why?” you ask, taking a sip of your drink to calm your nerves.

You hate this conversation. It feels as if you’re having a conversation with a part of your psyche, able to read your mind without you even speaking. His calm words ease you slightly, but make you feel like you’re going slightly insane. Not to mention the way he’s looking at you. It’s as if he’s trying to befriend a feral cat – like you’re something he has to be kind to or you’ll bite his hand.

“Because I’d know you blind and deaf. I assumed it would be the same for you. And I was right, wasn’t I?”

You copy his shrug, which makes him smile.

“I was right,” he confirms, “You know me.”

The rest of your meal is eaten quickly in comfortable silence until the check comes, when Bruce looks at you and begins again, already soothing the anxieties that hadn’t come.

“They may recognize you if you throw on a pink wig and catch a certain look in your eye. But not now. Now, you’re completely unknown. It’s the same way with me, separate identities – only one of them real. I know you understand.”

And you did understand. More than you felt comfortable with, honestly. You hate floating through different forms of beings, pretending to be a thousand different things. To Bruce, it seems to come as second nature. He’s able to become someone in the spotlight and become someone completely new in the shadows. It doesn’t seem to affect him, either. If anything, it makes him a better man.

Bruce has the unique ability to close all the darkness within him into a crowded box and open it up only when there’s a funny little light in the sky and criminals in dark alleyways. The bloodied fists and anger hadn’t only come three years ago, at the beginning of his project. He had come home to you bruised and beaten a thousand times before. But when he looked at you, there was only kindness. That part of him had gone away.

You aren’t sure you have that special capability. Instead, you bring little pieces of all your dead lives with you, nurturing them like ancient cracks on statues. Every part of you is muddied and connected, and you sit across from Bruce a mess of a person, unable to lock certain parts of yourself away.

But maybe parts of yourself aren’t as obvious to others as they seem to be to yourself when you look in the mirror. Instead, now, you’re only one part of yourself to everyone. Bruce Wayne’s true love, Gotham’s special sweetheart. And no one is looking for anything else.

The men from the restaurant stay in your mind for the rest of the night, even after Bruce’s comforting words. As you’re walking out of the restaurant, closer to Bruce than ever before underneath a dark umbrella, you can’t help but look over your shoulder one last time at the window where the two men are sitting, watching the commotion out on the rainy street. You’re quick to turn back to the cameras, though, smiling a brilliant smile and holding yourself close to Bruce, who has his familiar hand at the small of your back.

Even in the car, away from Gotham noise and cameras, you’re still thinking of them. Specifically, thinking of all the terrible things that could happen in the evening, when Bruce disappears from the tower and onto Gotham streets. They could’ve recognized him, you think. It’s not completely impossible. And they’ll find him again, this time without the fear. There aren’t many criminals and underground vermin who are afraid of a billionaire son like Bruce Wayne, anyway. You try not to imagine the worst-case scenarios.

You let the fear take over while he’s helping you out of the car and back into the entrance of Wayne Tower. You turn towards him frantically and resist the urge to grab both shoulders and shake.

“Don’t go out tonight. Stay here.”

Bruce’s face falls, and you realize you’ve just asked the question that he feared most. The question that probably convinced him to stop returning your phone calls and instead devote himself fully to a project that had nothing to do with you.

“You can’t ask me to do that,” he says softly.

“I know,” you say, shaking your head and taking a soft step back, “I just don’t want you getting hurt. You’re paying my rent now, you know. I need you around.”

Your pathetic attempt at a joke is a failure. Instead, you just seem crazed and neurotic. Somehow failing as a fake girlfriend, being too needy and anxious in the face of some great design. If you ask him to stay, you know he’ll just disappear.

“I’m going to bed,” you say at the stairs, “Just be safe tonight. That’s all I’m asking.”

You leave him there, at the beginning of the stairs – watching you silently leave. You have to imagine he’s dreaming up a plan to get out of this game, cheat on the rules and kick you out of his home, and pretend nothing ever happened. At this point, you wouldn’t mind either. It would save you some embarrassment and sleepless nights.

Hours later, you eventually find yourself falling asleep. You had closed the curtains tight in an attempt to ignore the glowing light that was beckoning Bruce toward danger. Your room feels more welcoming now, too. After a night out in Gotham and a halfway run-in with Iceberg Lounge pests, anywhere would feel like home.

You try not to imagine what’s happening in the streets below you. Instead, you remember Bruce’s kind, faint smile – and distract yourself by eyeing the details etched on the wall near your bed, until you fall into a restless, disappointing sleep.

—

“Are you asleep?”

You look up at Bruce with heavy eyelids, watching as he towers over you on the bed.

You shake your head sleepily, “Not now.”

“Do you want to go for a ride?”

“What?”

Without answering, Bruce hands you a black riding jacket, which you take without further questioning. Sitting up in bed, you wrap the jacket around your shoulders and swing your feet off the bed.

You follow him out of the room and down the stairs, where Bruce opens up a small closet near the entryway, rummaging through worn boxes in search of something. You take a moment to rub your eyes as they adjust to the dim light of the hallway and push your hand into the deep pockets of the riding jacket.

You feel something inside the left side pocket, and when you pull it out towards the light, you see that it’s a magenta-colored pack of cigarettes, the same ones Bruce had given you the first morning, as a gentle peace offering.

You extend them to Bruce with an eyebrow raised in silent questioning as he walks back over to you holding an oversized motorcycle helmet.

He shrugs in response, taking them from you and putting them in his pocket.

“Look around the place,” he says casually, “You’ll find a pack anywhere.”

You’re too tired to analyze his response or to even really think about his reasonings behind keeping packs of cigarettes littered around his home. Instead, you take a moment to look at him as your eyes fully adjust. His hair is wild, and his eyes dark with smudged eye black. He has layers of clothing on, a dark hoodie underneath a heavy jacket, both dirty with late-night rain and oil stains. A completely different man than the one you left only a few hours earlier. Now, he’s a man visually stained with Gotham’s sins.

He places the motorcycle helmet on your head, and you watch as he grins wildly at the sight, a small choke of laughter escaping him at the sight of the oversized helmet over your face.

“I’ll take you around Gotham.” he says, “We still have time to see the sunrise.”

“Sunrise? “Do you treat your other fake girlfriends this nice?”

He’s still grinning at you, and as Bruce flips the visor down over your eyes with a quick swipe, he responds, “No. Just you.”

There’s one thing that is still painfully true about Bruce Wayne – he knows his city.

Once you are on the back of his old motorcycle, the same one he’s had since he was seventeen, Bruce takes you everywhere. Around the barely awake streets of Gotham, driving through late night traffic and broken construction sites, down old, secret alleyways, and through backstreets behind warehouses. It’s a different Gotham than you remember, one that you hadn’t seen in years. Though still dirty and damaged, the worn streets and skyscrapers are familiar. The only thing that’s ever resembled home.

It’s nice, you realize, to spend time with him when the two of you aren’t expected to speak for a while. Instead, you’re expected to hold onto him tightly and listen to the sound of harsh wind against your face. The pressure is gone, without the cameras and onlookers watching every move. This is what you once wished for, though now it seems foreign and wrong.

The two of you stop eventually on the outskirts of Gotham, as soon as the sun begins to rise over the city skyline. You’re in a forgotten spot, where trees still grow along boulevards and the paths are gravel and cobblestone. You can see the entire city from here, watch as it stretches awake from a long night, as cars begin to clog the streets, and lost church bells begin to chime. In this spot though, it’s quiet.

It reminds you of the city that, for some reason, you love with your entirety. You’ve tried to run away a thousand times, ignore the city that raised you when no one else would. But it’s impossible. Especially with Bruce sitting beside you, who’s become Gotham’s prince, even within the shadows of his disappearance.

Gotham isn’t a beautiful place. Maybe it’s only beautiful when you’re miles away from it. But you can’t ignore the way it makes you feel.

“I’m going to sound insane,” you begin as you watch the sunlight hit the skyscrapers, “But I love this city. All of its chaos, its terrible faults – I know they’re terrible. But, there’s just something here, I think. Goodness that can’t be ignored.”

Bruce steps off the motorcycle, keeping a firm hand on the seat to keep you steady as you swing your feet to one side and turn towards the skyline in its entirety. You watch as he grimaces against the sun for a moment, before turning back toward you.

“Gotham’s killing itself. It’s hard to find the beauty in it.”

You shrug, ignoring his common pessimism, “You’re Gotham’s hero. In more ways than one. You must notice something about it that keeps you going.”

Bruce shakes his head, “Not exactly.”

You lean forward, looking up at him with bright eyes, “Then why do it?”

“That’s a great question. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

“Is it worth it?”

“Barely.”

You sigh softly and lean away from him, looking back toward the skyline past Bruce standing in front of you. The both of you are silent for a long time, looking at identical skylines, but imagining two very different things.

“I know you love this city,” Bruce finally says, breaking the silence, “For a little while, it made me love it too.”

“I loved Gotham because it was yours.”

It’s a confession you hadn’t known you’d be making. Yet, it falls out almost too naturally, as if it had been dying to be said.

“I protect it because it’s yours.”

He turns to look at you when he says it, but you don’t match his gaze. Instead, you stay focused on the skyline, watching as the sky changes from a harsh night to a softer morning.

He says your name, quietly, after a while. You finally look back at him and watch as his tired eyes follow yours.

“I’d like us to be friends,” he says softly, walking back toward the motorcycle and you, “When you’re ready, I’ll tell you everything you want to know. I’ll answer every question you’re afraid of asking now. Right now, I don’t want to make anything harder. So let’s try being friends.”

You give him a faint, broken smile, “That would be nice,” you answer weakly, “I’d like to be your friend again.”

Bruce smiles slightly as he mounts the motorcycle again, and as you hold onto him while he drives away from the little overlook, you can’t help but realize how genuine you’ve been – how much you meant every word you said.

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kryptonian-bat-thing · 5 months

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The Calm After The Storm

(a short fic heavily inspired by frownyalfred's post)

Clark rushed out of work as soon as he could. There was a single message on his phone from an unregistered number, but he already knew it probably came from one of his secretive friends in the next city over.

"Mister Kent,

It is with a sense of urgency I invite you to pay a visit to Gotham. The details will be discussed in person, but as you may guess, this does concern our friend in common.

- My sincere gratitude, A."

Alfred. Something had happened with Bruce, he knew. Flying through the clouds, he already had some idea of what the situation was: Jason Todd. The boy was declared deceased not more than a week or two prior, and both Bruce Wayne and Batman seemed... off.

The socialite wouldn't appear as much on events and interviews, and when he did, he acted like everything was fine, but never stayed long enough to prove. Batman wasn't showing up to some of the Justice League meetings, leaving most of the leadership to Wonder Woman and Superman. They didn't even hesitate to allow him some time away from his duties. The criminals of Gotham began getting more bruised when caught, more scarred than usual.

Clark's only regret is that he didn't get to it sooner.

Arriving at the Manor's grounds, he paced to the door, glad that the nightfall hid his figure from any prying eyes. Alfred was already at the door.

"He's underground." The old man cut the chase, a thank you rushed his lips. A single drop of concern showed in between his wrinkles. Clark put a hand to his shoulder and shot him with what he hoped looked like a comforting smile.

Heading inside, behind the grandfather clock, down the spiral staircase, into the dark cave. He'd been there before, but not unaccompanied. It feels more eerie than ever.

The man in black was turned away from him, facing many screens at once. Every time they'd start a conversation, Bruce would acknowledge his friend first, even when he tried to sneak up on him. However, Clark beat him to it.

"Bruce," the man of steel kept his voice soft and reassuring. "I heard about what happened. Listen, B... If you need anything, you know the League and I are here for you."

No response. Bruce's heart had the same rhythm as always, steady and calm, like the ever lasting beat of a sad song. The dim light kept the kevlar cape and the removed cowl glistening, creating such an abnormal ambient. Clark sighed before continuing the speech he heartily organized on the way.

"I understand that you may be sad right now, but... no matter what, I--" Clark's thoughts and voice were cut off by a dry laugh that came out like thunder. It sounded almost masochist, a single "hah!" from the deep pit of Bruce's lungs.

"Sad? I'm not sad..." the suffering chuckle gave away to a Batman low and static voice, turning into a growl as he grit out of his teeth:

"I'm furious."

The response left Clark with furrowed brows and wide eyes. He almost took a step back, before hovering around to the side to better see his friend. Bruce's eyes were puffy and red, as wide as his own, furrowed brows in concentration and a deep scowl. His hair was stranded and oily like he forgot to wash it and he could use some shaving too. Wasn't looking much like a celebrity right now, his friend thought with ache.

Following his eyes, he saw what was on the screen: Joker sightings, evidence saved from a blown up ware house, what was once a crowbar but now is burnt and bent like a pretzel. Pieces of the Robin's suit with DNA scans all over, as well as... blood.

Bruce's hands weren't typing anymore, they were turned into fists. A huff or two came out of his lips, soft enough that only enhanced hearing like Clark's could have picked up on.

His heart rate hadn't changed at all. It didn't speed up as the scowl burned with anger and pain, those baby blue eyes filled with vengeance to the point of burning.

"He won't do anything like that again," Batman almost whispered. "he won't get the chance to." And rushed a turn around to his Batmobile. Before he could reach for his cowl, though, a soft and warm hand caught up his wrist.

"You don't want to do this, Clark." a threatening growl. "You know it must be done."

"I know you, B, and this isn't it." his frown was still present as he didn't let go when Bruce struggled to pull his hand out. Even as Bruce took his hand to his belt, he didn't budge. They stayed like this until the older man gave into the touch.

"Fine. Fight me, then. I'll still try, I'll try until you have to kill me. And you will," he spat words unlike his alter ego would do, pushing his voice louder and louder. "You might get it to happen, but I will not let this man go! So end it, Kal, end it here and now! Do it!"

Bruce's face was close to his own now as he yelled. If he was wearing his glasses, this would be much more uncomfortable than it already was. Bruce stared into the sapphire eyes that shone willingly upon him until he exhaled the rage out of his body.

"Please..." his voice almost cracked as it came out of his breathless self. He couldn't hold back the tears anymore, and he hated it. Bruce hated everything about crying, from the running nose to the vulnerability it puts him in. He looked down so that his best friend wouldn't see what a mess he was.

"Bruce, listen to me..." Clark finally let go of his wrist and lifted the older man's chin towards his own so he could look him in the eye. "We can't let our lowest moments define us. You were the one to teach me that, remember?"

Avoidant of his glance, the dark knight furrowed in response. The broad man grasped his shoulders and pursed his lips before speaking again.

"How many times haven't I lashed out and wanted to fix things my way, and you convinced me to use my brains for once?" a shine crossed Bruce's eyes in a second as he reminisced such moments. Kal could be such a hot headed person in battle he would often launch himself into trouble without planning. And he'd get hurt, because he was fighting for the wrong reasons. Many anger issues born from his habit of never leaving matters unresolved could sometimes take the best out of him, but luckily Batman and Wonder Woman would always be there to rescue him.

"This... this is different, Clark." he shook his head twice and took a step back, turning around from a pitiful glance.

"It might be, but still." taking a step forward, he embraced Bruce's shoulders from behind. They didn't display so much affection in front of others, but Clark knew he'd accept it. "Don't shut me off, please. I don't want you to lose yourself to that thing, B."

That thing. That mound of darkness that lured in every corner, the thing that kept him awake after completing every single one of his duties, what made him fight until he could no longer stand and would still come back crawling if needed. It wasn't driven by any heroism or narcissist policy, but born from rage, grown in vengeance and flourished in madness. He sighed and leaned into Clark's touch, allowing a single sob to come out.

"It was my fault, Clark... I wasn't there when he needed me and now..." another sob. He pulled himself inwards to hide from Kal but the man only snuggled him closer.

"You did all you could, B. I'm sure Jason wouldn't want to see you like this."

Turning around in a swift move, Bruce returned the hug, half of a sobbing noise escaping his throat. His legs trembled as Clark reached under the cape to rub his back in comforting motions.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered, his knees giving in. Kal held him with no problem, lowering them to the floor so he wouldn't be hanging. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

Words turn into sobs, that slowly turn into exhales. Fingers buried in both capes as this embrace holds something sweeter than honey and stronger than steel, a bond so deep they drown in each other's touch.

Bruce feels the weight in his shoulders lift off as he drifts to a light sleep in the current position, holding onto the red cape as hunky forearms lifted him and he rested against biceps covered in blue. He hadn't slept in days, just like Clark had thought.

On and off consciousness, Bruce didn't fight being carried into his bedroom. His friend didn't use his superspeed, only carried him carefully and used his cape to cover his eyes from the brighter lights. Laying him against the bed, he removed the cape and armor from the bat suit and left them hanging on a chair, leaving Bruce in his under armor, which wasn't much comfortable, but at least he could sleep in it.

"I'll go now... Call if you need anything, okay?" Clark whispered, not to disturb the almost asleep man. As he pulled away, a hand grasped his cape with laziness.

"Don't," Bruce's voice still strained out of his throat. "I can't sleep. I keep dreaming of him and I feel so..."

He didn't finish the phrase. He didn't have to. Clark took off his own cape and sat down beside his buddy, looking at him in the heavy lidded pearl eyes that blinked slowly, a silent thanking as the rest he craved approached him.

"Don't worry, B." he smiles, letting a hand slide through the one's hair, who sighs and snuggles into the feathered pillow. Clark pulls the sheets over Bruce as he feels the man starting to snore.

"I'll make sure you're okay."

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kimchikrust · 1 year

Text

Broken Promises

You were a servant assigned to Gojo when you were children. You helped him dress, eat, and bathe, but he relieved you of your duties at an early age. Showed you mercy.

When you turned 14, Gojo said you wouldn't have to dress and cook for him in the morning. You could share meals together. Have a bedroom across the hall from his.

In return, you were his oldest friend. You covered for him when he wanted to avoid the higher-ups and kept him company when he couldn't sleep because his six eyes would give him the worst headaches.

He discovered you were a sorcerer when you conjured wrap to cover his eyes. You shushed him gently and hummed nonsensically as you leaned in close and ran your hands all over his head.

"Thank you," he whispered, rubbing his thumb against your wrist.

Gojo only realizes he loves you once he loses Geto. He can't lose you too.

He won't.

Gojo confesses to you in a drunken state. "Don't go far from me," he pleads pathetically. His head is against your chest, and your fingers in his hair are euphoric. He feels your body buzz as you hum your silent melody.

"Oh, Toru," you whisper as his consciousness dims. "Never."

The higher-ups draft you as a sorcerer, and Gojo is enraged. He can see the fear in your eyes, but you hide it with your glowing smile and a soft, "It's okay."

You're stronger than you look, the way you fight alongside him. You're intelligent and determined, and he loves how you draw toward him after the curses are eradicated, like magnets.

He kisses you after your first mission. The first one he couldn't join you. His brain goes blank at the sight of you, a little tired and relieved to be home, and he rushes to embrace you.

He feels like he can breathe again since you left, filled with the magnificent scent of you. His heart swells at your timid squeal, surprised as he lifts you off your feet.

You're equally delighted to see him. The adrenaline from the success of your first solo mission encourages you to press a sweet kiss against Gojo's lips.

He doesn't hesitate to kiss you back. He was planning to anyway.

There's a period after that filled with bliss. Mornings waking up next to you and evenings spent in your embrace. Playful moments during missions and between his teaching and your activities.

One evening, after drinking, you find yourselves lying in bed together. You're on top of the covers, fully dressed, resting your heads on the pillows and facing each other. Staring at each other in silence.

You're mesmerized by his eyes. They're glittering, even in the dimly lit room, and you feel at ease at his serene expression.

He's memorizing every detail of your face. He's drunk, and he wants to remember this moment forever. You're obviously tired but seem more content with looking at him than resting. He likes how your lips are softly curled like you're permanently happy.

Gojo hopes he can make you happy forever.

Before your last mission, Gojo is uneasy. As if he knows what the outcomes will be.

The night before you leave, he's pressing close against you. Cementing the memory of your body against his because when you go for missions, it feels like eternity.

He's already pleaded to switch with you, but the higher-ups want him for another task. In a desperate last attempt, he tries to convince you to stay. Fuck those assholes, fuck the world, fuck all the curses. He won't risk you.

"Please," he whispers against you. "Don't go far from me."

"You've been saying that all our life," you say, raking your fingers through his hair and holding his face. "I'll be fine."

But you're not. And he's too late when he gets the call to help.

The mission is complete when he arrives, but the scene is a mess, and you're bleeding out on the ground.

"N-no, no, please," he gasps, jostling you in his arms after your eyes dim. He's chanting your name, holding your face, and ignoring your blood all over his hands. "No, this can't be happening. Please."

"Somebody, do something!" He roars when he brings you home. He demands it. He's close to tearing his home down to rubble when he's sent away because there isn't reversing death. There isn't a way to bring you back to him.

You used to tell him, "When I die, you have to promise me something."

"You're not going to die," he'd say with no room for argument. "I won't let that happen."

You'd look back at him with sad eyes and a sad smile. "I know you don't want to hear this, Satoru. And I'll do everything that I can to prevent it, but you are going to outlive a lot of people. You'll outlive me because I'm not as strong as you."

He grits his teeth because he doesn't want to think about this at all. He doesn't want to think about how you were right as he's standing in front of your grave three seasons after you died.

"You're the love of my life, Satoru," you told him. "And I don't want you to get trapped in your memories. Life only moves forward."

I don't want you to think of me often.

I want you to be happy.

I want you to move on.

Gojo thinks he's already broken one promise to you. What's one more?

#gojo x reader #gojo saturo #gojo x you #satoru gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #jujustu kaisen #gojo sensei #jjk gojo #angst #no comfort #no beta we die like jason todd

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anothertimdrakestan · 1 year

Note

oooo boy. first, love your writing boo you’re seriously an inspiration <3. secondly, a fic idea: a friend of tim’s flies in to see him bc she moved to maine forever ago, they were like childhood besties. but when they meet again, there’s a mf-ing sPARkk

Memories - Tim Drake x Reader

"I'm so sorry to have to stop taking questions, but we've kept Ms. L/N for 15 extra minutes and I'm sure she has plans after! Everyone please give her another round of applause for coming all the way to Gotham University to present her outstanding research!" the lecture hall erupted with applause as you smiled and waved at the sea of faces in front of you. Presenting your research across the nation was a dream, and although you barely remember it, Gotham was your hometown, and you were excited to see what parts of your rose-coloured memories remained.

"Thank you so much for having me GU! Please, email me with any more questions I'll be happy to reply." you called to the masses that were filing out as you shook your peer's hand one last time, both exchanging pleasantries as the room quieted.

"Sorry again for keeping you over, Ms. L/N, I'm sure you're very busy! But, if you could just take a look at one of my papers up for publication, I would be so, so thankful!" he began, flipping up his laptop as you realized this opportunity to speak was really just an exchange of favours.

A terrifyingly familiar voice echoed across the hall, "actually, she is busy, we have plans." you almost had to squint to see a man's frame leaning up against the doorway, backlit enough that you couldn't make out the details of his face.

"Oh! So sorry. I- uh I can email it to you! We can hop on a zoom call later in the week?" your peer seemed to recognize the figure immediately, packing his things as quickly as the students who were just there for attendance. He scurried away just as quickly too.

"It's been years, but you didn't think I'd find you?" the voice drifted across the room as you turned to face the figure, starting your walk up to him.

"I'm so sorry, the lighting, it's awful! I don't quite recognize you and I certainly don't have plans with anyone I'm afraid!" you replied, practically flying up the stairs just to meet this man face to face. He was dressed exquisitely: suit clearly tailored, hair slicked back with the perfect suave tousle, it was exhilarating.

"You don't recognize your only Gotham friend?"

"I don't have any Gotham friends, I was only here for my first few years of elementary school- oh my god Tim?" you rambled until you made it close enough to see the stranger's face and froze. The eyes, the familiar gleam of mischief and intelligence you had befriended what felt like a million years ago were staring back at you.

"Hey Y/n. Long time no see." he held out a strong hand, helping you up the last few steps, bringing both of you into the light. He continued, "you look, incredible." to which you just gawked in return.

"You look, like Tim" you whispered, tying the strings of comparison between the child you had first hacked a firewall with and the grown man, really billionaire, that stood before you.

He ran an awkward hand through his hair at your response, "thanks, I think." to which you scrambled back, "no! I mean, you look good, really really good, I just can't believe it's you. I mean, I thought about reaching out, you're on my Gotham list [you held up a list of scribbles of old memories] but I just figured you'd be so busy that I didn't bother."

"Didn't bother a partner in underage crime? Callous. Let's see the list though!" he snorted, snatching the scribbles from your hands, holding it up as he read aloud your scrambled childhood memories:

"Visit the nature museum- closed after a Poison Ivy attack, find Mr. Smith from 2nd grade- god you've gotta use google he's long dead he was like 70 when we were 6! Hmmm, visit the Big Belly Burger on 11th- now that's a good one!" he scanned the list quickly while you clawed for it back hoping he wouldn't get to-

"find the old rope swing behind Wayne Manor. You remember that?" the words left his lips just as you tore the paper out of his hand, tucking it back into your pocket.

"Of course I remember it, but it's whatever. It's probably also dead and gone or ruined by a villain. Why are you even here?" you tried to turn the spotlight onto Tim, but he was already halfway out the room, calling "C'mon! At the least I can buy you a 3$ burger and shitty milkshake." to which you haplessly obliged.

"Do you remember getting caught when we rigged the 5th grade presidential election? Why did you even want that kid to win anyway?" You laughed, almost uncontrollably, reminiscing on the old shenanigans.

Tim replied, "oh I didn't care who won or lost, I just wanted to see if we could do it!" to which you threw a french fry at him, which he swiftly caught. "Oh my god we almost got expelled Tim!"

"Doesn't match the time you made us start a homework-completing company in your backyard!" his shoulders shook with laugher.

"We were broke!" you chided, waving your arms exasperated, like you were a kid begging him to join your master plan once again.

"We were six years old!" he chuckled.

"We were, weren't we." you mused, popping the last fry in your mouth, leaning back with a sigh. Some things didn't change. Big Belly Burger was still addictive, Gotham was still filled with pollution, and Tim was still the very best thing about the entire city.

"I can check off one last thing on your bucket list." Tim said decidedly, sitting up in his chair.

"Yea? You gonna bring me to Mr. Smith's grave?" you groaned. But Tim stood up, he had lost the suit jacket and tie somewhere along the 2 hours you'd both spent in the fast food joint, he looked young again. You felt young again.

He had driven you somewhere you only dreamed of pulling into, Gotham Manor. You always wondered how the poor boy from a public elementary school had managed to get adopted by Bruce Wayne, but you never knew how to reach out and ask.

"Tell me you don't still have the rope swing" you shook your head with a grin. Tim just shrugged, hopping out of the sleek black car and running over to open your door for you.

"What do you take me for? A sap?" he crooned.

"Absolutely." you replied, bumping his side with your shoulder as he took the opportunity to lazily sweep an arm around you, guiding you to massive backyard gardens in the Manor.

You mused, "if we wanted to be true to character, we should've snuck in like old times" and Tim snorted, "let's just say I've upped the security pretty significantly, and that wouldn't go so well for us."

You rounded the edge of the perfectly trimmed garden to the scattered trees on the Manor's edge, and sitting there looking the same as ever was a massive tree, a thick rope hanging down tied tightly around a massive tire, the kind a monster truck or a weightlifter threw around, you and Tim had always wondered why it was there, or how the poor tree managed to hold it up, but you never worried about it, both swinging happily late at night after both sneaking out.

You placed a hand on the tree, a few rogue tears slipping down your cheeks as you leaned into Tim's embrace. "I really loved it here you know." you whispered.

"I did too. When you left it wasn't really the same." his voice was soft, you could feel his chest rumbling with every word.

"Really? I guess I always figured you'd find some other genius and take over the world with them"

"You thought I could replace you?"

"No- I mean maybe? I don't know, we were kids I just figured-"

"I didn't forget. You were my first kiss, right here." he leaned forward to put a hand on the old tree.

"Mine too." you replied, smiling as you remembered the nervous peck that occurred the night before you left.

"I was so nervous." he chuckled, staring at the tree, his gaze never meeting yours.

"I didn't think you had the balls." you teased, and his eyes snapped to yours.

"Okay, I was a pretty shy kid, but I've grown a lot."

"Yeah?" you grinned, biting your bottom lip to keep from breaking into a beaming smile.

Tim gently pushed you back against the tree, his hand guiding your chin up, letting your eyes meet his, "yeah" was all he muttered before pressing another gentle, warm kiss to your lips, and the same butterflies you got, all those years ago, took flight once again.

I hope you enjoyed, thank you so much for the request! <3

#tim drake x reader #tim drake x you #tim drake fanfiction #tim drake cute #tim drake fanfic #tim drake hot #tim drake x y/n #tim drake #tim drake fluff #batboys x reader #batboys x y/n #batboys x you #batfam x reader #no beta we die like jason todd #dc fanfiction #dc fanfic

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phantom-z0ne · 3 months

Text

Kingdom Come - Part 2

Part 1

WC: 3545

CW: Minor Character Deaths, Corpses, Disfigured bodies, Cults, Blood

Damian was missing and Dick was going crazy.

Damian hasn't responded to any inquiries of his location since he missed his scheduled check in time. It had already been two hours past that and they still didn't have any clue where he was. Last they knew, he was heading towards Chinatown. Damian knew a couple of the locals and regularly visited some animals, mostly cats and dogs but occasionally a bird or two.

They would have been able to track him with his comm, but Damian had modified it so that it was untrackable unless it was being used. Unfortunately, they hadn't learned of it before today. If they were to track him through his comm, they would only have a short time to triangulate his position. Damian stated that he wanted his privacy, likely so he could disobey orders without them realizing. They had allowed it because they trusted his judgment, not to mention they all had their rebellious phase, but now it was coming back to bite them in the ass.

It was unfortunate they didn’t have Barbara helping, she was off on her own mission with the Birds of Prey and not in Gotham. Finding Damian would have been way easier with her help, she was an expert in navigating the surveillance systems around Gotham.

Dick could tell he wasn't the only one concerned about their youngest, the others were worried in their own ways. Jason fidgeted with his gun, which Bruce was just barely tolerating, as he paced the rooftop while Tim ran the diagnostics multiple times, his fingers flying on his wrist hologram.

Cass and Bruce’s unease was less noticeable, the only reason he caught it was that he knew them for such a long time. Bruce double checked his trackers and flew across the roofs in search of Damian. Cass was tense and alternated standing near each of them, subtly clenching her hands into fists as she did.

“Robin, come in.” Bruce demanded, Dick felt the desperation in his voice although it was hidden well. He didn't want to lose another son while Dick didn't want to lose another brother.

There wasn’t a reply, only the sound of static filled their ears.

Dick sighed, running his hands through his hair. They needed to find Damian quickly. The longer they didn't locate him, the longer his captures had to smuggle him out of the city. If Damian was taken out of the city, it would be infinitely harder to find him.

He couldn’t let that happen, especially to Damian. He’s already had a tough life, what with how he grew up. His integration into the family was difficult on everyone, B was gone and Tim had chosen to pursue a theory he had thought of at the time insane. Jason wasn’t on talking terms with them at that time and Cass had her own responsibilities across the world. Steph was also busy with juggling her hero and civilian lives, though her attitude towards Damian did turn around in the end.

The comm crackled, faint sounds coming through. Dick jolted, jarred out of his thoughts from the abrupt opening of the comm. Both Cass and Tim’s hands went to their comms as Jason stilled. The shuffling of cloth was most prominent, though he could hear a quiet voice.

“Robin, report. What is your location?” Bruce asked, hope underlying his words.

There was the sound of shuffling before a young, unfamiliar voice sounded, “Is this comm trackable?”

That was not Damian. Did he kidnap Damian and was going to ask for a ransom or gloat? Another also kidnapped alongside Damian? Or perhaps a concerned civilian who had nothing to do with Damian’s disappearance?

“Who are you?” Bruce demanded, treating the unknown as a hostile. It was understandable, this was a stranger who possibly abducted his son.

“You can call me Polka. I'm not sure of the location but Robin is unconscious. We are in a warehouse.” The voice responded. ‘You can call me Polka?’ Was he implying that Polka wasn’t his name or the only one he goes by? Dick’s siblings crowded closer to Bruce as if they couldn’t hear out of their own comms.

The good news was that they now knew where to search. Most warehouses were either near the docks or the Warehouse District. That meant they had two areas to search if Tim didn't triangulate where Damian’s comm was during the short conversation. He could see Tim hunched over, one hand typing swiftly in his wrist hologram.

“Stay where you are, I’ll be there shortly.” Bruce said curtly, his cape snapping as he turned to Tim and asked if he captured the location of the comm. Tim gave him a thumbs up and sent the coordinates.

They piled into their own vehicles and sped their way across the city, heading towards the warehouse Damian was held in.

They surrounded the warehouse once they arrived, Bruce entering first before they snuck in from different entrance points. Dick shivered slightly as he situated himself behind the boy who Damian was laid out on. His siblings spread out and surrounded the boy from all sides.

The warehouse was a mess, blood pooling from the disfigured bodies laying every which way. Dick could faintly spot a chalk circle underneath a pool of blood. Another cult, he surmised grimly. There have been too many cults running around lately for his liking, though it looked like this one had fallen victim to their own summoning.

There wasn't much he could tell about the boy from behind, his baggy clothes hiding his frame. His hair was what stood out the most, cropped silver hair. It seemed to almost glow in the dark warehouse. Dick’s attention went back to Bruce who stepped out from the shadows and addressed the boy after taking Damian back into his custody, though he kept an eye out on the boy.

“None, I just happened to find him. Who are you?” The boy asked, standing. That was interesting. Everyone from Gotham knew who Batman was, and even if you weren't, Batman was still a famous figure.

Bruce answered in his signature low voice, obviously gearing up to interrogate the boy. That was his cue to step in. They’ve done this routine before, good cop and bad cop. It was surprisingly successful.

“Happened to find him?” Dick questioned, rolling down from the support beam he was perched on and revealed himself. The boy turned to him, his hair fanning across his face. A black stripe cut into his silvery hair. It was the inverse of Jason’s hair, Dick thought absently.

The boy’s face was blank, unsurprised to see another vigilante popping up behind him. Dick’s eyes were drawn to the scar on his neck. It spanned most of the neck and would be most definitely fatal if it was deep enough. The boy was 15, 16 years max. Where would he have gotten a scar like that? Not to mention, he was too calm in this situation. Blood and viscera surrounded him and all he seemed was bored.

Slight motion to the right made Dick’s eyes snap to the plush on the boy’s shoulder, almost certain that it moved on its own. “How exactly did you find him? We can't be sure you weren’t the one who abducted him, after all.”

The boy took his time to answer, his face slightly scrunched in thought. Faint sound of movement emerged from his comm but he showed no signs of hearing it.

He pointed to the body of the cultest then to the mound that Dick hadn’t paid much attention to as he answered, “They kidnapped Robin, me, and a couple other kids. They killed the others. Who are you?

Dick heard a sharp inhale, likely in reaction to the dead children. It looked like they were thrown there uncaringly, Dick thought angrily. They were piled on top of each other, some of their limbs bent unnaturally. Most of the injuries were from a slit neck, but there were signs of other injuries. These poor kids were likely tortured first then slaughtered.

He could see Bruce soften after the boy answered, likely thinking the same things as Dick.

Dick sighed silently, sheathing his escrima sticks as he walked to stand closer to Bruce and Damian. “I’m called Nightwing. Can you tell us why you and Robin are unharmed?”

“They already summoned the God of the Dead, or Corpse God, by then. It wasn't needed.” Jason cursed. They were too late, for both the kids and the summoning. Not to mention the ominous name of the being that was summoned. Just what were these cultists planning for summoning such a being? Probably to ‘rid the world of impurities’ like every other cult he came across.

Bruce asked for confirmation of the being, pulling out his ‘victim voice’. It was significantly softer than what he usually spoke as Batman. The boy nodded, affirming their suspicions on the being. Though, where was it? Usually, summoned being raged and caused destruction in their wake, especially ones with such ominous names. There was no sign of this one.

Dick pasted on a smile and bent closer to the boy, “Did you see where the God of the Dead went?”

The boy nodded as he bit his lips, visibly nervous. It was a bit strange to see such an expression on the child when he was blase for most of the conversation. He leaned forward as the boy cupped his hand over his mouth and whispered, “He’s still here.”

Dick felt a shiver race down his spine, one of his siblings sucked in a breath. That was… not good. Was this a trap? Had the God of the Dead been lying in wait and observing them since they had arrived?

The atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife. Everyone was tense and ready for battle. Of course, that was when Damian began to stir, calling out to Bruce once he opened his eyes. Bruce adjusted his hold on Damian, beginning to answer Damian before he was cut off by the boy.

“Can I go now? I was with my friends before this. They’re probably worried.” Dick most certainly couldn't let a key witness, and a most definitely traumatized child, wander off without supervision.

“Sorry, you’re coming with us.” Dick said apologetically.

The boy did not like that. He crossed his arms and gave them an annoyed look. “Why?”

Jason, Tim, and Cass took this as the perfect time to reveal themselves. They hopped down from their respective posts and gathered near Bruce. Tim, however, aimed for the cultists as he responded, “We need more information and to verify your story. And for your protection.”

The boy's eyes lingered over Cass and Jason before focusing on the latter, his expression curious. Jason obviously noticed but didn't pay it any mind, more interested in fussing over Damian who wasn’t having it, swatting Jason’s hovering hands away.

“Won't that be kidnapping? Since I don't want to go to a secondary location with strangers? Kidnapping is illegal, you know.”

Jason answered as he finally relented from teasing Damian, “Well, it's a good thing the law is more like suggestions to us.” This did nothing to stop the boy from looking apprehensive. Good job, Jason, Dick thought tiredly.

Tim interrupted the boy when he stated that the cultists were, in fact, not dead. It blindsided Dick. Many of the cultists were in pieces as others had bled enough to be six feet under.

Damian looked mildly curious as Bruce and Tim questioned the survival of the cultists, likely thinking over the logistics of how they still lived. Eventually, Bruce asked Tim to alert the hospital and GCPD. They wouldn't be arriving in a long while, it was still Gotham after all.

Dick walked over to them as they discussed the boy and the cultist, hearing the tail end of Tim’s suspicions.

“—clearly up with him. Despite the situation he’s in, he is unusually calm.”

That was true, not many kids were so nonchalant about almost being ritually sacrificed. Or seeing mangled bodies and pools of blood laying around.

Dick glanced at the boy—he really should be calling him Polka by now, since it was the only name he was given—seeing him grow red-faced as he spoke with Jason.

The almost silent crackle of a radio signaled their time was up, they needed to leave before the police arrived.

Herding Polka out of the building and out of sight was easy, all they needed to do was avoid cameras and stick to the shadowed side of the alley. Those who saw the group were quick to run away.

Losing Polka, however, was not something Dick expected to happen. They all were hyper aware of their surroundings, and in turn, the kid. How he managed to disappear under the scrutiny of six highly trained vigilantes, Dick didn't know.

They had to admit defeat after searching the area and beyond for an hour and a half, Damian being sent back for an examination despite his objections early into their search, and trudge back to the cave unsuccessful.

Dick watched Jason walk into the infirmary—jokingly nicknamed the “batfirmary” by Steph— and remove his helmet from his seat next to Damian’s cot. Steph walked in after him, plopping down on the end of the mattress next to Jason and ignored Damian’s hissed demands for them to get off.

Cass slunk in a moment later, Tim behind her. He was still typing on his wrist computer as he sat on the opposite side of Damian. Cass leaned on the arm of his chair, gazing curiously at the screen.

Off to the right, through a sliver of the thick cloth that blocked the med bay, sat Bruce. The light from the Batcomputer illuminated his bent figure.

Dick pursed his lips, not liking the expression that crossed his father’s face. Whenever there were children involved, Bruce always got into a mood. It wasn’t that the rest of them didn’t, but Bruce’s mood was always the worst. He wouldn't accept any food or comfort until he solved the case and got justice for the innocent children.

As his child and fellow vigilante, Dick couldn't let Bruce neglect himself like that, least of all when it wasn’t his fault the children died. He stood, walking over to Bruce and laid a hand on his shoulder. He gently squeezed, offering all the comfort that was allowed. Bruce gave him a weary smile.

“You should join us.” Dick said, retracting his hand to cross his arms. “It does you no good just sitting here. Damian needs you right now.”

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I just… I need to give those children justice.”

“Bruce, they aren’t going anywhere. You need to focus on the child in front of you.” Dick winced at how that came out. “I mean, Damian should be your priority right now. He’s recovering from being kidnapped!”

“You're right.” Bruce sighed, straightening his back slightly. “They aren’t going anywhere.”

Dick walked back to his seat, pleased with the sound of Bruce’s footsteps behind him. He watched as Damian’s face brightened when he spotted his father, and the subsequent haughty look he made to cover it up.

“How are you doing, Damian?” Bruce asked, sitting on the cot.

“I am fine, Father. It was just a scratch.” Damian answered, lifting his chin then frowning. “I didn't need to be hauled to the infirmary. I could have helped track down the boy.”

“We had to check if the cultist had done anything else to you. Would you rather not know if they had? And how did they manage to even snatch you anyways?” Tim intervened, crossing his legs as he looked up from his wrist computer.

“They used defenseless animals against me.” Dick almost cooed at Damian’s pout. He was always glad to see Damian act his age.

“What kinds of animals?” Steph leaned forward, her eyes gleaming.

“… Kittens.” Damian admitted quietly.

“They lured you in with kittens?!” Jason said hysterically. Muffled snorts came from all around, Dick himself wasn't exempt from laughing either. Everyone but Jason quickly pasted on an innocent face when Damian furiously glared at them, he didn't bother covering up his laughter. Even Bruce seemed amused, his eyes darting between them with a fond look on his face.

“Do you remember what happened?” Cass signed. Dick could tell she was still worried about Damian, the sides of her eyes were creased and her lips held together tightly.

“I passed out after I was hit over the head.” Damian began, the bedding clenched in his fists. “I remember waking up a couple of times but it wasn't for long. The last time I awoke, the boy was there.”

Bruce put his hand over Damian, his lips pursed. He clearly didn't like how his son was treated, and looking around, none of them were. “Did he do anything?”

“He told me to rest.” Damian said simply, brows furrowed.

“And you did?” Tim asked, dumbfounded. Dick was just as confused, Damian barely took orders from them that he deemed unnecessary, so him listening to a random civilian? It was unheard of.

“That was the strange thing. The moment he told me to, I was overwhelmed with drowsiness. I couldn't help falling asleep.”

A magic user? Dick thought speculatively. Or perhaps a meta? There were many abilities that could cause someone to fall unconscious with just a word, and just as many with aftereffects. Dick prayed that there weren’t any lasting effects on Damian, he wasn't sure what he would do if there were.

“I knew there was something up with him!” Tim announced, jumping up from his seat. “The fact that he was so calm in such a bloody environment was the first clue. Why would he be calm, let alone stay in that warehouse, when he was abducted and watched others be sacrificed? Plus, despite telling us the Corpse God—or God of the Dead, whatever— there was no sign of the being other than the cultist’s dismangled bodies. Why did he lie?” He paced back and forth, letting his theories flow like water.

Cass knocked on the wall, gathering their attention. She signed, “He didn’t lie.”

“He didn’t?” Dick questioned, understandably confused.

She shook her head, “He was truthful the whole time, but was he hiding something.”

“He could have been misleading you.” Steph crossed her arms. “He was being pretty vague in the recordings I watched. Plus, some of his words could have been taken in a different way.”

“That's true. The way he slipped away from us wasn’t something a civilian could do. Even a meta would be hard pressed to disappear from right under our noses.” Jason spoke up, a thoughtful look on his face.

“I’ll call Zatanna.” Bruce sighed, getting up from his seat. “Get some rest, we’ll have a long day tomorrow.”

“He’s right. We need to conserve our energy for interrogating Polka tomorrow.” Dick ushered his disgruntled sibling towards the staircase leading to the manor.

Once he was sure they were in their rooms, Jason deciding it was too late to go to his own safehouse, he returned to the cave. Damian was unsurprisingly still awake, his stubbornness fighting against his weariness.

Dick dimmed the lights of the cave and headed towards the infirmary. Giving his brother a quick peck on the forehead and tucking him in, much to Damian’s displeasure, he grabbed a tablet and wrote up a report next to the cot. He made sure to include his sibling’s theories in the notes margin.

Soft muttering sounded off to the side, behind the infirmary’s curtain. After making sure Damian was asleep, Dick crept towards the sound. Around the corner, Bruce’s frustrated voice spoke. He ended the call a minute after he spotted Dick leaning on the wall with his arms crossed.

“Constantine?”

“Zatanna was busy.” Bruce ran his hands through his hair. He was clearly tired after the eventful day, but Bruce would continue working despite his complaints, Dick bitterly thought. He shook his head, now was not the time for those kinds of thoughts.

Dick hummed and walked towards the Batcomputer. He sat down, Bruce a couple feet away typing away on another monitor. He transferred his half finished report to the computer in front of him, finding a keyboard easier to write with than a tablet.

He let out a yawn. He had been up for more than twenty four hours, most of that time spent patrolling and studying cases in the Batcave. He laid his head on his arms, a quick nap wouldn't hurt, would it?

Distantly, he felt a heavy weight cover him. He let out a murmur of thanks for the blanket and fell asleep, not hearing the whispered response.

The insistent buzzing of the tablet woke him. He stretched, his back popping, before unlocking the tablet. A gasp escaped him once he laid eyes on the screen.

“Uh, B? You’ll need to see this.” Bruce looked at him in question before rolling closer, eyes widening slightly once he read the article.

In strikingly bold letters, the headline was “JOKER MAULED BY THE UNDEAD”.

──── ∘°❉°∘ ────

Wrote a large chunk of this months ago and just sat on it since I didn't know how to write batfam interactions. I'm pretty satisfied with how it came out :)

──── ∘°❉°∘ ────

Masterpost | Part 3

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ravennhearted · 3 months

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My FAVORITE fanfic tag is “no beta we die like [insert character here]” it never fails to make me cackle

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wayneskluv · 3 months

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peraltiago!au — part 1 — j. todd ¡! ❞

pairing: jason todd x f!reader

warnings: none currently

summary: the tension that engulfed the belfry was making the atmosphere almost unbearable, any one could sense the stress coming from each vigilante–specifcally you and jason todd.

two months ago, you had made a bet to see who could stop the most crimes or take down the most criminals whilst on patrol. If he lost, he had to give you his motorcycle, that was his absolute pride and joy, and if you lost, you had to go on a date with him on said motorcycle—which, according to you, would be the worst thing in the world. though bruce didn’t necessarily approve of this bet, even he had to admit both of you had done exceptionally well and your arrest rates had both significantly improved since the bet had begun.

a/n: uhhhh part one finally sorry it’s so short but i’ll post the next one soon

YOUR FIST flew straight into the already-bloody face of one of jokers thugs, your elbow raising behind you to collide with another’s gut, knocking the air out of him.

whilst you were distracted, you don’t notice four particularly strong looking goons approach you. one grabs your elbows, and the other hooking his arms around your knees, the other two standing menacingly on guard for if you even attempt to put up a fight. the weird gotham stench that lingered in the air started to blur your vision, and your head feels as if it will split in two. your kicks and struggles do nothing to aid you, and eventually you stop trying. you had rather decent fighting skills, but the truth was, they were just stronger.

just as you give up, you drop to floor with a swift movement, a comically loud thud echoing in the alley. you glance upward slowly, trying to make out the dark figure in the pale light. “you’re welcome.” you’d recognise that smug voice from anywhere. “i believe that means i’m up by, what was it?” jason pauses in mock-thought, tapping his gloved finger to his masked chin. “oh, right! four.” you can’t see his face, but you know all too well the cocky grin that was plastered on his face.

“there’s a week left, clocks ticking.” you hear a low chuckle from above you before his hand reaches out to help you up. you reluctantly take his hand, using your knees to push off the ground—you could feel the bruises from where you had been manhandled by the thugs.

“thanks.” you mumble under your breath, swallowing your pride for a moment to be polite—he did just save your life, who knows what the joker would’ve done once he got his hands on you.

jason’s leg swept the leg of a goon, knocking him on his arse. his palm comes into contact with the temple of one of jokers henchmen, quickly slamming his head into the wall.

you almost laughed at how easy he made it for you. he was beating up the tough idiots, whilst you were interrogating a crook in the corner. when you’d got the information you need, a sweaty jason stumbled over.

you click your tongue, “so nice of you to join us.” the smugness in your tone matches the exact same one he used nights before.

he lets out a sigh, though he has to admit the banter is amusing. “i believe that’s a point in my favour.” you tap your head set, signalling the oracle.

barbara’s exasperated voice comes through the headset, “yeah, i added it to the whiteboard already.” she was as fed up as the rest of the batfamily. at first, it was entertaining, but with a week left, you’d both become insufferable with your competitiveness and the teasing.

you tap your headset, rather out of breath with a thug beneath your shoe who had chosen to stupidly struggle. “two minutes to spare, and i’m up by one. admit defeat now, jason.”

his voice comes through, “oh no.” the tone isn’t worried at all, infact, it’s rather smug—and you just know he has that shit-eating grin plastered all over his face.

“damn straight, ‘oh no.’ oh no, why aren’t you worried?” you were trying to convince yourself he was trying to psych you out, there’s no way he could beat you.

almost on cue, you hear various thudding noises and muffled grunts. oh no. no, no, no, no. “i just took down twelve goons total, accept your fate.”

you bite back almost immediately, “never.” but there was nothing you could do about it now—and you just know he is going to be a dick about it. he begins counting down from ten, whilst you repeat the word ‘no’ like you’re batman with his robins.

when he finishes counting, a loud fan fare plays throw your headset, causing you to flinch at the deafening sound. (great job jason, not like that would alert your position or anything)

“y/n y/l/n, will you do me the honour, of going on the worst date of all time? you have to say yes.” he said, a smirk crossing his lips as he could only imagine the look on your face.

you groan in frustration, but a bet is a bet. “yes.” you breathe out—almost as if that was the most painful you’ve ever had to do.

“yes! she said yes!” he says, followed by a chorus of cheers through the headset—mainly because everyone it was finally over.

“come out, it’s date time. it’s time to date.” his voice sung out from behind your door, the tone he chose to deliver his words in showed that he wasn’t trying to hide that fact he was enjoying this immensely.

you press your lips tightly together before reluctantly stepping outside to the image of him next to his motorcycle. “jason, this dress is ridiculous.”

“c’mon, there’s plenty of embarrassing to do, and only a few hours to do it.” his cocky grin never falters, and you wonder if it physically hurts to be such an obnoxious douche all the time.

“do i really have to wear this all night?” you ask, gesturing down at the ridiculous dress you are wearing. he wasn’t poor, he was the son of bruce wayne for gods sake, but he chose this tacky, cheap dress just to spite you—you can’t really be mad, you’d do the same if you were in his shoes.

“you know the rules. i decide what you wear, what you eat, and where we go.” he says with a broad smirk, “oh, and one more thing.”

you raise your eyebrows, unsure if he’s gonna say something actually genuinely serious. “no matter what happens, you’re not allowed to fall in love with me.” the teasing tone almost makes you laugh.

a smile spreads across your face, and the tenseness of your shoulders deflates. “won’t be a problem.”

tags: @duchessdaisybat @blum0rph0 @b4tm4nn

#wayneskluv peraltiago!au #wayneskluv #dc comics #jason todd x reader #no beta we die like jason todd

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greenunoreversecard · 4 months

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Don't hide your pain

-> Angel dust x reader

A/N: I made this of my own violation. I needed to therapize myself

Reader POV, ftm male, who's ✨️traumatized✨️

It always starts like this.

Things go well for a while. Things go great, even.

And then it gets bad. And it stays bad, and i ruin every close relationship and im alone.

And then it repeats.

I just wish I could be better. I guess that's why I'm at the hotel.

Things have been good for a while, so good, infact I though the cycle could be over.

Angel brought so much light to my life. He made me feel so happy, and wanted and needed.

And I was so much better. But it seems like the happier I was the worse i fall.

I sigh, rolling over in my bed, grabbing my phone. Fuck it's late in the day. Charlie will be upset, but i cant seem to care. I just- I don't wanna leave my bed.

I look away from my lockscreen, a blurry picture of angel in my Hoodie chasing after nuggets, who has his phone in his mouth, trying to run away with it. It caught angel off guard, and i was laughing so hard i couldnt get a steady photo.

Its one of my favorite memories. I feel a small smile tug at my lips, but my body and my face feel like led that I can barely move.

Theres a knock at my door.

"Hey, baby. Are you ok? Haven't seen you in a day, and I wanted to make sure ya alright.." I hear his quiet voice as the door squeaking lightly as Angle peeks in, silhouette gently illuminated from the light in the hallway.

I grumble in reply and roll over. He sighs, and for a moment I think he leaves but i feel him sit on my bed, next to me. I can feel his warmth. Despite having the features of a cold-blooded spider, he's always run rather hot.

He rests his hand on my back.

"Baby, I can't help you if you dont talk ta me"

Irritation rises in me.

"Don't. I dont need you. I dont need your fucking pity. Just fuck off, please." I say, voice rough and shoulders tense.

His determination doesn't deter, though.

"I don't pity you, love. I just wanna help."

I know my irritation is irrational, logically. But I can't help being angry. Angry I am this way, angry I'm so helpless. And I'm ahry he has to see me like this, considering he has it so much worse. He deserves better than this. Better than me. But I can't seem to stop the slow of my defensive anger, vomiting out words I'm uncertain seraid him I know they do me coming out my mouth.

"Don't pretend, angie."

"I'm serious, though. I want to help."

"Don't play with me. I don't need you, and I don't need your pity."

"Why are you doing this?"

This freezes me. I tense. I don't know why I do this. I don't know why I'm hurting him. I don't know why I'm hurting myself by hurting the only person thats treated me like a fucking sentient being..

I realise, at this point, he's as rigid as a brick, and I look over at him. He tears in the corners of his eyes, eyes slighrly red from the effort it takes to stop his tears. His hair is a mess, and he's shaking, God's he's shaking.

"I- please, sugar. I just wanna help you but- but I can't if you push us away. I you push me away. I- I don't wanna lose you. I can't fucking lose you. And I can feel you sliping and its- it's scary. Please, if not for you then for me."

At this, a sob wracks its way through my body, every viceral emotion I've held back hitting me like a dam destroyed. Apologies spewing through my lips like it's a lifeline. And in a way, it is. Because, I know hes right. And I know if I continue on the way I do, I'll be destroyed at my own hands. And I'll lose him, I'll lose my lifeline.

...

I don't know how long I cry for. It's all kind of blurry, really. I know i tell him everything ive hid from him about my life through choked sobs, and at some point he's holding me to his chest, gently stroking my hair, touch gentle but deep, afraid to let me go as if I'll disappear, or break like glass.

The good never used to last for long, but maybe this time I can make it last forever.

So long as I have him.

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End note: vv rushed lmfao. Anywhore, hopes this gives a small gauge as to my writing style. I can also try my hand at different possibilities.

Hope ye likey likey

#no beta we die like jason todd #Hazbinhotel x reader #Hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel angel dust #Hazbin hotel fic #Angel dust x reader #Angel dust x male reader #Hazbin Hotel x male reader #Angel dust #Angst #hurt/comfort #Angel dust fic #Hazbin hotel headcankn #Hazbin hotel one-shot #Angel dust one-shot #Angel dust headcanon

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sonneambedo · 3 months

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let me be cringe for a moment let me let m

"They say tears are holy. That there is a certain sacredness to them, that there are much more tears shed to answered than unanswered prayers.

Bullshit.

I cried a sea enough for Noah's Arc, I bled when I couldn't cry anymore, I sweated my life out as I choked to death in the smoke. Do you know what blood, sweat, and tears brought me? A merciless death. Slow, painful, merciless death. As if that wasn't enough, I woke up, once again, almost out of oxygen; stale air choking me, again, again - and despite all that I clawed my way out. I managed to leave the hellhole. Literal..."

A ghost of a laugh escapes his lips.

"You do not deserve my mercy; you left me to die, and despite your grief, you let him live. I thought I was going to be the last one.

I will make sure I am the last one.

You will not stop me."

The words are not a plea, nor a command. They are a simply stated fact, nothing more, nothing less.

Joker will die, innocents will live.

He will have his revenge.

girliepops and boyopops and theythempops im so normal and so sane and i am not cryign about smth i made real quick i am not

#Red Hood #Batman #digital art #jason todd #batfam #batfamily #no beta we die like jason todd #jason is my baby my blorbo my everything #writing #ficlet #fanart #dc fanart #jonker mentioned #yes jonker #fuck that guy <3 #anyweayayyyy #yeah. yeah

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cherryinsalemverse · 1 year

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Batmom!Reader x Batfam

Summary: It is a fic inspired by that one youtube playlist. Wordcount: 1136 Warnings: I do NOT own anything in this fic! The characters nor the playlist! But please check the playlist it is awesome! Also this is my first fic and English is not my mother tongue. I'm sorry for every grammar mistake I made. Please enjoy.

You wanted to believe that it was a joke. You wanted to believe that he made it in time. That Jason was still alive. You wanted to, with every cell in your body. Yet you knew. Bruce would never lie to you. He would never make a joke that would hurt you.

The news crushed your heart into million pieces, it crushed your life apart too. At first, you were angry at yourself. You knew the second Jason was the new Robin. You knew you should have prevented it. Instead of helping him to be a better fighter to protect himself, you should have protected him from his choices. He was just a kid. Your kid. With or without blood.

You loved Jason as much as you loved Dick. Definitely more than yourself and maybe more than Bruce too. And it saddened you the moment he told you, you were not his 'mom'. You knew it was the heat of the argument. You both got louder and louder and being stubborn none of you took a step back. He screamed.

"You can't just try to push yourself into my life! I fucking hate you! Stay away from me, you're not even my mom for fucks sake. You're just a pretend, playing house with Bruce!"

If you checked on him that night -when he left home- if you reached out to him instead of drowning in your own pain maybe you wouldn't be burning in a much stronger sorrow now. Because damn it hurt, it hurt you so much what he said to you. You tried to let it pass. 'He is a kid, he doesn't mean it.' But it didn't pass, it didn't get better. It only got worse the more time passed. His last words were ringing in your ears.

His leaving was like a knife through your chest. You knew you would never feel better till you find him. You told yourself that you would talk with him and let him go if he still wouldn't want to be your boy. Your sweet boy. As long as he was safe, you would accept anything. But the knife through your chest only went deeper with time and pierced your heart when you learned he was long gone.

Time would heal any wound they said. Your wound only bled more. Dick was there for you. And Tim after him. Bruce was distancing himself. You couldn't help him then. Couldn't find the words in you to take him out of his guilt. No. Because once you got out of blaming yourself, you blamed him. It was his idea in the first place to take children to fight. It was him who couldn't protect your little angel. It was him who couldn't find him in time, get to him in time. Let him die and perish in the hands of a criminal who got away with way too much death. And it drove you nuts when he didn't avenge your son. How could he, let the man loose and alive after all that happened.

At last, you blamed the man himself. The clown that haunted your dreams. The Joker. That bastard was the real one you should blame. And you did indeed. You swear on your life that you would take down him even if you had to go down as well. You were not one to break her promises.

Parting your way from Bruce, you suit up as the Scarlet. Lady Death, The Rednight. You didn't care about others than the Joker. As long as they were not connected you made alliances with the rest of the villains even. You needed resources of income and intel since Bruce was onto your back. At every chance, you got a hold of Joker he was there to save him from you. But you made it after much spent time. Learned from your mistakes and got yourself a chance to keep your promise. You tracked the bastard once he was out of Arkham.

"Did you miss me mama bird?" said Joker once you took off the sack on his head. His hands were tied at his sides open. Bones were broken on both of his arms as well as his kneecaps. You didn't want to kill him just yet, he didn't deserve a peaceful death. No. Just like the video he sent, he was gonna be broken down in every way possible. Yet he was laughing. You placed your gun in his mouth not caring to answer. He was seeing this as a play. You were not.

The window of the warehouse broke down when Bruce came in, in his Batman costume. You didn't flinch, way too used to his schemes. You took out your other gun and pointed at him.

"Scarlet, drop your guns." his tone was like steel. "Be reasonable, killing him won't change anything." You bent your head to the side slightly.

"You have no idea just how reasonable I've been," you said. "He took my boy and if you can't take him out, Batman, I can." you opened the safety of the gun which you were pointing at Bruce.

"You don't understand. I don't think you've ever understood." he shook his head taking a step towards you. "You're putting the city in danger, letting those hell creatures loose."

You shot the wall next to him, barely missing one of his arms. "Sending those creatures after her instead of myself was mercy." he stopped midstep. You knew with Bruce's protection Harley was safe. For now. "And despite your hypocrisies and insults, I begged you to safely get out of my way."

You turned your head to the Joker, ready to pull the trigger.

"No! God almighty. No. It'd be too damned easy." Bruce called out to you.

"All I ever wanted to do was kill him. A day doesn't go by when I don't think about subjecting him to every horrendous torture he has dealt out to others. And then end him."

"Then end him. Let's end this here, tonight. I missed you, I missed my boys." your voice was close to a whisper.

"But if I do that, if I allow myself to go down in that place I'll never come back." he took another step toward you, hands reached out.

"You've exhausted my patience. But I do hope you understand. And even now what's about to happen." you turned your head sharp to him, your teary eyes glowing with the moonlight with something like madness in them. You shot towards his leg. Bruces dodged the bullet with a somersault. Now being much closer to you.

"I won't miss one more time." you took your other gun out of Joker's mouth. The man started to giggle.

" This is me being reasonable." you pulled the trigger.

#batfam #batfam x reader #batfam x batmom!reader #bruce wayne x batmom #jason todd deserved better #we love jason todd #no beta we die like jason todd #please go easy on me #it is my first fic #jason is an angsty shit #bruce needs a hug #reader needs a hug #everyone needs a hug #how does the tags work #batman x reader #batmom #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader

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9firefly9 · 2 months

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Movies & Popcorn 🎥🍿

Thank you so much @titansontop for sending me this prompt! I had a lot of fun writing it and even made myself giggle a bit too. I hope you like it!

“Come on Raven! It’ll be fun!” Gar begs, following Raven down one of the many hallways in the Titans Tower.

Raven sighs.

She’s not entirely sure she wants to go see a movie. The movie Gar wants to watch is an action film. A film that Raven has no interest in. But Gar is so excited about seeing it that Raven would feel bad if she told him this.

“Fine.” Raven says, annoyance in her tone, but anyone could see that her annoyance isn’t real as a small smile danced on her lips at Gars cheers.

“You won’t regret it Raven!” Gar yells at her as he runs down the hall to his room to gather his things. Still looking back at her, he just barely manages to avoid smacking his face against the door frame as he turns to enter his room.

Raven rolls her eyes at his clumsiness but can’t help the faint blush that warms her cheeks as she heads to her own room.

Grabbing her bag of her desk chair she shoves a battery pack into it and a chord to charge her phone, then she puts her wallet in.

Pausing only for a moment to make sure she has anything, she then shrugs and walks out of her room.

Like she expected, Gar is not yet ready to leave. He’s still in his room. So Raven is left awkwardly standing by the door waiting.

Raven debates going to sit on the couch while she waits when Gar steps out from the hallway with his back pack lazily thrown over one shoulder.

He gives her a wide smile as he comes to stand beside her.

“You ready?” He asks with a childlike happiness as he looks at her

“Yeah. Let’s go.” Raven says, her voice nowhere near as happy sounding as his, but that’s alright. Gar knows if she wasn’t at least somewhat alright to go see this movie she wouldn’t have even agreed to come.

They hop into the car, with Raven as the driver because there’s no way she will EVER let Gar control the wheel again. The last time Gar drove ended up with both of them soaking wet as they trudged through the Lake by the Titans Tower because Gar had accidentally flipped the car.

“Shot gun!” Gar calls as he runs to the front passenger seat. Raven rolls her eyes at him. “No one else was going to take that seat from you, you know.” She tells him.

“Yeah I know. But it’s still fun to say it.” Gar says smiling at her as he buckles his seat belt.

Raven lets out a huff of air in amusement then starts the car.

As we get out of the car Gar is already telling me what food he wants to get.

“We HAVE to get popcorn! Movies just aren’t the same without it. But let’s get a large popcorn. The food here is really expensive so it would be cheaper just to get one big one.”

Before Raven has a chance to even open her mouth Gar is grabbing her hand and walking them both into the Cinema.

A lady at the front asks for their tickets and she quickly scans them before letting them in.

Gar grabs a huge bag of popcorn a Coke then asks Raven what drink she would like already reaching for a dr. Pepper knowing what she’ll say.

“I’d like a dr- oh!” Before the word had even left her mouth Gar was handing her a Dr. Pepper; her favourite drink.

“Thank you.” She says quietly taking the drink from Gar as a soft smile makes its way on her face.

They head to the cashier and pay for their popcorn and drinks. Raven watches as Gar finds the cinema butter machine and absolutely COVERS the popcorn in a layer of butter. She can’t tell if she should be smiling at his antics or looking disgusted.

Gar eats some of the popcorn as they walk to the room playing their movie, making loud crunching noises as he does so.

They find their seats and sit down and not a second later Gar places the popcorn between him and Raven and tells her to have some.

“I don’t know.” She says wearily, eyeing the popcorn. “That was a lot of butter I watched you put on it.”

Gar laughs a bit at that. “I swear all I did was make the popcorn better. It tastes fantastic!” To prove his point he takes a giant handful of the popcorn and shoves it into his mouth. Making satisfied “hmmm” noises as he eats it, showing off how good it is.

With an unimpressed sigh Raven takes a few pieces of popcorn, careful not to drop them and pops them into her mouth. At first the sweetness throws her off and she almost says she doesn’t like it, but then a minute later her tastebuds get used to it and she realizes the Gar is right. The butter makes the popcorn taste fantastic. Not that she’d ever admit that.

Gar looks at her expectantly and she gives him a shrug saying “it’s okay.” As she grabs more popcorn.

“It’s okay?! Just okay?!” Gar yells. Thank goodness the movie hadn’t started yet or a lot of people would be shushing him right now. “This popcorn is to die for! It’s the best thing my mouth has ever tasted and you say it’s just ‘okay’?! I’m honestly quite offended.” Gar says crossing his arms and takes the popcorn away from Raven.

“Hey! Give it back.” Raven tells Gar with a small giggle. She knows he’s not being serious because even as the lights are beginning to dim as the movie is about to start, she can still see his smile.

Gar places the popcorn back down beside them as he looks at her with playful eyes and glares at her. The movie begins to play only seconds later.

Raven can honestly say that she was right. This movie is not her type of movie. She has little to no interest in it. So sometimes she ops to just stare at Gar as he’s entranced with the movie and its characters. It’s cute how much he seems to be enjoying the movie. Sometimes he’ll lean in and tell her something about one of the actors or he’ll say things like “oh I really liked that part” and “woah I did not see that coming”.

At some point Raven moves her hand over to grabs a handful of popcorn and she feels Gar’s hand brush against hers. Startled she immediately pulls her hand back. Raven looks over at Gar and finds that he’s pulling his hand away with a mountain of popcorn in it and still watching the movie.

My heart slams against my chest as blush raises up my neck and heats up my face. How is he still watching the movie? Can he not hear my heart? It’s beating so loud that you would think everyone in this theatre should be able to hear it over the movie. I can still feel the heat of where our hands touched on my palm.

“Did you know the actor who plays Bobby was also in..” Gar begins to tell me and suddenly my racing heart doesn’t matter anymore as I listen to Gar’s rant. He could be talking about how the sky is blue and I’d still listen to every word.

Not long later the credits begin to roll and the movie ends. We leave the cinema with Gar reenacting his favourite scenes and asking for my thoughts on all of them.

The movie definitely wasn’t ever getting into my top ten favourites but if Gar asked me to, I would watch it again. Even though this movie is something I never would have chosen to watch myself, I like it now because of how much Gar likes it.

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