Note: This is a little shaky and the ending is rushed. It may not be coherent but at this point, I’m not quite sure. Also, Crush Culture is an amazing song, I can’t stop listening.
Warnings: None 🥀
“You speak to me in words. But I look at you with feeling.” - Pierrot le Fou (1965) dir. Jean-Luc Godard
May.
The debriefing was dragging. Nightwing’s hackles were raised; he was pissed and protective. His voice rang out commanding and sharp in front of the group of gathered heroes. It dripped with disappointment. Words like ‘careless’ and ‘dead’ jumped out at you, while everything else floated away. You were bone tired. Too worn out to give any effort, no matter how much you respected Dick.
The giant alien creature you all had taken down had been clumsy but strong, it mowed you all flat before it was taken out. Your bones and muscles ached, your head throbbed and there was a long streak of alien goop clinging to your legs that you longed to wash off. Beside you, Jaime Reyes yawned, echoing your exhaustion. He shot a sheepish look at you, and you twisted your mouth back in an ‘I know right’ gesture.
“Let me reiterate, if any of you ever do something this reckless again, you’ll be sorry.”
“Yes. Yes, Grayson. We get it. Can we go to bed now?”
No one else but a Bat would talk to Nightwing that way. Wally perhaps. But it was the effervescent Damian Wayne who stood tall through the parted crowd with his arms crossed and foot tapping at the cement floor of the control room, impatiently. Sometimes the princeling in him was so blatantly obvious that one would think he was incomplete without a crown. You snickered at his stance, drawing the attention of the room. He turned into your gaze with the sly grace of wolf and offered you a tender smile. It was a quick, stunning flash of teeth and dimples accompanied by the lopsided curve of his full lips. Your knees went weak immediately.
prguitarman
romaincrisis
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annaxmalina
