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[chiaramisu]

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✴︎ chiara (kee-ah-rah) she/her, 20s bisexual, southeast asian

✴︎ masterlist ⟣ i do not take requests, but i’m open to ideas! ⟢

any form of hate speech, harassment, or bigotry will be removed.

banners i use are from @/cafekitsune

[chiaramisu]

✴︎ hey there, summerboy 🌺 ✴︎

dick grayson x gn reader angst contains: swearing wc: >1k song inspo ♬⋆.˚

⟣ desc: a doomed summer situationship with dick grayson. ⟢

summer has a habit of arranging itself around dick grayson, each memory like a snapshot where he's the focus.

walking hand-in-hand down boardwalks, the sunset melting across the sky.

squealing when the cold water hits your ankles, only for him to laugh, grab you by the waist, and drag you in anyway.

standing in a grocery store parking lot, rubbing aloe vera on his sunburnt skin while he insists it barely stings.

late night texts that turn into spontaneous late-night drives, the windows rolled down and the radio blasting.

tasting ice cream on his lips as your fingers tangle in his hair before he drops you off back home.

by july, you stopped asking where he was taking you. the answer was always somewhere fun.

then came mid-summer rainstorms, the type that the forecast never seems to predict. one minute it says bright and sunny, the next it says grey skies, and by the time he's put his car in park, it's downpouring. you stare at the trees rattling in the wind, mouth agape in utter disbelief at your luck. your plans for a fun daytrip to the beach are completely ruined.

"we can wait for it to pass," dick suggests.

you turn to face him, a frown pulling at your lips.

"i don't think we can go to the beach after a fucking monsoon, dick."

"you free tomorrow?"

"that's not the point," you sigh. "we were supposed to start at the beach and then have dinner and then go to the boardwalk and be home before midnight—"

"we still have the rest of summer."

"that's like three weeks!"

"then we'll just have to make 'em count."

he's trying, he really is, but the words start tumbling out before you can stop yourself.

"but it's not the same! i'll be half-way across the country from you, you can't just come and pick me up to get ice cream at midnight!"

the statement lands with a dull weight inside the car, the silence deafening amidst the rain pelting on the windshield. for a moment, defeat flashes across his face and you regret it immediately. you had brought up the one thing neither of you dared to speak about. from the very beginning, there had been a mutual understanding that whatever this is—a relationship, a summer fling—it has a time limit looming over it.

"i know..." he whispers. "i know."

the drive back is quiet, a song from your shared playlist hums softly in the background. his sunglasses are still perched on top of his head, his gaze trained on the road.

"i'm sorry," you murmur, "i just wanted to make the most of our time."

his hand moves across the center console, his fingers tentatively brushing against yours before lacing them together.

"don't apologize, it's not your fault."

the car comes to a stop at the red light. he turns his head toward you, soft eyes lingering. you catch yourself trying to memorize him, quietly collecting every detail. he looks like every good thing summer has ever been—ocean-blue eyes, faint freckles, sun-kissed skin, easy smiles, and easier laughter. you wonder if years from now, you'll spend summer piecing him back together through strangers on the beach with windswept curls and sea salt on their skin.

dick grayson is your summer, your summerboy.

you aren't ready for autumn to take him away.

"so tomorrow?"

the light flicks to green.

"yeah," he breathes, squeezing your hand a little tighter. "let's do something tomorrow."

~

dick buries his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, body shivering as he approaches the gas station on the corner. the sun is hiding behind grey clouds again, just as it has been all week. half-empty branches sway in the wind. beneath them, brown leaves float in pools of rainwater scattered across the cracked and uneven concrete.

the bell chimes when he enters and he tips his head in greeting to the lone worker. he grabs a drink out of the cooler and like second nature, tucks it under his arm before reaching for another. his fingers wrap around the cold aluminum. then he pauses, slowly bringing his hand back to his side. he lets the door swing shut. frost creeps back over the spot he had touched.

pulling back onto the main road, he absently turns on the radio. a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when he registers the opening chord. he turns up the volume a few notches because you always perk up when this song comes on. he glances at the passenger seat, half-expecting to find you drumming your fingers against the dashboard and singing along a bit too loudly as the chorus rolls around. the seat is empty. the chorus plays anyway.

summer has a habit of arranging itself around dick grayson.

autumn was spent learning not to.

a/n: ohh, this kinda hurt me to write... hope you enjoyed anyway??? lol

[chiaramisu]

✴︎ operation save damian's ex(?)-fiancé ✴︎

aged up damian wayne x gn reader crack contains: childhood arranged marriage, jason was in the league, unnecessary usage and non-canon seating capacity of the batwing wc: ~1.4k

⟣ desc: damian wayne gets bamboozled into attending your wedding. ⟢

it's a slow morning at the wayne manor full of sluggish blinks, dark circles, and chain-reaction yawns until alfred pennyworth waltzes in with a letter. damian wayne takes it from his gloved hand, raising a brow at the unfamiliar wax stamp. he opens it to reveal an elegant wedding invitation with your name gracefully written in gold ink. damian stills, his jaw clenching. underneath the table, his hand squeezes into a tight fist. jason todd peers over curiously.

"oh my god, damian," he gasps, "that's your ex! they're getting married to someone else?"

"i assumed the engagement was dissolved when i relocated to gotham, anyways," damian replies.

he places the invitation flat on the table and resumes his breakfast tensely.

"whoa," dick grayson breathes, leaning across the table with wide eyes. "you were engaged? since when?"

"six years old."

"they were gonna force a child into a loveless marriage?"

at the head of the table, bruce wayne raises his mug to take a sip of his coffee.

"arranged marriages are common within the league," he states.

dick slams his fists on the table.

"that's not the point!"

tim drake winces at the clatter of ceramic against wood. he reaches over, swiftly snatching the invitation from damian.

"fancy," he murmurs, gliding his fingertips across the weighted paper. he types the name written next to yours into the search bar of his laptop.

"marriage is supposed to be about love and partnership," dick laments, "in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part!"

"they almost put me in one, too," jason comments, "but then i came to gotham."

"how far did you get?" damian asks.

"just past the introduction period, maybe two of twenty rounds."

"does nobody believe in love anymore?" dick groans.

"hey, your ex's new partner is real shitty," tim chimes in, scanning the bullet points from his preliminary search. "linked to organized crime, embezzlement, murder...and two previous marriages that ended due to financial abuse."

suddenly, dick pushes back from the table, his chair screeching against the floor.

"we have to help your ex," he declares with much certainty.

"not my ex," damian corrects sharply. "it was a political arrangement."

jason pumps his fist in the air.

"hell yeah, count me in! i've always wanted to crash a wedding!"

damian turns to his father, eyes pleading for an out to this ridiculous suggestion. dread courses through his veins when the thoughtful expression on bruce's face passes.

"when is the wedding?"

"tomorrow," tim replies.

bruce nods.

"we'll leave as soon as we finish patrol tonight."

"i will expedite the preparation of your formal attire," alfred states.

damian pinches the bridge of his nose, pondering how on earth did matters escalate from a quiet breakfast to orchestrating a plan to crash a wedding? he reaches for the only logical argument he has left.

"the invitation is addressed to damian wayne, not damian wayne plus four guests!"

but it falls on deaf ears as the conversation dissolves into flight times, departure schedules, and color coordination. damian sighs as dick throws his arms in the air, bickering with jason over who gets to wear grey and who gets to wear black.

he tunes them out as discussions of tie colors and pocket squares spiral around him, his thoughts circling back to the invitation sitting on the table. the image of your name written beside another's stirs something uncomfortable in his chest. the engagement had belonged to a previous version of himself, one dictated by the league. though he's left that life behind, he never considered that someone else might step into the future he abandoned. once upon a time, it was supposed to be his name beside yours on the invitation, not his name solitary on the front of the envelope.

~

damian tugs on the collar of his dress shirt, a crease forming between his brows. if someone told him yesterday morning that he'd be halfway across the world aboard the batwing alongside his father, grayson, todd, and drake, he would've accepted it without question. if they added that they were on their way to crash a wedding in three-piece suits proudly prepared by alfred, however, he would have narrowed his eyes and informed them they're sorely mistaken. unfortunately, both scenarios have somehow become reality.

"this is entirely unnecessary," he grumbles.

tim turns to him with a smug look on his face.

"then why did you shove me to get in first?"

"i did not."

"you did though?" jason prods. "we all saw it?"

"your eyesight is deteriorating with age."

"for a private ceremony," bruce notes, eyes skimming the ground below, "the venue is strangely open."

jason squints out the window.

"not a sniper in sight, either."

"...convenient," dick mutters.

"intentional, maybe?" tim suggests.

you tilt your head toward the sky to watch the batwing initiating its descent. it casts a looming shadow across the enormous stretch of land with perfectly manicured-grass, colorful flowerbeds, and not a singular obstacle to prevent them from an easy landing. your lips curl up into a smile.

"right on time."

though it's been years since you last met, it takes damian mere seconds to find you amongst the crowd. you're older now, both of you are, yet for a fleeting moment, the wedding venue blurs with the memory of a different ceremony—one where you both stood stiffly side-by-side beneath the watchful eyes of the league to officiate the engagement. back then, a future where damian is your spouse was a certainty. now, he's to watch someone else take his place.

adrenaline rushes through his body. he's moving without thinking, ripping off his seatbelt and shoving todd and drake aside to get out.

"watch it!" jason yelps.

"the batwing is still moving, damian," bruce warns.

he ignores them completely, stepping onto the ledge before the batwing has touched down.

"damian—"

he leaps anyway, landing hard in the grass. gusts of wind tear through his hair and suit jacket, rendering alfred's careful styling and ironing to complete ruin.

"STOP THE WEDDING!"

everyone turns to look, expressions ranging from shock to horror, but damian keeps his gaze on you standing by the altar...alone.

alone?

he looks around the venue, at the bouquet in your hand, the chairs, the guests, and the officiant holding an open book.

behind him, bruce, tim, dick, and jason catch up, each taking in the scene before them. it has everything a wedding should have except for—

"where is your betrothed?" damian demands.

"he's just arrived," you smile, staring straight at him.

"what...?"

in the front row, he spots duke thomas, stephanie brown, cassandra cain, and his mother?? duke offers an enthusiastic wave. steph is blatantly biting back a fit of laughter. cass has her phone raised high for babs to see through a video call.

talia al ghul looks her son over once. twice.

he immediately straightens his posture. her eyes linger on the crooked tie hanging slightly askew around his collar, the singular crease on his shirt, and the loose strands of hair falling over his forehead.

sufficient...barely.

then her eyes shift to bruce. his expression tightens slightly as she arches a singular brow. she says nothing. she doesn't need to. bruce looks away first.

"you intentionally arranged this!" damian accuses, pointing a finger in your direction.

"you would never come to our wedding willingly, so i had to come up with something," you muse.

damian turns to find his father, grayson, todd, and drake are no longer standing behind him. instead, they're making their way toward a row of reserved seats, each marked with personalized name cards. todd is openly laughing now, hollering that damian just got played. grayson isn't doing much better based on the way he slaps a hand over his mouth. drake looks seconds away from joining in on their antics. meanwhile, father is trying to get them to settle down, but his efforts are futile.

"i was about to crash my own wedding...!"

"can't really crash it if it's yours, can you?" you point out, extending your hand toward him. "come on, i spent a long time on these vows."

a/n: my take on an arranged marriage trope with damian but make it crack lol hope you enjoyed!!

[chiaramisu]

✴︎ UPDATE: AITA for accidentally encouraging my brother's situationship to end things with him? (part 2) ✴︎

⁂ op (pt 1)

dick grayson x gn reader (ft. jason todd) slight crack fic contains: swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption by reader wc: ~1.7k

tl;dr after red hood accidentally intervenes in nightwing's situationship which resulted in him getting dumped over voicemail, nightwing threatens makes red hood clean up the mess he's made.

"this is ridiculous," jason todd grumbles into his comm line.

"yeah, and it's all your fault, so you owe me."

"if you had better communication skills, none of this would've happened."

"jason."

there's a sharp edge to dick grayson's voice, serving as both a warning and a subtle reminder that jason needs to right his wrongs.

"alright, alright," he groans, "now can you get off my ass? i'll handle it."

the line cuts and jason lets out a sigh. how was he supposed to know your situationship was his own brother? on a surface level, anyone would think you were getting played by some immature jackass. getting blown off four times in one week is crazy, but considering the fact that your situationship is secretly nightwing, it's a valid explanation—not an excuse—for his behavior.

presently, red hood is stationed atop a building on the corner of your street, his eyes meticulously scanning the sidewalks in search of you. a cool breeze whistles through the night as he waits. it's been a little over 24 hours since the chance encounter that ended in a passionate voicemail and dick's relationship status going from unofficially taken to sad and single. the game plan his brother devised is simple—find you, list all of dick's good qualities, and beg convince you to give him another chance. jason is unsure how or why a recommendation from red hood will magically fix everything, and thus, he has a sneaking suspicion that this is actually some public humiliation ritual, an elaborate punishment for accidentally meddling in dick's love life.

below him, the stream of pedestrians shuffling along the busy intersection begins to thin. there's a few people here and there, yet still no sign of you. do you enjoy lurking the gotham streets at night or something? jason shakes his head in disapproval. not only does he think that's extremely dangerous, but also, his patience is wearing thin. it's damn near 2am and your apartment sits dark and quiet.

finally, there's a glimmer of hope in the form of a bright yellow taxi. the car pulls up to the front of your building and stalls there for a few moments, no passengers coming in or out. jason steps closer to the edge of the rooftop, holding his breath, praying that you've finally decided to come home. then, the door haphazardly swings open.

"took you long enough," he mutters to himself.

he doesn't move just yet. he needs to make a few observations before he enters the fray. with the press of a button, he pages nightwing.

"what's your status, little wing?"

"got eyes on the target right now."

"what are you waiting for?" dick huffs. "go, already!"

"wait," jason pauses. "i think they're...drunk."

based on the way you miss the curb and almost eat shit the second you step out of the cab and subsequently grapple for the nearest tree trunk in front of you to regain your balance, you are, without question, drunk. the sway of your body even as you hold onto the tree trunk for dear life only further corroborates his theory.

"okay, and?"

"dude, they're drunk," jason deadpans, "they're not gonna listen to me."

"you are not aborting the mission."

"this is not a mission, dick."

"no, no, you're right. mistake is more like it—specifically your mistake—so get your ass down there and fix it," he hisses back.

~

taking two whole minutes to climb a flight of stairs comprised of somewhere between 8-10 steps is entirely unnecessary, but your world is spinning and the bass from the club is still reverberating in your ears, so taking your sweet time is entirely warranted right now. therefore, using that same logic, spending another whole minute to fish for your keys is also quite warranted right now.

what started out as a debrief with your friends about the end of your situationship over drinks and appetizers turned into you getting absolutely obliterated. one drink turned into two and then three. by the end of the night, your drink tally ended in a total of five drinks and three shots. though your friends insisted it's a celebration to you being single again, admittedly, you treated it as a night out to cope with cutting dick grayson out of your life. you hate how much you miss him. his wide smile, full-chested laughter, and those pretty blue eyes are burned into your memory. you're not sure if you'll ever truly forget him.

"hello."

you whip your head around, the brief reminiscence of your ex-situationship interrupted by the voice behind you.

"red hood here."

god, you really should've said no to that third shot because no way in hell red hood is standing before you again. your friends were already keeling over dying laughing that of all people, red hood was the one who finally got through to you, and you're still recovering from the absurdity of that yourself.

last night, red hood carried himself the way you'd expect a vigilante to—forthright and intimidating—but much to your surprise, he is far more earnest and less roguish than the headlines make him out to be. tonight, however, on the stoop of your building entrance, he seems uncertain of himself. he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his greeting accompanied by an awkward wave. it's almost as if he's here against his will, like there's some invisible gun being held to his head.

"i was hoping to speak to you 'bout my close personal friend, dick grayson."

"excuse me?" you sputter, offended at the mention of his name.

jason tenses for a moment, deeply discouraged by your response, yet he forces himself to persist.

"yes, dick grayson is my close personal friend," he treads carefully like you're a ticking time bomb that's seconds away from exploding. "i promise you, he's a great guy. he's funny and sweet and...handsome."

it physically pains jason to utter that final descriptor of dick. he is almost fully convinced that there's a hidden camera somewhere around here that dick, tim, cass, steph, duke, and damian are watching live from the batcave. hell, alfred is probably serving them popcorn right now and joining in on the watch party. why else would dick give him a script and threaten force him to memorize it word-for-word?

your face contorts into disgust as you stare at red hood in disbelief, struggling to process that not only does he personally know dick, but also, that he's trying so hard to pitch him to you. the disgust morphs into disappointment and now, you feel entirely betrayed. sure, you just recently became acquainted with red hood, but that interaction single-handedly restored your faith in humanity. now, he's reinforcing your pre-existing notion that people suck and men just happen to be the leading charge.

"after everything we've been through, you're switching up on me?" you ask incredulously.

jason's heart pounds in his chest. he takes a step back.

"what happened to 'i deserve better'? is it bros before hoes now?"

you don't mean to, but your voice grows louder, and you're full-on yelling at red hood.

"how can you do this to me? i trusted you!"

your words cut him deeper than he'd like to admit. the guilt that follows is immediate and crushing. he mentally deems this worthy of a spot in the list of top ten most remorse-inducing moments of his life. if the others really are watching this interaction live, they must be on the edge of their seats right now, alfred's popcorn forgotten.

jason squeezes his eyes shut. to hell with this fuckass script.

"look, last night, i didn't know all the details. if i knew the jackass you were cryin' over was dickhead, i wouldn't have told you all that. not 'cause we're close, but 'cause he's got a lot on his plate. there's personal stuff going on that he's not ready to share yet, but i swear to you, he really is a good guy."

you nod hesitantly. it's not the most reassuring reaction, but it's enough for jason to keep going.

"he's super smart, he's good with people, and even though we have our differences, he's the best brother i could ever ask for."

"he's your brother?"

fuck.

"...brother from another mother...! ...my brother in spirit...!"

his horrible attempt at lying adds onto the debilitating sense of guilt that jason presently feels towards you.

"okay...?"

"you're gonna have to be patient with him before he comes clean 'bout everything. and he needs to work on prioritizing you. but you won't regret it.

so please, give him another shot."

red hood stops talking, and everything goes quiet. rather than an awkward wingman, the person in front of you is the same passionate and genuine vigilante you met last night. this is the red hood you know. this is the guy who empowered you with his fiery support to cut off your situationship, and now, he's using the same support to implore you to get back with dick. it's a strange paradox, but you can tell he's being sincere.

and honestly? it's all the reason you need to take out your phone and unblock dick grayson on everything, including spotify.

with a small smile, you look back up at him.

"i can't believe that actually worked," he breathes, "i was pulling that outta my ass."

"i think speaking from the heart is a better way to put it," you chuckle.

"man, dickhead owes me big time for this."

"tell dickhead that he's got until tomorrow night to make it up to me. maybe some flowers, a heart-to-heart over a nice dinner, and dessert?"

he nods and you wonder if he's smiling under that bright red helmet, too.

"noted. i'll pass the message onto him."

~

"red hood, come in."

"i'm here."

"status report?"

"done. new objective for you, dickhead, don't fuck it up again."

a/n: thank you so much to everyone who's been interacting with pt 1, it means so much to me <3 i hope you also enjoy pt 2!

[chiaramisu]

✴︎ AITA for accidentally encouraging my brother's situationship to end things with him? (part 1) ✴︎

⁂ update (pt 2)

dick grayson x gn reader (ft. jason todd) slight crack fic contains: swearing wc: ~1k

tl;dr after finding you crying on the streets of gotham, red hood encourages you to end things with your situationship, but he has no idea your situationship is nightwing.

jason todd is nobody's therapist, yet here he is, awkwardly attempting to console a sobbing stranger. he didn't mean to get himself in this situation, but from his rooftop post, you appeared to need help. you were crouched down on the sidewalk, hugging your knees to your chest, your head buried. jason made his way down, boldly striding towards you, assuming you were the victim of some crime. he was ready to ask what happened, who did this to you, and which way did they go. indeed, you were a victim, just not the type jason is equipped to help with—a victim of heartbreak.

"like, seriously!" you wail. "this is the fourth time he's flaked on me this week!"

thank god for helmets, or else you'd see jason's eyes rolling to the back of his head. his rational side is telling him he should just walk away. sure, it's a jackass move on his behalf, but he reasons to himself you're not in imminent danger. after all, there's people that are dying. the more time he wastes here is precious time he could be using to actually save someone.

he takes a step backwards, fully intending on disappearing into the shadows and returning to his post, but goddamn it, he can't just leave you like this. you're a sorry sight under these half-dead streetlights—fresh tears running down your cheeks, dark circles underneath your puffy and bloodshot eyes. if anything, jason abandoning you would leave you vulnerable to an actual attack. at least, that's the half-assed explanation he gives the rational side of himself as he lets out a sigh and inches closer again.

"that's so...mean," he tentatively states.

"he was too good to be true. i should've known he was going to have commitment issues and bad communication skills! they all do!"

"uhh," jason stammers, racking his brain for what to say next, "you deserve better."

you slowly lift your head to peer up at him.

"you really think so?" you wobbly ask.

jason's heart breaks a little. he just met you a few minutes ago, and although he's nobody's therapist—not even for himself—he's a good detective. he can tell you're a sweet, well-meaning person. he's certain of that. unfortunately, that's how you ended up here in the streets of gotham having an emotional breakdown.

"yeah, this guy stinks! if he doesn't care 'bout you, why should you care 'bout him?"

jason's words come out stronger than he intended, but he means it. he's done giving you half-hearted support. this guy fucking sucks. he fully believes you deserve better. it's not fair that someone like you is questioning your worth over a guy who clearly couldn't give a fuck.

a few seconds of silence pass and in those few seconds, reality hits you. the infamous vigilante, red hood, is seriously comforting you right now? this guy is a stranger to you, doesn't need to hear the full story, and yet he agrees your situationship is not worth crying over. the realization ignites a fire inside you and jason notices the shift in your demeanor.

"y'know what?"

you abruptly stand.

"what...?"

he holds his breath.

"i should just end things with him. right here, right now."

"hell yeah, fuck him!"

"fuck him!" you repeat.

jason swells with pride. he's not well-versed in relationships, but he knows how to rally the troops. he watches you whip out your phone and hold it up to your ear. you look alive and well again, no longer a shell of a person. there's a determination in your eyes that confirms you're finally standing up for yourself and you're not looking back.

the call drags on before going to voicemail, but you're not phased. jason scoffs. this loser doesn't even have the decorum to answer your call. looks like he'll be waking up to a well-deserved and strongly worded message in the morning.

"i'm done," you declare into the phone. "i really thought we had something special, but clearly, you don't feel the same. i'm sick of you not prioritizing me. i deserve better."

your gaze briefly flickers to red hood and he nods, agreeing with every word you're saying.

"i don't want to ever see you again, dick."

jason's heart drops to his ass.

did you say dick? as in, dick grayson??

maybe you're just calling him a dick, right? and his name is not dick as in richard "dick" grayson.

he prays that's what it is, or else he's screwed.

~

again, jason todd is nobody's therapist, and yet here he is a few hours later post-patrol in the batcave, awkwardly attempting to console dick grayson. unfortunately, it was not a coincidence and you were not just calling some guy a dick. indeed, dick grayson was on the receiving end of your voicemail.

"i got one last voicemail," dick laments, "and then i got blocked on everything, even spotify!"

dick buries his face in his hands as jason stands there stiffly. god, it all makes sense, now. your situationship is nightwing—of course you'd think he has commitment issues and bad communication skills, he's a goddamn vigilante. still, jason can't blame you for getting the wrong idea.

"i wanna come clean and admit everything, i swear," he continues. "it's just way too early."

as much as jason wants to walk away and tell dick this is none of his concern, he still feels partially responsible for the conflict. and so, he wills himself to endure this uncomfortable situation and temporarily take on the role of a therapist.

"you don't need to say you're nightwing yet," jason begins. "the problem is you made 'em feel like you didn't care. i mean, think about it. you ghosted 'em four times in one week with no explanation. anybody would be mad 'bout that."

"how do you know it was four times in one week?"

jason freezes and dick glares at him, arms crossed over his chest. he takes a step forward, eyes narrowed.

"...lucky guess...!"

"jason."

"...anyways, show 'em you care...! y'know like flowers, chocolate, a card, tickets to a show..."

"jason. peter. todd."

a/n: this is my first time ever posting a fic on here, i hope you enjoyed!! thank you so much for reading <3

[chiaramisu]

✴︎ rooftop candy ✴︎

dick grayson x gn reader (ft. bruce wayne) fluff contains: mentions of reader's parents having marital problems wc: ~2k

⟣ desc: a friendship formed between you and robin thanks to batman's candy pouch. ⟢

"uh...batman?"

"what, robin?"

dick grayson points to a few buildings over.

"why is there a kid on that roof?"

indeed, you're sitting on the edge of the apartment rooftop, legs stuck out between the railing and dangling over the side. your sweater doesn't do much against the cold, the night air nips at your cheeks until they sting.

as much as you'd rather be curled up in bed beneath your blankets, drifting off to sleep, the rooftop is quieter. gotham looks different from up here. the people on the sidewalks look like tiny ants and the bright yellow taxis resemble the ones lined on the toy stores shelves. in the distance, the neon glow of the wayne enterprises sign cuts through the darkness like a beacon.

"what are you doing here?"

the deep voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin. you spin around to heavy boots, a black cape, and a flash of green, red, and yellow.

"batman...!" you gasp.

"and robin," dick murmurs, though his voice is swept up by the wind.

batman folds his arms across his chest.

"it's late."

"i know..."

"you should be in bed."

"i know..."

"where it's safe."

behind him, robin rolls his eyes under his domino mask. he's had this exact conversation with bruce more times than he can count. admittedly, it's nice not being lectured for once.

"but..." you pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. "my parents are still fighting."

batman freezes and robin nervously glances at him. beneath the cowl, he can almost hear bruce thinking. dick looks back at you, your eyes have already drifted toward gotham's skyline again, another gust of wind prickles at your skin and flutters his cape. bruce paused patrol expecting to spend no more than a minute convincing this stubborn kid to head back inside. instead, he found a child in search of peace and quiet on the rooftop. his gaze flickers to your legs dangling precariously over the edge. that, however, is still a problem. wordlessly, batman reaches for one of the pouches on his utility belt. dick's eyes light up—that's the candy pouch.

"can i sit here?"

before you can answer, robin plops down beside you with the confidence of someone who clearly wasn't waiting for permission.

"you're already sitting," you deadpan.

"and you're too close to the edge," robin replies matter-of-factly. "dangerous."

"you backflip off buildings every night!"

"that's different!"

"you're, like, the same age as me!"

"do you want candy or not?"

two orange candies swirled with white rest in the palm of his hand. you stare at the candy, then back at him, then at the candy again. robin does little to fight the coy smile on his face. he knows the offer is tempting—bribing with candy almost always works, but some light pressure pushes it to foolproof.

"going once...!"

his smile grows wider. he can practically feel your resolve crumbling.

"going twice...!"

with a tiny huff, you scoot closer to him. robin beams like he's just closed the biggest sale of his life. out of the corner of his eye, he catches batman's almost imperceptible nod.

"i'm robin."

you carefully take the candy from his hand, fingers brushing against the fabric of his gloves.

"...i know."

~

soon, candy breaks on the rooftop become routine. when the arguments and accusations seep through the thin walls, you quietly slip out the door and take the stairs to the rooftop. not long after, robin appears with a grin and two pieces of candy, batman standing stoically in the shadows a few feet away. you're not sure if friend is the right word, but regardless, you've formed some sort of bond with robin. although you wonder who he is under the domino mask—and why he feels the need to dive off buildings—on the rooftop, he's not robin. he's just another kid who shares his candy with you.

~

"why is it always orange creamsicle?" you groan.

robin shrugs, already unwrapping his piece.

"dunno, it's what batman carries."

"why not strawberry or something?"

"oh, so you don't want candy anymore?"

"i never said that!"

~

"guess who i met yesterday!"

"wh—"

"superman!"

"you didn't even let me guess!"

~

"doesn't it look pretty from up here?"

you tilt your head.

"what does?"

robin gestures toward the skyline.

"gotham."

a small smile tugs at your lips.

"yeah, it kinda does."

~

one particular night, however, robin senses something is off. the moment he lands on the rooftop and bounds up to you with his usual offering, he knows. you take a second too long to accept the candy, you refuse to meet his eyes, and you're not smiling. by the time he settles beside you, his heart is thrumming in his chest.

"i have to tell you something."

he turns toward you.

"my parents are getting divorced," you confess. "my mom and i are moving next week."

"that's okay!" robin blurts. "we can always meet on a different rooftop."

"no, i mean...we're moving far away from gotham."

"oh."

suddenly, the taste of orange creamsicle on his tongue changes—it's different tonight, it's too sweet.

~

you pry your eyes away from the gotham skyline at the sound of grappling hooks and fluttering capes. robin bounds up to you, flashing a toothy grin. he's extra chatty today, long rambles filling the silence for both of you as you pop the candy into your mouth.

"are you all packed?"

"almost."

"do they have rooftops there?"

"probably."

"cool! that means you can still have candy up there!"

you don't answer right away. robin scratches the back of his neck.

"actually," he winces, "nevermind, that's kinda dangerous."

the conversation fizzles out, leaving only the distant hum of traffic below. gotham stretches endlessly before you, just as it always has. somehow, it already feels farther away.

"robin."

on the edge of the building, batman shifts his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for him to follow. time's up. your throat suddenly feels too tight. you blink a little harder than usual, the city lights blurring. robin stands, takes a few steps backwards, but he stops.

"...wait."

you watch him curiously while he awkwardly fishes around under his cape. he procures a small plastic bag filled to the brim with the familiar orange creamsicle candies tied neatly with a red bow.

"that's a lot of candy," you note.

but you're not looking at the bag. you're looking at robin.

"yeah, well...batman bought too much."

"thanks, batman!" you call to the shadows, gently taking the bag and clutching it close to your chest.

bruce furrows his brows. that's a lie—dick dragged him to the candy store to buy it with his own allowance.

"...what about you?" you ask.

"what do you mean?"

"who's going to eat candy with you on the rooftop now?"

dick opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. he didn’t consider that part, never let himself think that far. his face falters for a second.

"i'll figure something out."

he’s smiling, again, and you can do nothing except offer a weak one back.

~

aimlessly wandering the gotham streets under grey skies, a colorful storefront catches dick grayson's eye. without much thought, he ducks inside the candy shop. his eyes skim the fudge in the display case, the workers in striped aprons making new batches, and the small children tugging on their parents' sleeves. he walks past all of them, softly whistling to himself as he searches for the familiar orange candies. he circles the shop a few times before finding them tucked away in the corner.

"an old gotham classic," the man at the register declares when dick places two bags of it on the counter.

"yeah, loved these as a kid."

"they've been around for a while," the man continues, manually typing the price into the old machine. "we're switchin' em out for a different orange-flavored hard candy."

dick pauses. he hesitates to hand his card.

"like, discontinuing them?"

"yeah, this is our last batch. good thing you got some 'fore they're gone."

the plastic bag swings gently at his side as he waits for the crosswalk. a lot of things have changed—a cape no longer brushes at the back of his legs, alfred doesn't wait with cocoa after patrol anymore, and bruce... dick shoves the thought aside before the light changes. a few drops of rain land on his forehead. he pulls his hood up. he didn't account for the weather today.

hours later, nightwing makes his usual rounds. it's still drizzling and the autumn air seeps through the elastic of his suit, biting at his skin. he peers down into the dark alleys, inside dilapidated warehouses, the usual places he'd expect to find trouble. tonight, there's nothing. gotham seems quiet.

like clockwork, he finds himself perched on a rooftop three buildings over from a certain apartment building. he knows that little kid he used to share his candy with is grown up, probably halfway across the country, maybe farther. still, he finds himself here every night. he lands on the concrete and sits down by the railing, the same place he'd sit all those years ago. for a few minutes, dick takes in the tall buildings, the empty sidewalks below, the trees swaying in the wind. he glances at the singular piece of candy in his hand. it's strange...it feels too light. he lets it melt on his tongue, face scrunching at the taste. was it always this sweet? he wonders if strawberry would be any better. he stands, the taste of citrus and cream lingering as he swings to the next building.

~

the rooftop looks the same, but it feels different as you cross to the ledge. you're not small enough to stick your legs through the railing and dangle them over the edge. so instead, you stay standing, gripping the metal bars as you look out at the city you once called home. the few pedestrians on the street don't look like ants anymore, and the yellow taxis driving by are just cars to you. you remember the world seemed so much bigger up here, but presently, it's all still gotham.

"mind if i join you?"

you nearly give yourself whiplash from how fast you turn around. before you can reply, nightwing steps up beside you anyway, resting his forearms against the railing.

"you know," you comment, "most people wait for an answer."

"i've been told," he grins.

in the light, you can make out the electric blue symbol emblazoned on his chest that travels across his shoulders, down his arms and to his hands. a domino mask conceals the upper half of his face.

"first time back?"

"is it that obvious?"

"you keep lookin' around like you forgot where everything went," he chuckles.

"well," you point to a building off in the distance, "that wasn't there before." you point to the one next to it. "and that used to be an office building, not an apartment complex."

nightwing shrugs.

"gotham's been through a lot."

the conversation feels surprisingly natural even though you just met.

"college, huh? what're you studying?"

you tell him.

"sounds hard."

"it is," you sigh.

"you'll figure it out."

eventually, a comfortable silence settles between you. nightwing absentmindedly reaches for something—two orange candies swirled with white. he unwraps one. then, almost without thinking, he holds the other one out to you.

"i haven't had these in years!" you exclaim.

nightwing hums as you accept it, fingers brushing against the fabric of his suit.

"hope you don't mind it's not strawberry."

"orange creamsicle is fine, i used to have these all the time with..."

the words die on your tongue. it's all too familiar—orange creamsicle, rooftops, a boy in green, red, and yellow who always shared his candy with you.

you stare at the candy, then back at him, then at the candy again. he's already smiling.

"outgrew the cape?" you tease.

"it was getting in the way."

a/n: hope you enjoyed :) will be continuing the diner series soon, i was just sitting on this idea way longer lol

[vampiremwah]

[vampiremwah]

[lasfloresrotasblogdepoesia]

Unknown Artist, "Porte Veine", 1913.

[rugbin]

Dinner at the Diner

[chiaramisu]

⁂ finding valko again

valko x gn reader hurt/comfort wc: >1k (a/n: did i write this to comfort myself? perhaps...)

the crisp night air bites at your face as you run, the scent of pine filling your nose. the dark silhouettes of towering evergreens frame the full moon hanging in the sky. your boots catch against the rough terrain beneath you, brittle twigs snapping with each hurried step. your lungs burn with every breath, but you continue as fast as you can through the dark forest.

there’s only one thing on your mind—valko.

he was torn away from you, reclaimed by the forest as though it had never intended to let him go. the time you shared with him was fleeting, nothing more than stolen moments. you were promised a lifetime with him, not this.

the narrow, twisting trail finally opens into a familiar clearing. curved hills blanketed in wildflowers sway gently beneath the moonlight, pale white petals shimmering against the sea of dark grass. your eyes dart frantically across the landscape from the tree line to the jagged rocks to the distant ridge, but there’s no sign of him.

he had brought you here once before, under a sunset that melted into warm shades of orange and gold. back then, he had been there beside you, his face softened by the last rays of sun. now, on this dark night, it feels different. the valley is quiet, empty. it’s beautiful and yet so lonely. another gust of wind causes you to wrap your arms around yourself. the tears you’ve been blinking away are impossible to ignore, your chest tightening with every passing second.

this can’t be how it ends. there’s no way he’s gone, no way he’s bound to become another memory, another almost, another what-if. from the very first moment your eyes met, you’d already made your choice.

a distant howl shatters the silence. your head snaps toward the sound as a massive wolf bursts through the shadows of the trees, moving with impossible speed as he races across the clearing. before you can react, he tumbles onto you. the impact sends you backward into the soft grass. in the blink of an eye, the wolf is gone and valko is there before you. he pins you beneath him, arms braced on either side of you as he buries his face against the curve of your neck, drawing in a shaky breath.

“what are you doing here?” he murmurs, voice barely louder than the wind. “it’s dangerous.”

“i came to find you.” 

your own voice breaks. you clutch the back of his shirt, pulling him closer with trembling hands, terrified that if you loosen your grip, he’ll disappear just as suddenly as he had before.

“don’t leave me again, valko.”

for a long moment, he doesn’t answer. instead, he slowly lifts his head. moonlight catches the amber of his eyes. they’re filled with a quiet, unbearable ache. the longing, the grief, the resignation—all of it lingers in his gaze, hidden beneath the gentleness he always reserves for you. his arms tighten around you, almost imperceptibly.

“i’ll stay with you until the end.”

a/n: sorry if this is dramatic or just plain shit, i wrote this out of pure grief over valko's cancellation lol oh and this is my first ever lads fic, this was not planned pfff

[chiaramisu]

the diner series is my absolute favorite right now it’s a delight and i can’t stop giggling

omg thank you sososo much!! i love writing slice-of-life / fluff / crack for the batfam, but sometimes im like is this actually funny or am i crazy LOL thank you so much for reading it so far, there's still so much left to it and im so excited to keep writing for it!!

[chiaramisu]

omgg I love ur 24 diner fics! I love ur writing!

omg this means so much to me!! this is my first time committing to writing a series, so thank you for reaching out and encouraging me :)

this series is very personal to me bc i worked as a server for a few years, so i drew upon my own experience, especially with the coworker interactions. unfortunately, i did not work in a cozy diner tho lol

again, thank you sososo much for the message, the series has quite a few parts left to it!! i appreciate you <3

[chiaramisu]

✴︎ the 24 diner - ii. certified eater ✴︎

⁂ series masterlist (part 2 of ?)

bruce wayne x gn reader (ft. jason todd) slight crack fic contains: swearing wc: ~1.2k

desc: unfortunately for bruce wayne, jason todd eats like he's being timed (he is).

jason todd is a semi-regular at the 24 diner. he never dines in, always gets his food to-go under the name JT. hence, your interactions with him are quite limited, but you and the line cook know him very well.

see, jason has a strange habit that you and brian have witnessed multiple times through the diner window. the first time, you chalked it up to gothamites being gothamites. the second time, you wondered if this guy genuinely has a problem. the third time, you and brian started timing it.

and now, pinned to the server station corkboard, there's a sheet of paper titled "JT SPEEDRUNS." it's a hand-written record of the date and the alarmingly short amount of time it takes him to consume combo #2: a cheeseburger, fries, and a drink. currently, he averages somewhere between 8-9 minutes. though his personal best remains an impressive time of eight minutes and four seconds.

"he's here," you announce.

brian pops his head up over the kitchen window, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of jason pulling into the parking lot.

"combo #2 speedrunner?"

"yup."

brian places the takeout bag in the kitchen window while you fill a styrofoam cup. as you secure the lid, the bell chimes, and jason steps inside the diner.

"order for JT?" you ask, holding out the bag and drink before he can open his mouth.

"'preciate it, have a good one."

with a short, singular nod, he turns to leave. you pretend to resume working. you wipe down at an invisible spot on the counter, and brian scrapes at the grill even though there's nothing on it. the door shuts behind him, but you know better than to blow your cover so soon. when he's a safe distance away, the diner erupts into motion. brian drops the the bench scraper, bolting out of the kitchen with a timer in hand. you toss the cloth aside and lunge for the corkboard to rip down the record sheet.

"twenty bucks on eight and a half minutes," brian says, already fishing out a crumpled bill from his pocket and dropping it onto the table.

"twenty on eight minutes flat."

"you think he's beatin' his record? he's been slowin' down lately."

"i'm feeling lucky today."

he squints at you.

"he clocked in at nine minutes and twenty-two seconds last week."

you shrug.

"a temporary setback."

you assume your positions at the window, pressing your faces as close to the glass as possible. outside, jason assumes his usual starting position, leaning against his bike like an athlete preparing for a race. he carefully opens the takeout bag, starting with the burger first as always. brian's finger hovers over the timer. when jason unwraps it and the burger inches closer to his mouth, brian slams the timer—JT's 14th speedrun officially commences.

the burger disappears with terrifying efficiency. one bite. two. three.

"oh my god," you whisper.

four. five. gone. in two minutes and twelve seconds.

he doesn't even stop to breathe before moving onto the fries, shoving handful after handful into his mouth.

"is this greed or gluttony?" you wince.

"neither, kid's just a fast eater."

shaking your head, you turn your attention back to the event at hand. after making quick work of the fries, he's reached the final stage—the drink. unlike with the burger and fries, you can't physically see how much progress he's making at this part, so you need to watch closely to know when to call time. the drink is where he loses precious seconds. he always takes breaks between long sips, letting the carbonation settle in his system before he continues. he can take anywhere from 1-2 minutes on this, and right now, it can make or break his current record of eight minutes and four seconds.

"time!" you declare as JT takes his last sip.

"SEVEN MINUTES AND FIFTY-SEVEN SECONDS!" brian yells, toppling the timer over as he goes in for a high-five.

"NEW RECORD?"

"HE DID IT, THAT FUCKIN' ANIMAL!"

the other customers are staring. one elderly man has stopped chewing entirely. from behind the counter, your coworker, cindy, shakes her head, deeply disappointed in both of you, but you don't care. this is something worth celebrating.

you both cheer and pump your fists in the air like jason just won a world championship. it was never about the twenty dollars or the bragging rights. it was about the privilege—the honor—of witnessing history unfold in the parking lot of the 24 diner, about seeing a young man push the limits of what the human body is capable of.

fueled and satisfied in time for patrol, jason stuffs the empty wrappers and cup into the bag and saunters toward the trash, tossing it like he didn't just inhale 2,000 calories in under 10 minutes. through the window, he sees you and brian jumping for joy and hugging each other.

caught up in the celebrations, you and brian fail to notice jason rapidly approaching the doors. you don't realize he's there until the bell chimes again and he's standing in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest. his gaze flickers between you, brian, the stopwatch, and the paper. you stop, staring back at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

"are you guys timing me eat?"

"they have been for the past two months," cindy tattles from behind the counter.

you squeeze your eyes shut, already wondering how you're going to explain this to your boss.

"...what was my time today?"

"a little under eight minutes," you quickly answer, "new record."

much to your surprise, he nods.

"hell yeah! lemme see the sheet."

~

hours later, bruce wayne enters the 24 diner, shrugging his coat off as he takes his usual seat at the end of the counter. his eyes catch the paper pinned to the corkboard behind you.

"what's that?"

you whirl around to follow his gaze and brighten immediately.

"so there's this guy, JT," you explain, "always gets combo #2 to-go and inhales it in the parking lot in, like, under 10 minutes. brian and i have been timing him."

"set a new record today!" brian calls from the kitchen.

"one cheeseburger, an order of fries, and a drink downed in seven minutes and fifty-seven seconds!" you add proudly.

you pull it off the board and slide it across the counter. bruce glances at it. then he does a double take. fourteen separate occasions scattered over the past two months, the most recent being earlier this evening...right before patrol started. there are dates, times, and messy stars drawn next to the top 3. bruce closes his eyes.

of course it's jason. of course his child has a competitive eating record at the local diner. of course his pre-patrol ritual consists of consuming a cheeseburger, fries, and a drink in less than 10 minutes.

"you know him?" you ask.

"...that's my son."

the diner stills. your pen clatters onto the counter. brian slowly looks up, horrified.

"combo #2 speedrunner is a nepobaby???"

a/n: he's a 10 but he inhales 2,000 calories in less than 10 minutes :/ ...biblical greed...

[banhmigoddess]

you don’t need to reinvent yourself this summer; you simply need to return to the things that make you feel most like you

[chiaramisu]

✴︎ the 24 diner - i. the regular ✴︎

⁂ series masterlist (pt 1 of ?)

bruce wayne x gn reader fluff contains: swearing wc: ~1.3k

desc: you totally weren't counting the days until your favorite regular, bruce wayne, came back. you were.

a diner that smells of fryer grease and coffee is an unlikely place to spot a billionaire, but bruce wayne is a regular. he shows up around the same ungodly hour, sits down at the end stool closest to the door, and orders the same thing every time. when he's done, he slips you a fifty for his fifteen-dollar meal accompanied with a polite "keep the change." over the course of the past few months, there's been a silent agreement between you and your coworker that he's your regular, and she has no qualms. you have his order committed to memory and a slice of pie packed up to-go for his youngest son in the fridge.

except he hasn't shown up in the past two weeks. he's probably busy with rich people stuff, you reason, though the empty stool leaves you feeling strangely disappointed.

round patties sizzle on the grill and oil bubbles in the fryer as you absently drum your fingers against the cold metal counters. it's a slow night with a sparse trickle of customers—the kind of shift that swings between brief bursts of chaos and long, boring stretches of nothing at all. you turn your attention to a headline flashing across the old tv hanging in the corner followed by grainy footage of a fight.

warning: blue line closed until further notice. killer croc apprehended by batman.

the purple line is still down after it got joker-gassed last week and now this? you roll your eyes—can't have shit in gotham.

"the fuck does 'XXX fry' mean?"

the line cook squints at your handwriting on the order note.

"extra extra extra crispy fries," you clarify, eyes still on the tv.

"so...burnt?"

"just do it, brian," you sigh. "they already chewed me out for not automatically bringing lemon with their water."

"hope ya spit in it."

"i thought about it," you grin. "speaking of, i'm gonna go water my tables."

you pass by your coworker, cindy, humming to herself. she sticks a new order into the window. brian groans, muttering something along the lines of he doesn't get paid enough for this shit. with a metal pitcher in hand, you weave between booths, quietly reaching over for refills, ice cubes clinking against the glass cups. some people smile and nod, some mumble thank you's, others ignore you altogether.

not many sit-down places are open past 10pm which means the 24 diner attracts just about everyone. behind a booth of teenagers splitting fries, three tipsy girls giggle over plates of breakfast combos. in the corner, a man and woman sit across from each other in silence, nursing mugs of coffee that went cold about twenty minutes ago. you haven't checked on the couple in a bit, but you get a feeling they don't want to be bothered...

the bell above the door chimes and you glance up out of habit. relief washes over you, your lips curling into a smile as bruce wayne steps through the doorway. the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up to his forearms, his tie nowhere to be seen. he looks exhausted—more than usual—but otherwise, entirely unharmed, as if he never vanished. by the time you reach him, he's already settled into his usual spot.

"you know," you remark, "most people call when they're going to disappear for two weeks."

"i wasn't aware i had someone waiting on my return."

you try to ignore the blush creeping up your neck, turning away to grab a mug.

"i was getting worried," you quietly admit.

bruce pauses. he can't remember the last time someone said they missed him so plainly. not only did you notice his absence, but you also counted the days since he last came in. the realization is...disarming.

"the usual?"

"yes, please."

he wraps his hands around the mug, its warmth seeping into his palms. while he was busy with patrol, meetings, and galas, two weeks passed in the blink of an eye. yet the small gotham diner remains unchanged. it still smells of old vinyl and maple syrup, and the overhead lights cast a warm glow over the comfortable space. there are no camera flashes, no mics being shoved in his face, no reporters shouting ridiculous questions. here, in this corner of the city, he's not regarded as a gotham celebrity. rather, he's just a man having a quiet meal by himself. it's the reason he kept returning until the diner subconsciously became a part of his routine. even now, as a brief rush begins, nobody bats an eye at him occupying the stool closest to the door.

he tracks your path through the diner as the rush picks up. one minute you're behind the counter printing checks, the next you're balancing a tray full of food on your shoulder, and then you're back to grab menus for a new table. you're in constant motion, occupied with multiple tasks at once, yet you work with a practiced ease that can only come from experience. he recognizes the way your expression shifts with each customer. a warm smile here, a polite one there, and another that doesn't quite reach your eyes. the moment you turn away, though, it all slips from your face entirely. at some point, he'd learned the difference between your genuine smiles and the ones offered out of obligation.

soon, the rush slows down. the printer stops spitting out checks and the constant movement around him dwindles. you lean against the counter across from him, letting out a sigh of relief and asking how he's been. as always, the conversation settles into familiar territory. the topics are never particularly important. you don't ask about wayne enterprises or the latest tabloid speculating about his love life. instead, you tell him about the customer who tried to order an eggless omelette, or ask if he's seen the movie that came out last weekend. it's nothing too shallow or too deep, yet somehow pleasantly memorable all the same.

despite his prolonged absence, the diner is still here—there had never been any doubt he'd return. something settles in his chest, warm and unexpected, but he doesn't dare name it as you set down a plate in front of him and top off his coffee with that same easy smile. he knows this one reaches your eyes.

eventually, bruce reaches for his wallet.

"leaving already?"

the words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

"i do have an early meeting tomorrow."

"right, rich people stuff," you tease, gathering the empty plates he's stacked for you.

"something like that."

you hand him the to-go box containing the slice of pie you saved earlier, but instead of bidding him good night and walking away, you linger. he looks up at you curiously, dark brows knitting together. before you can talk yourself out of it—like you do every other time the idea crosses your mind—you rip a blank page from your server book and hastily scribble on it. folding it once, you slide it toward him. bruce glances down at the slip of paper. he turns it over. a phone number.

"i figured if you're going to disappear for another two weeks, we should at least have a way to check in on each other."

for a moment, neither of you says anything and your thoughts scatter in every direction. maybe this was a bad idea. maybe you've completely overstepped. maybe he'll stop coming in altogether. then, a hint of something flickers across his face, but it's gone before you can make sense of it. he slips it into his pocket.

"i think that's a good idea."

a/n: i meant to post this on father's day but life kicked my ass... anyways, here's pt 1 to this new series! as always, thanks for reading & hope you enjoyed <3

[chiaramisu]

˗ˏˋ the 24 diner masterlist ˎˊ˗

bruce wayne x gn reader (ft. jason todd, tim drake, duke thomas, dick grayson, damian wayne, harley quinn, poison ivy, stephanie brown, cassandra cain, alfred pennyworth, the riddler) ⁂ fluff, slice-of-life, slight crack

⟣ series desc: the 24 diner is open 24hrs on thursday through saturday, and you work the graveyard shift. unbeknownst to you, gotham's vigilantes (and some villains) come in quite frequently.

aka a collection of interconnected oneshots about bruce, his kids, a late-night diner in gotham, and the comfort of having somewhere to come back to.⟢

✴︎ i. the regular ft. bruce wayne [fluff] ⟣ desc: you totally weren't counting the days until your favorite regular, bruce wayne, came back. you were. ⟢

✴︎ ii. certified eater ft. jason todd, bruce wayne [slight crack] ⟣ desc: unfortunately for bruce wayne, jason todd eats like he's being timed (he is). ⟢

(more parts tba!)