Atlas

In my Batman Era🤪 22 Bluesky @even-atlas she/they/any Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/even_atlas/works

[m1ontee]

my first few drawings of bart allen

i first saw impules from yj s2, he was one of my favorites when i was a kid! so now i've been reading his solo comics- i really relate to his character

[even-atlas]

Get it, cuz it’s just us?

[renviary]

finally some halbarry (been DEVOURING their and comics and fics on ao3 for the past few weeks)

[even-atlas]

Tell Me That You Love Me

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Relationship: Tim Drake/Bart Allen

Rating: Explicit

Premise: Vampire Tim is obsessed with Bart

Something is chasing him. They’re not fast enough to catch him, of course they’re not. But they won’t stop either. Bart has been running for hours, all day, without a break to eat, drink or use the bathroom. Whatever is chasing him is insistent in their pursuit. Bart doesn’t know what they want, or how they’re staying on his tail. But he’s starting to get tired. He’s hungry. His blood sugar is tanking, his head pounding. Everything hurts, more than usual. This has to stop, some way, some how.

He’s in some city on the east coast, dank and dark, barely lit by fading gold street lights. Bart stops under one of them, turns on shaky legs to watch their approach. His eyes search the darkness in front of him, waiting. 

And then he feels it. The slight breeze of something fast coming to a stop. The prickle of danger, raising the hairs on his skin. “Who are you?” He calls out, chin lifted. “What do you want?” 

A dark shape drifts closer, the flap of a cape catching the edge of the lamplight. 

“Why are you chasing me?” 

The person steps closer. Bart’s eyes take in the dark draping cape, the inky black hair, eyes hidden behind a deep red mask. So another hero, then. With some kind of super speed. The guy is scarily pale though, even paler than Bart, which is saying something. 

“Do you need help? Who are you?” 

The guy comes closer. Bart takes a step back. 

“You’re fast,” the guy says, and his voice has this odd musical quality to it, lulling. 

Bart scoffs, amused. “Yeah. You’ve got some speed too. Not the Speed Force though. It’s something else.” 

“I’m Tim,” Tim says.

Oh, first names. Okay. Bart’s not exactly going to give his own out that easily. “I’m—”

“Impulse. Bartholomew Allen the second. Bart. I know. I’ve been watching you.” 

“Well, that’s more than a little creepy,” Bart says, heart picking up more than just its usual speed. This guy’s been stalking him? Bart’s really wishing he had some high energy protein bars right now. He could run, but his gauge is nearly empty. He wouldn’t get far. And if there’s one thing this guy’s proven, it’s that he’s in it for the long haul.

But he’s been watching Bart for who knows how long, and Bart had no idea. He could’ve attacked Bart at any point while Bart was completely unaware. Why is he revealing himself now? Why let Bart know he’s coming?

What does he want?

“Is there something you needed from me, Tim? Some disaster to avert, some ass to kick? ‘Cause I can do that if you give me a few hours to recharge,” Bart tries. 

Tim smiles, and Bart’s heart drops into his feet. There’s nothing friendly about that smile. “I do need something from you, Bart.” 

Bart takes another step back. “I’m starting to think I’m not gonna like whatever it is.” 

Tim lunges at him. Bart leaps out of the way, putting on a burst of speed that carries him away from that street. His step falters though, his head killing him and his stomach screaming at him to eat something. No time for that now. He pushes through, zipping down streets, forcing himself to run even though he feels like passing out. He needs to get home. Maybe Barry will be able to help him—

Bart trips. He. Trips. And goes skidding across the asphalt on his side, hitting the brick wall of a building. 

It takes half a second for Tim to be there, stalking toward him slowly. Is this some kind of game for him?

Bart forces himself to his feet, facing Tim. He can’t outrun him, not in this state. Fighting it is. 

“You don’t want to do this,” Bart says.

“I really do,” Tim answers with that curling smile. 

Bart waits for him to get closer, then rushes in and delivers an uppercut to the jaw before darting out of range. Tim staggers backward, head turning to find Bart’s new position. He doesn’t even seem phased by that killer punch. Who is this guy? 

Tim’s long cape swishes as he turns toward Bart again. Bart takes a breath and launches a series of attacks, rapid punches too quick for Tim to react before another is coming. Bart really lays into him, skidding to a stop and panting hard, watching. Tim is hunched over, hurt. Hopefully hurt enough for Bart to get away.

When he doesn’t move, Bart takes it as his cue and taps into the last reserves of his energy to leave the scene. 

He doesn’t get half a mile away before something slams into him from behind. Both of them stagger out of their accelerated speed, and Bart manages to get free for a second, one precious second that could mean his escape. 

But he's too tired. There’s nothing left.

Arms wrap around him, pulling him snug against a strong torso. Tim’s face is right up in his own, and Bart wrenches away, trying to phase his way out. All he manages is some desperate vibrations. 

Tim is grinning at him again, and Bart notices for the first time the knife-sharp points of his canines. Oh fuck. Bart struggles, trying to break free of the iron hold, but he’s trapped, trapped in Tim’s arms like some kind of old Hollywood damsel in distress. 

“Caught you,” Tim says quietly. One of his gloved hands slides into Bart’s hair and yanks, wrenching his head back. Bart chokes, heart racing as he strains his eyes to keep Tim in his sights. 

He knows it’s coming, but when Tim lowers his mouth to Bart’s neck and bites, Bart still screams. It hurts, it burns. Tim’s fangs pierce through his suit and break skin, hot blood rushing to the surface that Bart can feel welling. 

Tim pulls his teeth out and seals his mouth around the wound, beginning to suck. Bart shudders at the feeling, like someone’s stuck a straw into his veins. His hands hit weakly against Tim’s chest, but this haze is coming over him. He feels loose and…and good. There’s no pain, only pleasantness.

His body slowly goes limp, until he’s mostly being held up by Tim’s arms around him. Even the suction against his neck is starting to feel good, like someone kissing him there. Bart lets out a faint moan, eyes fluttering shut. He feels warm…

He wakes up lying on something soft, a fuzzy blanket draped over him. His head is all groggy, and there’s something attached to his arm. Bart slaps at it clumsily. Tubing. An IV. With great effort, he peels his eyes open.

He’s in a cave. 

There are honest to god stalactites hanging from the ceiling. How on earth did he get here?

Pushing up on shaky arms, Bart glances around. The cave extends beyond the small portion he’s been placed in, disappearing into darkness. He’s been placed on a bed under a thick blanket, an IV pole standing guard at his bedside. There’s a white light shining from somewhere on the ceiling, but further into the cave, there’s a faint glow. 

Bart gets out of bed. His legs shake, and he has to lean on his IV pole for support. He’s not in his suit anymore. Instead, he’s been dressed in loose shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Why can’t he remember how he got here? 

He walks slowly across the rocky floor towards the glow, using the pole as a crutch. It’s agonizingly slow going, but he feels weak and a little dizzy. 

The closer he gets to the glow, the clearer the sound of keyboard clicks become. Bart’s brow furrows, and he turns the corner into a wider portion of the cave.

There, sat in front of a truly impressive amount of monitors is a dark haired figure in a white t-shirt, typing away at the computer. Bart hobbles closer, squinting. “Hello?” 

The figure turns, and Bart gets a lightning quick burst of adrenaline. He stumbles back, falling on his ass and scrambling backward, the memories rushing in. He was being chased. He was caught. By a vampire. By him. 

“You’re going to pull your IV,” Tim says with a frown, quick to Bart’s side. He’s not in his cape and mask anymore, his blue eyes bared to Bart’s sight. He looks completely unthreatening in pink hello kitty pajama pants, inspecting Bart’s IV site with a calculating frown. 

“Where the fuck am I? What did you do to me? Let me go!” Bart demands. 

“I’m not holding you captive.”

“You’re crazy!” 

Tim looks at him, and he looks so normal. “You need to eat something.” 

“You kidnapped me!” 

Tim reaches out toward his face, and Bart jerks back. Tim frowns, letting his hand drop. “I had to take care of you.” 

Bart splutters. “Take care of me? You bit me!” 

Tim has the decency to look ashamed. “Yeah. Sorry. I couldn’t help it. I kinda lost it a little.” 

“You think?! You chased me all over the continental U.S.” 

Tim sits back, giving Bart space. Bart rights himself, pulling his legs in and covering the side of his neck with his hand. “I let myself get too thirsty,” Tim says by way of explanation. “And I was kind of fixated on you already. It was a bad combination. You don’t have to worry, the bite is sealed up.”

Bart stares at him. “You’re really not making your case any better. What do you mean fixated on me? We’ve never met before.”

“Ah,” Tim says, and his pale cheeks pink up a little. “Well, I’ve been researching other up and coming heroes in their late teens and early twenties. To put together a team. You’re one of the candidates. I’ve been reviewing your information.” 

“You’ve been stalking me.” 

“If it helps, it wasn’t just you.” 

“That absolutely does not help.” 

Tim sighs. “Okay, look. I operate under Batman. And he’s a detective, so naturally I am too.” 

Bart puts his hand to his forehead. “You work for Batman. Is Batman also a vampire?” 

Tim shakes his head. “No. Just me.” 

Bart doesn’t know what to do with that information. He’s in Batman’s cave, with Batman’s protégée. Holy shit, he’s sitting here with Robin. Who’s a vampire. Who bit him. 

“I can’t believe this is how we’re meeting for the first time,” Bart thinks aloud. “I’ve heard stories about you, dude, I thought you were awesome.” 

“Awesome enough to join my team?”

“Hold it there. I’m still not past the part where you hunted me for sport.” 

Tim winces. “I’m sorry about that. When I get that thirsty, I kinda get predatory. I let it get out of hand.” 

“No kidding,” Bart says. “Underhanded tactic, by the way. Starving me until I couldn’t get away? That’s just evil.” 

Tim runs a hand through his dark hair. “I said I was sorry. Will you eat something now?” 

He is starving. “Yes.” 

Tim sighs in relief. “Good.” 

He stands, and lifts Bart to his feet with startling ease, checking the IV site again. He guides Bart over to his desk chair and has him sit down, then rushes off and comes back with a large tray full of all kinds of things: sandwiches, boiled eggs, fancy looking cheese, nuts. Bart doesn’t hesitate before digging in. 

When he’s finished the whole thing, his stomach doesn’t feel like it’s eating itself anymore. Tim sets a bottle of water in front of him and Bart guzzles the whole thing down. 

“Better?” Tim asks.

“Yeah,” Bart says. Then he looks around again. “So how long are you going to keep me here? Do I get to meet Batman?” 

Tim flinches. “Batman doesn’t know you’re here. He would have my head for what I did to you. Once your blood sugar is back up, you’re free to go.” 

Bart glances up at his drip. It’s almost finished. He turns his gaze on Tim. “How did you become a vampire?” 

Tim looks back at him with his wide, unnerving eyes. “I was attacked while on a mission in Transylvania.” 

“How come you biting me didn’t turn me?” Bart asks next.

“You’d have to drink blood from me in return. I was forced, obviously.” Tim looks away. 

“Are there other vampires here? In the United States I mean.” 

Tim shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t exactly go looking for them.” 

He’s obviously not comfortable talking about this. Bart wants to poke further, but he pivots, changing the subject. “So who else is being considered for this team you’re talking about?” 

Tim becomes more animated. He leans over Bart’s shoulder, waking one of the computer monitors. Bart’s own face lights up the screen, and Tim quickly clicks out of it. Bart looks at him sideways, but Tim ignores him, opening another file. It shows a dark haired boy in a studded leather jacket, sunglasses perched on his nose and a piercing looped through the side of his bottom lip. 

“This is Superboy, Conner Kent.”

“Superman’s son,” Bart supplies. 

“Kind of,” Tim replies. “We’ll go with that. He’s got a degree of superspeed too. Flight, telekinesis, heat vision. He’s basically Superman, just younger.” Tim clicks through various images that were obviously taken with a personal camera and not sourced via newsfeeds. This guy is a creep. “Operates in Metropolis and Kansas, works alone.” 

Bart taps his fingers on the desk rapidly. “If the older heroes don’t even have a team, what makes you think we’ll be a good one? I’ve never even met any other sidekicks before. Just you.” 

Tim sighs in frustration. “Our mentors are being stubborn. They would be stronger as a team, but everyone’s so paranoid about each other that it’s all an avoidance game. If we can come together, maybe it’ll show them that it’s possible. That they can trust each other.” 

“I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you that you literally hunted me down and attacked me,” Bart reminds him. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Tim argues. “And I apologized. I’m making sure you’re better, and I’m not keeping you captive. You can trust me.” 

Big ask. “I’ll think about it.” 

“That’s fair,” Tim says. “So do you want to be part of my team?” 

Bart bites his lip. “I’ll think about it. Hey, I have another question.”

Tim looks down at him. “What?”

“How old are you? Like, do you stop aging after you’re turned? ‘Cause I experience time weirdly, like, I’m only nineteen but it feels like I’ve lived years longer than that,” Bart blurts out.

Tim blinks. “Chronologically, I’m twenty. But I was turned at eighteen.” 

Bart nods. “I see. But you don’t age?”

“No.” 

“Hmm. Okay.” 

One of the monitors starts alerting. “Shit!” Tim says, shutting it off and zipping around, coming back with a glucose monitor that he quickly pricks Bart with.

“Ow!”

“Shh! Batman’s coming back. I need to get you out of here. Okay, your blood sugar is good.” He slides the tubing out of Bart’s arm. “Go, go!”

“I need my suit!” Bart protests.

Tim disappears again and comes back, throwing the material at him. “Now leave!” 

“Jeez,” Bart says, hopping into his boots in the blink of an eye. “I’m going! How do I get out of here?” 

“Left,” Tim supplies.

Bart throws his suit over his shoulder and runs.

*******

Weeks go by. Bart forgets all about the team, Batman, and vampire Robins. Until he looks out his window one night to see Tim, standing there in the yard in his pajamas. Bart nearly has a heart attack. 

He slides the window open, beckoning Tim closer. Tim comes, fast, right up to his window. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“Can I come in?” Tim asks.

“What, do I have to give you special permission?”

Tim just stares at him.

Bart sighs, rolling his eyes. “Yes, you can come in.”

He backs away from the window, and Tim hoists himself up over the ledge, climbing in. Bart shuts the window behind him to keep the bugs out and turns his gaze on Tim, who doesn’t even look around, as if he’s…been here before. Which is so many degrees of creepy, Bart can’t even quantify.

“So, what do you want?” Bart asks when Tim doesn’t say anything.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you, before,” Tim starts, and stops there.

Bart shrugs his shoulders. “Okay. Shoot.” 

Tim stands eerily still. Bart twitches, restless. “When I bit you, I drank so deeply, it should have killed you.” 

Bart blinks, a pit forming in his stomach. “But it didn’t.”

“No,” Tim agrees. “And I think I know why. Your body repairs itself at an accelerated rate, including replenishing blood loss. I kicked your systems into overdrive, and that’s why you survived.” 

“Okay,” Bart says slowly. “That’s good. I’m happy to not be dead.” 

A tiny grimace appears on Tim’s face.

“That’s not all, is it?” Bart asks. 

“Bart, this is my formal request that you let me drink your blood again,” Tim says. Asks. “Please.” 

Bart scratches his neck reflexively. “To test your theory, or because you’re thirsty?” 

“The second one.”

“Question,” Bart says, holding up one finger. “Where do you usually get your blood from?” 

Tim’s arms twitch at his sides and go still again. “Batman gets me a supply from the blood bank. But,” Tim hesitates. “It tastes better when it’s fresh. It’s warm. And if it’s you, I don’t have to worry about accidentally killing you. Not that I’d let myself get that thirsty again.”

“That sounds so appealing,” Bart snarks. “Just what I’ve always wanted.” 

Tim nods. “I knew it was a big ask. I wasn’t expecting you to say yes.” 

Bart hesitates. Here’s the thing. That feeling he got after Tim bit him, that euphoric, sleepy high? That’s the best Bart’s felt in years, probably ever. It was the one time the aches in his body faded away, that the pain was gone. Whatever it is, Tim’s toxin, it relaxes the constant vibrations rippling through him. And that’s super nice. So it wouldn’t be like Bart’s not getting anything out of it. 

“Wait,” he says. “I’m. It’s not a no.” 

Tim perks up. 

Bart holds his hands out. “Let’s just, trial run it, okay? Bite me now, and then I’ll decide if I want to be your permanent blood bag.” 

Tim nods. “Thank you.” 

Bart waves him away. He tilts his head to the side, baring his neck. “Have at it.” 

Tim comes forward. He lifts his hands to Bart’s shoulders, tugs aside the collar of his shirt. “I’m going to hold you,” he says. “You’ll get kind of limp and I don’t want you to fall.”

“Okay,” Bart murmurs, breath catching when Tim steps further into his space, wrapping one arm around him and cradling the back of Bart’s head. 

He traces gentle fingertips down the column of Bart’s throat. Bart swallows. Tim lowers his mouth to the skin. “This will only hurt for a moment,” he murmurs. 

“Mhmm,” Bart hums softly. He remembers. “Do it.” 

Lips brush his throat, then the sharp points of teeth. Bart shivers in sick anticipation. Tim tightens his hold just slightly, and sinks his fangs in.

Bart doesn’t scream this time, but he does gasp, grasping at Tim’s shirt. Fuck! It hurts! 

Tim pulls his teeth out and licks at the blood before fitting his mouth over it and sucking. Bart shudders, the toxin kicking in quickly and making his head muggy. The pain fades, all of it, and suddenly he’s soaring in a light, sleepy way. He sighs, relaxing into Tim’s hold. Tim keeps him steady, his inhuman strength holding Bart up easily as he drinks from him. 

“Mmm,” Bart hums, dazed. He closes his eyes, floating on the feeling. 

He doesn’t know how long Tim drinks for, but he’s still awake this time when he stops and licks over the wound. It tickles in a pleasant way, but the only noise Bart can manage is a sigh. He feels Tim lift his head away, his arms still cradling Bart. 

“Bart?” 

Bart sighs again. His equilibrium tilts as he’s scooped up under the knees, rocked softly by Tim’s footsteps before being gently lowered onto his bed. A hand smooths his hair back, caresses his cheek. Bart turns his head into the touch, nuzzling. The bed dips, Tim climbing in beside him. He keeps stroking Bart’s face, and it’s nice. Bart feels amazing. 

“Can you speak?”

Bart makes an incoherent noise. 

“Are you hurting?” 

“No,” Bart says dreamily. “All gone.” 

Tim strokes his cheek again. “The pain’s all gone?” 

“Mhmm.”

“Are you in pain a lot?” Tim asks quietly.

Why is he asking all these questions? Bart is tired. “Mhmm,” he offers. 

Tim makes a discontent noise. “That’s why you said yes. To make the pain go away.” 

Bart doesn’t have the energy to answer. Tim is silent, his touch stilling. Bart nudges his hand with his head until he starts up again. Tim scratches through his hair, making a pleasant shiver race down Bart’s spine. 

Later, he estimates he was like this for an hour. He starts to come out of it, eyes fluttering open, body shifting. The ever present aches creep back in, and Bart lets out a breath, turning his head. 

Tim is lying beside him, propped on his elbow and watching him closely. For a moment, they stare at each other. 

“Sure,” Bart says.

“What?”

“You can drink from me when you’re thirsty.” 

Tim frowns, as if this isn’t exactly what he wanted. “Okay,” is all he says. 

Bart reaches up to touch the spot on his neck where Tim bit him. It’s already disappeared. He rolls onto his side, facing Tim, and looks at him in the light of his bedside lamp. There’s color in his cheeks now. It brings out the blue in his eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes. He’s pretty. 

Bart flushes a little at the thought. Tim’s a vampire, and Bart just agreed to be his personal slurpee. They barely know each other. It’s a fucked up situation, and Bart absolutely should not be thinking about how attractive Tim is. Maybe it’s one of Tim’s superpowers. The vampire thrall? That’s a thing right? Oh well, never mind. 

“Quenched?” Bart asks.

Tim blinks at him, nods. But he doesn’t make a move to leave. Bart raises his eyebrows at him. “I have to look after you for a while.” 

“Why? I’m fine.”

“I just have to.” 

“Okay,” Bart says skeptically, and rolls over again to get up. “Well, I’m going to brush my teeth and go to bed.” 

He tries to stand, but his legs buckle. Tim is there to catch him, holding him up. Bart makes an irritated noise. “What, I don’t get the sweet high anymore but I still can’t walk?” 

“You lost a significant amount of blood,” Tim says, easing Bart back down to sit on the bed. “You need fluids and food.” 

Bart rubs his eyes. “Fine. Just don’t let Barry see you. He’ll think I snuck you in.” 

Tim nods and slips away silently. Bart touches his neck again. It’s not even tender. And the relief was so good. Yeah, Bart could totally get used to this.

The door opens and shuts softly, Tim entering with a bowl of pasta salad and a bottle of Gatorade. He hands both to Bart, then stands against the wall, watching him. Bart gives him a weird look. “Do you want some?”

“Vampires don’t eat,” Tim says simply. 

“Oh. Sad.” Bart scoops up a forkful. “Are you going to watch me the whole time?”

“Yes.” 

Bart shakes his head. “You’re so weird.” But he eats, and drinks the Gatorade, all under Tim’s watchful eye. When he’s finished, he sets the empty items on his bedside table and stands up on steadier feet.

Tim follows him into the bathroom. Bart glares at him. “Dude.” 

Tim looks the tiniest bit embarrassed. “I have to make sure you’re okay.” 

“I’m okay,” Bart insists. “You fed me, I feel better. I can brush my teeth on my own.” 

A pained look crossed Tim’s face. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” Bart repeats, and shuts the door.

When he comes out, Tim is still standing there exactly where Bart left him. He stood there the whole time Bart was brushing his teeth and peeing. What a freak. Bart stares at him, then pushes past him back into his bedroom. Tim follows, standing near the window while Bart gets into bed. 

He comes forward once Bart is settled under the blankets, reaching for Bart’s exposed hand. He presses two fingers to Bart’s wrist and feels for his pulse. 

Bart looks up at him, tracing the sharp line of his nose, the arches of his dark brows, the way he’s not looking at Bart, concentrated on feeling his heart beat. It feels oddly intimate. As if everything they’ve done tonight hasn’t been intimate.

After a minute, Tim’s shoulders relax, and he lets go of Bart’s wrist. 

“Find what you needed?” Bart asks quietly. 

Tim nods softly, and starts to back away. “Goodnight, Bart.”

Bart is strangely sad to see him go. “Goodnight.” 

Tim slips out the window and is gone.

****

Read the rest on ao3!

[even-atlas]

TimBart but give them goth makeup and have Tim desperately in love with Bart. Bart is so pretty wtf. Yes those are silly bands on his wrists

[even-atlas]

Working on a vampire Tim TimBart fic that I’m super excited about hehe. I just started it yesterday and it’s already 4k+ words. I’m gonna post the SFW portion here and then you can find the NSFW version on my ao3 when I’m finished with it 😄

[even-atlas]

I put this in a reboot earlier but it’s not popping up in the TimBart feed so I’m posting it again 😜

Something about Bart putting his hair up makes him feel evil. Anyway! Here is my absolute Bart design (full under cut). I only realized I got Tim's rank number wrong after l'd already finished it so whoops. But I hope you like my absolute TimBart! I feel like they're so toxic yaoi coded

Sorry the picture quality sucks 😖

[impulsive-fy]

I NEED someone to draw Absolute timbart

does Bart have a canon desing? nah

do I care? not even a little bit

I just want them..

[even-atlas]

Something about Bart putting his hair up makes him feel evil. Anyway! Here is my abosolute Bart design (full under cut). I only realized I got Tim’s rank number wrong after I’d already finished it so whoops. But I hope you like my absolute TimBart! I feel like they’re so toxic yaoi coded

Full design sorry the picture quality sucks 😖

[even-atlas]

Had an idea for TimBart where Tim’s a vampire and Bart is like his perfect victim bc his blood replenishes so quickly…Tim’s venom building up in Bart’s system from the continuous bites…making Bart all sleepy and compliant…Tim is ProtectiveTM over his human…

[even-atlas]

Lil TimBart thing I did when I was having a crisis. Yes it’s based on the picture of Shawn and Gus bc I love psych and I love TimBart so why not mash them together 😁

[speedsterly]

He said cya l8r boy

[even-atlas]

Can we have SuperBat falling asleep together fluffy and soft and ABSOLUTELY ZERO ANGST please

I hope this is absolutely zero angst like you asked for but there may be one tiny line that could be interpreted as angst?? It’s just Bruce comparing how Clark makes him feel to how he’s felt his whole life, but it’s like in a good way?? Idkkk. Anyway! Ficlet under the cut!

Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent

Rating: G

Word Count: 1023

But it’s late. It’s so late. He was one of the last to leave city hall at the end of the function, helping clean and lock up before sending everyone home. So now it’s nearly three am, and Bruce is just now getting back to the manor.

He lets himself into the dark house, knowing Alfred is long asleep. Without turning on a single light, he makes his way through the rooms and up the grand staircase, body drooping slightly. For some reason, public events take way more out of him than being Batman ever does.

Nudging his bedroom door open, he rubs his eyes and yawns, leaning against it to close it again. Bruce stays there for a moment, trying to muster up the energy to get himself ready for bed. He could just sink to the floor right here and curl up on the hardwood, shoes and suit and all.

Giving a huge sigh, Bruce pushes off the door and drags himself across the floor toward the balcony doors. He cracks them open and slips outside, loosening his tie. The moon is full, shining brightly over the gardens. There’s a soft breeze, just enough to ruffle his hair.

Bruce leans on the stone railing. It’s cool through his suit. “Clark,” he says softly, tilting his head back to look up at the stars.

The force of the breeze shifts, and when Bruce lowers his gaze, there he is. Not Superman, just Clark, in his plaid pajama pants and a worn t-shirt, his own suit from tonight stripped off and no doubt packed away neatly. His smile is brighter than the moon. “Hey Bruce. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to call me.”

“I stayed late,” Bruce says. “Only just got back.” He yawns.

Clark floats down to stand beside him, putting a hand on Bruce’s spine. “You should be in bed.”

Bruce hides another yawn behind his hand. “Not without you.”

Lips press against the back of his head. “You’re more tired than I thought if you’re being this sweet.”

Bruce gives a non committal, sleepy hum.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Clark says softly.

He coaxes Bruce back to standing straight, putting an arm around his waist as the head back inside. Clark deposits Bruce on the side of the bed, and Bruce immediately flops onto his back, ready to go straight to sleep.

Clark chuckles. “I don’t think so. Alfred will kill you if you fall asleep in that suit.”

He’s right. But Bruce is just so sleepy…

Gentle hands pull his shoes off, then his socks. Bruce drifts half asleep as Clark undoes his belt and feeds it through the loops, then gets his pants off. Bruce protests being sat up, but clumsily helps get his arms out of his jacket and shirt. As soon as it’s done though, he’s collapsing back onto the bed.

He’s peripherally aware of Clark moving about the room, hanging his clothes up in the closet, putting his shoes back on the rack and his socks in the dirty laundry. Then the bed shifts, the blankets being pulled back, the pillows fluffed. Bruce sighs involuntarily when he’s picked up in strong arms and moved around, being placed back on the bed with the blankets pulled up over him.

Bruce turns toward the middle of the bed, making discontented noises until Clark slips in beside him.

“I’ve got you,” Clark says, pulling Bruce close against his side.

Bruce tucks his ear against Clark’s chest, listening to the sound of his heart. It’s steady, like the sunrise, like the stars. The little bit of tension Bruce always carries within himself melts away at the sound, his body and mind finally relaxing fully.

Clark’s fingers trail patterns along his back under the blankets, his lips brushing against the top of Bruce’s head. “Next time you flirt with me like that in public, I’m just going to kiss you right on the mouth.”

Bruce smiles lazily. Clark was part of the visiting press tonight, and Bruce took it upon himself to pester him relentlessly with compliments and lewd insinuations. It was amusing to watch Clark’s face grow more and more pink, knowing he couldn’t do anything about it because their relationship isn’t public, and it would be inappropriate for him to kiss someone he’s interviewing. Bruce may have enjoyed teasing him a little too much.

“No’if I kiss you first,” Bruce threatens, voice heavy with the pull of sleep.

“Either way we’ll be kissing,” Clark says. “It’s a win win for me. Think of the headlines though; Whirlwind Romance, Gotham's Sweetheart and Some Nobody.”

Bruce pinches him. “Kansas Darling Clark Kent,” he amends. “‘M gonna write a book abou’it. Kansas Darling. All ‘bout you.”

Clark’s chest shakes with silent laughter. “Okay, you do that. I’ll be first in line to read it.”

“Nnnngive it to your mother first,” Bruce insists, and he doesn’t even remember what they’re talking about.

Clark lifts a hand to comb through Bruce’s hair. “You’re right. You can give her an advanced copy.”

They lapse into silence. Bruce listens to Clark’s heartbeat, drifts in the pleasant touch of Clark’s fingertips trailing softly along his skin and sweeping through his hair. He’s right in that sweet spot between asleep and awake, where everything feels wonderful, especially being pressed close against someone he loves. Someone who loves him. It’s something he hasn’t felt in a long time, and he clings to every opportunity he has to fall asleep beside Clark. Safe. Warm. Loved.

Clark kisses his hair again. “I love you, Bruce.”

Bruce falls asleep before he can answer, but it doesn’t matter. Clark knows Bruce loves him. And he’ll always know.

[even-atlas]

Totally didn’t realize that the first paragraph of this got cut out ☠️ here is it

~~

Bruce sighs as he steps out of the car. It had been a long night. A good one, but long. He’d been attending Gotham’s annual charity ball as one of the main organizers and donators, and they’d raised plenty of money. Bruce is also part of the committee who will be allocating where the funds go—schools, hospitals, building housing for the unhomed. He’s got lots more work ahead of him in the morning.

[even-atlas]

Can we have SuperBat falling asleep together fluffy and soft and ABSOLUTELY ZERO ANGST please

I hope this is absolutely zero angst like you asked for but there may be one tiny line that could be interpreted as angst?? It’s just Bruce comparing how Clark makes him feel to how he’s felt his whole life, but it’s like in a good way?? Idkkk. Anyway! Ficlet under the cut!

Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent

Rating: G

Word Count: 1023

But it’s late. It’s so late. He was one of the last to leave city hall at the end of the function, helping clean and lock up before sending everyone home. So now it’s nearly three am, and Bruce is just now getting back to the manor.

He lets himself into the dark house, knowing Alfred is long asleep. Without turning on a single light, he makes his way through the rooms and up the grand staircase, body drooping slightly. For some reason, public events take way more out of him than being Batman ever does.

Nudging his bedroom door open, he rubs his eyes and yawns, leaning against it to close it again. Bruce stays there for a moment, trying to muster up the energy to get himself ready for bed. He could just sink to the floor right here and curl up on the hardwood, shoes and suit and all.

Giving a huge sigh, Bruce pushes off the door and drags himself across the floor toward the balcony doors. He cracks them open and slips outside, loosening his tie. The moon is full, shining brightly over the gardens. There’s a soft breeze, just enough to ruffle his hair.

Bruce leans on the stone railing. It’s cool through his suit. “Clark,” he says softly, tilting his head back to look up at the stars.

The force of the breeze shifts, and when Bruce lowers his gaze, there he is. Not Superman, just Clark, in his plaid pajama pants and a worn t-shirt, his own suit from tonight stripped off and no doubt packed away neatly. His smile is brighter than the moon. “Hey Bruce. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to call me.”

“I stayed late,” Bruce says. “Only just got back.” He yawns.

Clark floats down to stand beside him, putting a hand on Bruce’s spine. “You should be in bed.”

Bruce hides another yawn behind his hand. “Not without you.”

Lips press against the back of his head. “You’re more tired than I thought if you’re being this sweet.”

Bruce gives a non committal, sleepy hum.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Clark says softly.

He coaxes Bruce back to standing straight, putting an arm around his waist as the head back inside. Clark deposits Bruce on the side of the bed, and Bruce immediately flops onto his back, ready to go straight to sleep.

Clark chuckles. “I don’t think so. Alfred will kill you if you fall asleep in that suit.”

He’s right. But Bruce is just so sleepy…

Gentle hands pull his shoes off, then his socks. Bruce drifts half asleep as Clark undoes his belt and feeds it through the loops, then gets his pants off. Bruce protests being sat up, but clumsily helps get his arms out of his jacket and shirt. As soon as it’s done though, he’s collapsing back onto the bed.

He’s peripherally aware of Clark moving about the room, hanging his clothes up in the closet, putting his shoes back on the rack and his socks in the dirty laundry. Then the bed shifts, the blankets being pulled back, the pillows fluffed. Bruce sighs involuntarily when he’s picked up in strong arms and moved around, being placed back on the bed with the blankets pulled up over him.

Bruce turns toward the middle of the bed, making discontented noises until Clark slips in beside him.

“I’ve got you,” Clark says, pulling Bruce close against his side.

Bruce tucks his ear against Clark’s chest, listening to the sound of his heart. It’s steady, like the sunrise, like the stars. The little bit of tension Bruce always carries within himself melts away at the sound, his body and mind finally relaxing fully.

Clark’s fingers trail patterns along his back under the blankets, his lips brushing against the top of Bruce’s head. “Next time you flirt with me like that in public, I’m just going to kiss you right on the mouth.”

Bruce smiles lazily. Clark was part of the visiting press tonight, and Bruce took it upon himself to pester him relentlessly with compliments and lewd insinuations. It was amusing to watch Clark’s face grow more and more pink, knowing he couldn’t do anything about it because their relationship isn’t public, and it would be inappropriate for him to kiss someone he’s interviewing. Bruce may have enjoyed teasing him a little too much.

“No’if I kiss you first,” Bruce threatens, voice heavy with the pull of sleep.

“Either way we’ll be kissing,” Clark says. “It’s a win win for me. Think of the headlines though; Whirlwind Romance, Gotham's Sweetheart and Some Nobody.”

Bruce pinches him. “Kansas Darling Clark Kent,” he amends. “‘M gonna write a book abou’it. Kansas Darling. All ‘bout you.”

Clark’s chest shakes with silent laughter. “Okay, you do that. I’ll be first in line to read it.”

“Nnnngive it to your mother first,” Bruce insists, and he doesn’t even remember what they’re talking about.

Clark lifts a hand to comb through Bruce’s hair. “You’re right. You can give her an advanced copy.”

They lapse into silence. Bruce listens to Clark’s heartbeat, drifts in the pleasant touch of Clark’s fingertips trailing softly along his skin and sweeping through his hair. He’s right in that sweet spot between asleep and awake, where everything feels wonderful, especially being pressed close against someone he loves. Someone who loves him. It’s something he hasn’t felt in a long time, and he clings to every opportunity he has to fall asleep beside Clark. Safe. Warm. Loved.

Clark kisses his hair again. “I love you, Bruce.”

Bruce falls asleep before he can answer, but it doesn’t matter. Clark knows Bruce loves him. And he’ll always know.

[even-atlas]

Really wish I was better at posting over here bc I’d love to take writing or art prompts (I’m not a fantastic artist but I try) but I just don’t know how to work the system. Anyway if you have dc fic or art prompts, send em my way

[sreppub]

coloured this little tim bart drawing

[even-atlas]

Hello JayRoy fans if you are reading this please send in fic requests I am newly obsessed with them and want to write for the ship please please uhhh I don’t have a sample of writing for them (I’ve started a few but haven’t finished) but I do have other dc fics on ao3 and also these

[perkeia]