Pincushions

[flutteringchimes]

Welcome to chimesverse, enjoy your stay! Rue, 23, she/her

I write for DC, Marvel comics and my other interests (in the future). asks are always open for anything :) click on #ficrecs to read from my faves

⚘ click here for masterlist about me recent

(Side-blog :( )

[flutteringchimes]

So sorry for being inactive, things were happening in my personal life but I'm glad to be here and happy that my passion for writing still exists

[unicornconnor]

[flutteringchimes]

So you're telling me the tim vampire au won't edit itself...dang

[flutteringchimes]

The painting killed me

[flutteringchimes]

Ive been getting up at 5 hours of sleep each day and its getting to me...i can see nothing but hear everything im like a colour now..

[flutteringchimes]

Starry Eyed

Batfam consoles you through your tears.

Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne.

Genre: angst with comfort

Warnings: general descriptions of: nightmares, needles, mild injuries, parental issues.

Word count: 700-900

Note: hii wrote for tim for the first time and reached flow state so its longer than the others sorry.. hope you guys enjoy this. See you in part 2 with more characters!

Masterlist

🦇 Dick Grayson:

The shrill of a scream tears his eyes open. He rips off the duvet, years of protocol and training move his muscles. His right hand reaches for the tranquiliser gun in his drawer, while the left one grasps your arm to secure you. The warmth radiating from your touch calms him. He's fully awake now, and despite the darkness, Dick scans his surroundings for the predator.

When he finds nothing, he decides to inspect you instead, and the sight catches his heart in his throat.

You're sitting up in bed, shoulders hunched over your head, shivering despite the July heat. Tears run down your face, pupils blown wide and shaking fingers roughly thread through your hair, pulling at the roots while you mumble something he can't hear.

Immediately, Dick comes into your space. First, he carefully takes your hands away from your head, then he forces you to look at him rather than your locked knees.

You're shaken to the core, downright hysterical, and Dick's brain scrambles to think of all the psychological tricks and techniques he's learned.

"You're okay, you're safe. I'm here, I never left", he rambles fast, but each word is punctuated with factual emphasis. The hazy look in your eyes scares him so bad that he starts to repeat himself louder with an occasional squeeze to your shoulders.

As you whimper, he feels bad for using so much force, but he shoves the regret away when you finally look at him with recognition in your expression.

"Dick?", you call out, voice small and lips trembling.

His hand brushes the stray, messy hair from your face, and presses a chaste kiss on your wet cheek. The tears don't stop.

"It's me. I never left, baby".

Your face crumbles with relief, but your shoulders shake, and a cry escapes you. Dick pulls you in, nestles your crying self into his warmth, forcing your senses to feel him, understand that whatever you saw can't hurt you anymore.

Dick's big arms wrap around your body, and you bury your face deeper into his neck. His shirt is wet, but he couldn't care less. He starts to rub your back with firm and quick strokes, gently hushing your cries. He presses his nose into your hair, kissing wherever he can.

"We're safe. We're safe", he whispers and feels you nod.

"I won't let anything or anyone hurt you", he promises.

🦇 Cassandra Cain:

Fluorescent lights pierce her eyes, and she squints to force the harshness away. Cass studies your face for discomfort, and it's glaringly evident. Your brows are furrowed, lip caught between your teeth. A telltale sign that you're seconds away from crying.

Cass shifts her chair closer, and it squeaks in the small room. Your eyes flicker to the movement. She offers a small smile, "Sorry, Love".

You take in a deep breath, settling your nerves, then look ahead at the wall, ignoring the nurse prepping next to you.

"I'm okay", you lie confidently.

The nurse rips open a packet, and you respond with an aggressive flinch. Cass looks at you tenderly, softness in her brown eyes. Her right arm wraps around your shoulders, fingers press into the fabric of your rolled-up sweater.

"You're great", Cass says, and the nurse nods, agreeing with her, "so brave".

You feel pathetic, somehow worse than a child. At least children have reasons to be afraid of needles and hospitals. You're a grown woman with Batgirl comforting you. There are pros, though, like her reassuring touches and whispers of praise, but it doesn't matter when violence, knives and blood are daily work for her. She's used to so much more; your behaviour should annoy her. Yet, she gazes at you like you're the strongest person she knows.

The numbness of an alcohol pad brings you back into your awful reality, and you have to quickly blink tears blurring your vision. The nurse and the colours of her light blue uniform blend and clear with each blink.

When the familiar needle comes into view, you whimper, eyes immediately squeeze shut. Your grip on Cass's hands turns white, and she presses back even harder. The prick would have you jumping from your skin if it wasn't for Cass's rigid arm weight on you.

Silent tears drop and trail on your cheeks, and Cass feels her heart pull. "A few more minutes".

You nod, biting your lip hard enough to bleed. Cass tsks lowly and moves the hand that's enclosed in yours onto her lap.

After what feels like forever, the nurse speaks up. "Got it. I think one sample will be enough. Good job". She ignores the snot and tears on your face, and you pray she gets a bonus soon. After discarding the trash and packing up, she leaves you two alone to finalise the papers.

Cass gazes at you with so much love it hurts to look at her. Her face crinkles with joy, and she brushes hair off your forehead, then plucks out a tissue to wipe your face with careful hands.

"Proud of you. We did it".

You choke out a soft, muddled laugh.

🦇 Jason Todd:

When he finally returns home, the house is draped in darkness. Blindly, he traces his usual steps, discarding the helmet in the locked drawer and throwing his jacket where the sofa-probably-is. He's just relieved to call it a night and wrap his arms around your body.

Though Jason slides under the covers and senses immediately that something is wrong. Your frame is curled into itself, as if you're trying to swallow yourself whole. The room is deathly silent and cold, Jason feels the chill in his bones, and it worsens when he realises how the comforter on your shoulders shakes.

You're so entrapped in your bubble that a gasp escapes you as Jason's hand trails over your shoulder. The flinch does not go unnoticed by him; his lips pull into a taunt line. He's never seen you cry before; now he understands why.

Glossy eyes stare at him, wide with worry and what he places as anxiety. One of your hands is wrapped around your stomach, and the other is outstretched, as if an instinct calls to touch him, but you're afraid to follow through.

Jason's body finds yours, his long fingers slip into your palm easily, and he pretends he doesn't hear your hitched breath.

"You're home early", you whisper and take in his expression. He seems real, not a mirage. Your Jason leans closer to you, inch by inch. The blend of green and blue in his eyes grounds you; never break contact.

His soft voice is raspy, "Yeah". His thumb trails a stray tear on your cheek, tenderly grasping the curve of your cheek.

"You're not alone. I'm here". With each promise, he comes closer and closer, bodies tangling until they appear as one. "You don't have to cry alone. I want to see all of you". Jason's never been more intimate about his thoughts.

Fresh tears fall without warning, and despite the burden being stripped away, your chest heaves and shoulders tremble with an onslaught of emotions.

Jason moves to bury your face into his chest and rests his hand at the back of your neck. His chest vibrates with warmth when he speaks.

"You're not alone anymore. I'll carry it with you".

🦇 Stephanie Brown:

"It's so bad, Steph," you cry out, hands splayed over your scribbled notes, "I don't know what I'm doing anymore".

She stands next to your study chair, her blonde hair is dark in the warm lighting of your room. Her glossy lips are pulled into a thin line.

"How long have you been up?" she asks quietly, unwilling to break the thinning peace of your room.

You glance at the clock, and it's almost midnight. 5 hours. You've been at the same equation for 5 hours that could have been spent somewhere productive; you could have finished the chapter. If only you could understand it. You take a shaky breath, at the edge of sanity, head thundering and eyes turning watery after hours of dryness.

Your silence is enough to answer her question. Stephanie moves behind your chair and leans over you to stack up the scattered notes, books and papers.

"Stop that!" you croak out, but there's no real fire. Somehow, you're relieved at her intervention, but the underlying tension doesn't leave. A voice in your mind calls out to you.

Stephanie could have answered the questions with ease. You're too stupid for her.

A muffled sob escapes you, and you bury your face in your hands in embarrassment.

"Hey, hey, now," Stephanie calls out as if she's tending to a scared animal, hands massaging your shoulders, and she's all up in your space. You can smell the citrus of her perfume through your soon-to-clog nose.

"You've been at it since I left for class. Didn't take any break either". Her voice is so gentle, like dew on a leaf; it hums louder than your wracked sobs. She places her hands on your collarbone, pressing your body into her chest. As she looks down at you, her hair pools in your vision, and all you can see is her.

A slight twist in her expression, the pink tint of her lipgloss, worry clear in her crystal eyes that never leave yours. You inhale deeply, giving yourself a moment to actually breathe through the tears, then swallow deeply, trying to regain yourself.

She never lets go, and you never stop staring.

Stephanie's fingers play with your hair, nails scrape your scalp, and you don't even realise she's already shifted her body, angling both of you in the direction of the bed. "Do you wanna take a break?"

You glance at the table, notes stare back at you.

Stephanie catches the movement. "I can nap with you". You nod and slowly get up.

She quickly grasps your hand, giving you a wink.

"We're having ice cream when we wake up".

🦇 Tim Drake:

Tim, or rather Red Robin, has never seen you without your mask. He knows Batgirl has, but that's different. Usually, you're more protective of your civilian identity than Batman himself, but right now, there is no other option than revealing the face underneath. 

"I need to take it off", he grumbles and tries to yank his wrists free from your grip on him. 

You push him backwards, but the action presses on your bleeding wound on your stomach, and you cough, the taste of iron fills your mouth. It's bad. It's never this bad. You blame your temporary partner and glare at him, though it's useless because he can't see your expressions. You chose a full cover mask to match the theme of your suit, but it's not similar to the Robins. A red mask covers your entire face with black lines that accentuate it to match your suit and shadowed holes for sight.

"Easy for you to say when you're not the one stripping", you wheeze. "Pervert".

The white blanks of his mask squint as he sneers at you. "Don't be disgusting. I need to assess your state, and unfortunately, your eyes would tell me a lot about your concussion". 

He snaps your loosening grip off to press against the makeshift gauze as red bleeds through. He had torn a section of his cape to wrap around you; it's oddly intimate. You ignore the thought.

You tsk at him wordlessly. There's blood dripping from your forehead, baby hairs cling desperately to your skin, but it's not about privacy anymore. You, unfortunately, trust Red Robin with your life. 

But if he sees the steady stream of tears cascading down your face, he's never going to let it go, and there are only a few bruises your ego can bear.

His gloved hand trails behind your head, scanning for bumps and the buckle of your mask. You can hear static erupting from his ear-com, but he ignores it. 

One final attempt claws at you, and you gather your bearings to speak up, but it hurts so much. You end up wheezing out a small, "Please".

His touch pauses, his own mask creases with how hard he frowns. Then he whispers, and your heart breaks.

"I'm sorry".

Your mask falls slack on your lap, and slowly your eyes come up to look at him, for the first time. Tim feels his breath hitch, and you wait for the laughter. A snicker or a wink of a smile. 

"Oh", he says softly. 

He pulls back his hand to press at his ear, "Oracle, back up stat". Then, he leans closer to you, sees his reflection in your wet eyes. 

You sniff and turn away.

"Hey, it's okay. You fell from a whole building. I'd be sobbing too", he comforts.

"I'm just crying", you wail out through your choked sobs. He puts his hands up in surrender. 

Then one hand slides into yours, and you squeeze it. He settles next to you, and you exploit it by shifting your weight on him, head pressed against his shoulder, and sigh softly. The pain feels less intense with his stable demeanour by your side.

You feel vibrations as he speaks.

"I still have to check for ya know".

"Shut up for now".

🦇 Damian Wayne:

When he sees tears slipping from your eyes, he's not sure of what to do, but he knows it's imperative to do something. Anything that would soothe the frown on your face.

His hand trails across the bed and slips into yours, interwining the fingers, then squeezing them to urge you to speak between the hiccups.

"It doesn't make sense", you speak softly, choking back on tears, "I never told you because you won't understand".

The confession makes your chest ache and forces a shuddering cough out of you.

Damian moves closer and ignores how much your words hurt. It's his fault for not disclosing his past to you. He thought he was protecting you from his familial trauma, unaware that you were suffering through something similar.

The bed creaks as his face leans towards yours. His dark hair brushes against your forehead, and you can't find the strength to look into those honest eyes.

Damian has never felt more useless.

He pulls back slightly to place a tender kiss on your forehead, and his free hand reaches upwards to caress under your eyes.

"Help me understand", he pleads, voice rough with longing.

His green eyes never leave you; they scan your rapidly shifting expressions and the shake in your shoulders.

"Take a deep breath", Damian urges. Slowly, he inhales deeply and exhales. You force yourself to mimic his movements, and he continues the action for several minutes until the hiccups and shaking cease.

His warm thumb rubs your palm, grounding you in the moment, and your head falls onto his shoulder.

"She's so awful, Dami", you whimper.

Damian shifts to accommodate you and pulls you closer so you can properly nestle into his neck, and he places a chaste kiss on your satly cheek.

"Mothers are often...", he trails off, attempting to search for an appropriate word, "difficult to understand. Their actions are fiercely unpredictable, even if they come out of affection, we struggle to see how they reflect it".

He feels you nod based on your movement and sighs at how you're finally reacting and speaking up. If he has to reveal his past to console you, so be it. Damian realises that to be a part of your world, he has to share his with you.

"I'm here, Love. Let me in".

A/n: thank you for readingg please like and leave some comments. Hope yoy enjoyed! My fav is damians partt

[flutteringchimes]

I miss jason todd so much...i wish all his comics were good

[flutteringchimes]

Does He know?

You wake up expecting your dear boyfriend in the kitchen but to your surprise find Superman making breakfast.

content: pure unfiltered fluff, a bit of innocent kissing

work count: almost 2k yipe

note; hi lovers! first fic ever, hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing. kept thinking of that one scene in diary of a wimpy kid as i wrote this. does he know about the d-o-r-e? the what! the door (rolls eyes)

Sunlight pours through the curtains by the time your consciousness graces you. An act of instinct urges your palm to trace the fabric and curves of the blanket, arm extending over the expanse of the bed onto what should have been warmth. Steady, firm, and permanent.

Clark Kent.

Your fingers tip the end of his pillow, till they reach the end of his side. The softness of the bed lacked his warmth, no crevice of his shape that dips the mattress- nothing to remember the memory of his body next to yours. You sigh deeply, then crane your senses for a sign.

Ceramic clatters from somewhere far away. A buzzing sound followed by a loud ding then an even louder “Shush!”.

There were two options left. You pretend to be asleep until he’d softly stir your awake, dimpled smile gazing down at you, or you could attempt to unsuccessfully surprise him with a back hug. Curse his superhuman senses.

Your hand rips off your blanket before your mind can catch up. You slip on his oversized shirt and step out of the quiet, sombre comfort of your shared room and into the bright kitchen. Screw the surprise there’s nothing more you yearn for than the way Clark’s body melts into yours upon touch.

However, the sight near the kitchen has your brows meeting your hairline, eyes blown wide. You embody a living statue as your mind tries to take in what it supposes is a mirage. A mismatched puzzle piece, your thoughts connecting faster than your comprehension or realisation can.

With his broad back turned you to, he speaks. Words drenched with maple and adoration; you can picture the smile on his face. “I was just about to wake you, Sleepy-pants”, he stretches the affectionate nickname out, “Who wants pancakes?”

He scrapes the final piece of the pan to place on the heaping stack of pancakes, clicks the stove off, then turns to meet you halfway.

Though its your lack of enthusiasm and the strange expression that stops him in place. As quickly as he pauses, he rushes to gather your face in his warm, big hands. Clark brushes the messy strands of hair out of your face.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You feelin’ alright, hon?”, his voice is gentle, as if it would shatter you if he spoke in a normal tone.

Your eyes don’t stray away from the door, and the sight of red boots- incredibly, extremely familiar, without a doubt those same red boots that you see every single day and hour of your life. Although it’s through a pixelated screen, or just barely visible in the sky far far up from the ground where you and numerous civilians stand.

They ‘stand’ right there next to your over piled coat rack, steady and waiting as if they’ve always belonged. It’s a sight that brings comfort but dawns answers to questions you hadn’t even asked. But it all made concrete sense.

Carefully, he nudges your head to the opposite direction and all you can see is a pool of the clear blue sky, staring at you with worry. And love, so much adoration you could drown in it.

“Let’s sit down, hmm”, he places a tiny kiss on your forehead, and slowly moves you to the couch. His hands slide up and down your arm to soothe you but it’s mostly to calm his nerves. Once he’s sure you’re snug, he plops down next to you. Hands fit each other and fingers automatically intertwine.

Your eyes drop to inspect his hands. They’re not calloused but rough, and rigid from years of farm work and superhero duties. Memories of how much he preens like a cat when you massage his hands with lavender lotion flood your mind and you let out a soft giggle.

Clarks sighs in relief. “You must have gotten dizzy from standing on an empty stomach”. He misunderstands in the most adorable way.

So, you turn your body to his, knees bumping and your bare legs brushing his work pants. A reminder of how he needs to bring more of his clothes and you need to do laundry (because all you wear at home are his clothes) (“I love seeing you in every part of me”, he says. ‘Clark Kent, you big baby’ you could go on for hours).

A deep breath in, and a huge smile to muffle how you’re vibrating from excitement, anxiety, fear, admiration and courage. It needs to land perfectly, a firm but soft blow. So he knows you love him all the same, nothing has changed, no secret could change the bond. If anything, his constant excuses and date cancellations make more sense now.

“Thanks for saving me, Superman”.

It’s quiet for a minute, only the clock ticking and the occasional hum of the radiator. Clark’s gaze never wavers, nor do his expressions betray him. His lips stretch, dimples carved into his cheeks, he laughs loudly. So loud that his shoulder shake with him, and unsure of what to do, you awkwardly laugh along.

He shakes his head in disbelief then moves an inch closer to boop your nose, “Okay, I’ll admit that was good.” Your face scrunches and eyes squint in disbelief.

“No-no, I mean-”.

He interrupts you with another boop to the nose but this time you swat his hand away. The motion makes his glasses shift and he hastily pushes them back until his eyelashes clash against the glass.

“I’ll relay this to Superman the next time I interview him”, he resumes his chuckle and looks at you with so much adoration you want to kiss him silly. But you pull back when he leans close.

With your back against the cushion, and arm rest you glare at him. There’s no heat behind it but his nonchalance eggs you on. The dopey smile on his face doesn’t waver as he looks at you crossing your arms, his arms slowly trace the edge of the couch so he can trap you.

It’s Clark’s classic move. He’ll wrap you in his strong arms, hold you chest to chest for a tight hug to breathe in your scent. But now’s not the time for that.

“Clark, I know”.

“Know what, hon?”.

You huff in annoyance and try to get up but he doesn’t budge. His arms rest next to your waist as he hovers over you. “You don’t need to hide anything from me”, you chose a different approach, voice sweet and low. Coaxing him into confessing. A finger trails over his shoulder until it meets the collar of his crinkled white button down.

“It’s just to two of us”, the tip of your nail almost grazes his chin and his head bows to kiss it. “Clark Kent is Superman, right?”, you whisper.

Immediately he scrunches his eyes shut, whining your name as he leans backwards until he’s sat on his knees. His chest heaves with a heavy sigh, burdened enough to bury his secret.

“Angel, do you know how many times I’ve been called that before?”, he’s pleading now.

You huff once more and turn your nose to the side. “It’s not just how you act Clark. You’re not only kind and heroic like him. You look like him too!”

Clark sputters, eyes wide and unable to meet your own so they bounce of your features until he tries to form a defence. “I do not. And besides it’s a widely known fact that each person has seven doppelgangers-”.

You deadpan stare makes him bite his tongue.

He scratches his neck bashfully, “And one of mine happens to live here. Superman was probably living a normal life here before I moved from Smallville. If anything, I’m his doppelganger”.

Your stare doesn’t waver, lips pulled back taunt. You aren't backing down and despite his deflated shoulders, neither is he.

“Look at the door”.

“Hm? What was that?”.

“I know you heard me, Kent”.

You watch him closely when his eyes travel above your head and down the hallway where the door was next to the new addition in your house. His body undergoes a series of motions.

Broad shoulders hunch stiff when he eyes the shoes, fingers on his right-hand twitch, his tongue wets his lips and his pupils shake. Then, as quickly as it all happened, his body uncurls from the coil and he slouches, his head bows meeting his chest. It’s slow yet the pictures woosh in a fluid motion, like watching a glass fall; it’s slow motion yet the fastest action ever.

 He closes his eyes, out of what you hope is relief. Carrying that weight alone could be a burden-even for a metahuman.

Clark sighs. It’s like he exhales all the air ever present in his lungs. A beat passes before you lift yourself and wrap your arms around him. You try to cover as much of his body as possible, bury him under your tender touch and care.

His nose tickles the spot under your ear, his breath warm as it hits your neck.

“I knew I was forgetting something”, muffled but it reaches your ears clearly. It’s not regret he feels, but there is a part of him that feels he’s opened a new, uncharted world for you. One where he has to work twice as hard to keep you safe.

“Yes, I’m the world’s best detective I know but I love you, Clark. You, Superman, farm boy, journalist, every version of you, I love you”, you mumble into his hair.

His body slides on the couch to mould you onto him as he takes your waist into his arms, pulling you over his lap but not moving his head from the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply once more.

“You don’t have to carry this burden alone. I’m here, it’s always been us”.

He shakes his head. “Not a burden…I was born for it”.

You rake a hand through his heavy curls and he pulls you impossibly closer.

“I’m talking about the secret”.

He places a chaste kiss on your neck, and you squirm from how much it tickles. The apple of his cheek curves upwards from how hard he smiles.

“Whenever you need me, I’ll always be here, Superman. Cheering you on, helping you or taking care of you. You save us, I save you, Clark”.

“I know”. Finally, his head pulls back to look at you. It’s intimate, staring into his blue eyes like he can see right through you. Speak right to your soul.

“I love you”. He says it like it’s a fact, it’s the law. And for Clark it might as well be. You shift your arms so your fingers rest on his cheeks, brushing the soft skin.

“Wanna have cold breakfast?”.

His soft eyes crinkle in glee, “You know it”.

Your thumb presses into the skin, squishing it and he closes his eyes. Now that you know he’s not just physically strong but meta-human-ly strong, you’re going to squish, pinch and hug him as hard as you can. Call it love, or cuteness aggression, Clark’s thrilled to be receiving it.

“My boyfriend makes me the best breakfast. You should meet him sometime”.

He laughs. You squish his cheeks once more; his left hand leaves your waist to place the warmth onto yours.

“Maybe later. Right now, I want to have the best cold pancakes with you”.

You place a quick kiss to his nose, and before you can jump off his lap, his grip on your waist returns and tightens , then he stands up so fast you almost suffer a whiplash.

“Clark!”, your hands scramble to hold onto his shoulders as he carries you all the way to the kitchen.

It’s not silent or tense now. The air is lighter with the sound of his laughter and the weight of his secret off his shoulders. There’s a bounce in his step and the purpose of his calling in his arms. Held tight, secure, and swimming in love.

A/N: thank you for reading! Hope you liked it. If you have any thoughts feel free to share. I hate editing and formating but This was so fun to write, i mostly did laugh at the joke it randomly came in my head. First fic here ah im so nervous but lets goo people! Have a great day :)

[merletka]

Happy New Year!!! 🎉🎄

[flutteringchimes]

THE DC FAN ARTIST REVEAL....YOURE JOKING...you could slowly see a certain theme shifting in his art but i thought i was being weird...

[flutteringchimes]

Hello! Happy Holidays everyone!! I hope we all have a wonderful and fun time during this season :D lots of love and well wishes. See you guys soon 💥😘

[coffie-st]

❤️

[flutteringchimes]

EXAMS ARE OVER THANK YOUUU GOD

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Just want to say that I find the cat gif on your masterlist fucking adorable, I've been watching it for a good 10mins lol

Omg 😭 really? I was genuinely thinking of editing my entire masterlist including the kitty but this is a blessed intervention.

I'm glad it brought you joy it's so SILLYY :( her whiskerss

[flutteringchimes]

Ok might not post consistently because exams next week T_T

[flutteringchimes]

TAKE A SWING?

You ask the batfam to take care of your drink.

Characters: dick grayson, jason todd, cassandra cain, stephanie brown, tim drake.

Genre: fluff, bar/party setting, can be read as platonic or romantic, small character analysis.

Word count: 500-600

note: hi..was lowkey worried if dick's part was ooc until I remembered my beautiful boy in young justice. very fun to write, hope you enjoy!

masterlist

🦇 Dick Grayson: It's a usual scene for him, definitely not the first time anyone's asked him to safeguard their drink. There's still air around him that attracts you, lures you into trusting him and he knows but never abuses this. A sweet guy with such a trustworthy personality.

Takes your glass from you in such a casual manner, nods with a wave of his finger. Doesn't make a big deal out of it but keeps the cup close to his chest. His other hand indicating that the seat next to him (yours) is taken. If someone tries to come sit on it or leans close enough to be suspicious- he will very rudely and bluntly call them out, no longer smiling or sugar coating, he means business, "Don't lean over me to order. Can't you see there's space on the left? ", "Someone's already sitting here." And don't forget the classic "can I help you?" , "Do I know you?".

🦇 Jason Todd: Good choice. If he's a stranger, you'd find him at the main area minding his own business, broad frame hunched over his own cup. Suspiciously eyes you up and down before accepting your request, then covers it with a napkin in front of you. If you're friends, he's equally intense about it. Knows the gravity of the situation and the what ifs.

He's one of the the best choices, physically speaking. Look at his physic, big shoulders with pure muscle mixed with an above average height. Incredibly good at communicating with his eyes, nonchalant and bored eyes sharpen within seconds if he sees something he doesn't like. With the rest of the group, he'll interact normally but will will use his body language to scare strangers he's wary about. It's evident he's nursing a glass that isn't his but it does get the message across. The moment you return, his expression will return to normal as he gives you a gentle smile.

🦇 Cassandra Cain: Doesn't matter the setting, or relationship, her response will be the same. In fact, she's going to be glancing at your drink during the conversation as well. And when you get up, she slides it towards herself before you even ask. Such a charmer, such a wonderful soul. You thank her and she smiles back, fingers in search for something in her bag.

She doesn't need to pretend it's her glass or drink because she takes out a small piece of cling wrap, specifically kept for night outs and wraps it on the rim. It's a precautionary method though, you know nothing can go over her quick eyes. She blends in with the crowd so well, resuming her activities before you left, joining the on going conversation as if nothing happened. Apart from protecting the drink, she observes the room, timing your return to check if everything is alright.

🦇 Stephanie Brown: She's so professional about it. Takes the duty very seriously, not in a dramatic way but it's something she does for herself. So it comes naturally, though now she's protecting two drinks instead of one. Keeps glancing at both, and places her bag on your seat for reassurance.

If someone's talking to him, she'll respond normally but will spare quick glances at the person's hands. Keeps a napkin on both drinks, not sipping hers until you return as an act of solidarity. Apart from her meticulous supervision, she's so excited that you trusted her. There's a level of comfort that only Stephanie manages to bring with other people, an air of ease. And she wants to ensure that you'll feel comfortable and safe enough to ask her again in the future. (I love her).

🦇 Tim Drake: First, his chest swells with pride realising you trust him enough to each out to him and no one else. Tells you not to worry about it and to take your phone, but by the time you leave his sight, the gears and cogs in his brain are already turning.

Tim will keep an active eye out but there's an itch in him that's taking so much of his life force to ignore. But like a trusted young adult, he ignores it and resumes the conversation with Bart, occasionally taking a sip of his drink that does not taste like what he ordered. Then, when he looks down he realises he kept your drink close, and forgot to pick his up during the talk, and now he's already drank half of yours. Doesn't panic or anything. When you return, he gives you the drink, ignoring your raised brow, and reminds you how it was half empty when you handed it over.

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