Am I reposting this? Yes. The last one had over 300 notes -- and, without any exaggeration, most of them were from bots I had to then block. Starting anew with this one, hopefully with less trouble.
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Victor Stone, Modern!Jaskier
Bruce Wayne
The subject of moving in together with Bruce had been a rather quiet affair to say the least. The average outsider probably would’ve expected something more akin to a whirlwind romance when it came to the personal life of one of the richest men in the world. This was especially given that Bruce Wayne wasn’t particularly known for having long-term relationships. So surely it was a sign when your relationship with the man persisted beyond the year mark, right?
Well, the fact of the matter was that there was no whirlwind. There wasn’t a mock proposal or even an invitation over a glass of centuries-old bourbon. And even though there had been gentle insinuations from your boyfriend that perhaps moving in might be beneficial for you, there arguably wasn’t even much of that!
Bruce never wanted to pressure you, wanting to give you all the time you needed. This wasn’t a normal relationship, after all: When you weren’t dating a billionaire, you were dating the legendary Batman. In addition to that, he also lived on the outskirts of town. The benefits of this to him were precisely that, though: They were beneficial for his specific needs. But for anyone who wasn’t him, there might be some hesitancy. And for that, he couldn’t blame them.
So your apartment remained in the picture for quite a while. But after some point, that changed. After some point, you just didn’t really go back there. Not for lack of trying, per se, but … well, it was more like a lack of interest. The little abode would always be “your place”, a little hideaway of sorts at the end of the day – almost like the modern equivalent of those Victorian era members of nobility or high-standing lineage who had summer homes on standby. Only in this case, it was more like your fabulously wealthy boyfriend was throwing a couple bucks down on the lease to keep it under your name.
But even then, when you thought about it, you weren’t entirely certain as to how necessary that even was nowadays.
Your life had shifted. It adapted.
It adapted to dating a wealthy person; it adapted to dating a nocturnal vigilante; it adapted to the odd lifestyle that still managed to squeeze itself in-between the two, creating those moments of domesticity that not everyone would’ve expected of Bruce Wayne, with or without the alter ego.
Because in your humble yet overpriced apartment, there wasn’t any waking up to the sound of Bruce showering. At your apartment, breakfast was usually whatever cheap item you’d grabbed at the convenience store, rather than an invitation to brunch or a homecooked meal, courtesy of Alfred. For that matter, at your apartment, there wasn’t any Alfred to trade banter with. There wasn’t any minimalism to gripe about and try and cover up with your “personal touch”. There weren’t large button-down shirts and slacks with timeless stitching and designs to sort through in the laundry. There wasn’t a Bruce to wait up at night for and greet upon his return, all bleary-eyed and cloaked in a comforter.
Or the smell of Bruce’ aftershave wafting in the morning air, or his favorite mug perched on the countertop, or the warmth of waking up in Bruce’s protective hold …
They couldn’t have been at the apartment; all of that was here. This was your home now. This was your life now.
Victor Stone
According to statistics, moving is one of the most stressful events in a person’s life. But Victor had grown up in that Downtown Gotham apartment: He knew every nook and cranny, every scuffed and creaky floorboard or cabinet, how to work the renovated shower, which spots had better phone reception, et cetera. At the end of the day, the bones were still there.
The spirit, however, was not.
And that’s what made simply being there feel just as though the young man were now living in an entirely new house.
Before, a family had been there. A shaky one, perhaps, but a family nonetheless. But now it was just him. Him, his memories, and the many reminders that decorated its walls, rested in closets, remained scattered on dressers and bathroom counters in the same position they had assumed the day they had been tossed there.
That alone was enough cause for stress. But adding on to the list of changes was the fact that before all of that had even happened, he had assumed a powerful, mechanized body. One which, after said changes, had been used to thwart an apocalyptic takeover. So yeah: Suffice to say, Victor’s inner life and “home life” (if it could even be called that) were at odds when the dust finally began to settle.
Inside, Victor was a whirlwind of emotions. There was the grief that he sometimes did and sometimes didn’t know how well he was handling; there were questions of where to go from hereon out; there were the moments that occurred in-between his new life as a part-time hero; there was you, his supportive but nonetheless surely exhausted partner … All the while, the apartment felt comparatively empty.
Quiet. Foreign. Cold. Unwelcoming.
Even though the walls and hall tables were lined with pictures of him pre-accident, Victor felt like he was a stranger in his own “home”. And even though he wasn’t exactly fond of being looked at (seriously, this was Gotham City, home to a mafioso juggalo and a lady obsessed with cats, what made him so strange?), Victor preferred to wander the streets than to stay in that place for too long.
It worried you.
Victor could take care of himself, of course, and it wasn’t as though he needed to sleep anymore, anyway. In a way, the purposes for which the average person required a structural home were practically obsolete to someone like Victor. It was his humanity that assured that the strained ties to it hadn’t yet severed.
But the unhealthiness seeped through like a gas leak. And for as caring as your boyfriend was, sharing his emotions or sentimentality had never exactly been his strongest suit, just as direct confrontation wasn’t especially yours. Besides, there was no easy approach to such a very specific, very tender circumstance. So for all you could do, you simply did what you could.
Really, the main reason he’d granted you a spare key in the first place was in the event that he needed to go out of town for a mission: You’d simply check on the place, make sure nobody was doing anything shady in or around, etc. He even once joked about buying a plant for you to plantsit despite his own lack of personal interest. But he never objected to you doing more with the key, or showing up even with him still being in town.
Sure, Victor might come home to find the place freshened up, the tables and picture frames dusted, a Glade plug-in restored, and so on. But he also could sometimes come to find other things.
He might’ve raised a brow when he took note of you plopping a duffel bag of clothes on the living room carpet, but he didn’t question it; he didn’t feel the need to. Nor did Victor question why he would come home to find you watching movies, huddled up in one of his old Gotham U jerseys. He didn’t give you an exasperated sigh whenever you’d stop by, sheepishly asking him for help studying for a course, and he didn’t usher you out whenever the desire to wander the streets hit him.
The cabinets had been cleared out when it became apparent that Victor no longer needed to eat. But with you around, they slowly became a bit more full with your favorite snacks and ingredients. Nothing like they had been before the accident, of course, but the difference was there. Soaps and shampoos and conditioners lined the bathroom once more, towels joined in the laundry for the first time in ages, dishes were being used yet again. It was as if life within the apartment had been restored. Something in there was alive.
In hindsight, Victor felt silly for not having noted it when it first started to happen. But then again, in the hindsight of that realization, it began to make more sense: Your presence there just felt … normal. Like you were supposed to be there. Sure, your face wasn’t captured in framed photos depicting family vacations or trips to the zoo, but you fit into the abode just as anything else from before had.
Which was why one morning, after spending the entire night wandering the city, Victor didn’t find it strange to return home and find you there. The suns rays were just stretching into the dimly-lit kitchen, where you had been making waffles from scratch. The sink was full of messy bowls and utensils, of which he could trust that you’d handle later. Meanwhile, you were perched at the counter, offering him the best smile one could give while drowsy and with waffles in the cheeks.
Despite everything that had happened to him over the course of the last few years, it still occasionally startled Victor to realize just how much could shift in less than a minute. The accident had happened in less than a minute; his body’s reform, despite feeling like an agonizing eternity, had occurred just short of a minute; the reversing of time seemed to be a matter of mere seconds from his end.
And despite having not been back for even a minute, that was the moment it clicked with Victor: For the first time in a long while, he was beginning to feel like he had arrived back home. Maybe not completely and truly immersed by it, no.
But at least his foot was toeing the threshold.
Modern!Jaskier
It wasn’t a sprawling mansion, that was for sure. It wasn’t even some sweetass, chic condo. Those, you told him, could wait. In the meantime, rather than splurging his steadily growing income as an up-and-coming musician, a nice, simple apartment would be more than enough to make do.
He pouted about it, of course: In spite of how he acted, Jaskier still came from wealth and although he didn’t miss the formalities and expectations that had accompanied it, he still missed the more pleasurable features like large rooms and fanciful foods. More importantly, he wanted to share the niceties with you. (Though, given what you knew of your boyfriend, it was probably a bit more accurate to phrase it as “he wanted to show it off to you”.)
Now, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t see the appeal in living in a more spacious house – hell, living in a place that wasn’t rented! The freedom to paint the walls and make renovations as you deemed appropriate, not needing to worry about a security deposit … You wouldn’t say that you drooled over images from Pinterest depicting craft rooms and guestroom setups or even roomy bathrooms, but it would’ve been rather nice if standing in the kitchen didn’t put you at risk of hearing somebody blowing up the nearby bathroom.
However, you were also the more grounded between the two of you. More practical. Jaskier preferred to drone that you a fun-sucker, but you knew you were in the right: If he didn’t want to end up washed up and bankrupt by his 30s like countless other musicians, then delayed gratification was the way to go!
He dragged his heels about it, the drama queen, all too ready to make a big stink out of it. He sang about it, even, spending the first three weeks after moving in sitting on the futon (your order from IKEA hadn’t come in yet) and plucking the strings alongside musical complaints about how tiny and ridiculous the place was.
It’s annoying, of course, and you won’t lie: Even if he means it in good fun, it frustrates you. You both agreed that until things really began to pick up, this was how things would have to be. You needed a place both of you could afford and as shitty as this place was compared to the subdivision he’d grown up in, this was it.
… But of course, the annoyance doesn’t really last for long. Jaskier wears his heart on his sleeve, after all, and he’s never been particularly good at hiding intrigue. Beneath all that whining, you can tell that, in some way, he’s also having fun.
The wifi that is inconsistent with how wack it is; the questionable wifi domain names (seriously, you kinda want to meet whoever calls their wifi PrettyFly4AWifi or Tiffany’s Slut Dungeon); your loudass neighbors who get way too intense on game night; questioning if there’s such a thing as depending too heavily on breakfast-for-dinner; zhoozhing up ramen cups with hotdog wieners or hot sauce; that funky water pressure – they all make it into that song of his that he’s always singing. And others. He tells you it’s a concept album and while part of you thinks he’s joking, the amount of times you’ve returned home or walked in on him scribbling lyrics or testing them out tells you that he isn’t.
It’s kinda just what he does: Yeah, he’ll whine for a bit, but somehow he’s going to make an adventure out of his circumstances. He has to. After all, what could be more adventurous than starting a new chapter of one’s life? Not only that, but a chapter with somebody they love?
Together, you’ll conquer the vicious staircases when the elevator is acting slow. You’ll fight to claim use of an empty washer and dryer in the laundry room. You’ll triumph in perfecting not only your grocery budget, but also in actually using those items to cook instead of relying on delivery so damn much. You’ll figure this and more out together.
And frankly … Yeah, it does make the place feel a bit more cozy. (But the moment the chance to move on up happens, you’re fucking taking it –)
Imagine being a skilled hacker, and meeting Cyborg.
All of these weird numbers started to go across your computer. It actually looked like a scene out of a cheesy nineties hacker movie. You ran your fingers through your hair in frustration before going in with your own code, and trying to figure out what was going on. It seemed to be ... some sort of machine almost. Not a computer. The files were ... triggers, or mechanics for something.
“Hey - stop.” A voice came from in front of you, which was hardly what you were expecting since you were crouched in an alleyway, using the wifi of the deli behind you. When you looked up, you saw someone in a back hoodie. One arm was raised above it’s head, and seemed stuck. “Stop what you’re doing.”
“Uhh - no?” You asked, looking back down and continued to issue your commands. The man in front of you groaned, which made you look up again. This time he had spun around, and he was hopping on one leg - which coincided with what you had just put in. “What are you doing?”
“You’re hacking me, idiot,” The voice hissed. You stopped for a moment, only for a moment, and got to your feet to circle around the guy. You pulled his hood off and to your surprise, saw all of these metal parts around his head. He looked like - This was Cyborg. You’d heard of him in hushed circles.
“This is cool,” You said with a wide grin. Looking down at your laptop, which you were holding and balancing on one arm, you typed some more in. His leg went down, and his arm shot out. You took hold of it and shook his hand. “I’m y/n - and I guess I’m sorry. I thought you were, I don’t know, a robot or something.”
“I am - or something,” He said. You relinquished control, and he gained it, putting his arm back to his side. “You have to show me how you did that.”
Request: “Imagine waking up with them in your bed, and not knowing exactly when they got there. (Teen Titans?)”
A/N: Hey, hey, hey! I hope you enjoy it! I’ve been watching a bunch of old Teen Titans episodes lately (that beautiful, timeless 2003 version), and got a bit nostalgic. Then this happened once I saw that request. So, I decided to incorporate all of the Titans in this one :)
(BTW the next imagine I’m working on is a Young Justice!Dick Grayson x reader. Look for it soon!)
Warnings: Swearing. I think that’s about it. Anyway, I tried my best to make it all fluffy, but I apologize if any of the characters seem a little out of character.
An ethereal morning light is already cutting through the blinds on the windows, glowing, rigid slices of light that fall across the room in ladder like patterns, and flashes of warm sunlight pressing gently over the lids of your eyes like a kiss.
It’s enough to stir you awake, and as you’re dragged back to awareness you register the sudden shock of nausea first. Nope still alive. The afterlife wouldn’t be this shitty. It feels like you’d been hit by a tank and thrown 100 feet into the air, only to be reacquainted with the painful principles of gravity. Which wasn’t too far from the truth with what you could slowly begin to piece together from the day before.
Aliens. Not so friendly aliens from way out of town. No, forget that. Big, not so friendly aliens with a streak of violence—like sumo wrestlers on steroids. Flying motorcycles, sentient, scaly lizard tails (more like dragon tails) that seemed to have a mind of their own and pack a wallop like a fly hitting the window of a moving train, and burning hot lasers that you distinctly remember avoiding at all costs. Especially when they seared right through the sturdy brick of a building with ease.
Then it was getting distracted, for one stupid second, by a civilian making a run for it across the street. Long enough for one of those tails to crash against the back of your head and make the world tip upside down in your vision—a wave of blinding pain, a faraway chorus of yells, and nothing but the whooshing of blood in your ears—before it drags you right up into hell. That’s one of the last things you remember, before the fall.
Gravity, ugh.
Thou art an unforgiving mistress.
To sum it up, everything ached, right down to your teeth. Your body’s incredibly heavy and sinking into the mattress, throat dry, ears and throat stuffed with cotton. Your eyes are burning too, as you blink them rapidly to focus through the pounding in your head. The dizziness lasts for a few moments longer than you would have liked, but it’s easier to take in your surroundings now. And the other sensations of your poor, broken body. Because you’re pretty sure that your left arm is very broken, wrapped in a clean white cast and propped on your stomach. The muscles twitch and your skin itches as you lift your head to peer closely at it, a spasm in your neck making you wince again. You’d definitely been sleeping funny.
Your face was sore, like you’d face planted unceremoniously into a slab of solid concrete, and judging by the dull stinging of your additional broken nose, you’re guessing that you’d met a similar fate at some point while being tossed around.
You wonder if there are bruises that match the nasty patchwork of blue and black and purple splotches that climb the expanse of visible skin. From your throbbing knuckles to the tops of your shoulders, and then down to the lighter mess of injuries scattered across your knees and around your calves—but were no doubt deep enough to have actually bruised some bone. There are bandages wrapped around you too. You find thick gauze bound tight around your torso and soaked in small patches of blood when you gather enough courage to tug up the relaxed gray shirt you’re wearing. It’s just loose enough to hang down around the faded red shorts you’d always pull on after a long day of hero work (but when the hell did you get dressed in that?).
You catch the sight of a figure hovering near the windows of the room, legs crossed and head bowed towards the light streaming in, a dark purple cloak hanging off her shoulders. Raven must sense you’re awake, because she turns to you quickly, dark eyes scanning your form and then darting to either side of you, before she meets your gaze and tries to smile. It’s then you realize that there are more than just you two in the room (your room? You think groggily. Yes, you can see the outline of your books and little trinkets lined beneath the thin shelves under the window). In fact, the body heat surrounding you is enough to tell you that there’s more one body in your bed. Your very cramped bed.
You shift as gently as you can and drop your gaze from Raven to the girl sprawled out on her stomach at the end of the mattress, face pressed into the comforter bunched around your legs. Her long, fiery red hair hangs over her shoulders, her arm thrown across your ankles without much weight to it, as if she’s just reassuring herself that you’re still there.
Starfire looks mostly unharmed, save for the crisscrossing bandages wrapped along her hands. You raise an eyebrow and settle your focus on the socked feet next to her head. You follow them up to the person’s legs, clad in comfy looking blue sweatpants and a shiny black brace tight around his left knee, and then slowly up the length of his body. It’s lithe and powerful, and you take in the subtle lines and muscles of his figure up to the white t-shirt that fits like a second skin against his chest. And then—surprisingly—you end at mask-less eyes, swollen looking eyelids fluttering in his sleep.
It’s Robin lying next to you, all stretched out and facing the ceiling. His arms are crossed behind his head, his elbows tucked in a little closer to avoid your head. The muscles in your neck spasm again as you strain to stare at him by turning your head more fully in his direction; eyeing the stitches that run under his chin and various surgical dressings tapped to places along his collarbone and then disappear down his shirt. It looks like he’d either been shot or had shrapnel removed. You decide on the latter, considering what you can kind of recall following the initial attack on Jump City. Crumbling buildings were not all that easy to avoid really.
You feel something curl closer to your right side, just at your hip, the soft whine of a dog pulling your attention from your fearless leader. You can’t help but jump a bit at the sound, peering down at the small, green figure of a beagle settled there. Beast Boy is still asleep despite the movement, looking restless in his dreaming while the muscles in his back legs twitch and coil as though he’s ready to run.
You reach out with your good hand, gently brushing your palm through the fur pressed against your body in an effort to calm him. It seems to work, the muscles loosening at your touch, and he stirs slightly at the sensation but doesn’t wake fully. The fur is soft and warm beneath your fingers, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion, wondering why your friend seems so anxious, even in his sleep. He has bandages too, little ones covering minor nicks and scrapes along his spine. So far, you seem to be the only one who’s come out of the fight looking as though you’ve literally been pummelled through that damn metaphorical meat grinder, that stupid saying feeling more literal at the moment than should probably be allowed. In short, you’re a mess.
You swallow a sudden lump in your throat and feel the flow of muddled emotion begin to crest, a sharp ache in your chest bringing the sting of frustrated tears to the corners of your eyes. God, what if you….died. You could have. You could be very dead right now. And suddenly you think you can appreciate the pain cycling through your body a little more. At least that meant you were still kicking. But as soon as you look up to your right, it becomes a challenge to stay on that morbid train of thought. You try to desperately stifle a bout of laughter when you find the final person in the room.
Cyborg is sitting in a chair by your bed, the back of the said chair tipped so far back it touches the wall behind it, leaving it to waver precariously on only two rear legs. The creaking mass of plastic is just barely enough to balance the massive, bulky figure of your friend. It’s quite a sight to behold, and like the others surrounding you on the bed he’s sound asleep, mouth hanging open as he snores away.
Once the surprised laughter passes, you wonder with prickling concern just how long he’s been like that. And then how long he’ll be able to stay balanced like that. He’s a big guy. And that….is a tiny chair. You take a few seconds to observe him like the others, gaze flitting over the tarnished looking metal of his entire torso, practically blackened by what you think might have been an explosion, and the chipped blue casing over half of his head. Not too bad, you consider.
Across the room, Raven lowers herself to the ground, stepping closer to sit on the edge of the mattress closest to Starfire. Your eyes snap to her at the movement and you flash a tired smile when she continues to stare at you, strangely and completely devoid of any real emotion, like…like she’s trying to hide that real emotion away. You can’t see any injuries as you do a quick scan of her figure; most of her body is shrouded by her cloak, but her dark hair is untamed and curling at certain angles, the only sign that’s she’s probably had a rough night of restlessness. She leans forward to speak softly, her own stoic gaze dragging across your injuries with a purpose that leaves you almost embarrassed.
“How are you feeling?” She asks.
The soreness in your throat makes it a little difficult to speak; your tone coarse and whisper-light as you respond as quietly as you can, hoping to not wake the others around you. “Oh, you know, fine. Despite the horrible pounding migraine and useless broken body.”
Raven breaks character and faintly smirks, “It’s not totally broken. I could help ease the pain though, if that’s what you want.”
“Yeah, I think that’d be good. It’s kind of hard to think.” You say in relief, carefully moving your uninjured hand up to your head. You press your fingers into the middle of your forehead, trying to massage out the white noise building just behind it. Geez, your neck was stiff.
“Not that you did much of that yesterday.” The new voice takes you by surprise and every muscle in your body locks up at the closeness of it, leaving you to practically choke an air. A hand shoots out from your left to rest on top of your cast, the thumb gently soothing over the dull plaster as if it was your skin. The gesture was kind enough.
It calms you in your slightly panicked state—which he caused in the first place trying to be a righteous smartass—and you shift to turn your head fully towards Robin, taking deep breaths to pull in sweet, sweet oxygen to your lungs. He’s still lying comfortably on his back, but his head is turned to look at you too. You meet his leveled gaze easily, the insanely sharp blue of his eyes punching that air right back out of your chest. Those were eyes you’d definitely seen before. A lot, actually, and holy hell how were you even supposed to cope with this new information? You huff in disbelief.
“Okay, a little rude considering I’m in too much pain to even lift my limbs to hit you.” You counter back in a harsh whisper. Robin doesn’t even flinch at the weak threat, and like the cocky little punk he is, just lets a slow, teasing smile spread across his lips.
“I doubt it would even hurt that much.” He says, much to your passionate displeasure.
“Disrespectful.” You hiss playfully in response, staying mindful of the sleeping figures still slumped around you. You pout at the way Robin tilts his head back and snickers quietly into his hand, rolling your eyes and turning away from him to stare at the ceiling. “How long have you been awake?” You inquire after a moment of silence.
Robin hums, “A while, I’m a light sleeper.” He turns over on his side to face you more clearly, the shifting weight drawing your attention back to him, and props his head upon the palm of his hand. He seems to grow more serious, those familiar eyes narrowing as they trace the bruises on your face, voice low and almost frustrated—though it’s hard to discern where exactly that frustration was aimed. Most likely at you judging by his earlier comment. Or maybe, even more sadly... himself. You’d known him long enough to consider that a possibility.
“You were lucky you know—to survive all that.” He begins with a frown.
You wince at the look on his face, trying to lighten the mood by jokingly stating, “You make it sound like I almost died.”
“You did.” Raven cuts in bleakly, sweeping off the edge of the mattress like an apparition, cloak cascading around her form but making no sound as it swishes through the air. You follow her path to the left side of the bed, her words sinking in past a sudden rush of dizziness. Were those black dots always in your vision? No, no, that wasn’t good at all. She bends over Robin to get a better look at you, lifting her hand to rest on the top of your head. It’s cold against the heat of your body and she doesn’t put much pressure there. It feels nice, soothing your mind and pulling you back from biting anxious thoughts until you’re head is clear enough to speak again.
“What?”
Robin’s expression doesn’t change much, besides the clench of his jaw and the darkening blue in his eyes, the brightness in them eclipsed by something unwavering and terrifyingly honest. To be honest, it was chilling to see that kind of look directed at you. Before you can spiral into negative thoughts, the crack in his hushed voice is what snaps you back to reality.
“Your heart stopped. Twice.” He murmurs, emphasising his distressing news with a tap to his own chest, before running his hand through his hair. “Starfire was in hysterics until Cyborg was able to get it working again, and keep you stable. We almost lost you for good.”
You didn’t even know what to say to that, so you swallow around that ever-present lump in your throat and sink back into the mattress with closed eyes. “Well, shit.” Raven’s hand flutters in its place on top of your head, her fingers spreading. There’s a feeling like water that cascades over your head, a soft touch of energy over your skin that soon seeps further—though your head is still completely dry.
It flows through your body like a full body shiver, a cooling sensation firing through your synapses until the throbbing pain begins to ebb away with each new wave. Relief turns your muscles to putty, the stiffness in your joints practically melting away as you sink further in the mattress, fully at peace with the hilarious possibility of just dropping through to the floor at some point.
“Yeah, that’s pretty much been the premise for the last 12 hours.” Robin mutters from beside you. Raven removes her hand and leans back to study you, returning to her spot on the edge of the bed when she’s content with your condition. The subtle dip in the mattress brings an unexpected thought with it, one that swirls with an urgency to remind you just how strange this morning has felt. And how crowded your room currently is.
You crack open an eye to look at Robin accusingly, “Bu—uhh how—when did you guys even get in my room anyway?”
Raven runs a hand through her hair as though just realizing how unruly it is at the moment, sighing deeply as she turns to you. “We never left.” She tells you. And okay, that sure made you feel some type of way. A way you weren’t used to feeling around people—awkwardly vulnerable (well, this is it; you think you might actually be dying for real this time because crapping shit the room isn’t supposed to feel this stuffy, right? Right?) and just a bit guilty.
“You...you didn’t have to stay.” You manage to stammer out, wholly surprised that your volume hadn’t woken anybody else up. They must be so tired, you think sullenly, and just like that your guilt all but doubles.
Robin flops onto his back again, training his gaze on the ceiling with a determined sort of smile. “Oh, I know. We wanted to.”
“To make sure I didn’t die again?”
“That’s one reason.”
“We were...worried.” Raven adds from the end of the bed, mouth pressed into a thin line. You tilt your head in confusion, gaze darting from her to Robin.
“You had another reason?” You ask hesitantly.
Robin turns his head to look at you, expression softer than before, and you see the brightness has returned to those pretty blue eyes. “You don’t have to isolate yourself, (Y/N). You know...act like nothing hurts you or insist on doing things on your own. We’re your team—your friends. You have us to always lean on when you need it.”
You think you might be dying again, but for a completely different reason this time. It’s odd, for sure, and kind of making you nauseous in a way where it’s hard to tell if that feeling is either good or bad. Was there a good nauseous? You decide that if there was than this would be it.
You feel safe for the first time in a long while, cared for and warm and increasingly more emotionally compromised than you can usually stand. Your heart flutters nonetheless at the sentiment, and you can’t help but wonder—through a thundering, corny realization about the importance of friendship, which leaves you reeling with bewilderment and edged with a disappointment at the slip up in your consciousness—if this mushy feeling inside you was here to stay. And if so, well, you think you can learn to live with it.
“I know.” You say quietly, reaching over to pat his shoulder in a rush of affection. “And I—wait, hold on. You said...how do you know what my name is?!”
Raven sighs and settles back more comfortably in her seated position, one hand resting behind her and palm flat against the mattress, her other hand once again hidden in the darkness of her cloak. “We had to look into your medical files at one point. I’m...sorry for the invasion in privacy.”
You shrug, “It’s okay. Though I’m pretty sure our resident detective already knew what it was.”
“Regardless,” Robin answers suspiciously, “We thought we’d even the playing field a bit.”
“Is that why the famous Dick Grayson is in my bed right now and not our fearless boy wonder?” You quip easily, gaze jumping to examine the familiar lines of his face again. Robin merely smirks.
“So, you recognize me.”
“Kinda hard not to when you’re all over the news.” You remind him with a teasing smile, “You and your dad—who’s totally Batman, oh my god.”
Robin’s eyes snap to you in an instant, and he lifts a hand to point at you with a sense of urgency you find hilarious. “That revelation stays in this room and can never see that light of day again. I’m serious, stop laughing.”
“Right, right. Who needs secret identities anyway though?”
“We do. Usually.”
“You trust us enough to take of the mask?”
“I’m learning.”
‘We’re honored.” Raven deadpans, in that special way only she can. You clap your good hand over your mouth and snort in laughter, watching her as she motions to herself with a simple flourish. “My name is Rachel.” She offers. You nod at her, eyebrows furrowed as you take in this surprising development in relationships with your team.
“This is so weird.” You comment into the silence of the room.
Robin sits up with purpose, “I can make it weirder.”
Your eyebrow lifts in amusement, watching as Robin grins, the smile boyish and charming and so not what you were used too when hanging around the team. He brings his fingers slowly up to his lips, giving Raven enough time to act. Her visible hand lights up with black pulsing energy, using her powers to bunch up the pillow you’re lying on, both sides lifting up past your head to press soft cotton over your ears. You just found your new best friend. Robin whistles—loudly—and the immediate reaction is priceless in every way you can imagine.
Cyborg accidentally rocks the chair in his haste to sit up straight, body tipping to the side as the delicate balance he created is broken at last, the large, half-awake teen crashing to the floor with a groan and once again in gravity’s evil hold. Beast boy shoots up from beside you with a panicked yelp and turns back into a very naked real boy, flailing back in a panic and slipping of the side of the bed to join Cyborg on the floor.
Starfire is a little less startled, back snapping straight as she rises to her knees, sleepily combing through the thick tangles of her hair until her piercing green eyes can peer out into the world again. The pillow slowly sinks back to its place and you can hear the aftermath more clearly now.
Cyborg groans in a daze, “I’m up, I’m up, I’m up!” He throws up an arm in the air—the only part of him you can see right now—only to let it flop back down and grip at the edge of the bed to pull himself. He leans forward with a sigh and plops his chin down onto the mattress.
“That was not the fun way to wake up.” Starfire says through a yawn, blinking away any remaining sleep as her gaze focuses on the commotion near the door.
Beast Boy is scowling and hastily pulling on a pair of black shorts he’d magically plucked from somewhere on the floor, avoiding looking in your general direction with all his might as a blush rises across his cheeks. Oh yes, Beast Boy, you had seen everything. And you were not at all happy with his choice in sleeping attire. Your bed sheets had to be burned immediately. “Dude, was that even necessary?” He rants with fervour, pulling harshly at the draw strings of his shorts. “Dog ears are sensitive to that crap!”
“I just wanted to get your attention.” Robin says simply, fighting back a grin at the exasperated look on Beast Boy’s face. Cyborg runs a hand over his own face and squints up at his friend, seeming to forget that you were even in the room and possibly still sleeping.
“Well now you have it, Rob, and none of us are very happy about it.” He loudly exclaims.
None of them seemed to have noticed you’re awake yet, and okay, fair. You’ve probably been nothing more than a perpetual unconscious lump to them, for enough time at least, to curb any excessive anxiety about checking if you’re still breathing or not. But even so, it definitely almost stings...in annoying kind of way. But then again, that might also just be your underlying frustration with the whole more or less dying thing. You roll your eyes at the unfolding madness, dramatically tossing your uninjured arm up to get their attention—while rightfully scaring the ever-loving shit out of them—and then gesture the length of your broken body with a slow drag of your hand.
“Would you be happier to see me?” You drawl with the movement.
Silence.
Then complete and utter chaos once the stunned expressions of your friends melt away into eager excitement.
“(Y/N)! You’re alive!” Beast Boy cries first, leaping back onto the bed to rest on his knees, shaking the frame and almost crashing into Starfire in his enthusiasm, but he’s mindful enough to avoid colliding with your sore limbs. He rises a bit to stare down at you, looking as though he wants to just dive in for a hug. He restrains himself though, and you smile up at him in silent thanks.
“Yeah, I—”
“Boo-yah! Ha! See? What did I keep telling you guys, practically invincible!” Cyborg interjects with a loud whoop, jumping up to his feet to pump his fist victoriously in the air. He catches you pointedly staring at him, lifting your casted arm to remind him of your situation, and he can only shrug with a dazzling grin. “For the most part. You lose B.B.! Guess who’s buying the pizza tonight! And then has to scrub every single toilet in the tower. Every. Single. One.”
Beast Boy spins on his knees to glare at him, “Oh, come on, dude! That’s not—I was only out by a couple’a hours!”
“Rules are rules.”
“Seriously stupid rules!”
“That you agreed too!”
You narrow your eyes at them, “Wait, what—”
“Friend (Y/N)!” Starfire calls, nearly floating of the bed in delight. “You are finally awake and hmm—mostly unharmed! What a joyous morning this is turning out to be!” She leans forward to take your good hand and give it a friendly squeeze, fingers warm like sunlight on your skin as she smiles down at you.
“It’s good to see you too, Star.” You say honestly, content to squeeze her hand back with what little strength you have. Starfire releases her grip on you then, touching her own hand to her chest as she explains.
“My true name is Koriand'r. I was merely fond of the way it translated in your language. But you may call me Kori, as our friends have been. I must admit that I have quite enjoyed having the new—” She pauses, searching for the right word. “...nickname?”
“It does have a nice ring to it.”
She cocks her head in thought, ‘That is a good thing, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, wonderful!”
You laugh at her unbridled excitement, the feeling contagious no matter how hard you try and resist it. You lift your arms up towards her like a child, panting at the heavy exhaustion that immediately settles into your limbs. Your movements still feel sluggish and weak, but damn it you’ve been laying on this bed for long enough. No horrible injuries were going to stop you from sitting up like normal person.
You muster enough strength to wave your arms in desperation, beginning to feel like a floundering fish out of water. Especially the longer your friends hesitate to move you, while just watching you struggle to get upright in a stupor of their own indecision. Come on, you lovable assholes, any time now would be great.
“Can you help me up, Kori?” You eventually huff—when it becomes painstakingly clear that nobody was going to do it of their own volition. She looks as though she’s been knocked to her senses finally, eyes widening as she surges forward to gently grip your flailing arms.
“Oh yes, of course.”
Everyone moves then, shifting back to give you more space as Starfire eases you up as smoothly as she can. Robin frowns, hand to your back as he helps guide you. “Careful.” He warns you earnestly.
The pillow behind you seems to move on its own again, though you know its Raven lending a hand, the comfy article propping itself up to help steady you as you’re positioned delightfully upright at last. Yes, you were breathing heavily, already tired enough to slip back into beautiful unconsciousness, but you considered this new improvement a win. You would even high-five yourself if you could, because take that, lizard-tailed summo aliens who tried to painfully obliterate you from existence. You were a survivor.
Beast Boy is eyeing you carefully now, nervously hovering around you like you’re about to combust or something. “Isn’t it too soon to be movin’ around? Ya’ got hit pretty hard.” He says once you’ve scooted back to lay more comfortably against the pillow, letting your upper body sag back a bit with a sigh. You turn to regard Beast Boy with a thoughtful hum, staring him down as you remember what he and Cyborg had been arguing about when you’d just woken up.
“I can feel that.” You retort rather sarcastically. Beast Boy is starting to sweat at the knowing intensity of your gaze now, and he takes a deep breath to try again.
“Well then, all the more reason to take it slow.”
You choose to ignore that, “Did you two actually bet on if I’d die again?”
Beast Boy gapes in disbelief, flapping his hands in front of him much like you were doing earlier, a look of pure horror on his face. “What! No! No! Not exactly—“
Not exactly?
Cyborg is suddenly standing right behind his friend, large metal hands dropping heavily onto his shoulders. The weight immediately shuts Beast Boy up before he can dig a deeper hole for the both of them, but he winces nevertheless at what he’s just said, especially when he sees the displeasure in your expression. “It was never a question of if you’d ever wake up again or not, it was more of a when.” Cyborg soothes, and you feel the irritation seep from your body all at once. Fine, you decide in a rare moment of forgiveness (crap, this was all so weird, like...like you’re swaddled in your own personal twilight zone). They were off the hook for now.
“You have a lot of faith in me, Cyborg.” You mutter, tone only half-joking.
He grins, “Vic. Short for Victor.”
“Good to know.”
Beast Boy ducks from Cyborg’s hold, morphing into a tiny, tweeting canary—and once again losing his shorts in the process, oh my god would you stop that—to circle the bed once in a bout of fluttering wings and pretty bird song, before delicately perching on the cast positioned across your lap. He looks up at you, beady black eyes focused intently, until he opens his pointed beak to try and make you see reason.
“I still think—”
You lightly poke the tip of your finger against his small feathered chest, still feeling that consuming guilt with how anxious most of your friends seemed to be. “Hey, I’m okay, B.B., seriously.”
“Garfield.” He chirps helpfully. You nod, filing his name alongside the others in your mind; a little surprised they all gave away their identities so easily.
“Garfield, I’m fine. You don’t have to be so worried about me.” You assure him, “Sure, I’m a little roughed up, but I’m also breathing and talking, and more importantly, alive.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I just...”
You can’t help but boop his beak teasingly, “Hey, no negative feelings today, okay? None of that gloom and doom stuff. Besides, brooding is Robin’s job.”
There are snickers all around the room and you swear you can actually feel Robin rolling his eyes at you this time. You didn’t even think that kind of thing was possible. Starfire leans back against Robin’s legs, smiling up at him as Cyborg starts to lose it in the background, his laughter pulling louder, silly giggles from both you and Beast Boy. The corner of Raven’s mouth begins to lift, an amused smile playing along her lips.
“(Y/N) does make the excellent point.” Starfire declares through the noise.
“I have to agree.” Raven adds, easing up the hood of her cloak over her head, until the features of her face are swallowed by shadows. Robin crosses his arms over his chest and sits up straighter, eyes narrowing at you.
“I do not brood.”
“Dude.”
Cyborg gestures at his expression, “You’re doing it right now.”
“That does not mean it is a bad thing.” Starfire promises kindly, hoping to soothe his annoyance by softly patting the brace on his knee. You lean towards him, smirking in delight at the way he’s practically pouting.
“Yeah, we love you for it.” You tease.
“Okay, laugh it up.” Robin exclaims, bumping your shoulder with his playfully. “But, you know, we could just focus on getting breakfast going instead of criticizing my many talents.”
Starfire shoots up into that air, twirling in a tight corkscrew before landing gracefully on the floor. She claps her hands, “Oh, yes! Breakfast sounds wonderful as well.”
Beast Boy twitters in agreement, leaving his place on your cast to circle in the air again above your head. He comes to a hovering pause by your face, tipping right and left with little dips of his wings that make it look like he’s dancing to some imaginary beat.
“I can do that!” He shouts, body rippling with a ridiculous amount of energy for something so little. “Pancakes?” He asks in a rush, beginning to jerk back from your personal space until you can see him without needing to cross your eyes. You point at him, fixing your friend with the kind of serious expression you’d usually reserve for missions.
“Uh, hell yes.”
“Aw, sweet, I got ‘chu! On it! These are gonna be the best damn pancakes you’ve ever had.” He swears sincerely, peeling off towards the closed door of your room. Cyborg lunges to get it open in time, Beast Boy’s tiny green figure vanishing from sight once he darts through the gaping space. Cyborg peeks out the open door to watch the canary’s zigzagging path for a moment, squinting down the hall with a level of suspicion that makes you laugh again. He sighs and turns back to you, already stepping out to pursue.
“I better follow and make sure he doesn’t sneak in anything tofu related.”
You nod in approval, “Bless you.”
“Hey, what are friends for?”
With that, he disappears out the door as well, his heavy footfalls fading into the unknown. Starfire gasps dramatically, as if just remembering something very important through all the entertainment, the look on her face bordering on comically elated. She hooks her arm with Raven’s and begins to tug her reluctant form towards the door.
“OH! (Y/N), I almost forgot! I wish to show you something truly exciting. Come Raven.” She proclaims, bouncing the two of them into the air. “We will return in a moment.” She zooms out over the threshold with Raven in tow, the blowback of wind tumbling unsteady piles of extra first-aid pieces, empty take out containers, cans of soda, and bottles of water scattered around surfaces in your room. Evidence that they truly hadn’t left your room in long while. Your chest grows a little warmer at the thought.
“I don’t know if I should be scared or not.” You casually state, turning to look at Robin.
“It’s harmless, trust me.” He reassures, stretching his arms above his head and then circling them to get rid of the stiffness in his shoulders. There’s the sound of bones popping and you gag, waving him away from you as he slowly slips off the bed. He smirks at your reaction, “Well, I’m going to go stretch my legs for a bit. Do you wanna come? I think you could try crutches if you put your mind to it.”
“No, I think I’m okay here. Sitting up is enough exercise for me right now.”
“Noted.” He says, limping to follow the others from your room. “I’ll be back too, give you a minute to relax before the crazy starts again.”
“Sounds like a dream.” You agree, letting your body slouch and unwind in exhaustion until you’re slipping back down the pillow. “Hey, Dick?” You call before he’s totally fades from your vision.
He pauses, looking back at you over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Robin shrugs, smirk widening as he begins to draw the door closed behind him. “It’s no problem, (Y/N/N). You’re not so alone anymore.”
“Victor?” you asked quietly, leaning your head down in an attempt to peer into the man’s hooded face. A small portion of his face was metal, and you could just make out a bright, red glowing eye. But there was no mistaking that face. “Vic? You’re...alive?”
Before he could run, you had tackled him in a hug, tears of happiness and relief pouring from your eyes. Victor stayed stock-still for a moment, wondering why the hell you weren’t running away screaming, but he returned your hug anyway, holding onto the feeling while he could.
A good minute passed before you suddenly pulled away, a defiant look on your face before you gently slapped his arm. “What the hell, Victor! Why didn’t you tell me that you’re alive? I’ve gone through every day since your death with this - this feeling of dread inside me and it was all for nothing? Was it all for nothing, Victor? Because you don’t seem that much different to me.”
“(Y/N) -”
“Yes, yes - you’re physically different but I’m assuming you’re pretty much the same otherwise. You could’ve told me, Vic. I only ever wanted to be there for you when you needed me the most.” You took in a breath, staring at him for a moment before raising your hand and gently placing your palm against his cheek. Your thumb brushed over the part of his face that was metal, and he flinched.
“Look,” he said, removing your hand from his face, “you don’t want any part of this. I’m not - just go, (Y/N). It’s what’s best.” You gave him a look before you scoffed, shaking your head.
“Clearly, you think I’ve changed or something. I’m staying with you until the end, you got that? I’m not scared of this, Vic - I’m not scared of you.” He was still wary of letting you into this life again - even if he could admit to himself that he missed you - but you had that easy-going smile on your face, your eyes filled with hope. He’d be worse off without you.
“All right, come on. I’ll tell you everything that’s happened.” You beamed at him, and eagerly followed him when he started walking. Victor couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto his face.
prompt: i was really drunk and i saw this really huge, beefy football player sitting on a bench and crying. so i went into the bushes, gave him a flower, and we talked until he felt better. he gave me his number and said “call me if you ever want to vent too.” from here
pairing: Victor Stone/Cyborg x reader
words: 1508
Pulling the varsity jacket that had been previously draped over [Y/N]’s shoulders by someone who had been flirting with her over her shoulders, before she had wondered off in an attempt to wiggle out of the situation and away from the man’s awkward and drunken flirting, closer to her body in an attempt to warm her body up as she stumbled through the streets of Detroit.
She knew that probably not a good idea, she was always cautioned against walking home at night in general and even more so against walking home drunk. She didn’t think she was that drunk, but the minimal people around the street could notice that the young woman was swaying and stumbling around the street, reaching out to hold onto what she could every time she lost her balance and nearly lost her footing, which may have resulted in a broken foot due to the fact she was wearing heels.
Taking in a deep breath, [Y/N] looked around her and rose an eyebrow as she noticed a hunched over figure on the bench across the road from her. [Y/N] thought that they were crying by the way their shoulders were shaking and the way their hands were placed over their face in a way to hide it, as if there was shame in crying. That tugged on [Y/N]’s heart strings, and she felt a deep set empathy for the man she was watching.
Looking around her, she noticed a few bushed outside the gates to the park that were filled with freshly bloomed spring flowers and a smile spread on her face as she approached the the bush and pulled a few flowers out by the stem, gathering them in her hands before she walked toward the young man.
As she approached, she could finally take in some of the features of the man. He was broad shoulders, and appeared to be quite muscular and his exposed calves, due to the fact he was wearing basketball shorts, showed this off too [Y/N]. As [Y/N] sat beside the man, she offered him the flowers in her hand by placing them close to his hands.
“These….are for you.” The words took a few seconds to form, as the alcohol took effect of [Y/N]’s speech, but as she uttered the first syllable the young man looked up to her with confused and red-rimmed eyes, which scanned her up and down. Scoffing slightly, the man looked down again.
“You’re drunk.” Shrugging, [Y/N] smirked and bent down so that she was as hunched over as he was and he could directly look at the man if he removed the hands from his face, “And you’re upset.” Removing his hands from his face, he let out a sigh and when his eyes meet [Y/N]’s and saw the genuine concern emanating from them, despite her drunkenness, and he sat up, taking the flowers from her and giving a small smile as he did so.
“Why did you stop?” His voice was broken slightly and coarse as he spoke to the young woman beside him, who was now reaching down to unstrap her heels and remove them from her feet, “Because I saw you crying and you looked lonely.” A sigh of relief left her lips as she threw her shoes to the ground, “And my feet needed a break from those shoes.” The man let out a chuckle and threw his head back so that he was now looking up at the night sky and [Y/N] followed his lead.
“Rough night?” [Y/N]’s voice broke the silence that had settled over the two of them, her eyes wandering to the side so that she could look at the man without moving her head. This made the man move his head again and look to the ground as he brought it forward. “Yeah.” [Y/N] moved her head so that she was now upright and looking at him.
“Wanna talk about it?” There was a clear hesitance as he thought over the telling this absolute stranger what was going on in his life and what had caused his breakdown. “I got into a fight with my dad.” The only response from [Y/N] was a deep breath and a noise that constituted as a ‘continue’.
“He um...he promised he would go to my big game.” It was only then that [Y/N] realised he was wearing a letterman jacket bearing the name ‘Stone’ on the back and she registered that it was Victor Stone, a top football player her best friend was obsessed with, she was talking it. “He didn’t show up, so I got angry and we had a fight. I stormed off and ended up here. That was three hours ago.”
“God, I’m sure you’re freezing.” Moving to stand up from the bench, [Y/N] offered her hand to Victor as she lifted her heels from the ground, “Come on, I know 24-hour dinner nearby where we can warm up.” Hesitantly, Victor took the stranger's hand and she led them to the dinner where they sat until the early hours of the morning talking.
After letting him vent about his situation while they drank coffee and [Y/N] sobered up, the two exchanged numbers in case either of them needed to vent to one another again. This exchanging of number lead to the development of a friendship that was mutually beneficial all throughout high school.
___
“Vic you know I’m sorry. I would be there if I could.” [Y/N] spoke down the phone to her friend as he told her he needed her at his game, one of the most important games in his life as this was make or break for him with all the college and pro scouts that would be there. “Please [Y/N/N], I really need you there.”
She had been at almost every game of his since the night that they meet in the absence of his father, but tonight she couldn’t be and it broke her heart as she listened to him beg and plead from the other end of the phone line. “I’m so sorry Vic.” [Y/N] could hear the disappointment in his voice that she couldn’t bear to face. “It’s alright [Y/N]. I’ll talk to you later” That broke her heart.
___
It had been nearly two weeks since [Y/N] had heard from him. Two weeks since she had listened to his voice live. Two weeks since she had seen his face. And she was terrified. There had been an explosion on the field that night, an explosion that had hurt so many and she was terrified that he was dead. Terrified that he was gone and the last time they spoke was during an argument.
As she sat with her hands wrapped around a hot cup of coffee, her leg shaking with nerves and her eyes constantly darting between her phone and her television that was running in the background, something that had been happening quite regularly when her parents weren’t around, a loud knocking on her door brought her back to life and made her jump almost out of her skin.
Rushing out of her seat and towards the door, [Y/N] looked through the peephole and saw an almost familiar face looking back at her. It was him, but there was something different. Her heart stopped as she flung the door open and he stood in front of her, modified, but ultimately the same.
“Oh my God.” Throwing her arms around his neck, [Y/N] pulled Victor close to her body and dragged him into the living room. As she felt the tears well up in her ear, [Y/N] tried to pull back from Victor, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back into him. “It’s so good to see you [Y/N].”
Relief filled her as she listened to his voice, it soothed her and her rapidly beating heart began to calm down as the tears started to fall from her eyes. “It’s so good to see you to Vic. God, I was so worried.” Victor now let the smaller woman go hesitatingly, he didn’t want her to freak out when she realised what had happened to him.
Stepping back from Victor, [Y/N] scanned over him in order to see what was different. The coldness of his arms and hand was due to the fact that they were now metal, in fact, most of his body, including half his face, was now made of metal and he looked almost robotic. “I don’t care what happened to you. I just care that you’re here. That I didn’t lose you.”
Pulling Victor back into a hug, he wrapped his arms around her, one around her waist and one around her shoulders so that he could pull her as close as possible. “I promise not to make you work like that again.
Imagine tricking Cyborg into helping your grandma figure out ‘the facebook’.
“Seriously?” He asked, after pulling you into the other room. “Why would you volunteer me for that?”
“First of all, because it’s a little funny,” You chuckled, reaching up to caress his fleshy cheek. He rolled his eyes at that. “And second, because no one would be able to explain it the way that you do. She’s a sweet old lady, how annoying do you think that she could be?”
“She needed help just turning on the laptop!” He said through grinding teeth, making you grin.
“Will you just help her, for me?” You asked, turning that smile into your best pout. You did your best to look as adorable as you could, even swaying your body, with big puppy dog eyes.
“Fine.” He grunted. “But if she somehow gets a million viruses, I’m not going to help, got it?”
“Crystal clear. Thanks handsome!” You kissed his cheek then brought him back out into the living room of your family home where your grandma was waiting with the laptop, somehow with three pop-ups already blaring advertisements.
You sat upside down on the couch, playing one of the many video games that the Titan's owned with Cyborg.
You're character was named Llama, by far the best character in your opinion but the worst in Cyborg's.
"It can't even do a basic spin move. How you gonna beat me and Rumble?" Cyborg asked, cockily, flashing you a grin as you looked over to him before looking back to the screen.
"With Llama's secret move." You replied simply.
Cyborg raised an eyebrow, unsure what you meant before watching as you suddenly flipped yourself so you were sitting up, sitting cross legged on the couch and leaning over your lap.
Your fingers hit the buttons, bumpers, and joysticks in an erratic, quick pattern, as Cyborg, watched the screen, sitting up a little bit, his eyes widened.
"Game over! Llama wins!"
Cyborg watched the pixelated hero do it's victory dance, and narrowed his eyes, looking over to you.
You grinned lightly, setting the controller aside and stood up. "Llama's nature's greatest warrior." You said, as you headed over the fridge to get a can of soda.
Cyborg sighed slightly, looking to you as you came back. "Can you teach me how to do that?" He asked, looking towards the screen again.
