#axstoria

[axstoria]

Jason Todd taking off his shirt before slipping into bed with you for the first time ever.

He's nervous you'll hate him and the sight of all his marred skin. The 'Y' cut under his pecs and down his stomach stands out like a sore thumb, red and angry despite years of existence.

All his scars are on display: bullet wounds and cuts from knives and glass, some jagged and others sharp. They span his arms and chest, stomach and back, trailing up his neck and face.

Yet, you can't help but see him as the most beautiful boy you've ever laid eyes on, pulling him closer with a hand through his hair.

The tension leaves his body the second he realizes you just don't care about how he looks, melting into your arms like he could find all the solace in the world pressed against your chest. (And maybe he can.)

[axstoria]

THIS!! PLEASE

I love writing and I just started posting on Tumblr. On my first few posts, I have less than 200 notes (reblogs, likes, etc). I didn't care that the number was low. All I cared about was that people liked my work enough to interact with it.

I adore scrolling through my reblogs to look at the comments that are added either as text or as tags. It makes my heart so happy to see people enjoying reading my writing as much as I liked creating it.

Every post I make is a piece of myself that I sacrifice for you, my reader. Every post is my time taken from my day to express the joy I find in something as simple as the English language.

PLEASE reblog your favorites. It helps SO much and makes us writers feel seen.

@ non-content creators: please remember to reblog the content you like to support the creators of the content you're consuming. it doesn't matter if you have 0 or 16372 followers, just reblog, share. this plattform and its creators depend on the reblogs, not the likes. the like to reblog ratio has gotten worse the past few years because people dont understand the point of tumblr anymore. REBLOG THE CONTENT YOU LIKE. THIS IS A REBLOGGING WEBSITE, NOT INSTAGRAM. show your content creators the love and appreciation they deserve.

[axstoria]

Bruce Wayne kisses like you're the last thread of sanity holding him to this world. He'll cradle your face in his hands, lips making long, languidly slow movements over your own. By the end of it, you're pushed against some kind of furniture and panting, while he's already leaving to pull on his cowl. It hurts to see him go, yet you know that he'll be home again to kiss you senseless until the world makes sense.

Richard Grayson kisses like he'll be dead tomorrow. Little pecks along your cheek, forehead, neck—anywhere he can get those plush lips on. He'll kiss you until you're both breathless, chests heaving and faces flushed. He'll love you until the day he dies, and he makes sure that you know that. Every day, he spends like it's his last, and every day, he makes sure to give you so many kisses, you're drowning in his love.

Jason Todd kisses like he doesn't know how. Sure, he's had a few hookups, especially during his early days as Red Hood, but he's never kissed a person like you. He loves you, it's as simple as that. With others, he is rough and fast, not knowing how to slow down and just enjoy the presence of the person beneath him. With you, all he can do is be gentle, because you're the only person who has stayed and loved him as the broken man he is.

Tim Drake kisses you like he's trying to study you. He'll nip at your neck and jaw just to see how you react, just to grin to himself as he observes the way you melt into him when his lips meet yours. He'll let his hands wander to see what makes you relax, what makes your lips stutter against his. He enjoys every interaction like you are his subject and he is the scientist. He needs to know everything. Knowledge calls for him in his blood, and you, his love, are the doorway to it.

AgedUp!Damian Wayne kisses expensively. He starts at your jaw, making soft motions towards your lips until he finally claims them with his own. His wide hands hold you in place by the waist and his dark hair tickles your skin. He'll take his time, loving on you the way you deserve. He knows just how to kiss you like he knows just how to kill a man. He kisses soft and slow, because why would he have to rush? He has his beloved in his arms, whispering his name against his lips; what more could he want?

[axstoria]

Loving on Jason Todd after a long night of patrol.

He's sitting in the bathtub, the water pooling around his limbs stained pink from all the blood washing off his skin—none is his, and you're thankful for that.

Your hands gently scrub his hair as he sighs, relaxing against the white porcelain. You take extra care in scrubbing the sweat from the white streak in his night-black hair. Soap-lathered fingers scrape at his scalp, gently ridding the grime of the Gotham streets from his body.

It's nothing sexual when you help him wash, running a cloth over his arms and legs and scarred chest, taking careful measures to not go too hard over the 'Y' that runs under his pecs and down his belly. You kiss his heart, and he breathes a huff of relief at the sheer domesticated feel of it all.

Jason loves being pampered by your hands, the ones that have never harmed him. He feels safe, even though he is in his most vulnerable state. He'll lazily follow the motions of your hands with his eyes with a little grin on his lips, leaning into every touch, soaking in every soft word.

My boy, you call him, and the world seems all sunshine and rainbows for as long as you're with him. He wishes you'd stay forever, be his forever.

Jason loves you a little too much.

[axstoria]

Got this idea from another post that I CANNOT for the life of me find.

AU where Clark comes to Earth as an adult, and has to blend into normal human society.

He knows his name is Kal-El, but he also knows that humans don't have names like that. He sees a couple of celebrities and mashes their names together, hoping that it would make him a bit more likable in the eyes of humans.

He hides sharp-tipped ears behind black curls and ball caps, wears glasses so people won't notice his abnormally deep blue eyes, and is constantly in sweaters despite the weather to conceal muscles that shouldn't exist on a "normal human".

When he gets his job at the Daily Planet and has to interview Bruce Wayne, he's scared. This is his first time being near a real human celebrity, and he's mortified that he'll blow his cover.

He sits and stares at the billionaire for several minutes. This human is gorgeous in all the ways a being can be. His eyes are blue like Earth's oceans, his hair falls in perfect wisps against his forehead, and his outfit is perfectly crisp against his body, perfectly tailored to every small curve.

"Uhm... Mr. Kent?" Bruce bats his eyelashes at him, smiling expectantly.

Clark snaps out of it, his pupils dilating ever so slightly. "You're beautiful. Can I court you? What's your favorite planet?— I'll bring you rocks!"

The man is stunned, watching the reporter for some time before replying, "I... suppose Venus is nice."

Bruce is fully convinced that this reporter is autistic. Makes his life easier. They could connect in that way.

Clark flushes, realizing what he's done. He's very happy the interview wasn't recorded in any way.

Bruce shows up to work the next day and there is a box with his name on it in sloppy handwriting sitting on his desk.

He opens it, and to his amusement—and shock— , there is a piece of rock inside with a note that says one word: Venus.

That night, Bruce takes the rock home to the Batcave and analyzes it for its composition. When it is a match for Venus, he immediately connects the dots that Clark Kent is the new meta being that had been parading around Metropolis and surrounding cities as of late. After all, not even the greatest scientists have yet to reach Venus, so how else would this reporter get a rock from the planet unless he could survive the expanse of space and fly there?

He is dumbfounded. And maybe a little in love.

[axstoria]

This is actually so important, it's insane. So many people burn themselves out by trying to meet the demands of a fandom without taking the time for themselves.

Write for yourself, not for those who see your posts.

maybe it's not a writers-block; maybe you just need a break

creativity is a muscle, right?

you need to exercise it to keep it in good shape, to have it ready when you need it and don't we all love those hyperfocused sprints of writing where the words just spill out of our fingertips...

but muscles get sore when you overuse them, will strain when you force them past their limits, they need nourishment to stay healthy and in shape

fandom today has a competitive atmosphere. many wouldn't admit that; it's supposed to be fun after all. just vibing with our mutuals, playing with the blorbos having a fun time online to scratch a few itches.

but the truth is that it can become a lot of pressure rather fast.

putting out several k of (edited) writing a month, setting up painstakingly formatted posts with the right tags and a fun header we spent hours on to look effortlessly cool and eye-catching just to hit post and then feel... nervous. excited too, sure...

but damn, when will the next chapter be finished? or the next one shot? will there be enough time to put a few blubs in between so that the few people who actually seem to care won't forget about us and move on?

writing for writing's sake is a nice notion. the myth of the self-sustaining artist who needs nothing more than a passion and their tools of choice.

but shit isn't just created out of nothing.

what has that all to do with the title of this post do you ask?

very few people can just keep going and going making art like that without needing any breaks and a good portion of those people very likely have very different conditions than most of us have with full-time jobs, families, school and so on.

For many of us writing is a main outlet, an important hobby and a safe space but that still doesn't change that it is a creative hobby, an outlet that demands energy: emotional, mental and physical (typing for hours is hard work if you want to believe it or not) and that sometimes makes it impossible to accept that we just need a fucking break.

"writers-block", in my own experience, is my brain telling me that something is off and that it's on strike until I fucking fix that.

and sometimes it's just that I need a break.

that I need to recharge my creative batteries, take in things that inspire me, that make me happy and get me excited without having to make anything myself. to just be. take some walks amongst trees, watch a new series, read a new book, go into a deep dive of some random topic on wikipedia until I don't know where the fuck I started from.

sometimes I just need to log out, cut the overstimulation of a never ending dashboard, turn off what everybody else on tumblr is doing, how much everbody is putting out, get away from my frustration about "my flopped fic" or the latest fandom drama and reconnect with the real reason I am doing this.

the love for stories and the source material.

for some people those breaks can be as short as two days, for other is might be weeks or months and that is not only okay but totally normal.

sometimes you might realize that the reason you are not writing is that you actually don't want to. sometimes you just want to daydream without the extra work sometimes you're just not in a writing mood and it's not much deeper than that.

that doesn't have to mean you're done with your blorbos. it just means that there are more valid and fun ways to play with them.

don't worry, the fandom will still be there when you decide to pick up the keyboard again. maybe with less people, maybe with many different people but you will always find someone who cares. those who have moved on to different things not come back wouldn't likely have stayed if you had powered through.

fandom shouldn't be a you're in or you're out thing but a place you come to when you want to.

contentification of fandom has had a lot of negative effects on the way we create and so many people fade from their hobby because they simply burn themselves out to a point where it leaves a scar.

so. find something that makes you happy that does not require you to invest too much creational energy. rest those muscles as long as it takes.

nothing you can get on tumblr or ao3 is worth the sore brain, the frustration with yourself and the stress you add onto your mental health ontop of everything else in your life.

recharge, reevaluate, reconnect

have fun

[axstoria]

Can I request a short drabble on how Jason would react to his first born baby's first word pls?

Especially when the first word is dick - literally his older brother's name lmao (bonus: baby is a girl)

Cue his wife (us) had to stifle our laughter before teaching the precious angel the right word.

I love this idea! Thank you so much for being my first requester! 🫶🏻

Jason Todd never saw himself being a husband, let alone a father. Yet, here he is, cradling a 12-month-old little girl in his arms while his wife coos nonsense to the infant.

"Lizzie! Say 'Dada.' Da-da," she insisted, speaking soft and slow to the girl. "Dada's holding you. Yes, he is!"

The man can't help but affectionately scoff at his wife's nonsense. He didn't get the whole appeal about talking to babies with a ridiculously high voice, but after she'd explained that it helps them learn speech, he stopped complaining about it.

When the baby took in a large breath like she was about to speak, his breath caught in his chest. Was this it?

"Dick!" The babble was followed by little giggles as she was tickled by her mother.

He paused, brows furrowing in confusion. Had his little girl's first word *really* been a curse? Jason looked up at his equally confused wife. "I knew we shouldn't have let him babysit. Bastard probably taught her his name," he grumbled, shifting the baby to sit on his hip. "Barely a year outta your mom and you're already being a rebel, huh?"

Laughter spilled from his beloved's lips, not being able to take it any longer. "I think she learned it from you, love." Her hand pats his arm and she kisses his cheek before stealing Elizabeth from him. "Dada, baby. Or Mama. Say 'Mama'?"

Jason cursed when the damned thing repeated her name.

[axstoria]

Bruce Wayne being the crush of nearly all the Justice League members...

Clark is regularly seen more happy than usual in Batman's presence, offering the stoic man an absurd amount of help for no reason, even if he is pushed away by the Bat. He's always keeping tabs on the man's heartbeat to make sure he's safe and healthy because he can't bear to even think that his best friend could be sick or dying somewhere.

Hal is snarky and throws more comments around, yet everyone can see the way his gaze appreciates Batman's wide chest. He'll blame it on thinking his logo changed if anyone asks. And, sure, he'll throw little flirty jabs at Batman, but everyone else does, too, so it's okay, right? ...right...?

Diana is... normal. Nobody really notices the way her gaze lingers on Bruce's body for a moment more than everyone else's after a long mission, checking to see if anybody is severely injured. Maybe it's just because he's human, so she wants to make sure her teammate is safe.

Barry grows increasingly red (nearly the same shade as his suit) whenever Bruce is near him. He doesn't understand why—he has a wife, after all—but maybe it's just the tall, dark, and handsome cliché getting to him. Maybe the Bat is just an awakening of a part of him he didn't know he had.

Oliver torments Bruce as a civilian and in uniform. He's one of the few who can interact with the Bat in any situation, and he uses it to his advantage. He openly flirts at galas (Bruce is forced to return the sentiment to keep up his Brucie persona) and during missions, and nobody outside of the JL can put together the dots that these two particular men are weirdly romantic with one another.

Then, there's poor, poor J'onn who has to listen to all their ridiculous thoughts like he's being strapped to a chair and forced to watch the most dramatic soap opera that has ever been created. (He does not miss Bruce's little proud comments to himself after each weird interaction.)

[axstoria]

Bruce watching Jason laugh at something dumb Tim and Cass are doing, and immediately seeing his little boy again.

He's remembering watching Jason giggle as he hid under Batman's cape, or when his shoulders shook as he tried to keep himself composed while talking to Gordon after fighting the Condiment King and both he and Bruce are caked in mustard.

All he sees is his boy for the first time since he held his limp body in his arms that night in the warehouse. He hopes this warm feeling in his chest never goes away.

[axstoria]

I don't read or write smut for this EXACT reason!

So many female writers cater specifically to what men want to see, or the darker versions of romance novels that are on the market today simply because the whole "bad boy" thing is popular right now.

No, abusing your girlfriend/wife/partner is NOT hot. It is not sexy, it is not a turn-on. It is horrifying and traumatizing, and you should in no way EVER treat anybody like that, regardless of your relationship with them.

The other topic, as well! Imagine being somebody who randomly pops onto a fanfic platform, and you find a fanfic about you and somebody you don't even know/don't see in a romantic way having sex. That'd make you uncomfortable, right? You didn't consent to that.

However, people will blatantly disrespect consent and ethical morals for the sake of a few more views.

Smut writers of ALL genres, yet a grip on your morals and really think about what you are trying to achieve before hitting that 'post' button.

STOP ROMANTICIZING ABUSE!

quick reminder to smut writers; no, you aren’t cool for making degrading works of fiction against women, no, your not cool for romanticizing abuse, no, you aren’t cool for giving into what men want, no, it’s not ok just because your a women too, it’s just sad. no, your not cool for making smut about real people.

[axstoria]

All the Batkids using Bruce's cape as a little hideyhole. 😭

It started with Dick in his Robin years as a way to convince Bruce to carry him to the Batmobile after patrols. As independent as he liked to be, he liked being carried by the taller man more.

It continued with Jason. He'd hide under the cape as a scare-tactic, jumping out at the right time and yelling a loud, "Halt!" It did nothing but make the goons give a little 'aww' and often go easier on the little bird.

After Jason's death, Tim rarely went under Bruce's cape. Robin wasn't his place, Batman's cape wasn't for him. Yet, Bruce would often usher him under, pretending Tim was Jason hiding from villains again. He couldn't deny the grieving man, nor the way his chest warmed.

Steph did it for fun. She thought the weight of it was perfect, and she'd often giggle as she clung to Bruce's leg, merging into the bulk of the man. Scaring Gordon was her favorite when she'd pop out of nowhere in the middle of a chat on a rooftop.

Damian kept the trend alive for the same reason Jason did: to scare people. Except, unlike Jason, Damian struck fear into the hearts of people as he jumped from his father's cape, wielding a sword and an untamed fury.

And sure, maybe the real reason all of them liked to hang out under Bruce's cape was because it was safe and warm and heavy, making them sleepy and comfortable, but they'd never admit it. They just liked being close to their dad.

[axstoria]

Damian Wayne having a school crush on Jon, yet not understanding why he is feeling this way.

His face gets hot, and he finds himself staring at the boy for much longer than needed. He's distracted from his classes, yet, for some reason, he feels perfectly fine when not in the vicinity of his self-proclaimed best friend.

The Kryptonian had cursed him with some magic he had not known about, he swears, pouring over his father's near-infinite research notes for an explanation.

He finds none. Perhaps, it was time for another course of action.

Grayson laughs at him when he explains his ailment, giving him a firm pat on the back and a knowing grin, telling him he'd "figure it out." Whatever that meant...

Todd is—for obvious reasons—skipped, and Drake (sadly) is his next confidant. Nobody knows random illnesses like Drake, especially after that long, arduous period where the boy spent hours in front of the computer researching different viruses in case anyone on any one of his teams fell ill.

Drake looks at him like he is an idiot.

Drake is no longer an option.

He is dumbfounded when his father claps a hand over his shoulder after Damian finished his long rant. The older man only sighs and steers his son to sit on the nearest surface.

"It's that charm, Damian... that damned Midwestern charm."

It suddenly clicked in his head why Father had been so... odd with Superman as of late.

Damian does not want to fall to the same fate, so he starts avoiding Jon at all costs. He switches class periods and stops all patrols where they would be partnered. When the both of them are dragged along by their fathers to meetings, he stays tucked to Bruce's side and refuses to make conversation with anyone.

Jon can't figure out what is going on, and he's starting to think Damian is sick.

[axstoria]

The Gender Issue

CW: Slightly suggestive

(reader is a bit silly, based on @candlewitch-cryptic 's OC's personality. They're very silly, actually)

Jason is exhausted. Patrol was a bitch on this particular night, and all he wants to do is clean up the gash on his arm and crash into bed with his partner.

Steady, weary hands wrap fluffy gauze over the bleeding cut on his forearm, the blood staining the white crimson. He could care less. This was good enough.

You're half-asleep, still trying to stay up just to greet him as he gets home. It's dark, but the sun will be rising in the sky in mere hours, and all you want to do is love up on your man because he deserves it.

Instead of his usual routine of stripping off his gear, chucking it in the corner before stashing his guns and other weapons in a drawer and changing his clothes in the bathroom—which he still all does—he comes out without a shirt.

Your boyfriend is attractive, that you already knew. This was the first time seeing him like this, though. You'd begged him in the past to take his shirt off during sex, wanting that skin-to-skin contact you yearned for, yet to no avail.

Yet here, in the dim light of the moon still filtering in through the curtains, you can see every scar laid bare before your eyes.

He notices you're awake, a little grin curving his lips. "Hey, baby," he whispers. "I wake you?"

You shake your head softly with a little yawn, blinking a few times before going back to mapping the roadmap of his body with your eyes. You catch the raised skin forming a 'Y' that runs under his pecs and down his belly.

Realization hits. So that's why he never wanted to be touched or unclothed during sex.

"Jay, why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" he asks, raising a brow at you.

You hum, tucking a stray hair away from your face. "It's okay, I dunno why you never brought it up. I don't mind eating pussy."

His face goes from confused to baffled in a matter of seconds. Jason's eyes are wide and staring down at you like you've grown two heads.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Your scars. Top surgery?" You point up to his chest.

"I got dissected, you dumbass," he scoffs, sliding into bed and pulling you close by slipping an arm around you.

"Oh." You quickly settle into his arms as he tucks your head under his chin. "Why?"

Jason emits a sigh before mumbling, "Long story. Go to bed."

"Love you, Jay."

"Love you, too, dumbass."

[axstoria]

Bruce × Vampire! Reader

Like, Dracula decides to attack Gotham one more time but he brings his daughter along. After the attack goes wrong he leaves letting his daughter there alone, only the caped crusader could help her now. And they both fall in love slowly, even if they knows that she will have to go back home sooner or later

I love this idea!

The result of it all was bloody. Bruce’s hands are caked in blood—none his own—as he stares you down. You have that ethereally youthful look to you, yet the paleness of your skin throws it all of balance.

What he sees in your eyes is fear as you look around for your father, the man you had practically clung to all your life. He’s nowhere to be seen, and you’re standing alone among several fallen bodies, anxiously gripping onto your shirt like it is the only thing keeping you grounded to reality.

Bruce swears he can hear you whisper a faint, “Dad?” It breaks his heart, even though he knows you’re an adult and had just been terrorizing his city moments ago. All he can think about was that boy in Crime Alley, sitting in a pool of his parents’ blood while sirens roared in the background.

He comes to you gently, cupping your elbow with surprising softness, his voice low and soft in your ear as he assures you that everything will be fine, and that your father will likely return soon.

He'll take you home and bundle you in some fluffy blanket that Alfred drags out of a closet, assuring you that everything is going to be fine.

You're not used to this modern world. Everything is bright, the ringing of the phone scares you, and you stare at all presented food like a human would a heart on a platter: with disgust.

He finds it all endearing, really, your little quirks. Bruce adores the way your fangs lap over your lips when you smile, the way you hiss occasionally to show displeasure, the look in your eyes after a good meal. (Yes, he starts buying good, quality blood bags from donation centers just for you. Only the best for his darling vampire.)

Eventually, you learn to adapt, and Bruce realizes he's head over heels.

Except he exists only to break his own heart when he steps into the guest room you had been staying in (your room, he'll insist) and you're staring longingly out the window. You could adapt all you wanted, but he of all people knows that birds of a feather flock together, and you're missing the only other bird you've ever known.

He'll sit with you for as long as you need. Bruce wishes you'd stay in his nest forever.

It wounds him deeply to see you leave when your father eventually shows up on his doorstep, demanding his little girl back. And yet, he knows he can't deny the way your eyes light up and you seem more alive than you have the entire past two weeks.

His smile turns into a tight grimace as he watches you hug your father and ramble happily about the "human world" to the man while he's walking you to the car.

Bruce never even got to tell you that he loves you, but he's glad you're happy.

[axstoria]

Bruce Wayne realizes that in all his intelligence, in all the warps and twists of the natural world, the one thing he cannot stop is time. He can't stop his little ones from slipping through his fingers like sand.

He respects Dick for who he has grown to become. He's a young man with his own city to protect, the founder of several teams, the "big brother" of young heroes, and an inspiration to all.

However, Bruce still sees the little boy who clung to his legs and hid under his cape. The one who did backflips off banisters and handstands while on the roof talking with Gordon. The one who assured him Barbara wasn't a threat, but an ally when she appeared as Batgirl. The one with stars in his eyes and a vengeance nothing could quell.

His boy's grown up. His first son has left the nest. He doesn't know how to cope with it.

Jason is still his baby in his eyes. He still sees the boy fascinated with everything, reading and learning as much as he could cram into his schedule. The boy who, if given the chance, would drop everything to help someone else. The one who baked with Alfred and would fall asleep in front of the Batcomputer. The one who didn't do patrols on school nights. The one who could have been anything.

He still sees his baby in the tall, wide figure that haunts the streets, securing Crime Alley. He sees the kind spirit and loving heart, even if it is buried under mounds of muscle and fury.

Bruce wishes he could go back and fix his early days with Tim.

He regrets the yelling and screaming, the constant attachment. He hates the way he acted back then, Tim standing in as a parental figure, even though both of them never referred to it as that. He was young, he shouldn't have had to take care of a grown adult.

He wishes he could have nurtured that brilliant mind of his from an early age, aiding the boy instead of allowing him to do it all by himself. He wants to go back and make little Tim feel loved and wanted, wants to adopt him from an earlier age—and, yes, he'd fight the Drakes on it. He loves this boy.

Steph was a mistake that could have easily been avoided.

Had he not been so harsh, and she a little more obedient, then everything could have worked out. She would have stayed Robin for more than 2 months, and everything would have been fine.

He wishes he could go back and tell her, "I'm proud of you," after long patrols. And maybe he wishes he could have adopted her, but to this day, she refuses.

He doesn't push.

Damian hurts his heart.

His own flesh and blood that he didn't even know existed until he was 10. Bruce yearns to turn back the clock and hold the infant his son once was in his arms, wants to hear soft coos and harsh cries, aches to watch his little face relax with sleep.

It kills Bruce to know that this is the one child he could have had that he could have seen grow up from stage 1. He could have seen first steps, first words, first laugh—instead, he was forced to retrain his boy to live a normal life. He had to make sure his baby wasn't forever scarred by what he had left him to go through.

The greatest shock of all to him is that he won't live forever.

One day, there will be no more Batman, no more Bruce Wayne. Some day, people will forget his name and his parents and the work he did. The League's members with a longer lifespan will find someone else to fill the space he leaves behind.

His kids will grow up and have children of their own, and his name will get lost in translation. Some day, people will only know his name by the bricks on buildings with Funded by Bruce Wayne etched on them.

Bruce Wayne—in all his intellectual capability and physical prowess, all his resilience and compassion— cannot stand forever, and he thinks that is the thing that haunts him the most.

So, he forces himself to love life as it is now. He'll call Dick and ask how life is, and bump into Jason at the library, and help Tim with cases, and take Steph shopping, and learn Arabic for Damian.

He'll do everything in his power to make the life he has last.

[axstoria]

Clark Kent taking his boyfriend out ice skating at a local winter fair in Smallville, not expecting the billionaire to know how to stand on his own two feet on the ice.

Now, of course, he forgot that said boyfriend is Bruce Wayne, of all people. The Batman.

The Batman who can do literally anything just by watching something once.

So, while Clark is still lacing up his skates, chattering along, Bruce's gaze is focused on couples and families as they glide along the ice, taking in each moment and stride, filing it away in his mind.

He already knows how to skate—having fought Mr. Freeze so often that he actually added retractable blades to his suit—, so he shouldn't be this observant of the other people.

Clark stands up, a boyish grin on his face as he takes Bruce's hand and drags him out onto the ice, carefully steadying his poor human mate to make sure he doesn't fall.

Bruce just waves off his worry and skates away like a damn figure skater, finding an empty space and happily twirling.

Showoff.

Clark catches up with a frown, grumbling something along the lines of, "You didn't tell me you knew how to skate!"

"A man never tells all his tricks," Bruce teases back, looping his arm with Clark's, and they begin to make lazy laps around the rink like everyone else.

An hour and a half later, both are nursing warm hot chocolate to their chests, taking small sips. The beat doesn't bother Clark's tongue, but he drinks only when Bruce does, not wanting to seem glutton.

They toss the cups in the recycling after they are done, opting to wander around the several stalls set up along the streets.

When Clark shows interest in something, Bruce is already handing over cash, not even bothering to check the price tag. Anything for his love.

Clark objects stubbornly, but eventually snatches up the bags, upset that Bruce was carrying things in his presence.

They find a bench to sit on that is further away from the crowd, Clark tucked against Bruce's side, a light purr coming from his throat as the billionaire scratches his hair mindlessly.

"Now since I went to the fair with you..."

"I'm not going to a gala." Clark's voice is low and there is a hint of hesitation to it. "I report, that's all."

"Alright, alright. I guess I can't force you. Though, once we're married, it's going to happen."

Clark mutters some kind of brush-off statement, wrapping a thick arm around his boyfriend, bumping their skulls together as he happily purrs.

"I'm gonna get you rocks."

"Rocks?"

"Mhm. From whatever planet you want. I'll make you diamonds if you want them."

"That's nice, Clark. What for?"

"Our wedding. Humans give each other rocks, right?"

"Mhm."

"Kryptonians do, too."

"That's nice."

"I'm gonna get you a sapphire. Like your eyes."

"Okay, Clark."

"I love you."

Bruce pauses, a little sigh escaping him—he really did have to pick a hyperactive one, didn't he?— before he replies softly, "I love you, too."