#such a persistent brainrot in my head but alas i've got too many wips

[ggomos-maribat]

Tim Drake didn't particularly like the occult.

But Constantine said the two were their best bet against the demon uprising. The magic-user, howeover, refused to contact them himself, claiming that it was a bad idea to involve them, that they were better off dealing with the problem on their own than . . . outsourcing. Unfortunately, Tim (and the rest of the Batfamily really) was stubborn. If they had potential allies to help them, wouldn't it be worth to take the risk?

This mission to contact those people then dragged him to a downtown bar to talk to famous designer Marinette Dupain-Cheng, who he was ninety-five percent sure was one of the two Constantine was talking about.

Tim told himself that perhaps a little bit of sweet-talking would do. His hand inched closer to hers on the tabletop, but she immediately pulled away. "This night has been fun, Monsieur Drake." She smiled sweetly. "But I don't think my husband will appreciate me staying out late."

She showed him a glowing band on her finger, which Tim completely missed when they met. He, too, pulled away, cheeks turning pink. "Uhh, yeah, sorry 'bout that. Don't let me keep you."

Although Marinette had slipped out, he still had a mission to do.

He decided to follow her.

He knew of her potential danger, signified by the fact that she was walking on a dark, deserted, Gotham street by herself. He held his breath when she stopped right below a flickering lamppost.

She turned around, plump red lips stretching into a sinister smile. "That's quite sneaky of you, Monsieur Drake. Why don't you be direct with what you want, hm?"

And he took a step out of the shadows, dropping his act. "We need your help."

"Who told you about me?"

". . . John Constantine."

Her nose wrinkled. "That soul-whore? Figures."

Tim definitely didn't show it, but the way she stood, her mere presence was unnerving like a beast waiting to pounce. But at the same time, she was so unfairly beautiful even in the darkness.

Marinette smoothed down her hair. "What makes you think we're willing to help?"

Tim's eyebrows raised. "'We'?"

A sudden chill arrived with the wind, summoning goosebumps all over his skin. The lamp switched off in a blink, and when it turned on again, a shadow had appeared beside Marinette, which morphed into a human. Or at least he thought it was a human.

"Yes, 'we'," a new voice said. "She and her husband."

Fuck. The man was dressed in elegant clothes, a perfect match with his wife. His hair was slicked back but with strands softly falling on top of his ethereal eyes. Tim swore those were fangs under his pale lips, sharp like the gaze he was shooting at him. Both his deep blue eyes and Marinette's seemed to shine under the moonlight.

Tim was officially scared. He never did like the occult, but goddamn, the occult was causing his bi-panic.