#goodnight gotham
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eddie guide. of course i draw every single riddler i love him so much but this is kinda My Eddie so i can draw him as inconsistently as i want. i don’t really have any AUs or anything he just kinda exists in my brain. maybe i need to make Lore for him. his current lore is that ummmm he’s so gay all the time. whatever
#riddler#the riddler#riddler fanart#edward nygma#edward nigma#edward nygma fanart#dude i dont freaking knoooooow#dc#dc comics#self portrait#he’s just a guy#scriddler is real in his universe#goodnight gotham
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Maybe if things had been different…
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emotional
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this man’s commitment to serving gettyimages.com stock photo model needs to be studied by science
source
#Oscar Piastri#mark Webber bring the c*mtmobile round the front you are needed!!#the city of Gotham I mean woking is calling for your help mark#but I suppose for every yin (reiss photoshoot) there is a yang (the blandest possible op81 shoot)#you also know it’s definitely not AI cus oscar has found a way to make a big shoelace bow even with those kicks#mayor of twinkville oscar piastri merch shilling#and I will eat it up every time!!#and on this note goodnight cruel world
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𝐑𝐄-𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆… 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐌 𝐊𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐑
❝ Adam Kelleher was used to not being "good enough". A son of one of Gotham City's wealthiest families, he was never "good enough" for his father, a cruel man who seemed his son too weak to take the helm of the family's manufacturing business. He was never "good enough" for his teachers, who thought he spent too much time scribbling down chemical formulas and doodling inventions when he should have been paying attention to his lessons. The only person he'd ever been accepted by was Bruce Wayne, his best (and only) friend since childhood, who had shown him that being "good enough" was, frankly, a load of crock.
Now twenty-eight, Adam had found a good job at one of Gotham's engineering labs, spending his days bringing his boyhood doodles of inventions into being, using his free time to come up with gadgets for his vigilante best friend, and occasionally trying to set himself up on a date. But then Gotham's corrupt officials start turning up dead, a cryptic killer has started leaving riddles for the Batman, and Bruce needs Adam more than ever.
Adam may have never been deserving of the rest of the world's approval. But maybe, just maybe, he might be "good enough" to help his childhood-friend-turned-crush solve the Riddler's puzzles, take the psychotic killer down, and hopefully save their godforsaken city. ❞
General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations, @stanshollaand, @ginnystilinski-reblogs, @luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @arrthurpendragon, @fakedatings, @impales, @claryxjackson, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @eddysocs, @lucys-chen, @ocappreciationtag.
#my ocs#reintroducing my ocs#ch: adam kelleher#oc: adam kelleher#fic: goodnight gotham#queerocs#ocapp#ocappreciation#ochub#allaboutocs#fyeahthebatmanocs#fyeahdcocs#fyeahsuperverseocs#fyeahdcuocs#the batman oc#dc oc#dcu oc
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Uhhhh yeah I think that. Um. Oswald Cobblepot. He’s like a chihuahua in an old lady’s purse to me. But he is also like a stray cat who screams at my door for food.
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i think jerome is a very ugly crier. like snot and everything
#⚠️#gotham#jerome valeska#ignoring the time he fake cried cause that was fake#like when hes actually sad#thats my headcanon. goodnight ✌️
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DP x DC Prompt (wow another one??)
(dp x dc: Except I flipped over the table I was playing Scrabble on)
Jack Fenton is Kryptonian (or perhaps a meta? Up to you). He certainly doesn’t know it. Take that as you will.
…
Let me set the scene for you;
Kite Man, the nemesis of Spoiler (Spoiler would say otherwise), was currently face down on the concrete. The kite on his back was ruined and torn, but he was still alive nonetheless, albeit bloody and bruised with a broken arm and sprained ankle.
There was a fire burning somewhere in the background, maybe a fire hydrant or two taken out by a monstrous armored vehicle (no, Red Hood didn’t take the Batmobile for a spin) which was an unholy cross between a tank and a minivan.
What kind of company would construct and sell such a thing? Legally???
The bats had yet to show up, but Gotham’s citizens current savior was this built man in an eye-burning orange suit of some kind. His midnight black hair, greying at the roots; kind, warm, and icy blue eyes like the delicate frost on a windowsill; focused on passing out homemade fudge to the street children who nearly got caught in the crossfire.
Who is this kind man? Did the smog and heavy clouds really part to shine down in this out-of-towner? Who’s his cheery polite wife with fire orange hair, warming the coldest of criminals hearts and treating any physical injuries.
Who are his kids? Peeking out of the tank of a van, spiky black hair with eyes that match his fathers, ginger hair and sea foam green eyes that reflect her mothers - however, the wife’s eyes, Maddie’s eyes, are a rich lavender unlike her daughters.
Kite Man attempted to sit up, dazed and probably concussed, only to get shoved down again and tied up by the hazmat suit power couple that roamed Gotham’s streets. Now sporting a broken and bleeding nose, Kite Man groaned in defeat, muttering about how he’ll be back for vengeance.
The city spirit tilted its eldritch head, it purred with satisfaction in what it managed to draw into its city limits. Gotham had found its new golden child, and it wasn’t about to let him go.
TL;DR: Jack Fenton beats Kite Man’s ass with super strength and his wife before handing out homemade fudge.
…
I feel like Jack and Maddie would be genuinely nice people, unfortunately the cannon stuff doesn’t really represent them that way, making them ignorant and neglectful.
Imma just twist that a bit, they care for their children, they’re good parents and they have their moments where they get wrapped up in a project for hours… but when someone needs help, the Fenton’s can’t say no. Jack unknowingly starts to develop powers that aren’t ectoplasmic based, he hides it well enough. (Coughs- sound familiar but the powers are ecto-related?)
Point is: the Fentons care, they care for the people of Amity Park and by extension, Gotham. They love their kids and are always giving back to the community. I feel like they should have been depicted as better parents, however, there is this thing called headcannons I heard about… :)
See y’all next time, I’m probably gonna disappear for a couple days as I go back into school ‘n stuff. 🫡
#dp x dc#dc x dp#danny phantom#gotham#jack fenton#jack fenton centric#he is kryptonian your honor#it’s far too late and i need sleep#maddie fenton#danny fenton#jazz fenton#the ghost assault vehicle#yes that gets its own tag#goodnight#bye#why are you still here#sleep you heathen
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You Jerome Valeska bitches, do you also agree that he’s very Blood by My Chemical Romance coded yes or yes?
#my thoughts#gotham#jerome valeska#just came up on shuffle and I just know that cretin loves some evil theatricality#also he watches glee thank you goodnight
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#bon jovi#jonbonjovi#david bryan#tico torres#bonjovi40#bonjovistory#thank you goodnight#richie sambora#Gotham Chopra#Matthew Bongiovi#Dorothea Hurley Bongiovi
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#when we finally get that kiss...#then i will know peace...
turns out that was actually the least peace ive felt the entire time the show has been airing...
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Funny thing that I noticed watching ep6 (or7th) s4 of Gotham in 5am
Even though we see Oswald and Edward, who parted their ways (after they were wishing for months to kill each other, like all straight people do obv) and now have their own subplot, both with secondary female characters, they are just very much not interested in them. Like not at all. Not as in the second-main-character-of-their-story-who-is-a-female or not as only female in their story, like oftenly happens in shows and happened in Gotham. Where woman usually serves the plot as a simple romantic interest or RI, who's actually gonna be a villain and use the man for her own schemes, or something.
So what i find funny about that. We have two powerful woman - Sophia Falcone and Lee Thomkins. Then Oswald with Edward.
Oswald, who's messing with GSPD's honour and only worries about his empire so much as he always does, suspects hidden plans from Sophia and even had few "It's not a date!" moments, but then just continues with his Pox Penguina. Like nothing else matters. It doesn't. She's not planning smth against him? Well okie, next in to-do list is reputation building. Hair, check, costume, check. Time to annoy cops and talk to press yay
And Edward, who...uh. A quote: "I'm going to be smart again >:))) uehehehe". And he giggles two times, like a kid. And that's it. That's his subplot. Lee is cool and everything, but most importantly, she is going to make him smart, again. "Ehehe :)". This man loves his mind and his mind only, good for him lol
Conclusion: lmao this show have to try much harder to make me forget about 3rd season's Riddlebird drama so easily and especially make me believe that Oswald is not gay.
#i'll see in later episodes what comes next.#forgive me if i spell their names wrong#ok Ed but Oswald?? how dare you#Ed went back to his little idiot era and i love it for him#gotham#madina speaks#gotham season 4#5.31 am goodnight#nygmobblepot
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Hey there👋👋 could you please do whatever love language of the bamboos are ??
LOVE LANGUAGE OF THE BATBOYS
A/N: terribly sorry I let this request collect dust. My interest in comics fell as life got hectic and whatever the hell. I won't go all Wattpad author on you.
Dick Grayson’s love language is words of affirmation. At the peak of his characterization, he is a man ravenous for praise and attention. A moment of peace, of relief, of sweetness.
Stunted, yet too grown for his own good—simultaneously. He will seek attention, showering you with gifts and compliments in hopes that you reciprocate. Holidays would read like a HallMark movie that would move suburban mothers to tears.
Dick is also the man to send romantic quotes stolen from Pinterest, and the occasional confusing poem of his own hand. His nerves would grind as he read the ‘’seen’’ stamp beneath his text, worried out of his mind that it didn't properly convey his emotions, his love.
“What, no reply yet? If you're that moved, you could always come kiss me.” He'd send the message, playing it off as a joke. But his stomach groaned with the familiar ache, that cold and empty feeling of uncertainty.
What if she doesn't like it? Will she still like me? Would I seem lame if I double texted? Am I bugging her?
The flames of self doubt would spread and eat at his mind until his phone pinged with a,” it's beautiful, babe. A hard read, but the intention was there.” And a flirtatious emoji paired with it.
Thus, the flames of doubt were stomped out, like they never existed. They liked the poem, and he would spend hours rereading it. Marveling and gushing because you liked it. Something he made.
Jason Todd's love language is acts of service. It's a loyalty thing for him.
Gift sharing could be manipulation; soft words could be lies, and he's too self-loathing to believe them anyway. Red Hood swallows his spare time, and his desire for touch swung on a pendulum—one side thirsting for it, the other side uncomfortable.
The thought of returning home to a nice and warm meal would make him melt into a puddle. Or finding his hero suit washed, and his gear cleaned and stored away.
It reignites a flame in his cold eyes, the domesticity calling forth an unclassified emotion that sent goosebumps blazing over his skin like wildfire, calling his arm hairs to attention.
Jason would return the favor. You would awake to find breakfast made, the aroma of bacon and eggs thick in the air, the sweetness of syrup carrying around the house. Scalding tea trickling into a pot, milk and sugar already on the table. Plates washed and set.
Jason would also do laundry and iron clothes. He gets those random bursts of energy (or adrenaline) and cleans the entire house spotless.
Baths would be drawn for you, and if he's feeling lavish, he'll add roses to the bubbles. The finest soaps would lather your skin, scented with the the best smelling perfumes—business was good, and it was a present. His calloused fingers would be overjoyed to massage your scalp (he hoped you'd do his next).
Tim Drake’s love language is quality time. Also, I would like to preface this section by admitting I haven't read much of Tim.
He would help you study. Textbooks adorning the wooden table after hours of quizzing. Coffee steaming in a mug, pens and highlighters scratching at paper. Kisses shared with each right answer.
He'd tease,” Oh, that was a hard one. A trick question.” A smirk, sweet as frosting would tug on his lips, then a warm kiss would swallow yours.” If I were as filthy minded as Jason, maybe I'd crack a joke.”
Tim’s gaze would find you, in the middle of whatever—washing dishes, doing laundry, exercising. They'd burst with amorous passion, like exploding stars, shimmering and twinkling in his irises.
When the sun kisses Gotham goodnight, and the moon assumes it duty, he'd find himself wishing he could be beside you. Not Batman, not Dick, certainly not Damian. That's not proof that he hates his colleagues or that his work is last on the list of priorities. It's just. . . you're higher.
“Hey, love,” he'd speak into the phone, after the voicemail prompted him.” I know you're likely sleep tonight. But I wanted to at least call and tell you to sleep safe and warm. And to save space for me.” A chuckle would roll of his tongue, the wailing of police sirens in the background.
Damian Wayne's love language is also quality time.
Time is precious to him. His mother’s presence was unreliable. He, his father, his siblings tango with dead every silvery night. Each misfortune in his family reminded him of that.
Robin is not what Dick thinks. It's not just bursting into hideouts and knocking the crap out of villains. The peril is real, as well as the potential for failure—and failure in their line of work means death.
Oracle was paralyzed in a second, one wrong move and her nerves were shot. Jason’s life was quite literally put on a clock, killed by time itself. When Damian was an assassin, it merely took seconds to end a life, one of emotion and desires and opinions—gone at the stroke of a blade.
Time matters.
Damian would try to spend all of it with you, doing anything. Attending museums, painting you, listening to your playlists. Finding the child he was depraved of for so long. Being an angsty teenager and loving it.
“This is considered fun?” A dark eyebrow of his would raise teasingly. There you sat, at a sport's game, the roaring crowd trembling the stadium and stabbing his ears. The golden beam of the sun roasting both you, and the overpriced popcorn tossing and gurgling in his stomach.
But, deep down, the liveliness of the crowd intrigued him. Even he'd find himself screaming along with the masses on their feet, yelling out praise or curse words.
Damian's jade irises would slide over to you, the sheer glee decorating your features. A painting. He'd see a masterpiece in you; how that expression would translate onto a canvas.
#dick grayson x reader#damian wayne#dick grayson x female!reader#dick grayson x oc#dick grayson x y/n#dick grayson x you#bruce wayne#bruce wayne x fem!reader#tim drake headcanon#tim drake#dc robin#red robin#robin#red hood#jason todd x plus size reader#jason todd x y/n#jason todd x you#jason todd x reader#jason todd#damian wayne x female reader#damian wayne x you#damian wayne x reader#damian al ghul#yandere damian wayne#dick grayson headcanon#dick grayson#nightwing headcanon#nightwing#batman#batfam
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"The Confession" - Adam Kelleher + Bruce Wayne
(A/N: Here is Adam and Bruce's confession-of-feelings scene, written for @malafvma's birthday. Happy birthday, Bess, and I hope you enjoy this!)
ADAM WAS SWEARING OVER HIS burnt fingers when Bruce reentered the cave. He’d figured out a pretty genius idea for a weapon when he hadn’t been able to sleep last night – a mechanism, to be built into the Batman suit, that would release pepper spray into an attacker’s face when triggered – and had started working on it the instant he’d arrived at the cave that night, so excited that he’d kind of failed to realize that the man he was building the weapon for wasn’t even there to be asked whether he wanted it or not. But his fingers had just slipped while he was attempting to solder two pieces of the mechanism together, and now he was clutching his injured hand to his chest, cursing under his breath, as Bruce made his mostly-silent entrance.
Mostly silent, in that Bruce would’ve gone entirely unnoticed by most people until he decided to either speak or start attacking. Adam noticed him, though. He always did.
“Hi,” Adam managed to ground out, fighting the urge to stick his burnt fingers in his mouth. He'd read that saliva was supposed to be able to soothe burns, but he genuinely couldn’t decide whether looking like a complete weirdo in front of his best-friend-turned-crush by jamming his hand in his mouth like a toddler was worth it.
“You hurt yourself,” Bruce observed, sounding concerned. His eyes – those beautiful, thoughtful eyes that Adam had come to love – roved over Adam’s hand and pain-twisted face, and Adam felt his cheeks heat up, the way they always seemed to when Bruce looked at him these days. This time, at least, he could blame it on the fact that he currently felt like someone was pressing a hot poker into his fingers.
God, why hadn’t he brought some water down with him to drink instead of his usual coffee? Wasn’t cold water supposed to draw the heat out of burns? Curse his caffeine addiction, he thought bitterly, as he decided to damn it and stuff the burnt fingers in his mouth, running his tongue over the stinging skin. Curse it to the deepest circle of Hell.
“Was trying to work on a new weapon for the suit,” Adam muttered around his hand, somehow managing to speak pretty coherently despite the fact that he had three fingers in his mouth. To his credit, Bruce’s expression didn’t give any hint of the humor he undoubtedly found in this situation. “Had a great idea for a pepper spray gun built into the chest plate. My hand slipped.”
A few seconds of silence as Bruce took off his helmet, setting it down on the surveillance table with a thunk. Then: “How bad is it?”
Adam gave his friend an arch look, the effect of which was decidedly lessened given his fingers’ current location. “’M not an expert on burn degrees, Bruce. Hurts like a bitch, that’s all I know.”
It was kind of hard to tell through all the grease paint on his face, Adam could’ve sworn Bruce rolled his eyes. Which was fair, he supposed; pain had the tendency to turn him into a bit of a sarcastic bastard.
“Show me,” Bruce quietly requested, stepping closer to Adam’s work table. When Adam didn’t immediately comply, he gestured at the burned hand, the heavy suit gloves making the movement heavy and awkward.
Though he was loathe to do it (his saliva actually did seem to be soothing the pain a bit), Adam slowly drew his fingers out of his mouth, gingerly wiping them on his pant leg before holding them out to Bruce. His suited friend gently took his hand and looked it over, and Adam tried not to flush even further at the fact that Bruce was pretty much holding his hand. He was supposed to be hiding his feelings, damn it, not wearing them on his beet-red skin.
After about half a minute of examining the shiny red skin, Bruce gently set Adam’s hand back onto the table, and Adam tried desperately not to miss the way his friend’s hand had felt in his. Bruce turned away, walking toward one of the other tables in the cave and peeling off the suit’s gloves as he went.
Oh… kay. Was he going to say anything? What was the point of asking Adam how bad his burns were if he wasn’t going to tell the person with the actual burns? Was he just going to get out of the suit and not say anything else? And if he was, what was the point of looking over Adam’s burns at all?
“So,” Adam started, figuring he might as well make conversation if Bruce wasn’t going to say anything. That had pretty much been their dynamic their whole friendship, after all – Bruce would be awkwardly silent because talking to people made him uncomfortable, Adam would awkwardly ramble on because he hated silence, and they would both generally make whatever setting they were in, well, awkward. “How are the relief efforts going downtown? I’ll assume you stopped by there after your little chat with Selina.”
Selina. Adam hadn’t managed to meet the mysterious woman in person during the whole Riddler crisis, but he’d seen the recordings of her gathering intelligence at the Iceberg Lounge, had seen her through Bruce’s contact lenses while he watched his friend work through the cave’s monitors. She was beautiful, he could admit that, and he'd always admired a determined and badass woman. But the way she’d looked at Bruce (and the way he could assume Bruce at looked right back at her) stopped him from crossing the border into liking her. It was completely irrational, he knew that; he had no proof Bruce was even into guys, and even if he was, there was very little chance he’d ever think of Adam the way Adam constantly thought about him. Still, Adam supposed, feelings didn’t have to be rational, even if they were unfair to the person they were directed towards. (Or completely unrequited, but Adam chose not to think about that too much, lest he start to feel that visceral pain in his chest that started whenever he brooded about Bruce for a long period of time.)
“They’re going well,” Bruce responded. His gloves were resting on one of the worktables now, and he was clicking open some kind of small box on said table that Adam hadn’t noticed before. “GCPD’s managed to set up temporary shelters for everyone who lost their homes and can’t go anywhere else, and there's rumors that a construction company in Metropolis has offered to help rebuild the apartment complexes at no cost. I don’t think Mayor Reál’s confirmed anything yet, but plenty of the officers were talking about it.”
“Well, good,” Adam said, and he was about to ask about how the food banks were doing when Bruce shut the mysterious box and turned back around, holding a small jar of white cream and a roll of gauze in his now-bare hands.
Oh. Adam felt like an ass. Of course Bruce was planning to take care of his burns; how could he have thought he wouldn’t even say anything? Bruce had been taking care of him their whole friendship, just as Adam had done his best to take care of the other man, whether one of them was hurt physically or otherwise. Why should he have assumed Bruce would ignore him now?
Because you feel like he’s been ignoring the most important thing between you for two years now, a voice inside Adam whispered. You haven’t exactly been subtle about what you feel for him, and even though he probably just doesn’t notice, you feel like he’s ignoring your feelings on purpose because he doesn’t feel the same way.
Well, that voice could just screw off. Adam forcefully shoved it to the back of his mind as Bruce pulled up a chair on the other side of his worktable and sat down, taking his burned hand back up, even as his neck and cheeks flushed again at the renewed contact.
“Speaking of,” he managed to get out, trying to stop his arm from shaking as Bruce flipped his injured hand over and scooped some white cream from the jar. “How is Selina? The cat ready to keep her claws sharp by scratching Gotham’s unsavory?”
Oh, yeah, Adam, talk to your crush about the beautiful tough woman he no doubt has feelings for. That’s an amazing idea. Best you’ve had yet.
Without answering, Bruce gently smeared some of the white cream onto one of Adam’s burns. He couldn’t hold in a sigh of relief at the cream’s coolness, and almost instantly felt the pain of the wounds beginning to numb as Bruce rubbed the white goop into the inflamed red skin. He wondered exactly what was in the cream that made its relief so fast-acting, and resolved to ask Alfred later; it was probably one of the butler’s concoctions.
“She left,” Bruce said softly, not looking up as he grabbed the roll of gauze and started to unroll it. “Selina,” he clarified when Adam, who had totally lost all thoughts of their conversation in his thinking about the burn cream, didn’t respond. “She’s moving to Blüdhaven.”
“What?” Adam demanded, shocked. He and Bruce had been counting on Selina to stay on as another protector of Gotham’s streets; the whole Riddler fiasco had proven that it wasn’t a good idea for Bruce to keep going with only Adam for technical help and no in-field backup. And unless another vigilante suddenly popped up of their own accord (which Adam doubted, even with public opinion turned largely in the Batman’s favor since the flood), they’d pretty much be back to square one. They needed her. “What the hell? Why?”
“She…” Bruce trailed off as he snipped off a piece of gauze and started carefully wrapping it around one of Adam’s fingers. “She said that Gotham was beyond saving. Basically, that she wasn’t going to waste her time, and that I was wasting mine trying to save this city.”
“Well,” Adam snapped, surprised by the vehemence in his own voice. “She was wrong about that, wasn’t she? Nothing’s beyond saving.”
Even as he said the words, he realized, with no small degree of surprise, just how much he actually meant and believed in them. And from the way Bruce’s eyes flicked up to his face in mild shock, his caped friend realized it as well.
“You really think so?” Bruce questioned. Carefully, like he thought Adam might snap his answer the way he’d just done.
“Well… yeah,” Adam replied, slowly and just as carefully, trying to put his exact thoughts on the matter into words that wouldn’t seem confusing or stupid. “I just… I know you’re never going to be able to completely eliminate crime in Gotham. And I know you know it too.” A pause for Bruce’s nod of assent, then he continued once it was given. “And I know that there’s always going to be crappy people in this city, and that the Riddler probably isn’t the last hell-bent psychopath you’re doing to go up against, and even that sometimes – okay, most of the time – this city can be a real hellhole that makes you wonder how you’re stupid enough to keep living here.”
Okay, he was not making his point very well. Taking a moment to rearrange his thoughts, he took a deep breath and went on. “But despite all of this, the fact that you know all this, too, you still go out there every night. And I keep running surveillance and building your weapons, and Alfred keeps giving you advice, and even Gordon keeps getting you information from the places only he can go. And we’re all gonna keep doing all of those things, as long as we can, because we have hope that this city can be better.” He took another deep breath. Bruce’s eyes had been solidly on his face for the entirety of this little speech, and his face was practically on fire.
“My point is, as long as you and me and Alfred and Gordon, and anyone else who has faith in this city, keeps believing that Gotham can be better, than it still stands a chance. Because as long as even one person believes in something, or someone, there’s always hope. As long as there’s even one person with faith, nothing is beyond saving.” Wincing a little before he spoke the next words, he added, “And if Selina thinks otherwise, then I’m sorry, B, but she’s kind of an idiot.”
There was a solid minute in which the two men did nothing but look in each other’s eyes, Adam breathing slightly hard from the power of his speech as Bruce watched him with a blank expression. Adam considered speaking up to change the subject, given that he didn’t really know how Bruce was supposed to respond to something like that, but all of a sudden, a warmth entered Bruce’s beautiful eyes, and a soft smile tugged up the corners of his mouth.
“You really are the best person I know,” the caped man murmured, and all of a sudden Adam’s face was on fire again, because Bruce was looking at him with a look in his eyes that was almost… reverent. Which was nice, really, the kind of look that threatened to coat his insides with pure sunshine, but he genuinely couldn’t bear to have Bruce look at him that way, knowing his best friend wasn’t looking at him through the same lenses with which Adam had been looking at him for the past two years: a sweet lens, clear, but coated with soft feelings and genuine love.
“Well,” Adam responded, forcing an amused scoff and eying his now-gauze-wrapped fingers, wiggling them to test their mobility. “Kind of a pity about Selina, though. You two would’ve made one hell of a dynamic duo.” He let out a little chuckle, this one only half-forced. “The Bat and the Cat, imagine. We would've only needed to find someone with a hat-themed vigilante theme, and you guys wouldn't even have to fight. The criminals would've laughed themselves to death.”
It was the kind of stupid joke that normally would’ve gotten a soft laugh out of Bruce, but this time Adam’s friend didn’t make a sound. He just fixed his eyes on Adam’s face, with a newly blank expression that made Adam fear he’d accidentally said something wrong.
“You think I have feelings for her,” Bruce intoned quietly, seriously. His eyes locked onto Adam’s, and so intense was the look in them that Adam found himself unable to look away. “Selina.”
Oh, Adam did not want to have this conversation. Not now, not ever, really. Still, he was Bruce’s best friend, and it was his duty as such to listen to Bruce talk about the people he had feelings for, so he plastered on a half-smile, trying to ignore the sudden way his stomach was aching.
“Well, I can’t say I blame you,” Adam said, trying to sound like his heart wasn’t about to be cleaved in two. “I mean, she’s badass, and pretty, and she’s not afraid to put you in your place. Maybe not my type, but I can see where you’re coming fr-”
“Adam,” Bruce interrupted firmly, giving Adam’s wrist a short squeeze to get him to stop talking. “It’s not Selina. It was never Selina. It’s you.”
And for a moment, Adam sincerely thought he was going to asphyxiate, because at those words, the air rushed straight out of his lungs and he could not breathe. And even when he was finally able to draw breath again, he could feel it coming in short, shallow gasps, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Bruce, who was now looking at him with no small measure of concern.
He could not have just heard that right. He absolutely could not have. There was no way Bruce Wayne, caped savior of Gotham and his best friend since they were eleven years old, could possibly have admitting to having feelings for him.
“I – what – me?” he couldn’t help gasping, even though Bruce was bound to think he was being stupid, mishearing his friend so badly. Thinking, even for a second, but Bruce might have feelings for him over Selina.
And then Bruce said, “You,” and, well, Adam didn’t completely lose his breath again, but it was close. Dear God, he had heard him right. Bruce Thomas Wayne had just confessed feelings for him, Adam Benjamin Kelleher.
Holy actual literal shit.
“Me?” he whispered again, still having trouble forcing himself to believe it. It was as if his train of thought had slammed into a brick wall, so that the only thing he could thing was his most recent, incredulous thought: Bruce fucking Wayne has feelings for me.
Bruce’s eyes still wouldn’t let Adam’s go, even as the other man reached up to shove a lock of slightly sweaty hair out of his face. “It’s always been you,” Bruce admitted, and then he broke eye contact, looking at Adam’s wrapped hand on the table, and suddenly he sounded… shy?
Okay, why the hell was Bruce shy? Adam was the one who’d spent literal years pining for his best friend, convinced he could never have him because, for one, Bruce didn’t even like guys (except that he somehow did! And had never told his best fucking friend!), and for another thing, Bruce was way out of his league. He was the smart one, the athletic one, Gotham’s favored orphan. And what was Adam? A scrawny little nerd with an unnatural affinity for acrobatics, an awkward, anti-social tinkerer whose own father had never thought him worthy of anything.
And while Adam didn’t believe he wasn’t worthy of anything – that was a bit excessive, really – he certainly wasn’t worthy of Bruce.
“But why?” Adam demanded, unable to stop the words from bursting out. “Why me?”
Okay, wrong thing to say, because now Bruce was frowning in that determined way he did whenever Adam made a self-deprecating joke or muttered, after experiencing a failure with an invention, that maybe his father had been right. It was a frown that very clearly said, I care about you and you’ve put yourself down, so now I’m going to bring you all the way up. Whether you like it or not.
“Adam,” Bruce said, in a tone that left no room for argument. Now he was locked on Adam’s eyes again, and this time Adam was cursing those baby browns, because he really wanted to stare at his lap right now.
“I meant what I just said,” Bruce continued. “You are the best person I know. You’ve been with me through everything. You know me inside and out, and you’ve seen all my broken spots and been there for the dark patches, and you’re still here. You’re the only one who’s still here, besides Alfred, when everyone else has either died or left willingly. I know you. I can count on you. I trust you. And you know I don’t trust a lot of people.”
Here, Bruce paused for breath, the same way Adam had when making his earlier speech. “But it’s more than you just being here. You’re…” He paused again, this time to let out an amused huff and crack a small smile. “You’re amazing, Adam. You’re smart, and you’re funny, and you’re understanding and a good listener, and you’re… you’re just good.” Bruce gently reached out and took Adam’s uninjured hand, which was lying on the table next to his bandaged one. “Plus, your looks don’t exactly hurt.”
Adam let out a wet chuckle at that, and it was only then that he realized he was crying. Embarrassed, he went to wipe his damp cheeks with his bandaged hand, the one Bruce wasn’t holding, but Bruce beat him to it. Gently, so gently Adam had to bite back a sob, the other man raised the hand that wasn’t holding Adam’s and wiped a fresh tear from his face with a feather-light touch.
“I know you don’t believe all that yet,” Bruce said, in the most tender voice Adam had ever heard him use. “But I swear, Adam, whether you feel the same way about me or not, I’ll remind you of all those things every day until you believe them. Because whether you feel the same or we stay just friends, you’re worth it. You’re always worth it.”
God, what had Adam ever done to earn this man? This beautiful, courageous, perfect man sitting across from him, looking like a dark angel in his armor and face paint as he wiped Adam’s tears and said everything Adam had always wanted to hear.
No, Adam didn’t deserve Bruce. And he never would. But he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to try to every day.
“Of course I feel the same way, B,” Adam choked out, leaning into the hand on his cheek like a contented cat. “You massive idiot.” Unable to stop himself, he let out another wet laugh. “God, you realize this was the worst possible way to come out to me, right? You can’t just tell me you like men by telling me you have feelings for me, you’re lucky you didn’t give me a heart attack.”
“I know,” Bruce replied, giving him a smile that was so soft and so fond that the lump in Adam’s throat returned in full force. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well,” Adam sniffled, wrapping his fingers around Bruce’s and feeling, for all the world, like his hand had been sculpted for the sole purpose of fitting with his best friend’s. “I might be inclined to forgive you. You’re also lucky I’m a nice person.”
“I am,” Bruce agreed, dropping his hand from Adam’s face to gently take his bandaged hand. “I really am.”
They didn’t kiss that night, despite the fact that Adam had never wanted anything more. A few minutes later, Adam would take a wet cloth and gently, slowly, wipe the grease paint from Bruce’s face, neither of them ever breaking eye contact, but that was as intimate as things got. But so much was exchanged in the few hours that they spent in that cave, no one to interrupt them, alone together. Not so much words, really – they hardly spoke – but so many feelings that had been festering for a long period of time were released into the air and multiplied, strengthened by the knowledge that these two broken, brave, hopeful men had finally gotten over themselves long enough to see what was in front of them.
That night, the Batman didn’t take to the streets until almost two in the morning, hours after he normally set out for patrol. But despite that, everyone who faced him noticed an extra spring in his step, an added determination behind his punches.
The Batman was now more determined than ever not to lose faith that his city could improve. After all, he couldn’t go against the wisdom of the man he loved, now, could he?
#oc scenes#my ocs#otp: you’re my weakness#bruce wayne x oc#ch: adam kelleher#oc: adam kelleher#ocapp#ocappreciation#ochub#allaboutocs#fyeahsuperverseocs#fyeahdcocs#the batman oc#fic: goodnight gotham#ship: batnid
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