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sophiethewitch1 · 4 months

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What We Want - Chpt. 1 - Not Quite An Isekai

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

You awake to the sound of your phone ringing. You slap to the edge of your couch, aiming for the rickety side table. Your wrist smacks against the corner, and you hiss in pain. It’s a few inches too high, and wood, not metal. Seems you somehow got to your bed during the night, but you didn’t remember it. Still, you get your phone. Through squinted eyes, you find the screen, its 3:15, far too early for your drunken suffering- Wait no, it’s mid-afternoon. Still, you feel tired, and you want to sleep.

You answer the phone anyway, putting it on speaker and resting your head back against the pillow. Your head doesn’t hurt that bad anyway. God was smiling down on you today.

“Miss, are you awake?” a man’s voice rings through your apartment.

Who was that? Who called you Miss of all things? Your boss didn’t remember your name sure, but he just called you ‘intern’ instead. You’d been an official employee for six months now. Right, conversation, paying attention, replying like a normal person.

“Hm, yeah, I’m awake,” you say, fighting back the urge to yawn.

“You don’t sound very awake, Miss,” the man replies, his tone familiar.

“Who is this?”

He sighs, “Miss, are you being sarcastic?”

“What? No, I’m serious,” you confusedly answer.

“…This is Alfred, Miss. Now, Master Wayne has asked me to-”

“Master who now?” you cut this Alfred off, doubly confused now. Wayne? Like, the Wayne family? The rich, philanthropist one?

He sighs again, “I understand the relationship between the two of you is quite strained, and this is a personally difficult day for you, but he insists on seeing you. Your birthday gala starts at 7, as I’ve told you, and your assistant will be over at 4. I ask that you unblock both their accounts, as I would much rather I didn’t have to talk to you when you’re like this.”

“What?” you repeat, like the idiot you are.

“Good day, Miss. And happy birthday.”

He hangs up. You blink down at your phone. And then you roll your eyes, because oh my god are Molly’s pranks getting ridiculous. You never should have told her about your weird fascination with the Waynes, she was getting back at you hard for your drunken mistake.

You make a lot of those. Well, life goes on. You’ll put glitter in Molly’s car’s vanity mirror or something.

You turn off your phone, and let your face slam right back into your pillow. For a while, you try to go back to sleep.

…Something about this isn’t right. You, like the freak you are, take a deep inhale of your pillow. It smells like you, like the laundry soap you use, but it also smells like… Well, you don’t know. All you can think about is your new boss’s wife and her awful perfume that swallows the office space like noxious gas.

Your pillow… kind of smells like that. Your first ungodly thought is that, somehow, you spent a torrid night with your boss’s wife. The second is that Molly needs to die for her crimes.

You let your crusty, bleary, stinging eyes blink open.

Hm. Why is there a chandelier in your bedroom? You shoot upright in the bed, silk sheets falling to your lap. Silk sheets you can’t afford. You look around the room, eyes widening at the space. The bed is king-sized, while you had barely been able to afford your twin-sized mattress. The living room isn’t in the same space as the bedroom. You can’t see the kitchen and the bathroom to your right has shining marble tiles. And even then, the decoration’s are luxurious and clean, compared to your livable chaos.

You look to your left, and your mouth drops open.

A floor-to-ceiling window, showing the Gotham horizon with the morning sun. Fog and clouds twist around spiralling gothic towers, reaching down to the people down below. You’re looking out over the bay, and you can see the Narrows barely peaking through the mist, desperately clawing for any sunlight.

The sun rises on the right of your building, not the left. You don’t have a view, you’re on the fourth floor and there’s a brick building directly across from your window. You live in the Narrows.

You live in the Narrows. You press your face to the cool glass and look down. Oh my god, you can’t see the streetside. You’re too high up. You’re somehow on the opposite side of Gotham City.

Stumbling away from the window, you do your best not to touch anything, because you know it’s all too expensive for your peasant hand. Let’s start thinking… whatever was happening to you, through. Molly might kidnap you for a joke, sure, but she was barely any richer than you, and that was just because her boyfriend lived with her. She could not afford this level of fuckery.

So… so… is this, what? A big joke from the universe? Did someone else kidnap you? You have to have been kidnapped, right? Why the fuck would someone kidnap you?

Did the Joker kidnap you? Was he coming to finish you off? End your family line?

You reach down and pinch yourself hard enough you yelp. When the dazzlingly perfect apartment doesn’t disappear, it’s much harder to force yourself not to panic. Okay, okay, okay. It’s fine. This’ll be fine, and it could still be a dream. That whole pinching thing was a myth, right? Argh, maybe you should’ve listened to Molly when she was trying to get you into astral projection.

Wait, Molly!

You go back to your bed and pick up your phone.

It’s… it’s not your phone. What was this? The iPhone 27? You didn’t keep up with those sorts of things, but it looked expensive. Everything here looked expensive.

You think you’re going to go into anaphylactic shock. Wait, no, it’s hyper-something. What was it? Argh, you can’t do this right now!

You press your thumb to the ‘on’ button, and luckily whoever this phone belongs to is not worried about their privacy because there's no password. Stupidly, you look for Molly’s name in your list of contacts.

BLOCKED - ‘Bruce Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Damian Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Dick Grayson’

BLOCKED - ‘Tim Drake’

‘Alfred :)’

BLOCKED - ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’

You drop the phone. Because the floors, even in the bedroom, are marble, it shatters like glass. You make a sound like a dying chicken as you watch the piece of technology make a bouncing break for the bathroom. It slides to a stop against the giant hot tub, and you pick it up and cradle it between your palms like a newborn.

The screen still works. Even if it’s cracked to high heaven and takes multiple attempts to turn it on, it still eventually does. Thanks God, won’t forget this. You hiss as you open the contacts again, pricking your fingers against the sharp edges.

As fate commands, you click on the ‘Bruce Wayne’ contact. The description is very simple.

‘Massive dickhead. Hope you jump off a building and fall like a rock.’

You go back. Click on ‘Dick Grayson’.

‘Massive dickhead’s beloved firstborn. Most annoying man on earth congrats.’

Again. ‘Damian Wayne’ this time.

‘Massive dickhead’s massive dickhead. Demon? Grinch? Somebody kill it with fire please.’

And finally, ‘Tim Drake’.

‘The only acceptable one.’

…Well, at least your kidnapper liked one of the Waynes. Maybe they kidnapped you because you were their opposite or something? You definitely wouldn’t call Bruce motherfucking Wayne a massive dickhead. Or maybe they wanted to kill you.

The Molly prank idea was becoming more sound. Maybe she won the lottery and didn’t tell you.

You click on ‘Alfred :)’. He’s the one that called you earlier and also called you ‘Miss’, for some reason.

It’s just a bunch of heart emojis. Coherent, sure.

You go back, and click on the final of the list, ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’.

‘Don’t listen to Alfred. She wants to eat you.’

She wants to what?

A knock at the door has you jumping a foot in the air and nearly banging your head on the bathtub’s lip. You hear someone call your name through the door, and you freeze. Who… how? They call your name again, this time their voice louder. They bang on the door.

You creep over to the door.

“Ma’am, if you don’t open this right now, I’m quitting! We both know Alfred contacted you this morning, and he’s going to be very upset if I do so. There’s only so many assistants in this city!” from this close, you can recognise the voice belongs to a woman. She rattles the doorknob.

You lean down, peering through the peephole. The woman has a harsh face, a perfect pencil suit and her blonde hair in a pretty updo. Her makeup is impeccable. You get the feeling this woman is also more expensive than you can afford, despite her calling your name.

Bewildered, you open the door. She slams through like a battering ram, strutting 6-inch stilettos into the space.

She huffs, and then turns around. You can see very clearly she’s trying to keep her calm, but you did leave her at the door for like five minutes. It wasn’t your fault, you thought you were hallucinating or something.

“Ma’am,” she stresses the word, “Please unblock me.”

You blink at her, “Uh, sure.”

She waits, her hands clasped together in front of her.

“Oh- oh, right now?” you stutter, pulling the phone out from your noticeably lavish pyjamas.

Wait had someone changed you in your sleep? What the hell was going on? Maybe you should be more concerned about that, honestly. Still, you do as she commands.

She watches you like a hawk as you stare at the cracked phone. Your eyes flick up at her, and then back down at the screen. Slowly, watching for her reaction, you unblock ‘The Wicked Witch of the West.’ She nods, not even commenting on what was apparently her name in ‘your’ phone.

You were still slightly concerned about the ‘She wants to eat you’ thing, but she seemed… alright. Kind of scary. But not cannibalistic.

Still, this was Gotham after all. A healthy dose of fear was what kept people like you alive.

“Ma’am, did you just wake up? It’s already 4 o’clock,” she gives you a subtly disapproving look, and your shoulders sink like you’re being scolded.

“Yeah- yeah, sorry about that,” you stammer, embarrassed for some unknowable reason. This really was just like a dream. You could tell something was very obviously wrong, but you were still going along with everything like it wasn’t. Everyday life.

You were going to focus on that, this had to be just a dream. Just go along with… this, and then you’d wake up. And if you could manage to get over the uncanny valley-ness of the very obvious wealth surrounding you, maybe you could enjoy it.

You had always wanted to be rich. This was just your brain spewing out random information. Better than the nightmares you usually get.

You’re abruptly pulled back into focus when the woman clears her throat loudly. Ah, shoot. Had she been talking? You definitely hadn’t been listening.

“We need to get you ready, Miss,” she says like she’s repeating herself. You nod, because yes, of course, getting ready.

Ready for what? You think if you ask her she’ll yell at you. So when she grabs your arm and tugs you along, you follow. She pulls you into the bathroom, sitting you down in front of the mirror on a stool. Because this bathroom has stools in it. You stare at your reflection warily, before glancing up at her behind you.

“The stylists will be here in about forty minutes, and the makeup artists in two hours,” she pauses, giving you a strange look, “I appreciate you being so cooperative today. I understand this is all a delicate matter, but I am under Mr. Wayne’s orders first and foremost.”

“Wayne… like Bruce? Bruce Wayne?” you ask, even though there’s really no one else it could be. Still, you have to check.

Because it’s impossible. Even if it’s a dream, it still feels completely impossible. There was just something inside you that said ‘that can’t be right’, even if you knew none of this was real.

You realise, quite late, that you don’t even know this lady's name. ‘Wicked witch’

“Yes, Ma’am. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises,” she answers you, pulling out her phone and flicking through it. She doesn’t even respond to what you have to assume is an inane question. Maybe ‘dream you’ often asks stupid questions.

‘Normal you’ certainly does.

“Oh… okay…” the conversation drifts off, and she makes no attempt to fill it. Aren’t P.A.s supposed to… you don’t know, fix that? Or maybe she’s not your personal assistant, just an assistant. Silly you, making assumptions.

This bathroom deserves assumptions. You wonder if the gold frame of the mirror is, y’know, real.

The blonde woman walks out of the room without speaking another word to you. You think maybe you should follow her, but instead you just sit there with your hands on top of your knees. Your leg bounces up and down, and you glare it into submission, ignoring the way your muscles jump.

You look at yourself. You look… different. The bags under your eyes are worse than usual, and your gaze sunken into your face. Your hair is sad and oily, knotted in places. Your skin is almost waxy.

You look sick. You look like… you remember, you look like…

In the light of the day, you refuse to think about it. You’re not allowed to, you’ll break if you do.

You just don’t. Even if your reflection just confirms that you have to be dreaming.

Instead, you turn your gaze to the tub. You raise your hand to your hair again. Back in your apartment, you’d had a shower. It was a surprisingly good shower because you’d invested in a showerhead with better pressure. Still, it wasn’t a bath.

You missed bathes. You get up, close the door, lock it, and sink inside the tub. You take off your silky pyjamas inside the bath, and then you toss them on the floor beside you. Sitting there, you watch through the giant window at the world down below. At the ravens and pigeons that fly through the fog, at the few people you can see through the windows and balconies.

You press your cheek against the glass. It’s cold. You’re cold.

You’re sitting in an empty bathtub naked. What are you doing?

Rubbing at your eyes, you reach over to what you think are the controls. They all look very complicated, but there’s a switch that goes from blue to red, so you turn that. It takes another button press for the water to start flowing out. Steam fills the room, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ma’am! Ma’am, the stylists will be here in ten minutes, and you need to get out. Ma’am? Ma’am!”

You shoot up in the bath, splashing water over the overflowing sides. Blinking, you turn your head back and forth and then sink back down. Oh. You’re still here. You went to sleep, but you’re still here. Maybe it’s one of those dreams where you think you wake up, but you haven’t. Or, ah, something similar.

You feel so tired. You really, really didn’t miss this feeling.

Quickly, you wash your hair and body, scrubbing furiously at the oily sweat on your skin. You stumble out of the bath on shaky legs, dry yourself off, and almost trip in your haste to get out the door. Showing off your negligible intelligence, you only realise you’re still wearing just a towel till she manhandles you towards the closet.

A walk-in closet, because of course it is. You think it’s bigger than your apartment. It has a flat bench in the centre because evidently all the walking around you’ll be doing will require a fainting couch.

The woman gives you, horrifyingly, a set of lacy, racy underwear. When all you do is just gape at her, she sighs, takes them from your hands and gives you a simple black set with no frills. You look down at them clasped in your wet hands. They’re clean, and they seem to be your size.

Still, this is a bit…

“Are these… new?” you ask, because there’s no tag or anything.

“Yes, Ma’am. But if you want, we do have some sets still unpacked at the back of the closet,” she says, going along with your weirdness. Even if she was a bit scary, you were grateful for that, at least. You guess celebrities were usually quite eccentric, so maybe this wasn’t out of the ordinary for her.

“Yes, please.”

She gives you a pair of Victoria’s Secret bra and underwear, plain beige and still in their plastic packaging.

“Cool, sweet, thanks,” you say, and she shakes her head just slightly.

She puts a white bathrobe down, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. You lock it, and then you put on the underwear that you did not buy. The whole experience is strange, but still, you just go along with it. You’re a go-along-with-it kind of person.

You were… you were starting to not like that all of a sudden. Still, out of your depth in an odd dream is no place to start doubting your entire personality. You put on the bathrobe too. And the fluffy slippers that are tucked under them, with great pleasure.

You hear the many voices before you open the door. When you step through it, you feel like you’ve stepped onto the set of a movie. Or well, the backstage at least. Women and men are flittering about the chic apartment in the sort of rush you’d only seen working at BatBurger.

The woman from before spots you and you feel like a rabbit under a hawk's gaze when her brown eyes narrow on you. She strides over to you and then, once again, clamps her grip around your wrist and drags you over. You wonder as you stumble after her if she’s got some meta-human in her because no slim, perfectly put-together lady should be this damn strong.

She pulls you towards a set of three people. You can immediately tell they’re the heads of the operation, with an aura that squashes you like a pancake. Two women, one man. They’re all dressed to the nines, in their own unique ways.

They all look at you with assessing glances. You fear you do not measure.

“I’m surprised, Jeanine. You actually got her this time,” a woman with a black bob and a rocker look comments, her red lips twisting into a grin. You realise, with a start, that the blonde woman who was not incorrectly nicknamed ‘The Wicked Witch of The West’ was actually called Jeanine.

Lovely, you were getting the hang of things.

“Yes, she was very agreeable this afternoon. I’d like to apologise once again for any past issues,” Jeanine says, all business. You still have no idea what’s going on, and definitely no idea what they’re talking about. But what you assumed was the jist of it… was that ‘dream you’ wasn’t a very harmonious person.

Lovely, lovely, lovely. This was a bit of a personal nightmare for a people pleaser like you. Actually, it was a literal personal nightmare. Lovely.

“The disrespect I’ve faced is immeasurable. But, Monsoir Wayne pays exceedingly well. Still, it’s nice to actually have our dear client before us,” the other woman says, appraising her french tip nails. Which, considering she said ‘monsoir’ and the whole accent, would make a lot of sense. She’s closer to a classic beauty than her punk rock friend, with brown hair coiled and beautiful pearls across her neck.

“I don’t know, I thought I’d be getting paid for doing no work tonight. Ruins my plans,” the man teases, and you’re relieved at the kindness in his gaze. He’s wearing a suit with a dazzling but trendy red tie. His tie has an odd metallic sheen to it, a fabric your peasant mind couldn’t place.

If Molly were here, she’d jab you in the stomach with an elbow and whisper “One of those homosexuals, me thinks” even if she was bi herself.

You wish Molly were here.

“Yes, well, I’d like it if we could all work together tonight. And get to it quickly, the drive to the Wayne Tower isn’t a quick one with the evening traffic, so, if you’d please.”

And that was that. No introductions, no extra pleasantries. You were swept away in a whirl of fabric and hair products.

They stuff you into a gorgeous evening gown, its colour reminding you of a sparkling midnight sky. Rhinestones dot down the sides, coalescing at the bottom. You hope they’re not real diamonds. Gloves, a bracelet, a necklace, and dripping pearl earrings. It was all impeccably put together, and you felt uncomfortable with such items on you. You didn’t dare ask how much it all cost, despite being desperately curious.

They slip towering 6-inch stilettos on you despite your protests, cake your face in enough powder to make you sneeze. Dramatic liner and eyelashes that felt heavy on your face, a lipstick that had to be coated twice because you chewed on your lip with nerves.

And then you’re done, dizzy and confused but thoroughly made up.

You get one quick look at your reflection before Jeanine is pulling you up and out of the seat.

They’d gotten rid of the signs.

You ignore the part of you that desperately wants them back and follow Jeanine out into the elevator.

Despite the fact that it is, in fact, a very long drive to the Wayne Tower, she does not seem inclined to say a single word to you. The ride is awkward and quiet, broken only by the sound of you pressing buttons in the back of limousine, and even that stops when you get an unimpressed look from her.

So you just sit there, vibrating at frequencies unseen by man.

When you finally arrive at Wayne Tower, the crowd shocks you. There are so many paparazzi, nearly overflowing the flimsy barricades and onto the carpeted marble entryway. The tower itself is a display of outrageous wealth, towering over the rest of Gotham City easily. You think for a while it’d been the tallest building in the world, but you couldn’t remember your elementary school education all that well.

It wasn’t like this information would’ve been useful at any point in your life. You still don’t think it will be, as this is all a very vivid dream.

The door opens, and immediately you’re overwhelmed by the camera flashing. You hunch away from the lights like a vampire, but Jeanine pushes you forward.

“We’re already very late, Ma’am. No time for faffing around,” she says from behind you, hand placed squarely against your back.

What? But all you’d done was rush around all afternoon! You know, if you’d just taken one of the trains or even the Skyrail you’d have been able to avoid this. Still, you’re out the door, up the steps, not given a moment to react to the questions thrown at you.

“Miss! Miss, are you here to celebrate your birthday? Don’t you think it’s a bit callous to ignore the tragedies of today?”

“Miss! Is it true you’ve been disowned?”

“Miss, miss, about your family…!”

Oh, well, even if what they’re saying is awful, it’s a relief. It’s your birthday again. You think the guy who had called you said happy birthday. That meant none of this could possibly be real. See? It had to be a dream. Had to, had to… You decide to ignore literally everything else they say, letting the words float through your very hollow brain.

Life’s a lot easier when you play it a little stupider.

The heels and the stairs are an awful combination, and if it wasn’t for Jeanine’s herculean strength you’re certain you’d be tumbling down them right now. Your assistant… secretary… lady is careful not to let that happen, however.

Maybe you judged her too quickly. You appreciated anyone who made sure you didn’t fall flat on your ass. It was a good quality for a person to have.

You don’t get to appreciate the Wayne Tower all done up. You don’t get to stare at the lights and flowers strung into the art deco rafters. You don’t get to stare and gape and look like an idiot, because Jeanine wants you to look like an idiot elsewhere.

In the middle of all these fucking random rich people you don’t know. Hurray!

You’re shoved into a group of people, with Jeanine at your back. She starts rattling off names and titles and relations, and you can’t make heads or tails of any of it. You turn to look at her with what must be a genuine deer-in-headlights fear, and she stops and then starts speaking slower.

Thank God for that. Well, since she’s making an effort, you do too.

“This is Lianne Jenkins, wife of Senator Jenkins,” Jeanine whispers into your ear, and you nod. You knew him, you’d voted for him, in fact. How the fuck were you here talking to his wife? She’s not looking at you, instead talking to someone beside her. She turns, and you put on the best smile you can.

The socialite physically startles when she sees your face. Great.

“Oh- oh my!” her voice stutters over your name like she can barely even remember it, “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight, it’s a pleasure to see you!”

It… it was your birthday party, right? Your name was on a giant banner at the back of the room, so you had to assume it was. Dream logic. Just- just blame it on dream logic.

“Oh, look it’s Gerald! I’m sorry my dear I really have to-”

And she just ditched you. At your birthday party. You blink at the space she just evacuated and then turn around to Jeanine. You probably give her some sort of weird Kubrick stare, and she winces. She then looks around for someone else for you to talk to. From the growing despair on her face, you can assume she doesn’t find anyone.

“I don’t want to be here,” you say.

“I said I’d quit, remember?” she replies. You think she’s lying to you. She looks about as desperate as you feel, which is a lot. You were seeing a lot of sides of ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’ today. She seemed less wicked and more generally insane. Hey, at least the two of you had something in common.

You turn away from her, eyes roving over the party. You recognise some people, because you know, they’re all rich and famous. That guy over there was in a movie you pirated recently. The one on your right seems to be someone important in online tech spaces. You think he did NFTs or something, which made you sad because you did not want that sort of person at your birthday party. Oh, the woman on the other side of the room eating canapes is an Instagram influencer, you think. The fantasy of a Wayne party gala is fading fast, falling out of the sky like a comet of fire to bring doom and death to mankind.

You are so out of your depth.

You turn back around to Jeanine.

“I really, really don’t want to be here,” you repeat, and Jeanine, shocking you, grabs your hands in hers.

“Please stay. Just for thirty minutes, please,” she begs you, her dark eyes pleading. And because you are the living personification of a doormat, you sigh.

“Alright. But only for thirty. And I’m getting very, very drunk.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be right beside you the entire time-”

You decide, oh so kindly, that you are totally ditching Jeanine, too. Spinning in your dress, you make a grand effort to get away from her, but she dogs you loyally. The goliath-like heels you’re wearing don’t make it any damn well easier. Still, you don’t stop trying to outrun the tiny, control freak of a woman. Because while she definitely seems to desperate to stay near you, you are also very desperate to not be near her.

Your hand itches. Randomly, it itches quite a lot. You don’t know why you only notice what must be a bug bite inside the gala, but you do. Awkwardly, you scratch your palm with your other hand, staring down at the skin. It doesn’t look red yet, but it honestly it’s getting kind of annoying.

You sigh again, and turn to ask Jeanine if she had any lotion or something, because you assume that’s what stalking personal assistants are for and… she’s not there. Somehow you lost her, without even noticing.

You throw your arms into the air. Yippee! Now, it’s time for alcoholism, as is the answer to all problems in life. It’s what the loving and maternal arms of Gotham had taught you, after all.

You stumble your way to a wall where there’s a set of food, and a server with a silver platter carrying a bunch of champagne glasses. You stop the guy before he moves again, your hands in the air like you’re trying to soothe a scared animal.

You point at the tray, “I want that.”

He looks at you with mild horror. You thought rich people were weird, like he’d be used to something like this. It wasn’t like you were asking for the shirt off his back or cocaine or something. If it wasn’t obvious, you really didn’t know anything about what rich people did.

“It’s my birthday. It’s totally cool. I asked Bruce myself,” You bald-faced lie, like you’d ever even met the man. Like a predator, you watch the man carefully put the tray down next to the rest of the food, and then he slowly backs away from you. Well, okay, you could admit that was kind of weird. This night is getting to you. God knows this loud-as-fuck party was more overstimulating than anything you could usually stand. And so bright. What a shitty fairytale ball.

You grab one of the flutes of champagne and swirl it, sniff it, and then once you’ve gone through the polite checklist of drinking you throw it back like it’s a shot of vodka. There were people watching after all. Wait, they’d probably seen you corner that poor server boy.

Hmm, this requires cake. You choose a random slice that looks like it might be strawberry something, and dig in eagerly. It tastes fucking fantastic. The cream is sweet and soft, and the jam has a pop of flavour you totally weren’t expecting. And the cake itself was a lovely, spongy texture.

Grand. Maybe if you just sat here like a wallflower and ate food and drank liquor you could handle this. It wasn’t any different from how you behaved at Molly’s college parties.

So, you decide to work your way up and down the buffet table. Most of it’s delicious, but when you try things you can’t quite recognise, there’s a twenty-percent chance it’ll be disgusting and you’ll have to spit it out to avoid poisoning. You’re careful not to try the caviar, despite your own curiosity. You’d heard that it just tasted like salty water, and that didn’t mix well with whatever you were currently putting in your stomach.

You look down at your hand. It’s another piece of the sponge cake, wedged between a napkin so your dirty fingers didn’t touch it and you didn’t have to bother with another plate. You giggle, because it really is that good.

Ah, this is great. You could do this forever, screw thirty minutes. You eye the entrance the servers keep coming in and out of, and wonder if Jeanine would get mad if you tried to follow them into the kitchens. Probably, probably…

The question was, was it worth it? You’re debating the merits when the sound of someone's shoes stops next to you. You think it’s a man, and you consider barking at him to get away from the buffet, but decide you’ve tried everything and can probably share again. It takes great strength, though. You decide you deserve some more champagne for the kindness.

It’s after a moment that you realise he’s not taking anything.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” a familiar, calm, masculine voice speaks from behind you. Your mouth drops open, and you spin on your heel. If you hadn’t been clinging to the table cloth you’d have fallen over, but still, you drop the champagne flute, and it bursts in a spray of liquid and glass against your dress.

It also splatters on the dress shoes of one Tim Drake.

First the phone, now the delicious drink. You really wished you’d stop dropping things.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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absolutelynothoughtswhatsoever · 2 years

Text

I know there are alot of angsty Tim does not believe he is part of the family takes but consider a hilarious twist on this where Tim 100% separates being a bat verses being a Wayne like its more of a family business type of situation.

Like Jason goes on a full ass monologue about how Tim stole Robin and his place in the family as Dick’s brother and Bruce’s son and Tim is like??? chill I’m an employee dude. Damian tries to kill him to prove that he is the superior son and Tim is super confused because shouldn’t he go after one of Bruce’s sons instead of an unpaid intern?

Bruce has a whole heart attack when Tim tries to ask if he has a retirement plan or benefits lmfao

Cue everyone trying to show Tim he’s part of the family except he is dodging attempts left and right (like that time he created a fake uncle just so he wouldn’t get adopted)

#cass is the only one who is successful in convincing tim he's her brother #except it backfires and Cass becomes a Drake through some impressive forgery #Duke has the same problem and becomes the union president between the two of them #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #Bruce Wayne #cassandra cain #Duke Thomas #Dick Grayson #Batman #Robin #Red Robin #DC #BatFam

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superbat-love · 4 months

Text

When Clark volunteered to watch over Gotham while Bruce was working undercover on a case, he didn’t anticipate that impersonating ‘Bruce Wayne’ was part of the deal.

Clark nervously adjusted his sunglasses and stepped out of Bruce’s office, half-expecting someone to scream at him for trespassing and summon security. However, the employees passing by simply greeted him with a casual "Good morning, Mr. Wayne," offering bland smiles.

Perhaps Bruce was right in asserting that no one really remembers or cares about his appearance due to infrequent office visits.

A disheveled man approached him, saying, “Mr. Wayne, can I get your approval on the revised contract? Our vendor is confused about the 'champagne shots for everyone' you added — they’re an IT company. Also, they don’t comprehend the 'just put it on my tab' comment under the payment terms that you amended and signed off on, sir.”

A sharply-dressed woman stood as she saw him. “Mr. Wayne, Star Enterprises is requesting a meeting to discuss the new product launch. This project has been delayed for over a year, and they’re no longer accepting excuses about 'injured lips/hips/butt from a golfing winkwink accident.' Can we at least schedule a video call?”

Another man hurried up to him. “Mr. Wayne, the Gotham Trade Association has extended an invitation to you for the business conference on the 18th, but you have a private dinner with Mr. Luthor from LexCorp scheduled on that day. Should I turn down the invitation?”

“A private dinner with who?!” Clark exclaimed. The man cowered at his sudden outburst, and Clark tried to compose himself. “I’m sorry, please cancel that dinner. Tell Luthor that my schedule is fully booked until… November 2094.”

“But Mr Wayne, that’s 70 years from now! Are you certain?” The man looked shocked.

“Yes. Yes, I’m absolutely certain.”

#dc headcanon #dc fanfic #drabble #text post #dc #superbat #superman x batman #batman x superman #superman/batman #batman/superman #superman #batman #clark kent #bruce wayne

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curryalley · 5 months

Text

I need Clint Barton to meet Dick Grayson.

I need Clint to roll into a SHIELD ops assignment meeting having absolutely not read the briefing materials before the meeting. I need Phil Coulson to explain that there has been a serious threat against the life of Dick Grayson. Wayne Corp is about to announce some new initiatives. Intelligence confirms a criminal syndicate plans to kidnap Dick Grayson to force Bruce Wayne to call off the plans. SHIELD needs Wayne Corp to go through with it (and kidnapped sons of billionaires are always a headache) so Clint, we've created an identity for you as a Wayne Corp employee to keep an on things.

And Clint has to be like, "Yeah that won't work."

The analysts immediately take offense. "It's an airtight identity, you've done worse undercover work than babysitting a billionaire's kid."

Clint interrupts. "I can't pretend to be someone else around Dick Grayson. I know him. Me. Clint Barton. We were friends when we were kids."

Everyone at the meeting is losing it and Clint stares at them all. "How many circus kids do you think there are? Haley's and Carson's didn't tour together but our paths crossed in the offseason."

That explains why during his afternoon walk home, Dick Grayson comes across his childhood friend, Clint Barton, wearing jeans and a purple tank top, juggling and doing tricks for cash on the street. SHIELD has adjusted Clint Barton's identity so he's down on his luck, busking for spare change because it's hard to get a job when you're a deaf former circus performer with barely a GED.

Of course Dick wants to help and they reconnect. Dick asks Clint to perform at a Wayne gala. The same gala where the goons attempt to grab Dick Grayson. Dick keeps trying to slip out and change into Nightwing but? Somehow? Clint is always behind him? They're both trying to fight off the goons, still in their civvies, each trying to rescue each other while also not giving away their secret idecities,

"Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"I used to be a cop. Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Would you believe me if I said bar fights?"

When it's all over, there's some disagreement about who is walking who home but Clint insists since Dick was almost kidnapped. Clint gets into his Hawkeye gear and plans to spend the night watching Dick's building for trouble when he sees Nightwing go swinging away from it.

Naturally he follows. Nightwing is meeting with the bats to report on the kidnapping attempt when there's a wild bit of confusion and mistaken identity as one of the bats slams Hawkeye to the ground and demands to know why he's following Nightwing.

Clint's lying there partially stunned at being nearly splattered by one of the robins or something when Nightwing leans over him.

"Clint?"

"Hey, Dick."

Clint and Dick were already friends but that's the story of how Hawkeye meets Nightwing.

(In the sequel, Clint turns up outside Dick's apartment months later. He's wearing multiple bandages, drinking a coffee with the name on the cup horribly misspelled with a K and holding Lucky's leash. He looks at Dick and says, "The Tracksuit Mafia has moved to Bludhaven, you got any plans tonight?")

#hawkeye #clint barton #nightwing #dick grayson

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mochinek0 · 4 months

Text

Daminette December 2023: 15-Lost A Bet (SUB)

Damian wouldn't say he hated someone, but he hated Marinette. She was a new employee at Wayne Enterprise and she was a giant distraction. He would catch himself watching her.

'This has got to stop!'

"I want to make a bet with you." Damian announced as Marinette walked by his office.

"Fine." Marinette spoke, "What do you get if you win?"

"If?" he chuckled.

She smiled, "What if I win? I'm very competitive."

"I would prefer you work in a different section." Damian spoke, "What do you want?"

'Pfft. That's all he wants? Me out of his way? I'm not telling him I'm leaving to a different section in two month; he can suffer.'

"I want you to take me to the Wayne Gala." Marinette announced.

'I knew it! She is just like all those other girls.'

"And before you start flattering yourself, " Mari spoke, "I want a way in, to promote my own fashion line. Being with you helps."

"so you are using me as a business tool." he stated.

"Isn't that what every woman who dates your father does?" Marinette asked, "Promote their next ballet recital, movie premiere, Broadway show, or modeling catalog? I figured you Waynes were use to it."

"He dated those woman." Damian spoke, embarrassed by his father's background of woman.

"Oh." Marinette whispered, "Well, I'm not asking to date you. How about an invite then? You won't even have to talk to me, if you don't want to. Let alone e stuck with me for the entire night."

"Agreed." Damian smiled.

Damian sighed in frustration. Marinette had won their bet and certainly was using the gala to her advantage. He never expected her to come so dressed up. Being in the office was one thing, but seeing her in a gown was another. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. She was a social butterfly, much like his father. She spoke to everyone without a worry. It became a bigger problem when other guys kept offering her a drink. It seemed like the whole gala had their eyes on her.

Damian growled and made his way over to the middle of the crowd. He put his arm around her waist, immediately gaining her attention.

"Marinette." Damian spoke, "I have been looking for you.

"Mr. Wayne." Marinette answered back.

He smirked, "It is after hours."

Mari gulped, "D-Damian."

Marinette looked away, but he could see the faint blush on her cheeks. Damian smiled at her reaction. Several guys took note that the Ice Prince was smiling at the designer and quickly made their way to another side of the room.

"My stepmother wanted to see your latest creation, I believe." Damian declared.

"Oh?" Marinette questioned.

Damian kept his arm at her waist and guided her through the crowd.

"Are you ok?" he whispered.

"Yes." she whispered back, "Were you just trying to get me awy because if so, I didn’t need your help."

'I was trying to help!'

By her pout, he could tell she was upset.

'I don't know why she would want to be with those idiots anyways.'

"Thank you again, Marinette, for making my dress." Selina spoke, seeing her.

"Of course." Mari smiled, "I enjoy making your outfits."

Damian remained silent, realizing that Marinette already was acquainted with his step-mother and likely her friends.

"How was the mob?" Selina asked, taking a sip of champagne.

Marinette shrugged, "A few customers, but other than that, a few trying for a good time."

Selina watched out of the corner of her eye as Damian gripped his glass a bit too hard. She smirked.

"You should take one of them up on their offer." she suggested.

"I should?" Marinette asked confused.

Selina looked over to the mob, ignoring Damian's glare.

"The hell she should." The Wayne heir growled.

"Marinette is a single, desirable young woman, Damian." Selina answered back, "She has needs as well."

Mari looked down at the floor, blushing red.

'I certainly wasn't expecting my sex life to be somehting my bosses' family talked about. I wonder what made Selina change her mind. Before, she was telling me never to leave with someone from one of these things.'

Before Marinette could ask, Damian grabbed her and pulled her out towards the garden.

Selina smirked as she watched them walk away.

'Now, where's Bruce? He owes me $100.'

Selina spotted Tim and made her way towards him.

"Do you know were Bruce is?" she asked.

"Uh, I think he stepped out for a breath of fresh air." Tim answered, "Why?"

'So he already got bored and left to roam. Did he really think no one will notice him gone?'

She sighed, "Tell him he owes me $100."

"Wait!" Tim exclaimed, "What?"

"Yeah. We had a bet." Selina replied.

"Hold up! Is this about getting Damian a date?" he questioned.

"Yep." she spoke.

"Dammit!" Tim whined.

"Why are you upset?" Selina asked, "Do you not want him to be happy?"

Tim pulled out his wallet and handed her $100.

"He asked you to pay me?" she rebutted.

"No." he pouted, "He made another bet with me that you would succeed. I thought you wouldn't."

Selina laughed and took the money.

"Who did you set him up with?" Tim asked out of curiosity.

"The designer." she smiled, "He seemed really upset with her getting attention. I told her she should take advantage of the cesspool and go home with one of the. Your brother grabbed her hand and took her outside after that. Thanks, Tim."

Tim watched in shock as she walked away. He had no idea his younger brother had a crush on their new designer.

'Didn't expect him to be the possessive type. Scratch that, Talia waltz in here like she owns Wayne Manor, all the time, and Bruce still lets her, as long as she behaves. Looks like Bruce, but has Talia's attitude. I need to stop making bets with Bruce.'

TAGLIST: @maribat-calendar-events @animeweebgirl@a-star-with-a-human-name@meme991001@vixen-uchiha@abrx2002@alysrose-starchild@fandom-trapped-03@dood-space@moonlightstar64@saltymiraculer@marveldcedits20@09shell-sea09@icerosecrystal@animegirlweeb@insane-fangirl-of-everything@blueblossombliss@nickristus-dreamer@megawhitleycalderonpaganus@missmadwoman@meira-3919@princessdaisysolosyourfaves@blep-23@fangirlingfanatic@darkhinauniverse@ravenr22@im-a-satanic-ritual@ravennm84@bianca-hooks123@a-slytherinish-gryffindor@starling218

#daminette december 2023 #daminette #damian wayne #marinette dupain cheng #bet #damian x marinette #marinette x damian #wayne gala #marinette is popular #jealous damian #selina kyle #bruce wayne #tim drake #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #mochinek0

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igotanidea · 1 year

Text

Cheshire cat: Jason Todd x fem!reader

It was bad.

It was really, really bad.

She was shaking, the whole world was spinning, her head was killing her and she had that clenching feeling in her heart telling her that something happened.

Jason Red Hood was on the undercover operation and she hadn’t seen him for almost three weeks and it was killing her. Quite literally. On the first week she fell sick, on the second twisted her ankle during training with Tim and on the third headaches and nausea started.

Of course, Dick and Tim were making sure she was doing fine. Even Damian took some interest in her well-being. Alfred was constantly checking up if she was all right and everyone were trying to convince her to move to the manor for some time, but even Bruce could not convince her to actually do it. She only felt at ease in her own apartment. In the Wayne household she would constantly stumble upon Jason’s stuff, his books and his old clothes and would spend the entire time in his old room which will only amplify the pain and fear for her. Besides, she had been through it once, when he was killed by Joker, and doing it again would definitely brake her. So she refused, staying in her own house, only meeting boys for patrols, when it was needed.

Y/N was a long-time friend of the family. Her father was one of Bruce’s most trusted RD employee, the very first to learn Wayne was actually Batman. Sad thing that this knowledge got him killed and the man left a daughter alone in the world. So, being chased by some slight guilt Bruce took her in, soon after he adopted Dick. So at the point, instead of one sidekick he had two. Robin was mostly the second line of attack, but Y/N, who took vigilante’s name Cheshire was supposed to be the distraction. For some reason she was extremely good with playing with people’s mind and the silent words she used to make them confused and turn them into a bunch of sheep, lost in the dark was kind of her thing. Sure, she was capable of kicking asses but observing criminals losing their shit just because of well-chosen words was far more entertaining. She truly was like a Cheshire car in Alice in Wonderland, from whom the girl took the name.

And from the first time she was on patrol with Dick and Bruce the things started accelerating.

After a few years, Dick left, Jason came in and became Robin.

And then, despite clear potential for being more than friends with Y/N he was killed by Joker, leaving the only thing happening between them in the form of awkward flirting.

And then Tim came in. And Damian.

And then Jason came back to life. Only he was not the same.

She was the first person he showed himself to, not able to stay away. She was his anchor and he wanted her back, now truly ready to be more than friends. And he was willing to fight for her, to go through the desert, climb through the highest mountains, crawl the jungle and to do any crazy shit just to prove to her what she meant to him. Luckily, she let him in without such extreme display of affection, however making him work for it. She trusted him, even if his new alter ego, Red Hood was probably a bit too violent and angry, Y/N knew the motives behind that. And many, many times she had to remind him, she was in relationship with Jason Todd, not Red Hood when it was hard for him to differentiate and literally drop the mask when he was with her. She knew it and never complained, because she loved him too. Sometimes, being with him was like living hell, but most of the times it was … peace. Knowing that no matter what will happen he was there, ready to protect, hold and love her. And she reciprocated it all. Just being there with her in their own bubble built in the shithole Gotham was. She would never complain or ask him to stop his action, after all she was a vigilante herself so it was easier to understand.

But still, when he was gone for some business and she could not come the fear crept in. No message, text or anything for three weeks. That was the standard procedure to keep her safe (Jason’s words, not hers). But there was also one more rule. If a month came without any sign of being alive she was allowed to start one-person search party, without involving any of his brothers. She only had to go through one more freaking week.

***

Y/N knew the location of most of his safe houses, so when 4 extremely long weeks passed she dressed up in her Cheshire gear and started her solo mission. Much to her annoyance and unease he was nowhere. Even his best friend Roy, who she never get to meet before was not in any of the places. So there were two options: she could sleep in the place she found herself in at the moment and reopen the search next night or risk losing consciousness on the street due to tiredness. The choice was obvious and she just slumped onto the bed, drifting off instantly, still in her gear.

***

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” a strong hand clasped around her wrist lifting her from the bed. The man who was brave enough to do it was taller than Y/N so her feet just dangled in the air for a second. “Are you trying to burn this place!?”

“Let. Go. Of. Me” she wriggled desperately kicking her legs and finally kicking the man in the groin.

“You little rascal! I’m gonna get you and ….” He reached for her again but she jumped away and crashed into someone else’s strong chest, immediately feeling a pair of arms encapsulating her and familiar scent became palpable.

“What the fuck Roy! What the hell were you doing?!” Jason held Y/N closer to his chest, shocked by his best friend behavior.

“She broke in! She put us at risk, Red! She should be…..”

“SHUT UP! Just shut up! So it happens, she is allowed to come here any time she wants. Unlike you, she can keep quiet.”

“Fuck, Jace. You are holding her like you know who….. oh…..” his eyes widened in realization “so, she’s the she.”

“Yes, Roy. She’s the she. It’s a shame you two met like this, truly.”

“Wait.” Y/N let go of Jace for a second and turned around to face the other guy. “You’re the Roy? The Arsenal?”

“I am.” He mumbled a bit embarrassed now “Sorry about that. I can be a bit…. Extreme when it comes to safety.”

“I can tell who taught you that” she smirked her gaze landing on Jace, who just shrugged. “Oliver send his regards, then. You know, despite everything you could let him know you are alive. Oh, and you should work on your grip, your hands got a bit sweaty when you were holding me making it so much easier to just slip away. Maybe some new gloves would help with that.”

“I see why you fell for her, Red. She’s a fast talker.”

“What were you expecting?” Jason smirked “She’s the Cheshire after all.”

“The real name’s Y/N. It’s only fair I tell you mine if I know yours.”

“Ok, if you two are done with your pleasantries, get the hell out Roy. I’d like to have some alone time with my girl.”

“For god’s sake just keep it quiet, will you? the walls are thin and I’m not a fan of hearing anything from what you two are going to do…..”

“GET OUT!” Jason yelled and seeing him shaking in rage Roy was quick to leave the room, moving to the bathroom.

“Y/N….” only now Jace took of his domino mask and his alerted gaze met hers

“Hi, Jay.” She whispered softly and just the sound of her voice made him relax “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s been four weeks, hasn’t it?” he sighed deeply and cupped her cheek caressing her skin with the thumb making her lean into the touch instantly.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry. I guess I lost track of time.”

‘I can see” she chucked pointing towards the pile of bottles in the corner of the room “bet it was quite a party here.”

“It’s not like that…..”

“Hey, relax, I’m joking. A bit.”

“Were you worried a lot?”

“Me? Worried?” she scoffed “Nope. Never.”

“Really?” she could be denying but he noticed her pale skin, bags under her eyes and how she was now shaking in the attempt to keep herself all together. He put her through it. What was worse, there was a eschar on her hairline, clear sign she was back at her poor habit of head scratching during stress. Extreme head scratching. Normally, he made sure she wasn’t hurting herself but for the last weeks he couldn’t and it was showing.

“Absolutely.”

“Then why are you here? You were clearly looking for me?”

“Sure. To kick your ass. Wait, did you think I was going to fall into your arms like a freaking Disney princess?”

“You got your name from Alice in Wonderland, so Disney it is.” He shrugged and she smacked his head playfully “but you act more like Rapunzel.” He grabbed her waist and pulled her into his chest delighting in her warmth, feeling her tensed shoulders and back relax a bit under his touch. “You’re only missing the pan.”

“I don’t need one” she muttered “I can still beat you with my bare hands” said hands were currently sneaking around his back.

“Sure you can, sweetie, sure you can. But definitely not now. You need rest. And so do I.”

“Jason.” she pulled away and looked into his eyes “are you ok? Seriously? Any injuries, bruises, broken bones?”

“Oh, you are worried….” He cooed grinning

“Once again, never. I’m only trying to assess the scope of damage I can cause you myself without breaking you.”

“there’s only one thing you can do to really break me.” He whispered leaning his forehead on hers

“and that being….?”

“breaking my heart. That’s one thing I don’t think I could recover from. “

“That’s one thing I’m not planning on doing.”

“Good.” He leaned forward and pressed his chapped lips onto hers. Just this second he realized how much he missed her. The way she always melted into him, locked her soft hands on his neck and let him kiss her. Never pushing away, not even when he was literally taking her breath away. “Needy, huh?” he smirked

“Shut up. It seems so me like you are far more excited to see me than the other way round. I can feel what’s going down there, you know.”

“Should I check your……?”

“Shut up!” she turned red instantly and tried to wriggle out of his embrace, but he did not let her.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean anything wrong. And you are right. I did miss you, all right? You can’t hold that against me….”

“I don’t Jace, I don’t.” she pecked his lips quickly “I know it’s hard for both of us.”

“But it’s worth it, right?” his voice was now unsure, all the vulnerability and fear that one day she will just leave him to live easier life creeping in “you won’t …..?”

“Of course I won’t. Come on, Jace. I love you, you know that. And you know too much about me and my alter ego to just let you walk away from me freely.”

“I love you too, you little pussycat.”

“Stop calling me that! God, Jace. Roy is next door! This is inappropriate….”

“What? You don’t want him to think you are turning into puddle because of me? That the famous Cheshire is not as tough as it seems?”

“I have my ways to compromise your Red Hood notoriety as well, honey” she stepped on her toes, hands moving up his chest painfully slowly and she whispered in his ear “I bought something new lately and so it happens I got it all underneath that skintight suit” he groaned and much to her delight tightened the grip on her hips “such a shame you will have to behave.”

“Y/N…..” he growled warningly

“Besides, now that I know you are safe I think I’m going to head home……”

“Forget it, you are not going anywhere and…..”

“Is it safe to enter? Are you two done now or do I have to keep my eyes covered?” obviously Roy chose this moment to interrupt them

“She’s staying the night.” Jason stated simply

‘Oh, Lord, why? I’m being tested right now.”

“You do realize what that means, don’t you?”

“That I’m about to be a witness to a show?”

“That you are taking the couch, you idiot!”

“Come on, that is unfair. She’s the guest and ……”

“Roy.”

“I hate you Todd. I really, really hate you. Do not expect me to cover your back again when we are patrolling.”

“I’m not worried about that. I’m pretty sure if I got deadly hurt, Y/N would find me, bring me back to life and then kill me for dying. Isn’t that right, love?”

‘Sure it is, Red. Sure it is.”

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rosewaterandivy · 5 months

Text

i. incandescent glow

summary: have you ever been so alone you spend the day confusing a man in a coma?

pairing: assumed e.m x reader, eventual s.h x reader

warnings: my blog is 18+ MDNI; mutual pining, yearning, miscommunication, poorly-wired idiot signals, vague nineties vibes, asshole-ish rockstar eddie, best friend & store manager steve, drug abuse, comas and hospitals, found family, hop and wayne knocking sense into people, eventual smut, schmaltzy rom-com goodness, mention of thanksgiving, christmas, and new year's holidays

w.c.: 8.2k

a/n: when I say that writing this kicked my ass, I'm tellin' you I had a rough time. @bettyfrommars this flannel-wearing Steve is for you especially! Please enjoy & I hope y'all like it 🥹

series m.list | playlist | currently spinning:

Steve hadn’t planned for his life to amount to this, he’d simply blinked and found himself in a new decade, still rewinding tapes at Family Video. Granted, he’s district manager now and has several stores in the area he’s responsible for.

Meanwhile, Eddie got the hell outta dodge and Corroded Coffin actually made something of themselves. Two albums under their belt and a forth-coming world tour after the holidays, and, more recently, a cover on the Rolling Stone. Ed had called him up once it was all finalized, “Can you fuckin’ believe it man?!”

And, Steve loves Eddie, so he could actually believe it. He tries and fails to keep his jealousy at bay, Ed is one of his best friends for christ sakes. Steve is happy for him, he really is, despite the revolving doors at rehab centers dotting the west coast, late night calls from strangers because Munson passed out in someone’s bathroom again.

He is, after all, Eddie’s emergency contact. Gareth approached him after the second stint at rehab and suggested it, thought it would be the best all things considered. Steve readily agreed and signed the forms, kept his pager on him, and dutifully smoothed things over when Eddie’s benders got a bit too much.

So, he’s rewinding tapes when his pager goes off. He glances at the number and drags the phone across the counter. Nestling the handset between his shoulder and cheek, he punches in the numbers and shoves the tape in a plastic case to be shelved later.

“Hello, this is Hawkins Memorial Hospital. How may I direct your call?” a kind, if perfunctory voice recites. He can hear the hustle and bustle of the hospital waiting room, muted conversations and the ringing of phones.

“Hi, this is Steve Harrington. I received a page from this number regarding Eddie Munson.” Steve eyes the clock, he’s on closing shift by himself already having sent he employees home to celebrate with their families.

“Yes, one moment please.” The receptionist places him on hold, allowing Steve to rewind a couple more tapes and sort them for shelving. “Mr. Harrington?” the line roars back to life, no longer the receptionist, but the doctor in charge of Eddie’s care instead. “Mr. Munson came into the hospital unresponsive but breathing, he was revived by a…” He rattles off a name that Steve has never heard before. “His, fiancée, as I understand it.”

Steve feels the floor sway under his feet.

Eddie.

With a fiancée?

“She’s here now and in a bit of shock, as you can expect. Since you’re his emergency contact, we wanted to alert you of his current state as well as get any contact information for family and friends that need to be made aware.”

“Oh, uh, sure.”

The doctor continues to relay that they’ve elected to place Eddie under a medically induced coma for the time being, to allow his body to flush the drugs from his system before assessing for any further damage.

Steve is transferred to a medical assistant who takes down Wayne and Hopper’s information. He figures between the two men the job will get done, but let’s be real, it’ll be Joyce that activates the phone tree and calls the kids, and he plans to swing by the hospital later that evening once he’s closed up.

Grabbing the stack of tapes and begins to shelve them with a shake of his head. It would be just like Eddie to get engaged and not be fucked to tell anyone. Returning to the counter, he fiddles with the cuffs of his flannel shirt— Robin got it for him the last time she swung through town, insisted that Steve’s wardrobe needed some serious upgrading and all but thrust it upon him.

“It brings out your eyes,” She said, leaning against the wall outside the dressing room. Her worn boots kicked against one another, half of her reflected in the mirror while Steve assessed.

“It’s brown.”

“And gold!” She turns him around to press down the collar and pop the first two buttons of the shirt open. “It’s color theory man, just trust me on this, okay?”

Which is how Steve found himself the new owner of several flannel shirts of varying hues. And boots. When he complained it was all too lumberjack-like, Robin shushed him and continued to flirt with the cute check-out girl.

But that had been months ago. It was coming on Thanksgiving now and his two best friends had been too busy traveling or showing art pieces to even call. He doesn’t mind, not really— well, he tries not to. Steve gets it, people are busy, things to do and people to see.

The remainder of his shift goes by slowly. Kids home from school, families coming in by the dozen. Steve manages to complete a few menial tasks in between customers, throws on Planes, Trains and Automobiles just to have something on in the background.

He’s helping a regular when his pager beeps again, this time flashing Robin’s number. The door dings as they leave and Steve’s already wedged the phone to balance against his shoulder once more as he leans and elbow on the counter.

“Eddie has a fiancée?!” is the thing she screeches down the line. “When the fuck did that happen? Harrington, you’re supposed to keep me aware of these things!”

He signs and scrubs a hand down his face, “I’m his emergency contact, not his guardian.”

“Have you met her? What’s she like?”

“I don’t—”

“I got the first flight out of the city. Which means I had to go to LaGuardia blech,” She makes a gagging sound down the line. “Jonathan’s picking me up now from Indy. Oh my god, is she pretty?” Robin pings between her travel plans and hypothesizing about Eddie’s girl, “I bet she’s a total knock-out, knowing him. How did they meet? D’ya think she’d pose for me?”

“Slow down there, killer.” Steve laughs, “Might want to meet the girl first before propositioning her.”

She huffs a laugh, “You’re right, of course. She’d probably think I’m insane or something. What would I do without you Stevie?”

“Probably scare off more chicks than you already do.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself Harrington.” Robin’s laugh is loud and warm, soothing something in his gut. “I’ll see you tonight, dingus.”

“Sure, stay safe. Call me later, bye.” He places the phone back in its cradle and has half a mind to check the room behind the curtain, just in case some teenagers slipped past without him noticing, but then the phone rings.

“Thank you for calling Family Video, this is Steve. How may I help you?”

“Uh, hi.” A voice says down the line, small and tight. You introduce yourself, quickly followed by, “I’m at the hospital, with, uh Eddie?”

“Oh! Hi, how’s he doing?”

“Good, still in the coma.”

Steve can hear some voices filtering through the mic, loud and familiar.

“So, Hop and Wayne made it? That’s good.”

“Yeah, yeah, Joyce too. The kids are here too, I guess? It’s all a bit overwhelming.”

He huffs a laugh, “Yeah, I can only imagine.” He occupies himself with the slinky on the counter, much preferring to hear your voice than deal with the families that just walked in, ten minutes to close. “You holding up okay?”

An intake of breath, “Mmhm.”

It’s a feeling he knows well.

You’re overwhelmed by all these people you’d never met, on top of the fact that your fiancee is in a coma. Steve feels like shit, having you handle all of that by yourself. If he hadn’t stupidly sent the mid-shift employees home early, he would have been there to help you navigate it all.

“Joyce wants to know if you’re coming by after work. If we should wait for you,” You say after a beat or two of silence, “Or if you’ll just meet us at the house for Thanksgiving tomorrow?”

Steve rolls his neck in an effort to relieve the built-up tension there, bones popping, he rubs a hand at the nape of his neck. “Could you put her on real quick?”

He listens as the phone changes hands and Joyce’s comforting voice intones, “Steve?”

“She’s freaking out.”

“What?”

He sighs, “The fiancée, she sounds like she’s in a bad way.” He checks out the straggling customers, “Don’t wait on my account. I’ll see Ed after I’m done here.”

“Okay, Steve.”

“Does she have a place to stay? I know Rob is crashing with you and Hop—”

Joyce laughs, “We’ll have a full house I suppose. I can put Jonathan on the couch or something, don’t worry about it Steve.”

“Right. Okay.” He gives the final customer a smile and wave as they wish him a happy holiday. “I’ll see you later.”

Hanging up the phone, Steve walks to the door to turn the lock and flip the sign to ‘closed.’ He lingers against the door, resting his forearms against the bar, watching as the snow falls against the dark sky. Wonders how it is that just from the sound of your voice, he felt himself falling not unlike snowflakes outside.

Earlier that day

Turns out, landing the Corroded Coffin interview was not the boon to your career you thought it would be.

Maybe you’d set yourself up for failure. And it didn’t help that you had one big, fat embarrassing crush on a member of the band. Generally, being a fan of the artist coupled with the tendency to romanticize things in your mind only led to disaster.

Or, in your case, attempting to revive the frontman of the aforementioned band on the bathroom floor.

Eddie Munson was unresponsive at your feet, a panoply of pills and baggies scattered across the floor. Having no time to think, you launch into action— checked for breathing and finding none began CPR followed by chest compressions, all while yelling for help.

Gareth is the one to find you, compressing Eddie’s chest with your two hands in between administering two breaths after every 30 counts.

“Call an ambulance!”

You can’t even bring yourself to feel sorry about your tone, harried and frantic, as he stumbles out to call 911. Thankfully, the paramedics are quick. One paramedic asks, “You’re his fiancée?”

Dumbly, you nod, too in shock to register what’s been said. Someone guides you down the steps and into the front of the ambulance strapping you in with a seatbelt. He can’t just die, you reason, not when Corroded is just taking off— a world tour in the new year and a cover story with Rolling Stone.

Your editor would have your head if something were to go wrong. Munson was notoriously picky with interviews and reporters, it was a miracle they’d approved you for the job. Rumor has it that he’d have much preferred Nancy Wheeler, but the board wasn’t keen to bring in a free-lance reporter for the job.

Somehow, this would be your fault.

Arriving at the hospital isn’t any better. Gareth and the other band members stayed behind to call management and see what was to be done about Eddie, and made you promise to call them once you’d arrived at Hawkins Memorial.

Nevermind that you’re alone in a town you’d never stepped foot in before today. And all at Eddie Munson’s behest.

They rushed him off past the swinging double-doors, out of your reach. Stepping to the front desk, you ask the receptionist where the nearest pay-phone is, and she offers you one of the hospital phones instead.

Dialing the number hastily scribbled onto your hand, your fingers brush along the plastic keys listening for the trill of the ring down the line.

“Hi, Gareth? We made it to the hospital, they took him back with a team of doctors and nurses.”

“You didn’t go back with him?”

“It’s family only, I think?” You scratch the back of your neck nervously. “It’s not a big deal, I can stay in the lobby until you get here.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna be a while…”

He goes on to explain that their team has to meet and discuss next steps. The band can’t leave until they’ve done so and their manager asked them to stay put.

“That’s shitty.”

He hums his agreement.

“And I’m just supposed to stay here by myself? I don’t—”

“That’d be great, that is, if you don’t mind,” Gareth interrupts. “They’ll call his emergency contact soon enough. But we’d really appreciate having someone we know there until then.”

“Oh, okay.”

He thanks you for being so cool with all of this and says his goodbyes. With a short smile, you hand the phone back to the receptionist. Heaving a sigh, you drop your head into your hands and lament, “I was gonna marry him.”

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie’s attending nurse overhears you and recalls how the paramedic who brought him in said something about a fiancee. Turning toward you, she places a delicate hand on your back. You jump with a start and look up.

“You’re the fiancée, right?”

“Wh–”

“It’s okay honey, he’s doing fine. I’ll take you back there now.”

Allowing yourself to be guided by the kind nurse as she prattles on about something or other, you wonder how to get yourself out of this. No one was going to buy that Eddie Munson has a secret fiancee. If he was awake, he’d probably laugh you out of the room himself.

But, as it was, they’d placed him in a medically induced coma to let the drugs work their way out of his system. A small miracle, that. The doctor briefs you on his status, all of which flies directly out of your brain, too focused on how small he looks in the bed. Tubes dripping fluids and machines whirring or beeping every so often. Tattoos a stark contrast to the pallor of his skin, a sharp relief against a marble canvas.

A medical assistant approaches you and asks about an emergency contact or the contact information of family and friends.

“I don’t–”

The dazed look in your eye must give something away because the assistant attempts to pat your back comfortingly before saying they’ll check his personal effects.

The nurse, impossibly kind, rests a hand on your shoulder, “Let him hear your voice, honey.”

Her shoes squeak along the tile floor as she leaves. There’s a brief reprieve where you’re left alone with Eddie in the hospital room. The nurse and medical assistant flit in and out occasionally, making notes in his chart here and there. But you’re transfixed by the man in front of you— beautiful and impossibly out of reach. He was even before the interview, you rationalize, but now he’s even more so. It’s bittersweet, almost, makes you want to reach out and hold the hand at his side, silver rings glinting in the fluorescent lights.

“Hi,” You greet. “I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing here, huh?” You take the seat closest to him. “Well, I didn’t really get a chance to introduce myself, so here it goes.” Taking a sip from the coffee the nurse left to fortify you, you recite your full name. “And I think you should know your family thinks we’re engaged. Never been engaged before, so this is all very sudden for me.” You huff a laugh and roll your eyes, “Um, what I really came here to tell you was, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“I don’t know what to do,” You continue, a quasi-one sided conversation and therapy session all in one neat package. “I’m just a reporter for the Rolling Stone. And if you were awake, or hell, even if Gareth were here, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Oh, god not that I’m blaming you.” Your hand finds his arm briefly before you jerk back as if stung, “Shit, sorry.”

“This is not how I pictured my life going, to be honest with you. I thought when I did get engaged, I’d at least have the luxury of knowing my fiancé, or y’know them being conscious at least.” You sigh and take another sip of shitty coffee, “Don’t get me wrong, I love my life— I’ve got a great job and apartment, I get to travel and write for a living. It’s definitely not a bad gig.”

“It’s just, I never met anyone I could truly be myself with, y’know? Laugh with, and I mean ugly laugh with a snort and witch cackle. D’ya ever believe in love at first sight? No, probably not, you’re too rock and roll for that. Or have you even seen someone, and you knew that if only that person really knew you, they would…”

Thinking back to your Corroded Coffin research and tabloid perusals, you sigh. “Of course, they would dump the perfect model that they were with and realize that you were the one they wanted to grow old with.” You shake your head, realizing how ridiculous you sound, talking to a man in a coma who probably can’t even hear you. Your voice falls to a hush, “You ever fall in love with someone you’ve never even talked to? Have you ever been so alone you spend the day confusing a man in a coma?”

“No? Me neither.”

There’s the sound of shuffling of feet echoing from the hallway, followed by a relived: “Oh, there he is.”

A voice startles you from the doorway, deep and masculine, albeit out of breath. A tall, broad man steps into the room quickly followed by a shorter woman and a lankier man. The first addresses you, “You must be the fiancée, I’m Jim Hopper.” He holds out his hand in greeting.

You shake his hand, palm engulfed in his larger one.

“This is my wife, Joyce, and that there is Eddie’s uncle Wayne.”

“He’s so pale,” She laments, crossing the room to his bedside. “Oh, my god.”

You nod to each of them, dropping your hand from Hopper’s. He studies you and you feel like squirming under his gaze, he’s still in uniform but sets his hat on a nearby chair. Great, just what you needed, a police chief to sniff you out.

Grabbing your things, you ready yourself to leave. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I should—”

“Nonsense,” Joyce says from opposite of you, she brushes a few strands of hair away from Eddie’s face. “The kids’ll be here soon and they’ll want to meet you.”

Wayne claps a hand to your shoulder, warmly giving it a squeeze.

“The doctor said you found him and gave him CPR until the paramedics arrived?”

“Oh, um, yeah.”

“They say the only reason he was breathing when they brought him in was because of you.” His voice is hoarse, he coughs into his fist and clears his throat. “Thank you, for that.”

“It’s what anyone would’ve done.”

He squeezes your shoulder once more, “Not necessarily,” and moves off to sit in one of the chairs.

“The doctor should be back soon,” You say, sitting beside Wayne. “He said the vital signs and brainwaves were looking good.”

Joyce nods and shoots you a smile, making idle chit-chat while the rest of you wait for the kids to arrive. There was some concern over Wayne and his heart condition, doesn’t take to shocking news too well, as you understand it. But who are these kids, Eddie’s kids? You didn’t recall coming across any mention of a previous wife or children in your research, but there are stranger things for rockstars to get up to than having a secret family you suppose.

It’s only when Wayne nudges you with his foot that you realize Joyce has been calling your name, “Where are you staying?”

“Oh, a hotel for the night.” You say softly, “I have to get back to New York soon.”

“Well, I won’t hear of it.” Joyce says looking to Hopper, “She’ll stay with us, won’t she Jim?”

He looks back at his wife and seeing her steely resolve, he knows better than to argue with her. “Sure, you’ll spend the holiday with us.”

Damn.

“Oh, we should see if we need to wait for Steve,” Joyce notes, just as a gaggle of people walk in. “Hi kids!” She stands quickly to greet them, their names coming too fast for you to keep up. A man and woman about your age bring up the rear, Joyce hugging them in turn.

Quietly, you step out to collect yourself. After taking a few breaths, you spot the medical assistant from earlier and flag him down for the emergency contact information. He scribbles a name and several phone numbers on a scrap of paper, “I would try this one first,” He points to the middle number, “It’s the work line, I think.”

“Great, thank you!”

Entering the room again, Wayne introduces you as Eddie’s fiancee and rescuer, to whoops and hollers. The younger woman lets out a wolf-whistle and drops you a wink, causing the heat to skitter underneath your skin. Making toward the phone, you dial the number and read the name on the paper.

Steve Harrington.

“Thank you for calling Family Video, this is Steve. How may I help you?”

The rich baritone of his voice, strong and deep, brings a quiver to your knees. Stumbling your way through an introduction, you make disastrous small-talk and wave Joyce over. She takes the phone with a smile, pushing you lightly toward the assembled group where the young woman, Robin, takes you under her wing.

“Fiancée, huh?” She asks with a quirked brow, to your noncommittal shrug. “Hmm.” Her eyes sweep toward Eddie, “I think you can do better,” She jokes with a wink.

Wayne drives you from the hospital to the house, graciously stopping by a grocery store along the way because you didn’t want to show up empty-handed. You make quick work of the deserted aisles, grabbing the necessary ingredients for pumpkin and pecan pie. He helps you to load the bags in the back of the truck and softly croons along to Woody Guthrie as he drives along the icy streets.

A comfortable silence sits between you. Wayne Munson is a man of few words, which is fine by you. The less opportunity for talking yourself into a hole, the better. He comes to a stop in front of a two-storey house festooned with Christmas lights. He carries your bags from the truck into the house, promising Joyce that he’ll be back tomorrow for Thanksgiving. Joyce rolls her eyes fondly and turns back toward the kitchen, leaving the pair of you in the entryway.

You rock back on your heels uncomfortably. Before you can make your escape, Wayne’s hand falls to your shoulder again kneading gently. You glance up to find his watery eyes and quiet smile; he pulls you in for a brief hug. “Thank you sweetheart,” He sighs, followed by a sniff, “I don’t know where he’d be without you, or where we’d be for that matter.” Giving you a final squeeze, he releases you and calls out a goodbye to Hopper and Joyce, shutting the front door behind him.

“Hey kid,” Hopper says, leaning against the bannister. “Join me outside for a minute?” He shrugs into his coat and nods toward the front porch. “Lemme grab my smokes, I’ll meet you out there.”

Well, shit.

It takes everything in you to not give in and pace along the icy boards of the porch as you wait. He’s figured you out, you know he has, and now he’s going to kick you out and you’ll have to call a cab and get back to the hotel before booking it to the airport first thing tomorrow.

“I know you and Munson aren’t involved, kid.” Hopper shuts the front door with a soft click, “Heard you back at the hospital talking to him.”

Your blood goes cold and you know there’s no way you can spin yourself out of this one. “I know, I know and I’m so sorry. It just all happened so fast and Wayne has that heart thing—” Your voice is choked and tight as you try to explain.

“Hey, slow down, take a breath. This isn’t the end of the world.”

“I’ll tell them, I just—”

He shakes his head and lets out a sigh, “Let me level with you,” He brushes off the snow and ice from the top step and invites you to sit down beside him. “God knows what that boy did to earn your attention, cause I certainly can’t make heads or tails of it.” He lights up a cigarette and offers one to you, “No? Can’t say I blame you, it’s a bad habit.” He takes a long drag in thought, leaving you to stew in your guilt. “What I’m trying to say is this: whatever you did, it brought him back. Eddie’s here and breathing because of you, so, in a way, we have him back because of you.”

You stay silent, knowing that whatever Hopper just shared with you is important. The guilt doesn’t leave you, not entirely, but this gruff lawman confiding in you does lodge something loose from the knot in your chest. And when he throws his arm over your shoulders to draw you to his side, you can’t help the watery smile that makes its way across your face.

He smells like your dad, the same blend of tobacco, leather, and spice. It’s been far too long since you’ve indulged in the memory of him, so you allow yourself the weakness, just this once.

And you let Hopper lead you back inside his loud and warmly lit home where Joyce greets you with a plate for dinner and promises to help you bake the pies for tomorrow.

Steve is dead on his feet when he arrives at Hop and Joyce’s house. He’d swung by the hospital to check on Eddie and talked with the doctor and nurses. It was all pretty standard— let him dry out and then assess for further damage. His vitals were good and there didn’t appear to be a need for concern at this point. The doctor, of course, recommended a stay in rehab after being discharged from the hospital, which was already suggested by Corroded’s management team.

“You fucking idiot.”

That’s the first thing Steve says to Eddie, quickly followed by:

“When you wake up, I’m gonna kill you myself.”

He doesn’t linger, knowing he’ll be back tomorrow, and the next day until Eddie wakes up. But it’s gone midnight by the time he turns the key at Hop’s place, kicking his boots at the door to rid them of the snow and ice, before toeing them off at the door. They thunk across the hardwood as he carelessly kicks them off, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on the hooks by the door.

“Sshh, dingus, you’re gonna wake her up!” Robin hisses as her socked feet light down the stairs.

Steve smiles, relieved to see her, before asking, “Wake up who?”

Robin rolls her eyes and gestures to your sleeping form on the sofa. Steve studies you from a few steps up, one hand resting on the wooden bannister while the other pauses mid-air as he unravels his scarf. “Eddie’s fiancée, of course.”

“So, that’s her?”

You’ve turned your back to them, and you’ve curled in ever so slightly on the sofa. One of Joyce’s many blankets covers you, but your socked feet stick out from underneath one corner— dancing penguins.

At least, that’s what Steve thinks are on your socks. But, he may need to get his eyes checked again.

“What, you haven’t met her?” Robin takes in Steve’s shocked expression, before it softens into something akin to how he goes all moon-eyed at the babes who frequented Scoops Ahoy or Family Video when they were teens as his eyes fall to you once more. “She’s great, you’ll love her. Now c’mon, let’s get you some food.”

“Cereal?”

She snorts at that, “Not my cereal. You took the toy surprise last time!”

Safely ensconced in the kitchen, Robin and Steve catch up in between bites of sugary cereal. She regales him with how valiantly Jonathan tried to get you to take his room upstairs for your stay and how stubbornly you’d refused, insisting you’d be fine on the couch.

“I was right,” Robin says, some milk dribbling from her mouth as she chews. “Total knock-out and smart. Dunno how Munson managed it.”

“Oh y’know, the Munson charm probably.”

She hums in thought, setting her empty bowl in the sink. “Why d’you think he didn’t tell us?”

“Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise?”

“Fuck, what if he knocked her up?!”

Steve’s eyes blow wide at that thought. “Uh,” He says, astutely, “I don’t think that’s the case.”

“Yeah,” Robin hops down from her perch on the counter. “But how do we know?”

“You could ask her.”

She punches him in the arm, “You don’t just ask women if they’re pregnant Steve, geeze.”

He shrugs and slurps the sugary milk from the bowl before setting it alongside Robin’s. He licks his lips and crosses his arms in thought. Steve hadn’t considered the rather obvious conclusion that his rockstar best friend had inadvertently knocked someone up. Considering the groupies and types that flocked to Eddie, it was a long time coming.

If that’s what the case may be.

As it stands, it’s nearly two in the morning and Steve is exhausted. Thankfully, Family Video is closed for the holiday tomorrow, but he knows that in a few hours everyone is going to tramping around the house and generally being a nuisance. And he really doesn’t wanna drive clear across town to his place.

Steve pauses on the stairs, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. Robin clears the landing and calls to him from the guest room, “C’mon dingus, I haven’t got all night.”

With a shake of his head, he climbs the stairs mindful not to linger too long on the creaky boards. He settles in sharing a bed with Robin, her icicle feet darting under his calves as he fusses with the blankets. His head hits the pillow, and he’s out like a light.

All you can think as you blearily blink yourself awake, is how everything is so loud. Even when they try to be quiet, scampering across the hall past the living room where you clung to the last vestiges of sleep - it was loud. Strained whispers about breakfast and hospital visits, the opening and closing of doors, Hopper hissing at the kids to “Keep your mouths shut,” and to “Stop chasing each other across the house!”

A man, whom you can only assume is Steve, stumbles down the stairs, sweats swung low on his hips sporting a threadbare t-shirt and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. You’ve never seen a human being with bedhead like that - strands sticking up every which way and the sheer volume it had, my god. Hand falling from his eye, his glasses slot back into place, a pair of simple round frames decked in silver. He stops short at the landing, one hand grasping the wood of the bannister, watching as you set the phone back in its cradle.

“Leaving so soon?”

And that voice - all husky and low from sleep, with a slight rasp to it. It’s amazing you’re not reduced to a puddle on the floor at this point. He stretches slowly, like an animal would, a hushed groan falling from his lips. You swallow the lump in your throat and drag your eyes from the sliver of skin exposed at his hip.

“No, just talking to Wayne.” You offer meekly, voice rusty from disuse, “He’s on his way over for an early morning hospital run.”

“Mmm,” Steve nods, “That’s not a bad idea.” He turns the corner from the stairs and stands beside you in the entryway. “I don’t think we’ve officially met,” He says, offering his hand to shake. “I’m Steve.”

“Nice to meet you.” You shake hands and introduce yourself. His hand is large and warm, the contact of your skin against his sending a shiver down your spine.

“That’s a pretty name,” He smiles at you, beginning to wake up a bit more. “So, you’re the fiancée.”

“Yup.”

“Huh.” He looks you up and down, clucks his tongue and departs, making his way toward the kitchen.

Once there, all hell breaks loose. Joyce and Hop are manning the stove and counter, flipping pancakes and shovelling eggs onto plates and all but throwing them at the kids. Wedged into the breakfast nook are Dustin, Lucas, and Mike while El, Max, Robin, and Jonathan commandeer the table in the kitchen.

“Mornin’ family.” Steve greets, bee-lining for the coffeemaker. Blessedly, there’s a fresh pot brewing in the percolator while he scavenges for a mug.

Mumbled versions of “Morning Steve,” sound out from the peanut gallery between bites of food and sips of coffee or orange juice. Joyce sets a plate in front of him on the counter and ruffles his hair, “Morning kiddo.”

Hop sighs from the stove, turning the dial of the burner to ‘Off’ before intoning, “The kitchen is officially closed, you gremlins.”

Steve chuckles as he removes the coffeepot and gives a generous pour into the ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug El made many moons ago. He’s not sure of your preferred cream-to-sugar ratio, so he decides to go without and trots out of the kitchen.

He sees the front door close at the end of the hall and quickens his step not wanting to miss you. Spying a pair of slides from god knows who, he slips them on and pulls the door open. Wayne’s old pickup is idling in the driveway as you step into the cab, feet unsteady and the newly formed ice of the drive. Wayne nods to Steve in greeting as he walks toward the house, while Steve waves in return.

“Careful,” He says as a hand comes to rest at your back.

Tossing a ‘thanks’ over your shoulder, you settle into the seat with a click of the seatbelt. “Did you need something?” You ask, breath forming puffs of vapor in the morning light.

“Well, uh,” Steve begins, ducking his head and gesturing to the mug in his hand. “The coffee’s not too great over there at the hospital.” He hands you the mug through the open door.

“Oh, thank you.”

He leans against the car, face level with yours. One fist at the roof of the cab while his opposite arm braces against the open door. A lock of hair falls into his face, and he’s so attractive that it’s stupid. “So, uh, y-you’re comin’ back, right? You’ll come back?”

You glance to him, unsure of why he’s so concerned with your whereabouts. “Yeah, we’re just checking in. We’ll be back soon.”

Steve nods at your confirmation, pushing off of the truck to stand at his full height. His hands slide to his hips, fingers just beneath the band of the sweatpants as he slowly arches his back, hips bobbing toward you. And you don’t know whether to maintain eye contact with him or focus on the looming proximity of his crotch.

“Oh boy,” He exhales, looking off into the distance. “What a day.”

Your eyes dart away when he looks to you once more, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Well, thank you.” You hold the mug up and take a tentative sip, “Good goddamn,” You whisper in disbelief.

“It’s good, right?” You nod and take another sip as he smiles, “I had a dream about you last night.” He tugs at the band of his sweats while your eyes cut to his.

“What?”

“Yeah,” He leans against the truck again, face closer to yours and arms resting against the roof of the cab. “I ended up havin’ a dream about you.”

“W-what was I doing?” You stammer out, as the sound of crushed snow and ice underfoot signals Wayne’s return.

“Well–” Steve starts to say before he’s cut off by Wayne’s, “Y’ready, sweetheart?”

You nod and clear your throat uncomfortably.

“You comin’?” Wayne asks Steve before he closes the passenger door.

“Later.” He turns to leave as Wayne settles into the driver’s seat but before you can pull out of the driveway, “Oh, y’know, you gotta make sure to bring back the mug because it’s Hop’s favorite.”

You stare back at him blankly.

“Or he’ll kill ya.”

“Okay,” You breathe watching as he makes his way back to the house, Adidas slides flopping through the snow.

Returning from the hospital an hour or so later, with plans to bring a few plates over for Eddie’s attending doctor and nurses, you nearly breeze past Steve sitting on the staircase with a mug of coffee and paper in hand.

“Hey,” You greet, toeing off your boots and shrugging out of your coat. “Wayne’s coming back for later, just had to grab some things from his place.”

He’s changed out of his sweats and done something to tame his hair. You can hear Joyce frantically corralling the kids in the kitchen, something about Mass and how she refuses to be late again. Steve shakes his head and drinks his coffee, ready and waiting to cart Robin, Dustin, and Max over to Our Lady of Perpetual Mercy for the Thanksgiving Mass.

But it would seem that no one warned you about Mass last night, which would explain the deer in headlights look you’re sporting now. Steve stands from his perch on the stairs, turning to yell at Robin, “Our Lady may have perpetual mercy, but I don’t and you’re really pushing it today Rob!”

When he turns back, you’re no longer in the entryway. The kitchen door swings as if someone just passed through, and he can hear your voice over the chatter from the kids. Joyce is rattling off instructions and times for food to be cooked and you’re diligently taking notes on the whiteboard attached to the fridge. Your handwriting is neat, and a bit slanted, giving it an effortless look. Capping the marker, you let it swing from the string on the fridge.

“Think that about does it,” You assure Joyce, gesturing to the lone velcro roller in her hair. “I’ll have everything ready by the time you get back.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with?” She asks, unraveling the roller and setting it on the windowsill above the sink. “I’m sure Robin has something you could borrow.”

Steve catches your eye roll and snorts into his mug. Your eyes cut to him, silently admonishing his outburst. He shakes his head and sets the mug on the counter, seeing Hop’s mug he loaned you earlier already on the drying rack.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” You kindly brush her off, “Besides, you’ll want to get going soon and I would just hold you up.”

“And the hotel is dropping off your luggage later?”

You nod, tying on an apron and moving to wash your hands. “Yeah, I spoke with the concierge this morning.”

“I wish you’d just sleep in Jonathan’s old room,” Joyce tuts, “He can go on the couch, he’s used to it.”

“Mom, I already offered—”

You laugh and raise your hand, “It’s fine Joyce, I’m already an imposition as it is. The last thing I’d want to do is put him out.”

Steve watches as you blend in with the family, how easily you soothe Joyce and her worries, banter with the kids, and crack jokes with Hop. It’s easy to see why Eddie could fall for someone like you. He just wishes he could find someone like that— easy going and kind, someone who fits in like a missing puzzle piece.

But maybe it’s too perfect.

Now there’s some food for thought.

A loud honk from Hop’s Bronco jars him from his musings. Steve claps his hands together, rallying the troops, “Okay, who’s with me?” Dustin, Lucas, and Max jump up from the table and gather their coats, scurrying out to the beemer. Robin takes the stairs two at a time, struggling to shrug into her coat. “Look alive, sunshine!”

Goodbyes ring out as you follow them to the porch, watching as they clamber into their cars. You wave as they pull out of the drive, Joyce rolling down the window for a final reminder about the dinner rolls. With good humor, you nod and give her a thumbs up as the Bronco drives onto the street.

The church parking lot is packed by the time they arrive. Steve drops off Robin and the kids before peeling out to find a parking spot, while Hop leaves the Bronco in the drop-off lane in front. Mass has already begun when Steve enters the chapel, quickly he slips in alongside Hop and Joyce at the family pew.

“We pray that the Lord’s healing presence will be felt by those who are sick and by their families. Especially Robert Newby, Barbara Holland, and Edward Munson. We pray to the Lord,” The priest intones from the lectern.

“Lord hear our prayer.”

Steve stands in between Hopper and Robin, waiting for the priest to move it along.

“O, God, you call us to live as one family. Save us from…”

Finally, they sit. Half-paying attention to the priest, Steve turns to Hop and asks, “So, who’s this fiancée?”

“She’s Eddie’s girl, she’s family now.”

“You’d think if Eddie were getting married, he would have announced it in the Times.”

Hop turns to him, “We read the Indianapolis Star.”

And the congregants say, “Amen.”

“If she’s family, why isn’t she at Mass with us?”

Hop snorts, “That’s rich, comin’ from you, kid.”

“I like Mass better in Latin,” Wayne pipes up from his seat next to Joyce, “It’s nicer when you don’t know what they’re sayin’.”

“D’ya think about what I said the other night?”

“Nope.”

“Steve, come on.” Hop stands with the rest of the congregation, “You’ve got the instinct for it, and gettin’ through the Academy is a breeze.”

“I told you,” Steve says following suit, “I don’t wanna be a cop for chrissakes.”

“Stop swearing,” Joyce hisses, “We’re in Mass.”

“But there is something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Well, you can talk about it later,” Joyce reminds them.

“Talk about it now,” Robin says leaning toward Steve conspiratorially, “He can’t kill you in church.”

“Will you please pipe down?” An exasperated parishioner asks from the pew behind them.

Hop scoffs and slowly turns around, “Hey, be nice, pal. We’re in church.”

“You’re disrupting the Mass!” He hisses back.

“Yeah? And who made you the Pope?”

“Jim!” Joyce hisses, nudging with an elbow.

“Now how did Argyle get to be a lector?” Wayne asks, “He took over Ed’s gig with Reefer Rick after he moved to LA with the band.”

Steve and Hopper snort, Robin tries and fails to repress her laughter. Down past Wayne, Dustin and Mike are a few seconds from a slap fight while Max and El whisper in between fits of giggles. Joyce sighs deeply.

And the congregation says, “Amen.”

Cooking Thanksgiving lunch goes off without a hitch. Everything was ready, as you promised, by the time they’d returned from Mass and you’d caught the tail end of Joyce’s scolding: “We will try to behave as a civilized family might—”

The kitchen door swung open to reveal Hopper and Joyce both stopping short at the sight of you washing dishes.

“H-how did you—” Joyce’s mouth opens and closes, struck dumb at the sight of gleaming dishes in the drying rack and the dishwasher already running.

“Oh, hi,” You toss over your shoulder, “The dining room table is set, I was just cleaning up in here.”

Steve and Robin file in soon after, bickering about something or other. They’re talking fast and cutting each other off, but it doesn’t deter their conversation.

“Why do you keep singling me out?” Steve balks, throwing his coat on the back of a nearby chair.

“Well, if you hadn’t been pestering Hop throughout Mass we might’ve—”

“And I can’t even defend myself?”

“Forget it,” Hop cuts in with a warning tone, “And I know you gave her my mug, Harrington.”

“Oh, did you need it?” Your hand flies to the cabinet above the coffeemaker, a fresh pot already brewed. “It’s all washed and ready to go.”

Dustin enters shortly after, “Let’s just vote Steve off the island,” and thumps him on the chest in passing.

“Yeah,” Hop agrees.

Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “Well, I’m ashamed of all of you.”

“Oh, there’s some news,” Max mutters sarcastically, leaning against the fridge.

Steve’s eyes fall to Lucas, “Even you Sinclair.”

Lucas throws up his hands in exasperation, “I didn’t even do anything!”

“Okay, enough.” Joyce says cutting through the nonsense. “It’s Thanksgiving, we’re going to eat lunch without any of this bickering. And then, with any luck, you lot will pass out watching the game and I can finally get some goddamn peace.”

Everyone has the decency to look mildly embarrassed, that is until:

“No swearing.”

Steve punches Robin in the arm, “Can it.”

The room descends into guffaws and fits of laughter shortly thereafter. Joyce eventually herds everyone into the dining room, Robin pours the drinks while Hop carves the turkey. Everyone helps themselves to the various sides— dinner rolls, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, stuffing, and roasted veggies. Wayne arrives with cornbread fresh from the oven and some vanilla ice cream to go with the pies for dessert.

The candles are lit casting a warm glow around the room, illuminating smiling faces. And it’s nice. Nice to belong, if only temporarily, to a big family that loves hard. Growing up, it had been only you and your dad. And after his death, that left only you. You had missed it, all of it— the inside jokes, sibling taunts, half-assed scolding followed by a cheeky wink, and that effortless touch.

It was second nature, how freely they expressed their affection for one another. Steve roping Dustin into a half-nelson for a noogie, Jonathan and Will kicking eachother under the table, El and Max communicating in half-formed sentences and wild gesticulations, Joyce, Hop, and Wayne sharing long-suffering sighs.

“Hey,” Robin says, nudging you with her elbow after refilling your wine glass. “I’m thankful for you.” Her voice is soft, like she’s sharing a secret. Cheeks tinged with a flush from the wine, she smiles at you and raises her glass. “I’d like to propose a toast,” She announced to the group, “To our newest addition and guardian angel, cheers!”

The sentiment is echoed across the table, calls of your name and ‘here, here.’ And it’s so kind that your heart could burst. You sip your wine and swallow around the lump in your throat. Going back to your meal, you can’t help but feel like you’re being watched, observed. Glancing up, you catch Steve looking at you from across the table.

The flicker of golden light against his face does little to ease the knot in your chest. His hair is slightly disheveled, a lock falling across his face wrought loose from his fingers combing through it. His eyes appear more green than hazel in the light, studying you from behind wire frames. Your pulse kicks up under his scrutiny, and he looks at you as if you’ll unravel right then and there.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe it was the years of tropical vacations instead of celebrating holidays with friends and family that made you forget that, actually, families are complicated and any recollection of pleasant holiday celebrations spent with your dad were a figment of your own nostalgia-tinted imagination and the promise of skiing the next day.

For a moment, shame creeps upon you like a thief in the night. You tear yourself from Steve's gaze, not noticing the concerned furrow of his brows as you hastily stand and offer to clear some plates from the table. Sweeping out of the room and nudging the kitchen door open with your hip. He absentmindedly swirls the remaining wine in his glass and blows out a puff of air.

Ever the detective, it takes Hopper all of two seconds to ascertain that Steve did something to hasten your departure from the table. Seeing as the punk is pointedly not looking his way, Hopper lobs a dinner role at Steve, grazing his cheek only to land on his plate sending the cutlery clattering. He jerks upright, setting the glass on the table, “What the–”

“That’s enough,” Hop warns with cool detachment and a knowing look in his eye. He nods toward the kitchen, “Now, go make nice.”

Everything is still mostly out of your control in the kitchen, precisely because you don’t know where anything should go and having a knot in your chest as hard as a rock does little to help matters. But Steve silently rescues you by beginning to unload the dishwasher and Robin starts a thirty minute tale of increasing ridiculousness and by the time the attention turns back to you, you are slightly less hysteric and better able to answer El’s kind questions.

You swallow a twist of guilt and a bigger twist of gratitude. You feel some anxiety brimming in your stomach and nod, giving El a strained smile.

Something knocks against your shoulder. The warm scent of cedar and musk invading your senses— Steve.

“Your shoulders are up near your ears,” he observes.

You sigh at that, trying to roll out the tension, but not quite managing to. Par for the course, with your indeterminate stay in Hawkins looming in the air and stretching far across the foreseeable future.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #fic: tbsg #Spotify

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fandom-chic · 2 years

Text

Happy Little Family: Chapter 1

Summary: When Vought asks the unthinkable, you are forced to play house with certified psychopath Soldier Boy. Your life (and dignity) may be at stake, but something about him draws you in.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Y/N

A/N: Hello! New to the fandom and decided to try out a series. Let me know what you think!

YEAR: 1985

4 months, 3 weeks, and 6 days. That was the last day you saw Ben. You held your son to your chest as you sat on your porch at your farmhouse gazing out at the nothingness of nature. Only a month old, Ben still hadn’t met his first (known) child. Before leaving for his mission, he kissed your cheek and told you he’d be back soon. You guess that you should’ve asked for the definition of soon.

You rock in the chair as you think of the odd meeting you had with Ben.

YEAR: 1983

2 years ago, you were just a senior analyst at Vought in their operations department going about your average day-to-day. It wasn’t until you were pulled into the CEO's office that you knew something was up.

You go through the large wooden doors into the vast room to see Wayne Peterson, the CEO of Vought, speaking to a tall man. You feign a smile as he notices you.

“(Y/N), please come in.” You nod, pushing a piece of hair out of your vision. You take a seat across from Wayne. You could see him fidgeting with his pencil, obviously nervous. You feel your breath hitch; something wasn’t right.

“Thank you so much for coming in. I’m sure you’re confused as to why I asked you here today. Well, I’ll let Ben here fill some of the gaps.” At that, the man turns around, and you immediately recognize the face of Solider Boy. Even with a mask on, it’s hard to deny this man was handsome. You unconsciously feel a smile come to your face as you acknowledge the presence of this handsome not-so stranger.

“Wow, it’s great to meet you Solider Boy. I used to watch your variety show every Sunday when I was a kid.” He gives a charming smile to you and nods.

“Glad to have such a pretty fan.” You feel a blush rise to your cheeks. Pretty. He thinks you're pretty.

“So what’s going on? Is there a project or-“

“You could say that.” He said, a smirk on his lips. “My public image has been tarnished in the recent news, to say the least.” Your mind immediately flicks to his brutal break-up with Crimson Countess and the many civilian casualties in the Central Park attack. “I need to rehabilitate my brand. I think the best way to do this is to shift the conversation away from the shitty things and onto something more…” he was at a loss for words.

“Wholesome.” Wayne interrupts. “So to make a long story short, you will be a trial run girlfriend for Soldier Boy.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “Girlfriend?” Your voice wavers on the word.

“And if that goes over well with the press, marriage.” You feel your legs go weak at that word. Marriage? You were barely 23.

“Wow,” Was all you could utter as the two men stared at you. “Marriage…”

“Well of course.” Soldier Boy says matter of factly. “The ultimate prize if I do say so myself.” He snickered to himself at that.

“B-but… why me?” You stuttered, feeling for something to rest your arms on.

“A sensible question to say the least.” Wayne interjects, “As you know, Vought is an extremely intelligent, high-tech company. With that being said, and this stays between us, we make profiles of all Vought employees. This ranges from promotions, firing, marketing to this.” He gestures at you two.

“And you are exactly the companion Solider Boy should be seen with and-“

“You’re the only one I’d be ok fucking.” Soldier Boy says, grabbing out a cigarette and lighting it. Your eyes widen.

“Obviously if it gets to that,” Wayne says to your expression. “In terms of perks, you will receive heavy compensation as well as new residence paid for completely by Vought. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“So, what do you say.” Solider Boy says, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Your mouth is gaping.

“Wow, this offer truly is…” you search for words, “An honor to say the least. Can I take a day to think on it?”

“Because of the urgency of this pairing, you have an hour to decide, or we go elsewhere.” At that, you’re ushered to another room to sit and think.

You take a seat and your head falls into your lap. What the fuck is going on? What the fuck do I do? As these thoughts swam through your head you hear a knock. There was no way your time was up this early. Then Solider Boy enters the room.

“Am I interrupting?” He says with a cheeky smile on his face.

“Well, only a little bit.” At that, he takes a seat next to you. You expect a speech about how you don’t have to do this and how there is no pressure. But that’s not what you get.

“You do realize you have to do this.”

“Excuse me?” You’re in disbelief.

He nods. “What will come of your career if you just turn down every other opportunity that comes your way? Your bosses won’t be impressed, and you’ll stay at the bottom of the food chain till you’re let go. Do you really want that?” You feel dread and anger building in the pit of your stomach. “With a fancy degree from some prestigious New England school, don’t you think that should go to something?” At that, you were silent. He wasn’t wrong. What would everyone say if you just turned down opportunities that were put in your lap? This might not be directly what they had in mind, but Vought stresses the importance of team players. And what if this counts as not being one. You feel your leg start to bounce in anxiety.

“No. I don’t want that.” You grab your knees and squeeze.

“Good. So we’re good to go?” He says with a clap.

“I guess…” You mumble as he stands up and begins to make his way out. “But wait.”

He turns towards you, a hint of annoyance in his eyes that leave almost immediately.

“Why did you choose me.” He gave a snicker that had a hint of sourness in it.

“We told you, you have a good background, you’re hot, you seem like the-“

“No but really?” You insist, standing to face him. He takes a step from the door, and he sighs, running a hand through his bangs.

“You are normal. Boringly normal. You won’t distract anyone from me.” That humbled you, to say the least.

“Ok.” You whisper as he officially leaves the room. You sit back down and feel like the blandest piece of cereal in the box.

You are then ushered back into Wayne’s office as papers are thrown at you to sign. As you leave the office, you realize you’re officially Soldier Boy’s boring girlfriend.

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15minlatewithbatbucks · 5 months

Text

untitled janet/talia, Bruce's bio kid Tim AU pt. 2

Stepping out into the small lobby that served the two giant offices on this floor (Bruce Wayne’s and Lucius Fox’s, if she remembered correctly), Janet was glad to finally put a face to the woman she’d been speaking with for the past two weeks. The grandmotherly woman pecking at her computer keys like a particularly discerning chicken had to be Emma Johnson and most importantly, she did not have a child underfoot.

“Hello, Emma,” Janet greeted warmly as she walked up. She was still early by a good ten minutes, but she was a little past caring about being fashionably on time. The woman looked up in surprise though she must have heard the elevator. Janet’s smile was honest as she approached; in her efforts securing this meeting, she’d found Emma to be a lovely sort of woman and was charmed by her Coke bottle glasses.

“Oh, you must be Janet,” she said, voice just as sweet as Janet remembered. “Did you find your way up alright? I don’t think we’ve had you here before, have we?”

“The front desk was very helpful,” Janet assured her. “Yes, it’s my first time scoring a meeting with the Bruce Wayne.”

“Good, we’re happy to have you,” she nodded firmly and lifted her phone, presumably to dial her employer. “Hello, Mr. Wayne. Your next appointment is here, Janet Drake.” She gave Janet a little wink. “Okay. Okay, Mr. Wayne, thank you.”

She set the phone back in its cradle and smiled. “You can go on in. Between you and me, I think he wants the distraction until Mr. Fox comes back up from R and D and forces him to finish his paperwork.”

“Always put off until tomorrow what you could have done today,” Janet said. “Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

“Oh, certainly. Particularly if your name happens to be on the building.”

“Well, since mine sure isn’t, I shouldn’t waste any more time,” she said, but hesitated. “Emma, would you say that Mr. Wayne is a good man?”

“He’s good to us,” she said with an easy shrug. “I think that counts for something. Men like him don’t have to be good to people like me, but he is. Always look at how they treat their staff or the people serving them, that’s what I say.”

“You’re right,” she agreed. Jack was a fair weather friend to his employees. He was nice enough – until something went wrong. “Well then, wish me luck.”

“You won’t need it,” Emma promised as Janet let herself into Bruce Wayne’s impressive office. It was intimidating. It gave her the same feeling she had when she was seventeen and being called into the principal’s office though the stakes now were much, much higher.

Even as anxious as she was, Janet had to admit the office was a thing of beauty, all clean lines and the sweeping views. Bruce Wayne arguably had the only good view of Gotham: high up and expansive enough that you couldn’t see the filth and petty crime on the streets below.

It’s understated minimalism was marred by little personal touches everywhere. Pictures and children’s artwork hung on the walls and were framed on the large desk. Behind it, Bruce Wayne sat watching her with those too-blue eyes of his.

“Good morning, Mr. Wayne,” she said, opting for formality even though it felt wrong. Bruce Wayne had given her a screaming orgasm and a tiny human being – she felt a little entitled to use his first name.

“Just Bruce,” he thankfully corrected, standing to offer her a hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Janet. Last I heard, you and Jack were exploring, uh, Bolivia?”

“Peru,” she corrected, taking his offered hand and shaking it firmly. He directed her into a chair and she eased down into it as Bruce retook his seat. Her head was full of little niceties she could do or say to ease this fraught situation, but she was tired and you really only had to make nice if you intended on continuing to play the game.

And Janet was tapping out.

“I know you’re probably a little confused about why I’m here,” she said, cutting off what was sure to be excruciating small talk about Jack or Peru. “And I’d like to be blunt with you.”

Bruce paused for half a moment and just looked at her. Unlike most of the world, she knew Bruce wasn’t half the fool he pretended to be for the media and she knew he had to remember their night together in Cypress.

“By all means,” he eventually settled on.

She nodded and pulled her phone out of her purse. His brow furrowed as she navigated back to that picture of Timothy at the ice cream parlor. She gave it the quickest look before setting it on the desk and sliding it towards Bruce.

A picture, after all, was worth a thousand words.

“This is Timothy,” she said as Bruce’s eyes traced the picture, no doubt taking note of the boy’s likeness to himself. His black hair, so different from Jack or Janet’s brown and crinkled blue eyes, much lighter than Janet’s own.

“He’s a cute kid,” he said flatly, his polite cheer giving way to wariness. Janet nodded, both at his word and at his unspoken suspicion.

“I didn’t lie about being on birth control,” she said. He was a mistake, she didn’t say. “I had an IUD. I got pregnant anyway.”

“And you think he’s mine.”

#tim drake #janet drake #bruce wayne #my writing tag #batman #robin #dc #fic: no choice but to love you

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moocowmoocow · 3 months

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Femslash February 05 - Mystery

Margo x Ellen

On slow nights, when they were both at NASA, Ellen and Larry would sometimes speculate about the queerness of their fellow employees.

Ellen was pretty sure that Molly had slept with at least Patty, if not more women. After meeting Wayne, she was sure of it.

Larry was adamant that if Ed and Gordo had been on the moon alone, they would have fucked. They both thanked Dani for her service for saving them from dealing with the fallout of that.

Ellen was also sure that Karen and Tracy had drunkenly kissed after a party.

But where they disagreed the most was Margo. Larry couldn’t see her loving or wanting anything more than her job. But Ellen, after seeing Margo wear a skirt and heels and stride down the hallways of JSC like a middle linebacker on many occasions, wondered.

During the 1990 budget cycle, Margo came to DC and she and Ellen (now the Senator from Texas) put on a full court press of lobbying to secure the funding needed for the launch of the 1996 Mars mission. After the vote passed, Ellen joined Margo in her hotel’s bar. After a champagne toast, they moved on to tumblers of their preferred hard liquor. Ellen laughed as the bartender blew the dust off the bottle of Margo’s preferred brandy.

Ellen learned that Margo could handle her liquor. Although she did wobble a bit on the way to the elevator. She had brought Ellen’s anniversary plaque for the first class of female astronauts. Ellen had missed the ceremony due to a series of crucial votes she needed to be present for.

When she entered Margo’s hotel room, she was drunk enough to try to solve the mystery of Margo. When handed her the plaque, she leaned in and kissed Margo.

Margo didn’t freeze or push away. Nor did she kiss back or deepen the kiss.

Ellen pulled away, even more confused than before.

Margo thumped her on the shoulder. “Ellen, you’re a good person. And I don’t want to ruin another marriage. So let’s just forget this happened, OK?”

Ellen nodded. “Yes. Let’s.”

As she left Margo’s room with her plaque, she wondered what Margo had meant by another marriage. If she remembered when she was sober, she was going to find out about that. Which probably meant more drinking because god, Margo could keep secrets as well as a Soviet.

Ellen did not remember in the morning. She remembered the headache for years afterward.

#ellen wilson #margo madison #margo monday #for all mankind #FAMslash february #femslash february #margo x ellen #lol this is so awkwardly written #sorry!

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daedalusdavinci · 1 year

Note

7 couldn't you wait to kiss me at home with bruharv perhaps

part 2 of me trying to go back and answer these ancient asks half out of my mind on the worst meds ive ever taken. bear with me here

original prompt list

It'd been a long time since the days when admiring glances followed Harvey down the hall, his smile like a sunbeam as women glanced quickly away and men grinned back, pleased just to be acknowledged by Gotham's youngest district attorney. For decades, the looks had been wary, or cringing, either unsure how to act around facial differences or afraid of what he'd done. But to Bruce, his easy stride had always felt like confidence, footsteps like gunshots and his smile mortally wounding, as stunning as he was the day Bruce met him.

He was old, now. Gray confused the line between white hair and dark brown, swept back and fussed with the way Harvey preferred. The skin grafts made his wrinkles look deeper on the left side of his face, clustered across his forehead and around the corners of his mouth. His glasses were sharp and square, perfectly distinguished, and his suit was a loud white and black, paired with a purple turtleneck that fit him nicely. He looked as beautiful as the day Bruce had met him, but settled into himself, finally finding balance as the years turned. Confidence looked dangerously attractive on him, but his smile was as golden warm as ever.

"Harvey," Bruce greeted, reaching for his cane to rise and meet him.

"Oh, sit down, Bruce." Harvey pushed a cup of coffee into his hand, gently forcing him back into his seat. He stooped to press a kiss against his cheek, the tilt of a smile warm against Bruce's skin. "I just wanted to make sure you got it before it went cold. You're running over time."

Seated around the meeting room table, wary eyes tracked them. The firm Bruce was meeting with today was not his favorite group, but even his kindest employees often still eyed Harvey with suspicion, still on edge every time Harvey made his home in Bruce's space. It'd been years since his retirement, but Gotham didn't easily forget one of Batman's oldest enemies. Bruce found it difficult to blame them. Still, he refused to treat Harvey like anything less than what he was- his best and oldest friend.

Bruce checked his watch, setting his coffee on the desk. "So we are." There was still too much to go over, too much to finalize. He could push the meeting longer, but he'd promised Harvey a trip down to the library to look at a program Harvey was interested in backing, and... Well, between an afternoon with Harvey and one with a firm full of rich men determined to strangle every cent out of Wayne Enterprises that they could, it wasn't hard to come to a decision. He shuffled the papers in front of him together and closed the file. "I'm afraid we'll have to reconvene again at a later date to discuss this further. My secretary should be able to set up something appropriate. It's been a pleasure, gentlemen."

There was some disgruntled mutters, but the men rose, gathering their personal affects. Bruce stood to go through the final motions of the meeting, reciting his scripts, shaking hands, and making more eye contact than he wanted to, and Harvey dropped easily into his seat, sipping casually on his own coffee. It was a subtle, petty dig, claiming the seat of power in a room full of people who didn't respect him, and claiming Bruce's favor by extension, but one Bruce let slide. Sometimes he thought Harvey just liked tweaking powerful tails, just to remind people of what he once was. (Two Face definitely did.)

Not soon enough, the men began to filter out of the doorway at last, chattering in low tones. There was a sharp tug on Bruce's belt, dragging him backwards and toppling him into Harvey's lap.

"Harv." Bruce knocked his cane against Harvey's leg in protest, fighting a snort. The firm representatives weren't gone yet, and he could see one of them raise an eyebrow at them from the corner.

Harvey's answering laugh was like music, his hand squeezing Bruce's thigh as he leaned in to kiss him. The curve of his lips was so easy to fall in love with, his eyes sparkling with soft fondness. His lips pressed kisses into Bruce's cheek, his jaw, and his ear, teasing against his skin, "I remember you being a lot harder to take down."

Bruce found himself grinning despite himself, leaning away from the barrage of kisses as he tried to scold, "Harvey. Couldn't you wait to kiss me when we leave?"

Harvey hummed, squeezing him closer as he kissed from his shoulder to his jaw, shamelessly adoring. "I don't think I could."

#twobats #bruharvey #asks #dubiousfruitsalad #the way i JUST took my meds and im already struggling so bad to focus #i haaaaaaate them i hate them i hate them #i cant finish this #its taken me two days to write this much and its been a struggle the whole time #tumblr drabbles #my fics #i forgot ot tag those even oh god

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yuliasever · 1 year

Text

Day1: Pretend relationship turned real

The life of superheroes required the Robins to always be ready for anything. But neither the League of Assassins nor the school of Batman could prepare for what Tim and Damian heard that evening.

Vicki Vale has taken up her "who's behind the masks" investigation again and turned to her old friend Tam Fox for answers.

"Do Tim and Damian often disappear unexpectedly?" "Did she notice any strange behavior in them?" "Do they remind her of Red Robin and Robin?" "How many cups of coffee does Tim drink a day?"

Under a flurry of questions, the girl was confused and gave out the first thing that came to her mind.

"Lies for good or How to quit your job in 2 minutes" – this was exactly what the headline of the Gotham morning newspaper should have been. But no, the inscription read: "THE TWO HEIRS OF WAYNE INTERPRISERS ARE REALLY SECRET BELOVERS".

Apparently, the girl had not learned to lie since the last time, so now she was begging for forgiveness on her knees. Tim looked at her, but saw a pleased journalist running away with a piece of gold. His brain system had malfunctioned. In disbelief, he looked at Damian, but saw only the same horror in the green eyes - Tim wanted to cry and scream.

Tim counted to a hundred the next morning before entering the kitchen. The whole family has already learned about the "secret romance" from the newspapers and even managed to spread the news to the rest of the superhero community. Real gossipers.

So the chance to tell the truth quickly reached zero.

But what is surprising is how positively everyone reacted.

Steph was jumping for joy and hugging them. Cass joined her. The Duke chatted endless congratulations.

Dick was crying with happiness because they were only pretending to fight when they "really" were secretly dating.

Alfred wished them all the best and rushed off to prepare a festive dinner.

Bruce... He behaved like a loving and caring father. Putting his hands on their shoulders, he said that he approved of their relationship, and hugged. At some point, the guys were pleasantly embarrassed, but after a second they realized that now they definitely couldn’t get away from it.

From Barbara came SMS with congratulations, however, many decided to write that day. But Jason was a shit. The man found them in the library. As usual, they sat on opposite sides of the sofa, but Jason interpreted this in his own way. He told them not to act like they didn't do anything until he interrupted their idyll and they had to quickly sit down. Needless to say, the obvious is that Jason was immediately pushed out of the room with pillows and improvised items.

In the company it was no better. Everyone cried with happiness that the two heirs were together and there would be no duel for the inheritance. Employees hugged: they no longer have to listen to constant quarrels and bickering. In honor of the full-fledged merger of the company, a large-scale corporate event was organized. Tim and Damian felt very embarrassed that they were holding the entire Wayne Enterprises at bay.

Then their friends joined in. If Damian was still able to somehow calm John down (although he didn’t find out the truth), then Tim’s friends simply pushed him into a deserted place and staged a test in the style of “how sincere your feelings are”. It's funny, but he passed the test. When they said a bunch of bad things about their couple, Dami, who was not even going to react at first, suddenly showed his fangs: “You have no idea what we are having to go through! You should be ashamed to say that behind your friend's back!" Such an angry cat they clamped in a vise and approved for their boy.

Nobody knew the real reason, and they really had to play the role of couple. All their indecision to openly show affection was attributed by those around them to embarrassment, but how long the family of detectives woulld feed on this thought is a question.

So after the patrol, Nightwing and Spoiler casually started talking about a kiss goodnight. They were not afraid to speak loudly. There was nothing to do. Tim went up to the younger and kissed him on the forehead. Damian knew it was all for the sake of imagery, but the imprint of Tim's lips was so tangible that his cheeks burned. There were giggles to the side, and he shushed them. He didn't have to answer, but still he stood up on his toes and pecked the elder in the jaw, whispering "Good night."

Damian ran away, and Tim remained standing, covering the kiss with his palm. They laughed at him for a long time.

Sometimes Tim and Damian wanted to do a facepalm, but overall they did a pretty good job. Hugging or holding hands became something commonplace that they didn't pay as much attention to. After all, they were just pretending.

It all went too far when one day Tim was chatting cheerfully with Bernard. Dami just watched them indifferently with his usual expression, thinking about his own, but Jason took it differently. He approached Tim like some kind of bandit and kicked him in the ass, so that the guy flew off to a distant flower bed. Damian nearly spit out his drink, staring in shock at Todd, who just patted him on the shoulder and told him not to get upset about "that idiot." There were a lot of judgmental looks on Tim that evening.

Then Tim decided to make a formal apology. With a bouquet of roses, he got down on one knee and apologized so that the whole family could see.

“Why? We could have ended this right now,” Damian whispered as he leaned over to the elder, accepting the flowers.

“I’m sorry I don’t want everyone to think I’m an asshole,” it sounded quite logical, so Dami clicked his tongue loudly and “forgave his poor lover”, but then Stephanie ran up and pulled Damian disapprovingly, throwing his “dry broom”, as she put it, at Tim.

“But he apologized.” Damian was horrified at her grip on his shoulders.

Touched, Steph hugged the younger to her chest.

“Oh, innocent you, my flower. I see how much you love him, but such a scoundrel cannot be forgiven so easily. You have every right to be offended by him for the rest of your life.

Damian thought that was too long for a fake relationship. He chose acting to the maximum and put his hand on his heart.

“Still, I’ll give it a second chance.” Stephanie wiped away a tear, and the rest of the onlookers sniffled.

Tim was free, but the girl grabbed Damian and took him to her room to talk about all the secret deeds and shameful stories from Tim's past. Damian only had time to look at Tim in a silent plea before he was taken into the female well of knowledge about exes.

It's been three weeks since Tim and Damian have been in a relationship. And, to tell the truth, there were many pluses in the current situation. Surprisingly, they worked together and acted like a real team on patrols. The atmosphere at work became lighter and more pleasant, as if the employees threw off a heavy burden from their shoulders, although they were afraid of the thought that if their bosses disagreed, they would cause a whole earthquake.

On a second rigged family date, Tim and Damian ended up at an amusement park. Hide behind a family trip and then suddenly disappear - such an obvious plan to give the cute birds privacy came up with the great knights of Gotham. The guys did not even try to pretend that they were looking for them. They sat on a bench and watched people scurrying up and down the park. Everywhere the hubbub and fun.

"I'm sorry about Bernard. You would make a good couple," Damian said after a while.

"Never mind. He still moves to another city."

Damian nodded in understanding. While they were silent, he swirled the glass of his drink, and Tim, noticing his drooping gaze, put his hand on him, urging the boy to turn around.

"Hey, it's not your fault, you know?" Damian understood this, but he still had an unpleasant feeling. Tim nudged him with his shoulder and Damian snorted.

"I know."

“Then relax. We're at an amusement park, and we're on a date, too, so why don't we have some fun?“

Damian arched an eyebrow.

"Drake, are you asking me out on a date?"

“For you, Tim, my love,” the guy smiled, having fun with all his might, and Damian could not resist and rolled his eyes, but a blush appeared treacherously on his cheeks. “Moreover, everything has already been prepared for us “. Tim waved the tickets that their siblings had thoughtfully bought with Bruce's money.

“Where do you want to go first, beloved?”

Tim's eyes widened at the painfully familiar nickname, and he covered a trembling smile with his hand. If they haven't left their last competition yet, now Damian equalized.

“I think we need something to cheer up.“

“How's the roller coaster?“

“Yes! But first I have to win a toy for my boyfriend.“

“Roller coaster with Cat-Batman?“

Tim looked at him questioningly.

“They have a Cat-Batman?! We just have to get it!“

Tim took Damian's hand and dragged him to the nearest shooting range, where, of course, he knocked the toy out without even breaking a sweat.

“Would you like me to hold him while we ride?“

“No, this is my gift.“

Tim looked puffed up until Damian kissed the young man on the cheek.

“Thank you dear, I will take good care of our first Batman cat, although Damian himself could easily win a prize for himself. At the same time that Tim realized what had happened, he blushed. Damian quickly took his hand and led him to the next attraction, no less embarrassed.

And so ended the operation "Date of the Damitims", and all its participants rejoiced on their positions. And no one ever found out about the fake headline, because it's not fake anymore.

#timdamiweek2022 #timdamiweek #timdami #damitim

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