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schrijverr · 9 months

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We’re Adopted?!?

When Bruce’s kids end up on the Watchtower due to a set of unforeseen circumstances, Jason first tries to get the League to believe that they’re all biologically related to Bruce. He tries to avoid having Jason give everyone a sex talk by reminding him that he’s adopted. This leads to all his kids pretending that this is the first time they’ve heard of it, much to the horror of the League and the exasperation of Bruce.

Based on this post.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

~~~~

It finally happened. After years of successfully keeping the League from finding out about all the kids he has, they’ve finally met. And in the most dramatic way too. In a way it’s very suited for their family, but that is a detail Bruce had hoped to keep from the League.

However, it happens anyway and now his two teams have met.

They’re sitting in the common area of the Watchtower when the Zeta-Tube suddenly whirs to life and the Batmobile comes crashing into the area. It spins to a stop as if it had been in the middle of a chase, before the teleporter snatched them off the streets.

Bruce gets out of his chair and makes his way over. He isn’t too worried about them, since they’re here and while that might have meant danger before, they are safe with him now. If one of them had been terribly injured or left behind, they would be screaming and yelling already and that isn’t happening yet.

His eyes meet Tim’s, who is standing next to the car, his costume a little singed, hair askew and looking a little worse for wear. Apologetically he greets: “Hi, Justice League, promise we have a good reason to be here.”

For Bruce, this is quite normal chaos and these are his kids, but he notices that the Justice League has formed a defensive barrier around the Batmobile. They perceive his kids as a threat. It’s so absurd that he is quiet for a moment.

In that moment, Superman steps forward and demands to know: “Who are you and how did you get up here?”

“With a car no less,” Hal adds, sounding a little impressed, which doesn’t make Bruce smug in the slightest, no sir.

He is about to tell everyone to stand down when the doors of the car open and his kids come spilling out. It’s a bit of a car clown moment with how many vigilantes fit inside.

Dick nearly falls out of the side, with Damian following after him. Both of them have soot in their hair and scratches on their faces.

A singed Jason stumbling out on the other side as he loudly complains: “This is the last time we’re letting Spoiler drive.”

Steph’s costume is a little flame tattered too as she swings open the driving side and says: “I’d like to see you do better, asshole. At least it wasn’t like Signal’s first driving attempt.”

“Hey,” Duke exclaims, coming out of the car after Jason, looking a little banged up. “Just because I didn’t know where the missiles were, doesn’t mean it was terrible.”

“I didn’t eject anyone,” Steph pouts.

“Yes, you did!” Duke exclaims. “You very much did.”

“Well, not by accident,” Steph argues. “It was part of the plan.”

The other front door is now open and Cass is next to him. He puts an arm around her and pulls her into his cape. Then he decides to step in, because it seems the League doesn’t know what to do when they’re not viewed as an authority.

“What happened?” he asks.

Six heads snap his way, as if his kids had forgotten where they were. It wouldn’t be the first time, so he doesn’t even bother rolling his eyes.

Tim reports: “The Riddler broke out of Arkham, along with like a bunch of b-rate villains. They caused havoc, but we rounded them all up. Riddler took the time it took us to round them up to set up his trap. He went with a fire theme.”

“Is he contained now?” Bruce asks, a little concerned.

“Yeah, no problem, B, we got ‘em,” Steph assures him casually with a thumbs up.

“Sorry, uhm, excuse me, Batman, do you know these people?” Clark asks in that awkward, polite way of his.

Bruce contemplates for a second what he should answer. Then decides that he wants to know what happened and doesn’t want to deal with questions. So he just says: “My associates. Now report, how did you end up here?”

“Associates,” Jason snorts.

However, he is ignored by his siblings as Damian reports: “We have caught the Riddler, however we did so without solving the last of his riddles. So, he sprang his trap after we took him down and we became the target of some missiles.”

“Oh my god, are you okay?” one of the League members exclaims under their breath.

“Tt, of course we’re okay,” Damian spits back. “Unlike you, we have been trained.”

“And we learned our lesson; always solve all of Riddler’s riddles,” Steph grins, giving them all a thumbs up.

“I already said that, but who listens to Red Robin? Nobody,” Tim complains.

Before it can turn into a squabble fest again, Bruce clears his throat and Dick jumps in to get them back on track, explaining: “We tried to get away in the Batmobile, but we couldn’t outrun it forever. So we decided the best way to escape was to use the Zeta-Tube connection.”

“It was great, Spoiler sent replacement flying so he could put in the code,” Jason laughs.

“I wanted to beam us to the Cave, but with the amount of time we had, just taking us to the most recently used coordinates was smarter,” Tim explains. He checks his arm computer then says: “The chatter on the police coms is that the missile made impact where we disappeared. No one was in the area when it went off, but there is property damage. And a few of the new recruits are convinced we’re supernatural, since none of our remains are being found.”

That last bit gets a few laughs from the assembled vigilantes. Most of Gotham PD have resigned themselves to the fact that the protectors of Gotham are humans, who seemingly pull of the impossible from time to time.

However, there are always newer members, who come up with great conspiracies about how they aren’t human and that’s why they pull it off. Bruce knows that it’s a bit of a game between his kids to see who can get them to believe the weirdest shit about them.

So, he just lets them have the moment of amusement after what must have been a highly tense moment.

Then he asks: “Where is Bluebird?” since he hasn’t seen Harper among the crowd, which is weird, because she’s on the night shift, while Duke is on the day shift.

“She the one, who figured out where Riddler was and caught him,” Dick says proudly. “She was escorting him to Arkham when she noticed he was being off. Without her we would’ve never made it to the Batmobile on time.”

Bruce makes a mental note to thank her for saving his other kids when he sees her.

“We also let Oracle know we’re okay, so she can inform her and Batwoman when she gets back from her mission, just in case she saw the news,” Dick goes on.

“Wait,” they get interrupted by Hal. “How many more heroes are you going to pull out of your sleeve? What happened to Mr. I Work alone? Am I being crazy here? Why are you all just standing there?”

Clark says: “Well, it’s obvious Batman knows these people and they do not seem like a threat to us, so I was going to wait until they’d given a report before demanding answers.”

“And we will demand answers, Batman,” Diana adds, making Bruce swallow a little. “We are your friends, we hoped there would be some trust there. You seem to have a whole different team of warriors. That is something you share.”

“Don’t mind, B, he just comes with permanently built in paranoia, it’s nothing against you,” Dick tells them.

In the background, Jason snorts: “Did you hear that guys? We’re his team of warriors. His associates.”

Damian huffs at that: “These imbeciles obviously do not know what they are on about and I refuse to be referred to as such, when I am the blood son.”

“I don’t know, Robin,” Steph laughs. “It almost starts to feel like he cares. I mean, he obviously has been bragging about us.”

“He has not spoken a word about us,” Damian exclaims.

In the background, Bruce can feel a headache coming. He has tried to keep his kids away from the League for their own safety. They can’t use his kids against him, should they become compromised, if they don’t know they exist.

However, they do know now and not only that, it seems like his kids are here to cause trouble on purpose now that they finally get to meet, who they refer to as, ‘his work friends AKA the only friends he has’. Delightful.

Indeed, the League has picked up on the words Jason set Damian up for, because Hal repeats: “Blood son?”

And Clark frowns: “They do seem quite young.”

“Batman, are you employing babes to protect Gotham with you?” Diana exclaims in horror.

“I am highly trained, who dares to call me a baby,” Damian protests immediately and while his siblings would usually laugh at him, they now also feel offended.

All of them have had to defend their age to people, including Bruce. They don’t like being questioned. So all of them are falling over themselves to defend their position as protectors of Gotham.

Bruce decides to help them, explaining: “There are more teen heroes, most of you have or had a sidekick. These vigilantes keep each other safe, they have the safety of back up and I also provide good gear. They’re not running around without a clue of what to do.”

“Ahww, I knew you cared, old man,” Steph coos, while Cass taps a genuine thank you in Morse code on his arm.

“Batman, I appreciate that you look out of them, but most sidekicks have had superpowers that are related to one of the heroes and sought out a mentor to help,” Clark says gently. “You have no powers, where did you get these kids?”

And in hindsight, he should have known better than to hesitate. However, at the times, he does, because the circus, the streets, the neighbor’s and some villains, are not really good answers to that question, no matter how true. And he doesn’t know if he wants to explain.

Still, he has to admit that he melts slightly when Cass speaks up to say: “His kids.”

Plus, it’s kind of funny how most League member jump out of their skin at the sudden voice, since none of them had spotted Cass before. Not even those with superhuman senses. His daughter is so talented.

Arguably the funniest reaction is Hal, who shrieks: “Where the fuck did you get these kids, Spooky!” as he violently startles backwards.

However, Jason jumps on the opportunity, sending Bruce a shit eating grin before he does (he might still be wearing the helmet, but Bruce knows him). He says: “Well, when two people love each other very much, they-”

No, just no. Absolutely not.

The League already thinks him to be a bit of a weirdo, who is steeped in paranoia. They respect him, but they’re always a little wary of him too (which is good in a way, he doesn’t want them close to his secret identity with the threat they could pose). Still, he doesn’t want them to think he practically bred an army of shadow-y vigilantes to protect Gotham. He’d never live it down.

“Hood,” he quickly cuts Jason off, before he can continue with his nonsense. Then he tiredly reminds him: “You’re adopted.”

“WHAT!” Jason shrieks, ripping his helmet off to reveal a shocked and betrayed face even with his domino mask. “How could you keep that from me?”

It seems like everyone needs a second to recover and process after the outburst. However, Jason is gaining steam and dramatically barrels on: “For years. Years! I lived with you, you fed me, you cared for me. You are my dad. At least you were. Was that all a lie? Some ruse? How- Why- I deserved to know.”

Bruce is shocked, unable to form words. His relationship with Jason has been rough, though getting better. It’s still tentative, though, so to hear Jason refer to him as dad throws him off in one of the best ways. Until he realizes Jason is fucking with him.

Even then, it is kind of nice that Jason is messing with him. When he looks, he sees that Jason is having fun under the mask of betrayal. It doesn’t have a bitter undertone, like it would have a few months ago. Instead, it feels a little like all the times Jason messed with him in front of Commissioner Gordon, back when he was Robin.

So, later Bruce will cut himself some slack for basking in that feeling for long enough that the others catch on and join in.

It starts with Steph, who has never claimed him as her father a day in his life, but will always be committed to a bit. She sniffles: “I can’t believe you’d lie to our brother like that. Soon you’ll tell us we’re all adopted.”

“Spoiler,” Bruce warns, hoping to deter anyone else from joining in.

That doesn’t happen, instead, Dick pulls Duke into a hug and exclaims: “Yeah, next you’ll tell us Signal here isn’t our half brother, like you didn’t leave his mother at the altar.” He narrows his eyes and adds: “I was the flower boy too, I can’t believe you did that to her.”

He sees Duke’s calculating gaze, flitting between Dick and himself and knows it’s only a matter of time before he picks a side, so he grunts: “Signal, don’t-”

“She talked about it until her death. Don’t tell me she made it up,” Duke suddenly says, picking the side of his siblings. Bruce would be more glad about him getting along with them, if it weren’t for the fact that in joining him, he left Bruce.

“You monster,” Jason butts back in again, not having had the spotlight in too long. “Look what you’ve done. You can’t just drop something like that on us. You can’t just pull the rug out from under us. Adopted. Or am I the only one? Huh? Is that it? Are all of them your real kids except for me?”

It’s a little too close to home, so Bruce stumbles: “No, of course, you’re always my kid. But this isn’t news to you. To any of you.”

“So we are all adopted?” Tim shrieks, stumbling forwards to clutch Bruce’s arm. “Those people you took me away from, were they my real parents? Did you lie to me?”

And this is just unfair. They’re not allowed to gang up on him like this and be dramatic. They know he doesn’t know what to do when they get like this. He gave them a home, he kept them as safe as he could, he loves them. What has he done to deserve this?

Dick and Duke are still embracing each other and Bruce is pretty sure Dick is weeping. Steph is definitely fake crying, while Jason is consoling her. Tim is still clutching his one arm, babbling about being taken from his parents.

Cass is his favorite right now, because she isn’t playing along with her sibling, just quietly huddling into his side. Damian would share the spot, but Bruce knows that the only reason he isn’t playing along, is because he doesn’t know what their game is and how he can use it to his advantage.

Indeed, he joins in – though not entirely purposefully – because he asks: “Father, I am your true son right? I am the blood son, not these imbeciles.”

Jason is definitely hiding a snort as a sob and in that moment, Bruce is tempted to disown Damian, just so he doesn’t have to deal with all this.

He can see how shocked the Justice League is, their eyes wide with horror, none of them having truly recovered at the sudden appearance at a gaggle of kids, who are now seemingly breaking down over the surprise news of being adopted.

He should’ve just let Jason give the League a sex talk.

So, he is tempted to not recognize Damian as his own, however, he knows how much Damian values his heritage and how insecure he is about his spot in the family. And he does look genuinely worried about what’s happening. So, Bruce has to sigh and reward the vulnerability that he shows with compassion, saying: “Yes, Robin.”

Jason lets out a pained groan and says: “So it is true? We really are adopted?” then breaks down crying. It’s almost impressive how well he can sob on demand. How well all of them can, Bruce wonders when they learned that and who taught them that.

The League, meanwhile has also apparently reached their limits and Hal suddenly explodes: “Fucking hell, Bats. Is that how you’re telling them that? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Around him all the others start to nod in agreement and Bruce knows that some of those shaking shoulders of his kids aren’t sobs but laughter at this point. He wonders if it’s wrong to return any of them, despite knowing that he would never give any of them up, even with all the gray hairs they’re giving him.

He does think about it though, especially when Clark cautiously says: “It seems unnecessarily cruel, Batman. They’ve just been chased through the streets by missiles. You could have waited.”

“Yes, it is very cruel,” Diana agrees. “And I do not know you to be cruel.”

Usually, Bruce has an image to maintain, but that image includes him working alone and having no sense of humor or humanity, so obviously it’s incorrect. Besides, any reputation he might have had has just been ruined by his kids. He doesn’t have to take this judgment from his friends.

So, he throws his hands up and, bordering on a whine, says: “I’m not cruel. They all know they’re adopted. All of them were over nine when it happened. Hell, not even all of them are adopted. Not all of them wanted to be. They know! They’re just messing with me.”

It’s quiet after his outburst.

Both the League and his kids blink for a few times. It’s clear that the League doesn’t know what to believe, but his kids are luckily done with the chaos. Though, Bruce doesn’t know if he’s happy with that when he sees some of their faces morph into grins.

Dick decides to put him out of his misery first, letting go of Duke to skip forwards and sling an arm around Bruce, which he grudgingly allows. He never says no to hugs from his kids, no matter what stunt they’ve just pulled.

“He’s right,” Dick smiles at everyone. Then he jokingly tugs on one of the ears on his cowl – something he has done since his early days as Robin – as he teases: “He didn’t mind. Right, B? You are a softie under there.”

“Who cares if he minds,” Jason says loudly. “That was hilarious, did you see everyone’s faces when replacement told them he’d stolen him out of his home. Golden. I’m gonna ask O for that footage the second we get back.”

Now the League is looking at them with even more confusion. Unsure of what to do now.

Bruce wants to let them suffer, but he also doesn’t want to give his kids room to do something else to embarrass him. So, he takes the reigns saying: “Just to clear it all up; this is Nightwing, my oldest.”

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” Dick gives the League a bright smile.

“My second or third oldest – we’re not sure – Red Hood,” Bruce continues on, gesturing to Jason, who just gives them a salute. “And, again, the second or third oldest, Black Bat.” She waves at them, startling some again, since they’d forgotten she was there. Hm, they might have to do another stealth and awareness training day.

“This is Spoiler, she is not one of mine technically,” he continues on introducing everyone there.

Steph grins at all of them and says: “I eat his food and steal his money, but I’m not having him sign shit. All of the perks, none of the accountability.”

“And how you remind me of that,” Bruce sighs, before gesturing to Tim and saying: “This is Red Robin, my fourth kid. He is adopted, but also emancipated. And I did not steal him away from his parents.”

“Technically, he did, because they were kinda shitty, but only legally when they died,” Tim corrects, which is not necessary and Bruce will be answering questions about that for months. Judging by the smug look on his face, Tim knows.

Deciding not to engage for now, he moves on to Duke. “This is Signal, he is my ward. He normally works the day shift.”

“Hello,” Duke squeaks awkwardly.

“And this is Robin, he is the youngest,” Bruce finishes his introductions.

“I am the blood son of the Bat and the one true heir,” Damian exclaims proudly.

“Yeah, yeah, we know, brat,” Jason rolls his eyes. “You were once B’s sperm. Whoop-die-doo.”

Multiple faces contort at that, with Tim and Steph both exclaiming how gross that is and how he didn’t have to phrase it like that and how they never want to hear about Bruce’s sex life ever again in any way, shape, or form.

Hal comments: “Wait, you actually have a kid?”

Bruce fights the urge to facepalm as he deadpans: “Just a second ago, you were willing to believe I had seven or more, why do you seem surprised?”

That renders Hal speechless, which is good, because Bruce doesn’t want to be here anymore. He wants to check up properly on his kids, check up on Gotham, and be as far away from the League and their questions as he can.

So, he uses the silence to says: “Now, as interesting as this has all been, we are going home. I have a city to check on and kids to ground.”

All around him protests start up about how he either has no power over them and can’t ground them or that they’re too mature and well trained fro childish things such as grounding. But Bruce is great at tuning them out when needs must, so he types in the last of the Batcave coordinates and lets the Zeta-Tube take them home.

A/N:

I love coming up with convoluted reasons of why the batfam would be in the Watchtower lmao

Also Alfred totally taught them to cry on command, knowing they would use it for evil <3

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unclewaynemunson · 10 months

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After Eddie and Max were brought into the hospital, the waiting room was packed with people. But as time passed by, it got quieter. One by one, worried parents came by to pick up their kids.

“Are you sure you don't wanna come with me?” Robin asked Steve when her mother arrived.

Steve nodded. “Go home, Rob, it's okay. Just wanna make sure Max's mom and Eddie's uncle get here.”

She shot him a worried look, but she knew him well enough to recognize when she wouldn't be able to persuade him – and Steve in turn knew that there was no way Mrs. Buckley would leave the hospital without Robin, after all that had happened that night.

So Steve stayed and waited with Lucas in Max's room for Mrs. Mayfield. When she arrived, he decided to give them some privacy and wandered over to Eddie's room a couple of doors down the hall.

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if Eddie would already have returned from the operation room – and if so, if it would be good or bad news waiting for him on the other side of the door.

He swallowed. Waiting motionlessly in the corridor wouldn't change what he'd find. So he raised his hand and slowly pushed the door open.

Eddie was inside, leaning against a pillow in his bed. He was as white as the sheets around him and he had large stitches in one of his cheeks, but other than that, he looked – alive.

“Eddie,” Steve breathed out while an overwhelming wave of relief washed over him.

It was only then that he noticed the other people in the room and stopped in his tracks.

Eddie's uncle was sitting at his bedside, wearing sweatpants and only an undershirt underneath his denim jacket. He looked exhausted, but just as relieved as Steve felt.

But that wasn't what had sparked Steve's surprise. No, the thing that Steve couldn't make sense of, was the man who was sat in the chair next to Wayne Munson. It was Steve's old middle school science teacher, Scott Clarke. He was dressed in a plaid flannel that seemed more Mr. Munson's style than his own, buttoned askew on top of a pair of striped pajama pants.

“Mr. Clarke? What are you doing here?” The question tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“Who are you?” Mr. Munson asked Steve before Mr. Clarke could say anything. It sounded defensive on the verge of being aggressive, but Steve couldn't really blame him for that, considering what the majority of Hawkins currently thought about Eddie.

“Steve Harrington,” he said, holding out his hand.

The lines on Mr. Munson's forehead deepened.

“He's my friend,” Eddie said. His voice sounded hoarse and weak, but Steve still felt a rush of warmth course through his whole body because of the words he said. “He saved my life.”

“Oh.” Mr. Munson's eyes widened slightly and he finally took Steve's hand. “Wayne Munson. Eddie's uncle. Pleased meetin' ya.”

“It's good to see you again, Steve,” Mr. Clarke remarked. “You've grown a lot since the last time I saw you.”

“I didn't expect to see you here, Mr. Clarke,” Steve noted, still trying to make sense of what exactly his old science teacher was doing in this room.

“Uncle Scott is also my uncle,” Eddie explained.

Steve looked back and forth between Mr. Munson and Mr. Clarke, trying to find any kind of resemblance between the two of them.

“You're brothers?” he couldn't help but ask, unable to keep the astonishment out of his voice. He would never have guessed that those two men were related to each other.

“Steve, no...” Eddie's voice was almost a whisper and had an undertone of something that sounded an awful lot like exasperation. Steve knew that tone all too well; he had never been good at restraining himself from asking stupid questions, after all.

He noticed how the two men exchanged some kind of meaningful glance with each other.

“Um, I think we should go get some coffee, Wayne,” Mr. Clarke said. “Leave the boys to catch up.”

Mr. Munson nodded, but before he got up, he looked at Eddie. "You'll be alright?" he asked, a worried frown on his face.

Eddie nodded. "It's fine, Uncle Wayne." He said it softly, like he was trying to reassure his uncle, and only after Eddie gave him another emphatic nod, Mr. Munson started following Mr. Clarke out of the room.

Just when Steve realized Mr. Clarke must be Eddie's uncle from his mom's side while Mr. Munson had to be his dad's brother, Wayne let his hand linger on the small of Mr. Clarke's back. It was a tiny moment, that only lasted a second right before they went through the door, easy to miss if one weren't paying close attention. But it was still enough for Steve to understand the exasperation in Eddie's voice and the unease on his uncles' faces. That one touch told Steve all he needed to know: there was this casual, easy kind of intimacy behind it that only long-term partners shared. He had seen his parents act like that, and Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair...

“No fucking way,” he breathed out at the moment the door quietly shut behind Mr. Munson. He turned back to Eddie with wide eyes and his jaw dropped.

“Your uncle is – and he's with Scott Clarke?”

Eddie's jaw clenched. “You got a problem with that?”

In his pure astonishment, Steve barely even registered Eddie's question.

“That's impossible!” he all but exclaimed. “Here – in Hawkins? How?!”

Eddie looked slightly past Steve's face, to the bare white wall behind him. “Jesus Christ, Steve,” he said. “You've seen dozens of hell monsters and walked through an alternate dimension to fight an evil sorcerer, and this is what you decide is impossible?”

“Well, it is,” Steve stubbornly said.

He remembered how he once felt about his teammate Thomas, back in his freshman year, remembered the ache in his chest exactly because of how impossible it was. He remembered Robin talking about Tammy Thompson in that bathroom stall filled with the scent of their puke. But Tammy Thompson is a girl, he had said, in his instinctive and perhaps naive confusion - not because he deemed it impossible for Robin to feel that way about a girl, but because up until that point, he had deemed it irrelevant. He knew better than anyone that those kind of feelings would flare up from time to time around certain people, but as far as he was concerned, it didn't matter. There was no way to act on it, no point in lingering on something that was impossible to have anyway.

“They've been together for over a decade,” Eddie said. His voice suddenly lacked its usual warmth; a warmth that Steve had gotten used to over the past few days; a warmth that left a weird feeling of loss behind in Steve's chest now that it wasn't there. “They make each other happy. They don't hurt anyone with it. So don't fucking tell me it's impossible, man. They love each other, and if you're gonna be a dick about that, I'm gonna have to kindly ask you to fuck the hell off.”

“Woah, woah, woah, wait,” Steve hurriedly sputtered. “I'm not – I didn't-” The words got stuck in his throat, somehow. He didn't quite know how to explain the storm that was raging inside of him, the many emotions he felt upon discovering that there were two men happily sharing their lives together, who lived in the same town as he did. Two men who were just like him, who had figured out a way to not hide away, who had somehow found their way to each other, and who had fallen in love without it being something they needed to repress.

“I didn't know – that it could be like that,” he finally managed to stutter. “I never even imagined a future like that for myself. I didn't know – I thought we were just supposed to pretend like those parts of ourselves don't exist and marry a woman. I never met anyone who did it differently.”

Finally, Eddie averted his gaze to look at him again. His eyes were a little bit wider and he was staring at him so intensely that Steve felt something stir deep in his stomach.

“Stevie,” he said, his voice quiet and so much warmer than before in a way that sent a shiver down Steve's spine. “Jesus, I'm sorry, I had no idea. I thought you were saying..." He cut himself off and inhaled deeply, slightly shaking his head. "Listen, man, there's always a choice. I'm not saying it's easy; my uncles have to hide a lot of what they mean to each other when they're in public. They're risking Scott's job, and maybe even a whole lot more if the wrong people find out about them... But there is always a choice. They're much happier together than they would've been if they had chosen to hide and marry a woman, or if they'd spent their whole lives alone.”

Steve had to take a moment to let Eddie's words sink in. Eddie merely kept looking at him, not making a single sound, patiently waiting for him to get his thoughts straight again.

“Are there more people like them, here in Hawkins?” Steve finally asked.

“Not many,” Eddie answered. “Most people who are different move to the bigger cities, where you're a bit more free to be yourself. But they're friends with this lesbian couple who lives a few streets over. And they know some people in Indy, but Wayne refuses to move there. He's too much of a small town boy, he says.” Eddie rolled his eyes at that last part, as if he could in no way comprehend the thought of preferring Hawkins over a big city like Indianapolis.

But Steve did comprehend it. Hawkins was his home. Even after everything that happened to him here, it was where he belonged. It was where everyone he cared about was. He wasn't naive, he knew that that was bound to change at some point, but he had never dared to dream about going someplace else himself. He had never even dared to dream about being someone else. Yet here he was, sitting at the bedside of a boy whose eyes he hadn't stopped thinking about for days.

Maybe it was about time to change his perception of what was possible and what wasn't.

“I know one person who's like – like me,” he admitted. He wanted to tell Eddie about Robin. He knew that there was nothing to worry about – but he also knew it wasn't up to him to share her secret. “I don't know if this is a weird idea," he continued, "but maybe we could all, like, get together sometime. Your uncle, mister Clarke, their lesbian friends...” The idea of it made him feel weirdly excited. He couldn't really imagine what it would be like, to spend a whole evening surrounded by people he had this one thing in common with.

“Not a weird idea,” Eddie told him, that soft look still shining in his big brown eyes. “Sounds awesome, actually.”

“If we do something like that...” Steve hesitated for a moment. “Would you be there too?”

Despite the stitches in his cheek, Eddie managed to smile, dimples and all. He raised a pale hand and pulled a strand of his hair across his face, like he was trying to hide something written on the skin around his lips. “I thought that was obvious,” he said with a chuckle.

Steve chuckled as well. “Just needed to be sure,” he admitted.

He stretched out his hand and put it on top of Eddie's, where it was resting on top of the sheets. It only took a few seconds: he gently squeezed Eddie's hand, then pulled back again, still nervous and not quite knowing what exactly they were headed towards. But no matter how short, the touch still sent sparks through his whole body.

“I'm glad you're alive,” he said, softly.

Eddie's smile became just a little bit wider, and a faint blush colored his pale cheeks. “Me too, big boy. Believe me, me too.”

(I wrote this bc this post by @boldlyvoid refused to leave my brain for literal months)

#don't mind me rambling about stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #scott clarke #clarkson my beloved #stranger things #fruity ficlet

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cevansbrat0007 · 5 months

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The Do-Over

Summary: Everyone deserves a second chance, including jerks like Bounty Hunter, Ari Levinson. Takes place directly after the events in Hello, Duchess.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Bucky Barnes, A Deep Love of Clark Bars, Light Groveling, Bickering, Discussions of Grief, Threats of Violence, Gentle Manhandling, Brief References to Negative Body Image, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Special thanks to my creative consultant, @curls-and-eyeliner. Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

An annoyed Ari takes a pull from his cigarette as he listens to his friend and fellow combat vet give him shit all the way from his office back in New Mexico. As soon as this was over, he was going to ditch this empty parking lot to find himself an ice cold beer and a goddamned steak.

He was officially ready to put this day behind him. But first he needed a decent dinner.

“So let me see if I’ve got this right.” His friend begins, now that he’d finally stopped cursing up a blue streak. “Do you really mean to tell me that you took our best lead, which just so happened to be the perp’s girlfriend, and fucked it all to hell?”

Okay, but just because that’s what happened doesn't necessarily mean that it was actually his fault. He’d just been a little off his game.

“Hey Buck, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re beginning to sound as dramatic as Rogers.”

“Steve would never fuck-up something this big for us.” He could practically hear the man flipping him off.

“I’m telling you this girl would’ve cut off Golden Boy’s balls and fed them to him for breakfast, okay?” He takes another puff, flicking some of the excess ash out his driver-side window. “Trust me.”

“Hold on.” An exasperated Bucky sighs into the receiver before placing the phone on his desk to speak to whoever had just walked into his office. He hoped whoever it was had better news than he did, otherwise he feared his old war buddy might have an aneurysm.

Sometimes he got the impression that Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes was wound a little too tight.

The silence drags on as Ari contemplates getting out of his car to stretch his legs. It’s another several minutes before Bucky is back on the line, and this time he sounds positively exhausted.

“We can’t afford to lose this one, man. Westbrook might be a piece of shit, but he’s an expensive piece of shit. So while I don’t care how you feel about the girl, you need to make things right. She could have some valuable intel.”

“Yeah, I know.” His mood darkens as he flicks the cigarette onto the pavement. As he watches it hit the ground, he finds himself wondering if it was finally time to quit the cancer sticks altogether. It’s not like he hadn’t thought about it before.

“Besides, what do you care if she was Westbrook’s fuck buddy?” Ari’s treated to the sound of his friend unwrapping something that sounded suspiciously like a candy bar. There was only one person who was known to keep that stuff at the office.

Which meant that shit had better not come from his personal stash, otherwise Bucky Barnes was a fucking dead man.

“I don’t.” Ari growls, sucking on his teeth. “And that had better not be a Clark Bar you’re eatin'.”

“Hate to break it to ya, pal. But based on what you told me earlier, it kinda sounds like you might.” There’s an unmistakable sound of a grin in his voice, which irks the bounty hunter to no end.

“And I think it’s finally time you got your hearing checked, old man.” He growls back, although his words lack any real fire.

“As for your precious Clark Bars,” he continues. “See, normally I’d pass on ‘em. But Pixie’s been on a health kick lately and she threw out all the junk food. So, I’m desperate.” Bucky gives an exaggerated groan. “Plus, she has no idea about your stash.”

“Jesus.” Ari grumbles, firing up his engine with the intent to head back to the house he was currently renting. “I really wish you two would just suck face already and get it over with.”

“Mind your fucking business, Levinson.”

“Then keep your filthy hands off my fuckin’ Clark Bars, Barnes.” There’s a heavy sigh on the other line, prompting Ari to roll his eyes. All he wanted was for this conversation to fucking end.

“Look.” Bucky grunts. “You bring down this Westbrook fucker and I’ll buy you a goddamned case of those stupid bars. Alright?”

“You got yourself a deal.” Turning on his truck, Ari slowly heads for the exit as his stomach begins to rumble. Maybe he’d track down some shrimp to go with that steak.

“And fix whatever it is you fucked up with that bookstore broad while you’re at it.”

“I’ll do my best.” He grimaces as his mind treats him to images of you threatening him with your taser. “But if that little spitfire puts me in the hospital you’re footin’ the bill.” And with that, Ari hangs up the phone.

As of now, he was officially done for the night.

A Few Days Later…

You’re sitting on the floor of your stockroom when you hear the tinkling of bells signaling the arrival of a customer. Groaning as you rise to your feet, you wipe your palms on the fabric of your pants and head to the front of the store.

Business had been unusually slow today, so hopefully this patron - whoever they were - would be in the mood to buy something. As you were driving in this morning, you’d briefly considered holding another sale. Maybe it was time for another book fair. That seemed to be pretty popular the last time you’d done it.

You’re in the middle of making a mental note to reach out to the local librarian when your eyes land on the absolute last person you wanted to see standing in your lobby: Ari Levinson.

Not this guy again.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He says, offering up an unapologetic shrug as he takes in the sight of you in your form-fitting yoga pants.

Apparently you’d spoken out loud. Perhaps if you kept doing it, the man would eventually get offended enough to leave. Wishful thinking at its finest.

When the intruder realizes you don’t plan on speaking again, he decides to take advantage of the silence by doing something completely unexpected.

“I just dropped by to, uh…” He takes a deep breath, rocking back on his heels. “Apologize for how our last meeting went. While it wasn’t my intention to insult you, I know that I did.” One big hand comes up to massage the back of his neck. “Just wanted to offer that, for whatever it’s worth.”

“Oh. Wow.” You reply dumbly, crossing your arms over your chest. For whatever reason, you got the distinct impression that he didn’t make apologies often.

“You’re right, sweetheart. I don’t.” His lips turn up in an awkward grin as he takes a step toward you. “But a real man knows how to own up to his shit, which is exactly what I’m doin right now.”

“Okay.”

Mouth suddenly dry, you go to take a step back, only to find that your legs no longer work. Next thing you know, Ari is in your space, his boot clad feet are now mere centimeters from your well-loved sneakers as he towers over you.

He holds out his hand as a gesture of goodwill, silently imploring you to take it. Your eyes lock with his as yours moves on its own accord – almost as if you’d been entranced.

Your hand feels so small and delicate in his grasp. And for a second, you wonder what it might be like to lace your fingers together. How it would feel to hold onto him so intimately for just a few seconds longer. You sneak a glance up at Ari, only to watch as his pupils dilate, his nostrils flaring just slightly. It’s enough to let you know that you’re not the only one affected.

“You think we might be able to try this again?” His deep baritone washes over you like a balm. “You have my word I’ll do a much better job of, uh, keeping myself in check.”

Yanking your hand away, all you can do is nod. Part of you almost wished the man would go back to acting like an asshole. At least then you would know how to handle him. This so-called charming and apologetic Ari was a different beast entirely.

“I–” You swallow thickly. “Yes, that’s fine.”

“Thank you for your kindness.” His easy smile has the nerve to do funny things to the butterflies in your belly. “And while I would hate to do anything that might spoil this good will, I would like to ask you a couple of questions right now.”

Instantly suspicious, you open your mouth to deliver a curt “no”. However, having already anticipated this, Ari is quick to amend his request by promising not to be too invasive. He also insists that he’ll follow your lead.

“If at any moment you want to stop, we’ll stop. You have my word on that too, darlin’.” He surveys the room, absentmindedly scratching at his jaw. “You good with me ensuring we have a little privacy?” Again you nod, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Because at this point, it just didn’t make sense to kick the man out. Especially not when he seemed to be taking great pains to be respectful. You could only hope that he’d appreciate your cooperation enough to go bother someone else when you were through.

Maybe it might be worth leading him back towards someone who’d actually appreciate his attention. Someone like your would-be frenemy, Charline Marshall.

Seemingly encouraged by your response, the invasive bounty hunter hustles towards the door so that he could flip your sign from open to closed. And, unbeknownst to him, it also gives you a chance to begrudgingly appreciate just how good his ass looks in his Levi’s.

Alright. So maybe you’d hold off on feeding Ari Levinson to Charline and her disciples – at least for right now.

“You know.” You cough, needing to give yourself a moment to recalibrate before you said or did something dumb. “I actually just remembered that I needed to fix a couple of things around the shop during my lunch break.”

An unruffled Ari simply smiles and winks back at you. “Thought you said you believed in your ability to multitask?”

You resist the urge to stick your tongue out at the smug bastard. Because he was right. You absolutely had said that. And then he’d had the gall to fucking listen.

“Fine.” Shooting him a glare, you head over to the counter and toe-off your shoes.

“Appreciate it, darlin’.”

Just like last time, out comes his pen and tiny notebook. He flips it open to a new page before giving you his full attention. Meanwhile, you’re now hellbent on acting like he doesn’t exist.

“How long have you owned your shop, Baubles & Quills?”

If you were to look in his eyes at that moment, you would’ve seen them shining with genuine inquisitiveness. Almost as if he actually wanted to get to know you.

“A few years.” You reply, bracing your hands on the flat surface of the desk. “I spent a large part of my childhood here, buried amongst books. My uncle left it to me when he passed. But I’m sure you already knew that.”

Taking a deep breath, you send up a silent prayer to the Lord asking him not to let you fall before hefting yourself onto the counter with all the grace you can muster.

“Maybe.” Ari concedes while jotting something down on his notepad. “But it’s different coming from – just what the hell are you doin’ woman?!”

“Checking out this light fixture.” You huff as you work to steady yourself.

“Any reason you couldn’t do that from the ground?” The bounty hunter surprises you by sounding more than a little stressed.

Confused by his response, you manage to spare a quick glance in his direction. Although your unlikely companion looks less than happy, you fail to fully grasp the nature of the problem.

“Because I couldn’t quite tell if this whole panel was out, or just the one little section.”

“Alright, well…” He drags an agitated hand through his already messy brown locks. “Now that you’ve seen it, how about you come on down from there?”

“Oh my goodness, Levinson.” An exasperated chuckle bubbles its way from your throat. “It’s just the counter. Save the freakout for when you find me on the flippin’ roof or something.”

“You’re standin’ on the damned thing wearin’ nothing but socks. It’s like you’re askin’ to fall.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.”

“How the hell is my expressin’ concern about your safety bein’ dramatic?”

“Next question, buddy.” You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at the affronted look on the bounty hunter’s gorgeous face.

Ari forces himself to take a breath before attempting to return back to the task at hand. “I have it here that your Uncle is the late Lenny Barstowe. He was, by all accounts, an upstanding pillar of this community.”

“He was.” You agree, bending down to grab the duster resting near your feet.

“You say he was your uncle, and yet you two don’t share the same last name.” He frowns when he notices your slight wobble.

And for the tenth time in almost as many minutes he finds himself wondering why the fuck you didn’t hire someone to take care of shit like this for you? Hell, give him a ladder and a free afternoon and he’d handle things himself.

“Wow. Nothing gets past you.” You sniff, trying to fight back a sneeze as dust goes flying. “They teach you those observation skills in private detective school?”

“Sure did.” Ari snorts without missing a beat, tucking the pen behind his ear. “First thing on the syllabus, in fact.”

“Thought so.”

“So glad we cleared that up.”

You can’t stop the small thrill that courses through you when you notice the newfound tick in his jaw. If you weren’t careful, you could find yourself growing addicted to that little zing in your blood. To that tiny spike in your pulse you felt every time you two sparred.

“But if we could go back to your uncle, I’m sure losing him had to be hard – what with him being your only family.” He takes a turn fanning himself with his notebook. ”Was your friend, Martin, there for you during that difficult time?”

That particular question actually makes you pause and reflect. You’d been so lost in grief back then, which is part of the reason it had taken you so long to claw your way out of that dark hole. And, if memory served, you’d done that majority of that clawing on your own.

“I’m sure he was around, Mr. Levinson.” Your answer sounds cagey, even to your own ears. “But I pretty much wore my grief like a sweater back then. And if I’m being honest, those first few months after losing him were nothing but a miserable haze.”

“I know the feeling.” He murmurs as he scribbles on the page.

“Look.” You blow out a breath as you attempt to gauge the distance between the desk and the ground. As of this moment, you officially regretted not grabbing your step stool. “I don’t know where Martin is or who he’s running from. All I know is that he was scared, but he refused to tell me anything more, okay?”

“Did he ask you for money?”

“Yes.”

He’d also called you too. And while you choose to keep that little detail to yourself, you figure there was no harm in telling him about the money. At the time you’d had no idea you were potentially aiding and abetting a criminal. Or maybe you just hadn’t wanted to believe it.

“And did you give it to him?” The intense look in his beautiful blue eyes has you suddenly feeling foolish.

“Yes.”

It’s that one word, spoken barely above a whisper, that leaves Ari shaking his head. His gaze drops to the ground as he works to rein-in his temper. You have no idea what a struggle it is for him to do so – because he’s not upset with you.

If anything, you’d just given him one more reason to run that slippery motherfucker into the goddamned ground.

“How much did he get you for?” Even though Ari has calmed himself considerably, his tone still comes off harsher than he intends.

“Almost $500.” You tell him, your face hot with embarrassment. “I suppose I should’ve asked more questions. You probably think I’m an idiot for –”

“It’s okay, darlin’.” He swiftly interjects, not wanting you to get upset. “You’re doin’ so great bein’ honest with me right now.” Unsure of what else to do, he tosses his notebook aside in favor of reaching for your hand. “I know this shit ain’t easy.”

“I think I’m done for now.” You tell him, doing your best to avoid looking at your now joined hands. God, he really needed to stop doing that. “Please.”

“Okay.” He readily agrees as his thumb strokes along the ridge of your knuckles. “Then we’re done.” You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows. “Are you gonna let me help you down off the counter before you kick me out?”

“It’s okay. Don’t want you to hurt yourself.” You mumble as you busy yourself with trying to figure out the easiest way to sit and scootch your way out of your current situation.

The last thing you needed was this man accidentally throwing out his back over some misplaced chivalry.

To his credit, Ari decides to ignore your feeble protests. “C’mon and let me help you.” He repeats, gesturing for you to step towards the edge of the counter so that he can grab you by the waist. “And then I’ll be on my way.”

“Really, I’m fine.” You attempt to swat at his hands, which doesn’t actually work.

“C’mon, darlin’.” He assures you gently. “Just trust me.” The next thing you know, you’re suddenly being lifted into the air. “I got you.”

“Ack – I’m too heavy!” You squeal, immediately caught off guard by the way your legs briefly dangle in the air. Try as you might, you honestly could not remember the last time a man had picked you up.

Your heart speeds up as he effortlessly sets you down on your feet, allowing your body to slide down the solid wall of his chest. Instinctively, your hands fly to his biceps in an effort to steady yourself.

“Thank you.” You’re suddenly having a hard time breathing around this man. “But you really shouldn’t have done that. You could’ve hurt –”

“Sweetheart, you ain’t nothin’ but a feather.” Ari rumbles, his hands still resting firmly on your hips.

“Somehow I doubt that.” You whisper, knowing that you should demand that he let you go. Except your body is too busy buzzing to actually cooperate.

“Happy to prove you wrong any time.” While you suspect that he hadn’t really meant to say that, his smile is full of promise. “But right now, I’m afraid I’ve gotta head out.” Although it still takes another second for him to release you.

Not that you’re complaining any. Which deep down you know could spell trouble for you.

Before he leaves, however, Ari reaches into the front pocket of his jeans to hand you what looks a lot like a business card. “What’s this?” You mentally smack yourself in the forehead the moment the question leaves your mouth.

“My card.” He responds as he now heads toward the door. “That’s my cell, just in case you need it.”

“Oh.”

“Call any time, day or night.” Ari’s gruff, no-nonsense tone goes straight to your core. “You remember somethin’ about Martin? Call me. You lookin’ for someone to stand guard while you lock up at night? Call me. You need to hear a friendly voice in the dark? Fucking call me.”

His offer takes you by surprise. So much so, that you’re temporarily rendered speechless as you clutch the stiff piece of paper in your palm. While you weren’t sure if you’d ever take him up on his offer, you could certainly appreciate his generosity.

“Thank you.” You rasp, your teeth going to nibble at your bottom lip.

“Any time, Duchess.” His head dips politely as he exits through the front door. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

And just like that he was gone, which meant you could finally breathe normally again. Strange butterflies once again fill your belly as you take your time examining the card your bounty hunter had left behind. While you weren’t sure if you’d ever call him, you decide it’s worth tucking into a zippered pocket in your purse before getting on with the rest of your day.

Little did you know that you would come to need that tiny piece of paper sooner rather than later…

END

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violent138 · 8 months

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Bruce, exasperated: "I don't understand, why are you mad?"

Clark, arms crossed: "You're the detective. Detect."

Bruce: ...

#superbat #incorrect quotes #my deep boredom #unleashed #bruce wayne #clark kent #superman #batman

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okmcintyre · 2 years

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Bellamy 'here we go again' Blake

#the 100 #bellamy blake #HE'S SO TIRED #you can almost hear the exasperated 'Clarke-' in these #worried!bellamy #the100edit #t100kt

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pookietv · 2 months

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soft anger | george clarke

i'm quite enjoying writing arguments with sweet resolves atm hehehehe so enjoy possessive george (bc i sure do yummy)

it was weird when your household became quiet, it barely ever happened. whether it was your music playing from the kitchen when you cooked or george yapping away to you or even the softer sounds of him recording in a different room, silence was not something that fell over yours and george's apartment often.

you and george were both more quiet angry types, a small argument of back and forth jabs, and then just bitten tongues until one of you finally broke the ice.

the problem with that? you and george were just about the most stubborn people on earth.

it had started as a silly thing. george had been a little jealous recently, which was fine, really. you tried your best to reassure him, make sure he knew you only wanted him and nothing could change that.

but that didn't mean you could completely eliminate the problem. the problem being a co-worker that george was dead set convinced had a crush on you.

"are you that blind that you can't see he wants to sleep with you?" george slyly mentioned as you went into the front room to grab something, and you rolled your eyes.

"george, it's getting pathetic now, he doesn't want to sleep with me," you said back, leaving the room as quickly as you had entered, hearing george's padding footsteps follow behind you.

"you haven't seen the way he looks at you, i mean jesus, he looks at you the way i look at you, it's not hard to tell," he retorted, the tone of his voice so reassured by his silly ideas.

you turned to face him, your usual widened eyes slightly narrowed as you huffed a little, facing the kitchen counter, back to him as you filled your waterbottle, not even dignifying this spat to stop you from doing what you had been doing anyway.

"george, stop it.” you said, your regular sweet tone slightly lower, and hardened. "you're being ridiculous."

you heard him scoff a little as you screwed the lid on your waterbottle, turning to face him.

"ridiculous? you think i'm ridiculous? you're stunning, course he fucking wants you,"

"so? it's not like he's going to sleep with me anyway, whether he wants to or not, so how is that my fault?" you bit back, his face slightly hardened now.

"what do you mean 'so'? what is so wrong about me being possessive and not wanting my girlfriend to be fantasized about in the work environment?" he said, his voice slightly risen in tone, a little louder.

"you're not being possessive you're suffocating me, for fucks sake george! i mean, what do you want me to do, quit work? never leave the house again in case anyone looks at me in a way you deem inappropriate?"

tension was thick in the air, the room almost seeming smaller, and warmer, the sound of the stupid kitchen clock ticking the only noise to be heard.

george's face was slightly reddened, his eyes narrowed, and his voice lower in a way that would be attractive if he wasn't being so damn infuriating. "don't act like i'm being unreasonable when he is literally drooling over you," he said, in an almost condesending tone.

"you're acting like i want or care about some random guys affection, like i'm begging for recognition and approval from strangers," you rolled your eyes once more, a slight click of your teeth followed, loud enough to make george's eyebrows furrow.

"you don't see it, it's... it's not about that," he said, his tone frustated, "or him, it's us!"

"us? we're fighting over some random co-worker that probably doesn't even know my fucking last name, george." you scoffed back, your tone matching his intensity.

"you're around him, all the time, and i can see how he sees you, and it makes me..." he trailed off slightly, exasperation apparent on his face.

"jealous?" you finished his sentence, voice dripped in sarcasm as his lips pulled inwards.

"no," he snapped back, "makes me feel like i can't protect you, like i'm not enough."

your face dropped for a moment, betraying a look of softened guilt. you knew what he meant, you knew he meant well and he wasn't trying to cut you off or suffocate you, but it had become like being smothered.

your tone was slightly more gentle, you didn't want to keep arguing, but you didn't know how the hell to make george see any of your point, "george, i love you, i have told you this a million times, it's you, i mean, i don't know what more-"

"prove it then," he said, his voice a more demanding tone, his glossed eyes hardened.

all the softness left your voice again, the tides you thought were changing rolled right back round.

"how am i supposed to do that? i can't change job because you think someone likes me, i can't change someone else's opinions of me, i mean what the fuck do you want me to do?" you bit back, the frustrated tone in your voice returned and evident.

george's jaw tightened a little, "i want you to trust me."

his voice was low, controlled, completely contrasted to his heated tone before, and his voice was almost wholly demanding if you didn't know him well enough to hear the slight vulnerability that bled through.

"i do trust you george, but trust is a two way thing." you said, words firm but tone softened, eyes glassed over slightly.

tense silence filled the room again, and you felt that familiar feeling, like the room was getting smaller.

"i'm gonna sleep in the spare room tonight, think we both need some sleep. get some rest, george. i'll see you in the morning," you said gently, unwilling to go through this cycle again as you were sure you'd either sob or rip your hair out, gently touching george's arm in a reassuring way as you walked past him, practically feeling his muscle melt for a moment.

"you don't like the spare room, you said it doesn't feel like your space," he said quietly.

he was right, it was george's recording room really with a bed in it incase anyone came to stay.

"i don't like the spare room, doesn't feel right. but i think a night alone will do both of us good, george." you said gently, your body turned back to him, stood in the middle of the hallway now, looking at him still stood in the kitchen.

"i'll take the spare room if you need space, i don't mind. you won't sleep if you're in the spare room." he said, his tone even and matter-of-factly.

"thank you, george. i'll see you in the morning. love you," you said softly, turning into yours and george's shared room.

you were a stickler for that sort of thing, no matter what argument or situation, always say love you. cause an argument didn't mean love was gone, it just meant there were issues that needed to be sorted.

you knew yourself you probably wouldn't sleep, even if you were in your room compared to the spare - you knew well enough yourself that you struggled to sleep without george.

so after a couple hours gone by, and against your better judgement, you gently opened the door to the spare room, seeing george laying on the bed, eyes tired but not asleep, head turning to you once he heard the door creak, sitting himself up slightly.

"can't sleep." you murmured into the dim room, and you saw his silhouette nod.

"me neither," he said gently, and the room was peaceful for a moment.

"i'm sorry, i just didn't wanna lose you." he said, breaking the silence, and you nodded softly, practically crawling into the space next to him. you felt his hands brush through your hair gently, you tiredly leaning into the touch.

"you're not gonna lose me, i've told you that." you said gently.

"i know. i'm just an idiot, that's all," he said, his voice slightly thick from not speaking for a while, and gentle in tone.

"i'm sorry too," you said, breaking the sound of your breathing and occasional creak of the not so comfy single bed, "i was being defensive, and a little angry."

george laughed gently, "i don't blame you. it's okay, lovie."

you lifted your head up slightly to look at him, and felt his head press gently against yours.

"we're being stupid," you whispered, and you saw his lips curve into a softened grin, "yeah, we are."

"okay, get your fat head off me and we can both come sleep in our room?" you teased gently, hearing george huff a little jokingly, but standing and following you instantly.

when morning came, yellow glow flitted through slight gaps in the curtain, making you stir slightly and reach for the other side of the bed for warmth, and instead met with an empty spot. you almost thought you had imagined making up with george in a wishful idea of a dream, until you woke a little more, smelling coffee and hearing gentle humming from the kitchen.

pulling a sweatshirt from the bedroom floor before being willing to leave the comfort of the bed, and into the cold apartment, you gently walked to the kitchen, greeted with george with his back to you.

"george?" you said gently, and you could almost feel him jump before he tutted you, a playful grin on his face.

"you weren't supposed to wake up! i'm supposed to bring it to you," he said, his voice gently teasing, and you giggled a slight bit, sitting yourself down on one of the stools of the breakfast bar bit of the kitchen, facing his back as he fiddled on the bench.

"you're sweet, but i'm sure i can manage whatever it is here," you joked back, watching him as he brought over a plate and a mug of coffee, placing it down in front of you.

"dippy eggs and soldiers," he said with a dopey grin, and you smiled up at him as he kissed you gently on the forehead, before you looked down at the plate, and george's attempt at breakfast.

"and these soldiers were... wounded in battle?" you teased slightly, but he rolled his eyes and shook his head as he moved his plate next to yours, shoving a piece of toast in his mouth.

"hey, respect the soldiers man," he said mock sternly.

#georgeclarke fic #georgeclarke x reader #george clarkey x reader #george clarkey #george clarke x reader #george clarke

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