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Brief Intro
Name: Tatas, but I’m chill with other nicknames
Age: 30s (MDNI)
Pronouns: any, idgaf at this point
Sexuality: Queer
Location: California, USA
Occupation: Bookseller (hit me up for book recs!)
Misc: AuDHD/CPTSD
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Important Info
I am always appreciative of tips if you enjoy what I do, and I am also open for commissions both fandom and original if I am knowledgeable enough in the topic!
However, this blog is assuredly anti-Harry Potter. I refuse to interact with the content at all.
Fuck JK Terfling.
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Social Media
AO3: ladyxdarcy
Bluesky: @whnvrfsbl
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My Tumblr Writing
Various ficlets, plot ideas, and blorbo blurbs can be found on my profile under the tag #plot thots
If you would like to be tagged on any ficlet updates I do or anything new I write, let me know!
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Roleplay Information
~Adv Lit || 3rd POV || Past Tense || On Discord
Trigger Warnings May Apply - message for details
I both fandom and original roleplay and have various plots and starters available for my different ships and interests. Feel free to message me for more information or a link to my plot master lists.
Current interests: Steddie, Hellcheer, Buckingham, Destiel, Merthur, Spirk
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Tumblr Communities
I created a tumblr community specific for the Steddie ship. I have no idea what I’m doing but feel free to join and check it out if you’re a Steddie fan!
Must be 18+ to join! MDNI!
A community celebrating the fan ship Steddie from Stranger Things. 🎸👑 🔞
I have another Stranger Things community as well specific for sharing and recommending favorite fanworks and to self-promote your own. All ships and pairings welcome!
A community to share your favorite Stranger Things fanworks and recommendations.
So my best friend of some 20-something years and I like to keep out of context quotes from each other in our phone’s notes app and read them out when we remember them. You can always tell when the other person pulls up the notes app to add something too because there’s always a deep, heavy sigh and then the sound of rapid texting.
It has honestly calmed some heated or tense moments and made us laugh when we realized something we said made the other person want to preserve the quote in the list. I honestly highly recommend it. It’s always super fun trying to remember the context of the quotes too lmao.
And the best part is that only some of these were while we were inebriated. This is just us at a regular pace.
Anyways, here’s some of the things I’ve saved that my friend has said:
“I’d already taken a plan b that month so I knew it wasn’t going to do anything.”
“It’s so hard to illegally text and drive when your thumb doesn’t move all the way.”
“After all this, I understand now. I get why people take opioids. I’d take an opioid right now. I’d take crack right now.”
“I wish I could fuck your dead twin brother.”
“Something about that just really made me say ‘fuck you [my name]’”
“Now I gotta clean my cup because a Nazi drank out of it”
“Relationship so bad it broke my therapist’s character”
“If I get murdered out there, just know that I didn’t fight back.”
“The Poop Man wants his debt so you better pay up.”
“I don’t need a laugh, HBO, I need a gun.”
“We’re not in a mental crisis, we’re in a chill crisis.”
“It’s not that fucking serious or important. It’s YOUTUBE.”
Maybe I’ll have her send me the quotes she has from me next 😂
First, I had to wake up hella early to walk for over half an hour to catch the first of two buses to work.
Then, the pastry place by my work has their system down so I couldn’t get my free cake slice.
Now, I just realized I forgot my lightweight over shirt at home and so have to use some random vest that is way too small for me left in the breakroom that’s gonna overheat me af in this heat at work.
Today is shaping up to be such a swell birthday.
I just wanted a free little bday treat before my shift 😞 it was literally the only birthday thing I was going to get today. Getting old sucks.
Dramatically following up on @nancywheelesbian and @precioussteveharrington’s additions to this post, because in the end I couldn’t just leave it alone. Insert “Steve really crammed for that pop-quiz” joke here.
(Also on ao3.)
Eddie spots Steve Harrington crying in his truck on a fucking Tuesday and can’t shake the certainty that it’s his fault. The knowledge stabs at something squishy and weak on the inside regardless of how desperate he is to protect himself, how many times he’s told himself he has to let go and stay away because it’ll hurt less in the long run—hurt less than Steve inevitably getting bored, realizing he isn’t worth the effort, and moving on. So, after some loitering, he slouches over and taps on the driver’s side window.
Steve startles so hard he bangs his head on the ceiling. His face is red and blotchy but he’s caught, and rolls the window down while still wrestling his breath under control, clearly trying to play it cool and it’s honestly just not his fault that he’s failing, no one could shine this turd of a situation. “H-hey Eddie,” he manages, and then it’s either sniffle or let snot run down his lip. “S’up.”
“Are you okay, man?” Eddie asks heavily. He can’t help it, he’s tired; he’s had his own shitty time since pulling away, miserable that he’d attained his unattainable crush only to realize that he can’t possibly maintain, could never live up to or keep up with. It’s shitty, getting exactly what you want and then realizing that continuing to have it just isn’t realistic. And now he has to watch Steve sniffle again and put on a painfully forced facade of I’m Fine What Are You Talking About, brick by shitty brick in real time.
“Why, uh. Why wouldn’t I be?” Steve puts on a smile that looks like it physically hurts. “I’m. Cool. Right? Totally casual. Super chill. Did I say casual? And, like, obviously you know this, but you don’t have to call. Because. We’re casual, right? It’s all good! Just. Whenever. If you want to reach out. Or not! Could be never. I’m cool with it. Staying the other night was just, just a glitch. I was just super tired. Not a big deal. I get like that after practicing a lot and then finally, you know, doing the thing. Like a big game! Not, not that you’re a game. More like, studying for a big test. Except, uh, not big! I-I mean, you’re not small, but, um. Casual. Like a pop quiz? We’re totally casual. If you don’t want me—I mean, don’t want to again that’s… totally fine, no harm no foul. Test drives to take this guy for a spin and decide if you wanna keep him are totally allowed, that’s what dating is for, people do it all the time, it’s fine. We can go back to being friends, it’s fine!”
Eddie had never seen a more pathetic coverup for hurt—nay, utterly devastated—feelings in his life, which is… confusing. Why does Steve get to be the one who's hurt, here? But the bricks in the facade have gaps Eddie could fit his entire body through, and he’s almost too weary himself to actually do it, except—
“You practiced for me?”
If possible, Steve goes even redder. “No! Well—yeah, but. Just because it was my first time. With you. Or a guy. Any guy. And I wanted to be… not bad at it? But I guess I got carried away and forgot that not everyone wants—I mean, I’m sorry for being a lot. After. If you ever wanted to go for a second round I swear I don’t have to stay after, I can get out of your hair, it’s not a big deal. But no pressure! Like I said, I’m cool with just going back to being friends.”
It’s so obviously a big deal that Eddie wants to throw up a little, and at the same time he’s baffled by what Steve seems to be saying. Eddie knows he’s not enough—so why does Steve seem to think that he is too much?
“How,” he asks instead, “was that possibly your first time? Steve, you—” And, okay, they’re in a public parking lot in fucking Hawkins, he can’t just say ‘you took my dick in your throat and ass like you do that sort of thing every day’ out loud in a normal voice without getting them both run out of town. They’re already pushing it, and just lucky that no one is particularly in earshot. “… How the hell do you practice all that by yourself?”
It’s not jealousy. Eddie’s totally not imagining Steve practicing the same way he gained his own rudimentary skills, driving out to Indy over long weekends and trying his luck at whatever gay bar he could fake ID his way into. He’s not hurt by listing in his head all the stuff they could’ve figured out together instead of… whatever the hell Steve actually did. That would be stupid. And he has his high school diploma now, finally, which means he is officially Not Stupid. Or something.
Steve’s eyes are darting around the parking lot now, like he’s finally realized they’re in public and could potentially be overheard. Which—okay, it’s good he’s not just going to announce to Eddie, god, and the entire town how he self-trained to take cock like a pro, but Eddie kinda needs to know this now, so, like. Fuck. Fuck.
“Fine, not here,” Eddie concedes, and his irritation is audible enough to make Steve cringe. “Your place?”
“Uh, yeah. Do you… You could follow me there, or…?”
Eddie sighs and flaps his hands around at the empty parking lot. “I’m on foot today, so yeah, I could use a ride.”
“I can give you one,” Steve blurts out immediately, perhaps realizing he hadn’t actually offered yet. Or maybe that’s what he’d been dancing around with all that trailing off.
The thing is—the thing that pains Eddie so much as he circles the truck and climbs in the passenger side, is—their date before tumbling into bed together had been fantastic. All the ease and comfort and familiarity of being friends first, laced through with the excitement of new beginnings and the thrill of mutual attraction finally acted upon. Now it’s all awkward and pained and ruined, and Eddie isn’t sure if he’s mad at himself or at Steve for that, or just ticked off in general that something so good had crumpled in on itself so quickly.
The short drive to Loch Nora happens in complete silence, no radio and the windows all rolled back up tight for privacy except they’re not talking, are they? Steve is even trying to sniffle as quietly as possible, as though Eddie hasn’t noticed he’s all snotted up, which is just—Fuck.
Steve, for his part, is trying so hard not to lean towards Eddie like a sunflower following the sun and wilting in the painfully awkward silence. He’d put the radio in except he doesn’t think Eddie would like any of the stations he usually listens to, and he’d play a tape except the one in the player is the mix tape Eddie had given him a few days before their date that he’s been listening to on repeat the fast few days, and… that’s it for options, so. Silence it is. But at least that gives affords him the bucket-of-ice-water clarity necessary to pull his shit together. Knit the cracks back together and tuck his raw, heartbroken feelings back down deep inside, letting the tear tracks dry and his face congeal back into a smooth mask that he hasn’t tried to use since his King Steve days.
Once parked he practically throws himself out of the truck towards the house—still living with his parents, because the plan had been to save up for a trailer in Forest Hills but he can’t move into Eddie’s neck of the woods neighborhood now so… new plan pending—and leads the way through the sterile entryway and up the stairs. Yes, it still hurts that Eddie doesn’t want him, but it is what it is. The important thing now is that Eddie, for some reason, wants to know how Steve prepared himself for losing his gay virginity. He doesn’t have to understand the motivation behind it to give the guy an answer, and maybe doing this will prove that they can still at least be friends. That he doesn’t have to lose Eddie entirely and disrupt the greater Party just because things didn’t work out.
“Remember the unit in gym class on weight training?” Steve asks evenly as he leads Eddie into his bedroom. “You start with the smallest ones and work your way up. Robin helped me find the, uh, reading material so I could figure out what to expect, but I did this part… separately. Figured she didn’t need all the details.”
“What,” Eddie starts, baffled, but then Steve has the storage bin out from under his bed frame and dumps it out over the plaid duvet in a thumping rain of butt plugs, dildos, and lube bottles in various states along the full-to-empty spectrum. There’s also a legal-sized notepad that he fishes out of the pile and thrusts in the other man’s direction without looking.
It’s got all his notes: some hastily jotted down quotes or paraphrases from Robin’s zines about shit like fingering your own asshole, breathing techniques, how to find the prostate on yourself and others, what not to do while blowing a dude; other pages are filled with slightly crooked columns of numbers indicating date, duration, and size of certain toys he’d used while… working his way up. Eddie starts flipping through it—not that Steve looks, but he can hear the pages rustling.
“You seriously made yourself a training schedule for this?” Eddie asks after a moment, his tone unreadable.
Resolutely not looking up from the now cluttered bed, Steve nods.
“Going back weeks before we even made the date?”
Steve shrugs defensively. “I figured out what I wanted and I wanted to be prepared. I mean, you’ve known you’re gay for way longer than I’ve known I’m bi, I needed to… catch up, I guess.” His eyes are fixed on his biggest dildo in the pile, the size he had guessed Eddie to be—and he’d been pretty much spot on, something he’d taken a great deal of secret pride in that night.
It was kind of expensive, but he might throw it out. Hasn’t decided yet. Closes his eyes briefly against another wave of sadunlovabletoomuch to keep it from actually leaking out again.
He wishes suddenly that Eddie weren’t here right now. Why had he thought this would be a good idea? Proving they could still be friends or something, but—why?
“What are these squiggles?” Eddie asks, still sounding oddly blank.
Sighing, Steve looks over and squints at where he’s pointing to the rightmost column on the page. “That’s where I marked off that I cleaned them. W for washed, S for sanitized.”
Eddie taps the next column to the left. “The S’s all have an A here, and the other ones all have an… M? Is that an M?“ He blinks, his whole face twitching. “Jesus H. Christ, Steve, is that A for ass and M for mouth?”
Steve’s cheeks are starting to burn, but he refuses to be embarrassed for wanting to make sure he could make it good for Eddie. And for not wanting to be gross while practicing for it. “Sue me for being thorough, I guess,” he grumbles, crossing his arms and finally lifting his gaze to meet Eddie’s head on. “Is there anything else you wanted to know, or are we good here?”
Both corners of Eddie’s mouth are twitching, the dimples that Steve likes so much threatening to pop, which is just—That’s not fair. Eddie is clearly surpassing a smile, maybe even a laugh.
“Your W’s look like sideways S’s sometimes, you know.”
Something in Steve’s chest crumples and his crossed arms tighten. “Don’t.”
“Steve,” Eddie says, and his tone is suddenly readable again. Soft. Quiet and earnest and familiar, the way he’d sounded when Steve had still been full of hope that they could be a them. “Look, all of this is… surprisingly, endearingly nerdy, to be honest. And I’m about to admit to being kind of an idiot about something, so, please, just hear me out?”
“I… Okay?”
Eddie bites his bottom lip and rocks a bit on his heels. “So, the thing is… Sure, maybe I had a bit of a head start in the whole, uh, liking dicks in a sexy way… arena, but. All this?” He waves the notepad to indicate everything on the bed, and possibly all of Steve as well. “You managed to level up way past me. Incredibly efficiently, I might add. This is screaming ‘would be good at DnD actually’ to me, by the way, but that’s beside the point.”
Steve tilts his head, biting the inside of his cheek as he tries to follow through the babble to whatever conclusion Eddie is aiming for here.
“You psyched me out,” Eddie admits, glancing away. Shoulders straight, knees locked, honest but vulnerable. “I mean, I’ve done stuff, but you were pulling out moves I’ve never seen outside of pornos. You made it look totally effortless, but this…” He holds up the notepad again. “This is effort, man. This is the craziest thing anyone’s ever done for me—in a good way,” he adds quickly, seeing Steve’s face twitch again. “You’re already totally out of my league, and after the other night I figured I’d never measure up in a million years. So.” Deep, hiccuping breath, and Steve can’t help but ache and let his crossed arms start to loosen as Eddie stares at him imploringly with those big, expressive Bambi eyes. “This is me saying, officially and like a real adult who’s good at using my words and shit, that I’m really, really sorry for avoiding you afterwards. If you can forgive me for that… can we maybe have a do-over? Sometime? My treat?”
Steve feels shaky, his stomach dipping at this second sudden pull of the rug when he’d thought he’d figured out the lay of the land. Part of him just doesn’t understand this hot-cold-hot of whether Eddie wants him or not. Shouldn’t… shouldn’t it be easier to tell if they fit together? Shouldn’t Eddie have just been able to tell, without all this hurt getting in the way? Hurt for both of them, because he’s not blind to the bruise-like dark crescents under Eddie’s eyes or the way he’s worrying his bottom lip waiting for an answer.
“Are you sure?” Steve checks, and he hates how small his voice comes out but apparently that’s what’s happening. “I thought—Staying the night wasn’t too much?”
“I… had a lot on my mind,” Eddie replies carefully, wincing when Steve does as if in apology for saying it at all. “It wasn’t about you being too much, Stevie, I swear. I was too… I got caught up in thinking I couldn’t possibly be enough before we even fell asleep, I didn’t—You staying didn’t, I mean it seemed like… maybe you were just tired or something, I don’t know. It didn’t really… register? I was still stuck on, y’know, how bad I choked when you tried to come in my mouth.” Eddie’s face is red, and he dips his head forward to hide behind his hair. “I mean, you told me it was okay and you were so sweet about it, and then you went down on me and I was like, in your throat like—seriously, that’s porn star level shit! And I couldn’t even last two seconds, and… just…”
Steve feels himself blushing in sympathy. He had done all of that. And he’s been on the other end of stuff like that—not for a long time, but when he’d first lost his virginity to an upperclassman girl who’d been kinda nice but kinda disappointed when he’d turned out to be a two-pump chump. At least Steve had been nicer than that, genuinely taking it as a compliment that Eddie had been too turned on to hold back because he’d thought—well.
He’d expected that since Eddie had more experience with guys… But maybe that’s a different category from having experience with sex in general. Because Steve has been with lots of girls—apparently he’d misjudged how that might, uh. Translate, in bed.
Not that they’d quite gotten to the actual bed before scrambling to get each other’s cocks in their mouths, but. Still.
“Um,” Steve says, suddenly aware that he’s been thinking too long and needs to say something. “I, uh, I. I never thought you weren’t—I mean, it was all great in my book, better than with girls because it… it’s you, and I really. Um.” Why is it so hard to say? (He knows why. The past few days, and Nancy calling him bullshit in a way that still rings in his ears, even years later, sometimes.) His voice drops to a whisper as he forces out, “I really like you, Eddie.”
Immediately, Eddie reaches out, and Steve finishes uncurling in answer to take the offered hand in his. He means to give a reassuring squeeze, but Eddie beats him to it.
“I really like you too, sweetheart,” Eddie says, matching his hushed tone. Drawing closer but hesitating at the last second, as though he’s not sure he’s allowed after being the one to instigate distance between them in the first place.
Steve’s mask—what was left of it by this point, anyway—breaks and he all but lunges forward, curling his arms around Eddie and holding tight. Tucking his face against Eddie’s neck, burrowing just under the leather collar of his jacket-and-vest combo and breathing him in. Melting into it as Eddie hugs him back just as hard, just as relieved.
“I’d say we should sit down,” Eddie mumbles—Steve loves how he can feel the rumble of it, with their chests tight together and his closed lips pressed aside the other man’s throat—“but there’s kind of a lot of stuff that’s been up your ass in the way.”
“It’s all clean,” Steve huffs into his skin, almost laughing.
“Still,” Eddie chuckles back, swaying him from side to side, “it’d be lumpy, you… sex toy shopping spree maniac.”
Steve pulls back slightly, straightening enough to nudge their noses together. Enough to confirm visually why the words sounded a little wet; that it’s happy tears. Jesus H. Christ, he thinks giddily, he’s made Eddie Munson cry happy tears. “I can put them away. Don’t need ‘em anymore.”
This time, Eddie does kiss him. And adds breathlessly, “Don’t you dare put them away for good, I wanna see you in action sometime baby,” before kissing him again, a lot more, clinging the way Steve is afraid to at first but soon enough matches.
Tagging everyone who seems like they wanted a fix-it, apologies if I missed anyone: @matchingbatbites @lost-andstill-lost @mollymawkwrites @tinytalkingtina @itsalmoststrange
Summary: Bruce Wayne and Lois Lane are dating and Clark Kent has totally normal feelings about it. He’s not jealous at alllll.
Rated M for mature themes, not content. wc: 2.7k ao3
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
“Brucie, stop,” Lois giggled.
Giggled. Actually full on giggled. It was quiet, private, but that meant nothing for someone with superhearing. Nor did the low tones or the way lips were brushing over Lois’s neck muffle her companion’s answering murmur.
“What? You enjoyed it last night when I was between your—”
CRACK!
Clark blinked, looking down at the remains of the pencil that had not only been snapped in half between his fingers, but had been all but pulverized into dust. Oops.
With an aggrieved, though silent, sigh and a thinning of his lips, Clark opened the draw of his desk at the Daily Planet and swiped the remains of his pencil inside to join the splinters of its fallen brethren. He then pulled out a fresh one from his rapidly depleting pack to return to his handwritten notations, doing his best to ignore the suscerations of the couple at Lois’s desk.
Bruce Wayne—famed billionaire playboy and newest owner of the Daily Planet—sat on the edge of Lois’s desk as he leaned in to twirl a strand of Lois’s hair between his fingers with his vapid, sleazy smirk in place. Lois Lane—famed Pulitzer Prize winning journalist with a nonsense personality—leaned equally into Wayne with a schoolgirl smile as she gazed up at him through her lashes.
Their relationship had, of course, been made public before any acquisition of the Planet by Wayne Enterprises had come about, and according to gossip sites the entire acquisition from LexCorp had been to help save his partner du jour’s job. As well as his good buddy’s, Clark Kent.
Clark, meanwhile, wanted nothing more than to snap something other than a pencil as he had to repeatedly see and hear Bruce’s and Lois’s uncharacteristic lovey dovey-ness. Well, uncharacteristic for Lois, at least. Clark had unfortunately seen all manners of Bruce’s flirtations in the past under his guise of Brucie Wayne.
He was still amazed to think that the oftentimes flamboyant, clumsy, philandering, nepobaby drunk was none other than the brooding, moody, caped crusading Dark Knight himself: Batman. One of the core founders of the Justice League and someone who spoke more often in monosyllables or grunts when not explaining their mission plan or abrading them for any mistakes made during said mission. Because the guy who just “accidentally” spilled Lois’s coffee all down his front?
Yeah. Not so much.
Except Lois doesn’t know that side of Bruce at all. She knows Clark’s secret, had figured it out herself even, but she seemingly had yet to discover Bruce’s. Which, he supposed, could make more sense. After all, Lois was from Metropolis, not Gotham. She hadn’t had repeat encounters with Batman like she had with Superman, and Clark could admit that Batman had far more stealth than the alien tank that was his own alter ego.
So what the heck made Lois turn into this bizarro character he was unfamiliar with around Brucie Wayne? She had never been like that when they dated, and he had been certain that she would look right past Bruce’s charms and keep things entirely professional. But no, somewhere amongst the various press events and interviews, she’d fallen for him.
Clark wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t. He and Lois had both mutually agreed that whatever spark that had been there wasn’t quite present anymore, that they would always love each other but they weren’t in love with each other, that they would be better off as friends. And Clark stood by that. So no, he was in no way jealous over Lois’s changed affections.
So why did it bother him so much?
Was it just because he knew that the Brucie persona was utterly false? That he knew that the real Bruce wasn’t anything like the guy currently trying to dab black coffee off his cream suit shirt while suggestively asking if he should just take it off. (Cat, of course, heartily agreed with this sentiment, though Perry was trying to see if anyone had any spares on hand.)
(Clark did. For obvious reasons. He did not offer any.)
(Bruce knew he had them.)
(He did not think about Bruce wearing his clothing.)
(At all.)
(Really.)
He wondered what Bruce’s game here was. The media made their own speculations as Lois was one of his longest lasting public flings, and they had even dug up the history between her and Clark, as well as pounced on the idea that Clark and Bruce were somehow “good buddies”. Thankfully, that drama died down quickly. He mildly suspected outside involvement, but in any case he was just glad it did not evolve into anything more. Clark had no interest in any sort of media presence outside of writer bylines.
It didn’t help that Clark was frequently a third wheel during those first few weeks of Bruce and Lois dating. A buffer, they called him. A mutual friend who could help with any awkward tension. Clark, meanwhile, felt like he caused more tension than he helped. He disliked all the flirting, the sly touching, and the kissing.
The first time Clark caught Bruce and Lois kissing he’d accidentally shattered the three pints of beer he was carrying back to their table at the bar. The urge to immediately fly around the world and then to hide out in the Fortress for a month had almost won out.
It was still like that at times. It wasn’t jealousy, however. Lois had dated around before after she and Clark first split up and Clark had felt a pang of what could have been at first, but then he’d felt nothing. If anything, he was just happy she was getting back out there.
Now, anytime she touched Bruce, Clark had to admit that he felt something. But it wasn’t jealousy. Couldn’t be. He felt just…well, territorial was going way too far, even if he did have to fight the urge to rip Lois’s hand away. Protective, maybe? That wasn’t quite right either. Lois could handle herself. Uneasy certainly though. And a little…annoyed?
(When Bruce touched Lois, Clark’s gut always gave a weird twist, like something heavy was settling into it. Something almost like dread. He paid that feeling no mind.)
Perhaps it was simply because he was worried about her getting her heart broken. After all, she didn’t know the real Bruce, just his public persona. She just knew Brucie. If Bruce really cared for her, shouldn’t she know the real him? Or did Bruce act differently with her behind closed doors? Did Lois know the real Bruce? Did she…know him better than Clark did?
No. No. That was impossible. She would have to know that Bruce was Batman then, and if she knew that, then she would have already accosted Clark for keeping that secret from her. Bruce wouldn’t have to lie to her about League business or his Gotham extracurriculars either.
There was no way that Lois knew Bruce better than Clark did. Not the real, important stuff. No one did. Except maybe Alfred, or his kids, but that was beside the point. That was family. But Bruce was his best friend, no one else’s. Lois couldn’t take that place. Even if she did somehow know more than she should.
(That reminded him, he needed to confirm with Duke what day they wanted to meet up for lunch this week, and with Jason what time they wanted to go see the newest adaptation of a Jane Austen novel that was playing in cinemas. They might be Bruce’s kids but that doesn’t mean Clark hadn’t grown close to them as well with how much time he spent at the manor on his days off or after missions. Alfred also promised to bake him some snickerdoodle cookies to take back home to his parents that weekend.)
“Are we still on for dinner tonight, Miss Lane?” Bruce purred, leaning over Lois’s hand now to press a kiss to her knuckles. He was standing now, suit jacket buttoned up to cover the worst of the stain, and evidently making his leave.
Lois giggled. Again. “I was thinking…maybe instead of going out, we could stay in at my place?”
A wolfish grin spread across Bruce’s lips. “Excellent. I’m greatly looking forward to dessert.”
Clark snapped another pencil.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Later That Night…
“Ahhhh, did you see his face,” Bruce tittered, his feet kicking in the air behind him where he laid across Lois’s bed. He would have shoved his face into the pillow he was clutching if he wasn’t currently wearing a sheet facial mask. He had the Aquaman seaweed mask, while Lois had the honey Wonder Woman mask. “How many pencils do you think that was?”
Lois paused where she was in the process of painting her toe nails, wearing a fluffy white robe, her hair twisted up in a matching towel. Bruce’s robe was his trademark black, and though his hair was much too short for a towel, he currently had it pushed back out of his face with a dark gray spa headband whose bow was in the shape of a bat.
“I know for a fact you were counting each one, Mr. Greatest Detective,” she sardonically replied. “You just want me to entertain your little ego and crush,” she accused. After a roll of her eyes, however, Lois couldn’t help smiling. “And it was seven. Well, eight if you count the one he broke when Cat said me and you would make gorgeous babies after you left.”
Bruce giggled as he hugged the pillow to his chest, rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling with a giddy expression. “Eight,” he sighed dreamily.
“Not quite record breaking, but nearly there.” Lois closed the bottle of nail polish and fanned at her toes in the soft pink spreader. “Are you finally going to put him out of his misery?”
“He doesn’t even realize he’s jealous yet,” Bruce said with a pout. He tilted his head back slightly to look upside down at Lois. “I swear, at this point I’m going to have to propose to you to get him to make a move.”
“Ew, no thank you, I have no intention of being StepBatmom to your brood of murderous children.”
“Hey, only two are murderous!” Bruce protested. “And Damian has come a long way. And Jason actually visited the manor without threatening to shoot me.”
“Ooh, progress,” Lois teased.
Bruce shrugged because, despite her teasing, it was progress. A lot of which he knew he owed to Clark, who spent almost as much of his free civilian time with Bruce’s kids as Bruce did, even without Bruce being there, and obviously Superman was an amazing influence on just about anyone. Even Damian had opened up to him, though a lot of that had to do with Clark bringing Krypto around.
He just wished he was having better progress with Clark.
When Lois had, after he and Clark had hung out a few times in their civilian identities with her, accused him of being Batman, Bruce had thought that his biggest secret was about to be blown wide open. She knew Clark’s identity and hadn’t done anything with it, but Bruce was hardly as close to Lois at the time as Clark was. Lois, meanwhile, just wanted the satisfaction that she was right.
A week later she came back with the accusation that he was in love with Clark and really, that woman deserved a raise at work. She was much too smart and talented for her own good. No wonder Clark liked her so much. He might have been resigned to that fact, had Lois not then dropped the bomb they she was fairly certain Clark was in love with him too, he just hasn’t realized it yet.
From there, the two of them had hatched this silly plan to try to make Clark jealous, posing to be in a relationship and engaging in PDA to force Clark’s hand. Unfortunately, Clark was being entirely obtuse about it all.
There were cracks, however. Little hairline breaks in Clark’s composure that were rapidly widening. Bruce knew he could probably confess and get to the happy ending he wanted (double entendre not intended but still appreciated, approved, and accurate), but…
It was kind of fun being Brucie Wayne again.
His public persona had grown tiring, though he knew it remained necessary. It had also become even more of a burden after realizing his very real feelings for his best friend, making the prospect of flirting with anyone with a pulse and upkeeping his playboy reputation even more tiring than usual. He enjoyed making fun of other socialites with his little blunders and faux pas comments, typical airhead behavior really, but it was still exhausting.
Until Lois entered the scene.
Posing as a happy, committed couple—though he knew most news outlets did not fully believe Brucie Wayne would stay tied down for long—gave Bruce the opportunity to be his annoying himbo self without having to keep up unwanted dalliances. Lois’s involvement allowed Bruce to find a bit of joy in his civilian life again, as well as embrace being a little bit more carefree in his private life as well. At least in part.
(Bruce had begun acting like that around Clark as well in their private life, but Clark seemed to think he was joking with his little flirtations. He really wasn’t beating those dense country boy allegations anytime soon.)
But Bruce was now able to incorporate those parts of Brucie that were based more-or-less on reality, no longer having to keep a clear distinction between the two. Sure, it was sometimes exaggerated for Lois, but not always. Or not by much, for the most part.
Even better when his third persona of The Bat could enter the fray as well, such as using his Kryptonite infused gadgetry to keep prying supereyes and superears out of their business on these special nights.
Sometimes Bruce just wanted to let all his worries go for a moment to dish hot goss about cute boys with his platonic girlfriend, okay?
“I mean it though, Wayne. If I see a ring anywhere, I’m shoving it right up your Bat Cave,” Lois warned.
“Kinky,” Bruce grinned, but he dutifully sat up and spun around to present his toes to Lois when she motioned for them. “Maybe I should let it slip that I let you peg me. I need to get Clark to think about my ass more. I can only bend over in front of him so many times.”
“I’m going to know way too much about your guys’ sex life once you get together, aren’t I?”
Bruce just continued grinning, unrepentant. “Don’t worry, darling, you have exclusive rights to any and all future interviews.”
“You own the paper I work for, Mr. Wayne,” Lois dryly pointed out.
“Oh. Damn. Maybe Ollie will buy it from me. Probably for the best to avoid any unsavory accusations when I finally start dating Clark. Though…I don’t like the idea of Queen being your guys’ boss. Hm. I’ll figure something out,” he said, waving the thought away as inconsequential.
A sly smirk then spread across Bruce’s lips as a thought occurred to him. “So…what if you don’t see the ring…?”
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
A Week Later…
The Gotham Gazette
BRUCE WAYNE SPOTTED RING SHOPPING
by Karen Dreyfuss
Sources report that renowned billionaire Bruce Thomas Wayne, known for his bachelor lifestyle, has recently been spotted in the Diamond District visiting Gotham City Jewelers. Further reports indicate that Wayne, who has been dating Miss Lois Lane of Metropolis—an investigative journalist for the Daily Planet and winner of the Pulitzer Prize—for the past several months, made inquiries about women’s custom diamond rings. While Wayne has been known for his less than monogamous relationships in the past, there is no indication of anything but commitment between these two highly respected individuals. Could it that the town’s most eligible bachelor has finally (cont. on page 2)
The center of the newspaper article in Clark’s hand began smoking, an edge of red curling up into darkened ash until the paper burst fully into flames. His eyes, normally an inhuman crystalline blue, glowed faintly red.
That’s it. Enough was enough.
Around the world, pencils everywhere trembled in terror.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Came up with this crackfic idea while intoxicated, though mostly just wrote it sleep deprived. I’ve fallen into a weird Superbat rabbit hole with reading fics tho and this idea (and another one I’m working on now) just wouldn’t leave me alone. So here we go. I just really needed Brucie and Lois to have a Girl’s Night.
Hey so I’m sorry to do this but my roommate and I are in desperate need of a place to stay for the next couple nights because we literally have no one else in town to stay with (no other friends after a betrayal and no contact with family after abuse) because we have no water for the next 24-48 hours now.
If you have ANYTHING you could spare to help cover the cost of a hotel room, I would greatly appreciate it.
It’s looking like the cheapest option I can find is going to come out to around $200 and I simply don’t have that in additional to all the rest of my bills, saving up to move by the end of next month because we’re getting kicked out of the house after my roommate and her asshole ex split, and she was also recently fired, so we are in literal dire straits and strapped for cash. (The ao3 curse is real y’all.)
Cashapp - $rahlx
Venmo - @rahlx
PayPal - @AnaHardt
I can even give out my (American) phone number for Apple Cash if that’s preferred. I fully understand if no one can spare it though, so no pressure or anything!
Literally even just a couple bucks to buy some jugs of water so we can flush the toilet and boil some noodles and such would help lol
It’s the day after now but shared an important factoid with my irl bestie yesterday who only knows of tumblr as the place for depraved horny nerd bitches obsessed with omegaverse and she passes the vibe check
(Before anyone says it’s not his birthday, yes I know, the full image cut off in the sending but it was explained if you clicked the picture, also it is the “birthday” of the meme so suck my fat one.)
