mask & seek: 13

batman x fem!reader

based on: Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she’s from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson’s universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn’t trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues?? Thank you so much and have a great day!! ❤

author’s note:hello. this took me 9-10hours and i still think the ending sucks BUT oh well. am i gonna rewrite it ??? no. i think you guys will like it, the chapter has a nice surprise over-all, hihi, and i’m too tired and running out of time to rewrite this chapter. ngl, i have some really good moments here in my writing, and i hope you guys will see them and appreciate them :) thank u sm on the feedback, as always, i love you all. happy reading!!1

main masterlist

bruce wayne masterlist

part twelve

word count: 13.1k

warnings:LONGGG!!! hope it doesn’t bore anyone. also smut!! p in v sex, oral sex on f, fingers in mouth, emotional sex, praise, creampie, all the good stuff yk B)

gif credit goes to owner!

bruce knows he can’t follow her. physically it’s impossible, because he’s not like her, and he’d lose a lot of time getting down on the street and onto his bike. even though there is the urge to try out the new wings he recently made, but he hasn’t even tried them out in a safer environment before, so it would be foolish and lethal to try them out now to follow her.

but he also knows where she’ll be at the end of the night. it disappoints and upsets him that she’s chosen not to meet him at their usual rendez-vous and is, instead, apparently swinging around gotham and fighting for justice on her own. it eats away at him, and he’s rightfully upset as, again, he has no explanation from her about it. did she just play him for a fool? did she lie to him?

she didn’t exactly promise to meet him. that day at her work, or any later day. she said she doesn’t know if she can ever meet him again, and she didn’t say anything after he promised to be at their place every night. she didn’t say anything. so she didn’t lie, either.

alfred’s voice is in bruce’s head again, saying she just needs time. and that he’ll scare her away if he intrudes on that space, on that time with herself. but he can’t wait any longer. it’s been nearly a week since that day at her workplace. he saw her, right now, slinging across the train tracks and the street below them. bruce almost thinks she did it for show, having the knowledge that he’ll be on location, and will be seeing her from it.

it’s only a few minutes past eleven thirty, which means she will be done with her night shift soon. on the nights bruce couldn’t make it, she usually went out at nine or ten by herself. and even though bruce never told her that, he worried for each of those nights about her, and secretly didn’t want her to go. but she’s quicker than him, and has powers, and can’t stay away from saving citizens longer than a day. she’s been out nearly every night, and only on the occasions of particularly heavy work shifts has she passed on the opportunity.

bruce guesses she’s addicted to that. saving people, putting criminals to justice, giving them what they deserve—it gets her off. it’s not the adrenaline anymore, it’s her usual nightly routine. her alcohol, her drug, her cigarette.

judging by the time he has left, bruce gets moving off the train platform. he jogs down each little set of stairs, feeling a little stupid doing it, but does it nonetheless, until he’s finally on the street level and makes his way towards that alley he parked his bike in. what is she doing out there alone? has she gone out alone before, in these six days she hasn’t met up with him? does she not want to work with him again? does she not want anything to do with him, knowing that he’ll be waiting every night for her, anyway?

she’s become a bigger mystery to him again, and it’s safe to say that bruce is bubbling over with emotions as he trudges up the fire escape stairs and unlocks the window to her living room with a little metal hook. just a small thing he always keeps in his pocket, in case he needs to break in somewhere. yes, he is intruding, and he feels like he’s intruding, rightfully so, but it doesn’t feel the least bit wrong. he has to do this. he has to see her. he has to talk to her.

he closes the window and locks it from the inside so she wouldn’t suspect anything as she’ll come in later. he doesn’t want to spook her, much less give her a heart attack, he just wants her raw and true like she always is, without any prejudice about what might have happened to her window, or who has entered it.

bruce sits down on her sofa, the one she sat him down in all those nights ago, on their first real meeting, their first solid interaction. sitting in the exact spot he was then, bruce feels memories of that night flooding in, and they play like a little short movie before his eyes. how he watched her attend to his wounds, how he helped her clean hers up, it was on her thigh. how she sat next to him and touched his hair, asking questions and telling him random different things.

he remembers how soothed he was by her. she made him immediately feel at peace, and he trusted her almost immediately, as well. she was kind to him, didn’t know and didn’t care who he was. she just wanted to be equal with him—she took off her mask, and requested he do the same. no question about his name or anything, she just needed him to understand how trust for her works. even though that instinct of hers told her to trust him already.

tears gather in his eyes at those thoughts of her. the memories are too strong, too close to his heart, even closer than he’d like to admit. so much so that he nearly misses her coming home. he only hears her sigh of effort when she’s already jumped onto her living room floor, and at that noise, bruce snaps his head towards her. true enough, she’s still in her spider-woman suit, and she’s pulled off her mask. she doesn’t gasp in shock or surprise at the sight of him there, or at the quick turn of his head, her spidey-sense having kicked in again and she sensed another presence in the flat before she even came in. but she furrows her eyebrows, and focuses more on bruce, thinking, for just a moment, that she might be hallucinating and that he’s not really there. but he is. and though his eyes are dark, bright tears shine in the corners of them.

“what are you doing here?” y/n asks and strides over to him, her mask in hand before she leaves it on the coffee table. she turns around and draws her curtains, then, wanting privacy from anyone who might be watching from now on. bruce watches her all the while, his breaths beginning to grow heavier.

“why were you out there alone?” bruce asks her finally, and y/n shakes her head at his voice. the brooding, intimidating growl of batman is in it. she turns back to face him. his eyes are looking right into hers, nearly boring holes into them, into her, as if wanted to do that.

y/n shakes her head again, “if you wanna talk, you’re gonna have to take off your mask.” she tells him quietly, fearing that it’s not her place to request something. that she’s undeserving even of such a little, but important thing. she doesn’t want to talk to batman, she wants to talk to bruce. with batman comes this great act, and so much more bravery than bruce has on the regular. she looks up at him from her hands. “it’s just you and me. and i don’t need batman now.”

infuriated and impatient, bruce pulls the cowl off so fast it makes a scratch in the side of his head, but he pays no attention to it, only making a small wince in reaction. y/n must say he looks like he usually does. and by usual, she means the black smear around his eyes that can’t hide the purplish bags under them, which are evidence of sleepless nights. no wonder. she didn’t see those on him while she was at the manor with him, because he slept through each night with her.

but the fury and threatening volcano eruption on his face takes her back a little. she hopes that anger isn’t towards her, but she knows that it probably is. she feels awkward, and embarrassed, and out of place. she sighs and walks over to her kitchen island, ten feet at best to bruce’s left. he watches her go and he unsnaps his cape, leaving it on the back of the sofa, and then he pushes his kevlar suit off himself one by one, trying to do it fast. y/n fixes herself something to drink from her fridge all the while, and she makes another full glass, in case bruce wants some, too.

if she doesn’t want batman now, that’s what he’ll give her. he walks over to her in the kitchen only after the batman parts of his suit are off, including the flattening jacket. he’s now dressed in a t-shirt, jeans and socks, feeling both out of place and exactly at home, dressed like that in her apartment. y/n watches him come up to her, that glass of a drink in her hand lifted up to her face, where the cold beverage is cooling her cheek. she looks at him with anxious, but tired eyes.

“why were you out there alone?” bruce asks her after he situates himself across her, his back leaning into the kitchen island as hers is leaned against her counter. y/n sighs.

“i wasn’t fighting alone,” she tells him quietly, “i was just swinging around, clearing my head. nothing more.” she sighs and looks into her glass. “not that you should know what i’m up to,” y/n shakes her head. bruce’s nostrils flare.

“ishould know,” he argues.

“what, are you gonna ground me for fighting some low-lives on my own?” y/n’s upset towards bruce has quickly turned into anger. perhaps she’s pissed off by him, by all the things he chooses to be blind to when he’s not batman. bruce gives her eyes with such fire in them. but also defeat. he knows he can’t ground her, or tell her what to do and what not to do. it’s not his right, not his place, and not his choice to make, after all. she knows that, too, of course. “bruce, you can’t keep me away from the world.” she says, and has to admit that saying his name caused her heart a little pain.

he looks straight at her now, those fiery, defeated eyes now concentrated on something more precise. “is that what you thought i was doing?” he asks her. “is that why you left? you thought i was keeping you locked in with me?”

y/n shakes her head as her eyes close. he really is blind to the things she thought he was. she has always been right about him, but he – nearly never about her. “no, i didn’t think that,” y/n tells him. then what? “and that’s not why i left.”

“then why did you?” bruce asks, and the volume his voice reaches frightens y/n, so much so that she looks at him with widened eyes. bruce sees them, and wants to apologise immediately, wants to take that back. “why did you leave? why didn’t you say anything? why didn’t you come meet me all these nights? i waited for you.” his eyes fill with tears again, those previous ones having dried beforehand already. bruce’s lip trembles. “why didn’t you just… tell me? how you felt, what was wrong?”

y/n is too impatient with bruce, with herself, with his questions. “because it’s hard to!” she says. “even despite my instinct, despite everything that we’ve gone through together, i still don’t know if i can open up to you like that!” she looks into his eyes again. it saddens her that there’s no ounce of understanding in them, only confusion. “i told you that it’s nothing you can change, but maybe it is now… i don’t know.”

“y/n, just tell me, please,” bruce says and takes those two steps closer to her, so he can cradle her cheeks in his hands and be closer to her. he sticks to her like a magnet, and she has the urge to wrap her hands around his form, too, and pull him close as possible. but she fights it, not wanting to let this conversation go to waste, “i…” bruce gulps, “i want you… to be with me. whether we’re working, or—or reading together, or listening to music, or whatever else—i just want you here with me.” or whatever else. bruce shakes his head, his forehead gently bumping against hers. tears have filled y/n’s eyes now, too. she can hear in his voice how much she’s hurt him, and it breaks her heart. she didn’t mean to. she never did. “this isn’t easy for me, either, i’ve never…” he sighs shortly, his head making a gentle shake, “i’ve never had anyone like you before in my life. and i don’t want to lose you.”

did he really just say that to her? y/n can hardly believe her ears. does he mean those words? he wouldn’t be saying them if he didn’t, to be fair. y/n squeezes her eyes shut to avoid crying, but her tears spill all the same. bruce feels the ragged breath she takes, he feels how it makes her whole form tremble under him. y/n wipes at her tears with her hand and sobs, “i’m sorry,” she tells him, “i didn’t want to hurt you.” she says in wails. “i just… couldn’t take it anymore. we’re too different, bruce. your world is so much more different than mine.” y/n says and wipes her tears again. she hates that she can’t talk about this without crying.

bruce takes it as in the sense that she’s gotten to gotham from a different world physically, but again, it’s evidence that things like that fly over his head so easily. “what do you mean?” he asks her and leans back a little, unconsciously giving her space. he even pulls his hands away from her, leaving her completely untouched for now. for however long she needs.

y/n is quiet for a while as she gathers herself. every word that she had planned to tell him at some point now seems to bring more and more sobs, pain and tears from her. it’s hard talking that way. “i mean… look at how you’re living,” she says. the mansion, the wealth, the family legacy, “all i ever had was a small basement flat in queens,” she tells him, and her voice grows squeaky in a wail towards the end, “my mother had to work… terrible, absolutely inhuman jobs to pay the rent, get us food. with no one to help us.” y/n sobs and hides her face in her hands from bruce. he doesn’t touch her, being able to tell that she really doesn’t need that right now. “only after… she died did i find out that i have an aunt. they weren’t on good terms, but she took me in immediately. even though she had no idea how to raise a kid.” y/n sighs, and shakes her head. “i can see… by the way you behave, how and where you live, that you don’t know what that’s like. you haven’t worked a day in your life. everything that you have has come easy to you.” she looks up into his eyes.

bruce can’t deny he feels upset by those words. never had to work a day in his life… but he doesn’t get the type of work y/n means. building tools, devices, suits and vehicles in the abandoned station named after your parents with all the money you have from thin air is work to him, but it’s not work in reality, is it? that’s just money spending, the complete opposite of work.

“i haven’t had a day since my eighteenth birthday in which i haven’t had to work, or fight for what’s important to me.” y/n tells him. she won’t go into detail about her mother and how she died, or about her best friend, who met the same fate. he doesn’t need to know that. it doesn’t really have anything to do with this conversation. “that’s where you and me are different. i don’t expect you to understand, but…” she shakes her head, “you asked, since you… clearly can’t understand what you don’t know, so here it is. that’s why i left.” she looks into his eyes again. “that’s why i have a complicated relationship with money.”

bruce nods, his eyes faltering away from hers. now that she’s told him about her childhood, or at least some part of it—it seems there’s more to tell—he gets why she was so cold. why she was so adamant on knowing why he bought her those things, why she had a hard time accepting them. he doesn’t understand the things she’s went through, the life she’s had, but at least he knows about them, and understands hermore.

“and it’s none of your fault for how you grew up, for your father’s wealth,” y/n speaks up again, wanting bruce to be less confused about her feelings towards him in all this. bruce nods again, though biting back tears, “it’s just… i don’t think you and i have the same goals or—or beliefs.” she says and sniffles again. bruce furrows his eyebrows. “sure, we’re fighting all those guys at night, but during the day… you could be doing that and more. with everything you have.” she says in a fainter voice, cautious of his response. bruce wayne. prince of the city. gotham’s richest.

the suggestion in her words hits straight into his heart, as well as his pride. and his beliefs. bruce is silent as he thinks it all over, and y/n is afraid he’ll bolt out the door any second. he could do that, taking how he sometimes gets very unpredictable. but her instinct tells her otherwise, and so does bruce’s body language. gears are turning and pipes are hissing in his mind, it’s all so visible in his eyes.

she’s never had prospects like he has. she’s never had the money to change things in the world she sees as unjust. bruce can tell she’d do a lot if she had it, so maybe he should give her all the money he has? maybe follow up on that half-serious offer of hers and make her the head of wayne enterprises. she has much more spirit, much more will to act than he does. it hurts him that she’s seen it, but it doesn’t hurt that it’s the truth. perhaps he’s just been too afraid to acknowledge it.

so many questions are still begging to be asked, so many thoughts are running through his mind on repeat, one after the other. he leans off the island and comes closer to y/n again, slowly, cautiously, hoping to not intrude onto her space, scared she might swat him away, push him away. his hand caresses her hair as the other cups her cheek, she’s letting him. he looks into her eyes, which are blinking between his and those wandering, affectionate hands of his. “how did your mother die?” bruce asks so softly and quietly she could have missed it. y/n’s eyes showcase fear, and the urge to turn away, to get attention off herself, to escape his hold. then she blinks, hangs her head low and sighs softly.

“at work,” she tells him coldly, nearly paralysed in how exposed she currently is, “she was killed. because she wanted out.” y/n sniffles very strongly and looks down at her hands as she takes her gloves off. her lips press into a thin line. the loss of her mother still does numbers on her heart. bruce gulps. she’s saddening him more and more with every new thing she tells him.

“i’m sorry,” he tells her, the hand caressing her hair again, this time also moving in between her strands, cradling her head from behind. he only means well, and he only wants to be closer to her. y/n understands that, “were you there?” like i was when my mother and father got killed?

y/n shakes her head. “no,” she answers. she remembers that day very well, “i was at home. didn’t know until… cops showed up at the door.” y/n parker? we think we’ve found your mother. “nearly didn’t open it because mom told me not to open the door unless it’s her, and she had a certain way of knocking.” y/n’s lips make a very faint smile as she says this. bruce smiles a little, too, seeing that y/n remembers a fond memory of her mother. but she still doesn’t look at him, for whatever reason.

“is she the reason you do this?” he asks quietly again. y/n looks up at him at once, her eyes fearful of how well he’s turned out to know her. she appreciates it. that he may not be able to understand her, but he knows her. he knows her so well, he knows her by heart. bruce’s thumb flicks over cheek, where tears previously poured down. new ones gather in her eyes, and during her silence, they fall and coat the skin of her cheeks again, pouring beneath and onto bruce’s finger as well.

she’s overwhelmed. his hand on her cheek reminds her so much of their shenanigans in his car that day. and the hand on the back of her head reminds her of all those times they kissed, and she’s thinking of the manor again, she’s thinking of all that time they spent together. it reminds her of the care and affection that he’s shown her. and she can’t turn away from it. she’s done hurting him. she wants him, too. every day and every night. perhaps, after all, the crime-fighting isn’t her drug. but bruceis.

y/n gives him a nod as well as a shrug in response, because she is the reason y/n does this, but not the whole reason. there’s so many more. so for now, she gives him this kind of answer, though she’s sure he got the confirmation from her falling tears. bruce breathes a deep breath in and nods at her, too, saying that he gets it. he understands. part of every hero is that they’re avenging someone in everything that they do. whether it’s their parents, one of their parents, another close relative, maybe a friend or a lover. someone important to them who they lost. “did you get what you wanted?” y/n asks in a whisper, hoping that she has somewhat explained herself to bruce.

he searches her eyes for a few moments, confused. is this everything that she wanted to say? is she telling him that there’s nothing more to say or do anymore, and that they’re done? he hopes not. “i just wanted you,” he tells her in an assuring manner, his thumb flicking over her lip again, “i still do. always will.” bruce makes a gentle shake of his head. “please don’t make me leave,” bruce pleads quietly, thinking that could be the worst-case scenario.

y/n shuts her eyes as more tears pour from them and shakes her head. “i don’t want to do that,” she says, still shaking her head. she’s stripped herself down completely in front of him now, no going back.

“then don’t,” bruce says and now rests his forehead against hers, eyes closed. he sighs deeply as he feels himself closer and closer to her.

“but it will be difficult,” she tells him, still trying to push him away against all her best interests, “i’m scared, bruce.” she admits and sobs in desperation again, nearly gasping and grasping at him to not leave. her hands don’t know where to go, don’t know what to do to make him stay. will her small arms be enough for a man his size? enough to keep him in place? first of all, she can’t believe he’s here. he cares enough that he showed up at her flat. bruce opens his eyes.

“i’m scared, too,” he tells her. he has never had these feelings before, and he’s never had a relationship before. he doesn’t exactly know how they work, or what he has to do. he could hurt her, he could get her hurt again, and worse, he could be too demanding, he could not change himself for her… it all scares him. but, “because i love you.” bruce admits, and it makes y/n’s eyes open wide in an instant. “and i’m scared of what that means.”

“you love me?” y/n repeats in a hushed whisper, afraid to say those words out loud for maybe she accidentally dreamed him saying them. but bruce nods, extinguishing those doubts of hers. “are you sure?” she asks.

the question makes bruce utter a quiet chuckle, his lips stretching so beautifully into a smile. y/n finally reaches a hand out to his face, and caresses his cheek in return, making him look back at her. “i’m sure,” bruce assures her, “more sure than i’ve ever been of anything else.” he states. “i love you.” bruce says again, his fingers caressing her skin. “you mean everything to me.” he confesses in a whisper.

now y/n really can’t keep the dam closed anymore. her tears fall without a halt, without filter, they pour from her eyes, across her cheeks, down to her neck, into her mouth, and quiet sobs of relief rupture her lungs and chest. they’re happy tears, relief tears, even though they seem the completely different kind. bruce watches her, confused, and his movements on her skin in those two places halts. but y/n scoops herself up together and looks at him again. “don’t worry,” she says, “i’m only crying because i…” she hiccups in her confession, “because i love you, too.” y/n says and makes a smile on her face for show. and so that bruce would know that it’s real, what she’s telling him.

bruce’s heart stops at that confession, breath catching in his throat. all this time there were hints towards it being true, but he never wanted to assume she did. and, as his low self-esteem and self-worth usually told him, he thought she didn’t love him like that back. she couldn’t. but here she is, proving all that paranoia wrong. so he doesn’t waste a second more and kisses her lips. he hasn’t done that in so long, in nearly two weeks (not that he’s counted, of course), and it’s such blissful release that he can’t contain his own tears anymore.

y/n kisses him back, and so their lips battle in the will to show each other how much love they have for them. both of them want to win, but the process, the journey, is so much better than the victory. lips exchanging heated, wet, tearful kisses while hands grapple fabric and skin, wanting to be closer, closer, closer, until there’s no space and they succumb to each other, their skin and bones melting together.

bruce’s hands bravely venture down to her hips, where he caresses and grips them, pushing moans out of y/n here and there with his actions. she tugs on his hair when that happens, and that makes him groan in return. but that counter against her back is very uncomfortable. “this is not the place,” y/n whispers to bruce against his lips, and it halts his movements. she takes his hands in her own and pulls him away, out of the kitchen, and towards her bedroom, down the hall.

he can’t keep his hands or lips off her even while they walk, he’s kissing her neck, backing her against the nearest walls from time to time, just wanting to stay there. he doesn’t care where they are, as long as he can have her, he’ll be happy, and he’ll make her see stars to the best of his abilities, anyway. he’s scared, of course, for her to see this side of him, thinking maybe he’ll not be competent enough, he won’t do good enough for her. but she’s about to prove him wrong.

she laughs at bruce’s impatience and manages to stumble him over to her bedroom at last. she loves him kissing her neck and showing her that kind of affections, of course, she lets him know by the moans and whimpers she makes, but she doesn’t want to have her first time with him in her hallway. having it in her bedroom is important to her, even though she doesn’t really know why.

once they’ve stumbled into her bed, bruce finds the zipper in her suit and zips it open as quickly as he can, though he does it very messily. y/n is smiling, tears still in her eyes, and kissing his lips all the while, as he peels the suit off her, and she kicks it off with her legs at the very end just so that bruce wouldn’t have to disconnect from her. he smiles at that, knowing her intentions, and pulls his own shirt off his form, too. y/n has seen him bare before, but now she feels she’s got the full privilege and right to admire his chest fully. her hands reach out to run across it, bruce on his knees now before her, between her legs. her fingers trace over his muscles and she marvels at how there are no serious scars on his chest, unlike his back.

he just watches her eyes, and then they look up at his. a mischievous smile tugs at her lips, and she bites into her lower one. bruce shakes his head at her, though a grin adores his lips, as well, and he leans down to her again, smothering her whole face with kisses. “i love you,” he proclaims to her again, “you drive me crazy.” he says and y/n chuckles at that confession. bruce plays with the straps of her bra, and he gives her a look. “can i take this off?” he asks her, wanting to make sure she’s ready. so far, this is the barest he’s seen her. and he just wants her to be comfortable. if it’s better for her, she can leave the bra on.

y/n nods at him in response, and reaches under herself to unclasp the bra. bruce wanted to do that, but she sends him a knowing wink, knowing in the sense that she knows he wouldn’t be able to take it off on his own without a struggle. so since they’re both in a rush, and are naturally impatient people, she does half the job for him. and so bruce just hooks his fingers under each strap and lifts her bra off along her arms, and throws it to the side, not exactly caring where it lands.

his breath gets caught in his throat again, this time at the sight of her. her hair, her naked chest, her arms barely, shyly knitted together above her stomach, her shy smile and the tears still glistening in her eyes. she’s an angel. “you’re beautiful,” bruce tells her, “baby.” he adds, remembering that she seemed to have some sort of reaction to that nickname before, and he could try it out now again. this time y/n utters a whimper at that pet-name, her teeth biting into her lower lip again, and her thighs move around a little. bruce grins slightly and positions himself right above her body again, his chin resting just below her breasts. “do you like it when i call you baby?” he asks her, and kneads one of her breasts in his hand.

y/n sighs out as her eyes drop closed, and she sighs, already squirming beneath him. “yes,” she answers, and bruce feels her thighs pressing closer around his body, “does things to me.” she admits, and then feels bruce’s lips on her breast, just kissing for now. but then he lays a wetter kiss on the skin there, and he sucks lightly, too, and y/n feels like just melting into her mattress. the moan she makes goes straight to bruce’s firmly growing length in his pants, making him feel even more impatient. he increases his grip on her other breast, and makes a trail of kisses up to her face again, all the while hearing her sweet moans and whimpers for him.

“was that okay?” bruce asks her quietly, worried about his performance again, and to his soothing, y/n replies with a nod.

“i know you’re nervous, but you don’t need to be,” she tells him as her lustful eyes look into his and she caresses his cheek with her hand again, “it’s my first time, too.” she assures, her smile suddenly looking a little broken, along with her tears it makes for a sad facial expression. but those few words mean a lot to bruce. she’s just as inexperienced as him, and it puts him at some sort of peace at least. and how she was able to tell he’s that way also hits a close spot in his heart. now they’ll be doing something together for the first time, both of them, and it is ever so special.

“you tell me if i hurt you, alright?” bruce requests. y/n’s eyes fill with more tears at how considerate and affectionate bruce is. she still can’t believe it, after all this time, and yet here is the proof, staring her right in the eyes, touching her the way she likes, making sure that everything’s fine. but she shakes her head at his question.

“you could never hurt me,” she says in a scrappy voice that showcases her choked-back tears and sobs, and bruce only hopes it’s for a positive reason she’s almost crying again for. y/n pulls his face down to hers and kisses his lips. hungrily, lustfully, intimately, closing her eyes. bruce does the same, his hands coming lower to hold her waist, “can you touch me?” y/n quietly asks him, looking into his eyes, “please.”

you could never hurt me echoes in bruce’s mind, and he recalls that incident in the car, to which she undoubtedly is referring to without really referring to (but he can read her mind, can’t he?), and he nods surely. “i was going to, anyway.” bruce says with a wink sent her way, and that makes y/n giggle. bruce runs his hand from her breast down to the dip between her thigh and stomach, and he rounds the flesh of her thigh in his hand. y/n sighs out against his smiling lips, her thighs restlessly rubbing against his sides, yearning for friction, for some real touch. not that this isn’t great, she’s just growing more and more desperate and turned on by the second, by everything bruce does, by every move he makes across her skin.

bruce toys with her thigh, with the feel of her skin in his hold—it’s heavenly—pushing her thigh forwards, gripping the junction under her knee, caressing her upper thigh with his large, splayed hand. y/n’s breath catches in her throat—she can’t believe how gentle he is with her. of course, she adores it, and wants nothing more or less than these cautious touches, because she knows he will get to it when he will. she guesses she just always expected his batman persona to come out during these intimate settings—she once speculated that he’s quite the ladies’ man, and probably is in his vigilante mood when he gets down to it. this, she might say, is a pleasant surprise.

although she’s never been with anyone before, y/n knows what she wants in a partner, and she knows what she likes. and so far, bruce has checked a few boxes already, slowly checking the rest on his way now. and that again arises tears in her eyes. how careful, affectionate and attentive he is to her, to her needs, her level and zone of comfort. she’s never known love like this before, and it’s breaking her down. perhaps because it’s all she’s dreamed of those times when she’s wished for a partner. someone exactly like bruce. who knew she’d find them in an alternate universe where her home city doesn’t even exist?

she bends under his hands so easily bruce might have mistaken a doll for her, the way she completely melts against him in whatever he’s planned to do. how she willingly lets him push her thigh forwards more, how she cranes her neck when he leans down to kiss along it, how she shivers, but then bucks into his hand once he finally cups her pulsating cunt through her underwear. it makes her body do a whole reset almost—her eyelids fluttering closed and her thighs rubbing closer together, nearly capturing bruce’s arm between them. bruce grins at that and lays a kiss on y/n’s lips again, though they barely respond as she’s in a blissful state.

he can feel her wet warmth that has stained her very fitting underwear, and it drives him even crazier, even sort-of hungrier after her. bruce strokes his fingers up that patch of wetness and reaches nearly the same ecstasy as she is in. he can feel every inch of her pressing together under that fabric, in that wetness. “fuck,” he curses under his breath, resting his head in the crook of her neck, putty against her incredible might, “this all because of me?” he asks, and can hear her breaths growing heavier. he feels her chest moving more frequently, and harder against his. he’s gained confidence again, sureness of himself, because of her reactions. she’s doing wonders to him.

y/n can only nod, and it’s all the confirmation bruce needs to slip his hands into her panties and touch her without any confines or otherwise constricting factors. the real thing. he doesn’t know precisely what to do, he’s not seen a proper tutorial that would work for y/n exactly, but he can tell he’s doing the right things. both the louder and quieter noises that come from her lips, very much positive ones, tell him he’s doing a great job. y/n can’t manage to form coherent words, anyway, because bruce, bruce, bruce has taken over her mind completely.

bruce cards his fingers through her silky folds, gathering her wetness and spreading it across this most intimate area of her body, and he does so in slightly circular motions. y/n’s hands caress his body, one of them deep in his dark hair, the other on his back, digging her nails into the thick, scarred skin there. was she any more conscious of herself and bruce, she’d worry about scratching the scars open. but she can’t think further than the man’s fingers, further than his fingers on her cunt, she’s completely consumed by him.

bruce watches her face as best he can in the midst of his own arousal, and he just adores the look of her. eyes shut, fluttering open here and there, eyebrows scrunching up, lips parting, and little beads of sweat beginning to coat the skin closest to her hairline. not to mention the tears at the corners of her eyes, and the ones falling and already fallen down the side of her face. he knows they’re not ones of sadness, not anymore.

but, wanting to see what he’s doing, bruce moves slowly down her body while his fingers are still treading soft circled touches on her folds. he kisses every inch of her skin in his way, making her body spasm very gently here and there. she’s so reactive to every move he makes on her, it’s the most wonderful thing in the world. one of her hands pulls away from his back as he moves lower, no longer that much accessible to her, and the other starts to pull away from his head of hair.

when bruce is down exactly where he wants to be (a/n: that would be down bad for y/n), his face inches away from the most intimate part of her body, he looks up at her. her hands, not knowing where exactly to be or what to do, figure around the sheets, in her own hair. her chest heaves in desperation, in that insufferable yearning for ecstasy, for release. for him. “give me your hands,” bruce gently asks of her, extending his one free hand, for now, towards her. y/n does as she’s told, a little lost on what he’s planning, but moves her hands down towards bruce.

with his able one hand, the busy one still circling her lips, he holds both her wrists between his fingers and pulls them towards his hair, where he so adores them being. he knows she loves touching his hair, too, she wouldn’t do it otherwise. or does she know he likes it and only does it because of that? that’s a question for later. her fingers land in his hair, nearly at the roots now, caressing the scalp, and they fit so well, as if a magnet was pulling her hands towards his raven locks. bruce grins and gets to work.

“keep them there,” he tells her softly, the command in his words not sounding like a command at all, but rather like a gentle request, “wanna see you.” bruce fingers the elastic of her panties, playing with it for just a second or two before he begins pulling her underwear down with both his hands. y/n whines at the loss of his fingers from her cunt, but something tells her this isn’t the last of those touches. once her underwear is down her legs and off, bruce looks at the sight exposed to him. my… this glistening beauty all for him. he nearly feels his stomach grumble at the sight, he feels hunger for her, one that he’s never felt before.

he playfully, in his quest to explore her, runs his middle and index finger down between her folds again, and feels her writhing underneath. her warmth, her wetness, her beauty are unmatched. and they’re all for him to witness, to feel, to experience, to taste. can he do that? bruce’s eyes flick up to y/n, even though he knows damn well she’s not able to look him in the eye. “y/n,” he calls to her quietly, gently, and she stirs, with her eyes closed, on the sheets, “look at me.” bruce requests. and even in her haze, she’s able to finally open her eyes and look straight at him, though her orbs are consumed by a layer of lust. “can i taste you?” bruce asks.

that question makes y/n want to kick against the mattress like a spoiled child. but she keeps her composure, and only her chest ruptures and her thighs tremble in response. she tries to keep her eyes on bruce’s, but it’s so hard. her thighs rub closer together again, desperate, desperate, desperate. those must be the most enticing words she’s heard him say ever. and she gives him a nod. of course, who is she to say no to him? he’s made her feel closer to heaven than any meal or feeling before, she won’t deny him or herself this pleasure.

bruce just needs to devour every inch of her, needs to feel her against every inch of himself, and he has the blessing from her to do so. so he gets to work. at first he gently breathes onto her exposed cunt, which already makes her sigh out sharply, and then lays just a kiss on the same spot. it makes her utter an even more helpless whimper, her chest heaving more frequently for those few moments. oh, she’s so not ready for his blissful assault on her.

he returns his hand to her folds and runs the two fingers through them, teasing at her entrance for just a second or two. and his mouth moves lower, towards where his fingers are, his tongue stroking between her labia lips. y/n gasps, “bruce,” she moans out his name. bruce makes a hum in response, eyeing her with eyes that ask is this good? am i good? but, of course, with her eyes closed again, she doesn’t see them. if she would, she’d only give him a positive answer as this is quite literally the best she’s ever been made to feel in her entire life.

bruce would be a liar if he said this doesn’t bring him any pleasure, either. he’s keeping himself from moaning and grunting as much as he wants to only because he’s so focused on making her feel good. with every lap at her cunt that he makes, he yearns for more. she tastes sweet, like sugar water, like his favourite alcohol. she also tastes like his dreams, like all his hopes and plans, like everything he’s ever wished for. with every inch of her that he tastes, licks, kisses, laps at, he realises he could spend forever there, between her legs, just pleasuring her, making her come over and over again.

his fingers press onto her clit while his tongue drags across it, and it makes y/n arch her back off the sheets all while moaning his name in a high pitch, hurting her throat just a bit as it’s an unusually high note she’s reached. but as she moans his name, it comes out distorted and broken up. much like herself. “gonna put my fingers inside you, okay?” bruce asks y/n, out of breath, and looking up at her. she doesn’t see him, only hears him, and she nods.

“yes, please,” she responds with a plea, as well, only firming the erection beneath bruce’s trousers. so he circles his middle finger around her tight hole, which grows just a little bigger at the request, and, to take away any possible discomfort that she might feel at the penetrating intrusion, bruce pushes his middle finger inside her entrance with his tongue. now that makes her actually scream out, and she’s not afraid to hide it.

the noise rises goose-bumps across bruce’s skin, and he hums in appreciation against her, his lips flush against her cunt. pushing further into her, seeing how far she takes him, bruce admires every crevice, every structured inch of her inside that he can feel on his pad, against his thin skin. she’s so tight that her walls are swallowing his finger up, and it feels indescribable. he forgets himself for a moment, his lips just resting against her labia lips for now as he wonders about how it would feel with his length inside her. if this feels this great, then how will that feel? will she even be able to take him?

perhaps he needs to stretch her out, so he does his best. “gonna put another into you, baby,” bruce tells her as he sort-of gets back to earth and kisses the inside of her thigh now, trying to put some ease into her—although knowing that he’s doing the exact opposite of it with anything that he does—, “can you take another one?” bruce looks up to her again, but it’s, again, a lost cause.

but y/n hears him. “yes. yes, i think so,” she says in a whiney voice, her eyes squeezed shut, forehead and chest sweating, hands raking unevenly across bruce’s scalp—she’s a complete mess, “just do it.” i don’t care if i can’t take it. “i just need you, please.” she nearly cries at that last bit, being so close to that edge all afternoon, it seems, and bruce understands. she’s so desperate for him, and he’s sure it’s gonna kill him eventually. if not now, if not tonight, then soon.

so he pushes his index finger into her, moving it inside along the middle one, feeling her walls swallowing them both up now. bruce shudders, moaning at how incredible that feels, and licks against her clit again. he’s sure nothing can feel better than this. and y/n has that same thought. her mind is racing, as well as her heart, and her chest is heaving like it never has before, not even on the times she’s had the most intense fights. bruce’s fingers are long, she’s known that, having known how large his hands are over-all, but oh my… she never expected them to hit that deep, and on the first entrance. god, is she hallucinating? is this happening? it’s too real, too good, too incredible, to be true.

“oh, my god,” y/n squeaks out among her gasps for air. her body writhes under bruce, around his fingers, her hips are bucking rhythmically, almost as fast as to bother bruce in his incredibly important work. he lays his other hand on her lower stomach and presses down gently.

“stay still, sweetheart,” he asks of her. and even those few words, especially that pet-name, make her whine. but when he strokes her walls with his long, aiming-to-please fingers, it reaches her in such a way that makes her actually cry out, and hot tears prick her eyes once more. only this time, much heavier, much harder to resist. so she doesn’t. she lets them fall, and lets sobs torture her lungs and her whole torso with their intensity. the heels of her feet dig into her bedsheets and she tightens the hold of her hands on bruce’s hair. she can’t take this, she can barely take it.

and he makes her torture all the more intense, with his lips and tongue on her folds, intruding between them, and his fingers raking across her walls, pulling the very pads of them against her meaty surface, curling them when he gets to the deepest point in her that he can reach. she’s crying, tears streaming down her face, sobs hurting her throat, as she has never been made to feel this good, and she has never been made to feel loved like this. she has never had someone to love her, care for her, attend to her this way. she can’t fathom or take everything that she’s feeling right now, it’s driving her over the edge. “oh, my god… bruce,” she cries his name as the feeling gets way too over-whelming.

she feels like she could burst open, physically, any second now. she’s blind about what’s about to quite literally come over her, and she has no choice but to feel it, let it take control, let it do what it has to. bruce’s tongue tight on her clit, his fingers nearly scratching at her walls, she feels that terribly foreign feeling—she’d rather call it entity—fully wash over her. finally. and she realises it’s what she was waiting, pleading, begging, yearning for. this exact feeling.

her legs go numb, and she feels an over-whelming wave in the pit of her stomach, where she’s felt herself yearn for bruce, for ecstasy, many times before. now she understands. now she knows what it’s like, but she has barely time to think on it now. she can’t think at all, her arms even go limp in bruce’s hair, only having pulled at it quite hard at the very beginning of this other-wordly feeling. her eyes screwed shut, lips parted and mouth open as she cries, screams and begs, all calling to bruce.

he only makes his actions gentler on her once he realises what she’s going through, what her body’s experiencing. and his heart pulses in his chest as he watches her reach that heavenly pleasure point. his length throbs in his trousers at how she looks as she’s going through it. god, absolutely divine. unlike anything he’s ever seen before. her face when she laughs, smiles or is working on something—his wounds, for example—is breath-taking, of course. but this… bruce is sure nothing compares to this. and he can’t believe he’s rightful to see it with his own two mortal eyes.

when y/n’s screams and cries of his name die down a little in volume and intensity, and now nothing but pants are leaving her lips, bruce pulls slightly away from her. to his pleasant surprise, he finds the breath-taking sight of her dripping a white nectar from her entrance. he needs no explanation for what that is, in that sense he’s knowledgeable enough, and he grows even harder at the sight, if that’s even possible at this point. he’s so hard right now that it’s painful for him.

bruce spreads her thighs a little, as they pressed slightly closer together after she came, and caresses his thumb over her dripping entrance. she whimpers helplessly at that caress, feeling more sensitive than ever. bruce only glances at her fleetingly, his eyes trained on that come dripping out of her. fuck. this is just incomprehensible for him. it looks just like sugar cream, and he knows it tastes similar, too. he can’t resist. bruce leans closer again and licks some of it up, as much as he can get from only very slightly entering his tongue in her. and this time, her whimper is even more desperate, more pleading. almost to say i can’t anymore, because she feels so sensitive, as if it was an open wound.

and she does taste like sugar cream, sweeter than before. bruce moans like a man having his eternal hunger fed, and licks her come up just one more time for his own pleasure before he pulls away and gives her a break from his very euphoric assaults on her. bruce licks his lips clean, wanting to savour every bit of her that he gathered, and he looks down at her. god, she’s so beautiful, he can’t believe it. and she looks absolutely heavenly after an event like this. he could make her come over and over again, if it means he’d see her this true, this beautiful, every time. and he’s sure he would.

her hands have fallen by her sides, and she’s only now returning to complete consciousness. she blinks her eyes open and finds bruce staring down at her. there’s a smile on his face that almost makes her laugh. he just made her have the first and, she thinks, hardest orgasm of her life, and he’s looking down at her, smiling like a happy idiot. the most she can do is make a smile herself at him, a very gentle and faint one, and bruce’s smile only stretches bigger at that.

he leans down to her, one of his hands wrapping around her wrist, pushing it into the mattress beside her head. he kisses her lips, plump and warm, and he can feel that she’s reacting to everything a little slower now, truly blown away by him, and the feelings he makes her have. he feels proud and confident of himself, and he smiles into their kiss. his other hand rests at the curve of her waist, just above her hip, and y/n’s arms weakly wrap around bruce’s torso. for support, for something to hold onto.

“can i, uh…” bruce begins a question he’s too shy to finish in a whisper, his smiling lips dragging across the tear-wetted skin of y/n’s face as he does so, and y/n closes her eyes as her grin grows wider. more tears fall. she already knows what he wants to ask, but she’ll let him finish that sentence. if he can, of course. come on, baby, where’s your confidence? “can you—i mean, do you want to—”

but, again, y/n is an impatient person at heart. she nods her head without letting bruce finish, because the answer is yes, will always be yes, “yes,” she tells him, and because… “now, because i’m not sure i’ll be alive later,” she tells him honestly, which makes bruce laugh. and, in return, it makes her laugh, too, through her tears. her laughter’s interrupted by her soft sobs. his rare, miraculous laugh is infectious, even during such intimate moments. but perhaps it’s best for those kind of times, because it’s a way to break the tension and the pressure between them. he rests his forehead against hers and his eyes grow serious for a moment.

“are you sure about this?” he asks her in an even quieter whisper, suddenly realising how much this could (does) mean to her. and y/n looks into his in-love, half-lidded eyes.

“i am,” she assures him as she nods. one of her hands circle up to his neck, fingers curling around the nape, towards the roots of his hair, “i love you. and i want this,” y/n tells bruce, looking into his eyes for more signs of understanding. he’s nervous, she knows that, and so is she. but somehow—perhaps from the literally mind-blowing orgasm he’s already given her—perhaps with his presence, his comforting, loving presence, she feels a little less nervous about doing this. and about what this could mean between them. though nothing more than their love and desire for one another.

bruce gives her a nod then. okay, then, this is it. here it goes, he tells himself. “i love you, too,” he whispers to her in response, his eyelids fluttering again. not because he’d be lying, but because he’s nervous and shaky and over-whelmed, and feeling quite emotional. he wants to remind her to tell him if he hurts her, but since she surely told him that he could never hurt her, and she should believe it, he doesn’t. and so, with a nervous hand, y/n slips his trousers and boxers downwards, which gives bruce the freedom to free his embarrassingly—to him—large, stiff erection from its confines.

y/n gasps quietly at the look of him, at the size of him, and bruce immediately looks to her, his eyes nervously asking what’s wrong. “nothing,” she assures, “just… i hope you’ll fit.” she tells him with a gentle chuckle, and bruce grins out of relief, his dark locks falling onto her face as he hangs his head low. “you’re so big, bruce,” y/n praises to him in a whisper, and the compliment makes him shudder against her. how he hoped that would be the truth. not that y/n has anything to compare bruce to—for her completely inexperienced mind and sense of measurements, bruce is big. certainly bigger than she anticipated.

“shut up,” he tells her in an airy chuckle, which makes y/n chuckle. she knows what praise does to him. makes him feel weird, undeserving, awkward, on the spot. weird for a man of his size to doubt himself, but he does it nonetheless. always insecure, always feeling that he’s not enough. but he is. and he’d always be enough for y/n, no matter any of his measurements.

she caresses his chest with one of her hands and spreads her legs a little again, so that it’d be more comfortable for him. bruce adores the sight. “come on,” she whispers to him, pulling his face closer to hers by the back of his neck, and bruce gets the message, leaning his forehead against hers again as he watches himself, to not make a mistake, slowly push into her half-inch by half-inch, always attentively listening to every sound she makes to know if something’s wrong.

that hand of his holding her wrist against the bed sheets slips upwards to link her fingers with his own, and he feels her tightly pressing her fingers into his hand as soon as he does that. bruce feels her tense up beneath him, sees her eyes squeezing shut, as well as her mouth, and he hears a little whimper from her. he instantly worries. “do we need to stop?” he asks her in a whisper, looking at her face of discomfort. she almost seems to be holding her breath. “baby,” bruce calls to her.

y/n shakes her head, and as soon as she opens her eyes, bruce sees new tears in them. “no, no,” she tells him, “i’m okay.” she assures and looks up into bruce’s beautiful, concerned orbs. “remember what i told you,” y/n reminds him, and her hand slips from his neck to his cheek, a comforting gesture of convincing, “you could never hurt me.” she assures, and her voice breaks a little. her lip trembles, but she nods at bruce, muscles around her eyes also trembling, threatening for another session of crying. bruce isn’t sure of what to do, because he’s not sure that y/n’s crying is entirely for the best reasons. but she wouldn’t lie to him, would she? “it’s alright, bruce,” y/n tries to convince him more. she knows it’s painful for girls during their first time, always, “you’re not hurting me anymore.” she searches his eyes. “it passed.” she sniffles. “keep going.”

he’s convinced, he decides, because she really wouldn’t lie to him. he knows that. especially about how she’s feeling. she’s always honest about it, always truthful and raw to him. he grips that hand of hers more and pushes himself further inside her, to the very hilt, for now. and what he gets in return is most rewarding. not only her sensitive, clenching walls around him, and their warmth, but also a moan from y/n that he recognises to be one of pleasure. and bruce exhales deeply, resting his head in the crook of her neck as he tries to adjust to everything. because god, he’s so painfully hard, and he’s finally inside her, and it’s enough to make him come on the spot.

it comes as a surprise to y/n how little it hurt, because now she just feels the good side of this. god, this is the closest she’s been with him. closest they’ve been with each other, and the moment she’s had daydreams and night-time dreams about has finally come. and it’s so much better than she imagined, so much more fulfilling and connecting. speaking from her subjective point of view in this moment, she can say that she couldn’t imagine having her first time with anyone else. she loves bruce, and she’s thankful that he lets her be with him when he’s this exposed, this vulnerable, this naked in every sense of the word.

speaking of bruce, he’s nearly fainted above her. she brings her thumb across his cheek, and that motion makes him turn to look at her. at least he’s conscious, she thinks. “what is it?” bruce asks her, clearly oblivious to her gestures. she smiles wide, and tears pour from the corners of her eyes.

“nothing,” she says in the quietest of whispers, “just thought you’d died there for a moment.” she jokes, and bruce grins at her amused mood.

“think i did,” he says and gets above her body again, feeling confidence and strength returning to him, “you want to keep going?” bruce asks in the most affectionate of ways, and then moves his head so that his hair would flip out of his view. it’s bothering his vision, he can’t see her properly. y/n nods at his question and caresses his chest again. she looks straight into his eyes and bruce takes that as a sign to begin moving.

it’s painfully pleasuring for the both of them that movement of bruce pulling out in a slow stroke, y/n whimpers and the grip on bruce with both her hands tightens incredulously. bruce sees his length coated in y/n’s white come from beforehand, and that makes him groan.

“god, you drive me insane,” he tells y/n and then looks back at her, wanting to see only her face as he pushes back in. this time, contrasting to the very first time, her throat makes a deep, guttural moan, and the feeling of him pushing back inside her has her throwing her head back, “you feel perfect around me.” bruce praises her and y/n smiles in her blissed-out state. her arm returns to wrapping around his back, his thick, wide, muscular back, and she pulls him down enough to be able to whisper into his ear.

“you can go faster,” she says, tending to what her body requests, “please.” she adds, knowing that always does something to him. and quick enough, once bruce is comfortable with himself and how fast he’s moving, it’s nearly a race of how fast he can go. a race with himself. his body rhythmically moving above hers, his girth feeling every inch of pulsating, inviting walls clenching around him, y/n holds onto him with the hand on his back, gripping onto it out of how good he makes her feel, nearly digging her nails into his skin.

and the hand that is intertwined with bruce’s just next to her head. an affectionate connection between them, gentler than the speed and care with which bruce thrusts into y/n. sweat is collecting in thick beads on her forehead again, and on bruce’s, too. this is someexercise, he discovers, an exercise that can move an entire bed and make it squeak against the floor. their panted breaths on each other mix with the sounds of their skins meeting harshly together at their hips, where the most intimate of their connections is unravelling at a quick pace. somehow, at this moment, y/n thanks every twist and turn in her life that led her to this moment. she loves him more than she can fathom. and she sheds tears again, but really ones of the best kind this time.

“right there,” y/n whines as she feels bruce just reaching the sweetest spot inside her. the anticipation of him reaching it—because she knows he can—is like a fever in her body. bruce grapples the back of her thigh with his flat, large palm once again, and pushes her knee forwards, slightly to the side, so he could reach that spot she’s begging him to. and he does, “fuck, yes! right there, baby,” she cries out and pulls bruce’s face once again down to hers, where she harshly swallows up his lower lip.

his pet-name for her being used on him by her does quite a number on him, and he’s sure he’ll really come any next second. and because he aims to please her, the confirmation that he’s succeeded does another number on him and his close-approaching orgasm. bruce deepens their kiss, running his tongue along hers and on the inside of her lip, which makes y/n whine for him in an even higher pitch. “i won’t last much longer,” bruce tells her, his lips grazing hers faintly as he speaks in close proximity to her still. he’s afraid his confession will disrupt this event, afraid she’ll find it weird.

but she puts his worries at rest by saying, “me neither,” and giving bruce a grin. he shakes his head at that expression, wearing the smile of an idiot in love on his own lips, “give me your hand.” she requests, and bruce immediately obeys. to do that means losing his support system that helps him not crush her body with his, but he does his best to still lean above it, now closer to it than before, so close that her breasts are pressed against his chest, and he continues with his almost unnaturally fast rhythm of thrusts inside her.

once y/n has bruce’s hand at her disposal, she moves it towards her face with her free hand, that was just now around bruce’s back. now it’s holding his wrist—and bruce watches the whole thing—and moving his sweat and come coated fingers up to her mouth, where she lets the pad of his thumb meet with her lower lip at first, just gently running it from one

mask & seek: 12

batman x fem!reader

based on: Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she’s from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson’s universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn’t trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues?? Thank you so much and have a great day!! ❤

author’s note: hello. it is so hard to not write for steven grant !!!!!! i’m holding onto dear life here, someone help. i have to finish this series and then i can move onto steven. but then st4 will come out…. god help. anywhos, hope you guys are enjoying the chapters!! this one is actually a personal favourite of mine, so please be nice :) i really love their dynamic in this one, it’s so explorable omg i could write pages and pages of this small interaction. so happy reading!! love you all and thank you for the feedback which is, as always, incredible and very appreciated :)

main masterlist

bruce wayne masterlist

part eleven

word count: 6.8k

warnings: mentions of getting stabbed, nothing else

gif credit goes to owner!

bruce’s claws of hands rummage through every inch of his bed sheets, then of the curtains. in a mad cloud of frenzy that’s taken over his mind, he looks everywhere—under the bed, behind and under every piece of furniture in the room, he even rushes into the bathroom. but with his sense of surroundings, he can tell there isn’t a breath but his in the room. bruce huffs and runs to the wide windows of the room.

they’re closed, and he can tell they hadn’t been opened, either. his mind has gone completely blank. irrational, desperate, angry, confused, devastated. where is she? he stares blankly out of the window, at the long streets of gotham, at the horizon, beyond all of it. his eyes can’t even see properly. all that he sees in his fury and tornado of emotions is dark red, nearly black. he’s starting to run out of breath.

but he couldn’t care less about himself. he stalks out of this spare bedroom with heavy footsteps, booming like thunder, and pulls open the door. with the door he opens to get into the hall, honestly with every inch of floor he covers, he hopes for her face to pop up again, as if she was just hiding somewhere to cause him a surprise, or roaming this urban mansion on her own without waking him up. what a pleasant surprise that’d be.

“y/n?” bruce opens the door to his own room first, passing his parents’ room with the knowledge that not even alfred has the key to it. once he’s searched his own bedroom, every little inch of it, and doesn’t find her, bruce exits and heads towards alfred’s room. “y/n!” he doesn’t think of what she could have to do there, his mind doesn’t go as far as to search for reasons. he just needs to find her, and he needs to find her now. bruce knows alfred keeps his bedroom door open, so he doesn’t even bother knocking as he barges through.

but the room is empty, nor alfred nor y/n occupying it. bruce huffs again, and his eyes widen with cold, burning sweat in them. the tornado of emotions in his chest only grows bigger. it doesn’t scare him, for he’s felt fury and devastation like this before. what if y/n is in danger? and so, what if alfred is, too? where is alfred?

bruce practically flies out of alfred’s bedroom and heads for the stairs. he has the instinct to jump over the wooden railing to cut his way shorter, but he stops himself before he acts on it. he doesn’t have any gear on, and he is, after all, just a man made of meat and bones who would, in the best-case scenario, crash through the wooden stairs and, in the worst-case scenario, injure himself on them. they are tough. but as he realised before, he doesn’t care about himself that much right now. he needs to find her, and quick, and he will do whatever it takes to find her.

“alfred!” bruce calls as he marches down the steps as quickly as his big feet allow him to, he nearly stumbles down most of that journey. bruce’s frantic eyes scan the large, open area of the living and working quarters of the manor, and his ears finally pick up some audible proof of another living soul in the place. “alfred,” his voice comes out nearly as a bark in his discovery of alfred’s presence. no one else would play classical music in the house at this hour.

bruce hurries down the steps and towards their library where, undoubted, alfred stands by the desk. “bruce,” alfred greets him with concern all over his features and audible in his voice. he can see bruce being in a rush of movement and emotions, he can tell something’s wrong. bruce is even out of breath, “dear boy, what’s happened?”

bruce bites back a reply about not calling him a boy anymore because, frankly, his mind is somewhere else. his chest heaves with heavy breaths, and once his hands are on the table, down flat against the stone surface, is he able to look up at alfred again. “y/n,” bruce says, “she wasn’t—” in bed when i woke up? yeah, a great way to reveal them both to his godfather, “she’s not in the room.” bruce says, and then his eyes gain that desperation they did on the night he brought her here, when he begged alfred for his help and, unconsciously, support as well. “have you seen her? do you know where she is?”

alfred’s brow furrows more than usually. “sadly, i haven’t,” he answers, “did you check downstairs?” he asks bruce and begins making his way around the table, just to get closer to bruce. he’s a little nervous to, because bruce can get so unpredictable when he’s in such a mood, he can lash out. but he wouldn’t do that to alfred.

bruce shakes his head as it hangs low, and then has a deep breath in and out, it comes out in partial relief. relief in that maybe she is downstairs, down in his cave, doing whatever. bruce doesn’t care that she touches his stuff, reads his collected data, goes through his music records, or is watching television or trying out any of his created tools or devices. as long as she’s down there. “but she took all her clothes,” he voices what he noticed back in their room upstairs that struck him weird, “all her stuff…” bruce looks up at alfred again.

his godfather contemplates what that could mean. that sounds like someone fleeing the place they’re in. but why would she flee, why would she run? she looked perfectly pleased yesterday. maybe something happened between her and bruce. alfred looks to him. “let’s go see if she’s there,” he suggests, and bruce nods without hesitation. he’s the first one to walk towards the elevator, and he does so much quicker than alfred can. but bruce calculates that, and waits for him by the elevator door.

he notices right away that it isn’t on this floor, as it usually should be, the elevator box. with furrowed eyebrows, alfred’s footsteps and cane clicking through the manor echoing around him, bruce pushes the call button and then peers through the protective metal grid just to check if he can see where the elevator box is. he hears the noises of it coming up, but it’s quite far down. so maybe she really is down there, in the cave, if the elevator box was there last.

alfred doesn’t know what ground of teamwork, friendship or relationship, nonetheless, bruce and y/n are or were on, so he decides to ask just the few concrete questions needed for this situation now. “did anything happen yesterday, after lunch?” he asks bruce as they stand side by side now, waiting for the elevator box to come up. alfred sees bruce’s eyelids fluttering in just the slightest way before he can think of words to respond with, and it’s the first giveaway that the answer to his question is a positive one. “what happened, bruce?” alfred asks now in a quieter, softer voice.

bruce keeps his eyes disconnected from alfred’s, hating to be so directly looked upon when he’s this vulnerable. the elevator arrives and dings as it does so, and the two wayne men get inside, standing side by side in the box again. alfred closes both doors and presses the button for the very bottom floor of the manor, and relative silence falls between them as he waits for bruce to speak up. he knows it’s hard for him. bruce always suppresses everything, “she was acting… distant,” bruce finally says, and only says the very least of what happened, but enough for alfred to understand, “i asked what’s wrong, and she said…” bruce shakes his head, his eyes blank as they stare ahead at the elevator door, “she said it’s nothing i can change.” he looks at alfred again now, feeling sure enough of himself and not too exposed. even to the person that has known him the longest.

alfred nods, now in the somewhat clear of the situation. he tries to understand what it could be, though, taking everything that he knows about her. which is, granted, not that much. she grew up without a father, her mother was always working to pay rent and up-keep little y/n. she’s able to heal wounds faster than regular people, can climb walls and has that interesting instinct of hers that bruce told him about. feeling what’s coming.

perhaps she saw something coming from bruce. perhaps, if they’re treading on that ground, she’s not ready for a relationship. maybe meeting alfred freaked her out. maybe she’s not good with family things or situations, maybe she’s not used to being so close with people, whoever they are. it could be all, any and none of these things. men know so little of the female mind, after all. “do you think it’s something about me?” with everything that you have, especially with it, “she doesn’t want to see me anymore…” bruce’s brain isn’t even scratching the tip of that iceberg that is y/n, the mystery. he doesn’t understand.

“let’s just see if she’s here,” before we jump to any conclusions, alfred says as the elevator comes slowly to a stop at its final destination. the button dings, and that ding! echoes throughout the cave many times, sending off that loop noise of bat wings flapping in the dark. bruce opens the door and then the grid for him and alfred, and rushes out into the cave. he doesn’t hear a sound but for the bat wings, so he turns on the light—maybe she’s sleeping in here? in the car, maybe on one of the chairs?

alfred and bruce look around the cave and each take a side in wandering about it. bruce heads for the car first, opening the driver door first and foremost. but she’s not inside. his heart begins to drop lower and lower in his chest. he imagined her curled up in the passenger seat, or in the unfinished back of the car, her hoodie and bruce’s sweats warming her body. but instead of her, there’s just screwdrivers, wires and other maintenance garbage littering the back of the car, and nothing but the memory of her in the passenger seat now. his eyes burn with hot tears, and he bites on the inside of his lip to keep from crying out.

bruce shuts the car door and walks around the vehicle to where alfred stands by the row of many desks. bruce’s eyes are all the while looking at the far end of the old train tracks, into every corner, just hoping that she’s hiding there somewhere. he even cranes his neck to look upwards—perhaps she’s hanging on the ceiling and is planning to give bruce and alfred a good scare. but she’s nowhere in sight. no blue or red hanging from or slinging around the ceiling. no trace of her.

he walks up to alfred, and now stands with him. the suit he made for her still lays on the desk. well, partly now, because alfred’s examining the top part of it while holding it in his hands. “did you make this for her?” alfred asks bruce, turning his head to look at the younger man. an old boy, he usually refers to bruce in his mind. that’s what he is, a definition bruce fits best into. bruce nods with that devastated look on his face, and alfred raises his eyebrows in pleasant surprise. quite the engineer he’s turned into. something else on the desk, and not on the desk, catches bruce’s eye, and he walks over to alfred’s other side immediately to see closer what exactly it is.

in the spot where her old, torn suit was laying just yesterday, lays completely nothing except a small piece of paper. bruce gets stuck in his stupor. she’s left something for him. but where is the suit? did she take it? where is she? with trembling fingers, bruce touches the piece of paper, takes it in his hands and lifts it up. alfred leans closer to bruce to see, too, and bruce doesn’t mind.

don’t follow me.

a full stop at the end of that message. bruce’s nostrils flare. follow her where? so she did leave. did she go back to new york? did she find a way to go back there? did she go home? is she at work?

bruce has never seen her hand-writing before, and he discovers that it fits her very well. it’s not exactly relevant, but just a discovery he makes. he doesn’t know what to think of this message. if she asks him not to follow her, but he doesn’t even know where she’s gone, he should respect it. that is his first instinct.

but his confusion, devastation and the need to have his questions answered, as well as the care he has for her, overrides that first polite and taking-her-wishes-into-account instinct. she said she’d tell him what was wrong in the morning, she said they could talk in the morning. and now it’s nearly morning, and she’s gone, only memories and a note left behind her as evidence she was ever here.

bruce snuffles and throws the paper down onto the desk before leaving that spot. he walks around alfred again and reaches the last desk in the row, where his attire lays. with alfred reading the note, examining the paper, and trying to decipher what it means, while also trying to understand what bruce is doing, bruce starts putting on pieces of his suit one by one.

flattening jacket, jet leather pants, his boots and their heavy accessories. in the pocket of his flattening jacket, he finds the black pomade, and he smears it onto his eyes without looking in the mirror. he doesn’t need it, he doesn’t need for the pomade to be even or even neat, he’s in a hurry. he has to go get her right now, he has to see that she’s okay.

it may have well been a note from an abductor, and she could be in real danger. or she could be at home, or at work, like it’s any other day. whichever scenario it is, bruce needs answers. he needs this mystery to be solved. she can’t just leave him like this without telling him where she’s going, without telling him what’s wrong. she can talk to him, and she knows that. he’s told her, he’s shown her that multiple times already. he’s not ready to think or accept that maybe this is something she can’t talk about with him.

bruce pulls the kevlar pieces of his suit onto his body in place, and then snaps on the finishing touch—the cowl. with alfred looking after him, bruce struts over to where his bike is by the train tracks, and jumps down to its level. “bruce,” alfred calls, “she told you not to follow her.” he reminds him, fearing that the boy has gone completely off the rails now.

“you don’t get it, alfred,” bruce grumbles back. the words sting the older man’s heart quite a bit, but he tries not to take it personally. bruce is obviously on some weird wave of feelings, frustrated with the world, the woman and himself, and this short sentence doesn’t mean anything really, “i need to find her.” bruce says and revs the motorcycle up.

alfred sighs, shaking his head, and walks closer to the edge of the once-was train station. the growls of the motorcycle are loud enough to shut the bats out. “bruce!” alfred calls again, and bruce can hear that it’s important, so he turns to look at his godfather over his shoulder. “you will only scare her away. you need to respect her boundaries. respect what she asked of you.”

bruce turns his head back to look ahead, into the darkness before him. alfred’s right. bruce knows that. but his instinct to solve a mystery, answer questions, even in his personal life, is too strong to really take that into account. but how can he respect what y/n asked of him if she left him just like that—suddenly, no explanation, no warning. without having that conversation about her feelings. it’s not very fair. he doesn’t understand.

and she really could be in danger. worse, she could have gone home, to her real home in new york. and now he has no way of finding her. or maybe she just found a way to go home, and didn’t want to tell him, and is now working on getting back. it could be a million different things. but something tells bruce it’s all just a domestic, very personal emotional thing she’s going through.

and he’s promised to be there for her, whatever happens. maybe he hasn’t promised that to her directly, but he has to himself. and he will stand by that promise. he needs to know if she’s safe, he needs to know how she feels, what’s going on in her head. he has to know if there’s anything he can do to make her feel better, to erase those sour feelings that make her distant towards him. he will help her any way that he can. and if he can’t, then he’ll find a way. even if it’s seemingly impossible.

“you don’t get it.” is all that bruce says to alfred before speeding off into the dark, the sound of his quick motorbike nearly deafening alfred. the older man just shakes his head, looks at the message left by y/n, and then leaves it on the desk, where it was, while making his way back to the elevator. he can’t help bruce now. not anymore.

alfred’s words and y/n’s warning message, as well as words spoken by her last night, replay over and over again in bruce’s mind as he drives to where she lives. he knows alfred’s right, and that he really shouldn’t be doing what he is now. and he wants to respect y/n’s boundaries and her request. but he also wants to know why she left. why she cried. why she was so distant. there must be something wrong with bruce, and for her, he’s ready to change it at the soonest possibility.

bruce parks his motorbike across the street from her building, in one of the side alleys, and locks it in place. he looks up to where her top-floor flat is, and he sees a faint light in her bedroom window. the sky and air of gotham the typical colour blue of the twilight hour there always is before dawn, her window is one of the very few already or still lit. creates a great contrast against the blue sky, and it looks quite beautiful.

bruce sees the fire escape stairs, he braces himself for crossing the street, and takes the first steps to. but a car flies by before he can. and at that halt, he once again remembers what she told him last night, the message she left for him to read, and alfred’s advising words about the situation. bruce huffs and tries to cross the street again, but a bus drives by. those words in his mind again, stopping his every attempted movement.

perhaps he should take that as a sign. if his mind and, somehow, transport vehicles in his beloved city are stopping him, then maybe he really shouldn’t go across the street, up her fire escape, and knock on her window to confront her. perhaps it really isn’t the choice he should go with right now. bruce feels like an idiot standing there, on the street, not having decided what to do further, just standing like he’s stuck.

a few minutes of contemplation later, bruce gets on the roof of the building that is right opposite y/n’s. he doesn’t have his binoculars with him because he didn’t bring his backpack in this rush of leaving the cave, and his detective side is itching to go back and get them. so he can see what she’s doing, so he can be up to date with her. but the other, compassionate and caring side of him, forbids him to get the binoculars. if it’s anyone he shouldn’t be watching, it’s her. of all people.

his best friend, she has become over these months of working together. the best teammate anyone could wish for. a woman with wit, talent, skill and care written into her dna, coursing through her blood and constantly coming out to the surface. the most beautiful person he’s ever met, and could have the pleasure of knowing.

he should not be intruding onto her privacy, her feelings, her space that she so kindly has asked for. watching her, confronting her, that is all completely wrong and unnecessary. he hasn’t watched her without her consent before, so he has no right to do that now. he cares about her, but he shouldn’t let that take an unhealthy turn. he has to let her know that he cares in another way. that he has yet to figure out.

every sound that she made in her journey down the elevator and out of the manor through bruce’s cave hit a painful spot in her heart. she didn’t want to leave, and still hates that she did, she hates how her departure will make bruce feel when he discovers the absence of her presence. all throughout her journey out, she tried to keep her tears in. tried to keep her voice down, keep her sobs to herself. and she succeeded very well. until she got home.

as soon as she took off her mask, and was back in her loved, cosy apartment, the tears fell like heavy rain. maybe more like hail. stinging her eyes, creating visible white, salty tracks in her cheeks, spilling into her mouth, down to her neck. her chest lurched with sobs, her throat became sore after only the first few sobs, because they were so intense. so breath-consuming, as well. it seemed all the air in her chest had been sucked out, and her lungs had turned into small chestnut halves, not being able to take in any more than a single ounce of air. she made herself hurt both in her heart, and in her body.

she rid herself of her suit before stepping into the shower, and tried to wash everything off with the hot water. it was a relief of sorts, but she still cried. cried like she had only when she realised she couldn’t go back home to new york, and was stuck in gotham for who knows how long. there have been times before that, but honestly, her life that she had in new york, feels like a past one. like it doesn’t matter here. and so she doesn’t count those times.

she didn’t know she could feel pain like that again, and it’s not exactly her pain. well, maybe it is. perhaps she’s hurting all over again for how she was raised, how her mother had to live and work to make ends meet, how she died, about y/n had to spend her high school years and the rest of her life without a mother or father, how her aunt may didn’t exactly know how to raise her even though she did a good job, and how her best friend was always there for her, but then was in the same situation as her mother, and met the same end. which is partly y/n’s fault.

and now y/n is here, in a city still strange to her, without friends, family or any other kind of guidance, living paycheck to paycheck. aunt may doesn’t know where she is, why she’s missing, and when she’ll be back. and now y/n meets this man, who she does great work around gotham with, and who she undoubtedly feels attracted and drawn to. she hasn’t thought the fact yet, but she loves him.

and he’s from an entirely different world. grew up in a rich home with both parents, any and all kind of opportunities always available to him, he can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants to. he’s lost his parents, just like y/n, but his world, his life and the perception of the world around him is so different from hers.

and maybe that’s what hurts the most. the fact that though he understands her in ways no one else could, he will never understand her to the fullest. it breaks her heart, because she thought he was just like her. a recluse. a nobody. a masked vigilante who saves the city and its inhabitants by night, a simple person by day. but he’s not simple. and he’s not nobody. he’s obviously famous around the city, as his father was. running for mayor… a child of that mayor can’t escape the public eye. it’s realistically not possible.

she doesn’t care that he didn’t tell her that he’s well-known, it doesn’t hurt her. on some level, she understands that. something that she hasn’t gone through, hasn’t felt and done herself. and that’s where they differ again. she can understand things and feelings she hasn’t experienced herself, but he can’t. he knows the world as he’s seen it, nothing more and nothing less. everything that is outside of his world isn’t his problem, isn’t real, sort-of, isn’t that big a deal. one more difference that makes the biggest crack between them.

you might call y/n weak for not saying this problem to bruce, for not talking it out with him, for not waking him up when she left. but she couldn’t have stood the look on his face as she’d tell him she’s leaving. as she’d tell him that she can’t live in this kind of world. she knows, or maybe can only guess, at how much he cares for her—he’s shown it over the last few days especially. and she appreciates that.

but she can’t live in a world that is blind to the sufferings and hardships of others. that’s what their night work is all about—not turning a blind eye to the horrors of gotham. and it seems that it’s been just a mask to him. because when that cowl and eye make-up is off, when he’s ridden of his kevlar suit, and is dressed formally, he’s a person with completely different values, a different ideology he lives by. and she can’t take it.

he could be helping people like her mother more, helping children like he himself and y/n was more, with all the resources, money and reputation that he has. fight crime and bring criminals to justice with his public face all over the papers. but no. he chooses to go out at night, be selective about his targeted enemies, and spend all his days in hibernation. no move left or right to fight real issues.

y/n thought they were fighting real issues. but masked vigilantes at night—what is that gonna do against the criminal half of this city, at least six million people, on a larger scale? spider-woman and batman are just a joke to them, really. and they’re just human, too, even with y/n’s super-healing and ability to climb walls. she’s still just a woman who can be hurt, embarrassed, shamed, exposed and… killed.

she can’t sleep after her shower, no matter how hard she tries to. so she leaves her light on and stares into the ceiling as the day creeps onto gotham with its sunshine and rainclouds, as always. can’t have one without the other, it seems. occasionally, tears fill her eyes again, and she lets herself cry. she finally can cry here, at home, without shame, without fear that someone will hear her—even her neighbours.  it feels good to let it out, but she’s in disbelief about how much there is to cry, how much pain there is still left. in her chest, mostly. about everything.

bruce stays on that opposite building all those nights and days that she spends at home. they both know when her official, documented sick leave ends, and so he stays till that very day she has to return to work. y/n mostly spends her days moping about, and orders her meals in, not wanting to leave her place. partly because she really doesn’t feel like it. she doesn’t want to leave her house, doesn’t want anyone to see her, doesn’t have the energy to even put on normal clothes and do random errands.

and partly, though she’d never admit it out loud, she’s afraid that she’ll run into bruce. either he’ll catch up to her in a more empty part of town, or she’ll run into him as bruce, not batman. though that is very unlikely, because he never comes out of his cave. judging by how she left him, she can imagine him only sulking about, as she knows him well enough. but she’s still afraid of that confrontation of seeing him, bruce asking her questions, wanting to know what’s going on. so she doesn’t go anywhere.

but on her first day back at work, she gets to experience that fear quite starkly. thankfully, her co-workers are glad to have her back and aren’t mad at her for missing work. though that’s a silly thought to have—after she tells them that she was stabbed on her way home, she realises that. the looks on their faces, even tears in some of their eyes, tell her enough. in their eyes, it’s not her fault that she got stabbed. the truth is, different, of course. a masked vigilante attacking criminals has the consequences of their actions fully on their own shoulders to bare. but, also, at the end of the day, no one really asks to get stabbed. it’s only the fault of the attacker.

on the middle of her shift, which she shares with her colleague-turned-friend vanessa, an irregular costumer comes through the door. because she’s never seen him in this kind of attire before, y/n doesn’t take him for much more than the regular attorney or lawyer—those types wander into jeremiah’s more than occasionally. but as she begins to notice that he’s walking a certain way, a way she knows practically by heart, she instantly recognises him. and her heart drops to the pit of her stomach as her mind blanks, and she can only try to hold back tears and think of anything to say.

treat him like a regular costumer, a voice inside her head says. and then the heads of other costumers already sitting down start to turn, and y/n ducks her head down shyly. “is that bruce wayne?”

you should be confident, that voice says again, he’s just a customer. so she looks bravely up at him, her chin nearly up in the air, and she sees he’s standing right in front of her, his stomach nearly pressing into the counter. he looks so different. she hasn’t seen him in days, his hair is clearly washed, his face is clean, too, and he’s in a suit and coat a few too sizes bigger than the size that fits him tightly.

“welcome to jeremiah’s,” y/n starts to say in her best confident voice, but she discovers it’s quite husky and small. she clears her throat as bruce just looks at her, also taking in this sight of her. dressed in a dark red apron, her washed hair up in a ponytail, she’s wearing a button-up shirt underneath the apron. her face looks sad and tired, though her usual costumer-smile tends to convince him and others otherwise, “what can i get you?”

bruce does his own best attempt at a smile, but it comes out with a tone of disappointment. her heart aches at that expression on him. she sees that she’s hurt him, and that he only wants to know why, and perhaps wants to talk. “hi.” bruce finally says after getting his credit card out of his wallet. y/n’s eyes flick to it for just a moment, and she can only imagine the wealth that hides behind those twelve numbers and the name on the card, “a cappuccino, please,” bruce orders, and y/n absent-mindedly registers that in her screen. she nods, and takes in the way his voice sounds. just as small as hers, and quieter, as though he really is talking just to her, like he always is. none of that husk and broadness of batman is audible in his voice. she looks to him with raised eyebrows.

“anything else? a croissant or chocolatine?” she suggests, and her eyes still blink as they attempt to keep the tears at bay. she can’t believe he’s really here. should he be here? should she have told him where she works? well, he’d know, anyway, he has all that data on her. damn his brilliant mind to invent a thing like that.

bruce gives her an absent smile. “a bit of your time,” he says with that pretend-sweet smile still on his lips. it’s not a pretend smile towards her, more like pretend in general. because he isn’t a man who smiles a lot. and he isn’t feeling sweet now. it’s hard for him to mask his true emotions, he’s crumbling inside at the moment. he’s trying not to cry himself, and her usual, polite smile at the beginning of this exchange nearly drove him over the edge to start crying. but he can do this, he can stay strong, even though he wants to strip himself bare in all aspects in front of her whenever he’s with her, “and company for dessert.” bruce adds then.

he’s asking to talk with him. right now, it seems. y/n looks back at her friend vanessa, who’s standing close by, doing some small cleaning of the coffee machine. she gives her a glance back, and has a grin on her face. to vanessa, the situation is entirely different from the reality of it. she doesn’t know y/n knows bruce wayne, and she guesses that she can’t decide whether to say yes or no to this fine piece of a billionaire. vanessa gives y/n a nod and turns away, though her ears stay fixed on their conversation.

y/n shakes her head slightly as it hangs low, and she gives the café hall a scanning look. the customers’ eyes are still on bruce, and, sadly, her as well. she hates this attention, and she hates the amount of it. soon paparazzi and news will be at their doors, filming and photographing through the windows. bruce wayne going after simple city girl in café, all the headlines will say. she doesn’t want that.

“bruce, i can’t,” she tells him, finally, in a whisper, as she leans a little closer to him. to establish some privacy between them, even in this public of a place. bruce’s eyes grow disappointed, “i can’t leave work.” and i still need my space.

he shakes his head, sadness growing bigger and bigger in his eyes, “i’ll wait for you,” he tells her, “whenever you can.” he says, and somehow feels guilty. about whatever it is he’s done to upset her, make her leave.

“bruce, i don’t—i don’t know if i can,” she says with a shake of her head, eyes looking at his coat, at his suit and tie, at his hands gripping the counter. their faces just inches apart, she could kiss him right here and now. if it wasn’t for a lot of things. looking up at him again, she sees him already moving his lips to say something more, but she stops whatever it is, “ever.” she finishes her sentence and waits for the realisation in him to hit with a heavy heart.

it does. it does, and it makes him lean back, straighten his back, as he looks at her with those dark, sad eyes full of realisation. he blinks a couple times, and y/n can tell it’s to keep tears at bay. she knows him so well she can predict his every next move. yet she still wants to hear him say those words, express those feelings. sometimes he can get unpredictable, even for her, and say the most bizarre things. perhaps this is one of those times, too. “i’ll wait for you,” he says, “i’ll wait for you every night at… our place.” narrows. the train platform in the outskirts. y/n gulps, tears gathering in her own eyes now, too. she can’t keep them away. “i’ll wait however long it takes,” bruce promises her with a sure nod. there’s noises on the other side of these windows growing in volume, but y/n doesn’t dare look at them. she nods at bruce, “until then, just the cappuccino. no sugar.” bruce says and adds a little smile at the end, which y/n knows is a true one. of course he doesn’t take sugar in his coffee. a true, true smile from him.

y/n nods at him again and finalises the order in her computer screen, “that’ll be…” she waits a moment. she glances at the credit card in his hand, then back up at him. her eyes are glassy, and bruce can see that. it breaks his heart to see, but it also makes him realise that neither side of this situation is easy. not for him, not for her. and that’s, in some way, good. it’s not entirely his fault for whatever she felt was wrong. y/n deletes the order, “on the house.” she says and blinks her tears away, attempting herself a smile as she begins to make the cappuccino for him.

every passing second fills her eyes with more and more tears until they’re spilling over and onto her cheeks. one even lands in the milk foam she’s made for him, and it nearly drives her over the last edge. she could cry, and she could laugh at it. but she makes no noise, only pours the foam into the burgundy take-away cup, more tears spilling from her eyes, some also landing into the cappuccino—will he think it’s gross?—and some on the white cap she puts on the cup.

she doesn’t have the heart to wipe them away, because she wants this situation to be over as soon as possible. so she gives the cup to him on the counter, sliding it over to his side, and gives him a sad, tired smile. bruce sees her tear-stained cheeks, and he sees the droplets of tears on his cappuccino cap, and he immediately has the urge to wipe her tears away. with that instinct comes one to pull her close, kiss her until both their breaths run out, and not let her go until their issues have been resolved.

but, taking all these simple and complicated circumstances, bruce settles for a sad smile of his own and “thanks,” before he leaves. he makes sure to look over his shoulder after he closes the door after him, and he sees y/n staring after him longingly, sadly, before he turns his head in a different direction—doing so with an aching heart—and heads off. to where—not even he knows. some place he can get away from the crowd of people that gathered at the café windows.

y/n cleans the milk jug and the coffee horns, they call them, before she turns to vanessa, who looks more concerned than she did when y/n told her she was stabbed. she doesn’t have the heart, the ability to keep her tears in, or the energy to tell vanessa why exactly she’s crying, and what exactly just happened. so y/n takes a deep breath and tells her, “i’m gonna take a break,” quietly, “please, cover for me for a while?” she looks to vanessa, and her friend nods. she only gives y/n a quick hug before she leaves for their staff room, letting her know that she’s there for her.

bruce cherishes the cappuccino on his drive home, so much so that he keeps it on his desk, by all his computers, as a reminder. and every night, at eleven, he waits by the train platform in the outskirts of the narrows. he waits for her, for that good omen that she’s ready to be with him, work with him again. every night that he goes, he hopes she’ll already be there, waiting for him—as she’s always done—and that everything will be just like it was. he even hopes she’ll be late, which she never is, and he knows there’s no use in waiting more than an hour.

but he still waits. he waits through the night, night after night, he doesn’t know how many. but he’s there, every single night, waiting for her to arrive. and when he finally sees her again, it’s in an entirely different direction. she’s slinging across streets and buildings right before his eyes, going somewhere else. somewhere he knows.

permanent tag-list:@gabiatthedisco​​​​​​@v0idbella​​​​​​@works-of-fanfiction​​​​​​@ur-gunna-h8-ths​​​​​​@betweenloveandfire@but-legendsneverdie​​​​​​@deardeacy​​​​​​@thewinchesterchronicles@mavieesttriste16​​​​​​@intrrverted​​​​​​@the-freak-cassie-131​​​​​​​​​​​​​@gasbomb69​​​@xoxobabydolls@corallyink​

series taglist:@blue-aconite @captainbarnes @chiliiscereal @miniflower93 @scorpio-echo @faithsreviews @buckysjuicyplums @legendaryfishdreamexpert @eucalyptrus @matchesarelit​ @daphne-bloom @aestheticpisces@baybay123455 @measure-in-pain@spookysins @calumspupils @prettygirlpattinson @johnisonlysleeping @bedshrooms @mischiefmanaged71@is-this-a-febreze-commercial @siriuslydestiny @strawberriebabbles@katemusic@angelicadiabolus @musamusing @fatherfigured @tojisprincess @eriklensherrschild @uraritychain @philiasoul @violetsthought @srryxmate@frozenhuntress67@underdarkcityskies@brthofafish @mistasbae @uncle-eggy​@daryldixonstorm@tshuuls@alderaansleias (i’m sorry if someone’s @/s aren’t working, idk why!!)

if anyone wants a tag next time, please let me know :)

mask & seek: 11

batman x fem!reader

based on: Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she’s from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson’s universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn’t trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues?? Thank you so much and have a great day!! ❤

author’s note: woohoooooooooo. have you guys seen moon knight??? I’m kinda only watching for steven, cause with the third episode the show lost its quality to me. but allthe episodes haven’t been released yet, so I’ll try and not to judge it as much until then. but! I do love steven. and it’s taking such a huge effort in me to not abandon this story and start writing for him. god, it’s so hard. but I love bruce. I should also finish visitation hours… and finally update your good will bcs st4 is coming out in more than a month but omg. I just can’t, I can’t tap into steve. christ. I hate my procrastination and not finishing stories. im sorry for it all. happy reading!

main masterlist

bruce wayne masterlist

part ten

word count: 4.7k

warnings: nothing really i think

gif credit goes to owner!

“so, y/n, what do you do? besides the vigilante night shifts.” alfred asks. ah, the usual question she was just waiting for. sat around the very table bruce said he and alfred have meals at usually in the beautiful hall, y/n feels welcome in the company of these two men. though she can’t escape the feeling that she’s having a very important, formal meal with them, and that this is a test of some sort.

the sun up right at its mid-day peak shines through the gothically-decorated windows of the hall, breaking through in yellow and orange rays, which tickle her skin and eyes. she scoots over to her left on the very fancy chair and clears her throat as she does so, not wanting to raise an alarm in either alfred or bruce. “i’m a barista,” she answers nonchalantly, a light smile on her face, “at, uh… saint jeremiah’s.”

alfred nods. suddenly y/n feels awkward about her workplace. she doesn’t know what bruce and alfred do as work that pays all their extremely expensive bills for living here, but it must be something that pays big time. they can’t just live in an urban mansion like this, make all these weapons, tools and vehicles, and suits for bruce and now her, too, without a well-paying job. and it’s hard to find those in america if you don’t get lucky.

but, as she found out from bruce, his father was a rich and well-known man here in gotham, and bruce inherited all the money and, she guesses, reputation from him. so perhaps it was just his luck to be this… wealthy. she can’t say she’s not a little envious of that. if her parents had been rich and she could have lived in a mansion like this, woah, her life would have been a lot easier. and she appreciates all that bruce has done for her so far, she sees now that he does it out of the good of his heart. he really cares for her.

but taking her background, her life, her family circumstances, she still feels weird about it. partly she feels like it’s all not serious enough, partly she feels that she doesn’t deserve it, and another part of her thinks bruce is doing too much, and perhaps he even wants something in return. but it doesn’t seem that way. after she told him the truth about how she’s wound up living in gotham, there’s no asking in his eyes anymore. there is curiosity, but not the kind egoistic and ill-meaning men have. best believe y/n knows that look well.

“ah, the one right by the courthouse, is it?” alfred asks, his voice full of genuineness, and y/n nods. “must be a pleasant crowd that comes there, then?”

“mostly yes,” y/n answers, “though, because this is gotham, mornings are much better than the evenings. not to say we’re all morning people, but there’s less of the dangerous types around in the early hours of the morning.” she explains. alfred nods again, and bruce feels like he’s entered the conversation once again. he’s been coming to and fro, slipping in and out of talking and listening. not that he does that on purpose, his thoughts are just racing all the time. and watching y/n converse with alfred is a sight he never knew he couldn’t get enough of. two of the most important people in his life, and it’s safe to say they’re getting on well. it makes his heart swell.

“there should be some security with the courthouse and everything, no?” bruce asks her, slightly worried.

y/n looks at him with her bright eyes, feeling his concern by the look on bruce’s face. “well, there is, but they’re mostly looking after the courthouse,” y/n tells him, “since there’s always demolishers and trouble-makers around, they’re pretty busy.” she sighs, her eyes now falling to her plate and the fork she keeps moving around it. “if i wanted the attention of the world on me, i’d just put my skills and abilities to use when those types come around, but since that’s the last thing i want, i don’t.” she admits.

alfred hums. “must be hard to keep that restraint,” he says and y/n nods along, “bruce tends to forget himself in that aspect, he especially did at the very beginning.” alfred looks to bruce, and he gives his godfather the look of annoyance and disbelief. y/n chuckles, but seriousness remains like a veil across her face.

“i can imagine,” y/n says and glances at bruce momentarily before continuing. she knows that alfred’s put him on the spot, sort-of, and he doesn’t enjoy being exposed like that. so she continues, “i used to have that when i first had my powers, it was in high school.” she feels comfortable enough sharing with alfred. she looks to the older man, finding the look in his eyes very comforting. “used to hate P.E. with all my body, and i still do. hated the entire concept of it, couldn’t do anything properly, hated myself for it, you know.” she leans with her back into the chair. bruce admires the look in her eyes while she talks. “but as soon as i got my powers, i could do anything. i suddenly had incredible reflexes, coordination, strength, speed, agility—everything,” she reminisces of that time, memories playing back in her eyes like a slideshow of pictures, “and suddenly i could get good grades in P.E., i could even excel and be top of the class, even go on competitions. but i couldn’t, couldn’t i? it would have been wrong.” y/n sighs and looks to her plate again. “so i stayed little ole, helpless, weak me. had to put on quite the performance for the last two and a half years of high school.” she sits up again.

bruce feels for her. it’s not like his skills in fighting came over night, it was alfred who taught him everything, but he knows what that’s like. he knows people probably assume two things—either they assume he is good with his fists and is sporting quite the figure underneath the suits he wears on those rare occasions out in public; or they assume that he’s just a weak man hiding behind his father’s power and money who couldn’t raise one fist to fight for injustice or himself. but he can’t exactly show those skills in combination with his public persona, can he? he and alfred would be exposed immediately once people connected the dots.

“i guess it’s different for you,” alfred says kindly, matter-of-factly, and y/n picks up immediately on how he means that. she nods, “high school’s a tough time, as i hear it.”

“you didn’t go?” y/n asks in wonder, thinking how that would be possible for a man of his character and knowledge. alfred chuckles.

“oh, i did,” he says, “just not a public high school.” he clarifies and sends y/n a wink. she chuckles at herself and bruce grins at that faintly.

“me and alfred went to the same one,” bruce butts into the conversation again, turning y/n’s attention to him. she raises her eyebrows in a tell-me-more manner, “blackheath high school in england.” oh? bruce keeps getting more and more interesting with each thing that he says. how interesting, y/n thinks.

“your father did, as well,” alfred adds, “that’s how our families got to know each other. me and your father were close as brothers then already,” he makes a smile at bruce. his godson nods at him, feeling a bit on the spot again, as he always does when his father is the topic of any conversation. even in light-hearted situations like this one. he always feels some sort of pressure or loom hanging over his head at the mention of him, “what about you, y/n? your father have any friends he still keeps close contact with?” alfred looks to the woman, but she looks away, her eyes widening for a few seconds as she thinks of the best way to handle this answer.

“oh, i wouldn’t know,” she says with a slight shake of her head. bruce’s ears prick up more at her words. she’s never talked about either of her parents before, and neither has he asked about them. the topic’s never really come up before, and now it has. her eyes have a glaze over them that bruce can’t exactly place, “never knew my father.” she shrugs.

alfred feels awkward. “my apologies. i didn’t mean to bring up anything you don’t want to talk about.” he tells her immediately. y/n shakes her head fiercer now, she doesn’t want the man to feel bad about his innocent question.

“it’s fine,” she assures him, “it’s not taboo or anything.” she clarifies. “a lot of kids have grown up without a father, and i’m just one of them. i only ever had my mother.” y/n sighs, and her posture changes again—bruce notices—she sinks into her chair as though to close off from the two men, from this conversation. it’s not exactly intentional. “up until a point, she was working a lot of… different jobs,” y/n continues, and bruce sees her eyes and face having a certain expression. he can’t place it, again. perhaps because it’s emotions he’s not had to encounter before, “to raise me, to pay rent. hasn’t always been easy.”

she’s not telling him everything, obviously, it is her intention, and he realises that. he respects it. but there’s something about her mother, something really integral that she’s not revealing to him yet. perhaps she never will, and perhaps it should stay like that. if it’s truly too troubling or painful for her, he won’t push it. but something—perhaps that sense he’s picked up from her—is telling him it’s important to the character.

and now he also realises why her attitude towards money is what it is. she feels awkward and imposing to accept his money, his kindness, his gifts to her. and no wonder. she did tell him “because of how i grew up, and some other things”, if he remembers correctly. that conversation happened just over an hour or two ago now. and their conversation last night, about the clothes and underwear, and even the ice cream. it’s hard for her to accept all of that for free. perhaps she feels undeserving of such kindness and gifts free of charge—bruce would disagree; in his eyes she deserves much more, what he’s given her already is the very least of what she deserves—perhaps something in her doesn’t let her enjoy things free of charge that come to her out of the good of someone’s heart.

to conclude, she’s just as fragile and embedded with sufferings and a tough life as he is. though he has always had the money to do whatever he wishes—that’s what makes them different. and perhaps bruce has had a better support system than y/n, but he doesn’t know that.

“she’s done quite the good job of raising you,” alfred tells y/n in an almost congratulatory tone of voice. she gives him a half-smile. the man didn’t really know what to say at first, because he’s never been in that kind of situation, so he does what he does best—offer her some comforting, encouraging words, “we’re not blind to those horrible things happening here, in gotham,” alfred says, “whatever we can, we do. but bruce is always busy with something else to look through and accept any real deals.” he points out.

bruce sighs. it’s true, what alfred says, and bruce wants to help the city and its very weaklings more every day. but his mind is always miles away. and he believes that batman does some, if not most, of that already. help those who cannot help themselves. y/n gives him a look, wondering what alfred means, wondering what reasons bruce has for that absence. “gotham doesn’t like to stand up to all the crime and injustice that goes on every day,” bruce finally says, and his voice has changed to that of his vigilante persona. y/n nearly sighs. it’s strange to see him in regular clothes, without the dark circles around his eyes, speaking in that voice, “i’ll get more involved, i promise, alfred.” he looks to his godfather, who nods.

“no need to justify yourself to me, dear boy,” alfred tells him, and y/n nearly melts. alfred’s fatherly affection to bruce comes out beautifully whenever it does. but it’s not alfred that bruce was justifying himself in front of, or for. it was y/n, who bruce’s eyes flick towards with meaning in them. y/n gives him a light smile and nod.

“maybe i can help,” y/n suggests half-seriously, “accept those deals instead of bruce and get things going.” she says, and shoots bruce a playful wink. he is amused, too, but not quite as much as she is. she’s sort of made him look a little incompetent in his role in wayne industries, but he doesn’t take it to heart.

alfred smiles wide, “you know, i like you enough to accept that,” he tells her, which gets them both laughing. bruce makes a grin in the midst of their laughter, “to the eyes of the public, you could be the visual for wayne enterprises, and bruce could take a long, long vacation.” alfred adds on.

“oh no, he’d be my assistant,” y/n corrects alfred and shoots bruce a wink again. he shakes his head, “my translator, business language to english.” she says and laughs again. alfred chuckles, and bruce eventually cracks up and utters a chuckle himself. he doesn’t know how seriously these two have taken y/n’s suggestion, but if it’s serious to the very brim, bruce wouldn’t know a better person besides y/n to take his place as the leader of wayne enterprises. only alfred, but he made it clear long ago that he has no desire or intention to be that public, be that important to the company. though he already is more important than bruce, with all the work he’s doing already.

after lunch, it’s safe to say y/n and alfred get along very well. just like bruce expected and wanted them to. while one of the kitchen boys was clearing the lunch table, alfred took y/n up to his study and the library—which bruce had already shown her, but that didn’t matter to either of them—and showed her around more. did a better job than bruce could have, because he’s not that informed with the placement of everything in the library, in the study, or in the vinyl collection.

the most beautiful moment of the day, perhaps, one of bruce’s favourite moments in his entire life is when alfred put on voices of spring waltz,op.410 by johann strauss, and asked y/n for a dance. bruce never knew she could dance—another topic that hadn’t come up in their countless conversations before—and he couldn’t stop watching them dance. how alfred kept playfully switching between the regular waltz and the vienna waltz, the faster one, every once in a while, keeping up with the rhythmic changes of the composed piece.

how she twirled, and how her hair swayed along with her. how she smiled and laughed at alfred and his movements and how he turned her here and there, sometimes unexpectedly. in contrast to the sadder conversation the three of them had held during lunch, about her parents and her childhood—quite a sobering conversation for bruce—she looked happier than ever. so contagiously happy that bruce could not keep away, and joined their waltz dancing. of course he knows that it’s a two-person dance, but with the men’s agile movements and y/n’s instincts and ability, they made a three-person waltz work. twirling and turning y/n here and there, making the dance steps side by side and in a circle instead of directly facing each other—it all worked and made the three of them laugh a lot.

bruce already reminisces of those beautiful moments now, hours later, as he lays with his head in y/n’s lap on their shared riddance bed, y/n reading a book in silence and bruce drawing or writing in his notebook. uncharacteristically so, y/n hasn’t said a word since they entered the room. well, apart from some necessary for companionship few words. but she hasn’t said anything about how the lunch was for her, what she thinks of alfred, how she feels—absolutely nothing about that matter. and it’s kind of worrying bruce.

what also worries him in her behaviour is how reluctant she is suddenly. no hands in bruce’s hair, neither of her hands are touching him at all. she hasn’t made a move to kiss him, hasn’t made a move to get closer to him. and it’s not only bruce’s touch-starved nature that raises worry about this in him. it’s also the aspect of how well he knows her in general. she likes to be touching him, more than he allows himself to touch her, regularly. bruce always feels awkward about initiating it, but maybe he should. perhaps that’s what she expects of him now, having gone into this weird behaviour of hers.

maybe she’s just too exhausted to socialise, even with him. even though she’s usually the sociable person out of the two of them. maybe, which bruce hopes to be untrue, she’s upset with him, or mad at him for some reason, for the time being, unknown to him. what could it be? he can’t recall anything that he said or did was wrong. and it’s so hard to read her. perhaps it’s because he’s gotten to know more of her, that the parts he still doesn’t know, are a complete mystery to him. it’s strange. bruce doesn’t exactly know what to do.

he doesn’t know that her brain and heart are nearly bubbling over the edge with all her thoughts and feelings. he can’t possibly feel or sense that, even with how well he knows her. but y/n’s been an active, rumbling volcano ever since that door of this room closed behind her and bruce. one question, one word put in the wrong place, could cause an entire eruption of that volcano. and neither of them need that. but she can’t help her rushing thoughts.

private high schools. a well-known philanthropist, surgeon father. a gothic mansion in the outskirts of gotham. more money than anyone else. tools, weapons, instruments, vehicles, devices for anything he might need. impenetrable suits that intimidate those without one. gifts without end. it’s an alien world to her. and she can’t quite place how she ended up here, inside it.

“are you… tired?” bruce interrupts their silence that grows more and more tense with each second. his voice in a guessing tone, as if he doesn’t know if that question is the exact right one to ask. bruce lays on her stomach with his chest now, looking up at her through her book, even though he can’t see her face. he’s sure he knows it well enough to know where her eyes are, though.

y/n doesn’t move her eyes off the book she’s reading as she answers, “a little.” she admits to him. short, colder than usual. something’s definitely off, and bruce’s heart falls to the pit of his stomach as he realises that. it’s definitely something to do with him. only what? and maybe asking her what exactly it is in him, or in anything he’s said or done that upsets her so much—because he’s willing to change; for her, if for anyone at all—will be worse than what he’s feeling between himself and her right now. how can he know without trying it out?

it’s killing him, this not knowing of what’s wrong, of what’s behind her stale mood. but he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. he wants things to be better between them, and he can’t guess why they’ve grown so tense and unbearable now. he doesn’t know what to do. scared to take the first step, scared to leave things how they are because they might escalate, scared of the matter she’s upset about being unchangeable. he’s stuck.

bruce lays his cheek on her clothed chest now. “did i do something wrong?” he finally asks her, having gained enough courage and also having realised that she means more to him than having an argument, in the most fragile voice she’s ever heard him speak before. she can hear fear, anxiety and self-doubt in his voice, even in those very few words spoken.

y/n stares ahead in her book, taken aback by his question, and taken aback once again in how well he knows her already. he knows something’s up, and she appreciates that. but can she bring herself to tell him what’s up with her, and why she’s feeling the way she is? y/n sighs courtly, and keeps her book as a shield between her and bruce, realising that’s an easier way to talk to him about her feelings than if she would be looking right at him. why has she become so closed-off to him all of a sudden, though? she doesn’t know. “no,” she says with a gentle shake of his head, her voice quiet.

really? then why is she not talking to him at all? not telling him how she feels? “then what is it?” he asks her. bruce rests his chin on her stomach again, she feels its pointy character digging softly into her skin. she sighs. he’s relentless, and she knows that about him. perhaps this is the first time she really notices that because it’s expressed directly towards her. and he doesn’t ask these questions like he does when they’re both interrogating a criminal at night. this is different. because this issue is much more personal to him.

y/n closes her book and places it at her side, now greeted first and foremost with bruce’s anxious, caring face. not so far from her own, and she feels even closer to tears now. she hates feeling like this. bruce laying in her hold is bugging her, bothering her for the first time ever. his eyes on her are suddenly too much, and she doesn’t know why. everything was fine with him just a few hours ago. her attitude has changed so suddenly, it bothers her to no end. she doesn’t want to be upset, doesn’t feel entitled to be so, but she is. and perhaps, after all, she should be.

she tries to keep her tears at bay. she doesn’t need to cry now. “nothing that you can change,” she tells him in a shaky whisper, only meeting his eyes for a fleeting second. she turns away then, pulling her legs up and away from under his weight. but bruce places his palms on her thighs and stops her movements. she looks at him again, slightly frightened, “bruce.”

“tell me what’s wrong,” he tells her and hopes the words didn’t sound like a beg. his eyes are sure, they’re set on her as he is set on uncovering the secret behind her change in behaviour, “please. if there’s anything i can do or change, i w—”

y/n shakes her head and rolls her eyes, “there’s nothing you can do,” she says, slight fury in her voice, “already told you. even with… everything that you have, especially with it, you can’t change it.” she says. you can’t change, she thinks to herself. but even in her upset mood, she knows that would be said too much. she damns herself for even thinking those words and their meaning.

“then talk to me, please,” bruce doesn’t care anymore that he sounds like he’s begging, he doesn’t care how desperate his voice gets. this is important to him. she is important to him, “just talk to me.” his voice grows quiet, to the volume of a whisper, and he feels himself on the verge of tears suddenly. he gulps as he looks up at her still, just pleading for her to understand that he’s here to help, that he doesn’t mean her any harm.

y/n shakes her head, runs her hands over her face, all to keep herself from crying out, and just sighs. the tears are coming, but she won’t let them take over. she won’t. she can’t. “not now,” she tells him finally, her eyes looking away from his—anywhere, the ceiling, her hands, her book to the side—and he can hear her fragility in her voice. he feels for her, “tomorrow. i’m… too tired now.” she tells him finally.

bruce nods. he wants to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible, now would be the perfect time. but if she’s asking him for tomorrow morning, he will respect that, and he will wait. so he nods and lays a kiss on her hand out of pure affection. her eyes fill with tears suddenly at that gentle gesture, and her lip quivers as her emotions take over and want to unleash their full wrath on her. but she won’t let them. she mustn’t. bruce kisses her hand again, kisses all over it—her palms, her fingers, her knuckles—and it really brings y/n over the edge, her lip quivering further and further until tears spill out of her eyes, over her cheeks.

she loves him. it’s the first time she admits that to herself. she loves him, she knows she does. she doesn’t want to push him away, she doesn’t want to hurt him. she wants to be close to him as possible at all times, know him more and more, bare her entire self to him. and yet she can’t help but feel out of place. she can’t help but feel like a complete alien with him, in his world, in his home. so different from hers.

night begins to grow across gotham like a big, dark cape, the darkness creeping into every inch of bruce and y/n’s room—curtains, walls, the floor, the bed and its accessories—and so bruce turns off the bed-side lamp, puts the book on the nightstand, and crawls over y/n again. her form trembles as she makes quiet sobs in the dark now, hiding her face in her hands, and bruce doesn’t shush her now. he lets her let it all out, because he can tell she needs it.

he doesn’t intrude on her personal space anymore with questions or words at all. he just holds her, pulls the covers over them both, knowing that it’ll be too hot with both them underneath, but also knowing that when y/n cries, she tends to grow cold all over. the warmth will be good for her. he caresses her hair with his hand and just listens to her soft yet intense cries. on one hand, he hates to hear and see her cry—it breaks his heart. but then again, he can tell she needs that release. pent-up emotions, perhaps frustrations with herself and the world, need to be let out sometime. and so it’s soothing for him that she seemingly gets that relief now. at least he thinks she’s getting it. in reality, he doesn’t really know.

at some point in the darkness growing ever-present and unavoidable in the room, y/n cries fade to silence, and bruce discovers she’s fallen asleep. being tired himself, and being with her, bruce soon falls asleep, too, with her still in his arms. he’s glad about how peaceful she is in her sleep, even if the problem between them is unresolved, even if he doesn’t still yet know the reason she cried so hard, and why she cried at all.

y/n knows bruce is a heavy sleeper, and she adores it. she hates to be taking advantage of that now, in the night hours, when she slips out of his heavy hold and gets up from their bed. she bids herself not to cry any tears as she picks up her few stuff and wraps it up in a ball she can easily carry. she ignores the tears that fall as she opens and closes the bedroom door in the quietest way possible, and she hates causing that sharp pang in her heart that happens as the door quietly thuds closed behind her.

she doesn’t want to leave him, and least of all wants to hurt him with her leave. but this is so not her world. this is not her place. there’s too many differences between him and her. and she can’t bare it any longer.

permanent tag-list:@gabiatthedisco​​​​​​@v0idbella​​​​​​@works-of-fanfiction​​​​​​@ur-gunna-h8-ths​​​​​​@betweenloveandfire@but-legendsneverdie​​​​​​@deardeacy​​​​​​@thewinchesterchronicles@mavieesttriste16​​​​​​@intrrverted​​​​​​@the-freak-cassie-131​​​​​​​​​​​​​@gasbomb69​​​@xoxobabydolls@corallyink​

series taglist:@blue-aconite@captainbarnes@chiliiscereal@miniflower93@scorpio-echo@faithsreviews@buckysjuicyplums@legendaryfishdreamexpert@eucalyptrus@matchesarelit@daphne-bloom@aestheticpisces@baybay123455@measure-in-pain@spookysins@calumspupils@prettygirlpattinson@johnisonlysleeping@bedshrooms@mischiefmanaged71@is-this-a-febreze-commercial@siriuslydestiny@strawberriebabbles@katemusic@angelicadiabolus@musamusing@fatherfigured@tojisprincess@eriklensherrschild@uraritychain@philiasoul@violetsthought@srryxmate@frozenhuntress67@underdarkcityskies@brthofafish@mistasbae@uncle-eggy​@daryldixonstorm@tshuuls (i’m sorry if someone’s @/s aren’t working, idk why!!)

if anyone wants a tag next time, please let me know :)

mask & seek: 10

batman x fem!reader

based on: Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she’s from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson’s universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn’t trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues?? Thank you so much and have a great day!! ❤

author’s note: hello. sorry for the delay. there’s been so much to do and so much going lately that i can hardly concentrate on anything at all, including, unfortunately, writing. so sorry! doing my best :))))) hehehehehhhehe. anywhos, new chapter! who’s excited? me asf. batman also comes out in HD next week, so i’m pretty excited about that, too. i saw it 3x in the theatres, and it was suchhhh an experience, truly a unique one. so happy reading my babies !

main masterlist

bruce wayne masterlist

part nine

word count: 6.4k

warnings: a little nsfw (fingers in mouth, fingering but not really?); nothing else

gif credit goes to owner / creator!

with her hand in his, bruce leads y/n away from the desk where her suits are laid out, and he leads her around the row of desks to reach the covered vehicle he so wants to show her. alfred’s only seen a glimpse of it while bruce was working on it, and he solicited the part orders, but he hasn’t seen more. bruce also hasn’t let him, he makes sure alfred is really busy while he continues to work on his new project, so he wouldn’t show up and surprise bruce. it’s sort of something bruce wants to show alfred when it’s done. to see what he thinks.

bruce takes his hand out of y/n’s hold—but doesn’t do so without laying a kiss on her palm first—and leaves her by the vehicle’s side while he goes to uncover it. the project is in its finishing stages for now, bruce has yet to take it on a test ride, he somehow hopes for a special occasion to do that, only he doesn’t know what that would count as.

he takes the silky black cover by its corner and whooshes it off the vehicle in one go, he thankfully succeeds. y/n’s eyes don’t know exactly what to look at. the object confuses her at first, she can’t tell what is what, but then she starts to recognise bumps and edges, and the image becomes clearer. it’s some kind of car, only… jacked up on steroids. it is black in its entirety, and sleek, and very much intimidating because of its size.

she looks to bruce with bright eyes and a kind of awkward smile, and he gives her one in return as he waits for a further reaction. but y/n doesn’t really know what to say, she turns her stare back to the sort-of car. huge wheels, a low front, and a spacious interior, it seems. she walks over to it, runs a hand across the sleek material on the front hood and nearly shudders. it’s cold, but incredible to the touch. she takes her hand away and tucks both her palms into the sleeves of her hoodie, feeling a little cold all over now.

she crosses her arms over her chest as she walks beside the car, looking at its details, coming up to bruce step by step. “did you make this yourself?” she asks once she’s finally close to him again. bruce looks from her to the car and nods. y/n shakes her head. “one hell of a job.”

bruce grins as his hand skims over the door handle nearest to him. “taken me more than a year,” he says, “can’t risk having someone else to do anything on it for me, because, well…” bruce looks into her eyes again, “you know.” he gently moves his eyebrows in an emphasising way. y/n chuckles and nods. “wanna show you the interior, as well,” bruce says and opens the door. the door only makes a faint click that sounds as sleek as the car looks, and y/n is again impressed. she doesn’t hide it—her raised eyebrows and slight grin of amusement—as she gets into the car, and bruce’s lips stretch into a grin of their own at her adorable reaction. as soon as he shuts her door, he makes his way around the car to get in on the other side.

y/n glimpses at bruce while he does, but her attention is honestly more occupied by the car’s interior. two screens on the middle console, where usually a radio would be. some switch panel next to the screens, where the small stashing cabinet resides in a usual car. but as she traces her hand under the switch panel, she feels a rectangular form in a different material than the rest of the panel, and she presses it so it opens.

nails, wires, screwdrivers and multiple other little things alike pour of out of the hide-away, and the clutter they make startles y/n just as bruce gets in the car from his side. he furrows his eyebrows at the mishap when he sits down, and y/n sighs. “sorry,” she says and starts picking everything up to put it back in place, “i’m just curious.” she comes up with some sort of excuse. bruce nods and helps her pick up the pieces, since the console of the car is pretty close to him, and there’s a lot of room for legs on both sides. y/n thanks him quietly, and he just gives her a timid smile.

once the things are back in their hide-away, and y/n closes the cabinet, she turns half-way in her seat to check out the rest of the car. also to make herself busy with something as she now feels a little awkward at having spilled all that, and in front of bruce. this is his car, his property, his working ground, and she’s too much of a curious cat to keep her hands to herself. what a clutz, she thinks.

she notices how spacious the interior still looks from the inside, but how there’s nothing in the backseat quite yet. only tools and other car pieces she assumes are still left to be attached, put in place. she looks above her, sees the ceiling with quite the big window in the middle of it. big enough to fit bruce through when he’s in the batman attire, she realises. she looks back at him, and bruce can see the dots connecting in her eyes. she knows what it’s for, and he doesn’t even have to tell her.

y/n sits fully in her seat again, rests her side against the back support and bends one of her legs to cross it over the other. her hands in her lap as she looks to bruce. he’s sitting in his driver’s seat like a regular person, but his head and shoulders are turned to face her. their eyes connect again. the pleasant, positive tension between them is palpable. one word could make it thicker or make it dissipate. it’s up to them, but they feel the tension, too. like electricity in the air of the car.

“any plans for the backseat?” y/n asks. bruce grips the edge of the chair with his hand gently and peers over it to look at the unfinished part of his vehicle. he shrugs.

“i honestly don’t know if i’ll need it,” he says to her and returns to sitting normally. she notices how casual he’s become with her, she’s not noticed it until now though he’s probably shown that bare truth and casual behaviour a day or two prior already. he’s stripped himself of the brooding, mysterious image in front of her completely now. she can only be thankful that he’s done that. she doesn’t want a masked vigilante with her, she just wants him. the vigilante thing is a part of him, but it’s not the main part. now y/n shrugs.

“you could have casualties that you need to take to the hospital or the police station,” she points out, “you never know what situation you might end up in.” she grins very lightly at him. bruce loves the little gestures from her, he finds them quite adorable. he nods.

“that’s true,” he says, “might just put three or four chairs in there for that. maybe some emergency box or something…” bruce says, and it makes y/n chuckle. he’s wonderful when he’s thoughtful. quite the contrast to his usual behaviour.

she reaches a hand over to his side of the car, where she lays it atop his palm that rests on the console between them. bruce looks at the hand, then looks at her. her eyes are unreadable, and yet mischievous as a fox’s. “or you might need to take me home,” she suggests timidly, in a quieter, smaller voice, “maybe some place else.” she bats her eyes at bruce as she leans her head onto the headrest, her hand staying on top of his. he blinks a few times and tilts his head at her. bruce wonders what she means, perhaps she’s saying something more to him than these few words.

“where do you want me to take you?” he asks, and realises his voice has dropped lower in volume. y/n faintly smiles at his question, at the possible obliviousness it encompasses. she caresses the skin of his hand with her thumb as she keeps giving him languid eyes. he has no idea what she means, doesn’t he?

she lets their eye contact last just a little longer and then moves in for what’s hers for the taking—bruce. she carefully slips her leg over the console, only wincing a slight bit when her injury very quietly protests at the movement. bruce notices that change in her facial expression, and his hand immediately reaches out for the part of her body closest to him—y/n’s thigh. it makes her think he finally realised what she meant with her words, but he really is still oblivious to her ministrations, and that reaching out to her is for support.

but she’s not in pain. not really, not anymore, as she now brings her other leg over the console, too, and splays them across bruce’s lap, one leg on each of his sides. bruce just watches her silently, that supporting hand still treading carefully across her thigh, having an instinct of what to do but not knowing if he should do what it tells him to.

y/n feels a little out of her own depth now, but she won’t shy away anymore. not this time. when she’s so close to him, and he’s letting her be. it’s a sacred moment, a sacred opportunity. she won’t let it pass. there’s complete silence in the car as y/n leans her torso down closer to bruce’s, the quiet background noise of the bats squealing and flapping their wings on the cave’s ceiling is practically inaudible now. bruce must have installed some kind of sound-blocking mechanism into the vehicle’s doors and windows, and perhaps he did that on purpose.

bruce looks up at her—what a strange position he’s found himself in, and y/n could say the same – she never thought she could get on top of him and actually be on top of him, looking down at him, taking that he’s so much taller than her—with eyes that are both fearful and ready, eyes wanting something so much yet being afraid of it all the same. he can’t stand his own contradictory behaviour. but he really is up for anything y/n might be offering.

that feeling of readiness only grows in size when y/n kisses his lips, pulling him closer with her palms on both his cheeks. without filter—not that he needs one around her—bruce moans at the immediate and sensual contact with her that he so appreciates. his hands instantly grab onto her, that first one staying on her thigh, now, encouraged, moving to the back of it and spreading his fingers across her covered skin there.

to make a man of his size, of his greatness and power, moan in such a yearning and intimate way has truly got to be one of y/n’s proudest moments. she wouldn’t call it pride exactly, but something towards it. and it being bruce, someone she admires and appreciates so much, someone so close to her, makes that little thing all the more special. her fingers all but press into his skin, nearly creating a stretch there, and she moves her other hand down to his hair, trudging into the silk forest of it.

god, she loves his hair. raking her nails across his scalp, she earns the most raw and guttural sounds from bruce. and that only proves that he loves her hands in his hair, as well. he adores them there. scratching and pressing at his skin in the best ways imaginable. the movements of her hand in his hair only makes his own hands grapple onto her tighter, and as the kisses they share grow hotter and more lustful with each second, their pent-up frustrations towards themselves and each other pouring out into them all the while, neither of them can contain the moans and whines—more from bruce than y/n—that all of this coaxes out of them. they let their natural sounds out without any control or shame.

bruce doesn’t know how to be, who to be, how to behave, when she’s like this in his arms, just as needy as he is. he has instincts, and yet he doesn’t know what to do with his hands—what feels good for her? should he kiss her neck? should he grab her ass like in all those videos? no. that’s an immediate no in answer to the last question that pops into his mind, and he doesn’t even know why he feels so sure that she wouldn’t like that. he just somehow knows, and so he doesn’t move a muscle further to even initiate that kind of contact.

y/n feels how partly clueless he is, she feels how rigid and nervous his hands are, although they are squeezing her skin in a delightful way. she smiles faintly to herself, bruce feels that gesture against his lips, and she rests her hand around one of his wrists, the one that wraps around her waist. bruce looks into her eyes, pulling away from her lips, feeling that perhaps he’s done something wrong. something to upset her, crossed a line. but there’s no sign for such a thing in her beautiful, clouded eyes. “do you want to touch me?” she asks in the lowest of whispers. one of her hands is still resting against bruce’s cheek, and dare he say, it’s distracting him very much. her eyes are, as well, and he barely hears her question at all.

with a bit of a mental struggle, bruce comes to and his eyes blink a couple times in an almost clueless manner as he does so. he suspects her thumb moving across his cheek, near his lips, is on purpose. unable to form words in response, and also feeling too shy to speak, bruce just nods his head. y/n finds it typical to his behaviour, and she doesn’t mind at all. it’s always endearing to her that she does the most talking and he just listens, agrees and grumbles a word here and there. she guesses it doesn’t really fade in intimate moments like this. and she wouldn’t wish it to.

“i want you to touch me, too,” she says, taking her hand off his, and slowly, as not to make a sound that could ruin the moment, she unzips the gorgeous trousers that he got for her, also partly revealing the underwear that he also got for her. bruce gulps as his gaze slips downwards to where her hand lingers, and the partly-revealing sight nearly drives him insane. his impulses are strong and hungry, but he keeps them down. he doesn’t want to cross any lines with her.

without any questions asked or words spoken—she knows his body language well enough to tell he’s not uncomfortable, just nervous—y/n takes bruce’s hand away from her waist, slowly brings it back around her body to the front and middle of it. all the while, she keeps that other hand of hers still on his cheek, caressing his coarse, experienced skin with her thumb as a way to soothe him, if he needs it. he’s as much inexperienced as she is, she can sort-of tell, and so she knows this is a first for him, too. she knows what she likes, though, so she knows how to guide him.

here and there, she feels his hold on the back of her thigh tighten, squeezing her skin, and she lets out a little whimper every time he does because it’s just the right squeeze on her muscles. it makes the sacred place between her legs hotter and even wetter every time, and she guesses that she’s just found something new that her body likes. and her whimpers are doing all the work on bruce, as well. he doesn’t know how long his self-control will last. even around her.

y/n’s fingers around his wrist, she guides his hand past the borders of her pants, where the pads of his fingers come into contact with her clothed cunt. she’s so sensitive that this mere first contact makes her shudder and utter a faint whimper, and her eyes drop closed. she nearly collapses onto bruce, but her body draws the line at her head only resting on his shoulder. because of this response from her, bruce feels confident enough. he’s made her smile, he’s made her laugh, he’s made her cry and he’s made her feel this euphoric—is there anything he can’t do now?

he doesn’t need her guidance by hand anymore, bruce feels confident with his instincts, and he can always ask her to check in, to see what she likes and doesn’t. pressing his middle and ring finger into her underwear, he feels a sticky wetness on the fabric that now coats his fingers, as well. he breathes a heavy breath against her neck, and his eyes drop closed, too, just for a moment. she’s heavenly. there are many ways he has imagined her already—still ashamed to admit that even to himself—but this outdoes them all. “fuck,” bruce manages to utter, being at quite the loss for words because of how incredible she feels. he can’t get over her. so he treads on fragile ground by dipping his fingers deeper into her underwear, so that he could really feel the expanse of her—even when clothed—really on his fingers.

and my god, is that even more incredible. he’s pressed his fingers right in between her labial lips, he can feel all her gentle edges and folds on his pads, and it almost sends him into over-drive. forget oral and penetrative sex, he could spend the rest of forever just tracing over every inch of her most intimate parts, over and over, much like she does with the scars on his back. only when he does this, he body is oh-so-responsive. shuddering in his hold, grinding on his thighs closer to him, uttering whimpers and moans into the skin of his neck, gripping his shoulders every once in a while. he loves it all. he could spend forever in it. this moment, this feeling, with her in his hold.

bruce is discovering her, the feel of her, the different spots and buttons he can push in her. much like she’s discovering how it feels to be touched like this by someone else. she’s never had that before, and though he swipes across her clothed folds and flicks his fingers quite the right way, she can still tell that he’s nervous about it all. which means he’s never done this before, either. not even this with a woman. she wonders how that is true, she wonders how that makes him feel. but she’s also kind of appreciative that she’s the first one to get him like this, to get him to do all this. she’s the first one he’s experiencing this with, too. it’s something so special for the both of them.

he’s not even fully touching her, and yet with how wet her underwear is, it’s nearly the real thing, and she’s slowly coming undone for him. no words uttered, only moans and whimpers from both of them, bruce reaches his free hand that was grappling her thigh just now—much to y/n’s dismay, though, she whimpers at the loss of that touch—, up to her face, and he cradles the side of it in his large, supportive palm. it makes her look at him, precisely his goal in making that movement, and she does so with hooded eyes, barely supporting herself up before him. bruce presses his fingers closer to where her entrance resides beneath that drenched fabric of her panties, and it sends her into a spiral.

y/n’s face nearly melts into an erotic expression, her eyes closing shut, eyebrows drawing together, cheeks blushing redder and her lips hanging open. her lips. her whole face is breath-taking when she’s experiencing pleasure, and it means the world to bruce that he can coax this wonderful feeling out of her, plant into her wonderful feelings and experiences, and he discovers that he loves seeing her like this. completely true, just and raw. just for him.

but his thoughts get caught in her lips, and suddenly he’s so fascinated by them. his thumb skims across her cheek, and progressively gets closer to her lips until the pad of his thumb has reached the corner of them. in his hue of fascination, bruce watches as he ventures his thumb down the soft pillow of her lower lip, and he glances up into her eyes to see how she takes that. her eyes aren’t the main tale-tell for her reaction, as much as her hips and hands are. but her eyes do overgrow with a thicker cloud of lust after they open again, while her hips experimentally roll down onto his, and her fingers dig deeper into bruce’s shoulders. it’s nearly painful for him, but he likes it nonetheless.

“open up,” he requests her quietly, feeling that she already wants to do it, but perhaps, as she’s got lost in the feeling of it all, she forgot to give her lips that command. y/n listens to him immediately, proving bruce’s theory about that forgetting, as if she just remembered how to give her body orders, and bruce slips his thumb inside. he feels her wetness increasing heavily at that contact, and he allows himself a grin, “that’s it, baby, you like that?” he asks her, now feeling more confident than usual, and all because of her.

y/n can only nod and make a mewl in response as her mouth welcomes bruce’s thumb inside it. her mewl resonates from her throat, bruce can feel its vibrations even on her tongue as he presses down onto it. his middle finger penetrates her entrance in the slightest of ways, but it immediately has her thighs trembling, and affecting the rest of her body in wonderful ways. her back arches, making her breasts press against bruce’s chest, and he suddenly realises he’s never felt her this close to himself. chest to chest. god, he adores her.

her silky tongue beneath his thumb, lips sucking around the base of it. her soft skin in both palms of his hands, her wetness coating his fingers like a nectar, her breaths and hair in his face, tickling the skin there, her eyes only looking at him when they’re open, looking hungrily and lustfully, her thighs on his, her breasts against his chest… she’s a vixen at his complete mercy. a complete dream, and he’s not even entirely sure she’s real. that’s how heavenly she is.

bruce can’t wait to get to know every inch of her. feel the expanse of her on his length, taste that sweet nectar dripping from her on his tongue, explore her body and find out what venture gets which sound and body movement out of her, see what makes her fall apart, how long each thing he wants to try out takes with her. he wants to know her to the very depths, until there’s nothing left to know, and he can do it all over again, make it as good as the first time.

y/n has no idea how bruce knows how to touch her, how to feel her up, how to rile her up more and more. only thing she can think of is his intuition, perhaps something he’s borrowed from his great detective skills. he can just read her so well, she almost thinks he knows her better than she knows herself. his fingers at her entrance are pushing in and out teasingly and yet fully enough so that he’s coaxing her towards that wonderful release. and how did he know that a finger in her mouth would do the wonders it does? perhaps he didn’t, and just wanted to try it out. to be fair, she’s ready for anything he wants to try with her. she’s had so many firsts with him already that each new one is just another wonderful addition to the list.

but y/n sobers up from this blissful feeling of bruce immediately when she hears metal gears turning and chains being pulled. she stills so suddenly in his arms that bruce worries again that he’s done something wrong. it’s a far away sound for now, but y/n can tell it’s getting closer—it sounds like someone is using the elevator she and bruce used just a while ago to get here. how she didn’t hear the elevator going up when it was being called, she doesn’t know. but she looks through the matted window of the car’s back to see the elevator. the tube is not full with that cabin yet.

“what’s wrong?” bruce asks, glancing towards where she is momentarily. y/n gathers herself, realises he’s retracted both of his hands from her intimate parts, and is now just resting his palms on her thighs. she runs a hand through her hair.

“someone’s coming,” she tells him in a rush and zips her trousers closed. bruce furrows his eyebrows, and realises he probably needs a tissue for his hands. there has to be one somewhere here… y/n moves off him in a flurry of movement, plopping back down into her passenger seat, while bruce looks around all his little boxes and compartments for just a single tissue. who could be coming here at this—?

bruce shakes his head as he finally finds a tissue in one of the rogue clean-up boxes he barely remembered to leave in this car. “must be alfred,” he says with a grunt of effort as he bends back up from the car’s floor and wipes his fingers clean, as much as he doesn’t want to. he looks at y/n in her seat, facing away from him. she hopes her hair doesn’t give too much away, “why did you move over there?” he asks, though at how sharply she turns her head to look at him, he kind of regrets doing so. his face grows small in anxiety.

“i don’t want your godfather to see me like…” she shakes her head before she can finish that sentence, and turns away from him again. her fingers card through her hair again and again, she feels so nervous, “i don’t know, i’m nervous.” she’s speaking much faster than usually. bruce grows concerned. “i’m nervous, i want to make a good impression and—” she sighs in frustration, and then turns to look at bruce again, “he doesn’t know, does he?”

his eyebrows furrow. “about what?”

“us!” y/n hisses back, almost as if they were in high school and talking about some big secret. “you know, that we’ve… you know!” she’s so puritanical in talking about their shared kisses and what they’ve attempted to do, it’s nearly comical. she was much more blunt just some ten or fifteen minutes ago. bruce gulps.

“no,” he shakily says, “i haven’t told him. should i have told him?” he’s panicked, too, maybe because of her panicky attitude, and can suddenly hear the elevator coming down the long shaft, too. y/n raises her eyebrows and shrugs.

“i don’t know!” she tells him, “do you want to tell him?”

now it’s bruce’s turn to shrug, “i don’t know,” he says honestly, “do you want me to tell him?” he makes sure, really only caring about her through and through.

“yes!” y/n says, but then feels she’s coming off as too straight forward. to bruce, about their relationship, whatever it is. what would he tell alfred, anyway? i’ve kissed the girl whose life i saved in our vigilante team work mishap a couple times, we nearly went to second base. “no?” y/n then throws out in her panic. she shakes her head again and thinks she’s both confusing the man next to her, and making him think she wants to keep this a secret, which she most certainly does not want to do. she throws her hands in the air for a fleeting moment, feeling confused herself. “i don’t know! christ… i’m a mess.” she says finally, her head in her hands.

the opening pull of the elevator doors somewhere behind them startles them both, as they’re in quite the fragile state, and y/n nearly jumps in her seat. bruce can feel her nervousness in the air around her, and he’s scared to reach out to her, though he still does it, worried he might catch that same electricity as is running through her veins. “you’re fine,” he tells her, and finds the gesture weird. has he comforted her before? and yes, he realises he has. how did he forget? perhaps this is just a different setting, “i’ll get out first.” he informs her. “and hey,” he calls on for more of her attention, “look at me.” bruce’s voice is a whisper again. y/n anxiously turns to look at him. he offers her a smile. “you’re great, y/n,” he says, and if it’s not the first time he says her name, then it’s definitely one of the first, “there’s no reason for alfred not to like you. i promise. plus, he already likes you.”

“how do you know?” she asks him. bruce shrugs.

“he’s my godfather,” he simply states, that smile of his turning into a grin. bruce moves a rogue hair strand out of y/n’s face, tucking it behind her ear. she appreciates the gesture, and makes a small smile herself, “you have nothing to worry about, i promise you.” bruce assures her. “i really like you,” christ, he feels nervous and shy as a teenager as he says this, and he wishes the hormones weren’t so strong. but he wants to tell her these things, even if it’s hard to and gets him all flustered, “and you’re amazing. it’ll be fine.” bruce finalises.

y/n manages to make a smile at him in response and she nods her head. she believes him. bruce feels weird at handling such a domestic, everyday-thing like he handles more serious issues. but perhaps domestic things are just as important as vigilante things. and perhaps he needs to put more focus on domestic things. now that y/n is formally meeting alfred, has seen his home and his cave, and is getting closer to him in general. as he’s getting closer to her. he needs to be in touch with his domestic side more, he realises. and so he makes that his resolution for the near future. perhaps this vigilante thing has made him less grounded than he thinks.

“okay,” y/n says as she nods again, and bruce’s smile grows in size. he caresses her hair and leans closer to her just momentarily to give her forehead a kiss. y/n closes her eyes during that fleeting affectionate gesture, and bruce is gone in the next moment. her eyes closed, still in some astral way feeling his lips on her forehead, she hears him get out of the vehicle and close the door behind him. she feels like a little hedgehog that’s drawing into its form in this quite spacious passenger car seat, the reminisce of his kiss on her forehead as vivid as if it had colours. the undertone of what that kiss meant is what truly sticks to her heart, and she’ll appreciate that forever.

she hears quiet words spoken between bruce and alfred, and even a chuckle on alfred’s part, and she sighs. y/n doesn’t know why she’s suddenly so anxious around the man she’s met twice, being in quite exposing states both times already. now she’s dressed, and feeling much more like herself, and it seems her characteristic nervousness returns with that trueness of self, too. she doesn’t like it. it’s not that big of an event to have lunch with alfred. then why does she feel so nervous all of a sudden? she feels like a teenager all over again. of course, the memory, feelings and images of her and bruce’s shenanigans just a few minutes ago are much too vivid in her mind to forget or ignore. she hopes the presence of alfred especially will do erasure.

y/n sighs again and opens the car door, swinging her legs over the seat to get out. it’s not that she wants to forget or ignore what they began to do. it’s just quite bothering and informal to be thinking about those things while she’s with both bruce and alfred. she really does feel like a teenager, and it’s bothering her quite a bit. she’s an adult, and should be first and foremost, be able to control those thoughts and impulses and second, should not be feeling nervous about having them if they’re there. it’s so complicated…

with a small, shy smile on her face, y/n keeps the hair strands tucked behind her ear by bruce in place and walks around the vehicle of incredible size. their conversation drops in volume and slightly fades as she comes up, and she feels awkward that they do. y/n braces herself and raises her head up once she’s in close enough vicinity of them both. bruce gives her adoring eyes, while alfred has the usual look of warmth across his whole face, but especially visible in his eyes. he gives y/n a smile.

“hello,” y/n says in a quiet voice, feeling awkward still, even with the soothing presence of both these men. they’ve been nothing but kind and welcoming to her, yet she still feels out of place. could it be just their presence? could it be because y/n really likes bruce and wants to make a good impression on alfred? or could it be the financial difference between her and these two men? she can’t guess, and maybe it’s all three.

y/n fumbles with her fingers behind her back, so they wouldn’t see how nervous she is. but bruce sees her hands, nonetheless, he’s that taller than her to see even behind her. he feels for her, his eyes soften as he gives her a glance. “good day, miss y/n,” alfred tells her, nearly bowing before her in that formal movement he makes. she smiles back at him and nods, “finally i see you out and about! an occasion we should celebrate.” alfred says and looks to bruce for agreement, which he gives him with a smile and nod.

bruce wants so to reach out to y/n in this moment, just reassure her in a way that he can. a hand on her shoulder, on her waist, anywhere. but he fears that doing that in front of alfred will just heighten her nervousness, and he doesn’t want to put her on the spot like that. y/n nods at alfred’s words. “thank you,” she says, “never thought i’d get out of that bed, and i’m quite relieved now.” she admits with a chuckle.

“i hope you’re hungry, too, dear,” alfred says cheekily and sends her a wink, to which bruce playfully rolls his eyes and nudges alfred’s arm. the older man just chuckles more in response. y/n still feels out of place, even if out of her and bruce, she’s usually the comedic one. she seems to have suddenly lost that skill or characteristic of hers, and all out of nervousness. she also doesn’t want to admit she’s hungry, because she doesn’t want to be the one whose needs or wants need to be pleased right away. god, everything’s so weird, “you’re not nervous, are you, dear?” alfred suddenly asks, having noticed her silence. he even looks to bruce after y/n’s eyes change a little after that question.

bruce worries for her, since it’s half as hard for her to talk about her feelings as it is for him, and yet she’s always been the more open one. y/n’s lips part as she immediately wants to deny that assumption and lie about her current feelings. but she sees truth and genuineness in alfred’s eyes, and that convinces her to tell her own truth. she nods before saying, “yeah, a bit,” she admits, making a sad smile.

now bruce can’t stay away anymore, his urge to soothe her becomes much too great, and so he gently lays an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer, his hand squeezing her shoulder comfortingly. either alfred doesn’t actually notice, or he pretends to not notice that movement and its meaning, so he just shakes his head. “no need to be nervous, dear,” he says, and y/n can say this is the first time a man over forty has called her dear multiple times and she hasn’t felt uncomfortable by it, “from what i hear from bruce, you’re practically family by now, and aren’t a guest anymore.” alfred tells her, and bruce only nods in agreement. that’s what he’d put it, too.

y/n smiles wide, and feels shy again, but she fights the urge to tuck herself into bruce’s side and hide away like a bashful child. she looks up at alfred and nods. “thank you so much,” she says, “that means a lot.”

“oh, you’re welcome,” alfred responds and turns on his heel, “now let’s get your bellies full before you both drop.” he says and begins clicking away towards the elevator with his cane. y/n looks up at bruce, and he looks down at her genuinely, adoringly, that same look still in his eyes. he adores her, and she adores him. there’s nothing quite like sensing that mutual feeling towards each other and knowing it’s true. truly one of the seven wonders of the world, she’s sure.

y/n leans up on her very tip-toes and lays a quiet, quick kiss on bruce’s cheek before they follow alfred across the cave to the elevator. bruce feels his cheeks heating up, and then he feels her hand on his chest, “thank you,” she quietly whispers to him as they begin walking. bruce’s lips stretch into a languid smile. he wants to smother her whole, and even more than that. yet it still wouldn’t be enough to express his adoration towards her.

permanent tag-list:@gabiatthedisco​​​​​​@v0idbella​​​​​​@works-of-fanfiction​​​​​​@ur-gunna-h8-ths​​​​​​@betweenloveandfire@but-legendsneverdie​​​​​​@deardeacy​​​​​​@thewinchesterchronicles@mavieesttriste16​​​​​​@intrrverted​​​​​​@the-freak-cassie-131​​​​​​​​​​​​​@gasbomb69​​​@xoxobabydolls@corallyink​

series taglist:@blue-aconite@captainbarnes@chiliiscereal@miniflower93@scorpio-echo@faithsreviews@buckysjuicyplums@legendaryfishdreamexpert@eucalyptrus@matchesarelit@daphne-bloom@aestheticpisces@baybay123455@measure-in-pain@spookysins@calumspupils@prettygirlpattinson@johnisonlysleeping@bedshrooms@mischiefmanaged71@is-this-a-febreze-commercial@siriuslydestiny@strawberriebabbles@katemusic@angelicadiabolus@musamusing@fatherfigured@tojisprincess@eriklensherrschild@uraritychain@philiasoul@violetsthought@srryxmate@frozenhuntress67@underdarkcityskies@brthofafish@mistasbae@uncle-eggy​@daryldixonstorm@tshuuls (i’m sorry if someone’s @/s aren’t working, idk why!!)

if anyone wants a tag next time, please let me know :)

mask & seek: 9

batman x fem!reader

based on:Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she’s from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson’s universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn’t trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues?? Thank you so much and have a great day!! ❤

author’s note: hello. I’ve had a lot of work lately, on top of that I’ve had stress and pressure from my direct boss, which has caused me a three-day-long panic attack + today I had a breakdown. my hands won’t stop shaking, and I’m on the verge of crying while still stressed out of my mind still. seeing you guys’ feedback on this story has cheered my mood quite a lot these days, even if for a little while, so thank you to everyone who’s here andreading this :) I hope some of you read through this author’s not as well, haha. soooo I’ve cried my eyes out and am ready to get drunk and write. I’m terrified to go to work tomorrow. who knows what my boss might say to me, I can’t stop my heart and mind from racing. christ…. also omg - one of my favourite writers on here liked my post “where is your jealousy” soooo you could say IM SOFJHSBDFAJH happy about that. anywhos. happy reading!

main masterlist

bruce wayne masterlist

part eight

song req: catwoman by michael giacchino (have y’all heard this??? it’sjhsufhsiudfsybfjh)

word count: 9.6k

warnings: none, i think :)

gif credit goes to owner / creator!

what a man lays beside her. such strength, courage and noble emotionality lies inside those muscles and that thick, scarred skin that adorn his back, his arms and waist… he’s quite the sight. she remembers how he couldn’t stop looking at her when he first saw her face, on the night of their first real encounter with each other. and how she told him to not stare, but he did it anyway. now she knows how that feels. even if he’d ask to not look at him, she couldn’t help herself.

so much of the past, so much pain and fear hides inside him, too, along with that courage, power and emotionality that can make him quite impulsive. there’s certain beauty in that controversy, beauty in him, because that’s what really makes him up. along with a very specific sense of humour, and the things that make him smile. the things he dislikes, and the ones he can’t help but have in his character. they all make up a beautiful, unique man. she’s really never met someone like him.

someone so wounded and impenetrable at the same time—she can’t really read his face most of the time to tell what he’s feeling. someone so rich in a way, and poor in some others at the same time. someone who doesn’t show his emotions, and yet whose actions show how much he cares. he’s so difficult, and so head-on, so emotional and easily-affected. that makes quite a beauty.

now that her side injury is doing better, y/n can lay on that wounded side more, and she uses that to her advantage—to get closer to him in the bed they share. the riddance bed, as they’ve deemed it. bruce also called it the aurora bed—the princess who can’t wake up, much less get up from the bed, you know. she smiles to herself gently, and reaches a hand out to her prince. she doesn’t want to wake him, but the hair on his head and the scar biography of enemies on his back are simply too irresistible to not touch.

she traces once again over those scars she’s already traced a couple times, and he doesn’t move a muscle in response. she’s not surprised—the movements on his skin there seemed to calm him when he was awake, and they nearly lulled him to sleep. so she’s not surprised he stays in his slumber as she traces these scars. the bumps and stretches of skin—both upper and the more sensitive tissue-kind—and the pigmentation due to penetrating or blunt-forced trauma are all so fascinating to her. they’re like sacred runes to her, and she could trace them over and over again forever, and try to read them all the while.

bruce doesn’t stir until she reaches his hair. her fingers softly skim over the raven locks of his silk hair, she feels how soft and natural, in a weird way, it is. it honestly looked dyed to her, but now she discovers it’s not. dyed hair always has that too-silky quality and feel to the hand, but bruce’s is naturally silky, and not too much so, so she knows that’s his real hair colour. how interesting… a boy born with black hair, but blue eyes. that doesn’t happen quite often. the black-haired ones usually have brown or green irises, y/n thinks.

her fingers just move to the back of his head of hair when he blinks his eyes open and looks straight at her, even while he’s still feeling quite sleepy. y/n smiles wide at seeing him awake, and seeing him look at her, and she digs her head into her pillow more, her cheeks heating up with a pink tint. bruce smiles at the sight of her. he loves for her to be the first thing he sees when he wakes up. he wouldn’t mind seeing only her for the rest of his life, from morning till night, monday to sunday. he can look at her endlessly.

“morning,” she tells him quietly, and restrains herself from giving him a kiss on the lips. she’d love to give it, and a couple more (perhaps a hundred), but she knows neither of them would be able to control themselves after just a few kisses. it would never stop at that, maybe if one of them intervened. but being caught up in each other, that wouldn’t be possible. no one to stop them.

bruce’s lips tug more upwards in a faint smile, more a grin, and he blinks his eyes a couple times before rubbing his hands over his face and yawning. y/n smiles, finding those adorable movements very cute to his character, but also quite a contradiction to his desired image. that doesn’t matter to her, the image. to her, it’s just adorable that he doesn’t deny himself those kind of morning-routinic movements. “what were you doing?” he asks her in a hushed voice, now blinking his eyes again and looking at her, his face a little more sober. y/n tucks her hands under her cheek, squishing them between the pillow underneath, as she looks at him.

she shrugs. “just… admiring you, i guess,” she tells him in a whisper, especially the last part, “you’re very handsome to look at.” she tells him and even giggles at the end of her sentence. bruce can’t deny the blush that spreads across his cheeks and the smile that stretches his lips. he tries to hide them in his pillows, but y/n has already noticed, and she laughs very cutely at them, at the fact that she’s made the man have this reaction. that means the world to her. and she doesn’t know, perhaps she only suspects, that she’s the only one with that kind of privilege.

“well, don’t stop on my account now,” bruce tells her, then, all calmed down from his hormones—or is he?—and he’s able to look at her again. half his face squished against the pillow, he looks into her eyes, and for a moment, it’s just them staring at one another.

“how can i?” y/n asks in a bare whisper, shaking her head slightly. “someone promised me a whole tour of their home. i can’t possibly stay in bed for a moment longer, especially now that he’s awake.” she tells him. bruce chuckles once he connects the dots, and his laugh is wonderful to y/n’s ears. she has the excitement of a little kid, it’s visible in her eyes.

“never said when it’s gonna start,” he points out to her, a small attempt to keep them both in bed longer, to prolong the time she touches his skin.

“exactly,” y/n says mischievously, “and because i’m the guest, i should assume it’ll start whenever i want.” she says and does a little movement that usually very arrogant women do with their hair. bruce has a laugh at that, as well, since it’s so not like her character, but yet the humour is. she’s just… such a wonderful mix of everything. he can’t stop marvelling at her.

“and you were right to think that,” bruce tells her with a smile. he lifts himself above the mattress, pulling the sheets they share slightly upwards with his body all the while, and he moves even closer to her. once there, he lays a kiss on her forehead that stalls her, makes her eyes blink closed for a second or two, but it also makes her heart do a flip. she adores him, and he adores her. he wants to show her that every moment that he can without intruding upon her boundaries, and he’s succeeded so far. she’s felt held by him ever since she woke up in this riddance bed that one afternoon. she looks up at him as soon as he’s pulled slightly away, as soon as her mind is a bit clearer (but that doesn’t last long), “i’ll take a shower.”

y/n raises her eyebrows in a teasingly surprised manner at him as a response, and watches as the man chuckles and then moves off to the side of the bed, where he sits up. she bites her lip as her eyes skim over his back. she’s just spent the last half-hour or so looking at it, and yet it’s still a masterpiece and something so breath-taking to her. she can’t keep those enticing thoughts away, and she can’t stop pondering on what would happen if she joined him. that would be quite the event, wouldn’t it… maybe she should suggest the idea to him, as well?

“take a look at those clothes i got, would you?” bruce asks after he’s got up from the bed and is now walking towards the bathroom. y/n has been brought partly out of her stupor with that question of his, and she moves her head to look at him. he’s not facing her, “i hope they fit.” he says and gives her a sly smile, perhaps knowing exactly how he’s making her feel—flustered, hot and bothered, like an inexperienced school girl (that’s quite what she is, actually) —, before he closes the bathroom door behind him. but he doesn’t lock it.

his suggestion reminds her of the conversation they had last night, and the act of kindness—or spoiling, she hasn’t yet decided—he showed her that started that conversation. him spending money on her without her asking, without even technically not needing to. y/n sits up in bed, suddenly sobered up by that question of his. her eyebrows draw together, and then she hears the shower water starting in the bathroom. her eyes flick to the door momentarily, and she knows he didn’t lock it, but she looks at the bags on the table again. that’s right, they didn’t open all of them last night.

and now he’s suggested that she does. y/n sighs courtly, but gets out of bed slowly and makes her way over to the table. her injury hardly says a word to her, and she’s glad for that. she can walk across the room much faster, much more agile now, nearly back to her old ways. god, now that she thinks of it, she can’t wait to get back into action again. back in her suit, swinging around the city, protecting civilians—where is her suit, by the way? what happened to it? is it usable at all now?

she’ll ask bruce later.

when she reaches the table, y/n sits down in one of the chairs. the shower water running provides a nice background noise, almost makes an ambiance, and then y/n picks up classical music on some other… part of this property, too. beautiful piano and violin combination. and the notes they play… amazing. she puts her bets on alfred playing that music and gets to opening the first bag she knows they haven’t opened yet.

the bag is made of paper, and y/n thinks she recognises the logo of the store, but it’s not one she’s seen quite a lot of in the city. she doesn’t really go for brand shops, anyway, her choice is more second-hand shops and the fast-fashion ones she can actually afford, but mostly second-hand stores. she rips up the stickers holding the paper bag closed and reaches her hand inside. it touches upon a cotton fabric, she thinks—it feels like that to the touch—and she pulls it out. quite a large piece, she might say.

when she gets it out and unwraps it from the folding, she sees a jumpsuit. with long sleeves for legs and arms, it looks like a boiler suit; buttons down the front—oh my god! he remembers that. he remembers her talking about wanting to get one, but that it’s impossible to even find a boiler suit around here, or find an affordable one. it’s almost as if they’re some myth piece of clothing that she may even have dreamed about, and don’t actually exist.

but here is one. in dark red, a crimson red, resembling the colour of blood. buttons and pockets everywhere, looking exactly as the one she thought of in her head all this time while searching for it. y/n smiles to herself and closes her eyes as she presses the boiler suit to her chest, and she sighs. what a miracle. happiness boils inside her tummy and chest much like the nausea feeling would, but this is much more pleasant, of course. she can’t believe this. can’t believe him.

but she puts that mind haze to the side, resting the boiler suit in her lap, and moves to the other unopened bag. reaching inside it, she finds three pieces—each one much different from the other—and pulls them out. the jumble in her hands reveals a pair of trousers—black flare pants, exactly the type she wears at work (does he know that? and if he does—how?)—, a button-up blouse in, again, dark red, with long sleeves (must be why he bought her the sporty bra, as well. this man…) and a dark grey hoodie. similar to ones she’s seen bruce himself wear around her recently. but all hoodies are alike, what is she thinking…

she checks the sizes of the clothes to know if she’ll be able to wear them, and she is—they’re all perfectly her size. how could he have guessed all of these? or is that maybe given in the information about her, too, the one that shows up in those lenses of his? and he’s picked the colours very much from his own wardrobe. though she hasn’t seen him anything red. maybe not yet. “are they the right size?” bruce asks suddenly, out of nowhere, and y/n turns to see him in her startlement coming up to her from the bathroom and gently drying his hair with a smaller towel. he’s got a shirt on now, and if she saw herself and him from the side, she’d conclude that they’re dressed very similarly.

she makes an absent smile at him and turns back to look at the clothes in her hands again. she leans her back into the chair and does a little shake of her head, and bruce watches her in slight confusion. has he done something wrong? she looks up at him with that absent smile still on her face, but her eyes tell something else. her cheeks are heating up again with a pink tone, and she moves her hand to hide at least half of that reaction, but bruce has seen it all already and he smiles wide at her.

“yeah, they’re all precisely my size,” she tells him and shakes her head again, “how did you know them? and why…” she makes a nervous chuckle and disconnects their eyes for a second, “why do you spoil me like this?” y/n questions, giggling, and looks at him again, shyly this time. bruce’s smile cracks even wider. bruce shrugs and lays a kiss on her forehead again. he’s acting quite like they’re a couple, or a married one. but they haven’t even talked about their relationship, neither of them really know what to call it. y/n loves what she has with him right now, she’s just confused.

she’s glad he’s this open with her. out-right, expresses his feelings in the ways that he can. she realises now that spoiling her like this, with these things, is the way he knows best how to express his care and affection. no wonder, if he grew up with rich parents, he was spoiled quite the same and even much more every day. she knows how rich kids grew up. and no wonder his sense of how to handle things, on how to express feelings, is a little… bent.

of course, she likes the clothes, and she likes that he remembers things she likes and wants. but it’s the fact that he goes out of his way to buy them, spends money on them, all for her, and they’re not even in an established relationship… and she has no way to give anything back. it makes her feel strange, makes her feel alienated. and perhaps they shouldn’t establish the relationship—perhaps they should just let whatever happens happen, let their feelings and bodies act on their own, and see where that takes them.

she just feels confused.

she smiles at bruce after that small kiss he gives on her forehead, and he looks into her eyes with a cloud over his orbs. she smiles wider at that, and still expects an answer from him. but by the way he’s breathing, by the way he’s looking at her, and by the look of his lips, she can deduct that he won’t say a word. perhaps there isn’t anything to say. he doesn’t look like he’s hiding something. so to give him back something, at least, in the way that she can, she presses a kiss to his lips, having to pull him down by grabbing his shirt to do so.

y/n loves how, even after they’ve kissed a couple times already, bruce still quite physically melts against her when they kiss, no matter who initiated the exchange. and she smiles against his lips when she feels that again. she’d love to kiss him longer, but she can’t, knowing both of their impulses. so she lays a hand on his chest to gently, without offence, push him away. but bruce won’t be moved so easily. he nudges his nose into her hair, laying a kiss on her scalp there, and y/n instinctively cranes her neck up to him.

“i’ll go and get dressed in my room,” he tells her quietly, “be ready for the tour when i’m back, alright?” bruce now pulls apart from her to look into her eyes again. y/n nods and tries to hide her shy smile, but doesn’t succeed very much in doing so. usually, she’d quip back at him with a teasing or sarcastic remark, but she’s in quite the haze. so she just watches bruce walk across the room and exit it through the doors, once again shooting her a grin and a wink as well this time before he closes the doors.

y/n laughs to herself and shakes her head. he definitely does know what he’s doing to her. or does he? she can’t be sure of anything about him anymore. he’s a big mystery, leaving only clues behind him wherever he goes, whatever he does, not saying much. a mystery to her as much as she is to him. what a pair they make.

since she guesses her time is limited, y/n gets to showering and getting ready before bruce can barge in and have to wait on her. her first shower since she got out of bed, too, but it’s not as difficult as she expects. her wound yells out only when she reaches for the shower head—which has been placed impossibly high for her to reach without a struggle, but other than that, she’s fine. she doesn’t wash her hair, since she already did that last night, and it’s in perfect condition to go on a tour and meet bruce’s godfather.

what exactly is y/n to bruce? and what is bruce to her? boyfriend? partner? friend? acquaintance? she has no idea. and, perhaps, for the time being, she shouldn’t ask a question like that. perhaps questions would ruin it, what they have right now. why the need to clarify when the feelings igniting every now and then are the most wonderful feelings she’s ever experienced?

something explained would ruin the mystery, the chemistry, the intimate connection… she doesn’t want that. as soon as something’s established, there appear to be rules and boundaries either of the people involved can suddenly break and feel the consequences of that. resentment, disappointment, hidden feelings and thoughts… that’s so unnecessary. what they have now is good enough. she doesn’t need to question it or establish anything. she’s good here.

y/n decides to wear the trousers and the hoodie. they fit quite well together, a very modern mix of clothes she doesn’t think she’s ever worn before. sure, she has hoodies and an abundance of those kind of pants filling her wardrobe drawers to the brim, but she’s never really worn them together in an outfit. it’s a little unlike her style, because it’s two of her styles mixing. but she finds it a good mix nonetheless, and will wear it, because she feels it’s similar to bruce’s style, as well.

he has a very peculiar one, she’s noticed. he really dresses like a teenager, too—large shirts, sweaters and hoodies, sweatpants, bare feet. and that cherry on top—his sunglasses for indoors. it’s precisely what boys in y/n’s secondary and high school would wear, not all of them, but a good portion—around a half—of them did. she finds it quite endearing that he dresses like that, but then again, there’s something slightly concerning about it. being stuck in that younger age in a certain aspect.

when she steps out of the bathroom, she sees bruce leaning against the bed frame of the riddance bed, and he’s dressed quite differently. she suddenly feels wrong in her hoodie, thinking maybe she should have worn the blouse instead. because bruce is standing there in formal black trousers and a black button-up shirt, the few top buttons undone to expose a portion of his chest. her breath gets stuck in her throat, and when he looks at her, his head hanging a bit low, she feels all the more nervous.

y/n sighs. “i should have worn the blouse, i knew it,” she tells him and turns slightly away from him, though her eyes still stay on the man dressed so well in front of her. it’s surprised her in the best of ways. that shirt fits him very well, and he’s even more irresistible in her eyes now.

bruce shakes his head. “you don’t have to change,” he tells her assuringly, “it’s just me.” he shrugs. y/n has a laugh and then does a pose she saw in a movie against the door frame, arching her back and bending her knees just the right way, letting bruce see only one side of her. she moves her hand up her leg, she saw that in the movie, too.

“you like me like this, too?” y/n asks him, and she does the pose and voice quite theatrically, in a way that makes them both laugh. and her body falls out of that forced position. she walks over to bruce slowly, her sock-clad feet sliding across the stone floor. once she’s close to him, standing right in front of the man, they both lock eyes.

“i like you however,” he tells her honestly with a genuine tone of voice. those words make y/n’s heart flutter in her chest, feeling like it’s about to burst through it and take flight, “as long as you’re comfortable.” bruce says, and y/n nods. with that nod, bruce gets the message that she is comfortable. the nod and her eyes tell him that. he takes her hand between his own and shakes it up and down gently, like a child would with his parent’s hand just to play, just to see what happens. “shall we?” bruce asks her, flicking his eyes from her hand to her beautiful eyes and the look in them again.

y/n nods and off they go. with her hand in his, bruce leads her out of the room through the door, closing it afterwards, and she finds herself in a hall. one that has stairs in the middle of it. and oh, the gothic interior… y/n’s heart nearly stops, she squeezes bruce’s hand in her hold, and he looks at her. the hall is something she could only call an archway. there’s wooden railing to create a safe border between the path that goes around the hall and the thin air above the stairs, and it’s made very gothically, as well. y/n adores it. the wooden lace, she can call it, there’s no other name fitting enough for how they look.

bruce watches her marvel over the interior while he leads her around the hall, past the few doors on this floor. her eyes are going everywhere, trying to catch everything, and so he walks especially slowly with her to give her enough time. he could never have that same wonder that she has about this place, because he was born in it, and he’s lived in it ever since, every day. minus his years abroad, of course, but he’s looked at these walls and rooms for so long they’ve lost colour, form or any aspect of matter to him.

y/n, on the other hand, is wondering how it’s possible for them to be so high up in this kind of building. she doesn’t know what it looks like from the outside, she can only guess. a victorian, gothic building. she didn’t even know gotham had those kind of buildings. how old is this city? how old is this building? what does it look like from the outside? surely she must have noticed a gothic building in this year to year and a half that she’s been here. but she can’t recall one.

“this is alfred’s room,” bruce motions for the first door on their left, the first door since the one they came through. y/n nods, and she sees the handles on the doors are gold, and have the letter A engraved into them in a beautiful font. interesting. bruce’s father must have had that initiative, and alfred must have been close to the family for him to do that. she reckons he still is. bruce leads her further down the hall, and they reach another pair of doors. the last one before the stairs, the last one before a pair of much bigger doors, which are locked with a chain around the handles, y/n sees. “and this is my room.” bruce motions for the doors closest to them. these handles have the letter B engraved into them. y/n smiles, “but…” bruce squints and shrugs his shoulders, feeling nervous and not happy about the idea to visit the room now, “i don’t use it that much.”

y/n turns to him, eyebrows drawing closer together in confusion, “but it’s your room. where do you sleep?” she asks. “when you’re not with me.” she says quieter, and it makes bruce look at her. he’s slept with her in the riddance bed all these nights she’s spent here, and he usually stays with her in her apartment after fights until she falls asleep. mostly, he makes sure she’s fallen asleep fine, and leaves immediately after. she’s nearly always got work the next day. the times she doesn’t, they both stay up until sunrise, just talking. though y/n has always been more sleepier than him, and would always keep nodding off until bruce convinced her to get to bed.

“i don’t sleep that much, either,” bruce says, shrugging the topic off, and guiding y/n alongside him down the hall to round the corner. y/n would have wanted to look, or at least peek into his room, but she won’t force him if it’s that private. he’s quite the guarded man about his life, his past, his biography. she can only guess that the doors they’re now passing to walk down the stairs, without stopping by those doors, lead to his parents’ room. it doesn’t look like someone’s gone in there in some time.

“you sleep like a bear with me,” y/n points out, a slightly questioning tone in her voice. bruce gives her a momentary glance, but keeps looking ahead afterwards. he does, yeah, it’s true what she said. something hides behind that. he can’t sleep normally on his own, not without some drug, spirits or medication—he doesn’t use those, instead he welcomes the insomnia—but with her he sleeps fine. quite deeply, as well, much like a bear does. bruce grins, and y/n sees that. she also sees his hesitance to respond to her, but she decides to move past that, and turns away to look ahead of her. the sight before her steals all her thoughts and attention, and only then does bruce dare to look at her again.

there’s a huge landing they’re on, one that has stairs and hallways descending from it on all sides, in all directions… the farthest staircase leads downwards, and y/n has the urge to run down to it and stare ahead, but she keeps herself intact because there’s so many more directions to go, so many parts of this place to see. “to the right is my father’s study,” bruce motions to the side with their entwined hands, and so y/n looks there. two closed doors yet again, but no lock or chain this time, “none of us use it, so we just… keep some relics and what not in there.” y/n’s eyes linger on the door.

“what did your father do?” she asks him in a quiet voice yet again, nervous about bruce pushing her away, not answering her question.

the question does catch him off guard, mostly because he’s never been asked it before. everyone who he’s talked to already knows what his father did, or they knew him and his work while he was still alive. and so he’s never had to answer that question, either. “uh, philanthropy,” bruce answers with slightly furrowed eyebrows, “and he was an excellent surgeon. ran for mayor, as well.”

y/n’s eyes naturally widen in pleasant surprise. “wow, that’s quite the resume,” she says and her eyes land on the closed doors again, “was he well-known around here?” she asks. bruce nods.

“still kind of is,” he tells her, and she can hear that there’s something more for him to say. something about his father or something about himself. something about being well-known… and she squints at him for a second, before she turns away again. if he doesn’t want to tell her, he won’t, and she won’t press him to talk. instead, she lets bruce’s hand go and walks over to the doors, just to see their handles. no letter engraved on them, she sees, just pretty ornaments. she figures that work places don’t need to be assigned for this house.

looking to her left, she sees another pair of locked doors. she guesses they belong to that same restricted study, and she grows a bit disappointed that now there’s two less rooms for her to explore. y/n spins around on her heels and looks at bruce again, just standing there, in a waiting stance, in his all-black clothes. all-black look, because of his black hair, dark eyebrows and eyes. but the look on his face is warm and light as soon as he turns to her, as soon as their eyes connect. and he gives her a smile. one that makes her melt against the doors behind her back.

bruce chuckles now. “come on,” he nudges her to his left to continue their tour, and y/n peels herself off the wall quite hesitantly under his friendly command. she follows by his side as he strides across the wide landing to the open area of the place, “this is alfred’s study and… our library,” he says, motioning around with his hand. the library catches y/n’s eyes, and she’s sad to see it without its—usual, she assumes—inhabitant. but oh, my, the quantity of books… the size of the library make her gasp and cover her mouth with her hand, “this is where he plays his music, too. i think you’ve heard it already,” bruce smiles as he says that.

y/n wanders off from him to inspect the library shelves more closely, but she hears what he says. and only now she realises there’s no music playing anymore, as there was before. now she doesn’t know when it stopped playing, “yes, i did hear it,” she tells him as her fingers skim over the backs of the many books, “god… this must be your little library of alexandria, huh?” she asks him rhetorically. bruce only laughs as he adjusts the vinyl on the record player. its needle has been put to the side, but he wants to play some music again. it seems y/n likes classical music, too, just like alfred. and when he looks up from his hands to see her again, he gets stuck on watching her.

she’s skimming over all the books in the shelves, pulling some out to see their titles or authors, and then she’s climbing the step-ladder to look at higher shelves. y/n must love reading as much, too. what a person she is… verging on miracle. now she sits on the top of the step ladder, on its very top, square step and browses through a book, placed in her lap. bruce leans against the bookshelf’s side and keeps looking at her as he skilfully places the same vinyl on the record player, only now flipping it to the other side, without even looking. her eyes are deep into the book, she hardly feels his stare. only when she closes the book and puts it back in place, does she look back at him.

a warm, shy smile adorns her lips while she looks at him, but soon her eyes wander off behind him, above him, below her, where she can see the other set of stairs leading downwards, a bigger room at the bottom of them, and she can see all the interior details and pieces from above over-all. the arcs, the frames, the railings, the roses, as well as metal and glass lace decorations on the windows. everything vertical, much like it was during the gothic times, every detail so intricately made, with extreme precision… she adores this place. and she wonders who built it this way.

bruce puts the record player needle on the vinyl, adjusts it just right and then presses play. though alfred loves old-fashion things, and especially original relics made much, much earlier than now, he does appreciate a record player with a better sound and easier buttons to use. the piano music starts playing, and bruce looks to find y/n again. she’s began to climb down the step-ladder, he sees, and he immediately goes over to be there for her at the very bottom. he holds out a hand for her to take, because he knows that very bottom step of the ladder is high above the floor, too high for comfort, and so he offers his hand to her for support.

y/n smiles at him in response and takes his hand, too. his strong grip and the support she knows he’s ready to give her at any moment with his full body do help, and she jumps to the floor with ease. she sighs once she’s landed and looks around the library again. “this place is incredible,” she says quietly, and then her eyes wander up to bruce’s, where they share an earnest, intimate look. he’s still holding her hand, and now he pulls it towards himself, upwards, where he kisses the very top of her palm.

she tries not to show that it takes her breath away, such a simple act of affection, and gives him a wide, blushing smile instead. bruce wraps his fingers around that hand then, and rests it by his side, between them both. y/n smiles cutely as she turns her eyes away, but she nudges her shoulder against bruce’s. that makes his face light up with a smile of his own, and he takes that as a sign that they can move further. not in their relationship, but in the tour.

y/n’s eyes really drop out of her head when bruce has taken her to the bottom of the stairs and is letting her go around the huge hall at the very outer corner of wayne manor. he lets her hand go, knowing by now that she’ll like to marvel at everything on her own, and he just stays by the table alfred always make sure to put just off the very middle of the room’s stone floor. he leans against the table, resting a hand on the surface for support, and watches y/n’s every move.

she can’t believe what she’s seeing. this room… is the most beautiful one, she’s sure. well, she thought that about the library, too, but my god… this is a sight for sore eyes. how can something this beautiful still exist nowadays? all these wooden arcs, pillars, railings and even statues—some made of stone, too—just take her breath away, and they don’t seem real at all, and yet they are. when she touches them, when she knocks softly on them to find out, she really does deem them real. yet they’re still a miracle.

once she’s rounded the room, inspected every piece of furniture, every detail of interior decoration, every piece of décor in general, she slowly comes to the windows. they have gothic wooden frames, as well, stretching high up above her head. and from this window, she can see the city, too. cars and buses riding around, people going about their business, some causing trouble, some begging for money. and y/n is up here, watching it all. like alfred and bruce are every day, she assumes.

y/n sighs quietly, and hears footsteps coming up beside her. she glances at bruce, and then leans against the man with her head, laying it on his arm. their height difference is stark, but not too uncomfortable. she sighs longer now that he’s here. his presence makes quite a difference in her, she doesn’t know why. “can’t believe you live here,” she says, “to you, it’s just home, but to me, and i bet some visitors that must come here, it’s quite the place.” y/n assumes.

“don’t tell me the gothic one is your favourite art period,” bruce says with a light smile. y/n laughs at his small plea.

“it is,” she says, “it always has been. have you seen the churches in france? absolutely unbelievable.”

bruce recalls them, yes, from travels. both with his parents and without. “i have, yes,” he responds, “walking inside them felt like walking around home, in the weirdest way.”

y/n shakes her head. “it’s not weird,” she assures, “you’ve grown up in this place. no wonder a gothic church feels like home to you.” she says with a light shrug.

“i guess you’re right,” he says, “are you hungry or anything? we haven’t had breakfast yet.”

y/n shakes her head. “no, not yet,” she answers, “we hardly ever eat breakfast, anyway. why do you ask?” she looks up at him.

“wanna take you some place, and something tells me we’ll be down there quite a while,” he says with a slight grin. in what way does he mean they’ll be down there quite a while? y/n turns her face away from him to hide her slightly confused, slightly excited expression.

“i’ll be fine,” she says, “take me there.” y/n looks up at him again, that giddy smile on her face making her more and more endearing to bruce all over again. he nods, a smile on his features, too. he holds out his hand for her to take again, and she does, and he leads her across the room to the other set of stairs, hidden behind these ones, that will take them further into the building. y/n wonders how they haven’t come across another person yet here, since there are two more definitely living and working here.

“we usually have lunch and dinner here,” bruce tells her, and she can tell he means the room they just left. now they’re going down a dark, narrow hall, “me and alfred.”

“youalways have those meals with him?” she asks.

“well, not every day,” bruce answers. y/n grins.

“so scarcely, then?” she clarifies. bruce shakes his head with a grin, knowing what she’s getting at.

“you know me so well,” he congratulates her, to which y/n giggles. she can hardly take in the interior of the hall and room they go through, because bruce is tugging her with him in quite the hurry. he must be excited to take her to this place he mentioned, and she lets him be that excited. who is she to rob him of that? he must rarely have anyone to show all this to, or anyone at all. he hasn’t mentioned friends or partners before, and by his lifestyle, y/n can guess she’s the only person of that kind in his life.

after that narrow hall, and across that room with a stone floor, hardly any decorations and a low ceiling, they reach an elevator. an old one again, with the metal grid you have to pull closed after getting in—yes, that old. y/n adores it. the metal decorative pieces on the grid are very beautiful, and she can’t help but skim her fingers over them before bruce pulls the other door closed, too. he loves how much she adores everything here. he never expected she would, but then again, how much does he know about her and her tastes? not much. she’s never talked about art periods before, either.

bruce presses the button for his cave, and now they stand side by side in the metal elevator, holding hands still. as they descend lower and lower, y/n feels her ears getting lightly blocked here and there. “you’re gonna be glad you wore that hoodie now,” he tells her in a faint voice. y/n turns to him and raises her eyebrows for a brief moment.

“oh,” she says in response, “you’ll be sorry to be barefoot, then, huh?” she assumes teasingly. bruce chuckles.

“quite so,” he says, “but it doesn’t bother me.” bruce says, and suddenly feels those words were very unnecessary. why?perhaps because she knows his pain and discomfort tolerance, and his humbleness about it all. he can take about anything and everything without whining and groaning, without showing that it really affects him. that’s part of his idea of an ideal man, an ideal hero. but heroes bleed, too. they both know that. and y/n hopes bruce keeps that in mind.

towards the end of their elevator ride, y/n starts to feel a chill in the air. and the stench of wet stone that hasn’t been washed, as well as slight gasoline odour and… a lot of metal. have they arrived in a factory of some sort or something?

bruce opens the door once the elevator has landed in its place, with nowhere deeper to go, and steps out before y/n. he stands at the elevator’s side and holds his hand out for her again to take, and once she’s out, she does take his hand again. but her eyes are on their surroundings. christ… can this even be called a room? this looks like… a whole arena, only a horizontal one.

and there’s that constant, quiet noise from up above. she suddenly remembers it, because she has heard it before. that night… she heard the sound for the first time, and she couldn’t tell what it was. now she has the ability to look up, she’s not nearly paralysed or helpless, and so she moves her head and eyes up in curiosity as to what’s making that noise. above her, she finds a high ceiling, dark, and full of… bats?

an unexpected laugh bursts out of her, just out of sheer surprise, and bruce looks up, too, at the place and sight he knows practically by heart now, to see what’s amused her so badly. perhaps some bats have pulled a funny gimmick—they tend to do that sometimes. but no, they’re hanging out as they regularly do, and bruce just smiles. he looks at y/n, her head tilted backwards, nearly perpendicular to her neck, and she has the look of wonder and surprise on her face. “well, ladies and gents, the rumour is true,” she says jokingly, though her voice is laced with wonder and awe as she twists her head to see all of them, “you are batman.” she points at bruce and says the words theatrically. they make him grin, and he hides his blush by hanging his head low. but his initial reaction doesn’t escape her sight.

bruce slowly takes step after step towards his long desk, and y/n, still amazed and in awe of the quantity of animals in the ceiling, hesitantly follows along. she can hardly take her eyes off the ever-moving creatures, but when she does, she’s in awe again. only of nothing natural, but instead of what the rest of this… hall is filled with. a huge tv on the wall to her right, the screen black, with nothing playing on it. and to her left, a long row of desks, and on them – all types of devices, gadgets and many different computer screens. she thinks she sees a printer, too, that eye lense reader of his that he brings along on missions, especially when she’s heading somewhere without him—to keep an eye on her and help her any way he can. there’s keyboards, keys, buttons, all sorts of stuff…

and then there’s her suit. bruce is standing not very far from where it lays on one of his desks, he’s doing something in one of his monitors. y/n glances at him for a second before going over to her suit, just to see if he’s working on the suit precisely or if he’ll protest her looking at it or touching it. but he makes no move, doesn’t say a word, keeps his attention on the monitor. so she takes the suit into her hands.

y/n realises she’s missed the feeling of that fabric against her skin now that they’ve finally connected again, and she can’t wait to have it on, no matter how much it makes her sweat, no matter how exposing and sticky it sometimes is, too. perhaps she doesn’t miss the suit as much as she misses the associations with it. her mission, her night work, the lives saved, criminals put in their rightful place… she guesses that must be it.

she lifts it up and folds it out—bruce, she assumes, had neatly folded and laid it there, on the desk—to see if the knife penetration did a lot of damage to the spandex. god, it did. there’s still blood around that area. as well as a hole there. not one she could see without really stretching the fabric out like it would stretch when she’d have the suit on. y/n rests her chin in her hand, having rested her elbow on the desk, and is now wondering how to save it. she can’t have a hole in her suit. could stitching up do it any good? no. it’s a hole, not a straight-cut line. well, she’ll probably have to make a new one now. it will be some few nights until she can go out on the streets again.

“your suit’s pretty damaged,” bruce tells her, having noticed her attention on it. he knew she’d look at it, it’s her suit, obviously it concerns her. y/n nods once bruce turns his head to her, “i’ve… made some options.” he says to her quietly, shyly, and then turns his computer screen to her, so she could see. she squints her eyes, but then sees colour variations of suits that look nearly identical to her own. she skims over them with her eyes, taking in every detail she can. “told you about impregnating the fibers, so i tried it.” bruce bends over himself, nearly crawling under the desk, to reach a certain box. y/n just keeps getting more and more surprised, but she decides to endure it, and see what the man has to offer.

bruce lifts a piece of cloth up in his hands, a shimmery dark blue and red, with silver and black details, and lays it out across the desk. of course, he has to push his keyboards and devices to the side to do that, but that only takes a few seconds of his time. y/n stands up straight on her feet to look at the suit properly. it looks just like her current ruined one, the colours are a little darker only, and there’s the black accents, as well as the old silver ones. it looks very… professional and expensive. she looks up at bruce, who she knows is just dying to tell her every little detail of the suit he’s probably made himself.

he takes her look as green light and breathes a short sigh as he begins to talk. “i impregnated the spandex fibers with adamantium for protection against weapons,” bruce begins to explain. adamantium? that stuff costs a fortune to get. y/n keeps finding this man’s devotion to her pretty questionable, “and partial wool fibers for warmth,” he says and gives y/n a slight grin. she nods, remembering that conversation of theirs, and she faintly smiles at the fact that he remembers that, too, “i’ve also made your eyes into my reading lenses, the whole eye—both of them, so you can get assessed information about anyone you see,” he adds, tapping that part of the suit, “your mask also has an earpiece that you activate by pressing it into your ear. and… that’s about it.” he finishes, and presses his hands into the desk out of nervousness.

“wow, that’s…” y/n stares at the suit in disbelief, “that’s very kind of you. thank you. you didn’t have to make it,” she then says to him with a seriousness in both her eyes and voice that scares him a little. bruce’s eyelids falter as disappointment appears in his orbs. y/n rushes to save that, “i really appreciate you doing this. it’s just…” she shakes her head, “i told you money matters to me.” y/n whispers. “i feel bad that you’re spending… god knows how much on me for no…” reason.

bruce shakes his head. “it’s not for no reason,” he tells her, now able to nearly read her mind. his eyes are strong when she looks into them, “it’s for your safety, your protection.”

y/n is relentless, she shakes her head in frustration. “that was just one time, bruce,” she tells him, “mistakes happen, but it’s not always your responsibility to take care of the consequences. it was me, it happened to me!”

“itis my responsibility!” bruce tells her in response, fury at her not understanding the obvious motives he acts on. how can she not see? “you’re my partner, y/n, i have to protect you! we… we look out for each other! i’m supposed to protect you, i…” bruce shakes his head, as he suddenly doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. y/n sighs, closing her eyes for a second, her fist resting on that fine piece-of-ass of a suit that’s caused this slight argument between them. she wouldn’t really call it an argument, and bruce wouldn’t either. but this is the first time he’s really said her name. a milestone in their relationship, another milestone.

she knows there’s something he wants to say, but he can’t figure out what it is. it happens with her often, too, and so she doesn’t wait any longer on him to say something. “you’re right,” she tells him eventually, “you’re right, bruce. but you have to understand that the way i live and how i look at money is very different from how you live, and how you look at it.” she looks into his eyes. “okay? it’s hard for me to accept everything that you give me, because… because of the way i am. because of how i grew up, and a lot of other things.” she shrugs, looking away, not saying everything that’s there. “you can’t give me… gifts like this and expect me to take them so easily.”

bruce realises his wrongs. it’s her words, and the trueness of her feelings in them that do the trick. she makes him understand that not everyone can be as easily spoiled as he, she makes him understand that money is a different aspect to different people, and maybe not even two people in the whole world look at money in one identical way. bruce sighs and shakes his head. he reaches his hand over to hers, and runs his fingers over her palm. it makes her look at him, though anxiously so. anxiously because she just wants him to understand, and she’s afraid he won’t. “i’m sorry,” he says, “i didn’t know.”

y/n nods. “no, it’s okay,” she says, “you’re blind to some horrors of the world, and exposed to others.” y/ shrugs and sniffles. nor she nor bruce noticed until now that this heated conversation between them has brought tears into her eyes and made her quite emotional. “just… take this into account for the future, okay?” she asks and wipes the few tears in her eyes out of them. “i don’t want to seem ungrateful, because i really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me, everything you’ve given me, but… it’s hard to accept it all sometimes.” she says. “most times, if i’m being honest.” she adds, and bruce is glad to hear her chuckling at the end of that short remark. at least her humour is there. bruce smiles.

“i understand,” he tells her in a soft whisper, one that makes his voice sound like a kitten’s purring, “you’ve made me understand.” bruce admits in an even quieter whisper, and it makes y/n look up at him. has she really made him do that? she has that kind of… influence or effect? maybe even power… she hadn’t realised. bruce caresses her hand again, and waits a few more beats until his next proposition. “you wanna see something i’ve been working on?” he asks quietly.

looking into his eyes, y/n finds genuineness, excitement and a silent plea. a plea to forget his slightly damaging behaviour and attitude, maybe just put it away for a while, or maybe forget it forever, and to just let him show her another project of his. but that plea doesn’t have to be there. he doesn’t need to apologise for something that is a part of his behaviour because of how he was raised, or because of the trauma he’s been through. he should change it, of course, if he can, but he shouldn’t apologise for it. she doesn’t want him to apologise or feel sorry for what he’s said or how he’s acted simply because it’s such a sticky part of him. something he probably feels bad about already by himself, and so to make him feel worse about it would be even more damaging.

she understands him, because she also acts a certain way because of all that’s happened to her, what she’s been through, how she’s been treated. perhaps it’s not so much harmful to others as it is to herself, but still, some kind of disorder is there, when it shouldn’t be. but that’s not her fault. and it’s not bruce’s fault that his trauma has a certain way of living in him, of making him react to certain things in certain situations.

point is, neither of them are to blame for how they’ve turned out. but it’s a good thing to acknowledge that disturbance of behaviour, it’s a step forward. and if they can help each other with that, can help each other understand some things they’ve never experienced better, that’s all for the better. it’s progress, and though they’re dependant on each other in that aspect, neither of them are the worst choice to be dependent on.

so to answer bruce’s proposition, y/n nods. a faint smile plays on her lips as she does so, and stretches wider afterwards, but sadly her tears are still there. bruce hopes they will dry soon, and he hopes they will do so by his hand. he wants nothing more than to make her happy, to make her feel good, at peace. he never wants to cause her pain, make her doubt herself, or experience things equally as bad as that or even worse ones.

on one hand, he feels like a little boy asking a little girl if she wants to see something he made out of sand or maybe if she wants to see a cool toy he found. in some way, he really does still feel like a kid in many aspects, and he hopes that will fade soon. he doesn’t want to seem childish to her, doesn’t want to be too close for comfort to her, cross any boundaries and such.

so far, he hasn’t. and she doesn’t notice if he behaves childishly. y/n thinks we’ve all got an inner child to heal, especially if bruce lost his father when he was young—she doesn’t know when he died, but by his behaviour, she guesses it must have been quite early in bruce’s life. how horrible to lose someone you should always look for guidance to, someone who should always be there for you, especially while you’re growing up. she’s felt that same pain. and though years have passed, and it may not bother her now as much now as it did before, it still hurts. she’s still angry. she’s still not over it.

but when she gladly takes his hand, when she looks into his eyes, when she feels his presence and feelings towards her, when she’s with him, that wound seems to heal. even if just for a while—a short or long one—it works wonders. and bruce can only say the same about her.

a/n:I wanted to make this scene in his cave longer here, based on bruce’s proposition, but because I’m literally falling asleep and this chapter is already long enough, I’ll leave it for the next chapter. hope you find that agreeable :D thank you for reading. next chapter will be up somewhere around this weekend. I’m really dragging this series out aren’t I lol.

permanent tag-list: @gabiatthedisco​​​​​​@v0idbella​​​​​​@works-of-fanfiction​​​​​​@ur-gunna-h8-ths​​​​​​@betweenloveandfire@but-legendsneverdie​​​​​​@deardeacy​​​​​​@thewinchesterchronicles@mavieesttriste16​​​​​​@intrrverted​​​​​​@the-freak-cassie-131​​​​​​​​​​​​​@gasbomb69​​​@xoxobabydolls@corallyink​

series taglist:@blue-aconite@captainbarnes@chiliiscereal@miniflower93@scorpio-echo@faithsreviews@buckysjuicyplums@legendaryfishdreamexpert@eucalyptrus@matchesarelit@daphne-bloom@aestheticpisces@baybay123455@measure-in-pain@spookysins@calumspupils@prettygirlpattinson@johnisonlysleeping@bedshrooms@mischiefmanaged71@is-this-a-febreze-commercial@siriuslydestiny@strawberriebabbles@katemusic@angelicadiabolus@musamusing@fatherfigured@tojisprincess@eriklensherrschild@uraritychain@philiasoul@violetsthought@srryxmate@frozenhuntress67@underdarkcityskies@brthofafish@mistasbae@uncle-eggy​ @daryldixonstorm @tshuuls (i’m sorry if someone’s @/s aren’t working, idk why!!)

if anyone wants a tag next time, please let me know :)

your good will: 32

tribute

a/n:posting two chapters before the new season is released just for funsies. or maybe… i shall just post three. but i’ll think about it ;) i can’t wait for new gifs of steve to use for this story what with the new season, it’s crucial!!! this chapter is a sad one, warnign you before the warnings, just a heads-up. i wrote this like half a year or a year after i went to the first funeral in my life, which was not fun, and i didn’t even know that relative of mine. he was my grandfather, but he was really as good as a stranger to me. so i kinda had to channel the feelings i had that day (which i still don’t understand, tbf) to write this. hope it makes sense. i’m not entirely happy with how i wrote the whole thing, but… idk. happy reading my babies! (those who are still here) <3

masterlist

series masterlist

stranger things masterlist

previous part    next part

word count: 4.4k

warnings:funeral theme, crying, kind of a heavy theme. read at your own risk, take care of yourselves

gif credit goes to owner / creator!

This night is easier to get through than the last one, surprisingly so. Maggie falls asleep before Steve–which he can mark as a record–and Steve himself has no nightmares throughout the long night. Sure, the regular weird, obscure dreams he usually has that make no sense, those he has. But no nightmares, no visions of death or bad outcomes of the whole Starcourt fiasco. Waking up is certainly easier, too. Until there’s a reminder of what day it is.

After having eaten what little breakfast she forced herself to, Maggie stands in front of the bathroom mirror, dressed in a skirt and one of Steve’s black dress shirts. Her face looks invariably and undoubtedly grim. No other emotion could show on it if Maggie wished to. She leans forward on the counter with her hands resting on the surface, and looks at herself up close.

Her eyes look tired, and even though she slept well, there are dark arcs under her eyes. The more she looks at herself, the more her eyes look like they’re swallowing everything they see. Her hair doesn’t seem right, her face looks wrong, the clothes fit her but she’s not sure they look good on her (does that matter?). Her eyes look like black holes, devoid of any emotion, any empathy, anything at all, just sucking everything in. There’s only nothingness, and the constant pull towards it.

“You ready to go?” Steve’s sincere voice echoes in the bathroom and makes Maggie snap out of her daze, which Steve notices, watching her as he leans against the doorframe. Maggie straightens back up and looks away from the mirror, and shyly glances at Steve. He probably saw this inspection of herself that anyone rarely sees, even him. It’s a little embarrassing, to say the least.

“Yeah, I think so…” she says and walks towards him. Steve gives her his hand to hold and looks at her earnestly once she stands in front of him.

“Sure you want me to be there?” He makes sure one last time. Maggie nods and squeezes his hand tighter. Her other hand holds the folded note of what she wants to say at the tribute, and Steve momentarily looks at it as the paper crumples under Maggie’s touch. “Okay. Let’s get going, then.” Steve gives Maggie a smile and a kiss atop her head and they leave his room.

The radio plays at the lowest volume during the car ride, and nor Maggie nor Steve really say anything to each other. There’s nothing to be said, words would fail at being comforting, anyway. Maggie lays helplessly, heavily in the passenger seat, until they pull up to the Town Hall parking lot. “Woah.” She says at the quantity of cars parked already, and the people she sees on their way to the tribute stage. The sight makes her peel her back off her seat.

“He sure had a lot of friends.” Steve says as he looks for an empty place to park. Maggie can manage a half smile.

“I’m not so sure about that, actually.” Maggie admits and falls back into her seat. Steve finds an empty slot and stops the car, turning the engine off afterwards. He unbuckles his seat belt and looks at Maggie. She’s staring out of the window, her eyes focused on the crowd moving towards the stage. “God, there’s a whole stage. How am I ever gonna stand there… and talk in front of so many people…”

Steve doesn’t really know what to say. Anything he comes up with that might be helpful just feels like something forced or wrong, something out-of-place for Maggie. Her feelings and fears are very unique. She could go with her mom up there, and she always has the option to not talk on stage. But he best let her make up her own mind. He doesn’t always need to say something, he’s just here for her, here for support. Even if his tongue itches to say something, especially in tense situations. He’s never been good with them.

“Alright, let’s go before I change my mind.” Maggie says then, quietly, and opens the passenger door. Steve nods and gets out with her through his side. He locks the car and reunites with Maggie in front of it, they hold hands as they walk through the parking lot. As they’re getting closer to the stage, Maggie spots her mother and her brothers walking a bit further in front of them. She notices Nancy is with Jonathan, as well. Her family must be here, too, then.

Maggie points them out to Steve and they pick up their pace a bit to reach her family. “Mom,” Maggie softly calls out as soon as she’s in earshot of her mother, and the woman turns around. Joyce and Maggie hug, and Maggie reunites with her brothers, as well. They hug her tight, Jonathan offers her words of comfort, knowing what Hopper meant to her. Will holds his sister’s hand. Maggie’s brothers both know that the bond between Maggie and Hopper was strong, and an irreplaceable one. They were never that close with Hopper, but they did get his support, as much of it as he gave them, and they appreciated that. Steve stands by with Nancy as the family converse.

“How have you been, sweetheart? Haven’t called or anything…” Joyce inquires, her hand moving over Maggie’s hair lovingly and looking upon her the same way.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” Maggie sniffles, “I’ve been… alright. Comes and goes. I’ll be home tomorrow, though,” she assures her mother, “what have you been up to?”

“The usual.” Joyce shrugs and blinks away tears threatening to spill. “What’s that paper?” She looks down at Maggie’s right hand gripping a yellow folded page, thinking she’ll change the subject before she starts to cry.

“Um… just something I wanna say… nothing much.” Maggie shrugs. Joyce pats her daughter’s shoulder, but can’t help the tears welling up in her eyes, and she hugs Maggie, beginning to cry again. Maggie knew it would happen, and she knows that if her mother cries, she cries too. So she lets it happen, hugging her mother back and letting the tears fall freely. Today is a tough day for them. Closest thing to a funeral Hopper could have, Joyce thinks, and it’s even more unbearable that way. No body.

“It’s almost time,” a whisper from Jonathan pulls the women apart, and they both tearfully nod. Maggie realizes she hasn’t said hello to Nancy, and quickly goes over to the girl while there’s still time to spare.

“Hi, Nancy,” she says, looking earnestly at the girl, trying to smile, “thanks for coming.”

“Awh, Maggie, of course,” Nancy says before pulling Maggie into a hug, “I couldn’t not come.” Maggie shut her eyes, enjoying the comforting gesture from Nancy. “I’m so sorry for what you and your mom are going through.”

“Thanks.” Maggie says and both girls sniffle.

“Hi, mrs Byers,” Steve says to Maggie’s mom in front of him, greeting her with a curt nod, and Joyce sighs quietly, “I’m really sorry about what’s happened.”

“You can call me Joyce, Steve, don’t worry,” she offers him a half-smile, “and thanks. Thanks for coming, and for…” Joyce pats his arm, “for taking care of Maggie.” Steve smiles tenderly at her, and can’t think of anything more to say, so he only watches Joyce walking up to her sons again. Soon, Maggie rejoins Steve’s side with a squeeze of his hand, and Nancy reunites with Jonathan in front of them. The group solemnly walk towards the side of the stage.

Joyce and Maggie, turns out, are to stand right in the front row before the stage, next to the police department receptionist Florence and officers Powell and Callahan. It’s because they were closest to Hopper. Not exactly blood or family, but close enough to be so. Maggie’s glad she’s in front, because not many people can see her. Once in a while, she glances over her shoulder to find Steve. He’s standing next to her brothers, and on his other side stands Dustin and his mother. A corner of Maggie’s lips curls up momentarily at seeing almost the whole party there, but she turns back to face the stage, though hesitantly, because a priest–huh?–clears his throat into the microphone, announcing his presence.

“We are gathered here today to honor the life and work of the chief of Hawkins Police department, Jim Hopper,” the priest says, and Maggie can hear the sadness in his voice, as well. She remembers how much Hopper has done for almost everyone in her hometown, and how differently he has impacted many of Hawkins residents’ lives, “let us begin the tribute by playing chief Hopper’s favorite song.” The priest steps away from the microphone and nods his head to the left corner of the stage, where a guy is standing with a whole set of speakers and music players.

Maggie knows what song is gonna play before the first note even cracks through the tense silence in the crowd. Jim Croce. First track on the album You Don’t Mess Around With Jim, the song titled just the same. Maggie smiles a tearful grin as the guitar chords ring out. But she doesn’t hear Jim Croce singing the song. She hears Hopper, the way and voice in which he always sung this song, with the added country accent he so loved to put as a cherry on top. She hears his voice giving out on the high notes, his smoker chest caving in after every other line.

Unconsciously, Maggie starts to hum along. And suddenly she wishes El could be here. She knows the song means a lot to her, as well. Hopper told Maggie he played this Jim Croce album to El while they cleaned and sorted the cabin, the album was on repeat. And El watched him dance and sing along to each and every song, and she laughed at how funny he sometimes looked. Maggie really wishes El could be here.

The priest finishes his speech about Hopper’s life and work, which is half-bullshit and half-sincere, and through which Maggie and Joyce couldn’t sit through without crying, with the following words, “I now invite anyone who has something to say about Jim Hopper or to him, to take the stage.” The priest backs away from the microphone and Maggie sighs shakily. She gathers all the strength and courage in her body and rises from her seat. She doesn’t even check if there’s anyone else who has stood up, but there’s no need to, because she’s the only one.

Steve watches her as she slowly climbs the stage, the soles of her gray Converse shoes creaking against the thin metal of the few steps leading up to it. He’s too far to see her face, but he knows by heart the look on it. The last two days have been enough to make that look forever present in his mind. Jonathan and Will aren’t surprised at all to see their sister coming to the stage, Jonathan even smiles. Her brothers feel sort of proud of her, especially Jonathan. He knows how shy she is, and remembers how in preschool and primary school she was always terrified of speaking in front of everybody. But look at her now.

“U-Uhm,” Maggie’s voice softly cracks at her first murmur into the microphone, but she clears her throat, putting a hand on her chest afterwards. She can’t help it, she’s nervous and her hands have got to find somewhere to touch, “um, my name is Maggie Byers and–and I have a few things to say about Hop–Hopper,” Maggie hiccups, tears heavily pouring down her cheeks. She looks down onto her unfolded piece of paper and blinks her eyes because she can’t see the words she’s written through her tears. She then lifts the paper upwards a bit, so the tears wouldn’t smudge the pen’s ink, “I’m just gonna–” she clears her throat again and steps even closer to the microphone, trying to ignore the awkwardness in this silence, “Hopper was the Hawkins chief of police to most people h-here. To some, he was chief Hopper, or Jim. But to me, and to my mom, he was just Hopper, or Hop.” Maggie musters a smile. “He was Hopper, who you could just visit at work and make healthier lunch for,” she looks down at Flo, who is smiling through her tears, “he was Hopper, who always sat at the bar until way too late, and who always got to work late, as well,” Maggie gulps, “he was Hopper, who helped find my brother, and who believed my mother, and others among us, when not even my older brother could.” She almost misses the loud chuckle from Jonathan in the crowd. “He was devoted, kind and the funniest guy you’ll meet,” Maggie smiles, “but more than anything, to me, he was… a father.” She sniffles after she admits this with a heavy heart and painful lump in her throat. “Who I had to drag home late at night and put to bed sometimes, but who… who was always there to support me just as much,” she chuckles, “the best father I could ever wish for, but who I never, never got enough time with.” Maggie reads her last written sentence and just fails. She bursts into tears and hides her face in her hands, stepping away from the microphone so the crowd wouldn’t have to hear her sobs so loudly. Joyce and Steve both, as well as Jonathan, feel the urge to leave their seats and run up to Maggie, help her get down, calm down. But before they can start to, she comes back up to the microphone. “Hopper was a hero to this town in more ways than one. And though it hurts for him to leave this way, he has saved so many lives. Not only as a policeman, but as just a man, too.” She takes a breath. “I was always–always rushing home to do my homework, and most times even leaving Hopper’s home earlier because I was just tired or something else–but, but now, I just wish I’d stayed a bit longer.” Her fingers drum against the microphone. “No matter how much time you spend with a person, it always seems too little. Not enough.” Maggie sniffles. “I treasure the moments I had with Hopper, now they're… they’re gold to me.” She sighs. “Please make more time with people you hold close to your heart. You never know–you never know when it’s gonna be too late, when there’s not much time left. Any day could be our last.” Maggie shrugs. Her words sink in to Steve, and they hit quite deep. Her words make him think about their soon moving away to Maine. How much time has he got left with Maggie? “I just wish Hopper would have had more time, especially with his kids. The real ones and the artificial ones.” Maggie admits with a chuckle, and the majority of the crowd laugh with her. Though, of course, they misunderstand the meaning of those words. “Uh–thank you… thank you.”

No one applauds Maggie as she leaves the stage–it’s just not appropriate to, an unspoken rule about funerals or tributes like this. She doesn’t expect anyone to, and finds herself liking silence for the first time in her life. It stays in her mind through the rest of the tribute. She does hear what other people have decided to say about Jim, she hears them, she just doesn’t really listen. What goes on in her mind is an endless loop of her favorite moments with Hopper. His laughter and signature sayings and groans of agreement are what she hears in her ears, and from time to time, she smiles to herself.

Maggie can honestly recognise only Flo, Callahan, Powell and Scott Clarke from all the people that speak about Jim on the stage. Joyce couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She feels like she has either too much or nothing to say. And it’s hard to not spill everything that’s really happened in her current state of mind and heart, so it’s just better to not speak at all. Maggie lays her hand atop her mother’s for most of the tribute, squeezing it once in a while when she hears her mom’s shoulders shaking again, or sees tears spilling over her cheeks.

Even mayor Kline speaks on stage about Hopper. Maggie and Joyce both scoff at his presence, as well as the niceties he says about Hop that Maggie knows he doesn’t mean even partly. But his pathetic speech ends with an invitation to the inside of Town Hall, where there’s a special surprise and food and drinks waiting for anyone willing to go. The Byers decide to go in for a short while.

Maggie reunites with Steve before they walk into Town Hall, they hold hands and Maggie falls almost limply against Steve. He puts his arm around her and kisses the top of her head. “That was great, Mags,” he tells her quietly, “you spoke really beautifully.” She sniffles in response and wipes away her tears.

“Thanks.” She whispers.

The surprise is truly a pleasant one. It turns out to be a photo exhibition, with a few exceptions being documents and medals, of all of Hopper’s achievements in his career and outside of it. Steve lets Maggie look over the exhibition on her own, but she soon finds her mother again and they go through it together. Steve stands close by Jonathan and Will by the food table, where Nancy, Mike, Lucas and Dustin find themselves, as well.

“Maggie’s speech was really beautiful,” Nancy says, coming up to Steve. It takes a second for him to draw his eyes off Maggie and look at Nancy, and he nods as he does.

“She has a thing for… words,” Steve says, “I guess.” He gives Nancy a half-smile and an airy chuckle. She smiles back.

“I wish I would have said something, but…” she sighs, “I don’t know, kinda feel it’d be out of place.”

“What would you have said?” Steve asks.

Nancy shrugs. “Well… I’d say how much he helped us over these past two years, but then again… that’s something the town doesn’t know, and I wouldn’t want to spill any beans.” She says and they both chuckle. “Hopper was just… he wasn’t a regular policeman, you know that. After what happened to Will, he was willing to listen to anything crazy.”

“Yeah…” Steve agrees. “It’s gonna be so weird now for someone else to be chief.”

“Definitely. Can’t even imagine anyone else in his place.” Nancy admits. “It feels like Hopper was the boss here my entire life.” Steve can agree with that. He can’t recall a day that the chief of police was someone other than Jim Hopper.

“Hey,” Jonathan comes up to Steve and Nancy, Steve greets him back with a nod, “me and Will are thinking of splitting.” He announces. “Need a ride home?” He offers Nancy. She glances around her in search for her mother, and she spots her soon enough by one of the exhibited photographs, talking to some other woman.

“Yeah, I guess.” Nancy takes the offer.

“Alright, let’s go, then.” Jonathan says and takes Nancy’s hand in his. “See you around, Steve.” Jonathan says as they leave quietly, and Will trails behind them with a wave in Steve’s direction. He gives the Byers brothers a wave back and stays put, sighing quietly to himself. He feels so weird at these kind of things. He’d call it a funeral, because it’s really the closest to one for Hopper they could get, given his death circumstances, but it feels so much more public. Guess that’s why they call them tributes.

Steve just doesn’t feel comfortable, and he feels so weird inside of himself. There’s too much to feel, but then again he feels intruding by feeling as much sadness as other people. He wasn’t really that close to Hopper. Definitely not as close as Maggie or Joyce, but Hopper was still someone to him, he was this man that was much more than chief of police, he was very protective and quick in action. He saved all their butts a couple times. Steve doesn’t really know which feelings to allow himself to feel.

He’s a bit startled by the pat on the back Dustin gives him in greeting, coming up to him from the food table. Steve looks down at him and manages some sort of smile to give him in response. “How you doing, Steve?” Dustin asks, and Steve can hear genuine concern in the boy’s voice.

“Comes and goes, Henderson, comes and goes,” Steve responds, “you?”

“Fine, just fine.” Dustin sighs, and then lifts up his plate towards Steve. “Cake?” Steve glances at it and finds himself completely devoid of appetite. He almost feels sick looking at it. Steve shakes his head and looks away. Dustin feels Steve being quite off, not really himself, and retracts his offer. But he understands. “That’s okay. More for me.” He says, and Steve can manage a chuckle in response.

“How’s Suzie?” He inquires.

“Much more in range now.” Dustin responds, a smile on his face. “She’s okay. Trying to adjust some days with her parents to come visit.”

“Oh, nice.” Steve says. “Must be missing each other a lot.”

“Oh, yeah, we are,” Dustin confirms, “can’t wait to see her again.” He smiles wide. “How’s Maggie been?”

Steve sighs, partly wishing Dustin hadn’t asked that. “She's… not too good.” He says quietly. “Oh, Dustin, before I forget - me and Maggie were thinking of hosting a small get-together for everyone on Saturday, to watch Live Aid together.”

“Oh, sounds nice! Wait, LiveAid–”

“The charity concert for Africa, all the big names playing.” Steve confirms with a grin and a nod. “Just–tell your friends, you know. Mike and Lucas, and Max, as well, and come over, bring some snacks, whatever.”

“Okay, where?”

“Um…” Steve sighs. The Millers’ home is pretty much out of order. They still have to call Owens about it. They could never clean the mess themselves, and would probably have some sort of poisoning in them because of all the chemicals and the mess, so better not meddle in something that they don’t know. “My house. Maggie had this wonderful idea of just having your Party over, and Robin, and I think… it’d be good for her.” Steve smiles, and Dustin agrees with a nod. “Socialize, see you all properly, take care of everyone.” He smiles wider to himself. “That’s what she’s really good at without even trying. It would take her mind off everything, you know?”

“Oh, yeah, totally.” Dustin agrees and notices the look of awe Steve has in his eyes while talking about Maggie. “We’ll all be there, I think. Oh, and here she comes.” He announces as he sees Maggie and Joyce coming towards them. Steve offers the women the best smile he can muster. Maggie’s face lights up a bit when she sees Dustin, and spots Mike and Lucas not far from him.

“Hi, Dustin,” Maggie says and pulls the boy into a hug, “how have you been?”

Dustin will forever be surprised by the girl’s big heart and good will that stays strong even in such circumstances as this one. “Hi, Maggie,” he greets her and they pull apart, “I’ve been okay. That was a beautiful speech you made there.” Maggie smiles brightly at him.

“Thanks.” She says. She sighs then, falling into Steve’s side. He feels complete again, when she’s by his side.

“Right, I’ll rejoin my party.” Dustin says and goes back to Mike and Lucas after giving Maggie and Steve a half-bow, which makes the couple laugh quietly. Steve rubs Maggie’s arm soothingly.

“You hungry?” He asks quietly, and feels Maggie shaking her head against his chest. Yeah, he thought so. He notices Joyce standing by the food table, her eyes apathetically looking over all that’s there to take, yet finding nothing she likes. But it’s probably not that. She just can’t bring herself to want any food at all today. “Um, mrs Byers,” Steve addresses her, and makes the woman’s head turn in his direction, her eyes clueless, “me and Maggie were wondering… maybe we could have dinner together sometime.” He musters another smile, this one much more natural than the last.

“Uh… not tonight,” Joyce says, which almost makes Maggie laugh.

“No, no, of course not tonight,” Steve clarifies, “just–whenever you’re free. I can come over, help make something, you know…” he offers. Joyce nods, though her eyes are still somewhere far away.

“Yeah, yeah, that would be nice,” she says, “think Maggie got the idea from me.” Joyce reminds her daughter of their conversation they had a bit more than a week ago. Maggie chuckles, nodding, she remembers her mom asking to bring Steve over sometime. “I… think I’ll be going home, though. See you tomorrow, sweetheart.” Joyce kisses her daughter’s head and mutters “goodbye” to Steve before she exits Town Hall. Steve and Maggie wave back at her, watching Joyce slowly leave the building. Maggie sighs.

“You wanna go back to the house, baby?” Steve asks Maggie. “What do you wanna do?” Maggie shrugs.

“I don’t know.” She says. “I don’t wanna… do anything. I don’t wanna be anywhere.” She admits. I don’t wanna be anyone. On a regular day, those words would have scared Steve, but he knows the context behind them, and he understands what Maggie feels.

“We can go to the woods.” He suggests, knowing what his girlfriend truly loves to do, where she loves to be. “Or just… drive around. Whatever you want.” He says. Maggie sighs again.

“The woods sound nice.” She admits. Steve smiles and nods.

“Alright.” He says and takes Maggie’s hand again to lead her with him out of Town Hall. They wave at Dustin, Lucas and Mike as they go, and are soon in the hot outside weather of Hawkins. The sun is relentless this summer, shining all day long and warming up every crevice that welcomes it. Not Maggie, though. She feels cold as ice, unable to welcome the sun and all its perks inside of her. The sun used to make her so happy, so energized, so up-beat. But now? What makes her feel that way now?

series tag-list: @givemequeen​​​@yllwtaxi@wnygirl2012​​​@watercolour-sloth​​​@brinaprfct​​​@whormotional​​​@chaandii​​​@e-lysium​​​@tina1938​​​​@mochminnie

permanent tag-list: @gabiatthedisco​​​​​​@v0idbella​​​​​​@works-of-fanfiction​​​​​​@ur-gunna-h8-ths​​​​​​@betweenloveandfire​@but-legendsneverdie​​​​​​@deardeacy​​​​​​@thewinchesterchronicles​@mavieesttriste16​​​​​​@intrrverted​​​​​​@the-freak-cassie-131​​​​​​​​​​​​​@gasbomb69​​​@xoxobabydolls​@corallyink​@rottenstyx​

let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters !!! <3

your good will: 31

revision

a/n:hello. less than 12 hours until season 4. less than 12 hours until i see my BOY again !!! god, i’m beyond excited. as for this fic…. here we see some more backstory between maggie and hopper. really love writing them together, a nice daughter-and-father dynamic. my dad actually reminds me of hopper and david harbour a lot, it goes vice versa, as well, haha. happy reading my babies! (those who are still here) <3

masterlist

series masterlist

stranger things masterlist

previous part next part

word count: 4.5k

warnings:mentions of stranger things season 1 events; smut, p in v, nothing else

gif credit goes to owner / creator!

“Maggie, Maggie–you should go home,” is what Hopper manages to say in his poor state, and he hiccups, “it's–it’s late. A school night. And I can’t have you outside late.” His breath reeks of too many beers, and his eyes are filled with regret. Maggie turns her head to the side so the alcohol odor would pass her, and she just giggles.

“I’m fine, Hop,” she says as she pulls him up the stairs of his trailer–he is mighty heavy, “you’re forgetting I can take care of myself.” She reminds him with a somber smile. Not letting go of Hopper, despite how hard he is to carry, Maggie takes out her copy of his house keys and pushes one into a lock, turns it to unlock the trailer. Hopper almost falls asleep leaning against the outer wall of his home, and almost slides down it. “Hey, hey, hey!” Maggie catches him before the shit hits the fan and grunts, her muscles being pulled too much for their liking. They should be used to carrying such heavy weights now, why do they still ache?

Maggie carries Hopper inside and searches for the sofa in the dark before sitting him down on it. Jim lands in the soft cushions with a grunt and a ‘poof’ as Maggie fumbles for the light switch. “Oh, couch goooood,” Hopper states and lets his head fall back, closing his eyes and sighing in bliss. Maggie laughs once again and takes off her coat before coming over to do the same with Hopper. He really can’t be bothered to do it himself. Maggie knows if she wasn’t here, he’d fall right asleep in his outdoor clothes, “hey, no, I need it–my coat–it’s still cold.”

“Hop, you’re inside,” Maggie points out, shrugging one of his arms out of the coat, “you’ll be sweating in minutes if you kept this coat on.”

“Oh, thanks,” Hopper sheepishly smiles at Maggie, “you’re so good to me, Maggie. Best me-sitter ever.” Hopper’s voice is soft, deep and sleepy. To Maggie he always sounds like a bear, when he’s drunk, sleepy or even just regular, sober Hopper. He does use a gentler voice when he wants to get to someone, that’s when he stops sounding like a bear. She always laughs at her own joke that she hasn’t shared with anyone - Hopper bear. Thinking of it always makes her chuckle. “Where would I be without you?” Hopper asks as Maggie collects some of the empty bottles off his living room table and into her tiny hands. She smiles.

“Probably in that hole of yours.” She says, shrugging. Hopper nods with a tired smile, his eyes completely closed. That’s true. Maggie’s the one person who truly cares for him, he thinks, who truly cares what happens to him and what road he takes each time there’s a choice. She really looks out for him, even if she doesn’t need to, she always makes sure he’s okay and that he gets home, no matter how late it is. “Listen, I’m gonna clean up here a bit, but then I’m going home. Okay?” Maggie calls to him from the kitchen. “I have to make sure Will follows curfew and gets to bed in time.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Hopper nods and turns on the TV, “I’ll be fine.” He mumbles. Maggie chuckles, sure you will.

She can’t help but think about the night Will went missing. She wasn’t home because she was at Hopper’s until almost midnight, he’d had another late night at the bar again and she had to take him home cause no one else would. Maggie keeps thinking about how that was really the last normal night before everything changed. Sure, at the time it felt like just another Sunday, but it turned out to be so much more later.

Maggie wasn’t there in time to save Will. She wishes she could have been, but then again maybe the monster would have taken her, too. If she had never volunteered to babysit little Sarah all those years ago, she would have been with her little brother that night. But she can’t feel guilty about that now. She can’t feel guilty at all, she shouldn’t. Things happen, and they’re not her fault.

Maggie also remembers very vividly the night they supposedly found Will in the Quarry. It all seemed like just a bunch of bullshit, that whole scenario of Will falling into the water. Will was a champ on his bike, and he had great coordination, even if he wasn’t particularly physically strong, and he knew Hawkins like the back of his hand. He wouldn’t just fall into the Quarry. Maggie knew there was something fishy with the whole thing, because it just didn’t seem like her brother to even be riding around the Quarry area late at night. Something else had to have happened.

She remembers seeing that monster with her mom. She was just trying to pull their bills together at the kitchen table while Joyce was obsessively talking to the lights. It’s not like Maggie didn’t believe her mother about Will talking to her through the lights, she was just confused and overwhelmed with everything going on at once, and couldn’t take another new something on. But when she saw that monster coming out of their outer wall, she couldn’t not believe her mother. She saw the man without a face with her own eyes. Once you see something like that, it sticks. And everything changes.

Maggie remembers running, just running like hell with her mom, as far away from their house as they could. They needed to get help, and Jonathan had taken the car, so there wasn’t a quick way to get out. When you’re paralysed by incredible fear, you don’t even have the time or power to look for keys or your coat, much less power your car. She and Joyce ran like their lives depended on it, because they literally did.

Luckily, Jonathan was in their way and took them straight home. They didn’t even need to call Hopper, because they were practically driving behind them. The news of finding Will’s body was enough to make Maggie faint. It was just too much to take in. So Jonathan carried her to her room and put her under warm covers. The house was cold.

Next she remembers sitting at the coroner’s office with Hopper, in the waiting room. Maggie felt stiff, frozen, completely numb. She had also caught a cold while running from the house with her mom, so she was feeling a hundred percent like shit. But Hopper was there. And he hugged her, and he assured her that she doesn’t need to go see Will if she doesn’t want to. A part of Maggie wanted to, because her mom wasn’t crazy, and she was probably right about Will still being alive.

“You’re okay, kiddo,” Hopper had told her, whispered into her ear as he hugged her, “you’re okay, you’re gonna be alright. You don’t have to go anywhere.” He had held her tight to him, giving her both warmth and support in the best ways he could.

Maggie wishes she could hear those same things from him now. She silently tears up, her hand holding a photograph of her and Steve, as she looks away from it and out the window of Steve’s bedroom. She wishes she could just hug Hopper now, nothing else, just hug him. Feel his arms around her, hear his heartbeat and steady, heavy breathing. There’s nothing else she wants right now.

She draws in a trembling breath and looks at the photo again. It’s one that her mom took of her and Steve on one of their first dates. (Maggie doesn’t know how looking at this picture made her think about Hopper again, but there’s always a road to that destination, anyway.) Joyce wanted to pick Maggie up from the rollerskating rink–Maggie guesses because of her natural over-protectiveness that only grew after everything that happened with Will–and took one of Jonathan’s polaroids with her, just in case. The camera did come in handy when Joyce arrived, and the photo she took paints a pretty scene: both Maggie and Steve wearing roller skates, both having flushed cheeks and looking shy and awkward in the presence of a camera and Maggie’s mom, and each other, of course. But they’re holding hands and smiling, even if in a shy manner.

Steve has this look of pride or just pleasement on his face, it shows in the way his lips are drawn together in a smile, the way his cheeks are just a tad bit bunched up and slightly pink, and in the way his eyes sparkle. Those beautiful chocolate eyes. Maggie, in turn, has her signature shy smile with rosy cheeks, but happiness written all over her face. She still remembers the feeling she had that day, the feeling being with Steve gave her. She remembers it, but she realizes she can’t feel it. The feeling is out of reach. Most times, when she recalls a certain feeling, it surges through her body for a short moment and she’s almost overwhelmed with it. But not this time. This one, this utterly pure love and happiness seems untouchable now, as if it’s on the other side of a glass door that Maggie doesn’t have a key to.

“That’s such a cute one of us,” Steve leans in closer to Maggie, their cheeks almost touching, and he smiles. His eyes are glazed over with the memory of that day. Maggie snaps back to reality and quickly glances between Steve and the photo, then nods slowly, “I look so weird, though.” He shakes his head.

The couple are sitting on Steve’s bedroom floor, going through anything and everything they can find - photos, vinyls, notebooks, albums - anything at all. Steve thought it’d be a great way to keep Maggie busy, mostly to distract her from the inevitable elephant in the room, and it’s working well so far. At least he thinks so. He looks at Maggie, worried all of a sudden.

“Don’t say that,” she begs softly and gives Steve a gentle smile. She turns to him and lays a kiss on his cheek, to which Steve involuntarily blushes, “you look super cute. Not only here, you always look amazing.” Maggie clarifies in a soft voice.

“Even with my beat-up face?” Steve questions and pouts playfully at Maggie. She keeps looking at him, a smile threatening to crack across her face.

“Of course, Steve,” she says and lays another kiss on his cheek, “like you said, they’re proof of a battle won.” Maggie adds and turns back to look at the photos. Steve smiles wider, overcome with this intense love for her that he sometimes feels could kill him with its intensity. He puts his head on her shoulder and ties his arms around Maggie’s waist.

“Thanks, baby,” he says in barely above a whisper, “I love you so much.”

Maggie’s smile stretches further across her cheeks. “I love you, too,” her head rests against Steve’s nest of hair, and she brings out the next photo, putting the roller-skating rink one to the back, “oh, look, it’s prom.” Maggie says, a more excited tone in her voice. Both her and Steve take in the photo. Maggie’s dressed in a flowing pink dress, she’s got her arms thrown up in the air and a big smile on her face, so big you can hardly see her pink eyeshadow. That was probably the only time in her life she put on make-up ever, but it was prom, so it just seemed part of the tradition.

Steve’s wearing a dark red, sort-of shimmery, button up shirt with long sleeves and equally dark purple dress pants. We looked like straight out of Studio 54, Steve thinks, and laughs out loud at the thought.  It took some courage for Steve to even wear those clothes, and a lot of pep talk from Maggie to go out in public in them. He usually wears very plain clothes, and so it was a little outside of his comfort zone. But Maggie adored how he looked, and that, quite frankly, was all the confidence he needed. Maggie cracks into a smile. She remembers all the weird looks from everyone around them as the two danced. Sure, she and Steve weren’t the most regular high school couple, but really neither are Jonathan and Nancy. But, Maggie guesses, everyone had a certain way to look at them because she’s a year younger than Steve, and in a regular, stereotype-filled small-town society like Hawkins, that’s not a particularly good thing.

Although she noticed the stares and got a little insecure at moments, Maggie didn’t really care about stereotypes, unless to break them. She never really has cared. She loves Steve so, so much, and she always will, and he makes her so happy. So why should she care about stereotypes or what her stupid high school thinks of her or her relationships?

All that high school classification and status stuff Steve has grown to see as irrelevant, too. It really doesn’t matter to him anymore. After-school clubs, family situation–that’s each person’s own stuff to have and deal with. And he loves Maggie for who she is, and he has nothing against her family, and he doesn’t care that she wasn’t popular at school. She’s much better than 99% of the people there, anyway. She was actually the reason he got over that King Steve bullshit and realized what really matters, which he constantly wants to thank her for.

“Where’s the one–oh, it’s probably at home,” Maggie pouts as she changes the picture again.

“What?” Steve asks.

“The picture Jonathan took of us as the school photographer, with the funny background,” Maggie elaborates and chuckles, “it’s in my photo album at home.”

“Oh, right, that one,” Steve recalls with a pleasant smile, “we did that–what’s the movie–oh, Sixteen Candles. We did the pose from the poster.”

Maggie laughs. “Right, only we switched places,” she adds, “you posed as the girl and I was the guy.” Steve nods. Maggie sighs. “Man, I wanna see that movie again.”

“Thought you wanted to go see Gremlins.” Steve admits.

“Oh, I do–are we gonna?”

“Sure, let’s just see when they’re showing it and if there’s any tickets left.”

Maggie pouts at Steve beginning to get up from the floor. “Not now, though,” she says and Steve stops moving and looks at her.

“Why not?” He gently questions, thinking she was really excited to go see it. Has she changed her mind so suddenly? The tickets might be sold out soon, though, cause Gremlins sure was an audience favorite back when it came out.

“I just wanna lay here with you,” Maggie admits in a shy voice. Steve can’t help but smile. Maggie looks at him with her big, endearing eyes and next thing Steve knows, she’s pushing him towards the edge of his bed, the photos dropping to the floor softly from her hands, and she’s kissing him on the lips. He’s a little surprised, but doesn’t mind this at all, and only secures his arms around her waist again, moving his lips against Maggie’s.

She feels like she’s kissing him for the first time again, and she kisses slowly at first. It’s been a while since they kissed last, like really kissed. But she realizes how much she’s missed him, how much her body has missed his, and her kisses grow more passionate. With each one, her hips move against Steve’s slowly, enticingly, almost teasingly to the boy himself. One of her hands sprawls across Steve’s cheek, her thumb caressing the soft skin of it tenderly. Her other hand grips his shoulder, her fingers digging into it the more their kisses grow lustful.

As her knees rest on the floor, her thighs on each side of Steve’s hips, making her dress bunch up, Steve puts his hands on Maggie’s thighs, rubbing them up and down her skin, which makes her sigh softly onto his lips. His hands meeting her thighs create fire as friction, and Steve already feels how much he’s missed her, too. He adores the feeling of her hands on him, especially her light grasp on the side of his face. “I love the way you touch me,” he almost whines in between their kisses, and Maggie admires the look in Steve’s eyes, her own clouding over. Her lips part in quiet pants and she moves her hand from Steve’s shoulder to the back of his head, where she cradles it as her fingers dig gently into his hair. Steve’s eyes flutter shut.

“Yeah?” Maggie asks in a whisper. Steve nods as Maggie feels his hands slowly going limp by her sides. He’s been touch-starved, she realizes, and it’s affecting him, all of this, now. Maggie never knew she had this effect on him. She moves her thumb over his cheek, slowly back and forth, and tries not to moan at the ecstasy she sees on his face.

“Yeah, I've–I’ve missed you so much,” breathless, Steve admits. Maggie bites down onto her lip and presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek. He can only muster a mewl in response, his hands completely helpless and falling limply between himself and Maggie. Steve’s panting softly, his eyes closed and his cheeks pink, and Maggie must admit that she completely adores the sight of him right now, and she likes where she has him. She keeps moving her hips slowly against his, laying kiss after kiss all across Steve’s cheeks and his lips, momentarily moving down to his neck, at which he moans, “oh, baby…” Steve feels like he’s going to explode.

Maggie moves her hands under his shirt and caresses his chest, little chest hairs at the top making themselves known to her fingertips. Maggie looks once again at the blissful look on Steve’s features and finds herself devoid of any thought other than wanting to make him feel good. “I’ve missed you, too,” she whispers, moving her face as close to his as possible, looking into his eyes with her blown-out ones. She takes her hands away from Steve’s chest and instead lifts his shirt over his head, pulling his hair upwards with the motion. She throws the shirt to the side, and it lands on the soft floor with no noise as she puts her hand on both of Steve’s cheeks. Keeping the rhythm in her hips, she feels Steve growing more firm in his shorts under her, and she moans at the feeling of him. God, has he gotten bigger? Steve’s tongue against Maggie’s own and the stiffness in his shorts growing by the second against her crotch is a combination that makes Maggie melt, “take off my underwear.” She requests to him in a whisper between kisses and panted breaths.

At first, Steve doesn’t quite catch Maggie’s words or the fact that she’s said them at all, but her impatiently moving his hands under her dress is a helpful hint that he understands immediately. He tugs down her legs what he sees are light pink panties, and the sight of them on Maggie’s tan legs almost makes him come on the spot. His cheek pressing against Maggie’s, her hand between them, Steve keeps her underwear on her legs as far as they go, they stop right at his bare stomach, and he can feel they’re damp. He can’t handle this. Maggie’s hand is caressing his cheek as she presses kisses to his other one, and Steve almost faints. “God, you’re gonna kill me, baby.” He tells Maggie.

Steve’s hands find the spot where Maggie has begun to ache for him the most right now, and he presses his thumb against her folds. Maggie moans, and Steve can feel how wet she is already. Is she turned on by his pleasure? He pushes his index finger into her entrance, and she arcs her torso towards him with a guttural moan. She’s an angel, Steve thinks as he looks at her face. Her parted lips, flushed cheeks, eyes shut. She’s heavenly.

Having tested her waters, Steve pulls his hand away, instead steadying Maggie with a hand on her thigh before he lines his length up with her entrance and gives them both complete bliss. Steve grunts, gripping Maggie’s thighs with his hands, but not too forcefully, so there wouldn’t be bruises, and he feels himself complete finally. If he thought he was complete when he reunited with Maggie yesterday, he now knows that he was wrong.

“Steve…” Maggie moans his name in a high pitch, her pleasure so intense that she even feels tears at the corners of her eyes. Her hold on Steve’s cheeks lightens for a second as she adjusts to the incredible feeling of him filling her up. She feels like he really has gotten bigger, and she doesn’t mind one bit, he even feels better inside her. Steve takes the gentle nod of her head as a sign to start moving, and he does. Slowly at first, to help her get used to him again since they haven’t been together like this in a while, but Maggie’s moans only motivate him to pick up his speed.

She regains her posture and starts moving in sync with Steve, rocking her hips any way she can so that both of them would feel good. Steve’s fingers digging into her inner thighs and his lips kissing along her neck make Maggie feel complete euphoria, she doesn’t think she’ll last long. Hell, she can’t think at all. Steve makes her feel so good her mind goes blank, and it’s been a while since they’ve been intimate, anyway. Both of their hunger has been fed finally, yet there’s still some yearning for more. Hearing Steve’s moans only amplifies Maggie’s own pleasure, and she really can’t help her tears flowing now from the intensity.

Steve panics at first, because he thinks he’s doing something wrong, and he stops moving. But Maggie shakes her head upon noticing his halt and only kisses him on the lips again. “I’m okay,” she assures in a breathless whisper, her hands on Steve’s cheeks again, and he nods before starting to move again, “you feel so good…” she mutters before breaking into a moan that falls in sync with Steve’s own. Hearing praise definitely makes him feel even more turned on.

With every thrust upwards, Maggie feels Steve stretching her out more and more, her tears keep flowing and she feels like he’s gonna rip her to shreds any second. When Steve’s fingers reach under her dress again and he presses them against her folds, Maggie definitely feels closer to the edge than ever. Upon touching her, Steve feels a bump right above her bikini zone, and he lifts the dress up to see what’s there, and discovers a bump that is caused by none other than him. Now that sends him over the edge, he can’t believe how fully he’s filled her up.

“God, baby, I’ve made a bump in you,” he admits, panting heavily and still rubbing his fingers against Maggie’s clit. She looks down to where Steve’s glance rests, and she moans loudly. She can’t handle it all, Steve’s words may officially make her come. Her hands grip his hair as she still tries to move her hips as steadily as she can, but they’re both coming already from how overwhelming their pleasure is.

“Steve, I'm–oh, Steve–” Maggie can’t find the right words to say, so she just lets herself go, moans coming out like a mantra and tears flowing like rivers down her face. Steve takes his hand away, finding Maggie’s hand to hold tightly instead as he comes inside her, his face nuzzled into the crook of her neck. Maggie feels it, and the feeling only adds to the euphoric state of her body. She cries as she comes, gasping for air.

“God, I love you,” Steve proclaims as he finishes, and he breathes out deeply. Maggie doesn’t seem to be in a state of coherence, so Steve is quick to pull out and stuff himself back into his shorts. He lets go of Maggie’s hand and pushes his hair out of his face. God, he feels so hot all over. Steve’s hands immediately cradle Maggie’s tearful face and he kisses all over it. He hears her mewls that serve as soft cries, and he feels her ragged breaths fanning his nose as he kisses her lips, “hey, it’s okay, baby.” He coos to her, looking into her eyes, thinking something’s wrong again. To his surprise, Maggie laughs.

“I know,” she says and lays a kiss on Steve’s nose, caressing his cheek after and looking down into his beautiful, brown eyes, “you just made me feel real good. Been a while.” Boy, does that go straight to Steve’s bulge again and he adjusts his shorts. Maggie nods with raised eyebrows and a smile, and presses a kiss to Steve’s lips. He flutters his eyes closed and kisses her back, his hands still on her face.

“I’d missed you so much,” he says, “you did so good, baby.” Maggie blushes a deep red and pulls away from Steve, shy all of a sudden.

“Stop…”

“You did, baby, you’re always so perfect,” Steve moves a rogue hair strand away from Maggie’s face, looking sincerely at her, “and these,” he pulls at her panties’ elastic so the pink material would slap back down on her skin softly, “well, they drive me insane.” He admits, slowly moving the underwear further down her thighs. “God, your legs, Maggie…” Steve moves Maggie so she’d lay in front of him on the carpeted floor, and he lays right above her, pulling her panties off her legs. He presses kisses to Maggie’s thighs, making her squirm under his gentle hold on her, “so pretty.” Steve compliments her and, as he goes higher and higher, he gets a glimpse of her under her dress again, and he does that blink with his eyes that Maggie likes to call his blink of cluelessness. The sight is sweet as ever to Steve. Maggie smiles, but shakes her head, knowing where Steve’s going with that, and she sits up.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, come on,” she says and pulls Steve upwards so they’d both be sitting across each other. His hands still rest on Maggie’s legs and he raises his eyebrows.

“You won’t let me–”

Maggie shrugs, “Well, maybe…” she leans back on her elbows and spreads her bent-at-the-knee legs wider to tease Steve, “maybe if you play nice.” She purrs and Steve succumbs to her immediately again, at-the-ready for anything. But Maggie crosses her legs, pulls her dress down and sits up straight again. “But I don’t feel like it.” She says, then, and begins to stand up. Steve stops her mid-way as he pulls her down onto his lap again, grabbing her bum through her dress as he kisses her.

“You’re such a tease, Maggie Byers,” he tells her in a hissed whisper, biting onto her bottom lip softly, dragging it between them until Maggie presses a hard kiss on his lips. She giggles afterwards, booping Steve’s nose with her finger, “you’re driving me mad.” Maggie laughs louder and lets Steve kiss her again, and in that exact place and moment in time, she wishes time would stop.

series tag-list:@givemequeen​​​@yllwtaxi@wnygirl2012​​​@watercolour-sloth​​​@brinaprfct​​​@whormotional@chaandii​​​@e-lysium​​​@tina1938​​​​@mochminnie

permanent tag-list: @gabiatthedisco​​​​​​@v0idbella​​​​​​@works-of-fanfiction​​​​​​@ur-gunna-h8-ths​​​​​​@betweenloveandfire​@but-legendsneverdie​​​​​​@deardeacy​​​​​​@thewinchesterchronicles​@mavieesttriste16​​​​​​@intrrverted​​​​​​@the-freak-cassie-131​​​​​​​​​​​​​@gasbomb69​​​@xoxobabydolls​@corallyink​@rottenstyx​

let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters !!! <3

your good will: 30

friendly face

a/n:hello. two days until season 4, 2 DAYS!!! absolute insanity i can’t believe this. it feels like i’ve waited a whole eternity for this season, i’ve gone through so many different periods in my life, have gone back to steve so many times during this “hiatus”. and omg, were they filming for a long time… like a year and a half or something? for 9 episodes? sir. that’s a lot. anywhos. happy reading my babies! (those who are still here) <3

masterlist

series masterlist

stranger things masterlist

previous part next part

word count:3.1k

warnings:mentions of death, crying

gif credit goes to owner / creator!

One of her hands being affectionately and supportively held by Steve, Maggie Byers uses the other to ring the doorbell of the Millers’ home. She sighs after the first ring, bracing herself for the small favor she has to ask them. She knows they decided on the 10th, which is tomorrow, but there’s no way she’ll be able to come if the funeral for Hopper will also be held tomorrow. Maybe it won’t be as hard as she thinks it will, it’s just house- and dog-sitting. She could take the dog with her. But just in case, she has to ask them.

No one comes to the door. There’s not even any noise coming from inside the house, no conversations, no music. Only audible noise is the south wind blowing through the trees and past the couple’s ears. Maggie presses the doorbell again and hears it ring through the empty home. She does hear a dog barking, and she gets stunned when little Posie starts jumping up and down on the other side of the window. Maggie’s hand goes to her chest, and the other one grips Steve’s hand tighter. “Christ…” she mutters to herself, but takes a few breaths and recovers from the light spook. It’s only Posie.

Steve tries to look through the curtains, but he can’t make out anything other than an empty house. “Looks like nobody’s home.” He decides and looks at Maggie again. She finds it strange; while Steve’s paranoia has dropped a little, hers has gone higher. Old people would not be anywhere other than home on a hot July day, especially in such a small town as Hawkins. They’re too old to work, Starcourt isn’t working. Maggie’s hand presses down onto the door knob, and she cautiously eyes Steve, her brown orbs filled with anxiety and doubts.

The door knob gives no resistance, and neither does the door. The white wood is light to Maggie’s weight as she pushes the entrance door open. She is immediately met with excited Posie, as well as an unavoidable chemical smell and cold temperature in the house. Maggie scowls upon entering, squatting down to pick up the small dog, and Steve makes a face, too.

“Ew, Jesus Christ,” he mutters, “what the hell?” Steve looks around. The Millers’ home is dark and empty, no noise or otherwise evidence of someone being home. Yet the chemical smell remains and gets even stronger the further they walk into the house.

“Hey, Posie,” Maggie mumbles to the sweet dog and ruffles its fur, “where are your parents, huh?” She rhetorically questions, feeling like she’s gonna find the answer soon. Posie howls sadly in response. To Maggie, the setting in the Millers’ house feels too familiar, and at first she can’t realize why. Steve walks first, protective of Maggie, and inspects the house. The scene in the kitchen certainly rings some bells in Maggie’s mind.

Most of all kitchen surfaces are covered in empty powder or chemical liquid containers, and the smell gets unbearable. The kitchen looks like a battlefield, like a tornado went through all the Millers’ chemical stash. Steve slaps a hand over his mouth and nose, trying not to breathe too much in. “What…?” The word he uses doesn’t even seem appropriate.

“Oh, God…” Maggie moans, “this is just like the Holloways.” She decides and then coughs. She’s never been good with chemical smells. Maggie wonders how Posie has survived in this house for so long, and she ushers Steve to come outside with her. They walk further until they reach a door to the backyard, and once they’re outside in fresh air, the couple feel like they can breathe again. Maggie lets Posie run around the yard.

“What do you mean?” Steve turns his head to her as they both sit on the marble garden steps of the house. Genuine curiosity orbits his eyes, as well as confusion.

“Remember Heather Holloway?” Maggie asks. Steve nods, Heather from school. “Well, we went looking for her at her house and the scene in the kitchen was almost identical.” She explains. “Chemicals, cold temperature… The Millers were Flayed, too.” She shakes her head with a sigh.

“Oh, jeez,” Steve responds, “no summer job for you.” He chuckles.

Maggie can muster a half-smile, thinking about the people lost to the Mind-Flayer and not so much about her job chance. She’d only talked to Glenn and Alvin Miller a couple of weeks ago. They were real, they were there. Now they’ve died as part of some interdimensional monster. Maggie can’t believe it. “No home for this beauty, either.” She sighs, thinking of and looking at Posie, who’s happy to be in fresh air again, running and jumping around the yard.

“You could always take her in.” Steve suggests. Maggie shakes her head softly and looks at Steve.

“Can’t.” She says, her eyes on the verge of tearing up. “Jonathan’s got an allergy, and we’re moving away…” she trails off, and then her head falls into her hands, “God, you know–I’m not even–not even thinking about the money or work. It’s just… they were actual real people, with a home, with a life, a dog… And now they’re not there.” Maggie shakes her head. Steve immediately puts his arms around Maggie and pulls her close, feeling that she’s on the verge of crying and in need of comfort. She just lays there, his heart beating against her back, as they both stare out at the green garden of the Millers’ home. “With so much death around me, the idea of it hasn’t really sunk in yet.” Maggie admits in a quiet, frail voice.

“Yeah,” Steve says, thinking her confession a profound, human thing that has never been spoken out loud before by… well, anyone, really, “most times it’s even hard to grasp that we’re on a planet amongst six billion other people, who all have their individual lives.” He says. “The meaning of life!” He adds in a theatrical voice with an accent, making Maggie chuckle. “Guess we should take this beauty to the shelter, huh?” Steve looks onto the little dog running around his and Maggie’s joined form. Posie shows signs of liveliness, and no wonder - she’s still little, she’s excited, she’s happy to be outside. Steve gives her a smile and Posie sticks her tongue out at him in response. He chuckles.

“Yeah, I guess we do.” Maggie agrees. “Might have to call Owens again, so they can deal with the house.”

“Yeah. Let’s get out of here, though, I can’t stand that smell,” he suggests, “can’t be healthy for us, anyway.” Maggie agrees, and Steve pulls her upwards from the marble steps, back onto her feet, and they walk back to their car, Posie in Maggie’s hands. They close all the doors in the Millers’ home that lead outside before they leave, and Maggie lets out a sigh at their departure. Who knows how many more people in their town that they’ve met or talked to have been Flayed, too? And even those they haven’t interacted with (though that’s a rare case in such a small town).

At Hawkins town center, walking from their car to the animal shelter, Maggie and Steve are met by a pleasant surprise - Robin. She’s making her way down the main street right before the trio meet, and she stops her walk to greet her friends. All three of their faces light up, and amongst tight hugs they exchange greetings and questions. “Hey, you two,” Robin muses and her eyes fall onto Posie in Maggie’s arms, “adopting a dog already? When’s the wedding?” She moves her sunglasses into her hair, watching the couple’s reactions with a snicker on her face. Steve rolls his eyes with a smile and Maggie chuckles.

“Not yet, Robin, not yet,” she says, “we’re actually taking Posie here to the shelter. Her owners never came home.” Maggie’s lips turn into a pout at the spoken fact.

“Oh, my, are they–”

“They were Flayed,” Steve whispers the last word, “poor thing’s been there for a week or more, completely alone.” He says. Robin frowns.

“Oh, bummer, that’s bad.” Robin puts her hands on her hips and looks at Posie closer. Her tongue sticking out just tops her cuteness perfectly, making Robin smile at the little pet.

“Maybe you want her?” Maggie suggests and holds Posie upwards, her cute face nearly meeting Robin’s now.

“No, thanks, I’ve already got a gremlin–sorry–a little brother at home,” Robin says, making the couple laugh, “how have you guys been?” She inquires, inspecting Maggie and Steve. They look at each other with earnesty and affection, something that Robin both admires and envies in them and their relationship. She hasn’t seen them two together up close a lot, but she’s seen some, and has decided that there really is something special between Maggie and Steve, something sacred and one-of-a-kind. Maggie shrugs.

“We’ve been… fine.” She says.

“We’ve seen better days.” Steve admits. “And you, Rob? What have you been up to?” A certain look passes between Steve and Robin’s eyes.

“You’ll get better, guys,” Robin flashes a smile, “thanks, I’ve been… processing everything. Way too tired to search for a new job, though.”

“Oh, right, that. Haven’t even thought of work,” Steve says with a chuckle.

“Guess your big party’s all you think about,” Robin replies, softly hitting Steve’s arm.

“Big party?” Maggie looks between Robin and Steve.

“Yeah, his birthday party,” Robin explains, “we had this idea of inviting like, everyone. Just for fun.” Steve nods.

“Oh, right,” Maggie shakes her head. She had almost forgot about that. She guiltily looks to Steve, “sorry, it slipped my mind.” She says, feeling guilty that she forgot about Steve’s upcoming birthday. But Steve shakes his head gently, denying her guilt.

“Bigger fish to fry,” he tells her before laying a kiss on her head. Maggie puts her arm around Steve and smiles. Her heart soars with love for him in a way she can hardly bear.

“You guys are so cute it’s making me sick,” Robin says and the three adolescents laugh, Maggie and Steve pulling slightly apart, “guess that’s my cue.”

“No, wait,” Maggie stops her in her tracks, “I have something to ask you.” Maggie steps away from Steve to be closer to Robin. “Um… maybe you could come over some time? We could plan Steve’s birthday party… I’d love to do it with you.”

“Oh, no, no.” Steve shakes his head. “The last thing I need is you two teaming up against me.” He clarifies.

“Teaming up against you?” Maggie laughs. A true smile graces her lips and even reaches up to her eyes and ears–that’s how Steve knows it’s a true one. It’s a relief to see one on her finally, and a relief to know she still has them in her.

“It’s gonna be the greatest birthday party you’ll ever have, dingus, don’t sweat it,” Robin says and hits his arm again. He does the same to her this time. “I’d love to–whenever you’re free, just call me up.” She tells Maggie.

“Oh, you know, I was thinking maybe having you and the Party over–Live Aid is on Saturday, so I wanted to invite some people over to watch it together. We could plan it then or like, afterwards.” Maggie shrugs. The thought of Hopper’s funeral has completely slipped her mind, but she’s bound to get reminded about it any next second.

“Yeah, that would be cool.” Robin agrees. “Call me tomorrow, if anything changes or whatever. My house number should be in the phonebook.” She chuckles.

“Okay, we will,” Maggie says, “see you.” She gives Robin a small smile.

“See ya guys around!” Robin waves at the couple as she restarts her journey down the street, past them, and she flashes them a big smile.

“Bye, Robin!” Steve waves back at her.

“She was a nice surprise.” Maggie says as she and Steve make their way to the animal shelter. “Didn’t even know you were planning a party.” She admits.

“Eh, I just forgot to tell you.” Steve shakes his head. “It was her idea. I didn’t even really–I don’t really want a party, but then again - it could be fun.” He shrugs. “Nineteenth birthday… Last year as a teen.” Maggie laughs at that. Steve sure does love to over-dramatise everything.

“Don’t do that,” she manages to say between laughs, “no grey hairs in your head yet.” Steve smiles at her. They walk inside the animal shelter, and the receptionist greets them, sort of cutting Maggie and Steve’s conversation from going further than it managed to.

Maggie loves visiting animal shelters generally, but on the inside she hates it because her urge to save all the animals gets too strong. Sometimes she gets sad about the unfortunate pets that never find homes, or the ones that have been through hell already. And the knowledge that she can’t do anything to help them really bothers her.

Putting Posie up for adoption is easier than she expected. The receptionist doesn’t pry about the original owners’ situation, so Maggie doesn’t have to try and lie. She’s very bad at it, and the truth usually eats away at her. She’s an honest and straight-forward person, it’s hard for her to keep something hidden for long. She’d rather tell the truth, no matter how hard or hurtful, than suffer internally by lying.

Maggie sighs once she and Steve get back in his car, and she rests her head against the window. Steve notices her state and looks over to her, placing his hand gently on her thigh to divert her attention. She slowly looks to him with slightly raised eyebrows. “How you doing over there?” He asks. Maggie shrugs her shoulders.

“I just feel so… tired.” She says, looking off. “Everything’s happening all at once.” She feels like this fatigue-ish feeling has come onto her so suddenly, nearly out of nowhere.

“Maybe you need to slow down for a bit.” Steve suggests. “Just… let it be. You have a big day tomorrow. Just, you know, take time for yourself.” He shrugs his shoulders.

Maggie looks to Steve. “I’m not sure I could be alone.” Her voice gets so low it becomes a soft whisper, and her eyes are gentle and sincere. Steve smiles, grateful for her to trust him this much. “Mom will probably wanna be alone, anyway, so… I don’t know.” She’s confused. “El won’t be able to attend the tribute. Too many people. Maybe she should just stay at Max’s.” Maggie rests her head in her hands. “I don’t even know what to wear. I don’t have any black clothes for this weather!” She panics.

“You can always just wear one of my dark shirts,” Steve says, “they look great on you.”

Maggie chuckles, and very much appreciates the compliment. “Thanks, but I don’t really care how I look… at a funeral.” She says, and Steve smiles upon realizing his subtle mistake. But Maggie shakes her head at her own bluntness. “Sorry… I’ll take the offer, gladly.” She tells him, and sighs again, looking through the window at the sunny main street of Hawkins town. In her mind, she sees Hopper driving his sheriff’s car in a hurry down towards Town Hall, and she smiles. She’s seen it happen so many times that it almost feels real, feels like she’s really seeing it now, too. “God, I'll… I’ll probably have to say something.” She then realizes, and a heavy silence sits in the car after those spoken words. Steve considers them, nibbles at his fingers and looks up at Maggie again. He can only guess how much speaking in front of an audience, especially at a funeral of someone very dear to her, can scare her.

“Do you want to?” Steve makes sure, and Maggie nods without hesitance, with sureness instead.

“I think I do.” She answers, and sighs again. She feels so heavy and exhausted. “Nothing much, just… just what he meant to me and mom.” Maggie puts her head in her hands and tries not to cry. A wave washes up to her, nearly spilling over. Steve comfortingly soothes his hand up and down her leg and makes small circles on her skin with his thumb. He knows she likes it when he does that, and she’s said that it calms her down.

“Let it out, sweetheart, it’s okay.” Steve whispers to her and lays a kiss on her head before circling his arms around Maggie what must be the hundredth time today already. Maggie feels a bit embarrassed about crying in front of Steve every other moment, she guesses it must be tiring for him to see her this way and even deal with it.

“I’m sorry,” Maggie says quietly after a while, sniffling, “sorry for crying so much.”

But he’s not, he’s very much fine with it, and even that is an understatement. He understands why her emotions are on such a high wave lately, crying multiple times a day, being more quiet than usual, having every other thought trigger something inside her. He understands that, and he’s not displeased or uncomfortable. “Hey, baby, it’s okay,” Steve assures her, and brings her face up to look at his eyes, gently moving her chin with his fingers. Her glassy eyes meet his caring ones, “you don’t ever have to feel sorry for that. Okay?” He pushes a strand of her hair back and wipes some of her fallen tears with his thumb on the way. Maggie nods and her eyes close for a few seconds as she takes deep breaths. “Wanna go back to the house?” Steve softly asks into Maggie’s ear, and she nods again, feeling that words will fail her now. “Okay.” Steve retracts from Maggie as little as he can to power up his car again, now holding both her hands in his over the console.

Maggie wipes her tears and takes deep breaths as she leans into her seat. She sighs deeply, feeling like her body is limp, helpless and empty. Her sad, teary eyes look outside the window onto Hawkins town center. The few people walking down the street, some scarce cars driving past them, the sun shining ever-so-brightly. The world is hers, yet she feels so detached from what it is right now. Nothing makes sense.

“It’ll get easier, baby,” Steve’s voice rings out in the silent car, no radio or tape on, and Maggie slowly turns her head to look at him. Steve gives her an assuring smile, “I promise, it will.” He says and even sends Maggie a wink, to which the corner of her lips curls upwards in an attempt for a smile. He’s right, she knows that. But when? How soon? How soon will all of this get easier?

series tag-list:@givemequeen​​​@yllwtaxi@wnygirl2012​​​@watercolour-sloth​​​@brinaprfct​​​@whormotional​​​@chaandii​​​@e-lysium​​​@tina1938​​​​

permanent tag-list: @gabiatthedisco​​​​​​@v0idbella​​​​​​@works-of-fanfiction​​​​​​@ur-gunna-h8-ths​​​​​​@betweenloveandfire​@but-legendsneverdie​​​​​​@deardeacy​​​​​​@thewinchesterchronicles​@mavieesttriste16​​​​​​@intrrverted​​​​​​@the-freak-cassie-131​​​​​​​​​​​​​@gasbomb69​​​@xoxobabydolls​@corallyink​@rottenstyx​

let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters !!! <3

your good will: 29

prettiest

a/n:okay i think 3 chapters will be okay for today. besides, i don’t like how i’ve written the next few, so i’ll have to edit them a bit with a new out-look on them (lol). i haven’t edited this series since september last year…. jeez. i need to get back on my steve thing asap :D so happy reading my babies! (those who are still here) <3

masterlist

series masterlist

stranger things masterlist

previous part  next part

word count:3.7k

warnings:mentions of death, crying

gif credit goes to owner / creator!

Waking up later in the day is hard. Maggie’s head feels heavy as a rock to her, and she struggles to even open her eyes, her eyelids seem to have stuck together. She pushes herself to lay on her side, and when she turns, she does so with exhaustion. What time of day is it? Where am I?

Blinking her eyes open, she sees her boyfriend sleeping soundly next to her, but not for long. He also starts to stir in his slumber, scrunching his eyes and nose together in discomfort. Maggie yawns and that makes her eyes fill with light tears, which she’s pleased about. Her eyes feel dry. She moves to lay closer to Steve, and as she watches his facial expressions change and his face slowly coming to consciousness, he fully wakes up and opens his eyes to meet her. She notices the remnants of his bruising, still visible on his face. His left eye still looks swollen, and she wonders how she never noticed that yesterday. Maybe she was just distracted by him being there at all and didn’t really see.

He would not sell the image he’s met with this morning for any price. It is simply priceless. Maggie always looks so beautiful when she’s just woken up, he can draw similarities between her and an elf goddess he’s reading about in his book. She seems to look exactly as the character is described, and Steve even asks himself if what he’s seeing is real, and maybe Maggie isn’t real at all, only a perfected girl in his imagination. After the things he’s seen, hardly anything, even such mundane things, is hard to believe anymore.

She doesn’t seem to care about her hair falling everywhere around her, tickling her cheek and nose, and Steve suddenly feels himself starting to smile. He soon finds her hand laying between them on the messy covers and he moves his own to lay atop it. Maggie smiles, too, and moves her head deeper into her pillow, that dreamy look in her eyes still ever present.

“Hi,” she says softly in a voice Steve could only describe as angelic. He moves closer to her, his hair falling over his own face now, and he’s still smiling.

“Good morning,” he tells her in his morning croak. Oh, but Maggie loves that. Usually his voice is deeper and mustier in the mornings, and she always wishes it would last all day. It makes him all the more attractive to her.

“Any nightmares?” She asks, and Steve smiles wider as he shakes his head. “Good.”

“How do you feel?” He cautiously inquires. Maggie shrugs, her eyes move away from Steve for a split second, but he notices.

“I feel like I’ve had the heaviest sleep of my life.” She admits. Steve chuckles and yawns, stretching his arms, as well. He notices the bright sun outside and wonders what time it is now, and for how long they’ve slept. Must be quite a while.

“Funny, I feel like I’ve had the best sleep of my life.” He says, then, looking back at Maggie. His thumb soothes over her soft skin gently, and he has a significant look in his eyes that Maggie can’t quite place the meaning of. “Probably… probably because of you. Haven’t slept this well in a couple of days.” Steve gives her a smile that seems to hold a serious undertone. Maggie smiles right back at him and leans closer to lay a kiss upon his nose. Steve actually giggles at the notion, which makes Maggie laugh.

Their faces are close, close enough for Maggie to inspect the proof on Steve’s face of what happened to him deep underground only a few days ago. Only up close does she notice the off-coloring his whole left eye area has, and that the tones of his skin differ greatly. Steve notes seriousness and focus in her eyes, and he almost wants to tell her ‘stop, there’s no need to look at them’, he almost feels ashamed of his bruises. But he remembers last night, and he remembers himself getting upset about her bruises, so he does nothing.

Maggie carefully passes over the bump on Steve’s lip where a cut has healed, and she pouts in a shy manner, she’s learned to do that well. Her head falls heavily on her pillow again as she still looks at Steve. “Can’t believe they did that to you.” She says softly, tucking a hand under her head for comfort. Her eyebrows scrunch up as her emotions and wonderings take over. Steve only shrugs. “I mean, that night… you looked like hell. Like you’d been there and come back.” Maggie whispers, her voice giving out on her as tears gather in her eyes again, and she lets them fall. Steve sighs deeply. “’M really sorry that happened… to you.”

He wraps his hand around Maggie’s own and looks dearly into her eyes. “Thanks, Mags,” he responds, “I’d tell you not to worry about them, but then I’d be a hypocrite.” He says, which makes his girlfriend smile, even if subtly. She knows what he meas, she remembers what he said last night, when they were taking a shower.

“Guess we can’t help but feel responsible for each other, huh?” She mutters with a shrug of her shoulders, and Steve chuckles.

“Yeah, I guess we can’t.” He agrees. “That makes us both endearing and annoying.” He adds, and it makes Maggie laugh. Mostly because it’s true. “You know, I–this might sound really stupid, but… while I know these bruises are, like, proof of a battle won, I can’t help but hate them.”

“That’s not stupid at all.” Maggie shakes her head. “I hate mine, too.” She admits, her thumb moving comfortingly over Steve’s skin. A certain look passes momentarily over Steve’s eyes. He’s thinking of the bruising around her waist and hips. “They’re not so much embarrassing as they are… enraging, I think.” She says, and it brings Steve out of his blank state of anger that Maggie could see growing in his eyes. He blinks his pretty eyes at her, and then nods. “But… I don’t wanna dwell on them. They’ll be gone in a few days, anyway.” She shrugs and then turns away from Steve to sit up in the bed and face the day.

But she doesn’t have a chance to face her day for long, because while Steve has grown quiet and thoughtful, he’s also overcome with deep appreciation for the girl in his bed. His hand latches onto her waist like a hook and he brings her back down next to him with a yelp of surprise from her. She lands right in front of him, smiling and laughing, and Steve locks both of his arms around her form. The look of complete devotion he looks at her with cannot go by unseen, and he just smiles before he presses a kiss to her lips. “Don’t go anywhere.” He whispers, and seconds after feels Maggie’s arms slithering around his bare waist, and he hums. She doesn’t intend to. “You know,” Steve begins to say, and Maggie looks up at him, listening, “we were down there so long, tied to chairs, me and Robin… Dustin wasn’t coming and I thought I’d be staying there forever, until they kill me or until I… die of age. And I thought, “God, please don’t let Maggie forget me. Please don’t let her forget about me. And please don’t let me forget her, no matter what they do to me, please don’t take her from me. At least the memory of her.”” He gulps. “I don’t really know if it was some god I was… praying? to, but maybe just in general. Maybe to someone who could hear me, whoever they were… All I could think about was you. And how maybe I’d never see you again, and you’d never know what happened to me.” Steve sighs, shaking his head. “But I don’t know… maybe it’s not that… healthy to think about that, about maybe a worse outcome, now.” 

Maggie just holds her arms around Steve’s waist tighter, and presses her cheek into his chest, wanting to be close to him as possible. It saddens her that Steve had those thoughts, but she probably would have done the same thing if she was in his shoes. With no idea where he was, no idea if he’d ever get out alive or not, no concrete knowledge of anything about his situation. It’s a terrifying feeling, the one you have when you think about the worst case scenario and what would happen to everyone you know. 

“It’s not, but… your mind was running in circles,” she finally tells him, “you were… scared, and panicking. That’s totally understandable.” She assures. “I couldn’t forget you if I tried, Steve.” Maggie giggles. “I know it’s hard, believe me, I know. But just… try and forget about it.”

Maggie doesn’t know the precise period of time, but it has certainly been a while since she last read a newspaper. She usually only reads the culture articles or event paragraphs in them, but today she’s curious to see if anything about Starcourt has been addressed. She sits on Steve’s lap at the Harringtons’ home kitchen table while Steve eats breakfast and Maggie holds the big newspaper between her hands. One of her arms is around Steve’s shoulders and neck so that he’d read too, if he wishes to, and one of Steve’s arms are around Maggie’s waist for support. The knowledge of her shirt covering her healing bruises is eating away at Steve and making his fingers itchy.

Front and center first page of the day’s paper, there’s an image of Starcourt on fire, cranes looking down into the fallen ceiling and firefighter trucks all around it, and even some helicopters in the air. Maggie wonders how they achieved that kind of picture - did they stage it or just manipulate an actual picture taken of Starcourt? Could be the latter, since they haven’t really had enough time to stage an entire mall on fire. “Starcourt Mall afire on the night of the Fourth of July - a large-scaled festivity or final revenge from the protestors?” Maggie reads the headline out loud and mutters a chuckle afterwards. “They sure know how to make the public choose sides.” She says, then, and takes a bite out of her sandwich.

“I didn’t even think about the protestors,” Steve admits, “smart of them to connect the dots, kinda.” He raises his eyebrows, munching on his double pancake breakfast. Maggie reads on under the picture, but she’s distracted by the noises Steve is making. She lets go of the paper with the hand around Steve’s neck and instead puts it over his mouth.

“Shh,” she requests, but only gets her fingers licked by Steve in response. She immediately shrieks and pulls her hand back to herself. But not before smearing her fingers across a tissue, “ewww!” She exclaims and looks to her boyfriend with a displeased look, her eyes, nose and lips scrunched up like an angry bunny’s, and Steve loves to see it. Her reactions, which are always natural and honest, are endearing to him and never fail to brighten his mood. “You’re gross.” Maggie states and casually turns back to reading her newspaper.

“And you’re beautiful.” Steve replies and presses kisses to Maggie’s neck while pulling her back closer to him. Maggie can’t help but smile wide, as well as blush, and she tucks her head low to hide her blush. But Steve knows her cheeks are turning crimson just because he knows her so well, and he keeps kissing her neck until he reaches her ear. Then he proceeds to litter her cheek with loving pecks, which make Maggie giggle.

“Oh, look!” She points to a column she’s just read in the cinema section of the newspaper. She moves her hair behind her ear and lays her head on top of Steve’s, her index finger finding the right column and pointing it out to Steve. “They’re screening 'Gremlins’ again.” She reads the news and Steve looks closer to the short publication. “Remember that one? With the–”

“The little creatures, yeah.” Steve nods. “That movie would have scared me if I hadn’t seen monsters scarier than them beforehand, gotta be honest.” He admits with a faint shake of his head. Maggie chuckles.

“Would you squeal?” She asks with a sweet smile across her face. Steve grins, giving her a sly glance.

“What, you mean like this?” Maggie barely has time to catch his words because Steve’s attacked her thighs with tickles. They make her scream with laughter, and then she realises what he meant with his blabber of words. Steve can only look on her with a proud smile on his face.

“Yeah, exactly like that.” She nods and curls into him again. “We should go see it again… Feels like ages since I watched it first.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe they’re showing Ghostbusters again…” Steve suggests and searches the rest of the cinema section.

“No, let’s see Gremlins again, please,” she begs with a shy smile on her face, “Billy’s so pretty…” Maggie gives Steve a pointed look and a pout. Her words make him raise his eyebrows and he looks at her, confused. “Not prettier than you, of course,” Maggie rolls her eyes, “please, please, let’s go see it!”

“Nor you,” Steve adds and gives Maggie’s cheek another kiss, since she’s turned her face back to the newspaper.

“Well, I don’t know about that.” She admits with an airy chuckle.

“I do.” Steve argues.

“Oh, yeah?” Maggie looks at him again. “And what about Phoebe Cates?” She raises one of her eyebrows, eyeing Steve inspectiously. His eyes widen for a second, thoughts and decisions changing in them like tides, and Maggie watches, entertained.

“W-Well, you see, she–” words seem to get caught in Steve’s throat, “but you–” the course of his thoughts changes visibly in his eyes. Maggie can’t help but giggle.

“I’m only teasin’, Steve,” she says and curls into his side again, continuing her read on the article. Steve’s frozen state drops and he airily chuckles as he comes to acceptance.

“Oh, you,” he says sweetly and kisses right behind Maggie’s ear. It makes Maggie blush and smile widely, and Steve lets her head rest on his own.

Turning a page in a newspaper, Maggie stumbles across an announcement she seconds later wishes to not have seen. Celebrate and appreciate the life and work of a man who lived to serve his town! A public tribute on Wednesday, July 10th, noon at Town Hall, to Jim Hopper, who heroically lost his life in the Starcourt Mall fire. Maggie draws in a deep breath, and unconsciously, though visibly, tenses up. Her body seems to draw in a breath and hold it, as if putting all its natural processes on hold. Steve feels it and immediately looks up at his love.

Her eyes seem to be glossed over and frozen, she’s somewhere much further away than here. Those beautiful eyes are frozen in thought, frozen in a moment that Maggie seems to stuck on in her head as well. The moment her mother broke her the devastating news. Maggie’s hands have started to sweat, and her fingers grip the newspaper tightly in her hands. Steve glances towards what she could be reading, and spots chief Hopper’s picture under a fancy-font sub-headline. A tribute to Hopper.

Steve pays mind to how Maggie is gripping the paper, and he carefully, glancing back and forth between her and her hands, takes the newspaper out of her hold. He folds it and throws it onto the kitchen table, Maggie’s eyes following it hypnotically. Steve takes Maggie’s hands between his own and straightens her fingers out–something to do when a person is under stress is relieving it of all physical tension like crossed legs or curled fists–and then places them between his out-stretched hands.

Finally, she falls out of her daze, tears falling down her cheeks, and she looks at Steve. Though nervously. Somehow, in some way, she feels anxious to be so vulnerable around Steve. On the surface, she isn’t, but the deeper levels of herself where the anxieties and insecurities lurk, many doubts appear. But Steve’s seen all of her already, in every which way, and she’s let him do that. So she tells herself, rather reminds herself, that it’s fine.

Maggie draws in breaths and retracts her hand from Steve’s to get her tears off and tuck her hair behind her ear. She looks around nervously for a few moments, Steve patiently waiting to hear anything from her, anything at all. She holds his hands again, and focuses on them for just a bit. How different they are compared to her own, both in size and structure, and how ever-smooth his skin still is. Not many men have that smoothness still, but then again–Steve’s not any man.

“A tribute for Hop,” Maggie finally gets out, “t-tomorrow.” She sighs, her eyes avoiding Steve’s and only looking at their pairs of hands. Steve nods, earnesty in his eyes.

“Do you–do you feel like going?” He gently asks. Maggie shrugs.

“Well, I have to,” her bravery shines through her tears and her broken voice, “he’s the closest I had to a father–” Maggie chokes up and falls against Steve, helpless, hurting. He adjusts her legs around him so Maggie would lay comfortably against his chest, and he wraps his arms around her. Steve knows about Maggie and her siblings’ biological father Lonnie, she’s told him about the father she never had. Maggie’s childhood was rough and so was her father, yet he never felt like one.

Hopper always did, though. He was always ready to help Joyce and her kids with anything they needed. And when Joyce really started to let him, Hopper got close to Maggie. Will and Jonathan not so much, they were always such independent boys, and Jonathan was always an ideal older brother. And then Maggie babysat Sarah, and became almost a part of the Hoppers’ family, as well.

Hopper looked out for the Byers, always did. Whatever they needed, whenever–he was there. Sometimes his wife questioned his motives, but there were no arguments. She loved to see Maggie with Sarah, she loved when Joyce came over–she had another mother to talk to, she couldn’t complain. But the father-daughter bond between Hopper and Maggie only continued to grow with every day she spent with Sarah. And when Sarah passed, and Diane divorced Jim, someone had to take care of him.

Mostly that someone was young Maggie. And mostly with the help of her brother. And Hopper knew they cared for him, really did, and didn’t want him to go down a certain road that many choose after losing someone close to them. He guesses that Maggie was what convinced him, or motivated him, to be better and keep holding on without any forgetfulness-inducing mechanisms or beverages. He also knew he couldn’t just leave her. She’d be really fatherless then.

So Steve knows how much Hopper meant to Maggie, even if they weren’t blood family. He knows Hopper was like a real father to her, there is no going around the fact. He knew the bond they had, the care they had for each other, the love. So he can only imagine her anguish now.

Suddenly Maggie withdraws from Steve and gets her tears away again. “Uh, I have work tomorrow,” she remembers and even tearfully chuckles afterwards, to which Steve smiles. He moves her tear-wet hair back so it wouldn’t bother her pretty face. Steve manages a sappy chuckle himself, and it makes Maggie smile, “I’m such a mess.” She shakes her head.

“That’s okay, baby.” Steve assures, and Maggie looks into his eyes. “I’m here to take care of that mess.” He says gently, a kind smile on his lips. Maggie tilts her head and feels more tears gathering in her eyes.

“Maybe I could–maybe I could call the Millers…” Maggie wonders, “maybe ask them if I can come on Thursday.” She sniffs. Maybe work isn’t the hottest idea right now… Steve moves another stray hair away from her face and nods.

“I’m sure they’ll understand.” He says. “Wanna call them now?” Maggie glances towards the clock on the wall. Not too early, not too late. Actually perfect time to warn them.

“I could, yeah…” She nods, but doesn’t move an inch to the phone. Steve smiles.

“I can do it for you, if you don’t feel like–you know,” he suggests. Maggie hadn’t thought of that.

“That’d be nice of you.” She smiles.

“What should I tell them?”

Maggie shrugs. “The truth.” She says.

“Alright.” Steve says and presses a kiss to Maggie’s cheek before he gently scoots her onto her chair and then stands up to walk to the phone. Maggie leans forward to lay on the table, her chin resting atop her crossed arms, and she notices her unfinished breakfast. Steve searches the phonebook for the Millers and soon finds their number and dials it on his phone. Ten seconds pass, fifteen seconds pass, twenty, half a minute… The tone keeps ringing, no one is picking up.

Steve rests one hand on his hip and bites his lip, still listening to the phone he turns to look at Maggie. She’s leaning on the kitchen table in her charming way and eating her sandwich away. Steve smiles, but that smile fades slowly as he realises no one is picking up at the Millers. It’s super sunny outside, only a bit past noon, and the Millers are, like, elder people. They’re usually making lunch around this time. What’s happened?

After a while, the dial tone beeps three times to let Steve know that no one is picking up. He puts the telephone down and leans his back against the wall. “No one’s picking up,” he says with a confused shake of his head. Maggie turns to him, mouth full of her sandwich, “they should be home now, no?”

Maggie shrugs. “Well, Glenn, the lady, is always at home, she’s a housewife. So she should be.” She concludes and Steve hums.

“Maybe something’s happened.” He suggests or guesses, seriousness overtaking his features. He’s known recently to second-check or at least second-guess everything.

“Well, we could go to their house and check.” Maggie says casually. She’s either too unbothered to worry about it or just thinks it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe the lady took a shower, maybe she’s busy making that lunch, maybe she’s outside hanging laundry? Who knows. “I eat this and we can go.”

“Yeah, alright,” Steve says, but still, as he approaches the kitchen table and clears the plates, he has that far-away look in his eyes. He’s suspicious. Well, after all that’s happened, there’s no wonder he is. He thought a secret russian code was just nothing, a way to pass the time. He thought Nancy and Jonathan buying hunting tools was nothing really attention-worthy. He thought Dustin’s pet alien wasn’t anything harmful. Yet he always ends up in certain situations after making those opinions. So maybe this time he shouldn’t shrug it off.

“I’m done!” Maggie announces, the last of her sandwich now resting in her tummy. The teen couple both change into more appropriate clothes–Steve meeting the Millers bare-chested and in shorts, and Maggie in one of his large shirts and a pair of pajama shorts isn’t really formal attire–Maggie chooses a dress and Steve only shrugs a t-shirt on, and they make their way to Steve’s car. As Steve locks the front door of the house, he looks on after Maggie. She’s trying to get her shoes on while she walks towards the car, and she does so in what others might call a clumsy manner, but to Steve it’s endearing, and it’s Maggie. She has her ways about her. “Come on!” Steve hears Maggie call from the car she’s just started up and Steve smiles.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he responds and jogs to his car. Maggie moves from the driver’s seat to the passenger’s before Steve can manage to crush her or joke about her driving skills again, and Steve takes his seat and they’re ready to go. He sends Maggie a grin as he pulls out of the driveway, and their hands find their meeting place on the console between the chairs again. Maggie smiles softly.

series tag-list:@givemequeen​​​@yllwtaxi@wnygirl2012​​​@watercolour-sloth​​​@brinaprfct​​​@whormotional​​​@chaandii​​​@e-lysium​​​@tina1938​​​​

permanent tag-list:@gabiatthedisco​​​​​​@v0idbella​​​​​​@works-of-fanfiction​​​​​​@ur-gunna-h8-ths​​​​​​@betweenloveandfire​@but-legendsneverdie​​​​​​@deardeacy​​​​​​@thewinchesterchronicles​@mavieesttriste16​​​​​​@intrrverted​​​​​​@the-freak-cassie-131​​​​​​​​​​​​​@gasbomb69​​​@xoxobabydolls​@corallyink​@rottenstyx​

let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters !!! <3

your good will: 28

try-outs

a/n:okay another one. heheheheh. you don’t know how much i love writing maggie and steve, they’re… everything to me. and i miss writing them. my little sunshines. ahhh. i also can’t wait to see season 4, and i can’t wait to write some more steve in this series and finish it!!!! it will be good for all of us to finish this series :D so happy reading!

masterlist

series masterlist

stranger things masterlist

previous part  next part

word count:3.2k

warnings:mentions of nightmares, panic attacks, crying

gif credit goes to owner / creator!

Steve wakes with a deep huff, followed by deep breaths in and out, and he feels sweat all over his body. Darkness envelops him as he sits up in bed and tries to gather his surroundings. Is he sweating because of the heat or because of his dream? Hardly a dream, though. More like a graphic nightmare. He can’t calm his heart, and so he can’t calm his breathing, either.

“Steve!”

He still hears her screams of agony for him. They’re on a loop in his head, something his imagination and his fear have created in his brain. But why, he doesn’t know. He’s never heard Maggie scream like that, there hasn’t been such a situation or circumstances–thankfully–for her to scream his name like her last resort, her last hope. Steve’s scared to turn to his right, he’s scared of what he’ll see. What if that nightmare was real?

Slashings, stabbings, blood pouring and splashing everywhere, her body moving from the impact here and there, but not in a lively way. Her beautiful hair is damp with her own blood, her skin is pale and her eyes lifeless. Steve shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut, but nothing helps to get that detailed nightmare image out of his mind.

With feverish hands and his heart beating a thousand miles per second, Steve reaches out to his bedside lamp and turns it on by pulling the string. The brightness stings his eyes, and he turns away from the lamp with a quiet exclamation, but he slowly gets used to it. He pushes the blanket off himself, feeling hot as an oven, and carefully looks to his right. She’s there. She’s there, and she’s okay, she’s not bleeding.

She starts to move slowly, her movements sleepy and tired, around in the bed, and as Steve watches in both relief and wonder, she blinks her eyes open. Oh, no, I’ve woken her up. But he’s sure glad that Maggie’s alright, and he’s glad that nightmare was only a nightmare.

She squints at the brightness of the lamp in the dark, and turns her head to the side. She notices Steve sitting up–an irregular position for him–and stops her movements. He can do nothing but still gaze at her. “Hey,” Maggie grumbles in a quiet whisper, her hands going over her face, “what are you–what time is it?”

He’s brought back to reality by her soft, real voice, and he glances at the clock on his night stand. 3:42am. “Uh, um–I’m sorry I woke you up.” Steve says and immediately turns the lamp off, giving relief to both his and his girlfriend’s eyes. “Go back to sleep, baby.” Steve shuffles back into a sleeping position, his back unconsciously turned to Maggie. She blinks her eyes in the dark, feeling like she sees much better in the dark than the light, and her lips involuntarily pout at Steve turning her back on him.

Maggie’s small hand reaches to Steve’s side and she pats it lightly. He turns to her, and she makes him lay down on his back. Steve sighs, knowing he’s gonna have to deal with his emotions and nightmares if he wants to stay honest to Maggie–and he does. She’s his one and only. He turns to lay on his other side, to face Maggie, and she searches for his face in the dark with her fingers. She first bumps into his ear, but with a soft smile, her hands find Steve’s cheek, and she holds it. “Why’d you wake up?” She whispers, her eyes searching for his.

Even in the dark, they can find each other. Steve’s eyes have a gloss over them, so it’s even easier to find and focus on them. They glow on a regular basis, his eyes have that magnetic glow, which is only amplified by his beautiful brown orbs. Steve sighs through his nose as quietly as he can. “I had a–” his voice cracks, “had a nightmare.” Steve admits, dropping his voice down to a whisper, which he regularly finds quite hard with his naturally loud voice.

Maggie’s hand soothingly goes over Steve’s forehead, her fingertips brushing into his hair as she does so. His skin feels hot to the touch, but her soft gestures make him feel more at peace already. “Wanna tell me about it?” She whispers, genuinely asking. She doesn’t want to pry, she doesn’t wanna make him uncomfortable or anything, much less make him feel like he’s under surveillance.

Steve knows it’ll be easier to get it out, no matter what it takes. He might cry, but he’s done that in front of her before. He might have a panic attack, if he’s not having one already, but that’s fine. Getting it out is what matters. And he trusts Maggie to see himself this way. He sighs again, and he feels his breath tremble. Maggie lays her hand on his neck, lets it rest there, and patiently waits for Steve to say anything. “It was–it was the night of the Fourth,” he begins and breathes out deeply, “and–and it was–we were on the–Weathertop hill, and uh–” he feels his throat clamming up, “we’d just arrived and then I noticed something strange happening at Starcourt, while Robin and the kids were talking to Murray,” Steve takes a breath, “the–the Mind Flayer was climbing on top of it, and–God, it was so real, so much like the real thing–”

Steve can’t forget the feeling of terror he had when he saw the Mind Flayer conquering Starcourt Mall, knowing well that Maggie was there with the rest of the Griswald family. She was there and she wasn’t safe. That paralysis one can only feel when experiencing incredible fear. The Mind Flayer got her. “G-Guys, there’s–” Steve couldn’t even get the proper words out, but he got the rest of Scoops Troop’s attention sure enough.

It took one look at Starcourt and Steve for Robin to know how scared he was. His mind had gone blank, completely. His big eyes were wide and frantic, and his hands were shaking as he tried to put the keys into the cream-colored convertible. Robin had to get the key inside instead, because Steve just couldn’t do it. The thought of Maggie hurt, the thought of her dead by that monster’s hand were thoughts too heavy to comprehend, too real.

“I drove as fast as I could, but when we got there, it was just…” Steve gulps, “it was just too late.” He concludes. “And I had to–you were in his–I had to watch him–I can’t even say it, Mags,” he gives up, curling into himself, his head in his hands and tears streaming down his cheeks. Maggie can only hear his whimpers and draws of breath, and she puts her hands carefully around Steve’s wrists, wanting to pull them away. He feels helpless, but he lets her move his hands away and soon she’s holding his face between her small hands and pressing kisses all over it.

“I’m okay, Steve, I’m okay,” she assures, “you saved me. You have me now, I’m okay, you saved me.” She tells him over and over again, until she doesn’t hear him crying, and doesn’t feel his shoulders shaking anymore. Maggie needs to make sure Steve’s alright, and that he’s gonna be, and that he feels safe and secure enough. She wishes she could take away his nightmares, take away all the bad things he’s seen, erase all the scary, bad stuff he’s been through. She wishes dearly to take away all his sufferings and make his life easier. Then again, Steve feels the exact same way about her. This moment is hers to show that wish, though. Steve already shows his concern ‘most every day.

He hastily puts his arms around Maggie’s waist and pulls her closer to him, craving that closeness, that connection they seem to have every time they’re close to each other, that feeling holding her gives him. And he can hold her, really hold her in his own arms, which only amplifies the fact that the nightmare wasn’t real, and that she’s really here. He can feel her skin through her shirt, he can feel her heart beating against his, he can her Maggie’s breaths. Steve breathes a sigh of relief.

Maggie’s arms lay around Steve’s neck, she’s pulled him into her so that he’s nuzzled into her neck. See, mentioned before was how Maggie is almost always the little spoon in their relationship, but this time is an exception. She doesn’t think she’s ever experienced Steve having nightmares before, but there have been times, under different circumstances, when he’s been the little spoon. She loves to hold him like this–though she hates him being in despair–because her hands are in a comfortable position to run through his hair, which is a notion he’s comforted by.

“You’re okay,” Maggie whispers into his ear, “we both are.” Her hand gently strokes Steve’s hair, and she feels wet strands here and there–despite the incredible summer heat, Steve’s big nest of hair still takes a while to dry.

“I love you, Mags,” Steve tells her in a croak and then sniffles, and suddenly he feels embarrassed at how he sounds, “I love you so much.” She smiles, feeling his breath on her neck.

“I love you just as much.” She tells him. Steve presses a kiss to her neck, to which Maggie closes her eyes. He hasn’t done that in a while, and it feels nice. She’s now sure that nor her love or attraction to him has faded, as she’d feared a few days ago. How could it?

“You know, I never–I’d never felt the way I did when I was driving myself and Robin back to Starcourt,” he says, “God, I’d never felt that–it was like ice cold needles all over me, when I saw that monster on top of Starcourt. And I just… I knew I had to get you out of there, I had to save you.” Steve admits in whispers, and then softly, slowly pulls away from Maggie, just to see her, just to look at her as he talks. The sun will be up soon, he knows. During summer the sun rises pretty early, around four in the morning, so the darkness outside is already brightening up a little. He can see her.

Steve finds Maggie’s eyes in the dark, and the knuckle of his index finger gently grazes over her cheekbone. She smiles at the notion and scoots closer to Steve. Thank God they’ve managed to shrug the blanket off their shoulders, because Maggie’s already feeling hotter from Steve–boys always have a higher body temperature than girls, she’s learned that without any book, and Steve’s body heat only amplifies her own.

“I don’t even–I couldn’t even think as I was driving.” Steve continues. “Robin told me I looked like I was seeing red.” He admits, at which he and Maggie both chuckle. “But I…” he shakes his head, “I had to get to you. And I was so glad to see you, especially to see you all okay.” He thinks back on their reunion, and then the events and their conversation before that. “God, I was such an idiot for insisting you come with us–”

Maggie shakes her head. “You weren’t.” She says. “You just wanted me by your side, and that’s not stupid.”

Steve takes a pause. “The notion was good, but the way I expressed it…” he sighs, “I was an asshole. Definitely did not make Jonathan’s image of me better.” Maggie laughs.

“As long as you’re dating his sister, his image of you will never get better.” She says between laughs, and Steve can do nothing but join her in laughter. He’s nervous about meeting Jonathan’s and Joyce’s standards, because they’re Maggie’s family, and he can’t muck up his image in any way. Though he kinda already did with the history he has with Jonathan and Nancy. But, as Maggie has assured him many times, Jonathan has long forgiven him already. “No, but look.” Maggie says once they’ve both grown quiet. “We were both a bit, well, fearful in that moment. So don’t be too hard on yourself. I just didn’t want to fight when–before anything unexpected could have happened.” She shrugs, and Steve nods.

“Yeah… you’re right. Me too.” He says. “I don’t ever wanna fight with you.” Steve states in a serious voice, his face growing serious, too, in the semi-darkness. “I know I can be very immature at times–”

“And proud.” Maggie adds with a smile.

“Yeah, that, too,” Steve chuckles, “I just–I know I’m not perfect in any way,” Maggie rolls her eyes at how oblivious to his own perfections Steve is, “and sometimes that comes to the surface, and I can get angry or jealous, but I’ll always love you, no matter what. I know it. And I only want the best for you.” He takes a breath. “And I know we’re still young kids and all that, but I just know this will last, Mags.” He smiles at her, and she smiles right back at him. Her hand caresses his cheek.

“It will.” She agrees. “Steve, I love you. Not just for the things you see attractive in yourself, but also for the ones you count as flaws.” She assures, and Steve can’t help the tears spilling out from her sweet words. He’s never heard anyone say that before, even though Maggie has said those same feelings differently before, and the words mean everything to him. Especially coming from Maggie. Steve gives her a teary smile before he kisses her. Suddenly, passionately, lovingly, full of all the good emotions she makes him feel.

Maggie senses the fading scent of toothpaste on his lips, and she knows they both have morning breath, but she doesn’t care for one second. She puts her arms around Steve’s neck as he rolls on top of her and kisses her again, his long locks of hair falling down and tickling her forehead. She chuckles, kissing Steve back and running her hands through that mess of hair. Having his lips on hers, she feels a difference in Steve’s lips. Huh, she stops and pulls away. She traces her thumb over where she felt a bump. There’s an aftermath of a scar she hadn’t noticed the previous times they kissed.

Steve carefully eyes her hand and then looks down, shy or ashamed–Maggie can’t tell. But seeing that look in Steve’s eyes, and noticing his withdrawal, she kisses right atop that little fading scar, before she kisses Steve fully on his lips again. They move to sitting up because of Steve’s withdrawal, and Maggie makes sure to kiss every scar in sight on Steve’s face. She does so gently, cautiously, so as not to hurt him with her affection, and best believe, as Steve holds her waist in his hands, he loves every second of it.

He softly moves the edge of her shirt upwards, so he’d see her stomach and waist, where the damn bruises lay, and he thinks Maggie wouldn’t notice. But she does, and her hand moves down to let the fabric fall over her skin again, covering the bruises. But Steve doesn’t give up, and he lays Maggie down in-between their mess of sheets and covers on the bed before he pushes the shirt up again. “I’ll kiss yours, too.” He says, his eyes holding a strong gaze with Maggie’s, before he softly touches one of her bruises with his lips. She can’t help but close her eyes and sigh out at the feeling. The kiss feels like medicine.

The more kisses Steve lays upon her bare skin, the more Maggie feels incredible relief to the point her eyes start to well up with tears. She involuntarily starts to cry. She knows Steve kisses the bruises with love and wishes for them to go away, she knows he loves her. She hasn’t felt care and love like this in what feels like eternity, it feels like she’s been away from Steve for much longer than she actually has. And maybe that’s why she’s crying. Because of his immense care and love for her, because she’ll have to leave all that behind, and because she remembers the night she got those bruises, and then she remembers the night of the Fourth, and then she’s crying even more.

Maggie covers her face with her hands to hide her crying face, but Steve hears her sobs well enough. He lays one last kiss upon her stomach before pulling the shirt back down and leaning up to meet her eyes. He kisses Maggie’s neck, and then her cheek, and then he takes hold of both her cheeks with his hands gently, and whispers, “Hey, I stopped, I stopped, it’s okay.” Maggie sniffles and wipes her eyes with the back of her hands, but still she cries more. She pushes Steve’s hands away and hides her face in her own again, the back of her head pushing into the pillow. Steve feels lost, confused. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.”

But Maggie shakes her head. It’s not him that’s wrong, he’s done nothing but good, he’s done nothing but love and take care of her. She just feels so… so wrong herself. She feels like she doesn’t have a place, no matter where she is or who she’s with. She just feels like a shadow floating between everyone else’s material, flesh and blood bodies. “It’s–it’s not that,” she can barely speak with her breathing acting up again, making her breaths sound like wheezes, “you–you didn’t do anything wrong.” She clarifies.

“Are you sure?” Steve helps her get some stray hairs away from her face. Maggie sighs, takes her hands away and looks to the window, crossing her arms over her chest. It’s much brighter outside than it was moments ago. Maggie shakes her head again.

“I just–everything makes me think about–” she sighs again, and then sits up in the bed, so it’d be easier to gather her thoughts and to speak. “I can’t stop thinking about what’s happened.” She quietly admits. Steve sits next to her, their legs intertwined, he’s watching her carefully, silently blaming himself for the way she feels. “There’s nothing wrong with you, it's… it’s me. I just can’t stop thinking. My mind won’t–won’t shut up.”

Steve nods, understanding that very well. He wants to hold her hand, squeeze her thigh or hold her waist for support, but he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries, especially now. He doesn’t want to force anything on her. “I know how that feels.” He says. Maggie can only nod softly, registering his words.

“I’m sorry, I just–I don’t think I can do–,” she takes a deep breath again and glances at Steve, “I just can’t get my mind off anything I’ve seen, I don’t even know what to do, I’m just not–”

Steve gets over himself and takes her hand in his, looking at Maggie dearly. “You don’t have to have a reason, baby,” he assures her, “I won’t push you, I promise. You don’t have to–what’s the word–justify anything to me.” He tells her. Maggie tears up at his words and tries to smile.

“Th-thank you.” She tells him, and Steve nods with an endearing smile. He presses a kiss to her cheek, sitting up straighter, and pulls Maggie into his side. She falls against his chest as they both look upon the increasing brightness of the early July morning. Maggie sighs. “You’re the best.” She tells him quietly, and Steve chuckles at her compliment.

“You’re the bestest.” He says back and makes them both chuckle. “I love you, Maggie Byers. I love you so, so much.” Steve squeezes the hand around Maggie a bit harder and lays a kiss atop her head. Maggie tiredly puts her arms around Steve’s torso and sighs.

“I love you, too.” She mumbles against his bare skin. With their eyelids heavy, eyes full of sleep, and their minds clouded, the couple watch the skies become a brighter and brighter blue with every second. The sun lights up the street and then the Harrington home yard, creating a beautiful shine against the pool water. Soon the sun will be creeping into the bedroom, but they’ll be asleep when that happens, already slipping away into peaceful slumber now.

series tag-list:@givemequeen​​​@yllwtaxi@wnygirl2012​​​@watercolour-sloth​​​@brinaprfct​​​@whormotional​​​@chaandii​​​@e-lysium​​​@tina1938​​​​

permanent tag-list:@gabiatthedisco​​​​​​@v0idbella​​​​​​@works-of-fanfiction​​​​​​@ur-gunna-h8-ths​​​​​​@betweenloveandfire​ @but-legendsneverdie​​​​​​@deardeacy​​​​​​@thewinchesterchronicles​ @mavieesttriste16​​​​​​@intrrverted​​​​​​@the-freak-cassie-131​​​​​​​​​​​​​@gasbomb69​​​@xoxobabydolls​ @corallyink​@rottenstyx​

let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters !!! <3

your good will: 27

pride

a/n: what’s up friends. season 4 of stranger things premieres this friday (oh my goddd!!!!!) and so i’ve decided to post what i have written right now in this series. sorry that i’ve gone so long without updating, you know how i constantly float between fictional characters and my series on them… trust me, i don’t love it, either. so. happy reading! and let’s see what the new season brings :) (also this must be the only series of mine that i’m writing with capitalised words and tell me why do i kinda hate it :D)

masterlist

series masterlist

stranger things masterlist

previous part next part

word count:5.5k

warnings: sad, crying, very brief mentions of bruises. grab a tissue my loves.

gif credit goes to owner / creator!

She’d write off the look on Steve’s face as one of betrayal. She knows he’s felt that before, that distinct feeling, but she’s never seen it by herself on his features. And it breaks her heart. She didn’t wanna tell him, she didn’t want to hurt him. His lips have parted, and before his eyebrows were furrowed, now they’re drawn apart, and his eyes search hers. The look on Steve’s face isn’t one of betrayal, it’s one of helplessness, desperation, heart-break. The same that’s on hers.

His hands lighten their hold on Maggie’s upper arms, and she notices, but she can barely feel his touch, anyway. She’s so distant. She feels like she’s floating somewhere outside of her physical body. Everything’s too much to take in. And she knows, she sees, that Steve feels the same. Too much, too sudden, too hard. Maggie thinks she sees tears in his eyes, and she knows that’s probably not a hallucination of her own mind. She can’t imagine what he must feel like. Just like he can’t imagine how she feels right now.

“Wh-where?” Is the first word, first question that comes to mind and which seems most important of all. Steve sort of just mumbled it out, it was out of his control. It does take Maggie by surprise, because it was so sudden, and it disrupted the silence between them. She wipes her tears, those that have fallen, because there are more to come. She sighs and looks at Steve again.

“Somewhere in Maine.” She says and watches Steve close his eyes. He almost shakes his head, and then lowers his head. Maggie can’t see his face, and it makes her worried. Quiet sighs is all she hears from him for a while, until he lifts his head back up. His hands have withdrawn from her, and the places he held her now feel cold.

“When?” He asks then. Maggie shrugs as more of her tears keep falling. She licks her lips, because some tears have fallen on them.

“I–I don’t know.” She admits. “But I imagine… n-now that Hop isn’t here, she might–” Maggie hiccups, “she might wanna do it as soon as possible. It was her idea, and I just–there’s nothing I can do. I’ve tried.” She admits and wipes her cheeks dry, her hands shaking. Steve huffs. Not angrily, though, there’s another emotion he’s feeling. To no avail is Maggie cleaning her face, because more tears are flowing down her cheeks as fast as a river. She looks up at Steve, who’s got his hands on his hips and is looking away from her. He’s taken a step back, she notices. She steps up to him and places her hands on his, putting her arms around his waist, Maggie looks up at him. “I’m sorry.” She begs with a quivering lip, her voice full of guilt and the true feeling of being sorry, because she is. She didn’t wanna hurt him, not at all.

Steve takes a look at Maggie. He’s bitten down on his bottom lip to stop it from shaking, and his eyes are glossy. But one look at Maggie, and the anger that he seemed to express with his hands on his hips and the fiery look in his eyes, is gone. Along with the disappointment and supposed betrayal. They’re all gone when he looks at his love, and sees how great her suffer is, maybe how much greater than his own it is. Steve immediately lets go of his hips and wraps his arms around Maggie instead, and tightly. “No, baby.” He says as he picks her up in his arms–being the height that she is, and him being as strong as he is–and pulls her as close as he can to himself. Steve shuts his eyes and shakes his head. Maggie holds onto him as best as she can, her arms around his shoulders, not wanting to slip out of his hold any next second. “It’s not your fault. Don’t be sorry.” Steve assures. “I’m sorry. I have no right to be angry.”

Maggie sobs into his shoulder and lets her tears fall freely again. Steve squeezes her tighter and savours the feeling of this moment, the feeling of them being pressed so close together, the feeling of her. It’s probably one of the last moments of this kind. And suddenly the news, the real meaning and consequences of them, creep up on him, and he starts to lose himself. Tears fill his eyes and he feels his chest ruptured by violent sobs.

“I don’t want you to go.” He says and shakes his head firmly. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t. I won’t let you.” Steve repeats over and over, but he only makes his girlfriend cry more with those words. “I won’t let you move. You’ll stay here with me.” He decides. “I won’t let you go. I won’t.” He repeats the words until he starts to find them weird, until they don’t sound like words anymore, not to him or anyone else. They grow to be wails and cries full of pain, and soon he’s wetting Maggie’s shirt with his tears. “Y-You can’t go, Mags, you can't…” air seems to be running out of his lungs, those big lungs, “you can’t go. I won’t let you. I’ll never let you go.”

“I’m so sorry.” She sobs and almost bites down on his shoulder out of the pain, out of the frustration. But she lets her hand fall victim to her bite instead. It still hurts, no matter how hard she bites, no matter how hard she cries. “It’s out of–it’s out of my hands.” Maggie concludes. Steve knows that, he guessed at that already, because if she’s crying, it means it really hurts her to say this to Steve. And she wouldn’t hurt him on purpose, he knows that.

Her words bring no comfort to Steve, yet he makes no protest in response. Because if it’s out of her hands, clearly there’s nothing she can do. And nothing Steve can say that would make it better somehow. It takes some time for Maggie and Steve to calm down and at least get a clear head so they can walk back to the car. Neither of them have any interest to stay out here anymore, as much Maggie loves the woods, and as much as Steve knows she does. They embrace each other for what seems like eternity. They hold onto each other until their knuckles hurt, until each other’s shirts are almost torn up by how deep their nails have gone in. Until, it seems, that all tears have been cried out, no more to use. Maggie thinks that she definitely does not have more tears to shed, but as always, she proves herself wrong.

When they let go of each other for the first time, they lower down so their knees hit the sand road filled with pebbles and rocks and soon-to-be mud. But after taking one look of each other, they embrace again, and cry more. Weaker than before, but still the pain isn’t out. It is like a black hole. Tearing away at them, at their hearts, their insides, their feelings. They discover their voices are gone the second time they start to cry. It hurts their throats to cry, and soon enough Maggie feels like her lungs and her stomach are sore. Her eyes have never felt drier than now. The tears have finally run out.

Steve holds Maggie’s face, her precious, sweet, beautiful face, between his hands after their second embrace, as they slowly stop crying. Maggie doesn’t think she’s seen Steve cry before, not really. There have been times he’s looked at her for the longest time ever, tears threatening to spill but never actually spilling over, his eyes glossy and reflecting the lights around him. Those times he was definitely close to crying, like that one time he realised he really loved her, or another when she had given him some gift that he thought was the best thing in the whole world, and he realised the lengths she went, he saw all her effort and reason behind it. And it all made him so emotional that he almost cried. And that time when he was sat in his car to pick her up after school, and he saw how some mean kids at school had talked to Maggie and treated her. She’d gotten in the car and couldn’t understand the silence from Steve until she really looked at him, and saw his eyes. 

There’s a poetic way about how Steve approaches his emotions and, most importantly, how he expresses them, and Maggie can’t quite put it into words. Though she knows that he’s definitely come to terms with his emotions more since they’ve been together, he still struggles with them here and there. She’s told him and assured him time and time again that there’s nothing wrong with showing any emotion he has, and that they’re all natural. There’s still a withdrawal to express them in public, sort-of, because of the horribly normalised masculinity in their american small-town society. But when he’s with Maggie, he lets her see all of him. And she’s glad. She’s glad he trusts her so much, she’s glad he loves her that much. She loves him just as much, if not more. And she’d never wish for Steve to be different in any other way.

Their knees are dirty and probably scratched, Steve’s jeans are dirty from the sand and the rocks, as they stand up. After sitting in dirt and silence, nothing else but birdsongs and wind in the trees to be heard around them, they get up. Their faces red, plumpy, their eyes red as well, yet still glossy, and they itch. They help each other get up, Maggie pushing out quiet grunts and mewls of effort to stand up, and Steve holding her so she doesn’t collapse. God knows it takes so little now for her to just tip over.

Maggie places her tiny hands on the sides of Steve’s face and tears well up again, to both of their surprise. Steve’s lip is quivering as they look at each other significantly again, and Maggie’s hands are shaking as she presses her lips tightly together so they wouldn’t shake so much. She needs to calm herself down. The two gently bring their foreheads together and close their eyes. They fall silent, and the world seems to join them. Maggie places one of her hands on Steve’s chest, right where his heart is, and tries to catch its rhythm, tries to listen to it, to hear it. And she does.

It calms her. Steve wraps one of his hands around her wrists, he can feel her pulse. Their hearts are beating at once, as if they are one, and the factor calms them both. They withdraw with just as much hesitance as there is awkwardness and go back to Steve’s car. Holding hands, Maggie leaning against Steve, they go back the way they came, no words exchanged.

It was an unspoken agreement that they’d go to Steve’s house. As much as Maggie has an amnesia about everything in the world around her, she remembers that Steve’s parents’ work trip was prolonged and that ultimately told her that they’d be alone. Good. She’s in no mood or state to talk to them, meet them, let alone be in the same house with them. She doesn’t have the strength, not today.

The sun is still holding up strongly in the sky, no clouds in view anywhere, not even a corner of any clouds up there. Maggie thanks God that Steve’s house is equipped with air-conditioning, almost every room except the kitchen, she knows it well, because the heat is starting to get unbearable. It’s nearing four in the afternoon, at which time the sun is at its peak, and it’s most dangerous to get a sun-burn or be in the sun at all then. Maggie glances over at Steve as she feels herself starting to really sweat, even through her clothes, and sees that sweat beads are covering his temples as well.

She can’t ignore the look on his face. He hasn’t said a thing since they got in the car, hell, he hasn’t said anything since his pleas and denial outrage on the dirt road. Guilt crosses into Maggie’s heart like an arrow. The radio isn’t on, neither of them have spoken at all. Yet it doesn’t feel like silence to either of them, because there’s so much in their heads, so many questions, so many sentences to say, so many doubts and wanders that it doesn’t come off as silence to their ears. It’s a storm inside both their heads. Tension there is, that’s for sure, but not silence. Not to them.

Maggie wants to say sorry. She does, she wants to apologise over and over again until she loses her voice. She wants to run to her mom and make her not move, she wants to be rebellious and stay in Hawkins, despite all that her mother says or thinks. But apologising won’t do anyone any good, nor will begging or getting into a big fight with her mom. And she’s not the one to apologise to Steve. She could only say sorry for being the one to break the news to him, but not for the fact of moving itself.

Steve’s usually talkative, whatever it is that bothers him. He’s a talkative, nervous guy, especially when he’s confused or scared. He always talks, or rather rambles, in shocking and scary situations. He just rambled to Maggie as they were eating, and before they ate, and before they dropped Eleven off. It’s a weakness he has that he can’t avoid in any way. But now Steve hasn’t said a word, not even one. And it troubles Maggie even more. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.

If she won’t say sorry–because she knows that won’t be much productive–, she will at least, as compensation for herself and her torn emotions, flick the beads off Steve’s temple and forehead. Upon touching his skin, while she reaches for a tissue in her pocket, she feels Steve’s head quite hot against her hand. She cleans off the sweat in no time, and Steve only gives her a sideway glance as she does, and retracts from him, getting comfortable in her seat.

His hand is in its regular resting place, between their seats. Waiting for Maggie’s hand to join, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t dare to. She feels…. not really scared to, but hesitant, at least. Maggie’s on a bit of an edge, and she’s indecisive. Steve will probably take it to heart, even if he doesn’t say it, it will hurt his pride. But she can’t decide if she should take his hand or if she should not.

Tears gather in her eyes involuntarily as she continues to glance at Steve every few seconds, and one time he looks back at her. They lock eyes, and Maggie immediately looks away, but Steve sees her eyes for enough time to recognise the emotions in them. Sadness, regret, guilt. And what was in his eyes at the moment? Something sudden. Hurt pride, some bit of anger, betrayal. Was it? And now it’s all regret. He didn’t mean to make her cry again. He didn’t mean to be angry. He has no right to be angry. Not at her, at least. Hot tears wet his eyes again and Steve reaches over the console to gently touch her forearm.

Maggie turns to him upon the soft touch, and doesn’t want him to see her crying, so she wipes off her tears and breathes deeply in and out. Steve almost scowls out of the many emotions that he feels, but he presses his lips together and gathers his courage. “I’m sorry, baby.” He says gently, and Maggie can hear just how sorry he is in those few words. She turns her head to him and shakes her head.

“No, I should’ve held your hand–”

“Bullshit.” Steve immediately says, shaking his head, and that bluntness in his voice makes Maggie gasp quietly. She watches him carefully. “It’s not that big a deal. I can’t help but–” he sighs. He doesn’t know how to put his feelings into words. “I’m sorry.” He suddenly retracts and puts both of his hands on the steering wheel. Steve shakes his head as he looks out onto the road. Maggie knows they’re not far from their destination anymore, glancing out through the front window for a second. Steve bites his lower lip. “You don’t deserve any of this.” He says quietly, and adds nothing more.

That baffles her. Maggie spends the rest of their journey, no matter how small, over-thinking Steve’s words, going over their multiple meanings. Or her multiple versions of what he could have really meant. She can’t come to a decision, until they get home, get out of the car and enter the Harringtons’ home. It looks same as always, nothing changed in the boring postmodern style of interior. The rooms are clean and tidy, no mess or trash anywhere. Steve’s been busy, she guesses.

She follows him into the lounge room, rather library, which has a sofa in the center of it, book shelves all around the walls and reading chairs in most every corner. The sun is streaming into the room through the vanilla-colored, almost transparent drawn curtains. Maggie’s about to put her bag down, when Steve suddenly turns around to face her, from his pose of staring into a corner of the room, and Maggie’s hand gently lets go of her bag and it softly plops down on the carpeted floor. She has nothing but surprise and awaiting on her face, her eyebrows raised and her eyes slightly widened.

“You don’t deserve any anger or–or accusation from me.” Steve declares, his hands on his hips. Even now, Maggie notices, he can’t help his gesturing habits. It would have made her smile under different circumstances. “Or my pride, and I don’t get to have my pride hurt when I’m around you, when you’re… It’s unfair to you.” He gestures towards Maggie with one of his hands. She notices tears gathering in his eyes. “Alright? You don’t deserve anything like that from me, that’s what I…. that’s what I was saying sorry for. And still am.” He nods gently, and swallows some tears down. Maggie’s afraid she doesn’t understand quite what he’s saying. But her face stays the same. “You don’t deserve me being angry at you for–for moving away,” Steve’s voice breaks and he holds a hand over his mouth for the next few moments, “you don’t deserve anything bad coming your way, especially now, okay, Maggie?” He can’t help his tears anymore. “You don’t–you don’t deserve what’s happened to you.” Steve shakes his head, and Maggie steps closer to him. His head hangs low, and his hair with it. Steve lifts his head up after a while, and looks around, tries to look up so his tears would go away. Maggie puts her hand on his upper arm. “I’m sorry it has. It’s not easy, it’s so very hard–your brother going missing two years back, Bob passing away, and now Hopper.” He lists off, but he doesn’t need to. Maggie knows what’s all happened to her, and she doesn’t need a reminder, really. But it seems she and Steve haven’t had a conversation like this, about these things, in a long time, or ever. “You don’t deserve any of that. I’m sorry–”

But Maggie stops whatever he was going to say by embracing him tightly. She swings her arms around his neck and pulls him close to her. Steve obviously needed the contact as he can’t help but his arms around her, and he doesn’t let go. “That is not for you to apologise for.” She says quietly. “None of it is your fault.” She assures. Her hand goes over his dark locks of hair, she knows it’ll sooth him more than anything else, and make him listen. “You don’t ever need to apologise for that.” She knows there’s guilt that Steve feels, and while it is for some things that he is responsible for, it also stretches beyond them, and stretches onto every bad thing that happens to those he loves. If he is responsible for his fight with Jonathan, he now feels responsible every time his family are hurt, and every time he sees Nancy in despair. If he’s responsible for making him the outcast at school, he feels responsible for Maggie not being able to really fit in. He’s done so many things before that he didn’t hold himself accountable for that now that guilt just spills over everything that happens.

“But–but what if I’m too hard on you? You know, I–I can’t–I know I can be, like, impulsive sometimes, and I don’t mean to–”

“Steve, you listen to me.” Maggie says, her voice stronger now. “I love you like you are,” she gulps, “and it’s not your fault that I hurt sometimes. Don’t you ever apologise for things that aren’t your fault. You should have never apologised.” She withdraws, but keeps her arms around Steve. They look at each other. Maggie wishes his stubborn brain to listen to what she’s saying. “Okay? None of what’s happened is your fault.”

After a while of staring into each other’s eyes, Steve nods. “Okay, I know. I know, I know. I’m s–” Maggie tilts her head at him, and Steve stops himself short. “Right. Yeah.” He nods then and sniffles. Maggie smiles. “I didn’t wanna make you more sad. I know you’re here, with me, to feel better, not worse.”

Maggie shakes her head. “You could never make anything worse, I promise.” She assures, her fingers gently playing with a flock of his chocolate hair. “Not for me. Never for me. And I’m here for you, too. Not just for myself.” She presses a kiss to his lips, and Steve kisses back. They pull into another hug and Maggie sighs out, closing her eyes. Steve also sighs, and the notion rumbles through Maggie like warm wind.

“I just wish you’d be alright. I just wish…” he sighs again, “I just wish we’d all be okay.” Maggie closes her eyes again, as she’d opened them while Steve was talking.

“Me too.” She says.

The couple’s rest of the day isn’t much eventful. Neither of them had a plan for the day. Maggie’s only plan was to tell Steve those two damn things, and they’re well told already, so they go with their so-called instincts. They don’t talk much, only a few nothings here and there. They talk about every possible thing except the whole journey that lead up to the Fourth of July as they make food together–it’s slipped their minds, though ever present, and it’s not something they really want to talk about when they’re seemingly happy and safe. Maggie shows Steve one of her favorite easy recipes to use for a quick lunch/dinner/whatever-time-of-day meal. Steve, of course, is convinced that it’s rocket science, and every direction of the recipe is flying past his ears like arrows. He promises her that he tries his best to memorise the simple recipe, but he’s worlds away and honestly can’t concentrate on anything because he’s so glad to be with her, and listen to her sweet voice.

They lay outside by the pool after their meal, enjoying the evening sun and their current books, playing with each other’s hands occasionally. Maggie chose to take her copy of Emma by Jane Austen with her today, and Steve still struggles with Maggie’s copy of Lord of the Rings, more precisely, the first book - Fellowship of the Ring. Every few minutes, he slides close to her and asks what this or that word means, pointing at the problematic word in question. Tolkien wrote in old English and used a lot of made-up words in his writings, and Steve has never encountered that kind of lexicon, and he knows Maggie has read the books twice - admitted by herself - and that she has, all in all, read more books than he has, and that she holds a lot of knowledge about Tolkien’s world in her head. He likes to listen to her while she tells him about the creatures and made-up words, and he can admit that, with time, he’s understanding more and more of what he reads. And as complicated as the wording and language of Tolkien may seem to him, Maggie always levels it down, she has this conspective way of talking and understanding things. Steve can’t help but love her more and more every passing moment.

They turn on the living room TV, there’s some comedy reality show on playback, and they let it play. Steve cuddles up to Maggie, so that his head is next to her chest, next to her heart, so he can hear it. His left arm goes around her back and waist and his right hand lays in her lap. Maggie’s one hand holds both of Steve’s in her lap while her other hand, laying softly on his neck, has laced itself between his brown locks, which Maggie must admit, are quite oily. “Gotta wash this beautiful nest of yours,” she says and clears her throat once she hears her voice is not at its usual, “or it’s not gonna be that beautiful any longer.” Steve chuckles at that and nuzzles his head more into her side.

“I’ll let you do it later.” He responds in a sleepy voice. Maggie smiles softly. Later. He’ll probably clock out any next second now in her arms, listening to her heartbeat and the steady laugh track of the tv show. It’s not like they’re paying much attention to the television, but Maggie does occasionally laugh at what’s going on there.

Maggie decides to put on the radio after their long shared silence, and when she hears the starting chords of late John Lennon’s “Grow Old With Me”, she pulls Steve up from the sofa and requests him dancing with her. How can he deny? Steve gets up. He may not be the best at waltz or any other classic dance, but Maggie doesn’t want that. She just wants to slow-dance with him, and that means she wants to sway back and forth with him as they hold hands and embrace each other. Occasionally, she twirls and turns in his arms, as girls do in movies. And Steve pulls her back to him and swings her back, so Maggie would have to wrap one of her legs around his waist for support. In those moments, he looks at her with nothing but love in his eyes.

“Grow old along with me,

The best is yet to be.

When our time has come,

We will be as one.

God bless our love,

God bless our love.”

Maggie hums the song as her head rests against Steve’s chest and they sway softly from left to right. Steve closes his eyes to savor the moment, and he seems to breathe it all in. The lyrics resonate with him, and Maggie’s humming seems to lull him to sleep. The lyrics “spending our life together, man and wife together” strike him as peculiar, but he makes no fuss or disruption in the rhythm of their dancing. Though not really peculiar. More… Familiar in a strange way. He tucks that thought behind his ear, at the back of his mind, to think on later. Not now, not in this wonderful moment.

Not long after their slow dancing, Maggie and Steve have a shower together. They decide on a cold shower, but once Steve tries out the ice cold water on his skin, he calls that decision faulty. No matter how hot it is, he can’t have a cold shower to save his life. He may be an athlete, but he’s never had a cold shower in his life because he can’t stand them in general. Steve knows Maggie has an even smaller tolerance for anything cold to the touch than he does, so they decide on a regular shower. It will be refreshing, anyway, even if the temperature of the water matches the temperature of the air.

They stand in the shower, facing each other, not saying a word while helping each other with washing up. Only Maggie is still humming the John Lennon song quietly to herself. Her hair is in a messy up-do, as she already washed it before-hand, but she fulfills Steve’s request about washing his hair. Her hands are covered in foam as she pushes it wrist-deep into his hair, so she’d get every inch covered in shampoo. Maggie can tell it’s been a few days since the last wash, and she is not gonna half-ass the washing process. Steve smiles while she does so, and keeps his hands on her waist. He watches her face through half-lidded eyes, and Maggie can swear that he hasn’t looked happier than now. It makes her laugh, and soon enough she rests her head and foamy hands on Steve’s chest as they chuckle together.

When Maggie reaches for the shower head to wash away the shampoo in Steve’s hair, he notices the remains of her bruises. They’re faint, but clear as day serve as proof for something serious that was there. His thumb softly goes over some of the darker patches just above her hip, and his smile fades away. Billy. He did this to her. He may not have been in his right mind, or in his own mind at that, but he still did it. The thought makes Steve angry to a point that he almost feels nauseous.

Maggie notices, best believe, and puts the shower head back in place before she turns back to Steve. She lifts his hand away from her side and brings it up to her lips, where she kisses his knuckles. He blinks and watches her doing so, and then closes his eyes. He must clear his head. His head lowers so that his forehead would gently touch on Maggie’s, and Steve shakes his head. Maggie sighs quietly. “Don’t look at them, please.” She whispers, her voice at the same volume as the flowing shower water. “Don’t think about them.”

Steve huffs. “I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.” She responds.

“If only I was there. If only I could have–”

“Steve,” Maggie pleads in a quiet whisper, “there’s no point in that. You weren’t there, and it’s none of our faults.” She says. “They’ll be gone soon, and they don’t hurt, anyway.” Maggie adds, and she can feel Steve wanting to say something else, argue against her, she can hear it in his breath, that stubborn savior complex. “Please, don’t argue. I don’t wanna argue.”

He sighs deeply and puts his arms carefully around Maggie again. It takes a couple moments, but he agrees, “Okay. Okay, let’s not.” Steve says. Maggie softly shakes her head with a smile.

“You’re never one to dwell on the past.” She points out. “What’s happened?” Steve shrugs.

“A lot.” He says and turns off the shower stream. Maggie only looks caringly after her boyfriend as he steps out of the shower first, and she covers herself with her arms, a sort of sorrow crossing her face. Steve turns around to face her, and to help her climb out of the shower. She gulps, and takes his hand for support and gets out, all the while still holding that certain look in her eyes. A lot.

They sleep in darkness, the sun only recently set into its own bed, and the sky, Maggie can see through the dark curtains, is a purple-dark-blue tone. A beautiful color. She can already spot the first few stars appearing among the purple-blue sea of the sky. She always likes to think that each star is a flashlight that an alien holds from his planet. It may be true, as little as she knows about aliens or their existence, but she does know of interdimensional beings and that they can send real, physical signals to her world.

But that is all gone now.

Steve is the first to fall asleep, with no surprise, while Maggie slowly, slowly drifts away to slumber. His arms are around her, she lays with her back to Steve’s chest. She’s almost always the small spoon in their relationship, mostly because she’s just small in her size, and she likes it. Makes her feel safe. Steve, his embrace… Maggie’s hand is locked around Steve’s hands, which are pressed against her chest, and she must admit that Steve’s one arm laying under her is uncomfortable, and she carefully hoists it up and tucks it between her and Steve. She’s found that an arm laying under her doesn’t let her fall asleep, and she does want to sleep sooner. Steve doesn’t wake up from the motion, he only mumbles something incoherent and lets out a half-snore. Maggie smiles, turning back around in the bed to look out of the window.  

Due to the heat, Steve sleeps in his underwear–though he did insist on both of them sleeping naked–and Maggie wears only a thin t-shirt and her knickers to bed. A blanket is totally useless, especially with Steve giving off heat already, but neither of them can sleep without one, so they kept it. When you’re asleep, the heat doesn’t really matter. It’s not really there, because you’re dreaming and you feel all what is in the dream, not what’s outside. Never for Maggie, though.

series tag-list:@givemequeen​​​@yllwtaxi@wnygirl2012​​​@watercolour-sloth​​​@brinaprfct​​​@whormotional​​​@chaandii​​​@e-lysium​​​@tina1938​​​​

permanent tag-list: @hallecarey1​​​​  @gabiatthedisco​​​​@v0idbella​​​​  @works-of-fanfiction​​​​@destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen​​​​@ur-gunna-h8-ths​​​​@betweenloveandfire​​​​@but-legendsneverdie​​​​  @deardeacy​​​​@thewinchesterchronicles​​​​@mavieesttriste16​​​​@intrrverted​​​​@the-freak-cassie-131​​​​@beverlyparkerr​​​​@gasbomb69​​​​@rottenstyx​​​​  

let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters !!! <3

your good will: 34

never too much 

a/n:hi guys. an update. this is the latest chapter i’ve written, and i wanted to publish it now so it’ll be something for a while. because…… my diploma work is gonna take me the next week or more to finish, and it’s A LOT of work. i’m exhausted and stressed out of my mind already, but i can do it, so i have to sacrifice writing and other things for just a short while, and then i’ll be back. so have this while i’m gone for a bit. what do you guys think about argyle? i honestly can’t wait to write him into this story as a side character, he’s soooo fun and i feel like maggie would have fun with him, too (no cheating, i promise). so happy reading!

masterlist

series masterlist

stranger things masterlist

previous part   next part

word count: 6.7k

warnings:none, really, maybe hints of anxiety towards the end

gif credit goes to owner!

It seems each night is easier than the last, for both Maggie and Steve.

Sleeping together has made their slumber heavier, and Steve hasn’t had a nightmare since that first night Maggie stayed over, which he counts as a big success when he wakes up calmly and realizes his dreams were nothing but pleasant. He blinks his eyes open and rubs his face over with his hands, a way of waking himself up faster. He knows he’s got a sort-of a busy day ahead of him, and he knows himself and his ways of sleeping in late very well, so he knows he has to get up as early as possible.

The clock on his nightstand tells him it’s just a few minutes past nine am, and Steve is pretty pleased with that. He turns back around in the bed to still lay in it just a little longer, and he finds Maggie waking up, too. Wordlessly, he withdraws his arm from underneath her to let her have the regular morning stretch, knowing her well enough to be able to tell when and how she does it. He just lays next to her and looks out the window while she stretches, wondering how she feels today.

Maggie turns to lay on her stomach by Steve’s side, and she greets him with a gentle smile, her fingers picking at each other afterwards. Her eyes seem more serious than usually, so something must be on her mind. “Hey there,” Steve tells her and moves his body slightly over onto its side so he’d have a closer look at her, “penny for your thoughts?” He asks as he continues to study her serious face.

She gives Steve a shrug at first. “Nothing interesting, really,” she says, but Steve can tell it’s not true. Well, to her, maybe, but to him - every thought of hers is interesting.

“Come on,” he pokes her leg slightly with his own, “you can tell me anything. And you always have something interesting on your mind, anyway.” Steve says and tilts his head. That compliment makes Maggie smile.

“Alright,” she says, “I was just thinking of uh, the last… normal day, so it seems, before all of this. I’d visited Hop during the day,” Maggie admits and lays her head back on the pillow it was previously resting on. She sighs deeply, staring at the headboard in front of her, “and then you and I went to Lovers’ Lake, remember?” She looks to Steve, and he nods. A soft smile tugs at Maggie’s lips. “I told you I was already missing that day, and for good reason. That was literally the last day before shit hit the fan again.” She sighs heavier. “I brought Hop lunch to work, and… we had made plans to, uh…” she makes a chuckle, “I was gonna teach him how to make pasta carbonara at the cabin.” Maggie smiles, but an absent look paints across her face. Steve nods, listening intently. “We were supposed to do it last saturday, I think. Couldn’t have been this Saturday because of LiveAid, so… last Saturday.” Her smile fades. “It just hurts, you know?” Maggie looks to Steve with the hope for understanding from him. And there’s plenty of that.

“Yeah, I can imagine,” he tells her quietly, “you know you can talk to me about him, right?”

Maggie gives him a nod. But at the thought of Steve and Hopper, she has another chuckle. “He never really liked you, you know?” She tells Steve, and he raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t even realize I never told you that, but it wouldn’t have made a difference.” She breathes a light chuckle.

Steve shakes his head, confused. “Wouldn’t have made a difference? He’s like a father to you, Mags, he was a very important man to be liked by.” Steve makes a point, and Maggie chuckles whole-heartedly now. “Why didn’t he like me?”

Maggie shrugs. “I don’t know, really,” she says, “maybe not you exactly, but just… disliked the fact that you were with me.” She looks at him again. “He’s very protective of his kids, and the women around him. I was like a daughter to him, as well, just like El was.” She looks down at her hands. “Maybe he just doesn’t like his girls having boyfriends. He didn’t like Mike very much, either.”

“Oh?” Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Interesting. But yeah, sounds about right. No father is happy to let his daughter go off with a boy, or a man–whatever.” Steve shrugs, and Maggie gives him a sneaky glance.

“Hey,” she calls out to him, and Steve looks at her, “thought we’d established yesterday that we both deserve each other.” Maggie says, and Steve shakes his head with a laugh in response.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Look,” Maggie scoots closer to Steve, “Hopper is important to me, always will be. And as much as his opinion is important to me, as long as I’m happy with you, I won’t take his or anyone else’s grumpiness about us to heart.” She assures him. “Okay?”

Steve’s face cracks into a grin. “And you are happy with me?” He makes sure, and Maggie just gives him a sure nod without hesitance.

“I’d tell you if I wasn’t,” she says and cuddles into his side. Steve lays his arm lazily across her form, “you make me the happiest girl in the world, Steve.” That makes the boy smile.

“I’m glad to have that honor,” he tells her and lays a kiss in her hair, “Hopper’s a complicated guy. Very intimidating, too. Those times when I was over at your house on the birthday parties, and he was there, too, I was mostly scared to talk to him.”

Maggie groans with a shake of her head. “Ugh, you’re just like him, Steve!” She says and laughs. “What is with this prejudice and weird opinions of each other, I don’t get it…” she lays with her back facing Steve now. “You men.” That makes Steve burst out laughing, even though the words kinda hurt his pride. “Always have to over-complicate everything with these weird things…” Maggie sighs. “You’re also a complicated guy.”

“Wh–how am I a complicated guy?” He’s in disbelief, and Maggie shakes her head. She turns back around to face him.

“How are you not,” she tells him, “your feelings and how you express them and don’t express them–that is all very complicated. You think you shouldn’t feel this or that, when it’s completely human to feel every single thing under the sun! You’ll just… make everything more complicated if you don’t express exactly what you feel in the most fitting way possible.” She turns to lay on her back. “And then you assume you shouldn’t show certain things when I’m around, and you have a complicated relationship with your parents, you know… all of that.” She mumbles.

Maggie knows Steve’s watching her with a goofy grin all the while. She also knows that he loves it when she’s feisty or very passionate like this, worked-up maybe. He’s told her a couple times, because that’s exactly how rarely he gets to see her like that - just a couple times. She’s not one to stand up for herself, she’d rather just ignore any blow or bite towards herself from others rather than stand up and say something in return. So when she does get a little pissed off, worked-up or just feisty, it’s a sweet sight for Steve.

Right now, she just tries to ignore that grin and look of his, but it’s not working. Even though she’s looking away, she can’t help but smile, and Steve sees that, too. He knows he’s irresistible, and that its extent sometimes really annoys her. So when he leans down to lay a kiss on her cheek or wherever else, Maggie is quick to shake her head and sit up in their bed. “Come on, we have to shower so you can take me home,” she tells him and stands up on her two feet on the carpeted floor. But Steve doesn’t move for the next few moments, he just watches her walk across his bedroom to his bathroom, nothing but underwear and his shirt clothing her body. When she notices he hasn’t got up yet, she pauses by the bathroom door and looks over her shoulder at him.

Steve pouts. “Don’t want you to leave so soon,” he tells her. Maggie shakes her head and chuckles. This man…

“We’ll see each other on Saturday, Steven,” she says and uses that nickname for him she knows he hates. And it shows now. His playful expression dropping immediately makes Maggie, in turn, giggle harder. Steve hurriedly gets the covers off of him, and then he’s in a full sprint towards Maggie. A smile stretches his serious features even now, as he makes to tackle her down for that nickname as payback.

And so the both of them fall to the floor of the dark bathroom, limbs entangled together, laughing like hell, laughing until their stomachs and even bruises hurt. And Steve’s tickling her, as well, not letting her rest, only aiming to annoy her more but to make her laugh while he annoys her. That plan is going well so far. “Don’t,” Steve says between tickles and both of their laughs, “call me that.” He says, but Maggie only laughs even harder.

“St–stop, stop!” She protests against his tickling mania, but Steve doesn’t let. Only after a few minutes does he stop, and Maggie feels like she can breathe again. God, he makes her breathless in more ways than one. She sighs heavily as she looks up at Steve, her hand running through her own hair. “Won’t do it again, I promise.” She tells him, though the grin on her lips promises otherwise. Steve shakes his head at that.

“You tease,” he tells her. Maggie only sticks her tongue out in response, giggling like crazy afterwards.

“I’ll be all yours Saturday night, I promise,” she says, “that I can promise. After everyone leaves.” Maggie sends Steve a wink, and that makes him raise his eyebrows slightly. They’d agreed to that already, but just a reminder of it makes him pleasantly surprised. He leans back so he’d be sitting beside Maggie now, and she gets to see his toned, bare chest in all its glory above her. Her teeth sink into her lower lip as she looks him over, and her hands fidget slightly as she somehow feels nervous again, as if it was her first time seeing him without a shirt. She remembers that time very well.

Steve grins. “Like what you see?” He asks, one hand on his thigh and the other running through his mess of hair. Maggie nods, and now is Steve’s turn to make a teasing grin. “Let’s shower, then. Fun’s over.” He says and helps her stand up. Maggie chuckles.

“That’s definitely the opposite of fun stopping.” She says. “With you especially.” That comment earns her a kiss on the head from Steve, to which she can hardly respond to because next thing she knows is he’s pulling that shirt of his she wore to bed up and over her head. Once they’re face to face again, Steve gives her a loopy grin, and Maggie giggles at that expression. She’s so in love with him. Anything he does amuses her.

“Love you, you know that?” He softly asks before they rid themselves of their underwear. Maggie laughs. Of course she knows that. She’s reminded of the fact all the time when she’s with Steve. When he helps her undress before the shower, when he turns on the hot water for them both, when he holds her close to him as they stand in the shower. And the way with which he looks at her. And how he always has the thought to be affectionate with her, at all times. His constant touches anywhere, wherever he can reach–it’s his love language. All the gestures, and the thoughts behind them. They’re proof of his love for her, and so many more things are, too, and Maggie adores them. Just like she adores him.

After their shower, the pair of them get down to the kitchen to make some breakfast. They find the kitchen in slight disarray from the past few days, and though Steve makes a point that he’ll clean everything up, both of them are too famished at the moment to think about cleaning. After they’re done eating, however, Maggie insists on helping him pull the house together.

Steve shakes his head. “It’s my house, and I’ll clean it,” he tells her, a dish sponge already in hand, “I do know how to clean, you know.” He reminds her jokingly, a pointed index finger in the air.

Maggie sighs with a slight smile on her face. “I know you do,” she answers, “it’s just that I’ve been here, too, and it’s my mess, too. Kinda.” She shrugs. Steve turns back around to face her, his hips leaned against the counter that his hands are gripping.

“You’re my guest, baby, okay?” He says. “I don’t mind, I never do. You gotta let me do something for you once in a while, too, you know?” Steve points out with a sheepish grin and turns back around to continue doing the dishes.

Those words sit on Maggie’s mind. They’re similar to those her mom told her a few days ago. That actually seems like eternity ago, but it’s just been a few days. A few days since Maggie called Steve, a few days since she and her mom had their long conversations about everything. She told Maggie something about… letting people take care of her for a change.

But it is in her nature to take care of everyone around her. It’s a crucial part of her dna, and she can’t shake it as easily as people would want her to. She wants to help, wants to take care, wants to tend to everyone, whoever they are. It’s some sort of motherly instinct she can’t quite explain the roots of. But Maggie knows that Steve and her mother are both right. She does need to take a day off sometimes. The world’s not gonna fall apart if she doesn’t lend a helping hand for a day or two.

So she says, “okay,” and leaves the kitchen to get her clothes and other little things from Steve’s room together. While she does that, the tune from one of the songs in Back to the Future playing on repeat in her head so much so that she starts humming it, Maggie lingers on this packing process. She picks her clothes up one by one and folds them to stuff them into her bag. And she realizes that it’s what she’ll be doing very soon. Not just packing away these few clothes, but packing away everything she owns.

She stalls a little in her way, just for a few seconds, while she really takes that in. Her eyes blink slowly. She doesn’t know how soon yet, but in some time this is all she will be doing. Packing her clothes, her books, her photo albums, her type-writer, her records. Wrapping some things in bubble wrap, putting them into bags and boxes and marking them as fragile and not fragile, marking them with a color for the room they’ll be going in. She’ll probably have to help El and Will with their stuff, as well. Though mom will probably volunteer for that position, too. And something tells Maggie that Steve could, too.

It’s probably gonna be hard on him. As it will be on all of them. Those four walls in her room, and all the other walls and corners in their house here, in Hawkins, is the place Maggie has called home her entire life up until now. Though, truth be told, she’ll probably still call it home, and picture it absent-mindedly when she thinks or speaks the word ‘home’. How can she ever truly leave that place? And how can they give a house full of memories, childhoods and adventures to complete strangers?

Maggie will have new routes from home to school in the new town or city. Maybe she’ll even have new woods to explore. It would sound a lot more appealing and exciting to her if it wasn’t for the grim side of the situation. New things and places and people to discover is exciting, but… she’s attached to Hawkins. Very much attached. And not just geographically.

She holds the last article of clothing to be packed to her chest and gives Steve’s bedroom a look-over. These dark blue walls and this carpeted floor. That king-sized bed, clothes thrown around carelessly and some scarce posters on the walls. Pictures on the nightstand. She’ll not be seeing these four walls for some time, too. Her chest makes a heavy sigh as a pout grows on her lips. Looking at each corner and spot in the room, different memories spark up like drops of color in clear water. Laughter, focus, teasing, intimacy, earnestness, closeness, freedom. All of those things were felt here, were experienced here, in many different ways. Such fond memories have been made here.

How will she be able to look at a completely new room, a new house, and feel nothing? Nothing but dread, sadness, and maybe even remorse. Move to a stale new house that’s completely estranged to Maggie and her family, a foreign ground. It will be weird, to say the least. But maybe good memories will be made there, too. Eventually…

The radio is playing at medium volume as Steve sits behind the steering wheel and Maggie stares at the road ahead in the passenger seat beside him. Her eyes blank and tired, mind and heart filled with thoughts, conclusions, wonderings. She sighs quietly. Steve looks over at her for just a moment, knowing how important it is to keep his eyes on the road in this particular part of town.

“Hey, I was thinking,” he starts to say, and glances over at Maggie once again, to see if she’s coherent and present, in a way. She turns her head to look at him, and her eyes hold nothing but wet and deep sadness, “maybe I could come over for dinner after that Gremlins screening,” Steve suggests. He knows Gremlins and the thought of watching it again will cheer her up. He raises his eyebrows for slight effect.

Maggie nods subtly. “Sure,” she agrees, “if it’s not gonna be screening too late.” She makes a pause of silence, thinking the offer over. “Do you remember the date?” She looks up at Steve from her hands.

“Um…” he squints his eyes in the sun as he tries to remember, “it was nearly a whole week that they were showing it. From… next Wednesday to Saturday.” Steve says and gives Maggie a confirming nod. “Not a week, but…”

Maggie makes a gentle smile. “I got it,” she says and turns her eyes back to the road, “well…” she sighs heavily, “we could do Thursday, maybe, a week from now? I’ll have to ask mom.”

“Thursday? Hmm,” Steve says and raises his left hand as if to look at a wristwatch. Maggie furrows her eyebrows, “Thursday might not be very good for me, actually. I have… nothing at 10am, nothing at 2pm, and then another nothing from 4 to 9pm that day.” He looks over to slightly-amused Maggie with a scrunched-up nose, putting on his best performance of disappointment. She giggles, her cheeks blushing up, immediately making Steve’s acting façade drop. He can’t help but melt into a smile at the sight of hers.

He turns back to look at the road, that smile still on his face. And Maggie’s lips are still curved into a smile, as well. “As funny as you are,” she says to him as he pulls up on Old Cherry Road, “we need to do it before mom breaks the news to everyone else. I don’t want the mood to be… off, I guess.”

Steve glances at Maggie as he makes a turn. “Oh,” he says, “uh, yeah, okay.” Maggie’s glad he understands.

“I know she wants to do it as soon as possible, so we have to move in quick.” She concludes and peels off her seat as they drive up to the Mayfield’s house. There’s two little heads poking out of the front door already. Maggie unbuckles her seatbelt, and looks over at Steve. “I’ll go get her.” She tells him quietly, and seconds after isn’t even sure why she said it. Steve nods at her words either way. “Unless… you wanna try to?” Maggie offers.

Steve’s eyebrows raise. His eyes switch between Maggie and the view outside her door’s window. “I–I could try,” he agrees, “could use the chance to invite Max to LiveAid, as well.” Maggie nods with a subtle, slightly-proud smile on her lips. She slinks back into her seat as her eyes are still on Steve’s all the while. She can see he gets a little nervous, and only after a few moments remembers to unbuckle his seatbelt. Maggie stifles a chuckle, and hopes Steve just won’t chicken out of this. “If you see me bolting back to the car, take that as a sign to take over.” He says before moving to open his door, but he stalls. Steve turns back to look at Maggie, at Maggie, who’s looking at him cluelessly, unaware of his motives. She pats his hand, but then is surprised by a quick kiss from him on the lips. When Steve pulls away and looks into her wide eyes, he grins. “Just a little courage.” He says and kisses her again. How she wants to make him stay here for the rest of the day and not move an inch away from her… She grins into the second kiss. “You know, some men need alcohol for courage.” Steve states with an important air to his voice. Maggie raises quizzical eyebrows at him and tilts her head, as if asking him something. “But I… just need you.” Steve finishes, and his words make Maggie chuckle.

She pats his chest and pushes him slightly away, so he’d be on his promised way. “You have me,” she assures, “now go.” Maggie gives Steve a certain look, because she just knows his ways too well. “Go on,” she urges when Steve gives her the second series of those lovey-dovey eyes he usually does when something’s on his mind, such as procrastination or a wicked plan B. He grins and shakes his head at how well she knows him, and finally does pull away and get out of his car. The thud of his door closing introduces silence to Maggie, but she knows she won’t get bored. She turns to sit more on her right side and watches Steve through the window, watches him approach the two girls on Max’s doorstep.

A smile stretches her lips as she sees Steve moving to hug both girls, and he actually succeeds, though Maggie sees from here how unexpected a little awkward that exchange is for both girls. She laughs into her hand, nearly getting second-hand embarrassment from the scene. But with half her face hidden by her hand, she raises her eyes and continues to watch what’s happening.

Steve’s conversing with the girls, hands on his hips. Then he offers to take El’s bag from her, and she accepts, so he throws the backpack that looks a little silly and small on him over his shoulder and nods. After a bit more conversation which Maggie can’t hear, he gives Max a high five and begins walking El back to the car. As she feels that either or both of them might be looking towards her, she slowly shifts in her seat so it would look like she wasn’t watching everything. A playful smile still tugs at her lips, and she just stares ahead while Steve helps El get in and settle inside nicely.

Once she’s sitting down and Steve is making his way around the car, Maggie turns around in her seat to see El. She looks… better, if Maggie might say so herself. Her hair looks a little different–Max has done a hairstyle on it that looks pretty good, and natural. El’s still wearing her own clothes, and she looks a little more up-beat than the last time Maggie saw her. That natural stoic face she was taught to wear in her earlier years has been replaced by a more natural expression, one that looks like El is about to start smiling any next second. Maggie smiles wide at the girl.

“Hey,” she says in a soft voice, reminding El of a whisper. She gives Maggie that smile she was waiting for.

“Hi,” El responds and tugs nervously at her seatbelt, “thanks for… coming to get me.” She says and Maggie just gives her a shrug.

“Always, sweetheart,” Maggie tells her, and the sounds of Steve opening the door and getting inside interrupt their conversation a bit. But Maggie doesn’t turn away from El, “how do you feel? Have you eaten anything today?”

Eleven shrugs. “Cereal,” she says, and at first Maggie thinks she’s dodging her first question, but then she’s proven wrong. She chuckles at the choice of meal El had, “I feel… okay.” Maggie sees her glancing from Steve to her hands, and it makes her realize that the poor girl probably feels exposed in front of him. Last time the three of them were together, El didn’t say much. But she’s talkative when she’s alone with Maggie. So that explains it, she guesses. She feels awkward talking about her feelings and overall herself in front of someone else who isn’t Maggie. Who isn’t someone she trusts that much.

“You wanna go home?” Maggie asks her, and El gives her a nod. “You sure you don’t wanna stay with Max?” Maggie teases.

Eleven gives her a quiet laugh in response, Steve starts the car up again. “Max needs… to be alone, too,” she says and looks outside her window as Steve begins driving. Maggie and him exchange a quick glance, and then Maggie looks back at Eleven. She’s so much more… in touch than the both of them expected.

“Okay,” she tells her and turns back around in her seat, so she’d be sitting correctly, “you’re right about that.” Maggie looks at Steve again, and they giggle at seeing that the both of them have that same certain smile on their faces. Maggie shakes her head and Steve pulls his car onto the road again.

“You have your seatbelt on, El?” Steve asks, glancing at the younger girl through his rear-view mirror. Maggie just thought to ask that question. Eleven gives him a look in return, complimented by a smile, and nods while tugging the seatbelt in question upwards, so that Steve would see. “Uh–huh, good.” Steve says in response and gives El a big smile. Maggie chuckles into her hand and keeps looking out the window. Always the baby-sitter.

“What did Max say?” She asks Steve after a couple moments. There’s that silence settled between the three of them in the car, which Maggie knows that Steve hates. So because she’s genuinely curious and wants her boyfriend to not feel on edge during this wonderfully simple car ride, she thought of the first thing to ask him.

“Oh, uh… I asked her whether she wants to come over for LiveAid on Saturday,” Steve starts to say, “she… didn’t seem very excited, but… she told me she’ll think about it.”

“Mmm,” Maggie nods along, “well… I’d love for her to be there, but I understand if she won’t make it.” She says and looks over her shoulder at El again. “What do you think, El? Wanna watch some musicians dance around on stage to raise money for children who need it? Saturday?” She gives El a subtle smile.

She returns one, though she looks like she’s not fully here right now. Maggie can understand that. “Sounds funny,” she says, which makes Maggie laugh again, but in an affectionate manner, “will Mike be there?”

Maggie exchanges a look with Steve. He shrugs. “If he wants to, yeah,” he says, “I’ll ask the boys today, alright, El? Maggie will let you know.” Steve gives Eleven an encouraging smile. Maggie glances between El and Steve, and she notices the subtle blush and smile on El’s face. What could it be for? Steve calling her by the nickname probably. He’s charming even her now, is he? Maggie looks at her boyfriend and leans her head against the seat’s headrest. He gives her an oblivious look with raised eyebrows, but diverts it back to the road soon, after Maggie makes a smile and a shake of her head at him. It’s nothing. To her, it’s just a little amusing.

But that’s Steve for her. The naturally ever-charming Steve Harrington, who was King of Hawkins High. Able to woo girls with just a smile or a single word. And that’s younger girls for Maggie, too, of course. She knows how she was at El’s age–which, she assumes, is 14 or 15–when an older boy talked to her. Even if it was just a prank, it made her all flustered.

Now Steve is in the role of older sister’s boyfriend, which is the right material for a kind-of intimidating and charming role. And, of course, he’s very charming naturally already, so those two factors just add up. So now you’ve got this older guy, big sister’s boyfriend Steve who’ll swoon any girl he looks at. Including El, though she only appreciates that he’s nice to her and includes her in the conversations he has with Maggie.

The adults or older teenagers in this top-secret Upside Down group have always cared for the kids, of course, but they’ve never really been inclusive to the younger kids. Maybe it’s because of the age difference, that could be. But Maggie has always tried to blur that line drawn between these two groups, no one else has before. But El appreciates that Steve is doing that, too. What with his friendship with Dustin–the younger boy once said Steve’s like an older brother he always thought he wished for–and with everything that happened last year and this summer. And now his intention to talk and maybe even bond a little with Eleven. She sees all of that, and she appreciates it. Not really her intention to blush and smile, that’s just a natural reaction she can’t help. Taking the way she was raised – by very cold and controlling people – she really appreciates any sort of kindness.

“Okay, girls, we’re here,” Steve states the obvious as he pulls up in front of the Byers’ house. Maggie’s eyes fall onto the repaired wall with the hole in it, and memories from one certain night splash up in her mind like water thrown suddenly from a glass. Maggie unbuckles her seatbelt and spins around in her seat to look at El, giving her a smile.

“I’ll be right there,” Maggie says, hinting to her sister that she needs a couple moments with Steve. Eleven understands without hesitance, and nods. Maggie watches her unbuckle her seatbelt and grab her bag, pushing the car door open and getting out by herself next. Steve would have opened the door for her, but he’s in a bit of a misunderstanding about what’s happening here, so he stays put in his oblivious state. Once El is out of the car, Maggie watches her walk up to their family home and then turns back to Steve.

“What’s that all about?” Steve asks with a nervous chuckle.

“Wanted to say goodbye without making El feel… awkward,” Maggie says and then leans closer to Steve, her body still rested in the seat. Steve nods, realization crossing his face, “so,” Maggie says quietly, “Saturday? What time do I have to be there? With El, hopefully?” She makes a sweet smile.

Steve doesn’t catch on at the first instance, but when he does, he nods. LiveAid. “Well…” he reaches a hand towards Maggie slowly as he talks, “REO Speedwagon’s gonna be on stage at 10am already…”

“That early?” Maggie’s face scrunches up slightly. She’s not exactly a fan of waking up early. Steve nods.

“It’s not that early,” Steve defends, “it’s REO Speedwagon, after all.” He makes a point as his hand now rests atop Maggie’s on her thigh. She smiles at his point, and nods along. Steve catches the far-away look in her eyes with which she glances out of the window, and he reaches his hand out to stroke her cheek with his finger softly. Maggie turns her eyes to him once more at that gesture, now holding a sort-of questioning gaze in them. “You sure you want to do Saturday? With everyone?” he asks her quietly.

Maggie furrows her eyebrows. Steve’s anxieties have risen again. He worries he’s putting too much on her again, having forgotten it’s in her nature–like he said himself–to take care of everyone. Such a sudden attack of those nervous thoughts, sudden and out of thin air. “Yeah, I’m sure,” Maggie assures and then tilts her head at Steve, her eyes squinting at him and lips holding a slight nervous smile, “why? I know I’d forgotten about it, but I want to watch LiveAid with you, with Robin and the guys… Why the question now?”

Steve shrugs his shoulders, and gives Maggie a dismissive shake of his head. Dismissive towards his suspicions and worries. His eyes drop to his lap. “No, it's–it’s nothing, I just…” he sighs, “don’t wanna put too much on you now, you know,” Steve looks up at her again. Maggie searches his eyes, fondness overtaking her features, nearly making her tear up, “if you'd… rather be home with your mom and with El, it’s no problem, we can watch LiveAid… another day.”

Maggie chuckles. “We don’t even know when it’ll be out on VHS, Steve,” she butts in.

“I can cancel the LiveAid watch, I can cancel my birthday party–I don’t even know if I want it, you know–”

She furrows her eyebrows, “Woah, woah, woah. Slow down, Steve,” Maggie requests, now more genuine worry setting into her features. Steve’s hesitant eyes find hers again, “you don’t have to cancel everything, okay? Not for me, at least.” She makes a nervous chuckle. “And you’re not putting… a lot on me. I promise.” She assures him.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do all these things as if nothing happened, you know,” Steve continues with a shrug, “you can stay back any time. I don’t know how it feels to go through what you’re going through right now, but I do understand if you want some… alone time, or time at home with your family.”

Maggie hears his words, takes them into account, but looks out the window again to really process them and come up with some decent response. It seems like Steve’s under pressure, and he’s worrying too much about things he shouldn’t be worrying about. These anxieties have creeped into his mind out of thin air. She thought they’d settled all this without really doing it already, that everything was plain to see. Maggie breathes a short sigh. “I had some alone time already,” she tells him finally, “and I will still have it onwards,” she looks back at Steve, “and I’ll have all the time in the world with my family because we’re moving away. I’m sure I won’t see anyone else for some time except them.” Maggie makes a breathy chuckle. Maybe those weren’t the best words to say, but… she did say them, because it’s what she thinks will happen. “Just… if I didn’t want to do all these things with you, I’d tell you. I want to watch LiveAid with all of you, and I want to plan the best birthday party for you with Robin,” she smiles at the idea of it, “it’s not too much. Nothing with you could ever be too much for me, okay?” She looks into his eyes strongly for understanding.

Steve’s eyelids flutter, he considers her words and plays them over again inside his head. And eventually he nods. Thank God. “Okay,” he tells her, and suddenly feels very emotional, as if there’s a knot in his throat threatening to itch more and more until tears start spilling. Steve’s eyes fall to his hands again, looking at the figures he draws on Maggie’s skin with them, “I’m sorry I ever asked, I just…”

“No, it’s okay,” Maggie says and instinctively reaches her hand towards Steve’s cheek, cupping the side of his face and stroking his cheek gently afterwards. That makes his eyes immediately connect with hers, “you’re looking out for me.” She states in a whisper, and Steve nods, though bashfully. Sometimes his pride doesn’t let him feel good about people acknowledging his feelings. And he hates that pride for doing it sometimes. Maggie’s thumb still softly caresses Steve’s skin, and then she leans in closer to lay a kiss on his forehead, putting her other hand on his other cheek, too. Steve closes his eyes at the gesture, and realizes Maggie’s never that before. Sure, she’s kissed his cheek, and his neck and many other spots, but never his forehead. What a weird realization.

His arms wrap around her waist as they sit there awkwardly, Maggie’s head rested atop his, their bodies slightly uncomfortably leaning across the car’s console. “I’ll call Robin and Dustin up,” Steve says dreamily, “tell Dustin to tell Mike and Lucas,” he continues, and Maggie chuckles at his words, “and I’ll see you… Saturday.”

Maggie pulls slightly away and looks at Steve with a wide smile, “bright and early,” she confirms and boops his nose with her index finger, “I could bake something for all of us… a pie or something,” Maggie suggests. Steve scoffs, but with a grin.

“You think those teenagers eat anything other than chips and M&Ms?” He asks, and the question makes both of them burst out laughing. “No, but they’ll love it. They love anything you make, actually.”

“Theydo?” Maggie asks. “I’ve never heard that…” Steve just smiles up at her at that confession.

“They do, I promise,” he says, “make whatever you like, and they’ll eat it up. I’ll buy some things, too, go proper grocery shopping. Mom and pops called a few days ago, and said they’ll be out of town longer. Thank God, actually.” Steve laughs nervously.

“Oh, business trip?” She asks him. “I actually met them that day I left your house, before… everything went down.” Steve nods.

“Yeah, they mentioned it,” he says, “won’t even be in town for my birthday.” Steve says quietly, a breathy, sad tone over his voice as he speaks. Maggie looks at him sadly. She thought he didn’t want to celebrate his birthday, but parents not being there for the celebration or even acknowledgement can sure hurt, even or especially if they’re not the best parents in the world.

“They’d just ruin your mood if they were there,” she points out, hoping that it’ll cheer him up, or at least make him look at the situation more realistically. Steve nods with a sad chuckle, “but I’ll be there. And Robin. And a lot of people we’re not particularly friends with, but… it’ll be fun, I promise.” Maggie assures. “I’ll ask Will about LiveAid, and I’ll see you then, okay?” She makes sure, wanting these to be the first of their parting words. Steve looks at her after they’ve slinked back into their seats and Maggie’s now getting out of the car slowly. “Nine thirty am, Saturday.”

Steve nods with a wide, tight-lipped smile. “See you then, baby,” he says in response. Maggie’s cheeks heat up with a blush, and she gives him a smiling nod. She takes her bag, pulls it over her shoulder and gets out of Steve’s car by herself. Steve watches her close the door, smile and wave at him, and make her way towards her family house, her white sneakers contrasting her tan legs and the colors of her dress just the right way. He watches her up until the moment she disappears into her house through the front door, and he drives away from there with a single thought in his head. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

series tag-list:@givemequeen​​​@yllwtaxi@wnygirl2012​​​@watercolour-sloth​​​@brinaprfct​​​@whormotional​​​@chaandii​​​@e-lysium​​​@tina1938​​​​@mochminnie

permanent tag-list:@gabiatthedisco​​​​​​@v0idbella​​​​​​@works-of-fanfiction​​​​​​@ur-gunna-h8-ths​​​​​​@betweenloveandfire​@but-legendsneverdie​​​​​​@deardeacy​​​​​​@thewinchesterchronicles​@mavieesttriste16​​​​​​@intrrverted​​​​​​@the-freak-cassie-131​​​​​​​​​​​​​@gasbomb69​​​@xoxobabydolls​@corallyink​@rottenstyx​

let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters !!! <3