#'oooh wide brown eyes in the sun' have you seen. a person with small brown/black eyes and a smirk? have you???????

[adamantine-ribbon]

there really should be more love for small dark beady eyes

[soriseerakyra]

Flight of Fancy -6- (Black! Reader)

“I thought you said that you were going on a date,” Ari says with a slightly scrunched up nose.

“I’m his date,” You correct the smoothing the bodice of your cream-colored dress. You had to admit, you looked better than you thought you would when you saw the thing on the rack. The garment seemed to fit you like a glove, its mermaid shape accentuating your curves. “But you're invited because it's a party.”

“Seems like a cop-out to me,” Ari says with a teasing tone. You can see the younger girls rusting through her closet, looking for a dress that wouldn’t scare Bruce’s guests too much. “But a party is a party.”

“I don’t think it’s the type of party that you’re thinking it is,” you slightly sheepishly watch Ari's reaction through the mirror. “There will be lots of his friends there, sure, but I think there… I don’t know like this…”

Ari cranes her head over her shoulder just in time to find you crooking your pinky in the air, making a mock fancy motion.

“Aw shit, Pea, what the hell did you invite me to? Bridge with the oatmeal gang?”

“It’s not like I could go by myself,” You defend hands on your hips and slight pout coming across your lips. “I stick out like a sore thumb.”

A part of you didn’t want to say it out loud and you hadn’t wanted to make Bruce feel bad, but when he had first broached the idea about having a party, you had initially wanted to turn him down. You had been to those kinds of things as Kenya’s guest plenty of times, and most of those spaces had been overwhelmingly white. If Kenya wasn’t running everything and hadn't had the confidence of a queen you probably have felt extremely uncomfortable. But you had left that confident woman behind, and you would’ve been alone if you hadn’t invited your closest friends. At least now if someone gives you a dirty look or if it's boring, or worse, Bruce is feeding you to the wolves, you would have your back up there. Still, you kind of wished you could have invited Kenya to this thing, another pair of eyes watching your back wouldn’t have been a bad thing at all.

“I’m sure he gets down in some way,” Jo-Jo comments while popping a cookie in her mouth and scrolling on her phone. You were glad that she had chosen an edible instead of her usual pre-game blunt. You were sure this was the type of party that you didn’t want to smell like smoke at. “You don’t get to be called a playboy because you throw boring parties.”

“I’m just wondering if there is going to be dancing and if so, is anyone besides us going to be on beat,” Ari comments with a sly smirk as she slips a form-fitting shimmery silver gown over her head.

“Ari!” You scold but have to fight to keep the small smile from curling over your lips

They always had a way of making you feel a little better when you were overly nervous.

You cast a stray glance at yourself in the mirror, as you fix your earring in place. If you tried your best, maybe tonight wouldn’t be as horrible as the knot in your stomach told you it was going to be. And even if it was at least you looked good, right?

“Anyway, how does one even get to a manor? Do we need a password?” Ari said smacking as she rolled a tube of ruby red lipstick over her lips.

“He said he would send a-,” A shrill chime from your phone interrupts you as the device begins to ring. “A car.”

“Hello?” You question when you answer the phone. You’re so preoccupied with the call you don’t notice your friends mocking you and your date over your shoulder.

“OooH you hear that Jo he sent a car,” Ari says in a sing-song tone.

“Rolling in the lap of luxury,” The loc bearing girl says dryly with a wry smile on her lips.

“Hey 3B there is some old guy down here saying he’s here to get you,” you hear the gruff voice of the security guard/front desk person. “I can send him away if you want, looks sketchy to me.”

“Oh no that is for me, I’ll be right down,” You say fighting back a chuckle.

You get skeptical but resigned ‘Okay’ before the phone clicks.

“It’s time,” you say, turning to look at the girls behind you, and you feel a slightly annoyed frown come over your lips. Thier mocking had turned into them simply making faces in the mirror. 

“Are we twelve?”

“Nah,” Ari says grabbing her clutch and making her way to your apartment door. “But we're about to turn this shit up to thirteen!”

You feel your eye twitch slightly in annoyance. A slap on your back causes you to jump slightly and you find yourself staring into Jo-Jo’s dark eyes.

“It’s too late to uninvite us now,” She says with a bit of devious smile. She rolls her shoulders, her suit jacket pulling tight before relaxing when her shoulders fall. “At least it won’t be boring.”

With a groan you follow the two girls downstairs, locking the door behind you.

You reach the lobby just in time to see Ari throwing a playful wave at the white-bearded security guard and Jo-Jo throws up a peace sign right behind her.

“Pea,” He calls stopping you before you could follow your friends outside.

You toss a glance at the man on your shoulder, “What’s wrong, Cal?”

His bushy eyebrows knit close together and his warm dark brown eyes look at you with worry.

“I-I just don’t get into trouble, okay? There are people out there that will take advantage of you girls cause you look young and they think you’re stupid cause you are out having fun.”

You feel a little warmth and a tinge of sadness creep up on you. What had he seen to make him feel like he needed to warn you like this?

“I promise you that where I’m going I’ll be safe,” You say. You hesitate to say the next part of your sentence. “The guy I-The guy I’m dating wouldn't hurt me.”

He gives you a skeptical gaze that a father might give a daughter, “At least tell me his name.”

You hesitate again but think better of it, there is no way that he would tell anyone right? “Bruce Wayne.”

He’d taken out a pen and pad to write down the name of the offender and stopped as soon as the name raced past your lips. He looks up to you with a slightly wide skeptical eye.

“As in-,”

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence passes before you begin shimmy your way out of the door without seeming too rude.

“I’m going to go now, Cal.”

“Uh-huh.”

You find yourself quickly missing the warmth of the lobby as the evening air nips at your cheeks. However, you have little time to process the weather as you’re slightly awed by the sight in front of you. A shiny black limo sat waiting, for you, still glistening in the nearly completely set sun. Either the thing was brand new or it was meticulously cared for.

You are so zoned in on the sheer extravagance of your ride you nearly miss the man, who would be your driver, calling your name.

“Miss,” He calls, opening the door and beckoning to slip into the warmth of your vehicle.

“Sorry,” you say with a bit of an embarrassed smile, “I’m not usually an airhead I promise.”

He gives you a polite quirk of his lips, “I promise, ma’am, I hadn’t noticed such a thing at all.”

You would have been grateful for the overlooking of your moment of ditziness if you hadn’t looked into the man’s eyes. While he was seemingly being polite, there was a bit of judgment in his eyes. Not in a harsh way, more like he was pursuing you. You felt a little sting in your chest as nervousness prickled down your spine. A part of you felt like you had met someone much more important than just a limo driver.

A “thank you,” slides past your lips as you slip into the vehicle. It comes out much quieter than you hoped it would and you are wondering if the man even heard it over Ari’s excited squealing. You find yourself gulping in relief when he closes the door behind you and makes his way to the driver's seat.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Jo-Jo is quick to notice your change in mood and the slightly pale look on your face the moment that you slip into the vehicle. “Your energy is all off.”

“Yeah, just Calvin warning me about some creeps that have been around the neighborhood,” You lie smoothly. You knew that if you had voiced your concerns that you had just fucked up some sort of first impressions, they would have tried to talk you out of it, and then told your not to give a fuck about what some old man thunk; and you in no way wanted the man to hear that you’d never live it down.

She gives you a look, clearly based on whatever your aura is giving her, that bullshit excuse is not enough. For your sake, though, she brushes it off and casts her gaze out of the window.

It’s not long before the car is moving and the city lights pass you. Aside from the drivers that could be crazy at night, there was something always calming to you about driving at night. Your mother and father used to take you out on late night drives when you couldn’t sleep like as baby and the effect seemed to stick even as an adult.

“This sure is Fancy, chickie,” Ari says pointing her camera at you snapping a quick picture before you could protest. “Like a chocolate goddess.”

The compliment stifles the complaint in your mouth and you feel your cheeks heat up. The only form of protest you manage to squeak out, “Don’t post it yet. You might have to get permission, I don’t know if this is supposed to be private or not.”

“I won’t say where we’re going,” She says almost completely ignoring you as she tags the picture and posts it. The phone is up again as she poses to make sure she gets the perfect selfie. “I gotta do something since there is no music in this bitch.”

Another embarrassed groan passes through your lips.

“This seems like something Kenya should have come to,” Jo-Jo comments mindlessly.

“Why? Because she’s just as uptight as the rest of these one-percenters?” Ari asks with a chuckle.

“Maybe,” Jo-Jo says with a chortle and a shrug of her shoulders.

“Just seemed like it would be her thing.”

You tune the rest of the conversation out. You don’t want to hear any more about what Kenya would have liked, or what she would have done. You had felt guilty enough for taking the job, now you have to feel guilty for not inviting her? Shouldn’t she feel guilty too? She practically sold you to the man after all. This is the way it's going to be, and you weren’t going to apologize first, because you weren’t the one that was wrong first.

There is no telling how long the more than slightly bitter thoughts bounce around in your head. You try to keep them away, feeling yourself frown in irritation the more and more you think about them. But they plague you the whole ride over to Bruce’s party. They absorb so much of your time you almost miss Ari’s declaration of your arrival.

“Holy Shit, Pea,” Ari says with her hand and the glass, face pressed against the window. “You bagged a big one didn’t you?”

You don’t see what she’s talking about until the limo makes its final turn into the driveway.

To say that the manor was impressive would be an understatement. You imagined that the manor must’ve been a grand sight no matter the occasion, but something about seeing it all lit up and people crowded outside as they tried to squeeze their way into the exclusive residence gave it a different feeling. Like it was something out of a fairytale. The nervous energy you had been feeling about attending the party came back at you in full force, and a wave of nausea churns in your stomach.

You close your eyes and try to calm yourself, there is no reason to be nervous. Technically this party is for you after all, and as the guest of honor, you should be able to do anything that you want right? At least that’s how your friends tended to act when it came to parties where they were the center of attention. But you had never been that outgoing or eager enough to command that much attention.

A warm hannd clasps around your shoulder and you turn to see Jo-Jo’s warm eyes looking at you with concern.

“We can go home if you want,” She says smoothly.

Ari, not having noticed your worried disposition jumps in with a scoff, “And waste this outfit? I think not.”

“Shut it,” Jo-Jo says curtly, only momentarily cutting her dark eyes at the young girl before giving you her full attention. “It’s up to you.”

You pull your lip into your mouth biting at the full flesh. Reluctantly, you cast a shy gaze at your excited friend. A thump of guilt runs through you when you see Ari’s arms crossed and full pout on her ruby red lips.

“It’s all right,” you say with a sigh and small. “If it gets too bad I’ll let you guys know and maybe then we can go somewhere else?”

You don’t miss the small pump of excitement that Ari does. Jo-Jo gives a skeptical look but relents with a shrug.

“It’s up to you.”

In no time at all the three of you are escorted to the front door and into the foyer. The place is crawling with socialites and you’re whisked into the Manor so fast you don’t have much time to appreciate the decadence of the building.

You hear the man that drove you here ask you not to move, that Bruce would be down to escort you through the party and you find yourself planted in front of the door, moving side to side whenever people would leave or enter.

“This is bullshit,” Ari says after the fifth couple squeezes by you. “Look at them schmoozing. I want to schmooze. Find a rich guy to take care of me.”

“We’re here to support our pea,” Jo-Jo chides the younger girl.

But you can see the bored look come across her face as she surveys the party. A guilty feeling wells up in your chest.

“You know now that we are here I feel much better, you don’t have to stay here with me, I’m sure Bruce will be down in just a minute. I’ll be fine.”

Ari looks at you skeptically her red lips pulling down into a frown.

“Really, I’m fine, go and have fun.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” the girl says with a devious grin on her face.

She moves so fast that she’s almost a blur as she disappears into the surprised crowd. It isn’t long until you hear her chatting and she has a little circle around her, the people enraptured by her gift to seemingly make anything interesting.

When you look back at your other friend you see her eyes locked onto a painting across the room.

“You can go check it out,” you say with a nudge and smile.

She casts a pensive glance at you, rocking back and forth on the heels of her boots as she tries to decide if she is going to leave to fend for yourself.

“This might be your only chance to see it,” you comment nonchalantly. “Who knows I may get fired next week and we’ll never be invited to one of these things again.”

Jo-Jo lets out an unconvinced snort, “Not likely.”

And though your friend is standing her ground you can see her eyes fluttering around the room, different paintings now becoming apparent to her. You knew it was taking everything in her not to run over and examine each one.

“Go,” you nudge her, “I’ll be fine.”

She hesitates for a moment before giving you a nod. Her long-form elegantly and nonchalantly striding to the first painting that caught her eye.

You give her a wave as she goes over. A sigh forces itself out past your lips. You were always happy to see your friends having fun, but still, you wished you could be a little more clear about what you wanted. You did want them to stay and wait with you, hell you would have stuck by them the whole night if you could. But what kind of friend would you be if you held them, hostage, the whole night?

Still, it had been about ten minutes since you were asked to wait here and you were starting to get weird looks from other partygoers. The smile you had plastered on your face to make it seem like you were supposed to be there, was starting to make your cheeks ache.

Aimlessly you begin to wander around the party, never straying too far from the front door, you could at least look like you were trying to blend into the party. You peek into one of the rooms and you’re a little stunned by what you see. Standing in what looks like a well-furnished kitchen stood a man surrounded by a crowd of onlookers. They seemed entranced by the man, judging by the goofy smile on their faces and the way they leaned in to listen to what he said. When he laughed they laughed, almost like he was a puppet master controlling the room.

Almost as if he could feel you staring at him he turns his head slightly giving you a view of his profile. You’re stunned and a little confused by his appearance. Thick dark hair and expressive blue eyes, if you didn’t know any better you’d your experiment had done too good of a job; reducing Bruce to someone only a year or younger than you were.

His eyes, or at least the one you can see from where you are, widens in recognition and you could swear you could see a smirk cross his face before he turned his attention back to the crowd in front of him.

Why did he look at you like that, like he knew exactly who you were? Did you know any Bruce Wayne mini me’s?

A warm hand wraps itself around your waist, and you can swear you can feel every finger searing into your skin. You would have jumped if a familiar scent hadn't washed over you calming you instantly. You look up wide-eyed into the smirking face of your date and have to fight to keep a relieved smile from washing over your face.

“Bruce,” You say with a breathy sigh. The relief in your tone made the smirk on his face deepened, something you weren’t sure was even possible.

“You look surprised,” He said, a smug tone permeating his voice. “It is my house, I’m pretty sure that I’m allowed to be here.”

You smack his arm slightly, pushing the fact that his arm is still wrapped around you and that it feels good to the back of your mind.

“It’s not that,” you say with a bit of a pout. “I’ve been running around here looking confused and then…”

You let the sentence hang in the air for a moment, casting a glance over your shoulder at the gentlemen who still had that entire room wrapped around his finger.

“I thought...”

“You thought that I suddenly de-aged twenty years?” He questioned with a slight chuckle as his gaze only briefly flickered over to the man.

“More like thirty,” You say your tone beginning to match his smugness.

“Harsh,” He says with a faux pout. “That’s my son, well one of them."

“Son?” You question with furrowed eyebrows. The fact that he has multiple of them doesn’t even register in your ears.

“Adopted,” he says with a nod of his head, “All except one.”

The way he says it, it’s almost like he expected you to know about the existence of his children. And perhaps you should have, it was more than likely that there was some kind of profile or at least picture out in the world somewhere. He was exorbitantly famous after all, and in Gotham, you imagined that there was no detail about his life you could avoid unless you were trying to do so. Well, unless it was someone like you who lived under a rock, almost completely cut off from the social world. Unless you counted the few fake accounts that you had to keep tabs on your favorite groups and the proper way to wash your face and arch an eyebrow.

“Sons,” If you were capable of being upfront about the complexities of your mind, you would have told the man in front of you that you were about to zone out for the next sixty-seconds so you could properly determine your feelings on the subject. But you weren’t and so you stared at the man with a slightly narrowed gaze and parted lips.

Didn’t bachelor usually mean, like no attachments? Or maybe it usually didn’t matter whether or not men had children when they were rich and handsome because they were rich and handsome men. 

And how would you feel about dating a man with children? Granted, from looking at the...man? Boy? Maybe boy was more appropriate. There were times where you still felt more like a girl than a woman. He was old enough to not give a shit about what his father did. But what about the rest? What if they were significantly younger? And what if they didn’t like the fact that their father was flitting around town with someone who still felt like a girl? What if they thought you were some kind of leech?

There is a warm hand on your face and a large thumb runs over your cheekbone comfortingly. If there was a word to describe the feeling of suddenly refocusing you would have used it. You blink and suddenly you find yourself looking into concerned blue irises. Had they always been as nice as they were tonight? Maybe it was just the fancy lighting of the chandeliers he had in his house.

“Are you all right?” He says with furrowed brows and a slight frown quirking on the edge of his lips.

You find yourself a little taken aback. Perhaps it was the first time you found him to be genuinely concerned. Like he was afraid of rejection. Any other time there would have been at least a spark of playfulness in his eyes. A hint that he wasn’t taking everything seriously. But this was different. He was wondering if this was a deal-breaker for you, and what that would mean for your “relationship.”

Suddenly, a feeling runs over you. Perhaps it was the pitiful look in his eyes or the frown on his lips. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the thumb that was still running over your cheekbone so delicately, as if you were made of glass. But you decided that you didn’t care about his sons. Not that you didn’t care if they existed or not or about their being. But they weren’t something that seemed like baggage, it was just a part of him. And you would love that part of him just as much as you loved everything else.

Love?

“No,” you say, voice slightly trembling but your hand coming up to cover his. “I’m not alright.”

He takes a deep breath, a sigh almost, and you aren’t sure what it means. He doesn’t pull away from you and he doesn’t look like he’s taken your words as rejection. Could it be that he felt the same way you did? Or at least he had been reading you just as much as you had been reading him.

“Pea! Where are you?!”

The high pitched squeal snaps you out of the moment that you had been having with your date. A slightly embarrassed chill runs its way down your back as you see a slightly twirling figure begin to spin it's way toward you.

The younger girl comes to a perfectly placed pose in front of you, a hand on her hip and flute of champagne poised in her hand.

“This place isn’t that bad, no Megan The Stallion or City Girls or anything to shake my ass to or even do a little two-step or a jig, but this shit right here,” she stops to shake the flute and downing it. “And those little cheese things they have going around on those fancy plates are totally worth it.”

If you weren’t in public perhaps you would have slapped a hand to your face. Or maybe if you had been anywhere else or at anyone else’s party you wouldn’t have cared. It was just Ari being Ari after all. But here you felt not embarrassed, but worried? What if he didn’t accept your friends and the way they were? You’d have to cut him off then and you really didn’t want to.

As if sensing your worry, Bruce makes the first move.

“Well, I’m sure that I can find someone around here to liven up the music here,” He says with a charming smile affixing to his face.

Ari considers him for a minute, eyes flicking back and forth between the two of you for little more than a hot second.

“No need to worry about it on my account,” she says an easy smile crossing her face. “Between you and me if you played anything with any kind of beat to someone might have a heart attack.”

She ends it with a friendly nudge to the ribs and tossing a swift look over her shoulder at a few couples who were looking at the three of you with more than a little bit of interest. With the frowns on their faces, you couldn’t rightly tell if they were upset that they hadn’t gotten the chance to enrapture the billionaire the way the two of you had or if there was something a little more sinister flowing through their thoughts.

“Between you and me, that might be the most exciting thing that's ever happened at one of these things,” He quips back.

The two share a laugh and your tense shoulders finally come down from your ears, relaxing as you realized that this whole thing was going much better than you had envisioned it going.

"Arianna Van Buren,” she says, giving him an elegant hand for him to shake.

You’re a little surprised that she’s given him her full name. She’s always hated people knowing she came from a wealthy family, especially one with a recognizable name.

“Bruce Wayne,” he says cordially, but without the pomp, he usually gives when he’s throwing his weight around. “Van Buren, Real Estate right?”

“This one is a dancer,” she says, a little haughty. “But I’m not in the Russian Ballet so I wouldn’t expect you to know that.”

“Ouch,” he says laughing good-naturedly.

And while you’re sure that the jibe didn’t bother him, you are a little surprised when the arm around your waist pulls tighter to him. Ari notices too, and a small smirk crosses her lips.

Feeling a little bashful you turn your gaze away from the pair. It just so happens that you find yourself, looking back at his son. Only there is another one there with him, this one slightly taller than the first but younger. He flashes his gaze at you when the older one tells him you're looking and winds up turning around, a little abashed. The older one, seemingly more than comfortable mortifying strangers, waves at you with a smile.

'Oh God' you think with a shudder of anxeity rolling through your shoulders. 'This is really happening isn't it?'

As if destined by the gods of making you crazy, Ari notices that you have checked out of their little sparring match. And while she normally was a little gregarious and never rude, she seemed to lose her train of thought when she glanced over at the boys who were talking about the three of you.

Bruce is also quick to notice that her attention has turned elsewhere.

“My sons,” He starts with a hint of pride in his voice. Even though he wasn’t their biological father he was still proud of the men that they had become. “Dick Grayson and Tim Drake.”

“Uh-huh,” the enraptured girl replied.

A sinking feeling explodes in your belly as a grin spreads over her face. She’s quick to cover it up though, turning to face the two of you with a doe-eyed look on her face. You shuddered at its appearance, it was something that she always did when she found a new person that she’s set her eyes on.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to go mingle with the rest of the guests,” She says with a light tone, betraying the sinister intention she had for one or both of the brothers.

“Ari I don’t thin-,” You begin to warn as she flutters her way across the room. The hand on your waist squeezes slightly and you cast a questioning gaze to the man beside you.

“They’ll be all right,” He says with a bit of a smirk. “They’ve been in hairier situations.”

“But,” you begin in protest, turning to look at the group, or pair now. Dick, the older of the two had snuck off somewhere. But Ari didn’t seem to mind too much, she seemed to settle her mind on Tim, the much more reserved of the two. As she flirted, you could see the blush beginning to spread across his cheeks from across the room. “She might eat him.”

The older man nearly lets out a snort, the notion seems absurd. “Trust me, he’ll be fine.”

You relax slightly, who were you to get in the way. They were adults after all, and if he was so sure that they’d be fine maybe they would be.

“If you say so,” you relent.

“Good,” he says, flashing you a winning smile. He begins to lead you away from the room. “Let me give you the tour of the place.”

As if he knows the hesitation in your mind he sweeps you away from the congested foyer and the rest of the downstairs rooms, choosing to take you upstairs and show you the art decorating his walls. Normally, you would have been a little wary of him leading you away from the party, he would use whatever chance he got to tease you, but this time you were grateful. You could deal with the prying eyes at work; for some reason working at Wayne Enterprises meant that someone was always watching you, even if they didn’t have anything to do with your job. But you supposed it made some sort of sense. After all, the company was practically the lifeblood of the city. It made sense that not only would people be curious but that they would be critical of any mistake or flaw. The difference from work and this place was the simple fact you couldn’t just leave a conversation whenever you felt like it with some sort of fleeting excuse. That would be seen as rude, and lord knows you didn’t want to be known as the rude black girl at Bruce Wayne’s party. That would follow you anywhere you went.

The upstairs part of Wayne manor is as quiet as it is beautiful. There were a few guests who had also escaped the heard downstairs to admire some of the truly beautiful pieces in Wayne’s collection. Luckily, those people weren’t inclined to stop what they were doing to kiss the ass of their host. Judging by some of the fleeting glances that they paid the billionaire, you doubted that they cared much about him in the first place.

He seemed particularly inclined to steer you toward one room in the house specifically. And when he opened the door of said room, you almost let out a snort of excitement.

“Look at all the books!” You swoon walking into the private library and letting your fingers run over the spines of the books on the first shelf that was accessible to you.

“It’s beautiful,” you say with a bit of a dreamy smile.

"It is, isn't it?" He says with a small admiring smile on his face. There was a bit of wonder in his eyes. You imagined that he adored the place. "I don't think that I appreciated it as much as I do now that I'm older."

"I don't expect children to be too excited about a library or invested in the intricacies of fine architecture," You joke.

"True, but I'm a little embarrassed to admit that it took me a lot longer to appreciate it then it should have."

After your chuckles fall quiet you find yourself examining not just the books but the room in general. Being in the manor was like being in a movie. His library not only boasted a pair of the most comfortable chairs that you had probably ever seen but they were also placed in front of the fireplace. Real or fake you couldn’t tell, but the crackling sound that came from the area gave the room a homey feeling, despite it being anything other than homely.

“Is this your family?” you ask, eyes coming to rest on the large portrait of a family. The room was dark and so the faces of the adults were obscured but the stoic face of the young boy in the middle gave you no doubts about what this was a painting of.

He doesn’t answer immediately and you turn to look over your shoulder at the man.

His face was passive, but the intensity of his eyes told you that he was thinking hard about what to say to you next.

While you had not understood who the man was when you had first moved to the city, it wasn’t long into your tenure at Wayne enterprises that you had heard nearly his entire life story. Not only at the office by gossiping employees but also on the news. It seemed that any chance they got to do some sort of expose on the man’s life they did it fully. And because of that, you feel a little bit of guilt begin to swell up in your belly. Perhaps it would have been better to say nothing. Judging by the pensive expression on his face, you were almost certain that the wound from that tragic day had never truly healed.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine,” he said after another moment of silence. “If I had a problem with you seeing it I wouldn’t have brought you here. It’s just-”

“It still hurts,” you finish when he trails off. And while you cannot say that you could necessarily understand the pain that he was going through, there were hurts in your past that you still hadn’t completely gotten over so you could understand how something so dramatic could still affect him now.

“Can I ask why you brought me here?”

He looks at you slightly surprised, “Sorry did I get it wrong? I assumed you would like to see something like this.”

“You’re not wrong,” you say slightly put off that your tastes were simple enough to be sussed out so easily. “But that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?” He questions as he takes a few steps toward you closing the distance between you.

Your breathing hitches slightly when he’s directly in front of you and you can feel a rush of heat flood it’s way up to your cheeks. It gets worse when you try to meet his gaze as you begin to realize that it’s just a man you may or may not have feelings for locked in a semi-lit room, away from the prying eyes of the party guests. As the thoughts run through your head you realize you can’t exactly hold his gaze for more than a few seconds without feeling small.

“I’m just not a party person,” you admit somewhat bashfully. “At least not this kind of party.”

“Oh, and what kind of parties do you actually like?” His tone is slightly teasing, and from the slight way that he’s leaning back, you realize that he’s trying to make you more comfortable.

“The kind where I get dressed up and sit in my living room and watch movies all night.”

You cringe slightly as the words come out of your mouth. Ari had scolded you on that very behavior when you were in school. You had told her that you fully booked Friday night. Being suspicious, she came to your room only to find you swinging around a lightsaber while Return of the Jedi was playing in the background. From then on she’d never believed you when you said you were busy.

“Kind of weird, huh?” You say a hand coming up to rub at the back of your neck as nervousness had begun to overtake your body.

“Not at all,” he replies simply.

While you’re feeling nervous you can’t help but flick up a skeptical glance at the man who simply gives you a reassuring smile.

“If you think that I couldn’t tell this wouldn’t have been something that you would be super excited about you’d be mistaken,” he says looking at you seriously.

“Then why the party then if you knew I wouldn’t like it?” You question eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“To be honest, I like to think of myself as more or less traditional when it comes to things like this. And if you had been anyone else maybe I would have simply asked you to dinner first or maybe the movies since you seem fond of those.”

The little jab causes a small smile to rise on your lips.

“But being that you are a person who would rather stay in than go out on the town, I figured this was the best way to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Have our first date,” he says with a smirk on his face.

“This isn’t exactly what I would call a ‘date’ even if I am your date,” you say pursing your lips slightly. Though you should have expected the flirtation, you after all invited it. “And why wouldn’t you think that I would like to go out to dinner? Don’t tell me you’d be embarrassed by me.”

If he had been someone with bad intentions, you are sure that the last line would have gotten some sort of reaction out of him. But he didn’t even flinch. A part of you wonders if it’s because he’s so good at maintaining his cool or if he really wouldn’t have cared what people would have had to say about him being out with you. You weren’t blind to the fact that you and your friends stuck out as soon as you walked into his manor. But you also weren’t inclined to be hidden like someone’s dirty little secret.

“Embarrassed?” He questions with a click of his tongue, a chiding edge to his tone.

It happens before you can blink. Your body pulled toward him in an instant. To stop yourself from crashing into the man your hands come up to meet the man's chest.

His arm is wrapped around your waist like it was earlier, but it feels different now. You aren’t being shielded away from the prying eyes of the other guests. It’s just you and him and it feels different.

There is an urge to look away to save yourself from the indignity of the doe-eyed stare you would surely give him. But he seems to be able to read your body language and acts before you can.

The warmth of his free hand runs over your chin and down your neck as he tilts your chin up to look at him.

“I don’t think you understand what I mean,” he says with his tone low as if he was afraid that someone else would hear you. His voice rumbles in his chest and it sends butterflies twirling from your throat down to the very bottom of your tummy. “If I had taken you to dinner, or a movie, and someone saw us what do you suppose would happen?”

“I-I don’t know,” you say thickly trying to keep unnecessary words from spilling out of your mouth. “I suppose we’d have to tell H.R.”

You can see him having to stifle his laughter, in the end, a few chuckles escape in its place.

“That too,” he said when he had collected himself. “But as someone who values their privacy, I thought it’d be obvious why I didn’t want to force you out into the public.”

‘Into the public?’ You question yourself. Due to the haze of attraction and the heat of embarrassment clouding your mind, it takes you a minute to catch on to what he means.

“Oh,” you say blinking in realization. In truth, it was something that you could have easily figured out yourself if your mind wasn’t already addled. Since becoming aware of the man you couldn’t count how many expose’s and covers of local newspapers and magazines had his face on them. It was like every move he made, no matter how trivial it was, made headlines.

“I didn’t think you wanted paparazzi following your every move or digging up your personal life, just because you went on one date with me.”

He was right that perhaps that wouldn’t be what you would want normally. But things weren’t normal right now were they? And when it came to him nothing would ever be normal. If you had agreed to a proper date with him would you be able to stand it? And what if I didn’t work out? Would they scorn you and call you names? Or worse. What would happen if it did work out? Would you want to deal with the scrutiny that would come with? The questioning about your intentions, especially when it came to his money. And an even scarier thought would be having to deal with all, the insidiousness of innuendos. About your color, your shape, even your femininity.

“I want to go to dinner.”

It tumbles out before you can stop yourself but you know you mean it, even if you normally wouldn’t be brave enough to say it.

“Are you sure?” He asks his voice no more than a whisper. His arm pulls you against him even tighter leaving almost no space in between the two of you. The fabric of your dress you can feel him pressed against you. He is solid and warm and your hand can’t help but trail down his form before grabbing onto and scrunching the lapel of his suit. Later some would notice the slight wrinkling of his suit. Perhaps they would fix their mouth to make a snide comment, but think better of it.

“Mm-hmm,” you say with a nod.

Words were beginning to fail you now as your eyes had begun to leave his eyes and instead focus on his lips that were dangerously close to touching yours.

“Positive?” He teases his head dipping over yours.

Perhaps showing your age you pout slightly and decide to be brave. The balls of your feet have to bear your weight as you push yourself up slightly.

And with barley sigh your lips catch his.

[rum-and-shattered-dreams]

Chapter 8: Hanging Around

This is probably the last thing I’ll have ready before the final Forduary deadline...

Summary: Dr. Braum makes a house call at Stan's request but her recommended treatment is risky for everyone involved. Stan is reminded that his brother is far worse with puns than he is.

Notes: Warnings: Eye trauma, restraints, possession, panic attack, blood

Thanks to KillHitlerAgain for the idea about Stan providing Ford with a surveillance monitor with a live feed to give him some sense of interaction with the outside world.

Note about future chapters: I will not be going in to any gruesome details about anything. Honestly, I feel like whatever the audience can imagine to fill in the blanks is probably more powerful than anything I could write because it comes from their own personal experiences and imagination. But still, I'll continue to put up warnings in case anyone would rather avoid the content.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven (with illustration) More fics An illustration (from part one) "Hey, Ford," Stan said as he slipped through the basement door. "Good evening, Stanley," Ford greeted him with attempted enthusiasm.  "You're here early tonight.  The sun is still up," he said, nodding to a small black and white surveillance monitor mounted beside the door which displayed a live feed from outside of the gift shop. "Yeah, I asked Wendy to take the kids out tonight," Stan explained with a chuckle, "Told them I had another date with Susan." "Another?" Ford asked with a quirked eyebrow.  He lifted himself from the padded floor with a groan and the burn of sore muscles.  His arms draped over the horizontal bar in an attempt to prop himself up.  "Wait wait wait.  Does that mean you actually DID have a date with her?  And you never told me?!"   "Oh yeah.  It, er...  Didn't exactly go well so I guess I forgot to mention it," Stan explained, his voice muffled as he dug around in the trunk filled with medical and emergency supplies.  He stood and turned, one hand shoved in his coat pocket.  "Guess I'm just not cut out for this romance stuff." "Can't say I'd fare any better.  You know for yourself how little luck I-" "Ah-ha!"  Stan caught Ford's wrist, slapping a restraint around it and tethering it to the closest bar. Ford's eye gleamed yellow beneath his glasses, red seeping through the gauze covering his right eye. "One down, three to go," Stan muttered. "Awful nice of me to let you get a head start, wasn't it, smart guy?"  Bill taunted, jerking Ford's three free limbs as far back from the bars as he could.  "Oh, sorry, guess you'll have to come in to get the rest!" "You really should know by now that ain't gonna work," Stan said with a shrug.  He reached through the bars with one hand wondering which reaction he'd get this time, a counterattack where he'd be able to grab Ford's other wrist despite the bite marks he'd accumulate in the process, or more pulling away that wouldn't matter once he was able to tickle under Ford's arm and throw Bill off enough to pull him against the bars again.  No attack?  Fine.  Tickle it is. Within seconds, he'd grappled Ford up against the padded bars, facing him, and fastened the second restraint. "Sorry to have to do it this way but I don't want the doctor having to actually go in there to look at your eye," Stan explained, hoping Ford was still present enough to hear him. "Oh, that's right, the doc's coming tonight.  This is gonna be hilarious!" "You know," Stan said, hoisting himself up to his full height and adjusting his suit coat, "You're a sadistic little shit and when I finally do get my hands on you..." "Oh big threats from the meat-sack.  What are you gonna do?  Punch me?  Oooh I'm so scared." "Yeah.  Maybe I will," he huffed and dove to the ground to reach for Ford's left ankle.  He dodged the flailing of his right foot through the bars the best he could as he strapped the third restraint into place.  Rubbing a sore spot on his forehead, he added, "I don't know how you manage to kick so hard through the bars.  Maybe I'm not as smart about physics laws as either of you but I swear that defies 'em.  Ah well.  Last one."  With that, he reached through and snagged Ford's pant leg and part of his sock, pulling his ankle close enough to fasten the fourth restraint. "Oh look!"  Bill squealed, looking up to the monitor, "She's here!" Ford's eye dimmed back to its natural brown, his head tipping forward against the bars as blood oozed down his cheek from the soaked gauze covering his right eye.  "Not a moment too soon," he breathed, "This is incredibly uncomfortable." "I'm sorry," Stan said, rubbing his bruised shoulder. "I suppose it isn't exactly pleasant for you either," Ford mumbled, his split lip throbbing from the strain of Bill's speech stretching it.  "I'm sorry, Stanley.  How bad is it?" "Nothin' I can't deal with.  Seriously, don't worry.  It's just a few bruises," he answered, waving his hand as if to dismiss the matter.  "I'm gonna go let her in. Be right back." "Right...  I'll just" "Stanford Pines, don't you dare..." "Hang around here, I guess." "And they say my puns are bad," Stan grumbled, massaging his forehead as he stepped out the door.  At least he's trying to have a sense of humor about things, he thought.  But I'm not sure if that's a good thing or if it means things are so bad that all he can do is laugh, anymore. **** Stan opened the gift shop door, squinting in the final light of sunset.  He raised his hand, shading his eyes to get a clearer look at a woman with rainbow streaks in her hair.  She was his height before climbing the two stoop steps and wore a white lab coat over blue scrubs.  Beside her was a second woman, stout and wearing a suit Stan could tell from experience hid an arsenal of weapons beneath its layers. "Hello.  Mr. Pines?" the rainbow-haired woman asked. "Yup.  Dr. Braum, I'm assuming?" "Yes.  And this is my assistant, Lottie."  She said, motioning to the woman behind her who nodded to Stan, a gesture offered with respect. "Thank you for agreeing to such a late appointment, Dr. Braum.  Come on in," Stan said, motioning to the door.  The doctor glided up the two steps and loomed above Stan, large in every way.  Despite it, her steps were light against the wood planks, as if she floated above them.  Lottie, however, thumped across the boards with purpose in every footfall.  Stan remembered that walk.  He hated being that uptight with minute details of his stance but it's effectiveness in intimidation could not be denied. "Well," Dr. Braum said with a shrug, "it is a bit later than our normal working hours but who am I to question a paying customer?" "Yeah, true," Stan grumbled, annoyed to be on the paying end of such a deal.   "So where...  and who is the patient?"  Dr. Braum asked as Stan closed the door behind them. "Well, first of all, you uh...  You've probably seen some things...  And stuff...  In your days, right?" Stan asked. "That's an understatement," Lottie muttered. "More than you can imagine, I'm certain," Dr. Braum agreed. "Especially working around these parts, right?" Stan pried, "Seen some weird things no one can explain?  Things that don't fit in to what we think exists?" "Pfft, that ain't the half of it," Lottie said with a chuckle. "Mr. Pines," Dr. Braum said with a kind smile, "I once treated a vampire gnome with an arm full of Gremloblin quills.  I assure you I've seen everything at this point and will not judge." "Keep that in mind, will ya?" Stan said, leading them to the snack machine and punching in the access code.  The secret door opened with a poof eliciting awe from his two guests.  "Alright.  So my brother, Dr. Pines, is down here," he explained, motioning to the stairs. **** "I have never seen anything like this before in my life," Dr. Braum said, staring at the yellow eye and snaggletoothed grin framed between padded bars.  "Lottie, have you seen this before?" Lottie shook her head, her face showing no expression. "Is he possessed?  He's possessed, isn't he?  This is an actual, honest-to-goodness, demonic possession, isn't it?" Stan sighed in exasperation and mumbled, "I kinda figured he wouldn't let this be easy for us," he cleared his throat and spoke an introduction he hoped he wouldn't have to, "Dr. Braum, meet Bill.  Bill, Dr. Braum." "Um...  pleased to meet you Dr. Pine-" "Ha ha ha ha ha!" Bill's nasal whine lisped as it passed Ford's lips, "Fordsy isn't home right now.  Leave a message and he'll get back to you whenever I decide to he can!" "So..." Stan snorted, "Yeah.  Possessed.  That's definitely NOT my brother right now.  That's his body, yeah, but...  That's a dream demon named Bill inside." "Fascinating," Dr. Braum said, tilting her head with wide, curious eyes.  "Is it always like this?  How long has he been possessed?  Is your brother still in there or...  Somewhere else?  If he's not possessed all the time, what's it like when he isn't?  What exactly are the effects of long term possession on the human body?" "It's complicated," Stan answered, cringing as Bill slammed Ford's head against the padded bars.  "He's been possessed on and off for about 30 years now." "Oh ouch," Dr. Braum hissed with an empathetic grimace, mirrored by her assistant.  "Looks like that demon makes him hurt himself a lot.  I wonder what the psychological effects are.  And what are the effects of repeated possession for so many years?" "Sheesh, you sound just like him when he's himself," Stan said with a fond smile, a memory of exploring the beach as kids surfacing in his mind.  His smile sagged to a stern frown and he snapped, "He ain't your science experiment, though.  Look, we've tried everything from exorcisms to holy rituals, magic spells to purification and even something to do with moonstones because my brother said they have some kind of power but nothing will get rid of this monster." "Aaand you want me to try?" Dr. Braum asked, shrugging to Lottie. "Hey, if you want to, I'd be glad to try whatever you think might work, but that ain't why I called you here.  It's cause of that eye of his," Stan answered, pointing to Ford's gauze-covered eye and the blood pooling in the lens of his glasses and dripping down his face. "Ah, yes...  Eyes don't normally bleed like that.  What exactly happened?" "That, right there, is the most visible effect of being possessed," Stan said.  He reached past the bars, narrowly avoiding gnashing teeth, and lifted Ford's glasses to his forehead, the elasticized strap stretching to its limit.  "His eye bleeds after he's been possessed for a long time and after 30 years of this, he can't see out of it anymore." "Did it always bleed THIS much?" Dr. Braum asked, reaching in past the chomping teeth and jerking of Ford's head.  She managed to grab a corner of the tape holding his gauze patch in place and tore it off.  With her hand out of harm's way, she tilted her head and leaned in for a closer look.  Bill lunged toward her, making a barking sound but neither she nor her assistant flinched. "No," Stan answered, his eyes wide in awe of the fresh blood streaming from his brother's swollen eye.  "This is by far the worst it's ever been." "Well,  Let me try to get a better look at it.  Do you mind if my assistant um...  Restricts his motion?" "I was hoping to avoid that but, alright," Stan said with a huff.  He reached into his pocket and retrieved his keys, separating out the sailboat keychain and single key attached.  As he unlocked the door, he added, "But if you hurt him, it's comin' out of your pay." Lottie's grip was gentle but unrelenting as Dr. Braum examined Ford's eye.  Bill had disappeared for the duration, leaving Ford to face the humiliating circumstances alone.  Stan didn't want to watch but couldn't look away, not out of some sense of fascination, but because he needed to know Ford was not being harmed in any physical way.  As for psychological and emotional, he figured those ships sailed and hit their respective icebergs right about when the doctor and her assistant stepped into the room. Finally, Dr. Braum signaled to Lottie to release Ford.  She ducked away, her retreat graceful like a dance step over the padded floor, as Bill returned, thrashing Ford's body back and forth. With Lottie back in relatively safe space, Stan locked the door and asked, "So...  What do you think?" "Mr. Pines," Dr. Braum answered, pocketing her penlight, "I'm sorry but, I must advise that we remove that eye.  It must be incredibly painful for him at this point and there is no way of restoring his vision in it." "Son of a bitch," Stan cursed, more at himself than the situation.  When he'd thought a physical injury was the lesser of two evils, he hadn't considered it would mean his brother would lose an eye. "If we leave it, it will only get worse," she explained. "Shit.  So, what, he'll just have to wear a patch for the rest of his life?" "For about two months, perhaps.  But, from the looks of it, we should be able to preserve the structure with a temporary implant and fit him with a prosthetic once he's recovered." Stan breathed deeply, trying to sift through too many thoughts all at once.  "I gotta talk to Ford about this first," he said, squinting at the still yellow eye behind the bars, "But, if we're gonna do this, then, what do you need me to do?  I got a bed here we could use..." "Here?  You've got to be kidding me," Dr. Braum snapped, a horrified look on her face. "It's not that simple," Lottie added, shaking her head. "We need to transfer him to my surgery center," Dr. Braum explained.  "This procedure requires a sterile environment and proper care and medication for at least 72 hours while he recovers.  I have a private room reserved at my facility for cases like this.  My staff and I will take special care to assure no one knows he was ever there." "And just how are we supposed to get him there?"  Stan asked, an incredulous look in his eyes. "Can we use a sedative?" Lottie suggested. Stan's laugh, raspy and grim, shook loose memories he wished to forget.  "No," he said.  "That demon doesn't sleep.  In fact, for the first few years, he would only possess my brother when he was asleep, or, as we learned the hard way, sedated, because it was easier for him to take control then."   "Ha ha!  Now that I've gotten used to Brainiac's head space, I can pilot this flesh ship whenever I want!"   "Oh hmm," Dr. Braum pondered, "Well, with what I've seen here so far, I think it's safe to assume you have and know how to use a straight jacket?"   "Damn," Stan spat.  "Yeah.  I do." "Oooh we're really going out somewhere?" Bill crooned, "This should be fun!  Might even make it worth being bundled up in that contraption.  Hmm," he hemmed and hawed, contorting Ford's mouth until the split in his lip nearly reopened, "I suppose I should give this guy a minute to enjoy the news!  Be back soon!" "...S-Stanley..." Ford gasped, his head lowered and arms hanging limp from the restraints, "We can't..." "Oh...  You uh...  You heard?" "M-mostly," he answered. Dr. Braum's shoulders drooped, a mournful expression crossing her face.  Lottie's brows furrowed, worry etched across her forehead. "Something about transferring me to a surgery center..." He said, pausing for breath mid-sentence. "Yeah.  I'm sorry, Ford but, the doc here says she's gotta remove..." "I heard." "Hey doc," Stan said, turning to the two concerned women, "Can you give us a minute to talk this over?" "Certainly.  Come on, Lottie," Dr. Braum said, motioning for her assistant to follow her out of the basement cell. Once the door clicked shut, Stan turned back to his brother and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Ford.  I-" "You don't need to be sorry.  I just...  What if he?" "We won't let him hurt anyone," Stan vowed in a tone that almost convinced Ford they could assure it. A moment of silence built up his apprehensions until they exploded, "What if someone finds me there?  Or what if they turn us over to the authorities?  You could go to jail because they'll think you were keeping me here against my will!  And they'll believe this is a treatable disorder and admit me to an institute but a damn demon literally possessing me is nothing like that!  How many could he potentially hurt in a place that's meant to help people?  And when none of their treatments work, what will they do?" "Ha ha ha!" his voice morphed into Bill's nasal whine.  "Yeah.  What WILL they do, smart guy?" As Stan stared at a loss for words, Ford's voice returned, "Stanley...  We can't." "We can," He said, "and we have to whether we like it or not.  I know it's asking a lot to trust these people but remember what I said?  If they slip up and out us, they won't have a business anymore." "That's easy for you to say, you're not the one who's about to have a someone cut out the remains of your eye while a demon could-"  Ford sighed, trying to regain his composure.  "Stanley, I-  I'm..." "I know...  Shit, I'd be terrified, too.  If there's a Hell, I think this is it.  But, we WILL find a way to keep that monster out of your head and just...  Just think of the kids.  Think of all of us going fishing together.  Think of us sharing a birthday again.  Think of all the places we'll travel to when we're out at sea, finding treasure and weird things for you to research like we always dreamed.  Come on, breathe with me, in one two three four five six and out one two three four five six seven eight."  Stan ran through the breathing exercise five more times until Ford, and he, himself, calmed down a bit. "Using a fork to eat again," Ford added, "Drawing with a real pen.  Playing cards and board games with the kids.  Going to the diner for a burger..." "I realize there are no guarantees," Stan said, leaning against the bars, "This is scary shit.  But it scares me more to think of not trying." "At least there's a chance if we try." "Yeah," Stan managed a smile for Ford's sake and offered a scrap of his usual self in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood,  "Some philosophical mumbo jumbo like that." "Alright...  Lets get this over with, then," Ford said in resignation, looking up with a smile that wouldn't fool a nearsighted alien. "Hey, since you're going to be um...  Restrained anyway, you want a shave and hair cut?" Stan asked, "I know you said it's a pain and not to worry about it anymore but the electric razor's not so bad and maybe it would make you feel a bit better?" "I suppose," Ford's answer wavered, "Bill has taken to pulling out hairs again.  Though, I'm not sure it actually will make me feel better..." "What do you...?" Ford lowered his head, his hair concealing the majority of his face. "Oh.  Yeah," Stan said with a compassionate sigh.  He knew a mask when he saw one.  Maybe they didn't always cover one's face, much like his suit, he supposed, but they always seemed to help hide something, or, perhaps, provide comfort in some way. "I get it." "Maybe just a trim," Ford compromised, "And I suppose a shave.  Though, it grows back so fast I'm not sure it's worth it." "I guess we'll see how it goes," Stan said.  "Well, I suppose we should see if they can admit you tonight.  It'd be convenient with the kids out of the house and all." "I suppose."

Notes:

7-15-15-4 12-21-3-11 23-9-20-8 25-15-21-18 19-21-18-7-5-18-25.

Yeah... Dr. Braum is a nod to Jheselbraum. But is it this AU's version of her? It's up to you to decide. ;)