#another... wip

[steddiealltheway]

(This is way way way longer than intend. You have been warned.)

Steve cannot stand Eddie Munson. And the feeling is definitely mutual. From their first meeting Eddie had sneered, “Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. I never understood why they called him that when I was right there.” He had obnoxiously fluffed his hair as the kids had laughed along.

Okay, yeah. Maybe it wasn’t like the greatest insult of the century, but it was a cheap shot. Robin tells him that that’s the stupidest reason she’s ever heard when it came to an automatic dislike. But it’s not just that!

It’s the loud dramatics that Dustin is always praising and imitating. And the dumb faces Munson pulls that makes his eyes twinkle manically. It’s the constant jabs whenever he sees Steve - calling him “pretty boy” and “King Steve.” He tries not to flinch and give Munson the satisfaction - he hates that damn smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

The kids call them a divorced couple - throwing in “Mom and Dad are fighting again” every so often. He and Munson hate it - but that’s the only thing they’ll ever agree on.

But then the kids come up with an evil plan that isn’t revealed until it’s too late. Dustin invites Steve to a game night with the rest of the Party which… fine, he’ll come to it especially since they’re having it at his house. Sometimes he can’t say no to the kids - specifically when Will gives him those puppy dog eyes, but he’ll never admit to it.

But the dreaded day finally comes, and Steve is in the kitchen pulling a pizza out of the oven when he hears that damn voice. “You didn’t tell me this was Steve Harrington’s house,” Munson spits out Steve’s name as if it’s the most vile thing he’s ever said.

“You promised to join our game night no matter what!” Dustin argues.

That’s when Steve’s eyes land on Munson. He looks entirely out of his element for once and is just wearing that damn Hellfire shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows with ripped black jeans. The lack of the usual leather jacket or flannel or something as a second layer makes Steve feel… weird- no, angry.

Munson snorts, “Comfy enough?”

Steve glances down at his yellow sweater and gives the older boy a confused glare. “Something wrong with what I’m wearing, Munson?” It’s his turn to spit out the boy’s name like it’s an insult.

“I would just prefer if you were wearing less,” Eddie says with a sarcastic smile, knowing the line will make Steve flush red with rage.

Butterflies stir and die in Steve’s stomach at the comment. “And I’d prefer if you were wearing more.”

“Flustered, Harrington?”

“In your dreams.”

Munson winks and comments, “Well you’re there often enough.”

Steve just knows he could win in a fight against him, and severely wants to try in this moment.

“What the fuck guys?” Dustin says. Okay, maybe Steve forgot he was there.

“Language,” Steve warns then continues, “Why did you invite him?”

“Why did he invite you,” Munson fires back at Steve although he wasn’t even talking to him.

Steve gestures around. “It’s my damn house!” Munson’s mouth opens and closes a few times, realizing there’s no good way to make a comeback out of that. Steve revels in the win.

Munson just sighs and stalks out of the kitchen towards where the rest of the group is loudly chatting.

Dustin stays where he was with his hands on his hips which looks like a poor reflection of Steve’s usual stance. “Can you guys behave and get along just for once?”

“Not if he’s going to act like that.”

Dustin sighs and opens his arms dramatically - Steve thinks he got that from Munson - saying, “If you two just gave up on whatever rivalry there is between you, then you’d really get along. Come on for just one night!”

Steve thinks about it for a moment. Not having to constantly be on edge around the other boy for one night. Not constantly being a target to Munson’s jabs and sarcastic flirtatious quips. Not dealing with him constantly getting up in his physical space just to rile him up. He replies to Dustin, “No way.” He can’t let his guard down for one night because… well… because… he just can’t!

Dustin sighs and steals a plate and three slices of pizza. “You’re going to need more pizza,” is all he says before he announces to everyone that thee pizza is ready.

Steve sighs and looks at his timer which is close to going off - meaning the other pizza already in the oven is done. He’s prepared. He warns the kids that the fresh one is hot but doesn’t bother when Eddie comes in. He only feels a little bad when he hears the boy curse under his breath.

And that’s definitely not why he pulls a cold Coke out of the fridge and hands it to him so he can relieve the pain. He just does it because it’s worth seeing the suspicious face Munson pulls at the kind gesture. Never let them know your next move.

Soon everyone is finishing up their pizza in Steve’s living room where Steve sits on the floor as far away from Munson as he can. “Okay, first up charades!” Steve gives Dustin a look after the announcement. “What? El has never played. Everyone partner up in teams of two!”

Teams of two makes no sense when it comes to this large of a group, but when does anything make sense when it comes to the kids? Oh shit. Everyone pairs off into teams of two - Mike and Will, El and Max, and Lucas and Dustin leaving…

“No way,” Munson announces before Steve can beat him to it.

“For this one game, guys,” Dustin pleads with them.

Steve is about to argue, but he catches the extremely judgmental face Max is making and doesn’t want to even hear whatever comment is swirling around in her head. “Fine. This one game.”

Munson gives him the same suspicious look as they get little scraps of paper to fill out with random things to mime during the game. Once a random bowl is filled with the paper, the teams pair off to sit in the chairs and on the couch.

There’s a small available space left on the couch. Steve takes up the entire space expecting Munson to sit on the floor in front of him. Instead, he shrugs and flops right on top of him. Steve just obnoxiously wraps his hands around his waist and pulls him in tighter until he can tuck his chin over his shoulder. “What a sweetheart,” Munson whispers into his ear then has the audacity to kiss his temple.

Steve tries to suppress a full body shiver and is shocked when Munson doesn’t comment on it. Then the game goes on. At one point, Steve starts absentmindedly stroking his thumb up and down Munson’s arm while watching El and Max score six points. But then there’s a hand in his hair, lightly scratching, and he becomes overly aware of everywhere he’s making contact with Eddie.

He wants to kill him. He also wants to melt against him and give into the touch, but that’s exactly what Eddie wants! So, he ups his game, in whatever game they’re playing, and moves his hand to Eddie’s thigh finding the closest rip in his jeans and hooking his thumb under the material to lightly stroke at the skin there. Then he uses his other hand to sneak a hand under the hem of Eddie’s shirt and stroke at the skin at his waist.

Steve can feel the shape intake of breath as Eddie tenses up then relaxes back against him. The hand in his hair then tugs roughly, and Steve bites back a fucking moan.

He freezes as he realizes where they are. And who they’re around. Steve takes a quick glance around but finds everyone too intrigued in the game to notice whatever the fuck is happening between him and Eddie. The other boy must notice the freeze in his antics because his hand quickly comes out of his hair. “Kids,” Steve whispers.

“Right,” Eddie whispers back. Then the round is ending, and Dustin is jumping up to play which clears a space on the couch next to them. Steve takes the moment to gently move Eddie off of him, knees coming up immediately after the other boy is gone, and he finds Eddie snatching a pillow on his lap. What the fuck.

Steve tries to clear his head during the round, but Eddie’s arm is still pressed against him and it’s overwhelmingly distracting. God he can’t stand him.

Sooner than he expects, Dustin and Lucas’s round is over only racking up four answers and a bitter argument. Steve realizes he and Eddie are the last group to go up. Eddie nudges him to get up, pillow still firmly in his lap, and Steve would make a comment if the sight didn’t make his head spin.

He takes a deep breath as Dustin starts the timer for them, and Steve snatches up a piece of paper - train wreck. Yeah, that’s how he feels. He makes an awkward gesture of his hands coming together then blowing up that no one could possibly get.

“Train wreck.”

Steve grabs another paper - ice. He makes a cube shape with his hand and shivers.

“Igloo… No, ice.”

Dracula. Steve tries making fangs.

“Vampire.” Steve gestures for more. “Dracula!”

Lightsaber. Steve pretends to hold one and slice.

“Lightsaber.”

Steve hears Dustin whisper under his breath, “What the fuck?” As he pulls out paper after paper until the timer runs out.

The kids stare at the two in awe and shock as Dustin announces, “Eighteen. You guys got eighteen…”

Steve and Eddie share a look of slight discomfort. That can’t mean anything. Really. It can’t. Maybe Steve is just good at charades. So, Steve just nods at the man and sits on the couch in front of him. Another round in and Eddie is hooking his legs around Steve’s torso, and Steve is shooting him a glare. Insufferable asshole. He lays his head against his knee to mess with him as Eddie plays with his hair.

Soon enough, it’s their turn again, and Steve is grateful because he was about to embarrassingly doze off comfortably because of Eddie Munson. He takes his place on the couch and watches as Eddie prepares to start. This is the moment they prove everyone wrong about being a good team.

Eddie’s hands make a circle. “Ferris wheel.” Eddie shoots him a look and picks up the next paper. Shit.

His hand awkwardly flops in what Steve supposes is meant to be a wave. “A wave.” Eddie gestures for more. “The ocean.” Eddie picks up another paper.

Eddie points up then use the same hand to gesture something coming up. Something rising… “Sunrise.” Eddie picks up another paper.

Their round goes on the same as before, but this time the kids are all laughing as Steve guesses stuff almost immediately after Eddie makes a gesture. The timer goes off, and Dustin announces, “Twenty-five!”

A big grin splits out on Eddie’s face which Steve is sure he mirrors as he runs over to him and gives him a high-five. “That was so metal!” Eddie says, eyes twinkling with glee. Steve wants to stay in this moment forever.

Wait. No. He doesn’t. He fires back, “Just because I’m excellent at guessing, it had nothing to do with you, Munson.” Unfortunately, the name doesn’t quite land as it usually does, it now sounds a bit twisted up in joy.

Nonetheless, Eddie’s smile slightly falters as he punches Steve’s arm and replies, “I’m just great at miming stuff, Harrington.”

Dustin clears his throat, and Steve realizes they have an audience. “Next up we have Pictionary which is just charades but with drawing. Does anyone want to change groups?”

Steve freezes. Shit. This is supposed to be when he and Munson argue that yes, they do, but before they can Dustin says with a little too much excitement, “Looks like no one does, so we’ll keep it the same!” He goes off to wheel in a whiteboard Steve happened to find in his dad’s unused office.

Eddie sits on the arm of the couch this time - which Steve realizes could’ve been an option the whole time - and whispers, “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

“Because no one wanted to change groups.”

“Well, I didn’t see you raise your hand.”

“I didn’t see you raise your hand either,” Steve fires back but then the reality of what he said hits him. Shit. Eddie shoots him a shit eating grin.

Two rounds in, he’s sliding off the arm of the couch and into Steve’s lap complaining about it being uncomfortable. For some reason, Steve doesn’t tell him to just sit on the floor like he did.

Pictionary goes the same as charades does, with Steve and Eddie somehow on the same wavelength with every single scribble. On their last turn, Eddie’s marker dies out and Steve somehow guesses that the invisible scribbles are the Statue of Liberty.

I think that’s what really does it for everyone. The kids start demanding to know how they’re cheating, and Eddie and Steve actually team up to defend themselves on how they have no idea how they’re so good at the games.

The whole things has everyone switching teams, but it turns out that only Steve and Eddie can guess each other’s gestures and scribbles. At one point Steve yells at Dustin, “How could you not get the Loch Ness Monster from that?!”

And Dustin yells back, “How could you get it from his hand just going up and down?!”

Even when they all agree to do a round of everyone excluding the other half of Steve or Eddie, they find they can only guess around five things from Steve or Eddie on average. They let Steve and Eddie team up one last time and they score above twenty correct guesses on both turns.

It becomes suspicious to the point that Eddie and Steve both start questioning the group on whether they’re faking it. But when Max says, “I don’t think any one of us could’ve guessed that when Eddie’s hand started going up and it wasn’t even past his shoulder that it meant a giraffe - except for you,” Steve cringes and realizes she’s probably right.

He glances at his watch just for something to do when he realizes that they’ve actually been on this argument for a long time. Long enough that Nancy should be there any minute to pick a few of the kids up.

Sure enough, there’s a knock on Steve’s door. “Looks like Nancy is here.”

The teens start to complain about how time has gone too fast, and they'll have to beat Steve and Eddie another time. Dustin finally gets to the door first, then he yells, "Last one to make it to the car is the true loser!" The kids bolt.

Nancy puts her arms up as they pass her. She gives Steve and Eddie a tight smile after she finds all the kids struggling to fit themselves in her car.

"I brought half of them here; I can take them back," Eddie offers kindly. Jeez, Steve wishes he could be like that with him.

"Thank you, but I think they'd kill me if I tried to kick any of them out. You know how they are."

"We definitely do," Steve says and smiles brightly at Nancy. "Tell Robin I said hi."

Nancy's smile turns into a real one as a blush rises on her face. She nods and quickly says her goodbyes. Steve closes the door only to realize Eddie is still there. "Want to help me clean up?" Steve asks, fully expecting a rude response from the man.

"Sure," Eddie says instead, moving to pick up empty soda cans. Steve tries not to let his eyes linger as he bends over to do so. He shakes his head and moves to clean the whiteboard and wheel it back to his father's office.

When he comes back, he finds Eddie has stacked all the cans haphazardly in his arms. "Where's the trash can?" Steve motions for him to follow and pulls out the drawer in his kitchen with his trash can. "Rich people," Eddie mumbles as he drops the cans in.

Steve moves the pizza pans into the sink to wash later as Eddie comes up behind him. "We make a pretty good team, Harrington."

Steve scoffs and turns around, finding Eddie smiling openly at him. He doesn't like it. It feels too... suspicious. "In your dreams, Munson."

Eddie's face falls again. "At least you're nice in my dreams."

Steve laughs. He's got to be kidding. "Why would I be nice to you? You can't stand me, and the feeling is mutual, buddy."

Steve becomes overly aware of how trapped he is with his back digging into the counter. It's worse when Eddie leans forward and puts his hands on the counter at each side. Steve's crossed arms are the only reason Eddie isn't fully pressed up against him. And he does not want to put his arms down and fulfill the want in his traitorous mind.

Eddie breath ghosts over his lips as he says, "Yeah, you invade my space at every given moment with your hands itching to touch me because you can't stand me so much."

Steve cocks his head and leans further into Eddie's space, not afraid of the close proximity. "Yet look who's the one invading mine first."

"And look who's leaning into it."

With that Steve shoves Eddie off of him. He doesn't want to play these fucking mind games with the asshole. What he really wants is to get as far away from his as possible and to take a really cold shower.

Eddie laughs, and Steve just needs him to shut the fuck up for once. And that's the exact moment he storms into Eddie's space and kisses him.

And that's the exact moment he realizes he's fucked up.

(Thank you @henderdads for encouraging me to turn my concept into a ficlet, and since I am unable to stop myself from writing way more than I intend and making everything into a wip... I will be dropping the AO3 Link to this once I continue it. Also, this isn't even the whole first chapter or part to this story ahhhh)

[daydreamerwonderkid]

Post patrol family game night goes awry ...

Meme reference under cut

[crowkip]

oh to be a tired little cowboy napping with his cows

[ryuuna]

BACK TO MY HADES BRAINROT

[waveoftheocean]

late and very much still a wip but happy superbat week day 4: on a case/undercover!

[onebadnoodle]

wanted to try my hand at a batman design

[moondirti]

MDNI. dubcon. objectification. degradation. humiliation. guys being gross. female reader. fingering. cunnilingus. pussy slapping. brief aftercare. an absurd amount of filth for something so short.

price helping you get over your fear of humiliation by inviting the guys over and prying your pussy open for them, half-slouched on his lap with your legs held up in the air :( they’re so mean about it, too. cooing condescending compliments, curling their nasty hands around your jaw to keep your head in place as they pet your most vulnerable places, like you’re the winning pup at a dog show and not a whole human—entitled to any boundary you set, regardless of how your husband feels.

they pay no heed to your protests, though. actually, the men avoid addressing you at all. rather, all their personal, invasive questions are directed to price, who answers them with his own self-satisfied grin.

‘keeps clenchin’ around nothing, desperate thing. hole this willing deserves to be gaped. how often d'you stuff her?’ depends on if she's been good.

‘fookin’ drooched, cap. does she taste as guid as she looks?’ mm, better. smells like nectar too. take a whiff, son. don’ wash my beard afterward on the occasion, jus to keep her under my nose.

‘think i can thaw a winter’s worth of ice with this cunt alone. heat’s practically radiating off ‘er. pathetic slut.’ y’should see how much worse it gets after a good beating, lieutenant. swells up, and damn well sears my palm.

and of course they take it upon themselves to test the validity of his answers. kyle works four fingers into you, then his thumb, stretching you open for his probing, angling your hips up to the light so that your insides are illuminated for his curious eye. if price didn’t have his rough hands anchored to the underside of your knees, you would have kicked his prized sergeant off.

embarrassment washes your neck in warmth, lashes droopy with fat tears. all your husband does to comfort you is place a scratchy kiss to your shoulder, soft hushes tickling your skin.

then, soap intercedes to shove his nose to your mons. he doesn’t just take a whiff — rather, he sucks in the sweet-sour tang your slick provides, testing it in both scent and taste. his hot tongue laves over where kyle’s fingers had been, incisors nibbling at the ripe bud of your clit. mortifying pleasure sinks low, sloshing in your belly’s bed. though you did not expect him to be, he isn’t modest about it. soap presses completely into your pussy, muzzle lacquered with wetness that rivals yours.

your whimpers devolve into moans. loud, a little unhinged. you’ve always played at dressing them up around price, worried that he’d turn away if your face screwed too tight, or your pleasure made itself known beyond what directly serves him. it’s exactly the habit that got you into this mess; and as you lose yourself to the scene, you can feel his delight blossoming against your back.

ghost scares you the most. he lets you have your orgasm, towering behind the man between your legs, but does not let him revel in it, yanking him back by his mohawk at the first twitch of your toes. in the fervour, you have hard time remembering what you should expect. especially when he doesn’t get to it immediately, wiping the gloss off your plush cunt. his callouses rash you, gritty, abrading the soft surface of your skin. it is only when you wince do his eyes crinkle in a manner cruel enough to evoke what’s to come.

but it’s too late to prime yourself. his hand flies back, coming back twice as fast to strike dead centre between your legs. it hurts. hurts so much more than it ever has before, your body unused to unrestrained strength. you scream, throat mangling around the rough cut of it, fighting wildly against price until you manage to escape his hold. immediately, instead of running away, you twist backwards, burying your face into his neck, calming yourself by taking deep breaths of his cologne. something heady — leather, tobacco, sandalwood — bridges the synapses in your brain, numbs the pain, if only a little.

“shhh, little one. you’re alright. it’s okay. doing so good for us.” he soothes, rubbing your sweaty back. the world narrows to just you and him, his men reduced to mere afterthoughts. to be dealt with later — though you doubt the conversation will be anywhere near reprimanding, more likely to end with a bottle of scotch split between four, approving slaps to the captain’s back, than it ever will in your defence.

“n-ne- never a-ga…”

“come, now. let’s not be brash, mm. i promised them a pump each. ‘n’ what kind of host would i be if i didn’t make good on that?”

[ruushes]

🌞 and 🌑 type of romance. 🔥 and ❄️ type of romance. need I go on

[purplepakwan]

"you're going to be amazing"

ISTUS WIP

[heartorbit]

searching for a star that's still unknown to anyone!

[hailsatanacab]

Family Dinners - dpxdc

"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne!" Danny gaped, jabbing a finger at the man sitting at the head of the table.

The bustling dining room goes silent as everyone turns to look at him.

"Danny, who did you think was going to be here?" Tim asks, disbelief plain in his voice and Danny feels his face flush red.

"Sorry, I, uh, I guess I just never put it together. Tim Drake-Wayne. Wayne Manor. It, uh, makes sense now." He laughs sheepishly and scrubs at his neck before slumping back down into his chair.

"Well," Tim says with an indulgent sigh, "at least I know you're not just friends with me for my connections."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, I just never thought about it, I guess."

Danny sinks lower as everyone around him laughs. Come to dinner, he said, the food is the best, he said, ignore the family, he said. Danny really wishes he'd listened to Tim and just ignored them—almost as much as he's regretting accepting the offer in the first place—but... he's having dinner with Batman.

Ancients, that's so weird!

The last time he saw Batman was in the future and, suffice it to say, it was not going well. There hadn't really been time for family dinners there.

Wait. Family dinners?

He peers around the table, openly gawking at everyone as it all clicks into place.

"Everything alright, Danny? Now realising who everyone else is?" Tim asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Uh... something like that..." Danny mumbles as everyone laughs again.

From further down the table, the smallest Wayne scoffs and clicks his tongue.

"I thought you said he was smart, Drake?"

"So, you all do it, too, then?" he asks, ignoring the jibe. Danny's only a little bit jealous as he thinks of how much easier they must have it, how much easier it'd be if his family had been on his side, too. "You all work together?"

"Nah," Dick says from across the table with a brilliant grin. "Tim's the only one that works with Bruce, we all have different jobs. I'm a police officer in Bludhaven."

"Disgusting." Danny blurts out without thinking—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting vigilante would also be a police officer?—before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

The whole table laughs again, the loudest being the blonde girl a few spaces down from Dick. Look, Danny wasn't really paying attention to names when they were all paraded in front of him. Dick only gets remembered because his name is a joke.

Come on, Danny, recover!

"That's, uh, not what I meant, though."

"Oh?" Dick asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. Is it Danny's imagination or does his smile tense slightly?

"Yeah, I mean like, you know, in costume. It must make it so much easier to have everyone together like this."

"Costume? What do you mean?"

Yeah, Danny's not imagining it, everyone tenses up at that. It's really only now that he's realising that this probably isn't how he should bring up that he knows about their... night time activities. In fact, he probably shouldn't be bringing it up at all.

"Uuhhh..." Danny looks wildly around the table as he continues making his stupid noise. Think, think, think! There must be a way out of this!

"Danny?" Tim asks, looking concerned.

"Oh, Ancients, this isn't how I wanted it to go at all," he mutters, slipping even further into his chair. He's almost on the floor now and he so, so wishes it could just swallow him up.

His real first meeting with Batman was meant to be cool! He had planned to be Phantom, maybe save them from a tight spot, prove his worth as a mysterious and powerful ally as thanks for the help Batman gave him in the future.

"Danny, what are you talking about?" Tim starts tugging on his sleeve in an attempt to pull him back up from his pit of despair.

Eventually, Danny relents and sits up straighter, hiding his face in his hands and whining all the while.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect him to be here and it threw me off so now I look stupid and it's so embarrassing!" he wails, flailing his arms wide. "Why wouldn't you warn me that Batman was your adopted dad, Tim? Couldn't you have let me know?"

"I'm sorry, what? Danny are you alright? There's no way Bruce can be Batman, look at him!"

"Yeah," the blonde girl laughs from the bottom of the table, "look at him! That's a wet noodle of a man! Batman can actually do things, B is incapable of pretty much everything."

"Thank you, Stephanie," Bruce sighs, massaging his forehead.

It's... Those are the first words Danny's heard Batman say since everything went down and it's enough to knock him out of his embarrassment.

It's really good to hear his voice again. Especially now, when it's strong and healthy and full of personality—even if that personality is little more than a tired father right now—far better than how it had been, at the end.

Danny sits up, back straight, and grins. He's got this. He remembers it perfectly. Some people count sheep to fall asleep, Danny repeats his mantra to be certain that he'll never forget it.

"Gamma alpha upsilon tau iota mu epsilon, 42, 63, 28, 1 colon 65 dash 9."

Once again, the whole table falls into silence.

"Holy shit..." breathes the other D name (Duke? Danny's pretty sure he's Signal) from opposite Stephanie. "Isn't that...?"

"The time travelling code." The littlest Wayne says stiffly. "We have met in the future?"

"That's not just the time travelling code, Dami." Dick says, looking between Danny and Bruce. "That's the family time travelling code."

Danny's grin freezes in place.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"1 colon 65 dash 9." Dick explains, still flicking between him and Bruce. "It means you've been adopted into the family and we should all treat you as such, no questions asked."

"Tell you what, I'm about to ask a question." Danny says, dumbstruck. "You just told me it was a code to identify time travellers, not anything about being adopted! What the hell, B?"

Bruce looks about as shellshocked as Danny feels.

"We must have been close," he says finally, after opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water a few times.

"No! Not that close!" Danny reels back, taking a deep breath ready to refute it all, but... "Well, I mean, you found me when I first got stuck, and you helped me get better despite being... And then we fought together against the, uh, bad guy, before he, um, he... before you couldn't."

An uncomfortable beat passes while they all pick up on what Danny tried so hard not to say.

"So, you're not from the future, then, you travelled there and came back?" Tim asks, breaking the tension and leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

"Yeah, it was a whole end of the world thing, but don't worry about it," Danny says with a hand wave, "It's all kosher now, won't ever happen."

"What did happen?"

"Seriously, don't worry about it, we cool."

"How long in the future was it?"

"About ten years? You were pretty spry for an old man, B," Danny laughs, wishing they'd get off the topic of what happened and get back to the adoption bit.

Everyone shares degrees of a cautious smile as they relax out of the shock, and Dick—whose grin is the biggest—says, "No wonder you got the family code, you're already riffing on him like one of us. How long were you there for?"

"A week, before I managed to get back to my present and stop him then."

"A week? Jeez, B, that has to set some kind of record, seriously."

"Oh!" Danny says, sitting bolt upright and blinking in surprise before pointing at Dick and bouncing in his seat. "You're Nightwing!"

"What?"

"That's exactly what Nightwing said when Batman told me the code! Makes so much more sense now."

Dick laughs and claps his hands, delighted.

"You were not formally adopted?" The grumpy small one—Dami?—asks, his face pinched.

"I didn't even know I was informally adopted."

"And your parents? Are they alive or dead?"

"Damian, stop—"

"They were dead in the future, but they're alive now." Danny says, looking down. He fiddles with the tablecloth, twisting the fabric around his fingers as he fights down the pang of sadness that he always feels when he thinks of them now. He forces a bright smile on his face and hopes it doesn’t look too strained. "I just, uh, can't talk to them much, anymore."

"Damian," Dick warns, "1 colon 65 dash 9. Treat them as family, no questions asked."

"This is Damian treating him as family, the little turd has no manners." Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he gently bumps shoulders with Danny to knock him out of his funk. Danny can't help but send him a watery smile.

"I have the most exemplary manners, Drake, unlike some people." Damian spits, crossing his arms with a pout. "I was merely ascertaining his status to see how he could possibly fit into the family."

"I know this is all a bit sudden, Danny," Bruce smiles, ignoring Damian and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his arm, "for all of us. But if I felt strongly enough to give you that code after spending a week with you in the future, then you are more than welcome in this family, if you so choose it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'd like to get to know you a bit more."

"I know a threat when I hear it, Bruce." Danny snorts. "But, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry this is all so weird, it really wasn't how I wanted to find you again, but... I'm glad I did."

"So are we, Danny." Dick says, with a warm smile. "And formally or not, 1 colon 65 dash 9 means you're family. Welcome to the fun house! No take backs or refunds, sorry. You're stuck with us."

[spookberry]

Does anyone remember my Hannah Montana au

Reference:

[cryptidclownz]

[tzarrz]

i listen to fog lake too much

[ghost-bxrd]

(“the weather warmer, he is colder”)

— Army Dreamers, Kate Bush

[malcontentonline]