No Because Lets Talk About It They Had So Much Tension

no because let’s talk about it 😭 they had so much tension

They made Ben and Evie cute couples costumes for Chillin Like a Villain then said psych

a happy ending for the last targaryen

Bran Stark x Targaryen! Reader 🤍🖤

ooc bran? i miss goT :(

your sister dany died but you shed no tears, she had became mad like your father. the only family you had left was your dragon drogon but you still felt alone. but you weren’t entirely alone you had bran stark, you and the stark boy had an odd friendship. something about you pulled him in like a magnet. he liked spending time with you and you him. when bran was named the king of the six kingdoms you clapped for him. nobody truly deserved it more than him.

some hours later king bran had called you in for a private meeting. you had thought he was going to have you get rid of your beloved dragon but it was because he had quite the question for you. “y/n. you had been a friend to me in my time of need” he cleared his throat and you just smiled as you always did that was your bad habit. “you don’t have anybody and i hate to admit but i enjoy your company.” you rolled your eyes. “thanks?” you bowed your head.

“what i mean to say is, it is in your best interest that you accept my proposal.” he huffed giving a half assed smile. “what’s your proposal?” you walked a little closer to him. “marry me? this way you can be queen and you will never be alone.” you were shocked but he was right, you didn’t want to feel alone and being queen of basically ashes didn’t sound to bad. “what’s the catch?” you laughed.

“i don’t know if I can have children so we may never have any.” he sighed and you just slyly smiled. “i didn’t know we would be uh -“ your cheeks felt hot trying to explain your point. “well i assumed we’d consummate our union ?” he grew embarrassed. “as you said you don’t know so we can try and if it doesn’t work. it won’t matter.” you crouched down so you can be in his eye level. you caressed his cheek. “because ill have you…. and drogon” he rolled his eyes. you brought your lips to his and you had a passionate kiss. “bran the broken and the last targaryen, who would’ve thought?” you grinned.

“i can’t think of no greater love story” he said with his usual blank expression. you laughed while kissing him on his cheek. “there isn’t one greater than ours”

and you lived ………..

happily ever after

viscount tewksbury 😩

i have feelings that are too real for characters that are fictional

“MOTHER KNOWS BEST”

part 1 of _

warnings: angst , bad mother mother gothel (cher)

pairing : prince ben x reader

fandom: descendants (1)

[ben pov]

“How is it possible you’re going to be crowned king next month you’re just a baby” my dad smiles with my mom on his arm

“He’s turning sixteen dear” my mom smiles looking at me.

“Hey pops” I say smiling back as the tailor takes my measurements.

“Sixteen? That’s far to young to be crowned king… I didn’t make a good decision until i was at least 42” my dad said folding his glasses and putting them in his suit pockets

“Uh you decided to marry me at 28” my mom rolled her eyes and scoffed

“Well it was either you or a teapot” I laughed my mom didn’t find it funny . “kidding”

“Mom,Dad I’ve chosen my first official proclamation. I’ve decided that the children of the isle of the lost get the chance to live here in auradon” my parents looked at my shocked my mom even drop a coat

“Every time I look out to the island i feel like they’ve been abandoned!” I defend my proclamation

“The children of our sworn enemies living among us?” My father looked at me angry

“We start off with a few at first the ones that need our help the most, I’ve already chosen them” I smiled standing my ground.

“Have you?”.

“I gave you a second chance , who are there parents?” my mom smiled at me

“ Cruella De Ville, Jafar, The Evil Queen, Mother Gothel and …. Maleficent”

“MALEFICENT????? She is the worst villain in the land” my dad shouts at me.

“Dad Just hear me out here” I defend raising my voice a little bit.

“I WONT HEAR OF IT. They are guilty of unspeakable crimes.”

“Dad there children are innocent, don’t you think they deserve a shot at a normal life ? dad” I look at him basically pleading with him.

“I suppose there children are innocent” he sighed

********

the whole rotten to the core dance and song thing happens.

[y/n pov ]

Maleficent walks towards us and all the people run away. figures everyone hates her… she talks to mal but i had no interest in listening because it was always the same thing. Maleficent telling mal she wasn’t “truly evil” which is not true mal is the worst person I know and that’s a compliment.

“Oh There’s news!!! you five have been chosen to go to a different school…. In Auradon” maleficent says now im listening a different school? away from mother?

The other vks squirm trying to run away but the goons hold them back . Mal ,Evie , Jay and Carlos go back in forth with reasons we shouldn’t go i stayed quiet.

I always felt like I wasn’t evil enough hopefully some day I’ll be truly evil and wicked like Maleficent and Mal. Maybe this school would be my chance to prove to my mother that I could be just as evil as the other vks maybe even more .

*

{ik mother gothel isn’t a sorceress but just go with it }

“mother i don’t wanna go, please why can’t they go without me? with mal they’ll be fine” i pleaded on my knees to my mother but she just laughed and picked me up off the floor.

“don’t be a drama queen y/n, you will be going to auradon prep and you will love it” she said dramatically she looked serious so i didn’t fight her on it.

“how does this benefit us mother? rapunzel already cut her stupid hair off” i scoffed fixing my hair

“when me, eq, jafar and maleficent take over auradon , i will simply plant more of those flowers and you and the rest of the hoodlum bunch can loot and cause chaos all you want” she smiled probably daydreaming of being youthful and pretty again

“but-“ before i could even speak my mother hushed me up and cut me off mid sentence.

“Listen, you will stick with your little hoodlum bunch and steal the wand like maleficent said as soon as we have the wand the faster we can get our revenge” my mother handed me a book

“What’s this? Is it like the one maleficent gave mal?” i asked curiously.

“Nope! mine is much more powerful, you will read it , study it and practice it because?” She moved the hair outta my face

“Because mother knows best” i softly frowned while picking up my bags.

“Now go change that dress evie made you , looks to much like that blasted little princesses dress”

beep beep

“No time for that mother but I will change when I arrive to auradon “

The rest of the vks got pep talks from there parents while mine just practically insulted me but then again that was just how mother showed her love. I grab my bags and follow the rest of the villains down stairs and into the limousine.

“Bring home the gold”

“Bring home a puppy”

“Bring home a prince”

“Don’t come back until you’re eviler than you came” i shivered at my mothers words

“I hope your happy…… but don’t be happier ”

| six years later enola comes back to england to confess her love to tewksbury only to find out tewksbury is married with children |

unedited cus i wrote this at 3:33 am

based on oliva rodrigos song

she was nervous to knock on the door of the man she loved the man she hadn’t seen in six years. when she left london she stopped contact with the then seventeen year old marquess. she knocked on the door and a servant answered and bowed this servant had recognized her and let her in without any trouble

she walked into the huge mansion and looked around it was different some of the landscape paintings were replaced with portraits of a women and her children. the servant went to go inform tewksbury of her presence. enolas heart was beating so incredibly fast

the servant showed enola to tewksburys study that’s were she remembered him spending his time, they used to sit and there and solve little local problems. when she knocked on his study door he opened it with a smile they embraced for a full minute.

then enola went to look around it was still the same like when they were kids. suddenly a little boy comes running while giggling “daddy mummy’s chasing me” her heart shattered was this kid his? then a women followed while apologizing “sorry my dear klaus insisted he see you” she looked up at enola “oh my we didn’t know you had any visitors”

the little boy bowed apologizing to his father and enola. “it’s alright, why don’t you introduce yourself to a friend of mine” he patted the boys head enola smiled seeing be so fraternal with the boy. “niklaus of bashilwether, i’m four” he bowed once more before running out the door laughing. tewksbury chuckled

“Enola this is my wife , Y/n the viscountess of bashilwether”

“just y/n. the whole title is a mouth full” she smiled while shaking her hand. enola wanted to go home and cry, the love of her life is married with children.

“uh hello- i was a friend of tewksburys” enola could barely get a sentenced out. “i’ve heard about you the detective that saved him, you’re extraordinary” y/ns praise made enola smile softly how could she hate her she was so nice.

“y/n darling would you mind giving me and enola some time to talk? it won’t take longer than five minutes” tewksbury kissed y/n on the cheek while whispering something in her ear. “of course i’ll go and check on niklaus” she left the room gracefully

“so you’re married with a child that’s -amazing im so happy for you” she could feel tears coming but she held them in. tewksbury looked at her with a genuine smile.

“thank you friend, i soon will have three kids y/ns with child. we pray for twins” his smile grew bigger as he told her the news. her heart shattered for the second time.

“when did you um - when” she was cut off by the man in front of her. “uh the day you left i had met y/n at the flower stand and then a year later we were married” he said smiling.

“what brings you to bashilwether? are you in need of supplies or lodgings?” he asked with a worried look on his face. “no I just came to visit but i should be going-“ she was interrupted by knocking

“y/n? come in my love” hearing him call y/n that instead of her made enola want to jump off a cliff

“honey dinner is ready, is enola staying over lola made chicken soup and i must say it’s delicious” she said poking her head in the door.

“no i was just telling tewksbury i was leaving but um it was nice to meet you y/n , have a good night” she bowed slightly at tewksbury and got up from her seat

“don’t be silly it’s raining please stay enola, i insist the rain will clear after dinner”

*

the dinner was mostly quite will the exception of y/n making friendly conversation, y/n could sense something between them maybe they used to be lovers y/n thought. “me and klaus both think that marie would be nice for a girl or marcel if it’s a boy” she broke the silence the topic of baby names spark tewksbury interest and brighten his mood

“darling perhaps you can consider davina for a first name, davina claire sounds beautiful” tewksbury grinned looking lovingly at y/n. “i like the sound of that, what do you think enola?” y/n turned to enola

“sounds very royal i like it, what do you hope for tewksbury. y/n?” enola took a sip of her wine. “we pray for twins so hopefully one boy and one girl”

“i just want healthy babies now and in the future” y/n drank from her cup that was filled with water.

“amen to that, i just want to say how happy i am to see my old friend enola holmes and share with her my beautiful wife and the mother of my beautiful child and children to be”

(your reaction) ⬆️

after dinner and the rain cleared up a bit enola went on her merry way back to her house , as soon as she was far enough she began to cry , she was to late.her one chance of happiness is gone.

Pt 2? idk if y’all can comment but uh let me know somehow if y’all want pt 2

unfinished but cured my daddy issues, Ben affleck >>

You Can Call Me Bruce...(Part V)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x reader

Warnings: Age gap, mild swearing (? I think?)

Previous Parts: I, II, III, IV

Dedicated to: everyone who stuck by this story. I apologize for this much delayed update, things had been hectic up until a few days ago, but I’m back now. 

I haven’t tagged anyone in particular because I’ve gone too long to even remember those who requested (please don’t throw rocks), but feel free to inbox and remind me for the next installment–which, most likely, will be the last.

                                                  ~*~*~*~

“You wanted to see me?” Bruce asks.

He’s standing in the kitchen doorway, using his best Batman impression to try and ward off all thoughts that he’s scared. He isn’t scared. He could never be scared. By even harboring such feelings from the start, Bruce knew that it would come to this, and he’s not scared at all because he’s prepared.

He’s prepared to hear Alfred’s disdain.

He’s prepared for judgmental stares and disguised accusations; for wrathful scolding, for raised voices. He’s even ready for things to get physical, worst comes to worst, and Bruce promises he’ll let Alfred win, for he truly deserves all of it what shall be thrown at him.

“Take a seat.” The older man finally speaks, back to the door as he stands at the sink. Water drips from the faucet, drop after drop. It echoes into the otherwise silent room. Bruce moves.

He seats himself at the counter, steepling his hands on top, and with a deep breath, the butler finally turns. Their gazes meet.

“Master Wayne.” He says; to Bruce, it always sounds like a hello or a good morning . Familiar. Routine. Hearing it uttered now with such venom is almost painful.

“You’re quite punctual for things like these.”He says

“Things like what, Alfred?”

“As if you don’t know.”

A silence.

The two friends stare at each other. Neither speaks. Wind whistles through the room, and they sit, reading the lines and wrinkles and creases carved in their faces from all the battles they’ve faced together.

So many.  And saying Bruce doesn’t feel his heart wrench even a little would be a lie.

Alfred is his best-friend. Alfred has always been his best friend. More than anything, he’s almost been like a father to him, and facing him in such a rancorous environment is sickening.

He wants to get up and run away, he now realizes. He wants to elude this conflict. Avoid it. Bury it. If you asked him a second ago if he was afraid, Bruce would have said no, would’ve scoffed at the mere preposition. If you asked him now, he’d say the same thing…

Because he wasn’t afraid.

He was mournful.

Mournful that it had come to this; mournful that he was sitting here, in this kitchen, about to be forced to pick a fight with his best-friend.

“You say you don’t know,” Alfred begins. “…and yet here you sit, wearing that very same scowl of intimidation you give the joker.”

“Is that supposed to make me mad.” Bruce retorts. His voice is harsh,stoic.

He watches the older man’s eyes. And then they soften.

And then Bruce feels a vein in his neck twitch, but he can’t do anything about that, not now. Instead he focuses on Alfred, who just as much is trying to shutter his emotions. This is hard for him too. How can it not be? The two of them are family. To Bruce, Alfred is his only family, and knowing that only makes it harder to pull through.

“Master Wayne…”Alfred says, raising himself to his feet as he saunters over to the sink. The faucet drips and drips in the hanging silence, taunting Bruce.  “I’ve known you all your life. I’ve known you since you were just a boy and I’ve seen you grow. Seen you through all your trials and tribulations, your successes, your failures. I’ve watched become batman and save Gotham and in all that time, I’ve never asked for much.” He pauses, eyes searching, searching desperately for any form of surrender in Bruce’s feature’s.

But he won’t let him have it.

Bruce clenches his jaw. It feels like his teeth just might shatter from the pressure.

“But I ask you now.” He continues.  “Please. Let this one go.”

“Don’t beat around the bush, Alfred.”

“I don’t want to see you going Y/N again, you hear me? I don’t want to even see the two of you in the same room.” He’s straight to the point, not sparing Bruce of the bluntness, and it cuts him like a knife. He tries not show it, clenching his jaw further.

“She’ll be leaving soon.” Alfred continues. “A week. A week and she’ll be gone, and until then I want you to put an end to whatever is going on.”

“Nothing is going on.” Bruce’s voice is leveled and yet firm. Authoritative, like he is a captain ordering his cadet. He can see the scorn, evident and dripping from his features, in Alfred’s face as he scowls.

“Don’t be daft, boy..” he grits. “I saw you, I saw the two of you in your room—“

“We weren’t doing anything!”

“So you mean you were just talking as you said?”

“Yes, Alfred.”

“You mean she was just telling you about her work?”

“Yes!”

“You mean you didn’t try to kiss her?” He bellows, angry, exasperated.

All the blood drains from Bruce’s face.

His skin goes white, as white as snow, as white as the age painting Alfred’s hair. He can feel it: the embarrassment, as now the unspoken is vocalized, the other shoe has dropped. Bruce gulps thickly, and then averts his gaze, breaking his poker face.

“You mean I’m making this up?” Alfred continues. “You mean I didn’t walk in on you ready to soil her innocence.”

“Stop talking like she’s a child.” A vein in Bruce’s neck pops angrily as his fists clench. He knew this was coming right from the start, but hearing it out loud makes him freeze, makes his stomach feel like molten tar. God, how embarrassing. How incriminating.

“Compared to you she is. Compared to you she might as well be in diapers. Age regardless, sir, you’re older. You’re older in soul and you’re older in mind. You’ve seen things….terrible things. That in itself would mark you as ancient, even if you were clocking thirty.”

“You think I don’t know this, Alfred? I do. Goddamn it, I do.” He does. This is why Bruce never wanted this—this is why he kept it hidden away, locked up like a vile and sinful thing that it was; but now it’s out in the open and he feels exposed, vulnerable. They’re telling him things he already knows.

They’re telling him things he doesn’t want to know because knowing them makes him feel even worse. He doesn’t want that and God, he doesn’t want this to be happening but it is and…

“Act like it. You’re not a child.”

Bruce lifts his gaze. “What do you think I plan on doing Alfred? Hmm? Do you think I want to get in her pants?”

“What other motive do—“

“What do you mean what other motive—“

“What is going on?” A voice cuts through their bickering, confused and harried.

Both of them freeze. Bruce feels his heart, formerly rampant and rapidly beating in his chest, still, and he doesn’t want to look, but at the same time it’s tempting because it’s her.

Y/N.

Y/N, standing in the doorway.

Y/N, estranged and weary.

Finally, he gives in and Bruce’s eyes dart to her, raking over her face.  She looks to him. “What’re you two doing?” The young girl asks. “Why are you arguing like this?”

Aflred, standing by the sink, lets his hands slowly lower and unclenches his fist. He swallows. “Y/N….” He admonishes. “Stay out of this.”

“Like I hell I will, Uncle Fred. I just walked in on the two of you nearly tearing each other’s fucking throats out and you think I’m going to let this go?”

He clenches his jaw. “It’s none of your business.”

“Except it is.”

“Y/N.” Bruce cuts through the growing argument, earning the pair’s attention. Y/N’s eyes flare with irritation and the next thing he knows she’s up in his face, but a few inches away.

“You…”The young girl sneers. “What the hell are you doing arguing with him? He’s your family—you’re both each other’s family! You’re not supposed to be spewing hate at each other like this, for Christ sake.”

“You have no right to interrupt like this.” Says Alfred.

Y/N scoffs and rolls her eyes, about to speak, but she’s cut off.

“Go to your room!” He commands, voice dressed in sternness, authoritativeness that Bruce hasn’t heard in so long. He used to use that tone with Bruce when he was just a child, when they’d get into an argument about him disrespecting Alfred or when there needed to be some disciplinary ground rules. It had once been frightening. Hearing it now, however, Bruce feels nothing but scorn well up within him.

His fists clench at his sides as a protectiveness takes over him, and the next thing he knows, he’s standing in front of Y/N, shielding her from her livid uncle. Just to keep from things getting ugly, but he hears something sift behind him. When he turns around, Y/N is glaring at him bitterly, stepping out from behind his burly form with an offended expression marring her features.

“I don’t need you protecting me.” She says, like she’s angry, like him trying to help her is almost as bad as Alfred’s rage. “I’m not a baby anymore. I don’t need you trying to treat me one, Uncle Fred—and I don’t need you trying to stick up for me when I can do it perfectly fine on my own.”

“I didn’t say that you couldn’t.”

“This is outrageous! Both of you,” Alfred cuts in, and then all hell breaks loose, because Y/N starts to argue with him.

Bruce watches from the sidelines, amazed and frightened. It’s a vicious battle. Words fly from person to person, pure venom, bitter, angry. Y/N brings up their family and how everybody still sees her as a baby, and Alfred retaliates by reminding her off all the bad decisions she’s made that have caused that. He’s yelling, going red in the face. It isn’t until he hears a small sniffle that Bruce realizes Y/N is crying.

“Huh, see that—grown girls don’t cry when you tell them the truth!” Alfred yells.

“Shut up! J-just…just shut up.” Y/N drags her hand across her face, trying to dry her eyes but instead smearing her makeup. The entire image is terribly morbid. Her face is red and blotchy, and there are dark trails of mascara running down her cheeks. She’s crying, sobbing, hiccupping and grappling for air to feel her lungs.

Bruce can’t take it.

“Enough, Alfred!” He cuts in, stepping in front of the young girl. This time Y/N doesn’t shove him out of the way; instead, she cowers behind him, accepts his protection, like a weak dog.

He’s shielding her like a large building, sturdy and strong and trying his ebst not to throw a fist into the elder-man’s jaw. “Jesus, Alfred, you didn’t have to be so harsh. What’s wrong with you?”

“I can’t do this master Wayne!” Alfred’s voice is leveled, dangerously low. He has calmed. The vein in his neck has gone back into hiding, but even then, his face is still the color of blood.

“I’m going to make it easy for all of us; either I go, or she does.”

“What?” Both Bruce and Y/N say in unison, before he cans art to feel it. It takes moment. A second. Then it sets in, the realization of what he’s saying.

A pang of pain shooting through him like an arrow, Bruce feels his body go cold.

Alfred’s eyes hold a pain similar to his that say that this isn’t easy for him either. This isn’t what he wants. But what other choice does he have?

“You heard, master Wayne.” The elder man tries to coat his voice with a strength that betrays him when it almost cracks. “It’s either I stay, or she does.”

“Alfred…”

“This entire situation has gone too out of hand. For Christ-sake, Bruce—“ Bruce. Alfred rarely—never—calls him Bruce. He has always been Master, to him. Master Wayne. Sir. Variants of a formality that have never hurt him as much as hearing his own name has now.

Memories of his boyhood flood Bruce, a time when Alfred called him that, the only time. It was so brief. He became Sir at the tender age of thirteen. Years later, and the title has been revoked.

Bruce.

“—I can’t let this happen. Do you realize how much is at stake here? Do you realize how badly the two of you would be together? Y/N, you still have your studies to tend to.”

“I know.”

“Then bloody act like it.”

“Alfred…” Bruce cuts in, and all eyes turn to him.

The room quiets momentarily.

Alfred’s eyes glaze over as he looks at him. Their gazes lock—both pained, both not wanting this to fall through. Why is he letting it, then? Why won’t Bruce just do something, he wonders, until he realizes there’s little to do.

“You have until tomorrow to choose. If you don’t have answer by dawn—” Alfred’s eyes go to Y/N. There are tears staining the apples of her cheeks. “—then I make the final decision. Y/N leaves. You own up to your mistake, and clean up this bloody mess you’ve made.” He says and then, before Bruce, or Y/n or the wind that howls through the hallway, can get anything in, he turns and leaves.

Hiss jaw clenches, and he gulps thickly. The room is silent. Footsteps are heard padding away, further and further, until the only sound left is that of Bruce’s heart wrenching in his chest. 

                                                    ~*~*~*~

Her heart hammers in her chest.

Her breath feels hot and shallow and not enough, and her skin is drained of all its blood and colorless. She’s standing outside his bedroom door. Outside she can hear the hoot of an owl and the whisper of the wind. It’s two in the morning. It’s cold and she’s scared and Y/N immediately regrets having gotten out of bed to come and do this, because nothing good can come of it.

Turn back now, her mind says. Go back to bed. Go back to silence. Don’t tell him how you feel.

But she doesn’t listen.

She knocks gingerly, but it’s feint and barely audible, so she tries once more, curling her fist tighter this time. She watches Bruce, laying in bed with his back to her, stir and then slowly sit up.

“Yeah..?” He groggily asks, rubbing his eyes.

The young girl bites her lip and wrings her hands harder together, her stomach knotting further.

She’s standing in the doorway, one hand up on the wooden frame and the other rested tenderly on the crook of her neck. Her eyes, wet and red, search the darkness for Bruce’s silhouette. He’s sitting at the edge of his bed, sleepy-eyed and dazed as he looks at her.

And y/n feels a chill run down her spine when her gaze locks onto his.

He knows.

Uncle Fred told him. Uncle Fred told him everything. Now, even just standing before him feels so shameful and embarrassing,  like she’s clad in nothing but her skin suit, like she’s exposed. Because she is. Because Bruce knows. Because….

“I thought you were asleep.” He says, pulling her from her reverie.

Y/N gulps as sweat beads at the nape of her neck. He’s awake. At least, she thinks, that spares her the task of waking him up.

“Not yet. I’m…” she stumbles. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

“Nightmares?”

“I wish.” A sardonic laugh escapes the elder man. Y/N clinches her hands tighter together. The room is dark and hot and she can feel her clothes clinging to her body like flesh to her bones.

Bruce cards a hand through his hair, tired, worn out. Even if she wanted to, Y/N wouldn’t be able to dismiss his claims of insomnia—he looks exhausted. Rings of grey brim his eyes and the light once glinting fiercely and vivacious in them has dulled down.

Bruce looks tired. Bruce is tired.

Bruce knows.

“Let’s just say I have a lot to think about.” He explains after a silence.  “That kind of things keeps you up at night, you know?”

“ I know.” She nods curtly, biting her lip. She wants to say something in response—anything—but all coherence escapes her. She’s at loss for words, because what can she say?

The bomb dropped a few hours ago still lingers in the air of the house. It’s been two hours since Uncle Fred left the house; he was emotional and angry when she went to talk to him and he ended up storming out and driving off for a drink (or twenty). Y/N doesn’t mention this to Bruce.

Instead, she tries to gather her thoughts and courage and say something, because who will if not her.

“I….” She starts. His head lifts, attention befalling the young girl.

His brow then furrows softly. “Are…you feeling okay?”

“Uh—yeah…I…I am.”

“You don’t seem like it.”

“Well, not getting any sleep will do that to you.” She quips.

He nods slowly. “Right….”

A silence hangs between them. Neither party says anything for a while, and it’s painful because she came here to speak, to tell him how she felt, to vocalize all this rampant emotion that won’t cease within her, and so Y/N forces the words out of her mouth.

“I have something to tell you.” She says.  She swallows, trying to mollify her nerves. You can do this, Y/N tells herself. You will do this.

“I…Uncle Fred told you already, didn’t he?”

Bruce is quiet.

She waits for a response, one that doesn’t come, until she has top force herself to speak up once more.

“I said Uncl—“

“I heard what you said.” He says curtly, cutting her off.

Y/N closes her mouth, and then mutters a quiet oh. Her heart is racing—God, is it racing—and her lungs constrict and the blood drains from her fingertips and from her face and from her, and Bruce is looking at her with inquisitive eyes that egg her on.

“I know that he told you—obviously. It’s uhm….it’s okay, if you know” Y/N explains, trying (and failing) to not let the desperation seep into her voice. “I wanted to tell you myself, of course, but, having somebody else do it is okay, because the outcome is still the same. You still know.”

“You don’t have to say it.”

“And if I want to?”

“Then you have to stop. Just,…” Bruce sighs, eyes sliding over her face from a few inches away. The room is dim and quiet and her heart is in her throat, but it doesn’t matter, because Bruce is so close, and he knows.

“Just…”.” His voice is different, baring an edge and uncertainty that she has never witnessed before that makes things seem even more eerie. His eyes, a rich grey, bore into hers.

“Stop this, Y/N. Please. Don’t make it harder than it already is.”

“I’m not trying to.” Her eyes water and she shakes her head softly. “Bruce, I…”

“Y/N..”

They’re less than inches apart. Neither of them dare to break eye contact, only leaning closer in, and closer in, and Y/N’s eyes begin to flutter shut, and Bruce doesn’t pull away, and it feels as though the world is fragmented on a cosmic level when their lips meet.

Their mouths are pressed together, and they kiss.

They kiss.

His tongue is warm and wet as runs along her lips. Y/N gladly lets it, lifting her hand to his head to real him closer in. She presses herself flush to his form. Bruce reciprocates, cupping her face in both his hands and maneuvering his lips against hers, and—

“Bruce—“ Y/N tries to speak.

“Just stop.” His breath fans against her skin, against her nose. She lets out a breathy moan as he captures her lips once more, feeling her heart flutter like a cage of untamed birds.

Her hands slide through Bruce’s hair like water when she feels his hands leave her face and go to her waist. He hoists her up, and she jumps, wrapping her legs around him, not caring what they’re doing or what they’re about to do because, god, this feels too good.

They make their way to his bed. Fall onto it. Kiss, touch. Y/N swears that she can feel her soul floating higher and higher until it’s of her body and into the astral plane, watching their two bodies mould together upon the covers. Bruce’s hand slides beneath the fabric of her shirt and she feels a jolt of pleasure at the contact.

“Bruce…” She pants, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He dips his head and slides his lips down to her jaw, to her neck until they’re peppering desperate, wet kisses along her collarbone.  The young girl moans at the contact; her mind is fogging up like a car window on a misty evening. Fear clutches her heart in its icy talons and gives it a firm squeeze. This is wrong—God, this is all so wrong, that she’s certain of as much as she is that the sky is blue…

But Y/N doesn’t want it to stop.

                                               ~*~*~*~*~ Hopefully the wait was worthwhile lol

If you guys enjoyed this then go ahead and like, reblog or just follow to catch any more imagines I post. With my new computer finally in my possession, expect more updates and oneshots coming in.

As always, have a nice day!