I WANT THE MIRROR SCENE

I WANT THE MIRROR SCENE 😣🫶🏻

I'm saying this right now for all who will listen -

they fucking BETTER have just as many romance scenes for Penelope and Colin as they did for the other two.

I don't want cutesy little kisses (I mean I do, but...).

I want passionate, hot, steamy scenes because it's what they fucking deserve.

I swear if they pull ANY punches because Penelope isn't as "traditional" as the other girls I will fucking start such a riot, it'll make everyone's heads spin.

thank you and have a good rest of the day

since summer is starting tomorrow i will get some posts out ! i got a ben smut coming out, a louis partridge fic and a Bruce Wayne fic coming out. I also will update “Mother Knows Best”

BETTER OFF

Anthony Bridgerton x reader (enemies to lovers)

A/n: This is not my first writing on this blog but it is significantly longer and perhaps written better. I want this to be a series so let’s see how popular this will get.

Summary: Anthony Bridgerton married you out of convenience and duty, hoping to suppress your outward personality over time. His efforts are in vain and getting worse as he begins feeling something more for you. Perhaps you are beginning to feel it as well.

Word count: 1668

You had tried. Truly, you had. It seemed as though avoiding the dance floor was close to impossible. Though you had expected nothing less, you were married to a bridgerton. The Viscount to be precise and the way he looked at you as you both glided across the dance floor was so forced that it made you visibly upset. “You could at least smile.” Anthony spat, noticing the slight scowl on your face. He was not the only one to notice, following his eyes you spotted a few guests whispering and gossiping, no doubt about you and your husband, their eyes nowhere but on you both. You shot the man dancing with you an annoying look and there was something in his eyes that made you give in, sporting a lovesick gaze and a blissful smile. “Better?”

“Quite so. Though, I hope you have not forgotten your duty as my wife.” If not for being in public, you would have groaned at the comment. Despite being married for only a few months, you were not as happy as you had thought. The moment is still fresh in your mind. It had been a quiet afternoon when it happened. Being in your first season, you were surprised when none other than the Viscount Bridgerton called upon you. Just the night before his mother had announced rather loudly that it was also during this season that he intended to marry. You’d watched him from the crowds and caught sneaky glances as you danced with other lords and earls much older than you. Finally, you’d found a moment to yourself, making way to the refreshment table. The single glass of champagne did little to steady you. Your father had insisted that you attend that night's ball and mingle. You argued with him to simply stay home and write in your notebook filled to the brim with your spontaneous drabble. He vehemently refused, telling you that it was your first season and that you needed to make an appearance.

“Do try not to drink it all in one go.” You heard a voice say, looking next to you to find that it belonged to one Lord Bridgerton. Of course, you knew who he was, the entire ton did. “Apologies, my lord. I did not hear you approach.” He seemed to assess you, his eye wandering your body. It made you slightly uncomfortable, though you would not allow him to see it. “It is quite alright. I must say, miss, you look a bit uneasy.” At that moment you wished you’d had a fan on your person. “I assure you it is not due to your presence. It’s just..” You trailed off, your eyes looking to the masses in the ballroom as your finger mindlessly tapped your glass. “It is just what?” He prompted, not sounding at all impatient with you. You looked into his eyes and sighed. “I despise these gatherings.” You admitted. The Viscount looked amused. His lips quirked up into a smile. “Is it not your first season?” He jested. At the question, you raised an eyebrow at him. “How did you-“

“Forgive me if I seem to be coming off a bit odd. I witnessed you as you arrived and made the decision to ask around about you.”

“A bit odd indeed, My Lord.” You retorted.

“Do not take offense. I only took such action because you are.. a mystery to me. Unlike most of the girls of the ton.”

“You do not know a young lady so you set out to gather any and all information on her? Am I too far off as to assume this is how you begin to court women?” His jaw fell slack and his mouth parted slightly. He hadn’t the slightest idea what to say. Little did you know, you had already checked many of his boxes. After a moment, he let out a defeated laugh. “Again I mean no offense.” He repeated, now wearing a confident smirk. You fought the urge to roll your eyes at him. “And I do not mean offense when I say this, my lord,” The Viscount raised an amused eyebrow. “You would do good to find a more effective way to impress a woman. Your tactic thus far is far too distasteful.” With that, you bunched the fabric of your silk dress in your hand after finishing your champagne. “I wish you luck on any future endeavors. I shall bid you goodnight.” Thankfully your father had witnessed the ordeal and was more than happy to allow the two of you to leave early as he had already begun to see the Viscount as a son in law. From that moment on, He had tried at every turn to court you. It began with him calling on you the next morning and soon developed into inviting you and your father to bridgerton house for tea. During which, you had become quite close with his siblings. You became quick friends with Eloise, bonding over your ‘radical’ ideas, You and Benedict had clicked due to his love for art and your affinity for poetry, you and Daphne had charming conversations over tea when she would visit and little Gregory and Hyacinth were quite literally obsessed with you. You’d much rather spend time with them than the man trying his best to court you, much to your father's frustration but Eloise and Benedict seemed to enjoy their eldest brother get rejected by you time and time again. One morning, shortly after breakfast, Lord Bridgerton called upon you whilst you were scribbling away in your notebook. You closed the leather-lined object as he entered and he made his way to you, purpose and determination in his eyes. “Miss Y/L/N,” He began, his voice even as he dropped to one knee. The action caused you to jump slightly. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my Viscountess?”

The way he spoke the words enticed you to say no, as you had done since the two of you had met. Unfortunately for you, your father stood on the frame of the door, watching you intently. Internally, you recall that you’d raged. Though in reality, you feigned a smile and said the word that sealed your fate. “Yes.”

It was quite the ordeal you’d gotten wrapped into. The Viscount noticed your bluntness and rebellious nature upon meeting you but considering you met most of, if not all, of his criteria, he figured he could tame you with time. He had since had no such luck with the endeavor. The Ball was long over and you two shared a mutual silence in the carriage home. “I feel I must remind you—“

“You do not.” You said quickly, cutting him off before he could speak. “Do not lecture me on how to be a dutiful wife, I assure you I am well aware thanks to your reminders.”

“Then of course you must be aware that as a wife, your display tonight was improper.”

“Do not tell me what is and is not proper!” You’d been so swept up in your argument you’d almost forgotten that your in-laws were also in the carriage with you. Violet, as she insisted you call her, looked taken aback. “Apologies.” You mumbled, turning your eyes to look out the window. When you finally arrived back at Bridgerton house, the nightly routine began. You went your separate ways, The Viscount to his office and you to the bedroom you shared. It certainly never felt that way. He would only join you long after you were asleep and left before you could wake. By now, you were used to it.

A knock came on your door as you were brushing your hair. You only hummed in response and you spotted Benedict enter the room. A look of shock washed over your features. “Benedict!”

“Good evening, Y/N. I’m hope I am not-“

“You are not. Please, sit.” You set your brush on the desk of your vanity as Benedict sat in a chair only a few feet from the bed. You remained seated, beginning to braid your hair. Benedict seemed to be at a loss of words. “Are you alright?” He asked, concern dripping from his words. You smiled softly and shook your head. “I am fine.” You lied. You hadn’t been fine since your wedding. “We all see it you know. Try as he might, my brother is not as skilled as he thinks of concealing his emotions.” Over time Benedict truly had become a brother figure to you. You would often sit together when your husband was busy (which was often) and Eloise was otherwise unavailable. He would occasionally give you advice as best he could on how to appease his brother but to no avail. Still, you enjoyed his company. “Your brother still believes he can tame me as if I am some wild animal.” You fussed with the ribbon meant to be tied around the end of your braid. Benedict stood and kneeled in front of you, and you in turn let him work his magic. “I would have been better off if I had said no.” You were not entirely sure if that was true. You could not deny that at least your husband was young and easy on the eyes, despite his continued attitude. “Do you also mean to say that you would have been better off not growing close to us?” He mused, tying the ribbon tightly around your hair. “Of course not, Ben.” You began, “I love you all deeply, but he is… he’s—“

“Stubborn?”

“Not the word I had in mind, but yes.”

Benedict returned to his seat, dragging a hand down his face. “Nothing I say will sway him, try as I might. Perhaps in time, the two of you will lower your weapons and become friends.”

You scoffed at the thought. It was amusing, you and The Viscount exchanging banter in a friendly manner. “If you say so. Friends.”

ok so this is a tmi and i will probably delete this later but safari fucking deleted all my private tabs and i lost this hood ass fanfic from a03 it’s like the reader babysits leia and Luke for ani and then she goes on their family trip to the aquarium

TEAM GREENS WILL LOVE THIS FANFIC 💚🐉

I loved this one shot it was super cute HAIL KING AEMOND AND QUEEN Y/n 💪🏻

(tho i am very much team 🖤😉)

Bound. (a.t)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Fem!Reader (minor oc descriptions)

Summary: you didn't realize when you stood beside aemond during the night when he lost his eye would solidify your stance in the war.

Warnings: death, murder, angst, fluff between aemond and reader, betrothals, incestual relationship uncle/niece, little family drama (UNEDITED)

a/n: i wanted to get this out before i watched episode ten later. which will determine whether or not i write a part two to this. so no guarantees as this can be a stand-alone!

word count: 5.5k

all translations of high valyrian come from google! english translations are in parentheses!!

masterlist

It was always a deep regret in your heart that you could do anything to save his eye during the fight. He never held any resentment towards you though as you stood by your place to his side. You could never fight against your siblings, and Aemond knew that. Though he continued to taunt them, you stood quietly next to him not meeting anyone’s eye. 

You could recall that night so vividly. The chaos of everything. The questioning of who was right and who was wrong. Trying to decide whether you made the right choice of standing next to your betrothed in his defense. Your family might hate you now, but you got a family out of it in more ways than one.

FLASHBACK

“Aemond, this is worrying to me,” you expressed your concern as you both made your way toward Vhagar to see if Aemond could claim her.

She was a free dragon as of the death of your Aunt/Stepmother Lady Laena Velaryon, and no one has yet to take claim of her more so bond with her. You knew that your half-sister would be furious at the revelation that Aemond was to be the next rider of Vhagar. In all honesty in your mind, it was her fault thinking no one would want to claim the most powerful/largest dragon in the realm. 

You knew that you were the creation of an affair between your mother Rhaenyra and your biological father Daemon. Everyone knew you were with your hair being as bright as snow and bold violet eyes with your fair complexion. Though you were legitimized by the King himself, so no one dared ever call you a bastard to your face. 

Ser Laenor was also your father who raised you and brought you up. You loved him as a father and knew how hard his sister’s death hurt him. You two would visit them on dragon back with Seasmoke and Silverwing allowing you to get to know your biological father and half-sisters. Daemon had a hard way to show that he cared for someone, but you were his jewel. 

He would teach you more complex High Valyrian and teach you about your ancestors. Always telling you that it was important for you to me in the knowledge of those before you when you were to take the throne. Which made Baela and Rhaena envious of the favoring of their father towards you. 

Though Daemon cared for you as his daughter when you visited him, he did not pay any mind to you outside of it. Always so hot and cold. Never allowing himself to get too attached to anyone. Making you more in favor of your stepfather Laenor. Who taught you how to swim on the shores of Driftmark, unbraided your hair before saying goodnight, taught you the basics of bonding with a dragon, and took you on rides with Seasmoke when you were too little to ride Silverwing. 

“There is nothing to worry about, and I would never let anything happen to you,” Aemond reassured you taking your hand as the two of you got closer to Vhagar.

“Aemond be careful, I will not lose my betrothed over a dragon claim,” you squeezed his hand before letting go allowing him to approach the large she-dragon.

“Dohaeras! Dohaeras, Vhagar! Lykiri! Lykiri!” Aemond shouted to the dragon as Vhagar growled in his presence. (Serve! Serve, Vhagar! Calm down!) “Lykiri.” 

You watched in anticipation, scared for Aemond’s life. To your relief, Vhagar seemed to be accepting Aemond as she allowed him to climb to her back. 

“Soves! Dohaeras, Vhagar! Soves!” he yelled out commands to the dragon. (Fly! Serve, Vhagar! Fly!)

As Vhagar and Aemond took flight, you waited for his return watching the beautiful dragon’s wings spread amongst the sky. It seemed like an eternity before you saw them rearing back to where you awaited. Vhagar landed with a loud grunt letting Aemond climb back down on her wing. 

“I knew you were always meant for amazing things,” you admitted to Aemond as continued to bond with Vhagar. He put his forehead to rest against the dragon’s cheek.

“Come here.”

“Aemond, you must be joking,” you nervously let out, staying in your place.

“Come here, love. She won’t hurt you, I promise,” Aemond said as he reached out his hand to you, beckoning you to come closer. 

“Rytsas, Vhagar,” you greeted the dragon, taking Aemond’s hand, and staying close to his side. (Hello, Vhagar) 

Aemond took your hand in his grasp and laid your palm against Vhagar’s cheek which radiated heat. Vhagar purred at the attention both you and Aemond were giving her. You enjoyed this moment shared between the three of you. You leaned your head against Aemond’s shoulder looking up at him as he relished in the fact he finally had his own dragon. 

“Maybe when we get back home we can take Vhagar and Silverwing on a ride together,” he suggested as you two made your way back inside the High Tide. 

“It’s him,” they gasped at the sight of Aemond and you.

“It’s me,” Aemond mocked.

“Vhagar is my mother's dragon.”

“Your mother's dead. And Vhagar has a new rider now,” Aemond stated in arrogance.  

“She was mine to claim.”

“Then you should've claimed her!” Aemond shouted in thinning patience. You stood behind him keeping your head down as your siblings continued to yell and argue with your betrothed. 

“Y/N, come here,” Jace commanded to you as he saw Aemond shield you from them.

“Jacaerys, you do not command her to do anything unless it is of her free will,” Aemond defended you as your siblings looked at you with disgust for siding with their “enemy.”

The chaos surrounding you came with the overwhelming feeling of guilt of not knowing who to stand by and defend. Causing you to be frozen in your place as they started to fight. You saw punches getting thrown around and how they all ganged up on Aemond.

“Baela, Jacaerys, stop it,” you shouted as you saw them go against Aemond. “Aemond, no!” you continued as you saw Lucerys’ nose bleed profusely from Aemond’s hit.

You were paying so much attention to them that you didn’t see Rhaena coming up to you ready to strike. You only realized when you felt the slap against your cheek.

“How dare you stand next to him instead of your family,” she yelled at you in disappointment. “Father will be so disappointed in you,” she said as if it seemed like you cared so much about your parents’ approval.

Everything seemed to slow down as you heard Aemond yell in pain, you turned in a hurry to try and attend to Aemond. That’s when you saw Lucerys holding a blade and you felt yourself sink down to your knees beside Aemond taking his head on your lap.

“What have you done?!” you shouted at them. “A disgrace upon all of you,” you cursed them cradling Aemond and trying to do your best to comfort him.

Aemond continued to groan in pain as you ripped a portion of your cloak to help stop the bleeding in his eye. The others continued to scream at you and Aemond which you paid no mind to.

“CEASE THIS AT ONCE!” Ser Harrold came rushing in separating your siblings from you and Aemond. 

“GET AWAY!” you screamed as you noticed them quieting down but unmoving. 

“My Prince, my Prince. Let me see,” Ser Harrold approached you two. “Gods be good.”

You stayed by Aemond’s side as the maesters attended to his wounded eye. You held his hand as they stitched it together, feeling him squeeze your hand when the pain got too much for him. You stayed quiet as both families argued against each other. You noticed the look your mother gave you when she saw that you had not taken the side of your siblings. 

Daemon stayed to the side watching the situation play out. Your grandfather continued to demand answers as he shouted amongst the room. 

“I will have the truth of what happened. My sweet granddaughter, tell your grandsire how did this happen?” the King turned to you asking for an explanation of the situation. 

“Due to the death of my Aunt Lady Laena, Vhagar was left unattended and unclaimed by a rider since. Aemond and I went down to see her and to see if Aemond could bond with her which he did. As we made our way back inside the castle, we were stopped by my siblings and cousins, and they argued with Aemond about Vhagar. In my honest opinion, no one truly claims a dragon they just bond with them as a rider, so making Rhaena's claim of Aemond stealing Vhagar from her false as she should not have waited so long to bond with Vhagar,” you started to retell the story to the King who listened closely to your words. “I did not want to fight against my betrothed or my siblings and cousins but I stayed alongside Aemond. The fight broke out between all of them when Baela threw the first punch against Aemond. I did not participate in the fight until Rhaena struck a slap against me while throwing insults towards my loyalty. I was too late to see the blade held by Lucerys and to save Aemond from the attack. It was an unfair fight as it was majorly the four of them against Aemond,” you told your grandfather letting a tear fall on the reddened cheek of yours as you look at Aemond and raised your hand to caress Aemond’s nonaffected cheek. 

Your mother, Rhaenrya looked at you with repulse as you finished retelling the incident. She never realized the actual bond between you and Aemond as she only ever thought of it as you acting for your duty to the throne. 

“Now how is it you are the only one to ever speak the truth? Thank you, granddaughter,” Viserys said as he laid a hand on your shoulder as he passed by you.

“Oh my sweet child,” Alicent came to you and brought you into her arms in a tight squeeze. “Thank you for being with Aemond,” she whispered into your ear as she let go to attend to Aemond more.

A couple of days had passed and you did not leave Aemond’s side for most of it. You noticed himself trying to distance himself from you and knowing it stemmed from the scar that was now embedded upon his face. He was scared of you feeling disgusted by his new appearance. You were quick to reassure him that you still kept the same feelings for him regardless of how he looked. 

You were with Queen Alicent and Aemond in his chambers when the news was broken to you by Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys that your stepfather was found dead. You were holding a vase ready to set it down beside Aemond’s bedside table. Upon hearing the news you froze and the vase slipped out of your hands shattering on the ground where you fell to your knees. You felt small shards of glass against your skin, but it couldn’t compare to the pain you felt in your heart for the loss. 

“Dear child, come here,” Rhaenys said with tears in her eyes as she approached you and signaled you to stand up from the broken glass. You felt stuck. Once again. 

“Y/n?” Aemond questioned from his bed. He got out of the covers and carefully stepped around the glass and brought you to sit on the bed. You were silent as tears gushed from your eyes. 

“How?” you managed to say through your growing sobs. Rhaenys and Corlys came to your side as Alicent and Aemond nodded to them as they walked out of the room out of respect. 

“His body was found burned in the fireplace of the hall,” Corlys told you taking the space to your left and Rhaenys took the spot on your right. You were staying down on your bloodied dress and trembling hands. 

“I never got to tell him how much I loved him,” you cried which had Rhaenys pulling you to her chest in a hug as you gripped her sides letting your anguish out. Corlys wrapped his arm around Rhaenys moving you to let yourself lean against the both of them.  

“He knew. He always loved you and was so proud of how you have grown. Always talking about your accomplishments and the adventures you both took visiting around the realms,” Rhaenys admitted to you softly relishing in the fond memories of her son.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized to both of them. 

“For what, granddaughter?” Lord Corlys asked letting his hand run through your hair.

“We all know that I am not my father’s actual daughter, but do know the love and respect I held for him in my heart as he raised me as his own,” you told them in honesty but afraid to look meet their eyes you kept your head down.

“Y/n, you are his daughter through and through. He cherished you more than anything in the world and we will always accept you as our own,” Rhaenys pulled your head up to meet her gaze and more tears filled your eyes at the love and acceptance given to you at this moment. 

“You hold the memories of him. You are his legacy,” Corlys confirmed to you. 

END OF FLASHBACK

“Darling, your mother, and her family are coming back here to petition for the claim of Driftmark in days' time,” Alicent snapped you out of your thoughts which caused you to snap your attention to her setting your cup of tea down on the table. 

“Is there a reason I was not made aware sooner?” you asked her with anxiousness crawling inside you.

“I saw no reason to worry you and the raven only arrived last evening,” she replied leaning forward to place her hand on top of yours. “It will be okay.” 

“I have not spoken to them since that day all those years ago,” you admitted aloud.

After the night when you stood by Aemond’s side to explain to your grandfather about the incident, your mother and your entire family turned their back on you. Which only allowed you to keep in contact with your grandparents Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys whether it was you traveling back to High Tide with Silverwing, Aemond, and Vhagar or them coming to the Red Keep to see one another. 

You did not even attend the wedding between your mother and your biological father still upset about the ending of your step-father. You learned to figure out that it was in the hands of your mother and her newlywed husband. You grew to resent them as they took the person who raised you, loved you for who you truly were, and never wanted to change you. 

You stayed at Driftmark until you got sick of the ocean air, and left to return back to the capital. You were welcomed with open arms by everyone but your own family that took their stay in Dragonstone. Your time in Red Keep allowed you to be with Aemond and spent time with your grandfather until he got bedridden a couple moons ago. 

“May I be excused, my Queen?” you asked.

“Of course,” she smiled at you, removing her hand and allowing you to stand and exit her chambers. 

You walked in the halls of the Keep stuck in your own thoughts and worries about what is to come soon. Knowing that it could never be calm with your families. You found yourself near your shared chambers with Aemond and knocked with the hope he was in the room.  Unless he was on the training grounds with Ser Cole.

“Yes?” you heard from inside the room.

“It is only me,” you said loud enough for him to hear you as well. 

“Well do come in,” it was quiet but loud enough for you to open the door enough to let you slip in and shut it behind you. “Has something happened?”

Aemond notices the look on your face and knows that you are drowning in some sorrows. He gets up from his chair near the fireplace to go to you and takes your hands to lead you to the bed to sit. Both of you sit along the side of the bed, but you are staring at your intertwined hands while he stares at you. He removes one of his hands from your and raises it to your chin to lift your head up towards him. Meeting eye to eye he nods to encourage you to tell him your thoughts.

“My mother and her family are coming back to the Keep,” you muttered looking around the room trying to not meet his eye. 

“Is she to bring all of them?” he scoffed at the thought of them being here.

“Yes, I assume so. She still has Jace and Luke, but I think she has another two in addition with Daemon and not to forget about Baela and Rhaena,” you answered as you thought about the family they had created without you.

“Well, we must prepare ourselves for the upcoming days,” he suggested as he let his fingers play with the sapphire betrothal ring the was worn on your left hand.

“I do not want them here.”

“No one does, My love.”

“They cannot come barging into our lives again just because they got bored of theirs,” you whine in frustration. 

“They are pesky little things,” he spat which made you giggle at the tone of his voice. In which he grinned at the sound of your laughs. 

You stood beside Aemond next to Aegon as the petition of Vaemond Velaryon was to be heard for who was to be the next Lord of the Tides. You felt the glares from your siblings as you stood alongside the Greens. With your emerald green dress with black lacing and your body adorned in jewels, they could not stand the sight of you standing tall with them. 

Though they had no right to any opinions they create of you, that did not stop them from frowning at the conjoined hands of you and the prince to your left. It was a constant reminder for them of the night everything changed. As you did not take their side after Lucerys wrongly slashed Aemond’s face. 

“I am Lord Corlys's closest kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins,” Vaemond stated to Otto Hightower who sat upon the King’s throne. As you have gotten along with the rest of the family, the Hand of the King was one person you would always dislike.

“As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon,” Rhaenrya said which made you scoff loudly at the statement. “If you cared so much about your house's blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition,” she added on.

“You will have a chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra,” Queen Alicent said from her place near you towards your mother.

“Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard,” you continued for the Queen. Rhaenrya snaps her attention to you with sorrow-filled eyes in hearing your voice for the first time in years. Her eyes travel down to the grasp you held onto Aemond’s hand and arm. 

“What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn't recognize it,” Vaemond scowled at Rhaenrya. “I humbly put myself before you as my brother's successor to be the Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides.

“Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Jacaerys Velaryon.”

“If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly 20 years ago, in this very…” your mother started.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm,” as your grandfather King Viserys arrives near the doors. 

“I will sit on the throne today,” he breathes heavily. The King limps his way toward the throne before stopping to take in a heaving breath. “I said I’m fine.” 

It broke your heart to see the man you called grandfather slowly wither away to bones. The continuation of his walk does not go any further as he drops his crown as leans over his cane. You removed yourself from Aemond’s side and made your way to your beloved grandfather. 

“Grandfather, here,” you pick up the crown from the floor and offer your arm out to him to try and lead him to the throne easier. 

“Thank you, my child,” as he takes a seat on the throne. 

“My King,” you bowed your head to him as you placed the crown back on his head. 

Making your way down the steps seeing everyone’s shocked faces at the King getting out of his bed rest and his granddaughter for helping him. You made your way back over to the Greens with Alicent stopping you with her arm before you were able to reach Aemond.

“Thank you,” she smiled at you softly.

“I must... admit... my confusion,” the King starts off with coughs. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys's wishes is Princess Rhaenys.”

“Indeed, Your Grace. It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark would be passed through Ser Laenor’s daughter, Y/n, but in the circumstance that she is the next heir of the Iron Throne after her mother it would be passed to Ser Laenor’s trueborn son… Jacaerys Velaryon,” Princess Rhaenys told to King as she glanced at you slightly giving you a tight-lipped smile. “His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys's granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

“Well, the matter is settled. Again,” Viserys said. “I hereby reaffirm Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides. As well as the next change of succession.”

The crowd gasps at the statement of the king. Alicent looks to her father in gleaming hope. Aemond and you look at each other afraid for the words that might be said next as if Aegon were to be crowned heir. Rhaenyra and Daemon look at each other in worry.

“I hereby state a decree whereupon my death the Iron Throne and Crown are passed onto my son Prince Aemond Targaryen and my granddaughter, his betrothed Princess Y/N Targaryen,” Viserys stated to the crowd. “For they are the next heirs to the Iron Throne,” as he looked at you and his son with a smile.

There is an uproar with the crown and attending council members in the change of succession. Cheers were heard all around the room except for your mother and family. Alicent turns to you and Aemond with a bright smile on her face. She takes your face in her hands and tilts your head down to place a kiss on your forehead.

“You will make an amazing queen, Sweetling,” she told you as she placed a hand on your shoulder giving it a tight squeeze. “You, my son will be a brilliant king,” shifting her attention to Aemond. 

“Oh thank the seven hells, it was not me,” you hear Aegon from beside you with a grin on his face which you poked at his side with a small giggle.

“Father, what is the meaning of this?!” your mother shouts from her place to the King.

“It is my wish you do not receive the crown, daughter,” the King said bluntly. 

“You break the law... and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir then now your second son and granddaughter,” Vaemond spat at the King. “Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”

“Allow it?” Viserys scoffed at the claim. “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

“That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine.”

“Aemond and Y/N are of my kin and as well as Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you... are no more than the second son of Driftmark,” your grandfather defended. 

“You may run your house as you see fit, but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned I will not see it ended on the account of this,” Vaemond shouted. “Her children are…”

“Say it,” Daemon said from beside Rhaenyra as Aemond pulled you behind him as he glared at Vaemond. 

“BASTARDS! And she IS A WHORE. Not to mention the ward you had taken under your house,” Vaemond yelled loudly in the room allowing every person to hear his words.

“I will have your tongue for that,” Viserys countered.

“WHO ARE YOU TO SPEAK AGAINST MY BETROTHED?” Aemond shouted in anger leaving your side. 

“Maybe she will end up like her moth-” as Aemond took ahold of Vaemond’s neck dragging him out to the courtyard. 

Everyone followed in suit with you running out after Aemond in front of everyone. Even the king who was moved to a chair carried by guards was in attendance to see what his son will do. Alicent grabbed ahold of your hand preventing you from getting too close. Rhaenyra looked at Alicent in envy at the relationship between you and the Queen.

“VHAGAR!” Aemond yelled out to the sky awaiting his dragon. “I shall feed you to my dragon for your vile insults towards the heir.”

“You are not even the king yet,” Vaemond spat blood on Aemond’s boots. 

“Ipradagon zirȳla, Vhagar!” Aemond commanded which had the large she-dragon pop her head into the courtyard and snatch Vaemond up in one piece. (Eat him, Vhagar)

“Well done, my son,” Viserys said from his chair proud at his son’s defense of his beloved granddaughter. 

“ANYONE ELSE THAT MISSPEAKS A WORD AGAINST PRINCESS Y/N WILL BE BURNED ALIVE BY VHAGAR!” Aemond shouts to the crowd. 

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems,” Viserys started. “My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses. As well as our new crowned heirs my sweet granddaughter Y/N and my son Aemond. A toast to the young Princes and their betrothed.”

“Thank you, father,” Aemond thanked Viserys while taking your hand from under the table. 

“It seems that we will be planning your wedding sooner than we thought, Darling,” Alicent said from her seat next to the King. You were seated next to Aemond alongside Helaena. 

“Of course!” you beamed.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world yet grown so distant from each other in the years past,” Viserys told around the table as he took off the golden mask from his face. “My own face is no longer a handsome one if indeed it ever was. But tonight I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king but your father. Your brother. Your husband and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems to walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.”

“To you grandfather, King Viserys Targaryen, first of his name,” you said standing up from your seat and raising a glass.

“To King Viserys!” 

“I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude and my apology,” Rhaenyra toasts to Alicent.

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you and to your house. For our children will make fine King and Queen,” Alicent smiled warmly to you and Aemond before turning back to Rhaenyra for the toast. 

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies as Prince Aemond marries my dear sister. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles,” Jace remarked after he had slammed his fists onto the table from what Aegon muttered to him and Baela. 

“I would like to say a few words. I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They'll be married soon. It isn't so bad. Mostly he just ignores you except sometimes when he's drunk,” Helaena rose from the seat next to you. “Unless of course they are anything like how Aemond is to Y/n who worships the ground she walks on,” she finished with an airy laugh as you gaped at her wording with wide eyes.

“In speaks of her, this one goes to my daughter, who will ascend the crown and throne as well as her betrothed my nephew. For you shall have a long life and take the throne that you have taken from your mother,” Daemon mocked as he stood from his seat raising a glass to you. 

“You are no father of mine. And I did not take anything from anyone. Aemond and I will allow the kingdoms to grow and prosper instead of you and Rhaenyra taking it for your own selfish reasons and burning it to the ground,” you announced as you slammed your hands on the table.

“Brother, it was upon my wish it was given to them,” Viserys told his younger brother. 

“You are a disgrace to me,” Rhaenyra shouted at you. 

“You murdered my father. It is you who is a disgrace to the Targaryen name!” you argued back with rising anger at the thought of the two people who planned your father’s murder to be standing in the same room as you. 

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to say something but it closed with silence filling the room as tension surrounded the air. Viserys coughs loudly before groaning at the pain in his head making Alicent call the guards to take him back to his chambers. Aemond guides you to sit back down in your seat. Otto smirks at the obvious split between you and your so-called family. Aegon smirks at the entire situation. Daemon frowns at the result of this dinner. 

“I believe it is best if we end dinner now,” Alicent spoke out.

“Are you okay, My love?” you heard from behind you as you took out the pins holding up your hair. 

“Of course,” you replied. 

Aemond remove your hand from your hair and replaced them with his own as he started to carefully unbraid your hair. Though it was a normal occurrence that Aemond undid your hair, it never seemed to stop the warm feeling you would get when he did. 

“It is you who deserves to sit on the throne the most.”

“We will share it.”

“My love, it belongs to you, a true Targaryen.”

“Please do not mention my heritage as of now,” you groaned at the mention which made Aemond laugh at the thought of the dinner that just happened.

“In days' time we will be married,” Aemond said as he took your hand to motion you to stand.

“We shall be bound till our last breath,” rising from your seat to stand in front of him.

“I would never want it any other way,” pressing his lips against yours.

THIS ATE- I literally screamed 😩

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 • dark!bruce wayne x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 • you know your best friend well enough to know that he's keeping a secret from you, you just can't figure out what— or why. but you're about to learn a lot of new things about him that you never could've imagined.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 • 4.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • this is a DARK fic!! (noncon, slightly yandere, slightly soft!dark), smut (unwanted creampie and very slight breeding kink?), NO spoilers for the batman 2022 in this plot!!, some angst, a knife but nobody gets hurt, unrequited love (or IS IT?!), emo bruce is emo

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬, 𝐢𝐬 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲

𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐛𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦

𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝

Your best friend had been acting strangely for some time now.

Though it was nothing new to see Bruce being sort of skulky and mopey— that was typical of the last twenty years without his parents— he usually wasn’t so avoidant, or hard to reach. You’d been so close your whole lives, ‘peas in a pod’ as Martha Wayne used to say, and up until somewhat recently, you saw him almost every day.

At first it was subtle, he told you he was just a little bit busier and you didn’t think much of it, you saw him less and less— and you figured it was a phase. It was May when you noticed, suddenly, that you hadn’t seen him in a week, and you couldn’t remember if that had ever happened before. By August, you realized this ‘phase’ had been much closer to indefinite than you originally expected; in September, he stood you up after agreeing to be your (platonic, obviously) date to a charity gala.

So, you were pretty done with his shit by October, when he left you on read after you inquired about holiday plans— because you always spent Thanksgiving and Christmas together, and you needed to start figuring out if you should host something at your place or if he was going to want you two to do something by yourselves.

Only a week later, you spotted him at an auction, not that you were too surprised to see him: you specifically attended because you knew he’d be there, considering a painting by Degas— which up until a few days ago hung in the parlor at Wayne tower— was on sale. For quite some time, Bruce had basically left the entire tower untouched, its gothic interior more and more like a mausoleum each day as he kept everything exactly how his parents had left it. It was a recent development that he had begun to donate old belongings and heirlooms, though you could tell from what you’d seen that he was getting rid of the stuff he’d never cared for much in the first place; he hated that Degas, he thought it was a blurry orange mess that your average kindergarten finger-painter could outclass. Honestly, you were happy he was taking control of the space, allowing himself to decide what he wanted to see in his own home every day— and the money bid on the painting would go to a fabulous cause, you just wished you didn’t have to keep tabs on him like this for only a stolen moment alone.

Quite literally stolen, actually, since he started avoiding you as soon as he spotted you at the event: you kept trying to find a good way to get to him, but then as the bidding began, he got up from his seat and started to leave. You got up to follow, and he moved faster. The bastard was literally just going to outrun you! Not about to let him get away that easy, you went backwards— around the auction room into the hallway he’d have to cross to leave. Apparently when Bruce Wayne was dodging your calls, you literally had to ambush him: you hid behind a pillar and waited for him to jog by to grab him by the sleeve and drag him into the shadows.

He yelped slightly, jerking his arm out of your grasp but trapped again by your fist snatching his lapel.

“What gives?” you hissed.

“I— I have to go,” he insisted.

“No,” you snapped. “You need to talk to me. If I’ve done something wrong, just tell me— but I’m worried about you and I need to know that you’re okay.”

“Why?” he dodged.

“I’m not letting you leave until you tell me that you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled unconvincingly, and you deflated, anger sizzling out into sadness. You dropped his lapel and he relaxed slightly.

“Stop pushing me away, Bruce, please,” you breathed. “I miss you.”

He stayed stoic— of course he did— and just glanced down.

“Whatever’s going on,” you assured, “you can tell me. And if you can’t yet, that’s okay— you can tell me that, and I’ll wait. Just let me in, just a little bit? Please?”

His gaze darted around, and you reached up to rest your fingers on his jaw; that seemed to startle him slightly, but it got his attention, and you held his face to keep him looking at yours.

“Look at me,” you whispered. “It’s me, okay? Whatever it is, you’re not gonna scare me away— I’m just scared that you’re shutting me out.”

He blinked, sinking his shoulders down a bit, and exhaling sharply through his nose. “Okay,” he said softly. “You’re right, I’m sorry… we’ll talk tomorrow— come over for dinner.”

“Great,” you smiled.

“I may not be able to tell you everything, right now,” he warned.

“That’s okay,” you assured, “we can just start with ironing out Thanksgiving plans.”

He smiled, barely— for a normal person, it wouldn’t mean much, but for him it was a pretty massive expression of emotion and it soothed you greatly. It wasn’t like you’d never seen him laugh until he snorted and had tears in his eyes, it’s just that you hadn’t seen him like that in probably years now. You missed those glimpses of his joy so much; you hoped this was the beginning of a return to normalcy for the two of you, and you’d have a chance to make him happy like that again.

“Now go,” you offered, stepping back a bit, “do whatever mysterious thing you need to go do.”

He gave you a quick kiss on your temple before he departed, hands stuffed into his pockets and hair already starting to fall out of the style he’d gelled it into. You watched him leave, soothed at the idea you would get your best friend back soon.

~

You glanced at the clock, again, wondering if time was standing still somehow. It was almost 9 last time you checked, and now it was still only 8:59.

Either way, it was pretty late to still be alone at the dining table when Bruce had told you to come for dinner at 7. You toyed with the bracelet around your wrist; you’d dressed pretty nice, maybe a little too nice, because it felt like you were celebrating something. Now it just made you feel even more foolish for being here by yourself.

Alfred had checked in on you a few times, each visit less optimistic than the last, and he appeared once more with a sympathetic smile on his face. “I’m sorry, dear,” he sighed, “but Mr. Wayne will likely not return in time for dinner tonight.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” you shrugged, “sorta saw it coming.”

“I can bring a car around for you?”

“Oh— no, I’ll wait,” you smiled. Alfred wrinkled his eyebrows together. “He’ll be back sometime tonight, won’t he? I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

His eyes darted around— you knew him well, he was looking for an excuse to get you to leave. Why didn’t he want you here? You were more sure than ever that Bruce had been hiding something from you by being absent for these months.

“I’m sure you have plenty to do,” you waved your hand, “I won’t keep you— you certainly don’t need to entertain me. I’ll make a visit to the library, explore a bit, and you can find me when Bruce is back, hm?”

Alfred cleared his throat. “Alright,” he decided.

When he was finally gone, you slipped out of the kitchen— but instead of going to the library, you wandered the halls much more aimlessly. Maybe you just hoped you’d find something to explain Bruce’s bizarre demeanor of late, maybe you were just killing time. He had replaced the Degas he sold at the auction with a new painting, a much more modern one you didn’t recognize; darker, abstract, a little creepy. Much more his style, certainly.

You tinkered on the piano in the parlor, admiring the view of Gotham from the window— yes, this city was filthy in a literal and metaphysical sense, but it was home, and you thought it was beautiful. There was a light mist in the air, not the heavy rain you got so often out here, and it made all the lights sparkle that much more in the deep blue night.

The distant sound of music, coming from one of the floors below, made you stop playing. It took a few moments for you to recognize the tune when it was so muffled, but the echo of the bass was familiar; Nirvana. Bruce must be home. You smirked to yourself… he was rather predictable.

You heard a door slam down the hallway, and you figured it had to be Bruce, because none of the staff would be so careless. Heavy steps started to move down across the creaky floorboards, and you silently leaned back on the bench— yes, just a few moments later, Bruce skulked by. He was wearing jeans and a baggy black t-shirt, but that didn’t give you much clue what he’d been doing since that was what he changed into the second he got home from any event that required anything nicer to be worn.

He didn’t seem to notice you, having forgotten you would be here tonight (you assumed) and not noticing you in the shadows. You thought you might just watch him until he noticed, but then you caught a glimpse of his face.

“Woah,” you chuckled, and he jumped, turning to look at you with wide eyes. “Did you just get back from a rager or something?”

“Huh?” he mumbled.

“The makeup,” you pointed to his face, and his hand shot up to wipe around his eyes. “Kinda lost control of the smoky eye, eh?”

You cringed when he started to rub his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Woah woah, hey, that’s not how you get that off,” you corrected, standing up and coming closer to grab his arm and guide it away from his face. Of course, you felt a lot more muscle under your touch than you expected; you cleared your throat as he looked down at you, eyes red from the irritation. “Let me help you, man, I’ve got micellar water in my purse.”

So yeah, that was how you ended up with cotton balls pinched between your fingers and thumb, carefully wiping the black off from around his eyes. The cleanser got the job done, but the application was so heavy that you had to go in a few times just to get it all— plus the grey-ish watery residue left behind each time you smeared a used cotton ball around.

“And then just a damp washcloth to get off the extra,” you explained under your breath as you wiped his face gently.

He looked up at you between strokes of the fabric over his face, his blue eyes especially striking when they were examining you so closely. “Why are you good to me?” he asked quietly, suddenly.

The question took you aback; it seemed so obvious that you weren’t even sure how to answer it, and at the same time it made you feel all vulnerable and warm. “I— I love you,” you insisted, “of course. Bruce, we’ve been friends longer than I can remember.”

Of course, this was not the first time you had told him that you loved him. It was also not the first time you said it somewhat strategically, so he wouldn’t realize your love for him was far greater than it was supposed to be; that being ‘friends forever’ was a compromise for you, the thing that made you happiest and broke your heart all at once.

“Gotta be careful going out to seedy parties at this hour,” you smirked awkwardly, “that’s when the bat-freak goes out and beats up random citizens. Watch your step.”

You slipped down off the bathroom counter, grabbing the used cotton balls from the edge and chucking them into a wastebin. You could feel his stare on the back of your neck; you even saw him looking at you when you checked the mirror in your peripheral vision.

“I mean, you’re not as poor and desperate as his usual fare,” you joked, “but still— watch out.”

“I’ll try,” he offered plainly after clearing his throat. “I’m sorry I missed dinner.”

You turned around and looked at him again, offering your best shrug and smile. “It’s okay. I just miss you, Bruce— I don’t understand what you’re going through.”

He looked down. “I know you don’t.”

You sighed and stepped closer, so he’d have to look down at you. “Give me a chance to try,” you pleaded. “Whatever it is— you don’t need to hide anything from me, okay? You can’t scare me away.”

He started to chew the inside of his cheek— he was thinking. And that was a good thing, it meant he was thinking about whether or not he could be honest with you. You just needed to convince him that he could be.

“C’mon, Bruce, it’s me!” you smiled. “It’s us— it’s always been us, nothing could change that.”

“You’d be surprised,” he challenged.

“I just want you back,” you sighed, “all of you.”

When he looked in your eyes, it was like he saw right through you; before he even said anything, you knew that he knew. “When you say that you love me,” he interrogated softly, “what do you mean?”

You tried to step back, but he grabbed your arm— not too hard, but… hard, still. “I…” you breathed.

“What way do you love me?” he demanded.

“The— the way that’s forever,” you offered.

“Don’t avoid the question,” he instructed. “Just tell me what you really mean when you say that.”

“I mean,” you began, looking off to the side because looking straight up at him would be too difficult, “that— that you’re my best friend. And I want you to be happy more than anything, and I… think about you, when we’re not together. And I don’t want you to be alone. Unless you want to be, but— but if you don’t, I just want to love you however you want me to.”

After he said nothing for a moment, you looked up at him again, and found his expression infuriatingly unreadable. “Come back tomorrow night,” he decided. “Late. Alfred will call and tell you when to come— and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Really?” you smiled.

“Of course,” he nodded, “because I love you, too.”

He didn’t say what way he meant it— but you felt it in his stare, in his hand on your shoulders, in the weight of his words. And you not only hoped, but really believed, that he might love you the way you meant it.

~

You threw on a dress and rushed to the tower when you got Alfred’s call, even though it was almost midnight… you weren’t going to be able to sleep tonight regardless. There was something difficult to describe in his expression when you saw him inside the tower. “Good evening,” you greeted, waiting for the resolution to the strange energy in the air.

“Mr. Wayne has asked me to take you to another part of the tower,” he explained, “where you can wait for him to return.”

“O…kay…” you agreed, confused but sort of indifferent. He took you to the lowest floor of the tower— the garage, which seemed like an incredibly strange place for you to wait for Bruce. It was stranger, even, when the elevator doors opened and you realized this was not at all the place you thought it was. “Wh—?” you started to ask as you stepped into the dimly-lit room, filled with things you didn’t recognize. There was a computer, itself surrounded by devices you’d never seen before, and clippings from newspapers— and journals, writing scrawled here and there all over everything. You knew Bruce’s handwriting, but none of these words made any sense coming from him. Among the menagerie of random, yet disconcerting, items was a knife: not like a kitchen knife or switchblade, it had a mechanical piece like it was meant to be attached to something. What was something like this doing in what used to be the Wayne Tower garage?

You heard the elevator door close, and you spun around to see the lift start to move— Alfred had left you rather unceremoniously. And you felt, in that moment, the only thing worse than feeling alone…

Not feeling alone.

You looked over your shoulder, turning slowly; your heart started to race as you looked into the shadows. Even though you prayed not to see anything, you still couldn’t look away. Embarrassingly, your knees almost buckled and you nearly crumpled onto the floor when a towering figure stepped out of the shadows. The points at the top of his head gave him away: the Batman. The caped crusader; the most prolific dealer of assault & battery to never see a day behind bars.

So, not really somebody you wanted to run into tonight.

At first, your instinct was that he was here to attack Bruce, though you couldn’t imagine why; but the way he was looking at you made you wonder how far he was willing to go to silence you— or if, somehow, he was here for you.

You grabbed for the knife beside you on the desk, but he was on you before you could even lift it in the air completely— he shoved you back into the wall as you whined, holding your wrist so tight you were forced to drop the blade. It clattered to the floor as you choked out a sob.

You waited for him to do whatever it was he wanted to do to you— because you knew you couldn’t stop him. Nothing happened; you waited for him to say something, then, but he said nothing. You were forced to soften your face from the perpetual wince of terror, so you could turn to look up at him and hopefully see why he hadn’t done anything.

Afraid to look at his masked face right away, your eyes lingered on his armored chest first, and the metallic symbol embedded in the center of it. Carefully, you moved your gaze higher and higher, finally finding the strength to meet his stare. It took you longer than it should have for you to realize, when you looked into his eyes. Well, that’s not entirely true: you realized instantly, you would know those eyes anywhere. It’s just that it took you a little too long to let yourself believe it.

He must’ve realized he would need to force you to accept the truth literally staring you in the face. He reached up— and no, you didn’t use the opportunity to try to run because it would’ve been useless anyways, and you were petrified in fear and morbid curiosity— and removed the mask from his head.

“No,” you said under your breath, because you couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Yes,” he insisted.

“I— this— you—” you started over and over again. “Oh, Bruce, what have you done!”

“What I had to,” he answered.

“What you do— it isn’t right,” you implored, “those people—”

“They’re not good people.”

“They have rights!”

“You love me,” he reminded you.

“I don’t even know you,” you denied, finally finding the willpower to walk away— but he grabbed your shoulders and pushed you back again, keeping you still as your eyes watered.

“You said you wanted me,” he sneered. “All of me. This is who I am.”

“N-no it’s not,” you denied, “you would never hurt anyone, Bruce.”

“I hurt a lot of people.”

“But you’d never hurt me,” you whispered shakily. “You’d never hurt me…” you repeated, not sure who you were trying to convince by saying it.

“Not if I didn’t have to,” he responded eventually. You turned your head and he instantly grabbed your jaw, much too hard, with a gloved hand; you gasped and whimpered as he forced you to turn your face back towards him, wrenching your chin up. “Look at me,” he growled.

You bit your lip to stop it from shaking, staring straight into his eyes— they were so much darker now, and not just because of the black smears around them. “Bruce, you’re scaring me,” you mumbled nervously.

“Fear,” he replied flatly, “is a tool.”

In one swift motion, he swept aside most of the scattered papers and items from the desk and pushed you to bend down over it; you sobbed as you felt his grip tighten on the back of your neck and his other, gloved hand run over your back slowly.

“I knew you’d be afraid of me,” he admitted, “but you begged me to tell you. And now you know.”

His hand departed from your body for only a moment, and with your face turned to the side and your cheek pressed to the cool surface beneath you, you could just barely make out on the edges of your vision Bruce bringing his hand to his mouth to pull off his glove with his teeth.

You gasped at the feeling of his bare touch, reaching down to brush over your thigh just below the hem of your dress and slowly moving up.

“Bruce, stop,” you whispered.

“This is what you wanted,” he replied quietly. “This is what I wanted, too, but I knew you couldn’t understand. Now I realize that doesn’t really matter.”

You shivered when he lifted the skirt of your dress up over your back, revealing your panties; your face burned so hot it heated up the metal desk beneath you. You'd worn nice ones just in case tonight went well… this wasn't what you had in mind.

He made a low noise, like a deep, sustained hum, as he reached up and carefully pulled down the waistband of your underwear. You whimpered as the fabric dragged along your skin, feeling yourself become more and more exposed.

"Don't— don't do this," you began to bargain. "I'll just… I'll just go and I won't tell anyone and—"

"Is that what you think I want?" he sighed. "For you to leave? I'm so tired of being alone… you can't leave. I'm never letting you leave."

You panted anxiously, hardly believing this was Bruce, your Bruce, rubbing your bare hips and kicking your legs apart.

“Please, please,” you sobbed weakly.

“Shh, hey,” he soothed, “I won’t hurt you, it’s not going to hurt. It’ll feel good, you know why?”

He leaned in closer, so close that his lips brushed against your ear when he spoke. You felt the head of his cock poke at your opening and you whined.

“Because we’re made for each other.”

In one strong, quick stroke he filled you; you bit down hard on your lip and held back the cry that threatened to break from your throat. He let out a low moan, so deep that the bass of it made a chill run up your spine, and carefully began to move.

You were wet, way more than you should’ve been in a time like this, and you knew it was because of the fear rather than in spite of it. Fear is a tool. He was right after all. At least your arousal eased the pain a little… just not the pain in your heart, unfortunately.

He held your hips tightly for leverage, but the desk beneath you still scraped against the concrete floor cacophonously with every thrust. Yes, you'd wanted Bruce this way for some time— but not like this, of course. You wanted him to make love to you; he was treating you like a means to an end now, he was forcing you to accept every part of him in a much more literal sense than you wanted to believe.

This was clearly, to him, about making you understand that Bruce Wayne is the Batman, an alter ego of sorts. But to you it was about realizing that neither of them were who you thought they were.

When he held your arms tighter, guiding them under your chest and wrapping you up in his embrace, you realized you’d never felt so trapped before. He kissed your neck, and you hated that your back arched at the feeling even though you longed for the strength to squirm away.

“You love me,” he whispered again. “Don’t you? Tell me you love me.”

“Stop,” you choked, whining as his grip on your wrists tightened painfully.

“Don’t make me ask you twice,” he warned.

“I love you,” you whimpered. “I— I love you, Bruce. You… you’re hurting me.”

“Sometimes love hurts,” he explained nonchalantly. “All the most important love hurts.”

Unfortunately, you knew he was right about that; loving him all this time had hurt, in its own way, but never like this. Maybe this was just the cost of him loving you back.

“You said you’d love me however I wanted you to,” he remembered. “This is how I want you to love me. Bent over.”

Crying harder, your breathing got shakier and less useful— his weight sinking into you didn’t help with that, either. He wouldn’t suffocate you right here in this basement, right?

“Can you do that?”

You nodded, and sputtered when he started to fuck you faster. His breathing was hot and heavy against your skin, his hair was falling down around his face and tickling your cheek.

“This is what I need from you,” he explained. “I think you need this, too. I’m gonna give you what you need okay, just… hold still…”

You didn’t realize what he meant until a string of low groans filled your ears and you felt a throbbing inside you that wasn’t your own.

“No, n-not inside,” you gasped, “Bruce, wait—”

“You can’t leave,” he simply repeated, “I can’t let you leave…”

“Please,” you sobbed, “please—!”

It was too late to beg, or to struggle against his tight hold on you, or to cry when he bit down on your neck— but you did all three, just because you couldn’t do much of anything else.

He sighed as a dull warmth radiated from your core; you could feel his come starting to leak out and run down your thighs and you thought you might be sick. His weight was already crushing you, but when he relaxed and sunk down further, you honestly got the wind knocked out of you. “Bruce,” you croaked out, and he seemed to get the message because he pulled you back with him as he slowly lowered to the floor— and so you were held tightly to his chest and stuck in his lap while he leaned back against the wall.

You tried to move so he wouldn’t be inside you anymore, but he quickly grabbed your hips to keep them still. “Shh,” he soothed, “just keep me warm for a while, okay?”

You didn’t answer: agreement was moot, denial was futile.

“I love you too,” he breathed, eyes falling shut as he caught his breath, “by the way.”