A Happy Ending For The Last Targaryen

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

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.”

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

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!

THE DANCE OF THE BLACK WIDOW

bruce wayne x black widow! reader. this is based on the gotham verse but you can picture any bruce you want :3.

playlist: i did something bad - taylor swift, bellow the surface - griffinila, you don’t own me - saygrace, cardigan - taylor swift, static - steve lacy , dark red - steve lacy , softcore - tnh

[ a widow is trained like a machine, meant to have no emotions, no chance of feeling love…. but what if bruce wayne, the man she is protecting teaches her how to love. ]

[october 1st ]

“number 001, enter” dreykov called out to you, he was the owner and founder of the red room. the place you had trained at since you were a child, sat next to him was oswald cobblepot aka the penguin. you entered the big office room and you bowed your head to both men. “001, this is my friend and our new client, penguin.” dreykov smiled at you.

“hello mr. penguin, how may i be of use.” you turned to him and you saw his face light up. dreykov gave you the look. the look was kinda like a green light of sorts, like a code for ~go ahead show off your skills~. dreykov whistled and two big men entered the room, you walked down to a corner of the room, the men followed and when dreykov banged his fist on his desk you got to work, you punched and kicked and flipped both dudes until they dropped on the floor.

they were both bloody and bruised while you didn’t even have a scratch on you. “she’s amazing, my god!!” oswald clapped and laughed like a mad man. dreykov grinned. penguin looked at you ignoring dreykov. “what else can you do.”

“karate, judo, kung fu, wrestling and i’m trained in acrobatics.” your voice sounded almost emotionless and that’s what oswald liked most about you. “she’s skilled in every combat style, she’s a master assassin” you nodded. “I might know of a certain billionaire who might be interested in her” penguin smiled. “bruce wayne? he’s mere boy. what could he use my widow for?” dreykov rolled his eyes.

“all these villains want to kill him. a widow will do him good.” penguin laughed. you swore to god that dreykov gave a genuine smile. “why did u request 001. she’s fresh. i have more experienced widows.” he was right, you just started getting missions at fifteen. other widows like yelena have had over twenty eight years of experience. so why did he want you?.

“bruce is a man of particular taste, y/n is a young beautifully… dangerous woman, just his type”. after about ten minutes of discussion, dreykov dismissed you and told you to pack your things. if things go according to the plan bruce wayne would bid on you and win. you didn’t know why dreykov and oswald wanted bruce to bid on you? but you were raised to follow orders not to question them. widows just do. they don’t ask why and they never said No.

that night you returned to your chambers and started packing your things. all your belongings fit into one medium sized suitcase. you’ve done research on bruce, how his parents died. how villians want him dead. the things he cares about the most some theif named selina kyle, his butler alfred pennyworth.

it was the night of oswalds auction you changed into your stealth suit. it was black with a red hourglass logo on the belt. all widows had white hourglasses on their suits, but dreykov made yours red you never knew why. a handler woman named lorna came and escorted you outside where a limo was waiting for you. you grabbed your suitcase and opened the door. on one side it was the penguin and dreykov.

you sat down on the right side of the limo and sighed. this was going to be a long mission. Oswald cleared his throat “don’t worry, this is only temporary, right?”. dreykov nodded grinning a bit. “right. you’ll be back in two months.” he grabbed champagne and poured himself a glass.

•

you were tucked away in a corner with dreykov watching bidders bid on top of the line weapons, historical paintings that should have been givin to the gotham museum. you kept your eye on bruce he was bidding on some painting, all night he was just reckless spending money. “I LOVE ART. I LOVE IT! YEA” he screamed you weren’t even close to him at all but he was still so loud. “that kids an absolutely brat but he’s definitely gonna love you.” dreykov glanced up at you patting you on your shoulders. “why? does he need to love me.” you cleared your throat. “all in good time my dear.” he chuckled.

you heard bruce and a woman with a white bob have a bidding war over a knife. a knife for god sakes. “woah ms kean. that’s a lot of money, for someone like you” bruce shouted. what an asshole you thought. “TWO MILLION DOLLARS”. bruce just spent two million dollars on a stupid looking knife. you saw oswald run to the stand and bang the wooden gavel. “SOLD! to mr. bruce wayne” people applauded. dreykov chuckled. penguin gave dreykov the signal. penguin was going to go get him interested in well basically renting you.

bruce’s pov:

“i do love seeing that woman lose.” oswald laughed and applauded me. i gave him a fake cocky smile. i was still supposed to be acting like a complete brat after all. he came closer to me and whispered. “a little piece of friendly advice. barbara kean does not give up easily” i nodded pretending to be looking concerned. “she will be coming for that knife. i would just,uh, keep a close eye on it if i were you” oswald grinned. “or you could pay someone else to do it. like a highly trained assassin. she’s the best of the best. they call her a widow. im auctioning her off for two months.” oswald whispered even lower. now he kinda was peeking my interest. “i think you’d like her. you could use a henchman or in this case a henchwomen.” he patted my shoulders and walked back up to the stage. who was he talking about?

“well there’s a new wrinkle, isn’t it?” alfred sighed. “we should stay for the last item. i’d like to see her.” i turned my head back to the stage. “her? you do have a taste for the dangerous. don’t you master b” i rolled my eyes and chuckled. “i do need as much help as i can get against ra’s al ghul” i whispered.

oswald brought up a girl in a black jumpsuit on stage. she was well gorgeous , h/c hair, e/c eyes and a beautiful complexion. she had a a gun strapped on her left thigh. a red hourglass logo was on her belt. “a trained widow assassin. two months of safety guaranteed. she’s made to kill.” oswald laughed. the girl had said nothing. not a word. “can i get a thousand dollars.” i was about to raise my hand to bid but then a old guy in a red suit came close to the auction stage. “three thousand dollars.” the old guy muttered oswalds face changed to an annoyed look.

“five thousand dollars and 89 cents.” i raised my hand but this creep kept bidding more. “fuck off” I told him. i don’t know why but i needed to be near her. “a million and fifteen cents” oswald winked at me and raised his gavel to bang it on the desk. “SOLD! to mr bruce wayne again.” some people clapped, the others gave me dirty looks.

•

dreykov grabbed your suitcase and your hand and escorted you to bruce . you kept a smile on your face and you had your hands to the side, almost dangling over your gun. “mr. wayne. congratulations this is 001. my personal favorite widow” dreykov chuckled a bit. “so she’s a bodyguard?” alfred questioned. “yes and so much more. she has many different talents, ill pick her up november 30th unless you decide to rent her again. you bowed your head before speaking. “mr.wayne, i am at your service.” he smiled and shook your hand.

you shook alfreds hand and greeted him. “mr pennyworth” you bowed. “no need for that child.” he smiled. you were put off by it, it’s like a fake smile. maybe he felt bad for you. but you didn’t really know. you haven’t felt anything. only anger and fear. “so i’ll let you get going.” dreykov handed you your suitcase and left, probably going to find penguin. you clutched your suitcase but suddenly alfred grabbed your suitcase from your hands. “alright master wayne. miss 001. let’s get going.”

the car ride to bruce’s home was really awkward. he kept asking you questions about dreykov and about widows, you gave him very vague answers. “why do they call you 001?” he asked. “i don’t know. dreykov picked it out.” you said blank faced. “widows don’t have names?” he asked like a curious boy. a complete 180 from what u seen him act like at the auction. “some do. dreykov gives us names when he thinks we deserve it.” you sighed it was chilly in his car. alfred watched you two from the rear view window. “alfred when we reach the manner could you prepare tea, i have a lot of questions for 001”

• 

“don’t you feel that its dehumanizing that dreykov auctioned you off.” bruce sips his tea as alfred pours you some. “well i don’t really feel much of anything really. dreykov is like a father. this is how i repay him.” you bowed your head to alfred and sipped your tea. “how long have you been um- uh?” he choked on his words. “widowing? since I was fifteen so 4 and a half years.” his eyes wandered around your face. “you’re alovely miss. why become something so deadly” the older man asked while taking a seat next to bruce at the dinning table. “girls are often under looked by men. i use my lovely face to manipulate men and then I shoot them dead” alfreds eyebrows raised.

you really shouldn’t be sharing any of this with bruce but you did anyways it just felt natural talking to him. “i noticed at the auction earlier. that you have a red hourglass on your belt.” bruce placed a scone on your plate with some tongs. “it’s a symbol all widows agents have but only mine is red.” it wasn’t necessary to tell him the last bit, yet you did. “the black widow has an red hourglass marking” he bit into his scone. “i like it. that spider is deadly” you grinned “the name suits you well. 001 the black widow. doesn’t it alfred?”. “yes sir but she’ll need a name we won’t be calling her a bloody number.” alfred chuckled.

“im sure we will come up with something but in the meantime we will call her widow. is that ok with you.” he looked to you. “of course sir.”

[bruce’s study ]

it was big and rustic looking. lots of books on fancy looking shelves. he sat down on his chair in front of a desk. you adjusted your a suit a bit and made sure your gun was loaded and ready, as well as your escrima sticks. “do you ever have days off?” oh god more questions you thought. “nope. i love this job.” eh it was half true. “i don’t really know you but something tells me that i want to”

“mr. wayne there’s nothing to know.” you sat down on the couch near the desk. “on the contrary. i think there’s much to learn.” he grinned. bastard. you were feeling things you shouldn’t have. COULDN’T HAVE. widows don’t get butterflies in their stomachs. they don’t deserve it. love. you wouldn’t even know what it’d feel like. widows are basically like machines.

“i think i sense something sir. don’t be alarmed but im going to turn off your lights. stay put.” you walk over to the light switch and switch it off.

you stood very close to the window. you signaled to bruce to keep quiet. a couple seconds later a shadowy figure appeared in his study. you ran up and used your thighs to flip her over and on top of the ground. bruce turned his desk lamp on. “selina?” bruce said slowly like he wasn’t sure. “should I finish her off sir” you reached for your gun that rested on your thigh. “no. let her get up” you did as you were told. “ow! so this is the tramp you hired huh?” selina chuckled . “watch how you address her. she’s my widow.” he raised his voice just a little bit.

you felt a vibe between them. maybe they used to go out you thought. “apologies. we were expecting some else” bruce sighed. “who?” selina scoffed. “doesn’t matter. what are you doing here?” he sounded genuinely curious. you walked over to bruce’s side. you clutched your gun in you hands. you don’t trust the street rat you hear he is so infatuated with. “i heard about penguins auction” selina looked at you up and down. “so barbara sent you for the knife. figured i’d just hand it over” listening to these two bickering was hilarious. “something like that.” she smiled. “why’s it so important to her?”

“how should i know? she was supposed to get it for some client. a pretty dangerous guy.” selina huffed “and that if you were smart you’d hand it over and save yourself the trouble.” selinas eyes were calm. meant that she didn’t see bruce as a treat. that’s how she was able to talk to him so causally. “I spent two million dollars on it i think I’ll keep it” he began to raise his voice. you kept your words to yourself.

“why are you acting like this.” selina crossed her arms sounding a bit hurt. “me? what about you. are you barbara keans errand girl now.?” he stood up from behind his desk. “I’m her partner but she won’t see me as equals unless you do me this solid.” selina pleaded with him. “widow. you may be dismissed. there is no threat” you bowed and left the study leaving bruce and selina alone.

•

about an hour later alfred helped you settle into your bedroom. it was big and had plenty of room. alfred brought you some clean sheets and fluffy blue towels . you thanked the elderly man and bowed. “goodnight young miss.” he smiled and left you alone. you made your bed and unpacked some of your jumpsuits into one of the many closets. you grabbed a blue towel and went to shower.

you wanted to wash the guilt away. you grabbed your pill bottle and took two. dreykov would scold you if you didn’t take them. you packed a black pair of shorts and a tank top. a widows favorite pajama set. another thing you sneakily pack was a pair of pink pointe shoes. you didn’t enjoy much of anything but you did like ballet, tho you’d never say it out loud.

after you got out of the shower you brushed your hair into a tight bun. two knocks were heard. “widow.” it of course was bruce wayne. you closed your eyes and sighed walking to the door. “hello sir, do you need anything” you smiled. “no. i just want to let you know that im four doors down. and alfred’s room is downstairs. if you need anything.” he smiled.

“thank you sir” you bowed your head. “bruce is fine. tomorrow me and alfred have some errands to run but you are free to use the kitchen,gym and living room. alfred will set up a tv for you tomorrow” his voice was soft as silk, as sweet as red whine. “goodnight” he touches your arm and pats it. “night.” you said in response. he left leaving you feeling very much confused. how would you last two months?

“the summer i betrayed my sister”

pov: you’re bellys hotter sister and she found out you hooked up with conrad.

“you hooked up with Conrad didn’t you y/n” my sister yelled bursting into my room, I could tell she’d been crying because her eyes were red and she looked puffy.

“belly what are talking about.?” i felt my stomach sink, she knew? but how. all i could do was pretend so i let out a dry laugh.

“i know you slept with Conrad” belly looked at me like i had just shot her in the heart.

“belly- i didn’t“ I was at a loss for words. nothing i could do would fix my mistake. it was irreversible.

“i always knew you were a liar but i never thought my sister was a whore” she yelled loud enough for the whole world to hear.

my tears began to fall. “we both were drunk and sad it meant nothing” she slapped me hard it stung. she ran into the kitchen where my mom was and i followed. before i could stop her belly declared my business out for everyone to hear.

“your perfect y/n isn’t as pure as you thought because she slept with Conrad….” my mom stopped mixing the batter and her face turned a pale white. steven glared at conrad and conrad looked as shocked as i was.

before my mom or susannah could say a word belly took out her phone and showed a photo of me leaving conrads room last night without my top on. Jeremiah…. It had to have been him. he told belly.

“she’s a slut. she couldn’t even keep her hands off conrad- even though she already had Jeremiah wrapped around her fingers”

conrad got up off the couch, my tears fell and all i felt i could do was run. so run i did.

“y/n/n wait” he grabbed his car keys and ran after me.

he grabbed my hand and kissed me and i kissed back, i had nothing left to lose. “let’s go somewhere before steven and jeremiah find us”