#Crimes of the Widows Red Room

[kimberly-spirits13]

At the Stitches

Pairing: Jason Todd x black widow reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, and getting stitches

Summary: Jason comes home acting strange and while stitching him up, you figure out why. (angstish/ fluff)

Word Count: 1633

Your bathroom echoed as you hummed a Russian lullaby while twisting small pieces your hair into tiny braids. You had pulled it back to keep it out of your face during patrol but following a traditional instilled in you at a young age in the Red Room, you had the impulse to add little braids throughout it. Jason was due to be back home soon, and you would take over patrol. Every few months, Bruce made sure to have someone patrolling the entire night due to possible crime spikes. Keeping everyone fresh and awake on these nights was vital to avoiding injuries. The melody continued to echo through the bathroom as you remembered the lullaby of the older Widow that took care of you while you were being studied for your powers in the Red Room, “Bayu-bay, all people should sleep at night. Bayu-bay, tomorrow is a new day. We got very tired today, let’s say to everyone “good night”, go to sleep Bayu-bay.” You took the last clear elastic band and tied off the last braid in your hair. When you were satisfied with the stablility of the elastics, you picked up your mask that was sitting next to the sink after being cleaned. In case Jason needed some help after patrol, you waited for him to climb through the window. When you heard the swing of the window and the thud that was his boots landing on the floor, you knew he was back. 

                  Jason was putting his helmet on the counter when you came inside the living room ready for patrol. He seemed heavy, like he was exhausted tonight from galivanting through the city. There was a large red gash on his side, pushing little streams of blood over his shirt. He looked at you with tired eyes and you knew he needed rest.

                  “How’d you get that, Jaybird?” You quipped, examining the wound before helping him pull his shirt over his head. He groaned as you did, wincing when his arms came back down. There were a few bruises painted over his body, and a swollen spot over his eye, despite him supposedly having his helmet on all night. 

                  “Wasn’t paying enough attention.” He huffed, “Patch me up?”

                  “Yea, I just need to make sure I’m not late.” You answered.

                  You walked towards the master bathroom again, where you made sure to keep the more extensive first aid kit. Jason was following slowly, dragging his feet, and making the time tick by. It took him longer than usual to get to the sink and sit himself up on the counter, next to where you had prepared to stitch up his wounds. He signed heavily and rested his chin on your head, burying you in his chest. Instead of pulling away immediately, you waited a bit, giving into his neediness for the moment before trying to pull back and grab the rubbing alcohol. Jason seemed to have a vice grip on you once you tried to pull back, forcing you to stay where you were.

                  “Jay, I have to clean your cuts, babe.” You lifted your hands onto his arms and started pulling them from you until he sat back up, “You should go to sleep instead of waiting up tonight, you seem exhausted.” 

                  “I’m fine, I’ll wait up.” He said.            

                  “Honey, I don’t want to seem argumentative, but you look like you’re seeing stars.” “Are you sure you’re okay?”

                  “I told you I’m fine Y/N.” There was a combative tone in his voice, causing you to drop the point of contention. Obviously, there was something he wasn’t telling you.       

                  “Dick says that Grundy is out again.” You said, plopping a cotton pad on the open top of the alcohol bottle, “Apparently there’s some new magic aspect that Bruce wants me to look at considering my magic. I’d say if it’s Grundy it’s dark.” “Hey, stay still for me.”                   Jason was moving around enough that you couldn’t properly clean and bandage his wounds without him reinfecting the area before it was sealed. You began the process again, realizing that you were probably going to be a few minutes late. Cleaning where the cut was, he flinched a bit. When you tried to make eye contact to see if he was okay, he saw that he was already staring intensely at you. You both looked away as you grabbed the needle to stitch him back up.

                  “I’ll probably ask Zatanna what she thinks about it. Maybe it’s not that big of a deal and I can take care of it tonight since there’s so many of us out patrolling. I might go check it out later to see-” 

                  “Shit Y/N!” Jason’s fist hit the counter causing a loud bang, your hand to flinch back thinking you hurt him, and you look at him with confusion. You hadn’t done anything wrong, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten stitches before.

                  “Sorry, sorry.” You held up your hands, showing up that you weren’t doing anything that would hurt him, “Sorry Jay I didn’t think I was hurting you.” “Are you okay? I mean you need to be stitched but maybe I can-” Your voice wavered off as you started grabbing one of the white bandages that you could wrap around his entire torso before Jason grabbed your hands gently, making you drop the roll of bandages. 

                  “Fuck, sorry, Y/N/N. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” He said, speaking like a puppy with a broken tail, “Please don’t leave.” 

                  “Babe, the others will be out there alone, I have to be there, especially if there’s some sort of dark magic involved.” You said, a worried look settling over your face.

                  “No, you don’t. They’ll be fine, Bruce is out there now.” “You can’t go out there.”

                  “Jason what’s wrong?” You asked, your hands still trapped in his, “What’s out there?” 

                  “I just- you can’t go.” Jason was trying to plead an argument with you, but it seemed he couldn’t find the words. 

                  “Jason, what happened?” You asked, worry and concern lacing your voice and your hands, still in Jason’s dropped into his lap.

                  “It’s a warzone tonight.” “I mean, it’s been worse, it’s been so much worse, but you can’t be out there without me. Please don’t leave Y/N/N, you can’t, please just stay here. I can’t make sure that you’re okay, I can’t follow you around tonight, can’t keep up with you. You can’t leave.” Tears started welling up in his eyes and you tugged your hands out of his to wipe them away.

                  “Hey, it’s okay, Jason, I’m right here.” Your movements caused him to look deeply into your eyes.

                  “I know you can take care of yourself. You could put Bruce in an early grave, but I can’t let you go out there without me.” He said, his voice breaking a few times.

                  “It’s okay Jay, I’ll stay with you.” “Are the others, okay?” 

                  “They’re fine.” He said honestly, “Bruce is calling in Diana for extra help.” “I told him you had the flu.” A sheepish look came over him as you realized what he had just admitted to.

                  “I would laugh at that, but I’m still worried about you.” You said, smiling just a bit in humor, “Okay, I’ll stay with you, but I’ve still got to take care of these cuts.” 

                  “You’re still in your suit.” He quipped suspiciously. 

                  “Well yea, I mean I thought you were about to implode on yourself a second ago.” You laughed, a small light admitting from your body and making your uniform disintegrate into a pair of sweatpants and one of Jason’s old shirts. The uniform would be put back away in its case for tomorrow night, but you’d be sure not to touch it tonight unless it was necessary. 

                  “Are you okay if I start again?” you asked.

                  “Yeah, you’re good.” He replied in almost a whisper.          

                  You began cleaning back up the larger wound now that blood had ran down his torso. Intentionally being extra gentle, you were being sure that there was no way you were hurting Jason. It was quiet in the bathroom now, only the sound of you two breathing could be heard. A few moments of silence had passed before he spoke up again.

                  “Hey Y/N/N?”                   “What’s up?” 

                  “Will you take your hair down? I need your hair.” He had been trying to run his fingers through the strands of hair but was being impaired by the little braids you had strung throughout the loose pieces.

                  You chuckled a bit before another little glow emitted from your hair and a small plopping noise sounded from the countertop as little clear bands dropped down to where they had been stacked together. Jason’s fingers immediately started running through the strands again, relaxing his breathing and slowing his heart rate. You started humming a new lullaby again, “The night has come, and she has brought darkness with her. Mommy went out, closed the shutters, sleep, sleep. Fall asleep.”

                  “All of your Russian lullabies are terrifying.” Jason said.

                  “Knocked me out like a light when I was little.” You replied laughing, “At least it’s not the one about Baba Yaga.” 

                  “Yea, at least.” He chuckled.

                  After a few moments, Jason’s wounds were patched up and he was showered. You had already gotten into bed and was waiting for him when Jason came and plopped on top of you, holding you tightly to him and not letting you go.

                  “Thanks for staying.” He said softly. 

                  “I’ll always stay with you Jay. Just tell me when there’s something wrong the next time.” You replied, running your fingers through his hair, “I was worried about you, love.”

                  “I’m sorry.” He assured, “I’ll tell you next time.” 

                  “I love you Jaybird.” 

                  “I love you” 

[ynscrazylife]

black widow!reader x tf141 idea/blurb

okay okay, hear me out. you grew up in the red room, a brainwashed and manipulated black widow. after an investigation done by the CIA, you were able to escape and befriended kate laswell. she took you in and was like a mother to you, helping you turn your life around. you agreed to do work for the CIA so as to avoid being arrested for your crimes as a russian spy.

makarov is a ghost from your past. the details are hazy but, he had affiliations to the red room. you knew him, he knew you. when he popped up on tf141’s radar, laswell suggested you join to aid them in taking makarov down.

at first, you didn’t get along great with the tf141. they were wary of a newcomer, especially someone who didn’t like sharing their past. however, you proved yourself on the field, and befriended the team members. price took you under his wing, as he greatly trusted laswell.

you were a great fit and continued to operate on the team even after makarov was dealt with.

until, you went missing.

tf141 went feral. they were determined to find you and so was laswell. little did they know, they’d be heading straight into the red room, and would learn all the details you tried to hide about your past.

[seikkoi]

ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ | natasha romanoff x hacker!reader

18+ minors DNI

warnings: mentions of alcohol, arguing, harsh language, explicit s*xual content

genre: angst, a lil fluff, a lil sm*t

word count: 2,060

a/n: reader is gender-neutral

You've spent far too long trying to be more than just a warm bed for the infamous Black Widow.

Oh, Natasha’s a poison alright.

An intoxicating, slow moving poison that captures everything it encounters. Her recent favor of the season’s no exception- hooked on something that kills you. 

It’s not like Nat physically hurt, not at all. The problem was quite the opposite. Nat provided you near limitless pleasure at one cost-it’d never be love. That hurt worse than any physical pain the poor woman could imagine. The nights in the Black Widow’s bed would continue to stagger so long as that was understood.

You would never be Nat’s- no matter how much you wanted to be.

Despite her making this quite clear when you first expressed your interest, you couldn’t help longing for it. You’d had been her mission half a year ago, and quite the challenging one indeed. A propensity for computers coupled with a shitty moral compass led you to a lifetime of digital crime. The ante only seemed to raise every year, the stakes rising alongside the payment. You were good enough to get a job going after SHIELD, but not good enough to actually succeed. The client was pissed, and money was lost, but you shook it off.

When you awoke to the barrel of a gun and cold, beautiful eyes, you realized you didn’t cover your tracks well enough, either. 

Thankfully, Fury was more interested in hiring you than killing you. 

You hadn't been more than twenty four hours away from her since that day. At first, not intentionally. The next night, Nat took you out for drinks- mostly to make you feel less like a target. 

It’d turned out that you two had great chemistry- talking the night away until it bleeded into the morning. She spoke about the Red Room, and how the Avengers gave her a second chance. It helped you feel better about your own morally gray life. 

Many, many drinks and swapped secrets later, and your hands are full of red hair, mouth absorbed in the same woman who might’ve killed you a day ago. While your eyes are fluttering, Natasha’s hands disappear behind your pants, telling you how happy she is that you decided to join them. 

Maybe it’s because she doesn’t leave in the morning, or because she invited you over again that night, but you thought it meant something. To make matters worse, Natasha seldom held anything back from you- the good, the bad, or the ugly. You were the same, sharing parts of your life that made you see your relationship as more than just a consistent hookup or even friends. 

About a month and a half in, Natasha frustrately picked the lock to your apartment after waiting twenty minutes for you to answer. She walked into your bedroom to find you typing away at lit-up monitors, absorbed in your work, headphones muffling any phone calls or impatient knocks. 

You flinched at the sudden removal of your headphones, gazing up to an angry scowl. To her dismay, this wasn’t the first time you’d gotten lost in your work and forgot she was coming by. The assassin was adamant that if you just gave her a key, this wouldn’t happen. You playfully joked that giving her a key would denote commitment. The red-haired woman laughed at the suggestion to the tune of your heart cracking.

In all the nights and weekends following, Natasha would continue to do things that left you feeling insane. Her actions said one thing, yet she always made it clear that this was never, and would never be a relationship. After a while, it started to feel like she just didn’t want to be committed to you, specifically. You worried if there was something wrong about the idea of being in a public, loving relationship with you- as opposed to just someone she fucked. 

Tonight, like most nights, she’d let herself in after a particularly tiring day. Frustration and resentment boiled at the sound of her footsteps. She laid on your bed, illuminated only by lines of code, waiting for you to finish whatever new encryption Fury requested. Tonight, like most nights, you stared at the screen as swallowed down your hopeless pining with a fifth of whiskey. 

Despite any ignored feelings, you relished in Nat’s company, speeding up your work to get into her arms sooner. You loved that she was comfortable with you, hearing her get up and head for the shower. Yet, the bitter, angry part of you hated that she would never love you in spite of any trust or comfort. 

You listen to Nat return and open one of your dresser drawers full of her clothing to change (strictly for convenience, of course). Eyes still trained on your work, you return the kiss she graces on your cheek as she pours herself a glass as well. 

When you turn your chair to Nat, she’s looking at you with one of those smiles that makes your stomach turn into butterflies. You take a second to admire her relaxed appearance, hair down and messy, in baggy, out-of-date clothing. It’s easy for her to make you forget you were ever upset.

You must have been staring too long, because Nat crosses the distance between you two. Before you can ask her how her day was, she straddles you in the chair, pulling you in for a deep, long kiss. Your hands find their way to her waist, pulling in her closer and sucking at her bottom lip. 

Natasha’s hands cup your face gently, sighing into you. It’s not long before your kisses grow more hungry and passionate, hands traveling and caressing every inch you can. When she breaks the kiss, you’re completely intoxicated once again- dazed and longing for me. 

“Hello to you, too,” she says, with cloudy eyes and a small grin.

“You started it.”, you reply distractedly, dancing your fingers along the waistband of her shorts. 

Natasha gets distracted herself, by the program still running on your computer screens. 

“You know,” she starts, running her hands through your hair. “I never understand what it is you do.”

You can’t hold back a laugh as you push your hand past the elastic, fingers pushing against the soft fabric of her underwear. Natasha lets out a quiet moan while her head droops back to your neck. 

“I’m serious,” Natasha lamints. Her breath hitches when you pull her underwear away with your free hand, sliding your index finger into her entrance. “I want t-I wanna understand all of this.”

You are much too concentrated on eliciting more raspy breaths from the enamoring woman on top of you. You pump your finger into her with tender, slow strokes, feeling her wetness pool at your hand. Natasha softly whines your name into your neck, causing you to groan as you add another digit. 

“Didn’t think you cared all that much,” It’s an honest admission, one that give without much thought. You speed up your fingers, curving against her walls right where you knew she needed it. Your own breathing becomes erratic, caught up in the way Natasha clings to you. 

Russian curses come out short and heavy the moment your thumb brushes her clit. You grip her hip to keep her place, and more pleas of your name follow suit. It was the moments like these, when you knew that you were all she wanted, that made everything else worth it. 

“I do care.”, she manages between moans. 

The cracks in your heart start to come undone once more, taking you out of your lustful daze. For what was the 100th time in months, you had to tell yourself she didn’t mean a damn thing by that- she cared about you as much as the next person did, nothing more. 

You ignore her and pick up your pace even further. The all-too familiar shudder of her body, accompanied by the velvety, strained moans from her mouth, told you that she was close. You quickly become reabsorbed in giving her as much ecstasy as you could. Natasha’s hands in your hair pull tighter as she gets lost in her own pleasure, forcing your gaze slightly up.

Her eyes are squeezed shut, mouth in an open gasp, burrowed against you like a lifeline. A moan of your own escapes at the sight. You think you could die just like this, with this perfect image of the most perfect woman. 

Right as you’re certain she’s about to reach her peak, you draw circles on her throbbing clit, watching her body twitch. 

“I love you,” Natasha’s words pass through your quiet and broken ears as she climaxes. 

It sets you into shock, making you think you imagined it. In the few seconds that follow, neither of you speak, as Natasha regains her breathing and you stare at the ceiling, pissed off again and confused. 

You feel Natasha shift, eyes making their way to your confused face. 

“I-”, she starts to stutter, to which you roll your eyes and push her gently off your lap.

As you start to head for your bedroom door, her hands wrap around your forearm, yanking you back. 

“What the fuck, Nat?” You rip your arm away from her, even more shocked by her aggression towards you.

The assassin simply stands, still stuttering over what to say. That only becomes the final straw for you. 

“Get the hell out, now.” You swing the bedroom door open as you speak. All you wanted for months was to hear those words. Now, all you could taste was poison. She’d broken your heart time and time again. You’d spent so long learning to handle loving someone who’d never love you back. To suddenly act like she ever gave a damn after all that was insulting. Even if she meant it, how long did she really mean it for?

“You don’t mean that.” She has the audacity to sound hurt. 

“Yeah, I do, leave. I’m not gonna let you keep doing this to me.”

“Doing what to you? I’m telling you that I care-”

“Oh suddenly now you care! After how many months of me begging for you to feel the same, now that I’m finally getting over it, you care?”, you shout as you cross the room towards her. 

“I always fucking cared!”, she yells back, and you notice the tears brimming in her eyes, fists balled at her side. In all this time, you’d only seen Nat cry twice. Once, when talking about Yelena. The other when Clint lost his family. To be crying now because of you, felt like hell.

You immediately soften when you notice, tears of your own forming. You’re left in speechless shock yet again at her words.

“Then why say the opposite for so long?”, you ask, voice hoarse.

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Everything good in my life goes away. I didn’t want to ruin this.”, she goes quiet herself, staring at the floor. 

“You didn’t think telling me over and over again that we aren’t anything would make me go away?” 

“You’re still here, aren't you?” Natasha gives you a shy smile when she speaks. It’s true- you were too addicted to Nat to let her go. Even just a minute ago when you told her to leave, you knew you’d be following after her. 

“Honestly, I don’t know why. You made it clear how you feel.” She could joke about it all she wanted, you were still hurt and replaying months of rejection in your head. 

“I’m trying to tell you I didn’t mean it, please.” The remaining space between you is closed while she takes your hands in hers. Her gaze locks onto yours, staring into teary, green eyes. 

“I love you, that is the truth. I promise.” It’s never a challenge for Nat to break your resolve. Especially when you've been dreaming to hear the spy say that. 

“How do I know you mean it? That you're not ‘gonna change your mind?” 

You feel her thumbs graze over hand, a mischievous glint forming in her eyes. When your confusion grows, Natasha drops to her knees before you. As she lowers herself to the floor, she places kisses along your hands before moving to tug at your jeans. Whatever mixed feelings you still had, flew out of the door. 

“Let me show you how much I love you.”

[distant--shadow]

The witch and the widow chapters 1-4 author’s notes

Ok, so first off I feel I gotta preface this by saying I am absolutely not a history buff. Kinda the opposite of one really. I was one of less than 10% of the kids in my year of 300 or so that didn’t take history at GCSEs, mostly caus a subject taught and based around names and dates etc is the definition of something not suited for my type of brain, also I hugely lost interest in it caus we moved past the fun trebuchet eras and all that real fast and it became of slog of me falling asleep in lessons caus I had a teacher whose method was putting on movies and shutting the blinds (I’d always fall asleep and he was later jailed for being a p*edophile, so that’s a thing.) Anyway, all that to say I’m not good at this shit, but as ive gotten older I have taken a bigger interest in queer history in particular, and that often if not always links into other areas such as fashion, women’s rights, religion,the arts, class, and race etc. (I’m still not good at names and dates though!)

They are outfitted and arsenalled - the stones of the wall - in a manner to rival any army; tapestries of red and gold perhaps once brandished on battlefield as banners promenading around death now retired and indoor-still-air-still as taxidermy giving colour between all of the shades of metal, burnished and polished and in some cases rusting, some still purposefully left blood-stained, swords and pikes and maces arranged in wallpaper patterns as though flowers or fans, sword-sheath beams spreading from chest-plate armour suns.

Let’s start with something easy and recent. The Baron’s armoury was inspired by a few castles I’ve visited, these rooms are always so bizarre to me. I don’t know if this is at all of the time/how they were decorated or a more recent thing, but either way it’s pretty wild but I do love the visual and metaphor of it. In this one castle I found out from talking about the carpentry to an attendant that the decorative ceiling work around the chandelier above the dining room table actually hid a trapdoor - and there was other hidden doorways for passages and to secret rooms in this castle, that’s not that unusual - but this particular trapdoor was to allow for the chandeliers to be switched out. Why? Caus they had them in multiple colours of glass, and the lady of the castle liked the chandelier to co-ordinate with her dress if they were having guests round. Aint that such a flex? Definitely some food for future thought.

Aight. Clothing. So anyone that chats fic/au to me or is in my server has probably heard me yell to go watch Kaz Rowe’s videos many times. As I’ve said this fic aint meant to be historically accurate but it does kinda straddle histories, one of which being our own; so women wearing trousers and the like at this time would still be a crime, and draw a lot of attention . Imogen in men’s clothing genuinely isn’t meant to be much of a gender thing but a thing of practicality, and she has mostly lived in the countryside or in the outskirts, so she does not get into the trouble she would should she go into the towns and cities (another reason to keep away past the potential noise, but this Imogen will happily don a dress or skirts if she needs to, she’s just usually working – and maybe it’s a bonus that dressing as a man acts as a sort of flagging for any women who might be interested lol.)

I guess here I should mention how I think this version of Imogen's powers and how they’ve manifested (along with everyone else being unaware of them) will have somewhat changed her disposition and personality, it is a lot more aligned with later campaign Imogen who has more confidence and empowerment, she hasn’t been ostracised for her abilities or particularly bombarded by them, think more like when she has her circlet on, she chooses to listen in (mostly), although of course she has still heard many terrible things (and her life has still been pretty brutal but that’s to be written still).

(it’ll be really fun in this regard getting to explore and explain this version of Laudna, but early days for giving much away on that yet!)

Her skirts are full and structured and plumed by many layers of petticoats that hide the movement of her feet across the wildflower lawn, causing her to appear to be drifting like the bees do from petal to petal, pollen dusting her pleats though ghostly her skin in contrast to the fine fabrics that she dresses for the part, black in mourning, still, bodice tight and sleeve leg of mutton, an ornate decorative layer of black lace laying over each yard of textured textile like spider webs on porcelain patterns, her husband's tableware collecting dust in the kitchen cupboard.

real impractical for how tending towards practical the Lady dares to be, hands on, too busy for errant hairs in piano key ivory and ebony windswept and loose from the high bun she pins in place with a cameo broach, a memento mori engraved in silver and inlayed with ruby eyes and tied with red ribbons. Her skin also proudly displays the age and perhaps trauma that her hair does, lines from laughter and furrowed brows and the feet of the crows that cry from the top of the chimney pots

A little note as to say that Laudna’s appearance is heavily influenced by Victorian mourning wear, with some of the clothes cuts altered to be a little bit more regency and earlier in places. (her  attire is a little outdated, further suggesting her distancing from society and fashion)

A couple of days ago Imogen happened upon a bird with an injured wing, crying helplessly and rolling in circles, feathers taking flight away from the bird that could not, settling around it as it panicked itself bald-

The bird could not live without the use of its wing, and it didn’t, whether that was by Prosciutto or a fox, only its feathers were left in a pile.

Imogen had gathered them into an empty burlap sack; taken them to one of the maids downstairs to clean, repurpose them for filling pillows.

Here’s a silly little easter egg for my p(r)oof reader. Last time he visited we was enjoying a cinnamon roll from the local bakery by the city river (as you do) and a cyclist hit a seagull. It was real distressing, the seagull was distressed too. A handfull of middle aged women stood around it not wanting or knowing how to intervene as its wing was twisted at a crazy angle and it flapped about in a pile of its own feathers, there’s still bird flu about so it is wise to not touch wild birds, and as bleak as it is I was saying to freshy that a wild bird who’s wings broken like that is gonna die, and probably slowly and painfully. Some man came along and lifted up the bird to take the bird off the path and laid it to rest behind an old bridge building, I think he must have mercy killed it too as the bird was already dead when we walked past 10 or so minutes later after finishing our cinnamon roll and giving a cautious glance. So there’s a nice happy memory thrown in there for him.

what appears to be driftwood breaches the surface, then another point, then another

the water belches

Ceviche scares, whinnying as he rears onto his back legs, the Lady leaning forward and clinging to his harness. Imogen stands in her stirrups, leaning across the gap over to the black stallion, grasping his reins and cooing

“All good, boy, all good-”

What had appeared to be driftwood lands on the surface with a slap, looking like the carcass of an old boat left to rot in the muddy bed of a dock, timber ribcaged and leathered skin cladding.

A femur surfaces, followed by a jaw.

Second easter egg for the p(r)oof is a quick one (I’m such a considerate writer, I know.) On a train ride to a loch we went to for a day out there is a stop that is on another lake/body of water, and right by the train tracks (which are at water height) there are 4 or 5 old ships stuck in the mud, most of them just the frames/structures of the old boats, mostly wood and some bits of metal, but they’re pretty big boats! It really looks like whale carcasses. I’ve always wanted to get of there and check it out, and we were gonna stop by on the way back but my health being what it is was giving me some grief that day so we missed 2 trains and then soon the daylight, so hopefully next time buddy.

There’s alotta meat and gore talk and Imogen being a vegetarian without the label for such is just another way of me playing round with all of her complex feelings about what the Lady might be doing, her feelings towards Angharad butchering and nourishing the women with these communal stews and all of that. I’ve been vegetarian myself for 20 years now, and it was all triggered by an existential crisis in my mid teens (still a huge fan of leather and blood though) – Imogen greatly cares about animals, struggles with the thought of anything being slaughtered, she is in some ways more empathetic than most because she knows those she does on so much more of a personal level, really feels how someone is reacting to a situation they are in, but also because of this she knows humans are often corrupt and vile and she is spared such thoughts from animals, only knows their instincts and the love and comfort and service they bring – and yet she will obsess over the Lady’s (potential) tooling on that saddlework leather that’s really fucking brutal if she thinks about it one way and beautiful if she thinks about it another hmmm what if everything’s not black and white.

Oh, and the stew is a homage to @picturesofthegoneworlds’ pre-campaign fic Intertwined which I am lucky enough to co-parent and her writing is hugely influential on mine.

There’s a few things being bread crumb trailed here that I can’t explain in the author notes yet, but I’m looking forward to when I can. One small detail I will give away is just a silly thing about the chapter headings. They are something of significance from within the chapter, given in its ‘proper’ name – maybe someone gets access to some books to do research at some point?

anyways, thanks @astoriacolumnstaircase for enabling me. will do another post like this for future chapters if folks find it interesting.

[littlexscarletxwitch]

hi,

Can you maybe write headcanons about y/n or reader being Natasha's & Yelena's little/big sister?

── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗮 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘆𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝘀𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿

paring: natasha romanoff x sister!reader; yelena belova x sister!reader

tag(s): headcanons, nat and yel being r's sister, r being the middle child lol, mentions of wandanat and bishova

warning(s): grammatical errors, unedited, not proofread

word count: 0.3k

note: so deeply sorry this took me so long, also that it is so short. I was going through a lot and just couldn't find the strength nor the energy to actually write something. I hope I get back to writing soon, lots of love M <3

requests are open! + check my rules + masterlist <3

Being the middle child it's never easy. But it kinda is harder when your older sister is a former Avenger and Black Widow called Natasha and your little sister is also a Black Widow and current Avenger. 

Sure you are a Black Widow as well, and you’re not an official avenger because you try to avoid that stuff but you are back up.

Natasha and Yelena might not be your sisters by blood, but the three of you are family by choice. A choice that was made by The Red Room, but a choice the three of you made every single day.

You loved them and they loved you, even though you would take the piss out of each other.

As a little sister to Natasha, you found yourself under her wing and wouldn’t like it another way. 

She was your first role model, the woman you would always aspire to be, and the one you would always wound laid out all your problems to.

But with that also comes the stress of being under her shadow and not being as perfect as she is. 

So she would tell you: “You don’t have to me to succeed, Y/n. You can only do that by being yourself”.

And as the middle child, you also were a big sister, Yelena’s big sister. 

But truth be told she was more like your partner in crime, and not in a cute way. More like getting into trouble together.

Pulling pranks on Natasha, pulling pranks on the Avengers. Mostly on Natasha though.

Still, as childish as you could be sometimes, you were the support both of your sisters needed when going through tough times. 

You were there when each of them realised they were in love with another woman and welcomed Wanda and Kate to your little family with open arms. 

You were there when they would have nightmares about The Red Room.

You were there when Natasha proposed to Wanda, you and Yelena helping her out to plan the perfect proposal.

You were there when Kate and Yelena decided to move in together, helping them with their furniture and whatever they needed. 

You loved your sisters, more than anything in the world. 

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

-M

[imaginedanvrs]

encrypted relations

part 1 l masterlist

summary: yelena belova x reader. when natasha takes you under her wing, she becomes like family, and the last thing you want is to lose that. but when you meet her younger sister who you know is off limits, you have to decide between what you really want and hope for minimal damage

word count: 3.6k

warnings: alcohol, mentions of past toxic relationship and manipulation, sexual themes, implied death

“I cannot believe you met Nat's sister before me!” You exclaimed as you threw yourself down on your sofa and glared up at the ceiling, furious at the universe's mockery. 

  “Dude, I know! I wanted to call you but every time I was about to, someone started shooting at us again,” Kate said with a huff. “But I got her number and told her to text me next time she's in town…she hasn't been responding yet so it might be a fake number,” you could hear the pout.

  “Kate!” You whined, earning a curious glance from Marty who jumped up onto the sofa to settle down on top of you.

  “I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you,” she tried.

  “I'll hold you to that,” you huffed until a smile crept onto the corner of your lips. “So tell me everything,” you grinned as you held the phone closer to your ear. You always loved hearing about Kate's missions. Having known the young archer since before you managed to introduce her to her favourite hero, you had witnessed Kate's adventures transgress from more delinquent than crime fighter, to taking on the KingPin single handedly. You were confident her first fight with aliens was right around the corner. 

  At that, Kate lit up, springing into an animated recollection of everything that had happened in the past few days. Her account was no doubt exaggerated and a little out of order with how often she got side tracked with minute details, but you were able to gain at least an overview of the events that led their paths to cross. In short: widows. 

  Yelena had been able to trace down the small group of assassins who had slipped under her radar, due to their inbuilt paranoia now that the red room��s foundation had crumbled, and led her to New York. The widows, acting on their manmade instincts, had made some trouble in town that Kate had stepped in to deal with without knowing the full scale of what she faced. Fortunately, Yelena had jumped in just in time to stop Kate getting killed but in the chaos of it all, the widows got away. 

  After a great deal of persistence from Kate, Yelena eventually gave the archer the rundown and in doing so got herself a companion for the rest of her time in the city until they were swiftly able to find the widows once more and release them from their chemically induced trance. 

  “So what was she like?” You asked once you had processed Kate’s story. 

  “Total badass,” Kate summarised. 

  “Knew it,” you muttered as you scratched behind Marty’s ears.

  “Anway, I gotta take Lucky for his routine checkup so I’ll talk to you later,” Kate said before you could ask any more questions. 

  “Good luck, Lucky,” you called down the phone, hearing a distant woof in return before the call ended. You immediately opened your messages. 

  Me: yelena was back in town??? You typed out furiously. It took less than a minute to get a response, that meant that Nat was probably doing paperwork.

  Nat: haha yeah, you guys meet up?

  Me: no she was too busy hanging out with kate!! 

  Nat: i didn’t get to see her either :( you frowned as you read over the message, surprised that Yelena hadn’t gone to see her sister when she had the chance. 

  Me: what?? :( you paused, tapping your thumbs against the sides of your phone.

  Me: you free for lunch? 

  Nat: come by the tower? She was definitely doing paperwork. There had been so many times in the past where Natasha had been too swamped with paperwork to go out with you for lunch that you had developed somewhat of a routine for you to go and have lunch with the Russian as she worked. Much to her credit, her ability to hold a conversation while recollecting her missions was admirable. 

  Me: omw

  “Come on, Marty. We’re going to the tower,” you said as you patted his back. Your dog was quick to scramble off of you and make his way to the door, grabbing his collar and leash off of the hook while you grabbed your jacket. You took it from his mouth gently and fastened it on before making your way out. 

  It didn’t take you long to get through the security at the Avenger’s tower. In earlier years you had some issues, especially with the addition of Marty, because you had to sign in as a visitor even though you were accessing floors visitors couldn’t. Eventually, Tony had gotten you a pass that let you whizz through the gates and checks. 

  “Hey, Steve, how’s it going?” You greeted the soldier as you entered the common room. 

  “Hey kid, not so bad. I haven’t seen you in a while though, how’ve you been?” He asked as he crouched down to give Marty all the attention he had been anticipating. 

  “Same old,” you shrugged, settling into an easy catch up with the blond as he recollected his latest pop culture enrichments and visits to see Peggy. The pair of you didn’t get to talk for too long though, because Nat appeared at the other side of the room with her arms crossed across her chest. 

  “Mind if I steal this one away, Rogers?” Natasha asked with a slight grin. 

  “Course not, see you around, y/n,” Steve chuckled as he picked up his lunch and took it away. As soon as he did, Marty dashed across the room to the Russian with his tail wagging madly. It was obvious who his favourite was in the tower, same as you. 

  “Hi, Mutt,” Natasha cooed as she pampered the dog.

  “I told you not to call him that,” you said with a roll of your eyes even though it was hard not to smile every time. 

  “Why not? That’s what he is,” Natasha pointed out as she stood up and gave you a fond hug. You went through to the corner of the conference room with the sofas where Natasha had her laptop and two plates of pb&j sandwiches. 

  “So how come you didn’t get to see Yelena while she was in the city?” You asked right away. You and the Russian had never had a small talk type of relationship. 

  “She hadn’t been planning to come to the city in the first place, that was just where she was led to, but once she had handled everything she needed to, she was being called to chase another lead,” Natasha explained with an air of disappointment. 

  “I guess between Kate and the widows she was more than preoccupied while she was here,” you said as you reached for your sandwich and pondered Yelena’s general mission that took up so much of her time. In fact, it seemed to be an almost constant thing. 

  “Yelena’s been at this for what? A year now? Is she anywhere close to being done with it all?” You asked, knowing that the scale of what the young Russian had taken on was great but that the work she put in was greater. 

  “She reckons so,” Natasha said with a spark of hope in her eyes that was impossible not to catch. “I want her to come home, wherever that may be to her,” the spy admitted, knowing that her sister wouldn’t want to stay by her side forever. 

  “Even if you’re not home, you’re a pretty great timeshare.” You thought that was a nice thing to say, but the pb&j sandwich Nat threw at your face said otherwise. You grinned back at the redhead, knowing she didn’t have to worry about Yelena growing distant with her again and hoping the same would always apply to you. 

*

“So if Steve could lift mjolnir and they ruled Asgard together, would that make them some kind of power couple?” Kate asked as she leant against the wall next to your door. 

  “Like work husbands?” You rummaged around in your pockets for your keys while the archer continued. 

  “Royal work husbands,” she corrected. 

  “You’ll definitely have to ask them at the next party,” you chuckled as you eventually found your keys and started opening your apartment door. 

  “I wanted to ask at the last one but I thought as it was my first time meeting them that I should-”

  “Kate Bishop.” You and Kate spun in the direction of the voice as you fumbled for the light switch. “Y/n l/n,” the Russian continued once you had a light on her. 

  “Yelena!” Kate exclaimed with a broad smile as Lucky immediately dashed over to the blonde. Marty stayed close to your side as you stared at Yelena in awe while she greeted the labrador. “You know you don’t have to break into everyone’s apartments the first time you go to them, right?” The archer asked, placing her jacket on your coat rack while you continued to stand glued to the spot. 

  “I did not break anything and you were taking forever!” Yelena argued defensively as she stood up and set her eyes on you. “Y/n l/n,” she greeted. You could feel her assessing you, just like her sister had the first time she stood where the blonde was. 

  “Yelena Belova,” you said, taking in the Russian in front of you. Her blonde locks were loose over her designer jacket that had various broches scattered across it and had been matched perfectly with black trousers that fit comfortably enough to highlight her figure. She was clearly someone who took pride in how she looked and you understood why, she was beautiful. 

  You watched a smile inch at the corner of her lips and wondered what kind of assessment she had made of you. Had she noticed that your eyes had lingered a little too long on the curve of her hips or trace of a smile? You swiftly looked away, reminding yourself that maybe you shouldn’t be looking so intently at Natasha’s sister. 

  “It’s about time you guys met, huh?” Kate said as she glanced excitedly, though oblivious, between you both. Yelena was still looking at you, a fact you were aware of because her gaze was as intense as her sisters. 

  “Of course, my sister’s told me a lot about you,” Yelena informed as she observed you take Marty’s lead and collar off. 

  “Likewise,” you said with a brief glance in the Russian’s direction in hopes of avoiding picking up on any more of her perfections. “What brings you over here?” You asked to at least distract yourself. 

  “A lead,” Yelena tore her eyes away from you and moved to where Kate was sitting comfortably on your sofa. 

  “Already? It’s only been a few months since you were here last.” You listened to the pair converse as you strolled to the sliding glass panel that separated your bed from the rest of the studio apartment and threw your satchel down. 

  “This is bigger than last time,” Yelena explained, her voice dropping to that of a serious one. “I called Natasha but she didn’t pick up,” the Russian huffed. 

  “She’s in the Philippines,” you added as you reemerged, meeting Yelena’s emerald eyes. “They all are.”

  “So you want us?” Kate jumped in, clearly unbothered that she was the Russian’s second choice. 

  “I heard you’re good with tech, think you can access this?” Yelena held out a small device in your direction. You took it without letting your fingers brush and recognised the device right away. It was a sort of USB stick, though slightly modified so that it couldn’t fit into any ordinary USB port. You hadn’t seen one in a while but fortunately you had an adapter you could use to get started on it. 

  When you didn’t confirm if you could in fact access the device’s information, Kate didn’t hesitate to do it for you and started asking the blonde what her plan was and how she could help and how come she didn’t respond to the memes she sent her. Instead of listening, you brought out your adapter and set to work on analysing the task ahead of you. It didn’t take long to realise the coding it required was advanced. Not too advanced for you, but enough of a challenge that you wouldn’t be able to hand the device back over that night. 

  “It’s gonna take me a while,” you admitted openly to the Russian. “I’m sorry, I know it’s probably time sensitive but it’s just a little-”

  “It’s okay, y/n l/n,” Yelena was quick to assure. In your line of work, you weren’t used to patience so you looked at the blonde sceptically, wondering if she actually understood how long ‘a while’ could be. “Just text me when it is ready and I will come back.” Oh. So she did know. 

  “You can stay if you want,” you offered as Yelena stood up. She gave you a smile, one that you knew you would be thinking about for the rest of that evening because it felt like it was just for you. 

  “Yeah, it’s friday night and we have jello shots in the fridge,” Kate added, already setting off in the direction of the kitchen. 

  “Some other time,” Yelena said as she went to leave. 

  “So you do know how to use a door,” you couldn’t help but quip as Yelena stood in the doorway. 

  “See you soon, y/n l/n,” Yelena smiled with a glint of something promising in her eyes. The moment she shut the door you spun around in your chair to face Kate. 

  “She’s kinda intense.” Kate shrugged as she carried a tray over with a few snacks and shots on. Anyone else would have thought she lived with you. 

  “You get used to it.” 

  “I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” you muttered as you joined the archer on your sofa. She didn’t miss your comment. 

  “She’s also kinda cute though, don’t you think?" Kate commented as she flicked through your tv. You didn’t answer until you finished your first cup of jello. 

  “I guess,” you said nonchalantly. Kate hummed, about to pry further to confirm her suspicions when her phone chimed. 

  Yelena: meet tomorrow at central park? Bring the bow and arrow

  “Be careful, Kate,” you vocalised your concern. 

  “Always,” she assured with a nudge to your shoulder. “Guess that means these are all for you though,” the archer said, pushing the shots your way. Just as you downed the second one and Kate picked a film, your own phone chimed. 

  Unknown number: you need better locks on your window

  “Did you give her my number?” Kate looked over at your screen and chuckled to herself. 

  “Nope,” she said simply, amused that the blonde had managed to get it on her own. 

  Me: i dont usually have to worry about spies breaking in you typed out, choosing not to mention that you lived in a S.H.I.E.L.D apartment as that clearly wasn’t adequate enough.

  Yelena: really? How have you made it this long?

  Me: im kind of friends with the best spy in the world

  Yelena: we’re friends already?? You rolled your eyes at that and bit back a smile. 

  Me: we’ll see ;) 

  You turned your phone off and took another shot just as your phone chimed again. Kate gave you a questioning look as you ignored the device and tried to give all your attention to the tv. “I knew you guys would get on great,” she said smugly. 

  “She’s pretty cool,” you admitted nonchalantly before sneaking a glance at your phone once more. 

�� Yelena: see you soon ;)

>>>

Slam.

  You jumped, spinning around to face her as she stepped into the living room. You never hear the keys jingle on the other side of the door. You never even hear the door open or the two steps into the apartment before she slammed the door shut, eyes already set on you. The control she had over deciding when you’re aware of her presence had always been something your girlfriend found entertainment from and took full advantage of. She never hid that, she didn’t have to. It wasn’t like you were actually going to voice your discomfort. 

  “Hi,” you greeted, cautiously searching Rae’s eyes for any indicator of what the mood of the evening was going to be. She doesn’t respond and that’s what you were hoping she wouldn’t do. Instead, she looked at the screen behind you as she ventured forwards. You glanced back at the monitor and can’t see how it’s anything of much interest. To anyone else it might be, but your girlfriend had seen it all before. 

  “Find anything good?” She asked as she stood so close to your side that her arms were brushing your own. 

  You were on NASA’s website, the secure part, the part you had to do some amateur hacking to get into. You had done it before. In fact, you frequented the site from time to time though not nearly as much as you used to. It had lost its appeal since the first time aliens invaded and had put an end to the question of life on other planets. S.H.I.E.L.D held the information that was of real interest to you, but NASA uploaded prettier pictures in their reports. 

  “They think they’ve found a black hole that’s going to collapse in on itself in a few thousand years. Last month S.H.I.E.L.D said Carol Danvers confirmed it collapsed years ago,” you shrugged. Your girlfriend hummed. “How was your day?” You asked after a long moment. 

  “Shit. I need you to look up a report for me, something under the name Dmitriev,” she continued. You didn’t push it, no matter how much you wished you could talk normally about your days like other couples did. Instead, you made your way into S.H.I.EL.D’s system as your girlfriend disappeared to grab a drink, knowing it could take you a while to get in in a way that ensured you wouldn’t be detected. Dozens of challenging (though not impenetrable) firewalls later, you were browsing the system as Rae spelt out the name to you. Nothing appeared. You heard a frustrated huff behind you and tried again in an encrypted corner of the system. Nothing. You could feel the fuse shortening, closing in on something eruptive. 

  You swallowed the small lump in your throat and tried to take a moment to think. You had never searched anything specific in S.H.I.E.L.D before, only ever browsing through the categories that caught your interest, making you question more what your girlfriend wanted with such specific information from the division. She had never asked for anything like that before, only ever sharing your curiosity in what was going on beyond your atmosphere. Hacking wasn’t your job, just a hobby. 

  You heard the barstool scrape across the wooden floor a couple feet behind you and a dull clink as Rae set her drink down on the worktop and sat down, eyes boring into the screen the same way they did to you when she wanted something you were reluctant to give. Then an idea came to mind and you hurriedly ran your homemade scanner extension over the screen, revealing a single report file titled ‘Dmitriev’. Rae was at your side in an instant. 

  She didn’t stop you from opening the file yourself, nor did she say anything as you realised you were reading a forty page document about a Hydra operative that was currently in a S.H.I.E.L.D safehouse. You frowned as you read on, willing yourself to stop because you knew information like that was harmful to possess and that you had put yourself in danger the moment you opened the document. Yet you continued and sat there in silence for a full half an hour. You only stopped reading once you felt light kisses being peppered along the side of your neck. 

  “Good job,” Rae muttered against you as you craned your neck and she moved to straddle your legs. Her lips moved to the side of yours as she held your face in her hands, helping you forget all of the questions that were building. She always had a way of making you disregard right and wrong. “Good girl,” she continued and finally kissed you properly. Your head was spinning, it wasn’t often she got like that. 

  Her hand ventured into the waistband of your sweatpants in a silent promise of a long, tender night. She was gentle, insatiable and rewarding at every moment’s peak until you had nothing left to give. You were entirely consumed in one another both in motions and mind, as though there was nothing outside of your proximity and an illusion that nothing would ever compare that connection of sensations. She was your universe and it was devastatingly easy to forget that you were far, far less than that to her. 

  Rae’s strikingly good mood lasted for several more days that you were glad to have cherished. Your willful illusion of peace was shattered when she threw a vase at you, one that you had bought a few weeks prior. As the emptiness crept up on you, so did the questions about your S.H.I.E.L.D search that you would never ask aloud, until one night, when Rae was out with people you had never been introduced to, you returned to your computer and went through the motions to find the file. This time, when you opened the document, blood red letters covered the entirety of the first page. 

  ‘Deceased’. 

  There were several new paragraphs in the document. You didn’t read them. You logged off the sight, turned your computer off and went to bed. What you didn’t know couldn’t haunt you. 

[bagdaddyb]

We Should of Been Alt Ending

Pairing: Omega fem!reader x Alpha! Natasha

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI NSFW Angst. No happy ending for Natasha. Implied black reader but no characteristics ever described.

AN: This is what I originally envisioned for the previous request.

Original request

You were so beautiful. That's all Natasha could think everytime she saw you. Previous to your pressence she'd never even given an omega a second glance the desire to mate assumed to be trained out of her by the red room. But when Sam brought you to the compound one day everything changed. The visit was harmless you were an upcoming nuclear scientist with the dream of one day meeting and working with Bruce Banner and Sam was a cocky man out to claim the title of best cousin ever. You hadn't wasted time being star struck by the compound or the Avengers within walking through the building as if it was any other office. You didn't stop to greet the team only pausing a moment to hypothesize about Jarvis. Natasha's sure if she hadn't needed to deliver a paper to the lab she'd never even laid eyes on you, and what a crime that'd of been. Crossing the threshold she froze momentarily, your pressence not only a surprise but a distraction. Her eyes stuck on you taking in your features, your voice, your smile. Natasha couldn't remember the last time she felt heat in her cheeks or a nervous turn in her stomach. After she approached interrupting your conversation as politely as she could you merely smiled and said hello before turning back to the matter at hand. The warmth in her cheeks turned into a burn and her usually steady hands became clamy. Not long after you left that day Natasha couldn't hide her curiosity finding her way back down to the lab to ask Bruce just who you were exactly. It was a week before Natasha saw you again. You'd returned for Banner's opinions on your project having changed things according to his previous suggestions. You walked out of the elevator like you owned the building passing by the Alpha without even a second glance. Her eyes were glued to you warmth coming on in her cheeks as she watched you pass.

"Nat... Natasha!"

Clint yelled as Natasha's water began to overflowed onto the table in front of her. Snapping out of her trance she cursed under her breath moving to quickly clean up the area. She wants to meet you, needs too. Pacing the common room she the next day she contemplated how to approach you. Wondered what she should and would say in your presence. Would you even want to talk to her? Even give her the time?

"Excuse me."

Your familiar voice made Natasha freeze in her tracks. Her eyes glanced around the empty room before turning towards the noise. You stood there with a soft smile on your lips papers in hand and purse still on your shoulder. Warmth covered her face as she took you in and suddenly she was a nervous wreck.

"Y-yes *ehm* Yes ma'am, how can I help you?"

You smiled a little wider at her.

"No need for the ma'am, my name's (Y/N) I was wondering if I could get your help with something. I need not only a fresh perspective but also a guinea pig of sorts and Dr. Banner referred me to you."

She could kiss Bruce.

"Yes of course, what's the project?"

You laughed lightly visibly surprised by her answer.

"Wow I've never seen someone so eager to help another they don't even know. I honestly expected resistance considering the stories I've heard from my cousin but I'll chock that up to him being the head strong handful he is."

Natasha's blush deepened at how deep her crush is being thrown blatantly in her face.

"I am developing an anti-radiation suit that will absorb natural radiation in the air or body filter out the good and infuse the bad into a sort of blaster for the wearer. Dr. Banner mentioned that the design was something close to your widow bites so I was wondering if you'd take a look?"

While the question was more or less out of her grasp with Bruce and Tony having taken on the majority of her suit and weapon production Natasha still agreed unable to give up this opportunity to get to know you.

"Sure."

Over the next few months Natasha's first time crush grew to pure adoration. You were everything to the Alpha and the only person who didn't seem to know it was you. It was a simple Wednesday morning after lab runs on the suit. Natasha tried out the blaster and pretended to help with the calibration. Gripping her coat tightly due to nerves she turned back to you on her way out.

"Hey (Y/N) I know a great coffee place down the street, would you like to grab a cup with me?"

You looked up from your computer meeting soft eyes.

"I'd hate to take up more of your day than I already have. You go have a great time I promise the suit is almost done then you'll be free of my pestering."

Natasha fought back a grimace at your rejection. Again. Was she doing it wrong? She was sure she'd paid close attention to all of Clints advice.

"Have a great rest of your day then."

With that the red head turned and left retreating to the compound. Once there she immediately sought out Clint not knowing what else to do.

"I just don't get it. Am I asking wrong?"

The older alpha couldn't help the smile and soft chuckle as he watched the younger one pace. Thinking back to his younger days.

"No, a girl like (Y/N) is so caught up in her work she can miss the simple things right in front of her."

"Its true."

Sam tuned in from the kitchen, even he was feeling bad for the alpha.

"I bet (Y/N) doesn't even realize you're into her."

The red head let out a frustrated huff hands gripping her hair. Forget all this advice and subtly. Next week she was going to be blunt with you. While the red head was determined to make your next interaction work your cousin was not inclined to wait as long. The next day Sam strolled into your office unannounced not even knocking on the large door before entering despite the risk.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure?"

You said clearly displeazed with his abrupt entrance.

"I'm here to point out the obvious to the smartest girl I know."

That made you giggle turning to give him your full attention you cross your arms.

"And what might that be?"

"That a certain alpha who works with you once a week as your lab assistant is crushing on you something aweful."

You laughed audibly this time.

"Natasha? You're kidding. She only sees me as a colleague."

"She has asked you out; and I mean this literally, eight times. She asked you out yesterday for crying out loud. How can someone so smart be so oblivious?"

"No she...."

You pause truly thinking back on the moments Natasha'd invited you places. Remembering her nervous posture. Her let down face at your same response. Remembering how everytime your fingers brushed she blushed or how everytime you smiled at her she stared. She'd always been eager to help you with your project even from the beginning. Thinking on it even then she'd been a blushing mess right in front of you. Your eyes widen in sudden realization.

"Finally."

Sam announces as you raise your hand to cover your dropped jaw.

"Oh my gosh."

"Exactly."

Sam said and suddenly you felt a wave of anxiety wash over you.

"I never thought..... How could I of been...... And she always asked......"

You let go of a sigh rubbing your temples before standing abruptly.

"I have to go see her. She's such a sweetheart and I've been unknowingly rejecting her time and time again. I'm such a dope."

"You said it cousin."

You frown punching him in the arm causing him to flinch.

"Hey what the-"

"Just because I said it doesn't mean you agree dumbass."

The two of you continue to bicker like the siblings you basically were the entire ride to the compound. Your walk to the common room is quick asking Jarvis to summon Natasha to the area politely you think of what you should say. You feel heat in your cheeks due to pure embarrassment shaking your head at yourself.

"Hey (Y/N)."

Natasha's surprised voice rings in your ear and you turn and smile at her.

"Hey Natasha. Listen I want to start off by apologizing. For all my knowledge in science I can't seem to match it in social skills. Believe it or not I've been completely oblivious to your advances until just now I truly thought you only saw me as a co-worker but.... if that offer for coffee is still up in the air, I'd love to go out with you."

Natasha's whole face was on fire after your little speech. Unable to form words she quickly nodded before clearing her throat.

"Of course let me grab my coat."

It's only your sixth date when you go into heat. Natasha was the best. Caring, attentive, patient maybe that's what made you go into your heat a week early or maybe it was the ways her muscles flexed as she pulled herself out of the pool infront of you bending over your body to grab a towel from your shared stack causing your eyes to roam while you locked your bottom lip between your teeth but either way telltale signs of your heat began to flood your body. By the following day you'd fully succumbed keeping it to yourself in an attempt not to rush your new alpha you locked youself in your apartment letting your boss know before tossing and turning in your own bed. Natasha was happy no she was extatic, elated, floating. Words couldn't descibe how happy she's been this past month with you. She'd always imagined what it'd be like to have you as her partner but the reality of it was so much better. Pulling up to your lab with a budle of red roses riding the euphoria she's been feeling for days she couldn't believe how excited she was to see you. Smiling softly to herself as she made her way into the building she wasn't allowed to get far stopped quickly by the kind beta at the front desk.

"Ms. Romonoff! I'm sorry Dr. (Y/L/N) isn't in today."

An eyebrow rose on the Alpha but she nodded thanking the beta all the same. You hadn't mentioned you wouldn't be in, you were always in your lab. Beginning to worry she quickly dialed Bruce who luckily answered after only two rings.

"Hello?"

"Do you have a meeting today with (Y/N)?"

"No our meetings are usually Thursday but she actually just called this morning and cancelled this week."

"Thanks."

Now Natasha was panicking. If she'd been using her logical brain she probably would of been able to piece together why you suddenly weren't at work and cancelled on Bruce only this week. But she wasn't, the first person she's cared for on a deeper level since the red room suddenly disappearing only caused huge red flags to pop up in Natasha's mind. Rushing to your apartment that she shouldn't even know the location of she couldn't help the way her leg jumped nervously and how her hands uncomfortablly gripped the steering wheel.

Please be ok. Please be ok.

Natasha wasn't going to let anything happen to you, she couldn't. When she arrived at your apartment she didn't even bother with the flowers ignoring the elevator to take the steps two at a time. She made it to the fourth floor in record time heart bumping and short breaths coming out of her quickly. Drawing her weapon she knocked on the door three times before beginning a count down in her mind.

5....4....3....2....

You cracked open your door slowly, not expecting visitors and honestly not in a state for small talk. Your eyes doubled in size when you saw the red head on the other side while Natasha let go the loudest sigh of relief you've ever heard. Pushing past your door with ease she invites herself in wrapping you in a tight hug that clouded your thoughts entirely.

"I'm so glad your okay. I wanted to surprise you at work but you weren't there and Bruce told me you cancelled this week I thought the worst."

You weren't exactly sure what she meant by that but you didn't care your alpha was here. You took a deep breath in of her scent eyes dialating at the smell. Arms coming up to hold her close hand slipping into her hair. You wanted her, needed her.

"For someone so smart it's hard to believe you couldn't come up with a logical solution as to why me. An omega. Cancelled her plans for a week."

Suddenly Natasha noticed your strong scent in the apartment, your near naked appreance, the whimpers you kept letting go in her ear.

"I didn't say anything because I didn't want to rush this but you came to me anyway alpha."

Red flushed Natasha's cheeks as she began to strain against her pants. For a moment she felt stupid so easily pushed into a state of panic but that moment faded as your nails lightly scratched at her scalp pulling her attention back to you.

"My alpha."

Its was a whisper one you let go into her neck but a trigger for Natasha all the same. She needed you, wanted you, had to have you. You were hers and hers alone.

"My omega."

Natasha whispered back placing her nose against your scent gland as she kickes the door shut behind her. Something primal inside Natasha ached for you, she needed you closer. Her roaming hands gripped at you as yours did the same.

"Alpha. Alpha. Alpha."

You whisper taking in her pressence her feel. You've never had an alpha this close during your heat. Honestly you hadn't even considered this a moment that would happen to you. Never thought you'd find a mate like all your friends and family had.

"Mine."

Was all Natasha could respond. She backed you into your couch not romantic but in your collective states neither of you cared. You aren't sure how either of you stripped but you were aware of the drug like euphoria Natasha's skin on yours was giving you. Your hands couldn't stop moving rubbing, touching, and squeezing at every piece of Natasha you could reach. Natasha returned your touches in kind her soft lips pressing against every part of your body before pressing into your own. The kiss was feverish, needy. The contact was enough to make you moan into her mouth causing her length to harden painfully. Your body began to lift against Natasha's in search of friction.

"More."

You weren't sure what you wanted, what you needed more of. You just knew there was something missing.

"My beautiful little omega."

Natasha whispered against your lips moaning out as she began to run her member through your slick.

"Gonna make you my gorgeous mate, gonna fill you with my pup."

You nodded in eager response, nothing had ever seemed more right than this moment.

"Please."

Natasha begins to enter you slowly. Stretching you out in a way none of your dildos ever have. You moan loudly tightly grabbing the back of the red heads neck and pulling her into a seering kiss one she returns eagerly. The moment is all heat and skin. Natasha's hips pound into you on their own accord. Your eyes roll back signalling your first release but it isn't enough for Natasha. She continues her pace like a woman possessed and before you can comprehend your cumming again almost violently.

"Yes omega just like that."

Natasha takes you in, your gorgeous face, stomach full of her. She's going to make you a mother fill you with her pup. Her mate all hers. You feel the heat before you see her face. Natasha's release pushes you into a third of your own.

"My alpha."

You whisper again.

.......

The days that follow as Natasha falls out of her ruts haze she begins to doubt. Sitting on the quinjet on the way to Siberia she can't help but wonder if she's actually ready for this, even deserves it. She has red in her ledger, alot of it and a few months ago she wouldn't of even considered mating. With anyone. How could she be a mother? How could she be a mate? How could she be what you deserved? The week in the cold did nothing but push her further away from you taking her back to her days in the red room which then took her back to her dark past. She couldn't do this. Not with you, you would never live a full life, constantly on the move never safe never happy. You deserve more, more than Natasha can give you. Three weeks later upon her return you await with others on the landing pad. So excited you can't help but bounce the positive pregnancy test burning a whole in your pocket. You were nervous this was the first time you'd see your alpha since your heat and with big news as well but you shouldn't be she was your alpha. Yours. As the quinjet landed your heartbeat quickened to an alarming pace. You bounced on your toes eyes eagerly searching for the soft ones you'd come to dream of. Instead you were greeted by a different alpha though physically the same her body language was different she looked cut off, not meeting your eye. Her exterior seemed hardened. You approached her cautiously, you'd never been here after a mission not even for Sam but you were sure the emotional tole had to be high.

"Welcome back."

Your soft voice sent pain through Natasha. You being here meant what she was about to do was truly about to happen.

"I..."

"(Y/N) listen....."

In an instant you shut down. You should of known better.

"What happened the other night was a mistake. I was distracted by my rut and..."

You grip the pregnancy test in your pocket so tight you're surprised it doesn't break.

"No need to finish. I get it, I should of known better."

You say before walking off. You kept your head held high refusing to let Natasha see the tears you so badly wanted to let go. Your words only cut Natasha depper than her own already were. What had she just done?

.........

Four Years Later

Natasha tied her long red hair back in a loose ponytail as she walked out of her trailer saying a passing goodbye to her cat. The drive into town was long her dark thoughts able to creep up as the time passed on. Exiting her car she entered the grocery store. The trip being a necessity otherwise she wouldn't of bothered leaving her safe house. She went up and down the isles grabbing canned foods for both her and her cat. Items that were long lasting so that another trip like this wouldn't have to happen for months. As her eyes scanned the cans of beans the excited ramblings of a small girl another isle over caught her attention.

"Mommy mommy, can we get this?"

"Mmmh I don't know baby does this match?"

Natasha's ears perked as she heard the one voice she lost hope of ever hearing again. Quickly pushing her cart foreward she moved to the end of the isle to peek around. Could it really be you? Sure enough there you were a small girl in the cart in front of you as you looked at baby items. You glowed as you spoke to the child your familiar gorgeous smile overtaking your face.

"I think I like this one better."

You say to the girl as you hold up a blue cup.

"But dis ones pink."

You giggle at the girl as she pleads her case.

"Don't you think Isaiah would like blue to match his pacifier?"

"No."

You laugh audibly at that and Natasha feels her heart skip a beat.

"Okay baby, we'll get him the pink one."

As Natasha goes to push her cart foreward if only to talk to you one more time another alpha comes around the corner behind you approaching you with an infant.

"Alright I've brought back my clean baby for my pregnant baby."

You smile at the alpha behind you turning to greet them in a kiss before taking the small boy from the alphas arms.

"Mommy I want to see Isaiah!"

You hum as you come around the cart allowing Natasha to take note of your pregnant belly as you bend to let your toddler see your infant.

"He's so pretty mommy."

You kiss the girls head before nodding in agreement.

"Yes he is."

"What about me Avery am I pretty?"

You laugh at your partners antics as the toddler turns her attention to the alpha.

"No."

You visibly hold back your laugh as you come back around the cart to your alphas side rubbing their back lovingly.

"You're pretty to me love."

Your alphas displeased face quickly morphs into one of content as they meet your lips in a soft kiss.

"Thank you baby."

With that Natasha watches as you turn to leave with the family she could of had and the happiness she wishes she could feel. Wiping tears she didn't deserve to let fall she returns to her own shopping the question of what could of been haunting her today just as it'd done the last four years.

[batmanlovesnirvana]

Chapter nine | in plain sight.

masterlist

pairing : battinson x fem!oc (can be read as x reader)

words : +3k

A/N : This chapter is a bit shorter than usual since it was originally part of Chapter Eight. A special thank you to @faeryki for your amazing support—it really keeps me motivated to keep updating this fic. I hope you enjoy it and like this chapter! 😊

cw : Bruce being obsessed at this point, 18+, thriller, medical procedures, angst, mental health issues, depression, ptsd, noire, canon-typical violence, POV alternating, gritty, horror, illness, slow burn, action, fluff, mutual pining, forced proximity, crime families, crime, fighting ect… read at your own risk !

IT WAS HIM.

No, it wasn’t.

Yes, it fucking was.

Her mind screamed in a frantic battle, two voices tearing her apart.

Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, and her pulse surged, each beat a frantic drum as the truth unraveled in her mind—a shattered, tangled mess slowly coming together.

His eyes—those grey-blue eyes, the same ones that had haunted her thoughts more than once—stared back at her, and the recognition hit like a tidal wave.

It wasn't just the eyes, though. It was also his jawline.

That sharp, angular line, the one she could pick out from anywhere, no matter how dark the room.

But there was more.

The little cut beneath his jaw—the scar she'd left him when they were chasing each other, when she had let him get too close that night.

She hadn’t meant to, not really, but she caught him right as he was about to turn, in that split second when everything seemed to slow down. She left a small mark on him, something only she would ever notice. In that moment, he didn’t feel like a stranger.

As she walked through the crowd, her hand instinctively pressed against her red lips, her mind still in shock. It all made sense now, she thought.

The way he had looked at her, the way he had moved, everything about him screamed familiarity.

But the truth had been concealed behind the mask of a man she had never fully understood—Bruce Thomas Wayne. Billionaire heir. Tragic orphan. Vengeance. The Bat… Zorro.

Her footsteps faltered, her breath shallow, as the weight of the revelation pressed down on her, too heavy to carry. People hurried past her, heading toward the main hall, brushing against her shoulders, murmuring quick apologies she didn’t respond to.

The scene back at the entrance of City Hall was nothing short of chaotic—the crowd pushing, the tension between the men—still fresh in her mind, vivid and overwhelming.

But now, everything had shifted.

The man who had captivated her without her even realizing it, the one who kept his distance yet left an indelible mark on her, had been standing right in front of her the entire time.

And somehow, she had never connected the dots, never seen the truth through the fog of lies she had wrapped herself in.

She continued walking, her feet moving of their own accord, though her mind raced to catch up. She wasn't sure if she should be angry, surprised, or relieved.

Maybe a little bit of all three. And yet, the thought that kept swirling in her mind, like a persistent whisper, was the same: How could he have been so close, and yet, so far away?

She needed to regain herself.

Standing at the threshold of City Hall, the weight of the revelation—of seeing him again, of everything she had just discovered—crashed over her, but she couldn't afford to let it consume her.

Not now.

She had a purpose, a responsibility that was far more pressing than her own chaotic emotions. There were people waiting, people who needed her strength, and there was George.

She didn't like his father—had never trusted the man—and she barely knew his widowed mother.

But George was still a child who had just lost a parent. A child who needed someone who understood. She had been there herself, had known that hollow ache, the unbearable weight of loss. She understood what it was like to feel invisible in the face of grief, to be caught in the middle of a world that seemed to keep moving while your heart was frozen in time.

With a steadying breath, she opened her small clutch and took out the figurine.

It was delicate, simple, a small knight in polished metal, its stance strong but humble.

Maryam had bought it at a little shop while grocery shopping the day before, drawn to it for reasons she couldn't quite explain.

It was reminiscent of the one Bruce had left years ago in the subway, the one she had never forgotten, though this one was less ornate, far less expensive, and more... ordinary. Yet something about it felt right.

Maybe it was the symbolism of it—the idea of a knight, standing tall, in the face of all odds. She couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, in some way, it would bring George comfort.

She ran her fingers along the smooth surface, a small smile tugging at her lips as she thought about him again.

Gosh, why were they always linked? she thought, frustration threading through the question.

She and Bruce—always drawn to each other by some strange, unspoken pull.

Maybe it was fate, or perhaps something far more insidious, but every time she thought she was escaping him, every time she thought she had let him go, some new twist would bring him back into her orbit.

She pushed the thought away.

There would be time for that later.

Now, she needed to focus.

As Bruce scans the crowd, the solemn hum of the mourning event fills the hall. Mourners continue to flood in, their somber expressions a blur as he searches, his eyes darting over every face, every moving figure. 

Where is she?

His gaze flicks between the tight knots of conversation, desperate for a glimpse of Maryam, his pulse quickening.

Above, he spots a handful of officers, their keen eyes scanning the room for any signs of trouble, the tension palpable. Bruce's focus sharpens, but the crush of people is like a living, breathing wall. Faces blur together—some tear-streaked, some stony, all wrapped in the weight of loss.

She's here, he thinks, she has to be.

The PA announcer's voice cuts through the noise.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming to today's memorial for our beloved mayor, Don Mitchell, Jr. Our program will begin shortly. As a reminder, the family asks that those wishing to honor the mayor's memory consider a donation to the cause most dear to his heart, the Gotham Renewal Fund, our city's safety net."

Bruce barely registers the words. 

His attention is elsewhere, weaving through the sea of mourners, his heart pounding as his search intensifies. He pushes forward, his eyes scanning, never pausing, never faltering.

Then, a movement catches his eye. 

Two uniformed cops are stopping a man who looks out of place—a scruffy, bitter figure, his hood pulled low, eyes filled with rage. 

The man's jaw tightens, muttering to himself, his anger almost palpable.

"What good's a safety net if it doesn't catch anybody?" The words slice through the air, harsh and accusatory. He spits the words out, clearly disgusted. "Didn't help my daughter when she needed it. I can tell you that. That guy—" He points toward the VIPs filing past, his voice filled with venom—"just another rich scumsucker. He got what he deserved."

Bruce studies the man, his brow furrowing. But as his gaze holds steady, the bitter man's eyes shift, catching his. 

"Yeah, I said it," the man mutters, locking eyes with Bruce, a dark smirk curling his lips.

Bruce's eyes flick to the man's acne-scarred face. The bitterness is familiar, the kind that seeps from the forgotten corners of society. He nods once, acknowledging the man's presence, but his thoughts stay elsewhere.

Then, the expression shifts. The man's eyes narrow as he studies Bruce, confusion flashing over his face as if he's trying to place him. Before Bruce can turn away, another voice pierces through the tension.

"Bruce Wayne."

Startled, Bruce turns. A familiar face—one that he had been saying more and more on TV. 

Bella Real.

She approaches with the kind of unwavering confidence that commands attention, her stride purposeful, her expression an enigmatic blend of determination and restraint.

"I'm Bella Real," she begins, her voice cutting cleanly through the noise around them. "I'm running for mayor." She pauses, just long enough to let her words settle, then adds with a flicker of irritation, "I wouldn't be here, interrupting like this, but your people keep telling me you're 'unavailable.' Or at least that's the story my PR team keeps feeding me."

She gestures subtly toward a woman standing amidst the sea of onlookers—a polished figure with a sleek bun, tailored black trousers, a long coat, and heels that seem to challenge the ground beneath her. Rania. Another of Maryam’s sisters.

Beside her is the pregnant woman from earlier, her husband standing protectively close, and flanking them are Maryam’s other sisters—Sherine, the sharp-eyed journalist, and Alma, the soon-to-be lawyer with a poised demeanor. 

Yet the one person he’s searching for, the one he’s desperate to see, remains nowhere in sight.

Bella’s gaze sharpens as she turns back to him, her words cutting through his distracted thoughts. "Will you walk with me?"

Bruce hesitates, the weight of the situation pressing in.

Walk with her? He’s here for Maryam—though, initially, it was the Riddler who brought him here.

His thoughts waver, scattered like leaves in the wind. But as the moment stretches longer, he steels himself, forcing his composure to hold firm.

He can't afford distractions, but Bella is persistent, and something about her energy—something in her voice—stops him.

A flicker of annoyance crosses his face as he glances over her shoulder, the crowd of mourners pressing in tighter, the path to Maryam growing narrower by the second. 

But there's no turning back now.

Bruce's mind spins as Bella leads him through the sea of mourners, her arm tucked firmly under his. 

He's scanning the crowd, eyes darting from face to face, searching for any sign of Maryam. The city's chaos, the event, the memory of the Riddler's cryptic clues, and his need to track down his old friend, and the woman who's been lingering at the back of his mind for far too long, all converge in his thoughts.

He barely registers Bella's words about Gotham, the Renewal Fund, and her political campaign. 

"You know, you really could be doing more for the city," she says, her voice insistent. "Your family has a history of philanthropy, but as far as I can tell, you're not doing anything. If I'm elected, I want to change that." She smiles at him, disarmingly, as they approach the front where the choir's soft voices swell into the haunting strains of Schubert's "Ave Maria."

Bruce's eyes scan the crowd with mounting urgency. 

Where the hell is she?

The hum of voices around him dulls, retreating into the background like static. Every sound—Bella's steady voice beside him, the faint rustle of clothing, the shuffling of mourners—becomes meaningless noise as his focus sharpens.

Maryam. She's somewhere here. She has to be.

His thoughts churn restlessly, consumed by her. The weight of the mayor's memorial, the riddler, the tragedy unfolding in the city, even Bella's pointed comments—all of it fades under the single, gnawing question: Where is she?

Bruce catches himself glancing toward Commissioner Gordon, standing a few rows back with a group of officers. The commissioner's stance is familiar—steadfast, commanding attention even in a room filled with grief. It's then that Bruce sees her.

Maryam.

She's standing with Gordon and several other officers. The sight of her feels like a gut punch—unexpected, leaving him momentarily breathless. Her body language is composed, steady, a quiet confidence radiating from her even in the chaos surrounding them.

He leans forward almost instinctively, the world narrowing to her. Bella's voice beside him is an indistinct murmur, her words about Gotham and its future dissipating like smoke. He knows she's talking, but he can't bring himself to care. Not now.

Maryam's voice carries faintly across the room as she speaks to Gordon, her words too low for him to hear. He can't make out the conversation, but the cadence of her tone is calm, deliberate. His gaze is riveted on her, heart pounding as a dozen questions flood his mind. What is she saying? Why is she here?

His chest tightens.

"I'll be right back," Bella says, her clipped tone cutting through the haze. "I'm going to pay my respects to the family—my God, what a mess. His poor wife and son..." She gives Bruce a tight smile before stepping away, her presence swallowed by the crowd.

Bruce doesn't respond. He simply just can't.

His gaze stays fixed on Maryam as her posture shifts slightly. Then her head turns, as if sensing his pointed stare, and for a brief, electric moment, their eyes meet again.

But just as quickly, her gaze shifts away.

It's subtle—an almost imperceptible flicker—but Bruce catches it. The way her shoulders tense, the slight stiffness in her movements as she excuses herself from Gordon's side. Her grace remains intact, but her steps quicken, purposeful as she weaves into the sea of mourners. Her eyes never meet his again.

Damn it.

A knot tightens in Bruce's chest, frustration simmering just beneath his composed exterior. He doesn't move, doesn't follow. Instead, he watches—watches as she retreats toward the mayor's family, where her own relatives, draped in mourning veils, are already offering their condolences.

Bruce's gaze sharpens, narrowing in on Maryam as she approaches Mayor Mitchell's widow. She shakes the woman's hand, her expression one of measured compassion. The two veiled women beside her—familiar figures—draw her attention briefly. Aunts, Bruce realizes. He remembers them from fragments of the life he's pieced together about her, though they remain enigmatic, like so much else about Maryam.

The mayor's son, sitting nearby, draws her focus next. The boy is small, his posture hunched, his eyes wide with confusion and sorrow as he glances at the crowd around him. His presence pulls at something deep within Bruce—his own memories of being that child, lost and surrounded by adults who didn't understand the weight he carried.

And then, Maryam kneels.

The movement is fluid, gentle, as if lowering herself to the boy's level is the most natural thing in the world. Her face softens, her gaze meeting his with a warmth that Bruce has rarely seen in her. She reaches into her small clutch and withdraws something—a figurine. It's a knight, unassuming yet deliberate, its presence more meaningful than its simplicity suggests.

Maryam presses it into the boy's hands, her fingers folding his small ones around it. She leans in, whispering something inaudible, her voice undoubtedly soft and soothing. Bruce can't hear her words, but he sees the boy's expression shift—hesitation giving way to a tentative smile as he clutches the figurine tightly to his chest.

Then, with a touch so gentle it nearly unravels him, Maryam cups the boy's cheek. Her thumb brushes across his skin, a gesture of quiet reassurance, maternal and heartbreakingly tender. The boy leans into her touch, his grief momentarily eclipsed by the comfort she offers.

Bruce's breath catches. He's transfixed, unable to reconcile this Maryam—the one kneeling before a grieving child, radiating care and warmth—with the guarded woman he's come to know. This side of her is foreign yet achingly familiar, stirring something he can't quite place.

The haunting strains of Ave Maria swell around them, the choir's mournful melody filling the air with a weight that presses on Bruce's chest. The music mirrors the scene before him, amplifying the emotions he tries so hard to suppress.

His trance is broken by a familiar voice, low and urgent. "Gil Colson is missing."

Bruce's focus snaps back, his head turning sharply. Gordon stands nearby, speaking in hushed tones to Mackenzie, the Chief of Police. Bruce's mind stirs, the name registering like a cold gust of wind.

"'Scuse me, Chief? Can I talk to you for a moment?" Gordon's voice is measured, his tone low as he adjusts the rims of his glasses.

The Chief of Police, Mackenzie, looks up with a gravelly whisper of a voice, as if his vocal cords have been worn thin. "What?"

"Gil Colson is missing," Gordon replies, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

The Chief exhales heavily, his tired demeanor speaking volumes. "Jesus, not again."

The phrase lingers like a shadow, and Bruce feels the significance of it. The District Attorney's name slices through his thoughts, momentarily grounding him in the reality of the situation.

"He hasn't been heard from since last night," Gordon continues, his voice steady but grim.

Bruce's mind starts turning, the implications of Colson's disappearance settling into place. But before he can focus, a voice—loud and jarringly cheerful—breaks through the somber atmosphere.

"Hey! Bruce Wayne!"

It's Martinez, one of the officers standing nearby.

He's grinning broadly, his enthusiasm so out of place it draws several curious looks. As if to cement the awkwardness, he raises his hand in an overly eager wave.

The billionaire heir remains motionless, his expression an impenetrable mask. He doesn’t respond to the greeting, not even a flicker of acknowledgment. Instead, his gaze shifts, drawn inevitably back to Maryam, who now lingers on the outskirts of the mayor's grieving family, her presence both distant and watchful.

It’s a subtle shift, but Bruce notices.

Something about her stance, the tension in her frame, feels different—like a thread pulled taut, on the verge of snapping.

The way her posture stiffens, her sharp glance toward him at Martinez's outburst, and that fleeting flicker of recognition in her eyes before she looks away.

It's deliberate, calculated—she's retreating, pulling herself into an impenetrable shell.

But before he can dwell on it, a distant noise cuts through the air—a low hum, like tires screeching against asphalt, followed by muffled screams. The sound grows louder, reverberating through City Hall, and a ripple of unease spreads through the room. Heads turn, people standing, craning to see where the commotion is coming from.

Bruce instinctively scans the crowd, his eyes locking on the mayor's young son. The boy has moved into the aisle, drawn by curiosity, and Bruce's heart lurches. Maryam is there too, close behind, her brows furrowed in concern. She places a firm hand on the boy's arm to keep him from venturing too far. Her protectiveness is palpable.

The noise swells, screams rising alongside it—an awful crescendo of chaos.

Then—BAM!

A sickening explosion of sound as the main entrance bursts apart in a storm of shattered glass and concrete. The crowd screams as an SUV rockets through the doors, its grill tangled with flowers from the vigil outside.

Pandemonium erupts.

People scatter, some thrown into the air as the vehicle careens past guardrails and barrels toward the seated area. The air is a cacophony of panic, footsteps, and cries.

Bruce spins, his gaze zeroing in on the boy—standing frozen in shock amid the chaos. Maryam reacts instantly, grabbing him and pushing him toward his mother, who is screaming and clawing her way through the crowd to reach her son.

But Maryam doesn't make it far. Someone shoves past her in their desperate flight, and she stumbles, falling directly into the SUV's path.

Bruce doesn't hesitate. He lunges toward her, his body moving before his mind can catch up. He tackles her, the force sending them both sprawling just as the vehicle roars past, its weight and momentum tossing chairs and debris into the air.

They hit the ground hard, Bruce shielding Maryam as the SUV slams into the central staircase with a deafening crunch. The engine sputters, grinding in protest, before finally going silent.

For a moment, everything is still.

Bruce lifts himself slightly, his arms still bracing Maryam. She's breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling against his. Her hands clutch his biceps tightly, as if grounding herself.

"Maryam," he whispers, his voice low, urgent. One hand moves to her neck, tilting her face toward him. Her hazel eyes flutter open, dazed and unfocused. His sharp, grey eyes meet hers, scanning her face for injuries. He spots a thin trail of blood on her forehead, likely from flying glass.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, concern etched into every word.

She doesn't respond immediately, still catching her breath.

But then—the surreal silence is shattered by screams and cries. The chaos hasn't abated; if anything, it's worse.

Bruce's head snaps up, his gaze darting to the wreckage.

He helps Maryam sit upright, though he keeps a steadying hand on her arm. His attention shifts to the second-floor landing, where people are panicking, pointing to something—or someone. But the figure he saw earlier is gone.

The SUV below is now surrounded by Gordon and a squad of officers, their guns drawn and aimed. The vehicle is smeared with a grotesque pattern of crossword-like scrawls, and in bold letters across the hood, the chilling message: "D.A. — D.O.A.?"

Bruce pulls Maryam to her feet, his arm steadying her as the chaos swirls around them.

Her breathing evens out, and she seems to recover, though she's still pale.

Before he can speak, a red-haired woman pushes through the crowd, her resemblance to Maryam striking. Her sister, Bruce assumes.

She rushes to Maryam, worry etched deeply into her face, pulling her away from him as though he were the cause of her distress.

Questions spill from her lips one after another, but Maryam doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even look at her sister—instead, her gaze remains fixed on him, her lips forming a silent thank you.

Bruce gives a tight nod, his jaw clenched as he lets her go.

He watches as she steps back into the embrace of her family, their presence closing around her like a shield.

But his mind remains sharp, the weight of the moment heavy on his shoulders. His gaze shifts to the wreckage once more, the grim message burning into his thoughts.

He snaps his attention back to the SUV, his instincts flaring. He moves closer, slipping through the panicked crowd as mourners scatter in every direction. His focus sharpens, each step deliberate, his heart pounding in time with the chaos around him.

Then, with a metallic creak, the dented driver-side door begins to crack open.

The hall falls into a tense, electric silence, broken only by the metallic clicks and clatters of dozens of weapons chambering simultaneously.

"Get out of the car! Hands up!" Gordon shouts, his gun unwavering, his voice cutting through the mounting dread.

The door swings wide, groaning under its weight.

A figure emerges—unsteady, hands trembling in the air. Blood streaks the man's face, his mouth taped shut. Scrawled across the tape in bold, jagged letters are the words: NO MORE LIES.

The sight freezes the room.

Even Bruce's breath catches for a split second.

"Holy Christ..." Gordon breathes, his voice low, filled with disbelief. "It's Colson."

The district attorney stumbles forward, his eyes wide with terror.

Around his neck, a crude metal collar clamps tight, its grotesque machinery catching the flickering lights. A faint glow pulses ominously—a countdown device.

A horrified voice cuts through the tension.

"There's a bomb around his neck!"

The words send a shockwave through the hall. A piercing, mechanical beep-beep-beep rings out, sharp and relentless.

People scream, dropping to the floor or shoving toward the exits. Police scramble, some shielding others, their shouts blending with the chaos.

But Bruce remains rooted in place, his gaze locked on Colson.

The D.A. doesn't explode. Not yet. The incessant beeping continues, but the device stays dormant. The confusion in the air is palpable, suffocating.

Colson, his movements awkward and sheepish, raises his hand slowly. Taped to his palm is a cell phone, its screen flashing. The relentless beep-beep-beep is nothing more than an incoming call.

Bruce's eyes narrow as the sound echoes through the cavernous space.

"Let's get this place cleared! Now!" Gordon barks, waving officers toward the panicked crowd.

Police start ushering people toward the exits, their movements hurried, their voices commanding.

But Bruce doesn't move.

Something pulls at him—an invisible thread of dread, tightening.

He notices it then, taped crudely to Colson's chest. A folded card, the edges weathered, but the lettering meticulously printed.

The billionaire steps closer, his focus narrowing, his heart heavy with grim certainty.

The card's bold address reads: To The Batman.

previous chapter | next

[lovezbrownies]

Fem! Yandere Military Chief

Hello! My third fanfic this is so exciting >0< I can't wait to write more, especially since I have even more characters in mind to write for!

MINORS DNI!!

Word count: 1,033

Warnings!: Nsfw mentions, physical abuse (towaards reader), Torture (towards reader and others), murder (not towards reader), hinted psychological abuse (towards reader), isolation of reader, death of a parent, controlling behaviour, obsessive and possessive behaviour, essentially this woman is a red flag.

Name: Gen Ludenhart.

Gen adored you, oh how she adored you. Even in an important meeting like this she can’t focus on the words being said as she fantasizes about finally coming back home to her sweet darling. You and Gen have been in a relationship for three beautifully long years. Gen, being the lovely wife she is, ensured you moved in with her within the first two months of dating and married within a year in.

The work day felt long, but the ride home felt even longer. The anticipation of finally seeing her cute spouse waiting at home for her made Gen count down the very seconds until her arrival back home. And once Gen finally enters her mansion (paid for by the noble court for her deeds.) she feels an immediate relief wash over her now, knowing she is within the vicinity of her beloved darling.

Gen is, as usual, greeted by the head maid. ‘’Call my darling down to the lounge room, will you Reina?” Reina nods, walking off to complete the task given to her. Gen goes to said lounge room, looking at herself in the mirror hanging on one of the walls, making sure she looks her best for you.

The soft clicking of shoes alerts Gen as she seats herself on her favourite armchair, waiting impatiently, staring at the entrance until you finally enter, behind you stood Reina. Gen waved a dismissal wave towards Reina as she holds out her arms, “Ah my dear, how I’ve missed you so~ Come, come, sit.’’ You knew the routine. Gen comes back home, she calls for you, you sit on her lap until she has held her pent up frustration as long as she can and takes the both of you to your private chambers for some ‘’fun time’’.

It never gets old, even when she is pleasuring you she incorporates something new in the way she gives you pleasure, always doting, always caring, always watching. You’ve tried all you could to plan some escape behind Gen’s back, she might be strategically smart but when it comes to you? She’s stupid in love, can’t even see how uncomfortable you are 85% of the time. So that would mean it would be easy to run away right?

Wrong. The only obstacle to your masterful escape was Reina. Loyal fucking Reina. It feels like she can constantly read your plan, anytime you see an opportunity such as an open window or an unlocked door to the outside and begin thinking up a plan she almost immediately cracks down on it and shuts down any chance of escape. Gen doesn’t see it but Reina is devoted solely to Gen, no one’s sure if its out of love or because Gen pays for her loyalty, whatever the case, she is annoying.

Either way, it seems like you are eternally stuck with Gen, to the end of days. Maybe that would’ve been nice, maybe her coddling you would’ve been comforting, had she not falsely accused your father of a heinous crime, ordering him to be executed. Had she not left your mother widowed, now poor and jobless, barely able to sustain herself. Had she not made everyone turn their backs on you after she had blackmailed them. Had she not kidnapped, tortured, and murdered your betrothed, your darling, your dear girlfriend. Maybe then, you would’ve reciprocated all the affection, cuddles, adoration.

Life wasn’t meant to be like this, sitting on the lap of the person who killed your father and your girlfriend and ruined your life completely. But when you don’t agree to her terms, the aggression she was trained to use on a daily basis returns home with her and she tortures you for hours on end, never relenting until you learn your lesson. Life is not perfect or sweet. Life is miserable, she is psychotic. Even the mere mention of her name strikes fear within your heart.

Anytime you see anyone from the outside world, which is almost never, you beg them to save you from the vicious claws belonging to Gen Aliya Ludenhart. The first was Reina, that resulted in a slap across the face. Gen believed that would be the only time so she didn’t want to be cruel, yet. The second was the Chief of Police, Grimm Ludenhart, now, considering he was supposed to save people from criminals, he did the opposite. He let you stay with this fucking psycho, warned her even, told her to be harsher. And she was, this time she had taken her electric baton, and fried your skin for half an hour. All the scarring had been healed and removed by sweet Gen, citing that she didn’t want her darling angel to be insecure of her scarring, and due to public image as well.

People with elemental powers usually made you star struck and jealous of their power. Some people even have two elements, and Gen seemingly is also dual-elemented. Would’ve been amazing if she was a real doting, caring, loving, not psychotic murderer. But she always uses her powers against you, she controls earth, so when you need to be punished she uses her earth magic. When the sessions of torture end she makes you feel all better with her water magic. “See, dear? I do this because I love you, if I didn’t love you I wouldn’t have healed you, no I’d leave you for dead just like that pest ex-girlfriend of yours! You should be more grateful for me, love! Or else you would’ve ended up with a psycho!” She is the damn psycho you ended up with, but okay.

All in all, you will never have a normal life again, Gen A. Ludenhart will make to sure to have complete control over every decision you make, every step you take, she will be watching you. What’s worse is that everyone is on her side, either afraid of what she would do to them if they help you, or they agree with what she’s doing– Ahem her brother Grimm Ahem– and encourage her whole-heartedly. Have fun thinking of all the people who died because you asked her for directions once in some random marketplace.

[ladytie]

more of my nat & peter in gotham brainrot bc i can not elp it:

it took natasha romanoff three days to find suitable housing conditions for herself and boy spider. it took three hours for red hood to take note of the newest occupants of crime alley. and yes, while natasha would have preferred an area with less issues going on, it was cheap and no one asked questions. and well she alone can take care of herself and the kid, not to mention the kids own prowess.

she was walking down the street, a baseball hat covering her auburn hair and her hands in her trench coats pockets when she heard grunts and pleads. she wasn’t supposed to be doing the whole hero thing here, not yet at least. not until she had more information on where here was. but of course the kid had other plans, his sense pointing him in the direction of the obvious punching noises.

“pete!” she called after him, taking a slight jog before sprinting when she realized he wasn’t going to stop nor slow down.

when she rounded the corner she saw a man in what seemed to be a bat costume flung into a wall, and peter, the sweetheart he is, helping up a young woman dressed as a cat(?). she had heard of this bat from a few neighbors. he was some crime lord or something around town, because whenever someone had a bruised something they’d always end up cursing the bat for it. before she could go towards peter to help, a young thing, perhaps eleven years old ran to peter. clearly prepared for a fight?

“woah there!” peter said, easily evading the attacks with a sword. peter caught nat’s eyes and she could tell they were thinking the same thing. he must be a child soldier for this bat-thing. her head snapped to the man, she pulled her hat a little lower, trying to conceal some type of anonymity.

“robin,” the man’s voice was far too gruff and gargled to be real. it sounded like he was calling the young child off, but the feral thing wouldn’t or couldn’t stop. she remembers being in the red room, when they’d tell her to stop as a test. when she did, she’d be punished for showing mercy. and when she didn’t, she’d be punished for not obeying her betters.

something inside her burned.

she headed towards the man, there quicker than he had anticipated. clearly the man was trained, and clearly he hadn’t expected her to be. it took her thirteen seconds to learn his fighting style. to use it against him. and it seemed to have taken him fifteen to get used to hers.

one minute she was twirling around him, producing punches with quickness rather than strength, trying to tire him out. and then, she’d be planting her feet firmly on the ground, forcing him to use his strength to try to move her. when he finally landed a blow, a solid right hook to her left cheek she laughed. this was the most fun she had since coming to Gotham.

“misses widow!” she snapped her head to see the young boy had peter cornered, along with another girl dressed in spandex. she blinked a few times before sighing. peter would not hurt the clearly young children, not even if one was around his own age. not even to save his life. maybe hers, but he knew she had herself handled.

playtime was over.

a quick maneuver, one bucky had taught her, using the own man’s weight and weapons against him had him pinned to the wall of the dinghy alley way. “call your child soldiers off” she growled, threatening to break his arm.

“you. first.” he said back, his arm being twisted further and further and yet he made no sound of discomfort. “i don’t think you’re in the position to make demands,” she whispered near his ear, her breath hot against it.

then she heard the specific sound of a gun clicking to the back of her head.

“you sure about that, doll?”

[respectthepetty]

Pit Babe Colors Ep. 10

I'm challenging myself with this show and seeing how good my color skills really are, so I'm doing my normal thing of watching it double-speed on mute, but now, the captions are off also. It's just colors and vibes here. Also, people stay spoiling this show for me in their reblog tags on my posts, so I know Charles and Jeffrey made a dumb plan but I have no idea what it includes beyond Jeffrey going to Big Red's.

Hand over heart, I think Sonic is really pretty, which is why I haven't fully thought he is a baddie, but I need a reason for him refusing to wear blue! North gets it together every now and then, but Sonic? Boy, quit relying on that face and follow the damn color assignment!

I'm missing something but I thought Charles and Barbara were fine yet here they are fighting, but Charles spidey sense is tingling, so something bad is gonna happen or will he have sex with Barbara like they did last week? And now the glasses are off! They better not have sex on this track.

Barbara is racing?! Dean was racing last week! Was Dean informed of this plot twist? Did Barbara get healed having sex with Charles last week?

You can take the red off the boy but you can't take the red out of the boy. You are acting so sus, Jeffrey! You had a full conversation with Charles and now you are just lurking in the background. Someone spoiled that he and Charles made a plan, but if the plan is murder, he is already failing at not being suspicious.

Another hand-over-heart moment, I have no effin' idea what happened on that race track because there was so many blues then a car went off the track, and I had no real idea who it was, but I do know JEFFREY HAS SOME EXPLAINING TO DO with his suspicious ass!

Big Red lives in the same place he has his cult meetings to show off his superpowered kids? Isn't there a rule of not having cult meetings where you spray your EIGHTY MILLION BONSAI TREES! That seems dumb and contradictory, but I'm not a mega villain so what do I know?

Red is usually an emergency room color, but the red yelling at me as Barbie feels all the bad things that happen in an emergency room is a lot. Charles isn't dead because color-coded boys in love get happy endings, but Barbie is probably feeling everything right now and it probably sucks.

"Don't be suspicious. Don't be suspicious." Jeffrey, you need to make out with Alan quickly to prove you're gay, because you canNOT do crimes, and are about to be in Kentana territory again. Whatever you and Charles planned, it was dumb and Barbie is now crying.

KENTANA! Are you in on this too?!

*Record scratch* Jeffrey went back to Big Red's with the dumb plan he and Charles cooked up involving Charles dying, yes? Yes! Kentana, as Big Red's whatever-he-is, knows of the plan, SO WHY IS HE BEING BEAT UP?! Kentana, break Kimberly out and run away to the beach together. Big Red doesn't even wear red! HE SUCKS! Leave!

Stuck between the blue and the red, I see. A choice has gotta be made, Kentucky Fried Chicken. Wings or Thighs? Legs are not an option. Legs are reserved for the elite squad of Peter, Alan, and Kimberly. You don't get legs! (WHERE IS KIMBERLY?!)

Barbie woke up in black. He has no man, but he has his powers, so either he is about to enter his rich widow era or he is going to go Kill Bill on these bitches.

Horrible take. Awful take. The WORST take, but . . . if Waymond didn't decide to be bad, he would have been the perfect person to comfort Babe and ease Barbie's pain, pero . . . he had to be a little bitch instead.

Oh, NOW you wanna follow the color assignment, Sonic. NOW?!

Well, Jeffrey picked up your mantle with his not-all-black outfit and bright ass white-wrapped flowers. This isn't a wedding, Jeffrey! IT'S A FUNERAL! Jeffrey, a note from The Sign's Dr. Chalothon - FAKE IT! Sir, that empty grave is supposed to be your roommate and partner-in-dumb-crime, yet I haven't seen one single tear from someone who just lost their buddy. You're more sus than the entire cast of Dead Friend Forever. How does Barbara not suspect your ass with his spidey senses?!

Damn you, Saltburn!

KIMBERLY! AND HE'S IN BLUE! *sliding down the wall and sobbing on the floor* MY BABY HAS RETURNED!

Wait! Pause! *squints* Why did Jeffrey bring Kim? And why to Alan's house? What in the Chuck E. Cheese is happening?!

Alan, Jeffrey's roommate is quote-unquote "dead" yet you are living your best life. Can you try to be sad too or are you in on this plan and this is why Kimberly is now looking beautiful on your couch?

The blue is between y'all, but just like Charles and Barbara having sex on every surface when Kimberly was being held hostage, do y'all have no shame? Making heart eyes at each other immediately after burying an empty coffin that was supposed to be Charles. Shame! At least pretend that Charles is dead! Or fill Barbie in on this dumb plan.

Vegas' Hedgehog, you pretty bitch. I hate you.

Barbie is watching the crash, and Jeffrey and Alan are playing footsie over Charles' quote-unquote "grave." But I already know I'm more upset for Barbie than he will be for himself because he'll forgive everyone for this bullshit lie in less than two minutes.

Does Barbara think Waymond killed Charles?! He might be shitty, but he is backed by the blue. He ain't guilty! Go speak to your boyfriend's roommate and his new boyfriend, Barbie!

Oh shit! I wasn't expecting you to actually go talk to them! Hold up! Is that blue on Jeffrey?! Does he actually not have anything to do with Charlie's quote-unquote "death"?

SONIC IS WEARING BLUE IN THE BACKGROUND!

Like I know shit is going down right now because Decanus sabotaged ANOTHER car *Pikachu face* but I don't think he is in on the dumb plan to "kill" Charles so . . . Kimberly wore blue this episode and Sonic is wearing blue (even though I think there is a shimmer of red there), and I'm crying in the club because this is all I wanted, and sorry to all of y'all, but the show could end right here, and I'd be happy.

Oh no. My man is crying. I am no longer happy. I am in pain. Why is he crying so hard? Was Dean his best friend? His brother? This feels personal. Jeffrey, come give our man a hug! Right now! RIGHT FUCKING NOW, JEFFREY!

Seeing Alan cry hurt way worse than anything else that happened. Charles isn't dead, so I'm just upset that Barbie has to cry and more upset that Barbara is going to be cool with whatever dumb plan Charles made without telling him, but Alan's tears were unexpected.

However, Sonic is back on his bullshit next week, so I can't stay in my feels too long.

And I get to see Peter while someone fully commits to the blue.

Oh, and we get to see the dumb-plan-that-made-Barbie-cry in more detail. *Arthur fist* Be upset at Charles for just one episode, Barbara. Just one damn episode, please. He didn't try to assault you like Waymond, but Charles has played with your emotions several times, and I just need you to knock 👏🏾 his 👏🏾 ass 👏🏾 out 👏🏾 too 👏🏾.

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 1) Chapter Four

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Four: One Hell of a Case

Summary: Ciel is ordered by the Queen to investigate the killings of Jack the Ripper.

            “There are just too many people in London,” grumbled Ciel as he left the carriage and Sebastian opened the door to his city estate.

            “It is due to the social seasons, where the upper classes migrate from manor houses in the countryside to their townhouses in London,” said Sebastian with a patient (not) smile.

            “I guess even the rich get bored of their estates,” remarked (Y/N).

            “Seasons, huh?” Ciel tsked as he walked upstairs. “The carefree slackers.”

            “It could be a change of pace,” said (Y/N).

            Sebastian nodded. “Those four aren’t accompanying us, so we should be able to enjoy some peace and quiet.”

            “Peace and quiet, huh?” muttered Ciel.

            Sebastian opened the door to the sitting room, and that dream was crushed. Lau and Madame Red were already making a mess as they tore up the room in search of tea and treats. Sebastian smiled awkwardly, (Y/N) deadpanned, and an irk mark appeared on Ciel.

            “Madame Red! Lau! Why are you here?!” cried Ciel.

            “My, you’re early,” said Madame Red cheerfully. Grell excitedly jumped up from behind the couch as he realized (Y/N) and Sebastian were there.

            “Since you have, it must mean…” began Lau.

            “The Queen’s Guard Dog is on the move, then?” finished Madame Red.

            Ciel sighed. “Sebastian, (Y/N), prepare some tea to settle those two down. I’ll explain then.”

            Once Lau and Madame Red were happily fed and watered, Ciel addressed them. “Yesterday, at Whitechapel, another prostitute was murdered. It wasn’t just your average murder; it was bizarrely vicious.”

            In my opinion, inhuman, thought (Y/N). They were hoping it was just a human, though, since they had firsthand knowledge of such vicious humans and mortals were much easier to deal with than other supernatural beings.

            “The victim this time, a Miss Mary Nichols, was cut down by a special kind of blade that sliced her up completely, unhindered by any resistance,” continued Ciel. “Scotland Yard and the newspaper reports are calling the killer ‘Jack the Ripper.’ ”

            I got a nickname, once, thought (Y/N). Well, my contract did, but it was really me. “Black Widow” for her husbands continuing to die… (Y/N) smirked. Not my fault none of them realized respecting women was an easy way to stay alive.

            “Jack the Ripper, huh?” asked Lau.

            “The reason I hurried to London was to confirm the situation,” said Ciel.

            Lau smirked. “Do you have the guts to visit the crime scene?”

            “What do you mean by that?” questioned Ciel.

            “The darkness and the scent of evil that now seep through that place will call out to those of the same breed and eat into them,” said Lau. “If you set foot into that place, it’s possible that you will be engulfed by the madness. Are you prepared for that, Earl Phantomhive?”

            “I came here to avenge her distress,” said Ciel, eyes set with determination. “Don’t ask unnecessary questions.”

            “That’s excellent. Those are good eyes,” said Lau.

            Ciel didn’t flinch.

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            “Is something wrong?” asked the detective as Sebastian, (Y/N), and Ciel stepped forward through the crowd to see the crime scene. “This isn’t the sort of place good little boys and girls come to. Hurry along back home.”

            “Where’s the victim’s corpse?” questioned Ciel.

            “Corpse? What on earth are you talking about?” demanded the detective.

            “Abberline,” said the head investigator. He addressed Ciel. “What did you come here for, Lord Phantomhive?”

            “Is he an acquaintance of yours, sir?” asked Abberline.

            “I am here to clean up the mess being made by dawdling hounds. Sir Arthur Randall.” Ciel held up his letter with the Queen’s stamp. “It looks like there aren’t any significant leads, yet.”

            “Scotland Yard are taking care of this incident,” said Abberline. “Don’t stick your nose in where it’s not wanted.”

            “Fine by me. Let’s go, Sebastian, (Y/N),” said Ciel.

            “Yes, my Lord,” said Sebastian.

            “Yes, sir,” said (Y/N).

            “What are you going to do?” asked Madame Red, following Ciel. She, Lau, and Grell had, like puppies, followed Ciel to the crime scene.

            “Asking him would be the best option,” said Ciel.

            Him? thought (Y/N) curiously.

            “Earl, you can’t mean…” Lau trailed off.

            “It’s just as you suspect,” said Ciel, stopping before a shop.

            (Y/N) glanced up at the sign, which read “Undertaker.” Their nose twitched, and they smirked. The smell of death was everywhere.

            “So, where are we?” asked Lau brightly.

            “You looked like you knew what was going on a minute ago!” shouted Madame Red.

            “This is the undertaking establishment of one of the Young Master’s acquaintances,” explained Sebastian.

            Ah, an informant, thought (Y/N). They opened the door, and the group filed inside.

            “Are you here, Undertaker?” asked Ciel.

            Silence in the dark room, just a bunch of dark coffins lying in the room.

            “I thought you would drop by sooner or later…” said an amused, scratchy voice. “Welcome…Earl…” A standing coffin opened, and a man in all black, even a floppy top hat, peered out. He had a wide grin that accentuated his stitch-like scars as his silver hair framed his face. “Have you finally decided to get your own, custom casket?”

            Lau and Madame Red stared in shocked horror at the strange man, and poor Grell had fallen to the ground at the ghostlike man’s appearance. (Y/N)’s nose twitched. Undertaker smelled even more like death than his shop. His gaze passed over the group, his grin growing with each person before finishing on (Y/N).

            “As if anyone would come to do that,” said Ciel. “Today, we’re—”

            Undertaker put a finger to Ciel’s face. “You don’t have to say it. I understand completely. That particular guest is in an unfit state to be seen by those from the world of light.”

            The shadows around (Y/N) and Sebastian shifted in disagreement.

            “I made her all pretty, you know?” remarked Undertaker eagerly.

            “I want to hear more about that,” said Ciel.

            “I see, so being an undertaker is just your cover,” said Lau. “How much is your information?”

            “I don’t have the slightest use for the Queen’s legal tender!” declared Undertaker energetically. “Now, Earl, give me that. Bestow the finest laughs upon me! Then, I shall tell you whatever you want!”

            “Strange man…” said (Y/N).

            “Yes…” sighed Sebastian.

            “Leave it to me!” declared Lau. “I was known as the Grinning New Year Tiger of Shanghai. Behold my true nature!” He smiled brightly. “The bed fled!”

            Everyone blinked. That had made no sense.

            “I suppose there’s no helping it,” said Madame Red grimly, stepping forward. “This Madame Red, known as the flower of social gatherings, will let you in on her top-secret gossip! So, on my dear friend’s birthday, her beau got her the biggest [CENSORED] that had veins going up the [CENSORED] and she got such a good [CENSORED] out of it that we all wanted a turn to [CENSORED].”

            Sebastian had smartly covered Ciel’s ears during Madame’s Red’s speech. He nodded to (Y/N), who grabbed a roll of gauze and promptly wrapped it around Madame Red and Lau’s mouths to keep them from continuing to speak.

            “Well, then, the only one left is the Earl! Last time, I lost, but I won’t this time!” said Undertaker, giggling.

            Ciel narrowed his eyes. He didn’t have a joke. He glanced at (Y/N) and Sebastian.

            (Y/N) shrugged. “I’m more mischief-maker than comedian.”

            Sebastian stepped forward. “Everyone, please step outside. Under no circumstances are you to peek inside.”

            No one disobeyed, even (Y/N), who was extremely curious about what Sebastian was planning. In quiet confusion, the group stood outside of the Undertaker’s shop.

            “AHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

            Deranged cackles echoed from inside the shop. The Undertaker sign above the door smashed to the ground from the force of the laughter.

            The door opened, and Sebastian smiled at everyone. “Do come in now. I believe he’ll be willing to tell us everything we need to know now.”

            “I have seen Utopia!” giggled Undertaker, slumped over a coffin.

            Sebastian just dragged Undertaker up so he could finally give them the information they needed. “Do please tell us what we want to know.”

            Undertaker sighed. “If you insist…Recently, I’ve been seeing something every-so-often—‘customers’ who have a little missing.”

            “A little missing?” asked Madame Red.

            “Yes, a little missing. Like a uterus,” said Undertaker.

            (Y/N)’s nose twitched.

            “It was a pretty harsh splatter, but her uterus alone was precisely cut out,” said Undertaker.

            “While it may not have been a largely populated street, would it not be difficult for an amateur to perform such a precise task there in the pitch black?” questioned Sebastian.

            “You’re quite a sharp one, Mr. Butler. I thought the exact same thing,” said Undertaker.

            He raised a nail to (Y/N)’s neck and drew it across. Their eyes darted down to peer at his fingers, mere centimeters from touching (Y/N)’s skin. Their lip curled distastefully at the idea. Sebastian’s eyes followed Undertaker’s movements, slightly narrowing. The strange man had never been a threat, but Sebastian knew (Y/N) wouldn’t hesitate to snap his wrist if he actually touched them.

            “First, to cut the prey’s neck,” continued Undertaker, “then to cut here—” his other hand drew across (Y/N)’s lower abdomen “—to steal what’s important.” He straightened. “He’ll kill again. He’s the type that won’t stop until someone stops him. Can you stop him, Noble of Darkness, Earl Phantomhive?”

            “I swear on my family’s crest, those who dirty Her Majesty’s garden will be dispatched without exception, whatever it takes,” said Ciel evenly.

l

            “That story narrowed it down quite a bit,” said Sebastian once they were all back in the carriage.

            (Y/N) nodded. “The individual has to have expertise in the medical field, they can’t have an alibi for the night, and since they must still have the stolen organs, someone involved with rituals, sects, or trafficking.” Plenty for Sebastian and them to get on with.

            “Just how does that narrow it down?” cried Madame Red. “Dissections are something that any doctor—even I—can do.”

            Yes, you could, thought (Y/N). You’re not off the suspect list.

            “Summer is almost at an end, too,” said Madame Red. “In two more days, when the season ends, all the nobles will return home with the personal doctors they brought with them.”

            “Well, then, we’ll just investigate until then,” said Sebastian with a smirk.

            “What?” asked Lau.

            “It is only natural for a butler of the Phantomhives to be able to do that,” said Sebastian. “I will draw up a list of suspects immediately and go through everyone on it.”

            Madame Red and Lau stared. Ciel smirked. (Y/N) smiled.

            “Have fun,” they said as if this was a normal occurrence.

            Sebastian opened the door of the moving carriage and bowed to the group. “Well, then, if you’ll excuse me.” He let go of the door and disappeared out of view.

            “The carriage is going at full pelt!” cried Madame Red.

            “If Sebastian says he’ll do something, he will,” said (Y/N), smiling. “He’ll get the job done.”

            “We should just take afternoon tea and wait,” said Ciel.

l

            The group walked up the stairs to Ciel’s townhouse, and (Y/N) opened the door. They were unsurprised to find Sebastian standing at attention. Ciel just sighed at the drama Sebastian caused amongst the others.

            “Welcome back,” said Sebastian, bowing. “I have been awaiting your arrival. The preparations for afternoon tea have been made.”

            “You…why are you here?!” cried Madame Red in shock.

            “I finished the business I was attending to, so I returned ahead of you,” said Sebastian with a smile.

            “You already drew up the list?” gasped Madame Red.

            “Of course he did,” said (Y/N).

            “Yes, and I then went and directly questioned them all,” said Sebastian, holding up a scroll of statements.

            Madame Red scoffed. “Sebastian, that’s a little too far-fetched for anyone to—”

            (Y/N) saw Sebastian flourish the scroll. I still remember him telling me dramatics were unnecessary.

            “Earl Bailey’s doctor, Richard Oswald, was with friends at the Whitehouse pub. He has an alibi and no occult connections,” began Sebastian, proudly showing off his prowess. “The surgeon of the Royal London Central Hospital, Madame Haywhite, was talking to Boey at Steep Line, and thus has an alibi. No connection to anything occult.” Grell’s eyes widened in amazement, and (Y/N) nodded along with Sebastian with a smirk at everyone’s amazement. “The personal doctor of the Chambers household, William Samset, attended the Howard family party and therefore has an alibi. No connection to anything occult. That concludes my research. I have narrowed those who fit the conditions down to a single person.”

            “Are you really just a simple butler?” commented Madame Red. “You’re not from Military Intelligence or something, are you?”

            “No, he’s just one hell of a butler,” said (Y/N), smirking at Sebastian as they took his line.

            Sebastian glanced at (Y/N) before a smirk of his own appeared. They caught on quick.

            Both their smirks quickly fell as they remembered it was their attachment to the other that caused them to pay so much attention. (Ironically, they were thinking along the same lines, too).

            “Who’s the suspect?” questioned Ciel.

            “Alastair Chamber, of the Druitt Viscount family,” said Sebastian. “He received his degree in medicine at university but has undertaken no work. He seems to have held many parties at his home. However, behind the scenes, he invites those whom he is especially close to secret parties.”

            “There is a rumor going around that he is involved with black magic,” said Madame Red.

            “It has been said that ritualistic events go on at these secret parties and prostitutes are made into living sacrifices,” said Lau.

            (Y/N)’s eyes flashed. If Druitt was guilty, they would enjoy watching him fall.

            “Tomorrow is the last party of the season,” said Ciel. “That is our only chance. The only question is how to catch him.”

            Madame Red brightened. “Oh! You can wear a dress!”

            Everyone deadpanned.

            “Excuse me?!” cried Ciel, turning red at the idea.

            “Lord Druitt likes anything in a skirt!” said Madame Red, continuing on without a care in the world. “He wouldn’t know you’re a Phantomhive, and you’d be able to get right up there with him! You could go as my niece, and Sebastian could be your tutor.”

            “Why the hell would I be your niece?!” cried Ciel.

            “Because, dear, I’ve always wanted a girl!” chirped Madame Red. She whirled on (Y/N), who straightened in alarm. “And you! Druitt would eat you up! And I’ve wanted to see you in a proper dress for a while. If you look that darling in a maid’s uniform, a proper ballgown would be simply fantastic! Druitt wouldn’t resist you and Ciel!”

            (Y/N)’s nose twitched, and they smiled awkwardly as Madame Red advanced on them. “If you have the Young Master, surely I’m not needed…”

            “I think it is an excellent idea to have more than one person to catch the Viscount,” said Sebastian with a devilishly “innocent” smile.

            (Y/N) looked at him, “affronted” at the “betrayal.” Their eyes panned to Madame Red, whose eyes gleamed excitedly at the prospect of dressing them up. Damn.

Taglist:

@technikerin23

@im-making-an-effort

@izzieg3987

@jinxxangel13

@alexpangender

@otomyoli

@neenieweenie

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 7 - unconventional weapon

Warnings: red room violence, child death, minors fighting,

Word Count: 2.1k (gif not mine - from @notahammer form this gifset- I hope it’s okay that it’s borrowed)

Summary: Natasha tells a story of her past.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

A/N: this one delves into Natasha’s past, it’s not a happy chapter and sits heavier. Also, thank you for all the comments on the last chapter - I will reply to them - also dw in this house we love Maria Hill (she just has some distrust to work through) <3

.

Dostoevsky sits on the table and Natasha wonders at Maria’s choice of Crime and Punishment.

A Russian author and a title that mirrors herself seems a little too on the nose.

She appreciates the gesture though.

She didn’t know what had happened in the day between Maria seemingly wanting to torture her for information, to not asking her questions at all.

Debrief hadn’t touched on Odessa, but instead moved to code words and languages.

This she could easily talk on.

This was something she gave up readily.

She appreciated the reprieve.

Clint had returned to find her and Maria eating breakfast in her cell, as they had done for the three days prior. The mood more comfortable than the first time and, seeing Clint, she had smiled a genuine smile. She’d missed him.

With Clint back, he would resume the role of handler, changing the routine once again.

Whilst Natasha would miss the fresh air of the morning shooting range with Maria, she prefers Clint and the safety that his presence entails.

Will the debrief continue to avoid Odessa?

She’s sure Maria told him what had happened.

For now her voice had been heard, when she said that she couldn’t talk about it. But she’s not ready to trust they’ll avoid it forever, especially when she feels it could be used against her.

Today’s debrief looms.

Clint glances down at her in the elevator, catching her eye and smiles.

As usual, they enter the small office and sit with the two way mirror on the left.

He hands her two pictures.

Natasha’s blood runs cold.

“Who is that?”

The woman in the picture on the left has her black hair pinned back.

Memories flash.

“Stand straight.”

“Again.”

“Widows are marble.”

“You will not break.”

There’s a taste of poison in Natasha’s mouth and she wants to spit.

“Um,” she says swallowing, “she runs the widows. Trains them. Keeps the girls in line.”

She moves her hands under the table, clenching hard to keep herself present.

“What do you know of her?”

Clint asks the question slowly, like he knows what it will cost.

“The trial of the silent knife.”

Natasha doesn’t want to talk about this.

She looks at the second picture.

The branding mark embossed on skin.

“What is the trial of the silent knife?”

Natasha forces herself to calm. Forces air in her lungs and her mind to clear, even as images assault her, the cut of the knife and scar on her calf glisten.

“How did you learn to fight?” she asks, voice low.

Clint smiles easily.

“Back yard fights with my brother. My father, school, the military. You could say my learning was… eclectic.”

Natasha hears him in what he doesn’t say.

“How do you think I learned?”

Clint doesn’t answer straight away.

A question he’s likely never considered.

She sighs.

“We are trained in very specific ways. Ways to make prepubescent bodies strong. Running in mountains, strength training, exercises in multiple martial arts by different teachers. Each with their own style of reward and punishment.”

Natasha considers the questions about the woman and wonders where to start.

“Once we reached a certain age, the skills we learnt were tested.”

She knows he wants to ask more.

“I was 8.”

“The trial of the silent knife is the test.”

.

Natasha stands with the other girls.

She feels excited, adrenaline running through her body, as she wants to show her skills.

She feels ready.

The other girls look cocky. No one looks scared except Sasha, who always looks like she’s going to wet herself.

Natasha’s not sure how she hasn’t been kicked out yet.

There had been other girls who’d left. Bed empty after being injured, or crying, or talking back in ways that, even to Natasha, had felt rude.

The wind is cold. Though the ice has melted the world still holds a chill.

They’d been to this clearing before, fought here before, and Natasha was accustomed to fighting bare footed and without weapons.

“Line up,” the command comes.

The girls do as ordered.

Natasha exchanges looks with Freya, her friend looking determined and fierce.

She notes her friend’s bravery and uses it to calm her own fluttering heart.

It’s different today and they all know.

The twenty four girls are made to spar, lightly until they’re warmed up, going through the motions of hitting and being hit.

Four adults stand to her left, and she sees Madam and Dreykov standing behind them.

Her body feels cold, fear of both of them allowing one of the girls to sweep her legs.

She falls heavily.

Helped up, she whispers to her what she saw, and the message gets passed down the line.

Natasha often feels targeted by the two adults. They stare at her and she feels frustrated at the higher standard she’s seemingly held to.

She stands straighter as the round ends and they’re lined up again.

Now separated, they stand on either side of two lines marked in the dirt.

The adults move closer and Madam claps twice.

The girls stand straighter, eyes forward just as they’ve been trained.

“This is a test,” she announces. “You will fight until one of you wins.”

She walks between the lines to look at all of the girls.

“How you do that is up to you. You will be marked on how you do this. This will be done in silence. You must not scream, or cry or ask for help. Once in the arena, you are on your own. No one will help you except yourself.”

Natasha’s nerves rise.

She’s glad she’s not at the front of the line.

Briselle, one of the older girls, steps forward; her opponent is Sasha.

Natasha knows the outcome before they even fight.

A single knife is thrown in the middle of the arena.

Madam steps forward and Dreykov and the other four sit on chairs set up for them.

The girls sit along the outside, still in their lines, legs tucked under, fists on top of knees.

Briselle smiles as Sasha lunges for the knife.

She lets her pick it up and then kicks out at her.

Sasha moves back, using her momentum to feint left and swipe right.

The knife passes close to Brisselle’s neck.

The shock on her face pronounced, as Sasha presses her advantage.

Natasha had fought Sasha before. When Sasha was scared, she became desperate.

Briselle shouldn’t underestimate her, just because she looks like a scared little girl.

Briselle kicks out and makes contact with Sasha’s chest.

The kick is clearly winding, as Sasha gasps, her fist tightening harder around the knife. Brisselle presses the advantage, throwing another kick at her prone body on the floor. Sasha scrambles up, blocking it with her forearms, grabbing at a leg and attempting a throw without conviction.

Briselle’s weight seems an advantage as she holds her ground, her held foot flips up, catching Sasha under the chin.

The girl’s body sprawls, knife flying from her hand.

Briselle picks it up, kicks her and points it at her neck.

“Until one of you wins,” Madam reminds.

Briselle’s smile falters.

She doesn’t know what that means; but Sasha seems to. The crack of Briselle’s leg is loud, she shouts in pain. Sasha’s movements are quick. The first cut along her thighs and the second along her neck. Bloor pours from the wounds.

Natasha looks on in shock.

Sasha’s desperation to win had come at the cost of Briselle’s life.

The girl was dying in front of them.

Natasha feels sick.

An adult that Natasha doesn’t know pulls Briselle’s broken, gasping body away. Sasha looks at her bloody hands and is ordered by Madam to line up.

The girls hear a gunshot and all know what it means.

Sasha’s eyes go wide as she watches, her mouth opening with an outward breath. Tears leak from her eyes.

Two girls look wildly around and cry out.

Natasha’s head doesn’t move, but her eyes scan the other girls, some of whom were also crying, their predicament clear now. The years of training culminating in this.

The next two opponents stand, legs shaking, fear on their faces.

“Fight.”

Madam’s voice breaks the silence.

An endless minute seems to pass before one of the girls lunges for the knife.

The fight is short.

Clearly overpowered, the younger girl sobs as the other girl cries that she’s sorry.

The arena is bloody by the time it is Natasha’s turn. She rises on heels but doesn’t look at the girl in front of her. She knows her, but in those moments, she knows that she cannot acknowledge her.

“Fight.”

The knife is the obvious play, but the other girl is taller and reaches it quicker.

Natasha runs through the knife defenses, anticipating the lunge forward. She sidesteps, bending the girl’s wrist, and using her momentum against her. The angle of the wrist weakens her hold onto the knife and it drops to the bloody floor.

She kicks it out of the way, and slaps her heavily, knowing if she punches she’d hurt herself.

Her palm stings.

Avoiding the next punch, then kick, Natasha fights back, returning with a kick to the girl’s head.

It hits with a resounding thud.

The girl stumbles back, tripping on the knife.

Natasha lunges for it and the girl wrestles her for it.

Then arms back, the girl reaches for something that Natasha can’t see.

Natasha grabs the knife, but a rock smacks her in the head.

Natasha collapses.

Dazed, Natasha's vision blurs. She feels the girl climb on top of her, raising the rock again, readying to hit Natasha a second time.

But Natasha’s holding the knife upward between them, and as the girl leans forward it sticks between her ribs, killing her with a quiet “oh”.

The rock drops.

The unconventional weapon falling next to Natasha’s head as she huffs breaths.

Panic.

She has no thoughts in her head as she’s told to stand, her opponent dragged back.

Blood drips from her forehead and she touches it blankly.

The rest of the battles finish without Natasha registering who is still alive.

All she can think of is the knife pushing into the girl’s body.

Her chest feels so tight. Only the slightest amount of air seems to break through.

Her hands shake and she sits on them to hide it.

Natasha wants nothing more than to be left alone.

The knife.

She focuses herself by biting the inside of her mouth.

Her head hurts.

Still bleeding, she blinks it away from her eyes.

Madam stands in front of them.

“Do you know why it’s the silent knife?” Madam asks, picking the weapon up.

Twelve girls, bloody and bruised and traumatised, stare into space.

The four adults stand, Dreykov in front of them.

“You are part of the Red Room. Silent killers. You must know how to kill; friends, family, foe.”

She paces.

Placing a knife in front of each of them, Madam motions to it.

“You have passed this test. From now on, this knife is yours. Your right to own. From now on, the training will only get harder.”

Natasha eyes the bloody knife in front of her.

Sniffing, and wiping her face, she decides it was a friend and not a foe.

She picks it up cleans it with her clothing.

.

Clint sits back, his heart hurting at her story.

“Once we passed, we had to mark ourselves. The first kill. The mark, the one you see there, that’s the brand. That woman was a widow.”

She bites her lip.

She hates the story.

Telling it felt like it was someone’s else’s story.

“Can, uh, can we stop?”

Clint nods, not asking any more questions.

She’s sure it’s been recorded, but in that moment she doesn’t care. She wants to return to her cell. In that moment feeling, more than ever, like she belongs in one.

She’s made peace with most of her other kills.

But that first one…

Natasha clenches her fists and lets them go in time with her breathing.

She just feels old and tired.

.

[arlana-likes-to-write]

What Was I Made For? By Billie Eillish

Summary: After Yelena returns to Soyna's apartment from failing to kill Clint Barton she begins to question her place in this world. Luckly for her, you are there to lend a helping hand.

Warning: Self-doubt, Fluff, Lots of drinking, mention of Natasha's death, Yelena needs the biggest hug.

Word Count: 2.7k

The front door slammed shut and alerted you to her arrival. But you didn’t get out of bed when you heard the hushed voices of Yelena and Soyna through the door. It was when you heard one set of footsteps storm off, you climbed out of bed and opened the door. You lived with Sonya when she and Yelena exposed you to the Red Dust. She offered you a room until you decided what was next. However, that was the problem. You weren’t sure what was next. All of your life you followed orders and behaved like a good soldier to complete the orders to a man that no longer existed. He could no longer hurt you. What were you to do now? “How is she?” You asked. Soyna was resting her hands on the kitchen counter.

“She didn’t complete the mission,” that was a surprise. Yelena always completed the mission. You didn’t know anything about her newest assignment, just that the target was in New York City and she would be staying here until she finished the job. You sighed, walked over to the fridge, and took out two bottles of vodka.

“I’m guessing she’s on the roof,” you put on your sneakers and winter jacket.

“Zvezda (star),” you stopped before going up the fire escape. “I don’t think she wants to talk to anyone.” You smiled at your friend.

“Well, it’s lucky I’m someone special,” you opened the window and stepped onto the fire escape, closing it behind you. Zvezda it was a nickname Yelena gave you. The Red Room assigned you to a rising crime lord in the New York and New Jersey area. At least that was what Soyna told you. The things you did for them would come in flashes, mostly in nightmares. Once you adjusted to having your mind and body back, you got a tattoo of Saturn on your arm. The planet symbolized stubbornness, stability, and authority. It was for anyone that wished to take control of their life. That was what you needed. A gentle reminder that you were in control of your life and the end of your story. So they tried to give you the nickname of ‘planet’, ‘Saturn’ but you didn’t like any of them until Yelena came up with star. It fit you well.

You stepped onto the roof, the winter air caused goosebumps to form on your legs. “I came up here because I do not want to talk,” Yelena said, without turning around. She sat on the roof’s edge, legs dangling above the city below.

“Good thing I don’t want to talk,” you said, sitting down next to her. It was close enough that you felt the warmth radiating from her but you gave her enough space to not overcrowd her. It was a delicate dance to play with the blonde. You opened the bottle. “Drink.” You offered her it but she didn’t take her eyes off the busy city street below. You took a sip from the bottle, the burn made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You put the bottle between you and her, leaning back and looking at the city. It was beautiful this time of year. Red and white lights danced in the darkness. You wondered what it was like to celebrate Christmas. Holidays weren’t celebrated in the Red Room. Holidays were used as an easy way to get into a party to find a target. It was another day of training and another night handcuffed to your bed.

“You are going to catch a cold wearing that,” she took a generous sip from the bottle.

“And I thought you didn’t want to talk Belova,” she was wearing her black tactical suit. A smirk was on her face as she took another sip and you picked up the bottle, mirroring her. The other Widows liked to tease you that Yelena had a soft spot for you. She rarely snapped or became annoyed with you but you contributed to not bothering her. You let her exist, not forcing her to talk.

“What did Soyna tell you?” She still refused to look at you.

“You didn’t complete the job,” you shrugged. “I didn’t ask more. Not my place.” It was true. If Yelena refused to kill the man or woman then it had to be a good reason.

“Why are you here then?” Finally, she looked at you. Her green eyes were red, her cheeks blotchy, and dried tears on her cheeks.

“Just to sit here and be your friend,” you took another sip. You felt her eyes on you soon it became too much and you looked at her. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“I do not know,” you nodded.

“Well, when you do know I’m here,” you continued to sit in silence, passing the bottle back and forth until it was empty and you opened the next one. The alcohol was making you feel warm like you were surrounded by a big hug. Yelena rubbed her eyes, suppressing a yawn. “Come on,” you stood up, wobbling slightly. You didn’t know if it was from the alcohol or your legs being asleep. You weren’t drunk, a little tipsy at best. “You should get some sleep.” The blonde groaned and you held out your hand. She sighed, took it, and grabbed the fuller bottle before standing up. She stumbled more than you did. Was she drinking before she came back to the apartment? You were a few inches taller than her and you caught the blonde when she stumbled forward. Her head fell into the crock of your neck. Her warm breath caused goosebumps to form on your skin.

“You smell good,” she mumbled. “Like euc-euc eucalyptus,” she stumbled over the word a few times which caused her to giggle. You rolled your eyes.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed. You walked in front of Yelena as you led her down the fire escape. Your hand lingered on her hip now and again to steady her. When you opened the window, the apartment was quiet. You weren’t sure if Soyna went to bed or went out. Yelena was eyeing the couch that had been her bed for the past few nights. “Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?” You asked as if you could read her mind. She looked at you, her green eyes wide.

“Can I?” She whispered. It was so rare to hear such vulnerability in her voice.

“Of course, you can,” you took the bottle from her and put it back in the fridge, making a mental note to buy Soyna two new bottles. You grabbed Yelena’s hand and brought her to your room. The first time she was in her was when she dropped you off. You’ve changed it since then, added posters of bands you liked and pictures you’ve taken around the city. She sat on the edge and looked around your room. “Do you want to change?”

“Clothes are out there,” she pointed to the door. “Don’t wanna move,” you giggled. “What’s so funny?” She asked as you walked to your closet.

“Your just cute,” you saw a blush rise to her cheeks. “I have stuff you can use,” you grabbed her a long sleeve shirt and an extra pair of sleep shorts. You handed them to the blonde but knelt on the floor to take off her boots. She didn’t fight you but watched you with a curious expression. “Do you need help changing?” Yelena shook her head. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” You left your room with her boats in hand to give her some privacy. You filled two glasses with water before returning to your room. Yelena was changed and resting her back on your headboard. You placed both glasses of water on your nightstand. “Did you get hurt tonight?” She hesitated but shrugged. “Do you want me to look at it?”

“No,” she simply said. You turned on the light you had on your nightstand and turned off the overhead light before climbing into bed. She copied you, getting under the covers, and lay down to face you. Tears swelled in her eyes.

“Yelena,” you whispered. “Are you okay?” She shook her head, a sob escaping her lips. You didn’t think and brought the emotionally distraught Black Widow into your arms. She tensed up at the sudden contact but you felt her hands grip onto your shirt like a lifeline. “Sh, you’re okay,” you whispered, undoing the braid in her hair and running your fingers through her blonde locks. “Your safe. Your safe.” You kept repeating it until her cries turned into hiccups and her breathing evened out. She was fast asleep in your arms. You wondered if she ever allowed herself this peace, this safety net to fall back on. Yelena always seemed so strong, barely showing any emotion. It had to be exhausting. You allowed yourself a few minutes of soothing her before falling asleep.

*

It took a few moments for Yelena to recognize where she was, alone, in a room she had only seen in passing but never dared to go in. Your room. It always seemed welcoming, warm, and inviting. Yelena groaned, pushing her hands to her temples. Her head was pounding. She wasn’t sure if it was from all the alcohol she drank or the crying. She couldn’t remember the last time she cried, especially in front of someone. It was embarrassing and threatened the way she presented herself. But last night was the best night’s sleep she’s had in a long time. Yelena saw the glass of water and medicine you left out for her. There was a part of Yelena that was curious about where you ran off to but the much louder part was dreading to face you. With a sigh, she finished the water and ventured into the apartment. You were in the kitchen, mixing something into a metal bowl. “Where is Soyna?” Yelena asked. You jumped slightly.

“She ran to the store so I’m in charge of breakfast,” you smiled. “I’m making pancakes.”

“Do you need help?” Yelena offered. She wasn’t well versed in the kitchen, surviving mostly on take-out or easy microwave dinners.

“Can you make coffee?” That was something she could do and she was grateful to do something. You turned up the music you were listening to and the kitchen was no longer quiet. When the coffee started, Yelena couldn’t help but watch you move around the kitchen. You were so different than the other Widows she’s saved from Dreykov’s claws. You were soft, caring, and like Melina said all those years ago to her and Natasha you kept your heart. Her heart was tainted, blackened with grief and a thirst for revenge. But she felt empty, lost, and without a purpose. “Your thinking too hard,” your voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Sit. The food is done.” Yelena did what she was told and sat down. You placed a plate in front of her with syrup and coffee from the pot. Why were you doing this? Yelena wasn’t deserving of your kindness. “Yelena, stop thinking and just eat.” You smiled. Your smile made her stomach flip.

“Thank you,” she took a bite of the food. “It’s really good.”

“I’m glad you like it,” you both ate in silence, allowing the music to fill it. But her mind started to wander and it went back to your room. Yelena had a room at Melina’s farm, she rarely used it as she slept in hotels or apartments of the Widows she’s helped. The room wasn’t decorated, and she didn’t have posters or pictures to hand up. The only picture she had was a ripped photo strip of her and Natasha.

“Yelena,” she looked at you. “Are you okay?” She forced a smile.

“I’m okay, malen’kaya zvezda (little star), no need to worry.” She wasn’t expecting you to frown.

“Your not okay,” you said. Your blunt comment surprised her. “And that’s okay. We can’t always be strong. We have to break now and again.” Yelena chuckled, shaking her head.

“Tell me, how did you keep your heart?” She asked. You didn’t mask the confusion on your face. “Your heart is good. They didn’t taint it.” Your frown deepened.

“Do you not think your heart is good?” Yelena couldn’t find an answer. How could she tell you she was hired to kill an Avenger and she believed the lie that he killed her sister? “I think your heart is good,” you continued. “You wouldn’t do what you do if your heart wasn’t good.” Yelena laughed bitterly, looking out towards the window. She wondered what Clint and Kate were doing right now. Were they celebrating Christmas?

“Do you ever wonder why we were put through the Red Room?” She asked. “Besides following Dreykov’s orders and taking down countries and starting wars. But what about now? The Red Room is gone and we are left with these kills,” she sighed, running her hands through her hair. “What was I made for? I used to know but I’m not sure now.” Yelena looked at you. You were watching her intensely, it made her feel small and foolish under your graze for opening up like this. But she couldn’t stop.

“Sometimes I don’t feel real,” she continued. “I’m just something someone paid for. I don’t know how to feel,” Quietly, you rested your hand on top of hers. Yelena was surprised she didn’t pull away.

“What was your mission?” You asked. Yelena stared at your connected hands.

“Someone put a hit on Clint Barton,” she didn’t need to loop up for you know you knew the name. “Valentina gave me the job. She said,” Yelena sighed, closing her eyes. Her throat began to burn as she felt her emotions start to overpower her. “She said he had a hand in my sister’s death.”

“Did he?” You whispered. Yelena shook her head.

“No. It’s why I didn’t kill him,” you didn’t say anything instead you ran your fingers across her hand. It was soothing. “I wonder,” Yelena continued. “If Valentina is like Dreykov. I’m blindly following orders without thinking for myself.” It was your turn to sigh and Yelena glanced up at you. You were deep in thought, staring at the now empty plate.

“You and I and every other Widow were not given a fair or easy life,” Yelena counted herself lucky for the 3 years in Ohio. She was given a family, even though it was for a mission. It was more than some of the other girls had. “We were born to be used, and abused, and controlled but I know that isn’t the end of our story.”

“What is the end?” Yelena asked. You finally began to smile.

“I don’t know but we are free, Yelena. We write our own story. No man or woman can take that from us,” you squeezed her hand. “You were made to be anything you want.” Yelena scuffed, shaking her head. You made it sound so easy.

“I don’t know what I want,” there was one thing she wanted more than anything in the world. She wanted more time with her sister. It was so unfair how little time they had together. You removed your hand as you started cleaning up the breakfast. Yelena hated to admit how much she missed it.

“Well, I would stop working with Valentina,” you loaded the dishwasher. “Go on a vacation. Swim in the ocean. Eat your weight in ice cream,” Yelena chuckled. Once you were happy with how the kitchen, you leaned back on the counter. “That’s the beautiful and scary thing about being free there is no limit to what we can do,” Yelena smiled, a real when. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since she smiled.

“You still didn’t answer my question,” she said. “How did you keep your heart?” You shrugged.

“They tried to break it,” you told her. Your smile was no longer happy. “But I had to believe the horror we were subjected to wasn’t our end. It gave me hope,” this time Yelena grabbed your hand and interlocked her fingers with yours.

“Will you join me?” She asked. “On my self-discovery journey.”

“Yeah, of course,” you said. “I’d follow you anywhere you go.” Yelena felt a warm feeling grow in her chest. She couldn’t blame the alcohol or her grief. You were to blame for this giddy feeling that she had about the future. For once, Yelena wasn’t afraid and she hoped to make her sister proud.

_

Might return to this little AU in the future. May add some angst in Part 2. We'll see what happens and how I'm feeling lol

[the-fiction-witch]

Y/n!

Media The Artful Dodgert

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Flirty

Requested : I absolutely love your Jack Dawkins fic, I've just added your Newt fic to my library. You are an absolutely amazing writer.This is also a request for the jack Dawkins fic, as in could you write one where jack is reunited with someone who he knew back in London?? I just think it would be cute and you can do anything you want from there, anything you want haha Thank you for writing xxxx

I sighed finishing up with the ward rolling my sleeves up heading towards the stairwell, 

"Jack. Patient. Room four," Hetty said having come chasing after me, 

"What about them?"

"She's refusing to let Dr Sneed see her." 

I sighed, great last thing I need some little whiner, "Will she let me see her?"

"She says yes." 

"Alright," I sighed heading back down and quickly went to room four, "Hello Miss, Dr Dawkins, I heard you refused Dr Sneeds treatment?" I asked taking her paperwork to see what I was actually dealing with, it wasn't much just a mild head injury nothing worth keeping her in over. 

"He's a snivelling, Pompous Git" her voice said from the bed,  

I admit I chuckled a little, "Well we agree on something." 

"What was your name again?"

"Dawkins. Dr Jack Dawkins." I told her setting her paperwork back and actually looking at her, but- I had a heart attack. 

She sat with her long tight curls against the headboard of the bed, a bandage for her wound around her head, her skin slightly red where she clearly had not yet gotten use to the sun here, a long violet dress been repaired and fixed a hundred times. 

I- I felt like I was in a dream, I could barely beleive my own eyes, I- I was utterly convinced I'd never see her again. 

Y/n. She was a London street girl a year or two older then me, abandoned by her family and forced to make her own way, Much as I was. She didn't run with Fagin, the boys and I. She more made her own way but still we crossed paths. We were pickpockets and petty theives breaching only death it if became nessesary. She... Was The Violet Widow. Known though out London. She'd walk the streets as a evening girl but a man who paid her never got to finish, He would be taken home, stripped, tied, and riden until she had reached her desires then she would kill him, steal his clothes, money, watch and sell what she wouldn't keep or give to us boys. She kept herself nicely I must say, and she even married a few older wealther men taking their name for a few weeks before butching them too taking all that remained and being left as a widow. She lived just down the road from us, and any clothes she thought would she'd pass along, even if she couldn't always feed herself she always tried to feed us too. 

We of course were freindly and we'd both gotten each other out of jams more times then I dare to think. 

And Admittedtly I had spent more nights then I care to remember as a bored excited teenage boy, knoitted with the sheets of her bed, and with her. But she never minded, and she never charged me, and never let any of the other boys near her. 

Last I had heard she had been arrested on her most recent husbands murder charge, but that was only a week or two before I was locked up myself. 

I had greived for her, beloived her hung for her crimes or... atleast locked away somewhere I would never see her. 

Never in my life would I have pictured her, Here in port victoria let alone, here infront of me.

I was... thrilled to see her alive! But also... suspcious. 

"Hi, Dodger." 

Immediately I shut the door, locked it tight, pulled the windows shut and the blinds drawn leaving us in complete darkness and secrecy. Standing catching my breath at the foot of her bed my hands on my waist, 

"Y/n!?"

"Hi,"

"The bloody hell are you doing here?"

"Got into a fight with a card cheat," She sighed adjusting her bandage, 

"No- I don't mean the hospital, I mean Australia!" 

"On my travels..."

"Travels?" I glared, "I'm getting pretty fucking concerned right now, first Fagin shows up like the bloody ghost of Christmas past, and now you! What Oliver bloody twist gonna show up next week!" 

"He what?" She glared,

"What?"

"Fagin! Is here!"

"Yeah. showed up a few weeks back." 

"What the hell is he doing here?" 

"Got himself arrested, sent down here."

"You believe that do you?"

"What choice have I got?" I sighed, "So what are you doing down here?"

"Traveling, making my way around," She shrugged,

"And you want me to believe that do you?"

"Why would I Iie? I didn't know you were here, or Fagin, and yes I'd be pretty damn surprised Oliver Twist showed up too. It's a weird ass coincidence." She explained, 

"Alright," I sighed I did want to see her, I was happy even if I was concerned by this coincidence I couldn't be angry at her, "How's your head?" I asked sitting on her bed a moment to check her over

"Never had any complaints," She giggled 

"I'm serious."

"I thought you'd remember."

"Y/n."

"I feel fine Jack" she smiled, "Are you alright?"

I softened a little all these little jokes reminding me that it is still y/n. "As I can be,"

"Made quite the life for yourself down here. I take it... Dodger's gone?"

"Very much so. They hang escaped convicts here so... Dodger is dead. For all intensive purposes." I told her as I got up to finish her paperwork

"Understandable," she nodded "Dr Dawkins," She playfully smiled, 

"You still just Y/n?" I smiled, 

"Ohh god no uhhhhh... Y/n, Smith, Liswick, Warden, Petrecove, uhhh I'm sure there's a Llyod in there somewhere, I loose track" She said, "But just Y/n."

I smirked a little, "Humm... Still the Violet Widow I take it?"

"I see why you became a doctor, quiet the skills of deduction." she smiled,

"Yeah well I hope you're not here planning to add Dawkins to that lineup,"

"Why? Would it be so bad for... old friends to rekindle old flames now that they're all grown up," She smirked, 

"Don't even think about it." I warn her, "The issue there is I know what you do. and I know what you'll do to me on our wedding night."

"True." She smiled "You're letting me go then?"

"Yep, just keep it clean, and stay out of trouble" I told her, 

"I uhhh Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"I only ask because it is you Jack, but do you think you could slip a girl a few coins before you send me away? just for an apple and a place to rest my head tonight," 

"You don't have anywhere to go? Or any money?"

"No."

"How'd you get here then?"

"Spent my last few coins on the boat trip here, figured I'd get a job or earn money my usual way, I haven't even all that lucky yet," 

I felt awful, nowing the girl who use to gived me soup and clothes kept me happy and better off then I ever could have been without her, now had to ask me for money just to rest her head, but... I don't get paid, meerly food and accomodation, What little I had was for me and I'd worked my ass numb at the card table to get it, But... I can't say not to her "I... I think I can."

"I'd pay you back," she said, 

"Yeah, how?"

she stopped short a moment expecting me to say no and she clearly did not actually having an answer, "How I always used to?"

"Yeah?" I smirked a little 

"mhm" she nodded moving her dress and opening her legs 

"...Deal" I smirked crawling into bed with her "I've missed you" I smirked pulling her into a kiss feeling the intensity of our time apart 

"I missed you too Jack," She smirked 

[mutantontheloose]

Open RP (I’m tagging a couple people but feel free to join if I don’t)

“Today’s top story: High ranking members of the Red Room mysteriously found dead. No widows appear to have been harmed, just recruiters, trainers, scientists and anyone closely linked to Dreykov himself. Notably these people are wanted by the UN for their violation of human rights, involvement in various assassinations and war crimes. More at 6.”

The news report moves along…

@thewhitespiderwitch @nataliaromanova-official @your-fav-russian-assassin @whosafraidoflittleoldme17