━━ 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒔 / 𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔. the frontier boys as random tropes. ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ part one | part two | part three
┊┊✧ ⁺ 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ Pope, Will, Benny, Frank x fem!Reader
┊┊✧ ⁺ 𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓼 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ ceo!Pope x assistant!Reader, lumberjack!Will x bimbo!Reader, bartender!Benny x fem!Reader, step dad!Frank x step daughter!Reader
┊┊✧ ⁺ 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ sexual content, implied smut, graphic depictions of sexual acts, fantasized sexual content, blowjobs, depictions of fingering, pussy eating, inappropriate family dynamics you definitely shouldn’t partake in, inappropriate work relationships that you definitely shouldn’t do in real life (unless you want to purrrr💅🏻), a little long just cause I haven’t made one in a while, slight dark content in Franks section
┊┊✧ ⁺ 𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ sorry for the wait with this series, people really loved it actually, more than I thought they would. The begging for another part finally got to me, so here you go!!!! Hope you enjoy while I work on the next one 😭
━━ SANTIAGO ‘POPE’ GARCIA ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
CEO! SANTIAGO ⊹₊˚
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 desk in those cute little skirts and too tight dresses, always so busy and always so beautiful. He liked to stare out at you from his private office with a semi hard cock in his black slacks; a perfect view of your desk and the best view of you.
He could never get any work done of course, not properly anyway, too busy thinking about you and all the things you’d do for him if he asked. You always did what he asked, so eager to work and so eager to please. You, you with those black stiletto heels and those pink pouty lips, you, you with your sweet voice and your round hips — begging to be fucked good.
Nngh, just you.
He liked to call you into his office for no real reason other than his own selfish desires; he liked to see your hips sway when you walked and stare at your soft tits when you’d lean over — it’s what really got him through the tough days.
He loved to hear your soft giggles and see your cheeks go pink when he’d say something scandalously sly, something a ceo definitely shouldn’t say to their assistant, something a boss definitely shouldn’t say to their employee.
He’d take you on business meetings and lavish business trips, invite you to expensive business dinners and elite business parties, it was always business, business, business. He wanted more than that, wanted to take you out for real and show you how much of a gentleman he could be if you’d give him the chance.
Mainly, he wanted to show you how good he could fuck you, much better than any man could, show you how well he knew your body in ways you even didn’t, in ways no man did.
He’d have to clench his fists and hold himself back from fucking you on his very desk with his blinds open for all the horny temps to see — the ones who could never seem to leave you and your beauty alone, the ones who gawked at you in the break room, the ones whose grimy hands lingered on your arm for just a little too long…
That always pissed him off, having to see those puny fanboys of yours charade around your desk like prissy princesses and fight for your attention — it was pathetic and obnoxious. He couldn’t fire them like he wanted to though (unfortunately), too many lawsuits already being filed against him that he was too rich to really care about.
He had lawyers for that shit anyway.
Santiago, or Santi as he’s made you call him now, liked to watch you talk. He loved hearing your voice, seeing the way your lips moved and sparkled with gloss as you rambled on about some company he supposedly owned, pacing his office as he sat in his chair with his dick hard under his desk.
He’d clench his jaw and picture how those lips would look wrapped around his thick cock, your lipstick leaving stains all over him that he could admire later — maybe he’d even have you under his desk during meetings, sitting right between his legs with your lipstick smeared over your cheeks, and a sweet mix of your saliva and his cum dripping down his balls —
“Are you even listening to me?” You’d always scold him with your arms crossed over your chest when you’d notice his blank stare, pushing your tits up and giving him yet another fantasy he couldn’t get his mind off of.
He’d quickly snap out of whatever trance he was in, eyes flickering from your tits to your face, intense and twinkling — really thinking he was slick enough that you wouldn’t notice it. Then he’d let out a husky chuckle, his hand subtly palming his cock as he’d say, “Of course I am.”
You’d just roll your eyes and continue talking, oblivious to his arousal as he’d stare at your ass, your lips, your legs, his hungry eyes running up and down the length of your perfect body until he was so hard he physically couldn’t stand it.
But that was the norm for him.
For any other girl he had everything — the money, the power, the cars, the looks. He could’ve had literally any other girl he wanted yet he wanted you, yet he couldn’t have you.
You were so professional, always did your job perfectly and always did the right thing, the perfect assistant, the perfect employee, the perfect woman. Why, why, couldn’t you be one of those dumb slutty assistants who he didn’t give a damn about? The ones who didn’t bother to hide the fact that they were a slut, the ones who’d drop everything and suck his dick if he asked, even if he didn’t ask.
But no, you were you and you were so damn different from that and really, that made him want you even more. The fact that you weren’t a dumb girl but a mature woman, as flawless and elegant as rose petals and wine. He wanted you to break out of that persona, see your strong facade crack and crumble for him, for his love, for his cock.
He wanted to see that perfect red lipstick smeared over your tear stained cheeks, see that tight pussy gaping and wet and begging for him, see those lacy panties wrapped around your ankles as he’d fuck you hard and fast before a business meeting in just the way he knew you’d like, just hard enough so everyone could see the stumble in your walk and the tears in your eyes.
One day he was going to have that, one day. But for now he was just gonna have to stick with the lustful stares during crowded meetings and the not-so-innocent fantasies when you’d poke into his office.
One day he’d have you, one day… but for now he was satisfied with jerking his dick off in his office at the sweet smell of your lingering perfume. For now he was okay with imagining to throw you on his desk and fucking your brains out when you’d deliver his coffee in the mornings, his lunch in the afternoon, his dinner in the evenings… all the while staring at you from behind his computer with his dick so achingly hard he couldn’t focus on a damn thing.
All right, he wasn’t okay with it but what choice did he have? Bosses shouldn’t fuck their assistants, but damn, he couldn’t wait to break his own rule and see how easily he could make a good girl turn bad.
━━ WILL ‘IRONHEAD’ MILLER ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
LUMBERJACK! WILL ⊹₊˚
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 where you went. It was inevitable really; a pretty girl like you, wearing those pink skirts like you did, wearing those 6-inch heels like you did, wearing those tight tops like you did, in a town like this? It was really no wonder why you always got stared at.
It was just unfortunate that you were too dumb to notice that he was no better than the countless men that gawked at you, he was just better at hiding it.
You were the bosses daughter — dangerously beautiful and utterly unattainable (spoiled rotten too). You were a walking, talking Barbie in pink dresses and pretty purses; a pink, glittering ditzy princess who carelessly walked around the muddy work site in those cute heels of yours — William believed you were too beautiful to walk around in the filth.
You were the sweetest little thing he had ever met too — a butterfly in a battlefield — so giggly and cheery it drove him insane. The sound of your voice in his ears, your laugh, twinkling and sweet like sparkling water; he could only imagine how good you’d sound underneath him as he drove his cock into you nice and slow so you felt every vein, every ridge, every curve hitting that spot inside you that made you squeal.
Your father was a good man, had hired Will in a desperate time when he needed someone — something, constant. Ever since then Will had always been the best employee. He was the first hire and the only one to stay when things got tough. He put in the most hours, doing the most work, being the best lumberjack he could be for your father in repayment of his kindness. So for that reason Will had earned your father’s respect in more ways than one — for being patient, hardworking, loyal.
So sometimes Will would feel bad when he’d sneak into the bathroom after a rather short conversation with you; he’d slam the stall door closed and whip out his throbbing cock to relief some of the tension you had so dim wittingly caused.
He’d fuck his fist at the thought of you bent over the break room table he had left you at, cute mini skirt flipped up and giving him a perfect view of that pretty pussy he only prayed to see. He knew it was gorgeous, knew it’d be just as pretty as you, knew he’d be fucking addicted at the first taste.
Will was patient, level headed, a loyal worker who’d never betray your fathers trust… but he’d picture thrusting his thick fingers inside you slowly and carefully, smearing cum over your warm hole and feel your wetness drip down his palm as you begged him to go faster — a pretty pink mess all for him.
He'd imagine throwing your cute little ass against a tree and wrapping your smooth legs around his waist when he was supposed to be working, telling you to be a good girl for him as he'd grope your tits and hear your needy whimpers.
He’d hold you against him as he’d push his hard cock inside your tight little pussy once you begged him enough, listen to your gasps as he’d stretch you out in ways you’d never been stretched before. He'd be sure to cover your mouth with his calloused, work torn hands to muffle your screams, have you claw his chiseled back with those glossy pink nails of yours until he bled.
He’d make you cum around his cock as he whispered every filthy thing he could think of in your ear, hear you whine and whimper and leave bruises in the sweet spots only he got to see; your father would be down the hill confused on where the both of you had gone.
He’d squirt all over his hand and thighs once he was done, panting and hissing from the pleasure pulsing through his body. He knew you were right outside those doors too, right where he left you in the break room, sipping on an ice coffee — completely oblivious.
Will would take a long while to clean himself up after that, the guilt burrowing heavy in his tummy knowing your father’s office was right down the hall. He wouldn’t dare look in that direction, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to look your father in the eye for a good hour.
He’d walk out the bathroom as inconspicuously as possible and put his hands in his coat pockets, walk back into the break room like nothing had happened, like he didn’t want to fuck your brains out right then and there, and he’d lean against the door frame and give you the most charming, innocent smile you dotingly believed.
“Hey, darlin’.”
You’d look up from your phone startled, your tits spilling out of your pink top and the plushness of your thighs flared out on the bench. Your hair was shiny and glittery with cute hair clips on each side, your makeup done so prettily and perfectly he just wanted to ruin it. You looked so damn good Will couldn’t help but take a minute to admire you some more, his eyes running over you hotly, but too subtly for you to notice.
“Oh, hey, where did you go? You said 5 minutes…” You teasingly pouted up at him with those glossy, twinkling lips of yours like you weren’t making this hard enough as it was.
You’d giggle and smile at him — making his heart churn and dick stir. He’d be entranced by your tits jiggling as you did, covered in glittery perfume and smelling of vanilla and strawberries.
So fucking delicious.
Then you’d wrap those same lips around your pink straw and take another sip of your iced coffee.
God damn those lips of yours… Will would go in a daze at the image of you on your knees for him, your lipgloss smeared over your cheeks as you’d suck his swollen cock head into your mouth, patiently waiting for him to say you could take more. Sparkly pink lip stains marked over his dick and balls… it was his dream.
Will knew he was bigger than you too, in a lot of ways, was reminded of if every time you stood next to his hulking form in those cute heels of yours that still didn’t manage to reach him. He was a 6’0 mass of muscle and brawn, carved from brick and forged from stone and way too rough around the edges to handle a delicate thing like you — it’d be like putting a pretty flower petal in the brazen hands of a giant. He wasn’t sure he could have you and not ruin you.
But god damn he’d fucking try. He’d be so delicate and tender with you in ways he’s never been with another woman. He’d cherish every scar and blemish on your smooth skin and treat you like the princess you so clearly were. He’d kiss you from head to toe and lap at your pussy like a poor man worshipping a goddess — he’d be oh so lucky.
He was big, yes, but he promised he wouldn’t crush you. He was rough, yes, but even a pretty girl like you liked having a rough hand wrapped around her throat. You’d be a pretty pink angel wrapped in his gray cotton sheets, held between his mundane, trauma stained hands.
He was manly and burly, all flannel jackets and tree stained jeans and you were girly and feminine, all short skirts and glittering strawberry lipgloss. You two didn’t work in a conventional sense but nothing about his life or yours was conventional.
Your father was a good man and William was a good worker, the best employee, the best lumberjack. He was patient and so loyal, fully aware he was risking his livelihood by wanting you but yet he was left wanting anyway. You were too cute and bouncy and he needed you to bounce on his cock more than he needed a job.
He wanted to see you bare for him — bare in heart, mind, and soul because he knew there was more to you than meets the eye. There was more of you to discover beyond the pink masses and he wanted to be the one that discovered it, the one that you trusted enough to show it to. He wanted to see the real you bared to him in the middle of the night with the beautiful afterglow of what you two had just done shining on your skin — your most organic, happiest form.
“Ah, William, I see you’re keeping my girl company? I hope she’s not keeping you, she’s a chatterbox.” Your father laughed and smacked a hand on Will’s shoulder, suddenly popping up in the doorway like Will had conjured him with his guilt. A thud sounded from the smack and Will felt his shoulder sting, completely shaken out of his fantasy now.
He looked at your father and laughed that charming laugh — I want to fuck your daughter more than I need air to breath sir but no she’s not a problem at all.
━━ BENJAMIN ‘BENNY’ MILLER ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
BARTENDER! BENNY ⊹₊˚
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 it almost angered you. Every Saturday night the club was packed with women just hoping Benny the Bartender would look their way… it was pathetic, if you didn’t do the exact same thing.
It was routine for you, the only thing you really looked forward to in your long weeks of monotonous work and errands — Benny was new, exciting, and so fucking hot you blushed at just the mere thought of him.
He was so charming too, so good at his job by simply just existing you could see why the company had hired him. With just one dazzling smile the whole room swooned and came, even you, who so pathetically tried to act hard to get at the corner of the bar with your lonely margarita you only ever ordered — you needed to be somewhat tipsy to actually have the confidence to talk to him.
You’d wear your sexiest dresses, your cutest shoes, have your hair done pristinely and your makeup done perfectly all in hopes of Benny noticing you — you were almost ashamed that you valued his attention that much.
You’d sit by yourself, alone, at the end of the bar staring at him while he worked, staring at his face and body and just picturing him fucking you on this very bar with his snapback still on his head, his hands gripping your thighs, your hips, your tits, anywhere his greedy hands could leave their mark on.
He’d wear baseball tees and black t-shirts that clung perfectly to his abs and muscles — you even heard a rumor that he was in an underground fighting ring that gave him all those muscles and scars in the first place. The thought aroused you incredibly and you couldn’t stop from fluttering your eyes at him more than usual that night.
He seldom never wore his snapback, and while you loved seeing his full face you couldn’t deny how much you loved the nights when he left his hat at home more.
He’d have his dirty blonde hair slicked back out of his face but yet there was always that one rebelling strand that fell over his eyes when he was working… it drove you insane. And the way he’d run his fingers through his hair when he was in the middle of a busy service, the way your own hands could pull it when he was laid between your legs, nibbling on your thighs and bringing you to such an ecstasy you’ve never experienced.
He was such a natural flirt too, professional to a limit when it came to all the women fawning over him over the bar, their tits falling out of their dresses and their lips over lined with lipstick. He’d laugh that boisterous laugh of his, take shots with them like he wasn’t on the clock, and he’d charm the panties right off them and the money right out of their purses by the time he was done.
You couldn’t say you weren’t jealous.
Benny, on the other hand, was all too aware of the pretty girl at the end of the bar who never seemed to bring anyone but her credit card. He was all too aware of her pretty eyes and pretty lips and perfect set of tits in those skimpy dresses she’d always wear.
And honestly, since the first night he saw you he’s wanted you.
He’d flirt with you all the time in that southern accent of his that charmed all the ladies, but you never seemed to register it, or in other words, you never seemed to care.
You were nothing like the women he dealt with every night — you would roll your eyes when he’d tell you how happy he was to see you again, purse your lips when he complimented your makeup, and seem totally disinterested in him and whatever nonsense he had to say.
And he fucking loved it.
You didn’t fawn over him like the others girls did, you didn’t seem to buy into the whole charming bartender shtick he portrayed either. You were quiet and beautiful and sharp; you never seemed too desperate or eager for him like everyone else. Sure, he loved the attention from other women, he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t, but the fact that he never seemed to have yours made him want you even more.
He’d flirt with you whenever he got the chance to, knew your drink of choice by heart now and was always there to fill it back up when it was empty. He was attentive to your needs and he swore he could be just as attentive in other settings if you gave him the chance.
You’d just sit there in the shadows, skin flashing blue and black from the lights of the club and looking so damn fine Benny wished he could drag you into the bathroom and fuck your brains out on the door, feel the music pumping through your veins as you stuck your tongue in his mouth until all he tasted was you and liqueur.
It’d be fast and hot and he wouldn’t be able to breath in anything but you and margarita salt but it sounded perfect. His big hand wrapped around your throat as people knocked on the door like you two weren’t busy. He’d try to muffle your moans for your sake but he’d also decide he liked hearing them more. It’d be cramped and intimate and it would certainly leave him breathless but god damn that sounded like just what he needed right now.
He’d be drunk on you, the taste of you, the smell of you, the feel of you wrapped around him so tight — the mysterious girl he could never seem to break through to no matter how many times he tried. Sometimes, Benny even felt like giving up — you clearly didn’t want him like he wanted you.
But then, at some point during the night when you were two margaritas in and your eyes were starting to get hazy, he’d look over at you and you’d be giving him the hottest, most seductive look he’s ever seen. It makes his heart pound and skin prickle, his cock ache for something.
It was the kind of look where your eyelashes would flutter and you’d stare up at him with a delectable little smirk on your face, a look that screamed take me now, take me on this bar and show everyone what you’re capable of, show these other bitches you only want me.
And he fucking wished he could. It was that look that kept him going, that look that gave him hope.
And you wanted him to do just that. To leave bruises on your skin and taint your body with himself, to leave his mark on your pussy and soul and be so deep inside you you weren’t sure where his body began and your pleasure ended, just that you needed more, more, more of it.
But Benny assumed that was the game you two liked to play — to show up every Saturday night with the expectation that one of you was going to finally make a move on the other. To see who would crack first, give in to the temptation the both of you so clearly desired but neither were confident enough to admit.
Benny, the sexy bartender obsessed with the mysterious girl who barely gave him the time of day.
You, the girl at the end of the bar wishing Benny would just take the initiative and fuck her already.
And to think, Benny did want you, wanted you so fucking badly, only you. You’re the one that he even bothered to show off for anyway; flipping bottles, being quick on his feet, being better than anyone else cause he knew you were the one watching.
He made a soulful promise to both you and him that one of these nights you’re gonna give him that damned look one more time and he’s not gonna have a choice but to prove to you why you shouldn’t start things you don’t intend to finish.
━━ FRANK ‘CATFISH’ MORALES ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
STEP DAD! FRANK ⊹₊˚
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐇𝐞’𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 for a good year and a half before he met you, the young and beautiful daughter of the woman he supposedly loved.
You were grown, well, grown enough; a beautiful woman with dreams and ambitions, goals for her life that he couldn’t help but admire. But you also had this delectable snark you certainly didn’t get from your mother, an attitude that made anything remotely good about you pale in comparison — it drove him mad.
He hated to act like a father to you because he wasn’t your father — you were in your 20s anyway, it was too late for him to be anything other than Frank. He was just an older man in your life set to wed your mother, yet he really only had eyes for you, his beautiful step daughter he certainly shouldn’t be fantasizing about when he was fucking your mother.
You were bratty and mean, always rolled your eyes at him and walked off right in the middle of him talking to you; you wore those short shorts he despised (loved more than he should have) and those dresses that clung just a little too tight to your body for his liking. You were disobedient and rude, but so fucking sexy he was left torn between his desires and morals.
You never cared what he had to say about anything, never bothered to listen to his rules, and never bothered to wear some god damn house appropriate shorts that didn’t shove your round ass into his face every time he walked past you.
He imagined bending you over his knee and pulling your shorts off you, gently sliding your pink panties down your thighs, then spanking your ass, hard, like the disobedient brat you were until his handprints were etched into your skin, until you were sniffling and moaning for him to stop, until you had finally learned some respect.
He wondered if you’d get wet from that simple act alone: maybe your childish attitude was all a front, an act, to really piss him off to his limits and see how far you could push him until he broke. Maybe you wanted to be punished by him, be spanked raw, be fucked hard, until tears were streaming in your pretty little eyes and you were sobbing your apologizes to him instead of running your mouth.
As a matter of fact he should do just that; with all the times you’d “accidentally” leave the door open when you were showering and your mother had gone shopping, just you and Frank and the sizzling tension between you left to fend for itself. He was a gentleman at heart but no man could deny the allure of such a pretty body like yours covered in water.
He should shove your face into his pillow and fuck you from behind so you didn’t have to see his face like he knew you’d want to. He’d hold your hands behind your back and pound you until you cried for him to stop, to go faster, that it hurts, but you fucking wanted more.
You’d probably be a squirter too, all mean girls like you were when they got stripped down to the bare parts of themselves, where they couldn’t hide behind their own insolence and were touched by the experienced hands of an older man.
Frank was a patient man, a very patient man. It took a lot to drive him over the edge but yet you always seemed to know just what to say and just what to do to really push his buttons.
Your bedroom door wide open as you changed out of your bra, your perky tits all smooth and round for him to ogle at through the hallway, your music blasting through the whole house when he was trying to get some god damn sleep, bringing over your stupid little boyfriends into his house and letting them fuck you under his roof — it was all reason enough for him to punish you.
And no, Frank wasn’t jealous. He was a grown man, what did he have to be jealous about? He wasn’t jealous when he’d hear your moans sound through the whole house, the headboard banging on the wall, the giggles you’d try to hide as you’d walk them out the door. It was pathetic. Those boys could never fuck you like he could and he knew it. He was not jealous.
You were a bad girl, a naughty girl, and he didn’t like pretty little girls who thought they knew better than him.
You never showed him any gratitude, or appreciation for taking you and your mother in when he didn’t have to, you never thanked him when he made you a hot meal, and you never listened when he’d say put gas back in my car if you use it.
He basically let you do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. There was no structure, no rhyme or reason to anything you did and he’d be damned if he was going to let a spoiled brat like you make his life any harder than it needed to be.
Your mother was an angel, all kisses and kind words and that’s why he loved her in the first place. He had plans to marry her and live a great life with her. Even when she mentioned a daughter Frank didn’t worry, he imagined an adorable little toddler with big doe eyes and a kind heart just like her mother. But then he met you, and you were no kid, and you were certainly no fucking angel.
You were a soul sucking succubus sent from the depths of hell to tempt him, to make him fail yet another marriage. You were young and he knew it was wrong to despise you yet simultaneously want you so fucking badly. He wanted you out of his house, but he also wanted you on your knees and gagging around his cock. He wanted you to shut up for once, but he also wanted you to scream his name until the neighbors knew it.
It was certainly complicated and contradicting, and with his wedding on the way he really didn’t need anything going wrong. But, he figured, if he married your mother at least he would always be around to keep you in line, right?
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ dark knight!joker x fem!reader ♡
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒔 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ suggestive content, mature content, reader is spoiled but not a brat, reader isn’t necessarily a good person, joker is lowkey your sugar daddy, inner turmoil and lowkey delusions, joker being manipulative ♡
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ slight dark content, a lot of emotional turmoil with reader, lowkey brainwashed reader ♡
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒂 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒔 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ this is actually like my fav. Joker, I miss him 😞 hope you enjoy ♡ also, this isn’t my best merged gif but I haven’t done one since my wattpad days 😫 2017 era 🕺🏻 Sorry this has no smut in it, but this is my first joker fic so I wanted to do something tame. I’m not sure how I would approach writing smut for him 😭 he cray cray. I do like this idea though so I’ll probably expand on it somewhere down the line. ♡
ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ♡ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍. This was a fact constantly paraded around your face everywhere you went in Gotham City. It was in the front pages of newspapers most often, written in big, black, bold letters that the bad man had struck again. Murder, ruination, destruction, robbery, devil — all synonymous with his name, all written in big, black, bold letters.
It would be written in the same newspapers, more often than not, that were shoved into dingy trash cans and sold at corner stores. A big gray photo of his mugshot plastered right onto the front page of the neatly rolled up papers thrown onto your porch every morning. His face was easily distinguishable and it always made you shiver when you saw it; soulless black eyes topped with a frazzled hair of green.
It was televised in the local breaking news segments almost every day on the hour, when you’d be sitting at your glass table drinking your morning coffee, wearing that grand red robe that was much more expensive than necessary. It was always the same story; the bad man has stolen millions from another major bank and has somehow gotten away with it, whatever will Gordon do?
The joker. His face, those beaming crimson lips, they were plastered on the tabloids and the front pages of magazines and painted across the wanted posters that hung on every light pole installed on every block in the grandest city of grime.
He was everywhere you seemed to be, watching, smiling, plotting. His scarred face a shadow in the back of your mind and his maniacal laugh an echo that lingered behind your every thought.
He was in every reflection and sprinkled around every corner; the yellow tape wrapped around the ruins of a building, the joker playing cards mockingly laid out in the street brushing past you in the soft breeze, the eery quiet after nightfall and the laugh dancing in the empty streets everyone pretends to not notice.
He was like a ghost, your own personal demon you couldn’t just brush to the side and ignore. His presence was constant and persistent even when he wasn’t there, gnawing at your sanity like a feral dog thin and hungry, the memory of his smile found in the cold corners of your house and his sourly sweet musk soaked into every pore of your polished home. His very existence haunted you, as you were sure he intended.
No matter the source the message was always profoundly clear to you; you could never escape him.
You belonged to him in his own possessively twisted way you could never rationalize with a sound mind. You were his and he loved to entertain that notion in front of you as often as he could. He had spared your life that night in a carefully orchestrated plot to ensnare you, wrap you in his shadow and keep you tucked away in the dark.
You were his.
Yes, That was a fact that blared in your mind as loud and as simple as big, black, bold letters.
You were his.
Today was a dreaded day for you for one fatal reason and one reason alone. Today was the first of November, a very dreaded day you had found yourself dreading to face during the whole length of October.
With every beginning of a new month he would take it upon himself to visit you, invite himself into your life once more and disrupt any kind of routine uniformity you had developed. He’d come just to remind you of who exactly you belonged to, of who exactly gave you this life to begin with.
Of course, you would see him sparingly throughout the month when he’d come check up on you unannounced — it was really just a ploy to make sure you were sat put and not planning anything devious behind his back. Those moments were short and brief, sporadic and sometimes only ever occurring thrice within a thirty day period. Those moments were manageable.
He was a busy man he’d always say, too busy to attend to you and your whims.
But now it was the first of the month, the beginning of the month. He reserved those days especially for you, to give you his undivided attention and to ensure you’re properly reminded of your place. Today, Joker was going to come to your door once more with the expectation of you catering to his delusion, with the intention of being with you in every sense of the word.
You had found yourself lingering in bed later than usual, being sure to keep the television off to avoid yet another news story on the man you were going to see later on in the evening anyway.
You had avoided going outside, avoided any newspapers or magazines, completely disrupting your normal ritual in order to remain sane at the expectation of what was to occur later on. You didn’t want to see his face, it only served as a heinous reminder of what your life had become; long fragmented strings orchestrated under his wicked, purple gloved fingers.
You had just sat in your living room for the majority of the afternoon in a sweet green dress with a glass of white wine, reading a thick, verbose book you had no real interest in finishing. It might’ve been a dictionary, but you couldn’t focus on the words anyway to know, your eyes just blindly running over blurs of black ink and dwindling for several long minutes on the same page.
Your fingers trembled and you couldn’t help but gnaw on your bottom lip until it was sore, your wine glass constantly refilled and your throat consistently dry.
A part of you hoped that if you drank enough wine you’d be too tipsy to properly remember your night with him; your efforts were pointless and had been for quite some time. Sadly, your tolerance had heightened many moons ago when you found yourself starting to drink more to abide the anxious time you sat waiting, waiting for him.
These were the tell tale signs of your foreboding nervousness, all attempts of futile idle work to distract yourself from looking at the clock overhead your television.
It was a big flat screen, your fancy television was, with the best surround sound and 4K picture any tv on the market could offer. It was unnecessary and cruelly gratuitous — another flashy thing thrown your away to appease you when all it did was take up space. But, you supposed, it’d be selfish to complain.
As with the tv almost everything in your household had been given to you unmerited by the Joker himself; the diamonds, the fancy silver, the lavish fabrics and the fine jewelry. It was all luxuries you used to admire, now they were nothing but blood money to you. They were all one in the same, all tainted with some sort of sin or another he had committed to get them for you in the first place. You really couldn’t stand to be surrounded by them, to be surrounded by the filth.
But, you supposed once more, it wasn’t necessarily unmerited.
If you were really being honest with yourself he had spoiled you, or better put, he had fooled you. He had dangled all the riches and glamour you could’ve ever wanted over your starved, gaping mouth like a chunk of red meat.
You had been skin and bones before him, suffering, discarded to the side of the road like a diseased dog nobody wanted and he had used that to his full advantage, dangling that chunk of meat in front of your face as a faulty promise to ensnare you in his steel trap.
In your old life — that’s what you liked to call it anyway — before him, you were never able to dwell on superficial things like beauty or fashion. They had no place with you then, no substance, as your life was nothing but a dirty stain smeared in the smallest corner of Gotham that would easily tarnish such superficial things. It was a disastrous life held together by the withered scraps of a run down waitressing job.
You had been poor, incredibly so, hungry for the comfort and wealth you’d only ever see dripping off the fancy ladies you’d serve gin and tonics to in their lavish fur coats and shoes.
You were envious of them, angry, easily able to be coerced into any solution that could fix those feelings.
He had viewed your vulnerability as an opportunity, a moment he couldn’t let pass. He had manipulated you with the hollow promises of a magical land full of diamonds and rubies, one in which you’d never be hurt or forgotten about, one in which you’d get everything you ever desired and all your worries would bleed away, one in which you’d look even better than the ladies you’d serve gin and tonics to with their lavish fur coats and shoes.
You had salivated at the thought.
He knew you had been deprived for so long, deprived of love and care, of the warmth and intimacy only a real home could provide. You had missed that sense of belonging, of purpose, and he knew that in the way he selflessly fed to your greedy jaws of want — you wanted it all. He had shown up like a savior adorned in a purple cloak and green hair, coming to your aid. And despite the terrible rumors you had heard about him, the abominable things you’d seen, you had truly thought he was so for a while.
He had saw your famine, your insatiable appetite, and had raised you prosperity, an abundance of all the food, the money, you could ever want. If only you had seen that his promises were just carefully coated secrets to disguise his true intent, a bountiful paradise concealing the sinister hellscape underneath it.
It all seemed like a dream come true at the time. You had ate the scraps of luxury right out of his purple clothed palm and it wasn’t long before you had realized that you’d ate too much; you’d been spoiled by him, fooled by him, so familiar in the unconventional relationship you had found within him now to ever regret doing so.
You could never go back to your old life now and you knew it, he knew it. You could never go back to the dark, to the sick, to the cruelty of the real world outside of your selfishly curated paradise abundant with food, with money, more than you’d ever had in the accumulation of your whole existence. He had trained you well, fed you so much your teeth were rotten and your belly was full.
If only you had known that there was a price, a trick, before you ever agreed to his terms. If only you had read the fine print in the contract, for there was always a price to pay, a trick up their sleeve, when it came to the matters of a clown.
Yes, you were to be given everything you ever wanted, all the money, the clothes, the makeup, the jewelry, everything, but only in exchange for just one little thing.
Your devotion.
Your devotion to him and to him alone and to only ever him.
It seems meager of course, insignificant and small compared to what you were getting in return.
But no, no you see, because there was so much more to it as there always was to a slippery, two-sided promise. He wanted everything in return for giving you everything in the first place. He wanted your loyalty, your trust, your morals, your essence and your very soul. You were rich in the material sense while he was wealthy in a morbidly different fashion entirely.
He had saved you from the street, gave you food, gave you comfort, gave you a home, and just like a dog you had been blinded by his compassion, too blinded by the glitz and the glamour of his castle to notice the cracks in it’s foundation.
He had saved you, fed you, comforted you, clothed you, his loyal pet, bound to his side forever now with a diamond studded collar, your leash tied to the sinister intricacies of his pale hands.
Now, now you were his in all of your totality, a helplessly devoted, hypocritical bitch dressed up in blood-stained diamonds.
There was no saving you now. You were too far gone, too spoiled by him to ever give up your riches for sanity’s sake. He had filled you with that sense of belonging you desperately craved, your existence catered to him and his needs in exchange for a modicum of companionship.
As time went on you had come to loath your two story home and its white walls, its glass tables and expensive vases, its flower ridden garden and its white oak gazebo. It was too extravagant now, each shiny object digging a hole further in the hollow of your chest where your morals were supposed to be. Now it was all material, all superficial, all things given to appease you yet they only took up space.
But, you supposed for a third time, you could never give it up and go back to the way things were. Yes, you hated this house and its white washed walls that seemed to expand and swallow you whole, digesting your cowardice and greed, but you loved that it was all yours and no one else’s, you loved that he spoiled you and only you and you alone, that in a weird, twisted way you had his devotion just as he had yours.
You hated him and all his complexities yet you needed his company and praise. You were a poor, desolate creature lapping up any semblance of gold and care he spared you. Sometimes you’d wonder if there was better for you outside of your white-walled prison, but then he’d stroke your hair and call you a good girl and you’d wag your tail like it was all forgiven, like you were foolish for even thinking such a thought in the first place.
Yes, you were just as you said, a helplessly devoted, hypocritical, bitch.
You filled your wine glass up once more once the sky had settled into a sheer blue hue, the yellow tainted liquid filled to the edge of the glass as you looked at the clock pasted on the white wall over your fancy television with the fancy surround sound and the fancy 4K picture.
You took a heavy sip of dreaded excitement as the clock struck seven.
He’d be here any minute now.
“So, how ya been, honey? After all it’s been a month since the last time I saw you. I was starting to miss you, ya know. Miss ya real bad. Miss that pretty little smile on that pretty little face…” He drawled out slowly in that scratchy tone of his, his voice gritty and raw, fragmented.
You swallowed nervously as his fingers delicately traced over the skin of your cheek from where he stood in front of you, his black painted eyes looking up at you from the bridge of his nose.
He was hunched over in front of you in the stillness of your living room, amidst the white, both of you stood by the red couch yet he was taller than you as always, clad in his signature purple suit and gloves to match — they were soft on your cheek in the fleeting touch he spared them.
You looked back at him with a measly gaze, breath trembled with the subconscious fear you got whenever he was too close to you. His aura was palpable and dark, and with his irritable tendency to step into your personal space it seemed to swallow you whole and make you uncomfortable (not that he really cared). But you also guessed that if you belonged to him trivial things such as boundaries didn’t really apply.
On the other hand, you couldn’t deny that your body wantonly sought out his whenever it sensed him near — the flutter in your tummy, the tightness in your legs and the excited buzzing in your hands. It was an irritating betrayal to your logical mind, who knew wanting him was wrong yet was left wanting anyway.
You had been steadily convincing yourself it was just the symptoms of Stockholm syndrome, but you were not kidnapped and he was no captor… well, in the literal sense of the word. But, maybe that’s exactly what this was; you doubted he’d ever let you leave him anyway. Unfortunately, you knew your affections weren’t as simple as black and white. Really, your feelings for him were a puzzling paradox locked in a spinning box better left unopened, lost somewhere in the dark abysses of your mind better left unexplored.
You inhaled a soft breath, blinking up at him as time, in your altered perception, seemed to stretch and bend into a warped mirage of endless minutes and infinite seconds as you found yourself lost in your own thoughts, the smell of him tickling your nose pleasantly.
He smelt of smoke and something sickly sweet, scents that reminded you of cane sugar and the residue of a house fire. His hair was stringy and green, slicked back away from his messily painted white face that seemed to bore into yours.
Your body was tense, back straight and chin up, your arms sternly at your sides as you were too perturbed to know what to do with them. You were awkward, more than usual, having not seem him in an uncharacteristically long time. You had forgotten what pleasantries you used to rely on when he was around, any automated responses you were comfortable with using lost in the fluffiness of the clouds where you’d never find them again.
You were clueless as to what to say, not wanting to give in to this odd domesticity he was portraying and actually be nice to him, but you also didn’t want to risk it and be rude either. He was an unpredictable creature at nature, confounding and bipolar so it took very little for his switch to flip completely. You’ve witnessed that first hand and it made you incredibly wary.
Joker hummed at you then, blank eyes staring at you expectantly when a few moments of silence passed following his question — you hadn’t really paid attention, his touch leaving you stunned and his fragrance leaving you questioning. He rolled his eyes at you, big hand curling into a fist and playfully knocking at your forehead.
You grimaced at the feeling, body jolting from his touch ever so subtly as his dark voice rasped in your ears once more.
“Uh, hello, anybody home? I asked you a question, it’d be rude not to answer it. You have better manners than that, my dear. Go on, tell me, I’m curious now…” You watched as his tongue quickly flickered out in that weird way it always did, his jaw clicking in the blink of an eye. It was a tick you had noticed fairly quickly after meeting him. He couldn’t help it but it disturbed you nonetheless, an ode to his insanity.
You swallowed the dryness in your throat, head feeling fuzzy as you blinked up at him.
He looked at you with straight lips and bored eyes, already expecting a response you were late saying.
“I-um, I’m sorry I was just distracted. I’m fine, thank you for asking. Nothing new has-has really gone on…” You cleared your throat, releasing a steady breath to calm your buzzing nerves. You looked up at him sheepishly, timidly, as he regarded you clinically, like a surgeon trying to dissect a lie.
You could understand his vexation; you yourself were gradually becoming irritated at your lack of attentiveness. Maybe it was because you hadn’t seen him in so long that was throwing you off balance… or maybe because he seemed much handsomer now than he did then. Maybe your loneliness was making him seem much more appealing than he ever was.
Whatever the case may be, you still felt delightfully anxious, a bubbly sick feeling in your tummy that was oddly giddy yet nervous, like you were talking to your crush for the first time. You hated that feeling but could do nothing to deter it.
He smacked his red painted lips, a low displeased hum sounding from the back of his throat, “Mm, distracted, you say? And what are these… distractions, hmm?” His voice was low and clipped, cocking his head at you as he leaned just a little bit closer to you. It was almost a dare to see if you’d avoid the question altogether, his shadow enveloping you in an ironically terrifying way the back of your mind cringed at.
You were unsure of what to say exactly, crippled under his dark gaze and frowned smile as he stared down at you heatedly. His eyes were always so intense and smoldering despite seemingly holding nothing at the same time, blank and emotionless beads sat in the emptiness of inky black pits.
Your lips parted but no words seemed to sound; you were lost entirely in the ebony abyss of his eyes, not sure what to say or how to respond as you were just spewing sentences you yourself barely understood. You were just too busy talking to appease him that you didn’t even listen to a word you said.
“Well, tik tok dearest I don’t have all night.” Joker said numbly, gravelly, staring at you almost irritably for your odd behavior.
Even he seemed to notice your sudden shyness and it was starting to irritate him; you never seemed to have this problem before nor did you ever seem so agreeable. He was greatly familiar with your rude quips and pessimistic sarcasm yet he hadn’t heard a single one out of your mouth tonight.
How odd, not that he was complaining. He preferred you compliant, malleable.
You gulped once more, your gaze flickering down to his flattened red lips then back up to his eyes, hopefully before he noticed the action.
You looked back at him, clearly nervous for no evident reason, “Well I was just thinking about the last time I saw you. It has been a while…” You managed to formulate a legible excuse, voice soft and almost dainty as you looked up at him doe eyed.
You licked your dry lips as you regarded his expression to your statement; it seemed your words flowed easily from the whispers of the heart, ones you weren’t especially keen on sharing yet seemed to share anyway. They just seemed to have spoken themselves before you could stop them… he was just too close, much too close, it was fogging up your ability to think rationally.
His eyes seemed to register your words, brow flicking subtly in interest like you’d caught him off guard — you most likely did as you yourself weren’t even prepared to hear what you just said either.
He stared over your face heatedly, eyes an inky black, prodding with amusement and curiosity yet he just seemed to stare at you. The air shifted then, warmer now, more suffocating, as you felt your heart start to race at the close proximity and eye contact.
You could feel yourself start to panic slightly at the unexpected moment of intimacy you hadn’t meant to initiate, but you were also curious as to what he would say… maybe he’d surprise you. As you said, he was conclusively unpredictable and erratic, always leaving you guessing. Maybe he’d say something a part of you wanted to hear.
He was tall and narrow in the white expanse of your living room, a dark purple blotch stained on cream colored sheets, so out of place and vaguely threatening it made the air feel thick and smothering. You were finding it hard to think clearly with him this close to you, smelling like he did with his proper purple suit and shiny black shoes.
He was more polished today than usual, not so unruly and scraggly as he usually was… you could even make out the muscle sculpted underneath the confines of his purple suit and the way it tailored to his size perfectly and complimentary.
Maybe he tried to look good for you. Maybe just this once.
You couldn’t dwell on that thought however at the sound of Joker’s voice snatching your attention once more.
He seemed to have found your response funny, letting out a wheezy laugh as his smile seemed to stretch across his scarred face for eons. You were too tense to laugh, watching as he did instead, standing idly by in confusion on what could’ve revoked that kind of response out of him (perhaps even slightly offended that he would dare laugh at your showcased vulnerability).
But, you also knew trying to make sense of the Joker’s actions was entirely asinine. His whole being, his whole existence, was made to be senseless and absurd. You’d have to be his crazy to understand his crazy, a level you weren’t quite ready for.
He finally looked at you after his giggles transpired, regarding you with amused eyes and a wide smile.
“Ahh, so what you’re really saying is, you missed me?” He grinned, cocking his head at you animatedly, his yellow stained teeth bright in the dark expanse of his mouth.
You didn’t reply, too stunned he would say such a thing and too frightened by the pumping in your chest and the words caught in your throat. He was bold, brave even, for saying such a heavy thing so simply. You eyed him astounded, opting with your shaky silence as a reply instead.
Joker scoffed at you, rolling his eyes dramatically once more, “Well go on, tell me. Tell me you missed me, say it. It’s not good to, uh, lie to ourselves, is it? Honesty is, and always will be, the best policy.” He grinned sarcastically, his warm hands flinging around his face in a dramatic gesture to emphasize his words, his arms long and not too muscular, adequately thin and yet still capable.
He chuckled darkly, handsomely, now eyeing you in a twisted fashion much different than you did; he wanted to hear you say it, tell him, confess to him, submit to him. And it gave him no greater pleasure than breaking you down to crumbs in his palms… his to use as he pleases and his to do whatever with as he pleases.
But, on this specific matter, he just wanted to hear you say it. He was fully aware of how much of a struggle it would be for you to do so, finding sadistic pleasure in your obvious discomfort.
You gulped again as agnostic revelations pulled at your weak heart once more… had you missed him? Maybe you did, but maybe only in the sense that isolation made you desperate for any form of contact, maybe only in the sense that loneliness made you crave connection. Sure, you’d say you missed him, you’d say you missed him the same way seclusion made you miss anybody, the same way an uprooted flower would miss its green pastures.
However, had you missed him specifically? To be honest, you didn’t want to dig too hard for the answer, entirely too afraid you’d unearth the truth you purposefully buried deep in the dirt a long time ago. Your mind was fragile enough already, deteriorating slowly and gradually the longer you denied and embraced your oddly infatuated companionship with the man in front of you.
You were sure that if you epiphanized to any serious truths you werent sure you wanted to admit your mind would atrophy into a numb, lifeless thing hanging onto the remembrance of Jokers smiling face, left rotting with the harsh witness marks of his perverse adoration.
You blinked at him, mouth going dry and fingertips pulsing as you mumbled out what you only could, “Maybe I did…”
Yes, still the truth — enough so as to satisfy him — but not the whole truth you wouldn’t dare say out loud, not even in the uncertainty of your mind where Joker lurked in the darkest and brightest corners of, easily susceptible to your every thought and feeling.
You couldn’t take that risk of him knowing you inside and out. You needed at least something to yourself, something not shared with him even if it was your own darkest thoughts and desires.
Joker hummed delightfully at your response, giddy at your honesty and the way it made his stomach flutter with black-winged bats.
His eyes closed shut and he seemed to burst into a fit of elated giggles that had his foot stomping on the ground. He covered his mouth with his hand and laughed, laughed so much it disturbed you yet you found yourself blushing anyway.
How pathetic could you be? So enamored with the same man you loathed entirely.
Joker seemed to gather his wits after a moment, a grin still on his white face as he approached you once more, but this time much, much closer than before.
“Oh, oh isn’t that just sweet. You missed me, did you? That’s just what I wanted to hear.” He almost growled possessively, his limber arms quickly wrapping around the lower curve of your waist, hastily pulling you into his sturdy chest with a delectable purring noise that shook through his ribs and reverberated onto the palms of your hands.
Your own breath escaped you in a gasp as your hands smacked into him, breathless and shocked at the sudden contact and closeness. You were quite unprepared for this, your heart racing in your ears and your breaths warm and heavy from such close contact after not having any for so long.
As soon as you touched him and he touched you it felt like something inside of you burst, flooded your internal systems with a need so violent you couldn’t pull away no matter how much your frail mind told you to do so.
You welcomed the embrace naturally, disregarding any logical thought as a soft exhale left your shaky lips. Over time you had learned to smother out your inner sagacity until it was just a dull ache in the back of your skull you could easily ignore.
You welcomed the warmth of his chest and the feel of his foreign embrace, enjoyed it even after a month of not a single touch or sound from another human. You really were so brainwashed beyond your own understanding. You sought him out yet desperately wanted to resist him; you wanted him to hold you and appease you yet you wanted him to leave, leave forever and never come back.
Still, you found yourself melting into him against your volition with a stuttering breath, muscles tense as you still considered letting go but knowing you weren’t going to. You felt comforted and safe in the absence of space between your bodies, something contradictory and confusing as he was very, very dangerous and most likely bound to hurt you with any wrong move you made in your shared future.
You were still sane enough to acknowledge at least that…
Again, you smothered that flame of rationality burning in the back of your head and didn’t bother denying him, mind going blank and empty as your manicured fingers tightened around the folds of his jacket. You exhaled with a soft tremble on your breath, slowly looked up at him with parted lips and darkened eyes.
He looked down at you all the same, eyes delectable and merry yet with carefully concealed undertones of something darker, something evil that resounded brightly in the darkness of his eyes. Maybe a flame of his own he was embracing rather than ignoring, something more sinisterly amatory you didn’t dare question any further as he went to lay his down on your shoulder.
“Ahhh, you smell sweet. Deliciously sweet. You wear perfume just for me? Aren’t you a doll.” He chuckled huskily at his own statement, voice muffled and gravelly like stones on rough pavement. He set his head into the crook of your neck, his cold cheek resting on the warmth of your shoulder.
His two hands were snug around your midsection, fingers digging into your skin sharply like you would dare push him away and run out the door. He couldn’t ever let that happen. He needed you here, with him, could never imagine you running away unless you wanted the city to drown in its own blood.
He’d find you of course. He’d always find you even if it meant burning the whole world to do it.
You swallowed thickly as his fingers tightened on you, looking at the plain wall behind him as your hands dug into the velvety fabric of his coat.
This position was oddly intimate yet very much appreciated. He was always a touchy man, never bothered keeping his hands to himself but they were mostly just meaningless touches, touches meant to annoy and distract you, not sweet embraces meant to console you and romance you.
You felt his warm breath caress your neck as a beat of silence passed, buzzing in your ears with the sound of your breaths. It was ticklish and gentle, a pleasant low hum sounding soon after.
You couldn’t help the goosebumps that rose on your skin from the purposeless action, your eyelids fluttering at the pleasant sensation as he breathed once more.
You were completely shrouded in him now; his sickly sweet scent, his hair tickling your jaw, his strong arms wrapped around you, his raggedy breaths soothing the skin of your neck. It was all overwhelming and all encompassing on your senses. All you could feel was him, see him, smell him… it was making your mind drown in its own deranged splendor as thoughts of wisdom and logic seemed to wither away into ash and smoke.
A cruel metaphor simply portrayed for how similar it was to your own real life. Shrouded by him. Controlled by him. All him and only him.
You could feel your sanity literally slipping away from you the longer you tried to rationalize the hunger biting at your stomach. You could feel it sliding down your body and melting at your heels like you were in the dawn of a new age, shedding old skin and starting anew; a catharsis of your own lunacy as you found yourself craving him to be closer, to hold you tighter, to meld himself as one with you so you’d never have to be alone again.
Another beat of silence passed before you spoke once more, something your mind didn’t want to register but your heart seemed eager to scream.
“I wanted to look good for you.” You mumbled quietly in the small space between his ear and your pink painted lips, eyes flickering down to his green hair then back to the wall as the whiteness of it seemed to blur around you so all you could focus on was him, your savior, your capturer, your most abominable admirer; your nightmare living in a daydream.
You don’t know what made you say it, what made you whisper it into the absence of noise, but maybe it was the way he held you against him like he didn’t want to let you go. Maybe it was the way he hummed lowly on the skin of your shoulder pleasantly and soundly, content to stand with you in the center of your white living room and be the only source of comfort and color you could ever have again.
Perhaps it was the sense of belonging you always craved and now felt in the warm crevice between his arms that made you confess it, of that same sense of purpose he had promised you all those months ago.
“Did you now? For me? Well aren’t you a darling.” Joker hissed the word into your cheek, wet lips rubbing against your skin as he picked his head back up upon hearing your voice.
Your eyes closed momentarily at the feel of his lips on you, a burst of tingly sparks pulsing through your entire left side as neediness crept into your palms. You held him tighter when he seperated his head from you, not wanting him to go now, wishing for him to stay, to keep holding you and to never release you into the cavern of cold that was your soulless living room.
His hands stayed where they were much to your enjoyment, his broad chest still pressed against yours as he looked down at you with a dead yet pleasantly satisfied expression. You had been with him long enough to identify the subtle cues in his rather stagnant facial quirks.
He smacked his red lips, releasing a gravelly hum once more as he cocked his head at you. Observing the way you looked up at him with so much… devotion.
It was written all over your face in bold black marker, eyes glistening with vehement devotement that made a wheezy chuckle bubble in his scratchy throat.
He felt ecstatic, warm fuzzy feelings he didn’t know the word for swirling around in his empty stomach and clearing away any cob web stuck to his dark heart.
Yes, yes you were his and you’d always be his no matter what you had to say on the matter. He had decided it a long time ago and will enforce it for the rest of the many lives you’ll suffer through together.
Your head felt fuzzy, eyes heavy and breaths low and lagged as you stared up at him earnestly. You could feel the arousal pulling at your gut, the admiration stirring in your heart as you looked up at him. He was handsome, so handsome even with the scars, even with the paint, even with the villainous degeneracy hidden under the scarred flesh.
You had him, you had him almost as entirely as he had you and you knew it, he knew it… but you could never say it out loud because you fear the repercussions if you ever did. If you ever completely, entirely, unconditionally gave yourself to him in every sense of the word. But, to your dismay, or to your satisfaction, you already did in a lot of ways.
However, admitting it, fundamentally giving yourself to him, you knew that would be the last straw for your dwindling sanity. You were already so severely fragmented, stained with so many cracks and blemishes that just a simple touch would shatter you.
Your mind was all you had left, all that was left of value. Everything else belonged to him. Your soul, your body, your life. But it was really hard to focus on such noble things when he was this close to you; a handsome, devious, shadow glooming over your light and dimming it completely, smelling the way he did and looking at you the way he did with this peculiar act of tenderness.
It did nothing but aid your arousal further, his hard yet gentle touches and intense yet glittering eyes.
Joker regarded you intensely, his own morbid admiration for you leaking through his palms as his left hand started to glide up the curves of your body slowly and meticulously.
He slid it around your waist, his eyes following the motion to gawk at every dip and curve he touched that was masked by your pale green dress. His finger tips pressed into your skin, into your stomach as his palm stretched upwards, feeling you like it was the for the first time, like it was solely done to tease you.
The tingling sensation pulsing through your thighs, tingling pleasurably on your skin underneath his eager hand, it all made your breaths quicken and pulse jump. You stared at him lustfully now, submitting to your own delusion as you found yourself wanting him. Strongly.
Eventually his hand made it to the valley of your breasts but he made no extra moves to touch them directly as he would in the past. He was abnormally patient, not so frantic with his touches almost like he was calculating them, so unlike his usual nature.
His eyes looked at the areas of your chest he didn’t touch though, heavy and dark, stirring with a lust of his own just as intense and passionate as yours as his thumb grazed the skin of your left breast.
Your breath stopped for a moment, eyes boring into his face even though he didn’t look back at you, eager to see what he’d do next. There was a small, very minuscule part of your brain utterly disgusted with yourself for wanting his bloodstained hands on you in the first place.
You did not listen to it, core hot and clenching around nothing as you stared at him, hyper aware of his hand smoothly sliding up your neck now.
A very vulnerable place, exposed to the unforgiving grip of his palm if he so chose to squeeze the life out of you. You didn’t stop him even as that thought crossed your mind, too hypnotized by his essence and touch to deny yourself the luxury of feeling it.
He looked at your face then, black, hungry eyes flickering up to yours as his fingers wrapped around your jaw and pressed harshly into the fat of your cheeks.
You inhaled sharply at the sting, letting out a hiss as your cheeks dug into your teeth.
Still, you found pleasure in the brutality of his touch, fingers digging into his coat so hard the tips of them burned as you stared back boldly into his starved, manic eyes ablaze with something dangerous and predatory.
You felt something similar sitting heavy in the pit of your gut, something untamed and primal that needed him inside you as importantly as you needed food to eat. It was fierce and wild, striking roughly under your skin like whips and rattling like chains for a taste of what only he could give you.
He forced your head back with a gentle push on your cheeks, eyes crackling with the fervor of a black flame as he inched forward… forward… forward, until his scarred mouth was right above your parted lips and his straight nose was tapping against yours.
You breathed heavily now at such close quarters, so pent up and overstimulated you were confused on whether you wanted him or utterly hated him. But with a need so intense it stung your core and shook your soul, with your stomach so tightly wound together and aching, with the space between your thighs pulsing and dripping for something to appease it, you regretfully, indubitably knew your answer.
He was your answer, him and his skilled, frazzled hands and forked tongue; the serpent tempting you to corruption, to rid yourself of any semblance of innocence you had left.
It was the loneliness you told yourself, the loneliness that made you feel such a way for him. Although, it wasn’t loneliness that made you stare up at him like a horny, doting slave bound to his every wish and desire. You made that choice all on your own.
“You know… I always wonder how I found such a sweet thing like you. So lost, so pathetic. I almost pitied you, really I did…” He grunted lowly, voice a gravely, manic hiss that had your skin crawling pleasurably.
You didn’t dare look away from his gaze as his fingers tightened on your cheeks, not even finding yourself capable of being insulted by his words. You were too enraptured by the rasp in his voice, by the way he stared so intensely at you with equal fervor.
He shook your face for emphasis, your cheeks digging into the ridges of your teeth so hard it stung but you made no move to protect yourself.
The pain only soothed you, made you wetter, only made you more greedy for him and his hands, for the sweet release of pain and pleasure only he could bring you. The pain made you feel something, something other than boredom and guilt these white walls seemed to torture you with, something other than self loathing you seemed to be haunted with.
He was the one that made you feel. He was the one that made you feel like you were still living at all, he was the one that made you feel alive.
He looked over your face intensely, as though inquisitively looking for something beyond it. Picking and prodding at the scattered pieces of your brain for something you didn’t know. His jaw was clenched as he dug his fingers harder into your cheeks, holding your face sternly so you couldn’t do anything but look back at him.
You winced at the pressure, yet your thighs pulsed and fingers tensed for more as your gaze bore into his with sparkling, edacious irises.
“But now I got’cha, don’t I? I have you and you belong to me, isn’t that right, honey? Go on, I want you to say it. Say it now…”
You nodded your head barely in acceptance, eyes glued to him as heavy breathed escaped your lips. You were stuck on him, stuck on the sound of his voice and entirely fixated on his words no matter how deluded they sounded.
“Say it!” He demanded with a rough, agitated voice, tone impatient and thunderous with his demeanor suddenly hostile. He thrashed your face back so hard you yelped.
“Ah! Yes, yes, I belong to you.” You repeated as instructed through clenched teeth, staring up at him with fear blown eyes. He seemed to like your answer as the tight grip around your cheeks dulled slightly.
You panted as the sting throbbed in your cheeks, eyes blown wide and teeth clenched yet you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. He looked crazy but smelt so good, acted like a lunatic but maybe only because he was crazy about you. Crazy about you and only you as his reciprocated feelings seemed to be affecting you the same.
You watched him grin then, something insane and diabolical as giggles erupted from the base of his throat once more.
“Yes, you’re mine. Mine, mine, mine, all mine!” He laughed, jiggling your face in his grip as his mouth fell wide open and his scars seemed to stretch and move in the motion of a crazed smile.
You didn’t laugh with him — you never laughed with him — just stared at him with a newfound fright and even brighter yearning, a yearning so powerful that all you could do was stare at his vermilion lips and the jagged scars cut into either side of them.
Once upon a time you heavily disliked them, was rather perturbed by his disfigurement but now… now they didn’t scare you for he wouldn’t be him without them, those same scars that haunted your dreams yet you couldn’t stop fantasizing about.
Joker’s crazed laughter died down after a minute. A quick minute in your perspective because you couldn’t stop looking at his lips, thinking of them finally leaving harsh bite marks into the hollow of your collarbone with blood red paint smeared over the bruises on your soft skin.
It was a tantalizing thought, one he had initiated many times before yet tonight he seemed to be prolonging the agenda. For the first time ever, you were the impatient one, craving his touch to feel you and satisfy that burning bulb of longing shining bright in the pit of your belly.
He looked at you heatedly, dryly, now standing back to his tall, intimidating stature as his hand released your face from its tight grip. You stared back at him unwavering as he slid it down your jaw tentatively until it was around your neck, resting at the base of it.
You swallowed nervously as he stared hard at the area, gloved fingertips pressing into the skin like he was struggling not to strangle you right then and there.
The thought scared you, how easily you presented yourself to him and discarded any self persevering instincts molded into the strings of your DNA over the course of generations. You were going against your very nature letting him touch you like this but you relished in it, let it wash over you like a pool of warm water.
His other hand swiftly came up and to your face, the pad of his thumb softly tracing over the plushness of your parted lips.
You reveled in the soft feeling it arose out of your sensitive body, a breathy sound leaving your chest like the whisper of a breeze between sheer flower petals. Delicate and dainty, rendering you breathless.
Maybe this was what he meant when he said you’d have purpose again, when he’d promised you belonging.
Yes, you’d have purpose in the sense that you had purpose to him, that he needed you in his own sick, self serving ways and everything you could offer him. You’d always have purpose as long as you stood next to him. Purpose to be found when he was buried deep in your heat and cradled in your heart during the cold evenings spent between Egyptian cotton sheets only his lustful animosity could make warm.
Yes, you’d always feel like you belonged as long as you were with him, entrapped in this huge house he graciously gave you with its sickening white walls and disgusting velvety red curtains. Yes, you would always belong to him in the sense that you didn’t have a choice but to be. He has found you and you are now in his clutches, he has found you and you will never be lost again.
You belonged to him. Your heart, happiness, health, and everything else was entirely his. A gruesome sense of belonging twisted in the dire fabrics of his manipulation, intertwined with his body and absent soul. You belonged to him, tethered to him like a ball and chain, a woefully symbiotic bond. 
Even now, with his boney hand around your throat so easily capable of draining your life force you didn’t bother trying to save yourself. Your very existence was interlocked with his and had been since he first laid eyes on you. You didn’t have anyone but him to trust, even if that meant trusting him with your own life and death.
He had the power to let you thrive, as he has proved countless times with his endless money and pointless gifts, giving you a life anyone else could so easily live but he had all the capability of destroying it as well. He was the King of your small kingdom and you were nothing but the romantic whim he could just as easily spare, a victim caught in the crossfire of his demented devotion.
Your life was quite literally in his hands and unfortunately for you he had an unfathomable proclivity to ruin anything he touched.
The thought made you feel shame for yourself, knowing how dumb you were being as drops of lucidity dripped down the cracks in your fried brain yet your lust didn’t deter. You had already acknowledged that you were deranged in your own way, so desperate for connection that you’d find it anywhere. It just so happened you found it here, in his sticky trap you’d never escape from for reasons beyond your own capability.
Joker removed the hand that was on your neck to the other side of your face, cradling your cheeks in his hands with a much more gentle touch than was exhibited before.
“Now, let me see a smile… go on, smile for me. I wanna see a great… big… smile.”
He smiled slightly at that, a dry fleeting motion with no real effort behind it, cradling your cheeks in his palms like delicate birds. His thumbs rubbed the corners of your lips then stretched them into a smile for you. You didn’t resist him, loosening your lips as he stretched them so far they cracked.
You ignored the burn, your eyes showed no signs of happiness as a smile usually demonstrated. Just lustful watery things staring up at him pleadingly, begging for him to finish this act of his and relinquish the pain you were starting to feel in your lower regions.
Your muscles were tense, body longing for him to touch it in the places you needed him most, to carve his admiration into the fat of your hips and apex of your thighs so you’d never lose it. You were dirty with his tainted love anyway, too much to care anymore; could never feel clean.
He stared at your smile with a criminal look in his eyes, a cackle scratching at the back of his throat as your fingers tightened even tighter around his jacket until the edges were engulfed in your own warm palms. You fought the desire to yank his lips down to yours, knowing you should never rush him no matter how impatient you were becoming.
“Ah, ah, ah, there we go. Now isn’t that pretty?” He rumbled fiendishly, satisfied now as his thumbs slid down your cheeks in a frowning motion until your lips gradually reset themselves into a line.
You swallowed once more, staring up at him wantonly as his hands slid down to lock onto your upper arms. Sparks burst where he touched you, your lifeless body abuzz with an invigorating feeling only his greedy fingers could make you feel.
You didn’t say a thing, unable to speak, longing for his lips to touch yours and for his lithe hands to familiarize themselves with the smooth skin of your body as he has so many times before.
You couldn’t imagine how desolate you looked now, so wrecked in the pupils of his glowering eyes as he stared down at you with an intensity you easily recognized, an intensity burning with the promise of wrecking you entirely later on.
“Now, what do you say we go and have a little fun, huh? I’d really appreciate it if you’d do me this little favor. You know I hate to make a fuss but, uh, it’s been a…rough… night.” He mumbled sarcastically in remembrance of something you had no clue of, rolling his eyes at himself as his tongue flicked out of his mouth again, his thumbs stroking the skin on your arms in an oddly patient way.
He hummed with his scratchy voice in the tone of a question, staring down at you blankly in expectation of a yes.
You nodded your head dumbly, so consumed with want that all you could see was him, think of him, him, him, him. Him and his devilish gloved hands and long purple fingers that had killed so many yet only seemed to bring you back to life in the harsh and tender touches they spared you. Blood stained hands, hands tainted with grandeur sin and murder that only seemed to exhilarate and enliven you.
Him, him and his red lips that spoke such curses and cruelty yet kissed you so delicately like a golden star dotted in the blanket of a navy blue sky. Him and his body riddled with scars and imperfections hotly intertwined with yours as he conquered you in a way so similar to how the Roman’s stormed the Greeks. Just as powerful, just as influential, just as legacy lasting.
“Okay.” You breathed out softly in acceptance of his words, of your own delusions, already staring at his lips as eagerly as a lifeless carcass only brought to life by his magical kiss; the most twisted tale of Snow White written in any media.
Joker grinned villainously, cackling at your behavior before his hands tightened their hold on you and he was lunging your smaller body towards his in a messy, much awaited kiss that left red paint smeared over your own lips in the same, wicked smile that he had.
How fitting.
⋆˚࿔ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ @little-miss-chaoss @ghostslillady @boobaeri @prayingal (I think that’s everyone, hope you enjoy ☺️)
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𝒄𝒘: sexual content ahead, husband!bale!batman, fem!reader on top, riding, some dirty talk, soft sex, not my best writing but fr fr don’t come for me im just trying to post things okay? ahhhhhhh 😔🤚🏻 maybe some typos 😚 i oughta be ashamed of myself fr fr 😔😔🤚🏻🤚🏻 ₊˚⊹♡
Labels. These were all just labels Bruce never particularly cared for nor paid attention to, monickers used to try and simplify who he really was so he could be easier understood. Labels used to better classify him because rich men like him supposedly didn’t have depth or purpose beyond what the media claimed him to have.
They were just labels, words that barely scratched the surface of who he really was.
Bruce had been called many things in his life, too many awful and offensive things he had quickly learned not to pay attention to. Caring gave them meaning, he was told so early on, caring gave them significance. Now, he really couldn’t care less.
Throughout the course of his life, throughout all the tragedy and grief, Bruce had learned to ignore it all; the names, the judgments, the looks, the labels. His indifference had become second nature, an innate response to anybody trying to provoke him.
He didn’t really have a choice anyway. There were too many people praying on his downfall since his birth, too many people biting at the fruits of his labor to see if they were ripe enough for the taking. Selfish, greedy, money hungry men desperate for his demise.
Sharks lurking in untamed depths ready to snatch him up if he swam too far, hiding in the black shores with their sharp teeth bared and beady eyes hungry.
Despite what many people believed, Bruce didn’t have it so easy in the sense of work and spirit. When you were rich like he was, famous like he was, as powerful as he was, everyone believed you couldn’t possibly be burdened by anything.
That he was too spoiled by the grandness of life that it had gradually bled into a lack of work ethic, that it was his last name that gave him any status at all, that it was his reputation that gave him everything he had without him having to ask for it.
He had the money to fix any problem, the influence to hide any scandal, the face to get him out of any situation he needed to get out of.
He was CEO of Wayne Enterprises for gods sake, son to Thomas Wayne, a man that was great and beloved all in his own right. Yes, people had doubted Bruce’s ability to lead, to run a business after so long of being away from it, but then he came back and proved them all wrong as he usually did.
Being someone so honorably renowned in Gotham City, someone that carried the Wayne name at that, it came with its own barrel of familial obligation and responsibility outside of his own personal commitments. He couldn’t disappoint anyone, could never fathom disappointing his late father.
Working by day a normal man with a bullet on his back, a price on his head to any hungry buisness man willing to do whatever it took to get to the top. Then working by night as Batman with the bruises and scars to show for it. Someone every criminal and lowlife in Gotham City wanted dead.
Batman, not so much a label as he was a separate being entirely. It was Bruce, but he couldn’t find any similarities between the polite buisness man wearing a suit by day and the other man wearing a blood stained mask by night. One was forced to coerce with society in the manner of business and passive aggressive smiles, another undertaking the grueling task of removing the grime from it.
Bruce Wayne was all expensive cologne and hand shake deals, money hungry tabloids and self absorbed white collars. It was a life always on display, always the center of attention, always everyone else’s focus.
Batman was purely mystery and intrigue. Hidden from sight yet found in every shadow, heard in the trembled whisper of every breath. No one knew who he was yet he had somehow gotten all of their attention. Everyone eager to know who was behind the mask but no one ready to answer for why he existed in the first place.
The only similarities they shared were the cause for conspiracy. Whether it was Bruce or Batman they stole every headline — always someone trying to figure them out, bring their true identity to light and spread more moral quandary about whether they were right or wrong for every choice they made.
Pure opposite lives he juggled in the same two hands.
No, he did not have it easy. Always more enemies than friends and more snakes than family. Every hour, every minute, every second he spent left exposed there was always someone right behind him ready to push him if he faltered.
He had to be careful; always be passive and nice, diplomatic and respectful to those he knew wanted him gone, to the people who wanted his seat at the head of the table and the money in his bank. Bruce had to be the CEO his father wanted him to be, the one he was destined to be, the one etched into his history before he was even born.
He had a reputation to uphold, a legacy to live, a job to do.
But no, it was not always easy.
Being rich and handsome like he was did have its downsides, as meager as they may seem to less fortunate individuals. Many people hated Bruce Wayne just for those simple, superficial things alone. His looks, his status, his job he was so rightfully given. Apparently this made him an asshole, arrogant, narcissist.
It was looks of hatred and envy from men he’d never even met, women he’d abandoned after a steamy two hour hookup (not that he did those anymore but women loved to hold a grudge), businessmen who cursed him to hell and back for his amount of wealth and fame he had no control over.
He didn’t care about these people anyway. These rambunctious, single minded people who preyed on the weak and ate the hopeless. They were all self centered, arrogant, narcissistic. Self absorbed scum unwilling to put in the hard work necessary to be as successful as he was.
On the opposite side of the spectrum, Bruce was often regarded as someone lonely, someone lost, someone desolate and pitiful. He was a coward, hiding in his soulless black mansion under thick piles of money ever since the fatal death of his parents. So sad, an orphan, just depressing.
That was hushed whispers behind his back and somber stares, awkward, harrowing smiles from coworkers and the front pages of newspapers. Bruce Wayne back from hiding after all this time… living on his father’s name… will he fail or carry on the legacy of the great Wayne fortune… yada yada yada.
Just more words. Pointless and purposeless, written to appease the swill of Gotham with no real substance behind them. Gossip, false news, attention grabbing headlines that were purely speculation.
However, as much as he hated labels — more so his — whatever names he got called behind his back, Bruce couldn’t find it in sensible reason to argue that they weren’t pieces of who he really was. Fabrics of his character torn out thread by thread and poked and needled at by societies curious hands.
They were just pieces, stretched and torn so far from the truth but yet the original strings were still there, hanging on in remembrance of what he truly was chaotically intertwined in the lies and deception of what people thought him to be. Too shredded to be properly understood but still thriving in the undercurrents of whatever he was now being labeled as and people were now foolishly believing him to be.
Yes, they were just labels. But labels that were not so far from factual truths.
However again, none of those words mattered to him as much as this did, as much as the one label that he truly cared about.
Husband.
Your husband.
The only title he held in the same esteem as Batman and Wayne Enterprises CEO, perhaps even higher. It was one of the only labels that carried a semblance of true meaning, one he didn’t shy from.
Husband. It was the only honorific that mattered to him, one of the only sentiments that made him feel actual pride in who he was. Husband was something real, concrete, not some anonymous opinion in a paper or a cruel murmur in a hallway.
It was the label that pierced him through and through especially in moments like this, moments when your hips were rolling deeply on top of his and he was buried balls deep inside your warmth.
He couldn’t think about anything in this moment. Nothing and everything at the same time as your finger nails, freshly manicured and glittering, gripped into his shoulder blades as you rolled your hips once again.
Bruce winced pleasantly, jaw clenching as his head leaned back into the softness of his black silken pillows. Brown hair frazzled and stringy, his smooth skin alight with a soft, lovesick glow.
You rolled your hips once more in a soft soothing motion, nothing too rough and nothing too fast; the evening had called for something more sensual in the delicacy of Bruce’s touch and the softness of his words just an hour prior.
“Oh Bruce…” You sighed dreamily, hands pressing into his bulky arms as he sighed out a trembled breath from his nose.
Your thighs tightened around his waist, his heavy hands squeezing your hips but not as to pressure you, only to keep you connected to him at the hilt so he was never too far out of you.
“That’s good, sweetheart, get it just like that… mmhmm.” Bruce swallowed heavily, voice low and raw as his eyebrows furrowed over darkened hazel eyes. Fingers thrumming on your skin as you pulsed around him, wetness seeping out of your full entrance and gliding down his length until it could leave a memorable darkened patch on the sheets.
You whined quietly, voice high pitched and greedy as the length of him filled you up and pressed into every soft wall surrounding him. He was always thick, always perfect, always felt so fucking good it made your muscles tense and spasm.
You rolled your body in that delectable way he liked once more, barely moving yet every part of him felt the sparks of pleasure thrum through his skin and make his thighs lock up.
Bruce groaned hotly at the action, eyes flickering down to the wet mess of where your pussy was sucking him in. It was messy, glistening, shared arousal in white strings of mutual attraction. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass from where it sat perched on his strong thighs.
“Mm, fuck, honey.” Bruce breathed out gruffly more to himself than you when the sight of your wetness smeared all over him made his heart spike.
You didn’t respond, chin down to your chest and eyes closed as you focused on the pleasure in your own lower regions, the fullness and heaviness that filled you up and refused to part.
“Ohhh, feels so good-“ You gasped as a heavy spurt of pure pleasure sparked up your tummy, hole clenching around him tightly as an obscene gush of wetness leaked down his cock and onto his thighs.
Bruce licked his dry lips, eyes staring up at you heatedly; at the tightness of your shut eyes, the sweet moans gasping out of parted lips — lips, lips that were glossy and plush from all the needy kisses you shared with him just a mere moments ago.
He was enraptured by you, by your naked physique all soft and sweaty on top of him but he didn’t care. You were just so beautiful, pussy so perfect wrapped around him, squeezing his cock so good it made his mind fog up with indescribable pleasure.
“Yes, sweetheart, god, yesss…” Bruce agreed huskily, his head resting back on his pillow once more as you bucked your hips. His thighs tensed, toes curled, a grunt sounding in his throat as his hips rose to further dig himself inside you.
He couldn’t help it; like a soul to a light he sought you out, your warmth and tightness so snug and comforting around him he didn’t ever want to be apart from you.
You whimpered at the intrusion, nails digging into his skin in a painful sting that Bruce was too fucked out to really notice.
He swallowed hazily below you, eyes closing then opening to look down at the way your pussy molded into one with his hard cock as you rocked gently against him. Deep inside you where he was meant to be, stomach and pelvis and thick thighs soaked with your gushing arousal.
Fire shooting down his legs and tummy with every soft bounce back down on him, illicit wet noises sounding in the room with every desperate grind.
He loved that sound, your wetness mashing with his thick base. But not nearly as much as your melodic sounds gasping out every so often because his cock made you feel that good.
His mouth was terribly dry from his own grunts and moans, handsome face and muscular chest flushed pink, the air so so hot he could feel his own dark hair sticking to the dew on his fevered head.
His hands, big and clammy, dug into the soft fat of your hips to help you dig into him in that way you both liked, the one that had you both gasping hotly into each others mouths as you leaned down to give him another sloppy kiss.
You couldn’t quite get it right though, too distracted by the feel of him so deep inside you that your lips stuttered on his. Moving messily against him as you whined into his mouth once more, the tip of his cock so high up inside you it almost hurt.
He was always so big, so round and tall that the stretch alone always seemed to ache pleasurably with every short thrust he made inside you.
“That’s good, sweetheart… that’s it… just how you know I like it…”
Bruce breathed heavily against your lips from where you were leaned on top of him, naked breasts mashed to his chiseled chest and hands gripping onto the headboard now.
You needed something sturdy, something unbreakable to tether you back to him when you felt the pleasure making you float too far.
His breath was hot against your sore lips, mingled with your low moans and spoken just above the subtle creaks of the bed; sounding every time you moved above him in a sensually quickened pace that had your toes curling and thighs tensing.
“So beautiful, sweetheart, so good…”
Bruce couldn’t help but compliment you even in the most nasty of times, voice clenched yet breathy, spoken through hot breaths and pressed teeth as your wetness dripped down his length once more.
You moaned sweetly at his doting words, his voice cracked and low in that gravelly salacious tone you loved so much.
You clenched around him in response, his fingers tightening on you as he let out a handsome groan from the feeling. You watched as his head sunk into the pillow beneath him, eyes clenched shut and a heavy grunt leaving his chest.
The sight was attractive, seeing him so wrecked from just a few simple back and forth motions you were carefully orchestrating.
You felt a wave of stinging pleasure spike up your thighs and down your legs, up your tummy and into your head until your whole body was tingling. Your eyes brimming with unshed tears as sweat prickled at your skin and your legs burned from sitting for so long.
You didn’t care about the pain, too drunk on the sensations of his thickness rubbing inside the most intimate part of you, your hips rolling in desperate circular motions so he was never completely apart from you. You liked keeping him inside as much as possible, to feel that fullness and that dull burn to remind you of just how big he was.
Bruce loved it too, resting inside your warmth, comfortable, letting you take him however you wanted in whatever way you needed. He was always a giver, always a good husband when you needed him to be.
“F-fuck, Bruce, you feel so good.” You gasped wantonly, voice quiet yet fragmented, needy and breathless as your nails dug into his skin.
“Yeah, honey? It feels good?” Bruce replied just as quietly, being sure to thrust up into you just a little bit harder so you’d gasp some more for him.
It was lewd, lovely, his dirty words spoken onto your quivering lips and his meaty hands gripping your thighs to help aid in your eager movements.
It felt so good, so right, being there with him in the darkness of his room with only the sound of your shared panting and moans filling the silence.
It was hot and perfect; his hands on your thighs gripping hard enough to show you he doesn’t want you to stop, your mouths ever so often pecking together in a sweet kiss you couldn’t continue, fond gazes in darkened irises.
“Feels so good, Bruce, I can’t—“ You whimpered out all cutely, sliding up from his chest until you were sitting straight up once more. You could feel him shift inside of you, hardness still prominent and throbbing. He pressed against your walls, invading every nerve point as your clit rubbed against his naval in the new position.
Bruce gripped the flesh of your ass between his hands, helping your soft rocking motions against him as he spoke, “Yes you can, pretty girl, you always do for me. You’re doing so good, sweetheart, you have no idea…”
The praise made you smile brokenly. Your skin so hot it felt burning yet every grind against your husbands hard cock made your legs go numb. You whined and bucked above him as a tightness started to stretch in your tummy.
“Always for you, baby…” You managed to mumble shakily, lovingly, hands sliding over the abs on his stomach as you sat back on his lap so not a single inch of him wasn’t inside you.
Bruce clenched his jaw at that, hands digging into your hips as he thrust his own up to meet your soft grinds. Sparks, electricity, all of the cliche metaphors for how good he was feeling shooting down his cock and into his legs as his knees tensed up.
He felt lightheaded yet completely grounded, here to his mattress. Floating in the skies yet simultaneously stuck on earth with you, his gorgeous wife who always made him feel sane and normal.
Your hair was tangled around your shoulders and falling over your flushed cheeks as you stared down at him with a fond glimmer in your eyes, bright and burning under the lust so boldly wanting.
The stretch of him inside you was so good, his gravelly moans so good, the way he was making you feel so so good.
You exhaled as you settled your weight down on his pelvis, pussy sore yet eager as you squeezed around him once more. Love struck eyes looking down at him passionately as the moon cascaded a light gray glow behind you.
Bruce felt the air escape his lungs, lips parted as he stared up at you in utter devotion; you were so beautiful, so sweet, felt so fucking good around him he couldn’t even think straight. Brain numb and thoughtless, only you and your perfect pussy, you, you, you.
You took a moment to stare back at him. Unspoken love was whispered in the shadows of your eyes bright and glittering as your movements picked up into polite, subtle bounces that had Bruce digging his hands into you, breathy sounds escaping his lips.
“Ah, Bruce…” You mumbled weakly, voice soft and needy as you tossed your head back and moved your hips up and down so his cock was hitting that sweet spot inside you he usually loved to tease.
“Such a good job, sweetheart, so beautiful like this…” Bruce spoke huskily, staring at your heaving breasts as they jiggled and beckoned him forth, beautiful and pure as you rode him to high heaven in your most organic form.
You hummed into a delicate moan, a smile quirked on your lips at his praise as you felt his hands slowly start crawling up the exposed expanse of your waist.
Warm and big and tender as they moved up, up, gentle fingers tracing over your ribcage as your flesh prickled at the touch. He was delicate, always intent on your pleasure over his as he admired your form above him, the feel of your skin under his textured hands that had hurt so many.
You trusted him, your husband, enough to see you like this. Trusted him enough to have you like this, to allow his bloodstained hands to wash over you like he himself was something pure and untainted, bestowing him your presence like a merciful deity to their promised worshipper.
You bit your lip as his palms enveloped the fat of your breasts into them, molded perfectly into his larger hands as he squeezed and admired them in a fashion so familiar for him; he always loved your breasts, enamored with the softness and weight of them in his greedy hands.
You stared down at him with a heated tenderness, the look of a wife irrevocably in love with their husband as he stared up at you with the same fervor.
When he was here, with you, there were no labels, no obligations and no judgments. With you he was just yours, another body made of flesh and blood and bone melded to yours in the conjunction of where his body ended and yours began.
He was no one but he was your everything, hands on skin and lips on collarbones, sweat amongst sweat and heady moans breathed in the gasps of kisses shared between two lovesick spouses.
In this space, in this moment, with you on top of him and his hands all over you any remnants of shame and Wayne inspired obligation was vacant. All he needed to do was sit and let you take him, sit there and be of use when you wanted to use him.
He was a good husband, the best husband to you, his perfect and lovely wife who never addressed him as anything more than yours. He wasn’t this, he wasn’t that, he was just everything and more in the confines of silken sheets under the safety of his mansion.
No cameras, no gossip, no press and no watchful eyes. Serene, tranquil, just you and him and the great love you shared that transcended any label or common sense humanity could fathom.
Yes, he was Bruce Wayne. Eccentric billionaire, former eligible bachelor, orphan boy, son, rich playboy. But those things did not define him, did not set his reality in stone so easily as your love did. He was all those things but he was so much more.
You never judged him, looked at him as anything more than the most important thing. You regarded him with love no matter his past, his present, and hopefully and most likely your shared future.
You didn’t care for labels or surface value lies like everyone else did. You ripped him at his seams, tore him apart to see what was inside and he was ever so grateful for it, for that loving animosity that bared his soul to yours. You were straightforward, heart to heart or nothing at all because then what was the point?
There was no purpose without pain, without pleasure, without love. You suffered, you loved, and you were most definitely bringing him pleasure. All blunt and raw emotions too passionate and loud to ever try and hide or make lies about. No secrets, no deception, no labels.
This night, every night just like this one — nights spent in your arms deep inside where he needed to be most, were nights where his mind was bare and he was just yours. Nights when he didn’t have to put up a face or make up a lie or tell a tall tale.
He was Bruce, he was yours, he was just this. And most importantly, he was just your husband. The only label that really mattered and the only one he ever really cared about. ₊˚⊹♡
˚☽˚｡⋆ 𝑩𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑. The silence was too loud and his room was too cold — his arms and torso were left bare to freeze thanks to you (he was too much of a gentleman to snatch the blanket off you anyway). The heavy rain smacked into his windows pointedly and purposefully; with every loud drop it made his lip twitch in annoyance.
The air was sharp and frosted, it burned his nose when he breathed in too deeply and it made him wonder if Alfred forgot to turn the heat on — better yet if you turned it off, knowing you hated to fall asleep too warm and Alfred was too meticulous and thorough to forget to turn it off at all.
It was dingy and dismal, dark and dreary just as Bruce preferred it to be, so little going on for him to be so awake and agitated but yet… maybe that was just it. The silence, the boredom, the macabre sense of monotony on an unfamiliarly quiet Saturday night — so little going on it was driving him mad.
Bruce stared up at the ceiling with his arms laid out on his shirtless stomach, restless but tired. His limbs were sore and heavy, his body bruised and battered, yet his dark eyes couldn’t help but flicker over to his window ever so often when he thought about what was on the other side of it — the source of his calamity.
He’d stare through the droplets of water at the blurred kaleidoscope of lights as they shone onto his floor, not eagerly per say just habitually; Bruce seldom ever saw a peaceful night in, so unaccustomed with the sweet domesticity of crawling under the covers at 10:30 pm and kissing your lover goodnight — he was usually so busy, for Gotham never slept and crime never seemed to stop.
No, Bruce couldn’t sleep; his thoughts a morbid mess of batman-esque obligation that made it impossible to close his eyes.
You were a different matter entirely as Bruce turned his head to look at you; snuggled up on your side of the large bed with his thick, black comforter surrounding you, breathing gently on the muscle of his shoulder and sleeping soundly, beautifully.
His pretty little wife.
His eyes looked over the sharp shadows of your sleeping beauty. From your wispy eyelashes, to your cute little nose, to your softly parted lips, a soft smile adorning the corner of his mouth as he did — he couldn’t help it.
Your hair was frizzy and tangled messily around your head, your soft breaths ever so often stuttered with an adorable snore but Bruce couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked anyway as he raked his eyes over your face fondly.
As he did he realized how grateful he was that you didn’t need to worry yourself with the things that he did; you were too innocent for the cruelty of Gotham City, too pure and divine; an angel wrapped in wicked tapestry.
Even now, in your pale white pajamas on black silken sheets you looked too fragile for them, like they could wrap their shadowy arms around you and swallow you whole — just as the city could so easily do if he wasn’t there to protect you.
If Batman wasn’t there to save you.
I don’t care, Bruce. I love you anyway.
That’s what you’d always say when Bruce would settle down in bed beside you with a heavy sigh and whisper why do you stay?, on those long nights when he’d come home brutally battered and fatigued. After a night of being heavily reminded to the real dangers waiting just outside his door like a pack of feral dogs and how easily they could ensnare you in their jaws.
I don’t care. I love you.
He loved you too, he really very did.
With that final thought, Bruce was still caught staring at you with a soft look of love on his face when you gently fluttered your eyes open, your body sensing his awareness before your mind could.
He watched patiently as you groggily looked around before eventually meeting his gaze, his eyes getting even softer at the adorable look of confusion on your face.
Your eyes tiredly looked back up at him despite the darkness surrounding you two, able to see his frowned lips and dark eyes clearly, “Bruce? Why are you still awake?”
Your voice was raspy and tired, a small yawn following your statement that made pity tear at his heart for waking you up.
Bruce ran his hazel eyes over your face some more before he responded, unable to stop cherishing you.
“Couldn’t sleep.” He simply responded, voice low and intimate, words spoken in the bare space between his lips and yours.
You settled into your silken pillow with a small huff, eyes focused more on Bruce’s face now as the grogginess gradually melted away and your vision became clearer — the silence and rain thrumming calmly around you. It wasn’t a normal night in Gotham City without the rain.
“Well, did you try?” You teased just as quietly as he, smiling a little at the chuckle he gave you in response.
“Yes, of course I tried. It clearly didn’t go as planned.” Bruce mumbled back with a faint snicker, speaking just loud enough so you can hear him over the rain pattering on the windows, a small smile now quirked on his sharp lips.
You hummed in acknowledgment, eyes looking between his, knowing Bruce well enough to know when he was lying.
“I don’t really believe you. What’s keeping you awake?” You sighed with furrowed brows, resting your head right next to his bare shoulder to look up at him better — maybe if you pouted in that cute way he liked he’d tell you honestly.
Bruce faltered at that, looking down at you with a heavy heart; he couldn’t possibly tell you that he felt guilty laying in bed with you when he should’ve been out there, out there protecting those who needed him. But the fact of the matter, one he couldn’t argue with, was that you needed him as well.
He couldn’t possibly tell you how conflicted he really was but probably shouldn’t have been; two parts of him sharing the same mind and body but each with entirely different obligations — the irreconcilable duality that was he.
One part of him was Bruce Wayne; millionaire, orphan, husband, you needed that side of him, you deserved to have him for at least one night. But he was also Batman, and Gotham always needed him.
He was haunted with a classic case of Jekyll and Hyde but instead of one side lusting for murderous intent his alter ego longed for rightful justice in the grandest city of injustice. Batman was the only one who could live harmoniously in the dark, the only one capable of doing the things he did. It was an enervative dichotomous life of matrimonial duties and moral obligation.
There were two men sharing the same halves of the same soul and Bruce couldn’t decide which heart to listen to without making the other one feel guilty.
“Just work stuff, honey. It’s nothing you need to worry about, trust me.” Bruce dismissed after a short moment, shaking his head gently with a reassuring smile on his thin lips — like that could convince you of anything.
You narrowed your eyes at him slightly, registering the slight blue bags under his eyes and the crippled fault in his smile, all small clues of his devious, well-intentioned deception.
“Which work stuff?” You prodded carefully, raising a brow at him as suspicions already began to brew in the back of your mind as to what he was really referring.
Bruce chuckled again at that, loving your caring and inquisitive nature any day but wishing you’d just drop it already. He really couldn’t bear weighing any of the pressure he carried on your delicate shoulders, fearing you’d crumble under the weight of it.
“Really, it’s…” Bruce looked back up at the ceiling in indecision, searching for the right words, “it’s nothing I can’t handle, okay?” He looked back down at you with confidence, his voice firmer than before but still softly spoken to get his point across.
You narrowed your eyes at him with that, knowing it was a response you fully expected but were still annoyed to hear.
You were aware that he was lying to you but also aware that he wouldn’t tell you no matter how much you begged him; he never liked to tell you anything about his Batman related problems and it greatly frustrated you for some reason.
As his wife didn’t you deserve to know at least something? You were fully aware of what you were getting yourself into when you agreed to his long awaited proposal. After all, you didn’t just marry Bruce Wayne but you married Batman as well… you could handle the truth even if he didn’t seem to think so.
You sighed anyway, unable to mask your irritation towards him for keeping you in the dark. Your lack of sleep didn’t help the influx of annoyance either.
You took your head off his warm shoulder and went to turn around away from him, your fatigue easily irritating you more than usual.
Bruce licked his lips and sighed, having already disappointed you in an attempt to protect you; a small price to pay if it meant your pretty little head wasn’t clogged with constant, pained disquietude like his was.
“Fine, don’t tell me.” You muttered more to yourself than anything, fussing with the blanket you had wrapped yourself in during your slumber and now seemed to be stuck in.
Before you could fully turn around though Bruce laid a warm, consoling hand on your forearm that made you pause, “Hey, hey, wait.”
You lingered a moment at the feel of it before turning back around to face him, expression a little more sour than before — tired and impatient.
Bruce felt guilt swirl in his stomach at the look on your face, knowing he was disappointing you but also knowing it was for the best.
He kept the hand on your arm, leaning up and wrapping it around your back to bring you into his chest, his other arm going behind your neck and tucking you into his side like you were his most precious doll — you were of course.
You didn’t fight him even if you wanted to, enjoying the warmth he provided and the safety you subconsciously sought out snuck tight in between his arms.
“Bruce.” You grumbled anyway as you settled against him, his arm releasing you for a moment to pick the blanket up and over his waist so there was nothing separating you two from each other.
You felt hard plains of muscle underneath you when he did, a flustered pinkness appearing on your cheeks, then slowly crept in hot embarrassment at the fact that your husband’s carefully structured body that you’ve seen many many times still managed to make you shy.
You melted into his side, albeit a bit stiffly as you were still annoyed with him and wanted to blatantly show it, your arms stubbornly slotted against your chest to separate yourself from laying completely on his.
When Bruce was done adjusting the blanket, the bed moving as he did, he settled still and looked down at you with those kind eyes of his you loved so much, the ones that always flustered you when you stared back into them for too long.
The arm behind your neck pushed you closer to him while he took his right hand and wrapped it around your chin, his palm so warm and big against your jaw that you couldn’t help but sigh in submission.
Bruce gently forced you to look up at him, his eyes staring down at you softly but earnestly.
“Alright, hey, don’t be like that with me. If there was something I thought you really needed to know I’d tell you. Otherwise, it’s best I keep that side of myself as private from you as possible. I hate the thought of you being in danger because of me, because I exposed you to that side of myself you didn’t need to see.” Bruce whispered genuinely, minty breath fanning over your nose as you stared up at him, seemingly calm now and even just a little regretful for being so upset with him in the first place.
“Just give it a rest honey, alright? I promise you, it’s nothing you need to worry about. Do I ever go back on my promises, hmm?” He said sweetly, looking down at you with insistent but loving eyes in the expectation of you responding.
You paused for a moment as you registered his words, still curious to know what he was really thinking about because you just couldn’t help it. You worried for him, wished he’d be more open with you so you could help him in whatever way you could. However, you also didn’t want to stress him out any more than he already was either, your mind picturing all the purple bruises littering his beautiful body pitifully.
So, you just shook your head like a scolded child, “No… you don’t.” You’d have to bite your tongue for now, pouting up at him cutely — Bruce was just too sweet to argue with sometimes and he knew it.
Bruce gave you a charming smile, gray shadow washed over the angles of his straight nose and narrow cheeks. His brown hair was more unkempt than usual, wavy tendrils of it fallen around his face. He looked so handsome, more tranquil this way, as he leaned down and gave you a peck on the forehead, a sweet hum sounding in the back of his throat.
“That’s my girl.”
You sighed happily, giving in to him completely now and wrapping an arm around his chest so you could burrow against him; he wrapped his arm around you tighter instinctually, enjoying the feel of you against him as he looked up at the ceiling in content.
Nothing was better than being with you, so much so that Batman himself felt satiated from his lonely perch in the back of Bruce’s mind.
You stared out the large, arched window on his wall for a few quiet moments, watching as the rain quickly fell down the glass one by one as Bruce softly traced his textured fingertips along the spine of your back.
“It always rains, you ever notice that?” You murmured tiredly against his skin, in a daze from the tingling sensation on your skin as he caressed your back in gentle, loving touches.
Bruce looked away from you a moment when you spoke to spare the window a disinterested glance, “What? You don’t like the rain, Mrs. Wayne?” He teased you, his spirits higher than before as he looked back down at you even if you couldn’t see, his nose filled with the sweet smelling shampoo you used — coconut and vanilla.
You smiled a little — you loved when he called you that.
“Well of course you do. You’re Batman, you’re supposed to like depressing things.” You spoke with a smile, only teasing him as your eyes drifted shut from the comfort of his body against yours, muscles melting against the black sheets nestled between his own.
Bruce chucked at that, his hand ceasing its calming motion, “oh, is that right?”
You hummed with an amused smile on your lips, nodding your head, “mmhmm, yes sir.”
Bruce scoffed playfully at that, looking down at you with a fond playfulness in his eyes before gently taking his muscled arm out from underneath your head.
You lifted your head up curiously to look at him, wishing for the moment to not be disturbed, only to be gently rolled over so that Bruce was laid on top of you and you were now sunken into the inky black abyss of cushions beneath him. Your lips parted in a slight gasp, staring up at him with those beautiful eyes he loved so much in surprise.
“Now now, Mrs. Wayne, don’t go calling me that unless you plan on doing something about it, it’s in bad taste.”
You giggled at that, a joyous and twinkling sound that made Bruce tense up, his eyes darting towards your lips and his heart quickening in his chest. You always had such an effect on him even if you didn’t know it.
“How ‘bout you do something about it then?” You whispered up to him sensually, voice low and playful. You could feel the air surrounding the little bubble you two found yourselves in change heavily as you ran your hands softly over his midsection, his light skin cold and soft, muscles hard and firm as you traced your fingers delicately over each individual ab until Bruce was twitching at the feeling.
He glanced down at your hands hotly, already worked up from your minuscule touches alone, his skin tingling from the sensation as a familiar heat started to twirl in his lower tummy.
He looked back down at you, eyes more hooded now but just as eagerly as rain pounded on the windows somewhere in the background — you couldn’t focus on anything but the sound of his warm breaths and the gradual throbbing between your own legs.
“Yeah? Would you like if I did something about it, Mrs. Wayne?” Your husband mumbled huskily, a teasing smirk on his lips as he lowered down closer until his face was just above yours, his big arms pressed into the pillow on each side of your head so you were surrounded by him.
He could see the way you inhaled at the name, felt the way your nails dug into his skin for a subtle, fleeting moment. He always knew all the right ways to turn you on, knew all the right words to say to make you melt in his hands like warm syrup — you were certainly just as sweet.
You stared up at your husband with heavy breaths, mouth watering for a taste of him, eyes blown black with love and unabashed want as he sat in the reflection of your irises. Your skin felt hot and your thighs tightened around his waist, arms aimlessly tracing the ridges of muscle that coated Bruce’s front; it was in an innocently naive way now, so unaware of how badly it was affecting Bruce himself as your initial confidence dwindled down to need.
You impatiently waited for him to make a move, give into the desire you both so clearly felt as your eyes ran over his shirtless body and perfect face in the mean time. With every exhale of breath out of his mouth you found yourself inhaling it back in, breathing his air and smelling of Bruce’s aftershave, Bruce’s shampoo, it was all just Bruce, Bruce, Bruce.
He had completely overwhelmed your senses with his smell, his presence, his very existence and it was making it hard to think clearly — only he plagued your thoughts so much it made your fingertips buzz to feel more of him.
It was in moments like these where the sheer size of Bruce was brought to your attention; he was much more muscular than you, all sharp edges and ridges of pure muscle and destruction that could destroy anything he put his hands on.
It was ironic to you, how those same hands that broke bones were the same hands that caressed your skin in the softest of touches, in the softest of ways, irrevocably incapable of breaking you.
Bruce believed he was all carnal ruination — hands made to break and fists made to destroy. He believed he had a dark side in him he couldn’t control, that Batman was the outlet for all the frustration he felt towards the injustices of the city and how easily it corrupted the lightest of souls. He believed he was made to hurt, to cause ruin — a reason why he never took a single human soul no matter how rotten it was.
But you believed he didn’t give himself enough credit, which is exactly why moments like these were so important to remind him.
You swallowed nervously now as you looked back into his eyes, your fingers faltering in their movement as they stilled on the angles of his hips, right outside the tight band of his black sweatpants.
“Yes, Mr. Wayne, that’s exactly what I want.” You whispered back up to him in a velvety soft tone, eyes looking at his pink lips and then flickering back up between his hazel irises lustfully; the look in them was too intense for you to handle but you sufficed, your heart thrumming passionately under your skin at the attention.
Bruce almost melted at the name, just as affected by the title as you were, lowering his face down until his nose was touching yours, his lips hovering right above your own.
“That’s my girl…” Bruce breathed thickly against your lips, his eyes flickering to your mouth as yours did the same to his, your mouth salivating for a taste of him.
A silent beat passed as you both just stayed in that position, locked into each other’s loving gazes and gentle touches, his lips just a whisper away from yours screaming to have you, to taste you. It was intimate and warm, quiet, your body feeling fuzzy and alight with something similar to deep admiration and not so far from a deep, shared love for each other.
There was no playfulness about it now.
It was then, when the tension had sizzled into flame did Bruce finally lean down and kiss you, his lips soft and cold, so contrasting from the warmth he sought in yours as the rain pattered on the windows and your angelic essence drowned him further into the depths of you.
You moaned softly, feeling relief flood through you as your hands gripped his hips for some sort of anchor off the clouds you seemed to be floating on. Bruce kissed you lovingly, a characteristic act of tenderness as he found his own needy noises hum in the back of his throat.
It was sweet and slow, lips careful and gentle against each other between delicate sighs and hums. He tasted of peppermint and the faint drawl of bourbon, his tongue damping your lips and your shared saliva wet on your mouths.
He seperated from you just for a short moment, your lips feeling the loss but not for too long before he was on you once more with a fervor, tongue molding between your lips forcefully and sucking yours into the warmth of his mouth.
You whined at the sudden confidence within him, lips barely moving against his as he took control of your movements and gave you no other option but to take what he gave you — his lips and his tongue tangling with yours messily as sensual rumbles sounded deep from within in his chest.
He brought a hand down from the pillow and intertwined it in your hair, tangling his thick fingers into your roots and pulling hard enough to arouse you further. It made your back arch and lips part in a salacious gasp.
Bruce found himself unable to part from your delectable taste for long, taking that moment to reconnect his damp lips to the skin between your chin and shoulder. He forced your head back as he kissed your neck, the cold air hitting every damp spot in a pleasurable tingling sensation that had your nails digging into his abs.
“Bruce…” You sighed oh so sweetly in a distracted state of mind, just wanting to say his name and have him hear how good he was making you feel with his simple kisses alone — a feat he always accomplished anytime he did.
The praise didn’t fall on deaf ears but he was too preoccupied with the sound of your heavy breaths and whines to really pay attention, too love drunk on the smoothness of your skin falling over his tongue as he licked his way down to your collarbone. He released his grip on your hair and his hands made idle work in caressing their way down your body to the hem of your white pajama top.
His hands were eager, so familiar on the curves of your body as they slid back up to your chest, hands big and desperate as they tightly gripped your bosom for a fleeting moment that had you moaning at the sting — he was handsy, unable to get enough of you and the way your body perfectly slotted between the strength and ridges of his hands.
His cock was already hard in his slacks, poking against your thigh absentmindedly as his hands dug into the center of your top and adamantly ripped it right down the middle. The buttons flew over the bed and your tits spilled out of the ripped material in a gorgeous ripple of flesh that had Bruce groaning at the sight.
“So beautiful, so gorgeous, just fucking perfect…” He mumbled in a lustful daze, more to himself as a factual observation, his hands now gripping your waist, eager mouth leaning down and making quick work to lap at your chest in the way he knew you liked.
You giggled dreamily at that, feeling fluttery and lightheaded at the praise, body warm and melting like a cube of butter on top of his silk bed sheets. He was always capable of making you melt with just a few loving words and caresses, another one of his talents.
Your hands had found their way into his thick hair, massaging at the loose strands when you decided it was impossible to stay still from the buzzing running through your pores.
Your pussy throbbed in your pajama shorts, painfully so, stomach in tight knots at the sparks shooting down to your core from his ministrations.
He found himself enthralled by the feeling of your tit in his mouth, fervently sucking on the skin there as his hands gripped into your waist so tight in a subconsciously possessive hold so you could never leave. Maybe it was the semblance of Batman himself leaking out from under tight fingertips, a degree of fierce protection in the way he held you underneath him, unable to be taken or destroyed by the same evil he fought almost every night.
You were here with him, with him and all of his burdens for the rest of your lives.
“So gorgeous…”
Bruce was lost in the pleasure you helplessly moaned in his ears, feeling his own mutual desire swirling in his tummy and thrumming through his skin that made every touch feel like fire, every kiss an ember from the flame until you and him were intertwined ash lost in the black smoke.
He loved you, his pretty wife, always so supportive and forgiving in the moments he definitely didn’t deserve it.
He picked his head up, panting and lips wet, your chest littered in pink marks and damp with his spit as Bruce licked his lips, hungry for more already.
You looked at him in all his glory, admiringly, just as enamored with him as he was with you as your warm hands slid down to his cheeks. Your own were flushed pink and feverish, breath warm and heavy as you lovingly ran your palm over his sharp cheekbone. His skin was soft, smooth and tepid under your dainty fingertips.
You gently caressed the faint purple of a bruise with your thumb, right in the hollow of his eye.
Bruce leaned into the tender action for a spared moment of comfort, his eyes hooded and twinkling in the dark as he breathed heavily against your lips. He kept finding himself absent in the presence of your beauty, staring at your face and your lips and being so thankful he had you at all.
“So beautiful…” He breathed gingerly, eyes looking over your face like he was seeing you for the first time — no, he was selfish in his blatant admiration of your magnificence, his heart throbbing almost painfully in his love for you as he watched the soft corners of your mouth twist into a shy smile at your devotees idolatrous attention.
He leaned down after a fond moment of your thumb tracing his cheekbone, after he was satisfied with his generous intake of your prettiness. He pecked an affectionate kiss on your smiling lips before dipping his head down and laying several kisses to your neck once more.
You bit your lip at the sensitive feeling, closing your eyes, lost in the feel of him, as he pampered you with doting kisses all the way down to your ribcage, his hands now playing with the hem of your shorts but not too boldly as to take them off quite yet.
“You’re everything, you know that? I could never imagine my life without you… you’re perfect, so perfect.” He rubbed your stomach adoringly, “Your body is perfect, so beautiful, I can’t believe you ever married me…” He mumbled in that rough voice of his, vulnerable in the night, in the moment when you couldn’t see him all the way clearly but he could see all of you just fine.
You could feel another smile playing on your lips — not that it had even left — the heavy sensation of happy tears casting a light sheen over your eyes. He was the perfect one, he was the gorgeous and beautiful counterpart of you that didn’t seem to realize his own value. You only wished you had the poetic spark in yourself that he had, then you’d be able to voice it properly. Still, his praise made your heart swell as he took your left hand and kissed the diamond ring on your finger amorously.
“Oh, Bruce…” You spoke in a hushed manner, voice wobbling from the overwhelming infatuation you had for the man, so thankful and grateful for such a man as wonderful as he. In your eyes the sudden romance had come out of nowhere, but it was still greatly appreciated as it caused your voice to thicken with the downpour of love it had spiked.
He looked into your eyes as he warmly kissed your palm, lips quirked slightly, eliciting another tender hearted smile from you. He then let you settle your hands back on his shoulders as he slotted himself between your hips, the affectionate moment lingering in the air as you pet his wide shoulders.
You were laid on your back, smooth thighs spread to accommodate his size between them, pajama top ripped down the middle in fragmented material hanging off your shoulders, your tits pooled on your chest and wet with his kisses. Your hair was tangled, fanned around your head, lips pink and plushy from all his salacious kisses, your eyes glittering erotically bright.
Despite that, you were not uncomfortable to be so exposed to him, exposed in a way you’d only ever be with him. You knew he would never judge you nor your body, that he loved you and all your freckles and scars and all the blemishes you considered imperfections — he loved them all. The only part of you not seen were covered by the shorts Bruce was already eager to take off.
You were beautiful to him, ethereal even, just as he said you were an angel, something divine and pure, a holy deity completely out of this world that transcended the mortal plane he was bound to, letting his lowly lips and hands cherish your merciful soul and body. Just oh so perfect.
“I love you…” You whispered, pathetically cute, down to him, a whisper wafting into his ears soft and fragile as if you were scared he wouldn’t say it back — he’d say it everyday for a thousand years if he had the blessing of living that long with you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, pulsing with need, as you smiled down at him sweetly.
“I love you more, Mrs. Wayne… I love you more…” He breathed hotly against your stomach, already leaning down and peppering sugarcoated kisses along your pelvis, so much closer to where you really needed him that the throbbing had become unbearably intense, wetness soaking your inner thighs and cream colored shorts. You felt your body shiver at the title once more.
You swallowed shakily as Bruce moved down, his daft fingers hooking into the band of your shorts and gently shoving them down to your knees as his longing lips reached the band of your lavender laced panties.
Your thighs tightened around his head as cool air hit your wet center, your body sensitive and pulsing heavy notes of desire straight into your pussy that made it hard to keep your head up and eyes open.
You just needed him, needed him and his expert mouth to bring you some sort of relief. Your toes were curled already, pussy clenching around nothing and spewing out clear juices that only damped your underwear further. You tangled your fingers into his hair heatedly, resisting the urge to shove his head down where you really wanted him.
Bruce swallowed hungrily, staring at your panty-clad pussy with dark eyes. He could smell your sweetness on his nose, the rain pattering on the windows still and the room still dark as sin but he could see his heaven clear as day, hypnotized by the patch of wetness in your panties, molded to the shape of your pussy lips and begging to be ripped apart.
His eyes flickered up to you, feeling your grabby fingers tangled in his hair as your thighs tensed back and forth around his neck.
Your head was barely held up, eyes hooded and sparkling with a form of lustful desperation as you stared down at him. Your chest bobbing up and down heavily and your skin radiant and smooth, the city lights from his window blurredly reflected in the fat of your cheeks. You already looked destroyed, like he had just fucked your brains out yet he really hadn’t done a thing.
“Bruce, come on…” You whined in a delicate plea when he made no movement further, hands barely pulling his hair but it was hard enough for his skin to prickle in pleasure, a hiss leaving his lips, just hard enough to get your message across.
He snickered at that, lips shiny and jaw chiseled, his face so sharp yet soft at the same time. His beauty greatly perplexed you for how could a mere mortal be so fucking handsome? He was though, he was strong and big and riddled with scars and imperfections yet the accumulation of all those little faults are what made him flawless.
Bruce himself felt the throbs of impatience nestled in his stomach, burrowed in his heart, buzzing at his fingertips, as he looked down at your pussy once more just inches from his mouth, both wet and watering for the other.
“Be patient, honey. I just wanna look at ‘cha first. You’re so pretty, dripping wet for me…” He had the audacity to murmur in that cocky voice of his, yet simultaneously genuine and stunned at the observation as his hands rubbed your thighs, being sure to heartily press into the tissue in that way he knew you liked.
You couldn’t help but pull his hair some more, bursting at the seams for some sort of pleasure you feared it would boil over and you’d explode. You felt frustration settle through your veins once more like molten lava, your skin tensing and thighs aching from their tight grip around his neck.
“Bruce, no more teasing, please? Just please…” You moaned and whined like a stubborn girl, voice thick with need and painful yearning that made his cock twitch in his pants. You almost sounded broken, voice fragmented with a certain torment only his mouth and fingers could appease.
He licked his lips, feeling desire swell in his lower tummy at the state of you — already so incapable of any thought but the memory of his cock inside you, the feeling of his fingers drilling into your tight hole as he spat and licked on your sensitive clit. It was all you could think about, all you could picture in your mind as your head laid back on the pillows and you scooted down the bed until your pussy was right in his face.
The blanket had long since been forgotten, bunched around his hips and aiding as a nice cushion for his abdomen hunched over the end of the bed.
Bruce felt himself chuckle huskily at your shameless neediness, his big hands stopping on your plush inner thighs as he settled down between your legs on the soft mattress, getting himself comfortable for you.
You breathed heavily, eyes closed as you laid back on the silken pillow with your face crumbled so cutely. He was such a tease even when he was meant to be sweet, even when he was insistent on being a good husband who doted on his wife whenever he could — you guessed growing up rich gave him that arrogant edge.
Your stomach was knotted so tight, your skin hot and shivering for some sort of touch as your fingers dug themselves into the roots of his damp, brown hair. You needed him so bad, but your pussy needed him worse.
You felt your thighs tickle as Bruce lightly traced the pads of his fingers down, down, down until he was at the crook of your inner thigh, his right hand digging into the flesh of your leg like he himself couldn’t hold back from you anymore.
Bruce didn’t bother voicing any teasing quips or dirty statements, knowing you were so out of it you wouldn’t listen to him anyway. Every fiber of your being was hooked on his touches, hyper aware of the spots his fingers trickled across, eager for some degree of pleasure that would make this painful waiting period worth it.
He swallowed down the salvia pooling in his throat, so hungry for a taste of you, starved almost. His index finger hooked into your panties and delicately pushed them out of the way until they were bunched in the crook of your thigh. His eyes were met with your soaking wet slit in all its glory.
White, creamy arousal stuck to your panties and dripped down your pulsing hole into the crack of your ass, sheer white beads of cum dribbled down your needy hole that would escape his tongue before he even got a proper taste of you yet.
The cool air made you whine behind closed lips, your voice high pitched and desperate now, your fingers tighter in his hair as your hips subtly bucked forward. The beautiful noises you were making made Bruce’s jaw clench.
You were glistening, shiny with arousal and the strings of impenitent want, evidence of your desire and love for him as he found himself inhaling the scent of you once more.
You smelt so good. He found himself groaning at the musky sweetness, his finger still hooked around the crotch of your panties as his other hand tightly gripped your thigh — you moaned softly at the pressure, sure that there would be the faint yellow bruises of his adoring fingerprints pressed into your skin tomorrow. A charming reminder of the evening when they blossomed.
You felt your core clench once more, thighs tensing up as wetness shone in his greedy irises.
Bruce was unable to wait any longer, his mouth salivating and his eyes blown black as he pressed his tongue into your wet hole and licked a bold stripe all the way up to your buzzing clit, the taste of your arousal pooled on his tongue and already dripping down the sharp corners of his mouth.
You couldn’t stop the loud moan from echoing in the room, euphoric sounding as sweet sparks went off all over your skin at the long awaited contact. Your fingers tightly anchored themselves in Bruce’s hair as his tongue went up and down your folds, gathering as much of your wetness in his mouth as he could.
His hands swiftly dug themselves into your hips to hold you down once you started writhing in his hold. His tongue forcefully circled your clit in sharp wet strokes, deep rumbled moans escaping his chest that vibrated the sensitivity of it and only made more wetness gush out of you and soak his chin.
You tasted so good, so fucking good; he wanted nothing more than to be drowned in your essence, choking on everything you gave him until his belly was full and even then he wouldn’t be satisfied, he’d never be satisfied. He was like a monster, chasing every little drop of cum that pebbled out of your clenching hole with a forked tongue, greedy and carnivorous like you were the only nectar he ever wanted to taste again.
His tongue lapped your pussy once more as you gasped, back arched and toes clenched as he thrusted his tongue into you over and over, wet and messily as your juices shimmered on his cheeks and lips.
No, he decided, the beast within him would never be tamed.
You bucked away from his mouth in a pathetic attempt to free yourself from the overwhelming pleasure, but Bruce held you down with his strong arms, staring up at you with furrowed brows of concentration as his lips molded over your puffy clit once more, swollen from need and his relentless licking.
He was nothing if not devoted, devoted to your elegance, to your holy figure and endless love as he lapped at you desperately, his tongue swirling your clit as the fabric of your panties tickled his nose. He couldn’t get enough, pushing deeper and harder until your wetness was messily smeared on his mouth and face, eating more and tasting more until his entire being was smothered with your cum inside and out.
“Bruce, o-oh my god!” You squealed wantonly, one hand now gripping the black sheets between tight fingers as your other hand remained in his hair, following the movements of his head as he went up and down, side to side until not an inch of you wasn’t covered in his salvia.
He breathed hotly against you, his eyes closed as he savored the feel of you in his mouth and trickling down his throat. He couldn’t think of anything else, couldn’t listen to reason as all he could focus on was you and your cum, tasting you, licking you, having you in every sense of the word. No one could tear him away from you, not now, not when he was so close to having you cum in his mouth and reaching his final purpose.
You were so close, you could feel it in your tummy. Your hole clenching around his tongue as he went back and forth from your clit and your soaked hole, wanting to pleasure you but simultaneously wanting to taste you for his own pleasure.
Your toes curled, stomach tightened, hands gripping the sheets as your mouth flew open in sporadic moans and gasps, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your thighs squeezed around Bruce so tight you’d fear he’d never surface from between your legs again.
He wouldn’t have a problem with that.
Bruce picked his head up only high enough to talk, lips dripping and almost incoherent as he mumbled deeply into the wet folds of your pussy like he couldn’t bear to part, “You gonna cum for me, baby? Come on, Mrs. Wayne, make me proud, cum in my mouth.” As he voiced this his one hand crept down and slyly inserted themselves into the tight confine of your warmth, his index and middle fingers pushing inside you, so long and so big it made you cry out.
It was wet and warm, your juices slapping against his knuckles as he circled his fingers inside you, pushing on the spot he knew he was supposed to as his mouth eagerly returned to your clit. He looked up at you, eyes dark and heavy as he stared at your tits jiggling with every thrash of your hips, every arch of your back and every gasp out of your pretty, dampened lips.
He groaned into you at the sight, feeling his cock achingly hard in his pants as he sucked your clit into the warmth of his mouth and refused to let go, tongue prodding the area skillfully and harshly. He wasn’t going to stop this time, not until you were creaming around his fingers and leaking down his neck.
The air was so thick and stuffy that you couldn’t help but pant fervently, your body prickled with pleasure and overwhelming sensations that made it hard to focus on anything but his fingers inside you, long and lithe, slipping in and out as the sounds of your wetness clouded your ears and muffled your moans.
Bruce himself was lost in you, tongue and lips a glistening mess as they lapped and circled and sucked every part of your pussy exposed to him, it felt so good it stung — he was groaning into you softly, pleasure building in his tummy and rumbling through his mouth to your already so sensitive clit.
It was then, just a few short moments after his fingers wormed their way inside your tight walls, just a few short moments after he sucked your clit into his mouth did you feel your stomach relax, thighs squeeze around his head so hard he felt himself go dizzy.
“Ahh, O-oh my god, Bruce!” You moaned so blissfully, so sweetly, as your juices squirted onto his chin and his fingers squelched inside you.
Bruce moaned at the feeling, fingers gently sliding out of your clenching hole so his tongue could catch all the cum pouring out. You whimpered at the feeling of his mouth still on you, lapping at your hole like a dehydrated villager kneeling at a prosperous fountain, your skin pasty and so so hot.
He lapped at your pussy a few more times, up and down, ensuring he got his fill for the evening as faint tremors wracked your body in the aftershocks of his giving nature. You were flat on the bed now, belly sore from the tightness it held for so long, legs limp and body spent as you panted gently, heart throbbing in your ears.
You managed to lazily caress his sweaty hair though as Bruce surfaced from between your legs, face glistening and lips sore and pink. He looked manic, hair pulled and tangled and messily scattered on his face yet he seemed to be glowing at the same time, like he had never felt so alive and it made you want to giggle.
He sniffled, looking up at you with an impish grin, the taste of you lingering in his mouth and staining his nose. His hands fondly massaged your shaking thighs, noting your wrecked appearance and tired eyes, your sweaty skin flushed and warm.
He couldn’t help it as he glanced down at the mess he made, your slippery wet folds and the large patch of wetness staining his sheets.
“Mrs. Wayne, pardon my brashness of course,” He said almost sarcastically, breathless and rugged, an amused smile quirked on his lips as he leaned forward and embraced your hand with his, “but you taste utterly divine.”
⋆˚࿔ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ @little-miss-chaoss — I hope it’s okay I tagged you, you said you wanted to be tagged in everything 😭🙌🏻
╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆: how he acted 𓂃⊹ the beginning of how it started. a part detailing how Batman initially treated you and handled the relationship.
╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏: how it happened 𓂃⊹ how Batman fell in love with you and all the things that happened leading up to it. all the signs and actions that made him love you.
╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒙: how it was 𓂃⊹ how Batman handled the reality of being in love with you and all the things he did to try and hide from it. better yet, his confession.
╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈: how it all fell together 𓂃⊹ yours and Bruce’s relationship and how he was with you. some relationship headcanons for fun.
⋆˙⟡♡ PAIRING ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ battinson x fem!reader
⋆˙⟡♡ CONTENT INCLUDES ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ mentions of sex, mentions of fighting and threatening, rough kissing, mentions of sad!Bruce / undertones of depression, mentions of alcohol & insomnia, bad words, sweet kisses, tears, hair pulling, love confessions, not really a whole lot of sexiness just headcanons mostly
⋆˙⟡♡ WARNINGS ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ mature content, emotionally tortured Bruce Wayne, maybe not my best story telling :(, mentions of blood and fighting cuz this is Batman, alcoholism
⋆˙⟡♡ AUTHORS NOTE ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ thanks to @diavolosbaby for requesting this!! Hope you enjoy and it lives up to your standards 🩷
OTHER LINKS ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ 𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕
𝓫𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓸𝓷 ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ He told you what this was before he even started it. Told you this was strictly business, no feelings involved; you knew who he was during a chance encounter and you were the only one he could really come to after that. It was simple, straight forward; you needed his dick and he needed your pussy.
╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆: how he acted 𓂃⊹
⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce came to you a lot, which was a little odd compared to how you perceived him to be. You thought he was a very busy man, always fighting crime or hiding away in his mansion, always too busy to bother with someone as unimportant as you. But no, you couldn’t have been more wrong. He was there at least three times a week, standing by your window in that black suit of his with his cape blowing with the wind, waiting for you.
⋆˙⟡♡ He was always quiet, head filled with whatever torturous pain lingered in the shadows of his mind, brimming with the secrets he never told you and you never asked for. He never spoke, unless it was a command spoken in a gentle gruffness. He never smiled, tried not to grunt or make too much noise, but some nights he couldn’t contain himself and the sounds just escaped him. Those were the nights he was particularly frustrated.
⋆˙⟡♡ He never let you take off his mask at first, he’d leave it on and you were left grasping at leather and air. He didn’t like affection, having you touch his scars and his body, it was too vulnerable, too intimate, for his liking. So, naturally, he didn’t stay to cuddle afterwards. The business was over, your job was done, he’d slip out the window as you’d bask in the aftershocks.
⋆˙⟡♡ His heart was cold but his body was warm, always warm. He was like a furnace when he’d be flat against you, fucking into you with his head in your neck and his hands gripping your jaw, your waist, your thighs. You’d always get so hot, craving his warmth like a bug to a bonfire.
⋆˙⟡♡ He never bothered to ask you anything about yourself, but you had a suspicion he had to have done some research on you during those long lonely days in the darkness of his home. He was too cautious not to, too curious. And he did. He found out everything about you but didn’t share a single detail about himself. He was Bruce Wayne, rich son whose parents died by day, and then Batman, vengeance personified by night. That’s all you needed to know.
⋆˙⟡♡ Batman only came to you in the middle of the night, sometimes bloody and beaten, your fingers running over tender bruises that would make him grimace. A part of him liked the pain, figured he deserved it. Sometimes you worried for him on the nights he was particularly beaten up, but he didn’t give you time to ask questions before he was shoving you against your dresser and pressing himself against you.
⋆˙⟡♡ He didn’t like being in the light, being too seen. He liked it with all the lights off, your room glowing with the dim light of the moon and the streetlights, your face pressed into his neck or shoved into a pillow so you couldn’t look at him.
⋆˙⟡♡ In the beginning, he liked it when you just submitted to him; he mostly cared about his own pleasure at first as he told you what this was, why he was doing this. That didn’t stop him from making sure you came at least once though. He couldn’t help it, didn’t want you to feel completely used.
⋆˙⟡♡ You noticed he always had this way about him when he touched you, almost like he yearned to hold you closer but knew he shouldn’t. His hands were rough, long fingers and hot palms, lingering on your skin before he’d move them away, never touching one place too long before he’d move on. It was almost a tease.
⋆˙⟡♡ He spied on you, a lot actually, would watch you from his spot on a roof top, stare at you through your big office window. He didn’t know why, just bored and curious, he always told himself. He’d see you stress yourself out, fill out paper after paper while your boss did nothing but throw more at you. You took it anyway and Bruce was confused by why. But he never asked, didn’t want to make a connection with you and risk losing you.
⋆˙⟡♡ He remembered sneaking into your house, waiting for you, but you were late coming home from work and he wasn’t sure if he should leave or not. He felt wrong about it, but he looked through your photos and your notebooks, saw a glimpse into your real life outside of him and work and he quickly put everything back the way it was and left. He didn’t want to see, he didn’t want to see you as anything different than what he already did.
⋆˙⟡♡ He would lie to Alfred about where he was going at night, why he would be so late coming home. But Alfred knew he was lying, he wasn’t sure about what exactly, but Alfred knew Bruce would come to him in time.
⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce tried hard to keep his and yours personal lives outside of your mutual situation, he really did. He didn’t want to know you, hear you talk about your problems and your dreams and fears and learn what made you you, from your own words. He was alone and knew he was meant to be alone, planned on being alone forever. Being with him would only put you in danger, a bigger target on his back he didn’t need. It was for your own protection, for the sake of both your lives and both your hearts.
⋆˙⟡♡ He vowed to himself to keep it that way, strictly professional, a hobby almost. He really didn’t plan to fall in love, he really really didn’t…
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ Your living room was dark when you came home from work, later than usual because of your infuriating boss; he was lazy, relied on his employees to do his work while he sat in his office and ate his donuts. You hated him, loathed him, absolutely couldn’t stand him, but you understood he was just another obstacle, a milestone you needed to get through before you reached where you needed to be. So, you didn’t make a fuss, you didn’t complain, didn’t speak up. You did what you were supposed to as you were supposed to do it, just another hamster circling the wheel of business over and over until you finally got the balls to break the cycle.
Unfortunately, your ambition was almost too much for you sometimes, tonight was evidence enough.
You set your keys in the ceramic bowl by the door with a tired sigh, soft rain pattering on your windows, furniture lit up with a dim orange glow from the street lamps outside. All twisting shadows and rain drops. Your nose tickled with the scent of vanilla bean and raspberry, remembering the candle you had forgotten to blow out before you left. Oops.
Your hair was damp, gray suit littered in dark spots from the rain outside. Your limbs were sore and heavy, eyes burning and fluttering for a semblance of rest. Your heels were sore from the heels you’ve been prancing around in all day, your whole body exhausted in general. This was normal for you though, you always came home lagged and tired. You regretted being such a hard worker, but knew it would ultimately pay off in the future.
You walked to your bedroom, your heels clacking on the floor unevenly, dragging on the wooden boards as you navigated your way through the darkness. You held your purse loosely in your left hand, a shiver crawling up your spine as an unexpected gust of coolness swept up your legs and down your neck.
Your foot stuttered, lingering by the doorway in your bedroom as the rain seemed louder, less dull, wind whistling your black bed sheets. You furrowed your eyebrows at that, knowing you left your window closed before you left. Your eyes strained to see anything in the darkness as panic blared in your chest like a fire alarm, trying to make out any figure in the shadows of your room. You slowly crept forward, preparing for the worst, your exhaustion melting into hot fear that made your bones go stiff.
You swallowed, eyes immediately going to the open window to see the empty street below, the sound of a car alarm in the distance overpowering the rain that seemed to just pound harder. Your window was wide open, sheer purple curtains flapping from the breeze like a set of violet wings. Your eyes narrowed at that, hearing nothing but buzzing silence ringing in your ears. Then, it just hit you.
You couldn’t describe it exactly, but you felt a sensation of calmness wash over you as you let out a hefty breath, fear gradually melting away as your body relaxed and hands unclenched. It was like your body knew it wasn’t in any real danger, that there was nothing lurking in the shadows besides what was supposed to be. This was all too familiar to you; a setting you’ve come home to many times before. The open window, the darkness, the buzzing calm.
You felt excitement spark through you in recognition as you felt your neck tingle, a barely there whisper of a breath wash over your neck and tickle your hair.
You felt a smile quirk on your lips, turning around slowly, sucking in a sharp breath when you were met with the large bulking figure of the man in black standing just an inch away from you, a shadow hiding in shadow as he stared down at you with those black soulless eyes. He was big, a thing you liked about him, dirt encrusted on his suit and so out of place in the cozy warmth of your home. He was big and bulky, comically large for your small bedroom.
You looked back up at him, your purse dropping to the floor as instinctual arousal flooded your belly at just the mere sight of him. You couldn’t help it, your body knew what he was capable of and yearned for it. Your throat became dry, you swallowed once more as his eyes, those dark blue gems of his, looked over your face with a certain pained look in them, calculating and tortured, covered in black face paint that hid the beauty of his raw skin.
His pink lips were set in a firm frown, a faint scratch on his chin, breaths slow and even, calm. That damned mask of his covered his face, the fluffiness of his brown hair you seldom ever felt run through your finger tips. He always wore this expression, always so serious and somber like he was going through a dreadful ordeal every second he continued to live. You were always curious as to why, but knew he’d never answer, nor appreciate your nosiness.
You let your thoughts drift off, looking back up at him with a false confidence.
“I didn’t know you were coming tonight…” You mumbled quietly, losing any conviction in your voice as he took a small step forward, closer to you, his heavy boot thudding on your floor. You took a small step back, crumbling under him way too easily, as always. He always loved to completely invade your space, but never let you do the same to him.
You looked up at him, he looked down at you, breaths mingling together as a dark look washed over his oceanic eyes, his strong jaw clenching as he ran his eyes over your face like this was the first time he’d ever seen you. You felt your thighs tighten at the look in them, at the way he looked at you.
You were being honest though, you didn’t expect him tonight. You had seen him two nights ago, expecting not to see him for another few weeks at least.
“Shhh…” He shushed you gently, voice gravelly but gentle, tired but awake, undertones of desire.
He leaned down towards you and you found yourself holding your own arms back from wrapping around him and taking him already, just as he always took you. His gloved hands reached for the edge of the dresser behind you, trapping you between his strong arms and chest, completely invading your senses as your eyes looked into his, almost begging. His cape flowed down his shoulders and shrouded around you both until all you could see was black, the heady smell of smoke and rain tickling your nose, captivating.
He pressed himself against you, a brick wall, the mahogany’s edge digging into your lower back as your breath stuttered. You found yourself looking at his lips, his nose, his eyes, his closeness overwhelming you as you couldn’t figure out where to look, your skin feeling hot and stuffy, the confidence you had previously now a pile on the floor as your stomach twisted.
You could see the rain on his black suit, dripping down all his gear and heavy armor he wore and down to his waist, some falling to the floor in soft drips. You licked your lips, minding the mess, feeling lightheaded and fluttery as you looked back up at him with sparkling eyes.
He cocked his head at you, dark eyes running over your lips before looking back into your own, “Take your hair down.”
He always used such a gentle, tired voice, like he didn’t want to scare you and he could never find enough sleep, but the demand was obvious in his tone, eyes dark and predatory as they stared down at you intently. He didn’t need anymore command, knowing you’d do as he said just like you always did.
You didn’t dare disobey, sensing his need sizzling in the air just as strong as your shared want. You managed eye contact as you brought a hand up to the back of your head, taking out the black hair clip holding your hair together, the rain pattering on your roof almost too loud in your ears. He stared as your hair fell down your shoulders, cascading down your back in silky waves and framing your face. You swallowed, feeling the need to clear your throat as you put a hand through your hair and brushed it over your shoulder.
You saw his eyes run over your hair, the way it fell around your cheeks, his jaw clenching once more. He brought a hand up, big and heavy, running your locks through his fingers, imagining the softness of it as the sweet smell of apricot and citrus filled his nose, the signature flavor of your favorite shampoo.
You sighed at the pleasurable sensation on your scalp, head titling back as your eyes drooped, your hair clip falling to the ground noisily as you brought your hands up and grabbed his forearms. You might’ve been a little dramatic at just a few touches, but you were so needy, needy for this dangerous man you knew absolutely nothing about besides the obvious. He was a stranger in a suit, a stranger to you, but he somehow knew how to touch you better than any man you’ve ever been with.
He took note of your reaction, his own body twitching to touch you as he noticed the look in your eyes. He felt an intense need spark through him, his hand grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling your head back. He remained calm looking, but his eyes gave it all away.
Your head was yanked back, a pleasurable gasp leaving your lips as you squeezed his arms, looking up at him with your lips parted and breaths heavy. Your head stung, hair being pulled on in just the right way that had a familiar wetness pooling between your thighs, your body buzzing alive with feeling.
Bruce looked down at you, pressing the broadness of himself against you even harder, your breasts smushed against his suit, completely at his mercy. He looked down at you with an unraveled look in his eyes as he tilted your head up towards him.
He kissed you then, rough and hot, groaning into your mouth as his tongue played with yours, teeth clashing and breaths hot against each other. You couldn’t help but moan against him as he finally granted you what you’ve been wanting for so long now, scalp burning from his hold on your hair as your hands flew up and gripped at the leather of his mask, arms wrapped around his neck.
He was forceful and rough, his other hand crawling around your waist and lifting you off the ground with such ease it almost caught you off guard. You gasped into his mouth, his hand tightening on the hold in your hair as you grimaced at the pain.
You didn’t break the kiss, stuck on him as your heels fell off your feet and hit the floor. In two big strides you were suddenly lied flat on your bouncy mattress with Batman himself between your thighs, still holding your waist and head against him as he kissed you fervently.
Your skirt slid down around your thighs as you wrapped your legs around him, pressing him harder into you as all you wanted was him, him everywhere and him all over you. You moaned against him, helpless and desperate, as the ridges in his suit dug into your stomach, his lips movingly hotly against yours as he grunted against you. His cape flowed around you, thick and smooth, trapping you underneath until all you could see was blackness, unable to discern the space between his body and yours.
You knew this was going to be quick; he was too rough, too impatient and needy. It must’ve been a bad night for him, but you didn’t pry no matter how much you wanted to, no matter how much the questions bubbled in your throat and ached in your chest you knew you were in no place to ask. A part of you liked it that way, liked that this was strictly this. You liked that you didn’t have to answer to him, that you weren’t bound to him and he wasn’t to you. It was just simple, secrecy for a night of shameless lust-filled sex in return.
You both got what you wanted and that was enough. You appreciated that he didn’t go beyond that just as you didn’t. Outside of this room he was Batman, a dangerous vigilante some trusted and some hated, he was Bruce Wayne, an orphan child with more money and pain than he needed. But in the shadow of your bedroom, under the covers with you, there was no identity, no obligation, just two strangers seeking each other out in search of the one thing they both wanted, blessed with none of the other drama that followed a relationship.
With Bruce on top of you in this very moment, his hands gripping your body for no reason other than pleasure, you knew he would be gone before the night was over, and you’d be alone in your bed with bite marks and handprints on your skin to serve as a reminder of the man who gave them to you. You knew he would silently leave, slip away when he thought you were sleeping, you knew he wouldn’t talk or tell you any of his problems. He’d give you what you wanted and then slip into the shadows… you had to admit, It was the most perfect arrangement.
╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏: how it happened 𓂃⊹
⋆˙⟡♡ Batman didn’t plan on ever falling in love with you, but when he did, it had happened after a couple of months of doing what he did with you. But before he did, things had been going so well. You never intervened in his life and he never intervened in yours. Just as he expected, just as he preferred. It had been perfect, but somewhere along the way he had gotten too involved, started to trust you without even realizing it.
⋆˙⟡♡ At first, it started with him staying in your bed longer than he used to. You didn’t argue, comfortable with the heat his body gave you in the coldness of the night. He found himself dozing off after you would, your fluffy blanket soft on his skin and the mattress like a cloud for his broken body. He’d always be gone before you woke up though. You didn’t want to say anything about his little sleepovers, scared you’ll frighten him and he’ll stop. So you let him do as he pleased, enjoying his company albeit his silence.
⋆˙⟡♡ He never cuddled with you though, ever (don’t worry, he lets that slip too). Always stiff like a board on his side of the bed, expression crumbled with pain and peace. Sometimes he’d flinch, nightmares you never questioned him about but always noticed. Still, he’d wake up after about an hour, slip out your window, but not before giving you one last look, seeing how the moon shined down on your soft skin…
⋆˙⟡♡ Then, it was following you home after work, making sure you got home safe on those dark nights where it seemed like every shadow was following you. He’d be on the rooftops, claiming he was just curious and bored, cape flapping in the wind, when in reality he just needed to make sure you got home safely.
⋆˙⟡♡ You didn’t know, but he was watching you much more than you’d ever suspect. He watched your home on the nights Gotham was quiet, his body knowing you were so close but oh so far. He thought about you when he wasn’t thinking about you, thought about the routine he had found in you, the unfamiliar closeness, the comfort he had found between your body and your bed sheets.
⋆˙⟡♡ He started kissing you more, flinching less when your fingers would graze his back. He let you look at him, look deep into his eyes when he was inside you, have your hands touching his face and his back without the security of his suit to hide him. You loved when he did that, feeling him under your hands, skin to skin as it should be.
⋆˙⟡♡ He let you see his scars in the light, didn’t care when he took off his suit and your bathroom light was on, shining down on his body and the sculpted muscle of it. He had learned you wouldn’t judge him, but he was still hesitant, suffering inside when he looked down at the floor as you gazed at him in awe… you thought he was so beautiful.
⋆˙⟡♡ He would watch you when you worked, watch as your boss would storm in and demand more from you. Bruce didn’t like that, would clench his fist and grind his teeth when you’d get scolded like a child, told to work harder when all you did was work. He’d have to control himself when your boss would walk past him on his way home every night.
⋆˙⟡♡ He started conversing with you more, holding you against his chest when you two were done. He’d ask you profound questions as you two stared up at the ceiling, you’d tell him your answer. He didn’t talk a lot, just liked to listen. It would be intimate, almost romantic. He’d listen to what you’d have to say and he’d learn, learn more about who you were, where you came from, and he’d find himself not wanting to leave, a dull ache in his chest every time you’d fall asleep and he’d have to slip out your fire escape.
⋆˙⟡♡ He never admitted it to himself, but he started to look forward to seeing you, found comfort in your small bedroom and the absence of life’s problems that came with it. He started to enjoy the smell of vanilla bean and raspberry from those candles you always forgot to blow out before work. He started to pick up on your little quirks.
⋆˙⟡♡ While gradually falling in love with you, Bruce would deny, deny, deny. He acknowledged that he was starting to feel things he didn’t want to, and he’d be incredibly disturbed and moody, more than usual. Alfred would even be a little peeved with him.
⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce would find himself asking you how work was. He would be concerned about the bags under your eyes and the wrinkles in your clothes, not outright concerned but he couldn’t stop himself from asking. He wanted to hear your voice.
⋆˙⟡♡ He would be very hesitant around you, scared he was doing too much when he’d touch you now. It wasn’t like before, when he would just grab and control. Now he was really touching you, trying to feel you, every dip and curve of your skin under his fingertips.
⋆˙⟡♡ He had gotten way too comfortable with you now, even he knew that. He relied on you and the comfort you gave, a feeling he’d been without for so long. He was like a cold soul lost in the woods, searching for something, anything, hollow, a warm body to bring him back. He found that with you, and he didn’t even realize it until he started to feel pain when he wasn’t around you, a pain in his chest like a knife was stabbing into his heart. He missed you but he didn’t want to…
⋆˙⟡♡ He stared at your face a lot, too intensely for your liking, thoughts behind those dark eyes of his he’d never tell you about if you confronted him about it. He just liked to look at you, watch you giggle and smile. He’d do it without realizing how intimidated it made you feel, how you’d have to blush and look away, pretend you didn’t notice. He just liked to look at you, soak in your expressions before he’d leave again.
⋆˙⟡♡ The signs were all there when you thought about it. The lingering touches, the admiring stares, the countless nights he’d watch over you. He felt like a creep, following you around so much, but he couldn’t help it. You were a pleasant distraction and he was a fool, easily succumbing to those feelings he had for you without even knowing it. They had been growing inside of him like a blooming vine… they started out small but grew into so much more, and he ignored it, until he just couldn’t take it anymore…
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ It was a quiet night in September, it had been raining for days and the coolness of autumn had just started to blow into the city. The trees danced with orange and red leaves, strewn all over the road and sidewalks, getting stuck under peoples rain boots and car tires. Your window was cracked, letting a cool breeze into your room that made you shiver, the savory smell of someone’s cooking wafting into your noses from the apartments across the way. You looked at your tv, black screen shut off but reflecting the blurred forms of your mingled bodies on your bed, arm outstretched on Bruce’s stomach, head lying on his chest. You could hear his heart, slow and calm just as he always was, pumping in your ear and lulling you to sleep.
You wanted to stay awake though, listening to the sounds of cars driving in rain puddles and horns honking, the occasional laughter of a passerby. A candle was lit on your dresser across the room, with the faint scent of vanilla bean and raspberry in the air just as Bruce liked. Your legs were a little sore, thighs tender from where Bruce had gripped them so hard, lips puffy from where Bruce had kissed them so much. You felt satisfied, pleasant even, comforted by his presence, the knowledge of his identity absent in your mind as you didn’t register him as a millionaire, or as a crime fighting vigilante, you never really did.
He was neither of those things to you. He was… he was Bruce, just Bruce, your Bruce. Not Bruce Wayne or Batman, and that was enough for you. You took him as he is not as he was, never questioned him about his parents or how Batman was even created. He appreciated that, didn’t like answering questions about himself he wasn’t comfortable with. He was comfortable with silence, but he didn’t mind hearing you.
He was awake too, didn’t want to fall asleep before you, something in his mind telling him he should leave already, not sink into the mattress any further and let himself relish in your warmth. He had responsibilities, duties, people he needed to save and crime he needed to stop. It was Gotham, something was always wrong and someone always needed help. But he couldn’t think about any of that stuff around you, his thoughts always either empty or crowded with your smile.
His suit was a mess on the floor, scrambled just like his mind, bat mask clear as day in his vision, lit up in a red glimmer from the light outside. It stared at him with its blank eyes, watching, the buzzing of a neon light loud in his ears. It’s like it was mocking him, patronizing him. He frowned at it, turning his head slightly away from it, like it was a reminder of what his true purpose was, where he should really be this late other than here in your arms. He knew he should go, felt his arm twitch like he was about to get up and unwind from you.
“Don’t you have somewhere you should be? Or are you gonna stay?” You mumbled sleepily, voice so quiet and sweet he almost didn’t hear it.
His eyes drifted to you, rubbing his fingertips on your rib cage and savoring the feeling of your smooth skin underneath him, against him. You were so unblemished, unlike him. A few scratches and scars here and there that held stories and memories, none like his. His were ridged and pale, covered his skin, they held memories but none of them good. Memories that served as reminders of why this was so wrong, of who he really was and who he needed to get back to once he left these four walls.
He thought about it for a minute, frowning at the ceiling fan.
Did he have somewhere to be? Yes, yes he did. He always had somewhere to be, that was the problem. He couldn’t be everywhere at once, he could be somewhere else, but he was here instead. He was here with you, here with you. He had somewhere to be, could be anywhere else, but he was here. Everyone always expected him to be where they were, expected him to save everyone. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t save everyone and he couldn’t be everywhere they wanted him to be. He was with you but he shouldn’t be. Guilt settled in his gut as he swallowed, hands itching like it was wrong to touch you.
His eyes, dark and somber like storm clouds, especially just as captivating, looked over your frazzled hair like he could see your face, knowing how exhausted you must’ve been from work and sex, how it was so late already and how you’d have to leave so early. Your breathing was slow and even, warm breath brushing over his chest from your parted pink lips, all cues of how you’ve already fallen asleep. He thought about your question, yes, yes he had somewhere he needed to be, he always did.
He didn’t bother speaking, just turned his head back and looked at the ceiling as his arm held you just a little tighter against him, hearing the splash of a car racing through water from somewhere outside.
He’ll stay for a little while.
╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒙: how it was 𓂃⊹
⋆˙⟡♡ When he realized he was in love with you he left, he left for a long time. He refused to let those feelings blossom into anything more, grow into something more… dangerous. Love was dangerous, he was dangerous. He isolated himself from you, in a worse mood than usual. Alfred had picked up on it, knowing there was more going on than Bruce wanted to say. You couldn’t help the disappointment as the days turned into weeks, weeks of hope being crushed on with every night he wasn’t there.
⋆˙⟡♡ He told himself it was for the best, heartbreak was something you could heal from, death was something you’d never come back from. With his life, you would die. He couldn’t lose anyone else, he couldn’t. He couldn’t subject you to that same fate his parents had.
⋆˙⟡♡ Still, he couldn’t stop himself from watching you when you’d walk home, still sitting outside your job, your home, watching you from a distance to make sure you’d be alright. He couldn’t sleep if he didn’t.
⋆˙⟡♡ He couldn’t sleep anyway. Eyes a dark purple and the ache in his chest getting so much worse. It was because of you he couldn’t sleep, bed empty and cold without you, mattress hard and firm unlike yours. His nightmares consisted of your death and his inability to save you. He was better off seeing nothing with his eyes open than your blood with his eyes closed.
⋆˙⟡♡ Alfred was concerned. Confronted his Master Bruce during breakfast when Bruce was silent and gloomy. Yes, Alfred knew he would confess eventually, just needed a little shove. “I can’t stop thinking about her, Alfred.”
⋆˙⟡♡ You couldn’t stop thinking about him either… work was slow and long, your thoughts muddled together as you couldn’t stop racking your brain for a reason, any reason, as to why, why he left. Did you do something wrong?
⋆˙⟡♡ You didn’t want to say you missed him, you didn’t want to admit that to yourself. You felt almost stupid, like he had used you and discarded you, but wasn’t that the whole point? You were a mess, confused and feeling a different kind of lonely only a sad heart could bring you. You felt abandoned.
⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce would hide up in his room and think, read books but not pay attention to the words. Alfred would bring him his tea and advice whenever he could, but it seemed nothing could cheer him up. Bruce felt a different kind of loneliness now than he had his whole life. When his parents died they were taken away from him, he didn’t choose to give them up like he did you. He felt like he had lost yet another person.
⋆˙⟡♡ He really thought about moving on from you, a part of him arguing thats what was best for you. But the thought of fully giving you up to anybody else angered him. You weren’t his but you’d always been in some way, his. He yearned to be near you again, an itch in the back of his mind only you could scratch.
⋆˙⟡♡ He drunk, a lot. Spent his free time as Bruce Wayne drowning in whiskey and scotch, heavy liquor bottles empty and discarded on the floor. He almost felt like crying, but he’d just pass out on his bed, too drunk to crawl under the covers. Sometimes he’d pass out in the common room, leg hanging off the couch and hair unraveled, Alfred cleaning up the mess and putting a blanket over him.
⋆˙⟡♡ He drowned himself in his work to distract from you. He was frustrated, angry, weeks having gone by without you having set him on edge. He was beating petty criminals to a bloody pulp, sending them to Gordon barely conscious. He needed to take his anger out on something, anything. Alfred would just sigh when a bloody Bruce would storm past him, ensuring his suit was cleaned before the next day.
⋆˙⟡♡ It was a late Friday night when Bruce let his anger take control of him. It was some petty thief thinking he’d run off with the bags of cash he’d stolen. Bruce didn’t let him speak, anger taking over him like thick ropes of lava in his blood, anger that had festered in his black heart for weeks, simmering under his skin waiting for the moment it could boil over.
⋆˙⟡♡ He was bloody and dirty when he came to you in a blur of anger and love, adrenaline running through him with a determination boiling in his bones.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ It was a dark cloudy night when you saw Bruce standing outside your window; you lay in bed, cozy and under the covers, bathed in the dim golden light of your lamp. You were pretending to read a book you’ve meant to finish with a frown on your face, mind full of memories and the fruitless desire to have it all back. It was a melancholic pain that throbbed under your skin, sharp and persistent like a plant rash, the memory of forgotten things plaguing your mind and wishing it could just all go back to the way it was.
You almost didn’t see him if it wasn’t for the thud on your fire escape; you jumped and the book flew to the floor with a thud. Your eyes widened and you felt a wave of excitement and relief flourish through your veins as you scrambled off your bed. You couldn’t believe it, heart pounding as you rushed over to your window and swung it open like an eager baker opening an oven door. It was a big window, one with a giant view of the street below and the park across the ways, big enough to fit a grown man in a heavy suit.
Your hands were almost frantic, eyes wide in disbelief to just see him standing there in all his glory, back to you like he used to be all those weeks ago before he left, left you, left you behind. The memory of his loss and betrayal flashed back like a pull to reality, all those sad feelings you pushed away coming full frontal in your head like a tidal wave in your fragile brain.
Bruce’s heavy stare burned through you and it was like you could feel it on your skin, like a million microscopic bugs crawling all over you, your body buzzing with electricity and your hands almost shaking. You felt a flurry of difficult emotions coursing through you that all muddled together in one big mess in your head; anger and happiness, relief and irritation. You couldn’t pinpoint on one, feeling everything all at once when you opened your window and Batman was stood on the other side of you in all his threatening grandness.
You hated that he looked so good despite the grime.
You were left stunned as all you could do was stare at him. This was a moment you’ve only dreamt about, wished for for days and countless weeks, fantasized about for hours on end. How you would react, what you would say, how it would all go… and especially how he’d apologize on hand and knee for you, atone for his sins and plead for your pardon. It was all meticulously planned and carefully thought out, and now here it was, the moment you’ve been waiting for for so long; it was finally here, staring at you in the face. And it was so funny how all those ideas and all that confidence you had just seemed to vanish now that it was time to confront them; you were frozen as you stared back at him, unsure of what to do next and too tongue tied to formulate a thought. All that planning, pointless in the face of its precipitant.
Bruce stared back at you longingly and painfully, breaths hard and heavy and knuckles bruised and sore. His eyes were smeared in that black paint he always used, thick with an unspoken emotional torture, like he was being tormented in his own mind at the mere sight of you. He was in a way; you were his reminder of why he left, the catalyst of his destruction but at the same time his anecdote. It was all very confusing and contradictory; all he could understand was that it pained him to look at you, but he couldn’t find it in himself to look away.
Blood was splattered over his cheeks and suit, his heart pumping in his ears as he looked you over, putting all the pieces of you back in his mind; from your face, to your pink pajamas, to the black socks on your feet, then back to your cautious eyes. You were all right, you were okay and he was so relieved. He felt a weight drop from his chest, knowing you were in no certain danger but he always worried for you if he couldn’t see you, a consequence of everyone he cared for always getting hurt some way or another. Bruce felt what he could only describe as happiness, a feeling he only got with you, hit him full on like a train, smacking into his heart as his throat closed up.
He had missed you.
He had missed you a lot, more than he ever wanted to admit, but he would gladly do so for you. He had missed your pretty eyes and sweet voice, soft hands and smooth skin, and your voice, calming and rich like honeyed pastries. You were beautiful to him, so beautiful, and he couldn’t believe he had shown up here once more, that he would risk ever putting it in danger. But he had to come, he couldn’t take it anymore… and if his love for you was that perilous then his soul be damned.
He noticed the subtle way your face crumbled as your initial excitement died down, settled into pain and sadness and concern; your eyes running over the blood on him, wondering if it was his, really looking at him and realizing that he was really here, back on your fire escape. He couldn’t believe it himself, but here he was and he didn’t plan on leaving, not unless you ordered him to. You were nervous, eager to touch him, feel the suit under your palms like you used to, but you were also too stubborn to welcome him back into your home so easily, hurt once and not wanting to be hurt again. He understood that notion all too well.
Bruce felt an unfamiliar form of courage jolting through him, a type of courage so different from the one he used to fight criminals every night. This was a type of boldness that made him just want to grab your face and kiss you, hard, make up for all the lost time between you and spill all his confessions in the space between his lips and yours, make you taste the apology on his tongue. All he wanted was to be here again, here in your room; his nose was already filling up with the smell of vanilla bean and raspberry, his muscles relaxing instinctively at the sweet smell of it, knowing he was safe here. He wanted so badly to be here again, but now that he was he didn’t know what to do.
Bruce admitted that he was a little disappointed at your reaction to him, that you didn’t welcome him back in with open arms and gleeful smiles, kiss him and hug him and show him how much you missed him. But he knew that was too optimistic. He knew your antipathy was to be expected; he could only imagine the amount of hurt he’d put you through if it was anything compared to his own. He could only imagine how many nights you came home hoping he was there, waiting for you like he always did, how many days you kept looking at the clock, wishing it would hurry up and you could just go home already, how many days you hoped it would be different from the one before, how much hope he must’ve killed.
He felt horrible, regret and guilt spinning in his stomach as his muscles twitched, itching to touch you again; you were a drug coursing through his veins, and after two months of withdrawal he could say he was positively hooked once more. But, he knew he couldn’t just grab whatever part of you he liked like a greedy child in a toy store. He needed patience, he needed to wait for you to warm up to him on your own terms, no matter how long that took.
So, Bruce just stood on your fire escape with his hands holding the frame of the wall, blood and vanilla heavy on his nose as he stared at you, breathing hard but calm, waiting for you to make a move, any move or semblance of invitation.
Your eyes ran over the blood on him, the awkward silence deafening with all the unspoken words and yearning you both wanted so badly to address. Your eyes narrowed at the red spots and stripes on his suit and face, dripping off his gloves, worry shooting through your buzzing veins. You took a step back away from him in discontent, curious as to why he has suddenly appeared after so long away, eyes looking him over like the situation has really dawned on you. It had been weeks, two months even, since you’ve seen him, seen his black eyes and pointed ears, seen the vague Batman symbol on the chest piece of his suit.
Memories were coming back wave after wave at the sight of him, ones that wanted you to embrace him, ones that were gradually persuading you to give up this act and just be thankful he was here again, back to you. But you knew better than that, knew better than to just simply overlook a mistake as monumental as the one he made. You needed to have some damn pride.
Despite that…
Were you happy to see him? Yes, yes you really really were. You wanted him to just take off his mask and kiss you already, hell, you didn’t care if he left it on because you just wanted him to kiss you again. You wanted to feel his big arms around you once more and feel his warm palms on the dip in your back. Have him lift you up and smile into his kiss and say those magical words you yearned to hear. You could try to act tough all you wanted but at the end of the day you were still just a girl, a sad girl who wanted to be held by the man she missed so much… but your anger was still so present, lingering cold in your veins and greatly overpowering any positive emotions you had.
You wanted a damn good reason for why he did what he did.
“What are you doing here, Bruce? I thought you had moved on.” You licked your dry lips, crossing your arms and glaring at him with distaste and a false sense of confidence, a faux act of strength and apathy to cover up the real pain you felt. Your tone was anything but friendly, standoffish and disinterested, conveying the anger you felt almost perfectly; if it wasn’t for the waver in your voice and the glimmer in your eye you would even believe yourself.
You frowned at him, a cruel part of you hoping he was feeling any kind of hurt, any kind of hurt like the hurt you’ve felt. But at the same time, you just wanted so badly to hear that he came back for one reason and one reason alone. You. You wanted to hear him say that he missed you dearly, that he was so sorry for what he did and that he’d never do it again. If you heard that, then maybe, just maybe, you’d forgive him. No, you definitely would.
Bruce almost flinched at your tone, but knew it was well deserved. He looked at you with guilty eyes, like he’d committed the most heinous crime (which in his mind, he did), frown deep on his lips where a cut was on his skin, swallowing down the nerves in his throat at the look in your eyes.
A string of fear curled in his chest and made him nervous, made Batman nervous, a fear of being rejected, of him telling you how he really felt and you not reciprocating it. He couldn’t bear it, the uncertainty. But he was also afraid of hurting you any more than he already has, arguing with himself that he shouldn’t have come. But he was already here and he couldn’t leave now, couldn’t disappoint you any more than he already has. He looked up at you, his chest fluttering when he looked into your eyes.
“‘Could never move on from you…” Bruce grumbled in that deep voice of his, sounding pained and earnest and genuine, pulling at your heart like a trained harpist and making your eyes burn with brimming tears. He meant it, meant it more than you knew, staring at you with so much emotion in his eyes it almost scared you to see it; it was so unlike him to be so emotional, a part of you grateful that he trusted you enough to show it.
You felt a tingle on your skin when you looked back at him, a spark of joy peeking through the dark clouds around you. I could never move on from you…
Bruce’s dark eyes flickered between yours, gauging your reactions, intense and brooding as they always were. They bore into you like he was laying your soul bare in front of him, seeing deeper inside of you than you thought was possible. It made you feel flustered and agitated at being examined so fiercely. His voice, my god his voice, so soft but so gravelly, made you flustered, especially hearing it again after so many weeks of going without it. It washed over your skin like a warm blanket and made goosebumps pop up on your arms, a chill going through your spine that made your heart spike. You were trying so hard to fight it, fight that feeling inside of you that wanted him so badly.
You almost scoffed at his proclamation, looking at him offended, almost too theatrically, too rehearsed.
“Well it seems like you did, so.” You shrugged stubbornly, not knowing what else to say, really, not wanting to speak too much or else you’re afraid he’d hear the longing stutter in your voice. You shook your head incredulously and looked at the wall besides the window, where he stood outside in the cold air still. Secretly, you wanted to bring him inside already, bring him between your arms and hold him against your chest until he was one with you, unable to leave and bound to you forever, souls entwined and breaths shared. That may be a tad dramatic, but that’s what you felt; you knew he needed to cross that barrier on his own… you also knew that the moment he stepped back into your sacred space, the moment his heavy black boot stepped onto your wooden floor, you wouldn’t be able to keep your composure anymore, and you’d collapse in his arms like a dying bride.
Obviously, that couldn’t happen. You needed resistance, strength, a reason.
You couldn’t look at him, didn’t want him to see the tears welling in your eyes and the vulnerability staining your face. It was too embarrassing and too real; you didn’t want Bruce to see how easily you got worked up because of him. You didn’t want him to see all of you just yet, wanted him to feel guilty for what he did to you. He hadn’t even said much, just a single sentence, and you were already a desperate mess hiding under a false security. It was always so easy for him to get to you and you wished you were stronger for it.
Bruce knit his eyebrows at that, subtly shaking his head with a frown as his eyes still searched for yours. He wanted you to look at him, to see the honesty in his words and the sincerity in his blue eyes. He wanted you to see that he was hurting too, just as much as you.
“I didn’t… I just needed some time away… I needed to think.” He confessed vaguely, his voice gentle like he didn’t want to spook you, quiet but just loud enough for you to hear. Bruce always treated you like you were so fragile, a slippery glass vase between his clumsy hands. He never wanted to drop you, hurt you and watch you crumble into a million pieces… but he already did, and now he was trying to glue them all back together, put you back together, but only if you’d let him.
That was something you had come to appreciate about him; his gentleness, so opposite of the image he represented, what everyone believed him to be. He wasn’t just Batman, vengeful and harsh and dangerous. He wasn’t just bloody fists and sharp edges. He was incredibly genuine and tender, complex and multilayered; he was more than the bat, the symbol, the orphan, the millionaire. He was intricately sewn together with all different threads, and over the course of the year you and Bruce shared together you’ve managed to pluck and pull them all, see the warm center inside his cold shell.
Those were sides of him only you got to see, only you got to witness, only you got the privilege to marvel at and cherish. It might have been foolish to think, and you certainly think so now, but you had thought that made you special, that you were the only one he trusted enough, cared for enough, to show that side to… that there was more affection sizzling between you than you both wanted to say… but that just made it hurt so much more when he left, it just convinced you that you were too gullible for love, too naive to tell the difference between love and infatuation. When he left, he made you feel stupid.
You furrowed your eyebrows at his response, your face twisting into an anger Bruce didn’t want to see. Your eyes flashed to him immediately, burning and piercing and blazing, his words bouncing around in your head like a twisted game of racquetball. To think? He left, for months, because he needed to think? It sounded so phony, a simple excuse to disguise the truth, a simple excuse that only angered your unspoken pain.
“To think? To think about what? You’ve been gone for weeks, Bruce! You just left, didn’t tell me anything, didn’t tell me why, but now you’re telling me it’s because you had to think? That sounds ridiculous. I think I deserve a better explanation than, you had to think.” You mocked him, scoffing in his face. You were frustrated and lonely, wanting, deserving, a better reason to justify the pain you went through when he left. You couldn’t believe he couldn’t at least grant you that, a credible reason why.
Bruce grimaced, eyes closing like the sting of your words had just stung him. He slouched, frustrated that he couldn’t seem to get the words out that he wanted to. They were stuck in his throat, itching his tongue and wanting so badly to get out, but he was mute, could only try to explain himself. Besides, there were no words to express just how sorry he was, but he knew how right you were. You were always right. You did deserve more than that, you deserved a better explanation.
Bruce swallowed down his dry throat, clenching his jaw as he looked back up at you, aching to step through the threshold of the window and grab your face between his broken hands and kiss your tears away. He felt hot coils of guilt and regret wrap around his heart and squeeze, his chest collapsing in on itself.
“I-I know how it sounds, but it’s the truth. I needed to think… and to do that I had to leave. I just needed to understand why.” He spoke raspy, voice gritted with anguish and sincerity, looking at you with such desperation it made your foot itch to step towards him, made your heart yearn to comfort him. He was downright pitiful, fingers holding onto the brick so hard it could crumble under his strength. He was slouched down, looking up at you with sunken eyes, begging and pleading without an ounce of shame.
You stared back at him, clenching your jaw so hard your teeth hurt. God, you really did just want to hold him again, kiss him again… the need was too much, burning inside you and crawling under your skin. You had your hands crossed over your chest like you were physically trying to hold yourself back, like you were trying to protect yourself against his woeful whims of persuasion.
You frowned at his statement, the rational part of your brain that was still logical and loyal to you making you want to question him more, learn more, find out more. Your shoulders slumped as you looked back at him confused, lips pulled in a frown.
“Why what? Think about what? Can you stop being so vague!” You said exasperated, wishing he would just say what he meant and stop being so damn secretive all the time. Especially now, especially here. He was the one who showed up here after all this time and now he was trying to just sneak by with it. You refused to let him, forced him to confront his own dilemma. You couldn’t see it any other way, blinded by your own rose colored rage that needed an explanation.
Bruce grit his teeth, working up the nerve to answer you as he looked down at your feet, looking physically pained. He wanted to tell you why, he wanted to tell you why so badly, but just as soon as he wanted to say it he was found at a loss for words, struck with that same fear again that made his words stutter. That same fear of being rejected, ridiculed, that fear of putting his heart on his sleeve and having you pierce it with a silver dagger. He was Batman, the shadow of shadows who dealt with worse pain than you could ever imagine. He’s been shot, stabbed, cut up, pushed out of a window, and any other horror you could ever imagine but somehow… none of that hurt would ever compare to the pain caused by your rejection.
You had the power to destroy him and you didn’t even know it. You didn’t know how much of him you carried with you, how easily you could make him fall. Against Gotham he was the Dark Knight, relentless, strong and menacing, capable of things you didn’t want to think about. Against you… he was nothing, powerless, a twig in your hand you could crush without a thought. He was weak against your beauteous thrall and he just wished he could’ve admitted that to himself so much sooner.
Bruce felt his heart constrict, his palms suddenly clammy and his throat suddenly dry; he swallowed roughly. His own heart pounded in his ears, beating under his hot skin, the reality of what he was about to say hitting him full force and he felt like he could pass out, right here on your fire escape, light headed and heavy chested.
He let out a big breath through his nose, gripping the wall between his bloody gloved hands, mustering up the confidence he needed and pushing his fear down, down and deep so it couldn’t be acknowledged anymore. He smothered his insecurities and doubts like a candle wick, clenched his jaw and cleared the smoke from his mind. Bruce looked up at you, eyes glimmering like fire light as they looked over your form once more. He looked up from your socks and your feet, up to your smooth legs and pink nightgown, up to your face, where he focused intently on your lips and nose and eyes.
You looked back at him, where he was staring at you with a type of ferocity and intensity it had your breath stuck in your throat, chills going down your spine.
“…Why I was in love with you.”
You swore your heart stopped.
╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈: how it all fell together 𓂃⊹
⋆˙⟡♡ Of course, you loved him back, and Bruce couldn’t have been happier about it. But, during the actual relationship he was very much still the same, but you could see that he was trying to be closer to you, it was just hard for him. You helped him, made him feel not so scared.
⋆˙⟡♡ You were patient with him, never judged or pushed him to do things you knew he had a hard time doing. He always wanted to talk to you about his parents but he would stop himself before he went in depth about it. That was something he needed time with, and you understood it.
⋆˙⟡♡ He was always doing small things for you that you probably wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t so focused on him. He would always smooth out your pillows for you, make you breakfast and be shy that he made something you didn’t like, he would even blow out your candle for you if you ever left it lit. He would give you small gifts, sometimes expensive, a bracelet or a necklace, a set of earrings his mother adored. You loved them all.
⋆˙⟡♡ You had to buy him those vanilla bean and raspberry candles you had. He set them up around his home because the smell reminded him of you and your house, his safe space.
⋆˙⟡♡ He still didn’t like to talk, but he loved to listen. He’d ask questions that were deeply intimate and personal because he wanted to know everything about you. He’d apologize for prodding but he really had no shame about it. He wanted to know you more, learn everything.
⋆˙⟡♡ He loved holding you in his sleep, you made his nightmares go away and made him feel less lonely. He would still flinch sometimes, keep his hands at appropriate distances away from your precious parts. He was a gentleman, that was for sure.
⋆˙⟡♡ He didn’t sleep a lot still, so he’d always stare at you when you slept, brush his hand on your cheek when he’d leave in his Batman suit for the night. He hated leaving you, but knew he had responsibilities to his city he couldn’t abandon.
⋆˙⟡♡ He introduced you to Alfred, rather, Alfred went to clean up Bruce’s room early in the morning and found you two in a rather compromising position. He just chuckled and walked out while Bruce awkwardly scrambled to compose himself. You were mortified.
⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce liked to draw you a lot, most of the time from memory when he was bored on a late night, sitting on a rooftop with charcoal scratching on ripped paper. He didn’t show them to you, but you found them anyway.
⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce was soft, gentle with you, but sex was a different story, just depended on his day. Most of the time he was sweet, making up for leaving you and hurting you. He always carried so much guilt about it, even when you told him you were over it and understood why he did it.
⋆˙⟡♡ He didn’t come out with you as a couple to the press, as Bruce Wayne. He didn’t want them to badger you and question you, make you feel uncomfortable. He came to you a lot, his house was always under constant scrutiny from the public.
⋆˙⟡♡ He threatened your boss when you refused to quit your job. It was late, he was Batman, and your boss just so happened to walk past him. Bruce threw him against the wall with promises of pain if he didn’t treat you right. You had a sneaky suspicion your boyfriend had something to do with your now positive work atmosphere and sudden raise, but decided not to question him.
⋆˙⟡♡ He was always touching you, or kissing you, hesitant to show outright affection so he was subtle when he did it. A hand on your lower back, hovering over your jacket or gently pressing into it. A hand on your arm, a peck on your forehead, a kiss to your cheek when you’d fall asleep.
⋆˙⟡♡ He told you he loved you every night, rarely ever during the day. It was in his bed or yours, when it was silent and cozy, he’d whisper it in your hair or against your skin, and you’d smile and tell him the same.
⋆˙⟡♡ You never expected anything from him besides his love, but he always felt like he owed you something, grateful that you gave him this chance to be with you despite what he did.
⋆˙⟡♡ He was constantly worried about you, on edge when you would be out by yourself or come home later than usual on the nights he couldn’t see you. He would always think the worst, think you were dead and he was too late, someone found him out and was using you to blackmail him. All the worst scenarios to prepare himself for the worst outcomes.
⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce is constantly having negative intrusive thoughts. You’ll leave him, he doesn’t deserve you, he should’ve stayed gone. He’ll go quiet and try to isolate himself when that happens, so you always try and support him and reassure him in any way you can.
⋆˙⟡♡ He still has such a hard time being vulnerable and talking about his past, but he tries with you. He’ll get tongue tied sometimes or a sentence will drift off before he can finish it, but he’ll try.
⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce is always so busy he forgets to eat. You’ll constantly remind him food is good for you. So, some days he’ll go eating nothing at all, despite you and Alfred’s insistence. But when he does, it’s a big feast Alfred prepares for him.
⋆˙⟡♡ He is very sweet, a complete gentleman. He has the best manners. He always says his pleases and his thank yous. He’ll follow a question with, when you have a chance, if you can. With Alfred though he’ll be so distracted he’ll just walk away. He doesn’t mean to, just makes sure he’s extra gentle with you.
⋆˙⟡♡ He likes black and white films to play in the background when he’s not doing anything. Or slow, almost gothic music to really set the tone. He’s emo like that and I just know it.
⋆˙⟡♡ He goes to Alfred a lot for relationship advice, scared he’ll mess up and you’ll leave him. He wants to avoid making mistakes with you, so he’ll ask for help or reassurance on what to do.
⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce has a tendency to ignore any problem until it goes away, especially to avoid a fight with you. He’s confrontational when it comes to you, so he’ll let you have your way a lot of the time. He doesn’t like to fight with you.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ Bruce was sweet and shy, always making sure you were comfortable and had everything you needed. He never judged you when you’d tell him your stories or your past, he never accused you of things, and he never raised his voice at you when things would get frustrating. He loved you too much, appreciated you too much. You had no idea how happy you made him even if his face didn’t show it.
He was still wary, scared you’ll leave him, scared one of his enemies will find you out and take you away from him. But he was always there, watching and protecting, hiding in the shadows, being the shadow, on the nights you didn’t know. He may have been Gotham’s protector, but he was also yours.
He loved you and was grateful for you, so grateful he met you when he did and that you trusted him enough to let him see every lovely part of you. He vowed to protect you, to cherish you, and he made good on that promise. Even going as far as to blow out your candle every day before you’d leave for work. Couldn’t have you burning your house down, now could he?
Honestly, I could go on and on about this man so I think I have to end this here. But thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed, especially @diavolosbaby who requested this. I really hope you like it, and if you’re not satisfied or I didn’t answer your ask correctly then don’t be afraid to tell me 💕💕 constructive criticism isn’t bad mmkay ☺️💕
synopsis: your nerves were shot at hearing the yells of your beloved. you sat upstairs, sulking in your own worry… good thing Lloyd Hansen was there to make it all better.
content includes: mentions of death and what Lloyd does in his free time, sweetheart!reader, soft!lloyd, dom!lloyd, sub!reader, heavy daddy kink because I know Lloyd bout that life, pussy rubbing through panties, pet names like honey, sweetheart, baby girl, princess, pretty, pretty girl, hand holding 💖, sweet kisses, dirty talk af, but it’s also kind of affectionate dirty talk 😭, probably ooc Lloyd
warnings: sexual content 18+, small mention of Lloyd killing someone, a lot of cussing because it’s Lloyd
authors note: Hi everyone! I actually made this a long time ago, but I never finished it. However, I decided that it wasn’t bad enough that I needed to rewrite the entire thing, so I left it as it was and just added an ending. Also, apologies if the ending seems kind of rushed, I didn’t really know to finish it 😭
YOU COULDN’T HELP BUT bite your lip in anxiety at hearing Lloyds yelling all the way from downstairs. You hated hearing him yell, so accustomed, spoiled even, to his loving coos and gentle whispers. He was angry at his subordinates, yet again, for doing something not good enough to his liking. He always preferred doing things his way. You didn’t know what he was mad about, and you didn’t really want to. Lloyd did his best to keep you away from that side of him, from that side of his life, but that didn’t mean you were naive to the fact it existed.
He reserved his caring side for you, naturally, making sure to leave the guns and murder outside the bedroom door when he would walk in late at night to snuggle up with you. You were thankful for that. But the specks of blood coating his neck and hands, sometimes even smeared across his cheeks, kept you all-too-aware of exactly why you were able to sleep in a two storied mansion on lavish silk sheets.
But, to be fair, you knew what you signed up for when you agreed to be with him.
“Listen to this, you goddamn idiotic pieces of shit. The next time you don’t do your fucking jobs, I’m going to blow your fucking brains out all over that fucking wall! And if you think I’m kidding…”
There was a pause, before a boom sounded from down the stairs that had you jumping out of your skin.
“…I’m not. So, kids, I suggest you listen when I tell you to do something. That way, we can avoid another incident like dead, little Carlos over here. Now get the hell out of my office… make daddy proud.”
You heard the door slam shut; not even meaning to hold your breath until you felt your chest start to burn. You let out a slow exhale, trying to calm your racing nerves. You hated yelling, hated when Lloyd got mad, hated when he let the stress of his job get to him. It made your skin crawl with worry. You clutched the pink blanket between your fingers, sitting on the edge of the bed now, television paused on whatever you were watching before you heard the yelling.
In fact, you were so enraptured in trying to calm yourself down you didn’t even hear the heavy thud of boots on the staircase until they were right outside the door. Your eyes snapped to the direction of the sound once you heard the doorknob squeak, the large frame of Lloyd Hansen quickly filling the threshold once he opened the door and stepped inside the room.
You swallowed down your nerves, his blue eyes quickly meeting yours as he raised his head up, already looking for your face, the one thing that could calm him down during times like this. You ignored the dots of dried blood under his chin, the dried splotch on his forehead. You gave him a sweet, small smile instead, hoping you seemed convincing enough for him to believe you were oblivious to what you just heard.
“There you are…” He cooed in that sweet voice of his reserved for you (and only you), completely different from the murderous tone he wore just moments earlier. A genuine smile lit up on his face as he made his way towards you, wearing that black collared shirt you loved so much, the one that clung to his muscles almost better than you did. You couldn’t help the giggle that left your lips when he scooped you up into his broad arms, shoving his face into your neck and tossing you both down onto the mattress.
You landed on your back, a giddy smile on your glossy lips when he quickly adjusted your positions so he was sitting down and you were sitting up on his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as he lay his head on your shoulder with a content hum, his eyes closed and small smile playing on his lips. Your legs spread around the thickness of his thighs.
His mustache tickled your skin, and for a brief moment you forgot about everything you were just thinking about, the smell of his sweet cologne hitting your nose and making your tense shoulders relax against him. Having him close like this just made you feel so much better. And with the way he leaned into you, you could only assume he felt the same.
His hands rubbed your back slowly, palms already finding their way under the baggy shirt you wore to feel your skin (one of his of course). Almost like they were taking in the fact that you were actually there, relishing in the feeling of your soft skin on his rough palms to ground him back to reality. Yes, you were real, you were there, right in his arms. Yes, you were okay, and you were so warm.
You snuggled up against him at the tingling feeling, remembering the yelling and worrying that had plagued your thoughts. You tightened your hold around his neck, secretly hoping your hugs could make him feel the silent plea you sent his way. please, stop being so stressed. I’m right here with you. You knew Lloyd would be angry with himself if he knew you overheard him, even though it wasn’t even his fault.
“How’s my pretty girl doin’, hmm?” He hummed into your skin, planting a soft kiss under your ear then leaning his head back so he could look at you clearly. Even sitting on his lap he was still so much bigger than you, muscles surrounding your frame, your head meeting his nose. Looking up into his gentle eyes, a look you knew you were the only person to ever see, you wanted to tell him that no, you weren’t doing so good at the moment, that he had worried you, even if he didn’t mean to, tell him that you heard everything and that you were sorry he was under so much stress.
His hands slid to your waist, thumbs rubbing over the pudge of your stomach. You couldn’t stop the slight frown taking over your features at the thought, but you quickly gave him a little smile to deter him. Still, you didn’t want beating himself up over something you did.
“I’m better now that you’re here… I missed you…” You whispered, leaning down and placing your head on his chest, hearing his steady heartbeat thrum. And it’s not like you lied, not really. You were happy he was here, you did miss him. You sighed, taking one of his big hands off your waist and intertwining it with yours, cradling it to your chest like he was a fragile boy you were trying to console. You wanted to be as close to him as possible, but it was unclear if that was because you wanted to make him feel better, or yourself.
He was quick to tighten the grip, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand.
He furrowed his brows at that though, noticing your dejected demeanor and that frown adorning your beautiful lips. Being as astute in body language as he was, it was only natural for him to notice the way you looked so… not you when he first walked into the room. He noticed it as soon as he laid eyes on you, but he figured you were just tired. It was late after all, almost midnight. His heart had bloomed at the thought of you staying up to wait for him, but vanished just as quickly once he disliked the idea of you staying up to wait for him, especially if you were tired.
He let go of your hand, albeit reluctantly, softly using it to tilt your head up to look at him instead. His concerned eyes met yours once you fluttered them open, and despite the situation he felt his heart leap at the sight. Yours did the same.
“I missed you more, gorgeous. Not a second goes by I don’t. Now, are you gonna tell me what’s got you all pouty? You know you can’t lie to me, honey…” He raised his brows in a gentle, but firm warning, holding your chin gently between his fingers so you couldn’t look away from his piercing gaze. You frowned at that, realizing your joyful facade wasn’t as good as you thought it was.
You felt your resolve crumble at the way he looked at you, his eyes worriedly staring into yours, waiting for some sort of response that would hopefully ease his concern. You hated him looking at you like that, like he was the one that caused you harm.
You just gave him a smile, hoping it’d soften the blow of what you were about to say. You didn’t want him to think it was his fault, but you knew it didn’t matter what you wanted when it came to Lloyd Hansens protectiveness over you.
“I just…” You started, voice trailing off as your eyes drifted to the crème colored wall behind Lloyds head, his gaze too intense for you to look into. You didn’t want to make him mad, or worse, regretful. You sighed dejectedly, knowing he wouldn’t let this go. Lloyd couldn’t help but nudge your chin up some more at that, your reluctance making him even more nervous and concerned.
“Go on, you just what? You can tell me, honey…” He urged, eager to know what had ruined his pretty girls mood.
You looked back into his eyes, your arms tightening around his neck to comfort the both of you.
“I just… I wish you didn’t get so stressed out about things. I hate it when you yell…” You murmured, looking down at his chin again once you decided you couldn’t handle seeing the inevitable disappointment in his gaze, at himself and you. You, for eavesdropping on something you shouldn’t. You laid your cheek on his chest again, holding him tighter to make up for it.
Ah, there it is. Lloyd suddenly took note of the paused television, right in the middle of your favorite series. Remembering when he noticed your tense posture only trained eyes like his could pick up when he first walked in. Of course that’s what it was. God, he was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should’ve known better than to bring that shit to the house this late. He figured you’d be sleeping, but, fuck, he should’ve known better.
He clenched his jaw, eyes closing tensely, angry with himself for letting you hear him like that. His precious girl wasn’t supposed to see that side of him, and he’d always been so careful...
“Fuck, honey, you weren’t supposed to hear that… I am so sorry you heard that, sweetheart…” He wrapped himself around you, holding you as tight as he could, hoping to ease your stress. He gave you that sweet voice you loved, but you could hear the frustration in his tone, directed at himself. You smiled against him, bitterly almost because you knew he would only blame himself even though you were the one trying to hear something you weren’t supposed to. Still, you were relieved you didn’t get scolded.
You sank into him like water, molding into him, inhaling his scent.
“It’s not your fault… I was listening when I shouldn’t have… I just heard you yell and I got worried… I don’t like it when you’re mad…” You voice was muffled against the black cotton of his shirt, but he heard it anyway and it made his heart wrench. He tightened his hold on you, cradling you like a fragile baby bird. He was pissed at himself for letting you hear that. He’ll be sure to kill every last one of the men he dealt with tonight for bringing that bullshit to his home. A mistake like this will not get made again. He promised to keep you away from that side of his life, promised he’d keep you safe, that you’d never have to worry about a thing as long as he was with you. But yet, here you were on the verge of tears after being exposed to his lifestyle, even if it was just for a few minutes. That was why he kept you in the dark when it came to this sort of thing, you were too precious for his world.
He fucked up. And because of that, he’ll be all too eager to fire a bullet into those fuckheads brains tomorrow. After all, who were those men if not disposable?
“Shh shh shh, honey. I know you didn’t mean it… but daddy should’ve known better than to raise his voice loud enough for his baby to hear… It’s all right, my precious girl. You don’t needa worry that pretty little head of yours anymore… Daddy’s here now and he promises to never yell around you again… my sweet girl.” He laid a doting kiss into your hair, rocking you back and forth to hope soothe you. His heart ached at the thought of you worrying about him, scared because of him. He rocked you in his solid hold like a baby, cooing and whispering words of sugar into your ear to make you feel better.
And, like it always did, it managed to make your heart flutter and cheeks glow with a smile. Still, you were weary. You kissed his cheek, hating the furrowed brows that caused a worried wrinkle between his eyes.
“Thank you… just don’t leave again, tonight, please? I want you to stay with me…” You mumbled almost shyly, a bashful hue heating up your cheeks when Lloyd gave you a stunning smile, his hands sliding down from your waist to rub your hips. His rough palms scraped against the band of your panties.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, sunshine. Daddy missed you too much to leave again… I’m yours for the rest of the night.” He cooed, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead that had your lips stretching into a thankful smile. A smile he loved to see.
“Aww, there’s that pretty smile I love so much… Come on, show me that gorgeous smile of yours, honey…” Lloyd encouraged, teasingly, trying to make eye contact when you tried to hide your face again. His attempts at making you feel better were working, and despite the lingering annoyance at himself he couldn’t help but be grateful for your better mood, your laughter like sprinkles of sugar to his ears. You giggled when his hands came up and gently grabbed your wrists, holding them away from your face so he could look at you clearly.
And look at you he did. He looked at your beautiful eyes, your beautiful skin, your beautiful hair, your beautiful smile. Just beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. His perfect girl, his precious, his little ray of sunshine that lit up the dark cave he thrived in. Nothing was better than you, not even hearing the screams of a man getting his teeth ripped out could make him smile like you did. He was just so fucking lucky.
You pressed yourself into him, always getting sheepish at the way he looked you despite the two years of you being together. You never got used to it. You wrapped your arms back around his neck, his hands falling back down to your waist with a content smile on his lips.
“Are you sure you’re okay, now? I don’t want you stressed…” You murmured worriedly, frowning up at him as your fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck.
Lloyd exhaled at the pleasurable sensation, a playful smirk twitching at the corner of his lips as he leaned down until his nose was just brushing yours. He pushed you down until you were laying flat on your back, his arms wrapped around your midsection and holding you to his chest. He was laid out on top of you, your legs still wrapped around his hips. You had absolutely no complaints.
“Awww, does my girl need some more reassurance?” He babbled into your ear in a playful tone, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, not caring if your hair tickled his cheeks.
You pouted, wanting a serious answer out of him so you could rest easy.
“Lloyd, I’m serious!” You whined, gripping his arms (which you noticed were much bigger than your dainty hands), trying to look at him, but he didn’t budge. His shoulders just shook in a low laugh, warm breath hitting your neck.
“Ah, ah, ah. What’s my name, pretty?” He teased into your ear, his hand sliding out from under your back to rub the skin of your exposed thigh from the way the shirt had ridden up. You tried not to hyper fixate on the tingling sensation that followed in his fingertips, but suddenly found it hard to focus when his breath was hitting your collarbone and his warm hand was tracing the skin of your leg like he was petting precious velvet.
You swallowed, your leg tightening around his hip once his fingers teased higher.
“I’m sorry… daddy.” You mumbled apologetically, turning your head to look at him even though you couldn’t. Your chin rubbed his hair; you could feel the pull of his lips turning into a smile on your skin.
“There you go. Let’s not make that mistake again, okay pretty girl. Daddy doesn’t like slip ups.” He raised his head from your neck, his hand stopping its soothing motion as he brought his hand up and booped your nose. You giggled at that, making him smile as he brought his hand back down to your plushy thigh. He had a smile on his face, his cerulean eyes circling with a lustful look that was all too familiar to you. A look you saw just about every night before Lloyd Hansen would fuck your brains out.
“Now that that’s over with, I think Daddy has some apologizing to do, don’t you? After all, he got his pretty girl all worried… wouldn’t it only be fair for him to be the one to make it all better, too?” He had a thinly veiled look of amusement on his face, a knowing look glinting in his eye like a knife under a bright light as his hand crept the t-shirt over your stomach, sliding it up, up, up… until it was bunched below your breasts, your stomach completely exposed to his hungry gaze.
You subtly bunched the fabric of his shirt in your fists, breath stopping when his large hand pressed down on your stomach. You swallowed again, feeling completely at Lloyd Hansens mercy despite him not even doing anything yet. Your eyes flickered down to the amused, cocky smile pulling at lips, shiny from when his tongue flicked out and licked them.
He inhaled through his teeth, eyes narrowing down at you playfully. He knew he had you in the palm of his hand, knowing your own body and mind better than you did. He knew that with the right tone, the right smile, the right words, you’d be nothing but a mindless puddle for him. He loved being the only person that could bring out that lovey-dovey side of you so easily.
His other arm, still wrapped around your waist from when he hugged you, tightened around you so your back was arched, breasts more in his face just like he wanted. But, he’d have to get those another time.
“Ooh, my gorgeous girl. My gorgeous, gorgeous girl. You just don’t know what you do to me…” He whispered, his head lowering down to your neck to place kisses along the skin there. You felt yourself blush at the praise, legs tightening around his waist as if suddenly remembering he was laid out on top you, his black slack covered pelvis perfectly lined up with yours. Your jaw clenched when he nibbled on your skin, knowing that it would leave a purple bruise in the morning Lloyd was going to love to tease you about.
You let out a barely audible sigh when Lloyd pulled the skin between his teeth, his mustache burning your neck the longer he nuzzled into it. You could feel yourself slip further into the hazy spell he trapped you in, hips barely lifting to rub against his, your eyes closed in bliss at the pleasurable sparks that shot through your neck that almost had your legs twitching.
Lloyd always loved how sensitive you were.
You could feel yourself growing more needy by the second, the whole reason why this was even happening slowly disappearing from your memory like grains of sand being helplessly drowned away by the ocean… your mind going muggy with the scent of Lloyd Hansen’s cool water cologne.
Once you were nearly a whining mess, hands gripping the back of his hair and legs tight around his waist, did he lean his head back to admire the pink marks lining your neck. Your eyes opened at the loss of his lips on you, cool air meeting your neck from where his mouth had been. You couldn’t help but pout.
“Mmm, I still think I have more apologizing to do, don’t you? I had my pretty girl all stressed out… all worried about little ol’ me…” He barley chuckled at the way you numbly nodded your head along with his words, expression already blissed out from him kissing you alone. He leaned down and gave you a much needed peck on the lips, one which had you craving for more.
His hand slid down your stomach, very slowly, your skin tingling in his path. Your hips wiggled against his, feeling his semi-hard cock poking the thin outside of your cotton pink panties. God, it was a gift how he could get you wet so easily.
“open your legs for daddy, honey. He’s feeling especially apologetic… go on, let daddy make you feel better… let him finger your little pussy until all you can think about is how good he’s making you feel… how I’m making you feel… come on, there ya’ go, pretty. ” He mumbled crudely, a smug smirk playing on his lips when he heard you let out a low whine at his vulgarity. His eyes were glued to your thighs, watching as you slowly spread them as wide as you could given the position, somehow still shy under that predatory look in his eyes and that arrogant smirk on his chiseled face.
You followed his instructions, legs open wide enough for his hand to fit through. He was still on top of you, but more on the side now so he could get a perfect view of your pussy. His hand had reached the top of your pelvis, slowing massaging the skin there in what you thought was a ploy to tease you further. He could be such an asshole sometimes, even when he was trying to apologize.
“Daddy…please just…” You whined, too shy to say what you wanted, but too needy to not say anything at all. Your fingernails dug into his shoulder blades so hard you were sure you pierced the fabric of his shirt, but knowing Lloyd he’d place it in a picture frame so he could look at it everyday. He loved it when things got messy.
Lloyd hummed out a small laugh at your neediness, but didn’t bother questioning you with that shit-eating grin like he usually would. He wanted to tease you some more, ask what it was you wanted despite knowing it, have you beg and cry for his cock like he does every other night. But tonight, he’d have to make an exception… and it was his own damn fault.
“Okay, pretty girl… just for tonight I’m gonna be nice and give you what you want… Daddy made a stupid mistake, and now he’s gonna make it all better, right, honey?” He asked rhetorically, looking up at your needy expression and hazy, doleful eyes that glittered with want. God, he loved your fucking eyes.
You let out a small hum that sounded more like a pathetic whimper, your hand sliding down his muscled bicep as he looked back down at where his hand was sitting comfortably just above where you needed him most. Your panties were still on, clinging to the patch of wetness Lloyd so easily brought out of you.
Lloyd crept his hand down, slowly over your panties, taking his third finger and rubbing your wet slit from the outside of your underwear. Tingles erupted over your body, your thighs almost closing when his finger nail glazed your clit through your folds.
“Mmm… just like that…” You whined breathlessly, bucking your hips accidentally at the sensitivity of your pussy. Your stomach churned pleasurably, nails digging into Lloyds strong arm and shoulder as your eyes closed from the erotic sensation tingling down your inner thighs.
“Just like that, pretty girl? Is daddy making you feel good, rubbing his finger on your little pussy… that’s right, honey, daddys sorry.” Lloyd cooed with a pouty expression, almost mocking you if you had seen it, as he looked back up and stared at the way your glossy lips parted, at the way your eyes closed tightly together and your eyebrows furrowed, in a state of complete euphoria already.
You swore his words sparked right through you as your skin buzzed gleefully in response. You let out a whimper at that, biting your lip to quiet yourself. His finger rubbed with more force now, the tip of it pushing past your soft folds, the wetness in your panties wetting his hand the more he pressed into you. You didn’t know what it was, but the friction of your panties combined with the constant rubbing of Lloyds finger had you keening, your back arching and sweet, breathy moans leaving your pink lips as your mind went foggy with pleasure, pleasure that only Lloyd could give you.
Lloyd loved seeing you like this, especially when he’s really done nothing to you to deserve such a response. But he knew how sensitive you were, how easily his touches affected you, how easily he could make you wet. Yeah, he loved your sensitive little pussy and the way he had you wrapped around his finger… little did you know he was more whipped than you.
He felt how hard he was in his slacks, but knew tonight wasn’t about him. He had fucked up and scared his precious baby girl, and he needed to make up for it.
Lloyd put his face in your neck, his mustache tickling your skin as his lips rose up to your ear. You instinctively leaned into his cheek, whining right into his ear as he pushed harder into your dripping folds, rubbing up against your puffy clit completely.
“You like that, pretty girl… my baby girl loves her daddy, doesn’t she? Daddy knows he fucked up, honey, daddy knows he scared his baby. Mmm, but this pussy knows how sorry I am, doesn’t she?” Lloyd snickered into your skin, mumbling right into your ear with any nasty thought he had as he looked back down at his hand, where it shined under the light from how wet it was.
You moaned loudly at his words, your pelvis thrashing as he rubbed your clit through your panties, your legs twitching and stuttered gasps escaping your throat. God, he wasn’t even actually touching you and you were ready to cum all over his hand already. It just felt so good, your toes were curled and your legs were almost thrashing, trying to escape the painful pleasure Lloyd was rubbing into your sopping clit.
Your arm was gripping his elbow, your body wanting to pull his hand away and give your clit some relief. But he was so much stronger than you, bigger than you, and you were nothing but a helpless body stuck underneath his hard chest, his left hand digging into your scalp to hold your head in his shoulder.
“O-oh god, daddy, please, please, please…” You rambled into his ear, all choked up as tears prickled your eyes and high pitched moans rang in his head. He was grinning to himself, almost laughing at the way you were begging him. Any other night he’d be teasing you relentlessly, and as much as he wanted to he knew he couldn’t, not tonight. Tonight he was going to help you cum with no arguments. His princess deserved that, after all.
“Awww, does my baby wanna cum? Well, go ahead, princess, I’m not stopping you. Daddy’s not done saying sorry quite yet…” Lloyd whispered with a simpering smile, solely rubbing your clit in hard circular motions, knowing just what you liked.
You moaned loudly, your thighs shutting around Lloyd’s hand, only trapping him inside your legs to apply even more pressure to your sensitive clit. Your panties were soaked through, his palm a watery mess the longer it rubbed against your slit.
“Come on, cum for daddy. Prove to your daddy he’s forgiven… that’s right princess, let it go…” Lloyd mumbled into your ear encouragingly, unable to take his hand out from between your wet thighs. He stared at the side of your face from where it was thrown back against the black sheets, giving small kisses to your cheek and neck as he felt your back arch into him and your thighs tighten around his hand.
“Ohh, daddy… fuck!” You cried as your pussy flowed with the result of your powerful orgasm, your legs shaking and your fingers clutching the sheets in a white-knuckled grip. Your skin was hot and blotchy as you breathed heavily, tears soaking into your heated cheeks as small moans fluttered from your dry lips in the aftershock of it all. Your chest ached, your pussy sore and throbbing as you felt wetness leak under your sticky thighs.
Your body slumped against the bed tiredly, completely wiped out and exhausted from having your pussy rubbed alone. Lloyd took his hand and slowly trailed it up your exposed stomach, leaving a shiny trail of your juices that glimmered under the light as his hand wrapped around your cheeks.
You whined at that, way too hot for him to be grabbing your face with his sticky hand and turning it towards his gloating expression. You needed at least five minutes to recover, but with Lloyd you should’ve known by now that he’d never be a second away from you to let you rest.
You looked into his blue eyes with your tired ones, your left hand coming up and weakly grabbing his wrist that held your face. You were too tired to try and take it off.
You moaned oh so softly as he brought his face down and kissed you, a slow, hot kiss that poured all of his apology into you, showing you he was sorry, he hated that you had to hear that, he hoped he made you feel better, that it would never happen again. You knew that, you didn’t blame him, you understood that was just his work. But you were so grateful he decided to show it.
When he separated from you, your top lip burning slightly from his mustache, you hummed and wrapped your leg around him, bringing him into your embrace so you could be as close as possible to him. Your pussy was still sore, your thighs still wet and sticky from your orgasm, but you needed him right now, loved feeling him against you as contentment flooded you.
You could tell he felt the same as his arms wrapped around your waist, squeezing your smaller frame into him and releasing a heavy sigh; you were his serenity.
“I am sorry, sweetheart. I’ll never bring that shit around you again, you hear me? Never.” He mumbled into your hair, squeezing you harder liked you’d disappear from him if he wasn’t holding onto you.
You smiled at that, exhaustion weighing down on you as the result of his very expressive apology.
“I know, daddy.” You murmured sweetly, already closing your eyes and sinking into him completely, not caring about the mess you made.
“Take a nap, sweetheart. You’re gonna need your rest. After all, daddy’s not done apologizing yet for making his baby worry so much, now is he?”
Oh god.
thanks for reading! feel free to tell me if you have any Lloyd story suggestions. I kind of love writing for him 😫 but don’t worry I do have more in the works. likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated. and always remember that you’re loved and important <3
⋆˙⟡♡ 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒔 / 𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔. just thinking about what it would be like if the gray boys wanted you to have their kids. ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
pairing: Courtland Gentry, Lloyd Hansen x fem!reader
content includes: darkish content in Lloyd’s part, unprotected sex, p in v penetration, overstimulation, breeding kink, pet names such as baby, pretty girl, good girl, sweetheart, choking but the sexy way, dirty dirty talk, fucked dumb!reader, cervix fucking, squirting, back scratching, reader calling Lloyd daddy, slight dumbification, clit rubbing, soft sex, stomach bulge
warnings: sexual content 18+, cussing + nasty words, darkish content in Lloyd’s section
authors note: I been thinking about this for a few days now… and I don’t even want kids 😜🫰🏻✨
⋆˙⟡♡ Lloyd could only grin at you, amused with the way you could barely form a sentence, amused at the way you held onto his shoulders like that could really stop him. Your nails dug into his skin and drool pooled down your cheek; Lloyd could only groan hotly at the pleasurable sting of his skin breaking under your fingertips.
His cock, thick and hard, still after cumming twice in you already, was sliding in and out of your throbbing pussy with ease; you were still so wet even after the several orgasms Lloyd had effortlessly forced out of your limp body. You were almost cross-eyed it hurt so damn good.
Lloyd had you shoved into the mattress, sheets ripped off the corners and blanket discarded on the floor. He was panting above you, your legs wrapped loosely around his waist, your hair clinging to the sweat on your forehead as you let him take you however he wanted. You were too weak to fight, too fucked out to argue that your back was sore and your pussy ached.
You moaned at another hard thrust into your wet hole, his balls smacking into your ass as he laughed into your ear, hot and breathy and arrogant. The headboard banged into the cracking wall of his bedroom, worn down from the many sleepless nights and afternoons and mornings Lloyd couldn’t keep his hands to himself.
“Fuck, Lloyd!” You gasped out as he pulled out and then slammed back into your sopping cunt, eager for his dick and the feel of it stretching her out and bruising her in. Another pulse of painful pleasure rang through you, had you arching your back and thighs tightening around him.
“Aww, was that too hard, baby? My mistake, daddy’s so sorry… but he has to make sure all his cum gets into that little tummy of yours if you want his kids, doesn’t he?” He cooed in your ear sarcastically, his mustache scratching against your cheek as you rested your forehead against his muscle next to your head. You whined at that, eyes closed tightly as you gasped against his skin. He was so big, so much thicker than any cock you’ve ever had.
You could admit he was right, you wanted so badly to have his shithead kids because you were that deluded by his charm. He had fooled you, molded you into the perfect wife who sucked his cock any time he asked and gave him her sweet pussy anytime he wanted. He wasn’t going to ever let you go, he was going to ensure your devotion to him with the one thing that would keep you tied to him forever.
You were tired of it, mouth dry from moaning so much but pussy hungry for more and more and more. You were just his little cumslut, his doll bred to be his perfect girl that would happily take whatever he gave you. And he wanted to give you his cum, all of it, see your belly round with his children and your tits full and flush of milk and fat.
Your pussy squelched and leaked around his cock, his head in your neck as he took a hand off the headboard and traced it down your cheek, your neck, your collarbone, until he was rubbing your soft tit under his hand like a bowl of jelly.
You let out a heavy sigh at the feeling of it, your skin hot and tingly and stuck under him. Then he slid his hand back up, palm grazing your sensitive nipple and sending a jolt down your tummy.
He snickered, cocky and self-assured, as he wrapped his hand around your jaw and twisted your face to look at his, fingers digging into your hot cheeks. You whined weakly at the force of it, his cock slowing down inside of you like he was focusing on the feel of your wetness wrapped around him, like he needed you to focus on his words instead of the feeling of him fucking into you.
“Mmm, my pretty baby. This pussy is just begging to be filled with my cum, isn’t it? She wants me to give her all the cum she can take, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Lloyd smiled deceivingly sweet at you, looking into your eyes with sweat gathered on his hairline.
You nodded blindly at that, hips bucking up into him for more, to bury himself deep inside your pussy until you didn’t know where you began and the base of his cock started. Your toes tightened and thighs tingled as he gave you what you wanted, not because he was satisfied with your response but because he loved that look on your face when he’d thrust into you, your furrowed brows and wet parted lips as a soft moan would sound from your breathless lungs.
“Can you imagine our kids, pretty girl? Hmm? One with your pretty little eyes and one with mine. Two little brats running around calling you mommy… god, I can just imagine how big those pretty tits would get. Tell your daddy, is that what you want baby, huh? You gotta tell me…” He grinned into your ear, gripping your jaw to keep your head straight as he picked up his pace, the tip of him slamming into your cervix and sending painful throbs down your thighs that had your hips bucking away from him. Your cries were cracked and uneven from the force of his thrusts, his thighs smacking into you and his grunts and chuckles breathing across the skin on your cheek.
You babbled agreement like a dumb slut, not really listening to a word besides the sound of his balls slapping into you, a fresh batch of wetness gushing out onto the sheets and soaking your thighs with your own juices.
“Yes, yes, please, please, daddy. Please cum inside me, please please please…” You begged as your stomach tightened like someone pulling a rope around a tree, your nails drawing blood from his back that dribbled down his shoulders. Your pussy clenched around him so tight he grind his teeth trying to push back in, feeling his balls tightening at your compliance.
He mouthed at your neck, tasting the salt, being uncharacteristically sweet as his hips stuttered from the pleasure ringing through his dick and thighs.
“Fuck… yes, baby, I’m gonna cum inside that pretty pussy… daddy knows how bad you want it… come on, pretty… that’s it, that’s daddy’s girl…” He coaxed in your ear as you let out a wail and squirted around him, your cum going on the sheets and his thighs as he talked you through it.
He followed soon after, your pussy squeezing around him so tight he could barely push in. He managed, balls deep as he let out a grunt, dropping his head in your neck as he came inside you.
You felt his cum shoot inside you and it had your tired body tensing from the sensation. You breathed heavily as he collapsed on top of you, his hands coming down and gripping your waist to center himself.
He kissed your cheek, mustache tickling your skin as you leaned into him.
“I think…I think it worked…” You murmured breathlessly into the air, eyes closed as you caressed the skin of his back.
He chuckled, just as tired as you, his limp dick still inside of your wet hole as neither one of you wanted him to pull out just yet. You enjoyed feeling full of him, your warmth pulsing around him as your thighs trembled every so often.
“You’re gonna make daddy happy, aren’t you, baby?” He murmured sweetly, a satisfied smile on his face as he felt you nod against him.
He took his hand and rubbed your belly, knowing that you would indeed.
✧ ˚ SIERRA SIX · .
⋆˙⟡♡ It was a rainy night, thunder and lightning flashing in the dark sky and rain pattering on the windows when Six had mumbled it into your neck, sleepy and groggy like he was just speaking from his mind and not from fact.
“Have my kids…” His voice was so soft, overpowered by the storm, that you weren’t sure you had heard him correctly. So you asked him what he said, eyebrows furrowed and phone thrown to the side as something else had caught your attention.
“I want you to have my kids…” He said it again against your skin, his eyes closed and his arm around your waist like he’d been sleep talking. You knew him though, knew that when spontaneity hit he would use it, but not unless he didn’t meant it. He was genuine and serious, thumb rubbing your stomach like he was already imagining it swelled up. You felt your tummy tighten at the thought, wetness plaguing your lower lips as you imagined what that would be like.
That’s how you ended up here, laying on your stomach with Six’s broad body on top of your back, a hand intertwined with yours as you grasped the dark gray sheets above your head, his other hand digging into the sheet next to you to balance himself.
His cock was big and long, thrusting into you slow and surely, pushing his cum into you and making sure you felt every single inch of him within you. He breathed against your neck, heavy and hot, as you gasped into the sheets, hips perked up so he could fuck into you easier.
“Does that feel good, baby? Me deep inside you like this?” He muttered into your ear, pushing into your wet hole with a soft squelch until his balls were hanging by your clit. You felt so full, so good, a pleasurable pulse ringing through your legs that had you whining into the dark, a flash of lightening illuminating the room.
His hand tightened around yours as you clenched around him, letting out a high pitched uh-huh in agreement.
You felt the ends of his blonde hair tickle your shoulder as he thrusted into you a little quicker, but just as sensual. He was always the type to make sure you got off before him, ensured that you cum before he even thought about his own release.
He took his hand that was wrapped around yours and glided it down your arm, sending tingles down your heated skin and a fluttering in your stomach. He brought it down to your tummy as he thrusted back into your tight pussy, gritting his teeth at the warmth squeezing around his cock.
He pressed down on the space just above your pelvis, feeling the tip of his cock bulging in your tummy where he was gonna cum. You keened at the pressure of him pushing down on your stomach, your juices flooding out of you in an unexpected jolt of pleasure and marking the sheets with a dark patch.
“I’m gonna cum right here, make sure you’re full of my cum so you can have my kids. You want to make me a daddy? You wanna be a mommy, hmm?” He hummed into your ear as he pressed down harder on that spot that had your toes curling and pussy tightening. He loved the idea of you pregnant with his children, your skin glowing and your stomach full. He could picture it in his mind, could only imagine how much beautifuler you’d look pregnant, and it made his balls tighten and dick stick up straight.
He pushed into your sopping cunt, pulsing around him as you sobbed into the sheets, tears welling in your eyes at the indescribable pleasure coursing through you from the feel of him. You felt him, all of him; felt every vein and every ridge, felt his tip rubbing up against you and bumping into your cervix. He didn’t stop there, forced himself inside and went even further.
“Oh my god…” You cried as he slid his hand down with a grunt, pushing into you as his hand quickly found your sensitive clit. He took his middle finger and slowly pushed down on it, his finger soaked with your juices as he rubbed it like it was a precious diamond he was trying not to ruin.
“I’m gonna take care of you, baby. I’m not gonna let you leave this fucking house after I fill this tummy. You’re not gonna lift a finger… I’ll do everything for you, baby. I’ll do anything…” He moaned, voice raspy and thick with arousal, always so sweet and generous to you. He was only pulling out halfway before thrusting back in so he could stay inside of you, his muscles flexing with every thrust into your tight pussy like he was forcing his way in.
You felt your thighs shaking from the way he was rubbing your clit, skilled fingers rubbing the wetness in your slit and making you moan louder than the rain that pounded on the windows. You wanted him to give you his kids so bad, wanted him to come inside of you even worse. You felt hot and surrounded, but comforted by his larger body on top of yours, always shrouded over you like the protector he was.
He groaned into your skin, resting his sweaty forehead on your shoulder as he felt his need to cum tighten the coil in his stomach.
You couldn’t stop it, too blinded by the pleasure to notice the liquid that squirted over his thighs and creamed around his cock, your thighs almost numb as your knees shook and your hips fell into the bed like your muscles gave up.
“Ohh, baby…” You whimpered helplessly as you gushed around him, his fingers slowly rubbing your clit as you finally came around him. He furrowed his brows in concentration, his hand leaving your pained clit and giving you some relief as he thrusted into you faster, rhythm faltering as he pictured how big your tits would get during your pregnancy, how he could stuff his face between them and leave purple marks on them.
“Mm, I’m gonna cum… you gonna take it for me like a good girl?” He mumbled into your ear with gritted teeth, ignoring the way your sensitive pussy squeezed around his dick almost painfully, throbbing and sore from his dick repeatedly pounding into it without stopping.
You hummed an mmhmm, sounding needy and weak, completely overstimulated as he kept fucking into you, close to his release the more he heard your sweet whimpers.
“That’s my girl…” He grunted, pushing into you one last time before he burrowed himself deep inside of you, biting your shoulder as he came inside the deepest parts of your pussy with thick ropes of white cum that shot out of his pink tip.
You moaned weakly at the feeling, lips chapped and head ringing as Six waited a beat before pulling out of you with a soft grunt, his limp dick falling out of you easily. You couldn’t move, feeling empty and cold as he picked himself up from you, looking at your gaping hole with cum drizzling out like sweet icing.
He breathed heavily as he laid back down next to you on his back, then reached over for you so you could lay into him. His arm slithered around your waist, eyes running over your glistening skin.
“come’ere.” He uttered with a scratchy voice, helping you turn around as you flipped onto your side, cuddling into his hot skin with a sigh.
The two of you sat in silence for a while, catching your breaths as Six held you into him, staring at the ceiling with a content face, his mind filled with the image of your kids running around, your pregnant belly and your twinkling eyes, your radiant skin and your beautiful smile. He’d knew you’d make the best mother and he couldn’t wait to experience it.
You were thinking of the same as your fingers softly tapped against the hardness of his chest, staring at a scar there with your head rested in his neck.
“You really mean it, Court? You really want kids?” You whispered almost bashfully, not wanting to have all this hope fluttering in your chest just for him to crush them under his trained fists.
Six cracked a small smile, “I think I made that pretty obvious, don’t you?”
You felt the wetness between your thighs as a sticky reminder, a small chuckle leaving your lips as you cuddled closer into him.
⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙ 𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒚𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒔, always feeling the need to show off and showcase his winnings and scores. He was egotistic and sadistic, finding pleasure in the gory details and intricate, bloody intertwining of a persons biological makeup. He was such the opposite of six in every way possible.
Loud, dramatic, unreasonable.
He didn’t care about anything… He didn’t care about anything except you, you and him and the twisted lovesick bubble you were entrapped in together. He was selfish and cruel, mean and downright psychopathic yet with you he was… mush. Just a lovey-dovey pile of hearts pooled around your feet that worshipped your every, perfect step.
You saw his more sweet, romantic side reserved quite literally just for you and it truly made you feel special. You knew he wasn't a good man yet he was the best man for you, and that's all that mattered. He was sweet to you, cherished you, protected you, worshipped you, doted on you and hung off every sweet wish that escaped your glossy lips.
This was a fact known amongst anyone who spoke his name, that yours was just a faint whisper behind it. You were his other half, the Queen of his hellish kingdom, the better part of him symbolized in the uncharacteristic love he had for you. You were off limits, untouchable, his and only his and... you loved it that way.
Lloyd, as so in touch with his bold personality, loved to shower you in rather extravagant bouquets and gifts more lavish than necessary. He was dramatic and exemplary in his own right yet there was one simplistic tradition he couldn’t stray from… roses.
Lloyd loved roses; pink roses, white roses, blue roses. But he especially loved the deep red ones, the rich color and smell of the most perfect flower that personified love and loyalty like no other and you deserved no less. Roses were classy, beautiful, timeless such as you.
He would buy you those teddy bear shaped roses wrapped in delicate red bows, the overly large bouquets wrapped in delicate pink paper and ribbon you needed two hands to carry. He would even leave that morning with a sweet kiss on your lips and an impish smile under his mustache, knowing he had left you 100 bouquets to wake up to just downstairs, each with a note saying one reason why he loved you.
There was absolutely nothing simple about this man. Spoiling you was a love language of his, a way he portrayed his undying love for you in the expensive roses and exotic flowers he gifted you with. He was extravagant and ensured his devotion to you was just as such to anybody who dare pry.
He wanted you to have the best of the best, spoiled you with the grandness of things in every aspect of your life so why should flowers and bouquets be any different? You only got the prettiest of flowers, the finest of tissue paper and ribbon, from the best flower shop he imported them from.
Really, you knew his showboating was just a sly scheme of his to show his goons that you belonged to him and that he was yours. You didn’t mind his possessiveness though, your shared mansion littered with the finest of glass and marble vases to hold all the roses he’d give you. Anyone could walk in and see that you were well taken care of.
Every room in every hall carried a pot of flowers, the prettiest of flowers, the prettiest of roses, and yet to him you were always the most beautiful thing amongst them all. You were delicate and gossamery, so fine and enchanting just like the roses he’d give you. And, just as with every rose comes its thorns, or in other words, Lloyd Hansen will always be right behind you in case anyone dare try and pluck your pretty petals.
He’d always be there to save you, protect you, keep you and your beauty safe from anything that try and take you from him. He gifted you with all the prettiest of roses but for him you were his rose, his pretty flower, his pretty girl.
Now, Lloyd Hansen wouldn’t be Lloyd Hansen if he didn’t gift you with a backyard full of your very own rose bushes now would he? So, that’s exactly what he did. A whole garden dedicated to you, pristine and pampered with the best gardeners so he could give you roses anytime he wanted. Not a moment went by when you weren’t being smothered with red red roses in the safety of his castle; the belle to his beast in all the best ways.
Yes, Lloyd Hansen was evil incarnate, ripping at the seams a hellish, bloodthirsty beast stuck in human flesh but with you… not with you. You were his humanity, his princess in the twisted fairy tale he orchestrated for you. You loved him and all his murderous tendencies, and he was completely, irrevocably, irreversibly in love with you.
As every hundredth rose could tell anyone who dare ask.
— 𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐗 / 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅, never one to spare a smile unless it was sarcastic and mean. But with you, his stony face and rigid exterior could never deter you. You had been with him for far too long now, too adept in his several complex mannerisms to be able to differentiate the good ones from the bad ones. You took him as he was, as he is, his blank faces and longly trauma and everything he came with.
Yes, he was usually so withdrawn and cold to anybody else, quick to leave and utter an irritated grievance but never with you. With you, he was warm and bright, soft smiles and loving eyes. With you, he was right where he was meant to be, by your side and protected by the impenetrable confines of your endless adoration.
Six gets you flowers randomly and sporadically, and it was such a sweet surprise to you each and every time he did. He rarely ever got you a bouquet unless it was something you explicitly wanted, something he’d really only purposely get on days that were really special — holidays or anniversaries.
He doesn’t do roses and old fashioned bouquets he felt every guy did for their lady, he figured you deserved more than tradition, something better. So, he likes to be unique and tries to make an effort in getting flowers specifically tailored to your tastes.
He was a gentleman even if he didn’t believe so, always overcompensating for something you weren’t sure what; maybe because he believed himself to be a difficult man to love, a difficult man to be with, something lesser than you so he’d try and make up for it.
He’s the type of man to bring you a flower he had seen one afternoon that he thought you might like, always taking note of the favorable flowers you’d mention days before and the excitement in your eyes as you talked about them. He remembered little things like that, things that you didn’t think he’d pay attention to.
He was a man to notice the small things as he’d walk into a front lawn or small garden, pluck the prettiest flower he could find and then tenderly place it in his pocket until he found his way back to you.
Most times it was just a simple daisy, a simple petunia, a simple stem, a simple little flower he had thought you would like. But for you it wasn’t about the lavish bouquets and dramatic proclamations of love anyway, it never was. Each simple flower was anything but simple to you, each one’s significance went beyond its pretty appearance and found in the gesture of what that flower represented.
Six’s love was subtle but fierce, strong and all encompassing. With each flower he gifted you it was just another sweet, meaningful anecdote in your budding love story. He’d leave it on the countertop before a mission, your bedside table, his pillow on the days he’d have to disappear for weeks on end. You were thankful for them, his subtle strokes of devotion bundled into a simple, little flower that meant the world to you. It was never about the money to you, and it was only ever the thought that mattered with Six.
You always loved his flowers, the small ones and the simple ones and the pretty ones. Whenever he would leave you on those stupid missions of his, the only thing you’d be left with is his sweet smell imbedded into the sheets and the flowers tucked under your bed in that precious pink shoebox. They’d be the only things left to remember him by until he came back, and in certain ways a guarantee that he will be.
Six will be gone when he thinks of you, missing you desperately, wishing to be back with you again. But even in the midst of gunfire and smoke he’ll still find your pretty flower sticking out of the cracked, bloodstained concrete and delicately put it somewhere safe, somewhere it can wait until it finds its way to you. It was his own way of ensuring himself that he will find his way back to you, back into the warmth, back where he was meant to be.
Each flower was a token of his love to you, each stem a stronger bond, each petal an unspoken promise. Whenever he was gone too long and you were left alone and sulking you would open up that shoebox of withered and fresh flowers. Whenever Six was sitting on an alley wall tending to his own bloody wounds halfway across the country he’d take that flower out of his pocket and twirl it in between his dirty fingertips.
No matter how far apart you two were the flowers were always there, stagnant and reassuring, as you both would look at that flower and find comfort in the words it symbolized.
He will always come back to you.
⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙TAGGING , @ghostslillady hope you enjoy bestie, it’s just a small thing 💕💕 & @little-miss-chaoss
𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒. ̨ ✩°̥࿐ just thinking about the obvious crush you have on Six, but he’s too stubborn to give into it.
pairing: Sierra Six x fem!Reader
authors note: tbh, I liked this too much to just leave it as a drabble. I’ll probably make this into a full fic eventually, so I guess you can consider this a teaser 😭 I thought I’d at least post it and see how it goes. it’s probably not that eventful but whateva.
LINKS ੈ♡˳·˖✶ masterlist | time stamps | taglist
YOU COULDN’T HELP BUT STARE at the way his muscles flexed under his suit jacket; a steely gray that complimented the olive undertones of his skin.
Six barley turned his head, managing to look at you from the corner of his eye. Subtle enough to see the way you looked at him as more than a… whatever he was. Bodyguard. It brought a small smirk to his face as he opened up his jacket and pulled out a piece of gum from his inner coat pocket.
He’d offer you one, but he liked it better when you thought he was oblivious.
You watched as he threw the stick of pink gum into his mouth, bubblicious no doubt. Or watermelon, another one of his favorites. You stared at the way his jaw clenched as he chewed on it, shoving the tiny wrapper into his pocket. You watched as he slowly stalked around the wall length windows, resuming his casual pace, examining the yard like something was going to pop out at any second.
All you could do was watch. Watch him, watch him walk, watch him stare out at nothing. It must’ve been a boring job; just staring, walking, waiting. Waiting for something to happen, daring someone to come.
You cocked your head at him, your eyes running down from the tip of his neat blonde hair, to the strong side profile of his muscular body and jaw, to the big thighs stuck in those gray slacks, to the glossy sheen of his black shoes.
He was so fine and he knew it. He had to of, otherwise why would he tramp around in those suits of his, with his stupid hair gelled back, with his stupid blue eyes, and his stupid big hands, and his stupid broad chest, and his stupid pink gum. You narrowed your eyes at him, frustrated with the longing you had for him like it was his fault. Well it really was honesty, he was the one that looked like that.
Six could feel your stare burning into him, the buzzing silence between you two thick with… something. He could feel it thrumming under his skin, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He looked out at the trees, then glanced at you, then back to the trees with an amused barely-there smile. He wondered what you were thinking about, if you were thinking about him, if you were thinking about him like he was thinking about you.
He put his hands in his pant pockets, wondering how long you were gonna keep up your little staring contest. He didn’t mind it; he enjoyed being gawked at by you actually. Made him feel like less of an asset and more of a person. Even then, you were a pretty girl. Who didn’t like being looked at by pretty girls?
You yourself wondered why Six hadn’t said anything to you yet. He must’ve caught your staring by now, you weren’t exactly subtle. Maybe he was purposefully ignoring you, making it a point to look at anything but you. Whatever the reason, you decided you wanted to hear him, hear his voice one last time before you had to go take a shower.
Honestly, you just needed to get out of the living room before you jumped him like a cat in heat.
“So, anything interesting outside?” You asked stupidly, just wanting to hear that deep voice of his instead of an actual answer; hear that sarcastic clip you knew he’d have with you. Something about the undertones of condescension in his words really made your skin tingle, especially when he looked directly at you when he said them. You tightened your thighs together as he turned his head towards you, the sun shining down on him from the window like he was an Angel descending down the clouds, being hand delivered to only you.
Six felt a chuckle tickle his throat as he turned his head at you, his eyes catching the way your legs closed up when he caught your eye. He licked his lips, quickly, sucking in a calming breath of air as he felt the tantalizing urge to just walk over to you and take you on that couch come over him like a dark cloud of sin.
“Uh, no. No there isn’t, actually. Just those little flowers over there… Tulips, huh? I didn’t take you for a tulip kinda girl.” Six pointed out to the flower patch over to the side of the yard, then put his hand back in his pocket and sauntered over to you with a divert little smile. You noticed it, and it made your skin purr.
You gazed up at him almost lustfully as he looked at you with those steely blue eyes, swirling with amusement and beguiled charm. You let out a soft chuckle at that, blatantly staring at his lips.
“Oh yeah? What kind of girl do you take me for then?” You teased almost too carelessly, cocking your head at him as your thighs pulsed with want straight to your throbbing pussy, thinking more with your salacious desires than your brain. You couldn’t help it. He was so pretty, so strong, so big. Your mind conjured up all the positions he could take you in, bent over this couch, over the coffee table, on the floor, on the window overlooking those damned tulips.
Six could see that you were out of it, your eyes dark with want and your thighs squeezed together so tight. You were just staring at him, entranced, stuck in your own little head. He was able to pick up on those things, you know. Especially after being with you for these past few months he’s come to learn how you operate, what your mannerisms were, what your expressions meant. He knew you inside and out, knew you better than you knew yourself. He knows when your sad, when your happy, when your angry… even when your horny.
He could feel that tantalizing pull within himself as he looked down at you, thinking how to answer your question without saying too much about what he really thought. What kind of girl do you take me for then? Oh he knew what kind of girl you were. What kind of girl he could make you be for him.
He just smiled, shaking his head to try and lighten the tension between you. I mean, god, he could practically feel the pheromones emanating from you.
“I’m gonna go check the perimeter. Don’t go anywhere until I’m back, alright? I shouldn’t be too long.” Six mumbled, taking his hands out of his pocket as he went to check the watch on his wrist. He had to get out of there, and he knew he shouldn’t leave you alone like this but it was an, thankfully, uneventful afternoon, and he figured he could spare a few minutes. He just had to leave, let you sort yourself out.
No matter what he may feel, or what he might tell himself, at the end of the day he had a job to do, and no matter what he wanted he couldn’t cross that boundary. He knew that the moment he had a taste of you, the moment he felt your soft skin under his calloused hands, that the moment he gave in to his primal desires… god, just the thought… he’s really just digging up his own grave at this point.
You couldn’t help but feel dejected, slumping down in your seat and letting out a tense breath.
“Oh, okay. That’s fine. I’ll just… watch tv or something.” You rubbed your thighs nervously, suddenly embarrassed, feeling like you ruined the moment with something you did. Did you? Oh well, even if you didn’t, you still felt responsible for the sudden drop in intimacy as Six resumed his blank expression and walked out of the room, the imprint of two guns around his waist as he went.
You stared as he left, your skin hot and your stomach churning. That’s all you could do was watch. Watch him walk away, watch him bid you goodbye. It was a boring job you had. Staring, waiting. Waiting for him to do something. Waiting for yourself to gain the courage you needed.
You grabbed the remote next to you with a frown, staring at the tv with a pit of shame sitting heavy in your stomach, wishing you were watching something else instead.
Six walked out of the room with his cock semi-hard in his pants, his fists clenched in his pockets. It felt like he was trudging through mud the farther he walked away, but he knew it was for the best. It was just…
It was just getting harder and harder to deny you…
┈ ᛫ ᤲ 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔 ✦𓈒 𓆇 sukuna and you had something, could call it love, before you left him, but he was too obsessed with power, mad with the idea of being king again and killing all those Jujutsu high kids who always seemed to foil his plans. still, he came to you when he needed to, and you didn’t make any complaints. until one night he comes to you once more, realizing what he lost and missing what he had.
┈ ᛫ ᤲ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒔 ✦𓈒 𓆇 sweet sukuna, injured sukuna, makeup sex in a way, soft + rough-ish sex, kissing + making out, hand around throat but not choking, lip biting, neck biting, shoulder biting, missionary position, kinda dom!Sukuna because obvi, hand holding during sex, back scratching, body worship kinda, pussy eating + oral fem receiving, clit stimulation, pet names such as rosie, pretty girl, pretty, dirty talk + nasty words, unprotected sex *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ minors do not interact | sexual content 18+
┈ ᛫ ᤲ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✦𓈒 𓆇 sexual content 18+, mentions of killing, strong descriptions of blood, bloody wounds and broken-ish hearts. non accurate descriptions of fixing wounds that you definitely shouldn’t follow, plot holes and inconsistencies 🥰 a Japanese translation of a word that might not be accurate (I’m a white girlie what do I know about Japanese language), I use the word growl way way too much (but in my defense they need better synonyms)
┈ ᛫ ᤲ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ✦𓈒 𓆇 thank you for reading, I love me a grumpy baby sukuna 💕 I didn’t really write this one how I wanted to write it, but I didn’t want to just delete it all either, so here it is 😜🥲 also I didn’t really like the way I wrote the smut so oh well.
✧˖°.♡︎˙ᵕ˙⋆｡°✩ 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘 night when Sukuna came to you; the wind was brisk and harsh like the black waves of an Arctic Ocean, the air frosty and sharp, stabbing into your delicate skin like pine needles. It whistled in your ears and pulled at your hair, biting into you in a fashion so familiar for the beginning of December. It burned the back of your throat every time you inhaled, your nose a raw pink color and your teeth chattering between fogs of warm breath. Your fragile skin was left prickled and shivering under the pale moonlight, the chill carving a path straight to your bones, swimming in your veins like ice water and making your blood run cold.
You had your arms wrapped around yourself in nothing but your silky black robe, quivering in the dim yellow light of your door step as you felt worry bleed into you, eyes straining in the darkness, scanning the dim street light, the snow covered lawn, the silent empty street, for the man your heart pounded so anxiously for.
It was that cold Friday night when Sukuna came to you, hidden in the dark shadow of night and smelling of copper and smoke, trudging through the white snow in blood stained footsteps and falling at your feet with a groan. He was pale and shirtless, covered in scratches and seeping wounds you weren’t sure he’d recover from; he was still so weak, born again but not yet risen to his full potential, vulnerable still; a fawn learning how to use its legs. Blood pearled through burned fingertips as he’d hold his injuries, claws dried in rich blood and his pink hair matted with frost and dirt.
You couldn’t stop the shocked gasp.
“Oh my god!”
You hurriedly grabbed at his forearm and waist — his soft skin cold as ice, ignoring his groans and growls as you’d use all your strength to help him stand up, your own bones rigid and fatigued as the cold crept up your spine and made goosebumps crawl over your arms and legs. Blood stained your hands and dripped at your feet, staining the concrete with rich red drops, your nose tingling and lips grimacing at the metallic smell of it.
“Those brats…” He growled lowly, blood spitting out on his chin and lips, a clawed hand gripping his waist where one of his worser injuries were, his other arm hung over your shoulder as you struggled to drag his limp body into the warmness of your small home.
You dragged him through the house, knocking over a vase in the process that shattered to the floor in several small pieces. The sound shocked you, but Sukuna’s pained moan shocked you worse as you managed to set him on your couch, as gentle as you could be, blood trailing on your wooden floor and soaking into the crimson red covers of your love seat.
Your own blood rushed through your ears as you quickly scampered off to your bathroom and gathered alcohol and rags, Band-Aids and towels, anything you thought could’ve helped him as his faint grunts and pained hisses could be heard throughout your hallway. You were sloppy, dropping things on the ground and leaving cabinets opened as you hurried back out to the living room.
“I’ll kill them, I’ll kill them all… all of those Jujutsu rats.”Sukuna spat out quietly, voice thick with rage and crumbling with pain, muttering more to himself than he was talking to you pointedly. You sighed at that, pity and concern creeping in your heart like sprouting flowers, walking over to where Sukuna lay and squatting down next to him.
You should’ve known this had something to do with Jujutsu High, it always did when he was this angry, this hurt. Still, you couldn’t help but be a little disappointed that Sukuna was still focusing on the same things, a madness taken over him that had him driving down the same endless myriad of roads that never lead the way he wanted them to. Things never changed with him, a hard lesson learned a long time ago.
He was laid on his back, one foot hanging off the edge of the seat and the other bent at the knee, leaned against the cushion. His hands were both on his stomach, where most of the blood seemed to come from, thick and red like paste, smeared over his skin. You almost felt dizzy looking at it. Sweat beaded at his hairline and dirt was smeared across his smooth skin and black markings, mouth twisted in pain and fangs poking out threateningly from between his red lips. Each breath was long and slow with disgruntled groans and hisses between ever so often.
You set your things down on the floor next to you, hands shaking and dried with blood splatter. Sukuna opened his four red eyes with a grimace at the sound of it, looking down at you as if you were something unfamiliar, a stranger to a frightened animal, distrusting and hesitant.
You looked back up at him, brow raised and eyes narrowed at the incredulous hesitance stained in his own eyes.
“Don’t give me that look. You came to me.” You pointed out softly, giving him a stern look that had him stubbornly glaring back at you with a frown.
The faint whisper of candle flame could be heard as you ignored the urge to roll your eyes at Sukuna, knowing this was a sensitive time for him and knew it was in your best interest not to ruin his mood any further.
The dim golden light of your living room, lit by the glow of firelight and candles, exaggerated the sharpness of Sukuna’s face, accentuated the shadow of his muscles and the redness of his eyes. You were almost distracted by the beauty of it, but you knew better than to be.
“Don’t be such a brat, I’m not in the mood.” He grumbled, his eyes closing once more as he leaned his head back slowly on the puffy red cushion; a pain throbbing in his temples. You didn’t bother arguing with him, just giving him another docile, sympathetic sigh as your eyes ran over his face with a gentle fondness.
A few beats of silence buzzed between you as your eyes ran over his cuts and burns, soaking in the rare sight and battered appearance of such a strong curse like Sukuna, a man (thing) who, as long as you’ve known him, had never been one to lose to anything. You knew that fact hurt him all the more, knowing a simple group of sorcerers seemed to always get the best of him.
Your eyes lingered on the gash on his stomach, his burned fingertips, ears intently focused on every pained breath and wheeze that left his lips. Worry pulled at your heart like it was plucking strings, thrumming through your blood and making your throat close up, looking back up at Sukuna with a particular agony of your own.
“What happened, ‘una? Who did this to you?” You spoke quietly in the dim golden light, a frown on your lips as your eyes burned with tears, a consequence of your worry. You could hear the wind rattling the trees from outside, harsh snow coming down now and melting into your windows.
You knew Sukuna didn’t adjust well to emotions, especially tears, but seeing him so mad and in so much pain it made your chest heavy with unknown guilt and sadness, a pit in your stomach that made you feel sick. You felt the need to help him despite his despair being his own stubborn fault. You always did, you couldn’t help it — a flaw really, you always cared too much for things that didn’t deserve it.
He opened his eyes once more, slowly, his red hues running over your face and observing the sad pull of your pink lips and the wet sheer in your sparkly eyes. He could admit to himself that he hated seeing you like that, seeing you sad for him. He didn’t like pity, didn’t appreciate sympathy; he was higher than the minuscule emotions that plagued humanity, the very existence of his own power and grandness going beyond the scale of human morality. But with you, he couldn’t deny that it was for a different reason entirely.
Sukuna could see that you were genuine; he faltered when he was about to snap out a rude response (from instinct more than anything), but when he saw the concern in your doe eyes he couldn’t help but swallow down his disrespect, eyes narrowed at you and his jaw clenched tightly, as if swallowing his own anger.
“That white-haired devil. He knew I’d be there somehow, brought those idiot children… I should’ve seen it!” He growled once more, looking away from you as the memory of earlier that evening played in his mind, a rage burning through him that distracted him from the pain, eyes furiously blazing with something murderous, his sharp teeth bared and a bloody mix of saliva trailing down his cheek in a sheer pink line as his veins throbbed. You felt your own fear jolt through you that had your muscles tense up and skin prickle, never seeing Sukuna so angry before, much less having seen him lose a fight.
“Shhh, you need to lay down, your wounds!” You instinctively put a hand on Sukuna’s shoulder when he tried to pick himself up, a clenched groan escaping his twisted lips when he bent his midsection. You pushed him back down rather roughly when he resisted your strength, eyes widened at the groan of pain that sounded from him.
“Okay, listen, I know you’re angry, but you’re hurt, and that’s more important than whatever revenge scheme you’re coming up with right now.” You scolded, exasperated, Sukuna looking at you like you had just struck him.
“Besides, you wouldn’t win any fight in the state you’re in anyway.” You mumbled quietly, taking your hand off an offended Sukuna who growled in response, turning your head and grabbing your damp rag from the mess of supplies next to you.
“Of course I’d win.” He grumbled almost childishly with that deep, scratchy voice of his, looking you up and down with a disgruntled expression.
You felt an amused smile pull at your lips, a chuckle bubbling in your throat at his stubborn behavior.
You looked back up at Sukuna with the rag in your hand, looking into the embers of his eyes as you spoke softly, “Of course you would. Now move your arms, I need to clean the blood off of you, your stomach got the worst of it…”
Sukuna stared at you, eyes narrowed slightly as they ran over your face, from your hair flowing down your back, to your eyes looking at his stomach anxiously, to your pink lips, pale and dry. He even noticed the blood on your robe, the dried patches on your collarbone and wrist. His eyes lingered on the robe though, familiarity striking him as he zoned in on the stitched red letters of 薔薇 (rose), right above your heart, just below your collarbone.
He stared at it, a fond memory surfacing in his brain that had him short circuiting, eyes looking back up at your face as he cocked his head at you with a glare, a growl gurgling in the back of his throat like it was your fault that he felt the way he did.
He felt something incredibly unfamiliar swirl in his stomach and claw at his heart; a mix of guilt, of anger, for getting that damned robe so dirty with his own sweat and blood.
“What is it?” You asked, always so concerned. You furrowed your brows, noticing the distant look in his eyes as he stared at you, his lips still twisted and eyebrows pressed together like your very face caused him great anguish.
“Why do you always have to leave? Why can’t you stay? Forget about those Jujutsu High people, just stay with me…”
“I can’t. Not until they’re all dead. Not until their blood is dripping down my hands and flooding the streets of this wretched city. Not until I’m King again. Once they’re gone there will be nothing in my way, nothing to stop me from having my throne, nothing that can come between me and my full power. Once I have that, I will have everything, nothing will ever be able to stop me again.”
“…is that really all that matters to you?”
You looked over Sukuna’s face with a pink blush at the awkwardness of it all, his crimson eyes, hard and piercing, boring into you with an aggrieved frown; the memory of something now unattainable playing behind those eyes of his that you knew nothing about. You felt anxiousness run through your blood as you placed a strand of hair behind your ear, somehow embarrassed at the way he was just staring at you.
“Sukuna, what’s the problem, are you okay?” You laughed nervously, like a doting school girl in the way he used to make you giggle so much, your eyes flickering between the rag in your hands and his stare; you were never able to make eye contact with him that long, he always flustered you too much.
But, you supposed, it was wrong to dwell on those things now.
Sukuna’s eyes danced between yours some more, watching and remembering like he was staring into a glittering pair of nostalgic television sets. His lips, tinged with blood splatter and chapped with dry skin, were set in an irate frown as those same guilty, unfamiliar, feelings swirled in his chest like a wicked brew, but also… something else. Something worse, something more painful, something dull but vibrant that burned through his conscious like a twinkling star.
“You still have that, huh?” He groused with that deep voice of his, voice thick but still remaining disinterested, his bloody hand moving up from his stomach (where strings of blood snapped between his palm and him) as his sharp claw poked at the red letters on your heart.
You furrowed your brows at what he meant, glancing down to where he poked you when the red stitching caught your eye and it all just made sense.
You faltered for a moment as your mind flashed back to the same moment his must’ve, staring down at it as a melancholic feeling settled in the pit of your stomach at the memory. Yes, you had never gotten rid of it, a pathetic attempt to hold on to you as it was the only thing I had left besides the pain you left behind. You looked back up at Sukuna with a solemn expression, your eyes flickering between his in uncertainty and sadness for a moment before you looked back at his stomach.
You really needed to fix that already.
“Um, well yeah. It was a gift, remember?” You gave him a small smile as you glanced back up at his eyes, the need to cry suddenly very real and heavy on your chest. You didn’t want to tell him the truth, tell him you missed him, and that for the first few weeks after he left it still smelt of him, smelt of smoke and cinnamon, rosemary and clary sage.
You couldn’t find the strength in yourself to throw it away even after the smell faded, nor could you stop the anger that flooded you every time you saw it. It was the only thing you had left of him besides the heartache, but at least that was invisible with the potential to be ignored. Not the robe, that was something physical and very much existent that just reminded you that you weren’t as okay as you made yourself believe.
Honestly, you hadn’t realized you were wearing it, damning yourself for buying one so similar.
Sukuna didn’t respond to that, just stared at you with a vexed expression like you were some riddle he couldn’t figure out, some ingredient he couldn’t taste, and it pissed him off. Still, he couldn’t help it when he reached back over and traced his finger over the red stitching, brows furrowed and eyes burning, his black claw scratching against it as he felt your body freeze underneath him. He could feel your heart beating rapidly under his finger, a spot of blood smearing over the letters from his bloody hand.
“Sukuna! Oh my god, I love it! But now I feel bad, i didn’t get you anything…”
“eh, don’t make it a big deal, alright?… But you like it, huh?”
“I love it, I love it love it love it!”
“Mm, good. How about you try it on for me, princess? Then give your King a proper thank you…”
“Okay, I will. But, seriously, thank you. I’ll always wear it. I love it.”
“Yeah, yeah, you better, you brat…”
Sukuna retracted his hand slowly, the silence between you heavy and buzzing with all those feelings you didn’t want to share, all those memories you didn’t want to think about. Your lips tightened as you looked over his face for some reflection of what he was thinking, your skin tingling at just the feel of his finger tracing your heart. You wondered if he could feel how quickly it beat for him, but knew that of course he did.
You swallowed nervously, adjusting your robe to cover the area of skin he had accidentally exposed. The stain of blood on the red lettering didn’t go unnoticed to you. It was painfully ironic.
Sukuna took your distraction as his outing, his eyes dropping from yours as he grunted and laid his head back on the pillow. He didn’t want to think about that, his mood already well and soured. Still, he couldn’t help the way his stomach tightened with a newfound sickness — sick with his choices? Most definitely. He closed his eyes and adjusted himself so he was more facing the cushion than you, an annoyed quirk on the edge of his sharp lip that let his white fang peek out.
He hated all these goddamn feelings. They were confusing and they hurt, hurt worse than any wound on his physical being that a mortal could give him.
“Hurry up, will ya? I’m tired.” He spoke in that annoyed tone like you were nothing more than a hassle for him, a pest he was shooing away. You frowned at that, the moment you two shared, dare you even call it that, now in shambles at your knees as you rolled your eyes at him in newfound annoyance; not just for his careless attitude, but also for making you remember.
“You know, you should really be nicer to me, I’m the only one who helps your grumpy ass.” You mumbled rudely, but just as honestly, scooting closer to the couch and reaching over to grab Sukuna’s wrist from where he was still covering the bloody wound. You moved it a little, grimacing at the way the blood had dried and was sticky all over his abdomen, smeared over his abs and sitting heavy in your nose like an essential oil.
You were just thankful the blood had stopped coming.
Sukuna flinched when you grabbed his wrist, his body tensing as he released a small growl like he was some feral dog. You could almost laugh at it if he didn’t irritate you so fucking much; you couldn’t believe he was still so stubborn despite always depending on you to help him. It made annoyance seep through your bones, more so than ever before.
“You need to move your arm or I won’t be able to clean it. You’re the one who wanted me to hurry up, aren’t you?” You sassed, having no patience for his attitude like you did earlier, raising a brow at him to dare him to try and rebuttal.
Sukuna glared at you despite knowing you were right, not appreciating his words (or your attitude for that matter) being thrown back at him. He relaxed his muscle though after a short stubborn moment, his hand going soft in your grasp so you could move it away.
“Be gentle. It hurts.” He hissed at you like a troublesome child when you went to move his arm again. You slowly raised his arm (but not before giving him a sour expression to show your distaste), with as gentle as a touch as you could muster, and carefully set it off to the side. He raised it to his head and set it behind him, propping his head on his arm as he stared down at you untrustingly.
You sighed in exasperation, giving him a look between annoyed and even more annoyed as you leaned over and gently ran the rag over the dried blood surrounding the wound. You realized the blood made it look a lot worse than it was; a simple deep cut that was mostly likely caused from some sort of weapon. You were curious on the details of what exactly happened, but you most certainly knew better than to ever ask him.
A few moments of silence passed as you washed away at the blood, red droplets running down his sides and most likely staining your loveseat. You were glad it was red, a purchase made shortly after meeting Sukuna as there were plenty of nights spent just like this one. The white rag quickly became tinged with pink, but some spots were harder to scrub than others from where the blood had crusted for so long on his skin.
You glanced up at Sukuna, where his eyes were now closed but his mouth was still twisted into a grumpy scowl. You would say he looked a little cute, like a pouting puppy more than a murderous curse, but no, you weren’t going to say that nor admit it to yourself. It was always hard to keep those thoughts away; your mind had become so consumed with him when you were together that it was hard to just forget about him now.
You looked back down, hoping Sukuna wouldn’t notice when you pressed down just a little harder, only a little on a stubborn patch of blood by his belly button. Of course, you just as soon regretted it as Sukuna’s clawed hand came down quicker than you could think and snatched at your fist with a pained hiss.
“I said gentle, woman!” He spat, viridian eyes enraged and sharp teeth glistening under the dim orange light. Your eyes widened in initial shock before they glared down at where his hand was gripping yours. You hissed at the tight hold on your knuckles, snapping your head at him. The genuine pain swirling in his irises did little to subdue your own anger.
“Oh my god, okay!” You exclaimed in utter frustration, snatching your hand out from under his with a scoff and a shake of your head.
Sukuna let out an almost threatening sound from the bottom of his throat, glowering at you for a few moments like you had just hurt him personally. Still, his eyes couldn’t help but wander to the way your hair fell around your shoulders; you’d always been beautiful, far more beautiful than he ever really deserved. He stared at you a little longer than he should have, thankfully unknown to you. Looking at you like this only made him feel like shit, remembering what he had done.
It made him feel sick and lost; at the way he treated you and yet you stuck around. Had you really loved him? You must’ve, you always stayed when in reality you should’ve left long ago. Even now, you always helped him despite how he treated you, Sukuna wasn’t blind to it. He saw you roll your eyes at him and this mournful feeling settled heavy in his heart (when had he gotten one) — he was still grieving over the loss of you and he didn’t think he’d ever get you back.
Sukuna gave you one last glare for being so damn distracting before he relaxed once more in the love seat. You have managed yet again to bring out these feelings in him that made him want to throw up and he hated it. He laid flat on his back, wincing as he did, clenching his jaw and letting out a low snarl at the predicament he was in.
You settled down yourself, letting out a huff as you glanced back up at him in exasperation. You couldn’t believe the temper he still had, you even found it mildly amusing. You looked back at his abdomen, where pink water droplets dripped from your hand and down his side. You resumed gently washing away at the blood coating him, “All that time to yourself and you still haven’t fixed those anger issues it seems…”
Sukuna’s eyes snapped open at that, his ears picking up the end of your grumbled sentence.
“What’d you say, brat?” He hissed with a dark glare, looking down at you with an expression of utter offense at your statement.
You glanced up at him, your eyes running over that familiar face with a smile you couldn’t stop from stretching over your lips. Your eyes ran over his scowl, the fierceness of his glare, a small giggle bubbling in your throat. You put your head back down and continued rubbing the blood off of him as though he couldn’t see the wide, bemused smile on your lips.
Sukuna instantly felt confused at your reaction, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared down at you with a dumbfounded expression.
“What’s so funny? Why are you laughing?” He scoffed at you, like he was offended that he was the only one not in on your joke, glaring at the way you only seemed to laugh just a bit harder at him. His eyes were immediately drawn to your lips, the curve od your smile and the sweet sound of your laugh that seemed to make his heart pound in his ears. He glanced at your grin then back to your eyes before you could notice.
You bit your lip to stop the giggles, smiling through your teeth as you glanced up at him and his confused (hilarious) expression.
“Oh, nothing. Just lay back down.” You sighed whimsically, smiling to yourself as you went back to cleaning the blood off of his waist, albeit not as concentrated as you were before — a way to distract yourself from looking back up at him. It was something though, of course it was something, but it was also something you most definitely didn’t want to talk about. You’d hoped he’d ignore it, but of course he wouldn’t.
Sukuna scowled at you, grabbing at the rag in your hand and ignoring the sting of pain that shot through him as he leaned forward towards you, his shadow crossing your face.
“Tell me, I demand it.” He ordered, his hold tightening on your hand as his glare worsened.
You had froze when he grabbed you, almost embarrassingly so, your eyes lingering on his hand that was conjoined with yours (always bigger and full of so much power) for a moment before you cleared your throat of any remaining laughter. To this day, he could still make you feel so nervous.
“Oh, you demand it, huh?” You almost laughed at that as you looked back up at him, eyes quickly finding his in the daze of candle smoke and blood. You staggered for no particular reason, missing the way he always used to look at you. You managed to compose yourself though as a wide, amused smile at his dramatics pulled on your lips instead. He couldn’t help but linger on it, hand still on top of yours like you both weren’t aware of it.
Sukuna couldn’t help the irritated sound that fell from his lips, rolling his eyes at you before giving you a really look (it only made you smile harder at him).
“Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just… whenever we were together you would always get so offended when I would say anything about your anger issues. It’s just funny that it still bothers you, that’s all.” You smiled fondly — bitterly, at the memory of it, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly as though speaking of it didn’t affect you as much as it really did.
Truth was, of course it affected you. It was just supposed to be a fleeting thought, a fleeting memory shoved to the surface that was quickly drowned. But he just had to know, and now it was all you could think about. It made your heart sink, sadness filling in your chest cavity like syrup, thick and heavy and bitter in your blood.
The smile slowly fell from your face as you looked back down at his wound, which was slowly healing itself. You looked at his hand, which was still tight around yours (having to fight the urge to turn your palm and intertwine his fingers with yours). You couldn’t bare to see the look on his face at your response, feeling embarrassed for being so vulnerable so quickly, feeling embarrassed that you spoke with him like he was nothing but a friend. He wasn’t a friend to you, he wasn’t supposed to be anything anymore. But he was and it was silly of you to try and disregard that fact.
You knew he was more, he was always more, so here you were, blushing and smiling like he was still with you, like he wasn’t here to use your services then leave as he did every few months. You were silly and love drunk, blissed out on the memories and the hope of his return. It was ridiculous. Yes, You missed him — you absolutely hated to admit that fact but it was blaring in your head, obvious and flashing, obvious in the way you cared for his wounds every time he came, obvious in the way you welcomed him back in time and time again. It was so painfully obvious you still hoped for him, and these little visits of his did nothing but ruin you more.
You sighed as your eyes started to burn, hand clenching the rag for dear life to try and stop them from coming. You had to be stronger than this, strong like all those times you’d seen him before in the year and half he’s been gone.
Sukuna stared at you for a while, his grip loosening on your hand as he thought about what you just said.
Whenever we were together.
He felt bad, to put it simply. He didn’t ever think he’d miss you, a mortal, like he has. He didn’t ever think he’d need you, a mortal, at his side when he became King again, he didn’t ever think he’d need anyone. He was Sukuna, King of the Curses and one of the most powerful beings on earth. He could have any woman he wanted, absolutely anything he desired, he was just that powerful. He knew that when he met you, the only sorcerer to never try to kill him, the only girl he’d ever faltered for.
When did he lose sight of that? He was evil, he wasn’t meant to live or love but here he was, already having lived and loved beyond what he was meant to. Loved? Loved. He did love you but he always loved power more, he loved you but… he screwed it all up and you left him. He thought he was fine with that, thought that you were just a waste of time he granted his attention to, a speck in his endless story of immortality and struggle, but then you left and he didn’t have you anymore. Was power ever really worth it compared to you? He was alone, but wasn’t that what he wanted in the first place? He didn’t need anyone, didn’t need you, a mortal, to be by his side when he took his throne at the flames of the world.
That’s what he thought.
But then you left him like any self respecting woman would have and he had missed you, missed you so much more than a curse like him was supposed to feel. He missed your smile and your hands, your touch and your pretty eyes. He knew he wasn’t the best man around, never treated you quite fairly and always considered you second to his crown, but it didn’t take him long after your disappearance to realize how foolish that was. It wasn’t his strength that made him dinners at night, it wasn’t money that kissed him on his cheek and held his hand, and it wasn’t power that loved him like you did.
He knew he had lost sight of what was most important, he knew that but he was too stubborn to admit it to anyone, even himself, especially you. He had been chasing a fantasy, an idea, when you were right there all along. He was so stupid, but he was greedy and selfish above all. He wanted you but he wanted power, and you proved that he couldn’t have both.
What was he doing here? Why did he always come to you when he needed help? Why did he ever let you leave and why did he keep using you like this? Really he had no one else to turn to, and if he did die he wanted it to be with you, in your arms or by your hand. It was sappy and sentimental but it was the truth. Yes, he was evil, he was supposed to be evil, take what he wanted and use what he needed with no care for others.
But you… he couldn’t be that way with you even when he first met you. You had softened him up, but it still wasn’t enough to change him completely. He still craved endless strength and reign above all, after all he was created to kill anything that got in his way. He needed to destroy and plunder, do the sins he was born to do and burn the world to ashes.
But… he didn’t want to do any of that without his queen by his side. Why was he doing this? Why was he doing this to you? All these questions and no answers, a year and a half of hopelessness and loneliness, a year and a half of chasing something that would never satisfy him like you did; teetering on the edge of a cliff but never quite falling in. He wanted to with you. Fall into that dark abyss of uncertainty and fear with your hand in his, just as it was intended.
He didn’t necessarily plan on admitting that tonight though, but seeing you with that damned robe on and your hair so shiny and smooth the way he liked it… he could feel his resolve slipping away like warm honey. Damn, he really did miss you.
And now, you just had to go and say that and make him feel even worse. When we were together…
Ryomen Sukuna clenched his jaw at the weight behind that simple statement, his eyes running over your face for any sign of the pain he knew you felt inside — or what he could see of it through the strings of your hair.
He left the hand that was on top of yours there, almost squeezing it underneath his in an uncharacteristic effort of intimacy. He heard you let out the quietest sniffle, his chest caving in as his eyes flickered worriedly around your frame. He felt a need to comfort you pull at his dark heart, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do and felt utterly powerless.
He shyly brought his other hand up, hesitant, not wanting you to flinch away from him, not wanting to scare you off.
The silence was almost too much to bear between you as you refused to look at him, feeling weak and stupid for bringing it up.
Sukuna delicately laid his palm on the back of your head, his skin stained with his blood and crusted to his claws. You didn’t move when he touched you, very gently stroking your hair once you didn’t move away from him. He clenched his jaw, wanting to grab more of you from just that small touch alone.
You closed your eyes at the feeling, savoring the tingles on your scalp with every brush of his hand. You thought it was kind of sweet of him, his own way of comforting you that was already so uncomfortable for him to be doing. You were grateful for it, slightly leaning into the warmth of his touch, not caring about the dried blood on his fingers.
Sukuna let it be silent for a few soft moments, relishing in the feeling of you under his palm again.
“You should go to sleep, brat. I‘ve got the rest.” He mumbled in that aggressively caring (but somehow nonchalant) way that he does. You just appreciated the fact that he was trying at all.
You hadn’t heard that tone in a long time; it raised goosebumps on your skin that had a small smile gracing your lips. It was well needed and washed over you like a velvet curtain.
You were tired, but you didn’t want to leave him by himself like this, leave him to clean his own wounds (although they were his own), but you cared too much to ever leave him alone, another reason why you always so graciously helped him when he wanted you to. Besides, you didn’t want to leave him injured like this, bleeding on your couch and covered in dirt, knowing he still needed help despite not saying it.
You raised your head up to look at him, your eyes and cheeks tinted a soft shade of pink.
“Are you sure? I can do this for you, I don’t mind it, you know that.” You protested, his nails scratching into your head in a tingly way that made your eyes droopy.
He gazed back at you with a softer expression, one that made you weak and doting at his bedside. You missed when he’d look at you like that, like he really cared about you more than his dreams of world domination. His eyes looked over your face, the need to bring you closer sizzling and suffocating, so much so you almost thought he would (hoped he would). He kept his hand in your hair, but the petting stopped the longer you looked at him, a sudden intimacy soft in the air between you as you looked into his eyes.
He frowned at the look on your face, almost pitiful, the aftermath of a few quiet tears you’d hoped he didn’t notice (he always knew).
“Go.” He spoke quietly, voice deep and rumbly like brittle mountains that made a shiver crawl up your spine. It made your mouth dry at the intensity of his gaze, your chest fluttering at the unnecessary kindness. You wonder what changed. You sighed at the silent demand in his voice, wanting to stay, but judging from the daring way he raised his eyebrow at you you knew it was futile to argue.
“Fine. But don’t move too much, and don’t clean any of this, i’ll get it tomorrow. Just try to get some rest now okay? You need to heal. Those wounds are worse than the other ones you’ve had.” You ordered gently as you raised yourself off your knees — they popped as you did so, and set the rag on the table. Your hands were a little bloody as well, knowing you looked almost a big of a mess as he did. Sukuna’s hand fell off your head as you rose, his nails lingering on a few strands of hair until they fell from his reach.
He put his hands behind his head and looked up at you, his eyes gazing over your form in a way he wasn’t able to before. Could say it was a form of admiration, but you didn’t want to reach. You glanced back at him, at his chest and abs that were sharp and bloody in the golden light of the living room. You scolded yourself, knowing you really shouldn’t be looking at him in that way.
“Yeah, yeah. I think I can handle it.” He rolled his eyes at you, words full of sarcasm and dismissal. You gave him a sarcastic smile back, taking a step forward and leaning down towards him to adjust the pillow behind his head. You were grateful that the both of you mutually decided to just forget about the moment that happened just mere seconds ago, you couldn’t handle the embarrassment that would come with his teasing.
Sukuna looked up at you as you leaned towards him, his eyes curiously looking up at yours, head almost titling up towards you. You ignored his proximity, the smell of rosemary and smoke on your nose that masked the heavy scent of pennies in the air.
You swallowed when you looked at his lips, then back to his eyes, flustered now at the way he seemed to have expected you to do something else.
You cleared your throat, awkwardly fixing the pillow behind his head. He looked at your own lips, your hair falling around his head and tickling his shoulders. He felt his heart race, the urge to reach up and just take your lips in his strong and burning in his chest.
“Whatever you say.” You mumbled between his face and yours before quickly turning around, a blush on your cheeks and a heat lingering on your skin.
Sukuna watched as you started walking towards the hallway, intent on taking a shower to wash the blood off yourself, eyes glued to you as disappointment sunk in his chest at the missed opportunity. He clenched his jaw in frustration, looking at how pretty you were in candlelight.
You stopped at the corner of the hall, your cheeks burning as you tried to catch a breath of false confidence, not wanting him to see how easily affected you were by him even after all this time. It was almost pathetic how quickly he could make you blush. You inhaled, face covered by the corner of the wall so he couldn’t see you, then exhaled in an attempt to calm your heartbeat.
You turned your head, noticing how he was already staring at you with dark eyes. You looked back at him, wanting to say so much more than you should, an ache in your chest that pained your heart at seeing him again.
“Goodnight, pinkie.” You smirked at him, knowing how much he hated when you called him that. It was just a silly nickname you always called him when you were together, a tease to his pink hair that started from the beginning of the relationship. You weren’t sure if you should’ve said it but you needed something to break the tension you could feel weighing down on your shoulders.
Shockingly, Sukuna didn’t glare at you like you thought he would have, like he usually would have. His expression was blank and unreadable, dare you say heartfelt at the way his eyes softened so uncharacteristically, looking back at you with a hard stare. You swore you could feel the air get warmer.
“Goodnight, Rosie.”
You faltered as you turned back around to leave, your hand coming up to your chest like he’d just snatched the air out of your lungs.
Rosie.
He hadn’t called you that since he loved you, or so you thought he did. It was something so simple but so important, a small detail among the bigger picture that made your heart flutter; you couldn’t believe he even remembered that, that he cared enough to call you it again.
You couldn’t stop the smile that spread over your lips like a lovesick fool, giddy and bashful as you walked to your room with confusing thoughts in your head.
Goodnight, Rosie.
Sukuna had taken a shower shortly after you retired to your room, the heat much needed on his cold skin as blood and grime swirled down the drain in a spiral of red and black. He stared at it blankly, hot water washing over his bruised body and unveiling all the cuts he didn’t even know were there, bathroom steaming with a thick smog that fogged up the mirror and the space around him.
He was thinking about you then, lost in a trance, thinking intently about you and your smile, thinking about how it used to shine for him but now it only shined at the memory of him — he should’ve appreciated that as that was enough, it should have been enough for him as it would’ve been for any man who betrayed the woman they loved. He was lucky he was still a sore memory and not a bitter regret, he was lucky you still even smiled around him at all. He was lucky now just as he’d been lucky before, but he wasn’t as foolish now as he was then either.
He had been thinking about this for some time actually, just a few months after the loneliness and heartbreak had really settled into his bones. It took a while, but eventually he couldn’t deny the stiffness in his joints and the heavy weight on his chest, the feeling of your loss crushing his rib cage and suffocating him.
Even these little pathetic visits of his were a lame excuse for the real reason behind why he wanted to see you; but it still surprised him that you never turned him away, not even the first time he showed up at your door with bloody knuckles and bruised skin. You most certainly weren’t as hospitable as you are now, barely gave him a blanket to sleep with after you threw a rag at him. Still, you never kicked him out and he’d wake up with the blanket wrapped around him anyway.
It was a sweet, short lived moment before he’d have to leave again.
You were always so sweet, sweeter than you gave yourself credit for. Sukuna always loved and loathed that about you; you were too trusting sometimes despite knowing the dangers of the real world — but then again Sukuna was the most dangerous thing of all, what could possibly scare you now? You were too sweet and it contradicted him greatly; he always considered himself rude… rude and harsh, apathetic to life’s many sorrowful woes and uncaring for measly mortal lives. Humanity was a pest to him, a cockroach nibbling on the crumbs of his successes. You of course, didn’t necessarily share that same vision.
You made him soft, even he knew that. You made him care less about them and more about you, but never quite enough to make him forget about his true love for ultimate power. You had made him soft yes, turned his sharp edges into curves yet you couldn’t change his dire need for bloodlust. That, you didn’t mind. You knew who Ryomen Sukuna was, knew he wasn’t some docile little puppy that would hang on to your every whim and argument. He was murderous but not so much when he was with you, and that was all you really wanted.
Come to think of it, you never truly tried to change him at all. You’d be disappointed sometimes sure, but never once did you say he was wrong, or that he shouldn’t do this and he shouldn’t do that. In anyone’s eye you were perfect; a pretty little queen who gave her King anything he asked for for one simple thing in return. His love.
Sukuna gave you that but… he didn’t at the same time. He was younger then though, a freshly reanimated curse still hellbent on revenge and destruction like he’d been 1,000 years ago. He didn’t love anything then, nothing but pure chaos. Then he was trapped, and 1,000 years later he had reawakened with that same fury only in a much different time, in a much different world. He didn’t have you 1,000 years ago but yet he had you all of a sudden, the girl who killed curses for a living yet didn’t kill him.
He didn’t know what made him so special, but he didn’t kill you either, stuck on your otherworldly beauty and hanging on to every sweet word that left your lips. He made you his a couple months after, not like you weren’t the moment he laid his eyes on you and decided to spare your life. Something beyond him must’ve known how important you’d be later on, something beyond him saving him from the potential heartbreak of having not been with you at all.
He spoiled you in all the gifts and glory you never could’ve imagined, dressed you in soft red silks and fine white diamonds, showered you with oh-so sweet compliments and possessive touches — he never liked anyone thinking you weren’t his, but he never gave you the one thing you really wanted in the way you deserved it. He never chose you first, put you first, loved you above everything. Yes, he loved you but he loved chaos more, and eventually his crazed mind had twisted into something so incongruous, so far gone he was blinded by his need for mayhem that he couldn’t see you anymore.
And that’s when you left, and it’s been such a painful blur ever since.
His girl, his rose… withered into ash in the flames of his own hands.
But now, now he was grown. He knew what he wanted now and the night only made it so much more obvious to him that he was ready to give you everything, all of him and all of his love.
Maybe it was the soft way your hands ran across his hot skin, delicate and dainty, so you couldn’t hurt him anymore than he was already hurt. Maybe it was the way you fluffed his pillow like a doting wife and smiled at him so sweetly like he’d never done anything to hurt you in the first place. Maybe it was the way you saved him time and time again with open arms and a gentle heart despite how he’d treated you. Maybe it wasn’t just one moment that made him realized how much he missed you, but in fact all of those moments combined that helped piece together that revelation.
You were beautiful and kind, a flower he had abused one too many times that grew thorns around it’s heart. Now you weren’t so easy to pluck, to win over. But now Sukuna was ready, he didn’t care if he got cut if it meant you’d be his flower again, his darling rose.
Sukuna clenched his jaw, skin red and patchy from the heat of the shower as he reached over and turned it off. The water subdued to echoing droplets, his need for you stronger than any craving for chaos he’s ever experienced.
He was ready to love you, to give himself to you in the way you always needed, be there for you just as you were for him. He couldn’t let this snowy night pass before you knew that, let this opportunity pass him by like they have so many times before. He stepped out of the shower, determined to make you his again and become the King (thing) you always deserved.
For the first time in his very long life Ryomen Sukuna was going to be selfish for the right reasons.
It was that cold Friday night when Sukuna came to you, slowly opening your door so he didn’t wake you up quite yet. He was still bare from the shower, a piece of gauze taped to his abdomen the only form of attire he had on. He had left wet footprints along your hallway, his skin mostly dry from the warm air of your home but his pink hair still damp, droplets of water rolling down his neck. His abdomen ached with every step but he couldn’t focus on the pain, only you.
He didn’t care that he was naked, you’d seen his body plenty of times before just as he’d seen yours, and what a beautiful sight it was. He had no shame and had nothing to be ashamed about, and to be honest his nudity wasn’t even a thought in his mind as he gently closed the door behind him.
It was late, the sky still black with white flurries sprinkling down, your window stained with fog and snowflakes as a silver, fragmented glow of the moon befell on your sleeping form. Your room was dark but bright enough for him to see, his feet silent and calculated like he knew which boards creaked and which ones didn’t; he’d been in here so many times without you knowing that the rhythm of steps he needed to take just came natural to him.
He noticed the black robe he had gifted you was thrown on the end of your bed, and he couldn’t help but wonder what you had been wearing underneath it as all he could see was a puff of soft hair above your crimson blanket. He loved that you still loved the color red even after him, sprinkles of Sukuna dusted over your apartment so subtly only he’d be able to notice it. Your red couch, your red blanket, your black clothes and the diamond jewelry you never threw away. All little reminders of him because you couldn’t find it in yourself to move on.
Good.
He moved to your bedside, sitting on the edge of the bed as it sunk under his weight. The silence was filled with your gentle breathing, his dark red eyes looking over the soft rise and fall of your shoulder from where you had scrunched the blanket under your chin. Your eyelashes were cute and wispy, laid over your cheeks as a strand of your hair slid down to your nose.
This scene was so familiar to him; he couldn’t recall how many times he’d snuck in here when you were sleeping just to see you again, in between the weeks he’d knowingly visit you with a bustled lip and bloody nose.
You were beautiful and peaceful, his black claw coming up and ever so softly moving the piece of unruly hair behind your ear. His knuckles dragged on your cheekbone, his jaw clenched as he suddenly felt unsure of himself and the moment he’d just created. He felt almost nervous, him, as powerful and influential as he was, was nervous because of a human, a sorcerer. It was so odd, but then again nothing about your relationship was normal. Still, he couldn’t leave now, he was in too deep at this point.
It was too late for him to question himself however when your eyes sleepily fluttered open, his hand slowly retracting back to his side as he let your awareness kick in.
He gazed into your eyes as they registered him, confused and groggy as you pulled the blanket down away from your mouth, looking up at him questioningly.
Your eyes ran over his face, observing the way his lips frowned and his eyes seemed almost pained, two red dots of light. Your eyes flickered between his in a blurry sleep hazed stare.
“Sukuna? Is something wrong?” You immediately thought the worst, your voice soft and raspy in that way he used to hear when you’d wake up beside him. He wanted those days back, his hand tensing at the sweet sound of you.
You moved the blanket off of you, goosebumps rising on your skin from the cool air. Your arm came up to rub at your eyes, still blurry, anything to help your vision adjust to the darkness (and the situation) around you.
Sukuna’s eyes were drawn to the lacy black tank top you wore, tracing over the curve of your breast from where it had slightly spilled out of the cup. His fist clenched some more, a heat stirring in his tummy that made his eyes darken as they looked back up at your face. It’s been too long since he’d seen them, seen any part of you besides your face and arms. He swore he wasn’t usually so easily affected.
Sukuna waited until you were looking at him again before he spoke, only you beat him to it once more as clarity started to fill your senses at what exactly was happening.
You put a cold hand on his forearm that made his muscle tense, “Is everything okay, why are you in here?” You furrowed your brows at him, voice still soft as it felt unnecessary to speak so loud when he was so close.
Sukuna stared back at you for a moment, hot and intense, a look that had you faltering as your eyes fell to his chin to keep from looking into his. You felt nervous now, way past your initial shock and worry as you were now exposed to him in the tank top you hadn’t intended for him to see.
He looked over your face, eyes noticing how you looked away from him in that shy way you always did. It made him eager to see them again, his need for you overpowering him so quickly he couldn’t think as his hands reached for you. They had missed you just as much.
His right hand gently grabbed your jaw as his left cushioned itself on your pillow and laid you down so he was on top of you, his legs still hanging off the edge of the bed but his larger frame now trapping you underneath him. His muscle was next to your head, his claws poking into your cheeks and you felt your heart stop and then pound frantically in the shell of your ears. You knew he could hear it too, his face hovering over yours as the smell of your body wash wafted into your nose.
Your eyes flickered between his, wide-eyed and in utter shock at the situation that had rapidly occurred. You couldn’t speak, stuttering over words for some kind of question that would formulate what you were thinking into existence. You felt hot and smothered, swallowing down nothing in your dry mouth.
Sukuna looked over your face as though he was inspecting you, eyes slanted and dark, an intensity hidden behind the red flakes of his irises so strong it only made the red seem brighter, burning. You couldn’t help the shakey breath you inhaled, wanting to look away but knowing you couldn’t.
“You love me, don’t you? You still love your King?” Sukuna growled gently, his voice deep and raspy with a very subtle hint of desperation for what your answer could be. His warm breath washed over your lips as he moved your head slightly so it was looking straight at him. You glanced down at his lips, stupidly of course as he noticed when you did it.
You didn’t fight him, a part of you not wanting to as this was a fantasy you’ve only been dreaming about every since you left him. But also because you were so surprised still, his question catching you off guard as you blinked at him stupidly.
What did he expect you to say to that? What did you expect you to say to that? Did you still love him, was he looking for a serious answer or was he just sleep walking? You knew it wasn’t the latter, his viridian eyes piercing into you like he could see the intricate makings of your own mind, hooded with slight purple bags under them. Your breathing was a little harsh, your skin tingling at his proximity as no one had touched you in a very long time and it was something your body (you) craved.
You wanted him to touch you more but wanted him to not touch you at all.
You didn’t know what to tell him and you weren’t sure how seriously you should take it. You didn’t want to say the wrong thing and make him angry, or better yet tell the truth and make him angry. You weren’t sure what would satisfy him, his eyes giving away nothing that could help you as they stared at you, growing irritated with your lack of response.
You don’t know how he expected you to focus when he was staring at you like that.
Do you still love your King? God… you swallowed at that as the phrase made your legs tighten, only slightly so he wouldn’t feel the movement under the blanket. It was completely inappropriate but so was this whole situation, and like you said, it really had been so long without him that your body yearned for him, practically jumping at how close he was to it. All that time away and yet your body had not trained itself to hate him.
You opted for the truth, knowing he could sense if you lied anyway (he always could no matter how hard you tried). You stared back at his eyes and gulped with a very subtle head nod, “I never really stopped…” You uttered, weak and spineless like a field mouse.
Sukuna released a tense breath, his head falling into your neck as he hummed against your skin, almost a purring nose that rattled his throat, his nose rubbing just behind your ear like a doting kitten. That answer seemed to satisfy him enough.
Your eyes closed at the feeling of him so close to you, letting out a stuttering breath. You wanted to reach up and wrap your arms around him, bring him closer to you until all of him laid on top of you. But you knew you shouldn’t interfere with whatever he was doing, you didn’t want to risk ruining whatever this was.
Your hands were tense at your sides as you didn’t know what to do with them, better yet you didn’t want to disturb him. You swallowed another bunch of nerves that fluttered in your belly, an ache forming under your skin as your breathing picked up from just his simple touches, his warm breath brushing over your neck. He was big and warm, laying his chest on top of you and sinking his head into your shoulder like he couldn’t get enough of you.
You wanted more of him too.
You couldn’t deny though that this felt very sudden and weird to you, how all of a sudden he was in your room and asking if you loved him. Did he get into one of your bottles of pain medication? Was he doped up? You couldn’t fathom any other explanation other than inebriety that would justify his uncharacteristic behavior.
Asking you if you loved him, You felt that was a more serious conversation that should be held over coffee in your living room, where both persons were sober and of sound mind, not nearly exposed and drunk on each other in the darkness of your bed with his body surrounding you. You swore his proximity was influencing your thoughts in some way, making them all muddled.
“Hmm, do you have any idea how much I’ve suffered since you left? How weak I felt, how powerless you made me?” He hissed into your neck like he loathed you for it, his hand tightening just a tad around your jaw. He smelt your skin, citrus and something sweet like dove soap that tickled his nose. He could hear your heart beating rapidly underneath your smooth skin, his eyes closed as he relished in your warmness, crazed with want for you but still managing to control himself. You’d be proud of him for not ripping your clothes off like he would’ve done in the past.
You felt his wet hair prickle your cheek as you leaned in just a little bit to him, unable to resist him despite you wanting to.
You frowned at his statement, eyes opening to look at the ceiling, unhappy with the fact that he was in pain but also glad it wasn’t just you.
“Well that’s your own fault, I’m not going to take all the blame. Besides, you weren’t the only one who was hurting, you know.” You scolded rather modestly; hurt didn’t even begin to cover the way he had made you feel even before you left him. He didn’t even know how alone you felt, how unimportant and small he had made you feel. He had no idea of the nights you cried and pleaded to some sort of god to help you make it all work. In the end your efforts were proved pointless when Sukuna never changed, and never even tried to.
You weren’t going to let him make you feel guilty for trying to find something better, you deserved better and you weren’t going to apologize for it. Sukuna may have made you dumber than normal but you weren’t that easy.
Sukuna grit his teeth at the truth lacing your statement, his hand releasing your jaw to slide down your throat, down to your chest, feeling the way your lungs moved and savoring the feel of your soft flesh under his hand. His nails scratched you delicately as he finally stopped and rested his palm right over your heart. It made your body shudder involuntarily, hands clenching at your sides at the warmth his palm resonated onto your beating heart. You swallowed again, eyes nervously flickering over to the back of his head like you could see his face.
“I didn’t want to hurt you, woman. I’m not like that anymore anyway, isn’t that obvious? Don’t you see how I’ve changed for you?” He grumbled against your hot skin, his arm that was on the pillow maneuvering over your head so his hand was by your hair — his fingers toyed with the strands until they were tangled in them. The hand above your heart dug in a little deeper like he wanted to pull it out and squeeze it himself, the rapid thumping vivid against his palm at the way he spoke into your body.
You eyes fluttered shut again, quickly becoming overwhelmed with all the sensations and revelations. Your scalp tingled from the way he gently played with your hair — something he always did with no knowledge of why to you, the sensation dancing down your neck and spine and making your stomach turn pleasurably.
It was starting to get incredibly warm around you, the air buzzing around your bodies and making it harder to breath. You were starting to feel smothered by him and the feelings he brought out of you, yet not completely suffocated by him like you so badly wanted to be.
He didn’t want to hurt you, but he did, he really did. You would say that he had changed somewhat yes, changed in the sense that he wasn’t so vulgar and chaotic as he once was, more silent and self-controlled as maturity usually does to people. But did complex minuscule human concepts such as maturity even affect him anyway? He wasn’t necessarily a human at the end of the day, he wasn’t technically a man with muscle and blood flowing through his own veins, just a passenger in the conduit of another man’s body.
Even if he could change and experience emotional evolution like humans do, how could you say he had when just tonight he was beaten by those same sorcerers he’d been so adamant on destroying a year and a half ago? That didn’t express change nor maturity. Some things do change but a persons motivation only gets stronger; their goals only become shorter. Some things may change but all things do not.
Sukuna took a moment to bring his legs up on the bed, the mattress shaking as he brought them up and laid them out on top of yours. One chiseled leg swung over your thighs and the other snuggled up next to yours, his abdomen throbbing at the movement but he didn’t so much as wince. His full weight was now pushing down on your smaller form, his hips digging into yours and you swore you could feel nothing on him but muscle.
You were glad the blanket separated you from him, you were sure your chest would explode if it was just you and him, skin on skin and heart to heart, breathing the same air and sharing the same space. You guessed you already were, but the blanket felt like some sort of protection from pure intimacy, and this was already plenty enough.
“I want you back with me, I need you with me, forever. Nothing will get between us again, Rosie. I’ll kill anything that tries.” He vowed into your ear with an almost angry growl at just the thought of it. The pet name you held so dear to you made your heart flutter, something he knew when he spoke it.
He lifted his head up again, just enough to look into your eyes but so much closer than he was before — your nose was almost bumping his as he looked at you with such a hungry fierceness you had to clench your fists to control your own self. It was intense, the red of his eyes almost brighter, a dark crimson that swirled like endless pools of blood. The color of love.
You felt this sick glimmer of hope run through you at his words, those damned words you’d wanted to hear for so so long. You looked between his eyes for any semblance of bullshit he might convey, your heart still fragile from heartbreak but just as eager to beat for him again. But then again if you’d listened to your heart you never wouldn’t left him in the first place, you’d still be with that immature curse who so easily threw you to the side when the word power was even mentioned. You had to ignore the ache in your chest for the betterment of your own sanity.
Had he changed from that? Was he really ready to put you first, above anything, above his one true love that you never could compete with? It hurt so much to leave him the first time, you still hadn’t recovered from it. You couldn’t imagine the pain that would come from leaving him a second time.
You were scared now, the silence of the room buzzing in your ears, the shadows reflecting the gentle snowfall from your window as you just stared at him, your reflection in his pupils. You wanted so badly to ignore the past and move on to the future, embrace a new chapter for the both of you, but lessons are learned from past mistakes and they shouldn’t be ignored when the same problem comes running back pleading for forgiveness. It would be foolish to do that.
You wanted him to love you, you wanted to be his everything, you wanted to be his priority but the promise of that seemed too easily spoken given the circumstance.
You shook your head at him, your eyes burning at the notion that this was all some sick lie for him to have you at his beck and call again. You couldn’t handle the heartbreak and humiliation if this was some twisted scheme.
“I want that, too…” You whispered to him, your voice cracking with a particular sadness you didn’t care to hide. You saw the way his eyes looked between yours, how they registered the glossiness of tears threatening to fall. Yes, he did hate it when you cried.
“…But how am I supposed to know you’re telling the truth? How am I supposed to trust you again after everything? I don’t want to say yes and then you’re back to being the same way you were before. I do love you, I love you so much…” You said shakily as you brought your hands up from under the blanket. You put them over his muscled arm that was still laid on your chest, one hand over his and the other grasping his wrist. You squeezed his arm for emphasis, his eyes flickering down to where you held onto him like you didn’t want him to leave (you didn’t).
“But I’m terrified to come back to you and be second to your crown like I always was. If I come back to you, then it needs to be me and you, nothing in between. I want you to love me as greatly as I love you, and as equally. I’m not going to be your second choice anymore, Sukuna, I can’t.” You felt tears slide down your cheeks from each eye and soak into your pillow, a broken whisper in your voice that sounded desperate and pleading, absolutely pitiful, your throat thick and earnest with emotion.
Sukuna felt his jaw clench as the tears rolled down your cheeks, a hatred for himself burning in his lungs at how he did this to you. He didn’t ever like hurting you, which was painfully ironic to him. He found himself not caring about anything other than you in this moment, feeling his own self get choked up at the pain he caused you.
He was hurting too but he could only imagine how much you’ve been hurting. It made him feel awful, so guilty, regret bubbling under his skin. He never wanted you to feel like this again, just the thought of power a small blip in his mind that got smaller the closer he got to you.
He brought his hand down from above your head, his eyes conveying such seriousness you’d never saw before in them, and brought it down to your cheek. It was a sweet gesture, a small one to make up for the tears he gave you. His thumb gently wiped away at the tear sliding down from the corner of your eye, claw tickling your cheekbone as he cupped the side of your face in his warm palm.
You stared up at him as he did, sniffling slightly, your eyes tired and so pathetically heart wrenching as you leaned into the comforting touch of his hand.
“Baby… You’re mine and you’re the only thing I want in this wretched world. If I don’t have you then I have nothing. I crave you… in ways power could never satisfy me. I crave you… in ways your mortal mind could never even imagine…” He rumbled deep and genuine, hungry and primal, his fangs poking out from behind his lips as he spoke. He meant it too, meant it more than you’d ever comprehend. He looked into your eyes as he leaned closer towards you, his nose bumping yours as a small smile graced your lips at his proclamation.
He craved you… not nearly as much as you did him.
Your thighs tightened under the blanket at the raspy, guttural voice of which he spoke, dangerously enticing and lustful in the worst of times. Still, you couldn’t hide your shame as you looked at his lips with that same desire swirling in your tummy at the way he looked at you. You couldn’t help it, he affected you so easily and he always did. Him and that voice, him and those eyes. You couldn’t handle it sometimes.
You wanted him now, wanted him badly, wanted him to bleed those words into you with desperate action. His response did nothing to tame your desire as your hands squeezed around his arm in anticipation, a gleeful feeling twinkling in your heart that made the smile glow on your face.
Sukuna stroked your cheek softly some more, admiringly, as he leaned his head closer to yours, the hand over your heart turning around to intertwine your fingers in his. He squeezed your hand. It was so wholesome and pure and it made your heart jump, your fingers tightening around his own in response as your free hand went up to his cheek.
You swallowed as you both stared at each other for a moment; you felt like you could melt. You grazed your thumb over his cheekbone, tracing the black marking under your hand lovingly.
Sukuna leaned closer to you, his breath warm on your lips. He leaned into your hand, cocking his head into it as he relished in the feeling of your skin on his warm cheek. His hair was still damp, your chest breathless as you waited for him to close the distance between his lips and yours like you wanted him to, knowing he was going to anyway with the way he looked between your lips and your eyes with equal longing.
“You’re my sweet Rosie.” He whispered deeply and sincerely into the night before finally pressing his lips to yours in a hot, heartfelt kiss that spared him the need to express himself over spoken word.
You closed your eyes and sunk under the mattress as he laid his full weight on you, collapsing into you as though you sucked the soul out of him, a moan sounding from your throat as another tear fell from your eye, only for a different reason entirely. Your hand that was on his cheek reached behind his head and crawled into his damp hair, grasping the pink locks and holding his lips against you so he couldn’t leave.
He growled lowly into your mouth at the sharp feeling, his skin lit ablaze as a pleasurable stir pulled at his lower stomach.
He wanted you, wanted you so bad, wanted to rip your clothes off and feel your tight pussy squeeze around his cock until it was gushing around him. He missed that feeling, craved it more than air. But even he could feel that tonight was different; he didn’t just want to fuck you. He wanted to show his love and appreciation to you in the best way he knew how. He wanted to feel every inch of your skin pulsing against his, feel your lips on him and your hand in his as the both of you chose to forget everything that happened before the moment he came inside you. He wanted to make love to you.
His hand that was intertwined with yours pulled them up to the top of your head so he could get closer to you, his other hand gliding down from your chest until it was at the rim of your black tank top — it was the black lacy one, another thing he’d bought for you and a detail he didn’t overlook.
He didn’t rip it off quite yet, sucking your tongue into his mouth as his sharp teeth ran against it, his hand squeezing yours from above your head. You couldn’t help the small moan that sounded at the painful, pleasurable tingle that had Sukuna pressing his hardening cock into you from over the blanket. He always loved your sounds, loved the way you cried his name and moaned out more, more, more.
Sukuna pulled himself away with his lips wet, already wanting to put them back on you. He panted against you hard and slow, fangs bared as his eyes roamed your face. The flush of your cheeks and your glimmering eyes, so gorgeous with your hair fanned out beneath you, all his once again. You looked back at him, your eyes hooded and your lips puffy and pink, glimmering with shared saliva.
“Take off your top or I’ll rip it off.” He breathed aggressively into your mouth, nose bumping into yours as his hand clutched the black fabric between his sharp nails.
You looked down at your top when he mentioned it, too distracted to really care about anything besides him and thought of what his lips felt like on yours. You were too far gone now, any remnants of sadness having melted away and just as quickly replaced with salacious want, wanting, needing him to just put his lips back on yours for another kiss that had been long overdue.
You looked back up at him with panting breaths, fingers clutching his hair as the space between you felt too long and cold without his mouth in the way of it. Your eyes met his again, the both of you greedy for more and each one of you as hopelessly devoted as the other. You had a feeling it would stay that way this time.
“Then rip it off…” You sighed wantonly, voice thick and raspy as you pushed his face back down to yours with no chance of a word between.
His hand squeezed your much smaller one, the tips of his nails prickling your skin as you swore you heard him snarl against your mouth. You groaned hotly as his tongue tangled with yours in that expert way only he knew you liked, your hips pushing up against his growing cock shamelessly.
The thick red duvet, which was once a form of protection for you just a few minutes ago, was now only an irritating nuisance keeping you and the object of your desires separated. You maneuvered your feet and sloppily kicked it down until it slid off your knees, the cold air hitting your bare legs as Sukuna’s leg pressed up into your inner thighs.
Sukuna gripped the rim of your top and quickly ripped it down the middle with barely any strength, the straps snapping off your shoulders as you inhaled sharply from the slight sting of it. You arched your back into him, lips still moving fervently against each others as he crumbled the frail material in his hands and tossed it somewhere; it slid off your skin smoothly.
Your bare chest and stomach were now exposed to him yet you felt no insecurity; you never did when it came to Sukuna, he always made you feel desired in his own way and that was enough to show you he loved you.
Sukuna kissed you one more time, bringing your bottom lip into his mouth and slowly sucking on it, his fangs piercing into your skin as he licked the sting away. You whined as he ensured to look at you while he did it, obsessed with the way your eyes fluttered and your hand tightened in his hair. He seperated from you finally after a moment, your lip popping back into place.
The erotica of it all made your core clench around nothing, a wetness filling your lower lips that made it almost wrongful that nothing was down there to fill it yet. Sukuna felt the effects of you as well, his cock pressing into your black shorts hard and eager. You were well aware of it but Sukuna was doing so good at distracting you from it, she was well aware of it.
Sukuna immediately brought his hands down to your breasts once they were freed, looking down at the way the soft globes of flesh molded into his hands and jiggled when he moved them. They were soft and smooth and spilled between his fingers so beautifully. He had missed them so fucking much, almost having forgotten what they felt like in his hands. He clenched his jaw and groaned, groaned, as he scooted down towards them, licking his lips as he squeezed them in his big hands.
“Nngh — that feels good, baby…” You sighed at the pleasurable sensation shooting through you as he played with your titties, your nipples sensitive as always, as he knew. His claws dug into your skin as he squeezed them harder, your hips jerking up instinctively as a shock ran through you. Your stomach was twisted, your pussy so needy and sobbing between your thighs as he nibbled on your collarbone.
“Yeah, feels good, pretty girl?” He rumbled into your skin, licking and mouthing at your chest as he rubbed your breasts in slow circles, applying pressure as he did. Your chest was covered in wet marks and pink circles, your hands somehow having found their way on top of Sukuna’s, holding his hands there as he rubbed them.
“I love these tits, they’re mine aren’t they? They always were.” He hissed, voice grumbling like fallen mountain rocks as he slid down your body a little more, his cock rubbing on the skin of your thigh and it was only now you realized he was naked. Had he come in your room that way? Who cares, you were just waiting for the moment you were too.
“Mmhmm, unghh — they always were.” You mumbled in a pleasure induced haze as you arched your back into him, your head thrown back into your silky red pillows and eyes closed as your thighs tightened around his leg. His hands slid down to your waist as yours found their way to his broad shoulders.
“That’s fucking right they were…” He kissed the valley of your breasts, licking your skin and grazing his fangs in a way that made your body flutter; you felt so good already, so good and weightless from his big hands and sharp lips alone. He was always so good at touching you, knowing every nerve and knowing how to pinpoint each one that made you a messy, needy puddle underneath him; he specialized in the art of your pleasure, an expert in the waves of your body in a way you weren’t even in tune with it.
Finally, finally, he slid his head over and licked a stripe up to your nipple, sucking it into his mouth like it wasn’t hard enough. You moaned rather loudly, your hands flying up to his hair and rubbing anything you touched in a mindless act of delicious satisfaction. He groaned into your skin at the way you clawed at his hair like a desperate slut, licking and sucking on your nipple as his hand went and rubbed the other one, fingertips and claws circling your other nipple that made sweet tingles pebble onto your hot skin.
His eyes flickered up to you, looking up at your parted lips and your eyes squeezed shut, feeling his cock throb with need to feel you around him already. He was hard, so painfully hard, stuffed between your thigh and his. He liked seeing you like this though, liked seeing the effect he had on you and hearing how you whined for him. He wanted to be buried inside you already, so deep you believed the tip of his cock was pressing into your guts. But he liked this better, a cruel part of him still wanting to tease your sweet pussy just a little longer until you were so needy for him he could see it staining your shorts.
He wasn’t going to wait too long though, it had been too long since he was balls deep in that tight pussy; even a man (thing) as strong as Sukuna had his limits, already bursting at the seams.
His hand eagerly slid down your stomach, pushing past your shorts as your legs widened for him. You bit your lip, hips chasing his hand as he crawled his way down… down… down…
You moaned shamelessly and sweetly as his long, lithe middle finger split down the middle of your lower lips, your wetness leaking down his finger and dripping down to his palm as the smell of your arousal hit his sharp nose. He clenched his jaw, lips twisting into a primal growl at the sweet smell of it. God, it was better than anything on this earth, and he couldn’t believe he was almost going to live a lifetime without it.
“Oh my god! Oh my god…” You panted, voice high pitched and pathetically whiney as you desperately grasped at his chiseled shoulders with rapacious hands.
He picked his head up, fingers sliding out of your shorts and leaving a stick white trail up to your waist. His eyes glowed a deep red in the darkness, now looking up at your face, your breasts covered in purple stains and teeth marks.
“Not god, Rosie. Me, only me. I missed this pussy baby… so wet for me like I knew you’d be… my pretty girl… you’re mine forever, I’ll kill anything that tries to take you from me.” He exclaimed possessively, his voice thick with love and a burning hunger that scratched at his throat. He was full of danger and promise, your hands scratching at his shoulders as his exclamation only seemed to make you wetter for him.
“I only wanna be yours anyway…” You mumbled back wistfully, any thought crossing your mind carelessly said out loud as you gazed down at his eyes. You had mentioned he made your thoughts all muddle together. Your skin buzzed with electricity like the workings of a light bulb, your heart pumping in your ears and your skin pasty with sweat already.
You couldn’t stop moving your fingers across Sukuna’s skin — he shivered at the feeling, any muscle you could touch that could’ve been carved from a dotiing gods chisel as far as you knew. You were too alive to keep still, bursting with love and unabashed lechery that had your pussy aching for him.
You both shared a tender look, your hand coming around and grazing his cheek delicately as you gazed drunkenly into his eyes. He cocked his head into your palm, reaching up and laying a sweet kiss on your chin, his pink hair tickling your lips. You smiled at that, putting a finger under his chin and jolting his mouth up so you could give him a peck.
He licked his lips after you did, his eyes staring at your mouth before giving you another sweet kiss that lasted a few short seconds before he was looking into your eyes again.
“I love you, pretty.” He said so quietly anybody else would’ve never heard him.
You could hear the earnestness in his baritone voice, your hands coming up to cup both his cheeks. You were so proud of him for being so uncharacteristically open, vulnerable. You knew how hard it was for him to be that way, which only made it all the more special to you that he was. It was a small detail that convinced you he loved you. You felt your heart swell with a gorge of emotion for him. He felt the same. You admired the black markings on his face, his lower set of eyes closed as you ran your thumbs over his cheekbones.
“I love you too, stupid.” You responded wholeheartedly, a faint whisper shared between you for his ears only. You gave him one last kiss before he slid back down and starting mouthing at your jaw.
You sunk further into the pillows as you sighed pleasurably at the way he kissed your body, hands ruffled in his hair once more as he trailed further and further down until he was licking down your stomach. You didn’t wait for him as you brought your hands down and hooked your thumbs into the edges of your shorts, wiggling out of them so he didn’t have to do it for you. You kicked them off your feet, the soft plop of them hitting the floor falling on deaf ears as you were finally, truly exposed to him now.
Sukuna glanced up at you before sliding all the way down, his abdomen dully throbbing at the way he was bent over the edge of the bed. He groaned hungrily at the sight of your pussy, glistening with white, sticky strings of arousal that even shined on your inner thighs.
His dick throbbed at the sight of it, his mind already filled with ideas of how good you were going to feel wrapped around him.
He brought his hand down from your hip, shamelessly running it over your wet lips as his claw grazed the hood of your clit. Your thighs jolted at that as you panted above him, releasing soft, airy moans as you waited for him to do something, anything to you.
“So perfect…” He growled, his index finger joining his middle as he scissored your lips open, a wet sticky sound separating them as he gazed upon your clenching, glistening hole and puffy, pretty clit. It was even more beautiful than he remembered, his two fingers sliding down your insides and messily spreading your wetness around.
It was a sickly wet sound that sounded in the room, your cheeks a bashful pink as your hands grasped the sheets.
Sukuna’s mouth watered, rubbing your wetness around some more as his claw circled your tight hole. He watched as a glob of wetness dripped out to the crack of your ass, staining the sheet below. Your legs jerked as you whined, “Sukuna…”
He took his hand off of you, your stomach painfully twisted like a rubber band bound to break at any fragile moment as you slumped in disappointment at the loss of his hands on you. He brought his two fingers into his mouth and tasted you again after a year and a half of being starved. He groaned quietly at the taste, sweet and bitter as he licked your arousal off his fingers. Usually he’d finger you, but his nails were too sharp and too long for that now. He’d have to remember to cut them off later on.
“Taste so good, Rosie.” He uttered gutturally, a crazed man almost as his hands rubbed at your inner thighs and spread you open just bit more for him.
You gulped down a dry throat, your hands pulling at his pink hair again as he licked and nibbled at your thighs, his thumb massaging the other one his mouth wasn’t able to be on. Your pussy was practically screaming at this point, begging for his mouth, his lips, his tongue, his cock, anything to just relieve the pain throbbing through your whole lower area. You’d never felt this needy before, broken down to a wailing, horny mess that needed to be filled more than anything.
“Please, please, I want it already…” You babbled nonsensically, hands grabbing at the strands of his hair and pulling his head closer to your pussy so he’d get the hint. It was shameless and desperate but you didn’t care, you needed him.
He smiled wickedly at that, the sting on his scalp making his spine tingle. He was pleased with the way you begged for it without him even having to ask, not that he’d make you do it this time, he wanted this just as much as you did.
He glanced up at your twisted face, ruined with pleasure he was giving you, before he looked back down at your slick womanhood. The moon barely shined down on its full glory, he thought, gladly anticipating the moment he’d see it in the day. He slid his hands up your thighs and hooked his thumbs onto your lips, spreading them wide open so he could see your insides clearly.
You bit your lip, thighs helplessly tightening around his arms as he stared it, entranced, for a few short moments. He salivated at the sight like a starved man looking at a four course meal. You were tastier than that.
He moved forward and licked a confidant stripe up the expanse of your spread pussy, tasting your arousal on his tongue as it dripped down the corners of his lips. He moaned into you at the taste, licking up and down with a broad tongue for a few moments before he had to pull away and taste you again.
You squealed, keening and shaking, arching your back and digging your heels into the bed at the way your core pulsed waves of indescribable pleasure through your legs. You felt breathless and dizzy, clenching around air as his spit dribbled down your opening.
Sukuna leaned his head back, licking his lips as he swallowed the mix of saliva and wetness pooled on his tongue. His eyes closed in ecstasy, already thirsty for more as he growled, shoving his head back into your pussy and sucking on your clit, the slick sounds of you loud in your ears; you were almost embarrassed at how wet he had made you.
Your thighs closed around his head when the sensations became too much, squeezing around his ears as your mouth opened in querulous gasps and cries. His hands had wrapped themselves around your legs at some point or another, his veins throbbing and muscles flexing as he relatively tried to keep your bucking hips pinned down.
You wished you could see how could he looked from between your legs, but you couldn’t focus on one single thing, your mind a scrambled mess. Your thighs shook uncontrollably, an orgasm already chipping away at your tummy from how sensitive you were.
“Oh! Ahh, baby!” You yelled in a high pitch, both of your hands gripping the sheets so hard your knuckles were white. You heard the snap of the sheet flying off the corner of the bed, curling in itself as another corner popped off. Your stomach tensed as he licked down again, his tongue thrusting into your hole until your wetness was glistening over his cheeks. He groaned into you, the vibrations shaking your soul as his nose rubbed against your wet clit.
It had been so so long since you’ve had this, you missed it and you missed him.
It was vulgar and nasty, just the way he liked it as his spit mixed with your glossy wetness, sliding down until the sheets were soaked in a dark patch of saliva and arousal. You tasted so good he couldn’t even describe it, his eyes closed still as he relished in the taste of you smeared over his tongue, sliding down his chin and dripping onto the bed as he made an absolute mess out of you.
You couldn’t breath, throat dry as cracked moans left parted lips. You were panting as your stomach tightened and tightened and tightened… and with a few more eager licks you felt it snap, a long moan drowning out his lustful groan as a flood of wetness gushed into his mouth and splashed on his cheeks.
Your thighs shook horribly, your skin beating off and on like a flashing light as your heart pounded in your head, sweat beading at your hairline. You came much quicker than you usually would have, but it’d been so long without Sukuna that your arousal had no where to go during this past year, building up inside you, waiting for the day he would come back and shatter the wall holding it all together.
You breathed heavily, the room hot and stuffy as your body slumped down into the mattress like the life had been drained from your veins. Your hands released their tight grip on the sheet as your body patiently calmed itself down.
Your orgasm dripped down Sukuna’s chin as he took his mouth off you, looking up at your tired face with heavy eyes and slow breaths. His eyes ran over your face and body, covered in his teeth marks and hickies he’d littered over your skin. Yes, you were his and he had proven it, a small, adoring smirk quirking on his mouth.
He licked the remnants of your orgasm off his lips, unhooking his arms from around your thighs and wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. He kissed your thighs one last time before crawling up your body, your skin glowing with happiness and sweat. He took his time to kiss your skin as he went, savoring the feeling of it under his lips. Your legs jolted unevenly in the aftershock, your mind so hazy and jumbled you felt disconnected from reality altogether, barely conscious to the way he dotted loving kisses up your body.
Sukuna kissed his way up your stomach, up your chest, careful not to do too much that could frazzle you anymore as he let you find yourself again. He nuzzled his face into your neck once he worked himself all the way up your body, his hands tenderly gliding up your sides until they were grabbing at your midsection.
The same hands he’d used to kill thousands of men now holding you between them yet you knew you were in no real danger. He massaged the skin under his palms, feeling your heart beat rapidly under his head as he couldn’t care less about the sweat clinging to your skin.
“You’re all right, pretty…” He uttered into your neck, kissing your damp skin dotingly as you took deep breaths to steady yourself.
You brought a hand up and clumsily tangled it in his hair, grounding yourself to him as you lightly rubbed his head in an effort to comfort yourself — his pink locks now dry but his scalp damp with sweat. You inhaled deeply, exhaling just as focused as your heart began to slow once more and your legs stopped twitching.
You both waited a few moments in amorous silence, his hands softly stroking your sides as he rested his head on your shoulder, patiently waiting for you to come back to him again.
You hummed when you felt calm enough, his fingers sparking tingles up and down your body that had your pussy clenching once more. You turned your head towards him and kissed his hair to grab his attention, needy once more and not too proud to beg.
Sukuna perked his head up at the action, his hand trailing up your body and coming up to your face, looking as a strand of hair fell out of place and dusted over your eyelash. He didn’t hesitate to move it out the way with his nail, tucking it behind your ear in a corny romantic way that made your heart flutter. His gaze was heavy and warm-hearted as he looked back into your eyes, your other hand coming up and loosely grabbing his wrist as his hand settled on the crook of your jaw.
You leaned closer to him and he didn’t shy away, eyes looking all over your face before settling on the ravenous look in your dazzling eyes; it was subtle, swirling behind your love for him but like he said he knew you better than you knew yourself. It made his lip quirk at how quickly you seemed to recover from your orgasm already.
“I want you...” You mumbled piteously with an adorable pout on your lips as you pressed them almost against his. Your hand clutched a little tighter in his hair, leg nudging into his as you turned towards him with a new fervor striking through your loins. It had been too long without him and your body knew it, your pussy knowing how close he was to finally giving her the one thing she’d wanted for so long.
His eyes glistened with gluttonous understanding and recognition at your tone, his eyes hooded and slanted and dark. It was a piercing gaze, all consuming and vigorous at the realization that you wanted just what he wanted, just a much.
He hummed sensually at that, “oh yeah? What else you want?” He grumbled lustfully, his eyes flickering between the way you looked at him and your lips, still swollen from all the times he nibbled them just minutes ago. You didn’t fight when he pushed you down to hover over you again, a hand cupping your cheek as his sharp thumb nail ran over the plushness of your lips.
You sighed sweetly, looking at his mouth, “I want you to fuck me already.”
He clenched his jaw at your words, his cock so so so painfully hard as it stood up against his abdomen, leaking out a bead of pre cum that dribbled down the length of him.
You noticed the way his eyes almost rolled to the back of his head at your dirty words, biting your lip as you slowly stroked your hand down his broad chest, down to his abs where you were careful to avoid the bandage there, then trickling down to where the head of his cock was. You didn’t touch it yet, just felt his body shudder at the way you ran your nail against his skin like an innocent vixen.
He looked at you, shattered, like he could crack at any second as his hands clenched into the pillow under each side of your head. He wanted to see what you’d do; he’d always liked when you got cocky like this, your confidence a huge turn on for the otherwise dominant man. You batted your eyelashes at him cutely, finger softly swirling random shapes into his skin just above his leaking tip.
“I want you to make me yours again…” You sighed, daring to look into his eyes as you moved your hand down and ran the tip of your finger up the underside of his hard cock, tracing the familiar vein there.
Sukuna groaned then, a mix of a hot moan and a powerless rumble, almost collapsing on top of you as the strength in his arms faltered. Sparks ran through his cock, sharp and pleasurable and needing more.
You smiled at him as his eyes flashed to you, the fury burning in them the last thing you saw before he was kissing you desperately, messy and hot, his breath hitting your tongue and his teeth clashing against yours as his big arms fell around you, his larger body swallowing you whole.
You mewled into him, arms swinging around his neck as you wrapped your legs around his thighs, hips pushing up into him, so eager and wet already.
“You want my cock, huh? How badly do you want it?” He hissed into your mouth, his hand going down and resting on your tummy, feeling the warmth of your skin on his palm.
You whined, “so bad… I want it so bad.” You were way past trying to seem cute, now a mess, a mess he made you that ached for him so bad it physically hurt. You didn’t have the patience anymore, you wanted him deep inside you, so deep it hurt your insides but you’d still beg for more like the good girl you were for him.
He moaned heavily at that, moaned, the sound making a wave of arousal gush out of you as your legs tightened around him. He brought the hand down that was on your tummy and wrapped it around his throbbing cock, sighing at the slight relief it brought him as he sloppily grabbed it and positioned it between your legs.
He felt eager and greedy as he messily ran his thick tip through your soaking wet folds a few times, gathering your wetness on him as he used his hand to spread it all along his length. You and him both stared down at him, your pussy clenching as you dug your nails into his forearms, impatiently watching for him to push it in already.
A year and half without him, a year and half without his perfect, pretty cock, a year and half of waiting for this exact moment and now it was finally here. It was almost surreal, your eyes blinking as you bit your lip, trying to muff the moan that wanted to sound at just the sight of his dick you’d missed so fucking much. It was just as big and long as you remembered, smothered with white strings of your shared arousal.
Sukuna looked back up at you, gripping his cock in his hand with his eyes dark and primal. You whimpered, nails digging into his skin.
“Kiss me.” He ordered huskily. You did, pushing his head down to you and slipping your tongue in his mouth.
During the kiss, Sukuna positioned his cock head at your entrance, pushing past your slick until he was prodding at your hole. You whined, legs tightening around him to push him inside you further. He groaned into your mouth, hot and needy, as he pushed it inside you and stretched out your hole to fit his size. You both moaned together at the indescribable feeling of him slowly pushing his full length into you, of him filling you up and of you squeezing him into your tight heat.
“Fuck… you’re so tight, baby. This pussy’s hungry for me, isn’t she? She missed her King just as much as you, didn’t she?” He snarled against your lips, absolutely feral as your tightness squeezed him, so warm and hot and taking him in so smoothly. He had missed this feeling so fucking much, spent so many nights with his dick in his fist at the memory of your sweet pussy.
You gasped against his mouth, your arms swinging around his back and digging into the muscle there. You felt so full, your toes curling already as you threw your head back on your pillow. Pleasure, pure pleasure in a form you only ever experienced with him pulsed through your body as deep as your bone marrow.
Sukuna slid halfway out, the friction you caused making him hiss between his teeth as he thrusted back in. He wasn’t quick, savoring in the feeling of you around him as your wetness gushed out from around him and wet his thighs.
“Ahh, oh my god, I’ve wanted this for so long!” You gasped breathlessly, voice broken as you moaned against his lips, blood bubbling around your fingernails from how hard they dug into him.
He stared down at you with his lips twisted in pleasure, watching your face closely as he slid in and out, the light smacking sound your wetness made every time he thrusted back in only motivating him to fuck you a bit faster.
Your titties bounced softly from the movement, muscles tensing as your lips parted open and tears prickled at your eyes. Sukuna couldn’t talk, couldn’t even think straight besides the fact you felt so fucking good, his legs tight with every push back in he struggled to make because of your tightness. He hadn’t fucked you in so long your pussy wasn’t quite used to him yet. Don’t fret, he was going to enjoy stretching it back out to accustom him again.
He was soft and sweet against you as you both just let yourselves embrace this long overdue moment, careful not to squeeze too hard as his hands found their place on your waist again. He wasn’t squeezing so hard it’d hurt, just hard enough you could feel his longing for you thrumming under his fingertips; oceans of his love connecting you and him through subtle currents of yearning touches and soft kisses.
This was so unfamiliar to you — unfamiliar but very much welcomed. You felt smothered and sweaty, fingers digging into his back muscles and lips locked with his as he pressed himself against you. But it still wasn’t enough; you pressed him harder against you, begging for more, more, more.
Sukuna was supposed to be evil and terrible; he broke your heart once and he just might do it again but who were you to judge him when you enabled him? Who were you to hate him when you brought this on yourself? All you could do was trust him as he was all you had, all you wanted. He just might break your heart again but you’d let him if it meant he’d come back like this every time to put you two back together. Without him you were nothing, you weren’t whole, and without you he wasn’t anything either.
You moaned against his lips at a particularly deep thrust inside you, his hands on yours thighs now as his claws dug into your skin so painfully good you knew you would wake up with the bruised marks of his love carved into you.
“Ahh, Rosie. My Rosie…” He breathed into your neck deep and husky, sinking his fangs into your shoulder with his own stomach in hopeless knots at the way you so snugly wrapped him. He couldn’t believe he ever let this pussy leave him, how he functioned so long without it, but he supposed he didn’t really function, he was just good at pretending.
He felt you gush around his cock again with a sweet moan on his ear, his hands moving up your body and gliding up your back. He wrapped his arms around yours, holding your face to his so he could hear every little gasp and whimper that left your pretty lips for him.
You moaned into his neck, relishing in the closeness he gave you. He felt so good and deep, buried in your guts as your tits rocked against his chest with every movement.
His wounds were sore, so sore and painful, but god he couldn’t stop and he wouldn’t, he needed more of you, all of you. He wasn’t going to stop until you were creaming around his cock like you used to.
He was a greedy man, never denied that fact nor questioned it. He was greedy and selfish, wanted you or nothing at all, wanted everything you’d give him and he’d happily take it like the greedy creature he was.
If loving Sukuna made you selfish so be it, if loving him made you foolish so be it. You’d be foolish and selfish if it meant he’d never let you go again. You’d take that risk, you’d risk your sanity if it meant he’d stay inside you forever, bonded with you and stuck to you; I’m yours as long as you are mine.
And as he came inside you with a hefty groan into your neck as he squeezed you into him, it only confirmed that fact as you came around him just a short moment after; I’m yours as long as you are mine… maybe I’ll always be yours anyway.
𝒕𝒘; monster!boyfriend x fem!reader monster boyfriend, smut descriptions, period sex mentions & blood, nasty words, horns and monster anatomy
monster!boyfriend who loves how much smaller than him you are. He loves holding you down in any position he likes to fuck you as hard as he wants. You take it because you’re a good girl, because you couldn’t stop him even if you wanted to. You love his muscles and the way his big arm feels wrapped around your throat as he pins your ass against him; you’re moaning and gasping and he’s growling in your ear, hot puffs of breath that rumble against your skin as his thick cock fucks you open nice and slow, but just as hard and deep.
monster!boyfriend who goes feral when you grab his horns or plays with his tail. These are two very sensitive points for him, riddled with nerves that he never lets anyone touch but you. You’ll grab his big horns when he’s balls deep inside your sopping pussy, just something to hold onto. He’ll growl something furiously aroused, claws digging into your skin as he fucks you harder and faster until the bed is cracking and you’re screaming for him to go harder.
monster!boyfriend who fucks you with his tail just to be an asshole. He wasn’t going to give you what you wanted so easily despite how pretty you looked when you begged for it. He’d play with your tits and mouth at your nipples as his long tail would slide in and out of you, dripping with your arousal as you whined in his ear and his cock throbbed against your thigh. It sounded wet and sloppy as he’d play with your clit and run his tail through your folds, then easily slide right back into you as far as he could go until your legs were shaking. Then he’d put the end of his tail into your mouth and make you suck it clean as your cum would drip down onto your lips.
monster!boyfriend who loves to leave bite marks and scratches against your soft skin just because they showed every creature who you belonged to. He would bite your neck, your shoulders, but his favorite places were your stomach and your inner thighs. They would be sore and pink from his sharp teeth but his long tongue would come out and lick it better, your thighs dripping with his saliva and pebbles of blood as he’d spread your pussy lips and use that same tongue to fuck your wet hole and taste you in his mouth. Your blood and cum were the best things he’d ever tasted.
monster!boyfriend who is very aggressive and possessive, never letting you hang out with another man or creature without him if at all. He scared off anyone he perceived to be a threat, which was basically everyone. You only needed him and his cock, no one else would ever have you nor fuck you like he did. You were his and your pussy was his, he’d kill anything or anyone who questioned that. He always left hickies on your skin and proudly flaunted his bite marks on your thighs and neck, tell tale signs that you were taken.
monster!boyfriend who was horny 24/7. He had stamina your human body couldn’t match, but it’s okay, he didn’t mind using your tired body when you couldn’t move anymore. He didn’t mind fucking you with his thick cock all night long as you’d babble and cry and plead for rest, he knew you never really wanted him to stop. He would cum inside you so many times it would slide out your sore hole in big white clumps. He’d just push it back in with his fingers as tears would fall from your cheeks, then make you suck them clean so you could see how wonderful you both tasted mixed together.
monster!boyfriend who is always impressed with how good you take his massive cock. It was long and unnaturally thick, textured unlike humans in only a way a monsters dick would be. To this day he’d have to be a little gentle upon first sliding into you, but he could never help himself when you’d squeeze around him and he’d feel how warm and wet you were around him. He’d growl, nails digging into your throat as he’d fuck into you completely pussy drunk, the walls shaking as you’d squirt around him. It sounded wet and mashed with every thrust, and you’d scratch his back and scream at how painfully good it felt for him to be so deep inside you.
monster!boyfriend who has an insatiable appetite, not just for food but for you as well. He ate anything you made, cleaned out your cupboards and your fridge and yet never seemed satisfied. He would drool on your thighs and stomach as he’d spread your lips apart and lick a stripe up your wet pussy with his long, salivating tongue, savor the flavor of you as he’d fuck your hole and watch your face gasp and moan with every flick. He loved to eat your pussy, did it whenever he wanted and where ever he wanted, he didn’t care. If he was hungry he would do anything to have his favorite meal.
monster!boyfriend who knows how much stronger he is than you. He also knows how much you love it too. He knows how much you love it when he pins you down and fucks you like it was the first time he’s ever felt you. He carried you around with ease, bent you and pretzeled you into any position he wanted because you were too weak to fight him back anyway. You loved being used by him though so you didn’t mind when your legs were pinned by your head and he was drooling on your tits, pounding into your wet cunt with his monstrous cock and bruising your cervix. You loved how bad it hurt in the morning and he knew you did.
monster!boyfriend who was actually surprisingly sweet towards you. He would bring you delicate flowers and shiny gifts as he thought you’d like them. Precious jewels and sparkly diamond bracelets he’d find just for you to wear. He loved when you looked pretty and pampered, especially just for him so he could show you off to anybody who was jealous of what he had. He liked how much attention you two got in public, especially when you were wearing those luxurious short dresses and beautiful jewelry other women would kill to find. He loved you and he wanted to prove it to you, even if he didn’t have to.
monster!boyfriend who can smell your arousal from miles away, who can make you wet with just a simple touch. He knew how wet he made you and he used it to his advantage whenever he could. A day full of oh-so-innocent touches and oh-so-sweet pecks on the cheek, all moments of his carefully orchestrated plan to get you all pent up and needy for him until you were begging him to fuck you, which you always did end up doing at the end of the day, most of the time sooner than that before the sun even had a chance to set.
monster!boyfriend who absolutely loves when you’re on your period. He thinks you smell so good and taste even better, despite your protests. He always admired how shy you got when he’d get done fingering your bloody pussy and would stuff his fingers into his mouth with a pleasurable growl at the tangy taste of you. Your thighs would be a smeared red mess, his cock dripping with blood and cum and his own stomach stained with your juices. Don’t worry, he’d always lick it clean, and even after it was all gone he wouldn’t stop until your legs were shaking and he was ready to fuck you some more. It helped with the cramps, so could you really say no?
monster!boyfriend who you had to teach human customs to. No, he was not allowed to fuck you on the sidewalk just because your dress made your tits look good. No, he was not allowed to fuck you against the tree in the hiking trail just because your shorts made your ass look good. No, he was not allowed to fuck you in the public pool with families in the shallow end just because you looked so fucking good wet. Still, he always had a way of convincing to join him in the bathroom or changing room (you didn’t have a choice, he was either going to fuck you here or there), you were lucky he held himself back that long in the first place.
monster!boyfriend who goes into an intense heat every few months, one where he burrows you and him in blankets and a mess of your clothes and jewelry just because they smelled like you. He was feral and unhinged, fucking you all day and all night claiming you were his and only his, that your pussy was his and his to fuck even though that was already a fact. Your pussy would be so sore and puffy, blood staining the sheets, your delicate skin scratched, bruised, and bitten. He didn’t care at the time, he just needed to mark you and have you with him at all times or he’d kill anything he saw until he found you. You wouldn’t be able to walk, a teary-eyed mess until it was all over and he was treating you like a princess in apology for being so rough.
monster!boyfriend who rubs his scent and musk all over you and your clothes so any other creature knew who you belonged to. Your human nose couldn’t pick it up, but any other monster could smell his strong scent all over you to the point it burned their nose it was so damn intense. You always wondered why no one ever bothered you when you were out, but he knew and he loved how you were so oblivious to it. They could also smell his cum deep inside your pussy mixed with yours, and yeah, he knew that too.
monster!boyfriend who never thought a human could ever be his mate. He never thought a human could ever handle his cock, that their delicate little pussy’s would break with the sheer girth of him. But you, you took him so fucking well and you felt so good creaming around him when he was balls deep inside you. He never thought a human could love a monster like him, humanity as a whole was a lesser species to his kind but yet there was you, and he found you and he ended up loving you. No, you two could never have kids yet that never stopped him from cumming inside you as much as he could, until it was pooled inside you and you felt so full and spent. You were his to fill and his to use, his to love and his to fuck. And you loved it that way.
୨♡୧ — 𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒑 of his index finger before he would turn the page of his book—it was a rundown copy of Pride and Prejudice you’d noticed he had been reading for the past week.
The fragile paper spine was withered, the cover crinkled and faded, the brown spotted pages folded over and over and wrinkled through; these were all the tell tale signs of his illustrious dedication and patience.
Ever since the beginning of the semester you’d seen traces of that same book sprinkled throughout his classroom in various, random places—laid on the corner of his mahogany desk, poking out of his brown leather bag, sometimes discarded in the middle of his work load tousled into a pile of papers with the pages spread open.
Alas, these were all just subtle cues to how late and boring the silence must be after class is finished, after the fog has laid heavy on campus, and the buzz of coffee still thrummed in his veins.
It was In the quiet evenings of midnight when he had nothing to do but read.
His blatant admiration for the novel always made you curious.
Why that book specifically?
You personally never enjoyed it. The writing was too pretentious for your modern recollection of the human language to register properly; you could never start a new page without rereading the last one for some semblance of understanding.
Books as confusing and political as that one never served of any interest to you.
However, you also figured that his position and esteemed title as the Romanticism course professor inspired him to find value in old, venerable, sickly romantic books like that. It was part of his job description to pick apart romantic literature from that era and somehow find a way to incorporate it into his lessons.
Even then, how much free time would allow him to reread the same book over and over again like he couldn’t be bothered to do anything else?
Then, that thought made you all the more curiouser, all the more intrigued, as it compelled you to fall down a grandeur rabbit hole of valid, distinguished possibilities.
Did he not go on dates?
Surely he had a wife—a man that handsome and poised wouldn’t be kept off a leash for too long… but there wasn’t a ring on his finger, an observation shamelessly made on your first day in class.
A girlfriend maybe?
It was a more subtle, private alternative that you wouldn’t be privy to unless he specifically mentioned her, something easily kept in secret with no telling ring to give it away.
Surely…
God, you hoped not, you really hoped not. You’d feel too guilty fantasizing about another woman’s man, a man that didn’t belong to you.
Well…
He certainly didn’t belong to you in the more modern, realistic sense yet you could also argue that fictional scenarios in your head were better than the morbid reality; in your mind he was yours.
It was his hands lingering on your waist and his lips tainting your skin, unabashed and unashamed, fervorous and passionate as he’d ravenously take you on his desk after a day of hard restraint.
Of course you’d be afraid that someone would walk in, peek their head in the small rectangular window on his door and witness the filthy consequence of an attraction gone long unfilled between two desperately wanting individuals.
But that was the allure of it all to begin with wasn’t it?
That forbidden desire to be seen and touched by someone that was wrong for you, by someone you knew you weren’t supposed to have as you both would continue to consensually break every moral standing in the rule book anyway.
It was the tantalizing thought of danger and sex combined that made it all the more exciting… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for someone to walk in, maybe you’d want them to.
It was the charming theory of someone knowing that they could risk their own career, their own life, just for a merciful moment of being with who they truly wanted; the cataclysmic object of their desires that could so easily destroy everything they worked so hard to get yet simultaneously give them everything they ever wanted.
It was romantic (contradictory), the idea of embracing the possible dangers that came with giving in yet doing it anyway with the one person you truly cared about.
It was a strange juxtaposition between right and wrong, selfishness or selflessness, do I or don’t I?
You too wished to have him feel that way about you, to crave you so badly he’d willingly endanger his own livelihood to have you.
It was that level of being wanted, of being needed, of being utterly desired by someone that truly drove you insane, that truly drove you to fantasize about him in such a wrongful way in the first place.
You slouched in your seat with a somber sigh at the salacious thoughts, pushing them away from your mind as your eyes steadily bore into your professors figure to distract yourself from yourself.
He was the only thing worth looking at anyway it seemed.
You sighed dejectedly… even a little ashamed.
Only you could be wondering about your professor’s love life while he was innocently enjoying his favorite book, naive to your curious eyes and lustful gaze.
As you stared a feeling of unexpected contentment settled through your blood like heavy syrup, sweet but leaving you with the bitterness of shame for overindulgence; No, you really didn’t feel guilty no matter what his relationship status was.
That made you feel conflicted with your own feelings and sense of morality—did this make you a bad person?
You’ve never been one to chase something that wasn’t yours, but you also guessed your professor, whether he belonged to another woman or not, most certainly belonged to you in a much kinder universe.
One where he noticed you on the street during a windy day in the midst of autumn, where the leaves were hues of oranges and reds and the air smelt of cinnamon sticks and rain.
He’d greet you with a gentle smile and a crinkle in his pale hazel colored eyes, having bumped into your shoulder rather less than conspicuously but you were too awestruck to be mad at him.
It was a universe where you weren’t his student and your relationship had genuine promise, one where he took you for coffee and you’d both laugh over something silly with wide smiles and twinkling eyes; giddy and blushing like you two were a pair of inexperienced teenagers on a first date.
It was a universe where you both acted like you didn’t feel the tension brewing between you amidst the coffee steam, hot and heavy and thick like the smog settling on the street outside. 
But then, the time would come to acknowledge said attraction only a mere three dates later during a nightcap he had so generously offered you.
A night spent tangled in silken sheets, wrapped between strong arms as you both indulged in the greed and want and pleasure only the other person could satisfy.
A night of frantic touches and hazy kisses snuck into the blurs of sweet moans and breathy gasps, passionate and tender as you both finally succumbed to your deepest desires in the deepest, most intimate parts of yourselves.
Although, this was not your universe, and he was no handsome stranger wearing a black coat on the sidewalk of a busy, rain smelling street.
No, he was not taking you in his bed with the fervor of a distraught, sex deprived man who had been without the touch of a woman for so so long, wanting to give you indescribable pleasure in the warmth found between his chest and yours.
You were in this universe, this cruel, unkind, uncaring universe where all you could do was watch and yearn. A universe with no coffee date, no laughter, no sweet smiles. A universe where his cock wouldn’t be stuffed inside you and his fingers wouldn’t be stuck knuckle deep inside your mouth.
In this universe, he belonged to the forbidden temptation of wanting something you couldn’t have.
He belonged to the frowned upon school policy of sleeping with your teacher, the one that could result in an immediate expulsion of both student and employee.
He belonged to wisdom and ethics, books and academia and surely a lucky girl on the side… you were better off sticking to your side of the dull blue wall with your head in a textbook, unbothered and unseen, with nothing but your fantasies about you.
Your eyes narrowed on him as a certain sadness pulled at your chest with that final thought.
You focused intently on the intricate beauty of his face, his body, his aura and structure. He was golden, golden light, warmth and sun rays that soothed your achey soul with just a smile.
He had blood of ichor and a body of pure, perfect aurum like only a god could’ve carved him with the most skilled of hands and the most pristine of tools.
Each stroke careful and precise as to not ruin him, each carving delicate and lovely as to prove their affection for him.
It took pure dedication and utter devotion to create such a remarkable creature, such tender love and care poured into every vein and artery and he was the result of it. 
You were just thankful to the god patient enough to grant you this magnificent masterpiece, a blessing in a poor disguise as his worth blatantly shined through.
Every muscle adorning his form was sharp and smooth, clothes tailored perfectly to his size in the finest of silks and cashmere.
He was a deity himself deserving to be pampered with the most lavish of riches and fabrics. You were nothing if not a loyal concubine bound to satisfy his every desire—there were certainly worser fates.
Alright… maybe you were being dramatic.
A small, amused smile graced your lips at your own odd humor.
Perhaps his lessons on romance had finally imprinted into your brain unknowingly in the form of blabbered poetry and similes.
Or maybe you just liked him that much, enough to write poems.
But, in your own defense, you swore you had never seen a man as pretty as him before. He was the type of pretty that made every girl swoon and crack their necks trying to get a good look at him. 
The type of handsome found in the essence of those old timey sepia toned photos where you couldn’t believe the man in the picture with the slicked back hair and smile ever existed in the first place.
He was nostalgic yet all too new, a kind of beauty only found in the rarest of forms on the rarest of faces.
He was the type of handsome that encapsulated light academia and sweet love notes, black coffee stains on crinkled paper and warm sunsets on a quiet evening.
He was cozy and familiar, like the burning flame of a candle wick during a dreary, stormy night you could seek solace in.
He was comfortable yet overwhelming, with light hazel eyes and ruffled brown hair—a middle part, stopping just at the crown of his ears in gentle waves. He was constantly running his fingers through it that gave him a post sex appearance, like it had been your fingers running through the chocolate colored strands.
He was so pretty that he had everyone feeding into the palm of his hand even if he didn’t know it, willing to do whatever he wanted for a modicum of his attention (and you were no better, but at least you had the dignity to admit it).
He had brown scruff spread across his strong jaw and on top of his pink lip, tattoos painted under those sweaters of his you rarely ever saw in totality—he often favored collared, long sleeved shirts and warm sweaters.
He had a dazzling wide smile that showed his rows of white teeth and a laugh that shook through your bones and made your legs weak.
He was too fine, too timeless and ethereal like a haunted red rose protected in the sturdy confines of tempered glass.
Only the purest of hearts could touch him, hold him, have him, and with your dark thoughts alone you were most definitely too corrupted to be considered one of them.
He was just too pretty for his own good and it made you sick.
Your eyes now ran over his legs, the thickness of his thighs that were clothed in gray slacks as you imagined yourself straddling them.
Running your eager hands over wherever they wanted to go, exploring and feeling, taking your time to feel every dip and curve of muscle and tendon that shuddered pleasurably under your soft touch.
It would be just you and him, alone with your burning lust, able to freely do as you pleased to each other. Unafraid of the hate and judgment society would cast on you for doing so. It’d be a freeing, mutual experience where you both delved headfirst into untamed shores, into those same dangerous temptations you only ever dreamed about.
You tilted your head at the unrealistic thought, mouth drying at the need for it.
You saw him raise his hand to his mouth, zoned in at the way he raised his finger up again and quickly licked the pad of it, the tip of his tongue darting out and leaving just as fast as it came… basically taunting you with the motion.
Your brow flicked in interest as you titled your head once more, releasing a deep sigh as a stinging heat stirred in your lower belly.
You tensed in your seat, legs crossed together and jaw clenched as you thought about everything his tongue could do to you if he wanted to, if society would allow him to.
You wondered how his tongue would feel like as it tangled with yours during a nasty kiss you wouldn’t dare initiate—always so shy when the situation called for it.
You imagined how good it would feel as he’d trace intricate kisses down your neck, down your chest, tasting the salt on your soft skin and leaving pink spots of possessiveness in his eager trail.
You were sure you’d explode if he ever did.
The softness of his lips caressing your skin like goose feathers, soft and dainty yet poignant and staining.
You’d remember the feel of his lips on you for days after, the sensation of his sweet, featherlight kisses pressing onto your warm skin. You were sure he’d smile at the way your pulse jumped when he’d lay a doting peck at the base of your jaw.
Just like many of his writings and essays your skin would be the paper and his hands and lips the ink at the end of a quill, every touch but synonymous with desire as he’d grip and squeeze and caress every bit of bare flesh he touched.
His lips but all the words he wanted to say, leaving his signature on your delicate pages and writing his endless devotion all over you in imprinted, unending novels.
You wanted him to treat you as he treated his books, as he treated his mind; with the utmost care and love only a scholar could devote to such things.
You wanted him to leave his own poems in the empty spaces of air not swallowed by your lungs, whisper his sweet nothings in the crevices of your heart only his love could fill.
You wanted to be marked by him, have him leave shameless bruises on the fragilest spots of your skin. Leave deeply rooted purple marks in the places only he was allowed to see, the places only you were allowed to know about.
You wanted his big hands gripping your waist as his lithe tongue hungrily circled around your exposed breasts. Unable to stop tasting you and soaking in the limitless knowledge of your beauty; like you truly were an artwork to be admired, a centuries old text to be cherished, precious and perfect as he’d kiss you so hard it hurt.
You found yourself lawlessly delving into your own fantasies once more, a familiar tingling sensation buzzing in your pelvis that had your heart beating frantically in your ears and your skin growing hot.
You swallowed thickly, clearing your throat shyly as you sat up in your seat. You were suddenly all too aware of your classmates around you, still in your hard seat next to your blue wall surrounded by your unsuspecting peers.
You felt hot waves of shame and embarrassment wash over you, but it wasn’t like anyone could really know what you were thinking about just then anyway. You felt anxious despite that fact, like someone could crack open your mind and take a front row seat to your dirtiest thoughts and desires. It was impossible of course, but the thought made you nauseous.
You couldn’t bare the idea of someone other than yourself knowing what you were truly thinking about during class hours, when you were supposed to be doing your assignments and actually paying attention to the lesson you were being taught (maybe you’d have a better grade if you did).
You couldn’t imagine the horror on the Dean’s face as he’d expel you from school, the shame and humiliation you’d feel if your professor himself were made aware of your affections towards him.
You’d be ridiculed, humiliated, sentenced to a life in prison for audacious lust towards an authority figure you had no business wanting… it was so frightfully taboo, a fragile reality that kept you nervous and wary of any prying eyes.
Still, the idea was so damn tempting and your own wicked, imaginative mind only made it more so, romanticizing something that was otherwise a sin in the eyes of the world. You should’ve seen it that way, and you did, yet it was doing nothing but encouraging you further.
There was no sense to it, no semblance of caution.
You wanted him.
You wanted him so fucking badly that the desire to have him had become so violent it consumed your entire being. It consumed you in the same fashion a wildfire hungrily swallowed a forest; it was passionate, loud, hot.
Every inch of you burned and ached for him, from your fingertips to your loins you craved him. It was all consuming and all encompassing and you almost felt entirely irrational for feeling so passionately about it in the first place.
Unfortunately, you were frequently left to rot in the black stained ashes of a need gone unrequited, of a hunger gone unsatisfied, of a fire left burning. You wanted so badly for him to see you, to acknowledge your flame, relinquish your fire and give you what you so badly fucking craved.
You wanted him to familiarize himself with the inner workings of your language, body and metaphorically. Have his fingers trace over your skin gentle and soft, really taking his time to feel you and carefully memorize every curve and dip carved into your being; he’d hopefully be able to mold his own in big heart shaped prints you’d never blemish.
He’d touch you and patiently listen to what your body had to say to him; soaking in the salacious statements whispered in the buzz of needy fingertips and the tremor of kiss stained lips.
You wanted him to become fluent in the synopsis’ of everything you wanted him to do to you that was blatantly written all over your body; so he could become well adept in the knowledge of your endlessly complex amorous epics.
Your thighs clenched together, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as your eyes slowly ran over his glistening lips and his concentrated expression. He was leaned back in his big brown leather chair with his beige sweater sleeves rolled up to his pointed elbows. You could see the inky black designs of tattoos you couldn’t specifically make out the image of.
It was almost odd to see him with the markings because you so rarely ever did. However that only seemed to aid in your delusion for you so badly wished to see them up close, run your manicured nail over the inked black lines and feel his skin tremor felicitously.
Upon first glance he didn’t seem like the type of man that would have such a wild, rebellious side to him (as tattoos were so stereotypically typecasted as). But that was the allure of him really, all of his charming intricacies layered under his skin in stubborn folds you wanted so badly to peel back and understand.
Have his skin and tendons and muscles all neatly laid back until he was nothing but white bone and molecule, laid bare for you and you alone so not a single inch of him wouldn’t go admired and understood.
His skeleton the map that lead to every treasure his mortal flesh buried, his secrets and dreams and hellish nightmares; you wanted to unearth it all, nothing but a devote worshipper to what you so passionately believed deserved great worshipping.
Not too far from a god and his Christian, although nothing that you wanted nor prayed for was holy.
You wanted to know him beyond the anatomical flesh and delve into the crevices of his character. To explore every cell and nerve ending that made him him, hear every thought he produced and feel every heavy sigh as it shook through his ribcage and echoed through every fiber of your bones.
You wanted to share the same lustrous spirit and have every silly little whim and intense desire intertwined together like vines, bursting with beauty and knowledge into pretty little flowers the stars would pluck for constellations.
It would be certainly just as beautiful and organic like the flow of a lovesick sonnet confessed from the lips of a lovelorn man, something only he and you would understand.
In the eyes of a stranger, and to you as well that first day you saw him—Professor Ambrose—he was sweet, caring, almost nerdy in the passion he spoke of for literature and the written media. No one would assume the image of black lines etched onto his skin in wicked designs and shapes would be just underneath those misleading soft sweaters of his.
It was startling like the harshness of black ink on a white canvas… it intrigued you further, latching onto your brain like a parasite and feeding off your own beguiled curiosity.
It was no matter because he was still the same distinguished, polished, and professional man you always knew him as. The epitome of class and rugged beauty, a proper man of poetry and romance that was so seldom ever found in modern society.
He had thick arms bundled with pure muscle that bled into veined arms and hands. It was a wonderfully invigorating sight. So much so that you couldn’t help the sharp breath you inhaled upon your gaze following a vein that trailed up his lower arm.
So strong.
His golden rimmed glasses sat at the bridge of his straight nose as he looked down at the pages of his tired book, completely uninterested and unperturbed in the bustling class around him. He was in his own world similar to how you were, except his was one filled with 1800s-esque love affairs and confessions, of romance and timeless beauty.
Yours carried the same theme just much much more vulgar and corrupt. Perhaps that’s why you two were in your own worlds, for such organic animosity like yours could never collide with the genuine enchantment of his own.
He was a gentlemen sheltered in a place with clear blue shores and cloudless skies. You were but a horny fool delving into black waters under the erroneous guise of a full moon, suffering from the effects of its power just as the ebony tides did.
Crashing and weaving and drifting so far out to sea that you’d never be free of its temptations, drowning in your own ignominious lust until you were choking on the consequence of it.
You almost found it silly, the very loud and blaring contradictions and scenarios battling out in your own mind while your professor seemed nothing of the sort; peaceful, content, happy in his own little world reading his fancy little book for the umpteenth time, unaware of you and your wandering eyes just as it should be.
He was such the opposite of you in almost every way.
Your gaze softened on him, muscles just a little less tense as you admired his calm silence and his nonchalance.
Besides your damning attraction towards him you could always agree that he was a great teacher no matter how biased you may seem.
Really, that was another reason why you liked him so much in the first place.
He was easy-going, always so understanding, never too hard on his students no matter what grievance they seemed to commit.
He was lenient and passive, maybe too much so; he never came down too hard on failing students and always smiled in amusement at the ones who interrupted him during lectures or lessons.
He was far more forgiving than you in that sense because you’d more often than not glare at the guilty party responsible for distracting him in the first place.
He was always encouraging and charming, smiling that wide smile and laughing that loud laugh you’d recognize anywhere. The same one that made your spine shiver and lips part for a whimsical, longing sigh.
The students loved him, respected him, and you didn’t doubt many lusted after him in the same fruitless way you did.
The thought had certainly crossed your mind several times during the semester, you’d be silly not to acknowledge it. Sadly, no matter your pride, it even made you a little jealous. You weren’t blind to the women in your shared class you believed you couldn’t ever compare yourself to.
You weren’t judging these women of course, you knew that if you had the confidence and self assurance they did you’d be just like them.
You’d smile sweetly at your professor and pronounce your hips every time you walked by him, wear those cropped shirts and short skirts too and hope to god he was staring at you in the same way you did him.
But you weren’t like that, you’d be too embarrassed to appear so easy, so obvious. It was out of character for you to be so… blunt about it.
Honestly, you were just jealous you didn’t have the gall they did to try and seduce him.
They were beautiful, the ones who fluttered their long pretty lashes at him and leaned over his mahogany desk in those short cropped shirts of theirs, waiting until the bells rung and the class was mostly empty to push their tits in his face and see if he’d spare them a glance.
He never did you noticed, something you respected him for; it even made him seem more attractive to you.
He wasn’t a creep, didn’t objectify his female students like some of the staff most certainty did. He’d act oblivious to their obvious advances, offer them a pleasant smile, answer their ridiculous question they used as an excuse to talk to him, and then go about his day like nothing had interrupted him in the first place.
The girls would pout or grumble, stomping their feet out the door with a frown or a sad pull to their glossy lips as their efforts were proved futile.
You’d witness this by lingering behind in your row, meticulously placing your notebook and pens in your bag after the class has mostly filed out.
You couldn’t help it; you wanted to see if he’d crack, spare a glance at them even, rip your heart out into a million fragmented pieces right in front you like your affections didn’t even matter in the first place... yes, you were in so deep.
But, again, he never did.
Which, if you thought about it hard enough, also meant that you most definitely didn’t have a chance with him either. You weren’t anything particularly extraordinary like those girls were; didn’t put yourself out there enough like they did or fawn around him enough like they did for him to notice you beyond what you were.
A student.
Off limits.
He didn’t subject his students to specific groups or prejudiced assortments based on their personalities or beliefs like other teachers might have; just a singular shared mass of people all younger than him he didn’t want to bother risking the loss of his career to touch.
It was admirable on his part, but incredibly frustrating on yours because you spent all of your free time thinking about him in ways he’d never spare you.
Another fact you rarely spoke to fruition in hopes of avoiding it altogether; happily being able to continue living in your own ignorant, blissful fantasies where miracles frequented and reality itself bended, a place where reality wasn’t real.
Besides all that, as you said he really was such a great guy. So open-minded, nonjudgmental, sweet and kind and oh so handsome.
He always said there was no such thing as stupid questions, but you were sure that if you asked him to fuck you like there was no tomorrow you wouldn’t get the answer you wanted.
You licked your dry lips, all too aware that the time was dwindling down and suddenly 15 minutes left of class had quickly turned to three. You didn’t have much time left with him now, too wrapped up in your own thoughts to realize how seamlessly time seemed to pass.
You took a quick glance around the room, seeing no one’s eyes on you as you leaned forward in your seat and put your chin in the palm of your hand.
You sighed, the noise silent as the uproar of laughter and chatter from your peers seemed to overshadow any sound you made.
As your shoulders slumped and your body relaxed, you found your gaze being drawn back to him in a much less subtle way as you saw his arm move.
The muscles flexed as he raised his hand under his chin, veins popping under his skin as he rested his elbow on the chair handle.
You were two rows away from him, but you could clearly see the way his veins twitched and muscles tightened at the action and the simple motion seemed to encapsulate you in his orbit entirely once more.
You could feel how aroused you were in the strained tenseness of your thighs and the way your pussy seemed to clench wantonly around nothing. Your mouth was dry and lips chapped, eyes slightly hooded and breaths slow and heavy in your ears.
Your lustful eyes lingered on his big arm, moving down until you saw the book in his lap held seamlessly by his other hand. He spread the pages open with long, lithe fingers, pinkie and thumb stretched across the pages to keep them separated.
You could feel yourself throbbing, wanting that same hand stuffed knuckle deep in the warmest, wettest part of you. Two fingers circling inside your plushy walls, already so big you couldn’t help but moan and writhe as wetness smacked into his palm, desperately gripping the fabric of his brown sweater in your own needy hands.
Those same fingers, rubbing your pulsing clit so soft and precise in all the right ways only a book could teach him to do. He’d take his time with you no matter the circumstance, spread your slippery folds open and rub your wetness around your glistening hole until it was gaping for him, begging to be filled and leaking over whatever surface he had haphazardly laid you on.
He’d be consumed with ferocious need, bestial hunger, especially when seeing your trembling legs spread wide for him and his hand soaked in your creamy white juices he had lovingly coaxed out of you.
His hazel eyes, unusually darkened and lustful, would gaze upon your flushed face and pretty pussy, feel only pity that he made you wait so long for him, feel only carnivorous as he’d bow his head down and lick a confident path up the valley of your spread folds, from your sopping hole to your throbbing clit and gather your sweet wetness on the hollow of his tongue.
Your hands would fist in his dark hair, pulling the strands senselessly, as he’d slip his thick fingers back inside you and suck your clit into his warm mouth.
He’d relish in the bitter sweetness of your arousal on his tongue, dripping down the corners of his mouth so perversely you couldn’t look at him directly—especially when he’d look up at you to see how much of a mess you were for him.
He’d shamelessly watch you moan and gasp and plead for him to make you cum, that he was making you feel so good, that his mouth was perfect and his fingers were too much.
He’d watch you take it though, take his fingers rapidly pushing in and out of your tightness like a good girl would as his sharp tongue explored every inch of your pussy he wanted, tasting and sucking and licking every drop of you exposed to him while your cum dribbled over his fingers in lewd wet noises you’d blush at.
He’d love your sounds, the sounds you made for him. The squelching sounds your pussy made as it mashed with his palm, the wet sounds he’d provoke as he drank your cum into his greedy mouth, cheeks and lips covered in a shiny film you’d kiss off him soon after.
Unfortunately, you didn’t have time to dwell on the matter as the bell rung and you found yourself startled at the shrill sound, cheeks a warm hue and breaths just a little staggered.
The room erupted into suddenly standing figures and even louder ruckus as everyone gathered their bags and headed down the stairs towards the double doors on each side.
You swallowed dryly, lower regions knotted up in such a tight ball it ached for the tension to be loosened in whatever way it could be. You had no choice but to skillfully ignore it, lingering behind the rest of the crowd as your movements seemed slower, more tense, your pussy throbbing painfully as you managed to gather your own bag.
As you stumbled your way out of your row, to the midsection of dirt stained stairs, you gripped your bag tightly in your hand as you planned on enjoying an evening of fingering yourself to relieve the pain you had so naively self inflicted.
You looked up as your foot hit the last step and found yourself looking into a brightly familiar pair of hazel eyes that almost made you stumble over your own shoes.
You faltered for a moment like a fumbling deer, then quickly looked away and scurried out the doors like you hadn’t felt lightning shoot down your back at the innocent, fleeting contact.
You needed to get over yourself.
all dividers made by me (not sparkle divider tho, I just cropped it) maybe a pt. 2? - the truth is that this has been in my drafts for almost two years… YES TWO! So I’m trying to clean out my drafts. The synopsis is a little misleading Ik but a part two is possible <3
♡ 𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 ! ✐˚ ༘ ┄┄ 𝐀𝐍𝓲𝐓𝐀𝐋𝓔𝐍𝓲𝐀𓈒 ˖ ࣪ 𝜗𝜚 this is just a small post about what I would have done if I made any other 𝓽𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓼 ! just a 𝓯𝓾𝓷 thing I worked on for a while and became 𝓸𝓫𝓼𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓭 with and decided to 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓮 ! This will include 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓮, 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮, 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓬𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻, and '𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮' !
𐔌 . ⋮ 𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱ . ₊𖥔 𝓯𝓪𝓺'𝓼 .ᐟ ۪ ׄ໑୧ ׅ𖥔ׄ
꒰˚₊‧ 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝓵𝐈𝐒𝓵𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝓵𝓵𝐄𝐍: ✐˚ ༘ 𓂃⊹ The lights symbolize a fated, unique, and extraordinary love that is hard to find, mirroring the rarity of a perfect, lasting partnership.
✎𓂃 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ Aurora
✎𓂃 𝓼𝔂𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓵 / 𝓬𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ Two doves together in flight, wrapped around by a red ribbon.
✎𓂃 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ The Fountain
꒰˚₊‧ 𝐉𝐀𝓢𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝓵𝐄: ✐˚ ༘ 𓂃⊹ A moonbow represents a soft, calming, and subtle—yet powerful—romantic affection.
✎𓂃 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ Moonbow
✎𓂃 𝓼𝔂𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓵 / 𝓬𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ A vintage white key with a red heart shaped lock. Black background. Realistic, vintage looking lock and key.
✎𓂃 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ The Bridge
꒰˚₊‧ 𝓔𝐃𝐖𝓐𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐔𝓵𝓵𝐄𝐍: ✐˚ ༘ 𓂃⊹ A relationship existing in the partial shadow between light and dark, often symbolizing a love found in darkness.
✎𓂃 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ Penumbra
✎𓂃 𝓼𝔂𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓵 / 𝓬𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ A single red rose and a white rose crossed over each other. White rose has subtle red bleeding from the red rose on its petals.
✎𓂃 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ The Spring
꒰˚₊‧ 𝓔𝐌𝐌𝓔𝐓𝐓 𝐂𝐔𝓵𝓵𝐄𝐍: ✐˚ ༘ 𓂃⊹ A meteor shower symbolizes a love that is bold, exhilarating, and unapologetically intense, yet rooted in joy rather than torment.
✎𓂃 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ Meteor Shower
✎𓂃 𝓼𝔂𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓵 / 𝓬𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ A meteor shower on a black background. One main meteor with a couple smaller ones in the background mid-fall. Red and white flame.
✎𓂃 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ The Hilltop
꒰˚₊‧ 𝐀𝓵𝐈𝓒𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝓵𝓵𝐄𝐍: ✐˚ ༘ 𓂃⊹ A dynamic, multifaceted, and magical connection that changes with perspective, representing the depth and wonder of deep affection.
✎𓂃 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ Iridescence
✎𓂃 𝓼𝔂𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓵 / 𝓬𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ White butterfly on a red camellia. Camellia is small, not too many petals, just a single stem.
✎𓂃 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ The Garden
꒰˚₊‧ 𝐑𝐎𝓢𝐀𝓵𝐈𝐄 𝐇𝓐𝓵𝐄: ✐˚ ༘ 𓂃⊹ Frostlight symbolizes a love that is coldly beautiful on the surface but intensely emotional beneath. A resilient, enduring romance.
✎𓂃 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ Frostlight
✎𓂃 𝓼𝔂𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓵 / 𝓬𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ A white diamond cradled in a pale hand, red manicured nails.
✎𓂃 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ The Pavilion
꒰˚₊‧ 𝐉𝓐𝐂𝓞𝐁 𝐁𝓵𝐀𝓒𝐊: ✐˚ ༘ 𓂃⊹ A love that is intense, passionate, and serious. A crimson sunset is used to symbolize a burning, romantic, and profound love.
✎𓂃 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ Crimson Sunset
✎𓂃 𝓼𝔂𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓵 / 𝓬𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ Falling red petals on a black background with one white petal only—no flower in sight. The white & red petal loosely form a heart at the 'focal point' as they fall. Some petals appear to be on fire / burning in the background.
✎𓂃 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ The Cove
꒰˚₊‧ 𝐏𝐀𝐔𝓵 𝐋𝓐𝐇𝓞𝐓𝓔: ✐˚ ༘ 𓂃⊹ Sunfire symbolizes overwhelming, burning desire and deep, passionate emotion. A romance that drives destinies.
✎𓂃 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ Sunfire
✎𓂃 𝓼𝔂𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓵 / 𝓬𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ A single matchstick. The flame is lit and bright—unstable.
✎𓂃 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ The Cliffside / The Cliff
꒰˚₊‧ 𝐒𝓐𝐌 𝐔𝓵𝐄𝐘: ✐˚ ༘ 𓂃⊹ Symbolizes rare, transformative, and fated love, often acting as a "once in a lifetime" romantic opportunity.
✎𓂃 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ Blue Moon
✎𓂃 𝓼𝔂𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓵 / 𝓬𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ A red rope, horizontal, one infinity style looking knot in the middle.
✎𓂃 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ The Clearing
꒰˚₊‧ 𝐂𝐇𝓐𝐑𝐋𝓲𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝓐𝐍: ✐˚ ༘ 𓂃⊹ The lunar corona is seen as a symbol of divine connection and emotional, gentle, and ethereal love—protective and eternal.
✎𓂃 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ Corona
✎𓂃 𝓼𝔂𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓵 / 𝓬𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ Origami swan, small mirage of it floating on a red lake. Black background of course. The 'water' fades into nothing at the edges.
✎𓂃 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮 ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ The Lake
I’m aware some of these are not perfect, especially for the characters I don’t necessarily care for all that much lol. but yeah, this is just my reimagining of the series if I had made a book for each character. share your thoughts below <3 and of course if you want me to expand on any of these just lmk !
gazing at the sunset was a fleeting privilege; a moment suspended in the amber glow of blissful silence, a fragment of peace bronzed by the promise of tomorrow.
the ocean still.
bright and twinkling, its sea foam kissed by amber light—a reflection of self found in the tides of new beginnings.
with an expanse of seashells and seaweed, only the hum of soft winds and the warmth of golden sands could make the water dance like silken sheets of serenity.
the beauty of aching within perfect places.
you breathe.
a taste of salt lingers yet… the sun fades fondly below the western horizon.
the water still dances.
the sand still sings.
and the waves cascade back to sea in glimmers of dusk, where your heart sighs with pearled contentment.
gazing at the sunset was a fleeting privilege; a moment suspended in the amber glow of blissful silence, a fragment of peace bronzed by the promise of tomorrow.
the ocean still.
bright and twinkling, its sea foam kissed by amber light—a reflection of self found in the tides of new beginnings.
with an expanse of seashells and seaweed, only the hum of soft winds and the warmth of golden sands could make the water dance like silken sheets of serenity.
the beauty of aching within perfect places.
you breathe.
a taste of salt lingers yet… the sun fades fondly below the western horizon.
the water still dances.
the sand still sings.
and the waves cascade back to sea in glimmers of dusk, where your heart sighs with pearled contentment.
stormborns
origamiaround
pixelskylines
theartofmadeline
kianamaiart
jacobvanloon
2087