#•kinktober 2022•

[2kiran]

ftm!simon getting frustrated because m!reader only fucks his ass as a punishment for simon distracting him during a meeting 🙏🙏

also, his hand is pushed away every time simon tries to rub his clit or finger himself because he can't take being neglected for so long

“ 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 ”

◜ᐢ..ᐢ◝ ᶻz ➜ he’s a huge distraction that needs to be taught a lesson.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𖤐 pairing ☆ ftm!simon “ghost” riley x dom!m!reader ˖ ࣪ ˖ cw ıllı mean!reader. flashback. brat taming. anal sex. orgasm delay. ⪩⭔⪨

“Fuck— just, baby, please!”

Simon grasped the sheets tightly, uncontrollable groans seeping from his throat like a faucet. The smirk he wore wasn’t present, far from it. His pussy fluttered around nothing as your cock bullies into his other hole. It was his fault.

“Any questions?”

It was around 2200 hours, if you remember correctly. An unusual hour for a meeting. Your eyelids were heavy and your muscles screamed. Back aching from exhaustion. You barely had a wink of sleep, ripped from your grasp when Simon knocked on your door to rise you for the current debrief. Surely, Price could have asked for this the next day, but he insisted to have it now. “No, sir.” Your reply rasped out of your throat, hand coming around your neck to rub away the tension.

That brain of yours was silent, ears muffling out the words that were being spoken. Somehow, Gaz and Soap still had energy. They teased you a little bit for your lack of focus, but they were cut short by your captain. Your eyes were quickly drooping, so quick to fall asleep, any moment now.

Not until you felt a hand on your thigh.

You tense, glancing only to see that it belonged to Simon.

He wasn’t looking at you. Like it wasn’t intentional. You knew that it wasn’t the case, he knew what he was doing. It’s probably just his way to make you pay attention, right?

No. It was far from that.

His intentions were made clear when it slowly, oh so slowly, crept up. Fingers on the inner side, close to your crotch. “Ghost,” You hiss, sending him a glare. He was beside you, skull-patterned glove hidden beneath the table. The grip he had on your thigh tightened, squeezing the flesh.

The quietest, similar to a whisper, of a hum resonated from his chest. It was an acknowledgement. You knew he wouldn’t listen.

Now here he was, forced to just take it. This was a different form of pleasure. Not enough. “More, need more,” you scoff, dragging your hips back. “More?” mockingly, you slammed back in, “You need more, don’t you? So fuckin’ greedy.” he yelps, tears flooding his eyes but he blinks them back. Still somewhat stubborn. “I’m sorry.” he whispers, so softly, like he didn’t mean it. In spite of his apology, his hand snakes down to rub at his clit.

Harshly, the back of your hand meets his palm. Pushing it away. “What was that?” you thrust, uncaringly. Reveling in the surprised gasp he gifts you. “I’m sor—” he cuts himself off with a yelp when you harshly thrust into him again, “I’m sorry!”

“Uh, uh.” you take both of his wrists and pin them above his head, “You’re sorry? For what?” he whimpers, the brattiness in him melting into desperation. “I’m sorry...nggh! f-for distracting you. Please, baby. I can’t.” Good answer, but you can’t simply give in. Yet. “You can,” a kiss was pressed to his cheek. “Just a little more, yeah?”

He shouldn’t be as wet as he is from that.

A nod was all you received, and all that you needed. With every movement forward, his clit caught onto the fabric below. If he angled himself just right, he’d be able to—

Your hand wrapped around his thigh, moving him in order for him to lay on his side. His leg was in the air, cock still pounding into his hole. In this position, he couldn’t experience the pleasure he yearned for. He didn’t need you there. A frustrated whimper left him, frowning when he attempted to rock into nothing. You were close, but he wasn’t. “Love,” he called, a moan following. “Shit, ‘m close.” you warn, that wasn’t the response he was looking for. It only caused him to try to escape your hold on his wrists, yet to no avail. He wanted you in his greedy cunt, not there. It wasn’t fair, he only wished for your attention.

Simon garbled in between a loud gasp and a choked moan when he felt your fingers plunge into him without any resistance, given to he was soaking. “That what you wanted?” your hips was flush against his, halting as your cock leaks of cum into his gaping hole.

“Y-yeah— oh, yes, fuck!” He clamped around you — both on your cock and fingers. You pull out along with your digits, leaving him oozing with cum and on the brink of a climax. He let out a cry, head moving towards you to ask why, he was right there.

“Keep that in, ‘kay? I have somethin’ to finish.”

Deity, he hates how you’re so effortlessly infuriating.

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[ellesthots]

punished - kinktober 2024

ONESHOT!

read on AO3 ❤️‍🔥

plot: after a disappointing night as Batman, Bruce wants you to make him suffer [not related to Fateful]

pairing: bruce wayne x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ ONLY, NSFW, smut, orgasm denial, breath play

words: 2.3k

a/n: hi lovelies!! a little treat for the month of October 🎃 based on the 2023 kinktober prompt list (day 14 - orgasm denial), since they didn’t release an official one this year <3 comments, reblogs, etc SO appreciated 💭

It was your favorite position to have him in, and an opportunity that didn’t come often.

Sometimes, after an especially frustrating night crimefighting—say, the muggers got away, the clues led nowhere, or Batman came too late—he’d arrive back home with that look in his eye. A frustrated, ruminating expression that crowded even the massive rooms at Wayne Manor. A demeanor that screamed ‘I need to be punished’.

It floored you the first time he said as much, a few months ago. When he’d trudged upstairs with his eye makeup still on, the black mess smeared up into his browbone and blotchy in the hollow of his undereyes. The fire in his gaze nearly had you running to the bedroom, chasing fantasies of him fucking you into oblivion, blowing off steam. The promise of his bruising touch was the only thing keeping you satisfied on his long nights away.

But that night was different. The closer he came, the more the fire melted into something gentler, more vulnerable. Still, his jaw was tight, twitching in the way exclusive to angry curses and frustrated sighs. His voice was low and hoarse in your ear, the prick of his stubble grazing the crook of your neck. He exhaled a single, quivering breath before speaking. “Punish me.”

You felt faint. Bruce rarely relinquished control in the bedroom, save times he could tell how desperate you were to be on top. Before he walked toward his room, he caught your eye, a careful gauge of your comfort. As shocking as it was to hear it from his mouth, the big bad Batman, you would’ve been lying if you said it didn’t make your pulse race. You nodded, and he disappeared into the dark hallway behind you.

Alone in the hallway, a dozen lewd thoughts circled you. Your limbs tingled with anticipation, overwhelmed by the sheer mass of options. You’d asked him to punish you before, so this was far from unknown territory… you closed your eyes and imagined which sensations he’d allowed you that you wanted to return.

Choking him would be especially pleasing, and… your mouth curled into a grin and you suppressed a laugh. Of course. He wouldn’t think it was anything until he was already in too deep, a shock to his system, leaving him reeling… the anxiety melted away to a selfish excitement, waiting for the pinch in his eyes, how his face might look, his body tense and wanting, so close yet so impossibly far… fuck.

Your feet were light across the cool manor floor. Alfred was nowhere to be seen, and you were grateful for it. Too many times you’d been concerned he might overhear, but tonight that didn’t seem to be the case. Bruce wanted to be punished, wanted to suffer a bit. It wouldn’t be a feat silently won.

The dynamic had already been switched, entering to him sat on the edge of the bed, his spandex long sleeve he wore on every patrol in a pile by his nightstand. You could see in his eyes that he didn’t know what to expect, which was invigorating. He looked almost meek.

As you approached him, you nearly second-guessed it. It would be punishing for you too, not seeing, hearing, feeling his climax. But holy shit was it exhilarating to be the one standing over him, watching as his eyes deepened their focus on yours, fingers moving to undo his button. Was this the power and excitement he felt each time with you, as you tugged down your satin nightgown, unclasped your lace bra?

Your eyes caught on the slightest tremble in his hands while pulling down the zipper. You put your hand over his, and he halted on contact. You pulled yourself closer and dragged your lips from his jaw to his collarbone. His body was worn, muscles tired. It must’ve been a rough night. Your free hand caressed his back, tracing gentle, reassuring circles between his shoulderblades. “Remember your safe word?”

Bruce was putty in your hands, nothing more than a breathy, needy whisper. “Yes.”

Having said the magic words, you placed your hand around his neck, pushing him flush on his back against the mattress. You watched his eyes flash as you tightened your grip, swallowing like his mouth had gone dry. You placed a hand to his sternum as you climbed on top, where you felt his pulse thunder beneath your palm. You slowly dragged your fingertips along his sweat-soaked skin toward the waistband of his boxers.

His breathing hitched, feeling the movement in his throat as you slipped one, then two fingers underneath the elastic. A heady, potent feeling of intoxication swept you, having him completely at your mercy. His face bloomed pink under the pressure of your hand, his eyes a steady pulse of blue, singularly focused as a man starved.

“Were you bad tonight?” Your voice was sweet like honey. He nodded as much as he could within your vice grip, and his lashes fluttered, as if ashamed to admit it. The way the moonlight illuminated the curve of his biceps, caressed the snags of violence across his skin, you felt dizzy. His voice held its own echo, like he’d been hollowed out. “Very.”

Oh how you longed to kiss those lips… “Mmm, can’t have that.” You pulled your hand out from his boxers, as if you had changed your mind about touching him. Your fingers traipsed along the sides of his torso, causing him to shudder. The sensation brought sparks to your fingertips. His eyes searched your face, his desire increasingly evident, desperate to be taken care of. Your fingers caught on the subtle slopes and valleys of his abdomen, skimming the raised scars on his chest, moving agonizingly slower until they reached your mouth.

Bruce’s pupils dilated as he watched you throat your fingers, spit strings falling down your chin as you pulled them away. He moaned as your slick fingers found the base of his cock. He was already hard. Very hard. You squeezed your fingers firmer round his throat with each stroke, drawing strangled moans out of him that only made you press harder, move faster. His head dug into the pillow in glorious agony, the tension in his throat heightening each slip of your hand. You felt every reverberation of his moans within your palm. Every inhale, every exhale. God, it was so fucking hot… you pressed your knees together on the bed, feeling your pussy start to throb.

“Fuck, mmph,” his hands moved up to grip the edge of his pillow, his knuckles going white. He was becoming lost in it, obvious by the shivering moans gasping out of him, the way his hips drove up to match the rhythm of your hand. He was wound up, messy. His hair splayed in dark clumps across his forehead, his eyes squeezing shut, brows furrowing. Seeing him like this, so enraptured in your touch, it could’ve overwhelmed you if you weren’t so stubborn.

But he kept moaning, and his chest kept heaving, and the slip of his dick in your hand was mind-numbingly torturous… when you knew he could be inside you, and the only thing standing between you and his thick, long… you pumped harder, biting the inside of your cheek, hyperfocusing on his mouth like it wasn’t the precise thing making it worse. You noticed your hips subtly moving in concert with his, wanting to lean closer and fucking feel him. Your eyes trailed to his fingers curling around the linen pillowcase, pinching the folds, metabolizing what his moans failed to, and it broke the last thread.

You slowed down, his eyes snapping open at the shift, chest heaving. His pupils were blown, and goddammit, you felt like you could burst. You bunched up your shirt to get it out of the way and straddled him, shoving your thong to the side. If he wasn’t getting release tonight, you’d find it. Sinking onto him was otherworldly, his dick achingly hard, your cunt already puffy and soaked like you’d been at this for hours, welcoming him readily. Your grip slipped on his neck as you rode him, your vision blurring between the wet, slapping sounds of him driving into you, and the groans mingling in the space between your mouths.

He married his hands to your hips to pull you down harder, and it took every ounce of self-control to refuse him. Usually you savored the grip of his fingers, he knew it made you weak, but you were teetering on the edge of a cliff. In a movement that read to your body as blasphemy, as sin, you slammed forward, shoving your hand back around his throat. His arms slacked at his sides as you chastised him. “Manners, baby… only me.”

Your body flattened against him and you left sloppy kisses along his jugular, bathing in the sensation of him hitting your g-spot over, and over… your hands pawed at his jaw, shrieking as you felt tension coil in your stomach, your heart quickening to a fever pitch. Small trails of black fell down his cheeks, the warmth of your colliding bodies running his eye paint.

You knew him well, well enough to know he was lost in it, and that he knew you were there, too. He’d long abandoned the proposition of punishment, relishing in the feeling of your hot, cushioned walls enveloping him, drowning in the symphony of your moans. You could tell he needed this, the way his hips chased yours, slamming into you with increasing abandon. You were almost there, but he was too… if you finished, he would. God, now you really wanted to punish him.

In a swift motion, you slunk between his legs, his dick throbbing against your thigh as it slid completely out of you. A whine cracked the edge of his moan. He propped up on his elbows, panting, watching as you moved both hands to his shaft. By this point his cock was aching, possibly the hardest it’d ever felt. Every time your fingers glided over his tip you’d catch some of his arousal, mingling it with your own with each push, pull.

You had to get this over with now, or you were going to cave. You whispered your lips along his shaft, his hips jerking involuntarily with every gentle swirl of your tongue along the rim. Sweat and adrenaline closed your lips around his head, your hands working the base.

“Baby,” he whimpered, his head falling back. His shoulders relaxed into the feeling, his elbows slipping against his sheets. His lashes were fluttering, his abs tightening, his mouth parting a little, more, a lot… your body became tight with need, borrowing some of the anguish you were sure he’d be feeling soon.

You removed it from your mouth with a subtle pop, savoring the taste of him as you licked your lips. “Look how much of a mess you are.”

His brows knit together as your hands wrung the length of him, his breathing becoming increasingly labored. He was so pretty like this, writhing underneath you. So responsive…

The moans you were pulling out of him almost made you feel bad for what you were about to do. Almost.

A high-pitched groan paired with the twitch of his dick signified the building of his climax. He had no fucking idea, but he’d asked for it. Your brow cocked and he nodded, the edges of his breaths ragged and frayed. “I’m so,”

“Close?”

He nodded again, his inhales shallow and stilted as you increased your fervor, pumping him straight to the edge. His gasps could’ve split the windows, pitchy whines expelling from his chest. “Yes, yes,”

“So close, hmm?” You slowed down just so, barely, imperceptible to someone as thrown as he was. “So fucking close,”

“Just like that, oh, fuck, fuck,” His movements drew erratic, his hips fucking himself into your hand, sweat pouring down his face. You bit back a giggle, watching his body begin to surrender, wishing you could bottle this moment in time. The instant you felt his body prep a shudder, you shot back, ceasing all contact.

He choked on a strangled moan, his eyes flashing wide in shock, his mouth flying open. On your knees at the foot of his bed, you watched his body stretch toward release, unable to grasp it. He slowly attempted to get his bearings, his body heaving with unspent pleasure. You blushed as you witnessed his cock throb in vain—right there, but not quite.

You smirked at him as you ran your hands up his calves, his body vibrating. He blinked hard, whiplash ravaging his system. Your voice was a low, teasing purr. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

His exhausted eyes held the hint of a glare, his teeth gritting hard as he accepted the loss. His heart jammed against his ribs, screaming in protest. He fell back against the sweat-soaked pillow, bringing his hands up to rub his face, hiding the bitter heat flushing his cheeks. “Christ,”

You stood, the bed creaking softly beneath you. You twirled your shirt off and tossed it by the door of his bath, all but skipping over to it. “I’d help you clean yourself up, but…” When you looked back, his dick was softer, his breathing starting to regulate. His eyes flicked over to you, his breath deepening, as if overwhelmed by the sight of you.

He hauled a sigh from the depth of his lungs, agonizingly situating upright. He steadied his breathing for a few beats, stomach coiled tight, body heavy. Jesus fucking Christ. As wholly, entirely frustrated as he was, he was undeniably impressed; his tense, electrified body the ultimate testament, unable to block a boyish grin from revealing itself to you. “Stop celebrating.”

You hummed your way to his shower, choreographing the shape of your hands slammed against the fogged glass. “Careful what you wish for.”

[anisangeldust]

𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻 2024!

➣ made with help (inspo) by my bsf ➜ @ainsliss

➣ IMPORTANT REMINDER! If you don’t like the tags, don’t read it! This is a month of nasty, kinky, and sinful fics!

✦ October 1st - Anakin Skywalker

improper use of the force, his mechanic hand, and anal!

✦ October 4th - PK!Coriolanus Snow

gun play, CNC, rape/noncon, degradation, hunter/prey.

✦ October 7th - James Kelly

breeding/pregnancy, lactation.

✦ October 10th - Sam Monroe

Nipple piercings, corruption, loss of virginity.

✦ October 13th - Billy The Kid

piss kink, foot fetish, cum eating.

✦ October 15th - Poly!Anidalia

squirting, Wlw fetish, threesome.

✦ October 18th - Anakin Skywalker

Knife/blood play, rope bunny, temp play, body shots.

✦ October 21st - Coriolanus Snow

grooming, non/con, coercion, spanking, daddy kink.

✦ October 26th - Alice Cullen

Blood play, katoptronophilia, mommy kink.

[drabblesofsmut]

Kinktober +18 (late)

Day #10 | fingering | Stiles Stilinski.

Kinktober masterlist

Warning: fingering, inexpert!Stiles.

★★★

The kiss was clumsy but heated, you were straddling him. His hands running from your waist to your ass like always, squeezing it and pulling you to him. Your hand took one of his and guided it to your clothed pussy. You felt the shiver that passed through his body and he broke the kiss.

“I-I've never done that” he said nervous of what you could say to him.

“It's okay, I can guide you if you want to try” you smirked and caressed his cheek.

“really?” he asked.

“mh-hm” you hummed in approbation.

"then yes, l-let's do it”. You could notice that he was still nervous, it was cute.

You took his hand and guided it under your panties, separating your lips and leading him to your clit. “there. Move your finger in slow circles”, he did as you said, looking down and then at you multiple times to make sure he was doing it fine. “fuck, just like that” you moaned. You could feel the bulge between his legs grow harder. His movements went a bit faster, stealing another moan from you. He was doing it so good, but you needed more.

You took stiles hand and guided his fingers to your entrance, he gave you an questioning look, you just nodded and he sunk one finger inside you slowly, not wanting to hurt you. He started pumping slowly, barely brushing your g-spot.

“Stiles” You whined, he didn't knew but that was torture.

“what? Did I do something wrong?”he asked stopping the movements.

“no just, do it harder, faster” you said and he nodded doing it as you told him. “oh fuck! Curl your fingers” you moaned and he did it.

His movements were hard, pounding into you with confidence, and when he felt your moans get lower he put another finger inside you, making you squirm at it. “you like it?” he groaned. He loved hearing you moan for him

“mh-hm, I love it” you cried out. Your legs already shaking in anticipation. “God sake, don't stop!”

Stiles wanted to try something he saw in video one night and with his thumb he throbbed your clit, pressing lightly.

You hugged him trying to hold on this world. With his other hand stiles took your chin and kissed you. His tongue swirling with yours, swallowing all your moans. “fuck Stiles! I-I'm g-gonna- ahh!” you couldn't finish your sentence when you came all around his fingers.

“holy shit” he whispered trying not to move his hips against yours.

[kining-the-evil]

Kinktober Day 1 Cockwarming with Sam Carpenter

Warnings: soft!Dom Sam, fem!reader, use of pet names like princess/good girl/pretty girl, cockwarming, strap on, vibrating strap on

Taglist: @flowercrowns-goodvibes @hurlonsororitygirls

Kinktober Masterlist Other Masterlists

Sam knew how tired you’d been the past week. Between work and your final year of college, times to relax had been few and and far between. So when you finally had a day off, she wanted to make the most of it. Canceling her plans for the day, convincing Tara and Quinn to be out of the house the night before and for the day, dinner reservation at your favorite restaurant, and anything else you’d want to do. But her first plan for the day was to really help you relax.

You had stayed the night before, and as normal, Sam woke up before you. She had to slowly maneuver out of your arms and out of the bed to grab what she needed. Your favorite strap on dildo. When she came back to the bed, Sam took a moment to admire your sleeping form. The blanket was only half covering you, showing off the riding up tee shirt and underwear you’d wore to bed.

Carefully, she climbed back into the bed and pulled you to her chest. The sudden movement caused you to start to wake up, eyes squinting slightly as you gained conciseness.

“Morning, princess,” Sam greeted with a kiss to the back of your head. You rolled over, giving your girlfriend a small smile.

“ ‘mornin,” you mumbled before kissing her lightly. As the two of you kissed, Sam shifted her hips slightly to make the strap rub against you. You froze at the feeling, causing Sam to chuckle.

“Thought you could use some stress relief this morning.” She spoke against your lips, rubbing small circles on your hips. “How’s that sound?”

You nodded quickly, but a small pinch to your side had you mumbling a ‘yea please.’ Sam reached down to pull your underwear to the side, running a finger through your exposed heat to collect a bit of your liquids.

“So wet, and I haven’t even done anything yet,” she tisked, making you blush.

She slowly slid a finger in, thrusting it slowly before inserting a second one to scissor you open. You moaned at the feeling, rolling your hips to meet the thrusts and she allowed you too. When she thought you were stretched enough she pulled her fingers out, making you whine.

“Don’t. I know you want comes next.” Sam scolded, pulling her fingers up to examine how wet they are before putting them in her mouth to suck clean. “Taste so Sweet.”

You blushed at her words, but quickly forgot about it when she pushed the strap into you. “Ahh, Sam…” you moaned, trying to move your hip, but she caught them in a tight grip.

“No.”

“But You Said-“

“I said I was going to provide some stress relief, not fuck you,” she cut off your whine with her words. “Now stay still while we relax in bed.”

Her tone left no room for argument so you hid your face in the crook of her neck. The two of you laid there for a bit, cuddling as you tried to forget the large toy stretching you out.

After a bit, Sam shifted slightly. You whimpered at the movement inside you, but assumed that Sam was just stretching. However, she was actually grabbing a small remote.

This little remote was what made it the both of your guy’s toy. With a flick of the button, the toy began vibrating inside you, making you jump as much as you could from your position of laying on your side.

“Don’t move,” Sam warned as she went back to rubbing circles on your hips. Anytime you started to jerk or tried to fuck yourself she would tighten her grip so you would stay completely still.

“Sam…please,” you begged, hiding your face in her neck as your breath was labored. You were close, so close, but you didn’t know if you’d be allowed to cum.

“Please what, princess?”

“Need to cum,” you whispered as tears started to leak from your eyes. Your legs were shaking, and a thick coat of sweat covered your body.

“Go ahead princess, you’ve been so good for me.” Sam praised as you let yourself cum. Your muscles locked up as you moaned her name loudly, nails digging into her shoulders as you clung to her.

“There You go…” Sam mumbled, leaving the vibrations on as you road out the high before turning it off. You panted against her, your body going limp while Sam kept the strap buried deep in you. “Feel relaxed, princess?”

You nodded, giving her a tired smile. “Very.”

Sam placed little kisses along your face and neck, rubbing your soar muscles. “You know,” she started against your neck. “I bet I could make you more relaxed.”

You frowned slightly at her words before the toy came to life inside you again, making you yelp. Before you could even think about moving Sam’s arms wrapped securely around you, keeping you flush against her. “Just lay here and look pretty baby, and I’ll make you feel so good. And later, you can repay me by letting me ride that pretty face.”

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Housewife » Steve Kemp

October 27th

Pairings: Steve Kemp x Reader

Summary: Steve keeps the reader as his housewife.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink, housewife kink, breeding kink, pet names (honey, sweetheart)

Written on my phone so sorry if there’s any mistakes or typos.

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡

You were in the kitchen, about to start dinner when you heard the door open and close. You smiled when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist from behind.

“Hi Stevie. How was work?” You asked, turning your head to kiss his cheek.

“Tiring, but I’m better now that I have you in my arms.” Steve says, kissing your neck softly.

You gasped when you felt his teeth bite down onto your skin, hard enough to leave a hickey behind. A tingling feeling shot through your body. One of Steve’s hands slid down your body, blindly finding the hem of your dress. His hand disappeared underneath your dress, only to find out that you weren’t wearing panties.

“No panties, huh?” He says.

“Mhmm no. I thought I’d make it easier for you when you got home.” You say, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

Steve’s middle and ring fingers rubbed in between your wet folds causing you to moan softly.

“You’re so wet. Is all of it for me?” He asks, kissing just below your ear.

“Yes!” You gasped. “Only you!” You moaned.

His fingers rubbed your clit in circles while his fingers on his other hand teased your entrance. Your eyes fluttered shut and your jaw dropped when you felt his fingers slid inside of your pussy.

“Steve!” You moaned.

Your hands gripped the edge of the kitchen counter to steady yourself.

“Such a good little wife for me.” Steve praises.

You moaned when he called you his wife.

“You like that, honey? You like it when I call you my wife?” He whispers in your ear.

“Yes!” You moaned.

His fingers moved faster on your clit and in your pussy. A loud moan left your lips when Steve slid a third finger inside of you, stretching you out. His fingers hit your sweet spot causing your to throw your head back against his shoulder. Steve placed kisses along the side of your neck, nipping on your skin hard enough to leave more hickeys behind. You felt your lower abdomen tighten, feeling your orgasm about to come crashing down on you. You held onto the kitchen counter for dear life when you felt your knees become weak.

“Stevie!” You moaned.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart?” He asks in almost a whisper.

“Mhmm yes!” You moaned.

“Cum for me, honey.” He says.

Within seconds your orgasm came crashing down on you. His name left your lips as you came on his fingers. His fingers fucked you through your orgasm, slowly coming to a stop. Steve pulled his fingers out of you and licked your juices off of his fingers, moaning at the taste.

Suddenly, he bent you over the kitchen counter and kicked your feet apart with his foot. He bunched your dress up above your hips. You bit your bottom lip when you heard the sound of his belt being unbuckled. Steve pulled down his jeans and boxers just enough for his hard cock to spring out, his tip leaking with precum. You gasped when you felt the tip of his cock in between your wet folds, bumping your sensitive clit.

“My wife deserves to be fucked, doesn’t she?” Steve says.

“Mhmm yes I do.” You hummed.

Steve slid his whole cock inside of you in one thrust. His hands gripped your hips, almost bruising and started thrusting. His thrusts were fast and hard, but also lovingly.

“I’ve been waiting for this all fucking day.” Steve groans, tilting his head back.

“Mhmm, me too.” You agreed while moaning.

The sound of skin slapping filled the kitchen. One of Steve’s hands left your hips and snaked down to your clit, rubbing it in fast circles. Your pussy clenched at the feeling of his fingers against your sensitive clit.

“I won’t last long if you keep doing that.” He moans.

His fingers moved faster on your clit causing you to move yourself back against him. Usually Steve would spank you for doing that, but he didn’t this time.

“So fucking desperate for my cock, aren’t ya, sweetheart?” He says with a smirk.

“Mhmm!” You hummed.

“So fucking desperate that you want me to cum inside of this tight little pussy so you’ll have my babies.” He says, almost darkly.

You moaned at his dirty words. You want that more than anything. You felt your second orgasm approaching you quickly. It was about to come crashing down on you once again.

“Stevie! I- fuck! I’m gonna cum!” You moaned.

“Cum for me, honey.” He says in almost a whisper.

A loud moan left your lips as you came for a second time. Steve wasn’t too far behind you. His cock twitched inside of you, nearing his orgasm.

“Shit! Gonna fill this pussy up till you’re full of me.” He pants.

“Yes please!” You moaned.

Your name fell from Steve’s lips as he came inside of you, painting your walls. He thrusted a few more times before coming to a slow stop. He leaned over you, trapping your body behind his body and the counter. Steve gently turned your head and kissed you passionately.

“I love you, my beautiful wife.” Steve says against your lips.

“I love you too, Stevie.” You say in almost a whisper.

🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡

-Bucky’s Doll

[floralcyanide]

˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2023! ―

― day ten ⛧ mutual masturbation

Austin Butler x F!Reader

A little naughty fun ensues with you and your boyfriend, Austin.

warnings: smut, mutual masturbation, masturbation, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, nipple play

word count: 612

author's note: I'm soo sorry this is so late jfc but I'm catching up rn. I've been super busy but I'm finally on fall break lol I hope yall enjoy!! I appreciate feedback (:

kinktober masterpost | kinktober taglist form | main masterlist | main taglist form

You’re laying on Austin’s chest, lightly running your hand along his toned skin. Your cheek is pressed into him as you watch him lazily stroke his cock, and you can feel his breath hitch when he flicks his wrist slightly to change his rhythm. You lick your lips as you see his cock harden more, his tip reddening. Running your fingertips along Austin’s torso makes his skin jump, and you glance up at him. He looks down at you, his mouth slightly agape as his eyes begin to glaze over. Austin notices how you’re rubbing your thighs together under the sheets.

“Are you not gonna touch yourself?” he asks.

You hum, removing your hand from Austin. You open your legs, tossing one over his stomach as you slip your hand between your thighs. Slowly, you rub your clit through your underwear, kissing the skin of Austin’s peck that’s by your face. You groan as your fingertips rub the bundle of nerves just right. Moving your underwear to the side, you let yourself get lost in the feeling of pleasure coursing through your belly as you circle your bare clit. 

“Think you can fit a finger in that hot cunt of yours?” Austin asks, his voice deep with lust.

“Yeah,” you say, nipping at Austin’s nipple playfully, causing him to jerk into his hand.

“Do that again,” Austin sighs.

As you slip a finger inside your wetness, you wrap your lips around Austin’s nipple, sucking lightly. He moans quietly, moving his hand along his shaft a little faster. The sounds he’s making cause you to clench around your finger, your walls fluttering as you curl the digit. You’re panting as you lap at Austin’s nipple, watching his face contort through your lashes. You push another finger inside your pussy, flipping over on your stomach as you keep your leg over Austin. Being spread open further allows your fingers to reach deeper inside your cunt, your free hand playing with your clit. You’re still positioned over Austin’s chest, biting and sucking his nipples and supple skin. He lets out small noises of pleasure as he fucks his hand quickly. You feel yourself getting close to your release, the sound of you and Austin’s moans blending together. Watching Austin as he pumps his cock makes your urge to take him into your mouth stronger as each moment passes. So you do, catching him off guard. You swirl your tongue around him, hollowing your cheeks and letting him fuck into your face. 

“Fuck, get on top,” Austin ushers you to move.

Fully removing your underwear, you slide on top of him, lining his cock with your soaking entrance before sinking down on him. Austin grabs your hips and guides you up and down his length, your moans urging him to thrust into you faster. He grunts as he brushes your cervix, and you clench hard around him. Your nails graze his chest, clipping his nipples and causing him to thrust into you further. You’re bouncing as fast as you can on Austin’s perfect cock, relishing in the feeling of his tip slamming into you. As he fucks you, he hits all the spots inside you that are sending you closer to the edge. Slamming down onto Austin harshly as he pushes deeply inside you, your toes curl as your orgasm washes over you. Your orgasm triggers Austin’s as he empties his cum into your pulsating cunt. You’re catching your breath as you ride Austin slowly, letting both of you finish your highs. 

“We have to do that more often,” Austin grins, letting his hands roam your body.

“That was so hot,” you pant, “We definitely should.”

taglist:

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(if you signed up to be on the taglist and do not see your name, your tag failed or you may have typed the wrong url.)

[leahrintarou]

☠︎︎ TSUKISHIMA - TOYS

☠︎︎ KUROO - EDGING

☠︎︎ KAGEYAMA - THIGH RIDING

☠︎︎ YACHI - VOYERISM

☠︎︎ SUNA - SPIT/BITING

☠︎︎ AKAASHI - COCKWARMING

☠︎︎ KENMA - MASKED

☠︎︎ SAKUSA - DACRYFILIA

☠︎︎ MIYA TWINS - THREESOME

☠︎︎ SUNA - SIZE KINK

☠︎︎ KITA - AFTERCARE

☠︎︎ IWAIZUMI - MARKING

☠︎︎ TENDOU - QUIROFILIA

☠︎︎ GOSHIKI - BONDAGE

☠︎︎ SUGAWARA - GAGGING

☠︎︎ KIYOKO - STRIPTEASE

☠︎︎ USHIJIMA - CORRUPTION

☠︎︎ KENMA - STRESS

☠︎︎ SEMI - DRY HUMPING

☠︎︎ BOKUTO - BODY WORSHIP

☠︎︎ AKAASHI - PIERCINGS

☠︎︎ SAKUSA - CUNNILINGUS

☠︎︎ TERUSHIMA - SAFE WORD

☠︎︎ SUNA - PUBLIC

☠︎︎ OIKAWA - TOUCH STARVED

☠︎︎ ATSUMU - OVERSTIMULATION

[otakusheep15]

Obey Me Kinktober 2022

Day 1: 69ing - Diavolo

Day 2: Impact play - Simeon

Day 3: Handjob - Barbatos

Day 4: Body swap - Leviathan

Day 5: Morning sex - Beelzebub

Day 6: Body worship - Asmodeus

Day 7: Collaring - Satan

Day 8: Shower sex - Solomon

Day 9: Creampie - Belphegor

Day 10: Tabel sex - Lucifer

Day 11: Sugar daddy - Mammon

Day 12: Stockings - Solomon

Day 13: DP (two holes) - Diavolo + Lucifer

Day 14: Begging - Leviathan

Day 15: Period sex - Beelzebub

Day 16: Xenophilia - Satan

Day 17: Strap on - Simeon

Day 18: Boot worship - Mammon

Day 19: Phone sex - Barbatos

Day 20: Sex pollen - Asmodeus

Day 21: Facial - Belphegor

Day 22: Aftercare - Diavolo

Day 23: Hair pulling - Mammon

Day 24: Free use - Barbatos

Day 25: Masturbation - Lucifer

Day 26: Voice kink - Satan

Day 27: Fisting - Simeon

Day 28: A/B/O - Belphegor

Day 29: Marking - Leviathan

Day 30: Sensory deprivation - Asmodeus + Solomon

Day 31: Sex toys - Beelzebub

[braveclementine]

October 22: Sex Pollen (Loki Laufeyson)❤️

Warnings: could be seen as non-con, royalty kink, induced sex

Copyright: I do not own Loki (please kidnap me Loki) or any other Marvel/MCU characters. I also do not condone any copying of this.

"What exactly is it?" You asked Bruce as he showed you a new, interesting specimen that had been found in space and brought back to Earth.

It was a beautiful flower of sorts, bright pink with white teardrops on the petals. The stem was green and a little purple where the stem curled up to the petals.

"I'm not sure yet." Bruce said, moving away from the table to go and sit behind his computer. "I do know that it is from the planet Kuth." He said, showing you a picture of an Earth-like planet with a turquoise sky and a field of these flowers that had signs around them, as though warding people to be careful of the flower patch. "Could be dangerous, might not be. Perhaps Loki or Thor or one of the Guardians will know. Loki's coming. . . when?"

"This Saturday." You said happily, missing your best friend and crush- though no one actually knew about the latter part.

"Excited to see him again?" Bruce asked skeptically.

"I know, I know, he's a terrible Midgardian killing God, but we're friends and that's behind him now." You said. "Plus, he was being slightly controlled by Ronan and Thanos, just like Bucky was controlled by HYDRA and you all like Bucky."

"Fair." Bruce relented. "But not everyone sees it like that either."

"And some people still think Bucky ought to be given the Death Penalty." You pointed out.

"Fair again." Bruce admitted. "Anyways, make sure that you keep away from this until I can figure out what it is. If its' poisonous, we wouldn't want a disease to break out over the city."

"Will do boss." You said cheekily and then made your way out of the room.

You couldn't wait to show Loki!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"It's a flower?" Loki asked skeptically.

The two of you were standing on the balcony, overlooking the pool. The other Avengers were stripped down to swim trunks and two-piece bathing suits, enjoying the nice day. Steve and Fury were barbequing on the grill with some help from Sam, while the girls were sunbathing on the law chairs.

Tony, Stephen, and Bruce were deep in conversation about something, a handful of beers on the table in front of them.

Thor was sitting in the pool, Parker and some of his friends from school in there too.

Bucky meanwhile was playing cornhole with Clint, Rhodey, and T'Challa.

"A beautiful flower." You clarified. You and Loki were pretty much alone on the balcony. Loki was wearing his normal Asgardian wear as he hadn't felt like wearing anything from Midgard, and you were wearing denim shorts and a shirt that you had tied off above the belly button.

"It's still a flower." Loki deadpanned, placing his hands on the railing, "What is this gathering they are doing?"

"It's called a pool party Lokes." You sighed, "C'mon, I want to show it to you."

Loki sighed, looking over at you. "Don't you want to join in on this pool party instead?"

You felt frustrated. You knew your crush was one-sided (as they always were), but you thought that Loki at least liked you as a friend. Or at least, you seemed to be the only one he tolerated. But friends shared things with each other all the time, right?

"No, I want to show you the flower which I'm not really supposed to show you because Bruce doesn't know what it is yet." You sighed, pushing away from the banister, "But it's okay. I realize guys don't really like those sorts of things. It's kind've hot, I'm gonna go inside."

Loki started for a moment, staring after you. He hoped he hadn't offended you, but flowers- well you even seemed to know they weren't something he'd want to see. But shit, it wasn't about him, it was about you.

"Wait!" He called, hurrying to catch the door, coming back into the building.

You were half tempted not to stop, but you did anyways, turning to look at him.

"I do want to see the flower, but I just didn't know if there was something else you'd rather do. The party looked like something you would've enjoyed." Loki explained.

Why the hell did he have to look so sexy? You wished you could see him in his pool garb. Black or green or gold swim trunks. No shirt. You imagined that he had a fit body underneath the layers of Asgardian leather. You could imagine black aviator shades on his face, his hair possibly pulled back into a ponytail.

You quickly shook your head to clear your thoughts and said, "Well, I knew you wouldn't enjoy the party. You don't really like them. Anyways, the flower is this way."

Immediately, he was caught off guard of your awareness for his likes and dislikes. Sure, he knew all of yours, perhaps even knowing more about you, than you did. But the fact that you were just as aware as him was strange.

Different.

Almost likable.

You led him down the hallway, taking the elevator to the bottom floor. You slipped into Bruce's lab, the door shutting behind the two of you. You led him over to the case display where he'd set up the flower under examination.

"It is quite unique." Loki admitted after looking at the flower for a moment. In reality, he was looking at you out of the corner of his eye. You were a strange mortal, no doubt, perhaps as unique as this flower in the right place. After all, this flower didn't stick out in its home, but it did on Earth. And he supposed each human was unique in their own way. You were just more special.

"I hope its not harmful." You said wistfully. "I want to know what it smells like."

Loki suddenly plucked the glass case off of the flower and you stared at him in shock, "What if it's poisonous! Loki put it back!"

"Calm down Y/N. A measly flower cannot kill me." Loki smiled, before lowering his nose down to smell the flower. After inhaling the scent, he pulled back. "Perhaps it is just me, but there seems to be a very strange smell coming from the flower. It's almost like. . . honey and almonds but that can't quite be right, can it?"

You bent down to smell the flower next. After all, it didn't seem to have affected Loki so it was probably safe.

Well that was strange because you didn't smell any of the things that Loki had smelt. Instead, you seemed to have smelt expensive leather, expensive cologne, and vanilla. Actually. . . it smelt a lot like Loki.

You laughed, "Kind've reminds me of Amortentia."

"What in the world is that?" Loki asked.

"It was a love potion in Harry Potter. Smells like the person that you are in love with so each person thinks the flower smells like something else." You explained.

Loki's cheeks flushed pink. "Ah I-"

But whatever he was going to say didn't matter, as two small pink hearts actually popped out of the flower. They were extremely small, small enough to fit on your pinky fingernail. They weren't filled in, but seemed rather a stencil. They floated upwards and you felt one land on the tip of your nose and looked to Loki in time to see the other hit him on the nose and then sink in.

"Are we dead?" You asked with fright.

Once again, he didn't get to answer because your lips were pressed together, your arms around each others necks. The kiss was messy and erotic, a clashing of lips, tongue, and teeth. It was like you were trying to devour each other, and neither of you were able to get any closer.

"This needs to come off." Loki growled, ripping the shirt from your body and you had no room to protest as you were feverishly stripping him of his Asgardian uniform, cursing the amount of layers he was wearing.

Loki attached his lips to your neck as you kicked off your own skirt, leaving you bare in front of him. Most of his clothes were off, though he wouldn't let you go to take his pants off. Those he shucked off himself.

It was like a very chaotic dream as the two of you seemed to almost wrestle with each other, over to one of the desks in the middle of the room. Loki swept everything off of the desk, making glass shatter, pens scatter, and papers drift out across the room.

Loki seemed to suddenly slam you down on the table, before plunging into you in a feral way. Your back arched off the table at the sudden intrusion, but you found that it had been a very easy entrance, as there was almost no pain.

"Fuck." You moaned, "Loki, faster."

"It's your highness to you." Loki growled again.

"Your highness!" You nearly screamed.

Everything seemed heightened, yet fuzzy. Like you couldn't even believe that your orgasm was already fast approaching and he'd barely been inside of your for a minute. Nor was he overstimulating you in any way that would make an orgasm approach so fast.

Your fingers dug into his forearms, spurring him on to move even faster inside of you, hips snapping against yours. You might've sworn that his balls were hitting you so hard in the ass that you'd have bruises tomorrow. His hands were definitely going to leave bruises all over your body from how tightly he was holding.

It was fuzzy though, like your brain wasn't really working. A small part in the back of your mind was telling you that this was bad, that this was wrong. It was going to ruin your friendship with Loki after all. How were the two of you going to recover after this? You were going to lose one of your best friends because of a stupid flower!

But that part was clear and the rest was fuzzy and you couldn't really focus on it with so much chaos going on around you. You were mostly feeling euphoric, barely even thinking about anything at all as your orgasm hit you like the impact of the bottom of a cliff.

You weren't sure how long you went or how many rounds or even how many orgasms. You know that you went from your back on the desk, to riding him on the floor, to being fucked into a chair, and then back to the floor.

It was like a dream and then the two of you seemed to slow down, things seemed to become clearer. The lights seemed less harsh and you realized that though the room was freezing cold, you were both covered in sweat.

You collapsed against Loki's chest and his arms drew you into him.

"Shit." He muttered. "I wasn't expecting that."

You were silent, heart pounding. You had had a crush on him for the longest time. You had wanted this for the longest time- but not like this. It was supposed to be mutual. It was supposed to be remarkable, rememberable.

You sat up slowly, searching for your clothes when Steve, Bruce, and Tony came walking in. Steve backpedaled so quickly upon seeing the two of you buck naked that he slammed his head into the doorframe, denting it rather effectively.

Bruce turned a nice shade of pink, covering his face with his hand.

Tony meanwhile, turned red and pointed to the stuff on the floor. "What did you do?!"

"I think that's very obvious Tony." Steve muttered, leaning his forehead on the wall so he didn't have to look at the two of you.

Loki seemed unconcerned, snapping his fingers so that clothes appeared on him again. Or maybe it was just an illusion, but either way you wished he could've done it for you.

You wrapped one of the office blankets around you and then you said, "Well, Bruce, we found out what your flower does."

[2kiran]

emememmemmm so can i basically js request overstimming horangi or smt (based off of ur alphabet at that part where he shifts into korean 🤷‍���️) idek im feelign silly

“ 𝐄𝐂𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘 ”

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐈𝐍’𝐓 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄. 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐄.

◜ᐢ..ᐢ◝ ᶻz ➜ guess you have to teach him english all over again.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𖤐 pairing ☆ kim “horangi” hong-jin x dom!gn!reader ˖ ࣪ ˖ cw ıllı handjob. fingering. overstimulation. google-translated korean. ⪩⭔⪨

“Hnngm!”

Horangi whined into his forearm, trying to keep his mouth shut as the pleasure he was experiencing was slowly becoming too much. Your slick hand was working up his spent cock. His previous orgasms allowing the glides of your palm to be easier.

Minutes prior, he had begged for his release, talking your eardrums off. Oh, he was definitely getting it.

“자기야— I can’t cu—ngggh!” ( honey ) His eyes nearly rolled back into his skull as you inch a finger inside his hole. “You can’t what?” You ask, the hand on his cock slowing enough to let him somewhat connect his thoughts.

“나는 더 이상 정액 수 없습니다...” ( i can’t cum anymore ) He mumbles under his breath, panting like a dog. His brain wires were twisted and crossed, tied in multiple knots as his stomach curls in anticipation of an impending release. The tongue that sits in his mouth was quickly forgetting English, replaced by his native tongue. He yelps, legs tightening around your waist when he feels the finger inside of him curl.

His thighs tremble at your sides. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, baby.” You tease, even though you’ve heard him say that enough times to register it’s meaning. “난 못해—” ( I can’t ) Your thumb presses against his slit and he whimpers. “I can’t! No more, no more, 더 이상은 없어! Ah-” He shakes his head, yet his hips chases after your hands that have been torturing him.

“Just one more and we’re done, alright?”

You both know that ‘one more’ doesn’t mean only one.

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[munsoninthedark86]

Kinktober 2022 Day 21: Intoxication(Spellbound)

warnings: smoking weed, cunnilingus, some dirty talk, some swearing, reader is 18 pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader word count: 1.2k

“Inhale, sweetheart. Just like I taught you,” Eddie coaxes as you smoke the joint. You do as he taught you.

You were hanging out with him after school, just chilling on his bed in his trailer. You told Eddie you’ve never been high, and he said he would help fix that. You had no clue he has a major crush on you and he plans on confessing to you while you’re both high.

“That’s it.” He praises you, which makes you grin.

“I’ve got a good teacher,” you say while giggling. The weed seems to be affecting you already or maybe it’s just a placebo effect. 

Eddie smirks, “Maybe I can teach you some other things.”

This makes your heart skip a beat. What does that mean anyway? Is he supposed to say things like that? You’ve been friends with him for a long time, but you wondered if maybe he meant he was going to teach you some sexual things. When Eddie notices the panic on your face, he quickly scrambles for a little white lie to smooth things over.

“Heh, I meant with D&D.”

This makes you laugh softly, and it’s the sweetest thing in the world to Eddie. He’s spent countless nights right on this bed, just thinking about you hanging out with him just like this. He’s so fucking happy you finally came to join him. And now you were getting high with him, and who knows what else could happen.

“Is that so?” You tease, and you lean a little closer to him as he puts out the joint.

“Yeah, I know you want to get better at it. I could maybe even teach you how to be a dungeon master,”

You swoon, “Really? I don’t know if I could be as good as you.”

Eddie smiles at you, just so in awe of how cute you are. He’s seconds from just kissing you and making your head whirl. He knows the worst thing that could happen is that you reject him, but he’s waited way too long to chicken out now. So he cups your cheek, and you blush profusely. It’s such an intimate gesture, and you aren’t really sure how to react. Especially with the weed making you feel a little more bubbly.

“Eddie,” you breathe. “What are you doing?”

He sighs, “Just trust me.”

He presses his lips to yours, and you feel like fireworks are going off inside of you. It’s amazing in every way, and even better than what you imagined. You often thought about how it might feel to kiss Eddie, but you were much too chicken to do it. Eddie was on cloud nine, relishing in the feel of your cushiony lips. When he pulls away, it’s only for a few moments to admire your sweet face. Then he begins kissing you more, this time with much more intimacy.

His large hands soothe down to your ass, and he pulls you onto his lips. The two of you begin making out, and Eddie is rock hard once you start grinding up against him. He guides your hip to thrust back and forth as the two of you kiss. His tongue slides into your mouth, and you let out a sweet moan when it rubs against yours. Your mind is so foggy with lust, you can barely make sense of anything else going on.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Eddie croons.

You’re blushing now, “Really?”

“Yeah, baby. I’ve thought you were beautiful since the day I laid eyes on you.”

He’s quick to push you back against his old mattress, and you hear one of your favorite songs playing from the stereo. Your heart swells with affection, because you know Eddie doesn’t necessarily love this band, but he bought the tape just for you. It makes you feel like such a princess. Eddie spoils you a lot, but you never really knew why until now.

“How about this, sweetheart? I’m going to lick your little pussy,”

“Eddie! W-wait! What?”

Eddie snickers, “You’re so cute. I wanna make you feel good,”

You won’t deny that the weed has made your panties even more soaked than they would be when you’re around Eddie. So you shyly agree to him going down on you. Eddie’s hands are shaking as he begins undressing you. Your cute little cotton panties make his cock so hard, and it throbs when he feels just how wet you are for him and you’ve only been making out. Your panties are clinging to your pussy lips.

Then, he pulls them down and you’re left with nothing on. You’re fully exposed to him, and he has such a raging hardon for you right now. He grunts as he adjusts his cock in his pants and settles on his stomach between your legs.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he praises, and he lets his fingers spread your folds.

“S-shut up,” you whine. This is all too much for you, but you don’t want it to stop.

Eddie leans in and chuckles softly as you begin squirming under his hot breath. Your little pussy just smells so good, and he knows it’s going to taste just as good. One lick of his tongue, and he’s hooked. He begins lapping at your wet slick like it’s the last thing he’ll ever taste. Without even thinking about it, Eddie begins rutting against the bed for some relief. Those sweet moans you let out for him drive him insane. He’s never going to be able to get the taste of your pussy off of his tongue now.

“So sweet.” he says between licks. “So fucking good,”

You buck up against his face, “Please, Eddie.”

He loves how you beg for him. He wonders if it’s because of the weed that you’re so wet or because of just being with him. Eddie hopes you have feelings for him just like he does for you. Even if you don’t, he figures he could settle for just being able to have this moment with you.

Your fingers tangle in his messy hair, and you tug slightly to pull him even closer. You’re dying to have more of him, and you know he won’t disappoint. You feel the tip of his index finger circling your hole, and it clenches around nothing in anticipation. You beg him to do more, and he chuckles darkly.

“Oh, such a sweet girl.”

You whine, “Don’t tease me, baby,”

He sucks on your clit just as his finger slips into you. It doesn’t take long for him to find that spongy spot deep inside of you. You shudder when you feel the coil in your stomach begin to tighten even more than previously thought. It’s so overwhelming, but you are enjoying every single second of it. You’re desperately trying to warn Eddie that you’re about to cum, but all that comes out are pitiful moans.

Your juices gush all over his mouth and his hand as you cum hard. His name falls from your lips so desperately and wantonly. Eddie grunts as he feels his balls tighten, and he’s falling off the edge right with you. Warmth pools in his boxers as shots of hot cum spurt from his cock. The two of you are riding your highs, desperately grinding. You have to gently push him away when the pleasure just becomes too much.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” You ask once you’ve caught your breath.

Eddie laughs, “Ah, ah, ah. A dungeon master doesn’t reveal all his tricks all at once.”

[cacodaemonia]

Fic Self-Recs

Fic authors self rec! List your favorite five fics that you've written, then tag at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

(Yes, this was originally an ask game, but I know some folks, myself included, have closed asks due to spam, so I guess it's a tag game now 😂)

Thanks for the tag, @elismor! These kinds of things are always so tough, haha (also, it could be kind of cool if there was an art version, since most of these tag things are focused on fics...)

My Heart's Red Muscle - (E, for one smut scene) I think this is probably my best fic, and also one of the longest. Cyborg!Waxer has no memories of his life before he came online. Paired with ARF trooper Boil, who doesn't seem to know what to do with him, Waxer has no idea how to fit in among clones when he's so very different. As he makes connections with those around him, he and Boil try to figure out who he might have been—and more importantly, who he is now.

Kinktober 2022 - (E, obviously) Set in the giant Open Skies AU. Where's that Trojan Horse smut post... Yeah so the fic is basically this for Waxer/Boil 😂

We Could Breathe Underwater - (T) What if shiny Waxer and Boil were both a bit Force-sensitive, and—oopsie, created a Force bond?

Interference - (T) Set in the RCAU/Open Skies AU, but it can be read as a standalone. It follows some OCs and canon characters as they figure out what Krell is up to on Umbara. The problem is that Torrent Company and Waxer's platoon are already on a collision course...

Fading Light and Cooling Space - (T, but heed the tags on this one) After Boil suffers through the horrifying events on Umbara, something nudges him to steal a strange necklace from Krell's body that teleports him to an even stranger place (and time?).

The last two fics are a bit older, so I'm sure they have a lot of room for technical improvement, but I still like them overall.

No-pressure tags: @lizardberries @theproblemwithstardust @come-chaos @valkeakuulas @whiskygoldwings

@marbled-polecat @petrifiedforests

[lemonylioness]

Too Much

Kinktober Masterlist

Kisame x Reader - Size Kink + Breath Play

Content Warnings: reverse cowgirl, Kisame's giant cock, choking (please do not try this at home), multiple orgasms, lots and lots of cum, dacryphilia, squirting, creampie

1.7k

“Ah- K-Kisa… I-it’s t-too m-much… I-it’s not g-gonna f-f-fit,” you sobbed up at the ceiling as Kisame stretched your tight, little pussy over his massive girth, his hands on your hips to steady you as you straddled his lap, your back flush to his chest as you arched and strained over the too large dick trying to fill you to the brim. The chair underneath the both of you groaned as he shifted his weight to help with the angle of entry, as frantic to be inside of you as you were to have him buried deep. He hadn’t even undressed himself, his jeans just unbuttoned and unzipped with his cock freed and eager for your cunt. 

“Shh, sweetheart, it will… It will, it’s just gonna take a moment. I’m going as slow as I can, okay?” The huge man behind you purred in your ear as he continued guiding your naked body down, sliding his cock into your quivering hole centimeter by centimeter as your heat trembled and pulsed around him, “You need to relax though, baby…Take a deep breath.”

You followed his quiet order, inhaling as deeply as you could before slowly letting it out, trying to get your muscles to relax, especially the ones that had Kisame’s considerably sized dick in a death grip. He decided to help by reaching between your legs to thumb at your throbbing clit, making you moan loudly and slide down further as your cunt gushed and pleasure sparked through the little bud. His large hand laced around your throat as you arched back against him harder and his other arm wrapped around your body, keeping you from wiggling back off of his cock as each shallow thrust stretched out your tight little hole more and more. 

It didn’t take much longer before you were seated firmly on his shaft, your hips and his finally coming together as the tip of his girth pressed tightly against your cervix though an inch of his shaft was still exposed. You moaned and whined as you spasmed around his thick length, trying to get used to how he filled you up more than anyone ever had before, the stretch was mind blowing. You could feel every ridge, every vein, every twitch as he settled back on the chair and the movement caused some friction within you, especially when he pulled you back to settle against him by your throat and his cock thrust impossibly deeper. 

“Oh… Yes… You feel amazing,” he groaned as you involuntarily clenched around him and whimpers started to escape you as you tried to move and get some more of the delicious friction, “Sit still, doll, I’ll start moving once you’re comfortable. I can feel you struggling around me.” 

Letting the thick smell of sex wash over you, you tried to sit still on his lap and relax again. You closed your eyes and worked to get lost in the heavy musty scent as well as Kisame’s own unique fragrance that reminded you of the ocean and beach. As soon as he felt your pussy soften around him, his hips thrust upward in a tight movement that you felt deep in your belly, tearing a long moan from you as he settled into a slow rhythm, barely dragging his cock in and out of your cunt with each heavy thrust. The stretch was intense as he gradually built his pace, his hand tightening its grip around the column of your throat to keep you in place as he worked your weeping little hole to its limits. 

Starting to lose yourself in the intense pleasure, you laid splayed open across Kisame’s lap, your nails digging into his forearms as his free hand squeezed your breast before moving to tug at your nipple. Twisting the erect bud between his fingers, he gently bounced you on his thighs letting gravity do most of the work while your toes curled and your legs spasmed. It was quickly growing to be too much as your cunt’s juices leaked around his enormous girth, overstimulation just around the corner as your body threatened to orgasm just from this shallow fucking. Feeling the fluttering warning in your pussy, he decided to increase his pace, wanting to feel you gush on his cock and planning to use the slick it would produce to work even deeper. He also increased the pressure on your throat, starting to cut off your oxygen supply, making your face tingle and your vision fuzz out, intensifying the feeling of what he was doing in your core. Each time before you blacked out, he gave you a gulp of air, using the volume and rhythm of the whimpers and moans you were making to guide him, letting you have air whenever you grew too quiet or started going limp in his grasp. 

Between his cock and his hand, it wasn’t long before you tensed and arched back violently on his lap, a loud cry of euphoria leaving your lips as your first climax spiked through your sopping, straining core, making your pussy clamp tightly around his girth and flood with slick, drenching you both. 

“Yes… That's it,” he groaned loudly, his hand dropping from your neck to trace a line down your shuddering body before coming back up in a rough caress, squeezing your breast for a moment as he caught his own breath, “That’s my girl.” His hips had stilled with his cock buried inside you, giving you a moment to collect the pieces as your legs shook and your cunt drooled all over his lap. As you worked to come back down to earth, one of his hands moved across your skin, raising goose flesh as you quickly sensitized, the other sneaking its way back to your throat, ready to hold you in place so he could take his pleasure from your quivering pussy once you were ready to start again. He gently tilted your head back on to his shoulder and patiently waited, his cock twitching deep inside you as a heated reminder. 

When your eyes finally fluttered open and met his dark, lustful gaze, he answered with a powerful thrust upward with his hips, at long last sheathing himself entirely in your oversensitive heat. The last inch that you hadn’t been able to take before was making a hell of a difference as he settled heavily inside of you, the bulge of his cock pronounced and straining in your belly. Kisame could see it, the sight making him grin as he reached down and pressed his hand against the protrusion, making you cry out as white hot pleasure arced through you. 

“F-fuck… K-kisa-“ you sobbed, writhing in his gasp, trying to escape the intense feeling that was making your pussy clench almost painfully. Escape was futile though as his arms kept you locked in place and exactly where he wanted. Ignoring your pathetic cries, he began dragging his dick in and out of your trembling walls, quickly building his pace as he fucked you roughly on his lap, your cunt heavenly with how tightly it was wrapped around his thick length. His orgasm was so close and he wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer, especially if you kept crying and gripping his cock the way you were. 

Soon both of his hands locked around your waist so he could guide your body like you were his own personal fuck sleeve, his girth working your overstimulated pussy past any kind of coherent pleasure, leaving you shuddering over him as you struggled to keep yourself together, every thrust threatening to drown you. His movements got sloppy, falling out of his tight rhythm as he started to grind deep into your womb every time your ass met his groin, his cock rearranging your guts and making you moan loudly. Tears ran down your face as you took the merciless pounding, your second climax threatening to tear through you with every movement of his hips and he took a deep satisfaction in having made you cry from how good his dick was. 

Finally, the dam burst inside of you and you arched back with a strangled cry, orgasming with such intensity that you saw stars before your vision blacked out, squirt after squirt of clear liquid forcing its way around his girth as you shook and spasmed. Kisame groaned loudly behind you, hunching over your shuddering form as he hit his own peak, his fingers digging into your waist. His hips bucked sharply up into you as he came, painting your walls with his thick seed, his cock flexing powerfully within you with each spurt of heat. Going boneless on his lap, you felt his cum fill up and stretch your womb before starting to leak out of your quivering cunt and down his cock as you reached capacity. You were both already such a mess of fluids that it didn’t matter, and he certainly didn’t care, still lost in the feeling of your pussy strangling his girth. With a deep grunt, he pulled himself out of the wreck of your cunt, compounding the problem as his seed spilled from your gapping, spent, little hole, leaving you to whine as you clenched around nothing after having been full for so long, your abused pussy fluttering and aching. 

Panting for breath, it took awhile for you to come back down as Kisame stroked your hair, his other arm tight around you, holding you to his chest as his half-hard erection bumped against your swollen cunt, making you whimper and squirm in his grip. A deep chuckle rumbled through his body as he held you closer, soothing you with soft whispers that he was done, there would be no more tonight, and that you were such a good girl, his good girl, and ghosting soft kisses across your temple once you were finally limp against him again, silence and warmth filling the air, until…

“See, I told you it would fit.”

[mariondeux]

DAY TWENTY-SEVEN ; Incubus | Kaoru Hakaze

CW ; NSFW, Dub-con, rough sex

WORD COUNT ; 310

PAIRING ; Incubus!Kaoru Hakaze x Male!Reader

FEMALE ALIGNED DNI.

If you would have known you’d be pinned against the dusty mansion floor and fucked against your will you wouldn’t have gone with your friends here. You would do anything just to see your friends again right now, your arms sprawled out in front of you as your nails dug into the old floorboards. Your body rubbed against the floor at each thrust into your ass, ripping a broken moan out of you. You were practically giving this incubus exactly what he wanted.

Your head gradually grew foggy as you felt yourself falling. And without you realizing it, you were begging and screaming for more of the cock fucking you. You were turned into nothing but a desperate slut, greedy for cock. Kaoru’s gray eyes flashed red as the black and red tattoo on his pelvis glowed weakly through each thrust. He was the best incubus in the underworld. He knew how to fuck someone until their mind broke and all they would ever want to think about was getting stuffed full so nicely.

As he got closer to release, his tattoo glowed brighter and he made sure to play with your dick to get you closer to orgasm. He thrusted into you harshly, memorizing where your prostate was as he continuously abused it. Kaoru bit his lip as your legs shook and you came, cum splattering onto the floor. He laughed dryly, grabbing your hips with both hands and slapping them right against his. His cum filled your ass as he consumed your energy, licking his lips at the sight of you so fucked out.

You were perfect. Maybe you could be his pet?

Kaoru stopped sucking in your energy, leaving you a good amount left so you wouldn’t die. He’ll keep feeding off of you, fucking you into nothing but a dumb, little lamb addicted to his cock.

TAGLIST ; @exhokai @shuvies @venniin @4kumaa @ambassadoro @noahrandom @1694 @ajaints @berrycolaa @twst-rui @kytesakuma @secretivemessenger @maxx0inwonderland @resluv

[preciouslandmermaid]

like dead-eyed sharks, Gotham watches (battinson x f!reader)

Note: This takes place pre-movie and you can find the rest of this series. (Part 1 here) (part 2 here)

Safety notes/Warnings: The Kinktober prompt was "blood kink/i just wanna see a man all beaten up and bloody" I have never written for that before and honestly...i think this fic got like away from me tbh. so im sorry if this isn't want u wanted lmao

Additional notes: No use of Y/N. established childhood friends with Bruce. confessions. secret identity revealed. canon-violence. cursing/explicit language. explicit consent during sexual content. smut. no physical descriptors are used for the reader. (and yes, dr. crane is absolutely cillian murphy/nolanverse dr. crane sue me)

prompt: blood kink pairing: battison/f!reader | warnings: explicit sexual content/above notes. bonus: on ao3, i split it into two chapters for ease of reading. the first half is plot, the second half is smut. ;) enjoy.

( read on ao3 ) || kinktober list

You lean on the railing of your small balcony and watch the streaks of red and white lights below. The cool night air kisses your skin and tousles your clothes. Gotham’s air has a burning singe to it too malicious to be reminiscent of a campfire. It’s more akin to a cigarette lit by the gas stove combined with cheap perfume. You toy with the invitation between your fingers. The swooping, gilded text is embossed across the creamy card stock and you rub your fingers over a specific sentence: This invitation a courtesy by Johnathan Crane, M.D.

Arkham hospital is having a charity auction.It’s an opportunity. One you maybe wouldn’t have gotten while working at the paper. But what’s the catch? What purpose would Crane have to invite you?You replay your short interview with the enigmatic, intelligent doctor. The man has secrets but who in Gotham doesn’t? This charity provides an opportunity to snoop around Arkham and talk to Dr. Mercer’s co-workers who refused to meet with you earlier. Below, several cars beep at the same time and it creates a strange, dissonant melody. Youcan’t pass this up.

You wonder if Bruce will front you some cash. It’ll be easier to blend in if you can pretend to try and buy a piece of artwork or maybe a little stone statue to use as a door stopper. You chuckle to yourself at the idea and brush the idea aside. You won’t use Bruce’s money to spend on frivolous artwork and sculptures that you cannot possibly fit inside your one bedroom apartment. That settles it. You have to attend. The soft pitter patter of fresh rainfall tings against the high rise windows, railings, and roofs. From high above, Gotham is shiny chrome and long dark shadows.

You wonder if Vengeance is in those shadows tonight.

You haven’t seen Batman since your failed chemistry experiment. Your lower stomach clenches at the memory and you willfully push the lustful thoughts aside. You and Vengeance have little reason to see each other right now. It’s been nothing but dead ends since Falcone avoided arrest. According to Gordon, the evidence locker was recently flooded due to a pipe burst and the analysis of your blood samples—containing whatever Falcone did to you—were destroyed.

So, you’ve been busy working on re-writing your Arkham article under Bruce’s employ. Your time as a vigilante journalist has dwindled. Yes, there are other stories in Gotham that need your attention, but none are as urgent as reviving the Arkham story. Plus your instincts keep telling you that it’s connected: Falcone. Dr. Mercer’s death. Arkham. The mysterious drugs.

There’s a thread here. You just have to find the right one to pull.

You flick your thumb against the card’s corner. You should tell him. Batman needs to know about this. If you want your plan to snoop around Arkham to succeed—you’re going to need Batman’s gadgets. You bend down, the wind and rainwater tickling the delicate skin at your temples, and click on the multi-colored lights that frame the balcony window. Your own secret call to the Bat.

You return inside, leave the sliding door unlocked and wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce gets a call from Alfred while driving down fourth street. His voice crackles warmly over the headphone inside Bruce’s ear, “she’s got her lights on.” Alfred knows to periodically check the security cameras they installed across the street of your apartment and Bruce is grateful for his vigilance.

He pivots his motorcycle and takes a sharp turn through an alleyway as a shortcut. Someone on the sidewalk shouts profanities at him.

The rainwater ricochets off his helmet and spins like a hyped-up Ferris wheel around the tires. He’s seen you a handful of times for coffee dates or short walks in the park. Never lingering. Never doing more than kissing you. No matter how badly he wants to. It’s stupid. He’s fucked you twice as Batman, felt your walls quiver around his fingers and cock, listened to your sweet cries and watched your pretty eyes roll back into your skull. And yet...

It’s Batman who you call for in the middle of the night. He suspects that Bruce—in your mind—is at home, maybe asleep, maybe pacing his study, maybe watching some black-and-white foreign film. He wishes he could invite you over, sleep next to you, show you how he feels about youwith slow kisses buried between your thighs, but he can’t. The night is for him. For Vengeance. Gotham never sleeps so why should he? He needs to be awake and on the prowl. He needs to be ready for anything and that includes answering your silent and iridescent call.

He stows his motorcycle in the usual safe spot within the alleyway and uses his grappling hook to ascend to your floor without entering the building. His heart pounds as it always does when you’re in close proximity. Like his heart is trying to escape his chest and offer itself to you.

He sucks in a breath before sliding open the door. One of your downstairs neighbors is boiling cabbage, there’s a pair of wet socks on your radiator, and a candle on your coffee table flickers with the influx of air from the balcony door. The sight and smells of your apartment are achingly familiar. He prefers it—this tiny, homey space—compared to his large and extravagant penthouse. But then again, he prefers anywhere where you are.

He wishes he could remove his cowl and lay his head in your lap, but he folds his arms across his chest and says, “what did you find?”

“Take a look.” You toss a card onto the coffee table and the laptop illuminates your face in a blue-white glow. “I’m rubbing elbows with the right people it seems.”

“Crane?” He mutters to himself while examining the fancy, expensive card stock. A charity at Arkham. It’s strange that they’re hosting at the hospital instead of a fancy hotel. He makes a mental note to check the guest list.

“Several of Dr. Mercer’s co-workers talked to me before Mercer died. And now they won’t talk to me. That means someone or all of them are dirty and in someone’s pocket.” You explain and your eyes are lit furiously from within, “I hoped I could use Dr. Crane to reach the other employees of Arkham and this is my chance.”

“Do you think Falcone is involved?”

You shrug, “if not him then it’s another one of Gotham’s criminals.”

Bruce considers this information. It’s a decent lead. You aren’t looking at him. Your eyes are glued to the computer screen as your fingers move across the keyboard in quick, precise strokes. He could watch you for hours but those are hours he doesn’t have. Gotham needs him. As much as he wants to linger in your presence and kiss you—those are luxuries he cannot afford despite his generational wealth. He sets the invitation back onto the table.

“What’s your plan?” He asks.

“It’s simple. I go to the charity, talk to anyone that I think is involved, then we meet up during the auction itself.” Your eyes flick up and down, but he gets the distinct sensation that you’re not sizing him up in a flirtatious manner. Your expression, your tone, and body language is cool and professional. It reminds him of the early days working together...before he kissed you and pressed you against the windows of the Wayne penthouse.

“I assume you’ve got a way to enter Arkham without being noticed.” You return your attention to the screen, “we can snoop through their offices.”

“They’re likely to increase security during the event.”

You wave a hand, “that’s why I’m telling you now. It gives us time to prepare.”

He clenches his jaw. You are an unstoppable force when a story is involved. Your safety might not matter to yourself, but it matters to him. He can do this alone. He can visit Arkham while the charity takes place and discover whatever Crane or Dr. Mercer’s associates are up to. You don’t need to put yourself at risk. Even the small risk of arrest makes his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest. He can’t protect Gotham and you at the same time.

He says, “I’ll go alone.”

“And do what?” Your nostrils flare, “punch some confessions out of doctors? No way, Batboy. I’m not letting you try and take this one from me. This is my story.”

“All you need is evidence.” He counters, “I can get that for you.” You stand from the couch and place your hands on your hips. You’re shorter but you glare up at him with the heat and intensity of a car lit by a Molotov cocktail. He holds your gaze and cherishes the burn he feels prickle across his skin.

“I need firsthand accounts.” You say, your voice firm and unyielding, “you could rifle through their paperwork and take pictures of every record available and it would take us months to find what we’re looking for. And who knows! Maybe Arkham will smarten up and wipe everything clean before I have the chance to publish.”

“You think people will talk to you at the auction?”

He watches your chest rise a little with your inhale. The way your eyelashes flutter close. You always closed your eyes before saying ‘yes’ to him. He wonders if you ever notice this little tell of yours—if it ever registers that the boy you scraped knees with and the man standing before you in black armor are the same.

“Yes,” You reply while opening your eyes, “I do.”

“Fine.” He bites out. Arguing with you is akin to arguing with a brick wall. “But, I’m not sending you in there without protection.” He won’t let what happened with you and Falcone happen ever again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You toy with the little black bracelet on your wrist. A gift from Vengeance. It’s simple and straightforward. All it takes is one little press of a button near your wristbone and it releases an electric shock more painful and debilitating than your average taser. He explained that he wanted you to have something in case anyone got ‘too close’. Honestly, you hope you don’t have to use it.

Arkham’s charity event is being held in the new wing of the hospital. There are currently no patients, but it’s the perfect location for the chairmen and board members to show off the latest technology, the new rooms, and convince Gotham’s rich and powerful to make donations.

You let out a small breath of relief as you take in the freshly painted walls and large windows covered by thin, latticed metal. At least it’s spacious.Some of the other wings within Arkham State Hospital tended to trigger your claustrophobia. The murmurs of conversation float through the circular room above the music of stringed instruments by the door. The windows within the high ceilings look down at you like large black eyes as they reflect Gotham’s dark skies.You think, they should’ve made this a daytime event. It would’ve been more remarkable.

The pamphlet in your left hand boasts about the ‘benefits of natural light while providing safety, comfort and security for our patients’. In other words—Arkham has patients that can’t go outside due to the security risk and this newly built wing is their solution.

The two other exits lead into hallways but those doors are closed and guarded by security. A sign is posted nearby that reads: For Private Tours – Inquire with Director Susan S.

“I was wondering if you received my invite,” a smooth voice says from your right side. You turn to see Dr. Crane wearing a tuxedo, his brown hair slicked away from his angular face and shining beneath the warm florescent light bulbs.

“Did your secretary not pass along my RSVP?”

“She didn’t,” His sharp blue eyes drop to your shoes and then rise to your face, his look appraising and yet distant, “but she’s new and you look gorgeous so I’ll let it go.” Dr. Crane offers you his elbow and you politely take it, sliding your hand into the crook of his arm and allowing him to lead you through the swarm of well-dressed and perfumed bodies.

Youdon’t know how Bruce stomached these events. His parents were socialites and humanitarians who believed in a brighter future for Gotham.Youwonder what they’d say about Arkham's recent addition.

Crane passes you a flute of champagne and you use the opportunity to ask him how he’s settling into Arkham. His lips tug into a smile that feels secretive. He bows his head toward you and his breath ghosts along your cheek and neck.

“Some of my co-workers dislike me,” says Crane, “but I don’t take it personally. Every place has their hazing routines, their cliques, and established loyalties.”

You notice the discreet looks being tossed your way. Bored, inquisitive, jealous, and others are outright scandalized. You suspect that someone’s told Crane who you actually are by now which means he invited you for a reason. Time to find a thread to pull, you think.

You ask, “did you invite me as your plus one to disrupt those routines and loyalties?”

His eyes glimmer, “I did.”

“I’m honored.” You press the rim of your champagne glass to your lips, then lower it, watching Crane’s gaze as they follow your every movement. “Why me, though?”

“I see myself in you,” Crane guides you to the middle of the room where some of the guests are dancing in slow waltzes and whispering business deals to each other. The dark sky of Gotham—light pollution never allows for twinkling stars—peers down at you like the eyes of a shark. You can guess where this is going. The music and conversation provides enough white noise to muffle your conversation as long as you and Crane continue to whisper. You set your champagne glass on a nearby tray.

Crane gently takes your hand and your black bracelet slides on your wrist. “I’ve done my homework after our first meeting.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t do research prior to our first meeting.” You chastise as one of your hands settle on his slim shoulder, “I gave your secretary my real name.”

“A mistake I intend to never repeat.” He leads the dance. It’s a simple box step that doesn’t require much effort nor skill, “thank you for that lesson.”

You smile. “The first one is free.”

His hand slides to your lower back as he nudges you closer, “you really are determined to uncover Arkham’s secrets, aren’t you?” He whispers into the shell of your ear. You glance around the room, ensuring no one is watching—and if they are—well, all they’ll see is Dr. Crane getting close to an attractive woman. He’s good at this. Something in your gut urges you to be careful and play it safe.

“I’m here for the auction, Crane.”

“You’re here for more than that.”

You avoid his keen perception and change tactics.

“You said I remind you of yourself. That’s a bold statement considering we’ve spoken once.” You narrow your eyes over his shoulder at a familiar face. A part-time nurse named Jessica who refused to speak to you after Dr. Mercer’s death. The color of her dress washes out her complexion and the necklace around her throat sparkles like freshly fallen snow. Crane pivots and you lose sight of her.

“I’m a good judge of character,” he replies without missing a step. “In fact, you and Dr. Jacobs...”

Dr. Jacobs. He was on your list as one of Dr. Mercer’s associates, but you never had the chance to interview him. In fact, you planned on following up with Dr. Jacobs after Mercer’s death, but the man wouldn’t return any of your calls. You chalked it up to grief. But now...

Crane continues, “you both have an inner fire that cannot be understated.” He slows his step and tilts his head back to meet your eyes—steady and true. Dr. Crane looks at you as if he’s gazing into a house fire. You swallow.

“They called you ‘quicksilver’ didn’t they? At the Gotham Gazette?” You sense his questions are rhetorical. “I found that fascinating. They named you after a chemical element, a Roman God, because you--” he says your name “—are a force to be reckoned with.”

He leans in, speaking low, “and I pity anyone who underestimates you.”

You comb through his compliments, his lingering looks, and piece together your response. His hand on your lower back threatens to burn through the fabric of your clothing. What will Crane gain by helping you? Does he know that Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Mercer knew each other? And if he’s not helping then he’s...merely pointing out that he sees your ambitious nature...and signaling that he’s the same.

You reply, “maybe I’ll talk to Dr. Jacobs tonight and find out if we’re as similar as you say.”

“I’m afraid he’s not here.” Dr. Crane sighs, “I believe he mentioned a family obligation conflicted with this event.”

Good. His office will be clear to search.

“That’s too bad.”

Dr. Crane smirks lightly, “indeed.” He leads you to the edge of the circle, “I believe I’ve monopolized enough of your time tonight.” He took your co-joined hands and pressed a polite, chaste kiss against your knuckles. Your gaze darts away from him. “I need to speak with a few of my colleagues.”

Finally! The sooner you can snoop the sooner you can leave Arkham.

“Of course,” You step aside and try to not let your eagerness show on your face, “I should go to the ladies room before the bidding begins.”

“I’ll save you a seat.” Dr. Crane says.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arkham’s security is not without its flaws. He and Alfred decided it would be more useful and less disruptive to hack into the system and program the cameras to play a loop of footage rather than try and disable the system from the outside. Thankfully, you needed access to the doctor’s offices which were far less patrolled and monitored than the area where Arkham housed its full-time patients.

An alert pings on his device. That’s his cue. He cuts through the skylight with a thin, blue laser. Then, using a handle with a glass-safe suction cup, he pulls the glass free and carefully sets it aside. Ideally, he’ll return through this skylight once the job is done.

He stands from his crouched position by the window and tests the tension in his repel line.It feels good, secure. He drops into Arkham State Hospital with a faint ‘zzzziiippp’ sound and lands behind you.

“You made it.” You whisper, relieved.

“Worried I wouldn’t?”

“More worried someone would catch me wandering the halls.” You smile a little and his heart squeezes, “I can only use the ‘I’m drunk’ excuse so many times before it gets suspicious.”

“We’ll be quick.” He checks the time, “Alfred said the camera feed will give us an hour, but we should plan for less.”

You set off toward the offices while holding up the flashlight on your phone, “we need to check out Dr. Jacobs’ office.”

The wood-paneled hallways are dimly lit and the only light source is the exit signs glowing red above doorways. The thin dark green carpet helps to muffle your footsteps. He takes a moment to appreciate you walking in front of him. He loves how efficient you are, how fearless, even when it threatens to give him a heart attack. And your ass looks incredible.

You stop in front of the metal double doors. A key card reader glows a muted yellow on the wall.

“Okay, your turn.”

“Why Dr. Jacobs?” He asks while approaching the key reader. He inserts a featureless key card into the slot. It’s attached to a device in his hand by a wide and thin wire and several numbers rapidly scan across the screen and illuminate his jaw in a greenish glow.

“Crane mentioned him.” Your rub your hands over your upper arms, “he said that Dr. Jacobs and I are similar because we’re ambitious. I don’t know. Crane doesn’t strike me as the type of person to say something without it meaning anything. He’s too smart for that.”

Bruce ignores the twinge of jealousy in his stomach. You aren’t interested in Crane. He knows that. You’re using Crane. But it still feels strange to hear you mention another man with a hint of admiration in your tone. He clenches his jaw. Crane isn’t that smart.

Bruce doesn’t look up from the device. “And you think he’s involved in Mercer’s death?”

“Mercer and Jacobs worked together and I never had the chance to interview him before Mercer died.” You lean in to watch the gadget in his palms, “I figured we would search the most likely suspects instead of digging through everyone’s desk.”

You continue, “we start with Jacobs, then Crane, and lastly Haywood.”

He mentally reflects on your files and notes. He should have known that you wouldn’t remove Crane from your list of suspects. Just because Crane wasn’t at Arkham at the same time as Mercer didn’t mean he was off the hook. You regarded everyone at Arkham with a low-level of suspicion. It didn’t matter if they were a groundskeeper, security, or head of the boardroom. Falcone’s payroll is the greatest mystery and it served to err on the side of caution when dealing with a dangerous criminal.

“Jessica Haywood?”

“Mhm.” The device beeps, the light turns green, and the doors click unlocked. “The jewelry she’s wearing tonight is well above the pay grade of a Per Diem nurse.”

Bruce unhooks the device from the reader and opens the door for you. You slip past him and for a brief second—the air lingers with your scent. His eyelashes flutter. It’s getting harder and harder to be this close. He pushes the thoughts from his mind and follow you into the personal offices of the doctors.

He says, “if Haywood is a part-time nurse, then she won’t have an office.”

“We’ll check HR for pay stubs and the nurse’s station log to see which floors and patients she’s worked with.”

Bruce grunts.

“You’ve thought of everything haven’t you?”

Your smile threatens to topple the walls inside his heart and drag his loyalty Gotham into the ocean.

“Mostly.”

Dr. Jacob’s office smells like cigarettes. Together you meticulously comb through his files, check under seat cushions, and search for false walls. Bruce plugs a USB into the ancient computer desktop. In ten minutes, he’s obtained the contents of Dr. Jacobs hard-drive and sent it to Alfred for decryption.

On the way to Crane’s office, he asks, “are you still going to re-interview Mercer’s patients?”

“Assuming my relationship to Crane allows me access then yes.”

His heart ignites, burning hot inside his chest, and he exhales sharp through his nostrils.What happened tonight between you and him?He clears his throat and says, “relationship?”

You laugh quietly. “Professional relationship, Batman. Like us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You realize how silly your words are the second they leave your mouth. Batman stops short and pins his steely blue gaze on you. You shouldn’t have compared you and Crane to you and Batman. They are completely different. Your relationship to Batman almost borders on friendship. Or maybe it’s more like...co-workers who never dated, but did hook up and now have underlying sexual tension.

“Okay, not like that.” You lift your hands, “I’m not out fighting crime with Dr. Crane.”

Some of the tension in Batman’s jaw lessens. “We don’t fight crime together.”

“Well, that’s because you haven’t taught me to fight.” You wiggle your bracelet wrist, “and honestly you’ve been overprotective lately.”

“You’re a civilian.” He counters gruffly.

“So are you.” You lean your shoulder against the wall as Batman crouches at Crane’s door to pick the lock. “Unless you’ve recently been hired by the PD?”

Batman looks up at you and all that dark makeup around his light blue eyes highlights their color and depth. Your skin prickles, hot and sharp and painfully—painfully aware of what those eyes look like during the throes of desperate and sweaty sex. You want to kick yourself. You’re loyal to Bruce, you want to be with Bruce, but that doesn’t erase the attraction you feel towards Vengeance. His eyes drop back to the doorknob and he leaves your question unanswered.

Dr. Crane’s office doesn’t smell like anything which is a relief to your nostrils after the toxic and cloying scent of stale cigarettes in Dr. Jacobs. There isn’t a desktop in Crane’s office which leads you to assume that he takes his laptop home with him. You start with the filing cabinet that Crane glanced at during your interview with him. Batman searches his desk. And you work in comfortable silence. The anticipation gnaws at your stomach.

Come on, Crane.You need something tangible so you can start putting pressure on the doctors and nurses who are involved. Yourfirst article proved that the corruption within Arkham travels all the way to the administration. Mercer said they were powerful which means other doctors are involved. They have to be. So what did Jacobs do? Why did Crane mention him?

You step from the filing cabinet and pace the small office with your arms crossed.

“Dr. Mercer was afraid. He didn’t want to keep giving the police drugs and administration told him to stay quiet. His patients spoke highly of him. His co-workers liked him. Mercer dislike how the administration ran things.” You repeat the story to yourself in the hopes that you’ll find the piece you missed.

“Then, he dies two weeks after I present my article and the Gazette fires me. That’s not a coincidence.”

Batman opens one of the filing cabinet drawers. You let him continue his work as you talk yourself through the file details. There were plenty of co-workers of Dr. Mercer that have issues with Arkham but they were typical standard labor complaints—not enough holiday time, staffing issues, or personality clashes with other doctors. Who else could you talk to?

“I can try Jessica. She stopped talking to me after his death, but I know she idolized Dr. Mercer. Maybe I can appeal to her. Find the humanity.” You pause and press your fist against your lips.

There’s no way she could afford that necklace. Either she has a very wealthy partner or she’s accepted a bribe to stay quiet. But why? What does she know? Or are they just afraid of anyone who MIGHT talk?

A low ‘thump’ noise comes from Batman’s corner of the room.

Batman asks, “what’s Dr. Jacobs title?”

“Chief Psychiatrist.”

You hear him move closer and you turn to meet his stormy eyes. “Quicksilver, you need to see this.” The filing cabinet drawer is open, but a hidden inner compartment is unhinged and Batman grips a thick manila folder.

He opens the folder on Crane’s empty desk. Your heart bottoms out into your shoes and you clamp your fingers over your mouth to muffle your gasp.

“Holy shit!” you breathe.

The file spills out with evidence of experimental trials on patients. Experiments aren’t uncommon at Arkham. Sometimes drug companies and Arkham will partner up to test treatments, but it goes through a whole process of licensing and legal clearance. But this--? You steady one palm against the desk and your knees threaten to collapse from under you. The experiments involved sedating the patients with experimental manufactured opioids and then exposing them to high-stress situations—like torture—to see if their bodies and minds could withstand the pressure while on the experimental pain medication.

“Dr. Mercer…” His name glares in black ink like a gallows noose tightening around your neck. He was involved in this?!

You recall his final words to you before his death, “The guilt,” Dr. Mercer said, his expression pained, “I think it might eat me alive, Silver. I can feel it’s teeth in my heart.”

Your fingers tremble as you lift your phone to take photos of the files. The tests, the results, the sign offs of two prominent doctors: Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Mercer. Your eyes scan through the dates. Eventually, Dr. Mercer’s name stopped appearing. The files shift into another direction. The pain medication is no longer the focal point. Instead, the abstract of the experiment is: ‘To discover the effects of hallucinogens on recovery and behavioral control.’

“Wait,” you flip the pages and count the dates, “what happened to the pain medication trials?”

“It looks like they started a new project.” Batman’s hard and armored shoulder brushes against your body and you tremble for an entirely different reason. You bite your lip and refocus your attention.

“Why didn’t Dr. Mercer tell me? He said he was giving drugs to cops not--” You let out a frustrated sigh, “subjecting mentally ill patients to torture and experimental off-market drugs.”

Gotham, even on her worst days, manages to surprise you. Youbelieved Mercer was one of the good ones. He wanted people to get better. He wanted to help. How could this get so twisted?

“Why does Crane have all this?” he grumbles.

“What do you mean? It’s obvious.”

Batman turns his head toward you, his eyes questioning, and you close your eyes.

“Dr. Jacobs has some big skeletons in his closet. There’s no saving his reputation from this. Arkham will have no choice but to fire him to save face and claim they knew nothing about this. And an internal investigation will likely take place after Jacobs is fired.” You gesture to the files on the desk. “That means Crane, the new blood of Arkham, has the perfect opportunity to apply for his position.”

You recall Crane’s secretive smile, his perceptive gaze, and deliberate and careful words. His glances at this cabinet during your first meeting were planned. He curated this moment from the start.

“He doesn’t want to be the one to blow the whistle on Arkham.”

“Because it would impact his chance at the job,” Batman guesses. It’s a fair enough assumption. You’d bet money on it if you were a betting woman.

You reply earnestly, “no one likes the person who reveals the truth.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Batman places his gloved hand over yours and gently squeezes your fingers, “Gotham needs people like you, Silver.”

Your lips shift into a grateful yet embarrassed smile.

“I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ARKHAM’S CORRUPTION BROUGHT TO LIGHT. The bold text slams across the headline with a grainy, colored photo Dr. Jacobs being arrested outside the hospital.

Every news outlet whether newspaper or television is reporting the story you wrote. The story secretly bankrolled by Bruce Wayne. Your childhood friend and sort-of boyfriend (you haven’t discussed labels yet). The article was published with an independent paper outside of Gotham. It spread like wildfire online and took Gotham by storm. The rest of the media vultures were forced to scramble to keep up.

And—it wouldn’t have been possible without Gotham’s caped crusader. Vengeance. The Bat. He cross-engineered the pain medication and it matched the drugs on the streets. Then, in a surprise twist, he revealed to Gordon that the ongoing hallucinogenic trial had components that matched your blood sample from your time with Falcone. Was it a little weird knowing Batman had your blood samples somewhere? Yes. But it led to the greater good so you chose to accept the weirdness.

The complied evidence encouraged Gordon to look into it. He obtained a warrant to search Dr. Jacobs home and office. His hard-drive contained copies of patient medical history and backups of all of his unethical experiments. ‘Sadly, the documents we found at his office were only the tip of the iceberg when it came to Jacobs little pet projects’, you think.

However, the search for his co-conspirators is in process. It’s likely that Dr. Jacobs provided Falcone with the drugs he used on you and the other girls, but you’re doubtful Falcone will face any justice for it. Falcone is too slippery and influential. It’ll take something big to take him down.

Everything was connected just not in the way you imagined.

You click away from the news article.

Arkham’s official statement is “we are saddened to hear that our chief psychiatrist took advantage of our patients and staff. His actions were never sanctioned by our hospital and our thoughts are with the families of the patients at this time.” A rather magnanimous statement considering they’re scrambling for any good PR coverage lately.

You grab your coat from the edge of the couch and check your phone.

The text from Bruce reads: I’m outside.

You haven’t processed everything that’s happened in the span of a week. Gotham Gazette offered you a job with a pay raise and corner office. Dr. Crane mailed you a thank you note for attending the charity auction. The words were typed, concise, and polite. But you see it for what it truly is—Thank you for taking out the competition. Dr. Mercer’s involvement in the experiments is a tender sore on your heart. You never uncovered if Falcone or someone else killed him and now it’s over. You wish you could have put Falcone and his associates behind bars. But you’re forced to settle for shutting down Falcone’s drug connection.

It’s a victory. Victories are rare in Gotham especially for those on the side of justice. You try to remember that.

Arkham will move on. Gotham will move on.

And you have to move on too. There are other stories to be written, truths to bring into the light. You have a date tonight with Bruce and you’re determined to enjoy it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You loop your arm around Bruce’s elbow as you walk down the sidewalk toward his car.

“I appreciate that you came out, you know.” You say with fondness laced through your tone. “I know you prefer staying in.”

He’s a recluse, but he comes out to meet you every time you ask. You’re grateful the paparazzi are too swept up in the Dr. Jacobs story to care about the enigmatic Bruce Wayne. You know how he feels about being in the public eye and you don’t want any unnecessary strain added to this new, budding relationship. Life feels almost normal when you’re like this…There’s no lead to chase, no witnesses to interview, no late night sleuthing through the library archives.

His lips twitch upward. “I don’t mind it.” His clear blue eyes glance sidelong toward you, his sooty eyelashes flutter against his pale cheeks, “as long as it’s with you.”

“Hmm?” You lean closer into his side and let the expensive woolly warmth of his jacket seep into your elbow and arm. “Sounds like you’ve got a soft spot for me, Brucie.” You use the nickname from your youth and Bruce reflexively cringes.

“Maybe,” he teases, “but can you blame me?” He suddenly draws to a stop and cradles your cheek with one hand. You lean into the familiar mounds of his palm, the curve of his fingers. The chilly air of Gotham drifts through your legs and curls around your ankles. Every nerve in your body sings with joy at his closeness. Who knew you’d go from childhood friends, to strangers, to this? The tender display of public affection is enough to send your heart into overdrive and your pulse throbs inside your ears.

He gazes at you, pupils dilated, lips softly parted. You think he might kiss you at any moment. Bruce tends to get this look before kissing you—like he can’t believe it, like he thinks he’s dreaming. Your faces draw imperceptibly closer as if pulled by an invisible string. His breath is warm on your lips. It’s a delightful contrast to the chilled wind that tugs at your coat and sneaks cold kisses behind your ears. Your eyes slip shut.

“Oof!” Bruce exclaims. A blunt pain ricochets into your side. Your eyes spring open. You have barely enough time to throw your hands out and catch yourself as you’re knocked sideways and onto the hard and uneven asphalt. You wince as your skin scrapes against the ground. Bruce is on his hands and knees, his eyes wide, hair falling in dark strands in front of his face. A masked assailant towers above him with a wooden baseball bat. Oh God. Oh God.

“Story should’ve stayed dead, bitch!” Someone shouts before their boot stomps into your lower spine and pins you to the asphalt. Instinct takes over. Fear overrides logic. Your breath comes out in haggard puffs. The dark bracelet from Batman glimmers in your peripheral vision. You just need to get close enough. The boot lifts from your back. Someone grunts. The sound of shoes scuffling on the pavement reverberates in your head. Now is your chance! The boot returns with a swift, hard kick into your rib cage.

The air is forced from your lungs in a pained exhale. Everything feels raw. Your throat constricts. Another kick. The world blurs with tears. Your body instinctively curls like a wounded creature. One arm wraps around your stomach and the other to your head. The bracelet dangles like a cherished heirloom in front of your eyes. Batman showed you how to use it, but you can’t activate it from this position, can you? You need your hands free. The next kick hits your shinbone. The pain is acute and travels up your knee. You squeeze your eyes shut. What about Bruce?! You hate this stupid parking lot. You hate that no one is stopping to help or intervene. You hate that you can’t think and that your body is tense and trembling in preparation of the next blow. You hate the helpless feeling that’s building inside your chest and shaking salty tears from your lashes.

Someone is laughing. A slurred, drunk sound. “This one’s got some fight in him!”

“Whadda you think we should we do with him?”

“Just knock him out!” The one above you yells, “we’re here for her. Not him.”

Three. Three voices. There’s three of them. The next kick hits your shoulder and your forced onto your back. There’s no time to prepare, no time to cry out, as the boot presses into your throat. Fuck! You glance quickly to where Bruce was and see that he’s fighting—you gurgle as your assailant applies pressure to your neck and glares down at you through the holes in his ski-mask. A ski mask? What a cliché. An unexpected, hysterical laugh bubbles out of you. You flail and scratch your nails against his denim covered leg.

“This is what happens to nosy journalists in Gotham,” he sneers from above, “you should have just kept your pretty mouth shut and wrote stories about missing puppies and shit.” Several white dots dance around your vision.

Bruce grunts in pain. Your worry for his safety abruptly overrides your fear and hysteria. You don’t care if these guys are here to kill you or scare you, but you aren’t going to let them keep hurting Bruce. His only crime was being close to you. If he wasn’t here with you...then this never would’ve happened. You aren’t powerless. You aren’t helpless.

You release your hands from the thug’s leg and grab your bracelet. Muscle memory takes over. You presses into the spot near your wristbone and the bracelet hums to life. Two prongs like a spider’s fangs eject from the edge of the bracelet near the back of your hand. You slam the fangs into your assailant’s leg. They easily bite through the fabric of his jeans. The electric shock throws him off-balance and he convulses with a screech of pain. Your lungs rapidly expand as if to greedily swallow the air you were denied. You roll onto your stomach, onto your hands and knees, before pulling yourself upright. The scene comes to you in broken, jagged pieces.

The leader in the ski mask is on the ground sprawled out and twitching. If he’s dead then good riddance even though you’d like to know who sent him. The other two thugs are on the ground and Bruce is standing over them—chest heaving, his dark hair in disarray, his bloodied fists clenched at his sides, his chin smeared with blood from a split lip.

You exhale, “Bruce.” It’s unclear who moves first: you or him. Your arms encircle his middle and he clutches you to his chest like you’re going to fade into smoke.

“You’re okay?” His voice is raw and trembling, he strokes the sides of your face, your arms, your shoulders with desperate and careful motions, his eyes roam every inch of you, “you’re okay?”

You manage to nod. It’s surreal. You’re no stranger to violence in Gotham. You’ve run from drug dealers, used pepper spray on someone trying to steal your car, veered off the road due to a high speed chance, and not to mention your time with Falcone—your investigative journalism is a high risk occupation. But you’ve never been scared like this before. You can’t help but wonder if it’s because Bruce was involved. You feared for his safety. You refused to entertain the thought of losing him.

“Let’s go—let’s go.” He urges, pulling you by the elbow to his car, “c’mon, Silver.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I’m so sorry.” It’s your fault. Bruce paid for the story, but you’ll pay the price of exposing Arkham for the rest of your life. “I’m sorry...”

Bruce shakes his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You don’t recall the drive to Wayne Penthouse. You sat in the passenger seat with your eyes closed, your hands cupped around your head between your knees, forcing air into your lungs and exhaling slowly until your heart regulated. Bruce is painfully quiet. You don’t register anything until the purring car engine shuts off.

“Bruce,” you begin, lifting your head, “I’m so sorry.” Bruce is staring straight ahead at the concrete wall of his garage, raw knuckles clenched around the steering wheel, his eyes closed. His expression pained and closed-off. Your feel your heart drag across razor blades. He fought for you, bled for you. You’re relieved he could hold his own and grateful that the thugs didn’t bring any weapons besides wooden baseball bats and bare fists. You don’t want to think about what could’ve happened if any of them had a gun.

He rasps, “Don’t.”

You unbuckle and angle yourself toward him. Your bruised skin bristles with pain at the twist of your spine and shift of your hips. You need to explain. You need to help him see. This is an unfortunate part of the life you lead. He once joked that you were a ‘journalist with a death wish’. It’s not true, of course. You have no desire to die. But you have and will continue to suffer for the sake of Gotham’s truth. When you pursue influential people and start airing their dirty laundry, they will use their power, wealth, and any illegal or legal resources to try and scare you away.

Unfortunately for them, you aren’t easily cowed. What was it Falcone said? You’ve got Gotham in your blood. Gotham raised you. She taught you how to read people, and be resourceful, and hungry for truth.

“Bruce—they wanted me. They wanted to punish me for the Arkham article.”

“I know.”

“If you weren’t with me…” You trail off and look at the center dashboard of his expensive designer car. The guilt gnaws at your bones, threatening to break them. Bruce grabs your chin. His grip isn’t painful—it never is—but it is pointed, urgent, and he yanks your face toward his.

His lips press into yours without warning. Your mouth opens for him and a faint taste of copper bites your tongue. You’ve kissed Bruce more than a dozen times. But never like this.

His tongue moves in desperate, messy strokes and each movement sends a hot and powerful spark to your core. He groans loudly into your mouth, cupping the back of your skull, keeping you close, not even allowing you to break away to breath. You inhale raggedly through your nostrils and push your fingers up along his chest. Something fragile and tenuous shatters between you. He’s alive. You’re alive. It was a harrowing experience—but you are here. Together.

“I need you,” He gasps, “please.” He presses his forehead against yours and his sweet blue eyes bleed into yours. Up close, you can see the reddish-purple swell of a bruise forming on his cheekbone. His lips are raw, bloody, the split lip likely re-opened and aggravated from kissing. You close your eyes to collect your thoughts. You know Bruce. You know him like the lines on the sidewalk outside your childhood home. You know him like the curved handle of your favorite coffee mug. You know Bruce isn’t lying when he tells you he needs you and you know he’s not exaggerating either. You’ve wanted him for years. Ached for him. And this moment might not be perfect, it might not be what you imagined, but God—you’re not going to turn him away. Not when you need him just as desperately as he needs you.

“Okay,” You swipe your thumb across his bloodied lip, “yes, Bruce. Yes.”

Bruce’s expression crumples with relief and he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is slower this time. You take a moment to savor it. Your fingers card through his silky, dark hair and he sucks your lower lip into his mouth with an appreciative hum.

His cool and calloused hand pushes along your upper thigh.

“Right here?” You guess.

“Right here.” He adjusts and grabs your hips to pull you over the center console and into his lap. Your ass bumps against the steering wheel. At least it’s private, you smile at the thought. No one is going to come wandering into Wayne’s personal garage. Except for maybe Alfred? But you assume the old man has enough sense to give you and Bruce plenty of space. Bruce’s lips travel down your jaw to your throat and you angle your neck back to allow him more space to explore. His kisses are light and exploratory, slightly roughed by the dryness of his mouth and gentle scrape of his stubble. It feels better than you could’ve imagined.

Bruce exhales, his voice pitched low and gravely, “I’ve wanted you for so long,” his mouth closes over your collarbone. Your heart leaps at his words, at the implication, at the idea that maybe...just maybe...you weren’t the only one yearning and hoping for years on end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His body is sore. He forgot how much things can hurt when he’s not in the suit. But nothing is going to tear him away from this moment with you. He’s careful where he touches. He knows that low-life got more than a few kicks onto your perfect body and if he had been alone then he would’ve broken every bone in that man’s body as recompense. His anger threatens to boil to the forefront of his mind, but Bruce wrestles it back. Now isn’t the time.

He tugs your dress off your shoulders and his cock twitches at the sound of your pleased sigh. Your breasts are perfect. Perfect shape. And at this angle? The perfect height for him to bury his face between them and trail kisses across your skin. He’s never had the opportunity to worship you like this. To press his lips and tongue against your skin, taste your sweat, feel your heartbeat against his nose. His lips enclose around one of your nipples and you cry out, your fingers entangling in his hair to pull him closer, and he flicks his tongue against the hardened nub.

“Fuck,” he moans, his hot breath pants against your skin, before he cups the breast in his hand and holds it while his tongue and mouth lavishes across your nipple over and over again. Your hips cant into his, seeking friction and release, and he trembles as your clothed cunt grinds into his hard cock.

“I’ll give you what you want, Quicksilver.” He promises and you whimper in reply to his words, “Shh.” His bloodied knuckles shine in the light as he kneads your other breast beneath his palm. “I’ll take care of you.”

He wants to make this memorable. He wants it to mean something. He’s outside the shadows with you for the first time. He isn’t hiding behind the cowl, behind his loyalty to Gotham. He is raw, and bloodied, and trembling with anticipation. Your fingers fumble with the hem of his long-sleeved dark shirt and yank it upwards in a graceless motion. He winces as he leans back, his arms overhead, and the shirt is tossed to the passenger side.

“Oh, fuck, Bruce!” You blurt and place your hand above his right pectoral. He winces again at the pressure, but gently places his hand on your wrist. His heart swells with pride and appreciation at his bracelet dangling from your wrist. It saved you when he couldn’t.

“It’s okay,” He looks toward the cut. It’s shallow. Superficial. It likely won’t scar. “Hey, hey, look at me.” He guides your chin, meeting your eyes, and his heart capsizes at the concern pouring from your gaze. “I’m okay, Silver. I promise.”

He holds your chin and kisses you before you have the chance to apologize again. It’s not your fault. It’s his. He got complacent after the article was released. He made a grievous error through his lack of vigilance. He should’ve been more careful, should’ve had Alfred checking the footage to see if you were being tailed, should’ve suggested you stay at the penthouse for a few days until the dust settled. People at Arkham and people connected to Jacobs and Falcone are going to try and settle the score.

He won’t let that happen, though. He feels you relax beneath his touch, feels your lips move urgently against his, how your body arches into him and your hardened nipples press into his bare chest. Bruce shivers. God, it feels so good to be skin to skin with you. He is wholly without armor in both the physical and metaphorical sense and it’s terrifying and electrifying.

He wonders if you know how you affect him. His hands cup your backside, squeezing, pressing you closer into him and pressing his agonizingly hard length between your legs. You make a sweet, soft sound and Bruce swallows back his groan. Everything you do is intoxicating to him.

“I’d like to do this again after we’re inside,” he says to the hollow of your throat, “properly.”

“Properly?” your laughter runs like a vein through your voice, “like with candles and roses?”

“Something like that,” he bunches the bottom of your dress until its hiked up in a ruffled heap around your hips and his gaze snags on the bruises on your ribs. “I’ll leave it to your imagination.” He says with a small grin.

“Ohh, a surprise.”

“Mm.”

He pushes his hand between your legs and discovers the dampened fabric of your underwear. Fuck. You’re always so wet for him. Bruce’s eyes roll back into his skull and he hisses through his teeth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were worried the sight of Bruce’s injuries would be a deterrent, but it isn’t. His bloodied lip, swollen cheekbone, and the bleeding cut on his chest are proof that he lived. A little scuffed up, but whole and alive and touching you with comfortable ease. You whimper at the first touch of his thumb across your swollen clit. Your body thrums with frustrated desire. He’s already made the tempting promise to continue once you’re inside the penthouse and quite frankly—you want to two things: for Bruce to be inside of you and then to see what he has planned in the comfort and luxury of his home.

“Bruce, please,” Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, “don’t make me wait.”

He buries his face between your breasts, his kisses sloppy, and mumbles, “I want you to come first.”

Always a goddamn gentleman!

He arches his neck, leaning his head back against the headrest of his seat, and gazes up at you with fervent adoration. You open your mouth to quip at him, to tell him the car is cramped and you’re feeling impatient, but then the concentric motion of his fingers tightens, adding pressure, and the effect is dizzying. Your mouth lets out a garbled “please” instead of articulating any of the other thoughts inside of your head. You lean forward to kiss him, feeling his nose press into yours and the coppery taste of his kiss blossoms on your tongue. Your hips thrust and chase the movements of his hand.

Your hands glide across his chest, his arms—which are surprisingly sinewy—and your fingertips catch along ridges and bumps that can only be attributed to scars. But scars from what? Before the thought can form, Bruce’s index and middle fingers plunge into your wet cunt and your spine convulses and your walls clench around his digits. The world goes muted and soft. Gotham narrows into two souls in an expensive, black car within a private garage beneath a penthouse.

You pant into Bruce’s mouth, sweat collecting on your temples, as he strokes and coaxes the fire burning low and hot in your lower belly.

Bruce says, “you’re so beautiful.” His words are quiet, bashful. And your neck prickles at the compliment. It means more coming from him than anyone else in the world. You hide your face in the crook of Bruce’s warm neck and pepper kisses along his jaw and the side of his face. The windows fog. The sound of his fingers moving slick and fast between your legs fills your eardrums. Your thighs shake.

“F-fuck.” You choke out, “close.”

“That’s it,” he whispers, “that’s my perfect girl. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

The orgasm hits you slow and serene and drawn-out. Your neck arches and your chin rests on Bruce’s forehead as the quakes tremble through your body in throbs of heat and euphoria. Bruce keeps his hand there, poised within as your walls rhythmically squeeze around his fingers, and he doesn’t pull away until your head drops against his shoulder and pant onto his damp, bruised skin.

He kisses your temple. “Are you ready for me?”

“Yes.”

It’s awkward. You lift your hips and your arms tremble as you hold yourself steady. He struggles to unzip his pants. You only get a brief glance of his cock before he positions himself between your legs and motions with his other hand for you to lower yourself. You brace yourself on his shoulders and Bruce looks up, holding your eye-contact, and is unwavering as the tip of his cock slips between your folds.

His teeth bare into a snarl, “Oh, fuck.”

The blue of his eyes are nearly swallowed whole by his pupils. He moans your name like it’s being ripped from his soul. You let out a breathy chuckle, allowing yourself to close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you as Bruce sinks into you inch by inch. It feels so good you don’t want to move. You rock your hips back and forth instead of thrusting and it creates a deep and wonderful sensation that travels from your head to your toes. He fits perfect. His mouth travels hungrily across your chest and neck and jaw. His tongue licks glistening stripes of sweat from your skin. His hands knead and squeeze your ass. You feel as if Bruce is trying to melt your bodies together, consume you, and you find yourself copying his motions. You kiss him, bloodied lips and all, and drink in his low and deep groans. Your hands, even as they smear with the blood from his cut, travel across the muscled expanse of his pale chest and your fingertips occasionally dig in when he thrusts up into you. You’ve passed the threshold of your earlier desperate frenzy to touch and be touched, to feel alive and safe together.

These movements, these gestures, speak to the deep cavern of tenderness that is shared between you. Your throat tightens. Bruce’s fingertips trail along your spine and he turns his head to whisper your name into your ear.

Time doesn’t move. It melts. It shapes condensation on the windows. It pools at the dip between Bruce’s collarbones. It glistens where your bodies are joined.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, you cradle his face between your hands and touch sweaty forehead to sweaty forehead. Your heart is pounding. Your dress is crumpled around your hips and stuck to your skin. Your bruises pulsate with muted pain. Bruce’s dried blood peeks between your fingers. And yet you’ve never felt more at peace.

He says, “stay with me.”

“W-what?”

“Stay with me,” he repeats, unfazed by your confusion, “for a few days. Maybe a week.”

You swallow. Okay, stay calm. He’s not asking you to move in. Your smile breaks across your face and Bruce’s eyes widen at the sight of it. As if bearing witness to your joy is a privilege and not something he’s earned.

“We’re having this conversation now?”

“Silver,” he chuckles dryly and your smile widens. It’s so wonderful to hear Bruce laugh. “Someday, I’d like to ask you a question and get a straight answer.”

“I’m a journalist.” You roll your eyes, “asking follow-up questions is my forte.”

Bruce takes your hand between his and intertwines your fingers, “and you’re the best journalist Gotham has.” He meets your eyes, “so, will you stay?”

You should tell Bruce ‘no’ from time to time. It’ll be good for his pride. Today, however, is not the day.

“Yes, Bruce. I’ll stay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake during the night. Bruce’s bedroom is cozily lit from the bedside table lamp and you reach across his back to shut it off. Your hand freezes in mid-air. They are scars. After you and Bruce left the garage, you meant to ask him about it, but his hands and mouth were...too distracting...and you lost all train of thought. You sit up and analyze the serpentine shape of his spine, the moles totting his skin, the curve of his shoulder blades, the cream colored sheets wrapped around his slim waist.

You resist the temptation to trail your fingers across the scars. You don’t want to wake him.

You hope that those thugs didn’t leave him with any scars. He claimed the one on his chest would heal fine. But, how does he know? He isn’t a doctor. You shift and sit upright. Your instincts flare. A gut reaction hits you like a punch to the throat. There’s blood in the water. There’s bones under the soil. A story. Another thread to pull. You carefully climb out of bed and grab a few pieces of blank paper from Bruce’s desk.

You start with today—it’s fresh in your mind.

The bracelet. Bruce didn’t notice or make comments when you first began wearing it. He didn’t ask any questions after seeing the bracelet electrocute someone into unconsciousness. Okay. A little odd, right? But there’s a few possible answers. Maybe he didn’t see it happen. Maybe he assumed you used a standard taser.

You write ‘why didn’t Batman come for me?’ on the page and stare at the letters. Batboy always has a knack for knowing when you’re in trouble. He didn’t show today. You know you aren’t his first priority. You know he’s got an entire city to look out for. But…

You write ‘Security’ on the page. Alfred told you that the Wayne home has ‘top of the line’ security. How the hell did Batman break-in without tripping any of the alarms? You’re certain that Bruce or Alfred would’ve mentioned something if they were worried about the security of the home.

You write ‘Falcone’. You sketch out the timeline out of instinct. Falcone is well-known around Gotham, but when you and Bruce reconnected, you never explicitly told him you were investigating Falcone. It was better to keep that sort of thing under wraps. It’s safer that way.

After you were released from the hospital, Bruce said something like ‘Falcone can’t hurt you’ right? You rub your hand over your jaw and frown. This is a long shot. You grab your phone and text Gordon the following message: ‘Hey, did you tell Bruce that I was drugged by Falcone?’

You scribble onto the page and let your mind wander. You doodle a little flower. And the memory hits like a freight train. Bruce’s flowers. They said ‘to my perfect girl’. Never in your time together had Bruce used that nickname. Batman, however, did. Your heart leaps inside your throat and your phone buzzes in your hand.

Gordon replies: God, kid. What are you doing awake at this hour? To answer your question, no. When I called Mr. Wayne, I informed him that you were caught in the middle of an active investigation and dosed with an unknown drug. I might have mentioned Falcone while ya’ll were together in the room, but I never directly stated that Falcone harmed or drugged you. Now get some sleep!

You reply a quick thanks and set your phone down. This is crazy. Bruce is Batman? He’s Vengeance? You press your fingertips into your tired eyes and your thoughts circle like sharks. And if he is then why didn’t he tell you? You huff and stare at your quick notes scribbled on various pieces of paper scattered on the carpet.

It isn’t so unusual, is it? He’s grossly wealthy, intelligent, and without a social life which gives him lots of free time. And you recently learned that Bruce can fight! Those scars of his aren’t from kitchen mishaps or car accidents.

“What’re you doing?” Bruce’s groggy voice lifts from the frumpy bed sheets.

Well, it’s now or never. There’s no way you’re going back to sleep with this question hanging like an anvil over your head.

“Are you Batman?”

Bruce sits up.

“Or Vengeance? Whatever you like to go by, I suppose.”

He rubs his hand down the length of his face. His shoulders are stiff. You watch as he swings his legs and clambers off the bed with clumsy grace. His boxer briefs hang low on his hips and as he stands before you in the light of his bedroom you can’t help but notice the scars on his chest.

His eyes scan the disorganized and chaotic papers on the floor. His expression is unreadable. You lay your palms on your knees and wait for his reply. Although you think his silence is answer enough.

“Silver…” He says with a minute shake of his head, “can this wait until morning?”

“No.” You deadpan, “I won’t be able to sleep without knowing.”

Bruce slowly lowers himself to sit across from you on the floor. Suddenly, you are eight years old again and having a sleep-over party at the Wayne’s. His mother is downstairs making popcorn. You both won’t stop arguing over which movie to watch. Your heart clenches. You blink away the memory. Once upon a time, you called Bruce Wayne your best friend.

He sighs.

“Bruce,” you wait until he meets your gaze and you hold it, “I want the truth.”

“I know.” He drags his fingers through his messy dark hair.

“Is that something you can give me?” You swallow the lump in your throat. If he can’t be honest, if he brushes it off or refuses to reply, then you know this relationship—hell, your rekindled friendship—is dead in the water. Even your partnership to Batman will be forced to end. He peers at you through the strands of his hair falling in front of his forehead. You wait. He can agonize over his response all he wants. The truth, as always, is the only thing that matters.

He finally says, “yes.”

“Yes as in you’re Batman? Or yes as in you can tell me the truth?”

“Both.”

You tap two fingers against your papers on the floor, “ha! Knew it.” You scoot closer to Bruce and his eyes widen.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You gaze up at the high ceiling, your brow furrowed in thought. You slept with Batman—Bruce – twice and he never thought about revealing his secret? Would he have just continued to live a secret double life while dating? Did he seriously expect that you wouldn’t figure it out someday?

“I wanted to keep you safe.”

“After today,” you chuckle, “I think I have more enemies than Batman does.”

Bruce says your name softly, “This is only the beginning for me, Silver.” His hands curl into a fist, “Gotham needs me.”

“Gotham needs me too, you dork. You said so yourself!” You smile. “None of these other freelance journalists have the courage to take down the big fish. We both are driven by our love for this city. We both take risks. If you can continue to do your job and I can continue to do mine then I don’t see any issue.”

He stares at you and his lips part in awe.

“I thought if you knew...” says Bruce quietly, “you’d leave.”

You reach out and wrap your fingers around his curled fist. “Bruce, I – well—I endured several years without you and you know what? Those years sucked.” You smile, a timid and gentle smile, and more vulnerable than you’ve ever given him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bruce. I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

Bruce leans in and rests his forehead on your bare shoulder.

He murmurs, “I don’t want to be anywhere else either.”

“Then it’s settled. We stay together and fight crime and change Gotham for the better.”

Bruce lifts his head and levels you with a serious look, “you are not fighting.”

You tease, “okay, you say that now, but I’m already work-shopping costume ideas and team names.” You cup the side of his face, “The Silver Bat? Mercury and Vengeance? Batboy and Journalist Gal?” You ramble off your ideas until Bruce’s serious expression melts away and his lips twitch in a begrudging smirk.