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zelphin124 · 1 year ago

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Cross x Y/N Short Story

In all honesty this was very spontaneous... And I just got home so I can get back to writing everything else!

(I do not claim the art as my own)

*cough* @tehrogueva @kuuuuro @pandimoostuff

Cross belongs to @jakei95

TW: Suggestive

Enjoy!

~o0o~

OuterTale. The place where the stars shined brighter than the lights in the city. The place where comets and galaxies shimmered with color. An empty space where people came to contemplate life and make big decisions.

OuterTale was an AU that could never be forgotten. OuterTale was where the darkest secrets unfolded.

You were told to meet one of your closest friends here, Cross. He seemed so nervous when asking you, which was unusual for his behavior. Sitting down on a cliff edge, you start to recall the conversation a week before.

You were at a Grillbys in some AU that you forgot. Cross was sitting across from you and you guys had a lovely conversation. There was lots of laughter and wheezing, to the point most of the people around you looked genuinely concerned for your guys' well being. You ended blaming it on whatever drink you had that night.

"Y/N," Cross calmed down before changing his tone. "Uhm... Would you be able to meet me at OuterTale this time next week?" He scratched his head nervously as he stared you down. His eyes were shaking, but he remained firm in his ask.

How strange, what caused the sudden change in his demeanour? You hope you didn't say anything wrong, though Cross didn't seem upset.

You asked him where specifically, as you didn't care for going into the villages of other AUs. It was hard enough to blend into other universes, let alone OuterTale.

"The cliffs near the floating islands," Cross answered, twirling the glass in his hand. "I uh... Wanted to try out that camera Paps got me. Would you wear something nice for them?"

You blushed, and quite noticably. The face Cross made when he mentioned you wearing something nice was so adorable, as if he stared in admiration. Come to think of it, he always did that. The last time you wore something nice, he couldn't take his eyes off you.

It was one of the reasons why you loved him. Oftentimes you were called a simp amongst your peers due to your crush toward him. You loved anything and everything Cross did for you. Whether or not that was bringing you flowers, getting you food after a hard day at work, or just hugging you until you stopped crying... Everything about him captivated you. His style, his personality, his smile, his laugh... Oh gosh his laugh. If only you could somehow keep it on repeat, you would. It was music to your ears and made all the butterflies in your stomach fluster.

Your friends often said you craved him. They weren't wrong. You longed to be in his presence, for his eyes to meet yours, to hear his voice speak to you, for him to touch you-

"Y/N?" Cross leaned over the table and snapped his fingers in front of both of your eyes. When you came back to reality, he smiled softly. "You able to come?"

You told him you wouldn't miss it for the world, after apologizing for zoning out.

"Tch," he snickered, giving that smile that made your heart pound. "Alright, I'll walk you home and see you then."

You sighed happily as you remember the walk home and how it was full of dancing and signing. Cross taught you a few more steps to a dance you were learning with him before he said goodbye. Dancing was the only excuse you could find to be close to him other than hugging. You wondered if it was obvious to Cross that you liked him.

However, you couldn't figure out if the feelings were reciprocated. Cross didn't seem to have the same responses to things that you did. Although you were told many times by others that he was into you, you couldn't wrap your head around it. There's no way he could like you that way... Why would someone as great as he love a human like you?

This very reason has kept a tight seal on your lips. There were many times where you wished you told him, but the fear of ruining your friendship got in the way. What if he didn't reciprocate those feelings? Would all be lost? Surely it would be awkward. Though, you wouldn't know, as you any memory of your past relationships had faded when arriving in the multiverse.

"You came," a sigh of relief came from behind you.

You stood up and turned to face your best friend. He was... To put it simply, stunning. He wore a long black suit with a white X across his chest. He adjusted his tie with one hand and held your favorite flowers in the other. Your blush didn't help hide how grateful you were for his thoughtful gift. He was always good at remembering your favorites, rather than giving you whatever he could find. His eyes glowed softly, and he smiled wildly at you. "Wow." He breathed.

You had worn your favorite color dress that changed shades all the way to the bottom of your ankles. You thought it would be better to leaves the sleeves on your arms rather than your shoulders. Perhaps it would be better for photo taking as Cross had planned.

You thanked him for the flowers with a squeak before asking him where he would like you to stand.

"Oh we can worry about that later," he set the camera down on the rock as it flashed red. "For now, I wanted to practice our dance."

Your face was tomato red. Dancing with your crush in nice clothing under the starry cover of OuterTale? This was a dream come true. You nodded and adjusted your dress so it would flow smoothly.

Cross wasted no time as he came toward you and swooped your arms into his. Immediately, his feet began to pace. You figured out the rhythm as you danced along, following his lead. The song slowly started to play in your head as you moved along the cliff edge with him.

Cross's eyes were sinking into you. The more he looked at you, the more purple his face became. His grip around your waist became more snug... As if he was holding the most precious jewel in the world. His thumb traced your hand with the grace of a feather, and his eyes were drooped so perfectly.

You found it difficult to focus on the steps as your heart pounded from excitement. He was so close, so peaceful... So absolutely perfect. You knew you would treasure this moment forever, and nothing would ever compare to this.

Cross's pacing slowed, pulling you closer to him. You gasp as his hand that was holding yours traveled to your cheek and jawline. His breath became shaky, and it was hard to see his eyes against his purple blush. "Y/N... I... I love you..." His voice was barely above a whisper while his eyes were locked on your face.

What? He... Did he just say that? You would've called him on his bluff if you didn't see the hearts in his eyessockets.

"Everything about you drives me crazy for you... I adore you..." His face got closer with every breath, and his words got slower and slower. "You're so beautiful, and kind, and I..."

You were dreaming. You had to be. This was too good to be true. Cross loved you back?! Not only that, but he adored you?! Nah, you would wake up any moment now.

But that kiss proved you otherwise. There wasn't another word that escaped his mouth before he caught you up in a loving kiss, your body pressing up against his. It was long, gentle, and made both of your faces turn into bright colors.

He broke away after a few seconds, his breath shaky and his smile wide. When he saw you were panting, blushing, and gripping his chest, he kissed you again... And again... And again... Until you lost count of how many times he came back to your lips, begging for more.

Your feet were lifted off the ground many times. His hands tightened around your head and waist to press you closer to him. Your body shook with pure bliss. Your heart had stopped from utter shock and surprise, though, you knew it was still alive because of how flustered it was.

It ended too soon, as he sat you back down on the ground and rested his forehead against yours. "Sorry, I..." He sighed. "I got carried away... I didnt mean to-"

You told him to shush, letting him know that you enjoyed every moment of it. After you explained to him that you had liked him all this time, he was relieved and satisfied.

"I... Stars, you're beautiful... Everything about you... is amazing, and... I always want to be with you... Protect you... Love you..."

Cross continued to whisper all that he felt and all that he had to say as you two swayed under the stars. It was pure bliss, and you couldn't believe it was real. Though, Cross reassured you it was real through many kisses. He explained he had held back such affection for so long, he wanted to get it all out. You were too much of a blushing mess to give any affection back, though, he didn't seem to mind. Cross seemed perfectly happy with growing the blush on your own face. Since he had known you for so long, it was easy for him to find out what physical things you liked very quickly.

To this day you can't wrap your head around how lucky you were. Cross since then had provided, protected, and loved you like you never had, or as much as you could remember. You must have been the main character in a story, as it was the only explanation you could find to explain such a wonderful, disney-princess moment.

However, you decided that chance or not, you were the luckiest person in the whole multiverse, because you were in your lovers arms, and he loved you more than anyone else could.

#cross sans #yn #sans x reader #reader x sans #sans x yn #cross x yn #short story #ooooh boy #i might be a simp now #OH WELL HAHAHA

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ellesthots · 5 months ago

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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.”

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youaintnothinbuta · 6 months ago

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“Are we there yet?” - Dad!Austin Butler x Mom!reader

Summary: You and Austin, and your little girl are making the long drive to your lake house for a few days in summer, which is never the easiest drive with a little one.

Pairing: Dad!Austin x mom!reader

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings: none- fluff!! Dad!Austin! Hopefully no typos but you know how I am <3

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It was early afternoon when you, Austin, and Ella set off on the long drive to your lake house. The summer sun was high in the sky, casting a bright, warm light across the road. Austin was behind the wheel, dressed in shorts and a white t-shirt, and you sat in the passenger seat, wearing a light summer dress with your hair pulled back in a loose braid. Your five-year-old daughter was nestled in the backseat, her favorite stuffed giraffe clutched tightly in her arms.

Ella was full of energy, leaning forward against her seatbelt, pointing out everything they passed. “Look, Daddy! A red truck!” she shouted, her voice bubbling with excitement. “And there’s a blue car! And cows! Look, Mama, cows!”

You turned in your seat, smiling at her wide-eyed wonder. “I see them, Ella! What sound do cows make?” You asked, playfully encouraging your daughter.

“Mooo!” Ella giggled, making the sound loud and enthusiastic, causing Austin to chuckle.

You continued your journey, with Ella calling out every new sight—fields of wildflowers, clusters of trees, a barn in the distance. You and Austin exchanged amused glances, enjoying your daughter's unbridled excitement. But as the time passed and the scenery became more monotonous, Ella’s energy began to wane.

She started shifting in her seat, her brow furrowing in frustration. “Are we there yet?” she asked, her voice starting to edge with impatience.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” Austin replied gently, his eyes still focused on the road. “We’ve got a little while to go, but we’re getting closer.”

Ella sighed dramatically, slumping back. “I’m bored,” she whined, kicking her legs against her car seat. “And my butt hurts!”

You glanced back at her with a sympathetic smile. “I know, honey, long drives can be tough,” you said soothingly. “How about we play a game? I spy with my little eye… something green!”

Her eyes lit up for a moment, and she looked out the window eagerly. “Is it… a tree?” she guessed.

You nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Good job, sweetie!” But after a few rounds, Ella’s enthusiasm started to fade again. She shifted restlessly, her face scrunched up in discomfort.

“Mama, I’m tired,” she whined, her voice a bit tremulous now. “I don’t like this anymore. I want to get out!”

You and Austin exchanged a glance, knowing what was about to come. “I know, baby,” Austin said in his calm, soothing voice. “I know it’s hard to sit for so long, but we’re going to have so much fun when we get there, right?”

Ella didn’t seem convinced. She started to squirm around in her seat, her buckle tightened over her chest, only adding to the frustration, and a few moments later, the whining turned into soft crying, her little face scrunched up as tears began to roll down her cheeks. “I want out, Daddy!” she sobbed. “Please, I want to get out!”

You turned in your seat as much as she could, reaching your hand back to your daughter. “Oh, Ella, I know it’s hard, baby,” you murmured softly. “Here, let me help you feel more comfortable.” You gently draped a soft blanket over her legs and carefully removed her shoes. “There, sweetheart. Just rest a little bit, okay? We’re almost there.”

Ella continued to cry softly, but she clung to your hand, finding some comfort in her mother’s touch. You kept your hand there, softly stroking Ella’s tiny fingers while humming a calming tune. “Close your eyes, sweet girl,” you whispered. “Just rest for a bit.”

Gradually, Ella’s cries turned into soft sniffles, and then, as the steady rhythm of the car and the warmth of the blanket took over, her eyes fluttered closed. Her little chest rose and fell with steady breaths as she finally drifted off to sleep.

Austin glanced over at you, a gentle smile on his face. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice filled with admiration.

You smiled back. “It’s a joint effort,” you replied softly, continuing to hold Ella’s hand until you were sure your daughter was deep asleep.

After a couple of hours, just as you were about twenty minutes away from the cabin, Ella began to stir.

She blinked her eyes open, her small face creasing with a yawn. She sat up slowly, looking around in confusion before realizing where she was. “Mama?” she mumbled sleepily.

You turned around, smiling warmly. “Hey, sleepyhead. Did you have a good nap?”

Ella nodded, rubbing her eyes with her fists. “I think so,” she murmured.

Austin looked at her in the rearview mirror, smiling. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“Good,” she replied, still groggy. Then, her eyes widened, and she pointed out the window. “Look, Daddy! A deer!” she exclaimed, her earlier excitement returning.

Austin glanced in the direction she was pointing. Sure enough, a deer stood just off the side of the road, watching them with curious eyes. “Good spotting, El!” he said, grinning. “We’re almost there, sweetheart. Just a little longer.”

Ella perked up at this news. “Really? How much longer?”

“About twenty minutes,” you replied, glancing over your shoulder with a reassuring smile. “And then we’ll be at the cabin, and you can stretch your legs and run around all you want.”

Ella’s face lit up with a smile. “Okay! I can wait twenty minutes,” she declared, sitting up straighter in her seat.

You continued down the winding forest roads, the scenery changing from thick clusters of trees to the sparkling surface of the lake as you drew nearer. When you finally pulled up to the cabin, nestled among the trees with a clear view of the water, Ella’s excitement returned in full force.

“We’re here! We’re here!” she squealed, bouncing in her seat.

Austin chuckled, pulling the car into the driveway and putting it in park. “Alright, we made it!” he announced, turning to look at you and Ella.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and turned around to Ella. “Okay, El, let’s get you out,” you said, opening your door and stepping out. You came around to the back, opening her door and carefully helping her out of her seat.

Ella jumped down, stretching her arms wide. “Yay! We’re here!” she cheered, looking up at the tall trees around them.

Austin smiled as he stepped out of the car, stretching his back before heading to the trunk to grab the bags. “I’ll get everything,” he called over his shoulder. “You two go inside.”

You took Ella’s hand, guiding her toward the front door. Ella nodded eagerly, squeezing your hand. “Mommy! Can we go down to the water?”

“Of course, sweetheart. We’ll do that as soon as we get settled in,” you replied, giving her a quick kiss on the top of her head.

Austin was making trips between the car and the house, his strong arms loaded with your things, dropping everything off in the doorway. Ella giggled, running up to him and wrapping her arms around his legs.

Austin smiled, handing Ella her swimsuit, “if you ask mama nicely, she might help you get changed so you can get into the water.”

Ella looked up at you with puppy dog eyes, “Please mama? Please?”

“Alright, monkey, come on, let’s go to your bedroom.” You said, gently guiding her out of Austin’s way so he could bring everything in and get the fridge all stocked up for the weekend without Ella running laps around him.

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austinbsblog · 9 months ago

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The Winner Takes It All

(Benny Cross x Fem!Vandal!Reader)

Warnings: Smoking, alcohol, language, mention of breasts, kissing

A/N: I loved this anon request! It was so fun to write and get to experiment with a confident character. If you wish to see the request scroll down on my page!

•

As you and Benny made your way to the bar, the rumble of his motorcycle reverberated through your body, filling you with a sense of exhilaration. You held onto him tightly, feeling the rush of wind as your hair flowed behind you, the streets blurring into streaks of light and color. You nestled your chin on his shoulder, the curve of his leather jacket providing a sense of security as you leaned into the ride. The heady scent of gasoline, cigarette smoke, and his cologne mingled in the air, creating an intoxicating aroma that filled your senses. With each breath, the familiar yet thrilling scent enveloped you, triggering a rush of anticipation and comfort. It was a scent that belonged solely to Benny. The warmth of his body pressed against yours provided a stark contrast to the cool night air.

•

As you approached the bar, the lively sounds of the Vandals' loud laughter, clinking bottles, and soft rock music from the jukebox filled the air. Benny turned off the engine and steadied the bike with a kick of his boot, allowing you to dismount safely. "Thanks, Benny, I really appreciate it," you said, slipping off your leather jacket to reveal a black off-the-shoulder top. Leaning against the bike, Benny watched as you retrieved your lipstick tube and mirror from your pocket and applied a deep red color. "Of course, Baby," he teased, knowing well that you weren't a fan of the nickname. Being the youngest among the Vandals, you had unwittingly acquired the name "Baby" and it has stuck ever since. Benny often wished he could call you his, but his attempts to express his feelings were always met with your captivating gaze that left him feeling bashful. "Come on," you teased, impatiently tugging at his hand, "You're taking forever," as you playfully dragged him into the bar.

•

The dimly lit space is filled with a fog of smoke and Vandals taking over every inch. Johnny is the first to see the both of you and his eyes light up at the sight of your hands clasped with one another, “Baby!” Johnny announces and everyone’s eyes snap to the door. Your smile grows wide as everyone exclaims about your presence, gives you hugs, or kisses your cheeks. The pull of the crowd causes Benny to lose you in the crowd and watch you interact from afar. “Today the day kid?” Johnny asks as Benny slides into the seat at the table, Benny just smiles and stares at you with a look of tenderness while you nurse a drink and tell some story to a group gathered around you exuding confidence and boldness that captivated everyone's attention. "Listen, kid, I'm telling you if you don't gather up the nerve to ask her out soon, someone else is going to sweep her off her feet, and you'll regret it for the rest of your life," Johnny muttered, the end of his cigarette glowing softly. "Remember how quickly I married Betty? That's because I saw in her what you see in Baby," he added taking a drag. “You getting soft on me?” Benny questioned, and Johnny just gave him a look. “Fine…yeah yeah okay, I’ll do it,” Benny said getting up from the table. Johnny lifted his eyebrow and tapped his watch signaling to Benny that time was ticking and you weren’t going to wait very long.

•

Benny's eyes studied the pool table and lined up his cue, taking the shot. Come on’s, damns, and shits were shouted from the surrounding players as they put their money on the table. Benny chuckled at the cries knowing that they lost. “My my boys, is that how you speak in front of a lady?” you ask from behind Benny, your heels clicking louder as you approach the table. Your hands leaned against the table allowing the men to get a view of your defined collarbones and top of your breasts. “Hm, I see Benny beat all you fools, well, let’s see if you can beat me,” you challenge, as you glance up at Benny, take the cigarette from his lips, and place them between yours. The men put their new bets on the table and chalk up the ends of their cues. '`You playin’?” you whispered to Benny, “No I’ll watch Baby,' ' he responded, “Alright,” you sighed. All of a sudden a 50 dollar bill gleamed on top of the pile, and everyone went silent. Your eyes followed the hand and leather-clad arm up to a handsome man you had never seen staring right at you. Two other men in leather jackets with a devil on the back were on each side of him with their cues, “Well hi there, I’m Baby” your voice is sultry as you greet them, “Hello… Baby,” the man responded with furrowed eyebrows, “I’m Michael, this is James and Christopher” he says pointing to the others. A moment passes before Michael says “Why don’t we make this a little more interesting gentlemen?” “What do you have in mind?” Danny says, cocking his head to the side, taking the cigarette, and blowing out the smoke, “Whoever wins, takes the money and her on a date,” Michael suggests with a smirk on his face tracing your body with his eyes. “She’s not an item to be bought…or sold” Benny argued while staring at Michael with cold eyes, “Okay, then just a date,” Michael countered and leaned in. All eyes were shifting between Benny who had a cool gaze and Michael who had a smirk plastered on his face. “And, if I win,” you paused, “I get the money,” you raised your eyebrow at the men having a staring contest. “Deal,” they said at the same time.

•

It had been 30 minutes since the beginning of the game and 3 players were out. Benny and Michael were so concentrated on their scores and beating each other that they never realized you were winning significantly. Throughout the entirety of the game, Michael kept flirting with you to not only win you over but piss off Benny, and well, it worked. Benny was fuming like a bull. He couldn’t stand Michael treating you like an item, like some girl he could just fuck around with, you deserved better. When it was your turn, the balls were lined up perfectly for you to win. You smirk at the two men who were too busy giving each other death glares that when your stick hit the cue ball, you had won. The crowd’s roars and cheers for you caused Benny and Michael to snap their heads over to you. Your hand reached towards Danny who held the money, “Well Michael, tough game, better luck next time,” you snarkily said fanning yourself with the money, “He lost too,” Michael laughed as the crowd dispersed, “Did he though?” you smiled. Michael’s smile faltered at your question and Benny’s eyes widened as you walked over to his side. “He might have lost the game but, he sure as hell didn’t lose me, so thank you so much for your generous donation to our date,” you continued. You smile sweetly but with mischievous eyes as the trio walks away. “Come on, you gotta drive me home,” you say, taking Benny’s hand and once again dragging him out the front door. “Hold on, hold on,” Benny called out, “our date?” he said tugging at your hand so you were mere inches apart. “You think I wasn’t gonna go out on a date with you?” you gasped, “I didn’t… I… you like me?” Benny mumbled with a look of disbelief on his sculpted face. You put your hands on his face feeling the slight stubble and closed the gap between you. The kiss was passionate and made your stomach fill with butterflies as his hands enveloped your waist and rubbed the soft skin showing between your top and denim jeans. You broke the kiss when you heard muffled whistles and laughter. You both turned your heads to the bar and saw the Vandals pressed against the windows and door. You pressed your foreheads together and sighed, “Does that answer your question?” you giggled. Benny broke out into a smile before planting a small kiss on your red lips.

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ughdontbeboring · 9 months ago

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I’m so highly offended by Austin as Benny Cross BECAUSE Austin has low key big dick energy (even then I want it in my mouth and…) and I love it, it fits sweetie pie apple of my eye Austin BUT babbyyy BENNY!!

Benny is big dick energy in FULL SWING and sis it look like it SWINGS, baby it looks HEAVY (need me to hold if for you daddy? 🥹🫠). Benny BDE is def Austin if Austin wasn’t so shy. Benny BDE is what you get from Austin when it’s just you and Austin.

but this shit with Benny was an assault on my mental and my poor vagina 🫠

Austin I didn’t know I could be more shook 🥵

(credit to owner of gif I love this gif so much)

#austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler smut #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #austin butler x yn #Austin butler one shot #austin butler imagine #Benny Cross #benny cross x reader #benny cross x you #Benny Cross smut #The bikeriders #bikeriders #ughshitpost

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ginnysgraffiti · 8 months ago

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&. BENNY CROSS x yn.

you always wondered what it would be like to taste benny's mouth.

perhaps since you saw him leaning over the pool table, perhaps when he started his motorbike and accompanied you home, or perhaps when you discovered -with amazement and not expressed curiosity- that he had slept on his damn motorbike for the whole night, right in front if your house.

even though his reputation spoke for itself and his ways went far beyond simple violence, you couldn't deny that you were attracted to him, or at least physically.

later on, when you two got engaged, you happily discovered that benny showed affection through acts of service. he wanted to take care of you so he was always doing things to help you out. you could consider any on-going issue handled. he had your back in everything.

benny didn't even know he could love someone to the point of changing for them until he met you. his own family didn't even love him and you refused to believe that his "colours", his tattoos, leather jacket and loud motorcycle helped him to improve his situation.

at first, you feared it would have taken ages for him to make a move or just simply touch you, but you were quite wrong on that.

benny always had a hand on you. whether it's just a hand on your thigh if you're sitting beside him or an arm slung around your shoulders or his hands wrapped around your waist if you're standing in front of him, he's always touching you somehow, and you're glad.

he likes having you nearby in case some trouble starts and he can protect you. he wants to show everyone nearby that you are his and only his. but most importantly, he likes having you there to ground him. you're his anchor when he feels himself losing control of his anger and the only one who can deal with it better than johnny.

kisses with benny had always been very intense. he always kissed you like it was the last time he'll ever see you. and for all he knew, it could've been. he lived a dangerous life and anything could happen to him. so he always kissed you like he needed you to breathe. and he also loved to see your lips all swollen afterwards, you craving for more, your hands shyly searching for his waist or reach for his leather jacket.

his lips always taste like cigarettes, bar alcohol, but you managed to get used to it.

in any case, every time he's around you, he makes sure to use his mouthwash properly.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #austin butler x y/n #benny #the bikeriders #benny the bikeriders #&. BENNY CROSS #&. BENNY CROSS x yn #&. BENNY CROSS x reader

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imsogonesposts · 3 days ago

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The World Ended When it Happened to Me

|| ao3 || Finnick Odair Masterlist || an: based on the song "we hug now" by sydney rose! || requests are open!! ||

summary: You and Finnick used to be best friends, until he disappeared after returning from his Hunger Games. Now, he has to mentor you as you prepare for your own games. (wc: 3,160)

warnings: implied mentions of finnick's forced prostitution, character death

Things were never the same after your neighbor and best friend Finnick Odair had left for the Hunger Games. You remember the day he left, hugging him as you cried into his shoulder. You knew how the games worked, you knew that the odds of his survival likely weren’t in his favor-especially when he was entering the games at such a young age, at only the age of fourteen. You were only fourteen yourself at the time, but you weren’t naive enough to think he would have much of a chance. It wasn’t very often that one of the younger tributes had won their Hunger Games.

But then, by some miracle, Finnick had survived, he had returned home. You were thankful the Capitol had liked him enough to send him a trident during his games, unknowing what their adoration for him would eventually lead to.

Even though Finnick had practically iced you out after returning to District 4, you were still thankful he had survived his games. You weren’t sure why Finnick had isolated himself from everybody except his family- and even they rarely ever saw him now- but you were thankful he was alive, nonetheless. Thankful that you could still see him every now and then, even if it was only in fleeting glances.

You were eighteen now. It was supposed to be your last year in the reaping bowl, you were supposed to finally be free from the Hunger Games, but instead, your name got pulled. And now, you were on a train headed to the Capitol, with Finnick as your mentor for the games. And he could barely even look at you as he sat in the seat across from you.

“Are we not gonna talk about it?” You tentatively ask, trying to break the silence that was slowly consuming you. You weren’t sure what the “it” in question was. The fact that you hadn’t had a proper conversation with the boy in front of you in four years, the fact that now you were being put through the very same games he was years ago, the fact that he hadn’tsaid one word to you since you entered the train and he took his seat across from you.

Finnick only let out a deep sigh as he closed his eyes. “Talk about what?” He asked, his quiet voice sounding pained. Tired.

“Everything?” You ask, causing Finnick to let out another sigh.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he simply replied, pushing a basket filled with bread rolls towards you.

You took one, offering it to him as he shook his head no. “There’s a lot to talk about. We haven’t done much talking since you got back.”

Finnick sighed again. It seemed that was his only response to things you said now. “I’ve been busy,” he replied shortly.“You tend to get busier after you win your Hunger Games. You’ll see that soon.”

God, Finnick hoped you wouldn’t have to see that soon. He hoped you wouldn’t have to deal with the same things he did after winning.

“Oh, you think there’s a chance I’ll win?” You tentatively ask.

For the first time since your name was drawn from the bowl and you walked across the stage, Finnick’s eyes met yours.His piercing, sea-green eyes staring into yours, “I’m not letting you lose,” he replies.

Despite not having spoken to you in years, despite isolating himself from you, from your friendship and kind words, Finnick promised himself that he would do everything to ensure you got out of the games. That you would survive. And he promised himself that after that, he wouldn’t let you isolate yourself like he once did, he would be there to comfort and console you every step of the way, no matter what.

***

Everything about the room you had been given during your stay at the Capitol had felt draining. Suffocating. You weren’treally sure how you did it, but you managed to escape your room and make your way to the roof, finally able to breathe fresh air.

“You should be sleeping, you know. You have a big day tomorrow,” A voice, Finnick’s voice, said, breaking you out of your silent trance as you looked up at the stars.

“It’s just the sessions where the Capitol judges me even more,” you reply, your gaze never leaving the stars- even after he moves to sit next to you.

“If you get a good score, you’ll get more sponsors. More sponsors means more food and weapons for you when you’reout there,” he replies as you let out a small hum.

Finnick only sighs, attempting to redirect the conversation. “You always liked looking at the sky, you know. I remember that about you when we were kids.”

You can't help the small smile that graces your features as he says that. “You know, one of the few things that kept me sane when you were in your games, was looking up at the moon, thinking you were probably seeing the same moon as me.”

In The Hunger Games, the night and day were manufactured, everything about the arena was. The moon he’d see at night never was the same real moon you were seeing. Though, he wouldn’t ruin the moment and tell you that. Instead, he just smiled, letting the cold breeze of the night hit you both.

“You’re shivering,” he quietly replied, taking off the jacket he had come out in and placing it on your shoulders. “It won’tdo anyone any good if you show up to the Hunger Games sick.”

“I’m sorry we stopped talking,” you suddenly blurt out, Finnick looking at you with a slightly shocked, wide-eyed stare as you tighten his jacket around yourself, relishing in its warmth. It smelled like him, you noticed. “I missed you,” you say, slightly softer now.

Finnick only shakes his head with a sigh, rubbing the back of his head with a nervous laugh. “It’s my fault,” he responds, turning his head to look up at the moon, avoiding your gaze. Maybe while you were in the arena, he’d look up at the moon, and think of you as you had thought of him those years ago. “I disappeared. I barely ever left my house.”

“Yeah, but I should have tried harder. I should’ve knocked on your door every day or something,” you reply as Finnick lets out a small laugh.

He says your name softly. In a way that you haven’t heard him say since you were both fourteen and he had lived right next door to you. In a way that had given you butterflies back then. “We were only fourteen.”

You only nod your head. “We were fourteen,” you repeat. “You shouldn’t have gone through everything you went through at such a young age. Especially alone. Finnick, I should have tried harder.”

Instead of arguing, Finnick only asks, “You’re not mad at me?” As he finally lets his eyes meet yours.

“Why would I be mad at you?” You ask.

Because I shut you out. I stopped talking to you, stopped being your friend. Because the first time I finally let myself talkto you again is because of these shitty circumstances. Because if I don’t talk��to you, you might die, and I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.

Finnick only hugs you. It was a little awkward, the two of you hadn’t hugged since the day he left for his games- the day you thought you would never get to see him again- but at the moment, it was everything the both of you needed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your shoulder. He’s not even sure what he’s saying sorry for at the moment, he had far too much to apologize to you for. For his isolation, the fact that you’re in the Hunger Games, that he had gone far too long without talking to his best friend, the girl he had liked for almost as long as he knew her. Right now, he’s sorry for all of that and more.

***

You hear Caesar Flickerman call your name as Finnick squeezes your shoulder, a silent “good luck,” as he whispers to you, “Give 'em a show.” The two of you had gotten closer since the night you had spent on the rooftop, your friendship slowly rekindling. You weren’t sure if it would ever return to what it once was, but any amount of his friendship, even a small amount, was all you really wanted. You were just glad to have him back, even if it was only for a short period of time.

You make your way to Caesar in the mermaid dress your stylist had put you in, to represent District 4’s fishing industry.

Caesar starts the interview like he did with the six kids he interviewed before you. He asks what you thought of the Capitol (it’s fancier than you imagined and doesn’t smell like fish, which is a plus), what you thought of your dress for the opening ceremony (it was gorgeous, but the dress you were currently wearing takes the cake), and your training score, which you got an eight in.

After the warm pleasantries, Caesar asks something you weren’t expecting to hear.

“We’ve heard from a little birdie that your mentor for the games this year is an old friend of yours, and a Capitol favorite, one Finnick Odair. Can you tell us what that’s like?” He asked.

You nod. “Yeah, it’s been great getting to catch up with him again. And he’s certainly helped me a lot with my training, I don’t think I could’ve gotten such a high score without his help.”

“Don’t be so modest,” Caesar tells you with a laugh before his face grows lightly serious as he leans in, as if he were going to tell you a secret. “Now, that same birdie has told me that what goes on between you and Finnick is something a little more than friendship. Do you wish to comment on that?”

You momentarily freeze at that. You hadn’t let yourself ever think of you and Finnick being more than friends. At least, not since you were both fourteen. Not when you were being sent off to the Hunger Games in a few days, and you had only just gotten him back into your life. For a moment, you don’t know what to say- until Finnick’s earlier words replay in your mind.

Give em a show.

You take a small breath, “Well, Caesar, I could tell you, but that might ruin the surprise,” you say in what you hope sounded like a confident tone.

Caesar laughs, pointing a finger at you and saying, “I love her,” as a buzzer goes off, signaling your time with Caesar has ended.

Saved by the bell.

“Well, it looks like we’re out of time, but best of luck to our tribute from District 4!” He stands up, shakes your hand, and leads you to the exit, where you’re met with a stoic Finnick. It was almost impossible to tell what he was feeling, and thatonly caused a knot to form in your stomach.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly say as he shakes his head no, placing a hand on your lower back as he leads you away from any prying ears.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispers into your ear, “that was a good idea, maybe I can work that into a way to get you more sponsors.”

“You’re not mad that I basically just alluded that we’re together?” You ask, furrowing your brows as he shakes his head no.

“I just got my best friend back, do you really think I’d care what she did to make it out of that arena alive?” He asks.“Now, pretend like you’re in love with me,” he whispers as he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

And just like that, the feelings for your best friend that you thought you had buried four years ago suddenly came rising back up, almost as if they never really disappeared.

***

You hear a knocking on your door as you stare at the ceiling of your room. You were supposed to be asleep, getting a good nights rest before facing the day that lie ahead of you in the morning. The day you entered the arena. The day you fought for your life in the Hunger Games.

Though you didn’t reply, you could hear the door slowly creak open as footsteps padded across the wooden floor.

“You up?” You hear Finnick whisper into the silence.

You let out a noncommittal noise as he sits at the edge of your bed.

“Thought you might like these before tomorrow,” he whispers, placing a plate of cookies on your nightstand. “I remember you loved how my mom made them when we were little, so I tried to recreate the recipe.”

You sit up at that, eyes shifting from the plate of cookies on the nightstand, to the boy sitting on your bed, looking at you with sad, tired, scared eyes.

You take two cookies off the plate, handing him one as you took a small bite out of the other. “You know, your mom still made me a batch of these every year for my birthday. Even after you left,” you whisper, as if speaking any louder would somehow ruin the calmness between the two of you.

Finnick let out a small laugh at that, nodding his head as he whispered, “Yeah, I know. I always helped her with them,” he paused with a sigh, “I was just too chicken to give them to you and tell you Happy Birthday, I guess.”

You lightly squeeze his shoulder, a silent “it’s alright.”

“Thank you for the cookies,” you tell him, “They’re just the pick me up I needed, actually.”

Finnick smiles at that as he takes your hand off his shoulder, lightly squeezing it. “You better come out of there in one piece,” he says, squeezing your hand once more. “Alive,” he punctuates.

You only nod as Finnick lies down on the empty side of the bed next to you. “Is this fine?” He whispers into the dark as you place your unfinished cookie back on the plate with the rest of the batch.

“Yeah,” you tell him, lying down as well, turning your body to face him as he faces the roof. Something about his presence helped calm you- it was always like that, even when the two of you were just little kids.

You feel yourself drifting off to sleep as you faintly hear Finnick whisper, “I wish I would’ve tried to talk to you again sooner.”

***

Finnick spent most of the morning glued to your side, not wanting to be anywhere you weren’t. He was lying in bed next to you when you woke up, still staring at the roof, he ate breakfast with you, sat facing the wall as your stylist dressed you in the Hunger Games outfit tailored for the arena’s climate, and sat with you as you both waited for the announcement that all tributes must prepare for prelaunch.

“Remember,” Finnick says, a hand in yours as he leads you to a circular metal plate. “Don’t run towards the weapons in the middle, go look for food or water first. Stay low, the minute you’re in that arena, I’m gonna use that tablet over there to watch you and help you the best I can, alright?”

You could only nod as he wraps his arms around you in an almost bone-crushing hug. When he pulls away, your eyes are watery.

He gently holds your face in his hands, thumbs rubbing your cheeks, prepared to wipe away any tears that might fall.“Don’t cry,” he whispers to you. “Don’t give any of them that satisfaction.”

You nodded again, taking a deep breath as a glass cylinder lowered around you, causing Finnick’s hands to release your face. You missed his warmth already.

He places a hand on the glass as you do the same. Your hands almost touching, if not for the cold, clear material separating the two of you. “No one in my life has ever compared to you, you know.” He softly tells you, his own eyes looking watery as well. You could tell he was trying to hold back his own tears. “Everyone else pales in comparison, I don’t think anyone else could ever come close to you.”

“I wish we could’ve spoken again sooner,” you say, echoing his words from last night. “Under different, better circumstances.”

The last thing you see is Finnick’s nodding head as you hear a faint “I love you,” before you’re surrounded by darkness. That is, until, you’re blinded by the sun’s bright light as you take in your surroundings.

You’re in the Hunger Games arena now.

***

Finnick felt his world turn upside down as he watched what he feared most. You, dying. He knew how this worked, histribute dies, and he gets interviewed, camera and microphones shoved in his face as he puts on a fake smile, pretending everything was okay. Pretending it didn’t tear him apart every time he saw another kid die on that screen.

Except now, it was different. Because now, it was you. Because now, your screams were echoing through his brain nonstop, on and on, almost like a painful, never-ending song.

He could hear the Capitol citizens murmuring amongst themselves. He could feel their eyes glancing at him as he struggled to keep up the facade. Keep up the stoic expression, he told himself. Don’t let them see you cry.

“Such a shame, I thought she would have been cute with that Odair boy,”

“I know, such a pretty face.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if they were already together, have you seen how they’ve looked at each other?”

They all spoke of you as if you meant nothing to them, as if your death meant nothing to him. As if it was a small, insignificant thing to them. He felt himself clenching his fists as he tried to control his breathing. He wouldn’t cry here. He wouldn’t give anyone that satisfaction, even if it felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. He wouldn’t give President Snow that satisfaction, not when he’s taken so much from him already, including his world- you.

Right after he had just got you back into his life.

To the people of the Capitol, your death was just a small thing that happened, something that happened every Hunger Games, but to Finnick, it felt like the world was crashing down on him as it ended.

He wasn’t going to cry, not yet. He wasn’t going to let his tears, his sadness, his pain, be exploited upon and used for the Capitol’s enjoyment. He wouldn’t let another part of him be exploited. He deserved one thing for himself, he thought, and if it couldn’t be you, then it would be his tears for you.

#btw this finnick would be so pissed that the star-crossed lovers thing worked for katniss and peeta years later #my fics!!#Finnick Odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair angst #finnick odair fic #finnick odair x you #finnick Odair x reader angst #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair x yn #finnick odair x y/n #the hunger games fic #hunger games fic #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x reader fluff

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cynic-spirit · 7 months ago

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Benny gets hit on

Y/N stood at a distance, her eyes narrowing as she noticed a woman standing too close to Benny. The woman was strikingly beautiful, with long legs, a perfect hourglass figure, and dressed in a tight, revealing outfit that left little to the imagination. The way she leaned in, her hand casually brushing Benny's arm, sent a wave of discomfort through Y/N.

From where she stood, Y/N couldn't hear the conversation between them, but she could see the woman's flirtatious smile and the way her fingers lingered on Benny’s bicep, as if trying to stake a claim. The scene made Y/N's heart sink. A rush of insecurity washed over her, making her feel small and insignificant in comparison.

She knew Benny was handsome—too handsome, maybe. With his chiseled features, sharp cheekbones, and that irresistible, slightly rugged look, he was the kind of man who naturally drew attention, especially from women like this one. Y/N suddenly felt a pang of doubt. Did she really deserve him?

She watched, frozen in place, as Benny spoke to the woman. His expression was unreadable at first, but Y/N could see the slight tension in his jaw, the way his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Then, he stepped back, clearly trying to put distance between them. The woman, undeterred, leaned in even closer, her hand now resting on his chest.

Y/N’s stomach twisted in knots. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. All the insecurities she had ever felt about herself seemed to bubble to the surface—her modesty, the way she dressed, the fact that she wasn’t as outgoing or flirtatious as this woman. Did Benny really want someone like her? Or was she just fooling herself?

But then, Y/N noticed something that made her heart stutter. Benny shook his head, his expression hardening. He reached up and gently but firmly removed the woman’s hand from his chest, stepping back even further. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but his body language was clear: he was shutting her down.

The woman looked taken aback, clearly not used to being rejected. She huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder before sauntering off, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement. Benny didn’t even watch her leave. Instead, he immediately looked around, his eyes searching until they found Y/N.

The moment their gazes met, Y/N felt a rush of warmth. The way Benny's face softened when he saw her, the small, reassuring smile that curved his lips—it melted away her doubts, if only a little. But the insecurities still lingered, making her question if she truly measured up to the kind of women who were constantly vying for his attention.

As Benny walked toward her, Y/N forced herself to smile, trying to push the negative thoughts aside. But deep down, she couldn’t help but wonder: Was she really enough for someone like Benny? Or was he simply with her out of some sense of loyalty or habit?

Before she could dwell on it further, Benny was by her side, reaching out to pull her into his arms. His embrace was warm and comforting, but Y/N couldn’t shake the lingering doubt that gnawed at her. She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest, trying to hide the insecurity that threatened to spill over.

"Hey," Benny murmured, his voice soft and reassuring as he kissed the top of her head. "You okay?"

As Benny pulled Y/N close, trying to comfort her, she tilted her head slightly, still nestled against his chest. Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, as she spoke. “That woman… she was so beautiful. I mean, way more beautiful than me. I couldn’t help but feel like I didn’t even come close to comparing.”

Benny’s heart sank at her words, a mixture of confusion and hurt flashing across his face. He pulled back slightly, enough to look into her eyes. “What are you talking about? No, she’s not,” he said firmly, his tone carrying an edge of disbelief.

Y/N looked down, her fingers nervously twisting at the hem of her shirt. “It’s just—she had this amazing figure and confidence. And I’m not like that. I felt so out of place next to her.”

Benny’s expression hardened. He gently cupped her face, making her meet his gaze. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. More than any woman I’ve ever seen. The way you carry yourself, the way you are kind and genuine—there’s nothing like it.”

His voice was low but intense, each word measured and sincere. “You think you’re less than her? You’re not. I love everything about you. The way you care for others, the way you look at me. That woman was nothing compared to you.”

Y/N’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, the vulnerability in her expression tugging at Benny’s heart. “But Benny, I just—”

“Stop it,” Benny interrupted, his voice softening but still firm. “You don’t need to compare yourself to anyone. Not her, not anyone. You’re perfect just the way you are, and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that left no room for doubt. “Please don’t ever think you’re not enough. Because you are, more than I could ever put into words. And I don’t want you to feel like you’re anything less than incredible.”

Y/N’s tears began to fall, but this time they were mingled with a flicker of relief. She reached up, her hands gently resting on his arms as she searched his eyes for any sign of insincerity. All she saw was love and conviction.

Benny’s grip tightened around her, his own heart aching to see her in pain. “Let me show you just how much you mean to me. Don’t let anyone or anything make you doubt that. I’m here with you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

The depth of his emotions was clear in his voice, and Y/N found solace in his words. She clung to him, letting the warmth of his embrace and the sincerity of his reassurances wash over her. As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of her insecurities began to lift, even if just a little. Benny’s unwavering belief in her was a beacon of hope that cut through the lingering shadows of doubt.

#bikeriders #bike riders #the bikeriders #benny cross x yn #benny cross x y/n #benny cross x reader #benny cross #benny x reader #benny cross x you

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qininqinin · 7 months ago

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Ride

cw: NSFW under the cut, f!reader, Cross x Reader, Cross is oblivious and Reader is nasty, +18, thoughts about riding, sweat kink, dacryphilia, kinda sub Cross?, creampie…

notes: my first post here and it was obvious that it would be about my favorite boy.

It was unavoidable; no matter how hard you tried to keep yourself distracted, your thoughts always drifted back to your desire to ride Cross — and as if that relentless yearning tormenting your daydreams wasn’t enough, Cross remained completely unaware of your advances.

“I’m not great with these things; perhaps Nightmare would be better suited for it,” he replied when you invited him to spend an afternoon at the library. Feeling embarrassed, you had to stick to your lie and asked Nightmare for a book recommendation (which, to be honest, you didn’t even bother to read).

It was already difficult to make small talk with anyone who wasn’t Killer, but Cross was even more clueless — not that you don’t find that endearing in a way, but it was frustrating that he couldn’t pick up on even the subtlest hint or flirtation.

That’s why you found yourself here, in the training room; at least you weren’t alone. A bit further away, Cross and Murder were sparring, working on some moves and combined attacks.

The original plan was for just the two of you, but when Cross started taking the ‘training’ part seriously, you had no choice but to abandon it — bruises from falls weren’t exactly what you had in mind today (you would have preferred clear fingerprints marks on your waist, to be truth).

However, it wasn’t all in vain. Now, more relaxed on one of the benches in the room, you let your gaze roam over Cross’s body, savoring every detail. His exposed ribs and sternum, along with his spine, were glistening with a faint violet sweat. Soon, you let yourself drift into darker thoughts.

He was definitely the type to sweat a lot during sex, especially if it was to restrict his own movements - how you liked to imagine his sharp phalanges trembling against your thighs, both trying not to tear your skin apart as you grind yourself against him.

Your own sweat dripped down your breasts and stomach, all the while reaching Cross's pelvis, whilst he drooled himself — saliva trailing down his chin and onto the floor as you bounced on top of him.

You could almost hear his whimpers, begging to let him cum inside you — as he began to cry from the overwhelming stimulation you were causing, his tears mixed almost seamlessly with his own drool.

The gasps, his whimper way of moaning and begging for more, all of this would make you finally let him cum. And not satisfied with that, Cross would certainly take the reins and force your body to withstand his strong thrusts — those big hands finally grabbing your waist and turning your pussy into a fleshlight for his own pleasure.

And as he neared his own climax, Cross would bite your shoulder, leaving a bloody mark on your skin and preventing you from pushing him away. Your own blood and sweat mixing with his fluids, tears dripping down and leaving a stinging sensation on your new wound.

Your eyes would roll back as he apologizes so softly for hurting you, for breaking your body with nothing but sniffles and quiet moans-

“Hey! Ready for another round, or do you want to take a break for today?” Cross’s real voice pulls you back to the present.

Quickly, your eyes sweep up and down his body before settling on the little fuzzy lights in his eye sockets.

Anything to stay glued to that body, but that’s not what you say.

“I think I can handle a little more.” A mischievous smile plays on your lips as you notice a slight blush on Cross’s bonecheeks (whether from the workout or not, he’d definitely be blushing this way when you’re holding his face between your thighs).

#cross sans #cross x reader #cross x yn #sans x reader #sans x y/n #sans x you #utmv #utmv au #cw suggestive #cw dacryphilia #not safe fw #cw sex mention #in the beginning #sans au #qininqinin stuff ❤️#undertail

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qin-qin16 · 6 months ago

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You spent so much time with them that, without even realizing it, you picked up on certain mannerisms. The cheek rubs instead of kisses, the playful nibbles on the neck; the slow blinks you shared, the way you sniffed each other to catch your natural scents.

Before you knew it, you were in sync with their body language, mimicking a short, imperfect purr as they scratched under your chin, cooing at your cute response while allowing you to nibble on their bony finger.

— Can be viewed with any Sans...

#sans x reader #sans x yn #sans x you #cross sans x reader #dust sans x reader #killer sans x reader #dream sans x reader #nightmare sans x reader #swap sans x reader #fell sans x reader #horror sans x reader #ink sans x reader #geno sans x reader #cw animal traits #utmv

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beware-of-pity · 2 months ago

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Sins of the Father(s) V

Masterlist

Previous chapter - Next

Bruce Wayne (Battinson) x Reader

Crossposted on Ao3

Summary:

where is your faith? In the light and its blinding brightness?In a forest of terror and fathomless darkness? In a sea of doubt and unending questions? How can you still believe? in the midst of deafening silence and its hollowness? The dead know only one thing, it is better to be alive. And the alive know but one thing, to wish for the kiss of death.

Chapter V: Is Pius pious 'cause God loves pious? (Socrates asked whose bias do y'all seek? All for Plato, screech)

ִֶ. . ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

You often wondered why the world had to be so complicated. When you would ask your father about all the complexities of the world he would say that such complex thoughts were not fitting for a girl so young. You felt safe in your conviction that as your parents, your mother and father would have all the answers you were seeking in them with your questions. You were much disappointed when you found that not to be the truth.

‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ your father would say, ‘But satisfaction brought it back’ you would counter back, earning a pat on the head pushed by your father’s exhaustion with your need for erudition. He did often ask himself where you got it from - not that he complained, he delighted in having a daughter so ready for the world, it did lift a weight of responsibility in not having to teach you matters that you were more than eager to take in your hands. Which is why, he did not wish to halt you in your path.

Your hunger, your strife for more, he had mistook it as a disciplinary one. He was wrong, you much later realized. You were no scholar, you didn’t study to learn, to become better than others or to achieve more. No, you did it out of curiosity, to understand the conditions of life. You much prefer to dive into a topic that got your attention than for it to be demanded so by your teachers. All of a sudden whatever topic they gave you to research became boring, you were sure that you would have enjoyed it much more had you had a choice in whether or not you had to open a book about it and read it. But you understood, that as the eldest, there were expectations, silent expectations, that you were required for you to fulfil. No one spoke of them, but your parents wanted you to do great things in life. You were sure they would still love you were you to not achieve what they wished of you, but you weren’t sure they would be happy about it regardless. They too had been products of such upbringing, and despite the fact that they allowed failure to be an opportunity, no such discretion was given to them. Especially your father.

But alas, not everyone can do as they please. Not all of us have such an easy way of doing only what we wish, only when we wish it. It doesn’t matter what you want, only what is required of you.

Knowledge is power, the most powerful weapon one can possess; a power that can come in many forms, free and limited, necessitous and fruitful. A power many possess more than others. When limited, it can constrain others in finding other ways to acquire it. Your father wishes for you to be bound full of such power, as he had been. So he made you attend private, afternoon lessons with the vice provost of an all-boys academy on the outskirts of Gotham he had been made to attend in his youth. At the time it had been but a hovel of sorts, just rising from the ashes of its first birth, only becoming the prestigious structure it is today because of the success of its many alumni, like your father.

To say you were bored out of your mind would just undermine the empty chambers echoing where your brain supposedly is. The sky outside was clouded, spotted by grey clouds that shielded such an uneventful February day; the clear sky lay beyond them trying to peak through the fast-paced, passing murky mass of fluffy galore. All so very enticing as you sat at the alumni desk reserved and prepared just for you in the provost’s office, or one would think so for a girl of ten years old with a very limited attention span, especially when being taught such an inspid topic.

The Constitution and the government it’s based upon.

“The Constitution establishes a Federal democratic republic which is also the system of the Federal Government; it is democratic because the people govern themselves; and it is a republic because the Government's power is derived from its people.” The provost’s voice echoed like white noise in your ears as they tried their best to block out the bothersome sound “As such, a constitutional government uses a written constitution to set forth the values and principles of government and to establish and limit its powers” he said “and how do we do that, Miss?” He asked you. You spaced in between his words, your mind focusing on anything but what he had asked you.

Particularly appealing to you now was the raven standing high on guard, resting upon the wooden log set on the provost's desk. You thought he must made for an annoying companion with its crackling noises, especially when one sought silence and its comfort. It crackled at you as if to urge you to answer the question, following its master’s wishes and demands. You wondered if the raven was his pet or a memorabilia he held for being part of the academy he was a highly esteemed professor of. The raven was their sigil of honour, after all.

“Through the law” you appeased, finally.

“Precisely”, the old man brightened at your engagement to the lecture and your knowledge despite your lack of attention, which although aware of, he made no reprimanding remark about. “And the law is set to make sure that every man is equally judged before it,” he explained “ ‘Equal justice under law’ they say or rather ‘All shall be equal before the law’. You can underline that”

Your fountain pen scratched at the paper as you pressured the tip of it, letting more ink fall free in the bold line you were lining under the words you had written in your notebook.

“Is it true, though?” This time, it seemed it was you who was not appeased by the provost’s words “Is what true, Miss?” He perked slightly at your question, curious about the inquiry.

“That we’re all equal under the law”

He took a moment to reflect on your words before taking his glasses off, folding them and placing them in the pocket of his finely pressed jacket as he walked closer to you, sitting at the chair before your desk. He seemed, eerily distuberd by the question, almost blown away by it, as if he had not been asked that in a long time or was not expected to be asked. Whatever the case, it did make him hesitate and hesitation often comes from wanting to give the right answer. You deserve that, of all.

“In an ideal world, we would be. Some would say we already are, but they only say so because they’ve never been at the receiving hand of what it means to not be able to afford this equality” his words held a hint of caution as if he was speaking out of turn, about something he shouldn’t be saying “I’ve been asked to teach you everything, so I will teach you this too. The truth is that some people are more equal than others” he wet his lips, which had grown chapped and dry from all the talking he had been doing until now “As a great writer once said ‘All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.’”

“George Orwell”

“Very, very good, Miss " he smiled. “I see you’ve gone ahead of the text.” You straightened in your seat at his observation.

“That’s not a bad thing, I’m happy, but did you do so out of your own will?” He asked “I would not wish for you to have done so only as a way to be able to be proficient enough for our next lessons. God knows, my boys do that all the time, such a sore it is to deal with. By then, I’ll have nothing left to teach them” he chuckled bitterly, but fondly “How useless I’ll become then”

“I wanted to read it” you reassured “I saw it in the library and the cover looked intriguing”

Such a simple explanation, perhaps a childish one, too. Wanting to read such a complex piece of literature because the cover was colourful and the pigs on it made you think it was about an actual farm; you would not tell him that last detail, nor that when you had first finished the book, you had thought it was truly about evil pigs and refused to eat bacon for the rest of the week out of the hatred you had grown for the omnivorous, hoofed mammal.

Only when you explained to your father, who had grown more than amused at the sight of you refusing the stripes meat at the breakfast table, why did your third eye open to the true message of the book.

How warm and red your cheeks had beamed as your father gave a hearty and well-meaning laugh at your misjudgment of the text. Only during your third read of the book did you truly comprehend how deep the real meaning of the premise ran - …..You still refused to eat your bacon after that either way, perhaps out of stubbornness or embarrassment, you did not give it too much of a thought to not feel the latter more than you already did.

“And let’s see, why do you think, as Mr Orwell says, that some animals are more equal than others?”

“Some people have privileges others do not possess,” you said, though slightly unsure of your words and thoughts, “and those privileges cannot allow everyone to be equal if only a small percentage can boast about being protected by them”

“That’s one, but it was a good and simple example” he praised you for it, even as you missed the bigger picture of the topic. He could not fault you for it; you were young and you would understand just how deep the issue ran in time. “And those privileges, how do you think they protected those that have them?”

“Well,” you paused, pensive, wanting to give the right answer, as a good student would.

You were privileged, but could you comprehend how deep your privileges ran? You being here, getting lectured in the afternoons by the vice provost of such a prestigious and private academy, was in itself a privilege - one a lot of people will never be granted. Everything you do in your life and will do in the future will always hold an underlining of privilege. You will never escape the nature of the life you were born into, and you fear that no matter how conscious you became of them, there will always be much more you will always remain ignorant of.

Because that’s how privileges are: the more engraved they are in your life, the more normal and common they become the more passive you are of them. The idea of something just being an everyday occurrence for you and being a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for others would surely blow the mind of anyone who has never stopped to ask themselves just how truly favoured they were by luck.

How many would die to sit in your place? Have your life? How many dream of living the dream, even if just for a day? For a moment? To live the life they will never have because you don’t just get to build a life of privilege if you don’t hold any in the first place? The American dream is dead, the idea of it dies the moment someone becomes conscious of just how unreachable such life is with the life they’re made to head. Created during a period of so-called flourishment, people today cannot use the same playbook their parents used to live life today.

‘You work hard, you study well. You make a name for yourself, and you’ll be rewarded for it’, that’s what people were told. Do those things, and everything will just fall into place. People today work twice as much as their parents did and have nothing to show for it because their money gets flushed down the drain to be able to afford to live. People live to work; they do not work to be able to afford to live anymore.

But privileges are not just about your status or wealth, social privileges are the bane of Gotham City.

Even those who get to rise to the top will always be followed by their humble beginning. It’s a plague, a stank that those with their refined noses can smell at first breath. You often wondered why Mr Francatelli, a man who owned his own construction company and had made a name for himself in the industry, rising through the ranks of riches, and now being part of what was considered the elite of Gotham, was often looked down upon by his inner circle, those he called his ‘friends’. Not that he knew about it, and even if he did he was happy enough to pretend he didn’t know about the side glances and nasty, pitiful, eyes cast his way, which you and others were not prone to the same ignorance and indifference as he was.

You always felt bad for Mr Francatelli. He came from a good family, and it’s not like he chose to be born into a family that emigrated from Sicily during the midst of mass immigration in the 1950s from the poorer southern part of Italy. He made the best of his circumstances and made a living of it. Should he then be seen as a lesser being because of it?

You also knew very well how race defined another layer of privileges. Those who form a small group of a minority, whether because of their race or ethnicity, were discriminated against by the majority of white society. Privileges, oppression, stereotypes, and the superiority of being the majority against a small minority were often at the receiving hand of that discrimination. Not to mention that most of the discriminators feel that their sense of being threatened is a good enough excuse for being awful to others.

Violence begets violence. It is utterly ridiculous of the oppressors to act surprised when their victims act out and oppose their oppression.

“Justice can be selective,” said the vice provost when you didn’t continue “Privileges can cover for those that do not wish to be put under the hands of justice, and when justice fails to protect and act upon the victims’ best interests…no one can guarantee that the victims will not take it in their own hands to deliver the justice they best see fit on their oppressors,” he said “That’s when violence becomes justice”

You saw him take a deep breath as if the reality of his own words was truly weighing down on him.

“Perhaps, my dear, Mr Orwell was not so wrong. We are animals, just like everything else on the planet. We feel superior to the urges and nature of animals, bragging about how we’re the most civilised civilisation on the planet, but the truth may just be that we have simply forgotten the laws of the jungle to bend over to those who will tell us who we are and what we must do. Animals can recognise a threat without being told, their instinct doing all the work for them, so why then should we be told by others, those that consider themselves ample-minded, those with a voice strong enough, or loud enough, to be heard, what they think is the truth and should therefore be the truth for us all. Animals do not listen to others, only themselves, they fight to the death for their survival, they use violence for it, and it works for them. So why, then, should it not be for us as well?” He asked in trepidation, blood hot and bumping in his veins, which protruded against his skin as if about to explode “A man, can turn into a pig, and a pig can turn into a man. What distinction will there be between us and them then? Perhaps we’re all just the same….”

You stared at his, stunned by his sudden burst of words, before he continued once more-

“Peaceful protests. Do you know why it’s the form of protest most used by the masses? It is because, were they violent by nature, god knows the many ways they would be labelled. The truth is, that peaceful protests never get those who are willing to make a change anywhere. But those who protest in other ways are seen as troublemakers, breakers of peace, unlawful, violent individuals who break the code of what a good, upheld citizen should be like. Silent and willing to submit to everything the government says.” He scoffed and scowled, “When….all forms of communication fail, between those that care for the citizen and those in charge of said care, there comes a point, and, I must say, so we do not get confused, that I will always repudiate the notion of violence in its many forms, that violence is necessary….to survive. One can say that the methods in which they go on about it may be wrong, but we also need to ask ourselves, what other means are there if not violence? What other forms of protest can be strong enough to oppose a form of government? Some would say it’s terrorism, revolution, war; all forms reputable by the law. But what other way is there to bright light to an issue long forgotten?” He inquired as if exasperated by the question itself, “For how much longer can governments of all the world wish to remain ignorant of the suffering of their citizens?”

“If they have no qualms with ruining our lives, why, then, should we have any for returning the favour?”

You had woken with a startle as the phone on your nightstand broke the quiet of your bedroom with its constant ringing, pulling you out of memories you could never forget. Your head, still drumming from the hungover you were nursing from the night spent drinking at that dinner you had been invited to, throbbed agonisingly. Your hand reached, unsteadily, for the phone handle.

"Hello?" your answer to the call was a slugged murmur, surely barely audible from the other hand of the line.

“Would you like to know the single only advantage to being the one person in charge of his own company?”

Bruce.

Your eyes opened for the first time since you had woken. You looked at the clock on your nightstand, which read 11:30. You groaned as you set up, your bones aching from how long you were asleep.

“Go on” You weren’t sure if you wanted to talk to him, especially when your temple pulsed terribly, but you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt despite how your last conversation had gone. Exactly what Bruce had hoped for when he picked his phone with the intention to call you.

“I find that I can do as I please” you heard him as you reached for the carafe of water to fill yourself a cup, pushing aside the metal ashtray filled with cigarette buds long smocked “Choose whenever to meet with my advisors, and when or not to send them away to not hear from them, which leaves me free for lunch”

“Well,” you gulped the last drop of your cup “I’ve just woken up”

“It’s 11:30”

“And I got in at 04:00” you confirmed what suspicions he might have had from your previous statement. The slight stutter coming from his end of the phone almost made you startle and ready for his response, so sure you would argue again. Instead, he simply said, “Do you think you can get dressed for me?”

Despite how on edge you were about the entire situation, you appealed to his request and got dressed, although in a rather scruffy and disarray way than usual. The pouring rain last night chilled the air, so you dressed according to the weather and comfortably: a jumper and maxi skirt, nothing eccentric.

You did stumble your way into your clothes, after all. Your driver had made an attempt to chat with you through the ride to Wayne Tower, but your unresponsiveness and lack of care for conversation, caused by your pained head, stiff back, and guts telling you of the possibility of throwing up your dinner from last night being in the cards for you, didn’t make you to be a good conversation partner.

As you sat at the table in the dining room at Wayne Tower, you and Bruce found each other in a rather awkward situation. Who should speak first? Break the ice? You thought that Bruce should apologise about….a lot of things, and Bruce…..well, Bruce, perhaps, thought he had nothing to apologise for. The silence, only broken by the crackling of the fireplace near the table, gave enough time for you to get a better look at each other than you did in almost two weeks.

His eyes were puffy once more, the dark circles that rounded his lower lashes deepened and sunk into his skin and….was that a hint of smudged black eyeshadow you spied in the inner corner of his eye?

In Bruce’s eyes, what he saw was that you were clearly still inebriated, nowhere near being sober from the night before. Your pupils were more dilatated than normal, and your eyes did not often stay in the same place for long, wondering and observing their surroundings like a newborn baby would.

He watched you try to hide a stifled yawn here and there, still not clearly as rested for someone who had spent the entire night out partying Halloween away, and sleeping the morning through. But then again….neither was he. His previous morning disagreement with Alfred in the Batcave, his later unwilling meeting with the accountants of Wayne Enterprises, and having to deal with the steady decline of the company he was supposed to take care of all made for a bad start to a day that had not even begun - especially when he had plans at the ready as soon as the night would fell, having to meet with Gardon about inspecting Mitchell’s garage to see if the ‘ D R I V E ’ in the killer’s note was truly indicative of a car being the next step to whatever clue he had left behind for them to follow with.

“We started at Mirabelle’s for dinner, and then went to the 400 for drinks, and then ended at... " you said as you tried to recount the last stop of your wild night. “Somewhere, I don’t remember, a pub of some sort.” You sipped your glass of water to swallow down all the saliva in your mouth from how dehydrated you were.

“Who’s we?” He asked. Lunch had been brought in by Alfred, who set it before you with great care and a hint of concern, seeing the state you were in. He left as silently as he had come without saying a word. Bruce, across from you, ate his lunch in relative silence.

“Colin, Philiph, Johnn-“The nonchalance in your tone irked him, especially when you mentioned some old classmates from boarding school and HIM.

“Johnny Lewis” he finished for you. You eyed him unsure of the edge his words held and where it came from as he named out Johnny. You took another sip of your water, downing it almost as if it were a shot, now because of the sudden dryness of your troath.

“Yeah”

He let the silencing hang for a moment as he went back to eating his lunch, the cluttering of his cutlery filling in for what you were sure to be reprimanding words. Surely disappointed in the company you surrounded yourself with, no doubt.

“You need to be more careful” he said and you smiled as you reached for your bag to pull your cigarette case and a bottle of pills, his eyes resting on the latter, skimming over the label on the small glass.

Librium

“Quite right, grime and grapes don’t mix”

“I mean, about where you’re seen,” the sharpness of his tone accompanied his hand flying to meet head-on with yours on the case. “And with whom” his utensils cluttered as they fell onto the plate before him. The sound rang in the air as you two stared at each other, a fire in both of you that had been burning and raging for some time.

“Why?” You, ever defiant, asked in the same tone as the one he had just used with you, making it clear you would not back down without a fight.

“You know why,” he said, “you think you can go guzzling around all the alcohol in the world, especially now more than ever?”

You stared at him, confused by his last word, though no less stone-faced than before. Uncertainty clouded your mind, clashing with the haze still lounging in it in a combination of alcohol in your system and the dizziness of sleep, as it often did when you were unfamiliar with the subject of the conversation you were put in. You hated being unprepared for a debate, even if this was no debate. Unreadiness was a weakness you could not afford in your field of work. Getting laughed at or used to the advantage to propagate an opposing point was often the result of it. Your hand itched with the want to take the bottle of pills and swallow them whole.

His eyes moved across the features of your face until they landed on your eyes. Your eyes, no matter how hard you could conceal things with your face, your eyes always spoke the truth. They’ve never lied, not to him.

“You don’t know, do you?” The edge of his tone was gone, now replaced by a softer, more comforting one, as if he was about to tell you about some terrible tragedy, handling you like a wounded deer. And maybe a tragedy it was, simply not for you

“Mitchell is dead”

“When?” You asked simply after a moment of contemplation, as if not fazed at all by the revelation, or maybe you were. It was something Bruce had always envied of you, being able to control yourself in front of others, whereas he was often overrun by his emotions, even when he would wish for it not to be the case.

“Last night,” he said, and your eyes immediately moved towards the copy of Gotham Gazette beside him on the table. Your way. It was the same copy of the magazine that his gaze had shifted to distractedly during his meeting with the accountants. He tried to shield it from your view, but your eyes were already set upon him predatorily.

“You shouldn’t—" “Let me see,” you both said over the other, and silence ensued. His eyes begged you to listen to him; he didn’t want you to see such a gruesome scene, one he thought was so reminiscent of one you had the displeasure of witnessing in your father. But you always wanted to have your way, he could see it, and you would not give the matter up until you would see for yourself. For a moment his eyes drifted once more to the bottle of pills still on the table, ensuring in him the idea that you really shouldn’t be seeing anything that was reported of Mitchell’s death.

You reach out, gently placing a hand over the fist he had involuntary clenched, knuckled white and raw — it was then that his resolve began to crumble as it often did when it came to anything related to you in any way.

“Bruce”, your voice was soft and mellow as a marshmallow, and he thought he could almost taste the honey his name dripped with as you spoke it “Let me see” you say softly, your voice filled with compassion and reassurance. I can take it, he could almost see your eyes tell him.

He looks away again, his jaw clenching as he fights with himself. Finally, he lets out a defeated sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as he reaches for the gazette, handing it to your eager hands.

Beneath the big, bold letters that frase the name of the journal, the headline read “MAYOR MITCHELL DEAD” followed by “ACTING MAYOR TOMLIN TO RUN IN HIS PLACE"

You reach for the newspaper and open it. As you do so, Bruce’s eyes study you, intently, silently, wanting to see your reaction to the murder’s report, to see if you knew nothing, if you could tell him about something you might know about it, mention it, even if just in a passing manner. That’s why he had asked you for lunch - to interrogate you, which the moment you had shared made him forget about. Interrogating you was the least of his concerns right now.

You interacted with Mitchell well enough in the past to be familiar with him, even before you had entered the world of politics. You both had, truth be told. Bruce remembers how flauntily Mitchell would show and promote himself during those galas you both attended before his parents had died. At the time, Mitchell was a young man, fresh out of college, ready to take on the world in all the wrong ways.

You both often sat on couches in lonesome corners he would lead you to after he’d see you cover your ears, the chattering becoming too loud for you to handle, for your sensitive ears and eardrums to bear. You followed after him like a baby duck, in your pink, frilly, dresses your mother would dress you into, still disoriented and unaware of the chaotic surroundings he had become accustomed to over the years. Of those nights, he remembers most the way his mother would smile his way at how gentlemanly he was with you, with approval and motherly pride in her eyes.

The longer he stared at you, the longer the original purpose of the lunch slipped from his mind. The silence, the crackling of the fire, you sitting beside him, in clothes that he could see you wear on a stay-in Sunday morning where you two did nothing but hang around the living quarters of the Tower, lazying the day away, the sound of you flipping the pages of the gazette, the lightness of the air, were all somehow comforting. He almost thought that he could see a future like this for him….

As Bruce’s mind cleared of all its mess, yours filled with conflicting and clashing thoughts. You stared at the sea of letters, wheels turning, as you sat the gazette back down on the mahogany table. The closed-up photo of Mitchell, slumped against the chair of his study, with his head duct taped, and with the clear message, the killer intended to send written upon it, leaving you with conflicting emotions.

It wasn’t the duct tape, or the blood dripping from his head, but rather….the way he was found.

You could see it,the image in front of you clearer than a memory you had lived and once more a reality. Standing at the foot of the entrance of your father’s study, wide-eyed, at the still form of your father in his armchair, blood dripping from the gunshot wound on his head, lips parted and eyes absent of life, as your mother’s wails of pain and heartbreak rang in the background as the police officers tried to calm her, while your younger siblings were ushered away from the scene…

You didn’t want to admit it, but you didn’t particularly feel anything as you read about the gruesome murder. Mitchell, you had spent most of your life abhorring him, could such feelings evaporate because of something….you thought more than deserving….happened to him?

He had it coming, you almost wanted to think before you chastised yourself for such a thought. You knew the kind of reaction you would get were you to utter them out loud. But Mitchell was not an innocent man as far as you were concerned. His policies and the negligence of the city put in his hands the pain he caused to the poorer and less fortunate part of Gotham. Why should you feel bad for a man who could not care less about corruption in the city as he did nothing about it? When he did nothing for the people that he was sworn to protect and help? Despite so, a man had died last night, and regardless of how you felt about him, you were made to denounce the crime had had fallen victim to.

Who you felt bad for were his wife and son, their pain one you understood well. You made a silent reminder to make sure to visit them later in the day, expressing your condolences, not because you wanted to be seen as the bigger person by the media, who could transcend political differences and come close to one institutional enemy, but because you were a decent human being, capable of empathy and compassion towards those facing injustices. Despite how you met the news of Mitchell’s death with chill distaste, his wife and son were innocent of the sin he drowned in. It is, more than often, the innocents who have to pay the price for the sins of the guilty.

Or so you’d like to think about his wife. Mitchell had a way about him, you had seen it and felt it. He had a rule of thumb over women, his wife no expectation, you were sure. Even you at times had been at the receiving end of it, just as other women of the opposing coalition. Sexist comments, more than inappropriate teasings and innuendos he never let himself hold back in private. After all, he was the mayor, who would dare oppose him? Men like him, prey upon the weak to feel strong because they know they’re not. You couldn’t help but wonder….

You looked at Bruce, who returned the stare, his brow furrowing at the rather serious and pensive look you gave him as you bit your lip. You had a feeling that his negligence for the city wasn’t the sole reason he was killed. If there was something deeper, something more obscene, something arcane about it, you knew he would not be an isolated case.

After all, men like him came in packs.

AN: I know this fanfic does not get a lot of attention, regardless, I wanted to let you all know, the little ones that always come back to read this fic, that I made a playlist on the reader of this fic.I also changed the layout a bit, to see if it looks better. Enjoy https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6XFUcwZTKXLhdxJ7241WdC?si=92a06a48b30341fe

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ellesthots · 1 month ago

Text

“twin bed”

read on AO3 ❤️‍🔥

plot: bruce wayne visits your family home, but you struggle to find time alone together.

pairing: (battinson!)bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, mdni, smut, oral sex, fingering, teasing, risky

words: 2.8k

Dinner had been good—great, even. The drinks were never late, the food delicious and warm. The only complication in the whole affair regarded lodging; you were staying at your parent’s house, which they’d insisted upon. This wasn’t the first time Bruce had met your parents, but it was the first trip dedicated to spending time together as a group. The brief initial meetings had made quite the impression, so much so they already considered him a part of the family.

Meaning? Polite luxuries were no longer afforded, and they had him camping out on an air mattress in your childhood bedroom beside your tiny twin bed.

Bruce didn’t mind. He was so used to sleeping on a hard cot in the basement of Wayne Tower that the air mattress was a sort of opulence. Most importantly, he thoroughly enjoyed time with your family. Seeing you in your element, getting to know the people who had helped mold you into the person he loved, was blissful. He would’ve slept on cement without complaint.

The first night, two days ago, you’d been so petrified of your parents overhearing that you barely even let him kiss you, despite how badly you craved his touch. He’d been working relentlessly the past month, various charity appearances and meetings about more charity appearances taking up his days, and high-intensity patrols taking up his nights. This week was supposed to be a vacation, but you couldn’t get a true moment alone. Stolen kisses and gripped thighs under tables weren’t enough to satiate your desire for closeness.

Last night you’d prayed for your parents to tuck in early, as they usually did, but they’d kept the both of you up until three in the morning with a deceptively intense game of Monopoly. It had tuckered the both of you out enough to pass out immediately. You’d slept until mid-afternoon, waking to a text from your mother about spending the evening at her friend’s birthday party—and that your sister would visit in their place.

She hadn’t yet met Bruce, and was entirely enamored. Her eyes glittered every time he acknowledged her. When he excused himself to use the restroom, she leaned in with excited, jealous whispers. The next few hours were a bore.

Bruce caught onto your need for escape like you’d spoken it aloud. He pretended to surprise you with dinner reservations, and hastily made them in the car ride over. Your head throbbed with so much fawning conversation, always surrounded by prying eyes and ears. And you had another four days of this, with a family party pinned at the end of it.

By some stroke of luck, your sister had abandoned the house by the time dinner plans were completed. Opening the door to an empty, quiet home was a godsend, and you slipped off your jacket and slunk to the bedroom to change. Bruce followed close behind. You fell onto the bed and slipped off your heels, rubbing the side of your foot where they had pinched. Your vision trailed along his legs when he tossed off his dress pants and pulled on a pair of gray sweats. His hips pulled forward as he shrugged off his blazer and yanked on a tee, creating a yummy print against the light fabric. You felt your body flush, and checked the time. It would be at least a few minutes until they got back…

You shimmied out of your underwear and sat on your knees, staring at him hungrily. Maybe it was the fact the room was dark aside from dim, faded fairy lights you’d put up years ago, casting beautiful mountains and valleys across his briefly exposed chest. Or maybe that it had been weeks, and your body felt tight with need, hoarding every second of that time like a grudge. You couldn’t decide what you wanted first—to touch him or him to touch you. For his fingers, or his lips, or…

He walked to the side of your bed, smoothing your hair behind your ear with a calloused hand. His movements were innocent and slow, and you knew he was acting oblivious. There was no universe where he immediately caught onto your boredom but couldn’t tell how intensely you ached to be taken care of now. You vibrated with it, full to the brim, desire so bloomed it blurred your vision.

Was he waiting for you to beg for it? Would he really make you beg? Or was he playing safe, assuming your parents would be back any second? The thought only made you want to rush, not stall. Only increased the desperate pull for him to be on top of you, or you on top of him or, fuck, anything.

You started pulling down his pants but Bruce shook his head; he let the rejection hang for a moment, watching the quiet flicker of your eyes across his face, gauging your reaction as he sunk down to his knees. The only sound was the air mattress sliding across the floor with a satisfying shick, and a creak of coils within your mattress as he moved a warm hand to your thigh and spread your legs.

He moved his hands underneath you and hooked around your legs, gently scooting your hips to the bed’s edge. The quilt you laid on cushioned your elbows as you sat up to watch him with wide eyes. Vibrant anticipation made your mouth water, peppering goosebumps up your arms and down your legs. The dim lighting framed his wide shoulders in half-shadow and accentuated the valleys his fingers created in the flesh of your thighs.

His eyes flicked up to yours and all thought vaporized as he brought his mouth to your clit. You held a breath. His eye contact was immobilizing, bringing heat to your cheeks and closing your throat. You only realized his hands had wandered when you felt a squeeze around the fleshy part of your waist. Your attention had been bought and fate sealed when his tongue pressed between the folds of your pussy, sending a soft rumble of pleasure up your core.

You inhaled sharply as a hand traced down the side of your body, spurring a shiver at the base of your spine. The bedframe creaked as his weight adjusted against it, a finger teasing your entrance. He watched as your breathing shallowed and your subtle, quick nod shook the fragile twin bed.

He wanted to watch your reaction when… your lashes fluttered as he slid his finger in, simultaneously pressing his mouth firmer against you. God, you tasted so fucking sweet. He suppressed a moan so he could better hear yours when he added a second finger, and oh, his body was unprepared for the sound. Your hips bucked against his mouth, and he let out an involuntary moan as your slick drenched his chin. He pumped his fingers deeper, harder, and suddenly your hands were in his hair.

His eyes dipped down only to pull back and visualize your arousal; your fingers slacked in his hair, a longing whimper slipping off your tongue at the pause. You were puffy, swollen, and the most delicious shade of pink. He drew a long, deep breath, half teasing, half preparatory. He brought his wet, pursed lips a centimeter away; your body tensed in anticipation, the room’s air turned static.

Tight puffs of warm air caressed your clit, and your elbows slipped as your head fell back; your low groan was his cue to close the distance and lap at you, his fingers motionless inside. He kept a deliberate tempo, every few seconds leaning a little closer, moving his tongue a bit faster. He was waiting for it to be too much, patient for your hands to rip at his hair until it stung. Mmms and ahhs accompanied the thick, wet noises between your thighs, and he nearly lost himself in them.

Usually you folded before this point, but you were making him work for it tonight—challenge accepted. He broke the suction and slowly withdrew his fingers, reaching for your spare hand. “Look at me,” and you immediately obeyed without protest, not even a sarcastic tease. His heart skipped. Ooh, you needed him. Even in the low light he saw how thrown you were by the width of your pupils and the slack in your jaw. His cock twitched under his sweats, his thoughts loosening.

“Please,” you pleaded, shifting your hips closer. Bruce grinned when you grabbed the back of his head. He felt the insistence within your palm and obliged, moving his mouth back down. A part of him felt bad—you were never this needy. But the beauty in the trembling arch of your back and the heat emanating off every inch of your skin was so intoxicating he couldn’t resist keeping you here. He dragged his tongue lower, circling your entrance until your grip tightened, but not enough. Not yet.

The warm, unhurried slip of his tongue against your clit had your moans echo off the walls. His pace was achingly slow, but you couldn’t complain when his mouth knew your body this well. His easy tempo continued for minutes, decreasing each time he felt your walls clench around his fingers. Tension built in your stomach and your back arched higher off the mattress. The sweeping motions of his tongue were languid, but his flicks were hard and calculated. You grabbed another fistful of his hair and yanked as his swipes turned to sucking, and he groaned against it.

You shrieked as his fingers entered you once more, the come here motion hitting that dull, heady spot over, and over, and… “Fuck,” you cursed, face tense as he worked you to the edge. He was hitting that spot relentlessly, and the noises of your soaked cunt were downright pornographic.

He felt your pussy clench hard around his fingers, and his mouth separated from you with a pop. “Go, baby.” He coached you as he curled his fingers higher. The room was hazy, his senses attuned only to your face and his fingers. His gravelly voice was strained by his own mounting desire. “Cum for me.”

You bit your lip and fought it; he couldn’t overwhelm you this easily, work you as he pleased. Even though he was right and you were on the edge of completion, almost dangling off the cliff, you wouldn’t let him have it so easily. He didn’t let you have it so easily. Remembering the torturous speed of the past ten minutes… and how fucking perfectly he was nailing you right now.

Your breathing slowed intentionally when he moved up to kiss you. A whimper slipped from your lips as you held your orgasm at arm’s length, and Bruce’s brow cocked when he realized what you were attempting. “C’mon,” he purred, nudging your jaw out of the way to press a wet kiss to the nape of your neck. Your pulse hammered beneath his lips, betraying you, his hot breath matching the pace of his fingers as they fucked you.

“Not so easily.” You managed a breathless sentence, the end frayed with a whine as he pulled his fingers out to circle the pearl of your clit. Your teeth made an indent in your lower lip, failing to keep secret how you were putty in his hands.

His blue eyes bore into yours, framed by his straight, dark hair. His cologne mocked you this close, weakening your resolve. Your body quivered, barely able to keep moans from spilling out in an endless chorus, singing his praises. He grinned, speeding up his pointer and middle fingers. “Let it out, baby.” he kissed along your collarbone, dragging his lips down to your nipple. A moan hummed from his chest as his tongue swirled it, making you yelp. “I can tell you need it.”

His coaxing wouldn’t undo you, his coaxing wouldn’t… you gasped as his fingers pushed inside again. You shook your head, face heating. He paused and thank god he had, because you needed a split second to contain yourself. “Want me to stop?”

“No.” You pushed your hips down on his fingers and grinded on them, moans and whines escaping full force. The bed creaked under the impact, a laugh mingling with a moan as you noticed his eyes flash, then darken. His jaw dropped open, beginning to pant. It was water. You were water.

The room spun. He kissed his way down your torso until he could finally taste you again. Impossibly wet, impossible to keep up with the gyration of your hips and the roll of your waist. His tone tempted the Bat when it got this ragged. “Fuck,” he swallowed hard, as if it were the last breath he’d ever take. And maybe it would be, the way you weren’t leaving him room to breathe.

He wanted to egg you on. Fuck yourself on my fingers, he’d gasp, but he was worried you’d stop. Somewhere the script had flipped and you were teasing him now, commanding control. You always melted him like this. “Take what you need.”

The words unraveled you. Your body slammed the length of his fingers, jamming the headboard into the wall without mercy. “Another,” you groaned, feeling instantly fuller. His knuckles, the angle of his fingers, and the pinprick pain of hickeys he stained along your skin made you feral. “Please,” you mewled, threading shaking fingers through his sweaty hair. He’d caught your staggered rhythm; you closed your eyes and submitted to the pleasure of each thrust, as sensitive as you’d ever been.

Bruce felt like you were riding him; he swore he felt each slip of his fingers on his throbbing dick, his hips twitching in unison with his hands. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Broken curses fell from your lips and you tightened around his fingers. His cheeks burned scarlet. He didn’t know if he was still breathing. Everything in the world left him.

You didn’t have to say anything; he felt it in the tremble of your legs, saw it etched in the crease between your eyebrows. “That’s it,” he coached you through it, feeling you clench so tight his breathing hitched. “Perfect baby, cum for me.”

Your hands landed on his shoulders, nails digging into sweaty, flaming skin as your climax shot through you. Your hips bounced erratically, Bruce’s fingers still fucked you through it, your pussy a useless, trembling, spasming mess. The white-hot release flooded your brain with TV static, a rush which cascaded through every cell in your body. Your mouth opened wider to free a guttural moan when you suddenly felt empty, clenching around nothing, and his hand clamped down on your mouth, muffling you.

“They’re back,” he whispered, gulping for breath. You writhed, simultaneously wrestling against the forced silence and grateful he’d heard, body contracting and jumping beneath him. “Shh…” he soothed, his dominating gaze quickly placating your throbbing frame. You blinked down the residual high when you heard the front door shut, footsteps entering the hall.

“Back from the party! Brought you guys some cake.”

Hearing your parent’s voice so soon after was disorienting; Bruce paused, waiting a second longer to drop his hand. You stared at each other a moment, completely still, until a smile crept on his face and you laughed.

“I’ll have to wait a minute.” Bruce sat up, adjusting his sweats with a heavy sigh. Your eyes traveled the dark room, catching your breath like you’d just run a mile. His fingers never felt that good before, his tongue never worked such brutal magic. He interrupted your reverie.

“You okay?” He was breathless too, his shirt limp and stretched haphazardly. He looked dazed, and blushed when you didn’t immediately answer. “Sorry for teasing. You just…” he turned tomato red.

“Just what?”

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he confessed, focusing on your smile as you leaned toward him. Your hand rested on his knee; his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Come try it, you two.”

You felt like a teenager again. “I have an idea.” Your fingers trailed toward his waistband. “You better simmer down, or we’ll get in trouble. Cake tasting’s important, you know.”

“Evidently…” he tried to measure your parent’s wrath against the ache in his boxers, half shocked he was even considering being so reckless. How soundproof was this room?

“More than okay.” You finally answered, tugging at his drawstring until the knot untied. He drew a quick breath, but didn’t pull away.

“I won’t be able to be quiet,” he admitted, flustered.

The walls narrowed to the space between your lips and his. You knew your parents would soon unwind in the living room across the house, unable to hear a peep—but Bruce didn’t. “Is that a challenge?”

a/n: apparently i have writer’s block but not for bruce wayne smut, so here you go <3 i think it’s cute for Bruce to have the experience of parents interrupting something, since he likely didn’t have that experience growing up !! at least battinson probably didn’t, lmao. also he’s a total munch. a real eater. let me know what you think !!

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