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kouzih · 3 months ago

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Freak.

Nam-gyu ( Player 124 ) x gn!reader .ᐟ

warnings: insulting words , spitting/saliva , smut(?)

tags,, @gongyoosgf @bbyjjunie @seonghwasslytherin @wp2222-y

(hahaha ..this took longer than i thought.. hope you guys will enjoy it tho)

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ You were intrigued by the slow crowd of people that started to gather around, and you noticed that they were all coming holding something for you guys to eat in hands. You weren't hungry and it didn't really interest you. But you were getting thirsty, and you could use them for later. You got off your bed and slowly started to walk towards them, looking around as you fumbled with your hands. You voted for "O" at voting time, so people with the same sign on them got more of your attention.

Most people were already seated and starting to eat, some were still waiting in line, and when you turned your head a little more to the side, your eyes fell on the two people already watching you. Realizing this, your movement slowed down and you started to stand next to the line. Your eyes went to their numbers without realizing it, you read them under your breath. "230 and..124?" You couldn't see the other person's number properly, his position didn't allow it. Still, they both looked familiar. The one with dyed hair was chattering about wanting everyone to be on his team before, the person who pressed the button after looking at the other team was the same person sitting next to him. You were thankful you weren't with them during the vote, because they were seriously a pain in the neck.

The other player you mentioned was looking at you with his face raised, you waved back out of habit, they must not have bad intentions.. you thought. You turn your head and are about to get in line when you notice one of them waving back at you lazily. A small giggle leaves you as you step into line.

Coming back with your hands full, you change your mind and walk down the metal stairs before climbing into your bed. When you reach their bed you notice them talking to each other, it takes a few seconds for them to realize you've arrived. "I saw you waving back at me," you mumble, turning your head to the long-haired man. "Oh- yeah I did." He answers briefly. As you open your mouth to speak again, his friend standing next to him interrupts. "But you were the first one to wave at my bro, so what?" Your expression changes momentarily and you answer quietly, letting out a shaky breath. "Well, I know-" "Then what is it?" He was really impatient. He didn't even let you finish your sentence.

"I know." A sound of surprise escaped your lips as you focused on where the sound was coming from. "You want to be with us, right?" "Why didn't you say so!" The purple haired boy nearly shouted, standing up to grab one of your hands and smiling. You hadn't even noticed the other man walk up behind you, your body flinched when you felt his hair fall over your shoulder.

As he took the items in your hands, he realized that you hadn't even opened them yet. "What's this? You're giving us your food?" "Seriously?" "Yeah bro, they didn't even touch them." The purple-haired man looks at his friend's hands, turning his attention away from you. "Sweeeet!" Shaking your hand he talked again. "That's what we're talking about bro!" With a nervous chuckle, you tried to pull your hands away from him, completely forgetting about the man standing behind you as you took a step back. You squeaked as you bumped into his chest. "Wow, wow- calm down." Your eyes involuntarily drifted towards his hands and you started reaching for your drink.

"Can I have it back?" He doesn't give you an answer as he opens the box with one hand. His other hand is on its way to the bed behind him, putting the other box down. He takes a few sips from your drink, ignoring you. "Not fair broo, share." That was.. awkward. After their yapping you went back to bed, crawling in it. As you were muttering something under your breath, a voice suddenly made you jump.

"What'd you say?" You sit up to see where the sound was coming from, your vision wasn't very clear 'cause of the lights being off as you blinked. You make an eye contact with a figure at the end of the bed, his face resting on his arms, his eyes narrowed. You spoke slowly, keeping your voice low. "Why are you here?" As the smile on his face slowly fades, he stands up. "You're not fun, can't I fucking come and have a chat with my teammate?"

"You're creepy." You said it so fast you didn’t even realize it came out of your mouth. After a short silence, he gets into bed and starts climbing towards you. "Fucking whore." He hissed under his breath, causing you to change your position so he can't reach you that easily. He stops right in front of you, one hand moving up to your chin, forcing you to look at him. "You have a mouth and you dare to use it on me, huh?" His grip tightened. His knees were touching your feet under the sheets, almost crushing them. He had a smile on his face that made you feel disgusted. His legs pressing into your thighs, holding you in place. It was obvious from the way he spoke that he was pissed, He hissed at you once more, closer to your face. "Answer me, you fucking-" He was talking in such a way that his saliva was coming to your face.

You narrowed one of your eyes and reflexively wiped the wetness off your face. "What am I supposed to say? Don't you think it's normal for me to be startled by someone talking out of nowhere?" Your voice was low, muffled by his grip. The expression on his face didn't change for a while, your eyes following him, realizing he was going to make a sudden move. When he takes his hand off your chin and you're about to bow your head, he suddenly grabs your chin again, even harder now. "Oh, did my saliva disgust you?" He says, in a way no different than the way he spoke before. "When I ask you a question, you can't speak..but you dare to wipe your face? .. Pathetic."

The pressure on his legs was increasing more, he didn’t let go of his grip, pulling your head down a little more. "You better get used to it, soon your whole face will be covered in nothing but my fucking saliva." His grip loosened, his fingers trailing down to your neck, the cold ring almost scratching your throat as you breathed heavily with your mouth open. His fingers move towards the back of your head, towards your hair, and wrap the strands of hair between his fingers.

"You didn't get a chance to drink anything, did you? Aww, poor baby, you must be thirsty." It was so obvious that he was mocking you and that he was enjoying it. Your mumbles were inaudible due to his tightness, he could only hear a few whispers you made for him to let go. "Now, now, don't you fucking dare to kick." He relieved the pressure on her leg, almost making it seem like he was sitting on your lap.

The smile on his face does not fall as his free hand grasps his lips, licking his teeth with his tongue. "Open up." You refused, you couldn't even breathe properly because of the things he did to you. His nail begins to press against your lip, the cold metal of his ring brushing against the tip of your jaw. You were thankful that his nails weren't long enough to make your lip bleed. "I know you're nothing but a fucking slut," pressing his nail against your teeth "now open your useless mouth before I make you coughing on your own blood." Even the thought made you shiver, opening your mouth wide, admitting your defeat.

Pressing his finger against the tip of your tooth he opens your mouth wider. "At least you're learning.." He adjusted his position and pulled himself back a little more. Since your eyes are half closed, you can't see him fully, your vision is limited. You hear a sucking sound and the next second you feel a wet feeling in your mouth. Before you could realize what the liquid in your mouth is, his fingers force you to cover your mouth, using one of his fingers to insert the part of it that is leaking from the corner of your lip. This movement causes you to swallow involuntarily. "Hah." After wiping his wet finger on the corner of your cardigan, he takes it back to its previous place. "What a slut we have here.." You couldn’t speak as you let out quiet breaths, the realization that your words wouldn’t convey anything to him only made you feel worse. His voice was coming from throat, there was a feeling inside the way he talked that you couldn't figure out.

"You fucking enjoyed it, didn't you? The feeling of my juices in that dirty mouth of yours excites you? Yeah? Freak. " He said the last part more slowly. Your breathing had somewhat got better, but all you could do was grip the sheets beneath you and try to keep your eyes open. Underneath his giggling he slowly started to move away from you, sitting on the sheets. "Guess you're not thirsty anymore." One of his hands brushes against the sheet while your hands moving to cover your mouth. After sighing, he moves to the corner of the bed, and a small grunt is heard when he hears your voice. "Wait-" "What?" He looks at his own hands, raising an eyebrow. You didn't even know why you stopped him, after a few seconds of silence you took your hand off your mouth and as you opened your mouth to speak you heard a 'pfft' sound.

He did it again. "Hell, keep your mouth shut." Reaching out from the corner of the bed, he gives your legs a little squish. "Okay, done, happy?" He says quickly as he fixes his own clothes and hair, his hands clasped together and his eyes turn to you. You swallowed it again with momentary tension, You let out an annoyed sigh and put your hand to your head. Even though you couldn't see his look, you knew he was smiling like crazy, with one last word before he left, leaving you there devastated and overwhelmed.

"Nam-gyu."

Well, at least you know his name now.

#nam gyu #nam-gyu #squid game #player 124 #squid game 2 #squid game season 2 #namgyu x reader #nam gyu x reader #imagines #squid game x reader #sorry for typos #hope the waiting was worth it #tumblr didnt let me post this at first #okay ummm #just realized i made so many typos omfg. ill fix them l8 but for now lets ignore them cuz im too lazy to fix all of them

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anitalenia · 9 months ago

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𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𝒄𝒘: sexual content ahead, husband!bale!batman, fem!reader on top, riding, some dirty talk, soft sex, not my best writing but fr fr don’t come for me im just trying to post things okay? ahhhhhhh 😔🤚🏻 maybe some typos 😚 i oughta be ashamed of myself fr fr 😔😔🤚🏻🤚🏻 ₊˚⊹♡

₊˚⊹♡ 𝒃𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆; eccentric billionaire, former eligible bachelor, orphan boy, son, rich playboy.

Labels. These were all just labels Bruce never particularly cared for nor paid attention to, monickers used to try and simplify who he really was so he could be easier understood. Labels used to better classify him because rich men like him supposedly didn’t have depth or purpose beyond what the media claimed him to have.

They were just labels, words that barely scratched the surface of who he really was.

Bruce had been called many things in his life, too many awful and offensive things he had quickly learned not to pay attention to. Caring gave them meaning, he was told so early on, caring gave them significance. Now, he really couldn’t care less.

Throughout the course of his life, throughout all the tragedy and grief, Bruce had learned to ignore it all; the names, the judgments, the looks, the labels. His indifference had become second nature, an innate response to anybody trying to provoke him.

He didn’t really have a choice anyway. There were too many people praying on his downfall since his birth, too many people biting at the fruits of his labor to see if they were ripe enough for the taking. Selfish, greedy, money hungry men desperate for his demise.

Sharks lurking in untamed depths ready to snatch him up if he swam too far, hiding in the black shores with their sharp teeth bared and beady eyes hungry.

Despite what many people believed, Bruce didn’t have it so easy in the sense of work and spirit. When you were rich like he was, famous like he was, as powerful as he was, everyone believed you couldn’t possibly be burdened by anything.

That he was too spoiled by the grandness of life that it had gradually bled into a lack of work ethic, that it was his last name that gave him any status at all, that it was his reputation that gave him everything he had without him having to ask for it.

He had the money to fix any problem, the influence to hide any scandal, the face to get him out of any situation he needed to get out of.

He was CEO of Wayne Enterprises for gods sake, son to Thomas Wayne, a man that was great and beloved all in his own right. Yes, people had doubted Bruce’s ability to lead, to run a business after so long of being away from it, but then he came back and proved them all wrong as he usually did.

Being someone so honorably renowned in Gotham City, someone that carried the Wayne name at that, it came with its own barrel of familial obligation and responsibility outside of his own personal commitments. He couldn’t disappoint anyone, could never fathom disappointing his late father.

Working by day a normal man with a bullet on his back, a price on his head to any hungry buisness man willing to do whatever it took to get to the top. Then working by night as Batman with the bruises and scars to show for it. Someone every criminal and lowlife in Gotham City wanted dead.

Batman, not so much a label as he was a separate being entirely. It was Bruce, but he couldn’t find any similarities between the polite buisness man wearing a suit by day and the other man wearing a blood stained mask by night. One was forced to coerce with society in the manner of business and passive aggressive smiles, another undertaking the grueling task of removing the grime from it.

Bruce Wayne was all expensive cologne and hand shake deals, money hungry tabloids and self absorbed white collars. It was a life always on display, always the center of attention, always everyone else’s focus.

Batman was purely mystery and intrigue. Hidden from sight yet found in every shadow, heard in the trembled whisper of every breath. No one knew who he was yet he had somehow gotten all of their attention. Everyone eager to know who was behind the mask but no one ready to answer for why he existed in the first place.

The only similarities they shared were the cause for conspiracy. Whether it was Bruce or Batman they stole every headline — always someone trying to figure them out, bring their true identity to light and spread more moral quandary about whether they were right or wrong for every choice they made.

Pure opposite lives he juggled in the same two hands.

No, he did not have it easy. Always more enemies than friends and more snakes than family. Every hour, every minute, every second he spent left exposed there was always someone right behind him ready to push him if he faltered.

He had to be careful; always be passive and nice, diplomatic and respectful to those he knew wanted him gone, to the people who wanted his seat at the head of the table and the money in his bank. Bruce had to be the CEO his father wanted him to be, the one he was destined to be, the one etched into his history before he was even born.

He had a reputation to uphold, a legacy to live, a job to do.

But no, it was not always easy.

Being rich and handsome like he was did have its downsides, as meager as they may seem to less fortunate individuals. Many people hated Bruce Wayne just for those simple, superficial things alone. His looks, his status, his job he was so rightfully given. Apparently this made him an asshole, arrogant, narcissist.

It was looks of hatred and envy from men he’d never even met, women he’d abandoned after a steamy two hour hookup (not that he did those anymore but women loved to hold a grudge), businessmen who cursed him to hell and back for his amount of wealth and fame he had no control over.

He didn’t care about these people anyway. These rambunctious, single minded people who preyed on the weak and ate the hopeless. They were all self centered, arrogant, narcissistic. Self absorbed scum unwilling to put in the hard work necessary to be as successful as he was.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Bruce was often regarded as someone lonely, someone lost, someone desolate and pitiful. He was a coward, hiding in his soulless black mansion under thick piles of money ever since the fatal death of his parents. So sad, an orphan, just depressing.

That was hushed whispers behind his back and somber stares, awkward, harrowing smiles from coworkers and the front pages of newspapers. Bruce Wayne back from hiding after all this time… living on his father’s name… will he fail or carry on the legacy of the great Wayne fortune… yada yada yada.

Just more words. Pointless and purposeless, written to appease the swill of Gotham with no real substance behind them. Gossip, false news, attention grabbing headlines that were purely speculation.

However, as much as he hated labels — more so his — whatever names he got called behind his back, Bruce couldn’t find it in sensible reason to argue that they weren’t pieces of who he really was. Fabrics of his character torn out thread by thread and poked and needled at by societies curious hands.

They were just pieces, stretched and torn so far from the truth but yet the original strings were still there, hanging on in remembrance of what he truly was chaotically intertwined in the lies and deception of what people thought him to be. Too shredded to be properly understood but still thriving in the undercurrents of whatever he was now being labeled as and people were now foolishly believing him to be.

Yes, they were just labels. But labels that were not so far from factual truths.

However again, none of those words mattered to him as much as this did, as much as the one label that he truly cared about.

Husband.

Your husband.

The only title he held in the same esteem as Batman and Wayne Enterprises CEO, perhaps even higher. It was one of the only labels that carried a semblance of true meaning, one he didn’t shy from.

Husband. It was the only honorific that mattered to him, one of the only sentiments that made him feel actual pride in who he was. Husband was something real, concrete, not some anonymous opinion in a paper or a cruel murmur in a hallway.

It was the label that pierced him through and through especially in moments like this, moments when your hips were rolling deeply on top of his and he was buried balls deep inside your warmth.

He couldn’t think about anything in this moment. Nothing and everything at the same time as your finger nails, freshly manicured and glittering, gripped into his shoulder blades as you rolled your hips once again.

Bruce winced pleasantly, jaw clenching as his head leaned back into the softness of his black silken pillows. Brown hair frazzled and stringy, his smooth skin alight with a soft, lovesick glow.

You rolled your hips once more in a soft soothing motion, nothing too rough and nothing too fast; the evening had called for something more sensual in the delicacy of Bruce’s touch and the softness of his words just an hour prior.

“Oh Bruce…” You sighed dreamily, hands pressing into his bulky arms as he sighed out a trembled breath from his nose.

Your thighs tightened around his waist, his heavy hands squeezing your hips but not as to pressure you, only to keep you connected to him at the hilt so he was never too far out of you.

“That’s good, sweetheart, get it just like that… mmhmm.” Bruce swallowed heavily, voice low and raw as his eyebrows furrowed over darkened hazel eyes. Fingers thrumming on your skin as you pulsed around him, wetness seeping out of your full entrance and gliding down his length until it could leave a memorable darkened patch on the sheets.

You whined quietly, voice high pitched and greedy as the length of him filled you up and pressed into every soft wall surrounding him. He was always thick, always perfect, always felt so fucking good it made your muscles tense and spasm.

You rolled your body in that delectable way he liked once more, barely moving yet every part of him felt the sparks of pleasure thrum through his skin and make his thighs lock up.

Bruce groaned hotly at the action, eyes flickering down to the wet mess of where your pussy was sucking him in. It was messy, glistening, shared arousal in white strings of mutual attraction. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass from where it sat perched on his strong thighs.

“Mm, fuck, honey.” Bruce breathed out gruffly more to himself than you when the sight of your wetness smeared all over him made his heart spike.

You didn’t respond, chin down to your chest and eyes closed as you focused on the pleasure in your own lower regions, the fullness and heaviness that filled you up and refused to part.

“Ohhh, feels so good-“ You gasped as a heavy spurt of pure pleasure sparked up your tummy, hole clenching around him tightly as an obscene gush of wetness leaked down his cock and onto his thighs.

Bruce licked his dry lips, eyes staring up at you heatedly; at the tightness of your shut eyes, the sweet moans gasping out of parted lips — lips, lips that were glossy and plush from all the needy kisses you shared with him just a mere moments ago.

He was enraptured by you, by your naked physique all soft and sweaty on top of him but he didn’t care. You were just so beautiful, pussy so perfect wrapped around him, squeezing his cock so good it made his mind fog up with indescribable pleasure.

“Yes, sweetheart, god, yesss…” Bruce agreed huskily, his head resting back on his pillow once more as you bucked your hips. His thighs tensed, toes curled, a grunt sounding in his throat as his hips rose to further dig himself inside you.

He couldn’t help it; like a soul to a light he sought you out, your warmth and tightness so snug and comforting around him he didn’t ever want to be apart from you.

You whimpered at the intrusion, nails digging into his skin in a painful sting that Bruce was too fucked out to really notice.

He swallowed hazily below you, eyes closing then opening to look down at the way your pussy molded into one with his hard cock as you rocked gently against him. Deep inside you where he was meant to be, stomach and pelvis and thick thighs soaked with your gushing arousal.

Fire shooting down his legs and tummy with every soft bounce back down on him, illicit wet noises sounding in the room with every desperate grind.

He loved that sound, your wetness mashing with his thick base. But not nearly as much as your melodic sounds gasping out every so often because his cock made you feel that good.

His mouth was terribly dry from his own grunts and moans, handsome face and muscular chest flushed pink, the air so so hot he could feel his own dark hair sticking to the dew on his fevered head.

His hands, big and clammy, dug into the soft fat of your hips to help you dig into him in that way you both liked, the one that had you both gasping hotly into each others mouths as you leaned down to give him another sloppy kiss.

You couldn’t quite get it right though, too distracted by the feel of him so deep inside you that your lips stuttered on his. Moving messily against him as you whined into his mouth once more, the tip of his cock so high up inside you it almost hurt.

He was always so big, so round and tall that the stretch alone always seemed to ache pleasurably with every short thrust he made inside you.

“That’s good, sweetheart… that’s it… just how you know I like it…”

Bruce breathed heavily against your lips from where you were leaned on top of him, naked breasts mashed to his chiseled chest and hands gripping onto the headboard now.

You needed something sturdy, something unbreakable to tether you back to him when you felt the pleasure making you float too far.

His breath was hot against your sore lips, mingled with your low moans and spoken just above the subtle creaks of the bed; sounding every time you moved above him in a sensually quickened pace that had your toes curling and thighs tensing.

“So beautiful, sweetheart, so good…”

Bruce couldn’t help but compliment you even in the most nasty of times, voice clenched yet breathy, spoken through hot breaths and pressed teeth as your wetness dripped down his length once more.

You moaned sweetly at his doting words, his voice cracked and low in that gravelly salacious tone you loved so much.

You clenched around him in response, his fingers tightening on you as he let out a handsome groan from the feeling. You watched as his head sunk into the pillow beneath him, eyes clenched shut and a heavy grunt leaving his chest.

The sight was attractive, seeing him so wrecked from just a few simple back and forth motions you were carefully orchestrating.

You felt a wave of stinging pleasure spike up your thighs and down your legs, up your tummy and into your head until your whole body was tingling. Your eyes brimming with unshed tears as sweat prickled at your skin and your legs burned from sitting for so long.

You didn’t care about the pain, too drunk on the sensations of his thickness rubbing inside the most intimate part of you, your hips rolling in desperate circular motions so he was never completely apart from you. You liked keeping him inside as much as possible, to feel that fullness and that dull burn to remind you of just how big he was.

Bruce loved it too, resting inside your warmth, comfortable, letting you take him however you wanted in whatever way you needed. He was always a giver, always a good husband when you needed him to be.

“F-fuck, Bruce, you feel so good.” You gasped wantonly, voice quiet yet fragmented, needy and breathless as your nails dug into his skin.

“Yeah, honey? It feels good?” Bruce replied just as quietly, being sure to thrust up into you just a little bit harder so you’d gasp some more for him.

It was lewd, lovely, his dirty words spoken onto your quivering lips and his meaty hands gripping your thighs to help aid in your eager movements.

It felt so good, so right, being there with him in the darkness of his room with only the sound of your shared panting and moans filling the silence.

It was hot and perfect; his hands on your thighs gripping hard enough to show you he doesn’t want you to stop, your mouths ever so often pecking together in a sweet kiss you couldn’t continue, fond gazes in darkened irises.

“Feels so good, Bruce, I can’t—“ You whimpered out all cutely, sliding up from his chest until you were sitting straight up once more. You could feel him shift inside of you, hardness still prominent and throbbing. He pressed against your walls, invading every nerve point as your clit rubbed against his naval in the new position.

Bruce gripped the flesh of your ass between his hands, helping your soft rocking motions against him as he spoke, “Yes you can, pretty girl, you always do for me. You’re doing so good, sweetheart, you have no idea…”

The praise made you smile brokenly. Your skin so hot it felt burning yet every grind against your husbands hard cock made your legs go numb. You whined and bucked above him as a tightness started to stretch in your tummy.

“Always for you, baby…” You managed to mumble shakily, lovingly, hands sliding over the abs on his stomach as you sat back on his lap so not a single inch of him wasn’t inside you.

Bruce clenched his jaw at that, hands digging into your hips as he thrust his own up to meet your soft grinds. Sparks, electricity, all of the cliche metaphors for how good he was feeling shooting down his cock and into his legs as his knees tensed up.

He felt lightheaded yet completely grounded, here to his mattress. Floating in the skies yet simultaneously stuck on earth with you, his gorgeous wife who always made him feel sane and normal.

Your hair was tangled around your shoulders and falling over your flushed cheeks as you stared down at him with a fond glimmer in your eyes, bright and burning under the lust so boldly wanting.

The stretch of him inside you was so good, his gravelly moans so good, the way he was making you feel so so good.

You exhaled as you settled your weight down on his pelvis, pussy sore yet eager as you squeezed around him once more. Love struck eyes looking down at him passionately as the moon cascaded a light gray glow behind you.

Bruce felt the air escape his lungs, lips parted as he stared up at you in utter devotion; you were so beautiful, so sweet, felt so fucking good around him he couldn’t even think straight. Brain numb and thoughtless, only you and your perfect pussy, you, you, you.

You took a moment to stare back at him. Unspoken love was whispered in the shadows of your eyes bright and glittering as your movements picked up into polite, subtle bounces that had Bruce digging his hands into you, breathy sounds escaping his lips.

“Ah, Bruce…” You mumbled weakly, voice soft and needy as you tossed your head back and moved your hips up and down so his cock was hitting that sweet spot inside you he usually loved to tease.

“Such a good job, sweetheart, so beautiful like this…” Bruce spoke huskily, staring at your heaving breasts as they jiggled and beckoned him forth, beautiful and pure as you rode him to high heaven in your most organic form.

You hummed into a delicate moan, a smile quirked on your lips at his praise as you felt his hands slowly start crawling up the exposed expanse of your waist.

Warm and big and tender as they moved up, up, gentle fingers tracing over your ribcage as your flesh prickled at the touch. He was delicate, always intent on your pleasure over his as he admired your form above him, the feel of your skin under his textured hands that had hurt so many.

You trusted him, your husband, enough to see you like this. Trusted him enough to have you like this, to allow his bloodstained hands to wash over you like he himself was something pure and untainted, bestowing him your presence like a merciful deity to their promised worshipper.

You bit your lip as his palms enveloped the fat of your breasts into them, molded perfectly into his larger hands as he squeezed and admired them in a fashion so familiar for him; he always loved your breasts, enamored with the softness and weight of them in his greedy hands.

You stared down at him with a heated tenderness, the look of a wife irrevocably in love with their husband as he stared up at you with the same fervor.

When he was here, with you, there were no labels, no obligations and no judgments. With you he was just yours, another body made of flesh and blood and bone melded to yours in the conjunction of where his body ended and yours began.

He was no one but he was your everything, hands on skin and lips on collarbones, sweat amongst sweat and heady moans breathed in the gasps of kisses shared between two lovesick spouses.

In this space, in this moment, with you on top of him and his hands all over you any remnants of shame and Wayne inspired obligation was vacant. All he needed to do was sit and let you take him, sit there and be of use when you wanted to use him.

He was a good husband, the best husband to you, his perfect and lovely wife who never addressed him as anything more than yours. He wasn’t this, he wasn’t that, he was just everything and more in the confines of silken sheets under the safety of his mansion.

No cameras, no gossip, no press and no watchful eyes. Serene, tranquil, just you and him and the great love you shared that transcended any label or common sense humanity could fathom.

Yes, he was Bruce Wayne. Eccentric billionaire, former eligible bachelor, orphan boy, son, rich playboy. But those things did not define him, did not set his reality in stone so easily as your love did. He was all those things but he was so much more.

You never judged him, looked at him as anything more than the most important thing. You regarded him with love no matter his past, his present, and hopefully and most likely your shared future.

You didn’t care for labels or surface value lies like everyone else did. You ripped him at his seams, tore him apart to see what was inside and he was ever so grateful for it, for that loving animosity that bared his soul to yours. You were straightforward, heart to heart or nothing at all because then what was the point?

There was no purpose without pain, without pleasure, without love. You suffered, you loved, and you were most definitely bringing him pleasure. All blunt and raw emotions too passionate and loud to ever try and hide or make lies about. No secrets, no deception, no labels.

This night, every night just like this one — nights spent in your arms deep inside where he needed to be most, were nights where his mind was bare and he was just yours. Nights when he didn’t have to put up a face or make up a lie or tell a tall tale.

He was Bruce, he was yours, he was just this. And most importantly, he was just your husband. The only label that really mattered and the only one he ever really cared about. ₊˚⊹♡

tagging , @little-miss-chaoss , @ghostslillady , @boobaeri , @prayingal

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