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muffywritez · 3 days ago

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↣ pairing: Red Hood x OC

↣ genre: enemies-with-benefits, smut

↣ rating: +18

↣ word count: 2.8k

↣ chapter warnings & tags: explicit sexual content; rough sex; desk sex; established relationship; hair-pulling; biting; light power play; unspoken history

↣ Requests open!

↳ red hood breaks into her office to “talk.” she gives him a cigarette. they do not talk.

The Gotham skyline sprawled before her like a fever dream rendered in oil and smoke. From where Muirne stood, it almost looked like a painting. If she reached out, she imagined she could run her fingers along the city’s cracked silhouette and feel the grit, each bump and nook in the paint. Light bled up from the streets below in streaks—neon signs, headlights, streetlamps—all burning like scattered embers in a dying hearth.

She took a slow drag from the cigarette tucked between her lips, the ember pulsing bright. The night air slipped into her cramped office through the open balcony door, fluttering around the stacks of paper on every surface. Her jacket was tugged tightly around her body to keep the cold from creeping under the hem of her blouse. Still, it found her; seeping into her bones the way fatigue did after hours hunched over test results and drafts.

Her desk was a mess. A half-drunk espresso balanced dangerously close to edge. Crumpled notes littered the desk like fallen leaves, scrawled in her frantic shorthand. Somewhere beneath it all was a clipboard she’d needed two hours ago and had given up trying to find.

She’d told herself she’d only step away for five minutes. Just long enough to let her mind stop spinning, to slow the tempo of her racing thoughts and give her aching fingers a rest. But now, staring out over Gotham, the cigarette forgotten between her fingers, she realized how long she’d been zoning out. The bitter stench of the burning filter drew her back. The cigarette came to the tops of her fingers as she held it, calling to be put down before the cinders cringed at her skin. She clicked her tongue in annoyance and stepped away from the window.

She crossed the room, sidestepping stacks of books. On her desk sat a small, thick-bottomed glass bowl, blackened at the base and brimming with the carcasses of cigarettes past. She tapped the dying one against the base, letting it fall with a soft hiss into the heap. A lazy curl of smoke bloomed upward like a mushroom, then dispersed into the air.

Muirne watched it rise, eyes unfocused, mouth slightly parted in thought. The creak of a floorboard behind her was soft, but sharp enough to make her twitch.

Someone had been watching her.

Muirne didn’t spin around immediately. She glanced over her shoulder instead, curls shifting and almost obscuring her view as she caught the unmistakable silhouette.

Red helmet. Leather jacket. Broad shoulders set with a stiffness.

“If it isn’t the Red Hood,” she drawled, turning fully now and leaning back against her desk, the edge biting into the backs of her thighs. “Here on business or just checking in on your favorite gothamite?”

Her gaze lingered on the scuffed, impassive surface of his helmet, the sheen dulled from wear. She imagined the domino mask beneath, those ever-watching eyes narrowed.

“I came to talk,” he replied, voice clipped but not cold. His gloved hands moved to the sides of his helmet, fingers finding familiar latches.

With a soft hiss, the seal broke. He pulled it free, and a tumble of black hair fell loose. He raked a hand through it in a half-hearted attempt to tame it.

“Mind if I bum a cigarette?” he asked, nodding at the pack on her desk.

Muirne rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth curved. “You know, most people knock.”

He said nothing, but the almost-smile that ghosted his lips was answer enough.

She grabbed the pack and with an exaggerated grace, she stepped toward him; heels clicking against the floor. “I don’t mind a little company,” she said, voice dropping. “As long as it doesn’t end with bullet holes in my drywall. I just fixed the last ones.” Muirne held the pack out between two fingers, her nail tapping lightly against the cardboard.

“Pick your poison,” she said.

He took the offered cigarette, their fingers brushing.

“I’ll try to behave,” he said, deadpan.

She smirked. “Now that’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

As she turned to retrieve the lighter from her desk, he tucked the cigarette between his lips. When she looked back, he tilted his head ever so slightly and gave an unspoken cue for her to light it for him. She stepped close as she cupped her hand around the end of the cigarette. With a flick, the lighter flared, casting a brief wash of amber light over their faces. Shadows danced across his jaw, painting his features in flame. The ember at the end of the cigarette bloomed to life with a sharp crackle, and he drew in deep. Smoke curled from his mouth in a lazy ribbon, drifting up past her cheek and into the shadows above them.

His eyes slid past her to the rest of the room, taking in the sprawl of things across her desk. The scattered blueprints, vials, post-it notes half-soaked in coffee stains. She watched him watch her world.

“Lots of work,” he said finally.

Muirne gave a sharp little laugh as she turned. “You don’t say. Though it doesn't concern you. I do have to organize my distribution and stock. I’m not some two-bit back alley cook.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Believe it or not, I actually care about my product.”

He scoffed, exhaling a fresh stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth. “And here I was thinking you were just another mad scientist with a flair for dramatics.”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes, biting back a smirk as she leaned into the windowsill, shoulder brushing the glass. “I’m so much more than that.”

He leaned forward just slightly. “Oh yeah?” he said, voice dipping into something rougher; edged with that familiar challenge. “Why don’t you prove it to me?”

Muirne arched a slender brow. Her smile spread slow. “I did lend you a cigarette,” she replied smoothly. “If I were really mad, I’d have laced it with something nasty. Maybe even a hallucinogen, just to keep things interesting.” She gave a shrug. “Consider yourself lucky.”

He grinned around his own cigarette. “Still not convinced. You strike me as the ‘poison in her teeth’ type.”

“Oh?” Her chin tilted upward. “You think I’ve got little capsules tucked behind my molars? That's flattering.”

She turned and started back toward her desk, her hips swaying with the same confidence that colored her voice. “You wanna check or something?” she tossed back over her shoulder.

His footsteps followed; boots thudding against wood. “Wouldn’t mind.”

Before she reached the desk, she pivoted. Her gaze met his without flinching, expression unreadable but not uninviting. “Careful,” she murmured, the warning curling into a grin.

She hadn’t even registered the shift before it happened, his mouth was on hers in a sudden, blistering kiss. The cigarette crushed in his hands before he tossed it. He kissed like he fought; no wasted effort, no hesitation. Muirne’s breath caught in her throat. Her hands found the collar of his jacket and clutched the leather, fingers curling tight. She pulled him down to her, arms looped around his neck. He pressed into her, mouth parting hers in a fierce rhythm. His arms caged her in, hands braced on either side of the desk as their lips clashed. When he finally did break the kiss, a thin thread of spit still connected their mouths, glistening for a second before it snapped.

Without saying a word, he hooked a strong arm under her thighs and lifted her effortlessly, setting her on the edge of her desk, shoving her things out of the way. In a split second, his mouth was at her neck. He kissed down her jawline, his stubble scraping lightly against her skin as his mouth found the pulse beneath her ear. When his teeth grazed a tender spot just above her collarbone, Muirne inhaled sharply and bit down on her lip to stifle the sound that escaped.

The sound didn’t go unnoticed. She could feel him smile against her throat. His shoulders shook with the faintest silent laugh.

Her nails dug into the leather of his jacket. “Don’t you—”

Her reprimand was swallowed by another kiss; his lips pressed hard enough to bruise. He pushed forward, and she let herself fall back slightly, one elbow behind her propping her up. His body settled between her thighs, the bulge in his pants pressing against the inside of her leg, undeniable and growing.

There was no finesse to what came next. One of his gloved hands ran down the side of her thigh, trailing the edge of her skirt. Muirne shivered in anticipation, her thighs parting as he slipped his hand beneath the fabric and hiked it up to her hips. The coarse leather of his gloves scraped lightly against the softness of her skin. She gasped against his mouth as cool air licked across her upper thighs. His breath was panting, his fingers gripping her hip as he adjusted her on the desk.

Muirne’s hands moved to his pants with impatient fingers, fumbling at his belt as his mouth traveled back down the column of her throat. He wasn’t making it easy; each graze of his lips across her skin sent little jolts of distraction through her body, and she grunted softly in frustration. Still, her hands knew what they were doing, even if her brain was fogged. The belt came undone with a few tugs, the buckle giving a clink as it dangled loose against his hip.

“Getting bold, aren’t we?” he murmured into her skin, his voice becoming frayed.

She tilted her head to the side, letting him mouth at her jaw as her fingers slipped down to pop the button on his pants. “Oh please,” she whispered, lips brushing his ear. “You act like I haven’t done this before.”

He huffed and she could feel it ghost warm across her neck. “You do have a habit of skipping the foreplay.”

“I like efficiency.”

“Sure you do,” he muttered, amused, as she tugged his zipper down and slipped one hand up under his shirt. Her fingers spread across his stomach, dragging along bare skin. She splayed her palm there, slow and claiming.

His fingers skimmed her thigh. The contrast of his gloves against her bare skin made her shiver. He paused. His gaze flicked up to meet hers. Without breaking eye contact, he lifted his hand and caught the edge of his glove between his teeth, tugging it off and tossing it aside. Now bare, his hand returned to her inner thigh. Callused fingers slid higher, dragging gently across sensitive skin until they found the thin seat of her underwear. He hooked a finger beneath it and pulled it to the side.

His breath was coming ragged now, and he shifted his stance, crowding her against the desk. His hand wrapped around himself, and she could feel the change in his posture as he guided his cock against her. He rubbed the thick head through her slick folds—dragging it slowly up and down, brushing against her clit on each pass. Once. Twice. A third time, firmer, enough to make her hips jerk in response.

Muirne shuddered, thighs twitching around his waist as her breath caught in her throat.

“Stop teasing,” she bit out, voice taut with need. Her fingers curled into the desk behind her, while her free hand clutched at the edge of his jacket, dragging him forward.

He looked down at her with that maddening grin. “You say that every time,” he murmured.

He finally pressed his tip in and she gasped, head tipping back as her mouth dropped open. The stretch was immediate. Her muscles fluttered around him in reflex, trying to pull him deeper, but he held steady.

One hand gripped her hip with bruising pressure; the other braced on the desk beside her. Holding her exactly where he wanted. “Not so fast,” he said, voice tight.

“You’re the worst,” she hissed through clenched teeth, her voice cracking.

He leaned in until their foreheads touched. “Are you sure about that?”

Her nails scraped against his chest, grounding herself as the pressure built. “Fuck,” she whispered. “Fuck, Red—”

He sank deeper, slow and steady, inch by inch. A low, guttural moan slipped from her lips as her body adjusted around him. She fell back on her elbows, the muscles in her abdomen tightening as he bottomed out. Their hips finally met with a breath-stealing press of flesh to flesh.

His pace was maddening. Every thrust forward dragged a new sound from her throat. Her body was trembling from the tension building inside her, frustration clear on her face as she clenched her jaw. His gaze stayed locked on her. One hand slid down to her thigh, gripping it tightly, anchoring her in place. The other squeezed at her hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he began to move in earnest.

His rhythm built quickly; deep, purposeful strokes that pushed the desk beneath them into a shaky stutter. It creaked beneath Muirne, legs scraping slightly against the worn floorboards with every sharp snap of his pelvis. Her fingers clung to his shoulders, then slid up into his hair, clutching at him like she’d fall apart if she didn’t hold on. Her body rocked in time with his, thighs locking tighter around his waist as his pace grew relentless. She could barely breathe, barely think; just sensation crashing through her like waves she couldn’t outswim.

He shifted his grip, one hand weaving up into the thick mass of her curls. He gave a firm tug, tilting her head back until her throat was bared to him, long and exposed and trembling with every panting breath.

He didn’t waste the invitation.

His mouth descended on her neck, biting just above her pulse point with enough force to make her yelp. Her back arched against him in response, the pain like a livewire that only heightened the heat blooming low in her belly.

“Fuck,” she gasped. He bit again, this time lower; just beneath the collarbone, then soothed the sting with a sweep of his tongue.

He was ruthless with his mouth, moving between nipping, sucking, and licking whatever skin he could reach on her neck. Red marks bloomed along her neck and shoulders in the wake of him. And when she’d had enough, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him back up to her, crashing their mouths together in a kiss. He met it with equal earnesty, groaning into her mouth as one hand slipped between their bodies, fingers finding her clit. He rubbed in tight, relentless circles.

“Come on,” he growled against her lips. “I want you to cum on my cock.”

She didn’t need more than that.

Her body locked up around him; hips bucking, muscles seizing, breath torn from her throat in a strangled cry as she came. Her cunt clenched hard around him, pulsing in erratic waves that made her legs shake and her vision blur. The orgasm ripped through her like lightning, long and consuming, stealing everything that wasn’t him.

The feel of her coming undone; fluttering around him and dragged him over the edge right after. With a grunt, he pulled out fast, wrapping a hand around his cock and stroking himself through the final moments. His hips stuttered forward and then he came with a low, guttural groan, spilling hot across her rumpled skirt.

Neither of them moved right away. He braced himself against the desk, one hand flat beside her, breath coming in sharp, uneven pulls. Sweat clung to his brow, collecting beneath the line of his mask. The urge to strip it off and let the air hit his skin was strong but he resisted.

Muirne lay back against the desk, her chest heaving with each labored breath. Her curls clung to her temples. She blinked up at him, dazed and glowing, until her eyes dropped to the sticky mess on her.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, exasperated. “Really? On my skirt?”

He huffed a short laugh through his nose. “Better than in you.”

She raised an unimpressed brow. “You want to explain that to the dry cleaner?”

He exhaled a breathy laugh, reaching for the waistband of his pants. “Then next time,” he said as he tucked himself back into his boxers, “I’ll make sure to take it off first.” He leaned in just slightly, bracing one forearm on the desk beside her, his other hand still resting low on her bare thigh. “So,” he began, “do you want to circle back to the reason I came here in the first place? Or was this your plan all along to dodge the conversation?”

Muirne tilted her head, her eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. “My plan? You're the one who snuck in after hours, looking like sin and sweet talking me.”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug, entirely unrepentant. “I can have two motives.”

Crossposted to AO3

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