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lunebulous · 5 months ago

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Playing with your body in non-sexual ways

A.N: This is my first time writing fanfiction. Any feedback is very much appreciated. I hope you enjoy! I have no idea what tags to put here so, just trust me bro. cw: thigh worshipping (zayne), plus-size reader (rafayel).

Xavier

There wouldn’t be a lot of occasions where his caresses would be in a non sexual way - that's why he's known to be a wolf in sheep's clothing. But don't get me wrong, being sexual does not equal condescending or rough. Not for him. - well, sometimes. - It's just that if he focuses too long on your face when you’re sleeping soundly, or when you're admiring the lantern lights at another festival, he gets this sensation that he should own you once more, just to be sure you're his.

So when he kisses, it's only to leave you wanting more of him. So when he caresses your body, it's only to let himself know he's the one making your skin get goosebumps. So when he embraces all of you in a tight hug, it’s only to feel like you’re finally real this time. And when all of these inevitably turn into that feeling of ownership again, he frowns internally. Initially, he wishes that he was different and that he wouldn’t feel like this everytime he stops to think about you; But it's just so much love that it overflows from his heart, dripping right into the lowest part of his torso. When he realizes, he’s slowly kissing you against the wall again. He can’t help it, he's naturally drawn to you like a magnet. And that feeling gives place to a necessity, a craving that hurts so deliciously he gives up on being different. So when you gasp for air and tug at his hair to breathe a little, he just can’t understand why. Or how can you do this to him. He wants more. And more. And more. He needs it so bad he can’t help but pin your hands to the wall so he can kiss you longer, raveling in the way you squirm under him. After all, just because he can't help it, doesn't mean he's not enjoying every second of the fruits of his own possessiveness.

So he caresses you all the time - the problem is that it often turns into a primal need to own and to explore each cute face - each little sound - you make for him. He feels like a victim to his own desires. Poooor Xavier… (irony included).

Rafayel

Rafayel is completely enamoured by your hands, making sure to always kiss them whenever he gets the chance. When he doesn’t, he’s more than expected to caress them while you wait for food in a nice restaurant, or when you’re walking on the shore with him. He is the king of intertwining your hands all the time - never letting go even if for brief moments. He says his bodyguard should be aware of where he is at all times, and when you replied that having one of your hands busy would actually get in the way if danger arrives, he puffed his chest, saying something along the lines of “I’m lucky I have the best bodyguard that can fight 10 men with only one hand then!”. You sighed, giggling because of him. “You’re not actually expecting me to fight with 10 men without letting go of your hand, right?” “Well, I'm pretty sure that was on your job description when I hired you.” “No it wasn’t.” “Now it is.” --- He also kisses and grabs your stomach and love handles all the time, especially when lying down, like now. There were some times when it made you feel a little bit insecure, but he always buried his face on it with a big smile, hugging your waist. When you voiced your insecurity to him for the first time, he simply said: “Well, I never saw a painting of any muse that didn’t have enough body for someone to drown in it. - he stares up at you intently, before looking at your stomach again. - In fact, it is the only scenario where drowning would be possible for me. - Now he’s getting a hold of your love handles. - And actually, i'd love it. Thank you, my beautiful muse..” Right before nuzzling his face on your belly again, giggling. You blush furiously, caressing his purple locks, but he’s too busy to see it.

Zayne

Zayne would always need a bit of a push to touch you like he wants to - and you know that. He’s slowly coming out of his shell and being more confident when it comes to being intimate with you, getting over his irrational fear of hurting you again. The ‘push’ he got today was seeing you come home after brunch with your friends, wearing a dark and muted red lipstick, blended on your lips so perfectly it reminded him of a vintage doll. He made a note to himself to compliment you later when you had your attention on him - because you were busy taking off your shoes, your coat and yapping about some BIG gossip you just found out. He listens attentively, putting two and two together with you as you happily stride towards him.

You sit beside him on the couch and hug his arm, leaning on his shoulder. He places his hand between your thighs, trying not to pay too much attention to it - a task quite hard for him, as you were wearing light brown stockings that made your oh-so-loved thighs look even more bite-deserving; But he tries to shake the thought away.

It doesn’t take long before you’re well-invested in the documentary he is watching, but the position is getting quite uncomfortable now, so you crawl between his legs and rest your back against his chest, both of you laying down on the chaise part of the couch. First he stares at you, finding adorable how you don’t hesitate before making yourself comfortable with him. He lays a chaste kiss on the crown of your head, making you snuggle against him even more, getting it just right like two puzzle pieces. And he swears to himself he’s a good man. He is not going to turn this into something more just because your ass grinded against him innocently, no, no. Breathe, you touch-starved man!

But the same man now is fighting for his life to NOT look at your thighs, the stockings making them look so shiny for him, he couldn't help himself but imagine the shadows his fingers pressing onto your skin would look like. He imagined you in not-so-innocent lightings more than he’d ever admit, and as his thoughts stray away, he doesn’t notice how he’s been caressing your chest and collarbones for some time now, lightly using his fingertips to circle around your skin, as if memorizing each part of it. Then he's slowly directing his way to your neck, with four fingers on one side and his thumb on the other, going up and down with featherly touches as his eyes are glued to your legs, completely blank, admiring each curve going from the arch of your feet to your calves, and then to your thighs, stopping at the start of your tight skirt. Now he’s gripping your neck - just lightly pressing on it, your airflow is completely free. (for now). You can’t help but wonder what’s going on inside his mind, lying to yourself that feeling his firm hand around your neck is not making you want to rub your legs together, but you're already doing it a bit, discreetly, not knowing you’re being very thoroughly watched. As he’s breathing deeper to try to not get excited, you feel his hand slowly letting go of your neck and you whine inwardly at it. But then his hands hesitantly go higher, his slender fingers sliding across your chin to play with your lips as he remembered to compliment you. He opens his mouth to do it, but being so lost in thought he just stops. Staring at your legs with an empty gaze, completely out of it. God, they’d look so good around his cock. Fuck. You look up, a bit surprised with his actions, slowly tilting your head to the side, looking at him. - the movement makes him get out of his trance, suddenly confused as to how his fingers got to your lips - but as if reading his mind, you part them, waiting. And then he gets it. The key to making himself touch you like he wants to is just to - not think. It makes sense, it's a part of him he never let himself explore. He then lets himself do what he wants, sliding his middle and index finger on your tongue, experimenting. As you close your lips around them, looking at him so puppy-eyed, he can't help but smirk as realizing he could get used to this very quickly. You start feeling him growing against your ass now.

He presses down on your tongue, smiling. “You look breathtaking wearing this color, my love.”

So, Zayne doesn’t play with any part of your body - because as soon as he does it, he gets a problem under his trousers. And now that he knows how to let go of control, - you got one too.

Sylus

Sylus wouldn’t be the type of man to touch you without being full-on intentional with it. The same amount of hate he has towards ‘quickies’, he has for the idea of touching your most sensitive parts without being completely devoted to them. So when playing with you, it is usually filled with admiration and love, silently appreciating your presence by his side. That’s why you often find him mindlessly braiding your hair as you lay your head on his lap to watch a movie, or how he gently runs his fingernails - once claws - on your calf under the table when he’s discussing his next moves with the twins. Yeah, sometimes his hands wander a little bit higher, a little bit firmer, but always looking at you to watch your reaction; as if to just - test the waters, tease you to see your ears turn red.. or warm you up for what’s coming next.

masterlist.

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madamecaos · 4 months ago

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Crush(ing) pt.2

Summary: Where Ghost goes a little too rough on you in training then makes up for it.

6k+ ish words │ Ghost (Simon Riley) x Y/N

Warning: Mature filth, probably depression

A/N: You know the drill, no proofread found here. (This is literally an experiment to fight head-on my perfectionism lol)

Part 1

Part 2

Johnny must have said something, you realized the next morning. There was no way the strict management would provide him a personal room without providing some sort of information of a necessity.

And the team was… nicer. You couldn’t explain nor figure out if Johnny had told all the details. Or at least some because no one looked at you with pity.

Training was the same, no sparring today, just some laps and some cardio-inducing sweat. You hadn’t seen Ghost anywhere yet, but something told you he wouldn’t go near you anytime soon. Despite this team being one of the most secretive amongst the military branches, it wouldn’t be excluded from a bureaucratic process if you were to accuse him of something.

Of what, you weren’t sure. You were angry, but you weren’t there yet.

Everything was… as if you weren’t just another ‘lad’ in the team. Soap greeted you with his usual jolly good morning, kept an ongoing conversation like usual, but he filled up your tray and carried it to your table. This was the first time someone had done that. Gaz offered to carry your gym bag back to your room. Price rescheduled a briefing on the intel, allowing you to have fun and explore the city, or whatever that meant without any sort of security to follow you around.

Odd, and confusing. You weren’t sure you were complaining at the sudden reprieve from military treatment, but you weren’t sure if you were comfortable with being treated like a child. As something fragile.

Whatever, your complaining could wait a few days. You wanted to get your hair done and get some coffee that didn’t taste like water and bitter mornings.

So you did, you went shopping for clothes that you weren’t sure about when and where you would wear. At the same time, you eyed the open-back blouses wistfully, a little part of you wishing that your life wasn’t so filled with bruises and scars.

But that was the job. You had to get by.

The taxi left you at the entrance, the driver not having the credentials to enter the base, but that was not a problem.

You couldn’t find your badge, the guard’s expectation making the rummaging of your purse more aggressive. And again, that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that, when the guard opened the gates, making you think that he had recognized you and would allow you in, Ghost was standing right smack at the middle as they parted, expecting you. He was as casual as yesterday, a long sleeve tee and the expected balaclava.

You returned his inquisitive stare for a few seconds, the handles of the shopping bags digging into your bruised-enough arms. The hot shower last night had helped tame down the swelling, but not enough to not to feel it.

Keeping that in mind, you walked forward with all intention to ignore him. As you neared-

‘Ma’am-“

“She’s with me,” Ghost said, not allowing any doubt in his tone. The guard, given Ghost’s no-nonsense attitude, didn’t argue. The guard had recognized you but was jut being difficult, surely.

“May I?” He asked as he matched your pace, the whirring of the gates closing behind you occupying the silence.

You faltered and cursed internally. So much for not being affected by him.

Without hesitation nor expecting an answer, he took your bags, and you couldn’t help but notice he avoided skin contact.

The walk to your room was tense. His footsteps were not as quiet as usual, which made you think he made noise on purpose, enough for you to be aware of how far behind he stayed.

Somehow that put you somewhat at ease, but not enough. Ghost being nice? Something was happening, you just didn’t know what, but at the same time you were done assuming things about him and what his actions meant.

“I’m in a different room.” You explained as you neared the corner of the hallway that used to be your bunk bed.

“I know,” he answered just as briefly.

From your peripheral, you eyed him. You returned your gaze forward immediately when you met his, as he was already looking at you. His eyes seemed to have more depth under the fluorescent lights, no horror nor worry to be found this time.

But they weren’t blank and unexpressive as usual.

Eyes centered forward, you finally neared your room, eying warily the small cooler right by the door. When you opened your new room, you turned to ask for your bags.

You should’ve known this was a trick as he shouldered himself into what was supposed to be your safe space.

Tiny and cautious steps led you in as he placed the bags on the simple desk. You left the door open.

Then, he had the gall to point at the bed. “Sit.”

He turned back, and returned as he closed the door, now cooler in hand.

You stood frozen in the middle of the room. The frown that marred your face was enough for him to falter. You looked at the bed slowly, then back to him.

This room, away from the others, was all him. The room was far away from the people that knew there was tension between you two, and now he was demanding that you sat on the bed. There was no question as to what this might lead to.

You were no barrack bunny.

Your heart wanted to crawl up your throat.

“Please…” He showed his hands as a peace offering, placating. You were too in your head to notice the ice packs. He made another gesture towards the bed. “Cold helps swelling go down.”

You wanted to think that he genuinely wanted to help, but that tiny monstrous voice in the back of your mind told you he must want the bruises gone because they were proof enough of his brutality.

Intrusively, the dark thought developed. He must want a blank canvas to ruin again.

“You can barely see them now,” you said, knowing that your strong reprieve would loosen if you felt his hands on your skin.

He took a deep breath in, seeking patience at your resistance. “Right.”

Droplets hit the floor as the ice packs melted. When you realized he wouldn’t move, you sighed and took them from him. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.”

You sat on the corner of the bed and begrudgingly placed an ice pack beneath your shirt, the size of it barely covering the span of your shoulder. Thankfully, you were strong enough to hold in the hiss at the contact. “There, happy?”

“No,” he reached for more inside the cooler. “I know it’s not only your shoulder.”

He waited for you to act, but not patiently, that much you could tell, but he was smart enough to not push you. Instinctively, you held in an eyeroll and laid down on the bed, belly down. If this is what you had to do to get him out of here faster, then so be it.

Tentatively, he grasped the bottom of your shirt, avoiding skin. He managed to lift your shirt halfway, before it became troublesome for him to reach all the marks.

There was hesitation in his actions. The sure soldier now timid, uncertain, not knowing what was required. There was no way your clothes wouldn’t soak as the ice packs melted, and there was no way he could reach the bruises on your upper back without seeing.

He paused and you knew what he was asking of you, silently and unwearyingly. At least, he was smart enough not to make demands when you laid in this vulnerable position.

But, when you sat up and shed off your shirt and bra, he took a trembling breath as if he was the one being splayed open. Ghost looked away respectfully but caught the deep shades of blue and purple in the corner of his eye.

After shedding the only layer that covered your back, you laid belly down, pretending that you weren’t as nervous as him.

You expected clinical detachment from the man that had shown you only that, but as he sucked in a breath at the sight of your spine, you knew this was anything but.

Your arms pillowed your head as you faced the wall, concentrating on counting from one to ten as cold burned along the length of your spine.

Instinctively, you hissed when the cold packs reached a really sore mark that had been beneath the clasp of your bra all day.

“Easy,” he mumbled, deep voice doing nothing to help the rising goosebumps along your skin. “Going up now.”

He warned before you felt the branding of his fingertip, tenderly brushing away the hair from the nape of your neck. The shiver that racked through your body had nothing to do with the cold.

“Tickles,” you grumbled, burying your face further into the sheets.

“Yeah?” He mused gently, doing nothing to hide the fond undertone.

The voice inside your subconscious kept screaming that this meant nothing. That this was a soldier taking care of another. A weak link in the team meant repercussions.

The time passed in silence, and going against your instinct, you did nothing to fill it.

What could you say? That you mark easily? That it wasn’t his fault?

You said nothing, just like him. Thankfully, in the shadows of the sunset that bled into the room, you found yourself asleep before you had to face another awkward goodbye from the man that, surprisingly, felt something other than disdain for you.

This had been the offset routine for the last two days. And, for the first time in a while, you wished one of the terrorists reappeared for a whole other reason. This break had to end, or you would lose your mind.

“Easy,” he coached as he always did when he iced your back, as he’s been doing every night. Only the phantom-like of his fingertips brushed against you as you hissed. “There we go.”

His hushed worry didn’t help.

The tension and the edging had you holding in the urge to squirm. The gnawing lust you felt for the man must be unnatural, and in the midst of your grudge, you thought he was doing this on purpose.

But, to your disbelief (and delight), he’s done nothing but be a gentleman inside and outside the bedroom.

During drills, he checked in often. Inconspicuous to your teammates, he let you off on not running the last lap. He also refused to let you spar with anyone “until you’ve recovered” he said once. The first day at training was fine, the second day you remembered why you were mad in the first place.

Despite doing the most in your mock fights, he didn’t believe you were strong for this job overall. The Lieutenant didn’t believe you were his equal.

But the third night you thought it over because, when the night was at its darkest, he visited your door, awaiting for entrance and a silent forgiveness for what he’d done.

When you removed your shirt, he looked away. He asked, checked and coddled you as he placed each icepack, never allowing his flesh to touch yours. Also, you weren’t going to pretend that he didn’t caress your hair away, being the opposite of methodical.

So you found yourself on the third night, laying belly down on the bed. The bruises were almost already gone, most yellow and transparent.

Part of you knew this was the last night he would do this, and part of you wondered if he would find another excuse to interact with you? Should you leave it up to chance and wait for him to act? Did he even want to? Or was this a one-time thing, a reprieve for the brutality he had put you through? That would mean that, when all wounds were healed, there was nothing else tying you two.

Maybe this was the last time you had the opportunity to speak with a semblance of privacy, outside of the norms of a soldier. This gave you enough bravery to do something different.

This time, as he was placing the last icepack on your upper back, you turned your head, now facing him.

If you weren’t so in tune with his movements, you wouldn’t have caught the slight falter as he pressed gently, right by your shoulder. Unintentionally, this was a sign that the dynamics had changed.

He didn’t have as much power as he thought, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. There was a conversation to be had, and he couldn’t bully nor punch himself through it.

Two days ago, you would’ve been furious at yourself for reading him so easily.

With no other space left to blanket your back, he leaned backwards, sighing heavily into his chair. At your ongoing stare, you dared to believe he looked defeated.

“The team is leaving in two days, 0800,” he started.

You merely blinked and his fingers twitched, fighting the urge to fidget.

He blinked back, the balaclava doing nothing to hide the tightening of his jaw. “Price has scheduled a briefing for tomorrow.”

“I heard.”

There was some information he wanted from you, but you weren’t sure what. The details mentioned were already rumors around the whole base, they were no secret.

After a pause, he looked around the barren barrack. “I haven’t heard of a request for transfer.”

“The Captain would be the only one privy to that information, would he not?”

He grunted in agreement. A long pause, then Ghost played again with the skin of his knuckles. What an odd time to notice that he hadn’t been wearing gloves this whole time.

“Just tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Don’t be difficult,” he snarked, baiting you for an answer in your usual anger, but you thought a lot about how you wanted this night to go. You laid placidly, feeling the ice melting against your back.

“More demands then,” you sighed, merely disappointed, cheek pillowed against your arm.

“Demands? You threaten to leave, and then I ask if you’ve requested a transfer-“

“That would imply that you, indeed, asked a question,” you said, gently as you kept staring at him, unexpressive. “The only question you’ve asked me since we’ve met is ‘are you dumb?’ three weeks ago while training.”

He went still and you waited for a refusal, an excuse that the military was no place for questions or politeness. He had been trained to take, follow orders and for others to do the same.

“You don’t ask.”

“I don’t… I only want to know if you’re leaving. After…”

-After he had to ice your back for several days straight after he didn’t know how to measure the severity of his strength. You were stealing one of his tactics, one that worked well with you. Allow the other to make the assumptions, fill the silence and reap the benefits.

“Then ask.” You said, as if it was the most obvious thing. “What do you want to know, Lieutenant?”

In the dimmed lighting of your temporary reprieve, the silhouette of the man that had driven you near insanity moved and leaned in, elbows resting on his knees.

“Are you leaving?” he asked, lowly, as if it were a secret between you two.

You played along and tilted your head downwards minutely. His eyes followed the movement along as if he was starved for it. “Would you like me to?”

Just as gradually, he shook his head. The slow denial whilst holding your stare did something to you, enough to forgive that he hadn’t rebutted your leave with words. But, given the deep breaths he was taking, which might have been unnoticed for anyone else, you knew he was meticulously observing you, gauging you for your wants and needs.

You knew that look, the sudden shift. He was a soldier in a battlefield, a soldier with a mission. Ghost wanted you to stay and, right now, he was quietly asking what would get him exactly that.

“Anything else you wanted to ask me?” You asked, acting oblivious to his intensity.

You could play games too.

After a beat, still and unmoving, he shook your entire belief that he was cruel and uncaring. “Do you forgive me?”

Your breath stuttered, cool girl act failing, hardly hiding how those words affected you. Wide eyed, you stared and muttered dumbly a ‘what?’

While this night passed in the secret of your bedroom, you thought it would all be forgotten. Somehow, in your expertise as to what was Ghost, he was a man of action, not words. As you laid there, ice reddening the skin of your back, you believed that as soon as the bruises disappeared, nothing else would be mentioned. No words necessary. Transgressions would have never been declared again, and Ghost would’ve gone back to the cooly and indifferent Lieutenant you’ve come to known.

Asking for forgiveness and admitting fault felt like a whole other monster entirely.

At your silence, he leaned forward, allowing one knee to fall, then the other with a thud. The chair creaked at the movement as the man left the seat.

By your bedside, Ghost carefully knelt with hands splayed on his thighs. The bed wasn’t tall enough, so even kneeling, he had to hunch himself to keep eye contact with you. His eyes roved over your face, with thirst for any reaction that wasn’t hatred.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked again carefully, trying to get through your petrified form.

You merely blinked without words coming to mind, avoiding the burn behind your eyes. Along with a faltered breath, a shiver racked along the length of your spine, drawing his eyes to the goosebumps rising on your skin.

The ice had already melted, wetting the towel pinned beneath you. He had thought of everything.

Ghost returned his stared back to yours, finally catching the minuscule nod as an answer to his question.

He returned your nod with one of his own.

It seemed that the confirmation sprung him into action, like that was all he needed to hear. He stood and you did nothing else but lay there, immobile with your back exposed as he returned the melted ice packs to the cooler. Other nights, you had fallen asleep before he left, even with the cold covering your back.

You had often woken up with a towel-dried skin and the covers drawn up to your neck.

This time, you weren’t sure what to expect. Was this it? Now that you said yes, would it all go back to normal? Would he avoid you in the hallways and bark instructions in the battlefield?

The click of the cooler closing seemed to echo in the room and a sense of finality settled in.

You sat up, clutching the towel to your chest, doing the impossible to cover the shivers running through your body.

Despite his rapid movements to clean and organize every item he brought up, you knew he was running from the mere second he was vulnerable. There was no way this man had gotten on his knees before, not for anyone.

Given his braveness, you dared to ask the question that had plagued you since he stood up. “Is this it?”

No begging in your tone, no expectations. If he said he was done, you wouldn’t bring it up, wouldn’t claim nor believe he owed you anything, you decided. You weren’t also blind to the fact that he was always the one that set the tone for whatever sort of relationship you two had.

The man was always covered, always on guard, always a higher ranking, always more methodical.

And you already said what he needed to hear. There was no solid reason for him to come back.

“Are we… normal now?”

Ghost turned slowly, and you weren’t sure what he saw when he looked at you, but his intent gaze definitely brought you flashbacks. It wouldn’t be the first time he had looked at you like that after having access to your body, and then turn away and out of your life as if it meant nothing.

You had expected him to do the same as that night, the night where you found reprieve in each other’s bodies, then never spoke about it again.

Expectation kept you still, bracing for whatever nonchalant rejection came your way.

“You look at me as if you expect the worst from me,” he said as he turned towards the entrance, no hurry in his pace. His hand reached for the handle; cooler left behind at the desk. The lock clicked shut. “I aim to change that.”

You didn’t know what was more important, to breathe, to speak or to run.

He didn’t leave space for that as he headed towards you, expectation building at his leisurely pace. As if he had all the time in the world, he knelt again before you, eyes leveled with yours. This time, he was closer, enough for you to feel the heat through his clothing.

Hands that had known nothing but violence reached for your face, slowly but steady.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, something akin to worry in his tone. Thumbs caressed your cheeks as he held your face, searching for any reaction that might be against this.

“I’m cold,” you replied in barely a hush, shoulders caving at your vulnerable state.

Decidedly, you wanted to do the same. He saw the intention behind your actions as you gave him enough time to stop you.

Carefully, you reached forward, allowing the towel that covered your chest to drop, and rolled up the balaclava that had you spiraling over the last few missions.

Simon didn’t look down but searched for your eyes as you took in the face of the man that had plagued your dreams and nightmares.

You chuckled and he tensed.

“ ‘s not fair.”

His blonde eyebrows furrowed, distorting slightly the scar above his right eye.

“You can’t be buff and pretty,” you jested, eyes crinkling at the corners when you tried to hide your grin.

Uncharacteristically, he rolled his eyes and huffed at your joke. This made your smile widen, thinking about how expressive he really is as he was used to hiding behind a mask.

And you wanted to live in this moment, where you could appreciate every detail of his face, something that you’ve had the sole honor to see, but your anxiety was driving you wild.

You hated yourself for a moment, as he held your face fondly, for not being able to accept the present and wonder if this was a one time thing. After this night was done and he had proven he was more than pain and passion, would this tender moment live in your mind and your wishes for more.

It was sad but not unusual to expect crumbs.

As if sensing the shift in your mood, his head tilted, observing. Hands that radiated warmth drifted down to your neck, your shoulders then your hair as he caressed the wisps down your back.

“What is it?” he asked, low and worried.

The fact that he asked was monumental, but not enough to get you out of your spiraling.

“I’m not… I don’t expect anything,” you started, or tried to as the wide circles massaged into the tense muscles of your lower back served as a distraction. “But do I have to…”

His pinning and inquisitive stare had you stuttering and quivering.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I know but…” You dared to finally look back at him and asked meekly. “Do I have to pretend this never happened? Like last time.”

No answer from him, merely a sigh and you bit your tongue. You sat up straight with a mournful smile as he retreated his arms from your body and you crossed your arms across your chest.

He stood up and this time you expected him to leave, truly.

Instead, you got a, “turn around and take off your pants.”

He certainly could be blunt when he wanted to. At your confusion and furrowed eyebrows, he took the liberty to manhandle you into what he asked of you. With his hands on your hips, you stood with no space between you two. As you stared, he methodically undid your belt with a clink and unclasped your pants, then knelt, bringing your pants down with him. One hand behind your knee had you lifting your foot, then the other, leaving you in your underwear.

You kept looking down at him, asking silently what the hell got into him that had you standing in your underwear. The expression on his face dared you to say something.

Did he look like that every time you had been stubborn?

Without regrets, he turned you then pushed down on you, until you laid flat, belly down, similar to what you had been 10 minutes ago.

“You might be bipolar, has someone told you that?” You huffed, annoyed, about to use your arms to rest your head. That was until your wrists were taken, arms placed by your sides.

Then, the bed dipped with the weight of a full-grown man as he sat behind you, inches away from your thighs. Unlike the other nights, you expected an icepack to be placed carefully on your skin. Instead, you felt something liquid and cold after something clicked open.

You hadn’t even noticed he had caressed your hair away, leaving the span of your back exposed.

Then hands burrowed into your skin, massaging away the shocking cold from the lotion that sat innocently on your nightstand. Simon was now digging his thumbs into the knots of your back and the nape of your neck, ignoring the hisses you let at the pressure.

If this was the way he would act whenever you bombarded him with a vulnerable question, you might do it more often.

“No,” he said after a few minutes, your mind already drifting to a calmer place.

“No, no one’s told you you’re bipolar?”

“No,” he answered gruffly. “You’re not allowed to pretend this didn’t happen.”

You kept your eyes closed despite your surprise as the pressure of his hands drifted downwards, avoiding your underwear, heading directly to knead your legs, your calves. The proximity of his thumbs between the apex of your thighs had you squirming.

“If you do, I’ll have to find ways to make you remember.”

You barely held the groan when his thumbs dug away into the sole of your feet. If he noticed, he didn’t mention it.

“You be stubborn. I’ll keep finding ways to make you feel good.”

Despite your newly found relaxed state, you couldn’t fight the sensation pooling in your lower stomach. You might’ve drifted to sleep in this tender moment, but your mind kept wondering what else those hands could do. How much pressure could those thumbs do?

As he drifted upwards, he caught on your squirming, teasing gently as he kept massaging your thighs. Just as carefully, his fingertips brushed against the edge of your underwear.

“Need something, sweet girl?” He taunted but did nothing to hide the grave tone of his own lust. Not long after, his thumbs ‘accidently’ brushed against the cleft between your legs.

You bit your tongue, aiming to be stubborn and curious as to what he would do without guidance.

After he had enough, your underwear was tentatively pulled down to your feet. Then the hands that had been so through on relaxing you were now silently positioning you upwards to your parted knees, back arched as your torso laid placidly.

When he got you like he wanted, his fingers dug into your upper thighs for leverage, expecting you to run away. And that you did as a soft breath brushed against you before the slickness of a tongue delved into you.

You flinched instinctively at the sensation with a whimper, but he held you to him. He was no shy adventurer.

Simon had been teasing all night, and it seemed he was done playing games. His tongue, along with his lips, left nothing unexplored. His hands roamed along your flesh, issuing pressure to your lower back when needed to keep you arched enough for him. There were no tentative licks nor touches as he hummed into your folds, slick running down his chin.

Thumbs splayed you open, and your whimpers rose into moans as he lapped at your clit with enough tension to make you gasp for breaths. Instinctively, you reached back, fingers latching into a full head of hair.

When you pulled, he moaned just as loud as you. That seemed to unravel him, his careful lapping now an intense suckling as he inserted one finger, then two. The hollow beneath your lower stomach now partially full. You were wet enough to accept whatever he had to give you.

When he dug down, aiming for your upper walls, you keened. He rubbed and rubbed, fingers so thick he had no problem hammering away into your g-spot repeatedly.

Now your moans were let out brazenly, gasping into the pillow as he did his best to burrow himself into your skin.

The shaking started on your calves, the tension rising upwards to your lower back. The sensation seemed to spur him on into a continuous pattern where he kept his mouth latched on you as your nerves coiled into and impending life-changing orgasm.

With a shock, your body spasmed with a silent scream, the soldier holding you tight through your tremors. Violent shock after shock racked through you until you managed to get some air in a keening moan. After seconds, Simon petting you lightly with his tongue and feeling every spasm, you laid back down placidly, all energy sucked out of you.

At the first flinch of overstimulation, he languidly let you go, barely letting his hands off your skin as he laid you flat on the bed.

He was out of breath too, but something told you it had more to do with the tent in his pants than lack of oxygen.

Owlishly, you looked back at him through the haze. As soon as he started petting your hair, you knew you lost whatever battle had been going on between you two.

Simon had done the impossible; proven he was going nowhere and that he was just as obsessed with you as you were with him.

And, as if nothing short of extraordinary had happened, his hands drifted lower to keep the ongoing massage as the remnants of your pleasured haze pulled you to sleep.

#cod x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #cod simon riley

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rainyfey · 5 months ago

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AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA Okarun was crying and begging for Momo to run away! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA MY BONES D,: This is so well done, it really conveys fear and anguish! I congratulate you, your art is amazing :D... What other negative effects could Okarun's curse have? Thank you

Omg anon you made my day when you sent this!!! Thank you so so much for taking the time to write such lovely things 😭💕 I'm very flattered that you liked that little detail so much! I had wondered if I'd written it too messily for anyone to read XD

Anyhoo, here is a sketch page for you~

I'm more of a draw-er than a words-er, but I wanted to ramble a bit here under the cut ^^ Thanks again for the ask, I am so happy to have another reason to yap about Turbo Okarun~

While I'm glad that the manga/anime didn't spend too much time on Okarun's struggles in canon, I am having So Much Fun thinking of ways to torture this guy haha. We see him complaining that the curse hurts him in the first half of the season, but he doesn't actually seem to end up with any lasting damage! In my mind, it'd make sense for him to end up more fatigued or to suffer from random nosebleeds or other internal injuries due to the curse manipulating his body the way it does.

I also looooved the instances in episodes 5/6 when he transformed without meaning to! Very fun to see his emotions getting the better of him~

Now, if I were a fic writer, I would be so interested in exploring physical side effects in something like a sick fic. What if he detransforms and finds that he can't warm back up? Still corpse-cold like his yokai form instead of human temperature? Or, I could take a page out of NatsuYuu's book and have him come down with a cold/fever as a consequence of some of his tougher fights? Lots of good potential for angst there, for sure ^^

And lastly, what if he was on a timer the minute he transformed?? What if staying transformed and going all out began chipping away at his sanity? It's not his power, after all. Stay in Turbo Mode too long and suddenly he's a prisoner in his own mind. The curse takes over and he's just along for the ride, no longer able to control his body. >:3

Aaand that's it for now! Thank you for your support and for listening to my rambling haha. I hope you enjoyed the art/headcanons ^^

#cw: blood #just a nosebleed tho #dandadan #dandadoodles #dan da dan #turbo okarun #rainy rambles #asks answered #anon #ken takakura #my art #okarun #yokai okarun #Mind & Body AU

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shapelytimber · 8 months ago

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Ok hear me out.......... wlw Wilhuff Tarkin and Orson Krennic-

the dynamic very much is unhinged creative vs rigid control freak in a context of evil bureaucracy- and personally the context is why I love to read stories with imperials jdjdkd nothing is more crack cocaine literature for me than to make drama in a space office filled with awful people

More flavor text and me trying to sell you on why this ship of two truly terrible people is great below vvv

For Krennic, lean more into the evil genius artist. She's been up for 46 hours straight drawing schematics, she's rambling about incomprehensible shit, her only meals have been cigarettes and energy drinks, she's so full of herself she might one day think she's god, she's gonna die by 60. She doesn't care much about the politics of the empire, but they don't bother her either. She works for the imperials because they have a lot funds to give to engineers willing to build them a battle station the size of a moon capable of blowing up planets. Before that she worked on a lot a architectures on imperial center/Coruscant.

The imperial uniforms are a bit boring- so I'm taking full advantage of the fact Krennic is more of an engineer/architect to tweak her uniform a bit (and the cape was already not respecting regulations sooooo) For Tarkin I'm keeping it tho, this woman won't be caught dead without it.

For Tarkin, lean less into the whole buff survivalist aspect- she very much was in her youth, but she *is* a 65 year old woman based on *Peter Cushing*, and has been in a very high and prestigious position within the empire for the past 20 years. She still as an extensive knowledge on how to survive in nature, and fight with her bare hands or a knife, but that doesn't come up very often in her line of work anymore. She still killed a space bear unharmed when she was like 17 tho. She hates chaos and developed the main philosophy that drove the empire to this day : to govern with fear and impose order. She is a bloodthirsty woman in her sixties, with a never ending hunger for power, currently cheating on her wife with a coworker she hates.

They both love the death star more than they tolerate each other, but they did end up bonding over plotting the demise of one coworker they couldn't stand and digging out rebel spies. Make no mistake tho, this is very much a love triangle/trouple between two women and a giant battle station.

In the end, Tarkin killed Krennic by shooting her from orbit with the death star, the project was finally finished, she didn't need her anymore and she might have gotten in the way of her control of the station.

Tarkin dies a few days later during the battle of Yavin, along the death star, not willing to back down in her moments of glory.

PS : a lot of this is inspired by the fic "Propagating structure" by oneinspats ! it's what made me like and understand this pairing, and is truly a great work of fiction. I really think this fic is a masterful work when it comes to expending the character of Krennic, and extrapolating on existing things. Exploring his more creative side, his passion for his work, his truly abysmal lifestyle, giving him a hatred of nature and a background as an architect on Coruscant. While also keeping his horrific aspects, like reading his internal (or external) monologues sometimes makes my skin crawl with how disgusting his ideas are and how deep they run, but making him an interesting and compelling protag for the story. While all of it is surrounded by this delicious dramatic irony, because we know that no matter how hard they try to scheme (or fuck), the death star will blow up and it's incredible.

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clare-875 · 6 months ago

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hiiii i hope youre doing well ^_^ i have no clue if youve watched film gold but i dont think theres any fics about filmgold!zoro... if itd be okay could i request a small oneshot about reader fawning over zoro all dressed up in his white suit and participating in the casino with him (whether it be gambling or drinking LOL)? its not alot to go off of so if youre not feeling inspired you can delete this ask!

Suits and Coins (Zoro x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Zoro x Female Reader Summary: Zoro in a suit in a casino with you. (Takes place in One Piece Film Gold) Warnings: Fluff, gambling + alcohol A/N: Hello lovely! I absolutely adored Zoro in this movie!! 😍 I hope that this was what you were going for <3 [One Piece Masterlist] _____

What. The. Fuck.

You and your crew had just arrived at the Gran Tesoro, a massive ship with the world's biggest entertainment city resting atop it. It had taken a while to reach the casino, what with the Long Long pirates attacking your crew the instant you arrived and the abundance of places your friends were intrigued with. However, when you had, you were blessed with a sight (in your opinion) more valuable than the gold that glistened off every city surface.

Zoro in a suit.

Most of your crewmembers had already dispersed, and you could faintly hear Nami shouting at Luffy as he ran off in a random direction, already ready to explore. But you pay her no mind. Because with their absence you allow yourself to look. Really look. You were so used to Zoro wearing simpler clothing that you could feel yourself losing composure at the sight of him so dressed up.

You basically had hearts in your eyes.

Zoro can feel your persistent gaze and turns slightly, opening his good eye questioningly. However, he is taken aback when he sees your flustered expression and the emotions raging in your eyes. "W-What are you looking at?" But your look of adoration only amplifies as his words reach your ears. You start to comically jump around him, taking in his figure from every angle.

"Is it hot in here, or is it just you, 'cause I'm definitely sweating."

Zoro rolls his eyes at your words and the frantic pace at which you circle him, your eyes glistening with absolute admiration. "You're acting like that idiot cook." His words scarcely register in your mind as you have to stop yourself from screaming. "Babeee, you need to wear suits more often, no scratch that, how am I supposed to be the hotter one in this couple with you looking like this!"

You ramble to yourself more than him about his new-found style that you can't help but fawn over, and Zoro must admit that he had never seen you so enthralled. When he finally has enough he grabs your arms to hold you still, surprised again when he witnesses the pout on your lips. "It's not fair! You can't go out looking like that!" Zoro raises his eyebrows at your words before they furrow in confusion. "Have you lost your-" But you interrupt him again, and your next words cause his face to take on a shade of red.

"You're too hot! Everyone will see you!"

Zoro's eyes shoot open in surprise, but you turn away, crossing your arms like a child. He thinks you will actually be the death of him. You fail to notice how his eye lingers on your figure, adorned in a tight-fitting dress that has him fighting the heat that wants to reach his face. He doesn't know what you're talking about. You were clearly the more attractive person here. He lets out a deep sigh, but you ignore it, still internally debating your current situation and secretly wishing the two of you could go back to the Sunny so you could kiss him senseless.

"Let's go woman."

His grasp is surprisingly gentle on your arm, and you find yourself relenting as he drags you towards the casino. You feel heat rush to your cheeks at the action and smile before catching up to him and holding his arm as you walk. You can feel Zoro freeze momentarily, but surprisingly, he lets you linger. Your smile widens; with Zoro not being such a big fan of PDA, you would take any outward affection you could get.

The atmosphere of the casino was vibrant and thrilling. Dynamic lights reflected off the gold the building was entirely made of, and people's voices filled the lively atmosphere. You could scarcely hide your shock; you don't think you had ever seen such gold before in your life. Zoro softly smiles at the expression on your face, admiring your awe and astonishment, but by the time you meet his gaze, he turns away. You grin at his flustered expression and pull his arm gently.

"Look, Zoro! Let's try the roulette!"

Moments pass in a buzz, and with drinks in your hands, your boyfriend by your side and coins piling up around you, you don't think you could be happier. With the alcohol also came Zoro's boldness, both with the gambling and with his touch. He lets you sit on the armrest of his chair. He lets your hands linger on his form. He smirks when he sees passing patrons eye your figure by his. You were his, and he was yours. They could watch as long as they wanted; nothing would change that.

"Yes, we won again!"

He grins when he sees you happily collect your winnings. The luck placed upon your crew was truly unmatched. He turns to a passing server, "Hey, get us two more drinks," the man quickly nods and rushes off to do just that. When you lean back into the chair he sat in after placing more of your bets, you are utterly surprised when his arms circle your waist, and he pulls you onto his lap. "You look hot today doll." Your heart pounds at his softly spoken words, rumbling deep into your ears. You quickly collect yourself as you turn to him smiling.

"Took you long enough. I didn't think you'd noticed."

All in all, you win so much money that Nami is practically praising the ground you both walk on in the aftermath. Zoro lingers close to you even as more crewmembers gather to show off their winnings. He secretly swears to get you alone later.

You in your dress and him in his suit.

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eiralunaire · 5 months ago

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The space between you was minimal, just a few centimeters. Damian's breathing mixed with yours, creating a heavy atmosphere, charged with unspoken emotions. His hand slowly rose, as if he was hesitant to touch you, until his fingers brushed the line of your jaw.

"You are..." his voice, usually firm and controlled, now trembled with a mix of desire and vulnerability, "you are everything I swore I shouldn't have."

Your eyes met his, and in them you saw something raw and real, something he had never shown before. You could feel the internal battle he was fighting with himself, between the warrior who had to stay distant and the man who surrendered to what he felt for you.

"Damian..." you whispered, his name escaping your lips with a softness that seemed to melt the last barriers that contained him.

There was no warning. In an instant, he closed the distance between you and his lips found yours. The kiss was intense, like he’d been holding this moment back for years. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, like he feared you would fade away if he didn’t keep you next to him.

The heat emanating from his body was almost overwhelming, and the way his mouth moved against yours spoke of a passion held back for too long. You found yourself reciprocating with equal intensity, your hands moving up to tangle in his dark hair.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing heavily. His forehead rested against yours again, and you could feel his chest rise and fall hard.

“I don’t know how to stop this,” he confessed with an honesty that disarmed you. His voice was low, almost a growl, heavy with desire. “I don’t want to stop it.”

Your fingers gently traced the line of his jaw, exploring the texture of his skin as you tried to find the right words.

“Then don’t,” you said, and your voice, though soft, carried a determination that had him looking at you with a mix of admiration and devotion.

Damian responded with renewed intensity, trapping you in another kiss, this time slower, deeper. Every move seemed calculated, but not because he was hesitating, but because he wanted to memorize every detail, every sensation.

“Do you know what you mean to me?” he whispered against your lips, his low, gravelly voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“Tell me,” you murmured, your fingers now playing with the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your hands.

“You’re my weakness,” he admitted, his tone more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it. “And also my strength.”

His words, loaded with meaning, left a lump in your throat. Damian Wayne, the man who had sworn to never open up to anyone, was here, before you, completely exposed.

The night seemed to drag on as you both drifted along in a current that neither of you could stop. The tension in the air was palpable, and while every caress, every kiss, spoke of intense desire, there was also something deeper: a connection that went beyond the physical.

When Damian finally lifted you into his arms, carrying you to the couch in front of the gently burning fireplace, his eyes never left yours.

“There’s no turning back for me,” he declared with a finality that took your breath away. “If this means I lose myself, then so be it.”

And in that moment, you knew it wasn’t just attraction they felt. It was something deeper, something that promised to consume them both completely.

Part three

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #dcu #dc comics

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xjulixred45x · 1 year ago

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OKAY MY LAST INVINCIBLE POST BEFORE DEDICATING TO REQUESTS FOR THE REST OF THE MONTH DON'T KILL ME! THIS TIME IT'S FLUFF!

Mark Grayson/Invincible x Starfire!Reader

Imagine being an alien similar to DC's Starfire, you can follow the original line of the character (I follow more than anything the one from the comics or the 2003 series) where your planet was conquered by another race (thanks to your sister) Or you can go the more "family friendly" line, which is that you decided to explore the world outside your home planet but ended up in the hands of some kind of intergalactic trafficking network.

I imagine that if it is the first case, it is most likely that your race has been conquered by the Viltrumite themselves, which caused a MASSACRE to occur from which you and your sister were miraculously able to escape.

Regardless of what you choose, you ended up on Earth, although having gone through great traumatic events, so when you see this new world, with a strange species, you begin to attack by mere instinct (like what Starfire did in the first chapter of Teen Titans)

That's when Mark or rather INVINCIBLE appears.

He tries to fight you at first, get you away from the civilians, that is until he realizes how scared you are (especially if we're talking about the case of the Viltrumite invasion and you realize that Mark IS a Viltrumite). So he tries to change his strategy and try to calm you down as much as he can.

When he succeeds, he ends up taking you to the Globe's guardians to see what to do. I imagine that you are a little different than the original Starfire, you are more scared and defensive in this situation, at first you only trusted Mark.

For this reason, Cecil decides that you will stay in the Pentagon until they know what to do with you. Mark helps you learn the "normal" things of the Earth and show Cecil that you are not a threat.

(if you had to learn the human language by "lip contact" the whole team definitely makes fun of Mark a little for being in love now).

Imagine Mark and Eve bringing you clothes to try on!🥺Eve probably just created it out of nowhere, but she also brings clothes that her parents give her that she doesn't want and for some reason you like.

Mark offers to help you train! At first he tries to go easy on you, but when you almost knock him out with your laser beams, he learns his lesson.

He definitely takes you out to eat junk food! More when he realizes that the Pentagon's food doesn't help you much because of your big appetite. Mark was surprised at how much food you could eat but luckily Cecil pays for it (just don't tell him yet🤫)

Definitely one of Mark's favorite things about you, when you're over the trauma, is your innocent attitude, even after all, you're very bubbly and friendly. which is at least difficult to find in your line of work, so he wants to keep that part of yourself as much as possible.

Mark definitely took you to meet his mother, at first he was a little nervous that she wouldn't accept you after what happened with his father, but surprisingly Debbie took it very well.

Thanks to this you were able to learn more about the culture of the Earth, you constantly asked Debbie about the places she had seen, what they were like and their culture (even some anecdotes about Mark when he was a child), and with your bubbly and youthful attitude she did not It was difficult for Debbie to warm to you easily.

Apart from that it helped you fall in love with the Earth quite quickly, see its beauty for yourself, which encouraged you to be your own version of a hero.

When you want to become a heroine, Mark enters into an internal conflict. On the one hand, he KNOWS very well that you don't want someone to make decisions for you, he respects that, but on the other hand, he is TERRIFIED by the possibility that you will get hurt, captured, or lose COMPLETLY your being or worse, DIE.

It is probably thanks to this conversation that you two become a couple.

In general, at first Mark tries to do your first patrols with you to teach you the basics, then he lets you do whatever you want, and he is SO PROUD when you beat someone.

"THAT IS MY GIRL!" kind of proud.

He definitely really likes flying with you and just wandering, at least he feels like there you two have more privacy. Apart from that he likes how you look in your element. according to him.

If you talk about the first case of origin that I mentioned at the beginning and your sister comes back, Mark sees through ALL the red flags and will be the first to warn you about her, since he went through something similar with his family, you don't want to go through that.

If both fight together, POWER COUPLE. LITERAL. You have certain skills that Mark doesn't, so they complement each other very well.

If Mark gets hurt, you go into RAMPAGE MODE and honestly? Mark doesn't know if he should be scared or more in love. or excited.

If YOU get hurt GOD HELP US, MARK IS ANGRY---someone is going to have a bad time. And You a Lot of cuddles.

Overall, both of them are like two Golden Retrievers being happy together.

@clemberryfriends

Shares, reblogs, and comments are very welcome

#invincible #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #invincible imagine #imagine invincible #drabble #fem reader #invincible season 2 #invincible show #invincible series #invincible spoilers #one shot

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niwaart · 28 days ago

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DOCTOR!MALE!READER X BATFAM

[Part1 - Part2 - Part3 - Part4 - Part5 - part6...]

#############################

Y/N groaned as he stumbled into the hospital staff hallway, rubbing his tired eyes. Last night's Wayne family dinner had been a disaster—stealing a cake, a food fight, and Damian trying to stab Tim with a fork. He just wanted to get to his office, drink his orange juice in peace, and forget about it all.

But the universe had other plans.

As soon as he stepped into the hallway, Sammy, his usually calm assistant, grabbed his arm and dragged him into the pantry.

"Where the hell have you been?!" Sammy whispered in panic. "Do you have any idea what's going on right now?!"

Y/N blinked. "Um... no? Did anyone die?"

Sammy shoved a newspaper into his hands.

The front-page headline:

《《Bruce Wayne's Secret Doctor? Mysterious man spotted leaving Wayne Manor late at night! 》》

Below, there was a blurry but clear image of Y/N sneaking out of Wayne Manor, his bag suspiciously stuffed with what appeared to be stolen goods (which were actually Alfred's cookies).

Y/N's stomach lurched. "Oh. Oh no."

Sammy groaned. "Oh no?! That's all you have to say?! The entire Gotham press is out, convinced you're Bruce Wayne's personal psychiatrist! The hospital board is panicking, the nurses are cackling, and—"

A loud thump echoed from the front hall.

Both men froze.

"Dr. Y/N! Are you treating Bruce Wayne for a mental illness?!" a reporter shouted from outside.

"Is he unstable? Is that why he adopted so many children?!" another reporter said.

Y/N slowly turned to Sammy. "...I think I need to fake my death."

Sammy grabbed his shoulders. "No. What you need is a statement—something to make them go away!"

Y/N rubbed his temples. "Like what? 'Sorry, I'm not a therapist, I'm just his bastard son and I went to him for cake?'"

Sammy gave him a blank stare. "...Maybe you're ignoring the bastard son and cake part."

Y/N hoped the reporters would get bored and leave.

They didn't.

Instead, they multiplied.

By noon, the hospital lobby was packed—reporters shoving microphones at anyone wearing a lab coat, cameras flashing, and sweating security guards holding back the crowd.

Y/N, hiding behind a potted plant, watched in horror as an overly aggressive reporter cornered a terrified intern.

Reporter: "Is it true that Dr. Y/N is using the experimental treatment on Bruce?!"

"I—I don't know, I'm just getting coffee—" the intern said, panicking.

Y/N grumbled. "This is a nightmare."

Sammy, his auras appearing dark circles under his eyes, he muttered, "You think? The council is threatening to suspend you until this 'gets sorted out.'"

Y/N's eye twitched. "Suspending me?! Why? For my presence?!"

Sammy sighed. "For causing a media frenzy that harmed the hospital's operations."

Y/N opened his mouth to argue—

**Bzzzzt.**

His phone vibrated. A text message notification lit up the screen.

Unknown number:

"Turn on channel 5 now."

Y/N frowned, grabbed the remote in the break room, and flipped to the local news.

Newscaster (on screen):

"Breaking news—Wayne Enterprises has just released an official statement regarding the rumors surrounding Bruce Wayne and Dr. Y/N Wayne of Gotham General Hospital."

The video cut to a pre-recorded video of Lucius Fox, standing in front of the Wayne Enterprises logo.

Lucius Fox said calmly, "Contrary to recent speculation, Dr. Wayne is not, and has never been, Bruce Wayne's personal psychiatrist. He was invited to Wayne Manor as part of a special charity initiative for the pediatric wing of Gotham General Hospital. Any other claims are baseless and irresponsible.”

Y/N was surprised.

Sammy whistled. “Oh my God. Bruce Wayne saved you.”

Y/N stared at the screen, torn between relief and skepticism. “...Why?”

Sammy shrugged. “Maybe because you’re his son?”

Y/N snorted. “I doubt it. He doesn’t seem to want the press to explore his secrets.”

By evening, the reporters had finally dispersed, though some lingered outside, hoping for a scoop.

Y/N sat in his office, exhausted, staring at the last remaining cupcake he’d smuggled out of Wayne Manor.

“Okay,” Sammy said, looking at Y/N. “Now what?”

Y/N took a slow bite of the cupcake. “And now? Pretend it never happened."

Sammy raised an eyebrow. "And the next time Bruce Wayne invites you to dinner?"

Y/N chewed the muffin thoughtfully. "...I'll get a bigger bag for the muffin."

Sammy grumbled. "You're hopeless."

Y/N smirked. "But you love me."

"That's debatable," Sammy said wearily as he walked out of the office.

At Wayne Manor, Bruce sat at his desk, watching the news coverage fade on his tablet.

"That was...uncharacteristically kind of you, Master Bruce," Alfred said coldly.

Bruce sighed. "The last thing I need is for the press to associate him with me in the wrong way."

Dick leaned into the cave entrance. "Or...maybe you didn't want your son to be bullied?"

Bruce glared at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dick grinned. "Of course, B. Anything to help you sleep at night."

Bruce ignored him and went back to his tablet. But as he watched the last reporter leave Gotham General Hospital, a small, almost imperceptible smile spread across his lips.

############################

Side story:

Dick: [sends article link] GUYS LOOK Y/N BEING KIDNAPPED BY RED HOOD

Tim: That’s not kidnapping. That’s a rescue.

Damian: Tt. He’s weak.

Steph: Aww, Jason’s being a protective big bro!

Jason: SHUT UP.

Bruce:…Is he safe?

Jason: Yeah, yeah. He’s complaining about missing his cupcakes.

Y/N (added to chat): I HEARD THAT.

Dick: WELCOME TO THE FAMILY GROUP CHAT, BIG BRO!

Y/N: …I hate all of you.

[Y/N has left the chat.]

Jason: He’ll be back.

Tim: Yeah. For Alfred’s cake.

[Bruce Wayne has sent a photo of a triple-layer chocolate cake.]

[Y/N has rejoined the chat.]

Y/N: …Fine. But I’m bringing my own fork

############################

@roxy776699 @missmannequin @theultimatezazasniffer @chericia @mybones537 @thegothamsiren

@eyeless-kun @thegothamsiren @a-brilliante-mariposa @s4raahi @s0ggyrate @glasscurrents @iiriam5 @f33rumm

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mim16s · 2 months ago

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This is my first time writing smut, so I hope it’s good!

English isn’t my first language, so there might be some spelling mistakes.

I’m open to requests, so feel free to send me your ideas!

Warnings: Established relationship, smut, cockwarming, MDNI, Unprotected sex.

- Shh, darling... don't move. I'll never finish this paperwork.

You just moaned in response, burying your face in his neck. How dare he ask you to calm down while he was still so deep inside you? You felt his every movement, the slow writhing in the warmth of your walls, each pulse of his thick length leaving your intimacy so wet that it seemed to beg for more - waiting for him to finally fuck you the way only he knew how.

- I can't take it anymore... please, love... ‐ you murmured, sprinkling wet kisses on his neck and collarbone, squeezing him with your pussy in a mute plea for him to drop all those stupid roles and concentrate on what really mattered: you.

- Damn... uhg... don't do that, baby. That's a low blow - he grunted, putting his hands on your waist.

You moaned lowly, rolling subtly against him, seeking the friction you craved - only to be suddenly restrained by a firm grip and a hot, authoritative slap on the ass.

- That's it. Stay still or I won't let you cum.

You stopped instantly. He didn't joke about that. The last time you'd doubted, he'd ruined every one of your orgasms... and you still remembered the delicious torture. Now, if the price for being fucked well was to obey and wait, so be it. You kept quiet, even though every part of your body was begging for more.

- Good girl.

The nickname made you blush, even though you tried not to show it. But the way your body reacted, squeezing him even tighter by reflex, gave you away. You ignored your wounded pride, snuggled back against his chest and buried your face in his neck, trying to distract yourself.

Bruce wasn't much better either. Every contraction of his warm walls brought him closer to the edge. He was trying not to grab you and fuck you like a fucking animal. You were his paradise - tight, hot, receptive - and even though his instincts were screaming, he loved to tease you. Just a little more, he told himself.

From time to time, he would sink in with a slow, deep thrust just to hear you whimper and then go back to work as if nothing had happened. When the last piece of paper was put aside, he finally turned his face to you. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, like someone fighting an internal war. Bruce smiled and kissed your temple. You opened your eyes with tears caught in the corners and a look so full of desire that it made him contract inside you.

- That's my girl... you've behaved so well, deserves a reward.

You nodded, desperate. Just one more minute and you'd lose control.

- All right... I'll take care of you, princess.

His kiss was fierce and sweet at the same time. His lips took yours thirstily, his tongue exploring every corner of your mouth. And then you felt it. The first thrust. Slow, but firm. You moaned against his mouth and he gripped you tightly. The hands on your waist were intense, firm.

You knew you'd be booked the next day, but you didn't care. Not when he was fucking you like that. Not when he knew you so well.

Each thrust was precise, right to the point that made you scream. His name escaped your lips in loud moans that would echo through any hallway in the house. Bruce also moaned hoarsely, enjoying every contraction of your pussy enveloping him to perfection.

- Bruce... there... ah... right there...

You were drunk with pleasure, throwing your neck back, offering your skin for him to kiss, suck, bite. He alternated between thrusting and exploring with his mouth, devoting himself to every part of you as if it were sacred. His tongue went down to her breast, circling her button as his hips accelerated. It was too much. It was perfect.

- Bruce... I'm... I'm close...

- I know, love. Give it to me. Lick me with your juices.

He was on the edge too, but he wanted you to come first. One hand went down to your clitoris and began to trace precise circles. You screamed. The thrusts got faster. You squeezed him hard, making him moan loudly and praise you between sighs.

Your eyes rolled back, his name escaping in a scream as you came - intense, wet, rapturous.

He came straight away, spurting into you with powerful thrusts, prolonging your orgasm as long as possible. Your body trembled, but he held you tightly, glued to you, as if he never wanted to part.

- So good for me...- he whispered, stroking your hair and kissing your lips tenderly, now with a lazy, passionate touch.

You cuddled up against him, feeling the fluids of the two of you mingling, with him still inside you, and after you'd calmed down he finally said

- Come on, love... let's wash up.

He lifted you with ease, carrying you to the bathroom. You smiled, hugging him. After being fucked so well, you'd still be pampered by your husband.

#batman #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #Bruce wayne x Black!reader #dc comics #bruce wayne smut #bruce wayne x y/n #smut

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natlovesls2 · 8 months ago

Text

Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

Lando x Fem!Reader

*ੈ✩‧₊˚warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), gaslighting, sexism/ internalized misogyny, swearing, no use of y/n, some plot but not much, rushed, grammar mistakes, etc. Please remember that this is fiction, and in no way represents Lando as a person

*ੈ✩‧₊˚word count: 1.7k

*ੈ✩‧₊˚summary: You love Lando but he does not feel the same, no matter how long you've waited (For the most part its just inspired Sitting, Waiting, Wishing from the In Between Dreams album, as the title of the fic says)

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You had always made it painfully clear to Lando that your feelings for him were anything but platonic. If the constant heart eyes weren't enough to prove it then the little gifts and compliments surely should have made it abundantly clear. Surely he wasn’t THAT oblivious, and he wasn’t. You had often heard him boasting to his friends about your everlasting and eager love for him. There was one such instance that you remembered quite well– he had asked you to be his date to some event, in which you had, of course, ended up alone. “Thanks for agreeing to be my date, don’t know what I’d do without you,” he had said as if it even mattered that you were there.

You watched Lando interact with some bitch he met at– long having forgotten about your presence. Sometimes it felt as if you were a stranger who was invading his space– uninvited and unwanted. She hadn’t wronged you in any way and, yet, you hated her. You hated her stupid face and her stupidly short dress that made her look like a cheap whore. It was obvious that it had to be the reason he was so enamored with her, she looked easy and Lando loved easy girls– and she was practically begging to be fucked. She wrapped her hand around Landos arm and you wished you would walk over to them and break her fucking arm.

He made it very clear that night that he would never love you, at least not in a romantic sense, he's made that perfectly clear. But no matter how many times he humiliates you, you will fight for his affection, always. Even if that affection comes in the form of lust and only ever is lust.

His constant disregard for your feelings led you to promise yourself that you wouldn’t find yourself in this position with Lando again. In fact, you had sworn that last time would be the final time you found yourself tangled in his bed sheets. Truthfully you had never been strong minded, always giving up on those fitness challenges and never finishing the long books you bought with the intent to feel smart and accomplished. But you were tired of being so destructive– of ruining yourself for someone who obviously didn't give a rats ass. Maybe that's why you were in his apartment, to end it all– at least that's what you were telling yourself. It was all rather pathetic: the look you gave him as he went on about whatever he‘d been going through before you had gotten there.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered, bringing his hands to rest on either side of your hips, occasionally rubbing circles with his thumbs. You knew what he’d be doing if you weren’t there, fucking whatever bimbo threw herself at him. He pulled you closer, resting his head in the crook of your neck, “You’re awfully quiet– what's going on in that pretty little head of yours?” he asked, pressing gentle kisses to your neck. You could feel yourself begin to give into his intentions– you never were good at saying no to him. After all, your plan to avoid him and kick him out of your life altogether had lasted nearly two weeks… more like five days, but stretching the truth has never hurt anyone.

“Nothing,” you sigh, threading your fingers through his hair, slowly melting into his touch. You could resist the feeling his voice and touch brought upon you. You suppose that's why you’re here again, clothes slightly askew and hair a messy tangle. His hands eagerly explore the expanse of your body, lips impatiently marking down your neck. “I've missed this so much,” he raggedly whispers against your shoulder, rolling his hips against your own. His hands continue to wander, coming to rest at your clothed breasts, gently squeezing them.

You pull his head up, body leaning into his in a heated kiss– feeling the vibration of his moans against your lips. This wasn’t something you were particularly proud of, but it kept him close to you. It allowed him to show an ounce of affection towards you, even if that affection was pure and unfiltered lust. “Need you,” you whispered in between rushed kisses, trailing kisses down the side of his jaw.

“I know” he grunted, movements slowing as he brought his hands up your thighs and under your skirt, fingers ghosting over your underwear. Gently applying pressure to your clothed clit, stopping only to move your panties to the side, “God, baby, you’re already so wet.” He teasingly ran his finger up your slit and back down, only inserting the tip of his finger. Lando smirked down at you when you greedily attempted to shift your hips in hopes of getting some sort of relief. He kissed the expanse of your thighs, pulling your underwear down your legs and away. A few more kisses were placed on your thighs before he turned his attention to your pussy, teasingly licking and kissing the area.

“Please,” you let out a whine as he slowly inserted a finger into your needy and begging pussy. He chuckled at the strangled moan that left your mouth, pressing kisses down your body, wrapping his lips around your swollen clit. He continued to work his finger in and out of your pussy, adding another after a while, getting you ready for what was to come.

“Take this off,” he mumbled against your cunt, impatiently pulling the hem of your shirt up exposing your stomach, urging you to pull it off the rest of the way. You pulled the shirt off, tossing it aside before doing the same with your bra.

Your thighs involuntarily close around his head as he curls his fingers, thrusting them a few more times before removing them. He smirked at you, watching as your chest rapidly rose and fell, pushing his face further between your thighs– lapping up your arousal. The slurping like noise coming from between your thighs, giving you a wave of embarrassment as you reached down to tug at his curls. He fucked his tongue in and out, occasionally pulling fully out to run it up to your clit– swirling the nub around. His fingers found their way inside you again as he noticed your brows furrow together, a sign you were getting closer to coming. He increased his speed as your back arched, whines becoming loud moans as you clench around his fingers.

“I’ll never get tired of seeing that,” he whispers, kissing up your body, wrapping his mouth around your left nipple, cupping and groping your other boob.

“Mm” you whine, reaching a hand down to massage at his bulge. You felt him smirk against your breast, letting it go with an audible pop.

“So impatient, so desperate for a good fucking, huh?”

You nod rapidly, pushing at his pants, watching as he unbuttons his pants and kicks them off along with his underwear. He smirks as you open your legs wider, wincing slightly as he strokes his almost painfully hard dick, lining it up to your entrance. Perhaps you should have cared a little more as he pushed in with a condom, but in the moment it felt good to be wanted.

A shuddered breath left you as he began to thrust, strong and steady, the faint sound of skin slapping against skin sounding in the room. “Feels so fucking good,” shakily said, wrapping your legs around Landos waist. Truly it felt as if your whole body had been lit on fire, you were burning with desire.

“I know it does, baby– shit,” he grunted, slamming his hips against your own at a fast pace, snaking his hand down to rub tight circles against your clit. You clenched around him, quickly reaching your second orgasm. He sped up, holding your hips down, the headboard slamming against the wall. With a deep groan Lando came, spilling inside of you, he pulled out laying down beside you.

“You don’t need me to drive you home do you?” he asked tiredly, voice a little shaky.

“No, I drove here.” You stood up collecting your clothes, slipping them on one article at a time. The embarrassment began to seep in, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You sighed, turning to face Lando who now sat at the edge of his bed, “I can’t do this anymore, Lando.”

“Do what?”

“God, you know what I mean!” you said exasperatedly, running a hand through your sweaty and unruly hair.

“I don’t, so why don't you enlighten me?” he said back, his tone shifting to something more harsh instead of the innocent tone he had been using.

“Us– this whole back and forth thing. I can’t– I just… I love you and you don’t love me. And I can’t continue to be the person you only use when you need them.”

“What?” he rose from his spot, glaring at you.

“God, don’t act like you haven’t noticed– I’ve made it pretty fucking obvious, Lando,” you raised your voice, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“You haven't–” he started.

“Yeah, because sleeping with you isn't obvious enough. Just cut the bullshit.”

“I don’t know what you expect of me, I thought you were okay with being friends– we’ve had this conversation before, you said it was fine,” he took a step closer to you, eyes glaring into your own. He was challenging you, like he always did, because he knew you always gave in. Always accepted whichever shitty excuse he gave. Always accepted the whole “I’m not ready for a relationship” spiel.

“Friends don’t fuck eachother, Lando.”

“Well we do, and if you can’t accept that we’ll never be more than friends then you can take your slutty ass out of here.” This was your breaking point. It hadnt been his abandonment at parties, or the way he bragged about how you let him fuck you to his friends, or the sheer lack of care for your emotional wellbeing. No, it was the way he had spat that word at you– slut. That's all you had been throughout the majority of your friendship. A hole that had been willing to be filled.

You started at him, mouth agape with disbelief, “You’re a fucking asshole. Oh my god, how did I not notice,” you let out a humorless laugh, shoving him out of the way. And as you walked out of his home, you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. You had a lot to learn and unlearn.

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚note: this was my first time writing smut, so I apologize if it sucks or makes no sense. feedback is appreciated, but please be nice because I scare easily lol

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