Poor Little Fool

poor little fool

PAIRING joker unseen arkham prisoner/reader

SUMMARY the man down the hall is a point of great intrigue for you

WARNINGS implied joker, smut/dry humping, manipulation

REQUESTED yes/no (definitely not, who would request this)

WORD COUNT 2k words

why did i write this? I don't even have a gif for this character? i was gonna write about druig. i don't know what happened.

Mystery surrounded the prisoner at the end of the hall, the one prisoner who nobody wished to speak about. He was allegedly just as fresh to Arkham as you were. However, while you were there to do a simple job, the man was an inmate. There was no other prisoner who spiked your interest quite as much as the man in the corner, leading into the hallway in which the next guard over had jurisdiction.

Every day, Eli, the man working in that hallway, took food and other materials to the prisoner. He claimed he was doing you a favor by not making you work with him. Perhaps, he truly believed that he was. But your interest got the better of you, and they had always said that curiosity was what killed the cat.

Laughter filled your ears every time you heard silence. Maniacal and loud, scheming and rhythmic. At first, the sound frightened you. Made you regret taking a job at the prison, knowing that was the type of person you would be working with. But other guards told you it was only him that frequently acted like that. when you asked about him, though, you were met with more questions. No name, no answer of why he was even in prison. Nobody wished to speak of him, and it only made you wish more and more to know something - anything - about him.

Everything fell into place for you the night that one of your co-workers fell ill, leaving the single overnight shift in this sector completely open. You jumped at the chance, knowing that you would be forced to interact with the mysterious prisoner. Others questioned you, asked you if you were sure of if you were insane for wanting to take an overnight shift despite being untrained on it, but you knew what you wanted. That night, you were left alone in the prison. The cameras only worked when they wanted to, and with a simple check to the un-blinking device, you knew that you were in the clear.

As soon as you finished your rounds, you went to the cell you saved for last. The one with the man laughing away, as if someone had told the funniest joke he had ever heard.

“I’ve got your food here.” You said, glancing down at the tray. “Don’t really know your name, sorry.” Typically, pleasantries were a part of the script that was given to the prisoners. You’d always start with their name, ask if they needed anything else. But nobody dared invoke this man’s name, especially not to you - considering how curious you were about it.

“You know the code, though. Don’t you?” His voice was different from what you had expected. Irish, if you were placing it correctly. Somewhat raspy, probably from all of the laughing that he did.

“The code?” You questioned, setting the food down as you unfolded the paper in your hand. “The code to your cell?” You asked, holding the paper up where he could see it.

“Yes, that code. You know it?”

“Well… yes. Otherwise I couldn’t unlock it to give you your food.” It was becoming increasingly clear to you why nobody wanted you to interact with him. Eli was always in and out, quick as possible. But you were playing into his game, and the confusion he wanted from you, was something he was getting.

A hum escaped his mouth as he leaned a little closer to the cell door, close enough that you could almost hear his breathing next to you. “Perhaps you could use the code to come inside, I can tell you’re curious.”

A scheme. The scheme that you could often hear in his laughter. “Not curious enough to die, though.” You answered, hovering your fingers over the buttons. Each number you pressed brought you closer and closer to a decision. Aching, yearning to know his name at the least.

“How could I kill you? I have no weapons, the walls are padded. The next sector is close enough that a guard would be here before strangulation would kill you.” He argued, walking further away - as you heard a slight creak, you could hear him getting back into his bed.

The points he was making were something to take into consideration. Everything he was saying was correct, he couldn’t physically kill you even if he wanted to. Even if the desire to feel someone’s blood against his skin was strong, it wasn’t a possibility for him. It was the next thing he said, that brought you to your final conclusion.

“I’ll tell you my name, if you come in.”

His name, it was all you wanted to know in the first place. Quickly, you averted your finger from the button to slide open the object slot, opting for ‘open door’ instead. Slowly, you walked into the cell. You assured yourself that you had your emergency key card on you, as you shut the door. You could get out if you wanted, but he couldn’t.

“What’s your name?” You asked, walking closer to him. His face was scarred, as though a smile permanently remained on it. He was almost terrifying to look at, yet you couldn’t tear your eyes away. Perhaps a car wreck was too harsh a metaphor to describe a human being, but who knows how many people this man has killed.

“Aw, don’t jump there already. We’ve only started talking.” He pouted, leaning back on his hands as he watched you. As you set the tray of food down on the nightstand, you slowly walked closer. You were at least two feet away from him. As close as you should get.

A sigh escaped your lips, he was toying with you. Of course he was, you shouldn’t have fallen into this trap. “I can just look up your records, you know.”

“How can you do that without my name?”

“Cell number.”

“Well, if you could’ve looked me up by my cell number, you wouldn’t be in here right now.”

Ah. You were caught, that much was clear. Technically you could look him up by his cell number, but it would be reported back to your boss and would create a mess if you had to explain that you were ‘just curious’. Regardless, your deflated expression and less-than-confident body language was enough to send the man into another fit of his signature laughter. Your eyes practically rolled into the back of your skull as you slipped your keycard from your belt, going toward the door.

The moment you were away, you felt a hand grab your wrist and tug you against a nearly heaving chest. “Don’t leave until I ask you to.”

The humor in his face was completely gone, and you were distracted by how quickly he had rushed over to where you were from how relaxed he was sitting on the bed. But the smile returned the moment he saw the fear in your eyes, as he pulled you over to the bed. You were completely at his whim, letting him pull you onto his lap as your knees fell at either side of his waist.

“Is this not more fun than sitting in a dark room, waiting for the sun to rise?” He asked, teasing and snideness clear in his voice as a hand trailed down your cheek. “C’mon, say something. I know you only took this shift for me.”

Your brain nearly short-circuited at that. “How? How do you know that?” It was the truth, but a truth you hadn’t told anyone. You claimed you took the shift for the money, and since you were young and living alone, it was a believable excuse. how could he have possibly figured out the truth.

“Isn’t it convenient that someone got ‘food poisoning’ the day you almost looked up my information? The friends you keep aren’t always the friends you need.”

The words left you completely dumbfounded. Was he accusing the girl who was sick of working for him? Or had he had someone kill her. The thoughts were cut short as you felt a hand slowly creeping down the front of your torso, leaving you completely conflicted. You should leave, you knew that much. Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to. It was wrong, to allow him to slowly start to grind against you. Wrong, reluctantly follow your body’s impulses and return the motions. Yet, something about it felt incredibly right in your mind, in your body. The man had left you completely enthralled for weeks, without having even had a face to match the nearly annoying laughter filling your ears. Who was to say that you couldn’t allow him to enthrall you in a different way, as his hands reached around to rest on your backside.

“It feels right to be at my mercy, doesn’t it?”

No answer came to him, as you bit down on your lip. Even if the cameras weren’t working, the walls didn’t stop other inmates from hearing. You needed to be quiet, if you weren’t someone else could hear. Your job, maybe even your life, would be on the line if someone heard you giving into your bodily urges.

“Answer me.” He demanded, gripping your chin with one of his hands. The feeling of his hand on your chin was rough, it felt like he was squeezing harder than he needed to - but you didn’t mind, it somehow made it feel better.

“It feels good.” Your mind was effectively sizzled by the feeling, by the way that you knew you should’ve felt ashamed of yourself - but that shame never happened to come, because you could only feel completely and utterly lost in the feelings that were filling your body, at the sensation that having the hardened cock beneath layers of clothing applying pressure in all of the right places was giving you.

There was something so very forbidden about it, something so taboo and wrong, that only made it better. You wanted to hate yourself for what you were doing, to loathe what person you were going to be when you walked out of this cell - but you didn’t. You wanted this, you wondered if you had wanted this from the beginning. If your curiosity was sparked by attraction, attraction to the one person that everyone had wanted to be completely forbidden from you and anyone else who entered the prison.

Your movements started to become more erratic as he pulled you down against him, harder than before as his hips moved at a quick rhythm. Despite being clothed, it wasn’t hard to tell that he was most likely close to his climax. You could feel the slight throbbing underneath you, just as you could feel the throbbing in your clit as you quickly worked your way to an orgasm. It was quick, coming on like a freight-train as you reached your peak. Your hands gripped the man’s shoulders as his teeth bit down on your neck, undoubtedly wetting the trousers he was wearing with his cum.

After a moment, coming down from the high of your own orgasms. You felt him push you up. Quickly, he grabbed the key-card from your belt and pushed you toward the door, opening the lock for you and ushering you out.

“I- Your name! You said you’d tell me your name-”

“Another time. Don’t worry, more of these overnight shifts will be available.” He quickly returned to his bed, you could hear the movement of the tray of food as he sat down.

With a sigh, you proceeded to the room you were left to wait in, the office which you often found boredom in. But you weren’t bored, your mind was racing as you thought of what had happened. Of his face, of the lack of a name, of the promise that more shifts would be available. You didn’t know what he did to the overnight person, the one you were covering for, but you couldn’t find the urge in your own brain to care. It was clear why the others wanted you kept far away from someone as manipulative and scheming as this inmate, but, perhaps some things were best kept as a secret.

shouldn’t cry, but i love it

pairing: bruce wayne x f!reader

tags: 18+ smut/minors DNI!!! angst, mentions of clubs and alcohol, religious imagery and symbolism, some dark themes, rough sex, brief bondage, not following any particular plotline

summary: bruce wayne runs into a past lover in the darkest parts of gotham. when old emotions are brought up, bruce finds himself torn by lust and the need to protect you. but what he doesn’t know, shouldn’t kill him, right?

note: first battinson fic so pls be kind :,) notes & reblogs are always welcome, send me thoughts! based off of lana del rey and the weeknd’s song “stargirl interlude” <333

missing out? ➤ [my masterlist]

Nocturnality reigns over Gotham.

The inhabitants of the nefarious city are seemingly governed by restlessness and disturbia. Perhaps, the concept of sleep is their bête noire. Or perhaps, they have grown accustomed to consciousness, worried for what happens when they close their eyes and unwillingly succumb to vulnerability. They lurk in the befouled shadows, sordid and petrified, crawling amongst feculent brick walls and hiding in the haunted subway cars near tagged platforms. Insomniacs hide in stained bedsheets of valium, the homeless make homes of putrid alleyways, but the criminals, the murderers — they would rather avoid the darkness than anyone else.

The darkness belongs to vengeance.

Vengeance wanders the streets, keeping away from flickering lamp posts and busy roadways. Vengeance treks behind the fearful in silence, nothing but a rustling wind and the cries of Arkham in the distance. Vengeance takes to the rooftops, the high-rise buildings, the rickety construction sites, the places where someone may think that they are alone, but they aren’t.

Vengeance is in the sky. And when Gotham looks up to the foreboding clouds in search of a nonexistent place of deliverance called heaven, they see him. Batman.

Not the unlovable Bruce Wayne, the prince of this city and the heir to millionaires — for whoever loved Batman, failed to love Bruce.

Except for one person.

Bruce Wayne doesn’t partake in club culture. He despised the flashing lights and the drunken stench that’d follow him in the midst of wandering hands like it was the river Styx. These poor souls would gander at him like he was Hades himself.

He’s dressed like he’d come from a funeral, the circles around his eyes are similar to feathers of a raven, the black leather that pooled around his body as if it were wings. Appearance wasn’t of importance if you had a high social class, rather if you could even take one fickle step into the world of dirty money and politics, that meant you had to have something going for you. He happened to know a thing or two about all of those, but his knowledge came with a sanguinary price like everything else in the slums and riches of Gotham City.

Love, lust, greed — even vices themselves came with a cost.

He’s a sinner sitting comfortably on an armchair in the exclusive section of the Hayloft Lounge, surrounded by drops and lines of coke that he doesn’t bother taking part in. Everything in sight is a shade of a seductive red, an attempt to be sexy and induce devilish temptations to customers. The dim lighting and cigarette smoke intensifies the neon strobes by the stretched dance floor, and it feels like Bruce is practically bathing in blood as the colors blend into his pale skin.

The lounge, although filled with dealers and neglected daughters, is a place of worship for the lost. Bruce doesn’t want to be here, he isn’t troubled in the same fashion that they are. If he wanted a good time, his first choice wouldn’t be at the Hayloft. Yet business is business, and Alfred would kill him if he decided to skip out on an important deal between Wayne Enterprises and another money-hungry company prone to failure.

Bruce is certainly aware of his cynicism.

He isn’t one to boast, except he wants nothing but to drive back to the confines of his mansion and tell Alfred, ‘I told you this wouldn’t work,’ when his supposed business deal goes sideways — if sideways meant completely and utterly fucked in every position with how many drinks this alleged board member has downed in the twenty minutes Bruce has wasted here.

Having shown up late doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care much for punctuality anymore, neither does he care for the public eye and their assumptions about him.

He wipes the exhaustion from his face with a heavy hand and abandons the comfort of the armchair. The arrival of pole dancers and washed-out moans from the illuminated stage on the second platform are enough to send him barrelling towards the exit, not paying mind to how his broad shoulders merely knock down the animated crowds. The people around him are jumping up and down, dancing bodies swaying to the rhythm and singing along to incomprehensible lyrics that made Bruce question his entire existence.

He keeps his head low. It’s a mistake.

His chest collides with a shorter frame of a body, earning a shocked grunt from both parties. His hand shoots out to grab their wrist, noting how the floors are slippery from a suddenly spilt drink.

“Watch it, will you?”

Bruce looks back towards the snippy voice.

His darkened eyes meet your sour face as you hurriedly slip a fur coat over the expanse of your shoulders, eyelids decorated with messy glitter and strategically placed jewels like some sort of sacred herald. He watches your legs strut out of the vicinity with lengthy strides, obviously intent on getting the fuck out of here.

You glance back at him as well, this time with furrowed eyebrows — simply a look of recognition in passing, then you’re out the door and into the back alleyway before Bruce can say hello to what he believes is an apparition of you.

It had been years since you showed face in Gotham.

He can’t even remember where he last saw you.

Let alone, he can’t even remember you appearing so put-together.

In a club, by all means.

Somehow, your perfume wafts through the booze-filled air. Now, he can’t forget your scent. He can’t get you and that elegant coat, nor those bare thighs beneath the most skin-tight dress he’d ever seen out of his head.

Bruce is never like this with anyone else.

It doesn’t come as a surprise to him when his heart decides to act quicker than his brain, to which he follows after you through the shifting flock of partygoers.

You saw him and frankly, that’s all Bruce cared about.

You saw him, but acted as if you hadn’t known him.

He starts to think he’s at fault.

The alleyway is freezing. Trash bags are practically falling out of the dumpster, pooling with cracked glass and old shiny packets of god-knows-what onto the asphalt. Bruce can feel the heartbeat of the city beneath his combat boots, aching and pounding, nothing but a groggy demonic moan as he watches you standing beneath the monorail track with a lighter in hand.

He compares your resemblance to an angel, a holy miracle that fell right into his lap like an answered prayer. The click of your thumb against the button rings into the emptiness of the street, bouncing off of the walls and to the road.

“Usually when you bump into someone, you’re supposed to say excuse me.”

Shoving cold hands into the pockets of his coat, Bruce takes careful steps until he’s towering beside you. “Since when were you back in Gotham?”

Your hair is longer.

He likes it.

But the lack of sleep is apparent on your features, even with all that makeup and that pretty dress, he isn’t fooled.

He can tell you're exhausted.

You continue to fiddle with the lighter. “Two months ago.”

Bruce hummed at that, nodding his head while he anxiously drags his thumb across his lips. “You didn’t tell me.” He wants nothing but to reach out and touch you, to bring you close to his chest and tuck you underneath his chin like how it used to be. “Why?”

“Why didn’t I tell you or why am I here?” You turn to him.

And fuck, Bruce feels like he’s twenty-six all over again and thinks back to that summer villa in Tuscany: kissing you up and down those gorgeous legs, tasting your fragrance intermixed with sweat, smelling of sex and dripping with youthful desire as he found an altar in your hips.

Bruce isn’t religious — he’s far from it now — but everytime he sees you, he understands why people believe in God.

But there’s an unmistakable fire in your stare, and Bruce isn’t sure if you want him to commit penance or if you were looking to be worshiped. Either way, he’d do anything for you. Even if you loathed him. Even if you hated every part of him, it wouldn’t hurt as much. He hated himself too. What would change?

“You look… beautiful, by the way.” Bruce utters quietly. He sounds almost as if he’s afraid to talk, voice nearly quivering as he notices the ghost of a smirk forming on your lips when he stumbles around your question. He doesn’t seem as dark and brooding at the moment. “Missed seeing you. It’s been years.”

“Yeah, you look like shit, Bruce.”

He cracks a soft laugh at that.

“Feel like it, too if I’m honest.”

He’s always been the quiet type, too scared to accept emotion and voice the thoughts in his head. You recognized that of all people, which is what he liked about you — that you never pushed him.

Your eyes appear kinder, more understanding, and Bruce doesn’t know what he’s expecting but it certainly isn’t the weight of your fingers reaching up to brush through his hair. He feels self-conscious now, especially with the nostalgic gaze you hold as he pathetically leans into the longing touch. He hasn’t been held in ages.

All he wants is your skin against his. He knows just how desperate his thoughts are. But with you, he can’t particularly resist it.

“What’s been troubling you, pretty boy?” Your nails trail down the side of his cheek, reminiscing over the sharpness of his jaw while he sighs at the satisfying feeling. “Missed me that much, huh?”

“More than you know.” He takes your hand and brings it to his lips amorously, kissing along the cracks as if time had never passed in the first place. “No call. Not even a text from you. Thought something happened.”

You chuckled teasingly, “And you didn’t bother to go looking for me? Not even with this vengeance situation you’ve got going on?”

“Trust me, I wanted to.”

“If you wanted to, you would’ve.” You clicked your tongue. “Such a kind boyfriend, Mr. Wayne.”

His yearning gaze flickers down to you, lips leaving traces of wetness along your hand until a faint grin is bestowed upon his despondent features.

“I’m not your boyfriend, Y/N.”

It’s old banter, but nevertheless, it makes Bruce feel warm inside when you send him an unconvinced and slow nod.

“You wish you were though.” You shift on either foot, pulling the coat closer to your chest as your breaths puff into the night. He lets go of your hand, and you watch each other intently as you mirror one another’s movements like clockwork.

He can still taste your skin in his mouth.

“We both know neither of us are capable of commitment.” Bruce whispers matter-of-factly, glancing towards the street with newfound meekness. “We’ve established that. You never stick around long enough. And I… I just can’t.”

“Yet we always end up in each other’s beds.”

He’ll never get used to that wittiness.

You’re too smart for your own good.

“Personally, I think yours is a bit more comfortable.” He admits humorously, heart growing fonder as another sweet hymn of a laugh escapes you. “There’s something special about mattresses with a broken headboard.”

For once, his smile reaches the corner of his eyes.

There’s a rustling by the alleyway of the lounge that interrupts the endearing silence between you and Bruce. The backdoor swings open roughly, and the abrupt pulsing of rap music replaces the intimate whistle of the empty sidewalk. Bruce follows your pointed gaze, the corners of his mouth falling back into his signature scowl.

The Hayloft bouncer approaches with heavy and purposeful strides despite being obviously intimidated by the presence of the notable Wayne.

“Y/N, they want you back inside. Regulars have been looking for you.” He takes another glance beside you and bows his head timidly. “Sir.”

Did he hear that correctly?

Bruce can’t find the words, but he takes note of the discomfort in your stance as you follow behind the bouncer. He doesn’t hesitate to grab you by the arm again, pulling you back towards him with a decent amount of force.

“What is he talking about?” He ignores the bouncer’s call of your name and your exasperated protests about his grasp on your shoulder. He can’t read the look on your face, especially when you don’t make eye contact with him.

“Hey, relax.”

He snarls, not in disgust but in frustration. “You work here?”

“Listen…” You dropped your head, glancing down at the toes of your knee-high boots until you’re met with the icy coldness of his pupils. “You have responsibilities and I have mine. It was nice seeing you, but we should leave it at that for now, ‘kay?”

You reach up to kiss his cheek. It’s bittersweet.

For now, he repeats.

“Are you hearing yourself? Is this for money? Is that it?” The possessive anguish on his face is apparent. He doesn’t let go of you. “Y/N, this is…”

“Sweetheart, I’m a dancer. Nothing but a favorite talent here. My services are limited, for your information.” You giggle, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear in an effort to defuse his ramblings. He watches you purse your painted lips together, tongue darting out to wet them. “I don’t give myself to just anyone, Mr. Wayne.” He doesn’t miss the underlying meaning behind the declaration. Your voice lowers to a melancholic hush, doe-eyed and irises all glassy. “Now, I gotta go. Be a good boy for me and don’t wait up.”

The pet name causes him to shudder.

And as you reluctantly walk back into the lounge, Bruce is left with nothing but a broken heart and an insatiable, irreplaceable ache between his thighs. His chest heaves with a combination of outrage and dubiety, fingers tracing the burning skin that simply longed for you again.

It’s forty-two degrees in Gotham and yet he’s sweating like a perverted whore in church.

He curses under his breath, then rushes back into the club with the intention to find you. Somehow, he looks even more disheveled, hair sticking to his forehead and drops of sweat beading down his chin as he squints through the reddened fog inside.

The bass vibrates through his entire body and drums into his ears when he nears the dance floor. The panels below his shoes shift into a luminescent white, underlining his jawline and clothing as he pushes past everyone in an unpredictable frenzy.

“Y/N!” Bruce shouts, but even he can’t hear himself over the deafening volume. Odd stares are sent his way when he starts prying random girls off of old men, acting like a madman crazed by an undying affliction for you. It’s as if a fire inside him has reawakened, sparks flying off his fingertips as he tries to reach for you — somewhere.

Is this what addiction does to a person?

The coat. He sees it then as he makes his way into the center of the floor. The white ensemble is halfway down your shoulders, the skin of your collarbones glistening with lustrous warmth as you grind against some stranger. Bruce lewdly studies the parting of your lips, how your jaw falls ajar as the man pulls you closer against his thigh, the enticing visual of your hips rolling as your hands trail up your breasts and your satin dress rides up beneath the touch.

You open your eyes slowly, and somehow, almost as if you knew he was looking, you stare directly at the bitter bachelor. His nostrils flare angrily when you crack the tiniest smile and throw your arms up into the air as if you were having the time of your life.

Like you were getting off on his desperation.

Like this was supposed to be fun for the both of you.

And it is, given the amused pout that you send him as you run the stranger’s hands all over your torso in a teasing fashion. He’s visibly fuming, his anger presenting itself as a scowl and balled fists until he marches over with passionate courage.

Roughly pushing the stranger off of you, Bruce doesn’t break your stare at all. Not even when people around him start to recognize that he’s a powerful Wayne causing a ruckus at a downtown club full of snakes and walking debts. He knows then that you lured him in. That you were expecting this.

He isn’t embarrassed. He knows what you want.

Silently, he grabs you by the waist and tugs you flush against the expanse of his chest. A breathy laugh leaves your throat at his tight grip, fingers digging into your lower back as his hands swallow you whole.

“Hey, handsome.” You purr, biting your lip in eagerness as Bruce’s eyes shamelessly wander over you. Any and all forms of subtlety have left him, gaze following your exposed flesh and legs. “Something got you all riled up?”

“You think this is funny, Y/N?” He sounds strained, like a betrayed animal. His eyebrows knit together, wrinkles appearing on his forehead as he spews his aggravation towards you. “Thought you didn’t ‘give yourself’ to just anyone? Was that not true?” He uses your previous words against you, swaying you to the beat of the music with a dangerous glint in his gaze.

“I don’t quite know what you mean.”

You stifle a yelp when he turns you around in his arms with newfound dominance. Normally, he was the one submitting — but this, you loved this side of him. The side where he showed no restraint, where he let himself use you in any way he pleased, where he handled you like you were nothing but a body for him to use for his own desires and his own wants. His crotch rubs against you as you press yourself further into him. Bruce’s hands rest on the tops of your thighs, then he drags them higher and higher. They skim across your stomach and brush over your ribs until he reaches your ass, where he squeezes at the soft flesh harshly.

It’s needy. It’s crude. But he’s used to filth.

“Mm. Perhaps you need a reminder?” He whispers, looking out into the crowd as his breath fans over you.

“Do tell.”

“That night when you had yourself nice and ready for me, spread out on my bed like some kind of…” Bruce trails off, hissing when you touch the bulge in his pants.

You grin, knowing he’d never call you that word on any other day. “Say it.”

“Some kind of slut.” His ears perk up at your moan. “That was you giving yourself. All of yourself to me. And me only.” His long fingers travel across your spine, then hook over your shoulder to play with the strap of your dress. He wraps a hand around your throat. It’s a sign of possessiveness, even though Bruce was never really a man who claimed ownership over things. He’ll allow himself this. “That time when you had me handcuffed to the chair, fucking yourself on me, begging to cum as if I could even touch you. Even when I couldn’t contribute to your pleasure, you acted as if I was in control. That’s giving yourself.”

His lips linger over the side of your face, intense eyes taking in the details of your skin as he dips down to leave coveted kisses along your neck. He’s drunk off of the taste. He nibbles at the crook of your shoulder, teeth pulling at you feverishly while his free hand drifts underneath the hem of your dress.

“Who’s in control tonight?”

Your head rolls back against him when his fingers find the slick between your thighs. “I think your body speaks for the both of us.” He runs a digit across your panties, feeling the build-up of your wetness as your clothes ride up around his arm. “God, the things I do for you, Y/N.”

“People might be watching.” You accidentally rut against him, pulling at his hair in an effort to mask your growing desperation. “Bruce… this won’t look good for tabloids. I don’t wanna get you in trouble.”

“Since when did you care about the tabloids, Ms. Y/L/N?” He murmurs, following your distracted gaze out across the dance floor. “I don’t care about them, but I do care about you. Look at me, angel.” Bruce turns you in his arms, gentleness seeping in his tone. “Don’t do this to yourself. You say the word and tonight I’m yours. As long as you stay, I’m entirely yours.”

Even with heels, he’s so much taller than you — his chin practically hovers above your head, his jaw clean-shaven and tense as he awaits for your consent.

“Okay.” You whisper, stepping closer towards him as you pull his mouth down into a slow kiss. He sighs against you, makeup transferring onto his skin as you crane your body towards him with fluttering eyelids. His wandering hands take shelter below the frame of your face, holding your stare when he pulls away.

His throat bobs when you press another kiss to the corner of his lips, fighting off a moan when you stain his neck with red lipstick. “I feel indescribable things with you. Something primal. Uncontrollable, like a hunger that never goes away. And everytime you give yourself wholly to me… it’s never enough, like I need more.”

“If you’re in love with me, just say that.” You blink up at him. You purposefully search his face, cupping his cheek as you nudge your nose against his longingly. “Frankly, I love it when you get all poetic on me, but I think…” You bite his earlobe. “… your poetry sounds so much better in bed, yeah? You tellin’ me all the unholy things you wanna do to me, while I lay there — helpless for you. I bet you’d like that, Mr. Wayne, wouldn’t you?”

Bruce’s irises glisten under the flickering strobe lights, the deep ocean blue glimmering with lust.

“If I could take you right here, right now…” He pulls you by the hair, tugging your head back. His fist forms a ponytail while his other hand grabs you by the chin, “… I would.“

You question him seethingly, inches away from his face. “What’s stopping you?”

From the stuttering of your breaths, to the way you squeeze your thighs and bite your lip, Bruce can tell that you’re enjoying the dominant front he’s putting on. It wasn’t that he didn’t like taking the reins or being in control — but something about entrusting his pleasure in someone else other than himself made him extremely satisfied. He’s used to being in control; that’s what vengeance was for. But, here, even with his thumb dipping between your swollen lips and into the wetness of your mouth, Bruce knows he can let go and allow you to take care of him.

Yet tonight, he wants to take care of you — his angel, his hellfire, his sin and his miracle. Water in the middle of a desert. A reward after the fast. Divine absolution.

God has nothing to do with Bruce’s intentions.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” He peers down at you, running his tongue across his canines with half-lidded eyes as he pulls the digit away. He speaks before you can. “Your place. Not mine.”

“Afraid old man Alfred is gonna call me a bad influence again?” You smile at him, wiping the smudge of lipstick from his cheek.

He places a hand over the small of your back, leading you out of the dancing crowd and away from the pounding of the speakers. “More like I’m afraid he’s gonna call me a bad influence.”

You glance at him over your shoulder. “Oh? Give him my best regards, then. He’s not wrong.”

He hands the bouncer a folded Benjamin on his way out.

A mindless smirk falls upon him when you nuzzle yourself against his arm, and suddenly, he finally feels like himself. He feels comfortable, complete, and for the first night in ages, he thinks highly of himself — in fairness, what kind of man wouldn’t become even slightly egotistical when he has a beautiful girl snuggling up to him?

He shoots you a doting grin when he leads you to his car, holding the door open for you as you dip down into the low leather passenger seat.

You take a deep breath to yourself when Bruce trails around the front of the car, taking his place at the steering wheel. The entire interior mimics the shade of the night sky — a foreboding, voided black that perfectly encapsulates his aesthetic. It’s a stark contrast to the absolute adoration in his gaze as he reaches over the console to kiss you.

You missed sitting shotgun.

And you missed him more than anything, but sometimes, things are better off dead.

Bruce can’t know.

His hands are cold when they slide underneath your dress once more, bunching the material around your hips as he exposes your panties. Carefully, he maneuvers you to lean you against the door as his head bends down to litter your skin in open-mouthed kisses, sighing as he gets closer and closer to where you most need him. He’s eager to taste you, to toy with you in the same manner you do to him — to have you writhing and moaning underneath him, above him, beside him. He doesn’t care. He’ll take you in any way you want. As long as you’d let him, he’d do anything to and for you.

“Bruce…” You pull his face back up to yours, ignoring the throbbing of your core when his touch leaves your body.

“Are you okay?” Now, he’s able to understand the look in your eyes. The uncertainty, innocent insecurities and worry. You blink frantically, clearing your throat. Bruce knows the question before you can say it. He’s aware that pride can sometimes swallow you. “There’s no one else.” He brushes your hair back. “And I don’t want anyone other than you, Y/N. Even if what we have is nothing close of a relationship, you of all people know that I don’t have anyone else.”

The corners of your lips twitch into a wistful smile.

“I wish the world knew that you’re more than a Wayne.”

Bruce doesn’t hesitate. “And I wish you knew that there’s a home for you here.”

“I can’t make a home out of Gotham.” You scoff, twisting the rings on your fingers to distract yourself from his stare. “You… you have everything here and I don’t.”

He cups a hand over your knee. “You can make a home out of me.” He presses the tenderest kiss to the bulb of your nose, then to your blushing cheeks, on the arch of your cupid’s bow, and onto your sweet mouth once more.

You pull away abruptly. “Show me.” Bruce shakes his head at you, unsure as to what you mean. You caress his jaw, staring into the darkness of his lust-blown pupils as you rub circles by his temple. “Show me what will happen if I stay.”

He’s fucking obsessed.

Even as Bruce speeds across Gotham City at seventy miles per hour, he can’t keep his hands off of you. Not even when you give him that youthful grin and watch the lights pass outside the tinted window.

Even as Bruce makes out with you against the front door to your shitty apartment, nearly breaking the knob off as he pushes you inside with pent-up desire and an attraction that he just couldn’t bring himself to call love, he can’t keep his hands off of you.

If you thought that your living room was messy before he came over, it’s even messier now as he hoists you up onto a chest of drawers. He flings all objects to the side with a long swing of his arm, eyes widening when something collides loudly onto the hardwood floor.

“Bruce.”

He laughs apologetically against your mouth as he stands between your parted legs. “I’m sorry. I know. Sorry.” He looks up at you, then starts pulling your dress down your chest and tugging it past your legs. “I’ll make it up to you.” You reach for the hem of Bruce’s shirt, but he quickly grabs your wrists and pins them above your head, pressing your arched back against the peeling wallpaper as his mouth nears your ear. “But let me be in control.”

You swallow with a nod when he lets you go.

“Okay. I have an idea.” You slowly lean forward, reaching for the drawer just below your knee. There’s a familiar cloth sitting on the bottom — a dark necktie with an embroidered ‘W’ by the tip lining. Without any sort of hesitation, you press the heels of your hands together and extend your arms out in front of you, studying Bruce with innocent curiosity. “Tie me up.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” He watches you closely as he takes the necktie and wraps it around your wrists, pulling and tugging with careful force. “From what I remember, you really enjoyed yourself last time.” He binds you tightly, but not too tight for discomfort. You sigh when he plants a kiss to either of your open palms, relaxing back against the wall as he moves to unzip your boots.

“God, Y/N. You look so pretty like this.” Bruce tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers follow the shape of your jaw until he taps the digits against your chin. “Suck.” You open your mouth slowly, watching him intently as he slips his pointer and middle finger between your parted lips. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Feels good.” You utter, voice garbled and choked by the length of his fingers. He lets out a soft hum of approval at that. “Would feel better inside me.” His dominance falters momentarily at the brash statement, and he takes in a shaky breath. “Mm? Do you like how that sounds? You love it when I’m needy, don’t you?” A moan falls from your lips when he lodges his fingers deeper.

“Don’t be a brat.”

His digits are coated in your spit when he pulls them away from you. “You spoil me too much, Bruce. No wonder I’m a brat.” He admires the wet glistening of your saliva on his own hand, then your vision is blurred as he slaps you harshly on the cheek with it. Before you can even recover, his lips are on yours — a mixture of teeth and warm tongues and desperate gasps for air.

“Was that too rough?” He sighs into your neck as he unclasps your bra, throwing it on the floor so that it joins your discarded dress.

The stinging of your cheek is only slightly painful, but it’s a pleasurable kind of sensation for you.

“I like it when you’re rough.”

“Fuck, Y/N, of course you do.” He chuckles, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

You card your nails through his hair, buzzing with satisfaction as he lightly kneads at your breasts. He suckles a hickey onto the fleshy skin then starts kissing down your belly, admiring the way your body arches into him as his nose brushes over the ribbon on your panties.

“Do you see how wet you make me, Mr. Wayne?” You lift your bounded wrists away from the wet patch between your thighs, fully exposing yourself to Bruce as you spread your legs even wider.

“Fucking hell.”

Bruce has never thought of sex as a sacred act.

But here with you, in the dimness of your apartment, he thinks nothing could get holier than this — than the way you look down at him like an angel from above, how your hands fold together like you’re in prayer, moans falling from your lips as if God could hear you, how he greedily pulls your panties down so that he can finally taste you.

God has nothing to do with this.

Somehow, the drawer chest beneath you is replaced with your checkered kitchen counter, cabinets rattling against your knees as Bruce bends you over against the cold surface. His large hands slowly spread you apart, to which he has to stifle a groan at how your folds are already dripping with slick for him.

You crane your neck to watch him lap at your cunt, lurching forwards with a mewling moan until he holds you in place. “Mm… fuck!”

His tongue circles over your clit, the bridge of his nose poking at your entrance as he eats you out in the middle of the kitchen.

For once, you’re thankful that the pouring rain of Gotham City is raucous enough to mask the pleas that burn through your vocal cords.

If anyone were to hear this, you’d be as good as dead.

No, it isn’t an exaggeration.

Bruce licks his lips as he examines the bruising of his fingerprints on your waist. “Tastes so sweet, Y/N. Always loved eating you out.”

You move to reach for him, only then remembering that he still has you bound with the embroidered tie.

“Bruce…” The whine of his name doesn’t capture his attention, not even when he tugs his shirt off in one smooth motion whilst staring at you the entire time. Your gaze wanders over the faded scars on his muscles, biting your lip at how wonderfully they ripple with each tiny movement. Then, he’s too caught up in the pleasure of burying his face against your cunt once more. “Untie me… wanna touch you all over.”

“No. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“F-Fuck, please!” You gasp out when his mouth becomes replaced by his fingers. The heel of his hand presses into the swell of your core, curled digits fucking themselves in and out of you as Bruce fixates on the sounds of your body. “Please, I’ll be so fucking good. Just let me touch you.” The brimming tears in your eyes spurs him on even further, fingers hitting that one spongy spot inside of you that edged you towards an orgasm every time. “Oh, fuck! Bruce, baby… please, right there!” You tug at the knotted necktie, legs trembling as a small rush of liquid drips between your thighs.

“Jesus, Y/N, you got me soaked.” Bruce grabs you by the neck, pulling you to stand straight as he leads you into the living room. He knows your apartment like the back of his hand. He’s done this with you too many times for him not to remember. “By the couch. On your knees.” He slaps your ass, scoffing when a faint smile tugs at your face.

Bruce is certain that this is your favorite part of all. Pleasing him. You love seeing him moan — seeing such a powerful man that people feared become nothing but a whimpering shell of a mess as he gives himself to you.

“When was the last time you got blowed?” You smirk, knees hitting the carpet as Bruce unbuttoned his pants. “Or better yet, when was the last time you fucked a girl?”

“Does it count if I didn’t cum?” He gives you a smug look.

You huff, repeating his question aloud. “Does it count? So, you did fuck someone else. Because usually when we fuck…” You bat your lashes up at him as he steps out of his boxers. The tip of his cock is a bright red, leaking with pre-cum as he throbs at the eager sight of you and pumps himself in his fist. He lifts your arms, untying the necktie between your wrists. “… you cum maybe more than once or twice.”

You’re not wrong.

But he really needs relief.

“Y/N. Open up and stop talking.” He watches how your hand immediately wraps around the base of his cock, making up for the remaining length that won’t fit in your mouth as you suction your lips around him. “Yeah, take it. There you go.” His jaw hangs ajar as you bob your head around him, spit already collecting itself in the spaces between your fingers. “Such a fucking angel, Y/N.” A ragged moan slips out from his throat. The desperate sound goes straight to your cunt, and Bruce doesn’t miss the way you rub your thighs together for friction. “Touch yourself. It’s okay.”

He holds you by your hair as you continue to suck him off and play with your clit. Even with your soft gags around his dick, he can hear how wet you still are down there.

You pull off of him to breathe, chest heaving quickly as you twist a hand up and down his length.

“Your cock is so pretty.”

Bruce nearly topples over at the statement, along with how you so suddenly take him back into your mouth with such devotion to make him cum.

“Y/N… your mouth, fuck.”

He shudders when you try to fit all of him, nose brushing against his happy trail until a gag forces itself out of you and he takes the advantage to properly fuck your throat.

You nod eagerly at him to keep going when his pace becomes a little too rough. Watery mascara rolls down your cheeks and saliva drips from your bottom lip. Your face is flush with pink, neck reddening with strain as Bruce nears his orgasm and you try to hold out.

“I’m gonna… oh, angel.” He gapes at you. His eyebrows are knitted together with self-absorbed pleasure as he continues to fuck your mouth. “Gonna cum, is that okay?” You nod furiously, making the effort to hold his stare as your gags grow louder. His hand rests on the top of your head, the other cupping your chin to hold you in place as his hips snap into you. “Mm, fuck! Oh, my god. I’m cumming, Y/N.”

You feel his release coat your tongue and the back of your throat.

Bruce pulls out, cock still hard as you swallow and show him the inside of your mouth.

Practically savored every drop.

You press open-mouthed kisses to his thighs.

“There’s my good boy.”

It’s an unspoken conversation between you two, but Bruce helps you to your feet, pecking you softly on the lips as a form of gratitude. He’s tender in comparison to how he handled you earlier. He shifts your hair to one side of your shoulder, pressing his forehead against yours as his thumb strokes your jaw.

This is his form of an ‘I love you.’

He still isn’t sure if he could call this love.

But it feels right.

It feels right when you push him onto the couch, smirking down at him as he leans back and watches you straddle his lap with intense eyes.

It feels right when you grab onto his shoulders and lower yourself onto his cock, taking him to the hilt as you share a gasp of pleasure. Bruce’s hands find your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he guides you on his length.

“God, Y/N. Your cunt is so tight.” He mumbles into your chest. His cock is filling you up, the tip brushing against your g-spot as he lets you needily roll your hips against him. “Shit, baby.”

His mouth finds yours as you bounce on top of him. He can feel your tits press against his chest, hard nipples finding friction against the softness of his skin.

“Bruce, you’re so fucking big — oh, my god.” You shake your head at him through watery eyes.

“Say you love it, angel.”

You nip at his bottom lip, a grin making its way onto your face as you gaze at him longingly. “I love your cock.” Your juices are dripping onto his thighs, squelching around him as you ride him feverishly. “I love it when you fuck me hard. Love it when I get to ride you and please you.”

Bruce doesn’t shy away, letting his moans and whimpers echo through the room as he slips in and out of your folds. His finger rubs at your clit, the extra sensation tugging you closer towards a potential orgasm as his dick stretches you out. Your back arches into him, whiny mewls rasping from your throat as he pulls your chin down to kiss you.

His grip on your waist is unwavering.

His cock makes you feel full.

Bruce takes you into his arms and lays you out onto the couch, creating a pile of pillows below your tailbone with his cock still inside you.

“Don’t cry.” He whispers against your mouth as he brings your knees up to your breasts. “If you love it so much, you shouldn’t be crying.”

“S’good is all. Feels so fucking good.” You gasp, finding a rhythm with your hips to meet his strokes. Your cunt is fluttering around him, gripping his cock as Bruce fucks you. The couch moves beneath you with each hard thrust, screeching against the floorboards. “Oh, god! Yeah, there. Please, oh my god, Bruce.”

He tilts his head back to properly look at you.

“Are you gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes, I’m gonna cum all over you.” You leave kisses along his jawline, eyelashes brushing against his cheek as you moan into his skin.

“Cum for me, angel. You can do it. I know you can.”

You quiver as you near your orgasm, knees buckling beneath you as Bruce pulls you all the way down onto his length. His embrace is crushing, the muscles on his back flexing beneath your touch while he holds you up.

A cry escapes your mouth when you clench around him.

Bruce is easily reaching his second one when you milk his cock with your own orgasm.

You fall into him with a loud exhale, a mixture of sweat and tears rolling down your neck as your heartbeat slows.

“Fuck, that was everything.” You chuckle, peppering Bruce’s face with quiet kisses as he relaxes back onto the sofa.

He shakes his head at you. “You’re everything.”

“Shut up, sap.”

Both of you share the silence, staring at each other amorously as you move to lay beside him. He uses his thumb to wipe at the spill of cum between your thighs, humming in amusement when you jolt out of sensitivity.

“So pretty, Y/N.” His eyes follow the curve of your waist, memorizing the swell of your breasts as you lean over to gaze at him and grab his hand.

“Stay for the night.” You intertwine your fingers with his.

“Oh, wow.” Bruce suddenly chuckles. “That’s a first.”

“Well, we have a lot to catch up on.”

-

There’s something special about Gotham in the mornings. The solitude, the bustling tourists that only found beauty in the day, the rare laughter of children playing on the sidewalks. The skies look nicer, less foreboding and less cloudy. The sun feels warmer.

People don’t need to hide away from the darkness when light is present.

There’s no need for vengeance there.

There’s no need for vengeance as Bruce kisses the top of your head, pulling you closer to his naked chest as he admires how beautiful you look even when you’re asleep. He likes this — the intimacy, basking in the presence of you. Sunlight peeks through the uneven blinds on your bedroom window, drawing shadows on your skin that Bruce finds himself tracing with his fingers.

His eyes narrow in worry when he sees a burn mark on your forearm. He brings it closer to view, unsure if what he’s seeing is real.

Not a burn mark.

A branding — a singular ‘J’.

It’s tiny, which is no wonder as to why he didn’t see it.

“Y/N…” He pipes up, breaking the silence in the air.

“Mhm?”

“Your arm.” He can feel you stiffen beneath him, muscles growing tense as you lift your head up to meet his questioning gaze. “What is this?”

“It’s…” You pull the sleeve of your jacket over it, biting your lip as you continue. “It’s something for the Hayloft. All the girls have it. No biggie.”

“J stands for?”

“Nothing.” You shrug.

It’s a lie. Bruce can see right through you. He sits up, bedsheets pooling onto his lap as he studies your lack of eye contact.

He crosses his arms over his front. “Try again.”

“Are you seriously—“

There’s a loud knock at your door. It doesn’t go away. It’s persistent and bothersome, meant to be answered. You and Bruce exchange a look. “You’re staying here,” He gets out of bed, slipping on a shirt as he makes his way towards your living room.

The evidence of last night’s events are still apparent.

He doesn’t care for that right now.

“Bruce, don’t.”

The hallway is empty.

Except for the bouquet of daisies on the faded welcome mat outside. There’s an unmistakable purple envelope wedged between the stems of the flowers, and Bruce picks it up carefully with wary hands.

“Who’s Mister J?”

He turns to you, perplexed.

You stand unsure by the doorway to your bedroom, rubbing at the branded skin on your arm with sudden resignation.

“Just a regular who stops by the lounge.”

Maybe Bruce is wrong.

Maybe you aren’t such an angel after all.

How could love and vengeance go hand and hand?

-

Loyalties | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader, Michael Gray x reader (mentioned)

Summary: (Y/N) sees Henry Johnson again. Except he's not Henry Johnson anymore; he's Michael Gray. And he's come to join the company that she works for. The same company that's run by the man she has feelings for. Where do her loyalties truly lie?

Warnings: smoking, age gap

Word Count: 3924

A/N: I had an idea of doing something like this before I got this request, so thank you to whoever read my mind and helped me iron out the plot to it. I hope you enjoy! :)

Requests are CLOSED!

———

Walking down the streets of the city she'd come to know as her new home, she hoped that she wouldn't have any problems with making it to work on time. In Small Heath, you just never knew. There was always someone on the street corner, either begging for an extra pound or yelling at the top of their lungs that 'we are all destined for hell'. Sometimes there was someone doing both.

(Y/N) moved to Small Heath three years ago, when she turned eighteen. She wanted so desperately to leave the quiet, secluded country life behind and decided to thrust herself into a world where it was the complete opposite. Birmingham was dusty and dirty, but it was teeming with life. Life that (Y/N) so desperately needed at the time of her moving.

She jumped from job to job. House cleaner, grocery merchant, nanny, anything that she could find that would help her pay her rent. It was three years after she moved to Small Heath when she stumbled upon an advertisement in the paper: office secretary. It was for the Shelby Company Ltd. They were starting to get bigger, and the boss needed someone in the front office in order to keep track of his diary as well as the different correspondences. She applied, was interviewed, and then three days later was informed that she'd gotten the job.

Working for the company was great. She was always being tasked with different jobs, so no two days were the same. It kept her on her toes. The people above her were a big help as well. She didn't hesitate to go to them if she was confused about something because she knew that they wouldn't berate her for asking. The company treasurer, Polly Gray, became like a mother to (Y/N). She found herself spending nights sitting on the betting shop floor with the older woman, talking about life and anything else that came to mind. She really cherished their relationship because she'd cut all ties with her family back in the country.

And then there was her boss: Tommy Shelby. She couldn't deny that he was attractive. There was something about him that drew her in, that left her mesmerized by him. Maybe it was because she couldn't quite figure him out. Some days, he'd come in and acknowledge her, wanting to have a conversation, and others he'd walk past as if she weren't even there. Polly told her it was because he was sulking. The woman he'd fallen in love with turned out to be someone she wasn't, and then she went off to America.

Then, one day, things changed. The conversations he was having with her were more about herself rather than work. And there were subtle touches here and there. She noticed that he'd started to stand closer and closer to her when he was speaking to her. That he would look her over when he entered the room. She felt his attraction to her. He made it obvious in his mannerisms. And she wanted nothing more than to make her attraction to him known, but he was her boss. Surely it would be frowned upon. But Tommy didn't seem to care. So (Y/N) tried not to either; playing along with his advances and seeing where they went.

She was sitting at her desk, penciling some events into Tommy's diary so that he knew he had to attend them. The door to the office opened, but she didn't bother looking up. "I'm looking for Thomas Shelby," a man spoke after he cleared his throat.

"Who is it that's asking for him?" she asked, still writing in the book.

"Michael Gray," the man answered. (Y/N) finally looked up. Who she saw made her jaw drop. Surely he wouldn't remember her she thought, so she didn't comment on it, instead standing up with the intent to go see if Tommy was busy.

She was unable to even get to the door because Tommy was already stepping out of his office. "Ah, Michael. You've decided to accept the invitation to meet with us," he greeted the man standing a few feet away from him. Then his eyes fell on (Y/N), who was still in shock. "You ok?" he asked her then, moving over to her and placing his hand against her back. Normally, she'd melt into his touch, but now, she felt tense. The last person she thought she'd ever see again had just walked back into her life. She was most certainly on edge.

"Yeah," she breathed a response as she nodded her head, glancing over at the younger man to see that his eyes were trained on the two of them.

Tommy only nodded his head to her before looking back at the other person in the room, nodding his head towards his office then. "Come into my office, Michael," he said, dropping his hold from (Y/N) but not before squeezing her waist slightly.

'Michael' nodded his head before walking forward, his eyes falling on (Y/N) as he walked past her. She felt the breath get caught in her throat as their eyes met, and she was only able to exhale it when the two men were back in the office.

She took another deep breath as she sat down at her desk once more, trying to clear her head and focus on the work she was doing. She was able to work for a good twenty minutes before her mind was sent into a spiral again thanks to someone tapping her on the shoulder.

"(Y/N)..." 'Michael' started, sending her a smile as he exhaled the rest of his breath, "I didn't think I'd see you again."

"Me neither," she mused, a million emotions running through her as she looked up at him.

"Maybe we could, uh...maybe we could catch up. Go to the spot we always used to," he suggested, a look of hope flashing across his face as he waited intently for her answer.

(Y/N) thought for a moment. What harm could making up for lost time do? So she nodded her head. "Yeah. I'd like to do that," she sent him a small smile, and he returned one of his own as he nodded his head.

"How about on the weekend? Saturday. I'll pick you up and we'll go," he thought up a plan, and (Y/N) nodded along with it.

"I think that sounds good," she agreed. Michael nodded once more before he said goodbye to her and left the office.

(Y/N) watched him leave before looking back down to the note she was writing. She didn't know Tommy was standing behind her until he cleared his throat. She gasped slightly as she turned to look at him, seeing that he was leaned up against the doorframe to his office. "Come," he beckoned her and she nodded, standing from her chair to follow him into his office.

She wasn't even able to say anything to him because the second she stepped through the threshold, Tommy's arms were around her waist and his lips were pressed against hers. She leaned into the kiss and looked up at him with wide eyes once they pulled away. "What was that for?" she questioned, a smile on her face.

"How do you know Michael?" he didn't answer her question, instead asking one of his own.

"His name isn't Michael, it's Henry," she pointed out before anything else could be said.

Tommy nodded his head at her response, a knowing look on his face. "So you don't know about Michael."

(Y/N) was confused now. "What does that mean?" she asked him with furrowed eyebrows.

"He should be the one to tell you," was all Tommy said before he released her from his hold to move back to his desk. He picked up the burning cigarette from the ashtray and took a drag before looking back over to her. "Oh and that..." he motioned over to her as he called her attention back to the kiss, "that was because I wanted to kiss you," he told her, a slight grin playing on his lips as (Y/N)'s cheeks heated up.

Tommy sat back down at his desk and (Y/N) took that as her cue to leave the room. So she returned to her desk, her mind now filled with the events that had just taken place. She was left swooning from Tommy's kiss, but Henry wouldn't leave her head. And now she wondered what it was that he had to be the one to tell her. Letting out a sigh, she tried to focus back on her work. The key word there was tried. She didn't get much work done that afternoon.

——

It was mid day when 'Michael' and (Y/N) arrived at the spot they spent much time at when they were younger. It was a quiet spot underneath an oak tree that sat along the edge of a river. 'Michael' set down a blanket and made sure it was stretched out before he helped (Y/N) to sit down. She sent a smile over to him as a thank you before watching as he sat down as well.

"So you live in Birmingham now?" he was the first person to speak. He'd relaxed back on his hands, his legs straight out in front of him.

"Yes, I do," (Y/N) nodded, looking over at him as she crossed her hands over her lap.

"Do you like the city?"

"I do. Living there is much more fulfilling than living here was," she remarked, looking out to the river then, "although I do miss coming to this spot often."

"I miss coming here with you, too," 'Michael' commented after it got quiet between the two of them. "Learned a lot about both you and myself while sitting right here."

"Why did you say your name was Michael Gray at the office the other day?" (Y/N) finally asked what was on her mind from the second they'd arrived. She looked over at him with an intent gaze and watched as he let out a sigh and tore his eyes from her.

"Because that is my name," he said softly, almost like he was ashamed of it.

"No," (Y/N) shook her head, confusion filling her features, "no, your name's Henry Johnson."

"It's not," 'Michael' shook his head, "my real name is Michael Gray and the people who I thought were my parents weren't actually my parents," he told her, traces of anger in his voice. At first, (Y/N) was confused as to why he'd be angry, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. He'd essentially been living a lie — living a life that wasn't his. She couldn't imagine what it'd feel like to find that out at the age of eighteen. "I was taken away from my real mother when I was young. My 'parents' raised me as theirs but they never told me who I really was. They never told me that I was adopted."

(Y/N) gave him a sympathetic look before they both looked out at the river. "What's it like working for my cousin?" Michael asked after a few minutes passed.

"Your what?" she asked for clarification, unsure if she'd heard him right.

"Tommy Shelby is my cousin. His aunt, Elizabeth Gray, is my mother," he explained, and (Y/N) had to stop her jaw from dropping. She never expected to see Henry Johnson, who was actually named Michael Gray, again. But now he was sitting in front of her and she'd just learned that he was related to her boss...the same person she'd been involved with for the last several months.

"Oh..." was all she said as she tried to buy herself some time to think of what more she could say. So far, she was coming up blank, "I'm sorry...I just really didn't expect that," she told him as she let out a laugh. She couldn't think of the words to answer his question because her head was swirling with this new information.

"That's ok," Michael smiled slightly as he looked over at her. "I asked Tommy if I could join the company. I want to move to Small Heath," he told her, sharing another piece of information that made her jaw want to drop into her lap.

"Oh really?" she feigned surprise, hoping he'd take it as being true.

"Yeah. Figured I'd be a part of my real family's business," he nodded his head, "and maybe...maybe you could even be my secretary," he contemplated, a wider smile on his face as he moved over closer to her, his hand going to rest on top of hers that was sitting on the blanket.

(Y/N) couldn't think straight. Between the information she was just given, and the hand that was sitting on top of hers, she didn't know what to say. "Wow..." she mused a pathetic response, her statement coming out in a breathy tone. It was like she was speaking more so to herself than to Michael.

"I'm happy I've found you again," Michael smiled at her before he leaned over and pressed his lips to her cheek. (Y/N)'s heart started beating faster at the feeling of his lips on her skin. She didn't think it would affect her like it did. Those feelings that had been dead for close to four years now were coming back like not a day had passed since she last saw him. She had no idea what to do. So she just smiled over at him when he pulled away.

They spent the rest of the day sitting underneath the oak tree, catching up on the years they'd spent apart. Although she hated to admit it, she deeply enjoyed spending time with Michael. It was like not a day had passed since they were last together. And it surprised her how much about her he still remembered. (Y/N) was now faced with a decision. Did she act upon the feelings that were quickly resurfacing for Michael? Or did she continue to let her feelings for Tommy grow? She knew one person she could go to for help.

——

"What are you still doing here this late?" Polly questioned after backtracking to the offices when she saw (Y/N) still sitting at her desk.

"I want to get these reports finished," (Y/N) responded, resting her head on her hand as she continued on writing. The sound of Polly's heels approaching her made her look up at the older woman.

Upon seeing her, Polly pulled a face that showed she was concerned for the well-being of the younger woman. "You look like hell, (Y/N). Is something wrong?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowed together. (Y/N) took a moment before responding. She wasn't sure if she wanted to bother Polly with her problems. Before she could say anything, Polly was coaxing her to leave her desk. "Come with me, love. We're going to my place for a drink," she said as she waved her along. "And don't even think about disputing it because you most certainly look like you need it," she didn't let her turn it down. So with a sigh, (Y/N) stood from her chair and let Polly lead her out of the office and out to the car that was waiting for her.

—

"So what's it that's on your mind?" Polly questioned after the two women had sat on the couches in the main living area of Polly's home.

"I've got a bit of a dilemma, Pol," (Y/N) sighed as she took a sip from her glass.

"And what's that dilemma?" Polly asked for her to elaborate.

"Oh...my love life has gotten rather complicated recently," she couldn't deny that she felt slightly embarrassed in admitting that.

"With Thomas?" This made (Y/N) look up. There was a look of surprise on her face because she didn't know that the older woman had known about the two of them. Polly let out a laugh as she saw her expression, "what's going on between the two of you is obvious," she stated in a matter-of-fact tone, making (Y/N)'s cheeks heat up.

"Not quite with Thomas, no. Someone from my past has come back into my life. The feelings that I thought were dead and gone returned with him. So now it feels like my heart's torn," she explained her dilemma, ending her sentence with a sigh as she looked over to the fireplace.

"And who's this other man? The one from your past," Polly asked for more details. (Y/N)'s cheeks heated up again in anticipation of what Polly would say once she found out that the man from her past was in fact her son.

"His name is Henry...er, Michael," she stopped herself from using the name that she once called him; the name that she knew to be his. "Polly, the other man is your son, Michael Gray," she came right out and said it. "He and I...we lived close to each other. We knew each other from school and would spend a lot of time together because I'd rather be anywhere besides at my house with my terrible excuses for parents. We had a bit of a relationship, but it was young, foolish love and in the end, it was one of the only things that were making me happy living there. He understood the reasons why I had to leave and that I wanted to find myself somewhere new. He was fine with me going, but I felt bad that I was leaving him there because I did enjoy spending time with him. So seeing him out of the blue and spending time with him again so suddenly just threw me for a loop and it made me wonder if I still harbored those feelings for him," she then went about explaining her and Michael’s backstory.

And understandably, Polly looked shocked when she heard this news. Her eyebrows were raised slightly and her mouth took the shape of the letter 'o' as she listened to (Y/N) speak. A heavy silence hung between them once the younger woman finished, and it made (Y/N) anxious. She had no clue what Polly would say. She was the very person who gave her more information on Tommy when she had been curious about who he was. In a way, she pushed the (Y/N) to pursue him. So (Y/N) was hesitant to find out if her tune would change in regards to Tommy now that she knew of the past between this young woman and her son.

"You've got to decide where your loyalties lie," she finally spoke. Her response didn't favor either side, and instead made (Y/N) realize that she had to do some thinking before she could make her decision. So she only nodded her head before she focused on her glass, thinking hard of something to change the topic of discussion.

They settled in to talking about the goings on of the town, and the fact that Ada was due to come back into Small Heath in a few days. Still, Polly's words never left (Y/N)'s brain. Where did her loyalties lie?

——

The day had started like any other. (Y/N) entered the office and got right to work on the assignments that had been left on her desk the night prior. She kept working until she heard someone enter the office. Looking up, she saw Michael approaching her desk. She had learned to become comfortable in his presence now that Tommy had offered him a job on the accounting side of the company. He kept to his office most of the time, but they still crossed each others' paths now and then.

"Good morning, Micheal," (Y/N) smiled politely as she looked at him.

"Good morning, (Y/N)," he returned the greeting before producing a sealed envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket. "When you can, please give this to Tommy. It is a suggestion I'd like to make in regards to the company," he explained his reasoning behind giving her the envelope.

"I'll make sure he gets it as soon as possible," (Y/N) nodded her head as she assured him, taking the envelope from his hands and setting it on the desk.

"Thank you," Michael said with a smile before he exited the office to go to his own.

(Y/N) stood from her chair as soon as he disappeared. She went to the door of Tommy's office and knocked on it, opening it as soon as he called for her to come in. She desperately wanted to know the contents of Michael's letter.

"Is something wrong, (Y/N)?" Tommy asked from where he was sitting behind his desk, a cigarette balanced between his fingers.

"No. Michael just gave me this envelope to give to you. I figured it was urgent, so I acted on it right away," she explained, walking across the room so that she was now in front of his desk. He extended his hand for the envelope and she handed it to him, watching as he put the cigarette between his lips so that he'd have two hands to open it. She watched him intently as he read it over, her eyebrows furrowing as he let out a suppressed laugh and set the note down on his desk. "What?" she asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

"Michael has requested for you to become his secretary," he told her the main request of the letter.

"Oh?" she replied with surprise, this being the last thing that she expected the contents of the letter to be.

Tommy nodded his head. "I'll leave the decision up to you," he told her as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

"No."

"What?" Tommy craned his neck, his brows furrowed at her response.

"My decision is no," (Y/N) repeated herself, crossing her arms over her chest.

A ghost of a smile flashed across Tommy’s lips as he heard her response, but he masked it by looking down to the floor. “Did you and Michael have a past?” he asked once he composed himself.

“Yeah,” (Y/N) nodded her head, “and it’ll stay in the past,” she stated as she confidently made her way over to his side. She lifted her hands then, unsure of what to do with them for a second before she rested them against his ribcage. She had a smile on her face as she looked up at him. “I was told to decide where my loyalties lie...” she trailed off, holding his intense gaze for a moment before continuing, “my loyalty lies with you, Thomas,” she assured him, her heart fluttering as a smile broke onto his face and he exuded a slight laugh.

Taking advantage of the moment, she stretched up onto her toes and pressed her lips to his. He caught her in her place, his hands moving to her cheeks as he kissed her passionately. They were both smiling as they pulled away. “I’m happy to hear that,” Tommy stated, his eyes flickering to her lips before he kissed her again. Michael being part of the company now didn’t matter to (Y/N) anymore. She’d stick by Tommy’s side no matter what.

———

Tagged: @alreadybroken-ts @magicalxdaydream @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @golden-hoax @elenavampire21

Masterlist

Burn little witch

Pairing: Knight/Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Summary: Thomas Shelby, a knight on a hunt for a witch finds his horse under the care of a woman living in the cottage instead of a wicked creature and slowly falls in love with her.

Warning: fluff with a hint of fear

Word Count: 2.3k

a/n: Requests are open!!! Message me if you want a second part!

In the far Westlands, a waterfall roared, loud and dooming. Great rivers running down hills and mountains were leaping and sparkling in the light of the rising sun. Different roads wide and narrow spread across the map. A house, a cottage of wood and stone, gave shelter to a young woman, yet old enough to know that the woods are a dangerous place a woman should never dare to set foot in. A fence high and thick bordered the small patch of land from the forest. Y/N had never feared the depths of the wood, had seen the creatures dwelling in the heart of the forest, yet none of them had dared to attack the woman who from afar resembled an elf dancing across the meadow of flowers. Her bare feet danced over the rich soil, walked and listened to the chirping of the birds sitting on the branches of dark oaks. Flowers grew under Y/N´s care who understood the tongue of birds who sang for her and only for her who gave them food when the crispiness of winter ruled over the land.

Her eyes widened, heard the galloping of hooves, heard the screams which never filled the forest in which she lived, but the thought of hiding did not come as Y/N searched for the cause of the commotion. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and followed swiftly the animal resembling from afar a deer. Y/N clutched the basket tightly filled with healing flowers and herbs and ran.

The long dress was no longer white, the ends were greenish and adorned with traces of blossoming flowers. A silent prayer crossed her lips, hoping the horse was all right, that it wasn't hurt. Abruptly, Y/N stopped. Her hands shot up. She carried no weapons at her side, could not even harm an animal, and knelt on the ground. Moss gave way under her knees. The horse looked at her and came to a halt, seeing the woman kneeling and speaking in hush tones. Enraged hooves destroyed the ground, scraping it and making soil fly.

"I will not harm you; you need not to fear. I am a friend. Let me help you." Y/N spoke softly and remained seated.

The first thing Y/N noticed was that the horse could certainly not be a wild one, saw the leather saddle and reins, but no rider was near. No longer scraping the forest floor, the horse walked towards the kneeling woman who, with soft words, kept letting the horse know she had nothing to fear. Y/N rose and walked with slow steps towards the stately figure.

"Where is your master?" Y/N breathed, knowing the mare could not answer.

Clutching the reins, the young woman walked, sensing the shift in the wind, knowing soon moon and stars would rule over the land. The long hair framed her face, making her look like an elf roaming the forest, dancing and chanting in delicate tones and feasting on the painting of blossoming flowers.

"Come, I'm sure you must be tired and hungry, there's a stream by my house and I have carrots and apples and if your master doesn't find you, I'll take you to town, I'm sure we'll find him there," suggested Y/N.

Y/N was sure that a man must be the master of the mare, smelled it, smelled the heavy scent, the heaviness of burning branches and death. The horse followed the young woman through the forest. Branches moved in the stiff wind. No road nor path led to the house in the middle of nowhere. The nearest town was two days away, and the nearest village was a day's ride. The brown horse did not hesitate and after a few trees which looked alike, the cottage appeared behind dark oaks and bushes. The brook babbled and sang. Y/N allowed the horse to enter the garden flowers first, not wanting to call it a horse but didn’t know the name. The garden was small and tranquil, flowers flourishing under her care on the small patch of lush green land of hundreds of flowers.

The elf-like woman prepared the bed of straw and hay, spread a pile of straw on the ground, ignoring the voice in her head telling her that this material was needed for the roof she had to repair before the wind would shift and bitter cold would reign over the land. The mare feasted on the hay. Y/N threw the old tattered blanket, which looked more like a scrap of cloth, onto the pile of straw and hay, next to the extra dry one she offered the horse to eat.

"Here you can sleep my friend, I wish I could offer you a better home but I can't, my house is too small but there is water and I will bring you carrots and apples. A long time ago I had a horse, but don't worry, I will try to find your master." Y/N breathed as she groomed the horse's coat.

The wind shifted and the stars announced the coming of the night.

"But now I must go, I'll prepare something for us and if you smell danger then call for me but there are no monsters near, they disappeared many years ago but still people are fearing to enter the woods and I can't remember the last time I saw a human and talked to one." Y/N joked.

Suddenly the young woman stopped and tried to remember the last moon she had last spoken to a human, but Y/N couldn't remember. Old memories brought tears to her eyes. She faintly remembered her grandmother who was taken away from her by the guards of the town and in the first months after the disappearance, Y/N did not understand why people despised her, but over the years in solitude Y/N quickly learned why hate dwelled in the hearts of humans.

She stroked the animal's fur one last time before she made her way back into the house, from whose chimney smoke was rising and mingling with fog.

The water in the kettle bubbled. The house was small, but it was enough for the young woman who had once lived with her grandmother in the small and tranquil house. The carrots and apples lay in the bowl on the wooden table. The wind rose from its deep slumber. A known calmness ruled in the house.

The branches of the trees danced in the wind, but she was not afraid, knowing the horse would let her know if anything happened. She looked into the distance, let her gaze wander through the room, and came to a stop at one of the two windows from which the forest could be seen in all its beauty. The trees were tall and dark, branches danced in the wind. In the distance, she thought she could hear the trampling of deers as they dashed through the forest like hunted animals. In the far land, she heard the babbling of the brook, knew that in the far east a waterfall raged which ended in a lake which then flowed into more than twenty rivers which supplied the forest with water, gave water to animals and allowed plants to blossom.

Y/N did not see the eyes as they settled on her. A sound crossed her lips and, for the first time, she cursed herself that no sword was in her possession. She took a step back, clenching her hands into fists even though she knew she could not defend herself even if she had to. Suddenly there was a change in the wind. The figure was tall. Fast Y/N took the broom, ready to chase away the man who had dared to enter her house.

"Get out." she screeched from the depths of her lungs.

The eyes of a wolf, blue as the sky, pierced through her skin. The sword craved blood and destruction. He was at least five heads taller than her and with his little finger, he would bring her death. Perplex, the knight looked around, sure he would find someone else in the old cottage in the deepest parts of the woods. Herbs hung from the pillars, but he saw at first glance that they were good for tea and healing potions. Silver chanted as he stepped deeper into the cottage. Heavy armour which had to be heavier than she rested on his body seemed thicker than a dragon's scaled skin. The long coal-black hair was unmade, looked as if he had not seen warm water and soap or oils for several days. The young woman breathed deeply, trying to make it impossible for him to see the fear in her eyes.

The knight had spoken to a few people, but they all portrayed the witch as a hunchbacked old woman who was connected to the devil and fed on the blood of the fallen. Books lay sorted by colour on the shelves of dark wood. Pillars were adorned with dried flowers. No bones with traces of flesh still clinging to them lay scattered on the swept floor of light wood. A basket filled with apples lay on the table on which a no longer white cloth rested. The bed in the far corner next to which stood a small tub was simple and looked as if it would not last for a long time.

"You live here?" he said and Y/N nodded shyly.

The slayer of witches and creatures of darkness which kept people awake shook his head, feeling no magic in the house where he thought a witch had made her home and was bringing doom to people, and for the first time in his life, he was perplexed. The sword reflected the light of the blazing flames. Slowly Thomas put the sword away, saw no danger was radiating from her who was trying to protect herself with the handle of an old broom.

"Yes, me alone? And how can I help you? There are no monsters in this woodland, only me and the animals of the forest," it sounded more like a question.

Slowly she leaned the broom against the wall, listening to the water bubbling in the cauldron.

"The mayor said a witch dwell here and not a mere woman, said a witch was to blame for the dried fields and the empty wells,” Thomas said.

"My lord, the last time I set foot in a village or town was months, if not years ago. My grandmother, a woman who wanted to live in solitude with the animals of the forest once lived with me. One moon the guards came and took her away and I think you can guess what happened to her.” Y/N reported, looking at the tall man who was unlike any man she had ever seen in her life.

Y/N narrowed her eyes and stepped closer to the man.

"Are you hurt?" she breathed, noticing the blood on his fingers, forgetting that the man had entered her house with a sword. "Sit on the chair, I may be not a healer but my grandmother taught me many things." Y/N continued.

The slash was long and crooked. Thomas could not answer, looking down in shock at the woman who put her hands on his body and carefully forced him to sit down on the old rickety chair. He remained silent, watching her walk with quickening steps through the house and set about pouring warm water into a bowl of dried petals he had never seen in his life. He grunted and leaned back. The chair moaned.

"I won't look, please take off your tunic, I need to tend to the wound on your arm before it gets infected. Do you have any other wounds on your body?” Y/N whispered loud enough to know he could hear her.

Ashamed, she lowered her gaze, saw that he was shirtless and her reaction let him grunt. She shielded her eyes with her hand, but then she clutched the bowl and walked towards him again, who had not yet introduced himself by name. Amused, Thomas looked at her, sure that she was not afraid of him, heard her slow heartbeat and thought he could hear her thoughts racing to choose the right dried plants in the baskets.

"I see you have found my horse," Thomas said, looking out of the window.

"Oh, it's yours. I found your horse on my way through the forest. I was going to look for the master at dawn, but I'm lucky.", "And you don't have to worry. I took good care of your friend. I wanted to bring her carrots and apples and I made her a bed; she had no wounds so you don’t have to fear. Can I offer them something? I baked a loaf of bread. It is two days old, but it is still edible, but unfortunately, I don't have any meat nor mead." Y/N said and set the bowl of hot water on the table.

Again Y/N turned and took the bread even if the man hadn’t answered the question she had asked and offered the traveller the bread she had baked. Thomas hesitated, wanted to shake his head, but then he saw the look in her eyes and couldn't say no.

"Is the witch dead?" a voice broke through the calmness.

Her eyes shot up, couldn't believe her ears. Smiling, Y/N saw a man peering through the opening door. Questioningly, the man stared at Thomas, who was eating a piece of bread as the young woman cleaned the skin and treated the crooked wound running across his arm. The eyes of the man who must be traveller widened, could not believe his eyes, had expected a different picture. A bloodbath he had expected, guts flying through the air and words he could not understand, but let him know death would follow. Weakly, Y/N laughed, not noticing the knight´s eyes on her.

Hey love!!! Congratulations once again!! I've already thought of a request for you if you want it haha. Can you do “You didn’t heed my warnings, so I guess I should make it clearer for your human brain.” with vampire Tommy? Maybe something a little saucy hehe but it's up to you!! No pressure! 😘💓😍

Babe! Thank you so much for sending a request and omg... I gotta admit I have never expected to write something smutty with vampire!Tommy but here we are 🤭😌

“An Odd Attachment” – Vampire!Tommy Shelby x Reader

[ MASTERLIST ] [ SUPERNATURAL CELEBRATION ]

SUMMARY: After your father’s death during The Great War, you and your mother were left alone with a huge gambling debt. After a few weeks of despair you decided to rent the left wing of the Arrow House to a mysterious Mr. Shelby. From the very beginning, you just knew that there was something not right about him.

TRIGGER WARNING: does drinking blood count when it's a vampire fic? either way, Tommy Shelby's drinking blood from your inner thigh in this one so beware 😉

WARNING: English is my second language.

WORD COUNT: 2,240

🔞 NSFW UNDER THE CUT AND 18+

AN ODD ATTACHMENT

You knew there was something wrong with Mr. Shelby ever since you started to live with him. His skin was exceptionally pale, he was hiding in his office all the time with the curtains drawn and you had never witnessed him consuming anything except for cigarettes and alcohol.

His piercing blue eyes were the eyes of a predator and he seemed to see, hear and smell much more than other people.

Mr. Shelby was rather rude and cold – he was avoiding you at all costs despite you sharing the same house.

Arrow House had once belonged to your grandfather but after your father’s death during The Great War, you and your mother were left alone with a huge gambling debt. After a few weeks of despair you decided to rent the left wing of the house.

Mr. Shelby was new in Birmingham. He had lots of money but he wanted to earn even more. He wasn’t very pleased with the fact he’d have to share the house with you and your mother but he admitted that the remote area of the mansion had been perfect for him. And he still wasn’t rich enough to buy a whole house. Still, he kept repeating because he was on his way to the very top.

Despite having two separate wings, you were forced to share a few places. The main hall, the dining room, the kitchen… Well, actually, you had never seen him in the dining room and the main hall was often filled with all kinds of dangerously looking men and ruthless businessmen, which was making you feel uncomfortable.

Your mother wasn’t pleased with all those guests but she kept her mouth shut because Mr. Shelby had been paying you both lots of money.

He was intriguing you but you had been trying to keep your mind busy with other things. That was until you overheard a conversation between two maids one day.

“And he smelled me,” one of them whispered. “I swear, Magdalene, I am not making it up and it was certainly not a dream! He smelled my wrist and licked his lips.”

“Why would he… Oh, Ella, you have a crush on him!”

“No! In fact, I am scared of him…!”

“Maybe he’s a bit odd. Rich people are usually strange.”

As a rich, bored young woman, you had come up with an idea of spying a little on Mr. Shelby. Your mother had scolded you of course, she told you that it would only bring you into trouble. She had been right but you hadn’t listened.

You had grown up at the Arrow House and you had known every inch of that mansion, every secret passage and every corner. At nights Mr. Shelby had been leaving the house and going God-knew-where for a few long hours. He had been always locking the main door of his wing but you knew about a passage between your library and the bedroom located on his side.

You started to visit his bedroom at nights when it was empty. At first you found yourself looking through his things, intrigued. Then you found yourself somehow addicted to the scent of his sheets and all the clothes in his closet. It was a manly, musky scent but there was something more about it… something almost primal… something very tempting.

One time you couldn’t help yourself and you stole one of his shirts. You kept it in your wardrobe, hidden deep down so no maid would find it, just because you loved that cursed smell so much. It was making you feel sleepy and somehow relaxed, like you were drifting off.

His drawers were full of dangerous things. Guns, bullets, even daggers. They were beautifully decorated and looked very old. You noticed that there was dried blood on some of them.

You also started to pay more attention to the maid – Ella. She had always been very cheerful but now she looked like a ghost of her own self. Her skin lost all the colour and she became very clumsy as her limbs seemed to be too weak to function properly. Eventually, she resigned and went back to her family and you noticed that Mr. Shelby wasn't happy about that.

For some odd reason you became jealous. You were a rich, young lady that he had on the other side of the wall… Meanwhile he decided to have some weird attachment to an ordinary maid?

At the same time you couldn’t quite understand your own odd attachment to a man like him.

It wasn’t an attachment anymore. It was an obsession. You craved him.

It was like you were in a haze. You wanted to feel his scent all over you, you wanted those piercing blue eyes to devour you, you wanted him to touch you. He was dangerous and he was mysterious but perhaps those were the reasons behind your sudden affection.

You heard the door being shut and locked and then you heard his footsteps going downstairs. You waited five more minutes with a heart beating heavy in your chest, giving him time to drive away. Then you stood up rapidly, feeling dizzy and excited, and headed to the library.

You were wearing a nightgown, your hair was loose. You didn’t even want to search through his things, you just wanted to lay on his sheets and inhale his scent, to get lost in the idea of him for a few hours before he’d be back right before dawn.

You pushed the door open and closed them carefully before opening the secret passage behind one of the bookshelves. Now you were inside his bedroom.

It was dark as usual but you weren’t lighting candles anymore. By now you had already known that room by heart. You tiptoed to his huge bed and laid on the silky, navy blue sheets. They were cold but soon your feverish flesh would make them nicely warm. Your eyelids got heavy after a while of inhaling his scent and the wetness between your legs grew and grew. You allowed your right hand to wander down and pull up the cotton fabric of your nightgown.

And to think it wasn’t even the first time you had been doing that on his bed. You were ashamed of it but you also couldn’t stop yourself.

Your eyes were almost closed now and your body focused on the itching feeling between your thighs. Your fingers started to brush your mound, clothed with a damp pair of knickers.

You moaned as your breath became heavier and legs opened wider, slowly getting lost in the sinful feeling when…

When you felt something cold touching your inner thigh gently. You froze and took a deep breath in, which made you dizzy since the familiar scent had suddenly become much more intense for some reason.

“Surprise,” he whispered and your eyes opened immediately. Mr. Shelby was above you and your eyes that had been already used to the darkness could see his smirk. Your whole body started to burn out of embarrassment and arousal.

“I-I-I…” you started, not knowing how to explain yourself. You swallowed thickly and started to tremble. “I thought you were out, Mr. Shelby.”

“I wanted you to believe that,” he tilted his head to the side while his right hand continued to brush your inner thighs gently. His fingers were icy cold while your skin was burning, which was causing you to squirm a little as goosebumps formed on your body. “I wanted to catch you red-handed,” he confessed. “I’ve known since the very first time what you were doing. You left me something.”

“Wh-what?” your eyes widened since you had been trying to be very careful whenever you had been visiting his rooms at night.

“Smell,” he explained and you whined pathetically when his cold fingers brushed your clothed clit. How could they still be so cold…?

“Funny,” you whispered, “because smell is what… Your smell is what made me do all those things.”

“Oh, yes,” he chuckled. “Predators were designed by nature to lure their victims but you humans happen to be exceptionally silly in that matter,” he nodded and you furrowed your brow.

You wanted to question his choice of words but it was difficult to articulate any sentence yourself when his fingers were teasing you so cruelly. His touch was very gentle, which was forcing you to beg for more by arching your back and spreading your legs as wide as possible.

“I wanted to stay away from you, love,” he swallowed thickly and his eyes sparkled despite the darkness surrounding you. “You were so young, so innocent and so sweet… Not to mention this is your house, so I wanted to be a gentleman about it. I chose that maid instead but… But you kept coming here, you kept teasing me with your smell, with your longing stares whenever we were seeing each other on the staircase… You dirty girl, you even stole my shirt,” he leaned in even closer and now his face was only a few inches away from yours. You moaned at the intensity of his scent and the way his fingers curled underneath your knickers so his fingers could touch your bare clit. “You didn’t heed my warnings, so I guess I should make it clearer for your human brain.”

“What do you mean by that, Mr. Shelby…?” you gasped and he moved down to bury his face between your legs. “M-Mr. Shelby?” your voice trembled at the feeling of his cold lips all over your thighs while his right hand was still toying with the wetness between your legs.

Then you could feel his sharp teeth grazing the delicate skin of your inner thighs. That was the moment when you started to realise who – what – he had been.

A vampire.

But it was too late now and your mind was too hazy, like in a trance. You only moved your hands down to tangle them in his hair and pushed his head further. You wanted to grind on his face with your mound but he laid his lips on the pulsating point right above your groin and then you felt stinging pain. You let out a squeal but the discomfort disappeared quickly and it turned into pure pleasure.

It was a weird feeling, something very odd and unusual. Like something was being sucked out of you but at the same time something different was filling you with a kind of pleasure that you had never experienced before. The fact that Mr. Shelby’s right hand was still playing with your clit had been only intensifying the experience but you were becoming too weak and too sleepy to wriggle, squirm or arch your back. You were just laying down and drifting off while pulling his hair gently and letting out soft, quiet whimpers from time to time.

After a while you felt a knot forming in your abdomen, something you had experienced before while touching yourself but it had never felt so overwhelming.

“M-Mr. Shelby,” you whispered, letting him know that you had been close. He stopped feeding off of your thigh and moved his head away slowly, closing two small wounds with a gentle kiss. Then he pulled your wet knickers aside and finally buried his face in your cunt, sucking on your clit the same way as he had done before on your thigh but this time without using his fangs.

You came all over his face with a series of short gasps and quiet moans, too weak to react in any other way although your whole body trembled and you were sure that if he had asked you what was your name, you wouldn’t be able to answer properly.

He kept on sucking until you came off of your high and just like he did to the wounds on your thigh, he finished with a small kiss pressed to your clit before covering your cunt with your wet knickers once again, like absolutely nothing unusual had just happened. Then he moved up and laid next to you, admiring the glistening sweat on your skin, heavy breathing and ruffled hair.

“Now you’ll fall asleep,” he cooed in a sweet whisper, “and tomorrow morning you’ll wake up in your bed, being absolutely sure it was nothing but a dream.”

“N-no,” you were weak and already drifting off to sleep but you managed to blurt out the word while trying to squeeze your fingers around his wrist. Mr. Shelby furrowed his brow. “Please… I want to remember.”

He chuckled and caressed your hair.

“There will be next time. And then another one and another… Until the last drop, love. You taste too sweet to let any of them go to waste.”

You whined faintly as your eyes closed. Instinctively, you curled up and clinged to his cold, muscular body. He was a predator, yes. That was making him dangerous but that was also making you feel somehow safe because when he was around nothing was able to hurt you… except for him.

“But if you’re a good girl,” he added while playing with your hair gently, “I might take you with me and keep you forever. I’ve never met a human as addicting as you before.”

Your lips curved in a small smile. Oh, you definitely planned on being a good girl for him.

But for now you fell asleep.

TAG LISTS IN THE COMMENTS.

Quite the Revelation

Part Two

Pairing: Inexperienced!Bruce Wayne (The Batman 2022) x (female) Reader

Summary: the morning after you take Bruce’s virginity, he decides he would like to try something else...

Warnings: bit of fluff, smut, oral (f receiving), tiniest bit of praise kink, minors DNI

A/N: yeah I just couldn’t resist adding a part two with inexperienced Bruce learning to eat pussy, bc I mean come on, we all need that in our lives, right?

Read Part One

This is for people 18+ only. Minors do not read on. If you click ‘keep reading’ you are hereby agreeing that you are 18 or older.

You awoke to the faintest morning light bleeding out between a crack in the blackout curtains. You blinked the sleep out of your eyes and revelled in the feeling of the lush silk bedsheets that covered your body, the feeling of the expensive mattress underneath you. Those feelings, however, were secondary to the soft warmth you felt on your stomach; the gentle heaviness of Bruce’s sleeping head.

You smile to yourself as you look down at him, his cheek pressed against your bare stomach. Asleep his face looks so much softer, lighter, less lines of stress and worry. He looked younger, more vulnerable; it almost felt like something you shouldn’t have seen. But the fact that you were, that he felt comfortable enough to be with you like this, it just made the warmth of his skin against yours spread throughout your entire body.

The small smile on your face spreads further as the memories of last night flood your brain. Bruce touching you, you touching him. Him letting you be the first person he had ever touched like that, the first person he’d let touch him like that.

After you’d finished riding him on the sofa last night, making out for a while afterwards, he’d eventually carried you up to his ridiculously huge bedroom. He lay down on the bed, slotting in just next to you before hovering just above you to make out some more. It eventually built up to him losing himself inside you again. He fucked you soft and slow, taking his time to get used to the new position, his hips slowly finding their rhythm as he rocked into you.

He’d kissed you the whole time, just as you’d told him you liked. Kissed you even as he lost focus, pleasure taking over his body. His kiss became sloppy and uneven as he came inside you again, but your had heart swelled at the fact that he tried anyway, desperately trying to do everything that you liked.

He’d finished inside you again before you had the chance to climax this time yourself. He was still new at this and you weren’t judging him in the slightest for having a somewhat uneven rhythm and for finishing earlier than perhaps he would’ve liked. He was already way better than he had any right to be.

But it wasn’t good enough for Bruce apparently.

When he realised you hadn’t finished, he’d silently hushed your whispered reassurances of “Bruce it's fine” by lightly pushing you back into the mattress with one hand. His other hand found its way back to your wrecked pussy, messy with a mixture of both of your cum. His fingers quickly found your clit. He knew exactly what to do now and he hadn’t stopped until he’d made sure you’d cum.

You’d then got to enjoy his stupidly impressive shower in his stupidly impressive bathroom before the two of you silently settled into the equally impressive bed. You guys didn’t talk anymore that night, you didn’t need to. The two of you simply folded into each other and fell soundlessly to sleep.

You feel warmth spread to a certain area in your body as you dwell on those memories from last night. Your legs involuntarily start to squirm, your thighs rubbing together. A soft gasp escapes you when you suddenly feel a pair of lips kiss your lower belly. You look down to see Bruce, awake now, staring up at you as his lips pepper light kisses to your tummy.

“Hi” he mumbles against your skin, his sleepy eyes not leaving yours.

“Hi” you whisper back.

He just continues to look at you for a moment and you can see something creep into his expression. Something like a question, that uncertainty that you kept seeing last night. You reach out to brush some unkempt strands of hair out of his face, stroking his cheek lightly.

“What’s wrong?”

You tried to keep your voice steady and even, though inside you couldn’t help the bubble of fear that sat inside your chest... what if he regretted last night?

He shakes his head slightly.

“Nothing’s wrong” he murmurs. “It’s just...” he trails off.

You cock your head as you look at him.

Was Bruce Wayne... blushing?

“Bruce” you trial your index finger over this face lightly. “It’s just what?” You prompt softly.

He sighs quietly as he places another kiss to your skin, his eyes falling away from yours as he speaks.

“It’s just... I want to try something... if you’ll let me...” he mumbles slowly and quietly.

Your brows furrow quizzically.

“Try what?”

His eyes return to yours. They still look uncertain and wary, but somewhere behind that there was a kind of determination in them.

“I want you to teach me again... I want... to taste you. I want to know more of what you like” he finally says.

You almost let out a moan. This man was actually asking if you’d let him eat you out. Not only that, he was wanting to take instruction of specifically how you liked it. You were almost stunned into silence.

“Is that okay?” He prompts when you don’t answer.

“Yes, Bruce, that is more than okay” you smile at him.

He returns your smile and pushes himself upwards so that his lips meet yours. He kisses you soft and slow, your lips curved where the two of you were still smiling lightly. He brings a hand up to cup the back your skull, tilting your head so he can deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth. You moan quietly as he does so. You may be the one about to instruct him but for now he was in charge of this kiss.

Once satisfied with the position of your head his hand then moves to cup the side of your neck, his fingertips resting on your jaw, his thumb on the other side, cupping your face. He squeezes you lightly, eliciting a slightly louder moan from you. You unconsciously start to rut your hips slightly, anticipating what was to come. He’d hardly done anything yet and already you were putty in his hands.

“What do you want me to do next?” He breathes against your lips, his eyes meeting yours again.

You sigh as you attempt to regain your breath.

“Kiss your way down my body. Kiss me all over as you work your way down. Kiss me wherever you like, or wherever you think I’d like. And take your time.”

He places a last chaste kiss to your lips before he swiftly follows your instructions. He kisses across your jaw, making his way to your neck. When he reaches your pulse point, just below your ear, you moan softly again and buck your hips. Bruce registers your body language, clocking on to the fact that this was obviously a favourite spot for you. And so he stops there, taking his time to pay attention to that one area. He kisses and nips at the skin, swirling his tongue over where his teeth had been.

It was like instinct had taken over him. He assaults your neck and collarbones with an attack of hickys, kissing, biting and sucking at your skin. You knew you were spurring him on, the way your hands were tangling and fisting in his hair, the way your body was arching up into his touch, the way his name kept falling like a sigh from your lips.

After a while he eventually moved his assault lower. He peppered kisses across your bare chest; the two of you had both fallen asleep shirtless last night, attired in nothing but your underwear. He looked back up to you as he started the same assault on one of your breasts.

“Oh Bruce” you sigh as you let your head fall back, your eyes closing.

You pull tightly on his hair as he bites into your soft skin, leaving another litter of hickys over your breast. He then places a gentle kiss right on your nipple before he repeats the same assault on your other breast. The whole time you were arching your back still, pushing your tits up into his mouth.

After he was satisfied with his attack on your other breast, he again gently kissed you nipple, and then began to work his mouth down your stomach, getting lower and lower down your body.

When he’d shuffled down the bed and his mouth had reached the hem of your panties he slipped a hand under one of your thighs, helping lift it over his head so that your legs framed his face. You moaned at the sight of it.

Bruce. The Batman. Dishevelled and blushing face between your legs.

He seemed to have gained some confidence in himself after last night. You could see he was learning to take initiative a bit more. You could see how he was watching and listening to you and your body, gauging your reactions. He kept his eyes on yours again as he placed a gentle kiss to your clothed pussy. His eyes remained on yours as he pulled at your panties, pulling them down and off you. He groaned deeply at the sight of your wet cunt right in front of his face.

You see the quizzical look flash in his eyes again and you know his instincts had only taken him so far; he was now awaiting your instructions. So you sit up on your elbows slightly to watch him.

“So just like I taught you yesterday, you want to focus on the clit mostly mmm?” You tell him gently. “Just play with it with your tongue to begin with. Lap at it, kitten lick it, swirl your tongue around it. Then you can try sucking on it a bit. But, ya know, don’t suck too hard, be gentle with it."

He nods as he takes in your instructions.

“Oh, and Bruce?”

His eyes shoot back up to yours.

“When it comes to giving head, the sloppier the better. Use your spit.”

He nods again.

And then he’s lowering his mouth until his lips meet your pussy. His tongue darts out and finds it’s way between your folds. He licks up between your folds until his tongue feels out your clit. You gasp as his tongue slowly feels round your clit, circling it lightly. You feel your breathing start to quicken as Bruce gets to work experimenting with different techniques. He swirls and circles his tongue for a while, his eyes focused on watching you. He then switches to kitten licks, experimenting with both short and fast licks and then long strokes of his tongue.

“Fuck, yes. You’re doing so good baby. That feels amazing” you whisper through your laboured breathing.

All of it did feel amazing. He was doing as he was told, letting it get sloppy and messy, using his spit to his advantage. Every technique he tried on you felt incredible. His scruff was rubbing deliciously against your inner thighs, just adding to the overall sensations. The room was alight with your soft moans and gasps, as well as the lewd wet sounds of him sloppily devouring your pussy.

You could feel a slow burn climax begin too take its place in your belly. But also you could feel the ache inside your pussy, the want to have something in you, the need to be filled.

“Bruce” you sigh, you hand tangling in his hair again. “I need a bit more. I need you inside me” you whine as you toss your head back. “Use your fingers Bruce please, just like last night.”

He groans his acknowledgment against your cunt and you whimper at the vibrations. Bruce lifts his mouth off you for a second, looking down as he brings two of his fingers up to your entrance. Taking heed of what he was taught last night he runs his fingers through your folds, gathering a mixture of his spit and your wetness. Both of you moan as he sinks his two fingers inside you.

“Yes yes yes...” you sigh quietly, mostly to yourself, as he sinks his fingers to the knuckle inside you.

He then swiftly returns his mouth to your pussy, his tongue quickly finding your clit again and starting up again with the soft and slow kitten licks as he slowly pumps his fingers inside you. You moan loudly and let yourself fall back onto the mattress. Your one hand remains fisted in his hair, the other fists into the silk sheets at your side.

Bruce then begins curling his fingers inside you, brushing against that sweet spot inside you. At the same time he changes tactics with his tongue again, returning to the sloppy swirls and circles around your clit. That building feeling in your stomach lurches as that combination sends pure pleasure like fire burning through your body.

“Oh fuck Bruce, yes. Right there. Just like that” you cry. “Oh don’t stop, please don’t stop” you whisper frantically.

He groans against you and carries on doing exactly what he’s doing, edging you slowly but surely towards your climax. Your hips are bucking frantically against his face, to the point where he ultimately has to restrain you by pinning your hips down with his free hand, his fingers digging roughly into your skin. But you didn’t care, he was just making you feel so fucking good.

“Oh you’re doing so good baby. I’m close” you whine.

He groans again and devours you with even more fervour than before, his fingers and tongue speeding up just the slightest bit. But that slightest change in rhythm was finally just enough to tip you over the edge.

“Oh shit” you gasp as your orgasm rips through your body.

It’s an orgasm you’ve only had a rare few times in your life. The one that builds slow, like it starts in the very corners of your body before it centres and explodes through you. It was one of those orgasms that seems to hang perfectly in the balance for an almost unreasonable amount of time before you even get tipped into being sensitive. It was just one of those rare perfect climaxes.

You swear you can feel Bruce smile against your cunt as he laps you through your climax, slowly decreasing the pace of his tongue and his fingers, riding your through your orgasm and slowly out of it. When he sees your body convulse and jerk as he brushes over your clit he knows you’ve had enough, that you were beginning to get sensitive, and so he stops his motions.

He places a kiss to the top of your folds before pulling his fingers out of you and climbing his way back up the bed until his face was level with yours again.

“Was that okay? How was-“

You cut him off by grabbing his face between your hands and smashing his mouth against your own. You both moan into the kiss as you frantically move your lips against his, devouring the taste of yourself on his tongue.

“You’re fucking amazing” you pant against his lips.

You couldn’t believe this man was somehow blushing after having just given you the best head of your entire life. You kiss him again as you flip him over, pushing him down on his back into the mattress. You sit up and straddle his hips, admiring the view of him underneath you. You then lean forward and begin kissing all over his chest. You look up at him to see that quizzical look in his eyes once again. You smirk at him.

“What are y-“ he starts to murmur.

“Shhh” you cut him off, kissing lower and lower down his body. “I’m returning the favour....”

Masterlist

A/N: I am so sorry this took me a while to get out, my brain and I are really at fighting each other atm when it comes to trying to get writing done. And yet once I did start this I wrote the whole thing in one go lmao! Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this!!😘🥰🖤

Taglist // Join My Hive // Ko-Fi

Taglist: @minxsblog @ravenirl @remusstefon @singledadharrington @redheadspark @bqnner @hxpelessxcean@crazyxshit @rosefreckles06 @clairevoyanceee @ilomessiah @biblecunt @thankyouspecial @keepingitlokiii @latesummerwriter @bucky-daddy-barnes @etherealweed