Shouldnt Cry, But I Love It

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?

-

The Saviour (Part 12) - Tommy Shelby X Fem!Reader

Warning - angst / mentions of abortion

More Here

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @datewithgianni @heidimoreton @jardinsecos @bitchwhytho @gypsy-girl-08 @queenofkings1212 @look-at-the-soul @randomfangirl2718 @savingit-foryou @ally22042000 @ethrealzzz @bleu-blossom @capswife @strangunddurm

"Will you please just fucking talk to me??" Tommy walked through the door of the Shelby home and stood in front of you, checking the twins were still sleeping soundly. You sighed quietly and decided there was no avoiding it any longer.

"We know nothing about each other Tommy, nothing at all. And we're supposed to raise two children together? Most couples have years to prepare for this, make sure they're suited to each other, make sure they're suited for each other..."

"I have a past, YN, you of all people should be forgiving of that?"

"My past is not through choice Thomas!"

He backed off at that, realising he'd said the most absurd, stupid thing he could have said. Your eyes filled with tears at the sheer insensitivity of his comment but you swallowed them back.

"So let me coin your phrase and put 2 and 2 together. Lizzie was your whore, am I right so far?"

"Yes."

"And from what she said, I'm guessing you knocked her up too?"

"Yes, I did."

"And by the lack of child, I'd say she had an abortion, paid for out of your pocket. Am I still on the right track?"

"Yes," he sighed, hanging his head.

"Is that what you'd have had me do, had you known about the twins?"

"Let me explain, please?"

"Answer the question."

"No."

"Bullshit, Thomas!"

"You weren't even going to keep them! You weren't going to tell me they existed for fucks sake, you'd have had them and given them away, not a second's thought about me!"

"Because I knew you wouldn't want them!"

Polly appeared suddenly, and silently wheeled the pram out of the room into the kitchen before your argument woke them up.

"Tell me about Lizzie. All of it," you said, once the babies were out of earshot.

"I've known Lizzie since I was a teenager. When I came back from France, her boyfriend didn't. Left her with nothing. She turned to prostitution to survive, and I took advantage of her. Multiple times over a number of years. She did get pregnant, but I swear to you YN, she chose the abortion, not me."

"She seems awfully bitter for someone who chose it herself Thomas."

"Because I told her I wouldn't marry her. That's all she wants - the Shelby surname. Doesn't matter which one of us she uses to get it, she wants it. After I turned her down, she moved onto John after his wife died. He kicked her to the curb once he found out what happened with me."

"Are you lying to me, Thomas?"

He took your hands and sat the two of you down on the sofa together, his eyes locked with yours and a truthful honesty radiating from them.

"I have no reason to lie to you, YN. I would have told you, but the time wasn't right. How could I slip that into conversation?"

"We don't have conversations, Tommy. All we talk about is the children, and how tired we are, and that's it. Nothing else."

"Then after the babies have their 6 o'clock feed, why don't you and I take a walk? Just the two of us? Ada can watch over them for a few hours, we can be back before their 10 o'clock feed?"

"You memorised their routine?"

"Of course I did. Didn't I tell you we'd do this together?"

He kissed your hands clasped in his, and smiled at you. You suddenly felt silly for doubting him, like he wasn't entitled to have a history, a past. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone has a skeleton or two in their closet. Some worse than others.

************************************************************

Ada was more than happy to look after the little ones, and Polly would be there too. You could see her talking to Tommy while you waited in the living room for him and Ada, sat on the sofa with a dozing Elizabeth in her arm squeezed your hand suddenly.

"Haven't seen him this happy since before France, YN," she smiled, and you nodded.

"He's only doing this for Elizabeth and Jacob..."

"Are you kidding me? That man's been walking on air! He smiles, he laughs, he takes time off - trust me, you've got him wrapped around your little finger YN."

"More like they have," you chuckled, cooing over Elizabeth who gurgled happily in her Aunty Ada's arm. Jacob was still awake, kicking away happily on the sofa next to Ada.

"Ready?" Tommy asked, coming into the room. He leaned down and kissed his son and daughter, a small kiss on Ada's head and a thank you, before taking your hand and leading you out into the night.

"What were you talking to Polly about?" You asked, your arm linked into his as you headed towards the canal.

"You'll see," he winked.

Walking further down the canal than you ventured earlier that day, you came to a large yard full of crates and stables.

"My Uncle Charlie owns this yard, Polly arranged for something special for us," he said, taking your hand and leading you into one of the large buildings next to the canal. Walking inside, it took your breath away.

In the middle of the warehouse was a small table with a white tablecloth, a single candle in the centre. Two plates and two whiskey glasses sat on the table, and two chairs either side of it.

"Oh my goodness..." You gasped. The air in the room was warmed by a coal fire, and Tommy took your coat from your shoulders. Ada had loaned you one of her best dresses for the evening, a simple blue dress that fell just below your knees.

"You look beautiful," he smiled, taking your hand and leading you to the table. Pulling the chair out for you and tucking you in once you'd sat down.

"Charlie and Curly have been preparing quite the feast, so I hope you're hungry," he grinned, signalling behind you. Moments later, your bowl was filled with hot, delicious smelling beef stew, and two bowls laid out in front of you containing bread rolls and home grown vegetables.

"No ones ever done anything like this for me before.."

"You better get used to it then."

You ate, and talked. You told him about your childhood. How your adoptive father died, and your adoptive mother became the psychopath she is now. How you were sold to Jack, earning your keep via seedy backstreet brothels at first, before Jack landed a huge win at the local racetrack and bought the den in London with it. Expanding his filthy little empire across the counties.

"That's over now. He's dead, so is Grace, and Alfie owns all the old properties. He's converting them into nightclubs and restaurants. You don't need to worry about any of that anymore, I promise you."

You asked about his business, and he told you about the empire he was creating with the help of Polly, his sister and his brothers. How he had a legal racecourse pitch and a legal export licence, and Shelby Company Limited would be going up in the world, bringing in more money and wealth than even he could imagine.

You listened intently, fascinated by his drive and ambition, how he'd planned out every single facet to its finest detail. There were no stones left unturned, every T had been crossed. Every i dotted.

"And I used to think that was all I wanted. All I wanted in the world. Until I met you."

"And now?"

"Now.. none of that means a thing to me unless I have you, Jacob and Elizabeth by my side. I was angry at first, YN.. I was really angry and confused, and hurt.. I couldn't understand why you'd keep something like that from me. But then Polly knocked some sense into me. Literally, I'm sure I've still got a scar on my head somewhere," he chuckled and you smiled.

"What did she say?"

"She said only a fool would tell a hardened criminal with a gangster family she'd only met twice that she was pregnant with his child. And I should be thankful you didn't abort them."

"She's quite blunt, your aunt, isn't she?"

"Always been the one to tell me as it is, whether I like it or not."

"I have to ask you.." you said after a few moments silence while you finished your meals.

He wiped his mouth on a napkin and sipped his whiskey, his full, unwavering attention back on you.

"Anything."

"Would you want me if I hadn't had the twins?"

"I'm not with you because you bore my children YN. I'm with you because I want to be with you. I want to raise my children with you, these two and more."

"More?"

"As many as you'll give me. Marry me."

"What?"

"Marry me."

"Thomas I barely know you..."

He pulled out a box from his waistcoat pocket and before you knew it he was on his knee next to you, presenting you with the box, now opened. Inside sat a beautiful diamond and gold ring.

"It was my mother's. I promised her I wouldn't use it unless I was sure. And I'm sure. I want you. I want our children. I want our family. Marry me, YN?"

He held your left hand in his right, the box in his left, the hope in his blue eyes slightly ebbing the longer it took you to answer him.

This all felt so sudden... But you couldn't deny it felt right... You shared children together... Could you share a life together? A family?

How the hell was Alfie going to react when he came to collect you, and you had a ring on your finger?

Despite your reservations, and despite the image of your brother's irate face...

"Yes..."

MASTERLIST

Flipped

The reader is Aberama Gold’s eldest daughter, Esmeralda Gold in this fic.

This fic might have dark themes which may irritate or offend some readers. But if you’ve seen Peaky Blinders and are familiar with Thomas Shelby, you’ll be okay. The story, plot, character histories and back stories might not be relevant to the original “Peaky Blinders”. Warnings will change per chapter.

Update: every 2-3 days

Synopsis: Your father’s one mistake shall alter your life’s direction forever.

Chapter 1: The coin

Chapter 2: Kitten

Chapter 3: Distraction

Chapter 4: Dawn

A Not So Rude Awakening | John Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: John Shelby x reader

Summary: John and (Y/N) have been on a few dates and now he's asked her to stay the night. They spend a normal night in bed, but the morning after is not like (Y/N) thought it was going to be like.

Warnings: drinking

Word Count: 3897

A/N: this was such a sweet idea. Thanks so much for sending it, anon! I hope you enjoy! :)

Requests are CLOSED!

———

John Shelby wasn't someone who (Y/N) expected to become the serious girlfriend of. She knew of him and his family and what they did, being that she lived in Small Heath for her entire life. So when he entered her family's bakery one day, she expected trouble. What she got was the complete opposite.

He asked to buy several scones, saying that he had a sweet tooth and was craving them. (Y/N) happily obliged with his request and got them packaged up for him to take. Then he asked her for her name. She giggled and told him that it was on the tag that was pinned to her apron.

"(Y/N)...'s a beautiful name," he commented after reading it, his words making her blush. He then asked her what she was doing later that night. Told her that he was planning on getting dinner and wanted to know if she wanted to join. She agreed, wanting to learn more about the real John Shelby. The one she'd just now got a glimpse of.

And boy did she find out more about him. That dinner turned into him waiting outside her bakery to walk her home each night, and that turned into him asking her to officially be his girlfriend just a few weeks after they first met.

(Y/N) spent a lot of time with John, but she never went over to his house. There was no particular reason as to why, they just never went to his area of the neighborhood. They preferred to go for walks, go to the Garrison, or get something to eat. It always impressed (Y/N) when John was offered something to eat on the house just because of who he was. It was in those moments where she remembered that she was the girlfriend of a Peaky Blinder, who were the most feared gang in the city. Because it didn't feel like that when she was with John.

It was getting late when (Y/N) exited the bakery to lock it up. Like clockwork, John pushed himself off of the side of the building and made his way over to her side. "Hello, darling," he greeted her with a smile, letting her finish locking the door before he leaned down and pecked her lips.

"Hi, John," she smiled up at him once they pulled away, "how was your day?"

"Was alright. Your's?" he asked her the same question.

"Not bad. Mrs. Evans finally came in for that cake, so I'm not gonna be able to give it to you," she told him, giggling as he let out an exaggerated sigh. “I'll just have to make you a special one instead," she offered him a consolation.

A grin was back on his face, "I'm gonna hold you to that, (Y/N)," he told her, dramatically wagging his finger at her. She only nodded, smiling up at him.

"Where're we going tonight?" she asked after they'd been walking for a few minutes.

"Would you want to come to my place?" he asked her, his eyebrows raised slightly as he waited to see how she'd respond to his question. "Maybe you could even spend the night...?" he added more onto statement before she could answer him. (Y/N)'s eyes widened at his offer. This would be a big step for them. Neither has been to the others house, and they certainly hadn't slept together before. Was she ready for this? John was sensing her hesitance and immediately went to damage control, "if you think it's too soon or that you don't feel comfortable with it, I totally get it. It's not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable."

She smiled slightly at his concern before she finally answered him, "oh no...I was just thinking that I don't have anything along with me that I can wear to sleep," she told him what had been on her mind, making him let out a long breath.

"Don't scare me like that, (Y/N)!" he jokingly exclaimed, knocking his shoulder with hers as they continued to walk. "So you'll come over?" he checked again after they'd walked a bit more.

"I'm still by your side, aren't I?" she jokingly quipped, making John chuckle and shake his head, rolling his eyes with a smile on his face.

"I'll take it as a yes," he grinned down at her, taking her hand and intertwining their fingers as they continued to walk to where he lived.

—

"It isn't much," John commented as he opened the front door to his house.

"It's nice, John," she told him, a slight smile on her face as she gazed around the main living area. "Feels lived it," she said, her eyes catching the child-like drawings that were pinned up on the wall. She knew that he had younger siblings, so she just figured that it was from one of them.

"Oh it's well lived in alright," he nodded his head with a laugh, moving over to his cabinets as he started to look through them. "Did you eat?" he asked as he kept opening the drawers. "I don't have much. But I do have..." he paused, reaching into a cabinet then, "wine," he grinned as he produced it, holding the bottle out for her to see.

(Y/N) couldn't help but laugh. "I ate. Sandra brought some of the sandwiches she had extra of into the bakery today," she informed him, finally sitting her purse down on the couch that sat next to the fireplace. "But I will have some of the wine," she grinned and he nodded, a similar grin on his face. It was Friday night and she had just capped off a long week. She deserved to have some wine.

"We'll share some wine then," he stated, grabbing two mugs from the shelf before he moved over to where she was now sitting. He set them down on the coffee table before he sat next to her, opening the wine bottle and pouring some into each of the cup. He then handed her one before taking hold of his own. "To you spending the night," he grinned, clinking his glass with hers before they both took a drink from it.

"This is good, John," she stated once she tasted it, glancing over at the bottle to see what it was.

"I know. I stole it from the local eatery," he grinned, and (Y/N) couldn't tell if he was joking or not. He probably wasn't. He started to laugh at her expression. She just shook her head and smacked his shoulder, smiling as she took another sip from the glass. Stolen or not, she was going to enjoy it. "Anything interesting happen at work?" he asked after a few minutes had passed.

"No, not really. I just baked cookies and decorated cakes," she responded, shaking her head as she brought her feet up beside her on the couch. She surprisingly felt really relaxed at the moment, which was the exact opposite of what she thought she'd be feeling. It was almost like this wasn't the first time she'd been over his house.

"I'm sure you did that really well though."

"Oh, I hope I did," she smiled over at him, making him chuckle slightly before he grabbed her legs and brought her feet onto his lap. "How about you? Any exciting bets happen?" she flipped the question on him.

He shook his head slightly. "No. People pretty much put it on the horse we have the favors on. The races are fixed, so we know who's winnin' 'em," he told her, his hands dragging lazily along the fabric of her stockings. She sent him a confused look, so he decided to explain it better, "the horse we put the favors on is the opposite from the one we know is winning. The house gets all the money, the people, most times, leave with none."

(Y/N) only nodded as he spoke. She knew the nature of the business John's family ran. She was still coming to grips with it. The way John acted towards her helped greatly in her efforts though. She never had anyone treat her like he did.

The two stayed seated on the couch, talking about whatever came to their mind, as they slowly drank more of the wine. It had to be a few hours later when John suggested that they go to bed. He knew that she'd been at the bakery since early that morning. She surely had to be tired. And she was. She was just fighting off sleep because she wanted to spend more time with him.

"Do you want to go to bed?" he finally asked her, setting his empty mug back on the coffee table in front of him.

"Yeah. Sure," she nodded, moving her legs from his lap so that he could stand up. He stepped away from the couch and she followed him, walking two steps behind as they made their way upstairs and down to the end of the hall to what she guessed was his bedroom.

"I'll get ya some clothes. So you're not sleeping in that," he stated as he moved over to the dresser. He opened a few drawers and grabbed some articles of clothing before he moved back over to where (Y/N) was standing. "I hope these fit," he smiled at her as he handed over a pair of underwear and a cotton undershirt.

"I'll make it work," she smiled back at him as she took the clothing from his hands and held it in hers.

They just stood there then. (Y/N) was hesitant to go forward with getting undressed because, well to put it bluntly, they hadn't seen each other naked yet. John, on the other hand, obviously didn't pick up on her hesitancy, so he was just kind of standing there. No one spoke until (Y/N) inhaled a sharp breath, glancing around the room awkwardly. "I should probably leave the room...so you can get changed," he stated, scratching the skin behind his ear.

"Thank you, John," she smiled at him as he moved to exit the room. As soon as he was out, she stripped from her clothes and put on what he'd given her. John's clothes were a little baggy on her, but would work for the night. "John!" she called, the door opening a second after.

She watched as he reentered the room, his clothes now wadded in his hands as the only thing he was wearing was his boxers. "Figured I'd save some time and undress out there," he commented, dropping his dirty clothes in the corner. There were no other clothes there, so (Y/N) guessed that he either did his laundry daily, or had someone who did it for him.

"You're sleeping in that?" she asked him, clearly not thinking about her words before she said them because why did that even need to be asked?

"Yeah," he shrugged, taking a step towards the bed before he stopped and looked at her, "unless you'd want me to wear something else."

"Oh no. What you're wearing is fine," she brushed his statement off, "I really didn't think of what I was saying before I said it," she abashed then, her cheeks heating up slightly.

John only nodded, "oh. Well, ok then," he shrugged once more before moving over to the bed. "Care to join?" he questioned with a grin, and (Y/N) wasted no time climbing into the bed with him.

Immediately, he had her curled up in his arms, her legs moving to tangle with his. "Why haven't I slept here with you before?" she questioned, resting her head against his chest as she peered up at him, "like I already know that this is the best sleep I'm going to have."

"Had I known, I would have offered sooner," John replied, leaning down to press his lips to hers. His hold on her tightened as their lips stayed meshed together, her hand reaching up to rest along his jawline. Deciding to deepen the kiss, she somehow managed to move in his arms so that more of her body was pressed against his.

At this point, her mind was telling her one thing, but her body was reacting in a different way. She wanted nothing more than to take this further with him, but at the same time, she'd only know him for a few weeks. It wasn't her intention to have sex with him the first time she slept over. So her mind won, and she pulled away to hover over him slightly. "I'm sorry...I need to stop, John," she told him, trying to steady her breathing as she looked down at him.

"I'd of asked you to stay over way sooner if I knew I was going to get that," he grinned up at her, making her laugh and roll her eyes jokingly before she fell back into his side. "I understand though, love. I'm fine with waiting," he told her after a few moments of silence.

Her heart swelled at his words, and she couldn't help but prop herself up on her elbow so that she could look at him once more. "Thank you, John," she smiled, pressing her lips to his once more before she laid back down, getting comfortable curled against his side. His one arm wrapped around her, his hand moving languidly along her upper arm. "I think I might go to sleep now," she whispered, stiffling a yawn as she spoke.

John chuckled slightly at her sleepy words. "Go 'head, darling," he whispered back to her, and the last thing she felt before slipping into sleep was his lips pressed to her forehead.

——

The room had just been lit up by the morning sun when (Y/N) awoke to the feeling of a person, or maybe actually people, jumping on her. "John," she grumbled, believing that this was her boyfriend's doing. She found it quite odd that'd he'd choose this manner of waking her up, but at the same time knew to expect anything with him. Except he wasn't responding to her. "John, please stop," she groaned again, her eyes not open yet.

"Dad's not here," came a voice that was definitely not John's.

"Yeah. But who are you?" then there was another child speaking, which explains the feeling of multiple people jumping on her. But why were there children in the room? Was she dreaming at the moment?

Slowly, she opened her eyes to see four smaller children peering down at her. Their jumping had seized and now they were staring down at her with looks of surprise and confusion. "Hi..." (Y/N) trailed off, also completely confused at the moment. Why are there children in the room?

"You're not our daddy," the youngest looking one of the bunch pointed out the obvious, "where's our daddy?" she scowled at (Y/N), crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'm wondering the same thing, honey," (Y/N) responded, trying to wrap her head around all of this. She assumed at this point that John had to be their father because they'd been referring to him as 'dad' since she woke up. Hell, they thought they were coming in to wake him up. And now they were met with some random lady.

Then one of the older one's eyes widened. "Wait a second...I think our dad talks about you," she said in realization, looking at each of her siblings as she spoke.

"Yeah! You're the pretty girl daddy tells us about!" another spoke up, realization flashing in his eyes as well. (Y/N)'s eyes widened. She didn't think that John'd be telling his family about her so early on.

"She must be!" the smaller girl exclaimed. "Do you have a name, Miss pretty lady?" she asked then, her question coming out of nowhere.

"My name is (Y/N)," she told the children, figuring what could it hurt. Well, what it could do is open up the floodgates of questions. But (Y/N) didn't know that until she was done speaking.

“Where are you from?!”

“What do you like to eat?!”

“How did you meet our dad?”

“Why do you think our uncle Tommy wears a different color underwear? We’ve asked him before and he says he doesn’t but dad says he does and we just don’t know why.”

So the first three were going to be easy, but that last one...she didn’t even think that the child knew where that one came from. (Y/N) took a deep breath, deciding that she’d go right down the line and answer them. The kids were all looking at her expectantly as she began to speak: “I’m also from Small Heath, although I don’t live close to here. I like to eat a lot of things, but chicken soup probably has to be my favorite. I met your dad when he came into where I work and asked me what my name was, and I...don’t really know how to answer that last question,” she ended her spiel with a little chuckle, looking at the youngest of the kids; the one who’d asked the final question.

The little girl shrugged. “That’s ok. We just thought that maybe you knew.”

“Which cat do you think is the fattest one out of all of them over at the bakery?” was the next question that was asked.

Before (Y/N) could answer, one of the other kids spoke up, “I think it’s Fivel. He’s always laying around and he doesn’t move much.”

(Y/N) just about gasped. Fivel had practically became ‘her’ cat after she started feeding him from the first day he showed up outside the bakery. He only ever came to her. "Hey! I don't think Fivel's fat...he's just the right size," she defended her feline friend, crossing her arms over her chest with a slight pout on her face.

"You work at the bakery?" the oldest of the kids questioned, wondering if that was why she knew who Fivel was.

"Yes, I do," (Y/N) nodded her head.

"Our daddy gets us treats from there a lot! They're always so yummy!" one of the younger ones cheered, a wide smile on her face.

"He only brings us treats from there so much because he goes to see the pretty lady that works there," one who was older stated matter-of-factly, making (Y/N) blush.

"You're the pretty lady!" the small girl exclaimed, pointing in (Y/N)’s direction. The older woman’s blush intensified. “Our daddy really likes you,” she stated then.

Almost immediately, one of the older siblings was smacking her shoulder, “dad said we weren’t supposed to tell!”

“Oops,” was all the little girl said, looking down at her legs bashfully.

John Shelby was entering the house from the early morning errand that his brother wanted him to run. He really hoped that (Y/N) was still here. He didn’t expect to be going out that morning. Arthur was down below screaming his name at six, and he wasn’t letting up until John came down. He quietly ascended the stairs and walked down the hall to his room. He hesitated in opening the door though because he was able to hear voices from inside. Children’s voices. Getting on with opening it, he found (Y/N) surrounded by his four children. He should’ve known that they’d come in here looking for him. They woke him up like this every morning.

What he didn’t expect was to see (Y/N) smiling. Most women would be appalled by the sight of for young kids jumping on them at the early hour of seven in the morning, but (Y/N) was smiling. John knew then that he had to keep (Y/N) in his life for as long as he could.

“Daddy! You’re back!” his youngest daughter, Janie, exclaimed once she noticed that he was in the room. All of a sudden, the four children were scrambling off the bed to hug their father.

“Hello! Yes, I’m back,” he greeted his kids with a smile as he patted each of their backs. “Thanks for keeping (Y/N) company for me,” he said then as he grinned over at the woman who was watching him with a smile.

“You were right, daddy. She is a lovely lady,” Katie smiled up at him, which made (Y/N)’s heart swell. It seemed like she was the oldest out of the group, so it was good to know that she had her approval.

“She is,” John agreed with his daughter, still smiling over at (Y/N). “Why don’t you all get ready for the day?” he suggested, and the kids all nodded their heads before they filed out of the bedroom. John sent (Y/N) a sheepish smile before he moved over to the bed and sat on the side of it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up.”

“That’s alright. I got a very lovely wake up from them,” she responded with a forgiving smile. “Why didn’t you tell me you have kids, John?” she asked him then. She wasn’t mad at him. She was moreso confused as to why he left such a big chunk of his life out of their relationship.

He sighed before looking at his lap. “Most women around here hit the road after I tell ‘em I’ve got four kids. I didn’t expect to be dating again, to be honest, but me first wife died from illness, so I had to,” he told her the truth, feeling no point in hiding it.

“I’m sorry to hear that, John,” she laid a comforting hand on top of his. “And if it grants any solace to you, I don’t plan on hitting the road now that I know this,” she smiled at him then.

“Really?” his eyes lit up as he heard what she had to say.

“Yes, really,” she nodded, laughing slightly at his overjoyed expression. “They were super adorable. Just like their father,” she smiled, leaning over to run her hand down his cheek.

“Well I’m happy you think that,” he stated before he leaned closer to her, “because I wasn’t going to be letting you go so easy. I think I’m in love with you, (Y/N),” he admitted, making (Y/N)’s heart flutter.

“I think I’m in love with you, too, John,” she whispered before she closed the space between them at matched her lips with his. “Oh, John...” she stated once they’d pulled away slightly.

“Hmm?” he asked, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke.

“I think I’m gonna be staying over at your house more often now. I’m going to really enjoy spending time with your kids,” she pulled away more to smile at him, looking into his eyes.

“I’m perfectly fine with that, darling,” he grinned, leaning in for another kiss before he continued, “just so long as me kids don’t steal you away from me completely.”

“I don’t think they will,” she assured him, her heart feeling completely full at the moment. Most women would run away from a dating situation when they found out that kids were involved, but for (Y/N), it just made things better.

———

Tagged: @alreadybroken-ts @magicalxdaydream @the-anxious-youth @look-at-the-soul

Masterlist

The Saviour (Part 7) - Tommy Shelby X Fem!Reader

Warning - unwanted pregnancy/ adoption / Grace being a HUGE bitch

There will be a bit of a time jump after this filler chapter ☺️

More Here

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @datewithgianni @heidimoreton @jardinsecos @bitchwhytho @gypsy-girl-08 @queenofkings1212 @look-at-the-soul @randomfangirl2718 @savingit-foryou @ally22042000 @ethrealzzz @bleu-blossom @capswife @strangunddurm

"Sickness. Bloated. I couldn't stomach seafood either."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Ginger biscuits help. Only thing I could keep down until around 5 months gone. Which I estimate, based on my calendar, is around 6 weeks from now."

You stood in silence, smoking your cigarette and shaking your head. This wasn't happening. You hid it. You hid it...

"Diana... It's a stomach infection. I'm taking charcoal tablets to ease the sickness," you lied, Diana giving you a warm smile in return.

You glanced back into the main dining room and watched as Grace pulled Tommy onto his feet, dancing the waltz with him to the music coming from the large gramaphone. Sly looks your way with each step.

"You have to tell him, YN."

"No one finds out, no one will know, and I'll give the baby up for adoption... Please, I'm begging you, please don't tell anyone?!" You felt yourself becoming frantic, but she simply nodded and pulled you close. Wrapping her arms around you, and stroking your hair lovingly.

"And Alfie?"

"Will kill Tommy if he finds out."

"You're showing already, YN, and he isn't stupid."

You fell silent, already aware of this. She pulled back and held your shoulders.

"My son is a doctor. I'll take you to him this weekend, we'll tell Alfie that you need specialist treatment, and bring you back after the baby is born."

"Diana..."

"It's your only option YN."

She wiped your tear stained cheeks with her hankerchief and held your cheeks softly, giving you a motherly smile.

"Okay..."

************************************************************

The weekend came around quickly. That night had been torture. Lying in bed, cradling your bump, listening to Grace's overzealous cries of pleasure while the bed in the room next to yours creaked and banged against the wall.. you knew she was doing it deliberately to get to you, and you'd faked enough orgasms of your own to know those weren't even slightly real.

Alfie had completely bought into the story Diana had provided you, and you had been driven by him all the way to to Diana's sons home in Staffordshire, where he promised to take care of you until you were completely better. Giving Alfie's lack of medical knowledge, it wasn't difficult to convince him that fresh country air was a good treatment for stomach upsets, and the upmarket, rural area of Lichfield had more than its fair share of it. Granted, it was a little closer to Small Heath than you wanted to be, but you felt safe in the knowledge that Tommy had no idea you were here, and it would stay that way.

He hugged you goodbye, awkwardly as you kept your swollen belly away from him, but he didn't seem to notice. Too wrapped up in the conversation with Diana's son, Paul, making sure he'd look after you properly.

"Just found you in't I? Feels horrible handing you over again.."

"I'm in good hands, Alfie, and you have your henchmen here to keep an eye on me don't you?" You smirked.

"How did you know?"

"There's no way you'd let me out of your county without guards."

You'd navigate the henchmen later, make sure they were out of the way when the time came and no suspicions were raised.

Looking out at the wide expanse of land out of your bedroom window, you smiled at the tickling sensations in your belly. Like little butterflies, their fluttering wings gliding around. The sickness seemed to have abated, thankfully. You'd kept food down, and if you were truly honest with yourself, you actually felt okay.

Diana had thrown you a massive lifeline, and you'd never be able to repay her kindness.

You'd settled in well. Your bump definitely showing now, and Paul was going to examine you, his wife Kate kindly accompanying him for your comfort, holding your hand. Just to make sure the baby was healthy, and you too. Lying on the bed, he was feeling your belly, listening in with his stethoscope, taking your blood pressure.

"Well, Miss Solomons, this explains why you're showing and feeling movements so soon ," he sighed, putting his medical equipment away.

You looked at him blankly, panic coursing through you.

"Have I got my dates wrong?" Please god don't be anyone elses baby...

"No, your dates match up. You're measuring four months pregnant with twins Miss Solomons. I heard three heartbeats in there."

"Three?!"

"One is yours. Two are your babies. Which comes with it its own complications. Not least the matter of delivery. Giving birth to two babies is dangerous - very dangerous. I'm glad my mother brought you to me, you couldn't have done this alone."

Twins... Two babies. One baby to deliver was terrifying enough, never mind two of them. Paul sensed your overwhelming fear.

"Don't worry - I'll be fully stocked with everything we'll need, and my wife has delivered plenty of babies over the years. We'll get you through this together, okay?" He patted your knee and smiled - his mother's smile, which soothed you as if it was her giving it.

"I'm so sorry to burden you with this..."

"You're not a burden, okay? We want to help you," Kate smiled, her eyes kind.

Now all you had to do was get through the next 5 months, deliver your babies, take them to the orphanage, and go home.

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.