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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

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Night Moves 1

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, stealing, crime, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

Many might complain for the short attention span of the male kind, but you can't agree. In your experience, their lack of focus is a blessing, a profit even. You just need to show them something shiny and let them trip over themselves. So far, that's worked for you.

You giggle, certain to push your chest out just so as your latest mark tells a lame joke. He's kind of cute behind the frameless glasses and questionable choice in facial hair. Easy, is how you'd describe him best.

He reaches across the bar to slide the drink he bought for you closer. You wink at him and pick it up, pouting just so before sipping from the brim.

He watches your lip, hypnotised by your act, by you. You touch the front of his button-up shirt, ignoring the sweat stains under the arms. He nervous and jittery like a puppy. You put your drink down and lean closer on your stool.

"So, IT, sounds interesting. I'm no good with tech," you call over the music, running your hand up and down his lapel. "Do you do house calls?"

"Well, um, I work in an office, I don't... install," he stutters as you play with his top button, flicking it undone and giving an 'oops' expression. He doesn't fix it as you sit back and take another drink. "But if you need something done, I could probably, er, help.”

"Oh yeah, you're so sweet," you dab your mouth with your knuckles daintily, your third drink of the night hitting just right. "How has someone not snatched you up?"

"Uh," he chuckles and looks around, "really?"

"Sure, honey," you touch his collar again, "you're a cutie."

He turns red, a shade to match his garish satin shirt. You're not sure who suggested that but you've seen worse. You drain your glass and fan yourself in the heat of the club.

"Oh, no," you say dramatically, "Jamie, I gotta hit the ladies..."

"Uh, yeah, that's fine, but er, it's Jake, whatever, I'll be here," he grins.

"Amazing," you snatch up your clutch, "I'll be right back, kay, baby."

You pull him close as you hover on the edge of the stool and plant one right on his lips. He's too stunned to react as he lets you kiss him sloppily. You let your hand wander down and snake it around him. You squeeze his ass and purr before popping your mouth off his and dragging your hand away.

"Don't go flirting with other sluts," you hop down off the stool and strut away, sure to swing your hips to distract from the plastic against your palm.

You bring your hand up as you turn down the hall towards the bathroom and admire the golden lettering of his credit card. The dumbass didn't even bother to put it back in his wallet after buying you a cocktail. You roll your eyes and tuck it away in your purse.

You enter the bathroom and check your reflection. You daintily touch your lashes to fix them as two drunken girls argue over the next sink. Twins, huh? Don't see that every day.

Time for a new mission. You hike your tits up and turn to check out your ass. You're not vain but you work hard to maintain your figure. It's part of your work, you have to keep everything in tiptop shape.

You head back out, swaying to the music as you blend back into the crowd. You stop to dance on a few guys, sizing them up as you toy with them. There's only so much BO you can put up with, even if they have a black card.

As you scope out the room, your eye is caught by two watching eyes. Bold and blue and alluring. Attraction is less than intrinsic with these things but damn if this man isn't stunning. You smile at him, tilting your head coyly as you look away.

When you look back, he's still staring. You bite your lip and push away from the guy trying to hump your ass. Animals. Actually, animals have survival instincts, these idiots are all too hammered to smell a fire.

You weave through the crowd as you keep your sights on the man in-- Gucci. Ooo, big spender. The jacket is sleek and cut perfectly to his form. He's fucking hot. You wouldn't mind doing more than fishing in his pockets.

You near, a bit shy as you twist your hands together, leaning on one heel. You bat your lashes as he angles his jaw, "hey."

"Um, hope I'm not stepping on someone else's territory," you grip your clutch tight, "I mean, you're too cute to be here alone."

"I could say the same," he counters, his eyes flicking up and down your body. "Thirsty?"

"I'm a bit parched," you answer.

"After you," he waves towards the bar.

You glance over and see Jamie or whatever looking for you. You smile and smush your lips together, smearing the gloss around.

"Actually, the bar upstairs has better drinks. Doesn't cheap out on the liquor."

"Lead the way," he shrugs.

You push your shoulders up so your chest bounces just a little and you turn on your stilleto. You pass between the bodies as he stays close behind, his shadow looming in the flashing lights. You head upstairs, certain that he's getting a good view of your ass, he might even be able to tell that you have no panties on.

You get to the next floor and head to the bar. The burly blond recognise you and gives a smile as he approaches. The handsome stranger rests his hand on your lower back as he leans over the bar top. "Scotch, and whatever the lady likes."

You order another gin and tonic with lime. You turn to the man as you wait for your drink, his hand dragging to your hip and lingering there. You admire the way his shirt clings to his broad chest.

"You from the city or visiting?" You ask.

"I'm in and out," he says evasively, "do I get a name, beautiful?"

"Roxy," you offer your alias, "and you, sexy?"

"Nick," he answers and he reaches in his jacket pocket and pulls out his wallet. He swipes his card as the bartender holds out the machine.

"Nick, I like that," you preen as he hands you your drink.

"Wanna sit down?" He asks.

You shrug and let him take you to a booth in the corner. You slide in close to him and set your drink down. He casually sips and stretches his arm over your shoulders. Okay, he means business. Maybe it's worth the long con.

"You come here a lot?" He asks as he leans in.

"When I'm bored. Unfortunately, I don't find much fun," you touch his thigh as you shift to face him, "maybe you can change that."

"Maybe," he rubs your shoulder as he draws you even closer, "you're walking around this place with your ass out... I might just have to put it to use."

You brush along his jaw and tilt your head to kiss him. You pull him into a deep embrace, running your hand up and down his chest as you moan into his mouth. He melts into you and you catch yourself doing the same.

Your hand wanders subtly across his jacket. You could probably get his wallet out right there, he has one of those ridiculously slim ones made of metal. Just a little–

His hand fists around yours as his lips part and he curls his arm tight around the back of your neck. You squeak, caught, and he presses his wet lips to your temple. You fucked up, you should've waited, you should've enjoyed that genuine bit of tension a little longer.

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” he growls.

#dark nick fowler #dark!nick fowler #nick fowler #nick fowler x reader #the 355 #au #the club #drabble #series #night moves

164 notes · View notes

preciouslandmermaid · 1 year

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from below, gotham rots (battinson x f!reader)

Note: This takes place pre-movie and is a spiritual successor/sequel to the first fic "from high above" which you can find in this series. (Part 1 here)

Safety notes/Warnings: The Kinktober prompt included "drunk/stoned/under the influence." I used some creative liberty with this one and the Reader becomes affected by a drug that heightens her senses/physical senses (think like ecstasy, I guess?) but also it makes u horny lmao. HOWEVER. Reader is also 100% into Batman so it's not like she's manipulated or anything into sleeping with him.

Additional notes: No use of Y/N. established childhood friends with Bruce. cursing/explicit language. enthusiastic consent during sexual content. no physical descriptors are used for the reader. (and yes, dr. crane is absolutely cillian murphy/nolanverse dr. crane sue me)

prompt: size kink, dirty talk, drunk/stoned/under the influence | pairing: battison/f!reader | warnings: explicit sexual content/above notes.

( read on ao3 ) || kinktober list

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dr. Crane looks up from his notepad. His blue eyes are sharp and inquisitive behind his square frameless glasses. His light brown hair frames his face in soft moussed waves.

“I’m afraid I can’t be of much use to you. I’ve started working at Arkham only recently.”

You press your tongue to the ridged roof of your mouth. That explains why Dr. Crane was willing to speak to you. He likely hadn’t heard of your prior snooping around. No one warned him. Either he was disliked or not remarkable enough to warrant a heads-up from his colleagues. You decide to play polite and dumb. He thinks you’re a true-crime fanatic with a podcast. Besides, you need him if you’re going to reestablish your story and expose Arkham’s corruption.

“And they treat you well?” You ask with a tilt of your head. Your pen is poised above your notebook and your expression is open and earnest.

Dr. Crane smiles. It disarms you—this sudden charm that radiates from the thin, sharp-eyed doctor.

“They do.” He replies.

Your next question lies heavy on your tongue. He’ll either get defensive, you think, or he’ll play stupid. Dr. Crane is handsome and intelligent, but you’ve spent enough time around shady people to know when someone is hiding something. Dr. Crane doesn’t fidget, cover his mouth when speaking, or avoid your eye-contact. But he does keep glancing at the file cabinet in the left corner. Oh, he is careful about it. You’ll give him that credit. But you’ve caught him enough times to be suspicious.

And being suspicious is healthy in this line of work.

“And the patients?” you finally ask after a weighted pause.

“If you’re concerned,” he begins and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “I can give you a tour.”

Avoidance. An interesting tactic. It’s your turn to smile placidly and shake your head. You close your notebook. The universal sign of ‘we are done’.

“I’m sorry I have other appointments today,” you say.

“Another time then.” He says and now you are both lying. The way he looks at you suggests he knows it too. You zip your coat and tuck your notebook and phone away into your over-the-shoulder bag.

“I really do appreciate that you took the time to meet with me today, Dr. Crane.” You say as he walks you to the door. He opens it for you. It feels as if you haven’t learned the steps to this dance while Crane memorized the whole choreography.

“Here,” he offers you a thin, stocky business card from his wallet, “in case you think of anything else.” The text on the card is simple. The font is black and thin. It’s his name, his role, his work email address, and his telephone number. You already have all this. You take the card and slide it into your back pocket.

“Have a good afternoon, Dr. Crane.”

He says your name and farewell and shuts the office door once you step from the threshold. Your shoulders relax and you sigh. Your meeting with Crane - it’s not exactly an open door into Arkham, but it’s a cracked window. It’s a start. It’s something. You fish your keys out of your bag and walk toward the exit.

Thankfully, these hallways are brightly lit and warm-paneled with wood. It's decorated with cushioned chairs, coffee tables with magazines, and thin dark-green carpets. These offices are for families and caregivers. And – in this instance – a nosy ex-journalist with an important story to write.

You text Bruce: did you still want to get dinner tonight?

He’s been in a weird mood ever since you left a few days ago (once you had clearance from the doctors). He sulked when you told him. He kept giving you sorrowful, pleading looks shadowed by sleep deprivation. However, you’re on his payroll and can’t justify living with him on top of his generous paychecks. Besides, you want to pursue a relationship with Bruce and it’s too soon to move in together. You have to take it slow. You want to take it slow.

His response arrives when you’re getting into your car. A simple and reserved: yes.

A fluttery and giddy feeling enters your chest.

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

Bruce stares at the screen containing the analysis of your blood samples. Whatever was inside you—it’s not on the market. There are traces of hallucinogenic compounds. There are traces of medication that’s used to treat patients with Alzheimer’s and dementia. And stimulants, too. It’s a jigsaw puzzle of enzymes and chemicals.

He rubs at his bloodshot eyes with his forefinger and thumb.

“You ought to eat something, sir,” Alfred says while setting down a tray of tea and toast.

Bruce replies with a brusque tone, “I’m fine.” He realizes his mistake and corrects himself, “I’m having dinner later with a friend.”

Alfred releases a thoughtful hum. Bruce already knows what he’s thinking. His list of friends is woefully short. And there’s only one person he could go out with.

Alfred asks, “shall I iron your suit? Select some cufflinks?”

Bruce snorts, “It’s not that kind of dinner, Alfred.”

“Then a gift for the lady then?” He begins pouring tea. “You shouldn’t arrive at a date empty-handed. It’s impolite and shows a lack of forethought. Does she like flowers? I could have a bouquet arrangement made of – ah – let’s see.” Alfred mutters various flowers to himself. Bruce catches some of them. Gladiolus, red camellia, tulips. He half-listens and munches on a corner of toast while scrolling through pages upon pages of analysis.

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

The little Mediterranean restaurant has an ordering counter, a drink cooler, and three plastic tables. The white and blue bordered walls are plastered with framed photos of beaches in Greece. Your feet stick to the tiles when you stand in front of the drink cooler and grab a beverage.

You flip through your notepad. Dr. Mercer is dead-end. Literally. Despite being only forty-one, he died of a heart attack about two weeks after you were fired. You don’t believe in coincidences anymore. Everything in Gotham is connected. You just have to find the right thread to pull. You start at the beginning.

Dr. Mercer: Gotham University graduate. He wrote his thesis on the behavioral side effects of long-term alcohol addiction. You remember he was a soft-spoken man who genuinely believed in rehabilitation.

Dr. Mercer was your lynchpin. He was the first to express distaste about how Arkham was being run. He confessed that he was providing a substantial amount of pain medication for several of Gotham’s police without a prescription. He suspected they were selling it on the streets, but he couldn’t cut them off.

The police didn’t threaten Dr. Mercer outright, but they did sit outside his house, or remind him that his son was only 12. When Dr. Mercer went to Arkham’s administration, they told him to keep his mouth shut and provide for ‘the brave folks who protect the city’. You recall your last conversation with him and your mouth twists into a frown.

“The guilt,” Dr. Mercer said to you, his expression pained, “I think it might eat me alive, Silver. I can feel it’s teeth in my heart.”

They must have killed him. Whether it was Falcone, someone higher in the pyramid, or someone at the PD—you didn’t know for sure—but you knew Mercer’s death wasn’t accidental. Maybe Dr. Mercer was offered hush money and he couldn’t take the guilt anymore…and rather than protect himself, protect his family, he tried to do the right thing. Maybe he said no. Maybe he said he’d go and talk to the press himself. But before the whistle could blow someone took care of him. A gentle burn prickles at the back of your throat.

“Do you want to order?” The server cuts through your reverie and you blink.

“Oh – um…” You check the time. Bruce is nearly fifteen minutes late. “Uh, sure. Yeah. Please.” You figure he won’t mind if you order before him. As you wait for your food, you return to your notebook and your theories.

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

Batman drew his fist back and his knuckles connected to the thug’s jaw with a sickening, sharp crack.

“Who does Falcone work with?” He growls. “I need a name.” “I don’t know!” The thug pleads. His voice is thick and congested due to his broken nose. “I swear!”

Annoyed, frustrated, and tired of stonewalling into dead-ends, Batman tosses the injured thug onto the wet concrete. His palms slap against the stone, and he scrambles away from Vengeance toward the mouth of the alley. Batman lets him go. His stomach coiled tight like a loaded spring. He stalks back to the Batmobile like a towering shadow.

There is a text illuminated on his phone. His stomach drops.

It reads: Ouch. I waited over an hour for you, but the restaurant is about to kick me out. I’m heading home. I have work to do and then I’m getting up early to meet a contact. Talk later.

He leans his forehead against the steering wheel. He should’ve suspected this would happen. His duties as Vengeance would overlap his desires to be with you and when it came down to it—he’d choose Gotham. He had to choose Gotham. He is the only person capable of keeping the city safe. He’s the only person who can find the root of corruption and dig it out.

You deserve better than being stood up and ignored. He should’ve texted you. He should’ve sent flowers like Alfred suggested. How is that he can be a good partner to you as Batman but can’t manage it as Bruce Wayne? He slams his foot on the accelerator with more force than necessary. His thoughts whirl inside his mind in a maelstrom. His jaw clenches tight. His fingers flex on the steering wheel.

If only you had stayed at his penthouse then he wouldn’t need to worry about date nights. He wouldn’t need to worry about your safety. You would have been right down the hall. Close, safe, bringing light to the shadows of his home.

The tires screech as he takes a corner too hard, too fast. His eyes reflectively look up to the windows of the building. The colorful lights on your balcony illuminate the glass. You have news for him, a lead, and some tension loosens inside him.

(line break)

When you get home, there is a package at your front door, and it finally felt like something was going right.

It took 3 phone calls. One involved copious begging. It took all the money if your saving account. And a shady alleyway meeting with a Gotham University college drop-out. You have everything you need to tinker with your drugged-up blood samples.

You glance at the stack of manila folders on your coffee table. Your life is a proverbial juggling act. You balance coffee and energy drinks, personal interviews and internet sleuthing, and frequent trips to the library archives. You haven’t seen Vengeance in a week. This isn’t unusual, but how your abdomen clenches, whenever you think of him, is.

It feels treacherous to have a physiological reaction when you’re trying to pursue a relationship with Bruce. Although. You bite the inside of your cheek. Bruce doesn’t seem to be giving your relationship as much care and attention as you’d like. It was one date and he bailed. You’d rather have an awkward phone call with Alfred explaining his lateness than empty silence from your potential boyfriend.

In your distracted state, you misjudge the liquid component meant to react with your white blood cells and pour too much into the glass beaker.

You cough, stumbling backward as the fumes assault your nostrils, and your eyes smart with pain and fill with tears. Once the sensation of vertigo passes, you’re overwhelmed by the texture of the clothes on your skin. It’s too tight. It’s going to block your airway. You tug your shirt over your head and wrestle your bra off. You stand in your kitchen, topless, chest heaving, your skin pebbling with goosebumps from the cold. You wish your shitty fucking landlord would fix the heat.

But it’s your fault for playing Chemistry 101 in your abysmally small kitchen. You flick the switch that turns the fan on over the oven to clear away the thin, serpentine wisps of smoke.

“Ah, fuck.” You scrub both hands over your face. Your skin fizzes. It’s not a hot sensation or a cold one, but it’s as if every hair follicle on your body is alert and vibrating. You press your spine into the cool and softly textured wall. Should you call 911? And how would you explain yourself? You’re certain some of these materials are illegal. Questions would be asked. The PD might search your apartment. They could find your notes. You can’t risk it. You try closing your eyes and breathing steadily through your nostrils.

Your balcony door opens. A cool gust of air trails into the hazy kitchen before it shuts off. There’s only one person who can reach your balcony. Your body tenses with anticipation. Of course, he’d come now. Fuck Vengeance and his shitty timing. “What happened?” Batman’s voice enters through your ears and your thighs instinctively clench. A low, pulsing thrum of pure need vibrates down your spine. Oh, fuck. You’re so fucked. You’re so outrageously screwed.

“The drug.” You press one arm over your exposed breasts to cover them, though it hardly matters. He’s been inside you. You stifle a moan in the back of your throat. Nope. Do not think about it. “I was trying to neutralize it. I did something else.”

Batman’s cool, assertive gaze crawls across your throat and chest. “You’re sweating.” He observes.

“No shit.” You deadpan.

“Talk to me.” Batman steps closer and you recoil, not out of fear, but out of sheer desire mixed with embarrassment. Every neuron in your brain is firing and demanding that you crawl onto him, feel the cold, hard press of his armor against your hot skin, feel his gloved fingers in your mouth or in between your legs.

He glances at the equipment on your counter. “I didn’t realize you had experience in biochemistry.”

You laugh a high and wavering laugh, but the giddiness dissipates. You aren’t experienced in biochemistry at all. However, You have the notes of a biochemist and the tenacity of a warrior.

“I’m not hallucinating.” You manage thickly, “but I don’t think you should be here.”

His jaw clenches. “Why not?”

“Because I might do something stupid.”

“Like what?”

Like a thousand things, you want to say. Your mind flashes with about a dozen images of Batman fucking you. You stare at the plush shape of his lips.

The truth tumbles out of your mouth, “like kiss you.”

He cups your jaw firmly and your mouth opens, breath wheezing from your lungs, as you imagine him sliding his warm tongue between your teeth.

“Your pupils are dilated.”

You grab his wrist for the sake of touching him, “so are yours.”

“What do you need?” Batman’s gravelly voice is a demand. “Tell me so I can help.”

Your semi-rational thoughts of doctor’s offices or pharmacies fade like smoke. Every muscle in your body aches. Your nipples are tight and hard. Your inner walls keep gripping at thin air and your abdomen clenches at the lack of physical sensory input. You want to touch yourself. You want him to touch you.

“T-touch me. I need you to touch me.” You gasp out as if the words themselves are being ripped from your throat.

Batman releases your jaw and slides both hands down your arms. The rough texture of his gloves is sharp and deliciously grating across your sensitive skin.

“Like this?” He asks.

You shake your head.

“N-no, more.” It’s hard to string sentences together. The word is jagged and blurry. At your guidance, he drags both palms to your chest, and you stumble back into the wall when his hands squeeze your breasts. Your nipples prickle beneath his gloves, and you whimper—your eyes fluttering closed. He squeezes and pushes your breasts together with your hands laid on top his, urging and guiding, every single motion eliciting a sweet, whimpered cry from you.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, but you press his hands harder down against your breasts. He regards you seriously behind his dark, smudged makeup and cowl.

“No. Don’t stop. I think I might die if you stop.”

His lips twitch into a smirk.

“I’ve never heard that before.” He sounds earnest and you chuckle weakly. Batman’s thumb and forefingers encircle your hard nipples and lightly pinch. You hiss and throw your head back into the wall. The slight pain barely registers. His warm lips touch the angled tilt of your jaw. You cry out and tremble against him. Every sensation is magnified by a thousand. Batman’s lips suckle along your neck. He hums to himself when you moan out loud.

“Whatever you did to the sample,” he says while pulling away, “affects your sensitivity to physical stimulation.”

“Yeah, yeah, no shit.” You say, squeezing your fingers between his, and pushing his hand toward the waistband of your pajama shorts.

“Are you sure?” He asks and you manage a short nod. He cups your pussy with a large, gloved hand. Your eyes roll back into your skull. You need his fingers inside you. You need to clench and cum around his hand. Nothing else matters but the desire you have for him. Nothing.

“Fuck,” he hisses and elongates the word, “you’re already so fucking wet for me. So goddamn soaked.” He begins rubbing the outside of your pussy in concentric motions. He presses his body into yours. The sensation of his cold, hard planes of armor draws another breathy moan from your lips.

His kiss is pure, vibrant desire. He suckles your lower lip into his mouth and groans when you whine. His tongue strokes along yours and you writhe and something inside you starts to coil. You shouldn’t be this close so soon, but you are.

You gasp, “fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.”

“Already?” His hand in your shorts moves quicker, “what a good girl you are…cumming for me so soon, so quickly, getting your pussy nice and wet and ready for me.”

You come so hard that your teeth clack together. You’re riding the throbbing aftershocks of your orgasm when Vengeance pushes your underwear aside and sinks his index finger into your cunt.

“Oh, god, please yes—please.” You babble and desperately rock your hips into his hand. His glove creates a ridged sensation that sends sparks of pleasure down to your toes. You clutch to his armor and hike your leg up and hook it around his waist. Batman touches you with a determined purpose. You messily kiss along his jaw. Even the texture of his stubble against your smooth lips is pleasurable. You wonder if you’ll have the courage to ask him to eat you out. You want to feel his stubble on your thighs.

“You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?” Your eyes are closed but you can hear his smirk. “If you’re a good girl and cum for me again, I’ll give you my cock. Would you like that?”

“Y-yes.”

It takes only a few thrusts before he’s stoking that white, pulsing fire in your lower stomach. You latch your mouth onto his and kiss him with every ounce of strength you have. He responds with equal fervor. A single lucid thought crosses your mind—if you hadn’t experimented with the samples would Vengeance still kiss you like this? Desire you? The lucidity is short-lived. You cry out into Batman’s open, wet mouth.

He praises, “Good, you’re so good for me.”

You sway on unsteady feet and lean against Batman’s strong frame. He carefully tugs away your shorts and underwear. He places a tender kiss on your bare shoulder. His blue eyes cut to yours—inquisitive and darkened by lust.

“I want to hear you say it.” He says, “Tell me you want me if that’s what you really want.”

“I do.” You reach forward and palm the hard bulge straining against his gear. You hold eye contact with him. You catch your reflection in his dark pupils. Your chin and lips shine with salvia and your skin glistens with sweat.

You repeat yourself since Batman hasn’t moved yet, “I do. I mean it. I want you. I want you to fuck me.” Your heart threatens to escape your ribs. Batman doesn’t move or break eye contact with you as you find his zipper and release his cock. He hisses through clenched teeth when you touch him. You smile to yourself. There’s something heady and intoxicating that you can make Batman’s breath hitch. Your fingers slicken with his pre-cum.

He sharply pulls your hand away, “That’s enough.”

“No fair.” You pout, “You touched me.”

“Next time, Quicksilver. I’ll let you touch all you want.” He grabs you by the waist and lowers you to the floor. You open your mouth to object that your bedroom isn’t that far (small apartment after all), but Batman looks at you—dark and desperate—and his chest heaves.

He rubs the head of his cock against your folds, “I need to be inside you.”

You can’t argue with that. “Okay.” He plunges into you in one swift, slick stroke. Your pussy envelopes him. The world goes blurry-white and your muscles tremble with the delicious sensation of Batman’s cock filling you.

“You take me so well,” He rasps, “I love feeling your cunt stretch and squeeze around me.” He draws his cock out of you and the thigh-guards on his armor glisten with your arousal. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull. The linoleum tile is blessedly cool against your feverish skin. Batman holds your hips, lifting you, and sheathes himself once more.

“Fuck.” His pretty eyelashes flutter.

You whine.

“I wish you could see yourself right now.” His thrusts are deep and steady, hitting some apex part of you that makes your toes curl, and your moans hiccup in your chest. “Split open, begging for me, squeezing me,” His fingers dig into the meat of your thigh, “you’re so…fucking…unbelievable.”

He lifts your legs, pressing your knees into your chest, and your hips jerk upward with a gasp. “F-fuck!”

“Is that good?” He rocks in and out of you, teetering on the edge of losing his composure, you can see it in the hard lines of his jaw and the way he squeezes your hips.

“Y-yes.” You choke out, nodding, “don’t stop. Go faster.”

“Yeah?” He nods, panting, “I want to make you cum.” And it says it like a promise. He plants his hands against the tile. You’re nearly folded in-half, surrounded by him, encased by him, his imposing and large armor almost uncomfortable as it presses into your skin. His cock drags along the ridges of your inner walls and then he’s moving into you with confidence and purpose. Your ass smacks wetly against his armor. He grunts, bearing his teeth, pumping into you with feverish desire.

You awkwardly wiggle a hand between your legs. The first touch of your fingertip to your swollen, slick clit is electrifying. Your spine arches off the floor.

“Good girl.” He growls, punctuating his words with a hard and jolting thrust that makes you gasp and tears spring to the corners of your vision. You quickly drag your fingertips across your clit. A flush of goosebumps run down your arms. Your moans echo through your tiny kitchen and reverberate through your eardrums.

“I love—” He gasps, burying himself, “the noises you make for me.”

It feels so unbelievably good that you want to scream or start crying (or both). The combination of Batman towering over you, saying all these sweet words, and the jerky movement of your fingers on your clit is dizzying.

He continues, “Take it. Take all of it. I know you can, pretty girl.” The position makes it difficult to crane your neck upward to kiss him. You settle for gripping his forearms. “Does anyone else fuck you as I do?”

“N-no.” You admit. A wave of guilt threatens to overcast your blissed-out experience, but then Batman grunts and mutters, “good. You deserve this. You’re my perfect girl.”

Your guilt vanishes and you blossom under his praise. You and Bruce haven’t discussed sexual exclusivity. Maybe it’ll be a conversation for the future once Bruce apologizes for missing your date.

“There’s that smile,” he murmurs, “such a sweet and perfect smile. I can feel you getting closer, baby. I want you to cum all over my cock.” His eyes squeeze shut. He exhales your name over and over again. Batman is desperate and panting over you.

“Cum for me, please.” He arches his head back and you seek a peek of his flushed neck, “Please cum for me.”

You scream as you clench and rhythmically pulse beneath him. Your orgasm isn’t a firework. It’s a fucking freight train. Batman fucks you through it, relentless and pounding, his pace steady and controlled. Your pussy gushes and squeezes around him. Batman buries himself and raggedly cries out your name. Your limbs go limp and useless. You release the grip you had on his forearms and your arms flop onto the tile. It takes a full minute for you to come back to earth.

“Fuck,” Batman breathes. You hardly hear him.

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

He gently moves your legs out from underneath him. Your knees and shins are irritated from where his armor dug in. Your eyelids flutter closed and panic clenches his heart. He presses his two fingers beneath your jaw and checks your pulse. It’s steady and strong. He bows his head with a relieved sigh. He hopes that whatever reaction caused by playing Walter White will wear off when you wake up.

He scoops you into his arms and carefully carries you into your bathroom. The bathwater runs weakly tepid, and Bruce mentally chastises your choice to leave his penthouse. He fills the bathtub enough to reach your waist. He removes his gloves and forearm guards. You barely stir and your head rests against the edge of the tub. He gently washes the cum from your inner thighs and the sweat from your skin.

His heart squeezes painfully. Bruce sighs a pitiful and low sound. He wants you so badly, wants to be with you, but how can he do that when he’s Vengeance? He is the only one able to keep Gotham safe. He can’t keep missing date nights or ignoring your calls. He can’t tell you who he is. He should’ve been smarter about this.

But…it’s you.

You were his first friend growing up. You are carved into him deeper than a tattoo. You’re like a transplanted organ that he needs to survive. He managed – before – without you during those cold, lonely years. He doesn’t want to do it again. He knows it’s selfish. He knows his first (and only) priority should be Gotham. Yet, a world emptied of you would be a world he couldn’t live in.

Bruce reaches over toward the towel hanging on the bar. He frowns at their plushness and strange familiarity. They look nicer than the others. Then he notices the embroidered “W” in gold at the edge of the towel.

Bruce chuckles to himself, “Thief.” He says affectionately.

He wraps you in the towel to carry you to bed. His swollen, aching heart swells with fondness. You stole a towel from Wayne Manor. He wonders if you took anything else—what other pieces of him, his home, that you brought into yours.

In the pitch dark of your bedroom, Bruce lays you on the bed and removes his cowl. His skin itches with vulnerability and fear. Bruce kneels beside your bed and cradles your hand against his face. He lightly kisses your palm and checks your pulse at the inside of your wrist.

“Sleep well, Quicksilver,” he murmurs.

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

You awoke the next day feeling groggy and sore, but otherwise fine. You would’ve stayed asleep longer if not for the incessant knocking at your front door.

“Good morning!” greeted the delivery person holding flowers under one arm, “I need your signature for this package.”

Confused, yet curious you scribble your signature onto the digital pad held by the delivery person. They pass the bouquet of flowers and a decent-sized cardboard box to you. It takes a few minutes to find something suitable to put the flowers in. But the colorful arrangement definitely brightens your small apartment.

The cardboard box contains a swanky, expensive black laptop with a note taped to the keyboard.

‘For the sake of security – please use a different password.’ – BW

You spend the rest of your morning transferring your notes from your old laptop to your new one. You do pick a new password. It’s the date you and Bruce reunited. The hours blur by in a black-and-white swarm of scanned newspaper clippings and transcribing your interview notes with Dr. Crane.

A text comes through from Bruce a little before 12:00 PM. It reads: can we get coffee? Or lunch?

A petty, vindictive part of your brain wants to leave him on read. Let him stew in your silence and suffer your indifference. But then you remember the scrappy, scrawny boy of your youth. You remember a pair of soulful, sad blue eyes. His fingers tenderly caring for your wounds after Falcone. His soft smile when you agreed to date him. It won’t solve anything to stay quiet and ignore your hurt feelings.

You text him back: as long as you’re buying. Pick the place and I’ll meet you.

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

Your stomach winds with anxiety as you walk into the little café. Bruce is already here. He’s at a corner table, back to the wall, his eyes on the entrance. You can tell he’s showered and cleaned up. Maybe even shaved. Although his dark sweater is wrinkled and his eyes are shadowed with sleep deprivation, Bruce somehow manages to look handsome. You try to not let your attraction to him fog your thoughts. You need to have a serious conversation. You square your shoulders and approach.

“Hey,” he greets with an uncomfortable shift in his chair. You know he doesn’t like leaving the penthouse. You have to give him some credit that he came out to meet you rather than asking you to come and meet him at home.

“I want to start with my apology before we get coffee,” he begins as you sit down, “I’m sorry. I got caught up in something. I know it’s not - it’s not an excuse.”

“It’s not.” You cross your arms.

He ducks into his shoulders, looking chastised, “Did you get your gift?”

“I did.” You glance around the café. There’s only one other patron inside and they’re busy wearing headphones and typing on their laptop. The employees are chatting amongst each other—barely audible over the café playlist. The journalist part of your brain wants you to dig deeper. You want to know what he was doing. You want to know why he was so ‘caught up’ that he couldn’t call or text you to reschedule. Your instincts buzz. A story is here. You can feel it. You can smell it as keenly as you smell the roasted coffee beans in the air. But you tamper down on those instincts. This is Bruce. He’s your childhood friend.

“Listen, Bruce. What you did was shitty, and it hurt my feelings and I deserve better than that.”

“You do,” he agrees.

“I understand if you don’t have time for a relationship.” You shrug, “maybe we jumped into this too quickly.”

“No.” Bruce leans forward in his seat. “I’m sorry, I should’ve called. You deserve better and I want to…I want to show you that I can be better than that.”

The awkward silence lays between you. You pick at a piece of lint on your pants. You avoid his imploring blue eyes. Your skin prickles. Batman was in your apartment last night. More than that—Batman was inside you. You’re raking Bruce over the coals for not calling when you were busy gushing over Batman’s knuckles. You rub your hands over your face.

“There’s something you should know if you want us to continue this relationship.”

“Okay.”

“I slept with someone last night.”

Your gaze flicks upward to catch Bruce’s expression. He doesn’t look as hurt as you expected. He nods. A small smirk tugs at his plush lips.

He says, “I wasn’t expecting sexual monogamy this early on.” Your shoulders relax. This is the best-case scenario: Bruce isn’t mad or hurt that you fucked someone else. Granted, you hadn’t slept with Vengeance because you were mad at him. It happened purely by accident. It was because of that drug. The back of your neck tingles with warmth. OK. Maybe that’s not entirely true. If Batman had shown interest…then…even without the drug…you might’ve still slept with him.

He asks, “Anyone I know?”

A laugh bubbled up inside your throat.

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow, “and will you tell me?”

You shake your head, “absolutely not. I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Fair enough.”

Bruce orders a black coffee with two sugars. You split a fruit-filled pastry with him. In between bites, you tell him about your meeting with Dr. Crane and pass over your notes on Arkham and Dr. Mercer’s untimely death.

“I’m not sure how Dr. Mercer ties into Falcone, or if he does, but I’m sure Falcone has the network to murder someone.”

Bruce nods thoughtfully.

“I’ll see what Alfred and I can find.”

“We’re close, Bruce.” You admit. A tinge of excitement laces your tone and brightens it. “I can feel it. I think I can use Dr. Crane to re-interview some of Mercer’s patients. I could have my story complete within the next few weeks.”

His brow furrows, “You said you don’t trust Crane. You said he had something to hide.

“He does—but for all we know—he could have hidden dirty magazines in his filing cabinet.”

Bruce’s smile triggers an irregular heartbeat pattern in your chest.

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

You lift the bouquet of flowers from the vase to change the water. A slim, lacquered white notecard slips out from between the stems.

In beautiful calligraphy, it reads: to my perfect girl.

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

Part Three >

#bruce wayne x reader #battinson x reader #battinson imagine #batman x reader #batman x you #bruce wayne x you #dc fic #the batman fic

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ogobeymearchive · 5 months

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UR+ Card Illustration: Dancing With the Petals/Solomon + Devils Flower🌹 frameless ver. | 1.💌 | 2.💌

#obey me!#og obey me #obey me archive #card illustration #obey me shall we date #om! shall we date #otome game #om! solomon #solomon #obey me solomon #solomon ur card #my gifs #gifs #card animation

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ewesless · 3 months

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lmao this is definitely Barbatos's "Please be gentle with me~" submissive face!

This is how his tail should have been in Dame!

I'm not kidding when I say I won't pass up a chance to Dame Post. Anticipate seeing Lady Barb at minimum once a month 😳 If I ever get a new card, a frameless version of this one or beautiful artwork of my Lady then I will never, ever, ever shut up...

R-18 Thirsty. Not entirely respectful, VERY not safe for work 😥 Might delete that part if I get embarrassed

Pleeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase I'm starving for the GOODS 😫 Barbatos's thighs were made for grabbing, kissing, biting, crushing skulls and to wrap around a waist/pair of hips. Those cheeks were made to be clapped! His elegant, petite hands are made to be kissed and held! His beautiful hair for twirling, for fingers to card through, to tug and grip! His delicate, slender and graceful body was meant to be passionately embraced and tenderly caressed, held down, worshiped! His wet pu-- *gunshots*

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me barbatos #dame posting #dame barbatos #thirsty #barbatos brainrot

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lets-make-ensemble · 2 years

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ensemble girls resources: a masterlist

always wanted to get into engirls but don't know how? already into engirls but curious as to where to get official art and all that stuff?

well look no further! this masterlist is made for you!✨️ ok i'll stop it with the advertisement talk

❀ index!

translations

cards (framed and frameless), transparents and cgs

official art

ost/songs

—translations

translations are both one of the easiest and most difficult things to find with engirls, this being due to the fact there's not much translated content about it

there's already somewhat of an engirls masterlist regarding translations here !!! i don't have much to add about it,, if you can't find a specific story or something you're interested in using any of those sources, chances are it hasn't been translated yet, please have patience and stay up to date with the engirls eng twt acc to see if a translation is ever uploaded!

—cards (framed and frameless), transparents and cgs

this one kind of depends on what you're looking for

for framed cards, i recommend the ensemble girls wiki, you just gotta go into the gallery of the character you want to see cards of and boom. most cards are there!! another option is the kimisaki database, which i'll explain a bit more about in the next point

for both frameless and transparents i recommend checking the kimisaki database right here, more specifically, in the card series (カードシリーズ) section; while not all cards are there since the database still is a work in progress, it's a good replacement for the old engirls database that was taken down a couple months ago (rip)

another source for transparent versions of cards is @/sevenarchive, if you look in the ensemble girls tag you should find various transparent cards, not all of them sadly, but hey! it's smth, at least

for cgs, there is a decent chunk of engirls cgs in @/engirls-cg's blog, while not all of them are there, it's the only public source i've seen that has engirls cgs

—official art

most official art is found in the official engirls twt (@/ensemble_girls), though you'd have to look for it using keywords and stuff since the acc has A Lot of tweets,, some keywords could be:

2周年, 3周年, 5周年, 7周年; for anniversary arts

(ttm), (mm), (ck), (jk), (ro), (nk); for miscellaneous art the engirls acc has posted

though, @/nomorewhitepeople has uploaded some of engirls' official art under the #upload tag, if you check it you'll find a bit of official art and that stuff, i'm technically also doing the same but at a slower pace since i don't really like clogging up the engirls tag much

as far as i'm aware, there aren't any other sources to obtain official art

—ost/songs

by ost i mostly refer to sound effects and in-game music, that kinda stuff

for some ! story ost and sound effects, they can be found here, you can also find voicelines of some characters related to certain cards and stuff

for the special songs like the theme song, the rock band club song and the memorial song, you can find them on youtube and soundcloud!

soundcloud link for all 3 songs: ☆, the link leads to a playlist for all three songs

youtube links: let's make☆ensemble! (theme song); sacred gods above, droplet of a black moon (rock band club song); the days where you bloomed (memorial song)

the quality isn't the best, but it's the only public source where i've found the songs aside from bilibili and stuff,, also i haven't found the event and enmemo soundtracks in any public platform, so sadly those i cannot link them here. sorry!

that's pretty much all ik about engirls sources and stuff, if there's else something u want to find but isn't listed here, feel free to ask!! oh also if there's smth u think should be added to the list pls feel free to tell me!

#engirls #ensemble girls

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nanasis · 3 months

Note

i know this may be weird, but where do you get card images?

Not at all! I get them from tweets from other players who have used the in-game card-sharing function. Here's a link to another answer on how it works: https://nanasis.tumblr.com/post/699973816844238848/hii-i-was-wondering-where-you-find-the-frameless

There's also a twitter account that posts the cards, most likely they're using the same method since there doesn't seem to be a better alternative for now.

#ask #info

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yuichi-ro · 2 years

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3:00 𝘗𝘔 - 𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘺𝘶𝘶𝘨𝘶𝘫𝘪

cw: fem!Reader, roommate!Draken, sfw, pining, angst/comfort ish wc: 1.7k blank/ageless/minors DNI ࿐ ◕ᴗ◕✿ ─𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱

“No no no, it was like that dream I had after the first Transformers movie,” Tipping his head back only to be met with the firmness of your mattress against the back of his neck. Draken shook his head chuckling softly at his re-explanation of an old dream he’d told you about ages ago. Closing his eyes to the dull glow of light pouring in from the kitchen through the cracked door of your room all he felt at the moment was the quiet of sitting on your bedroom floor with you once again, “But...kind of mixed with, a David Bowie movie?”

“Are you just talking about Labyrinth again? I’m pretty sure that happened after we found that on tv the other night,” Out reaching your hand from the comfort of your blankets. Warm fingertips coming in contact with his shaven head. You shifted in bed with a little rhythmic stroke of your thumb along his hair stubble as you stared up half lidded at the ceiling and thought nothing of it as Draken made himself at home on your bedroom floor again this week, “You had that dream after the literal labyrinth scene dumbass.”

“Hey.” Draken looked back but didn’t dare move enough to discourage your touch to his head. Only to see your eyes had closed but still your fingers soothingly rubbing along his head to whatever rhythm your chose. He couldn’t help the slight tug of a grin on his lips, “That’s my word dumbass.”

Though your eyes were closed, a sleepy smile spread on your lips as you spoke quietly into the partial darkness of the room, “You’re a word.”

He exhaled a scoff mostly through his nose in response. Lingering stare on you before pressing his back against your mattress once again. Sinking down in his seated position propped against your bed. Enjoying a moment of reprieve from the busy day in the confines of your dark room after such a long week. His had the exact same same room across the hall. Even better with his own things in it. Yet his room didn’t have one thing. And that was you.

“....you’re falling asleep.” Draken muttered more of an observation than anything else.

A rustle to your blankets but he didn’t look back. Instead only staring forward at nothing on the apartment wall you both hoped to get your deposit back on if you ever chose to move out. Even with your adjustments in bed, the comforting touch to his head never left. Only shifting up when your fingers glided through his undone braid. Tangling your fingers through the blond. Stirring a shiver from the man but all he did to combat it was press harder into your frameless bed and hold his breath to not show how much he enjoyed such a simple thing.

“Mmm no.” You whispered from above and beside him and obvious to his stiffening position, “Just...resting my eyes is all. So...what about if you crack an axil though, would it be like a broken bone?”

Unable to help it Draken found himself smiling in the dark room staring down at his hands in his lap. He’d really only told a few people about his futuristic motor-human dreams. Though that was the scary thing about telling people about your dreams. Once you say it out loud it can’t be undone.

“Gotta have nerve endings in it if you want to be able to control your wheels dumbass,” Draken answered quietly as he fixated down on his hands laying limp in his own lap with just the gentle glow of the dull kitchen light down the hallway to shine a sliver light on the both of you. Too focused on the way your fingers carded through his hair at any given moment as you laid above him in bed. That soon the words just kept falling out even if they sounded stupid. Childish. Ridiculous. He couldn’t put them back in his mouth but didn’t need to. Soon enough he knew you were asleep.

Strokes through his hair coming to a stop. Quiet shift in bed followed by the way he knew only you would breath at night. You never snored but he’d heard you sleeping for so long Draken could always tell when your breathing changed. Hand resting against his neck where your arm limply draped over the edge of your bed. He tilted and turned only his head to see how right he was.

Your peaceful sleeping face. Slightly slack jaw because you insisted on stuffing everything under your chin. Drool would come eventually once you fell into a deep enough sleep. For now it was a moment of twilight as Draken stared at you with the meager light of the kitchen to illuminate your familiar features.

“...told you, you were falling asleep...dumbass.” Draken reached over gently to even out the blankets near your face. Assuring they were tucked neatly and away from your nose. Not that he suspected you’d suffocate. It was just such a natural thing for him to do that when all was said and done he relaxed back into the side of your bed, “Guess....it’s for the best.”

Tilting his head back and reaching his hand across his chest to find yours against his neck still. Draken tentatively curled his fingers around your palm until his hand was holding yours. Able to bring your limp arm down just a little so he could comfortably rest both hands against his shoulder. Splaying his fingers over the back of your hand and pressing your palm to his shoulder for comfort. Draken held it there as the darkness swallowed him slowly as did his slowly arising thoughts.

“...I dreamt about this too.” Draken bleakly smiled to the nothingness staring back at him in the cramped room, “You. Me. You’d ask me to stay. I’d resist. Just to have you grab my hand for the millionth time and...” He squeeze your palm but stopped when there was a shift from above him. Waiting until crickets began again and he knew he was alone in your company, “...I think we kiss but....It’s dream and I can’t remember how it turns out. Even if I’ve had it every night for a week....I can’t trust myself to kiss you in my dreams...so I can’t really tell you about it all ends.”

Nothing came from above him. Just your breathing. No rustle of your feet kicking about the blankets. No groan when you found yourself uncomfortable in bed. Draken found himself chewing the inside of his cheek like he was waiting for you to wake up. Because if you woke up then this would be his dream and maybe then he could trust himself to kiss you for real.

He couldn’t trust himself to see it all as this simple. Draken trusted you with his life and yet he couldn’t trust himself to know what he felt in your presence.

Here in your room with you was one of the safest places for him to confide his thoughts and feelings. Yet his heart thudded in his chest. Stomach turning more sour by the second. Ready to end the dream when suddenly your hand squeezed his shoulder without warning. Very obviously an involuntary moment because when he craned back to look at you nothing had changed. You were still very much asleep. Which meant for him, this wasn’t a dream at all.

Deep disappointed inhale, this would end just like his dream would. An untrustworthy end.

Draken carefully removed your hand from his shoulder. Not letting it grow cold out in the open. The man silently stood back up to turn towards your bed. Mindful of his movements when he tucked your hand back against you hoping you’d yank your covers up and sleep well. It was when he gently laid your hand against your chest that he froze.

Hand gripping yours. Hardly though. More like it was hovering over your own scared to touch you too much. Draken’s eyes darted from your hand to your face. Sleeping just like you denied doing. Expressionless and yet he saw everything in your otherwise serene look. It drove him insane to know he couldn’t even do it in his dreams.

Then he dipped. Dipped down lower. To your sleeping face. Careful to watch his hair spill around your pillow but never touch your face. Not a single strand touched you when Draken realized his lips hovered right above yours at this very moment. A shaky squeeze to the hand he’d carefully placed against your body. He knew how close he was because he felt the tickle of your subtle breathing on his lips. Again he squeezed your hand when his heart pounded in his chest. Just to find you squeeze back and shift in bed. Turning your face up even. Draken froze mere centimeters from kissing you.

The oddest thing happened. His shaky grip only being subsided by gripping your hand. He stood hunched over your sleeping figure and seeing the first wet droplet dribble off the tip of his nose. Splashing itself against your pillow so dangerously close to your face. Draken choked back his tears in favor of a self deprecating grin growing on his face.

He couldn’t do it.

Draken released your hand. Standing back up as he rubbed his eyes feverishly with the arm of his house coat. No one would see him but he could feel them dribbling down his cheeks. Big wide toothy grin a stark contrast to the way he felt on the inside. Draken shook his head wiping away his tears when he looked down at you still sleeping dreaming of lord only knew what.

“I can’t do it.” He wiped the last tear from the corner of his eye even as his lashes threatened to stick together giving him a watery version of you as he stepped back away from the bed, “I can’t kiss you.”

Once it was done it could never be undone. Draken couldn’t trust himself to the fall. Not in his dream or reality. Staring at the edge just as he took one last glance at your face tucked among your bedding. All Draken wanted to do was introduce you to his other dreams. All the other dreams he had about the two of you. All the ones he could never take back if he ever shared them with you.

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