pumpkin

He's a tease, which you didn't expect from a man so put-together. He likes watching you burn up as he unravels you. So you meet his gaze and take in the pink dusting across his nose and cheeks, the mess of blond that brushes over his forehead — he's just as needy as you are.

"It doesn't have to be true," you flit your gaze to the tray on the bedside. On it is a champagne bucket, a 'congratulations on your marriage!' placard, and his wedding ring. "I just want to pretend. We're in a honeymoon suite after all, I want to..."

He catches your drift. There's this unspoken language between you that you think might only be born from doing such a heinous thing together. You're partners; whether that's in crime or romance is a moot point. You feel like an old married couple anyway. He knows you; knows why you're suddenly so shy, knows when and how you need to come, knows what you'll order from room service once he's done with you.

"You want to be my wife?" He searches your face. You feel his cock throb inside of you, twitching at the thought of having you in name as well as body. "Hm, Mrs. Nanami?"

Yes. God, yes. You feel naive and heart-eyed looking to be thoroughly owned by an unfaithful man like him, but your cunt is tight and pulsing around him — you couldn't lie to him about your needs even if you wanted to.

"You know," he starts, his voice rough as he pulls out of your just long enough to reach over and take his wedding ring from the bedside table. "I come home some nights and half expect to see you waiting for me in bed."

Kento grabs your left hand and slips his ring onto your finger. It's too big, and he has to close his hand around yours to keep it in place, which pushes the metal into your skin. You feel lightheaded with want.

"I wish it was me," you whisper, skin burning as he lines his cock up once again and pushes home. "That you come home to."

He moans, burying himself inside of you and his face in your neck. "It is. Come on, love, live in it. I love you."

"Fuck," you exhale, lungs on fire. He quickens his pace, fucking into you with a snapping of his hips. You can hear yourself squelching around him. "Love you too. You feel so good."

"Is that why you married me?" He snorts, teasing. He pulls back enough to press a kiss to your lips. "For the time spent between my sheets? I thought we had more going for us, honey."

You reach up with your free hand and stroke the side of his face, revelling in the feel of slight stubble beneath your palm. "I have to keep you interested somehow, hm?"

His eyes blaze with something untelling. Dipping down again, he licks at your lips. You part them, let his tongue venture in and explore your mouth, running over your teeth and drooling spit from his mouth to yours. It's messy and gross and he pulls away to leave a streak of saliva across your chin, but your stomach curls with a pending orgasm regardless.

"You," he smears his spit over your lips, "have nothing to worry about."

"No?" You buck your hips up from the plush mattress and wrap your thighs around his waist, locking them at his ass and using that embrace to pull him deeper. "You'd be okay with just me, for the rest of your long life?"

"Our long life," he corrects, flexing forward until he's so deep inside of you that there's no space left to give. "And yes. 'Til death do us part, my love. I want to sink into this beautiful body of yours until the very end."

You snort. He's poetic, for a businessman.

He fucks you long and slow and deep with thrusts that are more intimate than pleasure-seeking. It doesn't feel like a torrid affair, and you don't feel sick for sleeping with a married man. Because, even if it's just for your time spent beneath him, he's yours.

And maybe he's parroting the same words he told his real wife back to you. He could be a rakehell, depositing his cum inside of you with no care for the heart he holds in his hands.

But at the end of his long days, it's you he sneaks away to see. It's your body in which he finds his comfort. Your tits that he sucks on. Your mouth that he feeds his cock into. Your cunt that he fills again and again with an unspoken hope that maybe something will stick, and he'll have an excuse to come clean and start anew with you.

"Pretty baby..." he murmurs to himself, gently moving the hair out of your eyes so he can see your adorable face. "Of course you'd be sleeping, hm?"

Then, oh so slowly, your eyes begin to blink open. Dick's heart aches with love at how sweet you look—all soft, pliant, eyes blinking innocently and blearily. He reaches a thumb up to softly wipe the little crusts from the corners of your eyes.

"Mmm...Dickie?" you frown drowsily, fists rubbing your eyes awake—fuck, Dick thinks. You're so adorable.

He smiles warmly. "Hi, love." His hand continues to stroke your hair back as you come to your surroundings. "Did you forget something?"

"...I don't think so," you mumble, leaning forward so your forehead rests against his warm, hard chest.

"Hmm," he hums, holding you close to his body. "What about a movie night with a certain special boy?"

He watches in real time as your eyes widen and your face falls. You look at Dick guiltily. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry! Oh, god, what time is it?" you panic, searching through the cushions for your phone.

"Honey, honey," he reaches gently for your wrist, chuckling. "It's okay, its still only 9:00. Are you sure you're up for movies, or do you wanna just shower and head to bed?"

You frown guiltily at your boyfriend. "But you spent money on food..."

"And we can eat it tomorrow," he assures you. "C'mon, my darling, let's go shower."

He scoops you up bridal-style, carrying you to the bathroom and turning on the shower with one arm.

Safe to say you end the night lathered in yummy-smelling lotion and enveloped in your favorite PJ set, Dick's arms holding you securely against his chest. Props to him for scrubbing down your body in the shower, drying and dressing you afterwards, and picking your favorite lotion out of many and rubbing it all over your body—anything to make his sleepy girl comfy.

jason todd:

To be fair, Jason shouldn't have rushed to your apartment and used the spare key you gave him to "break in." But in his defense, what else does a loving boyfriend do when he's called his girl 8 times, texted her 25 times, and left 3 voicemails without answer?

"Doll?" he calls out softly as the door clicks shut behind him. He looks around; all the curtains and blinds are shut, the thermostat is turned down—is anyone else chilly?—and all the lights are off.

"Jesus, baby, it's fucking cold," he mutters to himself, finding your thermostat and turning it up a bit. "Where are ya, hm?"

He spends the next few minutes searching for his baby, and finally, once he lets the bedroom door creak open, he finds you.

"Jay?" you call out groggily, hair a tangled mess, eyes puffy, lips swollen from slumber. "What're you doin'? Your boots are so loud—and you're dragging dirt all over my floors!"

He chuckles softly at your whining, raising his hands in surrender as he toes off his big combat boots, strolling (quietly) over to you in the bed. "What're you doing, baby doll?" he murmurs gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. Immediately your fingers seek out his, curling around his hand to interlock them.

You nuzzle into his big shoulder. Jason's big hand comes up to wipe a bit of dried drool off your face. "What do you mean, what am I doing?" you grumble against him. "I'm sleepin'."

"You're always sleeping," he teases, poking your cheek. He reaches for the brush in your nightstand drawer, turning your head away so he can begin detangling the messy locks.

You harumph, crossing your arms over your chest. "So what? You knew what you were signing up for. I only woke up because I felt my phone buzzing like the world was ending! And because your stupid boots are so loud!–"

"Yes, ma, I get it. You hate my boots. Now, hush, I'm trying to brush all this out."

You let him tend to your hair, calming down a bit once the crankiness from being woken up wears off.

"There," he murmurs, setting the brush down. His hands massage your shoulders gently, kissing the left one and moving his lips up your neck to your jaw.

You melt back against him. "I'm still sleepy...join me?"

"Of course, doll, anything for you," he whispers in your ear, kissing your lips softly before laying you both down. He removes his shirt, tucking you against his bare chest and tugging the duvet up over you. "Rest, my love."

bruce wayne:

"Damian, where's your mother?" Bruce asks the young boy. It's taken him forever to find his son, only for him to be outside with Bat-Cow.

Damian's eyes soften at the mention of his mother. "I've got no idea, father."

Bruce sighs in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That woman," he grumbles, going back inside.

"Grayson, where's my wife?" he asks Dick, who's sat the dining table alone, munching (rather loudly) on an apple.

Dick shrugs. "No idea, B. Last I saw her, she was with Jay upstairs. But Jay's out with Roy now, so I dunno."

"Jesus, none of my kids are useful," Bruce sighs, moving onto Tim and ignoring Dick's annoyed Hey!

"Where's mother?" Tim asks Bruce before he can ask.

"I...I was just about to ask you the same thing."

"Well, I think I finally got a lead on my case and want to talk to her about it."

"I can check it out."

"Well, it's me and her case, B. So I want her input."

Bruce groans. "Where is this woman?"

The last place Bruce checks is your shared bedroom, and he realizes suddenly that he should've checked here first. He knows his wife is a big napper...a big one.

"Oh, darling," he sighs, suddenly all gooey and tender as he approaches the big bed. All of the curtains have been shut, making the room entirely dark save for the light from the hallway. Your starfished in the middle of the bed, your eye mask pulled firmly on, blankets and pillows askew.

He stands by the bed for a moment, admiring your beautiful sleeping face, your soft body... After a bit he decides to crawl in beside you. Removing his shirt and socks, he lifts the blanket and slides in in only his pants.

You stir slightly at the feel of someone's big, beefy arms around your waist. And it could only be one person... "Bruce?"

"Hi, honey," he whispers, shushing you. "Shhh...go back to sleep."

You yawn, turning around in his arms to face him. "How long have I been out?"

"No idea, dear. I've been looking all over the manor for you."

You groan, lifting your eye mask off. "Oh, goodness, I wasn't supposed to sleep this long...oh! I was supposed to help Timmy with out case–"

"Stay. He says he's got a lead—he'll be fine. Let me hold you."

Happily, you tuck your head into Bruce's thick neck, sighing contentedly. "Oh, baby, I love you."

"I love you, too, my wife," he kisses your forehead with a tenderness nobody would expect from Batman. "Now rest."

damian wayne:

"She ditched us, Titus," Damian murmurs down to the Great Dane beside him. "Can you believe it?"

He pets the animal's head before standing, brushing the grass off his pants and making his way inside. He's instantly greeted by the sounds of Dick's giggles echoing through the manor, and Jason's annoyed grumbles.

"Dick, man, you're so odd," Jason groans, standing beside his elder brother, unimpressed. "Get your camera outta the poor girl's face—Dames's gonna kill you."

Dick scoffs, continuing to take pictures of your sleeping form from very unflattering angles. "He won't kill me. She's been a family friend of ours for lord knows how long. She's my friend, too!"

"What the hell are you doing to my girlfriend?" Damian scowls as he enters the sitting room. His sharp eyes soften minutely as they zero in on you. There you are, curled into a little ball in the armchair, buried in one of his t-shirts, a bit of drool dribbling from your lips.

The sudden tension in Dick's shoulders is palpable. "Hey, Dami," Dick murmurs sheepishly, quickly pocketing his phone. "You see, I was just showing her a funny TikTok I saw–"

"How? She is sleeping."

Jason snorts, glancing up at Damian. "He was taking photos of her."

Damian glares. "Why?"

"Cus it was funny, man!" Dick defends. "C'mon, she would've laughed! I'm gonna send them to her and watch, she'll crack up."

He rolls his eyes, not wasting any more of his precious attention on his brother. He moves, approaching your limp form and kneeling onto the carpet in front of you.

"Beloved?" he whispers, a hand coming up to cradle your soft cheek.

Immediately your body registers your boyfriend's touch, your head nudging into his palm like a lousy kitten. "Morning, Dami..."

"It is 5 in the afternoon, Habibti. Not morning."

"Oh." You peel open one eye, smiling when you see your sweet boy. "Well, hello anyways."

"Hello to you, too, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You are drooling."

You blush. "Where?" Your hands come up, feeling over your face for it.

"Do not fret, Habibti. I've got it." With a gentleness both Jason and Dick would not have expected from their youngest sibling, Damian lifts a wet thumb to your cheek, wiping away the dried spit that previously occupied the space. "There. My baby is all clean."

" 'My baby'?" Dick laughs, doubling over and clutching his torso as if this is the funniest spectacle. "My god, Dames, where has this side of you been hiding?"

He glares. "I have done nothing to make you laugh as hard as you are, Grayson," he snips, looking to Jason for support. Jason, however, is also stifling a laugh.

As if it couldn't get any worse, Damian then hears a small little giggle from the lovely lady behind him. His head whips around to face you. "You are a traitor."

"Dami, baby!" You giggle, smiling at the adorable little pout on his face. "You're just silly, is all. No need to get so defensive." You reach a hand up, brushing his dark locks out of his eyes.

He softens at the mere feel of your touch. In fact, a small smile tugs at his lips. "So sweet, beloved. Is it because you are sleepy?"

"I'm sleepy," you say, leaning closer. Your lips hover over his, your words whispered into his mouth. "And I'm craving one of my boyfriend's famous soufflés."

Damian frowns. "A soufflé? At this hour?" At your nod, he lets up. "Alright, Habibti. If my darling wants a breakfast for dinner, I suppose I can oblige."

You press a sweet kiss to his awaiting lips. "Yay! Thank you, Dami. You're so kind to me. Can I have bacon and cheese in it, please?"

"Very well, beloved," he murmurs. He begins to stand up, pressing a final kiss to your hairline as his hand smooths over the soft locks. "I love you."

"I love you too, honey."

Glaring daggers at his brothers and ignoring their teasing comments, Damian walks himself to the kitchen. He can hear Jason and Dick following, pestering him with mocking questions, though the lazy throw of his pocket knife juuust past their heads and into the wall shuts them up rather quickly.

tim drake:

Tim had gathered that you'd fallen asleep simply by checking the activity on your phone. Don't ask him why he's able to do that...

Quietly, he slips into your apartment through the window, tip-toeing his way to your bedroom. The door is wide open and he's immediately met with the sight of his lovely girl snuggling her teddy bear to sleep.

"Sweetheart..." he coos softly, removing his shoes and approaching the bed. "Hey."

He nudges your shoulder softly with his hand, making you finally stir. You gasp softly when you see a bleary figure standing in front of you. But simply by the shape of the human and the way it stands, you immediately gather that it's your boyfriend.

"Oh. Hi, Timmy."

"I told you to stop calling me that, but hi."

You smile, tossing the limp teddy over your shoulder and replacing it with Tim's torso. "Mmm... how'd you find me?"

"Your location," he lies. "Just didn't expect you to be asleep."

You only hum, rubbing your cheek against Tim's hard abs through his shirt. "Did you come to snuggle?" you coo, rubbing your eyes awake.

"You know it, baby," he replies. "Now let me in."

You pull the blanket up, expecting him to simply lay beside you. But of course, he's Tim Drake. Why would he do that?

Instead he barrels into you, sprawling himself out on top of you. He lifts your his t-shirt up and snuggles under it, resting against your bare skin.

Ahh...much better," he sighs contentedly, head nestled between your breasts. You feel him take a deep inhale, making you giggle.

"Tim!" You squeal, "what're you doing under there?”

"Needed to be close to you," he mumbles.

"Oh, baby," you chuckle softly, a hand coming up to play with whatever dark hair is peeking through the neckline of your his shirt. "You comfy?”

"So comfy." His words are muffled against your skin. You feel wet kisses begin to accumulate in the valley of your breasts. "Call me a good boy."

"Well, are you a good boy?”

He peeks through your neckhole, scowling. "Yes. I came to check up on my girl when I noticed she wasn't active on her device."

"Hm. So you did hack me?" you catch, smirking at him.

"I-...fine, yes. I did. I'm sorry for lying, mommy," he mutters.

"It's alright, sweet boy. You're mommy's good boy."

If Tim Drake had a tail, it'd be wagging. "Hell yes I am," he agrees enthusiastically. "Night, love you."

"Love you, too, needy boy."