#batman rant

You and San have been dating for months now. You first met on the bustling streets of Metropolis, a hectic morning interrupted when he accidentally bumped into you and sent your coffee spilling all over your clothes. Flustered and apologetic, he immediately offered to clean you up—and insisted on buying you a new coffee. Sitting across from each other in the nearby cafe, conversation flowed in effortlessly, laughter bridging the awkwardness of your first encounter.

Over time, the casual meetings blossomed into dates, and dates deepened into a steady, passionate relationship. You shared the details of your daily lives—him working in a stable position under the multi-millionaire Bruce Wayne, and you serve as a nurse at Metropolis General Hospital. San was attentive in ways that made your friends envious; he remembered the smallest things you said, lingered in touches that made your skin warm, and spoke to you in a tone that was always just a little too smooth, a little too commanding, like he knew you’d obey if he asked for more. He had a way of making you feel both cherished and claimed. The way he’d hold your chin to make you look at him when you were distracted, the low timbre of his voice when he called you baby, the faint pressure of his hand at the small of your back—everything about him hinted at control, yet wrapped in warmth.

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It was one of those rainy Metropolis nights when the city’s lights blurred against the slick pavement, and you were walking home after an exhausting late shift. Your mind wandered to San, wondering if he’d stayed up to wait for you, when you caught the faint echo of footsteps behind you. At first, you told yourself it was nothing—until they quickened. You barely had time to turn before a shadow lunged toward you… and then another shadow dropped from above. The man was on the ground in seconds, groaning as a figure in black and blue armor cuffed him to a fire hydrant. When he turned to face you, your breath caught—not from fear, but from the way he stood, tall and sure, with rain slicking over the hard planes of his suit. “You okay, sweetheart?” The word rolled from his tongue like he’d said it a hundred times, low and smooth enough to make your stomach tighten. His gloved hand found your elbow, steady and unyielding, thumb brushing your skin in a slow drag. There was nothing rushed in the way he held you there, gaze lingering as if deciding whether to let you go. Then, with a subtle squeeze, he stepped back and melted into the shadows, leaving the scent of rain and leather in his wake. You didn’t remember the rest of your walk home—only the heat in your chest, the way his voice replayed in your mind, curling around that single word: sweetheart. You’d been touched before, but never like that—firm, certain, as though you were already his. You told yourself it was just the adrenaline, just the shock… but deep down, you knew that wasn’t true.

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You told yourself you’d forget him—the stranger in black and blue who saved you that night. But you didn’t.

If anything, the memory sharpened with time. You could still see the way rain slid over the sharp lines of his suit, still feel the ghost of his hand on your arm, still hear the low rumble of “sweetheart” curling against your ear. At the hospital, when the news mentioned his name, you’d find yourself pausing mid-task, that same jolt of adrenaline humming through you. At night, walking home, your eyes would instinctively trace the rooftops. Half of you hoped never to see danger again. The other half secretly wished to catch even a fleeting glimpse of him.

At first, it was harmless—clicking through a few articles, scrolling past blurry paparazzi shots. But the longer you let yourself think about it, the harder it became to ignore. You began wondering what his voice would sound like without the distortion, how those hands would feel without the gloves—what it would be like to have them everywhere. You pictured the way he’d move if he wasn’t fighting crime, but something far more intimate. Before you could even admit it to yourself, you had a full-blown crush on a man you didn’t truly know.

One rainy evening, you and San were sprawled across his couch, the patter of water against the windows mixing with the faint hum of the TV. The blanket draped over you two was heavy with warmth, your legs tangled lazily beneath it. San’s arm was looped around your shoulders, his palm open against your upper arm, thumb moving in a slow, almost unconscious rhythm. It was one of those touches that felt casual, but made your skin prickle in awareness all the same.

On screen, a masked hero swung into frame, and San’s voice broke the comfortable silence—low, calm, but with a hint of curiosity. “So… who’s your favorite hero?”

You glanced up at him, smirking at the sudden question. “Promise you won’t judge?”

His lips curved faintly, eyes flicking down to yours. “No promises.”

You rolled your eyes, but your voice softened as you turned your gaze back to the movie. “Nightwing.”

You didn’t have to look to know his attention was fixed on you. The words spilled out easier than you expected, carrying a heat you couldn’t quite mask. “I don’t know… something about him. He’s quick, dangerous… always shows up when you need him. And he’s got this way of talking to people—confident, sure of himself… but not in a bad way. It’s like… he knows exactly what to do with you.” Your breath caught for just a second before you added, “I guess I like the idea of someone who could handle me.”

His thumb stilled mid-stroke, a pause so small you almost missed it. But when he looked at you, there was something unreadable in his eyes—like he was weighing your words carefully. Slowly, the motion of his thumb resumed, though there was an unmistakable deliberateness to it now, his touch heavier against your skin. “Yeah…” he murmured, gaze dipping briefly to your lips. “I can see why you’d like him.”

The words lingered between you, heavier than they should have been, and you couldn’t help but wonder why his voice carried the faintest edge of knowing.

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The thought wouldn’t leave you. The way San’s eyes had darkened at the mention of Nightwing, the subtle weight in his voice—it all replayed in your mind like a scene you couldn’t stop rewinding. At first, you brushed it off, telling yourself you were just overanalyzing. But soon, other things began to stand out. Little things. The way his phone seemed to buzz more at night than during the day. How he’d suddenly get up from the couch to “run an errand” after dinner, returning hours later without so much as a grocery bag in hand. And when he walked through the door, there’d be that faint tang of rain on leather clinging to him, like he’d been outside far longer than he claimed.

The pattern only grew harder to ignore. Sometimes you’d wake in the middle of the night to the sound of the front door clicking shut, your half-asleep brain catching the soft scuff of his boots against the floor. Other nights, you’d pretend to be asleep when he slipped back into bed, but you could feel the tension still buzzing through his muscles, the subtle dampness in his hair as if he’d been out in the weather. He never offered explanations, and you never asked—not yet. But each time he kissed your forehead and murmured “Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” you couldn’t help but feel that the man lying beside you was carrying far more than he was willing to share.

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You couldn’t hold it in any longer. Every unexplained absence, every faint smell of leather and rain clinging to San’s clothes, every subtle bruise along his arms or jawline had been stacking in your mind like a storm ready to break. Your chest tightened, your stomach knotted, and your pulse raced as you finally let the words tumble out. “San… where have you really been?” The tremor in your voice betrayed the storm inside you—fear, frustration, and something deeper you didn’t fully understand. The apartment suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier, as your gaze locked onto him. His usual easy smile faltered, and your body betrayed you with a shiver that had nothing to do with fear alone.

San tilted his head, studying you carefully, as if he were trying to read your every thought before answering. “Sweetheart…” His voice was low, teasing, but there was a subtle edge threading through it. “I’ve just… been working late. You know how it is with Bruce and the projects—meetings, audits, unexpected calls. Nothing you need to worry about.” His words were measured, calm, meant to soothe—or at least that’s what he thought. He stepped closer, letting the scent of him brush against your face, a mixture of soap, leather, and something sharper, something that made your knees tremble.

“Cut the BS,” you spat, your voice sharper now, trembling with both anger and the unsteady pulse of desire. “Don’t think for a second I’m buying that. Every night, gone. Every morning, smelling like… like someone else. And those bruises? Work doesn’t leave marks like that, San. Stop lying.” You felt your chest heave as you spoke, words spilling out faster than you could contain them. The casual, calm man you thought you knew seemed to vanish under the intensity of your gaze. The air between you crackled with a mix of accusation and something hotter, something that left your body responding despite your anger.

San’s hands went to your waist, pressing you gently but with unmistakable authority against him, chest brushing against yours. “You think I’d cheat on you?” he asked again, voice rising slightly, incredulous. “You really think I’d do that to you, sweetheart? Really?” His eyes bore into yours, sharp, commanding, teasing, almost daring you to believe the worst. “Do you really think I’d throw away everything we’ve built over some… random thrill?” His words wrapped around you like a vice, and you couldn’t help the little shivers that ran along your spine despite the fury in your chest.

You tried to step back, but your body felt heavier, almost reluctant, every inch of him commanding attention. “Then… then why are you always gone? Why are you so secretive?” you demanded, voice breaking under the strain of weeks of confusion. “I see the bruises, the… the smells, and you won’t tell me anything! Who are you? Are you even… you?” Your hands pressed against his chest, almost instinctively, as if trying to hold him in place while your mind spun. The man in front of you, the one you loved and trusted, suddenly felt like a stranger standing between you and the answers you craved.

San’s jaw tightened, and he exhaled slowly, the warmth of his breath brushing against your cheek as he tilted your chin up with a firm hand. “You really think I’d cheat on you?” he murmured, voice low, almost growling, dripping with sarcastic disbelief. “Sweetheart, after all the nights, all the moments we’ve shared… you really think I could?” He leaned in slowly, heat radiating off him, hands gliding under your shirt to rest possessively on your sides. Each movement, each word, each smirk was a test—a claim. Your stomach twisted, a confusing mix of awe, anger, and growing, undeniable need coiling inside you.

Then, deliberately, San stepped back slightly, pulling the jacket off the back of the chair to reveal a familiar, sleek black suit underneath. Tucked neatly at his side was the mask you’d always admired from the comic books and movies—the same one that had made your heart pound whenever Nightwing appeared on screen. “You… you’re… Nightwing?” you whispered, disbelief and awe tangling together as your pulse jumped. Your knees trembled, your hands frozen on his chest as the reality hit you. Every unexplained absence, every mysterious bruise, every late night—it all finally made sense. And yet, even as your mind processed the truth, your body reacted in ways you couldn’t control, shivering with a mix of shock and anticipation.

San’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk, voice low and teasing. “Thought you’d never figure it out, sweetheart,” he said, hands lingering possessively at your waist. “All those times you were worried I was cheating… it was me. Protecting you, protecting everyone. And yet here you are, standing in front of me, looking at me like I’m some stranger… or worse, like I’ve betrayed you.” He leaned in just enough for the warmth of his body to press against yours, giving you time to absorb every word, every detail, every deliberate movement, his hands tracing light, teasing lines over your sides that made your breath catch.

San’s eyes softened slightly, though a flash of frustration crossed his face. “You really thought… you thought I’d betray you?” he murmured, voice low, almost hurt, as if the idea stung more than your accusations. “After everything we’ve shared, every night, every laugh, every touch—you really think I could throw that all away? That I’d let someone else take my place with you?” His hands tightened slightly on your waist, not harshly, but possessively, grounding you while letting you feel the weight of his disbelief. The intensity of his gaze pinned you in place, forcing you to confront the depth of your own doubt and the sharp twist of guilt that immediately followed.

He leaned in just a fraction, almost close enough for your foreheads to touch, letting the silence stretch between you. “You think I’d let you worry, think the worst of me, while I’m out there protecting you?” His voice was thick with restrained emotion, the sarcasm from before mingling with a raw, vulnerable edge. “Sweetheart… I’d never give anyone the right to take what’s mine. You, me, this—everything we’ve built. And here you are, thinking I’m someone else, someone unworthy of your trust.” His hands traced slow, deliberate lines along your sides, making your chest rise and fall with a mix of anxiety and desire. The tension, the disbelief, the shock—it all coiled inside you, thick and electric, as your mind tried to reconcile the man in front of you with the superhero he truly was.

San’s gaze softened, but the sharp edge of frustration lingered as he leaned in closer, hands still pressing possessively at your waist. “You think I’d betray you, sweetheart… after everything?” His voice was low, teasing, yet edged with raw emotion, and it made your pulse quicken despite your lingering shock. Your body, tense from anger and disbelief, started to respond, a fluttering warmth rising as your breaths grew shallow. You wanted to pull back, to scream, to demand answers, but every instinct screamed at you to stay, to feel him, to understand the truth through his touch.

His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles along your sides, claiming you in subtle, tantalizing ways that left you shivering. “I’m here,” he whispered, lips brushing near your ear. “I’ve always been here. And you… you’re mine.” The possessiveness in his tone wrapped around you like a vice, making your heart pound, your thoughts scatter. You could feel the weight of his disbelief and desire, a mix of accusation and ownership that left you trembling, torn between your lingering suspicion and the undeniable pull of your body toward his.

Then, without another word, San closed the distance. His lips captured yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that was both demanding and claiming. It started gentle, teasing, giving you time to adjust, to absorb the intensity of the revelation, the shock, the lingering anger. But beneath the softness was a tension, a possessive heat that pressed against you, grounding you, and igniting a fire that had been building for weeks. Your hands instinctively tangled in his hair, fingers gripping, pulling him closer, as every emotion—shock, desire, confusion, longing—melted into one overwhelming wave.

The kiss deepened, demanding, possessive, testing the boundaries between restraint and surrender. San’s hands roamed over your sides and back, pressing you flush against him, every touch deliberate, claiming. Your body responded instantly, shivering, trembling with heat, the tension of your doubt and disbelief turning into a raw, urgent need. He whispered your name, low and possessive, each syllable sending shivers through you, making you arch instinctively into him, craving more.

Your breaths came fast, shallow, mixing with the soft groans escaping his lips as the kiss continued. The room seemed to shrink around you, the city outside fading, leaving only the two of you in this charged, intimate bubble. Every second stretched, every movement deliberate, as San explored your body with his hands while his lips and tongue dominated yours, teasing, marking, claiming. The tension from weeks of suspicion, fear, and unspoken desire melted, replaced by the raw heat of your mutual need.

Finally, he pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead against yours, lips brushing yours in a soft, possessive press. “You’re mine, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick, low, commanding, the weight of his claim pressing into every fiber of your body. Your chest heaved, breath coming in ragged gasps, and you shivered under his touch, completely consumed by him. The lingering shock, the disbelief, the tension from your questions—all transformed into a fevered, undeniable need that left you trembling and helpless in his arms.

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San’s hands were still firmly holding your waist, his thumbs brushing possessively over your sides. “Look at me, baby,” he murmured, lifting your chin gently to meet his gaze, low and commanding. “All mine. Every inch of you belongs to me, and don’t you forget it.” His words made heat pool between your legs, your breath hitching as his fingers traced teasing circles over your ribs, down toward your hips, marking you with the faint press of his grip. The possessiveness in his tone, the way he claimed your body without hesitation, made your chest tighten with a delicious mix of awe and longing. The tension between you both grew thicker by the second. He leaned back just slightly, eyes dark and commanding, and gestured toward the bedroom. “Come with me,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing, and possessive. Your legs felt weak as you followed, every step charged with anticipation, your heart hammering in your chest.

As you reached the bed, he pressed you lightly against the wall, lips brushing your ear. “Slow, baby… I want every second,” he whispered, fingers tracing circles over your hips, down to your thighs, making you shiver uncontrollably. He kissed the shell of your ear, teeth grazing gently, before sliding his hands under the hem of your shirt. His fingers cupped your breasts, thumbs circling your hardened nipples while his gaze never left yours. “So soft… so ready for me,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, a subtle mark of possession that made your knees buckle. He then latched his mouth onto them, gently sucking and nipping, sending waves of immense pleasure through you

He lifted you effortlessly and laid you gently on the bed, your head softly meeting the mattress. His hands began to roam over your body, lips and tongue tracing your thighs while his hands continued to fondle your breasts, teasing and kneading them expertly.

San delivered a sharp, controlled spank to your ass, making you gasp and arch instinctively against him. “Naughty girl, thinking I’d cheat… doubting me ,” he growled, pressing you lightly into the wall as if reminding you exactly who you belonged to. His fingers slid lower, teasing over your thighs while the hand on your chest continued to circle and knead, coaxing moans from your lips. Slowly, his mouth traveled to your chest, lips sucking and nipping at your nipples while his fingers trailed down your folds,teasing the sensitive skin.

Look at you… trembling… all mine,” he whispered, lowering himself deliberately between your thighs. His hands cupped your hips possessively, thumbs brushing lightly over your soft skin. “Such a pretty pussy, baby… all mine,” he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire. Then, his lips met your folds, and he began to lick and explore you as if savoring every inch, tongue gliding over you with slow, deliberate pressure, tasting you like it was his last meal. Each flick and swirl of his tongue sent shivers through your body, heat pooling unbearably as your moans filled the room. His hands kneaded your thighs, pressing you closer, holding you firmly in place as he continued, every movement possessive and intoxicating.

San then pressed his fingers deep inside you, curling them expertly as a low moan escaped your lips. “Feeling good, baby? Like the way I’m making you feel right now, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire. He scissored his fingers inside you, hips brushing slightly against yours, all while his tongue remained latched to your folds, swirling and flicking with deliberate attention. “Such a sweet little cunt, huh, baby?” he whispered, eyes dark with possessive hunger. You mewled at the praise, the sound escaping uncontrollably as heat pooled unbearably between your legs. Every word, every motion, every brush of his lips and tongue drove you higher, leaving your mind dizzy with pleasure, completely consumed by the intensity of him.

His lips trailed down to your ass, warm and teasing, before he spit lightly on the skin and began licking your rim with deliberate, hungry attention. The sight of him still clad in his Nightwing costume made your pulse race, turning you on even more—seeing him half-masked, taut muscles flexing, claiming you like this, sent shivers of desire down your spine. He alternated between your pussy and your ass, tongue flicking, circling, and exploring, driving you wild with sensation. Moans of his name spilled uncontrollably from your lips as he growled, “That’s right, baby… you like that, don’t you? Give me that, all of it.”

His pace quickened, fingers curling and thrusting inside you as he pressed his mouth hungrily to every sensitive spot, the costume rubbing against your skin in all the right ways. “Come for me, baby… come all over my face, sweetheart,” he commanded, voice rough and possessive, each word sending waves of heat and urgency through your body. Your back arched, breath coming in ragged gasps, and as the tension finally broke, you came hard, moaning his name over and over, “San… San!” trembling and shivering under the intensity of his attention. Every lick, every flick, every skilled movement of his fingers left you trembling, moaning, and completely consumed by the intense pleasure he was giving you, the sight of his costume making it feel even more exhilarating and forbidden.

He then stood, lifting you gently to a seated position on the bed. His hands snaked around your hair, fingers tangling possessively as he pulled you into a hungry, claiming kiss, as if it might be the last time he’d ever touch you. “Mine, baby,” he murmured, voice rough, before you two shifted positions. You began to slowly strip him of his Nightwing costume, your fingers tracing over taut muscles as you peeled it off piece by piece, revealing the curve of his chest, the ridges of his abs, and finally reaching his pants. Stepping out of his boxers, his long, thick cock sprang free, the tip angry red and glistening with precum. The sight alone made your body pulse with need; you swore you could orgasm just from looking at him.

Unable to resist, you leaned forward and flicked your tongue over the tip, tasting him lightly, your lips brushing against his swollen head. The slight teasing sent a groan deep from his chest, and your own breath hitched as anticipation curled through you. Slowly, you began to take him into your mouth, gagging slightly at the sheer size but determined, lips stretching around him, tongue swirling. His hands tightened in your hair, holding you firmly in place, his eyes dark with desire.

When he groaned louder, he gripped your hair at the scalp, guiding you firmly as he moved your hands away from his length. One hand came to your chin, holding you in place while he began to slide deeper, thrusting slowly into your throat with controlled, commanding pressure. The sensation left you trembling, eyes watering, but utterly consumed by the intensity of him.

“Love it when my cock’s down your throat, don’t you?” he murmured, voice low, rough, possessive. “Such a good girl… taking my dick down your precious little throat,” he continued, each word marking you, making your body shiver with need and submission. Your moans muffled around him, broken and gasping, every movement pushing you further into the pleasure and obedience he demanded.

He held you tightly, watching every reaction, thumb brushing over your cheek possessively, as his thrusts in your mouth became slightly harder, deliberate, and rhythmic. “That’s it, baby… take it all… you’re mine,” he growled, the intensity of his movements combined with his praise sending waves of heat pooling through your body.

Your hands rested on his hips, lightly kneading as you adjusted to his rhythm, eyes watering and lips stretched, gagging slightly but pushing through to please him. Each groan he released pressed deep into your chest, vibrating through your body and feeding your need to serve him, to feel him fully.

He alternated between holding you firmly and guiding your head in slow, deliberate thrusts, savoring the control, marking you as his and making your mind melt into obedient pleasure. “Good girl… all mine… such a perfect little mouth for me,” he whispered, thrusts deliberate, and lips brushing yours between movements, tasting you, claiming you.

The intensity built higher, every inhale, every gag, every moan from you pushing him closer to his edge, while your body quivered under the combination of his dominance, size, and possessive attention. Your head bobbed instinctively, riding the rhythm he set, eyes locked on his dark, commanding gaze, feeling the full weight of him claiming you completely.

Finally, he tensed above you, letting out a deep, guttural groan as he spilled down your throat, hot and thick. “Take that, baby… such a good girl… all mine,” he growled, hips shuddering as he continued to fill your mouth. You moaned around him, muffled, overwhelmed by the taste and the weight of him, trembling as your lips and tongue continued to worship him even as he came. “That’s it… my good girl… mine… all mine,” he panted, still holding you firmly, marking you with every word and motion as your body shook under the intensity of his release and possession.

Shaking under the intensity of his release and the weight of his possession, your body still trembling, San scooped you up effortlessly and positioned you on your stomach, sliding you into a perfect doggy position. He lowered himself to meet your cunt with his mouth, lips and tongue teasing every inch of your sensitive flesh. His hands trailed possessively over your hips and thighs, kneading and marking you as he alternated between licking strips over your folds and plunging his tongue deep inside your vagina, curling and flicking with expert precision, fucking you with his tongue in a way that made your back arch and moans spill uncontrollably.

“Do you like it, baby? You like it when I make you feel this good?” he growled, voice low and possessive, tongue still thrusting deep inside you. Your breath hitched as you nodded rapidly, moaning, “Yes… yes, San… I love it,” the words muffled around him, urgent and needy. His fingers gripped your hips tighter, his eyes dark with hunger as he continued, “Such a good girl… you love it, don’t you? Mine, all mine…”

After driving you wild from behind, he gently turned you onto your back, guiding you so you could see your reflection in the mirror on the ceiling. The mirror, one of the things San had insisted be installed in your room, allowed him to claim you while you watched yourself being completely owned. “Look at you, baby… all mine,” he murmured, eyes dark and possessive as he watched your body react under his touch. Every stroke of his tongue, every teasing flick and press of his fingers made your reflection mirror the intensity of the pleasure and domination he was lavishing on you.

He then stood, grabbing himself and spitting over his cock, letting a bead of saliva drip down onto your folds before lining himself up between your soaked pussy. “Ready to take me, baby?” he growled, eyes dark and commanding. Your breath hitched as you trembled beneath him. “Yes… San, please… please… fuck me,” you begged, desperation dripping from every word. He smirked, leaning down to brush his lips over yours in a teasing, claiming kiss, prolonging your anticipation before finally thrusting deep inside you. The two of you groaned together, heat and urgency filling the room.

“Such a tight little pussy,” he murmured, voice rough and possessive, as he began a steady, hard rhythm, thrusting in and out with deliberate force. His hand slid up to grip your neck, holding you close and forcing your gaze to meet his, dark eyes locking with yours. The control and dominance made your knees weak, moans spilling uncontrollably from your lips with each deep, punishing stroke.

As he plowed into you, he leaned down slightly, voice low and teasing, “Such a naughty little girl, huh? To ever think I’d cheat on you…” He laughed softly, a mocking, possessive sound that made your chest tighten. Every thrust, every grunt, every possessive motion marked you, made you acutely aware of how completely he claimed you.

He alternated between holding your neck and gripping your hips, forcing you to stay flush against him as he drove into you relentlessly. “That’s it, baby… mine… every inch…” he growled, his voice rough, pushing you further into the pleasure and submission you craved. The combination of degradation, ownership, and physical pleasure made your moans higher, your body trembling, and your mind melted entirely under him.

He kissed you again, lips soft yet commanding, and murmured, “Come ride me, sweetheart.” With deliberate care, he laid back on the bed and guided you into a reverse cowgirl position, positioning you over him so you could feel every inch as you began to ride him. Almost immediately, your thrusts began to match his, moving in perfect rhythm with his, creating a delicious, synchronized motion that made both of you moan in unison. His hands smacked your ass in a mix of pleasure and control, each slap making you gasp, moans spilling freely as you praised him, feeling the intensity of his dominance and your own desperate need. The sight of your reflection in the mirror above only intensified the sensation—you watched yourself moving on him, eyes locked with your own in the glass, utterly consumed.

“Say it,” he growled, pulling your hair with both hands, forcing you to maintain eye contact in the mirror. Your gaze met his dark, commanding eyes reflected above you, and you moaned, “I’m yours… always yours, San… no man could compare.” He chuckled darkly, slapping your ass again, sharp and possessive, marking you completely as his. The synchronized rhythm of your bodies, the mirror showing every gasp, every arch, made every motion feel twice as intense.

After driving you higher, he gently flipped you onto your stomach, sliding back into the familiar doggy position. His hips pressed into you firmly, hands gripping your sides possessively as he fucked you with controlled, powerful thrusts. “Mine… all mine,” he murmured, voice low and commanding, pressing his chest against your back. “I’m gonna breed you, baby,” he growled, each word sending shivers down your spine.

He leaned down, brushing his lips over your shoulder, whispering against your ear, “Do you want that, baby? Want me to breed you?” You trembled, breathless and needy, gasping out a desperate, “Yes… yes, San…” His thrusts became harder, faster, each movement deep and possessive, echoing his words as he marked you completely.

The rhythm and intensity built higher, every thrust hitting deep, hips slamming into yours with forceful precision. The synchronized motion of your bodies amplified every sensation, sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing through both of you. Your body quaked beneath him, nails digging into the sheets, hips jerking with every powerful movement. Moans spilled uncontrollably, your breath coming in ragged gasps as pleasure coiled tighter in your belly. The mirror above let you see every detail—your body arching, your hands gripping the sheets, your reflection entirely under his control—which made your orgasm swell even more intensely.

As the pleasure spiraled, your body began to shudder uncontrollably, waves of orgasm crashing over you like fire, muscles clenching tightly around him. You moaned his name again and again, “San… San! Ahh! Yes…!” He pressed closer, thrusts harder and deeper, each motion insistent, driving you higher as his own release built, a deep, guttural groan vibrating through him. He leaned close, whispering possessively in your ear, “All mine… such a good girl… mine, baby.”

Finally, both of you tumbled over the edge together, hips stuttering and shuddering as he spilled deep inside you. “That’s it… take it… mine!” he growled, voice rough and commanding, hips grinding as he rode out his release. Every inch of him filling you completely, combined with the mirrored reflection of your bodies intertwined, made the climax feel all-consuming. Your moans and his grunts blended, echoing against the walls, a symphony of raw, unrestrained passion.

Afterward, he held you close, chest pressed to your back, fingers gently brushing your hair as your breaths began to steady. He pressed soft kisses along your shoulder and neck, murmuring, “You did so good, baby… my good girl… all mine.” His hands continued to caress you possessively, though now tenderly, as you rested against him, soaked and trembling, the intensity fading into warmth.

He rolled slightly, cradling you against his chest, arms tight around your body. “Look at me, baby,” he whispered, voice soft but still thick with ownership. “You’re mine… all mine. Always.” You nuzzled into his chest, letting your body relax completely, exhausted but completely safe under his protective hold. He stroked your hair and kissed the top of your head, murmuring low praises as you both drifted in the afterglow, still connected, still marked by the intensity of what you’d shared.

San held you close, chest pressed to your back, as your breaths slowly returned to normal. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your arms and shoulders, lingering on your sides possessively. “You did so good, baby… my good girl… all mine,” he murmured, voice low and warm. You nuzzled into him, still trembling slightly, your body sticky with sweat and his release, and he let out a soft, amused chuckle. “You’re a mess,” he teased lightly, nipping the shell of your ear. “And I love every inch of it.”

He rolled you gently onto your side and helped you up, guiding you to the bathroom so he could clean you off. Water ran over your skin, his hands gentle yet deliberate as he washed you, lips occasionally brushing against your shoulder and neck. You laughed softly as he playfully splashed a little water on your chest, and he grinned down at you, “I see that laugh, baby… you can’t hide it.” He leaned in to kiss you again, soft and lingering, teasingly pressing his forehead against yours as you let out a small giggle.

Once you were both cleaned up, he guided you back to the bed, holding your hand and pressing small, possessive kisses to your fingers and the back of your hand. “You know,” he said, voice husky and teasing, “being with you like this… it’s different. Makes me feel like I’m not just San… I’m Nightwing too. You saw him in action, but you don’t realize… you’re the only one who gets to see this side up close.” You shivered slightly at his words, a flush spreading across your cheeks, “You… you really are Nightwing?” you whispered, voice soft, almost reverent.

He let out a low laugh, deep and playful, “I am, baby. But right now? I’m just yours. You’re mine… all mine.” He pressed another gentle kiss to your lips, lingering a little longer this time, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging him closer, both of you laughing softly at how intimate and ridiculous the moment felt while still charged with the intensity of what had just passed.

Settling back onto the bed, he pulled you into his chest again, one arm around your waist while the other stroked your hair gently. “You know,” he murmured, playful teasing in his tone, “if anyone ever tried to hurt you, Nightwing wouldn’t just save you… he’d make sure they regret it.” You let out a small laugh, nuzzling your face into his shoulder, “I think I’m pretty safe then.”

He kissed the top of your head, humming contentedly, “Very safe, baby… mine, always.” Then he leaned down, pressing his lips to your temple, then cheek, then softly to your lips, a gentle progression that made you shiver in delight. “And just so you know,” he whispered, smirking slightly, “all the teasing, the claiming, the… messiness? That’s not going anywhere. I like seeing you this way… my girl, completely mine.”

You sighed against him, eyes half-lidded, heart still racing slightly from the intensity of earlier, “I… I love you, San. All of you… Nightwing too.” He chuckled low, brushing your hair back and pressing one last possessive kiss to your forehead. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Now rest. You’ve earned it… and I get to hold you, always.” He drew you closer, settling both of you into a comfortable embrace, gentle laughter and soft murmurs filling the room as you drifted into a shared, peaceful afterglow.

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