#is that banned to say now? No bad words? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tonycries · 10 months ago

Text

She's My Vitals!

Synopsis. The best part about a séx ban? When they’re broken!

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, séx bans, bondagé, PÚSSYDRUNK BOYS, creampíes, CÚMPLAY, spítting, true form! Sukuna, dp, pússy-slappíng, chokíng Nanami, BRÉEDING, markíng, making him whíne, talking to her, jealous Nanami, fínger-súcking, NÉEDY boys, “just the típ”, heinous things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. LAST LEAK DAY HOW ARE WE FEELING BBYGIRLS??

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 1 week…almost

“Oh god…” he’s rasping out, skimming a thick thumb over where your flimsy panties were the most translucent. Just the sticky sheen of saturated slick makes him salivate, neglected cock throbbing with how much he’s missed you. “Y’really got me begging, huh, naughty girl?”

Now, Toji Fushiguro doesn’t ask for attention - either you come to him with that cute pout of yours, begging him to fuck you full of his long, solid inches or you don’t. Toji Fushiguro doesn’t grovel - he’s never just barely lasted only a measly week since being punished with a sex ban. Banging at your door soon after, strong arms just wrangling his pretty girl to the ground right then and there.

But here he was.

“S-so eager.” you’re humming, the hardwood floors of your hallway chafes lightly underneath your arched back. Your nails dig into his muscled shoulders, holding back a giggle at the way he’s already so gone. Eyes droopy, abs flexing, panting. “Affected so much by-”

“-just a week?” Two rough hands knead at your ass, dragging your body forwards to grind his angry cock in a sultry push. “A week of hell, you mean.”

There’s a soft smack! gifted right onto your puffed-up clit, and Toji has the audacity to laugh - laugh, all low and humorless when your needy cunt gushes out in another way of your syrupy sweet juices.

“Though…” he circles his thick, reddish head over your quivering entrance, gliding over the glistening mess you’ve made. Coating around your puffy teasingly with every ribbon of his thick precum, “-seems like I wasn’t the- hah- only one all desperate n’ shit for you.” That sinful scar positioned on his lips grazes jaggedly against yours in a lazy kiss, “Missed me, woman?”

You’re rolling your eyes, “Real rich coming from-” And Toji can’t do anything but watch when your hand dips down between your two pressed-up bodies to wrap around his fat hilt. He throws his head back, swearing when you just slot his leaky tip between your swollen folds. Sensitive and so swelteringly hot. “-the same man that almost broke down my door at two in the m-morning because he missed me too much, Toji.”

Fuck- fuck, Toji doesn’t think he even heard whatever just came out of your mouth. No, he was way too busy trying not to fucking pass out. Humping you pathetically as if in heat now, gulping at the dripping wet squelches from down below. Shit, his favorite song.

“Say it.” You’re feeling two of his thick palms come up to rest atop your head, lacing those thick fingers of his slowly. “Say my name again.”

It was almost endearing how tough he still tried to sound. Acting like his body wasn’t wracking with a jolting shudder every time you’re grinding your hips up in steady gyrations against his rock-hard cock.

“Say what now?” you purr, silky sweet. Peppering a lingering kiss against his forehead, his scar, only to have him bite down on your lower lip in warning. “Toji? The same Toji that was so mean to me - ignoring me for some stupid mission? The same big, bad Toji Fushiguro who took less than a week to crack-”

“M’sorry!” And usually you’d love to tease Toji more for the way he was cutting you off so much, but he just sounded like he was in utter wreck. Lips wobbling, a baritone ah! ah! ah! leaving with each sopping glissade of your cunt across his twitchy shaft. “There! I said it. Won’t- won’t miss another one of our hngh! d-dates for a job, m’kay? Fuck this sex ban- I’ll even answer your cute calls in the middle of finishing off a target if I have to just please-”

Ah, there it was.

The heady hallway - fuck, you two hadn’t even made it to the bed, yet - rings out with the soft thwack! of Toji’s heavy, cum-filled balls against your ass. Only increasing in volume with each greedier and greedier little half-thrust into your snug cunt.

“Ngh! Toji- Toji f-fuck.” you’re keening at the feeling of all the air in your lungs being thoroughly pushed out. “Y-you’re lucky you’re so convincing-”

And he feels so hot, dizzy head being flung back at the heavenly suck of your pussy swallowing him up. Being stretched so gapingly open, it’s like his girth is contorting your velvety walls to his very shape. Stretching you out so much, massaging your sweet spots without even trying, reaching for your very womb-

“Ha-ahh- so tight- fuck- no wonder I almost broke yer damn door down.” he’s breathing out. The words finally registering, “Is it me that’s convincing or is it-” His biceps bulge with effort, rippling as the vice-like restraint above you is pushing you down, down, down to his hold. “-is it this?”

You can’t even form an answer if you wanted to - because Toji was hunching over his hulking body to bully his fat cock into you in thorough, jagged ruts of his hips. Keeping you stuck in his vice-like hold, fully in the face of all his pressurized thrusts.

“What? Cat got yer- ngh tongue?” Toji smiles, smugly. Obscenely. “I missed your p-pretty voice just as much as this cunt, y’know? Why don’t ya use those words f’me, doll?”

Your entire body just jerks upwards when one of his soft palms plant back down on your clit, giving another simpering smack!

“Yes!” you’re spitting, and there’s such a supple satisfaction in Toji’s movements now. “M-missed this- missed you so much…”

“Tha’s fuckin’ right. Never gonna let ya forget it.” He’s grunting throatily at your answer, the soft, rounded pads of his fingers swirl over your stinging clit, eager to give another playful slap. He stills - and you whine, grinding down pleadingly. Exactly how he wanted it. “So why dontcha fuck back into me n’ show me, you lil’ tease?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 17 days

There’s a slow, syrupy puddle growing on your inner thighs - not between them, no, on top of them. Glossing down your skin in a milky ooze, Nanami’s red, achy cock right in the center of it all. Rubbing and grinding rawly between your thighs, he’s rutting forward like he’s out of control-

“M-my love.” Even those words sound so wrecked, Nanami’s soft baritone cracking, a few octaves higher than usual. “Are you- hah- doing okay?”

Your kiss-bitten pout makes his thick length jolt in interest, surging forwards to kiss them. “I am, Ken. Which is why I r-really want you to break the-”

“No!” he’s gasping, and there’s another harsh glissade of his glisteningly wet cock just across your puffed-up folds. Two firm hands hold your squirming hips still while he fucks your thighs even sloppier. Drowsy, almost. “No no no- we can’t. Don’t wanna overwork my gorgeous wife, sh-she’s already had such a long month at work, no?”

You shake your head stubbornly, pulling on the loosened end of his favorite speckled yellow tie to just drag Nanami even closer. “M’not-”

“But- the project-”

“Told you m’not overworked, okay, Ken?” Within only a few moments, you’ve got your trembly legs hooked around muscled hips, feeling his dick reach every single one of your hidden sweet spots and crannies with just the single inch he’s sinking in. Accidentally - but oh, an accident never felt so good. “Besides…e-even with this annoying new project, the month’s been even hah- longer because of this sex ban. I really, really miss you inside me–”

“Oh…better not have told me that.” He breathes into the crook of your neck, hiding away that rosy blush high on his cheeks. And before you can comfort your dear husband - or maybe make him even more flustered - he’s giving one, solid thrust into the depths of your awaiting cunt. Slowly. “After- after so long. Fuuuck- you shouldn’t have told me that.”

Giving a steady roll of his hips until you were just gasping at the sheer thickness. Nanami’s long girth leaving you spotless, swiveling his fat head easily against your g-spot.

“F-fuck-” he’s still muttering to himself, jaw clenched tight with all the strain of not devouring you whole after so long-

“So do it.”

Your words make him still in his unforgiving pace, cocking a head in confusion. The sight of him - all disheveled and blushing an innocent red, eyes drooped in pussydrunk pleasure, mouth parted sweetly - has you giggling. “Seriously- aww, Ken, you didn’t even realize you were talking out loud?” Your palms smooth their way over his blue button-up, too impatient to have stripped out of it. “Do it. Dontcha think the best ngh! de-stressor during a long work project would be this-”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence - and you didn’t have to. Because Nanami is doing exactly that.

“You’re not good f’me-” he draws a greedy thumb over your clit in tight, methodical circles. Pressing sweet peck after peck on your sagging open lips, “You have- no idea- how I- hah- was holdin’ back all this time.”

Each squelching thrust has the pool of cum and your saturated slick expanding ever-wider. Drenching into the once-fresh sheets, your skin, forming a creamy ring around his heft base. It stands out so starkly against the neat patch of blond and his red, red shaft.

“Seein’ you walking around the office in those godforsaken short skirts.” he growls, sharp gaze honing in on the mess of fabric in tatters on the floor. “Havin’ those interns making eyes at you- Meanwhile I couldn’t even fuck my cute wife.” All those frustrations he’s channeling into his hips, fucking you deeper and deeper into the bed, you swear in the morning you’d be able to see the markings of his tight balls against your ass, his v-line against your thighs. “All because of some shitty project I couldn’t give less of a shit about.”

“S’almost- hah-” you’re hiccuping when his thumb strokes even harder, matching his lewd pace. “-s’almost over anyway. And I al-already filed the-”

“My love…” Nanami gently cuts in, just quelling your worried excuses with another jittering ram of his hips. Pressing expertly into where he already knew would make you squeal. “-this cockblocking project is the last thing I wan’ hear about right now-” He’s sucking gently on your lips in a sloppy kiss - his favorite type - “-I’d much prefer to finally hear you cum-”

And this was so unlike your dear husband.

He was never this rough when throwing your legs over his broad shoulders, not giving you anything but a second to adjust before bending down, down, down to fold you into the meanest mating press possible. Never this hoarse with his words, wrenching out of his shot throat with each bludgeoning push into your cunt. Just ravaging you from the inside out.

Soon enough, it gets too much.

And Nanami’s pants turn into heaves, his pressurized cadence turn into nothing more than languid, sloppy ruts back and forth back and forth back and-

“K-Ken-” Your fingers find their way to his tie again - pulling so hard that it makes him lightheaded. So tight it cuts a red indent into his golden skin. “M’so close-”

You’d heard about the type of orgasms so sudden that you don’t even realize you’re having them. Because no sooner are the words out of your mouth that you’re cumming. So hard, so aggressive, even that Nanami has to bite back his own groans.

Head falling backwards at how almost-difficult it was to drive into your snug cunt now, velvety walls constricting with pleasure. Milking him so fucking good- “Yeah- yeah fuck, choke me. Choke me while you cum, darling.”

In a split-second, the pads of Nanami’s fingers on your clit shove themselves between your lips. The honeyed cum and slick pooled thickly in a candied coat that makes you throb.

“That s’for not hngh! telling me sooner about the project almost being done. And this-” It’s followed by a gentle peck to your forehead, and an absolutely not gentle twitch of his weepy cock inside you. His fingers tighten inside your mouth, yours tighten around his tie, “-is for all the overtime m’gonna hafta make up for.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 8 days

It’s been too long - way too long. A week- fuck, maybe more?

Geto doesn’t know, can’t even think right now with the way each and every slow, smooth glissade of your puffed-up pussy down his long shaft have him losing his mind let alone his train of thought. Gritting his teeth, he tugs even tighter around the cool leather restrain pinning him down to the plush bed, “Th-this has already gone on for a week- hngh- don’t you think that’s enough teasing, gorgeous?”

Fuck him and his stubborn streak.

“Over a week of you giving me the cold shoulder, Sugu?” Oh your saccharine sweet hum is enough for the curve of his cock to twitch up. Bumping lewdly against your clit, “I think m’being more than generous.”

Your leader’s dark brows knit even deeper in frustration, the need bleeding into those heaving shudders of his. “Aww, c-come on—” And if you didn’t know any better you’d have said that Geto Suguru was whining - whining. The headboard rattles loudly when he pulls, “Y’know I didn’t mean it- was jus’ a lil’ lesson because y’d-didn’t finish your duties as my second-in-command. I already give you ‘nough pretty privilege, don’t I?”

“Oh yeah?” you’re huffing, leaning forward until he gets the perfect view of your perky tits. Geto can’t help the way his tongue lolls out to suckle gently on your nipples. Handsome cheeks hollowing out with each swirling movement. “And I’m gonna give you a muzzle next if you don’t stop running that mean mouth.”

Shit, Geto blames it on not having you for a while now - fuck this sex ban - because he can already feel his weepy cock gush out in a fresh coat of syrupy precum. Steamy and sticky between your thighs, it was almost fucking embarrassing.

“Yes, ma’am.” he gasps out, sounding as disoriented as you looked right now. There’s a candied string of spit between his glossed-over lips and your tits that snaps around his almost leering smile. “Anything for you.”

If you felt his admission was mocking, then you didn’t say anything. And Geto was so fucking thankful, because just then you’re positioning his achy cock right at your slobbering entrance. Coating down his angry, angry shaft in your sweet juices before sinking down - slowly. So, so torturously slow.

“Fuck!” Geto’s biting his lip when your silky soft walls give an experimental squeeze, tugging the rest of him even deeper into your tight channel. Throwing his head back, lazily - this was heaven. “I’m so- C-can’t you hurry-”

“Nope.” you grin, popping the “p”. Your gyrating hips falter into stillness, until your filthy cunt’s just barely cockwarming him at this point. Hands ghosting up his flexing abs, the plans of his bulging pecs, up, up, up until they wrap so prettily around Geto’s milky throat. “Why dontcha do it yourself since you want it so bad, hm?”

Ah, he’s in love.

“Anything for you.”

Jaw tensing, his eyes are locked on the way your pussy lips part around him. Straddled and sat so prettily on top of him, he’s planting his feet onto the silken sheets without a second thought. Long fingers intertwining deftly with the chain on those cuffs, leveraging you just right and-

Snap!

Both of you gasp in surprised synchronization when those expensive handcuffs - custom-made, mind you - shred easily. Raising your eyes to look at Geto and- oh, fuck. You were fucked.

“That wasn’t on the plan but…” his dark eyes glint with such a predatory spark, plump lips curling into an easy smirk. He soothes over the stinging red where he’d been held, greedy gaze locked on you. And only you. “...neither was havin’ my cute lil’ assistant tie me up, hm?”

In all of two seconds, you’re just being slammed down onto the hard ridges of Geto’s defined hipbones. Bruises sure to blossom up on your skin when his two rough palms grab a ravenous handful of your ass. Reeling your pliant body up, up, up till the very tip of his velvety cock kissed teasingly at your hole, and down.

“O-oh!” Your hands come down to his sculpted chest, skin heated against his soft puffs of breath. And it’s just about all you can manage to get out, mouth salivating at all of the thick inches of him filling you up, so dreadfully bullying with his thrusts.

“Shit- shit shit shit, fuckin’ missed this. Must’ve had a lotttt of fun hngh! playing around with your leader, huh?” Geto lingers in hot pecks at the corners of your eyes, tasting the salty sting of your tears. “Treatin’ me like I was second-in-command. Did it get you wet, gorgeous?”

He’s leaning back to get a better view of the way your pussy was being split open, glistening and winking up at him. “Yeahhh, it sure did- jus’ look at you. You’ve been hating this petty sex ban as much as I have.”

Just the thought is enough to have whatever blood is left in his body to rush even more feverishly into his painful cock. Bulbous tip blushing a rosy red, his ravaged cock gushes sensitively with hot precum after so long, growing even girthier inside you.

You’re whining at the feeling of your already-contracted walls being stretched even more like elastic around him. “I- I did-”

He fucks out whatever poor cry is on the tip of your tongue with a harsh thrust, arching into a perfect curve of his body against yours.

“Awww, I know, pretty girl. I know–” Geto soothes, gliding away your glossy pout with his thumb, before pressing such a tauntingly sweet sweet kiss. “N’ we’ve gotta make up for th-those hah! eight days, right?” At your barely-lucid nod, he only grins wider. Fuck yeah, he missed this. And he’s never letting you out of his sight. “And afterward- we can talk about a little ah- promotion, how about that?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 2 days

“Just the tip.” Choso’s hushing hotly against your ear later into the night, eyes double-checking at his locked door before rutting his hot, hefty erection against the globes of your ass. “Just the- hah- tip, baby please. Feels like m’gonna die if I don’t get just a feel of your cute cunt already.”

It’s only been two days visiting his family, and Choso feels like he’s just about ready to burst. All those soft moments babying his little brother, those stupid lil’ jokes from his uncle about adding another Itadori to the family - they were swirling up inside his hazy mind and flowing straight to his achy cock. Rock-hard and leaking saturated precum all over the back of your soft cotton sleep shorts.

Choso wanted you - and he wanted you now.

“Baby…” his drowsy kiss drags along your lips. A calloused hand comes up under your leg to slot his achy cock between them, rubbing and grinding in smooth, slow gyrations. Shuddering, “Don’t care if we’re loud I- hah- r-really just wanna fuck a baby into ya.”

“Shh shhh, go ahead, Cho.” you giggle, whirling over your shoulder to teasingly peck at the tip of his nose. “But jus’ the tip, m’kay?”

Your sweet boyfriend’s nodding before you’re even finishing your sentence, not having the patience to even take your pajamas off. Just hooking a long, pale finger along the side of the fabric, throwing his head back against the pillows to take an even close look at the gloss of slick sticking to your inner thighs.

“O-oh, baby. My baby–” his deep voice cracks. Biting back guttural groans when the very flushed thick tip of his cock dips so perfectly around the corner of your sopping slit. Frantically, he claps a hand over his loud moans, “Just…just the tip. Right?”

Whether he was asking you or whether he was asking himself you have no idea. Because Choso wasn’t wasting even a millisecond more, he’s rubbing in velvety glides at your swollen folds. So dripping wet that it takes him a few whimpering grinds to bully his fat head at your hole without sliding right across. Slowly.

“Shit- missed this. J-juuust-” he’s heavily panting, kissing down your spine with each inch after fucking inch massaging inside your gummy walls. Throbbing heavily because shit, it might not have been long - but it’s felt like forever. “-the- the-”

Choso’s blabbering words only slur out even more through the gaps in his fingers, honeyed tone becoming more simpering. And you could count the hitches in his breath, the shake in his thighs when he’s disappearing between your legs. After not having you for a whole two days, he was pussydrunken already.

“Something wrong, baby?” you purr, tugging on his long strands of hair, now damp with sweat. “You look tense.”

“Tense?” Choso gasps, voice pitched up higher than usual with disbelief. “Wh-what are you ah- shit, don’ squeeze me like that- what are you t-talking about, m’not tense.”

But your smug smirk only tugs wider at the jittery way his free hand locks onto the small of your waist. Pushing and pulling in a sultry pace, massaging your snug channel with the upwards curving divot on the very tip of his cock. Feeling just the very peak of that prominent vein he has down his creamy middle.

“Are you sure?” you hum, hearing him outwardly gulp. And you know that you should go a little easy on him - your poor boyfriend did just spend the entire weekend being cockblocked by his family, after all. You know you should be mindful of the soft creaking of the bed, the ever-growing groans wrenching from Choso. “I would much rather you just-” Your nails leave ravaged red trails down his milky thighs “-breed me the way you’ve been wanting to these past two days, Cho.”

Oh, Choso could cry, he could moan, he could cum.

And - tears pricking at his dewy, dark eyes, cheeks burning with embarrassment - that’s exactly what he does. You’re letting out a mewl at the feeling of Choso’s sweltering hot tip just gliding across the spongy bottom of your cervix. Glossing over your insides with a thick coat of his cum, dredge after dredge of creamy white that fill you up so much. Seeping down through the corners of your sloppy hole and forming a milky ring around the tufts of black at his hilt. “Fuck- fuck m’blamin’ being cockblocked from this heavenly pussy f’this.”

“Fuck! Wasn’t even that long, Cho. I can ah- feel you all the way-” Your fingers slide up to about halfway at your stomach, pressing down on that familiar nudging divot, “-here.”

That’s all it takes for his weepy cock to just gush more spurts of seed again. Again and again and again- Immediately, his large hand covers your mouth, fully muffling those pretty moans.

“F-fuck, pretty- m’y dad is j-just hah- the door over.” he’s almost bawling out, hips uncontrolled with the way he’s rutting up in deep, thorough pushed of his slender hips. “So loud.” But Choso makes no move to quieten either of you. Crashing his lips into yours to let your sweetened moans vibrate away into his mouth, heavy balls smacking against your skin in a heady thwack! thwack! thwack! “So messy.”

You feel so sluggish being stuffed to the very brim like this, limbs aching with how close Choso was pinning you back against his muscled chest. There’s only so much that your cunt can take before it’s spreading out into a messy puddle below you two, adding to the gripping squelches. Shit, you two were definitely facing hell tomorrow - namely, a too-smug Sukuna.

“Baby…” Choso drags out, in a way you already knew didn’t bode well. Two of his fingers swipe at the mess beading out, “Since m’being so loud…why don’t I busy my mouth with something else?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 5 hours (but he won’t admit it)

That pretty pout of yours was too irresistible, the way you’d kissed him goodbye too sultry - Sukuna knew your game.

And here - teeth gritted, thighs bouncing in frustration under the table, anger flaring when his court meeting drags onto around the fifth consecutive hour - he also knew he was playing right into it.

Yeah, fuck that.

Which is why there isn’t even a shred of regret in his smirk when he finally reaches his breaking point - a click of his fingers and he’s no longer in the royal meeting room. Instead, nestling up to your side at his chambers, smothered amongst all the expensive silken sheets.

Not even the tiniest speck of embarrassment in his next words to you, “On all fours, brat.”

“Kuna- you’re back- fuuuck-” your honeyed moans sound out over the way he had one large hand smushing you deeper and deeper into the cushiony pillows. “-you’re back e-early?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t have anything to hngh! do with it, woman.” he spits, and the mattress dips when he’s hiking up a powerful thigh. Using the leverage to pressurize each jarring, determined little half-thrust inside your gaping hole. “Teasing n’ toying with your king. You’re hah- r-real brave for a lil’ human y’know that?”

You’re whining, “A-all it took was f-five hours of a sex ban-”

Another one of his big, beefy arms swipe down your arched spine, dipping down to spread open your puffed-up folds even more. “Silence.”

So what if the king of curses couldn’t last five hours without your pretty pussy? Was that a crime?

The vice-like grip on your head was forcing your bleary gaze down to where he was feeding your cunt with each of his massive inches. Two absolutely engorged cocks with twin reddish tips, glossing all over your poor entrance with matching gushes of hot precum. Just barely even halfway in - but you could already feel him bulging at your very stomach. “Heh…wouldya look at that. Didn’t even prep her as much as u-usual and she’s already this ready to take me. Are ya always such a slut?”

You can’t stop yourself from bowing even deeper into his hold, the upwards curve of your spine pushing you even closer to his stacked bases.

“Answer me.” His deep baritone snaps you out of your little haze, and two hands prop you even closer. You could feel every heated gust of his words against the shell of your ear, “Speak, if you don’ wanna displease your king, little human.”

And oh Sukuna can’t deny that stirring pride in his chest when your jumbled-out words spill out, body trembly, needy - but still so eager to please him.

“I- I just-” Your breath hitches wetly in your chest when one of his four hulking arms dip downwards, toying with your swollen clit between two thick fingers. It takes a branding smack! to the fat of your ass to remember what you were trying to say again. “-just knew I was gonna miss you at the meeting today, Kuna.”

And if the way he jolted inside you wasn’t an answer - the raw divots of his cocks jostling inside you to crash into your g-spot - Sukuna gasps - gasps. Voice so simperingly silken when he asks, “You missed me?”

You’re nodding - but that isn’t enough for him, fuck it might never be.

In retaliation, your pussy is being gifted with another few of his long thrusts. Two hands tightening roughly around your waist to keep his pretty girl from escaping.

“Like I said- u-use your hngh- words, doll.” Followed by such a mean bump of both rounded curves of his fat cockheads against your g-spot, making you cry out in your sweetened voice that he loved so much. “Clearly you’ve still got the voice, heh-”

The royal bed is creaking so loudly that Sukuna has half the mind to wonder whether the fools in the meeting room not too far away could hear. Ah, fuck them. Right now he couldn’t care less about anything other than you.

“I did miss you.” you’re mewling, big fat tears pricking at your eyes each time he’s drilling in. “Missed you so much, Kuna.”

There’s a sudden, sloppy squelch! And before you know it, he’s buried all the way in until the sensitive skin of your ass rubbed rawly against those rough patches of pink at his toned pelvis, Sukuna’s heavy balls kissing snugly against your thighs.

“Ahh–” he’s heaving out, while you can do nothing but scramble towards the headboard, the sheets, anything. Peaking in the thumb rolling over your clit to take a good, long look at how your stuttering pussy was so obscenely stretched and molded around his cocks, all the way down to those ringed tattoos on his thick bases. Gapingly full. Doubly sucking him up. “Fuck the sex ban- beats that stupid fuckin’ meeting tha’s for sure.”

And you didn’t know whether it was possible to forget how big Sukuna truly was in just five hours. Because his every throb only seems to drive him even deeper against your cervix, thickening so maddeningly to stretch out your insides.

“Yeah yeah- atta girl. Take it all- fuck, take it all f’me.” He croons through your high, squelching movements only speeding up. There’s an element of such raw, primal need in what he does, like he’s just dragging out every dredge of pleasure out of you. You’re just gulping when a hand makes its way into your black-tinged vision, wrapping snugly around your throat to pull you backwards against his every ram. “Now, let’s see if this pretty pussy can squirt before they come around tryna find me for the meeting.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - 15 minutes

“Sweetheart-” Gojo whines, rosy lips downturning into the most perfect pout you’d ever seen. “Sweetheart please- I know I was-”

“Stupid? Impulsive?” you’re rolling your eyes, despite the vice-like hold he had on you. Sitting you down so prettily on his lap, manspread as far as his office chair would allow him. “An absolute idiot?”

Fuck, at that last insult, Gojo’s cock only hardens impossibly inside your gummy walls. Marking out each and every divot and vein down his furious shaft, he throws his head back with a groan at the taut feeling of your clingy walls being stretched all around him.

“Seriously?” you’re gasping, to which he only curls his lips up into the most unabashed grin.

Not even a moment later, he’s bouncing his thighs, jostling you precariously on top of his frame. It makes your hips just squeeze downwards in smooth, swiveling gyrations that massage his throbbing cockhead. “Aw come on- I take back what I said about No Nut November can we just-”

“Yeah? After what-” Your eyes dart over your shoulder towards the clock at the very end of the room, “-fifteen minutes? You dragged me all the way out of a meeting after only that? Come on, Toru, you’ve gotta make to at least twenty-”

“Please.”

You’re pausing in surprise, and that’s the last thing that Gojo wanted right about now. So with a huffed-out groan, he’s back to placing two greedy palms that smooth over the curve of your hips, up and down up and down. Soothing you over for when he just rams you down recklessly on his achy cock.

He bites up the column of your neck, all the way up to that sweet spot at your earlobe. “Already said the magic word, didn’t I?” Before using all of his inhuman core strength to bounce you all the way down in another thorough thrust. “What? Wan’ me to say pretty please, my girl?”

The strongest was just begging at your feet, because laced with his tease was a very real, nervous tremor. Voice lilting up higher than normal, drunken eyes darting between your own and the very obvious little grind of his pulsing length.

Buried so brandingly inside you, like he wanted to make you memorize him from the inside out. Body bowed into yours like it hurt to be apart more than just a few millimeters, he was stuck against your side. Only pushing deeper and deeper and-

“I’ll- I’ll make it to twenty minutes next time-” he giggles deliriously, already tinged with such smugness. “Maybe even thirty- please- please just’, fuck- need your cute cunt.”

And you were a strong sorcerer in your own right - but seated like this, Gojo definitely had the advantage. He was still so much taller, so much broader, muscles rippling through the thin fabric of his black t-shirt. Biceps bulging out with each stuttering slam into your hips, it’s like he wanted to be as sloppy as possible.

To have your cunt drooling down every inch of his angry, red cock glistening a sweet sweet coat of juices with every single squelch. It drips down from where your skirt was bunched up, down onto the wooden floors. Shit, you definitely weren’t going back to the meeting like this.

“So wet, huh?” He smiles, a snowy brow rising at the sight. And Gojo’s tall frame sags even deeper down his steadfast chair to get an even better long, swallowing deeply. “Damn- you’re makin’ me so thirsty, sweetheart.”

You smack his chest, “S-so filthy, Toru.” But you can’t hide the slight moan in your scolding, the way your clit grows even more heated - and he notices, of course.

“I got you- I got you, girl.” He rolls an eager thumb right over where you wanted him the most, bringing a kiss over towards the underside of your jaw, your cheeks, your mouth. “N’ of course m’ filthy- what’d you expect?” Gojo’s free hand occupies itself with guiding your cunt down at a maddening pace. Squelching so loud that times like this he was thankful for six eyes, for all the amplified sounds of your huffs and cunt clamping down around his girthy cock. His next words are whispered against your tongue, “M’the fucker that couldn’t last fifteen minutes without your pretty pussy, of course.”

He’s not even waiting to ask at this point - he��s already lost, he’s already broken the sex ban but fuck, did defeat feel so sweet.

There’s a stuttering squelch, your slick glossing down his entire wrist when Gojo’s fingers sped up on your poor clit. Circling and tugging teasingly, his fingers were so deftly making you writhe.

It simply makes your toes curl, white-hot pleasure sparking behind your eyes with each unwavering clash into your g–spot. And if you were in any better state of mind, you’d be almost embarrassed at how it only takes a few clamoring rummages at your insides, a few steadfast thrusts right into the bullseye of your sweet spots, before you’re cumming and cumming so hard it makes you gasp.

“Fuck-” Your nails dig ferociously into Gojo’s strong wrist, stationed on one side of your waist, fucking downwards to meet his sloppy staccato. “Fuck fuck fuck- m’cumming- m’cumming, Toru–”

“Heh, easy girl.” he jests, dragging his plump lips down the sensitive side of your neck. “Made fun of me f’being so needy but look at you.” Running his pretty mouth a mile a minute, you could tell he’s nearing the end of his sanity, as well. Each sensitive twitch of his long shaft massaging deeper and deeper into your g-spot. “Cum f’me then- fuck- cumming- cum.”

Your velvety walls are just milking each of his gummy thrusts, gripping onto you through each and every wave of pleasure. Bolts of electricity zap through your veins, and Gojo’s flinging his eyes shut, mouth parting to groan out your name with each spurt of his thick, potent cum. Over and over-

“Fuck- fuck, yeah tha’s right.” he slurs, a hand just slamming down on his nearby desk. Like he wanted to break. To ruin. Whispering against your ear, “Now how about we go a few more times to see if I can make twenty minutes without this pretty pussy next time?”

“Thirty.”

“Deal.”

A/N. Hope y’all have a lovely lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

11K notes · View notes

welostheplot · 15 days ago

Text

── stream sniped

a one-shot about streamer!ellie falling for a random influencer who wants nothing to do with her (except she actually does).

content: streamer!ellie x influencer!reader, modern au, strangers to lovers, ellie's down bad, so is reader you’re just better at hiding it, twitch chat/discord sever/titkok comment antics (that were a bitch to write ngl), MDNI 18+, fingering (r!receiving), oral sex (e!receiving), there's like a splash of meta during the smut that made me giggle when deciding to include it, reader described as having a clit

word count: 5.6k

author's note: so this is where i reveal myself as having quite a bit of knowledge about streaming/gaming/chronic online-ness in general. also, does this count as loser!ellie? am i part of the gang?! anyways, i hope you enjoy!

twitch.tv/smellie — LIVE: we're soooooo back 😤 !discord !drops

“alright, alright,” ellie muttered, dragging a hand down her face as she leaned toward her second monitor. “let’s do today’s discord submissions. i’ve been skipping out on them because you guys have been fucking weird lately, so... don’t make me regret this.”

her camera’s a little off-center—she obviously just rolled out of bed, the unmade sheets still visibly rumpled in the background, and her hair's clearly unbrushed beyond probably a haphazard comb through with her fingers.

ghostpeekr: !!!!!!!! tryqt: BE NICE ELLIE elliesdischarge: i just sent a pic of my cat meow for her rn whiffytiffany: is she playing with chat members for fortnite tonight???? elliethrows4me: dude make your bed.

ellie sighed, already regretting everything. “i never make my bed, you guys know this by now” she grumbled, clicking into her discord anyway. the #stream-submissions channel lit up immediately. “alright. what are we working with today…”

she scrolled through hundreds of chats, stopping at the ones with the most reactions. first up was a photo of someone’s dog.

she squinted. “this is your… dog?” it’s a tiny, wet-looking chihuahua wrapped in a blanket like a human baby.

“that’s—okay, listen, i’m sure she’s very sweet. but she looks like kind of like a maggot? why the fuck are her eyes doing that.”

lootsluttt: LMFAOOOO v4nitymirror: SHE’S MY BABY ellieclips: you’re the maggot-looking one actually. princessp3ach: UR GOING TO HELL

she kept scrolling.

“okay, next up—dinner pic. we’ve got noodles, veggies… chicken? that’s chicken, right?” she tilted her head. “yeah, okay. this looks gas. eight out of ten. presentation is questionable, but i’d eat it.”

nerfventure: W DINNER flick_n_trick: it’s pad thai dumbass ecam96: NOT U CALLING IT UGLY NotElliesAlt: u’d eat anything tho

ellie glanced at chat and snorted. “okay, but i’m a growing girl, i’ve got a big appetite!”

elliesdischarge: i got something you can eat message deleted by a moderator. dusty_diamond: RATE MY SETUP PLSSSS I JUST POSTED IT sandydunez: okay so where’s the growing part tho?

next post. it was a tiktok.

she paused. “okay, wait. is this gonna get me banned like the last time?”

the video started playing anyway. one of those dramatic thirst edits. saweetie’s my type blasted in the background, and a slideshow began: a list titled in giant capital letters:

“THE HOTTEST WOMEN ON THE PLANET — RANKED.”

ellie raised a brow. “mmmkay. hot women, my specialty. let’s see who made the cut.”

#5 was some instagram model. she nodded approvingly. “valid…”

#4 was a streamer she knew—kind of annoying in real life. she wrinkled her nose. “mid. there’s better streamers out there, you know. ones that might be on your screen. like…right now. i dunno, just saying.”

#3 was that girl from a CW show that everyone insisted was underrated.

#2 was a picture of asami from nickolodeon’s the legend of korra.

she looked at the camera. “okay, but, like…deadass, why am i not on here? this one’s not even a real person?”

leilaniiii: GIRL BE FR nonbinarybullets: 💀💀💀 elliesyumyum: ur like top 17 at best tima0911: not everything is about you smelly.

she flipped off the camera, a grin tugging at her mouth. “you guys have no taste.”

and then—#1.

the music swelled. the tiktok cut to a clip of you.

it was casual, not even a thirst trap—just you in a tank top and sweats, talking to your chat, laughing at something off screen. it was one of those clips where someone was effortlessly attractive without trying, and ellie immediately leaned closer to her screen.

she blinked. “who even is that?”

whiffytiffany: NO WAY mikuirl: THAT’S MOTHER maybemaddie: HER @ IS pastaluvrrr NotElliesAlt: ELLIE BE SERIOUS

ellie’s brows pulled together, genuinely confused. “i’ve literally never seen her in my life. also her user is literally pasta lover. i’m supposed to be impressed?”

usuallylurkin: L + RATIO + SHE'S HOTTER THAN U ellieclips: ur username is smellie btw paine_45: she's like famous famous slaystation_: SHE’S SO GFFFF

she waved a dismissive hand and clicked off the video.

“never heard of her,” she muttered, already loading up fortnite. “anyways. queueing up squads. if you stream snipe and don’t let me win, you’re getting banned.”

it took approximately four hours.

four hours between ellie squinting at your face on stream and someone from her chat catching her lurking in your comment section.

the tiktok in question wasn’t even that serious. you’d filmed yourself in your bathroom mirror, hair half up, wearing one of those off-the-shoulder baggy t-shirts, mouthing along to some audio.

and right there, in the comments section, was ellie’s account:

@ smellie: “wait she’s kinda bad tho”

of course, one of her viewers immediately took a screenshot before ellie even had the chance to delete it. not that she would’ve. but still.

by midnight, the screenshot had already gone viral.

a photo post popped up on for you pages everywhere, featuring a zoomed-in screenshot of the comment with saweetie playing again in the background (naturally). the caption read:

“i think ellie figured out who she was.”

it had 70k likes within the hour.

and, of course—you reposted it.

the comments on the post immediately flooded with:

“OMG SHE REPOSTED” “not ellie switching up so fast” “ellie back up SHE’S MINE”

meanwhile, ellie’s discord exploded.

#general was moving so fast, the mods were genuinely worried:

smelly mod #7: sooooo @ smellie we saw the tiktok 😭

within minutes, ellie herself was typing.

smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: GUYS chill out omg smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: you’re literally blowing my street cred smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: also there was NOTHING wrong with what i said. she’s fine asf. i was simply making an observation

naturally, no one let her breathe.

ashieee: street cred????? wizard bupple: what streets u live in wyoming cuh ellie's gf #real #actually: remember when u didn’t know or care who she was

ellie attempted damage control.

smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: okay FIRST OF ALL, wyoming can get scrappy. i have plenty of cred. smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: and SECOND OF ALL. y’all clipped me out of context smelly mod #2: you literally said “who even is that” allyson.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱: in 4k babe. we got u in 4k

at some point, she just gave up.

smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: i hate all of you smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: ok but if someone made very hot, sexy romantical edits of us tg i’d probably hate you a little less smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: #otp?! 🥺

smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: new drop just landed. ur welcome 😎 tiktok.com/smellie

it was… a thirst trap.

or her version of one, which meant it was shot in her kitchen with bad lighting and camera half-tilted, lip-syncing to some dumb audio while wearing a backwards hat.

before her regulars could even start roasting her for it, someone had already forwarded the message from #announcements to #general with a reply:

pastalover: nobody’s watching ts 🤣

the server went feral.

laffey ʚɞ: HELLO???? marisol (she/they): EXCUSE ME??? ellie's shift key: you mean to tell me she has been here the whole time??? smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: YOU’RE IN HERE??????

ellie immediately direct messaged you.

smellie: you’ve been lurking like a freak smellie: you didn’t even say hi smellie: and THAT’S what you break the silence with??? pastalover: be grateful i even watched it enough to know it was cringe

and then, a day later, you went live.

a rare event. your streams weren’t regular—more like when you were bored and felt cute. your overlay was minimal. just chat, a little corner cam, and non-copyrighted lofi in the background.

you were doing a get ready with me stream, mid-eyeliner, when you glanced over at chat and smirked.

"yes, i saw ellie’s most recent tiktok. yes, i wish i hadn’t.” you said, voice lazy with disinterest. “she’s, like, obsessed with me.”

topnoodle44: MY OLD MARRIED COUPLE 🥰 0ping: BE SERIOUS ellieuseslightmode: ellie’s gonna faint altaccnumber26: she’s in chat rn btw iclutchforpastalover: she’s BEEN in chat

you paused.

“oh.” you looked at the camera with a raised brow. “she’s here? figures.”

ellie’s username popped up in chat two seconds later.

smellie: looking so good bestie 😳 smellie: drop the lip combo smellie: or come here and kiss me so i can try it on smellie: wait who said that-

you rolled your eyes. “i use a revlon lip liner in the shade mauve and then the elf lip oil in the shade jam session. not that these words would mean anything to you.”

smellie: blah blah blah. proper name, place name, backstory stuff.

you scoffed. “you’re unserious.”

mikuirl: just admit you kinda like her flirting maybemaddie: WAIT I LOVE THE ELF LIP OILS WE’RE SO TWINNINGGGG NotElliesAlt: ellie barely remembers chapstick LMAO chousey203: i can’t tell if you curve her bc you hate her or bc you like her

“actually, i’m doing a public service. her ego needs balance.”

smellie: my ego’s doing fine. it’s my heart that’s in danger.

laughing, you leaned into the camera. “see? she’s like… weirdly committed to the bit.”

smellie: this isn’t a bit 🧍‍♂️

you stared at the chat, deadpan. “sooo, yeah. back to the tutorial. mods, can someone time ellie out for 300 seconds.”

smellie: WTF message deleted by a moderator.

the entire interaction was timestamped, clipped, and in about 15 different tiktoks within minutes.

twitch.tv/smellie — LIVE: carrying @ pastaluvrrr in fortnite

“okay,” ellie said confidently, leaning so excitedly forward into her mic her voice came out slightly fuzzy and bass-boosted, “fortnite is all about communication. precision. teamwork. and—most importantly—aura. follow my lead, you’ll be fine.”

“don’t you literally die first in every match?” you replied, sipping your drink without looking at the screen.

ellie scoffed. “i—okay, first of all, that’s slander. second of all, my KD ratio is… hold on…”

there was a pause as she scrambled to look it up.

“…okay, next topic” she mumbled after a beat. “ready up for me.”

ecam96: girl she gagged u elliesdischarge: ur trash but ur hot so it’s fine jmattsz: you’re both gonna get clapped in 2 minutes besosss: SHE SAID FOLLOW HER LEAD 😭

“wait,” you said as you readied up, “how do i do the little dance?”

ellie gasped. “oh my god. you don’t have any emotes.”

“i don’t play this game!”

“yeah, no kidding,” she muttered. “hold on. i’m gonna flex real quick.”

your screen suddenly showed her character cycling through a ridiculous line-up of skins—spider-man, ariana grande, peely in a tuxedo.

“i cannot believe you spend real life money on this shit,” you said flatly.

“hey! some of them are gifted, okay?”

“your chat literally hates you, babe. who is gifting you anything?”

“HEY.”

slaystation_: did i just hear "babe" 👀👀👀 macetotheface: she’s negging her ON STREAM ellieclips: ellie FIGHT BACK.

the game loaded in and she yelled at you to thank the bus driver like you had any idea how to do that or what she even meant. she picked some obscure landing spot and said “trust me” like she hadn’t already proven herself deeply untrustworthy.

you landed. broke open a chest. got a shotgun.

then immediately got shot in the back.

“oh my god,” you groaned. “ellie. help.”

ellie was halfway across the town, looting.

“you’re downed already?! hang on, hang on,” she said. “i’m coming. hey, don’t crawl away—wait.”

her character—bruno mars, she’d finally settled on—stood over you uselessly as the timer for the revive slowly ticked down.

“what are you waiting for, get me!”

“say please.”

“the fuck?”

“say 'pretty please with a cherry on top my most gracious streamer and fortnite carry god, ellie.'”

a beat.

you rolled your eyes, then smirked at the camera, clearing your throat and lilting breathily into your mic, “puhleeease, ellie?”

ellie stopped moving entirely, the tips of her ears going red in her grainy facecam. her character continued to stand there, unmoving.

“hello?” you prompted. “ellie?”

“sorry,” she said quickly, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears. “uhhhh.. got distracted by something.”

v4nitymirror: KEEP IT TOGETHER. looten_scooten: ellie.exe has stopped working elliethrows4me: she’s in love ur honor

she revived you with shaking hands and zero cover, getting absolutely lit up right after by a sniper.

“WHY DID YOU MAKE ME SAY THAT IF YOU WERE JUST GONNA DIE?”

“i panicked!!”

you cackled as the enemy finished her off, her reboot card popping up with all her loot (a grey pistol and a fishing pole).

and then—something strange happened.

as you ran to hide behind a tree, fully expecting to die immediately, two other players—clearly stream snipers—ran up to you. instead of killing you, they dropped guns. medkits. ammo. one of them started building a small base around your body like a protective little guard dog.

“ummm,” you said slowly, “are these… fans? what’s happening here”

“what the hell?” ellie said from the death screen. “they literally murdered me and are now… escorting you?”

one of the players' characters emoted and blew a kiss to you.

you laughed so hard you snorted a little. “babe. i think i have a fan club.”

“this is fuckin’ rigged,” ellie muttered. “i die first and you get princess treatment?”

you turned your character in a circle, doing a default dance in return for their affection.

“okay,” she said, “they’re banned. all of them. from chat. for life.”

boostedbytenshi: THEY’RE PROTECTING HER 😭😭😭 ayayayaim: reveal yourselves in chat this is too funny elliebutinallcaps: jealous!ellie i fear sandydunez: actual carrying. ellie could never.

you made it to the top five before your guards were finally overwhelmed and killed. you screamed as you got sniped out of a bush.

“so close,” you groaned, slumping back in your chair.

ellie sounded smug. “see? told you you needed me.”

you raised a brow. “i outlived you by, like, eight minutes.”

“semantics.”

twitch.tv/smellie — LIVE: IRL OVERCOOKED w/ baeee (pastaluvrrr)

ellie’s kitchen wasn’t exactly equipped for a baking stream. one of the cameras was actually just her laptop with a built-in cam propped up on a couple of books, the $19.99 two-pack of cheap amazon microphones left much to be desired, and someone—ellie—had forgotten to actually buy half the ingredients before you flew in.

nevertheless, the chat was buzzing at the concept of seeing you and ellie actually interacting together, in-person.

“okay,” ellie said, clapping flour-covered hands together despite the recipe not even calling for flour, “welcome to my kitchen. today we’re making… brownies.”

“from a box,” you added.

“from the heart,” she corrected, nudging your hip with hers.

NotElliesAlt: “brownies” is code for sesbian lex isn’t it usuallylurkin: HELLO? THAT HIP BUMP elliesyumyum: when are y’all just gonna make out

you glanced at the recipe on the back of the box and back at the counter.

“you didn’t preheat the oven.”

“i—” ellie looked down. “i forgot.”

“ellie.”

“i got distracted.”

“by what?”

she looked at you. you stared back.

chat was going a mile a minute despite being on slow-mode.

“riiiiight,” you said slowly, turning to grab a mixing bowl like your pulse wasn’t suddenly doing backflips. “anyways. dry ingredients.”

ellie poured in the bagged mix way too fast, a cloud of dust puffing out from the bowl making you both cough.

"careful, ellie."

she laughed, leaning in to read chat, her face taking up half of the camera.

"holy jumpscare, could you get any closer?"

ellieuseslightmode: back up WE'RE SCARED topnoodle44: where are her sweats from theyre so cute :00 elliethrows4me: can we start a prediction on whether or not they'll burn the brownies

she just laughed, her eyes continuing to skim through the messages. "where are the sweats from?" she leaned back, moving to tug on the waistband of the pants you were wearing, "these are actually from my highschool, funny enough."

you pressed your lips together in a thin line, giving her a look. you hadn't exactly planned on letting chat know you were wearing her clothes and they were about to have a field day with the information.

there was a pause. then she cleared her throat, turned back to the camera, and grinned, "and my shorts are from nike!"

"alright. moving on. can we actually bake now?" you opened a cabinet, scanned it. “where are the chocolate chips?”

“should be in the pantry.”

you walked over and gave the pantry a brief glance-over. not there. “can’t find it.”

“lemme help,” ellie said.

she followed you off-camera, into the pantry.

which would’ve been fine.

except you were really close in there. the shelves were shallow, the door was half-closed, and neither of you had thought to flip the switch outside that turned the lightbulb on.

“what are we looking for again?” she asked, a rustle of plastic punctuating her words.

“chocolate chips. i literally said that ten seconds ago.”

you glanced up as she pushed further into the pantry beside you, her shoulder bumping yours. she didn’t move.

“you found them yet?” she asked, not really looking at the shelves anymore.

“no,” you said, quieter than you meant to.

she turned her head. now she was looking at you.

you swallowed. “getting distracted again?”

her lips quirked into a small smile. “yeah.”

you nodded. "me too."

and then she kissed you.

it was sudden—soft and unsurprisingly clumsy, her hand brushing your waist as her other arm bumped into the baking powder and nearly knocked it off the shelf. your back hit the wall with a dull thud as she licked into your mouth.

and your clipped-on microphones were definitely still recording everything.

NotElliesAlt: HELLO??? tima0911: WHAT AM I HEARING RN tryqt: LIPS. ARE. SMACKING. elliesdischarge: holy makeout elliebutinallcaps: THE MICS ARE ON YOU IDIOTS

when you came back into frame, cheeks flushed and mouth definitely more swollen than it had been before, ellie trailed behind you with the chocolate chips in hand and the cockiest little smirk on her face.

you avoided eye contact with the camera.

“soooooo,” you said, voice slightly higher than usual, “we found them!”

“yep,” ellie said casually, “took some digging. but we got there.”

v4nitymirror: TOOK SOME DIGGING IS CRAZY jmattsz: i can't believe i said i'd gift 20 subs when they finally hooked up and it actually happened on stream.

you coughed. “oven’s ready.”

you leaned over the sink, dabbing at the last of your eyeliner smudge with a cotton round. your reflection stared back—cheeks still hot, lips a little too swollen.

behind you, ellie was half-sprawled across the bed, scrolling idly on her phone.

“you always take this long to wash your face?” her voice was soft. teasing, but not unkind.

you met her eyes in the mirror. “yes. i've made multiple tiktoks about my routine. and i know you've watched all of them.”

she laughed and didn’t deny it. just rolled over onto her back, one arm slung behind her head. “will you do some skincare on me?"

you flicked the faucet off and reached for a towel. “what am i, your servant?"

“you’re sleeping in my bed,” she pointed out, lazily. "you ought to be nice to me."

you turned, towel pressed to your chin. “you invited me.”

“i did,” she agreed. the look she gave you was unmistakable—open, fond, a little reverent.

you padded over and tossed the towel onto your overnight bag. the air between you crackled. ellie’s gaze tracked you the entire way.

she scooted over. you climbed in beside her.

there was a pause. your shoulder brushed hers. then, her fingers found your wrist under the covers, a gentle tap like a question.

you turned to face her. “you gonna be annoying if i kiss you again?”

her smile was slow and stupid and something close to relieved. “probably.”

you kissed her anyway.

this one lasted longer. and the next, even longer. not rushed, not frantic—just deliberate. exploratory. like neither of you were in a hurry now that the door had been opened.

her hand found your thigh. your knee nudged between hers.

she pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against yours. voice low, barely more than a breath: “i really like you.”

you blinked. something in your chest cracked open.

“yeah?” you whispered.

she nodded, eyes searching yours. “yeah. like… not just for streams or clips or whatever. i mean it.”

you smiled, soft and crooked. “good,” you said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. then to her jaw. “'cause i kinda really like you too," you muttered, continuing to press wet, open-mouthed kisses down her neck.

she let herself sink back into the pillows as you shifted to straddle her, hands coming up to rest on your waist. "t-that's.... that's good. perfect. ideal, honestlaaah fuck—" the grip she had on your hipbones grew tighter as you sucked at a particularly sensitive spot on her collarbone.

"you've got such a way with words, smellie."

"fuck off," she breathed out. "don't bring up stream shit when you're in bed with me."

"whatcha gonna do about it?"

she grunted, sliding one of her hands in between both of you to wiggle it underneath your sleep shorts. you gasped, feeling her fingers press up against the wet cotton of your underwear. "that. i'm gonna do that."

you reached down to grip her wrist and re-direct her hand so she was actually touching you beneath the fabric, "well, do a little more."

she groaned, her fingers sliding through the slick that met her there. "fuuuck, that's hot. guiding my hands 'n shit."

you huffed out a laugh that melded into a moan as her fingers fell into a quick pace, tight circles on your clit. "why are you— oh shit justlikethatyeah.." you gulped in a breath before continuing, "why are you fuckin' narrating our hookup right now?"

the angle was a little awkward and she could feel something in her wrist clicking with every swirl of her fingers but she would rather keel over and croak than stop right now.

the pain was irrelevant. especially when you were sitting up slightly to slide your t-shirt up and off and grab desperately at your own tits, manicured thumbs flicking nipples gone taut from the sudden temperature change.

and when you whined out a "fuuuck, ellie!" all tight and wiry and even better than she'd imagined on countless nights alone in that same bed with her hands shoved beneath her boxers, she couldn't help but nuzzle her head clumsily at your chest, nudging your hand away from your right breast with her forehead so she could replace your tugging fingers with her mouth.

your hips jerked forward and the now-free hand latched onto her shoulder for balance as you cried out, her lips pulling and teeth nicking just slightly before she soothed the peak with soft laps of her tongue.

"you like 'em played with, huh?" you could feel the vibration of her mumbling against the flesh of your boob.

"stop fucking talking, ellie. this is sex, not one of those slutty fanfictions people have been writing about us." you punctuated your words with fast firm rolls of your hips, now grinding your puffy clit into her palm as she fucked two long fingers steadily into you.

"yeah, well there's gonna be a whole lot more of those after that little stunt we pulled on stream earlier."

"i thought you said no stream talk in bed— ohhh, oh god. shit— fuck, 'm close."

"yeah? you gonna cum for me?" she was panting, damp puffs of air against your nipple interrupted occasionally by a haphazard suck or nibble. her wrist—aching by now—swiveled as her began to curl her fingers inside of you with purpose, the heel of her hand rubbing firmly against you.

"keep goin'— fuck keep talkin' to me. please don't stop."

"thought you wanted me to shut up? thought you said this wasn't some smutty one-shot, huh?"

the hand gripping her shoulder slid around to the base of her neck. you grabbed purchase on the short hairs there, tugging as she whimpered into you. "ellie if you don't talk me through it right now i sweartogod—"

"alright, alright! i gotcha, baby. cum for me. thaaaaat's it."

a loud moan punched out of you. “shit—fuck— 'm cumming.” your other palm left your own chest to clasp over your mouth in an attempt to muffle your sounds and she quickly moved the hand that was urging your twitching hips to grab your wrist and pull it away.

"hey, none of that. talking is encouraged now, remember?

"shut up." you gritted out through a groan, your hips jerking as your teeth caught on your bottom lip.

"alright, nevermind. not encouraged. copy that."

you tugged on her hair again to mash your lips together, effectively silencing her and sagging bonelessly against her as you came down from your high.

when the both of you finally parted, you looked down to see her mouth slack, head tilted back, and eyes so hazy you'd think she was the one who just came.

she blinked blearily up at you. "you're even bossier in bed than you are regularly. it's so sexy."

"if i hadn't told you to shut up so many times already, i would say it again."

she laughed out loud at that and you couldn't help but giggle back.

"how about i shut you up instead, yeah? put that mouth to work?"

you learned very quickly that she tended to be kind of squirmy when she was on the receiving end. it was as if she was unable to sit still in the onslaught of pleasure. honestly, it modeled how she was normally, always kind of twitchy and buzzing with energy.

you knew on future nights, you were going to revel in the experience of holding her down, pinning bucking hips to the mattress or firming your grasp on shaking thighs to keep them spread apart.

tonight, instead, you basked in the push and pull, chasing her with your mouth when she wriggled away and groaning in pleasure when she tugged you closer by your hair.

and when you slipped into a particularly good rhythm, hollowing your cheeks with every perfect pull of her clit into your mouth and lashing your tongue at the swollen nub, her hands scrambled to find purchase on something. anything. your sex-mussed hair, unraveled from the neat up-do you had put it in to prepare for bed. your bare, sweat-damp shoulders. and, finally, the perpetually messy sheets below her.

her left leg kicked out and she dug her heel into the mattress for leverage to thrust her hips up and up and up into you, her lower half rising so high you had to pull her by her bony hipbones back down so you could maintain the suction.

"fuuuh– ah, shit. i think i'm gonna—" she was propped up on her elbows now, fluttering eyes focused on you with a desperate gleam to them.

you worked her over with your mouth earnestly, keeping steady eye contact as she lifted a trembling hand, moving as if she was going to pull your head closer, bury your face even deeper in her.

but then those same eyes rolled back into her skull as she flopped back down, the hand falling to grip the sheets once again.

"fuck'mgonnacumbaby" she garbled out and the sight of her chest arching up made her tits look so pretty under her thin white tank top, you wished you had a free hand to reach up and tweak a nipple.

she let out a high-pitched, whispery whine that petered out into silence.

for a couple seconds, all that could be heard was the slurps as you lapped at her, and the hum of the fans from her pc in the corner of her room.

and then—

muffled groans as the strength of her closing thighs finally broke the grip you had on them and pressed against your ears. she wasn't good at staying still, but, apparently, she was even worse when she came, her body folding in on itself as she jerkily fucked her hips up into the heat of your mouth.

you let her fuck your face, your blunt nails dragging red lines down the sides of her thighs. the slight sting of pain grounded her, helping her ride out the waves and stopping her from getting too overwhelmed in the throes of an orgasm.

pulling your head back slightly, you alternated between soft, sticky kisses to her inner thighs and kitten licks at her entrance, cleaning her up and soothing her at the same time as she caught her breath.

"fuck. c'mere."

trembling hands cupped your face as she weakly tugged you toward her. you let her, shifting to settle into her side and throw a leg over her own. she sighed, wrapping her arm around you, pulling you even closer.

"whaaat?" she whined, craning her neck to glare when she felt you giggle. "why’re you laughin' at me?"

"because i know you’re about to try and convince me to go to sleep without washing my face again. and you know i can’t do that."

she didn’t answer — just flopped her head back on the pillow and shut her eyes tight, fake snoring loudly.

"ellie," you warned.

"can't talk. too busy snoozin'."

"my face is a mess, ellie. my hair too.”

"yeah, well. maybe you should've thought about this before you made me cum so hard i couldn't breathe. i absolutely can not move now, let alone clean up!"

you sighed, pushing yourself up off the bed — or trying to. the arm she had wrapped around you tightened in protest.

“ellie, seriously.”

“you can’t move either! i want you to stay. please? pretty please with a cherry on top my most gracious streamer and fortnite carry god?”

you shot her a glare and she grinned, clearly sensing how flimsy your resolve was.

“just five more minutes. then we’ll get up. wash our faces, brush our teeth. hell, i’ll even floss for you tonight, baby. bought those little sticks you’re always ranting about in those hygiene haul videos and everything.”

you huffed. wiped the back of your hand across the bottom half of your face like it would do anything. huffed again.

“fine. but seriously. five minutes. then we’re going.”

you woke up the next morning with a sticky face, ellie drooling on your collarbone, and your phone nearly buzzing off the nightstand from the amount of notifications you'd received post-stream.

twitch.tv/smellie — LIVE: eating victory crowns for breakfast 🥱

she was streaming fortnite the next morning, acting like nothing had happened. hoodie up, drawstrings pulled tighter than usual to ensure the hickeys you’d sucked into her skin the night before were thoroughly hidden.

she was focused—well, pretending to be—talking about the latest installment of some comic she was obsessed with while looting in-game and ignoring the onslaught of questions in chat.

elliebutinallcaps: WHERE IS SHE?? NotElliesAlt: so you’re avoiding the MASSIVE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM? elliesdischarge: she’s kneeling under the desk, be honest message deleted by moderator macetotheface: she’s prob busy making breakfast in ur hoodie altaccnumber29: blink twice if ur post-nut right now message deleted by moderator

“okay, so—” she was mid-rant when she paused, squinting at the chat. “jesus. y’all are crazy today. can we just play the game?”

messages were flying so fast her eyes couldn’t keep up:

ellieuseslightmode: BRING HER BACKKKKKK ellieclips: we literally heard the makeout. you cannot gaslight us. v4nitymirror: wait did she leave?? is she even still there 😭 maybemaddie: GUYS WHAT IF THEY FOUGHT AFTER. what if it was a drunk kiss and now it’s awkward.

she was sorting through her load-out after an intense fight she nearly lost against a surfer jonesy when it happened:

pastaluvrrr: hiiiii girlfriend 😽

she froze.

the click of her mouse stopped mid-action. the corner of her mouth twitched like she was trying not to react, but the flush across her face betrayed her instantly.

“oh my god,” she mumbled, shrinking into her hoodie. “why are you like this.”

chat, consequently, blew the fuck up.

elliesyumyum: GIRLFRIEND????? GIRLFRIEND. tima0911: please say this vod will be on youtube. PLEASE. elliethrows4me: NOOOOO SHE TOOK MY BITCH tryqt: not the hard launch via twitch chat LMAOOOO ayayayaim: SOMEONE CLIP THIS ellieclips: OH MY FUCKING GOD???

ellie tilted back in her chair, red spreading all the way down her neck. “i dunno why she’s lurking in chat when she’s literally downstairs,” she muttered, trying (and failing) to sound unbothered.

on cue, soft footsteps padded into the room. then came your voice, faint off-screen:

“i was making a matcha.”

the camera unfocused and refocused as you leaned into frame and planted a wet kiss on her mouth.

no warning. just one hand on her shoulder, the other still holding your drink. it was passionate, unashamed, and unnecessarily long.

“does that answer everyone’s questions?” you asked, eyebrow raised.

ellie blinked at you, dazed. then turned to chat—

only to see her character had died while she was busy making out with you.

“awesome,” she mumbled, cheeks ruddy. “you got me killed. hope you’re proud of yourself.”

jmattsz: holy tomato face mikuirl: THEYRE SO GROSS I LOVE THEM looten_scooten: i just took so many screenshots im out of storage iclutchforpastalover: MAMA Y PAPA

you breezed out of frame again like nothing had even happened. ellie cleared her throat. “okay. uhhhh, alright... so!”

chousey203: any day now…. elliebutinallcaps: SPIT IT OUT GIRL ecam96: 100% just creamed her pants message deleted by a moderator slaystation_: DUDE UR SO RED

“mods please,” she begged, hiding her face in her hands. “put chat in emote only. i’m not doing this.”

topnoodle44: 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 boostedbytenshi: 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 usuallylurkin: 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩💓🍑🍆💦 ellieuseslightmode: 😘😘👁️👁️

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btdemaru · 9 days ago

Note

Hello~ can I plz request Saja Boys separately react to having a small argument with their girlfriend before she hits them with the: "That's it, no sex for a week!" So in conclusion, tries to put them on a sex ban because she's upset with them. Dom! Saja boys plz.

NO NUT. ALL NERVE — THE SAJA BAN.

You put your foot down and said "no sex" after an argument out of impulse. Bad idea. Now? They're reacting in their own devastating ways.

Pairings - Jinu x reader, Abby x reader, Romance x reader, Mystery x reader, Baby x reader

Type - seperate | 5.3k words

Warning - cunnilingus, oral, pussydrunk abby, squirting, semi public (mystery), mean!baby, sixtynine, creampies, petnames, curse words, messy, whimpering.

JINU SAJA — LOVE STRATEGIST

It wasn’t your most mature idea.

But after Jinu’s comment about your 'questionable impulsive management,' or whatever it is that he blabbed about— you decided to take action. Swift, decisive, a very absolutely most petty action you've ever done.

"No sex," you said, arms crossed, perched on the bed in nothing but one of his oversized shirts. "You’re officially banned."

He looked up from his tablet slowly, the dim lamp behind him making his cheekbones look sharper than usual. One brow raised.

"Banned," he repeated flatly.

You nodded with complete smugness as if you won something.

"Until further notice. Strategic retaliation." You added, trying to be just a little bit in control more than he was.

There was a long, quiet pause. "You do realize," he murmured, setting his tablet down with care, "that I could win this in a single move, right?"

You blinked.

He got up.

You blinked faster.

Jinu approached in a calm, methodical manner and sat on the edge of the bed like a man preparing a chessboard. His voice was low, coaxing.

"You’re simply ruffled—" he spoke before you cut him off with an offended expression . "Ruffled? What am i? A bird?" Jinu sighs with a gentle smile that teetered on the edge of smirking, "crabby? grouchy? either way that’s when you say things like this."

He leaned in slightly. "But you forget something, love."

You narrowed your eyes.

"What?"

He touched nothing. Only let his breath brush your cheek as he spoke "i’m a strategist."

You swallowed.

"And you’re an idiot if you think I won’t outlast you," you replied, though your voice wobbled slightly.

He chuckled softly but it was obvious how confident he is. "I’m not trying to break the rules, love. I’m trying to make you reconsider them."

His hand rose slow, slow but stopped just beside your face, not quite touching.

"Look, I'll play by your rules. I won’t kiss you. I won’t touch you." Raising both his hands in the air in fake defeat. "But I’ll talk to you like this. I’ll stand close enough for you to remember.. everything. I’ll brush by with my cologne and never look back."

You inhaled sharply.

He grinned. Devilish. Beautiful.

"You want to play with restraint, sweetheart? You forget who you’re up against."

And maybe he's right, because on day three you were already losing.

Two days were easy, busying yourself with everything you could.

Every glance he gave you came wrapped in velvet and challenge. He’d whisper praise in your ear while you brushed your teeth. Bring you coffee in bed shirtless, just shirtless enough to be suspicious. Read next to you on the couch, legs touching just enough to remind you what he wasn’t doing.

You tried to hold out.

You failed spectacularly.

You found him in the living room, halfway through some dry nonfiction book he's not even actually reading.

He didn’t even look up when you stood in front of him, arms folded. "You smug bastard." You barked.

Jinu closed a page with a saved bookmark. "Hmm?"

"You know what you’re doing." Trying to at least catch a glimpse of his facade faltering. But he stayed.

He placed down the book gently and finally met your gaze.

"Do i?"

You stepped closer. Straddled his lap nothing more than a flimsy oversized white plaid shirt with no panties. No nothing. Perhaps he'll give in.

He didn’t move. Didn’t touch you.

"Say it," he murmured.

You frowned. "Say what?"

"Say the ban is over." It was more of a demand.

You huffed. Looked away.

He leaned closer, voice silk

"Say it, or I’ll stop." He could smell your arousal, could see the way your pink folds were tacky and slick with your desire. It made his mouth water, made his cock jerk and leak in his pants as he gazed at the feast laid out before him.

Swiping two long digits from the bottom to upwards, grabbing as much as he could. Parting his fingers creating a glossy web and your composure shattered. "Fine," you muttered. "Ban’s over."

"Louder." He plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt, pumping them in and out of your velvet walls, stretching you open, preparing you for what was to come. His thumb rubbed relentless circles over your clit.

You glared. "Jinu—"

Tilting his head, looking entirely too pleased.

He curled his fingers just right, rubbing against that G-spot, making your back arch off the bed and your hips buck wildly against his hand.

"Shit, i said—" trying your best to utter the words, "the ban is o-over."

Big palms reached down and gripped his thick shaft, aligning the broad head with your soaked, fluttering entrance. Slowly, torturously, you sank down, feeling your silky walls parting for him, welcoming him inside.

Inch by inch, you took him in, your eyes fluttering closed in bliss as you felt yourself being split open, stuffed so full that you swore you could feel him in your fucking throat.

"So fucking good f'me, missed this pussy s'much." Jinu was no better, mumbling nonsense as he lost himself the second your folds rested on his balls.

With a moan, you began to move, lifting your hips until just the tip of his shaft remained inside you, before slamming back down, taking him to the hilt once more. You set a steady rhythm, your hips undulating as you rode him with wanton abandon, lost in the pleasure of being so deliciously full.

every ridge and vein of his huge cock dragging along your sensitive walls as you fucked yourself on him, could feel the way he jerked and throbbed with each bounce, as if he was fighting not to just flip you over. "So good— oh fuck- so good n pretty."

Walls began to flutter and clench around his pistoning shaft, gripping him like a silken fist as your orgasm approached.

"Fuck, can feel you squeezing me..." Jinu grunted, his eyes squeezing shut as he battled to hold back his own release, determined to make you come undone first.

you screamed his name, your voice raw and ragged as your orgasm finally crashed over you, your vision going white as lightning zapped up your spine. Your pussy clenched down hard on his plundering cock, the walls rippling as you came all over his shaft.

As much as you hate to admit, he won.

ABBY SAJA — TOUCH DEPRIVED?!

"You banned me?!"

Abby stood in the kitchen doorway like you’d just slapped out of his hand. His jaw dropped, one sock sliding slightly off his foot from how fast he’d run in after hearing your declaration.

"No kisses. No touching. And definitely no sex" You crossed your arms with dramatic finality.

He blinked. "Wait, wait, wait— back up." Quickly rambling on as he panicked, "That’s like, the whole relationship combo meal?!" Face turned even paler than a canvas. "Babe, be serious."

You arched a brow and picked up your mug with the calmness of a god exacting divine punishment.

"You said I overreacted to a ‘small thing’—aka, you forgetting to tell me about that super important interview until literally-" You jabber at him before dropping the nuke, "two hours before leaving for OUR DATE."

Abby winced. "Okay, yeah. That was... okay. Look, I suck at dates! And calendars! And remembering things unless they scream!"

"Well I’m screaming now," you said sweetly, sipping your tea.

Abby let out a sound like a wounded seal. "But i'll starve! I could never last a day let alone a week without your—"

Groaning at Abby's annoying excuses, "Should’ve thought of that before you tried to hug me mid-fight and said, 'C’mon babe, we can argue later after some rounds'"

"I WAS NERVOUS." he yelled, then shrunk immediately.

But nonetheless he still had to put up with the no sex ban for quite awhile, promising himself he'll last just so it wouldn't upset you.

An hour later however, he was in full breakdown mode.

You were curled up on the pool lounger just outside the Saja's penthouse, peacefully ignoring the way Abby was flopping dramatically over furniture nearby.

Every five minutes "This ban is ruining my mental health."

Another five minutes "I will disintegrate if I can't have you right now."

For the tenth time "Is cockwarming banned too or can I at least kiss you?"

He dragged the pool lounger that was near to combine with yours before collapsing next to you with a sad little sigh. "I miss my favorite food, 'm hungry" he said mournfully, eyes wide and childlike.

You resisted. Oh, you tried. But when he peeked up at you through messy hair, face pouty and boyish and full of unsaid apologies as his bulky arms peel your legs apart, your heart cracked.

And just when you were about to give in

"Wait—" he said quickly, holding a finger up. "Is the ban officially lifted? Or are you just weak for my stupidly handsome god given face?"

You grabbed your towel to smack him, only for him to place it under your hips.

"You’re lucky your stupid face is cute." Palming his face trying to block it away from melting your guards down.

'So that’s a yes?" he said, grinning way too fast.

"One," you warned.

"Then I’m making it COUNT." His tall frame folding like a house of cards, movements clumsy and uncoordinated. With all the restraint he had left putting your legs on his broad patterned shoulder. Too warm. Too eager.

You gasped as his tongue finally made contact, the slick, hot muscle parting your slick folds and delving deep into your dripping hole. Abby let out a loud, messy slurp as he began to eat you out with wild abandon, his tongue plunging in and out of your clenching channel, lapping up your fragrant juices like a man starved.

"So- mfff so fuckin' sweeeet." Drool dripped down his chin and onto your thighs as he sucked and slurped noisily, too drunk on you to care about finesse. His sharp eyes fluttered shut in bliss as he savored your tangy essence, addicted to your unique flavor that danced on his tongue. "Can eat you all mpff day, y'know?"

"C-can't get enough of this fucking pussy," he slurred, his words punctuated by fat, open-mouthed kisses pressed against your sopping wet slit.

Sucking the sensitive nub between his lips as he lashed at it with the rough pad of his tongue. At the same time, he plunged two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your dripping hole, pumping them in and out of your clenching channel at a brutal pace.

Your back bowed off the lounger, your tits heaving as you gasped for air as your first orgasm crashed over. He continued to pump his fingers in and out of your cunt, making a mess of the lounger and the pool deck, marking his face and hair with streaks of your essence.

Abby just grinned like the fucking fool he was, drunk on pleasure and pussy juice, eagerly swallowing every drop he could catch. "You 'kay?" He smooched your pussy folds as if he's talking to it.

The moment you nod a simple 'okay' it's as if you've grant him infinity. He was already diving back in for more, his tongue lapping into your abused hole.

"Abby 's too much— oh god" you whimpered, squirming on the lounger, your body hypersensitive from the intense pleasure. But Abby was too far gone to hear your feeble protests, too consumed by his own desperate need to keep tasting you, to keep pushing you to the very edge of your limits.

The wet, obscene squelches and schlicks of his fingers plunging into your soaked flesh filled the air as your second orgasm crashed. ""I...I can't..." you sobbed, your fingers fisting in his hot pink hair, trying desperately to pull him away "yes you can, baby.. c'mon please just one more."

One more, then another, third, fourth.

He's gonna make it count.

ROMANCE SAJA — ONLY READY.

You didn’t mean to yell. Not at him. Not like that.

See, the argument had started small. A forgotten detail, a missed plan, something he said offhandedly that rubbed your tired nerves the wrong way.

You were exhausted. Overwhelmed. Your words sharper than they needed to be.

"Maybe if you actually listened to me when I talk—"

He'd gone quiet at that, like always. Letting you burn hot while he stood calm in the smoke.

"You’re right," he’d said. That was the thing about Romance. He never raised his voice. Never pushed back when you were hurting.

That only made it worse.

So you’d said it — a line flung out in the heat of frustration.

"No sex. Just not until you're off the hook."

And Romance blinked once. That was all. A gentle pause like he was giving space for a retraction. But when none came, he just nodded.

"Alright," he murmured. "Whatever you need, love."

You thought it would feel like a win.

Instead, it felt like sleeping in a bed missing its gravity.

He didn’t touch you that night. Didn't kiss your shoulder like he always did before falling asleep. Didn't slide a lazy hand over your hip, or breathe slow against your neck.

Just silence. Gentle and full of distance.

You turned your back on him. But it didn’t help.

Because even with the space, you could feel him.

Romance wasn’t gone. He was just holding back. Out of respect. Out of love.

The next morning, you tried not to show how sorely you missed him. You brushed past his hand when he offered you your coffee. Mumbled thanks. Kept your tone even.

He didn’t push. He didn’t even pout. That somehow made it so much worse.

Romance was domestic in the quietest ways — a hand on your back when you passed, little shoulder squeezes in the kitchen, resting his chin on your head when you were in the fridge too long.

And now? He was a ghost. A warm, visible ghost who would not touch you until you asked him to.

It was excruciating.

By the second day, you were crawling out of your skin.

You tried to bait him. A sleep shirt that was just his own oversized tee. A casual stretch while reaching for something high, back arching in that way he used to immediately notice.

He didn’t take the bait.

"Want me to help with the dishes?" he asked softly behind you that evening.

"No," you said. "I’ve got it."

He leaned a hip against the counter but didn’t move closer.

"I can still touch to you, can’t I?" he asked, voice low and careful.

You swallowed. "Of course."

"Just making sure." His voice dipped. " Sex is off the table, but touches isn’t."

His words were tender, but his presence? Devastating. He smelled like the warm fabric of your sheets and honey soap. He didn’t look mad. Just patient. Infuriatingly patient.

You dropped a sponge in the sink with a frustrated huff.

"You’re really not going to- y'know, fuck me?"

"No." His tone was soft as rain. "Because you said not to."

You turned to him, finally looking up — and his eyes were there, waiting. Soft. Patient. But glowing with affection so thick you could feel it from where you stood.

And you snapped.

"You always make it hard to stay mad at you," you muttered, glaring at the tile.

"I love you," he said, wrapping his arms around your waist. "I can’t undo the things I miss. But I can honor your boundaries, and wait. That’s what I’ve been doing."

You stared at his chest, hand curling into the hem of his shirt.

"...You’re such a cheat," you whispered.

He chuckled, low and warm, and leaned close enough for his breath to kiss your cheek. "You always break before I do."

And you did.

Fingers fisting in his shirt, you pulled him close and finally, finally kissed him.

Not like you were angry. Not like you were desperate.

Like you were coming home

Soft. Leisurely. No urgency — just the kind of reverent touch he gave only when the world had quieted.

"Still mad at me?" he whispered into your temple.

"No," you breathed, lips brushing his collarbone. "Still mad at myself, though."

His fingers curled into your waist.

"You’re allowed to be angry. But don’t punish yourself for feeling."

You kissed his throat, slow and warm.

"Does this mean the ban’s lifted?" he asked, all amusement and silk.

"It’s… under review," you mumbled.

He laughed, low and deep. "Then I’ll keep proving I’m worth parole."

And with that, he flipped you gently onto your back lifting those pathetic excuses for clothes "you're absolutely breathtaking," Romance murmured, his deep, velvety.

He leaned down, peppering your shoulder from behind with soft, open-mouthed kisses, his lips lingering on your skin like he was tasting the finest delicacy.

His hands, strong and warm, skimmed up your sides, his fingers trailing lightly over the swell of your breasts, teasing the underside of your hardened nipples. He cupped the soft globes, kneading the pliant flesh gently.

Romance slid his hands down to grip your ass, his fingers sinking into the pliant flesh as he held you in place, trapping his cock against your dripping slit. He kneaded and squeezed the globes, pulling them apart slightly before squeezing them back together, the motion making your pussy lips flutter and your juices drip down "look at her, all giddy f'me.."

A needy cry left your lips, "please—"

The musky scent of your arousal permeated the air, filling his nostrils, he rutted his wetting cock onto your folds, collecting as much lubricant as he could. The mushroomy top nudging against your clit leaving electric pleasures.

"Inside.. need— ah fuck- please" and he wasted no time. How can he deny his girl? That wouldn't be romantic.

Romance gripped the base of his shaft, stroking himself slowly as he nudged the engorged head through your drenched entrance pressing forward, letting just the crown breach your tight opening.

A guttural moan tore from his throat, "perfect, so p- perfect." he hissed through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he began to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside you before slamming back in, impaling you on his shaft over and over.

Each thrust striking your cervix, his heavy balls slapping lewdly against your ass as he fucked into you with long, purposeful strokes. "Fit just- for me, so filthy n' tight" The kitchen filled with the erotic symphony of flesh meeting flesh, your wanton moans and cries of pleasure punctuated by the wet, obscene squelches plap plap plap as his heavy balls drawing up tight to his body as his orgasm built in intensity. But he was determined to make you come first, Romance slammed into you and ground his pelvis against yours, his pubic bone rubbing against your throbbing clit as his thick shaft pulsed deep inside you. At the same time, he pinched your clit hard between his thumb and forefinger, rolling and rubbing the sensitive nub "cum, come on- ahh s'so fucking tight i cant— come with me."

Your juices gushed out around his pistoning shaft, flooding your channel and dripping down onto the marble countertop below.

His hips jerked erratically as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his shaft throbbed and jerked inside you filling to the brim like such a thick creamy gloop.

Kissing your temple gently with soft loving words easing in "Mm.. I'll take it as I'm forgiven."

MYSTERY SAJA — WINNERS, LOSERS.

He came home at 2:47 a.m., the way he always did — quietly, like fog slipping under a locked door. You didn’t hear the front door creak. You didn’t hear his boots. Just the shift of air pressure and the way your spine instinctively knew he was in the room.

You didn’t turn around. Didn’t greet him.

You just curled deeper into the side of the bed he hadn’t touched in four days.

Your voice broke the silence. Cold. Controlled.

"Don’t even think about touching me."

He paused in the dark. You could feel it, the way the stillness rippled, how even the shadows seemed to hold their breath.

You turned to look at him finally, eyes narrowing against the hallway light he’d accidentally let spill through the door.

"I mean it," you said, sitting up. "No touching. No kissing. No sex. I’m not doing this anymore. You disappear whenever you want, and then just show up like nothing happened—like I’m the one waiting for you to breathe life into the room again."

He stood in the doorway, tall and still, the collar of his coat damp with rain.

He didn’t say a word.

He never did.

You expected him to leave again.

Instead, Mystery entered the room.

Slow. Controlled. Silent.

He peeled off his coat first — rain-slick and heavy — draped it over the back of the chair. Then the gloves. Then the harness. All quiet. Methodical.

You could feel the tension in his movements, the restraint in every inch of his body. He didn’t ask for forgiveness. Didn’t try to justify his absence.

He simply walked toward the bed deliberate, firm.

You straightened.

"I said—"

But you cut yourself off when his body leaned over you slowly putting his cheek on your shoulder, nuzzling himself.

It was a silent plea, Mystery lived off of physical touch, he barely talks but every single damn time he wants to communicate its through actions. Refraining him from doing so it's like cutting him off entirely.

He tilted his head, just slightly. Something in your heart softened. Like the way storm clouds break apart before they cry.

His free hand reached up — knuckles brushing your cheekbone, Voice almost unheard, "don't.. ban."

"You can’t just leave and come back and expect me to open up like nothing happened."

His fingers finally grazed your arm. Light. Testing

"I'm sorry."

It was how he spoke when he meant it.

You looked up at him, throat tight.

"If you’re sorry, then stay. Stay here. Stay in this bed. Stay when I need you."

He met your gaze. Unflinching.

Then, in a whisper so low it felt like velvet against your skin. "...I will."

Cunningly enough, he changed subtly for the whole week.

It started subtly.

A hand brushing your lower back when you walked by. A lingering graze along your arm as he handed you your coffee. The way he sat next to you on the couch, knees pressed to yours, thigh warm against your skin, thumb lazily tracing circles against your leg through the blanket.

You glared at him the first few times.

You didn't know how he could be so physically close and still keep his promises.

He wasn’t breaking the ban, no.

He was letting you break it.

Mystery became more present, always near. Always humming something under his breath. Always watching you with a patience that feels like a trap.

You want him to be distant, cold, retreating.

Instead, you get cooked dinners, soft shoulders to lean on, long silences that feel just too comfortable.

It was just irritating, now he wants to spend time with you on the rooftop calling it a 'date'.

You were becoming restless. He knew.

You broke first. He grinned.

You reached up and dragged him down by the collar of his shirt, crashing your mouth to his — rough, hungry, angry.

He groaned into the kiss. Not loud. Just low and wrecked.

Mystery moved with intent. Slow, devastating control. "Still banned?" he rasped against your neck, finally speaking his voice a rare, broken thing, like thunder that doesn’t know how to whisper.

"Yes," you breathed.

He hummed, pressing his hips against yours in a slow roll that made your ban feel like a lie. "Are you sure?" He cocks.

He let you undo him piece by piece, shirt sliding from his shoulders, his breath shallow, his restraint cracking at the seams.

He let you take charge.

He let you use him.

Or at least for now.

"You set stupid rules to see if I'll break 'em." One hand released your breast to slide down your belly, his fingers skimming over your navel before delving between your thighs. He cupped your mound possessively, his middle finger pressing against your slick slit, feeling the wetness that had gathered there.

"Nnngh... you're fucking drenched," Mystery groaned, his voice a low, eerily rumble.

Mystery's long, deft fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, and with a sharp tug, he yanked them down your thighs, baring your dripping slit to his hungry gaze. He drank in the sight of your glistening folds, swollen, just begging to be devoured. Tossing the ruined lace aside, "look at you, putting up a fight when i could've taken care of this." He purred while the thick head of his cock parting your slick petals. "Now.. tell me how much you want this? lift that useless.. rule."

You gasped, trembling.

"Fuck— its lifted i want it." Meeting his smug grin "need.. you, plea—"

he slammed forward, burying every rigid inch of his thick shaft inside you with one brutal thrust. A guttural groan tore from his throat as your silken walls clenched down around him,

Reaching down and pressed his thumb roughly against your sensitive, aching clit. "ohfuckohfuckohfuck!" Wailing at how good you feel around him.

He could feel it, you could feel it. Just before he reached his peak, he abruptly pulled out, his curvy cock slick with your juices. "please cum— with me ohh feels so go-ohd!" fist flying over his thick length as he chased his rapidly building release as he aimed the swollen, leaking tip at your sensitive clit.

Pearly ropes of cum erupted from the tip, splattering lewdly across your oh so sweet cunt, coating your lower abdomen in his hot, sticky seed.

Moonlight casting a glow on both skins, his pale ones almost translucent due to the sleek sweat coating him. Mumbling sorry's and love you's as he desperately nuzzles himself, head spinning high.

BABY SAJA — NO? FINE. ROT WITH IT.

You’d said it on impulse.

"You’re not getting anything tonight. Or tomorrow. Or until I say so."

Baby had stilled mid-step, mid-breath, mid-whatever sarcastic retort he’d had locked and loaded.

And then he just… smiled.

Not a nice one.

The kind that made your spine stiffen and your thighs clench in the same second.

Baby thrives on chaos, so if you, his lover, suddenly bans him from sex, he’s not taking it with quiet grace. Not even close.

He's sarcastic.

He’s petty.

He’s not above throwing a tantrum—but his kind of tantrum is the mean, smug, backhanded compliment-filled type that leaves you wanting to strangle him and kiss him at the same time.

"Ohhh," he drawled, clapping slowly. "How *terrifying."

You scowled. "I’m serious."

"Oh, I know. That’s the funniest part." He turned on his heel, dramatic as always, walking off toward the bedroom with his arms raised like he’d been wrongly imprisoned.

"I hope your moral high ground keeps you warm tonight, sugar." he called over his shoulder. "Because i won’t be giving you allllll this.”

Good. That was the point. Right?

Right?

Days after and Baby was… unbearable.

He still talked to you. Laughed around you. Sat beside you on the couch.

But he weaponized everything.

He’d come out of the shower shirtless and towel-drying his hair, stopping to stretch right in front of you.

"Oh, whoops —didn’t mean to give you a show. Not that it matters. This body’s banned, remember?"

He’d casually flop onto your lap and sigh dramatically.

"God, I’d kill for some stress relief right now. Shame my girlfriend thinks I should suffer."

He’d even sneak a hand on your thighs in the movie theater, "You’re lucky I have restraint, sweetheart. Old me would've had you here already."

You gritted your teeth. "Then maybe I should ban you longer."

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear with that smug little lilt in his voice. "Then maybe I should stop pretending to behave."

It was a big day for the Saja boys, performing up against the Huntrix. All of them were inside their dressing rooms and like a routine, you were in Baby's dangling your feet listening to their music waiting on the tiny touch.

And Baby walks in like a storm.

Pulls the headphones out. Tosses your phone aside. Climbs on top of you, knees on either side of your thighs, bracing his hands by your head.

His eyes—dark. Unamused.

"You done punishing me for shit I didn’t do?"

You blink, speechless.

"No? Great. Then I’m done pretending it doesn’t bother me."

He dips down, face inches from yours.

His voice lowers, pure venom-laced honey. "I could’ve had you crying on my tongue by now. Instead I’m sitting here listening to you pretend you’re fine."

Your throat tightens."You’re not fine. You’re stubborn. And maybe I like that. But it's getting annoying,"

He finally leans down, dipped his head, burying his face between your thighs as he inhaled your scent, groaning at the intoxicating aroma of your arousal.

You whined pushing his head nesr your aching core but he held back. "Now it wouldn't be fair if you get what you want now.. right?."

It happend with a snap of a finger, Baby's laying down the couch with you on top him, ass up near his face just how he loves it. The typical sixty fuckin' nine.

Blowing air onto your folds before he taps it "hurry up, get to work. apologize."

His tongue delved deeper, plunging into your soaked, clutching heat as he feast on your dripping slit. He could feel your walls fluttering and clenching around the slick intrusion.

You were crumbling. But so was he.

His hands gripped your thighs tighter, spreading you wider open to him, allowing him to bury his face deeper into your aching core.

At the same time, Baby guided your hand to his rigid shaft, wrapping your fingers around the throbbing length. He groaned against your dripping folds as you began to stroke him, your fist gliding up and down his thick, pulsing cock. "Ohh yeah, easy ain't it?" The sensation of your soft hand around him and your tongue swirling around the sensitive crown of his erection made his hips buck and jerk, fucking into the tight channel of your fist as he ate your pussy with single-minded intensity. "Bein' such a brat with that ahnn shit- stupid ban."

your pleasured gasps and moans vibrating against his own aching flesh as you lapped and suckled at his swollen balls, your fingers pumping faster along his shaft in response to the building ecstasy. "Ba-ahmp! Baby- mpf"

The show starts in five.

Redoubled his efforts, sucking hard on your throbbing clit as he thrust two fingers knuckle-deep into your spasming sheath, stroking that mushy spot with ruthless precision. "There we go, c'mon- ahk dont suck so hard—"

Your thighs clamping around his head as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your pussy clenched down hard on his fingers, your velvety walls rippling and fluttering "yes yes yes tha's it th'pfff.. tha's it sugar."

Balls-deep in the tight, slick heat of your throat, his shaft jerking and shuddering as thick ropes of scalding cum erupted from the swollen tip. He pumped jet after jet of his potent essence directly down your gullet, "mpff- show mwuch..!?" Gagging hard as cums dribbles out.

His body shuddering and convulsing with the force of his release.

Muffled scream of ecstasy was met by your greedy gulps and swallows, your throat muscles milking his pulsing cock for every last drop of his creamy load as you both rode out the aftershocks of your intense, mind-blowing orgasms.

"Gotta keep the show.. y'know- oh feels s'so empty n good." He grinned, mouth slathered in your.

Tapping his tongue on your folds "let's continue after show yeah? 'least i can focus on stage."

note : i personally liked it, but ngl it is just a little bit rushed. but i hope u still enjoy it, reblogs and likes r lovely!!

#smut #btdmaru #kpdh #kpop demon hunters #abby x reader #btdmaruwrites #romance x reader #baby x reader #jinu x reader #saja boys #mystery x reader #kpdh smut #saja boys smut #kpdh saja boys

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neellscapsule · 8 days ago

Text

looks like the joker did a number on you

summary | everything is going too well: you're finally pregnant, close to seven months, your family is getting better, and you think life in gotham isn't so bad despite all. until it is.

pairing | bruce wayne x kent!reader. platonic batboys x kent!reader

warnings / tags | it stars too sweet. it follows with pure angst. character's death (jason), reader's emotional death, graphic miscarriage. literally is all pure angst because we all suffer here and life isn't nice to anyone of the wayne family, including reader.

word count | 6.6k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :)

this is part of the kent!batmom!reader series. this can be read as part 12. you'll the other parts on the masterlist.

taglist | @maolen @joonunivrs @c4ssi4-luv @fanfics4ever @inejskywalker @resting-confused-face @fionnalopez @stargirl9911 @idek101-01 @shqyou @mei-simp @serendippindots @sirlovel @aixaingela @pjmgojo @antixsocialx2 @nisarelle @realiliumfr @gojoswaterbottle @connnn @jjoppees @yall-imhere @sabrinasoppositee @nekotaetae @wendee-go @idiomaticpunk @fandomlover1235 @nommingonfood @omisotolongo @lortheswiftie @owihitmyhead @mosseetrees @c4xcocoa @qardasngan @radicalcannoliqueen @jeshomie @cutie232 @ravenqueen27 @thy-crimson-king @thewiselionessss @fernomenal @chiizuluvr @natalia42069 @invinciblewaffles @changyumi3 @mbioooo0000 @caramelised-onions

EVERYTHING WAS GOING MORE THAN WELL IN YOUR LIFE.

Actually, it had never been greater.

Dick was far away now. Not in a bad way. Not like how it used to be, filled with slammed doors and fractured silences, with yelling that always left Bruce bitter and brooding for days after. No, Dick was his own person now —completely, unapologetically, finally. “Nightwing,” he said proudly when he called you on Sunday mornings, voice husky with dawn in Blüdhaven. “Just finished patrol. Gonna crash in a bit, but wanted to say hi, mom.”

He sent you goodnight kisses by message. Called Bruce once a week. Called Jason more often than that. He wore a ridiculous, very tight, very blue suit that made you giggle every time you saw it on the news.

Jason was still at home, fifteen and absolutely allergic to mornings, but coming into his own in ways that made you both proud and nervous. He was a different kind of Robin than Dick had ever been —louder, brasher, stubborn and a little stormy at times: the reason why he was currently banned from patrol— but he was your son through and through. No matter what mask he wore at night, no matter how fast he moved across rooftops, you liked to focus on how well he was doing at school.

And then there was the newest heartbeat in the house —the one that fluttered just beneath your ribs. You were almost seven months pregnant. Thirty weeks and three days, but who was counting? You were. You always were. Especially after so many losses, after so many quiet heartbreaks that made your body feel like it had betrayed you.

But not this time.

This time, the baby kicked with strength and rhythm, and your bump had grown round and high, shifting your balance and tugging every conversation toward the future.

You felt it all, every day, every morning when you shifted out of bed slower than you used to, every time you pressed Bruce’s hand to your stomach and watched the way his eyes softened.

You were pregnant.

And not just with a dream, but with a real, tangible, kicking child. A child you’d startle awake with laughter and calm with music. A child you already loved.

And if that weren’t enough —because God had been generous this year— the house was now graced with a dog. A dog that wasn’t a security system, wasn’t a statement, wasn’t trained for war. Just a dog. A sweet, huge German Shepherd named Ace, rescued by the Big Bat himself during a late patrol.

Ace had taken to Jason first, then to Alfred, but it was you he followed the most. Rested his head against your lap when you were reading. Pressed his nose against your bump when you napped. Bruce said he was protective.

Your hand drifted instinctively to your belly as you laid in bed that morning, the covers pooled low against your hips, sunlight slanting through the tall windows of the manor in a honeyed wash. Seven months. Not quite, but close enough.

Close enough that your body had shifted entirely into a different shape—full, protective, humming with life. Close enough that every soft flutter beneath your skin pulled tears to your eyes in a way you had long stopped apologizing for.

You knew this child. You already loved them more than you ever thought your heart could handle again.

You turned slightly and watched your husband sleep.

Bruce looked younger like this—on his side, one arm flung beneath your pillow, the other resting protectively near the bump that now took up so much of the bed between you. His features, which carried the weight of a city during the day, were completely slack now, softened by sleep. And in these moments, you saw the boy he once was—the one who never got to grow up the right way, who buried his parents too young and never quite put down the shovel after.

It still astounded you sometimes, even after all these years, that you were allowed to know this version of him. Not just Batman. Not the mask. But Bruce.

Bruce who rubbed your back until you fell asleep when the ache got bad.

Bruce who installed a vintage clawfoot tub in the ensuite because the one in the Smallville house was “just like it.”

Bruce who sat at your first scan with his fingers clenched so tightly in his lap that you’d had to pry them open, just to whisper, “They have a heartbeat. You can unclench now.”

You shifted closer, tucking into the crook of his body, your bump pressing against his stomach. He stirred, and his arm moved around you automatically. His lips brushed the crown of your head.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, voice gravelled and sleep-warm.

“Morning,” you replied softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I was already half up.” He cracked one eye open. “Kid kicking again?”

“Like they’re trying to tunnel their way out.”

A slow grin stretched across his face. Not smug. Not performative. But quiet. Content. There was still a part of Bruce that didn’t know how to smile without restraint, like it might crack him open. But these days, it came easier.

His hand slid beneath your shirt and rested over your belly. He didn’t speak. Just stayed like that. Present. Steady.

“Did you sleep okay?” you asked after a while.

“With you here? Always.” He kissed your temple again, then whispered: “Do you think they’ll look like you?”

“I hope not. This world only needs one of me.”

He laughed. “It could handle ten of you.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning, and kissed his jaw. “You’re just saying that because I let you get away with eating the last slice of Alfred’s pie last night.”

“I am the man who saved Gotham.”

“And I’m the woman who carried your child, barefoot, to the fridge at midnight, only to find an empty pie tin.”

He chuckled lowly, tightening his hold. “You win.”

You stayed in bed longer than you should’ve, tangled in warmth and light and domestic nothingness. Eventually, Bruce’s comm chirped from the nightstand—an alert from the cave. He sighed, reached across you to silence it, and you caught the wince that moved across his face.

“Back still hurting?” you asked, watching him with concern.

“Just a little stiff,” he admitted. “Old age, maybe. Or that scuffle in the Narrows last week.”

“You’re thirty-eight, not eighty.”

“Tell that to my shoulder,” he muttered.

You leaned up and kissed it.

“I’ll talk to Alfred. Maybe he can draw you a salt bath later,” you said. “God knows I’m living in them.”

Bruce kissed you one last time before swinging his legs off the bed. As he got up, Ace padded into the room—lanky, alert, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth like he hadn’t a care in the world.

He trotted straight to you, nosed your belly like it was his sacred duty, and curled up on your side of the bed as if to say: Go about your day. I’ll watch her.

Bruce glanced back at you from the closet door, already half-dressed. “He’s obsessed with you.”

“He’s just a good boy,” you murmured, hand sliding down to scratch behind the dog’s ear. “Aren’t you, Ace?”

Ace’s tail thumped in agreement.

“I’ll be upstairs for a bit,” Bruce said, tucking his tie into place. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Always do.”

You watched him go, footsteps fading toward the clock and beyond it—into the parts of the manor that still made your skin cool, even now. You leaned into Ace and sighed.

Yeah. Everything was going more than well.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. A soft vibration, a polite little reminder that the outside world was still moving, even if you had managed to pause it for a breath.

You reached for it with a knowing smile already spreading across your face.

Ma 💛 Calling.

Only one person in the world called you at 9:07 AM on the dot like that, without fail, and you’d sooner forget your own name than miss that call.

You pressed the green button and leaned back into the pillows as her voice answered before you could speak.

“Hi, Ma.”

“Hi, honey,” came Martha Kent’s voice, so full of light it instantly filled your chest. “How are you? You sound tired, baby. Did you sleep alright?”

You smiled softly, curling one hand around your belly as if she could see it through the line. “I did. It was a long night. Lots of kicking.”

“Oh, bless their little heart,” she said, immediately tender. “That baby’s already got a farmer’s strength, huh?”

“Feels like they’re plowing right through my bladder.”

Martha laughed—a real, hearty Kansas laugh, the kind that smelled like cornbread and sounded like home. “Well, you always were a strong kicker, too. Your Pa swore you were trying to break free and start walking before you were born. Had me down on the floor trying those spinning exercises every week.”

“Sounds about right,” you said, leaning into her voice like sunlight. “We, Kents, don’t like to wait.”

“You’re not wrong.”

You could hear the faint clatter of breakfast dishes in the background, the creak of the farmhouse floor as someone—probably Jon—ran across it. You slowly got up from the bed, grabbing something comfortable to wear around the house.

“How’s Pa?” you asked.

“Out in the barn with Clark and Conner. We’ve got fencework today—got hit with a big storm last week. Took out half the north side.”

“Want me to send Bruce?” you teased gently.

“Oh Lord, no,” she laughed again. “He’d glare that fence back into place.”

“Exactly.”

Martha hummed a little. “You sound good, sweetheart. I mean it. You sound… settled.”

You breathed in, slow and deep, and let it linger before replying. “I am. For the first time in a long time, I really, really am.”

“I’ve been praying for that. Every morning when I wake up,” she said gently, “the very first thing I do is thank God. I thank Him for this baby, and for you, and for all the days between now and the last time.”

You closed your eyes. Let yourself breathe that in.

“I still get scared sometimes,” you admitted quietly.

“Of course you do,” she said immediately. “That’s not weakness, honey. That’s the memory trying to protect you. But you listen to me—this baby? This little one inside you? They’re strong. You hear me? They are strong. And so are you. That child is already loved so fiercely they could light up the whole world just from how hard we’re praying over them.”

You bit your bottom lip, willing the tears to stay quiet.

“We’re coming up next weekend,” she added, voice brightening. “Clark and Lois too. And Jon keeps asking if he can feel the baby move. He’s eating like a racehorse lately. And Conner promised to bake cookies again—though you know he always burns the second batch. I think he just likes the excuse to eat them before anyone else gets there.”

“Tell him I said to send those anyway,” you said, laughing again, wiping at your cheek. “Even the burnt ones.”

“I will. And don’t forget to ask Alfred if there’s anything we can bring from the farm. Fresh eggs, some vegetables. That jam you like.”

“I’m alright, I promise. We’re stocked up. Bruce got obsessive about the pantry last month.”

“I still can’t believe Bruce Wayne shops for jam.”

“Neither can Gotham.”

There was a moment of quiet on the other end, but not an empty one. Just the kind of silence you shared with someone who’d loved you since the beginning—who didn’t need noise to feel close. You pushed Bruce's shirt off your body, quickly changing into the oversized cotton pants and a sweatshirt with the logo of the Enterprises.

“You’re already such a good mama. You know that, right?”

You let your hand rest on the curve of your belly again, feeling the faintest movement beneath it—like the baby knew you were speaking about them, like they were listening.

“I had the best example,” you said. “I still do.”

That made her go quiet again, just for a second, and you could hear the way her breath hitched.

“I just wish I could be closer,” she said. “Wish I could stop by with warm muffins and rub your back and tell that sweet child stories about the cows. You remember the story of Clarabelle, don’t you? The one who used to follow Clark around like a shadow?”

You laughed. “She followed me around too. Tried to lick my hair every time I wore that sunflower dress.”

“Oh Lord, yes!” Martha laughed, rich and loud. “I forgot about that. That poor dress was never the same.”

“Neither was my dignity.”

“You were five.”

“I still had dignity.”

You both laughed, and for a moment, it felt like nothing had changed. Like you were still on that wide wraparound porch, rocking in the summer heat, Ma brushing your hair while you told her about all your dreams.

“I’ll let you go now, baby. Don’t want to keep you too long—Alfred’ll fuss if I cut into your breakfast.”

You smiled. “He already has tea steeping, probably. And something complicated with eggs.”

“That man’s a saint.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

There was one last pause before the goodbye. You heard her sigh, a soft, contented sound that reminded you of summer nights and fireflies, of warm hands brushing back your hair when the world got too heavy.

“I love you so much, sweetpea.”

“I love you too, Ma. Always.”

“Call me if anything—anything—feels off. You hear me?”

“I promise.”

The scent of breakfast had already drifted through the manor. It met you halfway down the grand staircase, that unmistakable blend of fresh eggs, toasted bread, dark roast coffee, and something faintly sweet. You didn’t have to guess. It was Alfred’s way—never just breakfast, always an orchestration. Never just a meal, always a ritual.

You stepped into the dining room, and sure enough, he was already there. Alfred stood near the long oak table, sleeves rolled with delicate precision, silver tray in one hand, and his signature expression—a measured blend of unspoken affection and perpetual judgment—resting on his face. You’d grown to love that look like family.

The table was set in full regalia. Your teacup already waited near the head of the table where you usually sat, flanked by a folded cloth napkin, a gleaming butter knife, and your small jar of homemade strawberry preserves—you’d brought them back from the last trip to Smallville and Alfred had since adopted them as standard issue. Beside it, a tall glass of water, precisely half a lemon slice floating within.

“Miss Y/N,” Alfred greeted you, not looking up as he carefully arranged a silver dome over a steaming plate. “You’re late. I was beginning to consider launching a search party.”

You grinned, slow and easy, and made your way to your seat. “Well, don’t get too excited. I was just upstairs crying to Ma about cows and baby names.”

“A noble cause if there ever was one,” he replied evenly, though a flicker of warmth touched his eyes.

You eased into your chair, thankful for the plush cushioning he’d added to your usual seat sometime in month five. You hadn’t asked. Hadn’t even seen him do it. One morning, it had simply been there. Just like the slippers beside your side of the bed. Just like the mint oil for the nausea. Just like the thick, silent kind of love he extended in every motion.

Alfred turned finally, catching you in his observant gaze—sweeping over your face, your posture, the way your hand absentmindedly rested on your belly. He did that often now. Not in a way that ever felt intrusive or clinical. Just… careful. Reverent, even. As if he were constantly confirming for himself that you were still here, still healthy, still whole. That this time, the house would not fall silent with grief again.

“You’re glowing,” he said simply.

“Liar,” you said with a soft groan. “I look like a beach ball that’s been left on a hot driveway too long.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, already placing a steaming mug in front of you. “Chamomile, with a touch of agave and oat milk.”

You inhaled gratefully. “You’re too good to me.”

“I’ve never believed in ‘too good’ for those I love,” Alfred said, setting down a small plate of toasted sourdough with almond butter and slices of banana fanned out across it. “And I certainly won’t start now.”

The table was a mosaic of color and thoughtfulness: warm oat porridge with stewed apples and cinnamon sticks arranged like a painting; fresh blueberries in a cut-crystal bowl; a small dish of pumpkin-seed granola, just the way you liked it, crunchy and sweet with a touch of salt.

There was even a jar of your prenatal vitamins already opened and resting by your water glass, along with the extra supplements your midwife had recommended.

“No eggs or dairy in anything?” you asked, even though you didn’t need to.

Alfred lifted one silver brow. “Madam, I’d sooner retire.”

You smiled deeply. “You spoil me.”

“You are growing a human being inside your body,” he said crisply. “Spoiling is the least I can offer.”

You reached for the toast and took a bite, humming around the sweetness. “Mmm. Okay, this one might top last Tuesday’s.”

“I’ve begun roasting the almonds longer before blending the butter. It seems to bring out the natural sugars.”

“I love that you treat this like science.”

“Nutrition is a form of science,” Alfred said, folding his hands behind his back. “As is care. Especially in a household with your husband’s culinary habits.”

You choked on a laugh. “Bruce made soup the other night.”

“Yes. With three cloves of garlic, no salt, and dry rice directly in the broth.”

“It was crunchy,” you admitted.

“It was tragic.”

You were still laughing as you took another sip of your tea.

“Did you sleep alright?” he asked softly, and there it was—that gentle shift in tone, the way he asked about your well-being without ever demanding too much of you.

“I did. More or less,” you said, lifting your tea. “The baby seems to think two in the morning is a good time for ballet.”

“Then they’ll fit right in.”

You smiled over the rim of your cup. “They’re gonna love you, you know.”

He arched a brow. “You say that as though they’ll have any choice.”

“They won’t,” you agreed. “I’m planning on raising them to think you invented tea, breakfast, and basic human decency.”

“I’ll do my best to live up to such mythology.”

You both turned as Jason shuffled in, hair wild with sleep, black hoodie half-zipped over a Batman shirt that had clearly been worn through multiple cycles. He froze in the doorway when he saw the table, then blinked dramatically.

“Did we… adopt royalty or something?”

“No,” you said, waving him in. “Alfred’s just compensating for your father’s rice soup.”

Jason snorted and flopped into the chair across from you. “That was soup? I thought it was a science experiment.”

“See?” Alfred muttered, more to himself than anyone.

Jason immediately reached for a spoon and started digging into the porridge like it was a race, only to pause halfway through the first bite and lean forward to study the arrangement of your plate.

“You got banana toast?” he asked with a betrayed expression.

“Yours is coming,” Alfred said, already placing a second dish in front of him with the precision of a surgeon. “Extra cinnamon. Slightly burnt edges. Chocolate chips in the almond butter. As requested.”

Jason lit up. “You’re the best.”

Alfred gave the faintest bow. “I endeavor to be.”

By the time you’d finished your porridge, Jason had already gone back for thirds—Alfred never made just enough for two, and your youngest had always had the appetite of someone twice his size

He slouched now, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up his arms, spoon lazily clinking against his bowl. His hair stuck up at the back from sleep, and he was still blinking the last of the morning haze from his eyes.

You sipped your tea and watched him. It never stopped hitting you, how much he’d grown.

Not just taller—though he was your height now, all lanky limbs and long strides—but more… settled. Softer in the shoulders. Less sharp around the edges. His voice had deepened, but he still used it like a kid sometimes—talking fast, laughing hard, letting it carry him through a room like momentum.

He was almost finished when he glanced at you again and did that thing he always did—scan first, then soften. “You sure you’re okay?”

You tilted your head. “You’ve already asked me that.”

“Yeah. And I’ll ask it again,” he said, deadpan. “And again. And again. Until I’m sure.”

“I’m fine, Jay.”

“That’s not an answer,” he said, setting his spoon down. “You’re allowed to be tired. Or annoyed. Or like, ‘I hate everyone, leave me alone,’ you know.”

“I don’t hate anyone,” you said, stretching slightly. “And the tea was perfect, the oats were amazing, and the company’s not bad either.”

“I’m the best part of your morning, admit it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you’re telling yourself now?”

“Absolutely.” He grinned. “I got up early for this.”

“It’s 10:15.”

“Exactly,” he said, leaning back. “Crack of dawn.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “God help Gotham if your schedule ever runs the Watchtower.”

“Okay, but real talk—” Jason straightened a little, turning toward you, hands cupped loosely in front of him like he was holding something important. “Did you sleep?”

“I slept.”

“How long?”

“I don't need mothering, Jaybird.”

“Well,” his eyes widened for a second, not irritated but needing to emphasize his worry. “You are mostly surrounded by people focused on the babe. Someone has to look out for you, ma.”

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you just looked at him—this boy who had once been so angry, so guarded, so desperate to prove he didn’t need anyone—and now sat in front of you like he’d assigned himself as your personal sentinel. He really had changed.

“Alright,” you said softly. “I’ll let you take care of me.”

Jason sat back like he’d won a gold medal. “Good. First step: no more carrying laundry baskets upstairs.”

You laughed. “They’re light.”

“You’re heavier now.”

“Rude.”

“It’s a compliment,” he said, completely serious. “You’re baby-heavy. That’s a glow-up.”

You snorted, amused. Jason leaned closer across the table.

“Second rule—if you’re ever up in the middle of the night and want something, wake me.”

“Jay, I’m not waking you up for snacks at 3 AM.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

“I swear to God, ma,” he said, dramatically dropping his head onto the table. “I live to sneak you Oreos at night. Don’t rob me of that.”

You were still laughing as you reached over and ruffled his hair—gently, always gently, because even now you remembered how he used to flinch when touched. He didn’t anymore. Not with you.

“You’re gonna be the best big brother,” you said, thumb brushing his cheek as he leaned into it.

He made a face. “I better be.”

“You already are.”

“Do you think they’ll like me?”

That question hit with more vulnerability than you expected, and you didn’t take even a second to answer.

“They’ll love you, Jay.”

You stretched, letting your back pop gently, and rested your hands on your belly. “Want to say good morning?”

Jason perked up, already shifting to the side of your chair. He kneeled beside you like it was second nature now, one hand lightly pressing to the bump, his head tilted as if waiting for something sacred. Which, in his mind, it was.

“Morning, peanut,” he said softly. “I know you’ve been kicking like a maniac, but you better start behaving once you’re out. I’m watching you.”

The baby gave a soft little shift. Not a kick—just a brush of motion, as if they were saying hello.

“There it is,” he breathed. “They like me.”

“Of course they do.”

He leaned in and kissed your belly with the gentleness you’d only ever seen him give to animals, plants and to you.

“I’ve got your back,” he whispered. “Always. You and Mom.”

You blinked. Looked down at him. He wasn’t even trying to be cute—he said it like it was a vow. Like it had already been written somewhere and all he was doing was repeating it out loud.

You cupped his cheek. “I know you do, baby,” you said. “And we’ve got yours.”

“Damn right,” he muttered, climbing to his feet and stretching. “Now come on. You need anything upstairs?”

“No, I’ve got it—”

“Wrong answer,” he said, alreadymoving to your side. “Your feet are swollen, your center of gravity is officially compromised, and Bruce will kill me if I let you climb a staircase without backup.”

“I can still walk on my own, you know.”

“Cool,” he said, grinning. “Then you won’t mind if I hover like a neurotic maniac the whole way up.”

You took his arm anyway. Because it made him feel important. Because it made you feel safe.

Because that was what family did.

Your own words ate you back.

Jason was a teenager. A very rebellious one, despite how smart and sweet he was as well. A teenager with emotions too wild and big for his own soul. You couldn't exactly relate: you had grown as a farm child, coddled by your parents and brother, neither you nor him had a rebel bone on your bodies —well, Clark was an alien, but he was not a rebel.

Your husband, instead, could relate a bit more. He hadn't been the easiest teenager, neither the simplest child, so he tried to make Jason understand. Tried to make him more pliable, free but not turbulent.

It didn't work.

But you never expected it to get to such instances. Never expected it to hurt so much.

It was normal that people got curious about their biological families. You knew that. You sat on his bed, the note shaking in your hands, and told yourself it was natural. Normal. You had been there when Clark wondered about Krypton. When he held the knowledge of his planet in his hands and cried over stories that weren't his. Ma had never once made him feel guilty. She had hugged him, helped him dig, held him close through all of it. You wanted to be like that. You tried to be.

But you couldn't.

He had gone in search of his biological mother. Curious, almost hopeful. He just wanted to know: he didn't wish to live with her, didn't wish to call her mom, he just wanted to know. And, still, it bit you in the neck, tearing everything in its path.

Tearing you.

So, of course, Bruce went after him. It had been an hour or a bit more when he found the note, but your husband was fast. Fast, furious and full of worry for a son who was acting like what he was: a teenager. You tried to calm him down before he left, but it didn't do much.

Ace sat beside you in the library, tucked against your legs, your fingers wound in the soft fur at the nape of his neck. He whimpered when you shifted too sharply. Nudged you if you didn’t pet him often enough. You could barely feel your limbs after a while, but you didn’t move. You stared at the fireplace, unlit, and let the silence wrap itself around you like a wool blanket full of thorns.

Alfred had brought tea hours ago. Rooibos with vanilla and rosehip. Cooling now, untouched.

The baby—mercifully, for once—was still. No kicking, no pressure, no rolling under your ribs. You didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

You waited long enough that time began to feel shapeless. Bruce hadn’t checked in. Not once. Not a ping. Not even to say “found him.” That wasn’t like him. Even when angry, Bruce didn’t go dark on you unless it was life or death.

Minutes passed. Hours. You shifted from upright to lying down. Ace adjusted with you. And, eventually, sleep dragged you under.

You didn’t dream. Not of anything you remembered.

A sound woke you.

It wasn’t loud. Just a shifting thrum beneath the walls, a pulse you knew too well—the subtle, mechanical draw of the Cave’s elevator, cycling up from the deepest levels. It was late. Too late. Your body had folded itself on the couch in a way your back would regret later. Ace had not moved. He lay across your legs like a barrier, still watching the door.

You blinked the sleep away slowly, pulling yourself upright, one hand bracing your stomach.

That’s when you saw him. Clark stood in the doorway.

He didn’t knock. He never had to. He was just there—framed by the wood of the doorframe, his posture too still, his hands too empty. He wore the same suit as always, his glasses off, hair slightly mussed from the wind.

You smiled immediately, a breath of relief catching in your chest.

“Clark,” you breathed, already reaching out like your body recognized him before your mind did. “You’re here. You went with Bruce? Did you find him? Is he okay?”

There was so much hope in your voice you didn’t even try to hide it. You were ready to forget. Ready to hug Jason so hard his ribs popped. You had already pictured it in your head—him sulking in the Cave, maybe with a split lip, definitely grounded, absolutely loved.

“Clark,” you said again, “is Jason—”

He didn’t answer.

Your smile faltered. You stared harder. His hands twitched once. Not nervous. Just not knowing where to go.

You pushed forward. “It’s okay if he’s mad. If he fought. He gets scared, you know that. He probably didn’t know how to come back, but once he calms down—once I talk to him—I’ll talk to him. He listens when I talk—”

“Y/N.”

The way he said your name made something in you still.

You blinked. “What?”

Clark stepped closer. You frowned at the way he looked at you—like someone bracing for impact.

“He’s just upset,” you said again. “He gets like that. He’s not cruel. He wouldn’t have gone far if he thought we were really scared. And Bruce—Bruce will ground him for a year, but I’ll talk him down, you know I will. We’ll get through to him.”

Your brother opened his mouth, then closed it. His jaw clenched.

You stood slowly, your hand going to the couch arm for balance. “He’s angry, not broken. He’ll come back.”

Clark reached for you. “Y/N, wait—”

You didn’t. You stepped past him, slow but certain. The weight of the baby pulled at your hips. You pressed one hand to your side and the other to the wall, making your way toward the grandfather clock that led to the Cave.

He followed. “Don’t go down there yet. Please.”

“Why?”

Clark stepped forward again, brow creasing, eyes soft with something that didn’t belong in the room. Not here. Not now.

“Why, Clark?”

He swallowed hard. Looked down. The words were so quiet, you almost missed them. “He’s gone.”

You froze. The air in the room flattened. Like something had pressed the oxygen out of it. Out of you.

“What?”

Clark lifted his eyes. “He’s gone, Y/N.”

You stared at him. He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t stalling. You had grown up with him. You knew when he was hiding something. This wasn’t hiding.

You stepped back.

“No.”

“Y/N—”

“No, Clark. Don’t—don’t say that. Don’t lie—”

“I’m not lying.”

“He left a note. He left a note, Clark. He was coming back. He said he’d be back before I even missed him. That’s what he said.”

Clark reached again, gently, like you might shatter if touched.

“Joker got to him,” he said. “Bruce found him. But it was too late.”

You didn’t hear the rest. You couldn’t feel your hands anymore.

You shoved past him—faster than you’d moved in months—pain shooting through your back, ankles burning, but none of it mattered, because the clock was already opening and the Cave was right there and if he was wrong, if this was a mistake, you could fix it. You could fix it.

You moved through it on memory, ignoring the cold under your feet, the silence that met you at every turn. You didn’t have to call for Bruce. He was already there. Standing near the platform. Still in the suit, but unmasked. His cowl was discarded on the floor like he’d torn it off with trembling fingers. His gloves were off too. His hands hung at his sides. His face…

His face was unreadable. You called his name. He didn’t look up.

You stepped forward, one hand on your stomach, the other stretched as if reaching through fog.

And then you saw him.

Jason lay on the table. His suit was torn. And his face seemed so calm, almost like if he was resting. Except he wasn't. His body was too still, skin too pale, blood dried at every corner, hands limp.

When had you seen his hands limp?

He was there. But he wasn’t.

Your baby.

You stopped breathing.

The world didn’t tilt—it collapsed. The bones inside your body stopped working. Your stomach twisted violently and you didn’t know where you were anymore.

You didn’t scream at first. You just moved like the breath had been kicked out of you, like gravity was wrong. You staggered forward, Bruce stepping to catch you, but you shook him off. You needed to see. Needed to hold him.

You reached the table and touched his hand.

He was cold.

That’s when you screamed.

The sound tore through the Cave like a siren, full and sharp and unbearable. Bruce stood behind you, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had split. You clutched at Jason’s shirt, pressing your forehead to his chest, trying to wake him, trying to pull him back with sound, with touch, with all the love you had ever poured into him.

“Jay,” you whispered. “Please—no, no, no—Jay.”

But there was no reply.

You don’t know how long you were there, slumped beside his body, your arms trembling under the weight of your son. Of his stillness. Of the cold that clung to his skin, to his hair, to the stiff collar of his suit. His jaw had been set wrong, too tight. He always clenched it when he was angry. Or hurt. Or both.

You had tried to warm him up. Somehow. Hands to his cheeks, your shawl folded around him like it might bring him back. As if he might stir, cough, groan about how dramatic everyone was being.

But he didn’t. His lashes didn’t flutter. He didn’t move. And he was heavier than he had ever felt—but not because of the weight of his body. It was the weight of finality. Of everything left unsaid. Of how many things you would never hear from him again.

Your hands cupped his face. You stroked your thumb across his cheekbone like you always did when he was sick, like you did when he’d woken from nightmares and stumbled into your bedroom because he couldn’t stand to be alone in the dark.

“I didn’t say goodbye,” you gasped. “I didn’t even say goodbye.”

You kissed his forehead. His temple. His hairline. Over and over. You pressed your face into his curls and breathed in, trying to find him still in there—his scent, his warmth, the electricity of his spirit—but it was already leaving. Evaporating. The room had changed around you. Even the air felt wrong.

“Please, please, I can’t—” you croaked, not even knowing who you were speaking to anymore. God? Bruce? Jason himself?

You would’ve given anything, anything to hear his voice. His awful sarcasm. His tired, dramatic teenage scoffs. You would’ve let him throw a tantrum, break a window, scream and slam every door in the manor if it meant he was here, breathing.

You didn’t hear Clark murmuring to Bruce. Didn’t hear your husband inhale through his nose in that shattered way of his. You didn’t notice when your brother stepped away again, voice low and full of pain, promising to call Diana. Promising to take care of something. Anything. You heard none of it.

And then, all at once, your body locked up.

So sharp it made your mouth open around a silent cry. A clench that started in your lower spine and tore through your pelvis like a blunt blade. You gasped, hands tightening on Jason’s suit. It came again, rolling upward, deeper, with the full force of something ancient and cruel.

It was happening again. You stilled, breath catching. Your hands lifted off Jason’s body like they were made of air now, twitching, uncertain.

“No,” you breathed, brokenly, lifting one hand to your lower stomach. Your palm pressed to your bump as if you could hold everything together by sheer will. “No, no, please,” you begged. “Don’t do this. Not now. Not again.”

But the tightness surged up, relentless.

You gritted your teeth and bent over, forehead nearly to your knees now, breath coming in strangled gasps. Pain pulsed low, deep, animalistic. You could feel warmth between your thighs. A wetness you already knew by name.

Your fingers met a slow, spreading dampness. Your brain refused to name it, even as your body screamed it out in silence.

You pulled your hand forward. Saw the blood.

Thick. Bright. Unmistakable.

“No,” you gasped. “I still have you—just let me have something. Please.”

And finally you cried out. It wasn’t a scream. It was too hoarse, too full of something ruined. It sounded like mourning and denial colliding in your chest. Your voice carried, echoing off the stone walls. Bruce was there in seconds.

“Y/N—” His voice was hoarse, shaking, like he hadn’t spoken in years. “What’s happening?”

You were gasping, not in fear anymore, but disbelief. Like your own body had turned on you.

“I’m losing the baby,” you whispered, and the words felt so unnatural in your mouth that you said them again, louder, as if repetition would undo them. “I’m losing the baby—Bruce, I’m—”

And then the pain came back.

Stronger. Final.

You screamed, finally, a sound Bruce had never heard leave you before. Your knees buckled. Bruce caught you again, one arm beneath your back, the other under your thighs, lifting you from the floor like you weighed nothing.

You couldn’t speak. You clung to his neck, your face buried against his collarbone, whispering apologies to Jason. Again and again.

“It’s happening,” you gasped. “It’s happening again. Bruce. Bruce, I’m losing the baby.”

“Hey. Hey. Look at me,” he said, and desperate. “Inhale, baby. Please. Please, breathe.”

But you shook your head, hysterical, fingers still aching for your boy. “I can’t leave him. I can’t—I can’t leave Jay—”

“Alfred’s calling an ambulance,” Bruce said, voice firm now, trying to ground you. “You’re going to the hospital. You’re not staying here.”

You collapsed against him. “I want my mom. I want my mom. I want to go home.”

He held you, and he didn’t have the words for that. Not this time.

Blood was pooling beneath you now. Your pants were soaked through. You didn’t even care. You were curled sideways, one hand still reaching for Jason’s body, the other gripping Bruce’s arm like he was the only thing tethering you to Earth.

Bruce tried to lift you, but you buckled in his grip.

“Help me,” you said, though you didn’t even know what for. “Help me, Bruce. Please.”

“I’m here,” he whispered, trying to stay calm, but his voice cracked on the last word. “I’ve got you.”

You reached for Jason again, sobbing openly now. “Tell him I didn’t mean to let him go,” you cried. “Tell him I was trying. Tell him I loved him—tell him I love him so much—”

And then another wave hit. You folded, screaming, and Bruce caught you before you collapsed fully, his arms strong but shaking. You could feel his panic building, even through the steel of his self-control.

The Cave lights blurred.

You heard the elevator rise, heard Alfred’s voice distantly through the fog, urgent. Something about medics. Something about the car.

And then your vision went sideways.

The floor tilted. And yet, you couldn't stop thinking about the body on the cave. You were leaving him behind. You screamed. Fought. Clawed at the air.

“Don’t leave him! Don’t—please—I can’t leave him there alone—”

“Alfred’s with him,” Bruce said, choked. “He’s not alone.”

But it didn’t help.

Nothing helped.

Because even as you were lifted, even as your body hemorrhaged and your voice broke and your whole self collapsed under the weight of this impossible day—your hand still reached for your baby boy, cold on that table, the one you were supposed to keep safe.

The one you promised.

And now, both of them were gone.

And you—just a mother without her son, a heart without a rhythm, a body broken open from the inside out—were left with nothing but silence.

And for the first time in your life, not even Smallville's skies could’ve offered you comfort.

#bruce wayne x reader #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #batmom reader #kent!batmom!reader #batboys x reader #bruce wayne x you #platonic jason todd x reader #platonic clark kent x reader #superfam x reader #bruce wayne angst

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eden-axe · 1 month ago

Text

Wrong Sparks p1

Summary: During an argument with Eddie, Volt gets upset with you and kicks you out of the bar, unknowingly hurting you.

Part 2

Eddie/Volt x gn!reader

Warnings: Yelling, electrocution, mentions of falling down stairs, Volt being possessive, minor violence.

Word Count: 1,727

After closing hours at the Breaker Box arguing could be heard to anyone who passed by Dorian, who was unlucky enough to have heard all of it for the past hour.

From inside the club you and Eddie were having, what you both would consider a ‘causal argument.’ Though to those who did not, your dynamic would think it would put Harper & Dirk's shouting matches to shame. Though every argument you had with Eddie had one thing in common: it came from a place of genuine concern and love; but paired with both of your stubborn ways, it looked more violent than you intended.

"Do I seriously have to ban you for a week so you can just cool down?" Eddie was growing tired from trying to get you to stay put at the bar for the past hour. You have been trying to help with maintenance, but he denied your offer every time since you sprained your wrist.

You knew his threat was empty, but with your mind growing just as tired, you believed him. You huffed, “Fine, then maybe I'll go be a regular at Bev's!”

Eddie reeled back at your very real threat. You did it before and didn't come to the Breaker Box for two days. All because Eddie wanted to stop serving you after you got drunk once & almost fell down the stairs; And if it weren't for Dorian pulling you into your room and getting you to bed safely. After Eddie learned what happened, you got into another argument, to which you went to Beverley's and slept next to Koa that night. You knew Eddie would blow a fuse that night out of concern if he saw you go up the stairs after getting drunk at Bev's.

When you realize you stepped out of line due to Eddie's silence, you shuffle your feet, thinking of what to say, but he beats you to it, "You can stay... but you can't help.

That comment sparks the fire of the argument in you again, "That's how we got here in the first place!"

Eddie sighs and pinches his nose, “Oh god, not this again" Eddie sighs & pinches his nose.

Your argument picks up again, possibly even louder now. The reason for the fight? You had recently sprained your wrist & cramped your hand from taking on a part time job from home while in ‘labor limbo’ and going around the house helping everyone else. Due to your exhaustion you didn't help much with repairs at the bar, but just sat at the bar and chatted with Eddie.

Eddie was there when you realized how bad your hands were; You were drying dishes while he washed, when you turned the glass & dropped it clutching your hand.

After a quick trip to Farya, she wrapped and iced your hand and told you to take it easy on physical labor. You listened to her for a few days; you stopped helping people around the house, and only took time in keeping pleasant conversation, and even took time off work. But now you feel guilty. Eddie had fallen further behind on work since you would stay after house at the Breaker Box for a chat. Now he was stretching himself thin to take care of you and the bar. When you didn’t come to the bar, Eddie would always come to find you and make sure you were resting… Which brings you back to now...

"I can handle it! Let me help!”

"No, you need rest. I've got it handled." The lights were starting to flicker as Eddie just wanted to get back to work and let you rest.

You scoffed, “Oh yeah, because working alone got you really far last time!"

You both paused as a bulb burst from above you. You look at Eddie, shocked at your own words. You start to move to him when a large hand grips your shoulder, painfully so.

“Volt—” Eddie starts, but doesn't get to finish.

Volt's skin, an inhuman shade of blue, stares coldly down at you, “You’re cut off for the day. Get. Out”

"Volt” You grab his wrist, about to beg him to hear you out, when he suddenly grabs your injured wrist.

Eddie tries to reach Volt seeing you hold back a pained yell, but Volt already has you out the door. "Stay away from Eddie." "Volt doesn't even look at you as he slams the door.

You bang on the door yelling for Volt to let you in, when a small current comes through the door. That small spark finally allows you to feel the pain in your arm, it's excruciating. Volt, whether knowingly or not, had electrocuted your arm. You let out an ear piercing scream, only muffled when someone pulled you into their chest & everything went dark.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you wake up you notice Farya and Betty right by your sides. Betty was petting your head as Farya was checking up on your arm. Her poking and prodding didn’t bother you, but you were confused why she was here.

“What happened?” You look around, but Betty keeps you lying down.

Curt and Rod appear from the end of your bed. Curt starts off the explanation, “It was crazy. Dorian bursts into the room carrying your.”

“And you were practically dead. Limp. The whole dramatics.”

“Yup. Farya entered not long after, and you were messed up real bad. Whoever you fought, they got you good.”

“They singed your arm bad. Farya considered cutting it off.”

Your heart started sped up as your breathing became uneven.

“They are just messing around. That was never even an option cutie.” Betty reassured you. Her warmth helped a bit, but the second you calmed down, you shot back up.

“Eddie!” You leapt from the bed before anyone could stop you. You raced to the door, but before you could even touch the handle Dorian grabbed your hand.

You look at him, but he shakes his head, “You need rest. Not to go mingling about with them.”

“Dorian, he didn’t mean to,” Your legs gave out, and he picked you up. When he put you back on the bed, you grabbed his hand, “Can you at least check if they are alright, especially Eddie.”

When Dorian doesn’t respond, you resort to puppy eyes and beg, “Please?”

Dorian sighs and squeezes your hand, “Your heart is too big from them, luv’.”

You thank him, and tell him you’ll go rest. You go to turn the lamp off, but when you make contact with the switch it shocks you. You go to pull your hand back, but Farya is already checking your fingers, lightly touching them.

“Does it hurt?”

You look at your shaking hands being touched by her steady one, then look at her, “I- I can’t feel anything.”

She releases your hand which begins to shake even more violently. Curt and Rod get up and head to the door.

“Oh those two really have their wires crossed.”

“Ain’t nobody mess with our friend.”

When they reach Dorian, he blocks their path, and before they could protest he gives them a look that shuts them up, “Look fellas, I know emotions are high but please, stay here with em’. I’ll handle them, I swear.”

Curt and Rod nod and go back to your bed, Curt pulling out cards they had kept themselves busy with before you woke up.

Rod dealt the deck as Dorian closed the door behind him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Breaker Box had been closed for a few days after the incident with you and Volt. Eddie was against the idea, but Volt wanted him to rest and get the repairs done in a timely manner; it also gave Volt time to cool down.

Volt had regretted how rough he handled you that day, but when he saw Eddie blow a fuse he got overprotective. It was a rare thing for both of them, especially now that you joined them. When Volt got too overprotective, he boiled over to controlling and possessive, and this was the first time you had seen it. His blue flared side was something Eddie had told him to reel in, and Volt swears he’s been working on it.

Now Eddie was ignoring him as Volt refused to let him leave to check up on you. So now Volt is in the front cleaning up, while Eddie sits backstage. A loud banging on the door interrupted his thoughts.

“We’re closed.”

“Not here for a drink.”

Volt stood up straighter and opened the door when he heard Dorian’s voice. Volt invited him in and put on his warm host persona.

“How can I help you Dorian? You rarely come here, even when I personally invite you.”

Dorian glances around the room, “Where’s Eddie? I need to speak with both of you.”

Volt felt his protective nature boil up again, but Eddie’s voice carried from across the room, “What do you want? We’re busy right now.”

“Look I don’t want to be here either, but I need to know,” Dorian glares at the two of them, “Which one of you blokes messed with the power.”

“I beg your pardon? We’ve been here fixing the breaker.” Volt puffs out his chest as Eddie stands by his side.

“Look,” Dorian closes his eyes, “I know you lot had an argument the other day, but what you did was too far.”

Eddie moved his hand to his hip, “What was too far?”

“Ah… alrighty then.” Without warning Dorian reels back and punches Volt, sending him to the ground. Eddie rushes to Volt’s side and opens his mouth to yell.

“Look, if you want answers, ask your mate here. And please do stay away from the human unless you both have a proper apology. And I’ll think of letting you see them once they recover from your little stunt.” Dorian gives Volt a pointed look before taking off.

Volt sits up and looks at Eddie confused, “What does he mean ‘recover?’ Our live wire got hurt?”

Eddie looked at the door of the bar, “Yeah, they sprained their hand earlier. The one you grabbed, rather roughly.”

Volt looked down, the guilt finally catching up to him.

“We’ll go apologize to them tomorrow, for now let's deal with your face.” Eddie helps Volt up and takes him to the back to ice his face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note: I will be making a part 2, so if you want to be tagged send me a dm or ask and I'll make sure you're notified when it drops. Please know it may take me a week or so to get it done. Any comments, feedback, or support is appreciated.

Also requests are open, please check pin to check out who I write for!

#date everything #eddie and volt #volt and eddie #eddie x reader #volt x reader #volt and eddie x reader #EdenAxe Writes #date everything x reader

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kamaluhkhan · 7 months ago

Text

IS IT CASUAL NOW?

pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 14.6k summary: you and vi are both tired of complicated relationships so try the whole friends-with-benefits thing....and maybe forget the whole point of your arrangement in the first place. warning: lesbian situationships (there is so much angst and yearning), brief mention of (internalized) homophobia and struggles with addiction....but mostly cheesy domestic fluff and smut [oral (vi receiving), fingering (both receiving), thigh riding, slight bondage play, switch!vi has my heart] (18+) ! a/n: merry (belated oops) xmas girls and gays <33 i've probably spent way too much time on this but it's my BABY....kinda based on leighton and alicia's plotline in s1 of sex lives of college girls and ofc casual by chappell roan (there are many other chappell references throughout too hehe). also yes i made a mini playlist that consists of the songs that i think reflect this fic's sun, moon, and rising signs....pls enjoy and happy holidays !!!

♪: "angel baby" by troye sivan (sun); "pretty girl" by hayley kiyoko (moon); "casual" by chappell roan (rising)

“not even one week into the new academic year, violet rose atlas, captain of the varsity soccer team, has been suspended from gameplay due to recent unsportsman-like behavior, sentenced to 100 hours of community service, and banned from the local lesbian bar.”

mel removes her eyes from the screen to raise an eyebrow at you. you just shrug and take a sip of your coffee. you glance over at the clock on the wall.

11:09am.

“to top it all off, she’s late,” you declare, trying your best to hide the anticipation simmering in your stomach.

“what’s your deal, anyways? you totally flirt with her whenever she’s at the bar. not even we get that good of service,” gert points out. they’re searching through a stack of cd’s and cassette tapes for something to play.

“that was before.”

you walk over to sit next to gert, taking it upon yourself to choose the music. you settle on jagged little pill; alanis morrissette’s lush voice is a welcomed addition to your conversation.

“our funding is at risk,” you explain. “it’s like the dean assigned her to us because she knew it would end terribly and the board would have an excuse to finally cut us loose.”

“if they need an excuse, they’ll find one,” gert grumbles.

you shrug. “i just think violet is bad news, which is something i’d prefer we avoid..”

“the article does say that she punched maddie nolan in the face during an exhibition game against the piltover knights.”

“see? bad news. literally.”

“well, i think we lucked out,” sky gushes, though her focus remains on finishing her current project. she’s crocheting so fast that you only catch glimpses of her sparkly pink fingernails. you’re sure she’ll be done with this blanket before violet shows up. if she even bothers to show up. “the yellowjackets might’ve lost their captain, but we get to spend quality time with the hottest butch on campus.”

“whatever,” you sigh, though you don’t disagree with that description. you check the clock again — 11:11am — and settle against the worn couch. “since we have the time — mel, why don’t you read our horoscopes? i’m itching to see what the universe has in store for us today.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi spent the better part of last night crying and getting wasted in her bathtub with cheap dye burning into her scalp.

she just couldn’t stand the memory of caitlyn kiramman’s perfectly manicured nails running through her formerly pink locks as they kissed, tugging on vi’s hair to bring her closer —

enough. fucking pull yourself together.

cait’s moved on, that much is clear, with someone more like her. someone whose last name is on buildings all around the university of piltover’s campus.

so far, no amount of bar fights or red cards or late nights in some random girl’s bed seem to mend the heart that caitlyn shattered to pieces, but vi doesn’t give up easy.

soon enough, she’ll be back on the field, leading the yellowjackets to victory at nationals; she’ll finish all her classes, graduate with honors and have a great plan for an even greater future; all while having amazing, mind-blowing sex that won’t lead to serious heartbreak.

relationships are overrated, anyways.

the first step in this plan: spending 100 hours with a bunch of angry, bra-burning lesbians.

maybe vi will fit right in.

so, vi walks into her community service assignment with a wicked migraine and hands that look like lady macbeth plotted to murder an oil spill, but with her usual confident swagger nonetheless, as conversation echoes down the hallway.

“according to your rising, there will be a much needed spark in your romantic life. my guess is a fire sign is gonna sweep you off your feet.”

another voice chimes in, a gentle rumble. “could that be your sweet jules?”

“i’ve never asked about her chart,” an achingly familiar voice replies. it brings back memories of dizzying lights and strong whiskey coursing through her blood, but something else, too. a sky full of stars and too-sweet alcohol on her tongue. “paula was a fire sign, though, and that blew up in my face.”

“paula was a walking red flag.”

“yeah, well, apparently red’s my favorite color.”

“maybe that was just the heartbreak you needed to bring passion back into your life. do you feel that with jules?”

“i don’t know — maybe? we haven’t had sex yet.”

“passion isn’t just about sex, you know —”

“gert, i love you, but i cannot handle a sex therapy session right now.”

someone else giggles, bright and bubbly. “hm, i wonder what sign our pink-haired hottie is.”

vi clears her throat to announce her arrival, leaning against the doorway.

everyone turns to look at her then, with varying degrees of shock, and vi feels like she’s just walked into an after midnight roommate vent session.

she isn’t sure what she expected the space to look like, but zaun university’s women’s centre is well-lived in, defined by a sort of organized chaos. each wall is covered in posters and collages, multicolored flags and fairy lights; there’s a shelf in the corner with assorted trinkets and books piled high, a table next to it with baskets of condoms, pads, and tampons and informational pamphlets, and a door in the opposite corner, slightly ajar. a vintage boombox placed on the coffee table plays 90s alt rock, circled by mismatched seating with patterned blankets and brightly colored pillows strewn about.

someone with dark lipstick and an eyebrow piercing is drawing on their converse; a dark brunette wearing glasses is draping a blanket over the arm of a couch; another person is scrolling on their laptop, a gold necklace glittering on their collarbones.

vi’s attention is stuck on you, though, the origin of the aforementioned familiar voice: the very hot bartender from sappho’s, where vi happened to be kicked out of not even 72 hours prior.

you’re wearing a vintage wonder woman t-shirt tucked into faded blue jeans with a carabiner clipped to a belt loop. the sleeves of your shirt are rolled up, displaying your array of tattoos — vi’s already decided that her favorites are joan of arc holding her sword, a pomegranate that’s been cracked open, and lyrics from bikini kill’s ‘rebel girl’ (which admittedly, vi had to look up when she first saw). it’s everything vi’s booze-soaked brain had apparently memorized after many nights of staring at you across the bar counter, licking up whatever honeyed flirtations you’d spill from your lips. vi always noticed your hands, too: the many rings you’ve stacked on your fingers, the lavender sprig sprouting from your middle finger and venus symbol etched onto your wrist, the nails that are always clipped short and painted black.

one of those nails is tapping anxiously on your coffee mug, which has a picture of hayley kiyoko as lesbian jesus.

“pink-haired hottie, reporting for duty. though, i might need a new nickname.” vi grins; you roll your eyes. “i’m an aries, by the way.”

“good to know.” the brunette winks not-so-subtly in your direction before walking towards vi and extending a hand, gold bangles clinking together at the motion. “i’m sky, she/her. we had electromagnetic theory together last spring. it’s lovely to officially meet you.”

vi makes a big show of leaning down and kissing sky’s hand.

“nice to meet you, too, sweetheart.”

“such a gentleman,” sky giggles and leads vi to the patchwork couch. she curls up like a cat, and vi follows suit — the couch is cloud soft, and vi tries not to sink into the cushions. “i’m our supplies and communications coordinator.” she turns away from vi to look around the room. “okay, that’s my intro. who’s next?”

the person with an eyebrow piercing nods at vi, a sort of effortless greeting. “gert, they/them.” they snap the sharpie shut after writing ‘the future is intersectional’ on the tip of their toe. “i curate and design our newsletter, the black rose. i’m also in a band —”

“the sirens of zaun. yeah, i recognize you. you’ve played a few gigs at sappho’s.”

vi looks at you pointedly, and you take this as your cue to disappear behind the door, which appears to lead into some sort of office.

gert seems pleased, though. “then you might also recognize our lead singer….”

the person with the gold necklace, who vi does, in fact, vaguely recognize but can’t quite name, closes their laptop and waves at vi. “i’m mel. pronouns: she/her. i mostly deal with the finances around here. and, from what i understand, you’re already well acquainted with our fearless leader —”

mel is cut off by the sound of her phone alarm.

“shit — it’s already 11:30. our set at campus radio starts soon.” mel gestures at gert. gert picks up the bright red guitar case behind them and secures it around their shoulder as mel packs up her leather satchel.

“damn, i gotta get to class, too. the space-time continuum waits for no one.” sky gets up and gathers her things, too, stuffing yarn into a fruit-printed tote bag. “it was nice meeting you though.” she pats vi’s head affectionately before throwing out a loud: “see ya later, boss!”

mel and gert offer similar farewells, and you shout goodbye from the other room before the three of them are out the door. vi expects you to reappear a few moments later; when you don’t, she ventures into the office.

it’s smaller, but just as decorated as the lounge space. there’s a desk that seems to be more storage than actual use, littered with piles of books and old copies of the black rose. you’re sitting on a fluffy rainbow carpet that looks like every member of sesame street stitched together, writing something in a sticker-covered notebook.

“so, violet —”

“vi’s fine,” she tells you. she decides to sit on the floor next to you rather than the zebra striped chaise lounge.

you nod, rip a page out of your notebook, and hand it to vi. there’s something a bit too intimate about knowing what your handwriting looks like before even knowing your name.

“this is a run down of everything you’ll need to know, but real quick: we do feminist film fridays and trivia tuesdays on alternating weeks; our radical reads book club meets once a month, along with our slam poetry group, and we have a bunch of other events in between — workshops, art builds, discussion groups, and so on. sky keeps everything in the centre stocked, and occasionally the rest of us will pitch in when organizing a charity drive. our newsletter publishes the third wednesday of every month — gert puts it together, but we print in pairs since it could be a lot of work for one person. we have team meetings once a week to share updates, make sure we’re all on the same page, stuff like that. any questions?”

“wow, okay. that’s a lot.”

you smile. “i’m sure you’ll be able to keep up, varsity.”

“so….where do i fit in?”

“that depends on you, really,” you tap your glitter gel pen on your notebook, thinking. “like, i’m assuming you’re not well versed in feminist literature.”

vi puffs out her chest. “based on what assumptions? i’m not a dumb jock.”

“yeah, i know you’ve made the dean list ever since your freshman year.”

vi raises an eyebrow. “keeping tabs on me, wonder woman?” she teases.

you laugh. “don’t flatter yourself. sky’s the one who mentioned it to me. so, unless you mean your very large, unpaid tab at sappho’s...”

“the bar i was kicked out of, you mean.”

“well, yeah, because you —” you take a deep breath. “not the point. anyways, we don’t have a complete schedule for book club, so you can maybe take the lead on one of our meetings. do you have a favorite author?”

vi smiles at you sheepishly. “ah…..you got me there.”

“thought so,” you smirk and vi covers her blush. “if you’re curious, this bridge called my back is a good place to start. oh, and audre lorde is a classic and a personal favorite…..” you pause when you catch vi staring at you. she wants you to keep talking, to appreciate the way your eyes light up so enthusiastically, but you blink away, and a veil of professionalism falls back onto you. “sorry. anyways, we’re having trivia tomorrow — would you be able to help us out with that?

vi nods. “sure.”

“sweet.” you check your phone. “i’ve got a coffee date, so i should get going.”

“wait — you never told me your name, wonder woman.”

“well, it’s not diana prince,” you quip before finally introducing yourself.

“nice to finally put a name to the face.” vi winks at you, standing up. she extends a hand to guide you up. your hand is cold against her skin, your metal rings even colder.

“i’ll see you around, varsity.” before you’re out the door, you turn back around. “oh, and vi?”

“yeah?”

“don’t be late.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

you had stepped away for a quick smoke break — a habit you knew you had to kick — but you’re so fucking drained and it’s only wednesday.

you were up all night bickering with your girlfriend. it started with her admitting that she really doesn’t want to meet your friends, which transitioned into her asking you to not talk to anyone about her or your relationship, which prompted you to make a (maybe slightly insensitive) comment about how she’s welcome to stay in the closet but has no right to push you back in.

needless to say, you did not get any sleep.

you’re about to walk outside, and finally get a moment of peace, when your phone rings. it’s your sibling, and the fact that they’re calling instead of texting tells you that this conversation is about to be (A) exhausting, (B) infuriating, or (C) both.

the correct answer is C.

it’s the same story over and over again: your dad drinks too much, your mom is absent. it hadn’t been this bad when you were growing up, but you suppose you’d been around to ease the damage, or at least step in and take care of your sibling as needed.

“just — take a deep breath. you can come stay with me for the weekend, okay? it’ll be good for you to get away from the chaos for a bit….we’ll go apple picking if the weather’s nice, maybe start working on your halloween costume — whatever you wanna do.”

“you know, i’m not five anymore,” they mumble, stifling a small laugh along with some tears. “but…okay. that sounds nice.”

you smile to yourself, shoulder pressing against the door. “it’s a plan then. we’ll sort out the details later. and, don’t worry about mom and dad — i’ll take care of it. love you.”

you hang up and exhale as you finally push the door open, happy to finally get one moment to breathe.

except, just as you’re greeted by a crisp breeze on this beautiful late september evening, you’re also greeted by the sight of vi pressing someone against the brick wall, their legs wrapped around her waist as she kisses their neck.

something ignites in your abdomen, familiar after many nights of seeing vi at the bar, charming her way into another woman’s bed. except, it’s definitely not jealousy, this time.

(okay, maybe it is; but only a bit.)

they spring apart upon hearing the door slam closed. you recognize who vi’s with — maya, a sophomore who’s frequently attended women’s centre events since last year. she’s always been friendly with the team, but never this friendly.

“oh my gosh, i am so sorry!”

“you don’t have to apologize,” you tell her sincerely. her cheeks are flushed, and she’s busy smoothing down her skirt, clearly trying to distance herself from vi, who’s leaning against the wall nonchalantly. “i just need to talk to violet, so do you mind giving us a sec?”

you wait until maya disappears inside to cross your arms and glare at vi.

“so, it’s violet now, huh?” she teases, wiping red lipstick off her smirk.

“you were supposed to be helping facilitate this workshop,” you note.

“well, it is a queer sex ed workshop.” vi rolls her eyes. “i was giving maya a hands-on experience.”

you grit your teeth together. “and you just had to do that now? like you just had to go down on that third year during trivia last week?”

“well, see, i don’t have a ton of free time, and since i’m not allowed at the local lesbian bar….” she trails off, looking at you pointedly. “i’ve had to resort to multi-tasking.”

“multi-tasking.” you let an exhausted, bitter laugh slip from your lips. “you’ve showed up late to every single event in the past few weeks, and once you’re there, you’re either on your laptop, getting drunk, or hooking up with someone. tell me, violet, as captain of the yellowjackets — if someone on your team was acting like this, what would you do?”

vi narrows her eyes at you, like she can’t believe what you’re asking, and admits, “i’d call them out, tell them to do better.”

“right. and if they kept giving you empty promise after empty promise? you’d have to do something more drastic, even if you didn’t want to, yeah?”

no response.

shaking your head, you take out a cigarette. there’s only silence when you flick the lighter open and light it between your lips. you inhale deeply, letting the smoke enter your lungs, exhale slowly, and decide: “i’m gonna ask the dean to reassign you.”

“fine by me,” vi scoffs, but you swear that something close to disappointment flashes across her face. “clearly, this isn’t working out.”

“clearly.” you take another drag of your cigarette, and as vi walks back inside, you can’t help but try to get under her skin. you’ve had a bad week, between family drama and turbulence in your relationship with jules, and you’re just sick of people not giving a shit. “the year’s already started, so i doubt there’s something available. which means you’ll remain on academic probation until spring.”

and, okay — you do get some twisted satisfaction in how that makes vi stop in her tracks. you’re leaning against the wall, and she strides over to stand in front of you, her jaw and fists clenched.

“i’ll miss the whole tournament.”

you shrug, and blow smoke in her face. “i’ve given you plenty of chances.”

“but the team needs me —”

“you should have thought of that before you fucked up, varsity,” you snap. vi’s eyes widen; you’re usually more level-headed. “you’re cocky, irresponsible — ”

“i lost my scholarship,” vi blurts out, prompting you to pause, the cigarette millimeters from your lips.

you blink at her, blood still roaring in your ears.

“i…don’t know why that’s relevant.”

vi just sighs, so deeply that you feel it in your bones. you haven’t seen this side of her before — no flirtatious smile, no overconfident posture. instead, she slips to the ground, knees pressed to her chest. feeling a bit guilty for pushing her buttons, you slide down next to her. you offer her the cigarette, but she shakes her head.

“i…i’m going through a shitty breakup. i’ve been lashing out, and i lost my scholarship. i haven’t asked my parents for money, because the last thing i want is for them to worry about me. so, i started picking up these odd jobs to make ends meet, and the hours are a bit crazy so between school and practice and — fuck, there’s also shit going on with my sister that i won’t even get into now, but it’s a lot — and i also need to do this because i let my team down and i need to be there for them, whatever it takes, and i’m just so fucking —”

“exhausted, yeah.”

you can see more clearly now — the slump in her shoulders, the shadows underneath her eyes; you see her more clearly. you realize that you might have more in common with violet rose atlas than you initially thought.

“so the laptop —”

“finishing assignments.”

“the drinking?”

vi juts her chin out at your smouldering cigarette. “we all have our vices.”

“and the sex?”

her lips curl into a sheepish grin, and she shrugs. “we all need to relieve stress.”

you clear your throat, blinking away from her gaze and trying to ignore how you can feel warmth radiating from her body, so close to yours. “right.”

vi runs her hand through her tar-black hair. that should have been your first hint — nothing says lesbian breakup more than terribly dyed hair and questionable decisions.

“look, i know i can’t do everything, but i have to, and i’m still trying to figure out how.”

“well….as far as excuses go, it’s not the worst,” you admit. “thanks for telling me. i know that couldn’t have been easy.” you take a deep breath and get to your feet. “i stand by what i said earlier, though — this isn’t working out. you just can’t tell us that you’ll be helpful and not follow through. it means a lot, to a lot of people, that there’s a space like this on campus. mel, gert, sky— they all work so hard to make that happen, and that’s something i need to protect. i’m sorry.”

“wait.” vi grabs your wrist before you can leave. “i’m sorry. really, i am. i promise to do better.”

“you’ve made that promise before,” you point out. “why should i believe this time will be different?”

“because…you’re right. i’ve been too caught up in myself, in what i need, in what my team needs. i can see that you really care about your team, though, and i should have respected that. they’re — you’re — amazing, everything that you do to make people feel safe and heard and loved. i’m sorry for taking that for granted.”

wow. okay.

you did not expect that. you’re hoping that vi can’t feel your pulse quicken at her words, but you’re glad that she’s holding on to you, keeping you steady.

“yeah, well…flattery’s not gonna get you far.” you clear your throat. “but, you’re obviously going through a lot right now, and it can drive you crazy, feeling like you’re the one who —”

“has to keep everything together,” vi finishes, sliding to the ground once more. you follow. “seems like i’m cracking under pressure, this time. fucking everything up.”

“you’ve got a reckless streak.”

“must be the aries in me,” she laughs, softly. “apparently it’s my Ieast attractive quality. along with my stubbornness and selfishness.”

“well, i don’t think that’s the whole picture,” you assure her. vi looks at you incredulously. “i won’t lie and say that your actions aren’t….thoughtless sometimes. you’re more self-centred than selfish—”

“hey!”

“but you obviously feel some sense of responsibility, for your team, your family, for what you think is right. hell — the reason my boss asked me to kick you out is because you started a bar fight with that frat boy who was insisting he had the right dick to set lesbians straight.”

vi scoffs. “asshole.”

“i was about to throw him out, but you beat me to the punch. literally.” you nudge your shoulder against vi’s, and she chuckles. “and, yeah, you’re stubborn, which can be annoying, but it also means that you’d never give up, that you’re willing to keep trying despite the odds, so….”

“so….?”

vi’s looking at you with the widest, softest eyes. fuck, you never expected her to be this gentle, so much so that it you want to melt to her every need.

“i’m hoping third time’s the charm, varsity.”

vi smiles, the most sincere one she’s probably ever given you, and the scar on her lip stretches; for all your talk about responsibility, there’s a part of you who’d risk pushing your already tenuous relationship with your girlfriend to its breaking point just so you could kiss vi, guilt-free, just once. maybe you have a bit of a reckless streak, too.

“thanks, wonder woman. you won’t regret it.”

yeah. you kind of already do.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi would never admit it, but one reason she fought to keep her community service assignment here is because she wanted to keep seeing you.

she likes getting under your skin, seeing those pretty eyes roll whenever she strides in late for a meeting, that kissable jaw clench any time you catch her tangled up with someone else.

it almost makes up for all those nights at sappho’s you’d spent flirting back and forth, some sort of unspoken agreement between you to never go further.

sometimes, it’s just nice to have a crush in your back pocket, to know that they’ll always be there to admire and admire you back while others come and go.

the more time you spend together, though, the more vi realizes that you’re not just a fictional character in her head, in a fantasy she pictures before bed — no, you’re tangible.

vi watches as you bring special tea for gert when their period cramps are particularly painful; she listens to you console mel after another fight with her mother and offer advice to sky when she was hoping to ask out her lab partner. vi notices how you prefer your coffee with a dash of cinnamon; and she learns that you had your first kiss with a girl in your freshman year journalism class, and that your first tattoo was done by the same person. a stick-and-poke star on your ankle.

she can hear your laugh, feel the cool metal of your rings brush against her skin accidentally when you’re squeezing past her in a crowded room, smell your perfume when you hug her goodbye. you have stories and quirks and expectations and opinions that vi subconsciously files away as she gets to know you better.

you’re not just a crush, anymore.

you’re a friend.

vi likes having you as a friend. really — she does!

you’re a friend who makes vi’s heart jump at the sight of your name on her phone. a friend who smirks when vi blushes after you tell her she has the prettiest cheekbones you’ve ever seen. a friend who mentions this vibrator that gave you one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had, so vi orders the same one and maybe still pictures you before bed, imagining that you’re using it at the same time. except someone else might be next to you.

yeah, vi’s pretty sure you’re dating someone, but that’s something she hasn’t gathered enough information on.

not that it matters. she wouldn’t be interested in anything serious, anyways, after the mindfuck that was her relationship with caitlyn, and the damage she’s still having to heal from.

though, if that hadn’t happened, vi would have never gotten into a fight with maddie nolan, the second striker for the piltover knights, who taunted her during an exhibition game about how caitlyn is so much happier now that she isn’t disgracing herself with a filthy zaunite. vi would have never been banned from the first half of the tournament and chewed out by coach sevika for fucking up the yellowjackets’ chance at nationals.

vi would have never been put on academic probation and assigned to 100 hours of community service, either.

she certainly wouldn’t have been here, now, in the women’s centre office close to midnight on a tuesday, folding the most recent issue of the black rose when you walk in.

“oh. hey, v.” you drop down on the zebra-striped couch, your tote bag falling to the ground. “i thought sky was gonna be here tonight.”

vi shakes her head, removing one earbud and letting it dangle from the cord. “she’s got this huge chem report due tomorrow, had to meet up with viktor to get it done.”

“right…” you sigh and lie back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. a few moments pass, and there’s only your steady breathing. “what are you listening to?”

your eyes are closed when vi settles in next to you. it’s a relatively tight fit, but it doesn’t seem like either of you particularly care. vi gently places an earbud in your ear.

you snort, opening your eyes. “you could have just said the cranberries.”

“i’m surprised you recognize them,” vi quips. “it’s not your usual angry girl music.”

“well, sometimes people surprise you. this is actually one of my favorite songs,” you explain. “it’s in one of my favorite movies, too.”

“you’ve got mail?”

you furrow your brows. “when harry met sally.”

vi shakes her head. “no, ‘dreams’ is definitely in you’ve got mail. but, i agree that when harry met sally is a better movie.”

“you’ve watched nora ephron movies and enjoyed them?”

“well, sometimes people surprise you,” vi teases. “i can appreciate a good love story as much as the next person.”

you let out a short, airy laugh. you tilt your head and you’re so close to vi that you’re practically exchanging the same breath. your eyes land on her lips for a millisecond, and vi starts to lean in before you sit up abruptly.

“i could use some alcohol.” you climb over vi and go to the desk, pull out a half empty bottle of fruit-flavored soju from a drawer. you grab two mugs — the hayley kiyoko one, and another with frida kahlo. you stop short of pouring, looking to vi. she nods.

soon enough, you’ve got your legs strewn along vi’s lap, sipping lychee infused alcohol.

“can i ask you something?”

“anything,” vi answers, squeezing your calf.

“why’d you and caitlyn break up?” the question hangs in the air for a second before you add: “if you don’t wanna talk about it though, i understand.”

shit. it’s definitely not vi’s favorite topic of conversation, but….

“i think she thought that i was one of the good ones, that regardless of the way i grew up or the blood that coursed through my veins, i would be her perfect little charity case. people would be like: future president kiramman definitely cares about the poor — just look at the broke angry lesbian she’s turned into her docile wife!”

you suck in a sharp breath. “fuck that.”

“yeah,” vi laughs sadly. “the worst part is that she wanted me to be vulnerable with her, so i was, because i thought the more i opened up, the more she’d love me, but, in the end….i was too messy. i was too much.”

vi hates the lump that starts to build in her throat, the tears that threaten to spill. she cannot cry in front of you —

you grab her hand. your skin is cool against hers, and it eases her quickening heartbeat.

“you’re not too much, v.” your voice soothes her like honey, trickling down her throat. “it sucks, though, when they ask you to rip your heart out of your chest and get mad at you for bleeding out in front of them.”

“shit, i never thought of it so…viscerally, but that’s exactly what it feels like.”

“well you’re not a creative writing major,” you quip. “i know it still hurts — trust me, i know — but your heart was never hers if she treated you that badly. you deserve more.”

is it the alcohol messing with her brain, or does it look like you want to kiss her?

fuck.

vi clears her throat. “why’re you asking?”

you pull your hand away, take a sip of your drink. “jules broke up with me a few days ago.”

you’re single now. good to know.

“what happened?”

“i caught her kissing someone at a bar. a boy.” you roll your eyes. “maybe she just wasn’t ready, which is fine, but when we had it out, she told me that what we had isn’t what romance is supposed to feel or look like, which sucked. especially after being so….vulnerable with her.”

“you offered her that bleeding heart of yours, didn’t you?”

you click your tongue, pouring some more soju into each mug. “course i did, v. and it didn’t mean anything in the end. because relationships suck.”

“i’ll drink to that.”

you cheers, keeping eye contact.

“and you know what?” you take a big, long gulp. “i know that relationships aren’t just about sex, but i’ve been having to get myself off for months now and sometimes, i just want someone else to —”

“take care of you?”

vi sips her drink, watching you mull over her words.

“not sure if i’d put it like that,” you decide. “i just miss that excitement. when another person wants to discover what makes you feel good, and wanting to learn how to make them feel good, too. i miss having that connection with someone.”

“i’m guessing you didn’t have that with jules, then.”

“ha! no. and paula…the girl i dated before….let’s just say, she didn’t give a shit whether i felt good, in any sense.” you shift in your seat; vi senses there’s a story there, but she doesn’t push. “how about future president kiramman — she take care of you?”

vi can’t help but laugh. “nah. i mostly took care of her. she sure liked it when i got down on my knees for her.”

you hum.

“lucky her.”

you wink at vi, and she chokes on her drink.

i would gladly do it for you, if that’s something you want.

“is that a genuine offer? because, if you’re joking —”

shit. did vi say that out loud?

vi’s heart is beating out of her chest, but she sits up straighter to regain some level of composure. she nods.

no use in turning back now.

“i’m serious, wonder woman.”

you stare at her. “i really can’t have another relationship that’s just gonna crash and burn.”

“that’s not what i’m offering. i care about our - our friendship. i care about you.”

you swallow. “i care about you, too.”

“right, and when our friends need help with something….”

“we help them,” you finish. “so, you’re really just talking about casual sex. right now, on this couch?”

“yes,” vi answers. maybe a bit too quickly. “if that’s what you want, too.”

“that’s what i want,” you reply. maybe a bit too quickly, too. “but none of this one sided bullshit: you do me, i do you.”

vi takes your mug, puts it next to hers on the floor, and repositions your bodies so that she’s hovering above you, hips set between yours.

“sounds perfect to me.”

you finally, finally kiss and it feels oddly…familiar. you taste like lychees and nicotine and cherries, burnt sweetness, and your skin is so fucking soft.

“wait.” you tug on vi’s hair and she has to bite back a moan at how fucked out you already look underneath her, all wide-eyed and desperate. “just so we’re 100% clear: just sex.”

vi nods once. “no strings attached.”

“it’ll be casual.”

“we’re not doing the whole relationship thing.”

“promise?”

vi sticks out her pinky, grinning at you sheepishly. you roll your eyes ever so slightly, but still wrap your pinky around hers.

“promise.”

so, you take care of each other. no strings attached.

because that’s what friends are for, right?

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

v ⚽

are u busy rn? got out of my lab early and im bored

wndr wmn ☆

yeah, im at work

v ⚽️

leave early. im BORED and HORNY

wndr wmn ☆

ofc you are

v ⚽️

pls u love it

u know #6 isn’t just my jersey number ;))

i’m implying that i will give u 6 consecutive orgasms

wndr wmn ☆

yeah i got that

v ⚽️

so….

wndr wmn ☆

….

leaving now

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“you sure about this, v?”

vi hums, looking up at you through hooded eyes. “isn’t it every girl’s dream to get tied up by the lasso of truth, wonder woman?”

you’re straddling her, still wearing your red and gold bodysuit underneath blue shorts that you’ve decorated with silver stars. your makeshift lasso of truth — really, just some gold rope — sparkles, tying vi’s wrists together to the headboard.

the theme of the women’s centre halloween celebration is always the same — dress up at your favorite female icon — but you’d never seen someone look as good as vi does. she dressed as trinity from the matrix, all tight, black leather and vinyl, showcasing her defined muscles as the gods intended.

now, she’s left in a sleeveless cropped top and black boyshorts, with her pants and jacket thrown somewhere on your apartment floor.

you have a feeling she really liked your costume, too, because she practically begged you to take control tonight.

“if it gets too much, our safeword will be —”

“sappho.” the slight whine of impatience in her voice sends a jolt right to your core.

“perfect.”

you kiss her lips, her jaw, her neck, your lipstick leaving angry red marks. you lodge your bare thigh in between vi’s legs, biting your bottom lip when you feel her already warm and wet, when you hear her whimper as you apply more pressure to where she needs you most. you reach into your nightstand for your vibrator and switch it on, teasing vi’s nipples through her shirt.

vi moans, deep and loud. not even thirty seconds, and she’s already pulling at the restraints, the headboard creaking.

“are you gonna be a good girl for me, violet?” you coo, inching the vibrator lower and lower, feeling her shake underneath you. “because we’ve got all night, and you better not break my bed.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“hey, so — i found these in between one of the couch cushions, thought maybe they might be yours.”

you can only spare a glance at the item mel is holding up — you’re grading freshman papers, focused on this one student’s thesis about gender fluidity in shakespeare’s twelfth night.

“oh, those are vi’s.”

“hm. and just how is it that you know what her underwear looks like?”

you stop writing mid-sentence and look up at mel who’s giving you a pointed look.

you and vi had been the ones to clean up after feminist film friday last week, and one thing led to another….

in your defense: vi had been wearing these low cut jeans that showed off her v-line, and you could tell she didn’t have her usual sports bra on because you could see the outlines of her nipple rings through her tight, white tank top. it took everything in you to wait until people cleared out during the credits of the watermelon woman to pin her down and have her whimpering for you.

“i just…guessed.”

“right.” mel rolls her eyes. “so, you and violet are….what? fucking? dating?”

you clear your throat and take a sip of lukewarm coffee.

“we’re keeping it casual,” is all you say.

“are you sure that’s a good idea?”

you just shrug.

“just — be careful,” mel, always the diplomatic one, eases. she walks towards you, sits on the edge of the desk, and hands you the pair of black briefs. “i know we all teased you about it before, but i don’t want to see you get hurt. i’ve seen you get your heart broken one too many times.”

“it’s fine, mel,” you assure her, grabbing the piece of fabric and shoving it at the bottom of your bag. you’re visiting their owner after this, anyways. “vi and i are just friends helping each other out.”

mel raises an eyebrow. “well, you and i have been friends for years and we’ve never gotten that close.”

“that’s different.”

“how so?”

“i appreciate your concern,” you say, avoiding the question. “but it’s fine. nice, actually.”

“it’s your life,” mel sighs. “maybe don’t fuck on our couches anymore, though.”

your cheeks heat up. you turn your attention back to the essay in front of you.

“noted.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi starts showing up at your place after soccer.

she’s allowed back on the field during games now, so she appears with a winning grin, a grass-stained uniform and fresh bruises on her knees. one time, she had the remnants of a bloody nose after a header gone wrong, and you could taste copper when she pressed her lips against yours before she hopped in the shower.

you keep her go-to body wash stocked — bergamot and cedarwood scented old spice — but she always walks out of the bathroom smelling like your mango-vanilla shower gel. sometimes even your coconut shampoo. she slips on one of your oversized graphic tees, drapes a light purple towel around her shoulders to avoid staining your shirt with her cheaply dyed black hair, fading back to pink with each wash. she walks over to the fridge in her soft gray sweatpants rolled at the ankles and cracks open one of the spiced-pear red bulls as you pull ingredients out for dinner. usually something quick and simple, since it’s always a long week and neither of you have capacity for anything more.

vi chops garlic and tells you about her game; you boil water for pasta and tell her about the latest drama between students in your literature class.

you pretend you have all the time in the world.

because you both know that vi’s got the strap packed in her gym bag, that soon one thing will lead to another and she’ll be fucking you with it until you’re both sweaty and spent and exhausted in the best way possible.

you’ve established this routine together, agreed upon several unspoken rules: no pillow talk once it’s over; no actually falling asleep in the other’s bed; no crossing that thin sapphic line between friendship and romance.

no breaking that promise.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

wndr wmn

wanna come over? i’m watching bend it like beckham

v ⚽️

MY FAVORITE!!

i would love 2

but lucky fell asleep on me

we just finished devouring an xl pepperoni pizza

wndr wmn

remind me again why your one-eyed golden retriever likes pizza so much?

v ⚽️

come on it’s cute

[v ⚽️ sent an attachment]

wndr wmn

yeah, you’re cute

v ⚽️

come over here instead?

wndr wmn

omw

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──��───

vi whines, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“come on — hurry up.”

“you practically begged for this, v,” you chide.

“yeah, but you’re taking too long and your hands are fucking freezing.”

“it’s the irony deficiency, babe,” you quip. “now, are you gonna be a good girl and let me finish?”

“fine,” vi grumbles. she does stop squirming, though. you hum, pleased.

you certainly didn’t miss the way her breath hitches at the nickname. vi’s right hand, freshly polished, tightens on your thigh.

you’re not sure why she called you at 1:27am for your help with this, or why she couldn’t just do it herself, but you’re sitting on her lap, painting her nails the color of pomegranate juice, a color she had chosen from the options you brought.

sure, you were about to turn in for an early night, but the moment you heard her voice through the phone, you rushed over to her place wearing nothing but your pajamas — plaid boxer shorts and a spiderman shirt that vi wore last time she was at yours, and you haven’t washed since.

you stretch time out as much as you can, meticulous in every stroke, but painting her nails doesn’t take much longer. you start to move off her lap — it’s probably time for you to leave — but vi grabs your hips, a playful smirk on her lips.

oh, right. that’s the type of relationship — friendship — you and vi agreed upon.

shit. you’re pretty sure that you’re wearing your days of the week underwear. is it a turn-off that you’ve got on a saturday pair on a thursday?

it doesn’t really matter, anyways.

instead of initiating a kiss, vi takes the bottle of polish from you, swaps it for black, and gestures for your hand. you blink at her, until you realize what she’s asking.

“oh! you don’t have to —”

“you do me, i do you.” vi grins at you. “i thought that was our arrangement.”

you laugh, feeling warmth radiate from your chest.

it’s kind of….adorable, the furrow of her brow, the way she curses under her breath when a drop of nail polish falls onto your skin. she’s surprisingly gentle, too, one of her hands holding yours for support while the other paints.

while she focuses on getting the polish onto your nails in even layers, you busy yourself by counting vi’s freckles.

violet rose atlas has a constellation of freckles sparkling across her cheeks. you hope there’s enough time in the world for you to memorize every single one.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

v ⚽️

do u need more nicotine gum?

im at cvs rn

wndr wmn

yeah that’d be great!!

v ⚽️

i’ll get u the cinnamon one

that’s the one u like right?

wndr wmn

yep!!!

v ⚽️

okay cool

im also gonna get u some of those iron supplements

wndr wmn

my hero 🙏🏽

thank you sm

v ⚽️

ofc

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“that red head was trying to get your number.”

“are you jealous, v?”

vi scoffs, sipping her cherry coke. “of course not. i’m just observant.”

you’d convinced your manager to let vi back into sappho’s. it’s nice, really, to see her back here again.

nice, but different.

gone are the days of staring at her from across the room, where she would be charming someone else, and only flirting with you when she came over to get another whiskey for herself and vodka something for her date. instead, she jokes around with mel, sky, and gert if they’re around, and sometimes brings her teammates in as well to play a game of pool. she usually has one drink, and then switches to something non-alcoholic. sometimes, vi doesn’t even come in for a drink; she just stops by to say hi before a team dinner or a study session.

(it’s fine — never once have you gotten an overpriced coffee from the cafe she started working at mid-october, and you probably stop by once a week between errands. that’s your excuse, anyways.)

so. things are different, but nice.

you lean across the sticky counter. “you want me to get down on my knees for you right now to prove which girl here i’d like to go home with?”

“baby….” vi shifts on the bar stool. it’s hard to tell under the dim multicolored lights, but you’re pretty sure she’s blushing, too.

“i think we both know you’d draw a bit too much attention to yourself. especially when i use my tongue to —”

“my car’s outside.”

you smirk. “my break’s in 15.”

you used to spend your breaks in the alley outside sappho’s burning through a cigarette. now you find yourself knee-deep in the passenger seat, eating vi out like she’s the last thing you’ll ever taste.

“f-fuck,” vi groans.

“feels good, yeah?” you tease her clit with her tongue, sliding two fingers into her easily. you work fast, determined to let her finish before you run out of time.

“so fucking good. i’m gonna —”

she clenches around your fingers; you lap her up eagerly, let her writhe against your face until she’s had enough.

you sit back on your knees once her hips still, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. you crane your neck to check the time on the dashboard, when you notice something in the footwell.

“vi! i thought i lost this.”

vi grins at you sheepishly, chest still heaving as you hold up the complete works of audre lorde, a tattered book with a well-worn spine and dog-eared pages.

“sorry. i meant to put it back on your nightstand once i was finished.”

you open to where she’s placed a makeshift bookmark — the ticket from an underground sirens of zaun show you’d both gone to. you’ve had this copy since freshman year, the scribble of your handwriting in the margins of practically on every page.

“it’s okay,” you tell her. “you like it so far?”

“yeah.” she grabs the book from you gently, thumbing through the pages. you wonder if vi registers the curves of her own smile, tender and bashful. “honestly, i’m not usually a fan of poetry, but it’s really cool how lorde writes about desire between women in such a tangible way, you know? i really liked this one verse in ‘recreation:’ ‘touching you, i catch midnight as moon fires set in my throat.’ it’s just so - so beautiful, the idea of something so domestic and mundane being almost magical, because that’s what it’s really like when —”

you don’t even realize that you’re staring until vi looks up at you and freezes.

“sorry,” she clears her throat, closing the book and setting it aside. “did i say something wrong?”

you assure vi that she did nothing wrong.

you exit her car, the taste of her lingering on your tongue, the feeling of her keeping your body warm on this cold november night.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

wndr wmn

hey

are you in town during break?

v⚽️

having dinner at my dads’ on friday but otherwise im here

why? u gonna miss me??

wndr wmn

lol

im having ppl over for friendsgiving on sunday

if you wanna join

v ⚽️

hell yeah

can i bring anything?

wndr wmn

just your pretty face

i’ll take care of the rest

turkey, cranberry, sauce, stuffing, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie…

etc. etc.

v ⚽️

damn!!!!

full course meal

wndr wmn

yep

im basically wife material

v⚽️

pls we’re so over gender norms

but yeah

you are

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi has never been the type to wait by the phone for a girl to text, or to show up at her place after not hearing from her in a while, worried that she might have done something wrong.

yet here she is, standing outside your door.

it’s cool, though. completely platonic behavior.

she knocks.

there’s no answer.

she knocks again.

nothing.

vi waits another second, leaning her shoulder against the door.

“it’s me, wonder woman,” she tries.

hope flutters in her chest as she hears you shuffle, unchain the lock. vi stumbles as you throw the door open, but she recovers quickly to find you: smudged black eyeliner enhancing the shadows underneath your eyes, hair in disarray, clothes disheveled.

“i’m not really in the mood for sex.”

vi can’t help but laugh, even though your comment feels like a punch to the face.

“wow. figured you would think more of me by now than just some horny teenage boy.”

“look, vi —”

vi?

since when do you call her that?

“i’m sorry i missed the meeting today. i texted mel —”

damn, so your phone does work.

you’ve just been ignoring her calls and texts.

“but i’m just… it’s not a good time, okay? i’ll see you around.”

ah.

the classic generic excuse and non-committal statement combo.

you start to close the door on her before she even has a chance to get a word in.

the hits just keep coming.

thankfully, vi’s always been a good fighter.

“wait.” vi places her palm firmly on the door before you can fully shut her out. “i’m just here to check on you.”

your face remains unchanged.

“okay, well, you’ve checked on me.”

“yeah, i’ve checked on you. you look like shit.”

you glare at her. “well i’m sorry i didn’t have the time to get all prettied up for you. i know that you like me better that way.”

“that’s not what i —” vi inhales sharply. she’s a fighter, but she doesn’t want to fight you. “mel dropped the news — about admin officially cutting our funding. i knew how that would affect you, so….” vi lifts the bag of takeout. “i brought some thai food for us to share. a pomegranate, too, because i know you like seasonal fruit. it’s been a while and honestly, i just….i just wanted to spend time with you.”

you exhale, your eyes softening.

there.

a hesitant smile, an invitation to come inside.

there are clothes all over your floor and dishes piled high in the sink. your desk is littered with empty boxes of cereal and cans of an energy drink that normally you’d never touch. the blanket that sky had crocheted for you — lavender and pink checkered — is unfolded on your couch, your laptop half-closed on the coffee table in front next to two stacks of printed essays — ones marked with purple pen, the others untouched. in contrast, your bed is still perfectly made.

you take the blanket and wrap it around your shoulders, sitting at the kitchen table and curling into yourself. vi busies herself in cracking open the pomegranate, putting the seeds into the last clean bowl in your cupboard. the palms of her arm wraps are now stained a reddish-purple, but she doesn’t care.

vi manages to find two pairs of clean chopsticks for the thai food, and the two of you eat in silence.

“so….” vi starts, watching you stab a piece of chicken before popping it into your mouth. “you wanna talk about it, or….?”

“what’s there to talk about?”

“well, for starters, maybe tell me what’s been getting you into full hibernation mode? we haven’t seen each other in, like, a week.”

“six days,” you correct, chewing a mouthful of noodles. “last tuesday, we played pool during my closing shift at sappho’s. i lost. you made me down two shots of tequila because you’re a menace and you know i hate it.”

“yeah, but i drove you home and tucked you into bed with water and advil for later, so i’m also a gentleman. so, just tell me what’s been going on. we’ll figure it out, yeah?”

“it’s fine,” you grumble.

“clearly, it’s not. just tell me what you need.”

“what i need is to not be distracted,” you huff, avoiding eye contact. “i certainly don’t need you —”

“taking care of you, i know.” vi grabs your hand from across the table. she feels you stiffen on instinct, and then ease into the heat of her skin. “trust me, i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want to be. so — humor me.”

vi squeezes your hand, hoping to reassure you.

you sigh. “i’ve just — i’ve been spiralling trying to figure out how the centre can keep going with, like, half our required budget, trying to see if we can get some external donors and i still need to finalize the venue and equipment rentals for our last open mic….and….and my sibling called again to tell me that things haven’t been great at home, so i want to go down there this weekend to sort everything out, but my car hasn’t been starting….plus i’m behind on grading, and i told my supervisor i’d have a complete draft ready by thursday and i’m not even halfway done, and that’s the same day we’re having that art build for the climate rally on friday, and i’ve been having the worst cramps since this afternoon, and all i wanna do is pass out and sink into my duvet, but i need to keep going —”

vi squeezes your hand again, this time more firmly. “you need to slow down.”

“i can’t.” you huff. “i have to keep everything from falling apart, and if i don’t….”

vi shifts to the chair next to yours, still holding your hand.

“but you can’t do it all if you’re too exhausted to take care of yourself. from the looks of it, you’ve been living off of frosted flakes, red bull, and zero sleep.”

you shrug. “if that’s what it takes.”

“if that’s what it takes, then maybe it’s not worth it.”

“don’t say that,” you tell her. “it’s all worth it. i just wish it wasn’t so…heavy.”

vi nods, because she really, truly understands. she gives you the advice she can see you giving her in another context.

“you ever think that maybe it wouldn’t feel as heavy if you…i don’t know…weren’t too stubborn to ask for help.”

“there are things that are my responsibility, violet,” you tell her, slipping your hand away. you reach for the bowl of pomegranate seeds, meticulously picking up one at a time with your chopsticks and crushing it in between your molars. “i can’t just pass those off to someone else.”

“fine. but what about other things? like the women’s centre stuff — we’re a team, right? so we’ll figure it out together, divide the labor so you’re not doing everything. and, maybe ask your supervisor for an extension, too? and, well, i don’t really need my car this weekend, so you’re welcome to borrow it.”

you pause, narrowing your eyes at her.

“you said…. ‘we.’”

“well, yeah. i’m part of the team, aren’t i?”

“but you’ll be finished with your hours in a week. there’s no reason for you to stay.”

“of course there is,” vi whispers, studying your face as it morphs from suspicious to something else, something gentler.

her heart is pounding as she waits for you to say something, so vi starts to dig into the pomegranate seeds, the juice surprisingly more sweet than sour. some dribbles out from the corner of her lips, and you reach over to wipe it away with your thumb.

“i’d love for you to stay,” you hum, smiling, and vi feels her chest glow with a brightness it seems only you can bring out. “turns out you give pretty good advice.”

“so…you’ll consider it.”

you shrug again. “maybe. i am very tempted to take you up on the car thing.”

“all yours, if you want it.”

“are you sure?”

“it’s fine, wonder woman. i’ll just carpool to practice — it’s better for the environment, anyways. can’t show up to the climate rally as a hypocrite, can i?” she jokes, and you roll your eyes playfully. “and, i’ll try to fix your car while you’re away.”

“wow. you are a gentleman.”

“gentleman? baby, i’m husband material.”

you actually laugh.

“i thought we were over gender norms,” you quip. “but yeah. you are.”

vi’s cheeks heat up at your statement. you most definitely notice her blushing because you break out into a toothy grin

“i missed you, v,” you admit. “any other words of wisdom?”

despite your tender smile, you look exhausted. vi just wants to hold you through it all, tell you it’s gonna be okay. instead, she settles for placing a gentle hand on your cheek, running her thumb over the deep shadow underneath your eye.

“get some rest, pretty girl.”

a few hours later, you wake up alone.

you have a vague memory of warm arms wrapped around you, a heart beating steadier than yours. your sheets smell like old spice, your apartment smells like fresh laundry. you get out of bed and notice that there are no more dishes in your sink, no more cans or containers on any surface. all the clothes you’d been meaning to wash are now carefully folded on your couch.

there’s a bright pink sticky note on your nightstand next to the keys to vi’s car.

you talk in your sleep. something about stargazing? maybe we can go when you get back.

drive safe. text me if you need anything.

xxx

- v

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

zaun yellowjackets vs. piltover knights.

two minutes left in overtime.

one goal standing in the way of their trophy. one goal to end piltover’s monopoly over the title of national champions.

caitlyn probably told her knights to be extra aggressive — win by any means necessary — so it’s been a long game of dirty plays and intentional fouls.

vi always puts her heart into every single game, but this time —

this time, it’s personal.

zaun’s defense works to regain possession and prevent piltover’s attack. ashe manages to intercept a pass between two knights, and is quick in dribbling the ball until mid-field. she sends it over to vi with a swift kick. vi’s quick on her feet, catching piltover’s defense by surprise, sprinting closer and closer to the goal. she makes it to the penalty box.

this could be the winning point.

vi has it, too. she’s so fucking close, about to fake out the goalie and kick into that hard-to-defend sweet spot — until a sharp, pointy elbow collides with her ribs so abruptly, it knocks the wind out of her lungs. she stumbles forward over the ball, knees skidding onto the grass. whoever it is also steps on vi’s cleat for good measure.

“fuck!” she looks up to see who it is.

of course. it’s maddie fucking nolan, who doesn’t spare so much as a glance as the ref doles out a red card. she nods at caitlyn as she walks off the field, no doubt following her captain’s orders.

her teammates help vi to her feet, and the ref makes sure everyone is in position for the penalty kick.

this could be the winning point. vi just has to ignore caitlyn’s icy stare from a few feet away, and the heart threatening to beat out of her chest.

vi takes a deep breath.

she looks to the stands. among the crowd of screaming fans, zaunites and pilties alike, is vi’s family. they’re cheering.

you’re there too, sitting next to them.

everyone is staring at vi, waiting for the whistle, waiting for her to make the shot, but the only person she stares back at is you.

you’ve got this, v, you had whispered to her the night before. she couldn’t sleep, so she called you. vi wishes she was back there, now — tangled in flannel sheets, lucky snoring at the foot of the bed, gazing up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling until she finally fell asleep in your arms.

but, vi’s on the field.

and this is the winning point.

the whistle blows.

she makes the shot.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“i told you i wasn’t a jinx!” powder sticks her tongue out at mylo.

she’s all sweat and dirt and adrenaline, but, fuck, if vi isn’t so, incredibly happy and proud of her team, of everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve accomplished.

it almost doesn’t feel real.

just like it doesn’t feel real, seeing you talk animatedly with her sister’s boyfriend, laughing along with her siblings, smiling as you watch her dads hug and praise her.

when it’s your turn to do the same, you practically leap into vi’s arms, gushing about how amazing she was, how proud you are of her.

“this looks good on you,” vi hums, as you pull away from another hug. her fingers play with the bottom of the jersey, and she bites the inside of her cheek to ground herself in the moment. you, with her family. you, in her jersey. “thinking of joining the yellowjackets?”

“i think i’ll leave the soccer to you,” you tell her. “you were amazing out there. guess i should be calling you wonder woman from now on, huh?”

“wonder woman! that’s where i remember you from!” vander suddenly exclaims, stepping closer to the pair of you. silco turns around, too. “you once tried to get into the last drop with a fake id, didn’t you? under the name diana prince?”

“shit,” you laugh nervously, eyes flickering between vander and the ground as if you’re once again a teenager caught in the act. “i….probably did.”

“i kicked you out, told you to go home to themyscira.”

“yeah…i….i remember that.” you nod slowly, furrowing your brows. “except, i didn’t want to go home that night, so i lingered outside,” you continue. you turn to vi, and your face softens. “which was when you —”

“brought two glasses of cherry coke and rum,” vi finishes; she sees flashes of that night as you gaze into her eyes. “we climbed onto the roof and —”

that was her first kiss. vi never even realized until now, but —

you were her first kiss.

��i can’t believe i forgot that.”

“weird, how memory works,” you agree, tilting your head curiously, looking at vi with a newfound interest, like a ghost from your past.

“well, isn’t this a story we’ll be sharing on your wedding day!” vander chuckles, ruffling vi’s hair.

“don’t pressure them, darling,” silco chides, but the smirk growing on his face gives him away. he’s loving this drama. “they’re barely 23 — i doubt they’ve discussed marriage.”

“oh, we’re not —”

“yeah, we’re just —”

“friends,” you say at the same time, careful to avoid eye contact.

vi feels like she might burst into flames at the knowing look vander and silco share.

“well, violet, would your friend like to join us for a celebratory dinner?” silco asks.

so that’s how you’re sitting between powder and claggor, listening to them talk your ear off about the young innovator’s competition. vi’s sitting across from you, next to ekko, who occasionally pipes in.

you’re here, sharing the tradition of a post-game meal with vi’s family at the local pizza parlour.

caitlyn never even wanted to meet vi’s family.

a few pizzas are ordered for the table, and you eat and laugh and sip your soda along with everyone else. you make a flower out of your paper napkin and hand it to isha, who’s on the other side of powder, and she gives you a toothy grin in return. you answer all the standard questions about your job and major and plans for the future.

“after graduation, i’m probably gonna take a break, get some work experience,” you explain. “maybe save up some money for law school a few years down the road.”

“you wanna be a lawyer, huh? you sure you wanna be friends with a felon, then?” powder asks, blowing bubbles into her soda through her straw.

vi coughs, choking on a mushroom.

“powder!”

“what! she never told you?”

you shake your head, glancing over at vi who suddenly finds it hard to look you in the eye. your foot has been pressed against hers underneath the table all night; you pull it away now. she takes a big gulp of water; vi looks over at vander and silco for help, but they seem to be caught up in their own conversation.

“oh, damn! ” mylo adds, leaning over. “it’s a great story!”

“guys, maybe don’t —”

“but it’s a great story!” mylo insists. “shows what a badass you are!”

“she didn’t do anything serious, like murder or anything,” powder clarifies. “it was really just her pissing off some enforcers —”

“rightfully so,” ekko adds.

claggor nods. “we were just kids. they were harassing us for some bullshit, disruption of property or whatever, so vi steps in and things get heated —”

“it takes three of enforcers to get her handcuffed, but she manages to get a few nasty hits in before they send her off to stillwater —”

“she spends three days there —”

“i thought it was two —”

“no, it was three —”

“needless to say, this isn’t the first time vi has been sentenced to community service, but it seems she’s really enjoying it this time, thanks to you,” powder finishes, winking at you.

“well that’s….quite the story,” you finally say, voice steady.

“oh! let’s tell her about the time she stole from some enforcers that were hoarding food —”

as powder continues the story, and you listen intently, it’s hard to read your expression.

are you ashamed of being friends with her? disgusted by her family, her past? regretful that you ever let her touch you, let her into your life?

vi’s stomach turns when your eyes collide; she’s been down this road before, and vi’s scared that she knows exactly what you’re thinking.

she pushes her chair back and disappears to the bathroom before she has to watch you walk away.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

there’s a knock on the door.

“someone’s in here,” vi says. she grips the edge of the counter so hard, her knuckles turn white.

deep breaths.

this isn’t the same as before.

this isn’t caitlyn, who threw vi out like a piece of trash when something better came along.

then again, you never knew this much about vi’s past. you’re well within your right to —

there’s another knock.

“v? it’s me….i have to get going, but i wanted to check on you before i leave.”

“okay,” vi clips. she looks up at herself in the mirror; she had splashed her face with cold water to calm herself down. a drop falls from her chin. “bye.”

“are you sure you’re okay?”

“i’m fine. see you around.”

you sigh, and vi hears you settle against the doorframe.

“violet, let me in,” you press. “please?”

“i’m fine. you can leave.”

“okay, well, i’m not leaving until i see that gorgeous face of yours one more time,” you whisper. “i got all dolled up just for you, and all i wanna do is give you a proper goodbye….”

well, when you put it like that….

vi grabs some paper towel to dry her face and fixes her hair before opening the door for you. you smile knowingly, enter and lock the door behind you.

you lean against the door as vi leans against the counter, the marble digging into her lower back.

“okay, i’ll start because, frankly, i don’t have time to waste,” you state after a few moments of silence. “nothing i’ve learned about you tonight has changed how i see you. it’s just confirmed some things.”

“right. like how impulsive and violent and reckless i’ve always been,” she lists glumly, unable to look you in the eye.

“maybe you are all those things,” you pause. “but, i don’t fucking care. i mean, i do, because it’s part of you and i like who you are. i like you.”

your words do wonders to ease the tension throughout vi’s body, and she feels like she can actually take a breath.

vi’s eyes lock onto yours.

“you do?”

“i like who you are, every part of it,” you tell her. “well, i don’t like that you’ve had to fight your way through an unbelievably fucked up system ever since you were a kid, but the bottom line is that you’re the strongest, most compassionate person i know.”

vi blinks at you.

“funny, i was just thinking the same thing about you the other day.”

neither of you say anything for a minute or so, letting the sentiment linger in the small space between you. once more, you’re the one to break the ice.

“well, you know what they say about great minds….” you step closer to vi. you take her chin between your thumb and your index finger. "can you guess what i’m thinking now?"

vi shakes her head, throat suddenly very dry.

“i’m thinking that i’ve wanted to kiss you all night.”

“what’s stopped you?”

you grin. “i didn’t want to make a fuss in front of your family, but now that we’re alone….”

vi doesn't say anything, but instead closes the gap between your lips.

you kiss her, harsh and messy, tongue and teeth, swallowing her moans as your fingers snake down the waistband of her pants. you pull vi’s bottom lip with your teeth before moving to her neck, nipping along the outline of her tattoo. you bite down harder on her skin, right at her pulse point.

"what’s that you said earlier —” a low groan tumbles from vi’s lips when you start to suck just above her collarbones. another when your tongue soothes over the sting. “about a proper goodbye…?” she tugs your hair so that you’re looking right at her.

it’s quite the sight — your lips swollen, chest heaving, eyes curious and lustful.

“anything you want,” you whisper, all breathless.

vi hums. she slips a hand underneath the frayed hem of your denim skirt, and you gasp as her nails scrape against your inner thigh.

she likes that you’re here. here for her.

"get on your knees for me, sweetheart.”

she pulls down her pants along with her briefs, as you kneel before her without hesitation.

you drape one of her legs over your shoulder, giving your tongue better access to her cunt. vi grips your hair tighter, bringing you in closer, and you moan, sending vibrations up her body.

"fuck," vi hisses. you add a finger, while your tongue works her clit.

you bring her to the edge, stay with her even as her thighs clench around your skull. she expects you to get back on your feet right away, but you stay, adding another finger and sucking her clit. she moans your name.

you pull away slightly. "one more, pretty girl," you promise. your chin glistens with vi’s release; you lick your lips as you gaze up at her through thick eyelashes. "can you do that for me?" she nods furiously, and you get back to work.

after letting her ride your tongue and fingers through another orgasm, you kiss her ankle before releasing her leg. vi pulls you up to your feet, sucks the taste of herself off your tongue.

you pull away slightly, heart racing against vi’s chest.

vi swipes her thumb over the smudged lipstick below your lip. she studies you, admires you, like you’re a fucking work of art that belongs in a gallery, like you didn’t just fucked her through two consecutive orgasms in the bathroom at a pizza parlour while wham's "last christmas" plays through shitty speakers.

"take these off." vi tugs at your tights. you do as instructed, slipping off your underwear as well. she pulls you towards her, and lodges a leg in between yours. your bare cunt brushes against her thigh, back and forth as she guides your hips. "i can't believe you got all dressed up…. wearing my jersey, and this pretty little skirt even though it’s so cold outside. all for me?"

vi flexes her thigh muscles, pushing you down faster and harder. you whimper.

"all – all for you.”

vi feels her pussy clench, with the desperation in your voice, the stickiness of your heat against her skin, the smell of the two of you intertwining. your orgasm crashes into you, and vi holds you through it.

you kiss her ever so sweetly before removing yourself from her grasp, smoothing down your skirt and looking around for your underwear.

"where are my...."

you look over as vi tucks your fuschia thong into the inner pocket of her jacket.

"i'm guessing you'll buy me replacements for christmas."

vi flashes you a shit eating grin before putting on her own underwear. she then pulls up her pants, not wiping your release from her thigh. she likes the idea of walking around with you seeped into her skin.

when vi looks over at you, you’re as fully dressed as you can be and busy checking something on your phone. she only sees a flash of your lock screen, but it’s her. a photo of her and lucky playing at the park; there’s snow, so it had to have been a few days ago.

that doesn’t mean anything, right? people use photos of their friends for their wallpaper all the time.

“i really have to go,” you sigh. you pull a tube of lipstick from your pocket and step closer to the mirror. “hey — do you think we could switch shirts? not sure i should wear this to my next dinner.”

vi nods and you remove her jersey, revealing a matching fuschia bralette. she wonders what’s got you all coordinated — who else you’ve clearly dressed up for.

“so, you’ve got a hot date?” vi tries to act casual as she takes off her jacket, pulls off her shirt, and waits for you to answer. you take your time, fixing yourself in the mirror.

“something like that,” you finally say with a shy smile.

later, when isha’s asleep on powder’s lap in the backseat, vi thinks about how your date might have gone, if you’re taking them home to the same bed vi has fucked you in throughout these past few months.

where do you get off, fucking vi in the bathroom during dinner while her parents are at the table, only to leave for another date, wearing vi’s shirt, too?

“hey, can i ask you something?” ekko asks from beside her, cutting off the angry monologue in her head.

vi reaches over to turn down the music.

“sure, little man. what’s up?”

“what’s the deal between you and wonder woman?”

vi clears her throat, gripping the steering wheel. “what makes you think there’s a deal?”

“oh, please, we all noticed that hickey on your neck after she visited you in the bathroom.”

the car crawls to a stop as the light turns red, and vi adjusts the collar of her shirt.

“we’re just friends.”

“well, powder and i were just friends for ages,” ekko points out.

vi doesn’t notice that the light’s turned green until someone behind her honks. she steps on the gas, but the idiot behind her still cuts in front of her.

“asshole,” she grumbles, throwing them a middle finger for good measure. vi glances to her right at ekko, who’s scribbling something in his sketchbook despite only the streetlamps outside providing light. “so, what made you….realize that you wanted something more?”

ekko closes his book, smiling to himself.

“honestly? it was kinda a million little things, but what it really comes down to is that she’s the only person i could spend every second of my life with, and i’d still want more time. and, in my experience….it’s better to tell someone how you feel sooner rather than later.”

“or, some people prefer to wait a few weeks,” powder mumbles, stirring awake. “nice try, mister, but no interfering. i’m not losing 20 bucks.”

“wait — you’ve bet on my love life?”

ekko smirks. “so it is love.”

vi shrugs, pretends that she doesn’t immediately picture you in your kitchen, making her banana pancakes at 2am when she hears the word love.

“it doesn’t matter.”

because, it really doesn’t matter.

you’re out with someone else right now.

it’s over before it really had a chance to begin.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

cupcake

Hey, Vi

Just wanted to say good game today

You played brilliantly

Violet

cupcake

No need for the attitude

I was just trying to be nice

Violet

my apologies!!!

thank you SO much for recognizing my talent captain kiramman

i feel like i’m actually worth something now!!!

cupcake

Bitterness isn’t a good colour on you, darling

Violet

im NOT your darling

cupcake

I’m aware

I saw you earlier with that girl

Are you together?

Violet

idk

are you still with maddie?

cupcake

Actually, we broke up

I was hoping you and I could chat

Violet

what’s in it for me?

cupcake

The chance to reconnect with an old friend

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

you can excuse vi no longer attending the weekly team meeting. she finished her 100 hours around thanksgiving, so technically she didn’t need to be there anymore.

maybe you could excuse her ignoring your calls, or leaving your texts on read. it’s finals season, and she did mention picking up a few extra shifts to save up for christmas presents.

but you simply can’t excuse vi walking into sappho’s with caitlyn fucking kiramman, ordering drinks from you like you’re absolute strangers.

“what the fuck, vi?” you seethe.

vi glances at her date. caitlyn’s waiting for her back at a table, the glow of her phone screen illuminating her pretty face.

“what, should i have ordered something else? not every girl likes cherry coke and rum.”

you glare at her from across the counter, but start preparing their drinks nonetheless.

“why are you with her?” you throw some ice in a glass, the cubes clinking aggressively against the crystal. “are you back together?”

vi has the audacity to roll her eyes at you. “why’d you care?”

you catch yourself before saying something you’ll regret, something about liking her more than you definitely should considering the agreement the two of you had made.

clearly, vi doesn’t feel the same way; it’s not worth spilling your guts to her at your place of work.

“because we’re friends.”

“yeah, right,” vi scoffs. “you’re jealous, which you have no right to be because you’re seeing someone, too.”

you accidentally pour a double shot of vodka. you don’t really care, and mix the drink anyways.

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

“i’m talking about the date you went on the night of my championship game.”

“what date?” you slam the glasses in front of vi, so hard that you’re lucky they didn’t break.

“oh, don’t play dumb.” vi spits your name like it’s poison. “this whole thing started because you said you didn’t want a relationship, when really you just didn’t want a relationship with me. you used me until someone better came along. you lied to me.”

her eyes are glazed over, her voice shaking ever so slightly. you’re not sure if you’re more hurt or angry by what she’s saying, but it cuts deep; you continue as though you aren’t bleeding out in front of her.

“i don’t want a relationship with anyone and certainly not with you —”

“excuse me! are we able to order something?” someone with bright green hair and a septum piercing waves their hand in front of your face.

“yeah, just give us a second —”

“look, you and your girlfriend can fight on your own time.”

“she’s not my girlfriend!” you and vi snap simultaneously.

you glare at each other.

vi grabs the glasses from the counter, and walks away.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

it took many brainstorming sessions, many boring conversations with potential donors, and many, many tears, but you managed to secure enough funding to keep the women’s centre going for the foreseeable future.

it was a team effort, of course, so you just want everyone to enjoy this open mic night, the last event of the semester — even though you are weighed down by the absence of a certain someone.

the gallery space on campus that you rented out is both cozy and electric, decorated with fairy lights on the walls, with pillows and blankets on the floor for people to sit and watch performances. there’s a table with drinks and snacks, a corner for people to make art if they’re inspired.

you’re rearranging the food, watching gert perform an original song when mel slides in next to you, wearing a gorgeous white dress with gold accents.

“do you mind running to the office? we’re out of paint.”

“really? people don’t usually use the paint.”

“well, it seems to be quite popular tonight.”

“it’s fine. we still have lots of other stuff. they can just collage or something.”

mel shakes her head. “i really think you should go get more paint.”

“maybe ask sky? i should stay here —”

“you could use a break, too,” mel cuts you off, placing a hand on your shoulder. “you’ve been nonstop all day; the rest of us can hold down the fort for a little while.”

you concede, mostly because she’s right and you don’t have the energy to argue.

when you get to the office, you’re surprised to find the lights on. even more surprised that someone’s already there, sitting on the zebra-striped couch.

“vi?”

she jumps slightly when you say her name.

“mel texted me,” she rushes out like she’s been caught red-handed. “said she needed help with something she’d been planning.”

you frown, until you realize why mel must have sent you here, specifically.

you haven’t seen vi since that night at sappho’s; you’d been quite a mess after your shift, ranting to mel on the phone about how she’d been right and you should have been more careful, how you don’t know what you did that ruined whatever you and vi had, and you really don’t know what you can do to fix it.

you’re both too stubborn to reach out to the other, so it seems like mel decided to take matters into her own hands.

“yeah, i doubt she’s coming,” you tell vi.

“okay,” vi says, but she doesn’t move. “i, uh, i was hoping i’d run into you, though.”

“yeah?” you raise an eyebrow at vi, crossing your arms. “needed another vodka martini for your piltover princess.”

“she’s not — we’re not together.”

“oh,” you exhale. the animosity you were holding towards her evaporates, but doesn’t completely disappear. you watch her, watching you stand by the doorway.

there are so many things you want to tell her, but you don’t even know where to start. you know that you’ve hurt her. she hurt you, too.

but, also:

you miss the cloudy blue-gray of her eyes, the scar on her upper lip.

you miss her.

“do you wanna come sit?”

after being so far away from vi, for what feels like forever, you don’t hesitate to take her up on the offer. your knees brush together as you settle next to her on the couch, a jolt of electricity passing through your body at the contact.

“so, i admit that —”

“vi, you were right —”

both of you stop your sentences short, chuckling nervously. you each urge the other to continue, and only get caught in a similar mess:

“i fucked up,” vi blurts out.

“i lied to you,” you confess at the same time.

an awkward, unfamiliar silence hangs above you; you’re not sure what to do next.

vi takes the leap. she tells you that mel explained everything: that you had to attend a dinner with alumni and potential donors on the same night of her championship game, but you kept it from vi since it was already a big moment for her; that you haven’t been on a real date with anyone else since september. vi apologizes for jumping to conclusions and falling back into caitlyn’s arms, shutting you out when she should have just talked to you.

you’re the girl who was her first kiss, she says. the girl who lingered in a vague memory, appeared in the fiction of her daydreams, and then suddenly became too real.

“i like you. i really fucking like you. and if it has to be as a friend, that’s fine because i don’t want to lose you.” vi takes a shattered breath, blinking back tears. she fiddles with the ring on her index finger, anxiously bouncing her knee. you place your hand there to steady her, and she exhales. “i guess i’m just not sure….when you said you liked me that night at the restaurant….is that what you lied about?”

vi’s practically doe-eyed, waiting for you to respond.

you shake your head.

“i lied when i said that i didn’t want a relationship with you,” you admit, and the hint of a smile dances across her lips. “i had this major crush on you, you know? every time you came into sappho’s….i couldn’t help it. and then you showed up here and we became friends, and then we started….well, you know the rest.”

“duh. i was there,” vi jokes, easing into her usual, playful self.

“i can’t do the whole casual thing,” you continue, rubbing circles into her knee with your thumb. “i know we made a promise, but i just can’t, not with you. it’s like…in every other relationship i’ve been in, i was trying to run out the clock. with you, though, with us, i feel like there’s never enough time —”

vi grabs your neck and crashes her mouth onto yours before you can finish your sentence.

you’ve kissed each other many times, in many different places, in many different ways, but never like this: like you’re both willing to break one promise if it means forging a new one.

“will you be my girlfriend, violet rose atlas?” you whisper as you pull away, lips brushing against hers.

you start to count the freckles on her cheeks as she beams at you, pulls you into her lap.

“i thought you’d never ask.”

3K notes · View notes

uluvjay · 2 months ago

Text

Return of the Mad-M. Verstappen

Max Verstappen x fem! Reader

In which Max allows the anger he’s been burying to come through, or Mad Max makes his return..

Warnings?; degrading, kind of asshole max, hair pulling, unprotected sex (A NO NO), talks of throwing things at people, slight George Russel hate (it’s for the plot sorry), use of the word cunt, sorry for any errors I missed!

You weren’t surprised when the helmet went flying across the garage, you’d seen it coming over the past few races.

The way his fists would clench when he returned from another race where he hadn’t made podium, the way he’d curse to himself in Dutch when the fia gave him a penalty they didn’t give to other drivers doing the same thing.

Yes the few wins he’d secured were nice and you were positive that if it wasn’t for them he would’ve blown up a long time ago.

You owed George Russel a thank you basket for pushing him over the edge, the way they’d raced each other the past few weeks pushing max closer and closer to the edge. And finally after George’s dirty moves in the Spanish Grand Prix the anticipated return of Mad max happened.

You were cautious as you pushed open the drivers room door, nobody had even attempted to even approach Max since he’d entered the garage with his lion printed helmet flying at a wall.

“Go away” he grumbled from the small couch in the room, arms crossed as his foot tapped against the floor.

“It’s just me” you announced shutting the door behind you, making sure to twist the lock.

He picked his head up slightly blue eyes scanning over your body, the helmet he so gracefully chucked at the wall in your hand.

“What are you going to do with that?”

You sighed at his attitude, “nothing, picked it up along my way”

He scoffed, “should’ve chucked it at the fucking stewards with that bullshit penalty.”

You sighed setting the helmet down before moving to sit next to him, “unfortunately that would be assault and that’s not something we want. You’re already a point away from a race ban.”

Blue eyes were quick to snap towards you filled with a dangerous hue that you hadn’t seen for a long time.

“They gave me points on my license? You’re fucking joking right?” He snapped.

“I wish I was, it was unfair but they felt like it was intentional.” You sighed.

He scoffed moving to his feet now pacing the room as he removed his race suit, profanities and complaints spewing out as he changed.

Just as he was sliding on his pants a knock sounded at the door, “Max mate we need you for media”

It was Christian, at least they hadn’t sent the poor Pr girl to get him.

“Fuck Media, they can all fuck off and so can you.” Max spat.

You winced at his words knowing they were mean but this is what happens when you provoke an already irritated Lion.

You stood to your feet unlocking and opening the door just enough so you could see Christian.

“I’ll get him out, just give me a minute and he’ll be down.”

“We need him now Y/n” the Brit sighed.

You rolled your eyes at his impatience, “Yeah well that’s not going to happen, give me five minutes and he’ll be down.”

You don’t allow him a response before shutting the door and turning towards your Dutchman.

“I’m not going down there” he laughed but it was dry, mocking, like he could give two fucks about anyone or anything and what they had to say.

“Max”

“No, you want me to do it so bad then go do it yourself. Tell them I don’t give a fuck and it was that cunts fault.” He shrugged spitefully eyes locked on yours.

You walked to where he was now standing by his massage bed large hands gripping the edges in irritation.

“Look I know you’re mad but please just give them something so we can pack up and go home.” You pleaded looking up at him.

The triple header had been long and grueling and all you wanted was to climb into bed with your boyfriend and cats and sleep the next few days away before he was due at Redbull headquarters.

You weren’t paying attention to his hands until one was tangled in your hair angling your head back, a whimper escaping your mouth at the sensation.

“You don’t tell me what to do, got it? If I wanted your fucking opinion I would’ve asked for it.” He spoke sinisterly, eyes sharp and voice deep.

He was quick when he spun you around your front pressed against the massage bed while he pressed into you from behind.

You couldn’t help the way your thighs rubbed together at the feeling of his hard cock against you, the grip he had on your hair sending shocks down to your wet core.

“Fucking slut, this is turning you on isn’t it?” He scoffed.

You whimpered at his words, it was sick how his degrading words made you feel. The way the slick was spreading on the insides of your thighs you both knew he’d find a pool when he reached his hand between your thighs.

And he did.

Max growled at the feeling when he slipped his beneath your sundress, his thick fingers not wasting any time as they slid your panties to the side.

He was rough but you didn’t mind especially not when he slid his fingers inside you, a moan breaking out before you could stop it.

“So fucking needy.”

“I had a bad race and you think you can tell me what to do? Must’ve forgotten your place. But don’t worry baby I’ll remind you.” He smirked.

It was dark and sinister not a drop of sympathy behind those blue eyes and curled lip and you felt it in the way he ripped his fingers from your cunt.

You whimpered at the loss but it didn’t last long before he was pulling his pants and boxers down in one swift go.

It wasn’t long before your dress was bunched up around your waist, panties pulled down just enough for his cock to reach your cunt.

He doesn’t prep you like he usually would. There’s no need to.

You’re soaked, his cock pushing through your dripping folds with ease. And there’s nothing nice or slow about the way his cock splits you open.

“Shit.” You breathe the burn from the stretch of his thick cock was to good, the pain mixing with the pleasure causing your brain to short circuit.

He gives you a little of his cock before pulling out half way and then slamming back into you, his pace brutal as his hand twists in your hair yanking you flushed against his chest again.

His voice is steady when he speaks again, “Take it like the slut you are, always willing to take my cock huh?”

You nod cluelessly the pleasure blinding as your nails dig into the table in front of you, you’re positive there will be rips in the material by the time he’s done with you but you couldn’t care less right now.

“Yeah I know baby, I know. Anything for me to fuck my girl.” He cooed mockingly, voice mean.

He fucks you so deep. Bottoming out with each thrust.

He’s grunting in your ear, deep and raspy just the way you like. You can hear his low curses in Dutch his breath hot on your neck.

You can feel him against you, all over you. His toned chest pressed against you, every thrust of his hips makes your ass jolt from the roughness and pace of the thrusts.

His cock hits your g-spot effortlessly with each thrust, brutal, sharp, unrelenting as he chases his high.

This isn’t about you, he’ll make you cum but you’ll be paying for it later on the plane wether that be on your knees for as long as he says or letting him fuck you until he says you can cum.

You gasp when his lips meet your ear tongue teasing before he nips at it the pain sends jolts of pleasure through your body.

Max chuckles when your cunt clenches around him, you were his dirty slut and he basked in the fact nobody but him knew that.

You cry out when he tugs on your hair, it’s hard and the pain is sharp but there’s no denying the fact you’re attracted to the pain. Not when a moan follows behind it.

“You’re such a whore, act so fucking sweet and innocent but all you want is to be fucked dumb.” He growls voice hot with pleasure but you can still hear the anger lingering.

His accent is thick, one you swear he’s losing some days but not when he’s like this. When he’s got nothing but sex and pain on his mind. No that’s when the part of him he worked so hard to control comes through.

He’s got himself buried so deep inside of you that you feel everything, every vein and ridge on his bare cock.

You sob out as the feeling in your lower stomach grows stronger by the second, your body is so fucking hot, sweat making stands of hair stick to your forehead.

“M-max. Fuck-I’m so close.” You whine body trembling against him.

He grunts at the sound of your dazed voice, “yeah I can feel it. Go ahead and cum for me like a good little slut.”

And you do.

It hits you hard, your mouth drops open but nothing comes out. Your vision blurs as that band in your lower stomach snaps.

You can hear max moaning from the way you’re clenching him, convulsing around his cock just the way he likes.

He starts fucking you harder, hips snapping into you at an ungodly pace as he chases a high of his own.

And you can feel all of it when he does, his strong arms wrap around you caging you against his body as his thrusts grow wild.

He cums inside of you with a low grunt, curses spilling free as he fucks you through his high, body shaking as he comes down.

You two stay like that for a while, allowing each other to catch your breath. You’re still panting when he pulls away hands holding your waist to steady you on your shaky legs.

You’re not expecting him to spin you around so quick but he doesn’t give you much time to think about it before his lips are on yours.

His grip on your cheeks is strong, nails digging into your flushed cheeks puckering your lips on his own as he takes what he wants.

He kisses you like a starved man, it’s hot and heavy, his tongue devouring yours.

And finally when he pulls back he gives you a once over pulling your panties off completely he shoves them in his pocket.

He doesn’t speak a word as he grabs the blue and orange cap sitting at the edge of the massage bed sliding it on his damn head.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes, be packed and ready because we’re leaving.” He states clear as day, not allowing you any room for discussion.

And right before he opens the door he turns back to you, “And don’t put anymore panties on, you won’t need them for the plane ride home.”

#max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen smut #max verstappen #formula one fluff #formula one smut #formula one fic #f1 x you #f1 smut #red bull f1 #f1 x reader

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dark-l-angel · 4 months ago

Note

may I please request batfam x reader where they randomly find out the reader has Omnilingualism? the reader just randomly drops lore then the batfam is like "HUH?" me pleading:

A/N: Sure luv ❤️ sorry it took a little while.. but here you go 😺

Omnilingualism is the ability to understand all languages.. spoken, written, or otherwise.. instantly and fluently, without having to learn them first.

Batfam x Omnilingual reader + onshot bonus "wait- YOU CAN SPEAK EVERY LANGUAGE?!"

Bruce Wayne:

He pretends he isn’t impressed. He really tries. But the moment you casually correct a mistranslation in one of his case files from an obscure dialect in the Amazon, his eye twitches.

Definitely runs tests in the Batcave. "For data" he claims. Lies. He just wants an excuse to hear you switch flawlessly between Ancient Sumerian and Icelandic.

Low-key starts trusting you with delicate negotiations at Wayne Enterprises. "Accidentally" leaves confidential contracts in languages no one in the room understands except you.

Oh, and you catch him brushing up on his French. He'll never admit it, but he’s trying to catch up to you.

You once whispered something scandalous to him in flawless Latin during a gala. His hand on your lower back tightened just slightly. Dangerous man, but you’re worse.

Dick grayson:

Immediately obsessed. No chill whatsoever.

"Say something in Italian!" "Now Portuguese! Oh oh.. Tagalog!"

Thinks it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. Genuinely struggles to focus if you speak in another language, especially something romantic-sounding. (You catch him blushing like a schoolboy, every time.)

Tries to flirt back in another language but completely butchers it. You gently correct him, and it turns into an unintentional couples language lesson.

You catch him Googling "How to propose in 20 languages." Cute idiot.

Teases you with fake words in gibberish, just to see if you catch on. You always do.

Jason Todd :

Oh, this man loves it. Filthy mouth, wicked grin, and a brain full of bad ideas.

Purposely swears in different languages to see if you catch him. You do. Every. Single. Time.

One time you threw back a sharp insult in flawless Russian, and he damn near swooned.

Has you read his favorite banned books in their original languages. "I just wanna hear you say it, babe." No you don’t, Jason. You want to hear them moaned, don’t you?

Will 100% ask you to dirty talk in languages no one else understands in public settings. "What? I like living dangerously."

Bonus: If you tease him in French, it destroys him. He can’t fight it. French + your voice = his personal kryptonite.

Tim Drake :

Immediately runs to his laptop. He needs answers.

"Omnilingualism is a hyper rare meta-ability.. there are fewer than seven confirmed cases worldwide.. wait- does this mean you can read codes in programming languages like they’re actual languages?!"

Makes you his official decryption buddy. His Batcomputer just became 500% more efficient.

Low-key fascinated, high-key turned on.

Asks you to record audio lessons for him in various languages. You catch him listening to them at 2am with a suspiciously dazed smile.

Will absolutely text you random phrases in dead languages at ungodly hours of the night. "For science."

Damian Wayne :

Instantly annoyed that he’s no longer the most linguistically gifted person in the room.

Challenges you constantly. "Recite this ancient Arabic proverb." You do, flawlessly, and throw in the correct accent for good measure.

He respects you deeply but refuses to admit it directly.

Secretly asks you to teach him rare dialects to communicate with his animals better.

The moment you start speaking to Titus in perfect, gentle Arabic, his eyes go wide. You’ve officially earned his permanent admiration.

Bonus: You tease him by complimenting him in languages he doesn’t know yet. He storms off to study them immediately.

Alfred Pennyworth

Unbothered king. He knew from the start.

Smiles softly when you casually slip into old, classical British idioms even Bruce doesn’t understand.

Occasionally tests you with the oddest phrases from obscure Commonwealth colonies. You pass every time.

"I dare say, Miss, you have a talent most remarkable."

Secretly keeps a list of the rarest languages to see if there’s anything you don’t know.

Family game nights? Forget it. You dominate every round of “Guess That Language.”

You become their favorite asset in undercover ops. Fake passports? Check. Local slang? You’re a walking encyclopedia.

They jokingly call you their “Batbabel.” (Yes, even Bruce lets that nickname slip once.)

Jason is convinced you must have alien blood. "Bet you could sweet talk the Martians, too."

You like to randomly mess with them by switching languages mid-conversation. Pure chaos.

And they all fall a little harder every time you do.

Oneshot bonus : Wait- YOU CAN SPEAK EVERY LANGUAGE?!

It started, as many things in Wayne Manor do, in the most stupidly casual way possible.

You were seated at the long dining table, lazily flipping through your phone while Alfred served brunch. Tim was half-asleep beside you, his forehead dangerously close to his waffles. Jason was reading War and Peace in Russian, because of course he was. Damian was arguing with Dick over the proper form for his new kata routine, while Bruce pretended to read the paper but was very obviously just eavesdropping like the rest of them.

Then, Alfred, with his calm British cadence, said something softly under his breath. In French.

"Mon dieu, cette confiture est un désastre…" (this jam is a disaster...)

Without thinking, without even looking up from your phone, you mumbled back, perfect pronunciation and all,

"Pas nécessairement. C’est la confiture d’orange, elle est censée être comme ça." (Not necessarily. It's orange marmalade, it's supposed to be like that.)

Silence.

Dead silence.

Tim lifted his head slowly, eyes bleary but confused.

Jason lowered his book.

Damian squinted at you like you’d just sprouted a second head.

Bruce folded his newspaper with a quiet, deliberate finality.

Dick? Dick’s eyes were sparkling with mischief.

"Since when do you speak French?" he asked, grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

You blinked, confused by the attention. "Huh? Oh, I don’t."

Wrong answer.

"You just did" Tim said flatly, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

Jason leaned forward on his elbows, sharp smirk spreading. "Care to explain, mon ami?"

Your brain, still not connecting the dots, offered the most unhelpful thing possible: a shrug. "I don’t know. He just said the jam was a disaster. I just... knew."

“Wait.” Damian’s eyes narrowed into slits, laser-focused. "What did Alfred say, exactly?"

You repeated it, casually.

He tried to hide it, but his brows twitched upward. "That’s correct."

Now Jason was grinning like he knew something juicy. "Try Russian."

"What?"

"Say something in Russian," Jason pressed, eyes alight with curiosity.

You hesitated, then shrugged. "Что ты хочешь, чтобы я сказал?" (What do you want me to say?)

Jason’s chair screeched back from the table as he stood, hands in his hair. “NO. No, no, no, what the hell is this?!”

"That was perfect," Tim said, his voice pitching higher, caffeinated brain now fully awake.

"You said you don’t speak these languages?" Bruce asked, a suspicious tilt to his head like he was running seventeen background checks in his mind at once.

You frowned, getting a little defensive now. "I don’t! I never studied Russian, or French, or whatever else. I just... get it, I guess?"

Dick gasped, like someone hit him with a Batarang of Realization. "Wait wait wait.. omnilingualism."

Jason’s mouth dropped open. "No freaking way."

Tim’s eyes went huge behind his glasses. "That’s an actual thing, you know. Hyper rare meta ability. The brain automatically understands and reproduces any language it’s exposed to."

Damian narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms. "Prove it."

"Say something in Ancient Latin," Bruce instructed, his detective mode fully activated.

You tilted your head, focusing, and then fluently responded,

"Memento mori, pater. Etiam noctes detectivi requiem merentur" (Remember death, father. Even detectives of the night deserve rest.)

Pin-drop silence.

Jason cackled so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

Dick was clapping like you’d won an Olympic gold medal.

Tim, meanwhile, frantically pulled out his phone, already Googling ‘omnilingual reader discovered at brunch’.

Bruce, stoic as ever, gave you a single nod of respect. "We’ll need to run tests."

"You mean interviews," Dick corrected, leaning closer with a grin. "Because I, for one, have a thousand questions."

"Congratulations" Jason said dryly, raising his glass of orange juice in your direction. "You’re officially our walking, talking, sexy Google Translate."

You rolled your eyes with a crooked smile. "Glad I can be of service."

"And you will be," Bruce added, already making plans in his head. Oh, you were never getting out of this one.

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tonycries · 1 year ago

Text

Never Ever Seen This Before!

Synopsis. There’s a first time for everything - including trying out dirty little kínks with them.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, cóckwarming, mating press, oral (female + male receiving), manhandling, marking, spitting, bóndage, spanking (Nanami’s), dynamics, degradation, cúmplay, squírting, some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.6k

A/N. *sigh* can’t believe I deleted this before. If you know, then YOU KNOW.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Stay still, goddammit!

Was being stuffed full of your boyfriend’s thick cock at all times really too much to ask? You think not.

Toji, however, really didn’t see the point.

“But, doll.” he groans, dragging his tip lazily in-between your swollen folds. And it was so sloppy - slick trailing down his length, smearing across the sheets. “Jus’ wanna fuck your pretty lil’ cunt.”

It’s not that Toji doesn’t like the feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around his cock. No, he loves it - is addicted even. And he loves it especially when you attack him in the morning like this - his pretty girl, all splayed out on her side, barely even blinking the sleep out of her eyes before you ache for his dick.

But, really, what’s the use of staying still - he’d rather fuck you till you’re breathless and creaming around his cock.

“Toji, you promised we’d try. Jus’ want to be stuffed full of your cock.” you pout, batting your lashes behind at him. “Don’ make me go on a sex ban.”

Oh, you little minx. He knew all your dirty tricks - yet, fell for them each time anyway. “Fine. Then fucking-” he lifts your legs a little higher, hips pulling back ever-so-slightly. “Take it.”

You barely even hear the rest of his sentence because Toji’s immediately bullying his throbbing dick into your pussy. Pushing against the resistance as you struggle to take his thick cock, not stopping till he’s buried all the way in your wet cunt.

Smirking at the way you mewl and grind your hips back into his, he wraps two muscled arms around your waist, holding you still on his cock. Murmuring in your ear, low and gravelly, “Not s’pposed to move, doll. Remember?

God, he knows you feel the way he twitches inside your dripping cunt at the way you whisper out a shaky little, “Y-yeah. No moving.”

And stubbornly you grit your teeth, being able to do nothing more than clamp down so deliciously on Toji’s pulsing cock as you stay still, relishing in the burn of him stretching you impossibly.

And maybe it’s been minutes - or even hours, because God did it feel that way to Toji as he watched you being broken by the mere feeling of being split apart on his cock. Patience slowly waning, he snakes down a hand to your poor, forgotten clit. Index tracing lightly over the sensitive bud.

“T-Toji what-” you immediately jolt, finally getting an ounce of the friction your cunt has been aching for this whole time. Mindlessly grinding into his erection - only to be stopped by a large hand on your hip.

“No moving, doll. Remember?”

“But-”

“Didn’t say anything about playing with your pretty lil’ clit now, did you?” he hums, knowing you were playing right into his hands. “Now. Don’t move.”

Ah, you can do nothing but lay there and take it as Toji presses hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. Fingers starting to press, frantic, hard little circles on your swollen clit. Over and over- Like he was fucking you with his fingers the way he couldn’t with his dick.

Ugh, damn him. Damn him and his fingers that knew you so well.

It was maddening.

“Toji- please.” you sob out, powerless against the bruising grip keeping you in place. You wanted to move. You wanted him so bad.

“‘Please’ what?” he grunts. Clearly torn between focusing on drawing steady, agonizing patterns on your clit and fighting that feral part of himself that just wants to plunge into your pretty pussy over and over. Not stopping till you were cockdrunk and crying to cum.

“Please just fuck me- ah!”

Oh, you didn’t have to tell Toji twice. Because in one, fluid move, Toji’s pulling back, fucking you with harsh, jerky little movements of his hips. Twitching balls smacking you with each thrust. Not even caring to wait and let you adjust because fuck cockwarming, he’s wanted this so long and your needy lil’ pussy is milking him so good- “Shhh, it’s okay, doll. We have lotsa time to practice.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - So mean!

Nanami Kento was a gentleman. Always holding the door open, guiding you through crowds, gifting you bouquets even when there wasn’t a special occasion.

The only problem was that Nanami was a gentleman even when you didn’t want him to be. Even when what you really wanted was for him to push you down and tease you till you were crying and begging for his cock.

Like right now - kissing softly down your neck, large hands trailing across your skin as he lays you gently on your bed. Long fingers dipping into your soaked panties, drawing delicate patterns on your quivering thighs. But you’re not in the mood for delicate.

“K-Kento!” you whine, hips bucking into his featherlight touches. “Can we ah- do that thing we talked about?”

“I don’t want to hurt you, darling.” he murmurs against your skin.

You let out a pouty whine, one that you knew would make him break. “But I want you to, Kento. Wan’ you to break me. Please.”

He lets out a resigned sigh, running a hand through his hair. A loaded second of silence passes. One. Two. And just as you’re about to admit defeat, surprisingly, it’s Nanami that breaks the silence. “Fine then. Face down, ass up if you want to act like such a lil’ slut.”

You scramble to do what he says, mind reeling from the fact that oh this was Nanami - the same Nanami who’d never raised his voice or ever called you anything other than terms of endearment.

“Hm, good.” he grits out.

And that’s all you hear before a deafening rip! rings through the heady room. Looking back in shock, you realize with a jolt that Nanami had your tattered panties in his hands, your dripping cunt on full display for him.

As he positions himself behind you, resting his swollen cock the curve of your ass. Mindlessly, you push back against the feeling of Nanami’s achingly hard cock, hot and heavy on your skin, precum smearing everywhere. “Ken-”

Smack!

“Not Kento, darling.” he murmurs, palms smoothing over your ass. Lips kissing down your spine, in a way that would be so sweet if it wasn’t for the way he had you under his mercy.

You let out a strangled moan at the sharp sting, his large handprint searing into your skin. “S-sir?” you whisper, almost-experimentally. And oh was it the right answer - because he groans appreciatively, dick jumping so animalistically at the term leaving your swollen lips.

“Oh? So my slutty girl does know how to be good, huh?” he murmurs, voice so uncharacteristically dangerous. Hands spreading your swollen folds to take in the sight of your wet pussy. “Shit. Since m’feeling so nice, count to five n’ I’ll fill that tight lil’ cunt with my cock.”

You barely have the time to wonder what he means before you feel a sharp slap against your ass. Forcing you to yelp out a strained little, “O-one, sir.”

Nanami hungry eyes greedily take in the fat tears clinging to your lashes, hips bucking into his for more. Your mouth dropping into such a delicious little oh! as you’re torn between pain and pleasure.

You were so sweet falling apart underneath him that he can’t help but do it again. Smack! And again. Smack!

“Two. Hah! N’ t-three.”

Good, now it was time to put his good girl to the test.

With a low hiss of appreciation, he drags his throbbing cock across your wet folds, gathering your sweet juices on his tip. At the same time, Nanami’s hand connects with your ass again. Hard. Smack!

“Ah! Oh-”

“Count.”

“Four! Ngh- four, sir.”

Nanami’s amusement spikes at the way you were so desperately rutting into his cock. And, well, what his pretty slut wants - she gets, right?

Several things happen at once, he swiftly raises his hand for a final, hard smack. Hips reeling back ever-so-slightly to ram his cock into your snug cunt at the same time. Smack!

“Ah! Kento- Kento hgnh- shit feel s’good inside me.” you mewl, drunk off both the sharp sting on your ass and Nanami bullying his thick cock into your tight pussy, filling you up so good.

But not for long - because as soon as he was stuffing you full of his cock, Nanami’s pulling out just as fast. Your pussy clenching around nothing as you whirl behind to pout at him. Only for whatever whine to get stuck in your throat at two fingers shoving something flimsy and wet in your mouth. Forcing you to taste yourself.

Gagging around your soaked panties, a jolt runs down your spine at the positively feral glint in his eyes. Blinking away the tears in your eyes to take in the cruel little smile playing on his lips as he leans in closer to whisper, “My lil’ slut can’t even seem to remember what to call me, huh? I think she should be punished.”

Oh.

What have you done?

♡ GETO SUGURU - Drown me in it!

Geto Suguru has done it all - folded you in half, stuffed you full from all ends, had you begging and crying for more underneath him. He can confidently say that he hasn’t shied away from ticking off everything on the list.

That is until one random night in the shower, when he gets an epiphany - oh shit, Geto hasn’t made you squirt yet. Yes, it was the sudden image of you covering him in all your sweet juices. But more importantly - how dare he let his pretty girl go so long without cumming so hard you see the pearly gates of heaven?

So - like any good boyfriend - Geto has you splayed out on his navy sheets, your legs in the air, his painfully hard cock buried in your dripping cunt.

“Hngh- please. Shit shit shit m’cumming-” you whine, hips bucking wildly into his. Tears streaming down your face, clenching so hard around his dick that it makes it hard for Geto to thrust in and out at his steady, torturous rhythm. Fucking you through- which number orgasm was this again?

Ah, it doesn’t matter - because you didn’t squirt. Again.

“Awww…” you can barely hear his words over the blood roaring in your ears. “Didn’t squirt on that one either. C’mon now, my love, I know y’can do it f’me.”

Not wasting a second, Geto’s ramming his cock into your snug cunt once more. Heavy balls stinging your ass with each thrust - not even easing you into it any more because oh your little sobs were so pretty. Squirming and bucking into his touch despite your protests. “S-Sugu- I hah-, can’t-”

Now, as much as Geto loved your smart mouth - he loved it even more when you’re cockdrunk and babbling underneath him. Huffing out a laugh, he murmurs in your ear, “Yes, my love?” Veins grazing that one spot. Hard. “Can’t what?”

“Can’t cum anymore!”

Well - greedy gaze drinking in the way your swollen cunt swallowed him up so well, slick dripping down to his twitching balls - Geto begged to differ.

“Shut up. You will.” he mutters, shifting the angle to hit that one spot that has you gasping and bucking your hips for more. Your fists bunching up the soaked sheets below you, fucking yourself desperately into his throbbing cock. Curling deftly against that one spot. Over and over-

“Close, my love?” Geto sing-songs, “Think this could be the one?”

And oh does he find out. Because you’re cumming again - stars behind your eyes, walls clamping down so sinfully as he fucks you through your high. Your nails claw at his shoulders in an effort to get him to fucking slow down - but no, Geto is ruthless with his abuse. Hips faltering only once you show signs of your high bating.

And before you can even react, your boyfriend’s starting his movements again. Milking himself on your heavenly pussy.

You can’t even form coherent sentences at this point, only fucked-out whimpers leaving your swollen lips - it’s been like this for hours now. You’ve cum more times than you can probably count, yet here Geto was - not even once tonight. A slow, agonizing torture for the both of you. All because he wanted you to fucking squirt.

His thumb was ravaging your sensitive clit, pleasure nothing more than tingles now as Geto fucking ruins you. Hips bullying his thick cock into your heated pussy, thrusts no more than sloppy little movements. Your pussy dripping onto your bedroom floor.

Unforgiving. Geto Suguru was absolutely unforgiving.

“C’mon, my love.” his words were so sweetly whispered in your ear - barely audible over your cries. Geto nips at your earlobe, purring lowly, “Squirt on this one, n’ I’ll fill your pretty lil’ pussy with my cum like you want s’bad.”

And then, it happens - something snaps.

Your orgasm crashes through you. So violent and hard that you see flashes of white behind your eyes. You cry out, trembling as your sloppy pussy squirts all over Geto. Covering him in all your sweet juices till his abs are glistening with your slick. Dripping down his body and absolutely soaking the sheets below.

And oh how he was entranced. Geto barely registers his own orgasm, hips faltering as he pumps thick, hot ropes of seed into your quivering cunt. Cumming at the mere sight of you creaming on his cock. His pretty girl was so gorgeous squirting all over him.

It was so so worth edging the both of you to the brink of insanity. He thinks his only regret was not having you squirt all over his face too.

Well…now he only had to see if he could do it twice.

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Lollipop!

Shit, you thought your best friend would have a huge dick - but this was ridiculous.

So intimidatingly long and pretty, swollen tip flushed your favorite shade of pink, matching his blushing cheeks. Beads of precum leaking down, down, down the side so mouth-wateringly as you seat yourself in-between those sculpted thighs.

“Y-you sure about this, sweetheart?” Choso hisses, despite the way his cock throbs animalistically in your soft hands.

You raise a brow, batting your lashes so deceivingly innocently. “Are you sure, Cho? S’your first, after all.”

He should say no. He should laugh it off as a joke. He shouldn’t ruin this friendship - but oh how badly he wanted to see your pretty lips wrapped around his dick. Have you choking and gagging around him. So, any rationality thrown out the window, Choso nods slowly. Entranced.

Grinning wickedly, you whisper, hot breath making his angry cock twitch “Thought so.”

“But are you su- hngh!” Whatever sentence at the tip of his tongue is cut off as you spit on his length. Once. Twice. Your palms smearing the saliva along his throbbing length. Enough of an answer. And then there’s no more talking.

Choso’s mouth drops into a fucked-out little oh! of disbelief as your tongue darts out to collect the saliva and precum pooling at his head.

Moaning at his slightly salty taste, you take in as much of him as you can - inch by fucking inch. Not stopping till your nose meets the small tufts of black hair at this toned pelvis. Because this was your devastatingly sexy best friend and he deserved the best.

God, Choso already thinks he could pass out.

Heavy balls squeezing so painfully, his veins graze against the roof of your mouth as you start bobbing your head at a quick, ruthless pace. Milking Choso’s pretty cock for all he’s worth. Not even easing him into his first, because fuck only one taste and you’re already addicted.

So, really, it only makes sense that Choso was the same. “Oh- Oh fuck! Feels s’good hngh-” he babbles, hips bucking up involuntarily into your warm, plush mouth. “Shit shit shit oh-.”

Was this what heaven felt like? He really was missing out.

“Oh, fuck. Yeah, feel s’good around me, sweetheart.” he groans, as you tongue at his sensitive slit. Fingers digging into the soft armrest while he tries to keep himself together.

You notice - of course you do - because soon enough you’re grabbing his arms to rest on your head, teary eyes blinking up at him so sinfully as you suck the soul out of him.

In a split-second, Choso’s carding his fingers through your hair, holding you steady as he rams his cock down your throat.

“Fuck- m’s-sorry, sweetheart. S’too ngh- fucking good.” his words slur together, drunk off the way you gag around him. Letting yourself be so used as he fucks your mouth so ferally. Not half the man he was just a moment ago.

By God were you a vision, he thinks deliriously - tears stinging your eyes, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth, lips stretching so lewdly around him as you take him in and out in and out in and- And if he angled your head just right he could see the bulge in your throat. Him - all him. “Sorry- ah! s’pretty hgnh- pretty when you’re full of my cock.”

“Gonna be m’first, huh?” he moans deliriously, “”Gonna let me fuck up into that pretty lil’ mouth whenever I want?”

The only response he gets are your pathetic, wet gurgles, and the smacking of his heavy balls hitting your chin. This was heaven and you were an angel.

And that only makes Choso speed up his sloppy thrusts more. Each thrust deeper and harder than the last. Balls tightening, feeling his sanity crumbling away each time his throbbing erection hits the back of your throat. Over and over-

“Ah! Sweetheart- m’not gonna last long. M’close-” he lets out a guttural groan, tugging on your hair to pull you away.

But alas, you seemed every bit intent on ruining him. Because the only response he gets are your nails digging deeper into his milky hips, leaving angry, red marks in their wake. Ones for him to remember you by - not that he thinks he could ever forget this.

And that itself is enough to have Choso spilling into your mouth. Shooting thick, hot spurts of seed down your waiting throat.

Messy. It was so fucking messy.

Heart in his throat, breaths ragged, Choso has to blink his vision back. And if he thought he was going to pass out before then he wasn’t ready for you to proudly stick out your tongue - showing absolutely no trace of his cum. Swallowing everything he gives.

“I-I think,” he starts, voice shot, “S’time for me to return the favor.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Drunk on you(r cunt)!

Why the hell would the King of Curses ever kneel down to anyone?

Why would he ever wrestle your legs so shamefully open, dive nose-first into your pretty pussy, and tease you with his tongue for hours? Ignoring his angry, achingly hard cock for the sole purpose of making you cum and only making you cum?

But, well, that’s exactly what happened.

“Oh- Kuna! Please-” you mewl, big fat tears dripping down your face at this point. Not knowing whether to move your hips away or buck up into his tongue for more more more-

“What now, brat?” he hums into your dripping cunt, vibrations making you squeal. “Complained that I don’t eat out your pretty lil’ cunt n’ now you’re acting so spoiled?”

Ah, there it was - that offhand little remark that got you into this mess. “B-but,” you whine, stars behind your eyes each time Sukuna laps at your sweet juices. “Didn’t think you’d be so mean-”

All you get is a dark chuckle as Sukuna sucks on your throbbing clit, so sensitive from his relentless abuse. Rolling his tongue over it so teasingly.

Now, this might be his first time eating you out, but he knows exactly what you need - what you crave. And the way your body trembled under his touch told Sukuna everything about how you were brinking so dangerously close to the edge. Too close.

“Please, Kuna! Wan’ cum s’bad.” you cry out, broken little moans of pleasure leaving your swollen lips. Ones which quickly turn into disappointed whines as he pulls away. Again.

“M’not being mean.” he murmurs in your ear, drinking in that adorable little pout on your face.

In the haze of your lust-addled mind, you barely register the way he flips you two to lay on his back. Manhandling you further up the mattress you to be splayed out so sinfully above him - thighs straddling his devastatingly handsome face, hot breath hitting your dripping cunt.

“See?” Sukuna hums, tongue darting out to catch the obscene drip! drip! drip! of your slick. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as lets your sweet juices slide down his throat. “M’the best fucking boyfriend you’ll ever have.” And with that, he’s bullying his tongue through your swollen fold. Stretching you, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Over and over-

“Ngh- feels s’good. Ah fillin’ me up s’good.” you squeal, bucking your hips desperately into his pretty face, broken little whimpers leaving you at each rough push of Sukuna’s tongue.

Why was he so reluctant again? Something about stupid fucking pride? Fuck that, Sukuna would be on his knees every day if it meant he got to taste you like this. Jaw grinding deeper into you as he eats you out like his last meal.

God, you were pretty sure you’d be collapsing onto him if it wasn’t for the strong hand holding your hips. Grip almost bruising as he rocks you harder - more obscenely - on his tongue. The other snakes down to draw rough, frenzied little circles on your swollen clit - as if you weren’t losing your sanity enough

And maybe if you were in a better state of mind you’d have noticed that Sukuna was, too. Eyes half-lidded, slick glistening down his jaw, pussy-drunk and watching awe-struck at the sinful sight of you. Devouring the sight of you the way he was with your cunt.

Fuck, why does this feel so good? He wasn’t even fucking getting off, but the more he made out with your sweet cunt, the more he could feel himself edging closer and closer to the edge. Rock-hard cock angry and leaking precum all over his abs. The great Ryomen Sukuna cumming in his pants from eating his pretty girl out?

Shit, Sukuna thinks deliriously, he was gonna have to make you cum. Soon.

“Kuna- m’close.” you whimper, voice so soft as if you were afraid of being teased again.

“Oh yeah, brat?” he mutters into your folds, “Want it s’badly, huh? Wan’ cum on my tongue?”

The vibrations have your body jerking violently. “Yes yes yes! Can’t take it anymore, wan’ cum. Make me cum, please!” you keen. Fucked-out little whines of Sukuna’s name leaving your mouth as he speeds up his movements.

“Then cum.”

And you are, clenching so lewdly around his soft tongue as you ride out your high on his face. Your juices glossing his lips so prettily. And oh Sukuna’s so entranced by you creaming around his tongue that he almost misses the feel of thick, hot spurts of his cum now pooling on his abs. Fuck, he was going to have to do this very often.

♡ GOJO SATORU - Break him!

Gojo always fucked you like his own personal sextoy. And now, it was only time for you to pay back the favor. Which is why you had him handcuffed to the bed, shirtless and splayed out to absolutely fucking ruin.

“Hah, don’t worry, baby. I’ll be gentle.” Gojo chuckles, tugging on the metal cuffs. Still so cocky despite the way his throbbing dick was leaking all over his sculpted abs, twitching at the mere sound of your voice.

“How nice.” you hum, sliding your pussy across his swollen cock, drenching him in your juices. “Because I won’t be.” And before Gojo can retort, you’re sinking down on his achingly hard cock, squeezing him inside your tight cunt as much as you can.

“Shit shit shit, yes. Your pretty lil’ pussy feel s’amazing wrapped around me. You sure you can handle it all, baby?”

You waste no time. Slamming down on Gojo’s leaking cock in one, abrupt motion, walls burning at the stretch as your ass meets his heavy balls. They twitch against you as you start moving in steady little bounces, sliding his thick cock in and out of your dripping cunt. In out in and out in and-

“Shit, baby. Fuckin’ me s’good ah! Hngh-” Gojo’s sinful moans come in ragged bursts. Fucking up into your pussy in shallow, defiant little thrusts to bully himself deeper and deeper inside you. But not for long - because you’re pushing his hips down, nails digging into the milky skin of his hips.

“Nope.” you hum, grinning at his pout. “Not till you admit defeat, Toru.”

“What defeat? That all you got, baby?” Gojo scoffs.

Stubborn bastard.

“‘What defeat’, huh?” you taunt. Leaning down so your breath fans his pretty face, “Said I couldn’t- handle it-” Each word is punctuated by you slamming down hard onto his swollen cock. Snug cunt massaging his veins as you pull up all the way - till his leaking tip is just kissing your sloppy hole, rocking your hips down hard at a punishing pace. “Look at you now, huh?”

You risk a glance into his eyes and oh- he liked it.

The great Gojo Satoru - revered like a God since birth - liked being treated like a mere fucktoy at your hands. Loved it even - if the way he twitched inside you was anything to go by it. Oh how you enjoyed being the one to bring him down to his knees.

Immediately, your hand reaches to grab the blindfold hanging haphazardly on his neck. “C’mon, Toru.” you warn, breaths ragged at the way his fat tip kissed your cervix. Tugging - hard - Gojo breath hitches in his throat as you whisper, “Jus’ give up.”

His pretty lips part slightly as you speed up your movements. Harsh, purposeful movements just to fuck his soul out.

“God, fuck- hah. Nah, more talk than walk, huh?”

Your hand tightens around the delicate blindfold, relishing in the wet little gurgles that leave him at the pressure around his throat. Balls squeezing painfully as you hypnotize him with your heavenly cunt. Alternating between agonizingly slow strokes and a sloppy, erratic bouncing - edging him closer and closer to the edge. Only to shatter his orgasm and his ego. Fuck.

“I know you want to cum, Toru.” your sweet voice snaps him out of his reverie, and Gojo stares up into your hazy, powerdrunk eyes. “Just admit defeat.”

“No.”

“Toru.” you start, sultry and dangerous. “Admit it.”

He shakes his head desperately, tears peeking out through those long lashes. “No.” he repeats, jaw clenched tight.

A hand wraps around his blindfold, pulling him impossibly closer, not even a hair’s breadth between your sticky bodies. “Admit defeat, Toru.” your lips ghosting his, nipping at his bottom lip. “Admit defeat, n’ I’ll make your cock cum hard enough to see stars.”

And finally, “I hah- a-admit defeat.”

“Louder.”

“I was wrong! Was wrong, m’girl. Lemme cum please lemme cum-”

Throwing his head back, Gojo’s hips buck wildly into yours as you let him bully his dick into you with reckless abandon. Over and over- Using you just as much as you were using him. Not even an ounce of the God he was raised to be.

And oh does Gojo see stars - and you do too. Because with a strangled gasp of your name, he’s painting your snug cunt white with thick, hot ropes of his cum.

Fucking his seed deeper and deeper, he fucks you through your high. Dazed blue eyes widening at the way your tight pussy was so overfilled, sticky seed dribbling out of you. The sight of you creaming around his cock has his balls twitching exhaustedly. Fuck it was all too much. Flimsy handcuffs shattering with one pull, Gojo mutters raggedly, words sending shivers down your spine, “My turn, baby.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

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