-GOTHAM!VICTOR ZSASZ X READER-
⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; After a small argument with Victor, you quickly begin to realize he's the pettiest person you know. (and the biggest ragebaiter yeeeooch!)
⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!zsasz x female reader. SMUT!!!! PURE PORN. Dom sassy man apocalypse! unprotected smex, LOTS of positions (vic, you dog!), manhandling, marking, spitting, LOTS of degradation, (really victor just being a funny asshole), some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing. Topping from the bottom. Ruined orgasms. Reader gets reasonably ticked off. Victor being on his man period + one of the girls. Arguing like a married couple. Not quite sure if I'm back from my hiatus completely, but I've finally gotten hit with the inspiration to write after so long. Missed by baby Victor!
♫ “Get that d!ck in ya mouth. / Know I'm the best, man, there's no debating. / Like, napalm she blowing on me.” Ragebait by fakemink
"Damn, sweets. Could you go any faster? I'm starting to get bored." He drawls, mimicking a fake yawn. His palms are gripping the fat of your ass as you bounce for your life on his cock, sweat on your brow. Despite the near inhumane pace, he's stretched out like a lazy cat, jaded look on his face.
"Fuh- fuck...hck- you." You hiss, hips moving as fast as you possibly can.
"Duhhh. You already are." He rolls his eyes, shrugging back his shoulders. An infuriating smile spreads on his face. He lifts his own hips up just slightly to buck into you...a tiny little motion that has your walls fluttering around the length of his cock.
Just a few hours ago, he had gotten his panties in a twist over you eating the last slice of pizza in the fridge. Because of course he did. You were almost positive you could shoot dead one of his own men...and he wouldn't bat an eye. But pizza...pizza is what pissed him off.
The thought is so annoying that it makes you whine- frustrated by his lack of giving. No, he decided he was going to make you work for it tonight. Since in his words, he's out there working every night. To pay for said pizza. Dick.
A gloved finger comes to rest above your clit, purposefully rubbing around it- avoiding the cute little button he'd normally abuse greedily. He speaks absentmindedly, smushing around the wetness. You heave in a shakey gasp.
"Oh, wow, you're soaked. Really moist." He says, drawling out that stupid word he knows irritates you. When you clench around his shaft, tight and slick, he gives a low wolf whistle. The only betrayal on his face being a small eye twitch. "Okay, yeah, that one got me. Gold star."
You groan, pushing his shoulders back for leverage. He raises a non existent eyebrow, letting you push him back.
He lets out a tiny, breathy huff of amusement- barely a laugh.
His gloved thumb finally- finally- brushes your clit, light as a feather, then pulls away again like he forgot what he was doing.
You dig your nails into his chest through the leather. He doesn’t react beyond a another faint eye-twitch and a slow blink.
“Ow. Kinky. You gonna leave marks? I could use a new one. Right… here.” He taps his own collarbone absently, like he’s pointing out real estate.
You're gonna fucking kill him.
Your hand comes up, and in less than a second, a sharp Thwack! rings in the emptiness of the room. The only sound left being your soft, whiney pants. Only when his head turns back around- slow and steady, smile wiped away- do you realize what you just did. You slapped Victor Zsasz.
“...Huh.” Soft drawl. Almost impressed. “...Tax just went up, sweets.”
Before you can even think about apologizing, or running, he moves.
One gloved hand snakes around the back of your neck like it’s nothing. The other clamps down on your hip, yanking you flush against him so hard your clit grinds against his pelvis and your vision whites out for half a second. Then he sits up in one fluid, bored motion, flips you both, and suddenly you’re face-down on the mattress with your ass still in the air and his cock still buried to the hilt.
He hooks his forearm under your chin from behind. Loose at first, almost gentle- until he tightens it into a lazy headlock, just enough to arch your back and make every shallow breath feel like a privilege. His chest presses hot against your spine, scarred skin dragging over sweat-slick skin, and his mouth finds the shell of your ear.
"Oh-ho, listen to her." He breathes, smile tightening. The wet shliwckkk and ploppp of your swollen pussy ringing out. "I think she's trying to say something."
"Sh sh sh, the grown-ups are talking." He hauls you up further in his arms, bucking into you with sharp and deep snaps. His thick cock slams against the inside of your spongey walls, hitting your most sensitive spot over and over again. "Mkay," He says after a moment, "Open up."
You have no time to question the order, lips already set in an 'oh' shape from the sheer force of his thrusts. A glove hand snakes around you, dropping the headlock in a moment of mercy, before he spits directly into your mouth.
His palm comes to clamp your mouth shut. The leather is hot on your lips.
"Well? Swallow." He orders, eyes watching and studying every movement. You don't have much of a choice- the thick glob running down your throat.
Another lazy thrust. Then another. Each one punches deeper, wet squelch loud in the quiet room, your slick dripping down his balls. He doesn’t speed up- just keeps that infuriating rhythm, grinding in deep circles that make your walls flutter and clamp like they’re trying to suck him dry.
He doesn’t let go of your jaw right away. Keeps that gloved palm sealed over your mouth like he’s making sure you don’t waste a single drop of his little “gift.” His thumb strokes once- slow, almost thoughtful- along the seam of your lips while he keeps grinding in those lazy, punishing circles, cock so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach.
“Mmm. Good girl,” he murmurs, voice velvet-soft and bored at the same time. “Like you were starving. Pizza wasn’t enough, huh?”
You want to fight him. You want to scream. You want to push him back, bite his lips raw and make him moan. Wipe that stupid, petty expression off his face.
"You're being- ahn-" You struggle out against his hold, speaking muffled underneath his glove.
"I'm being...what?" Thrust. "Say it." Thrust. "Use your big-girl words."
His free hand comes to trail spit-slick fingers down your chin, then lower- cupping one breast and giving the nipple a lazy pinch that makes you jolt. He's torturing you. He's enjoying it. Pay back.
Another lazy roll of his hips, stirring your guts until your thighs quiver and a fresh gush of slick coats his balls. He huffs- tiny, amused, barely audible.
“Aw. Trying so hard. Respect.” He almost wants to mock salute you, if for no other reason than the bit. But his hands are currently occupied.
He finally peels the glove off your mouth, but only so he can hook two fingers behind your lower teeth like he’s checking a horse’s bite. Keeps your jaw pried just open enough that drool starts pooling at the corner of your lips.
Drool slides slow and shiny down your chin; he watches it like it’s mildly interesting television.
“...Look at that,” he coos, voice soft and sleepy. Like he's making a note, an observation. Like he's taking a mental picture to save and think about later. “Leaking from both ends now."
He finally slips his fingers free of your mouth, letting your jaw snap shut with a wet click. Strings of spit connect leather to lip for a second before they snap. He wipes them absently on your cheek like you’re a napkin.
You try to buck back against him- anything to get more friction, more speed, more anything. He just plants one hand flat between your shoulder blades and presses you down harder into the mattress, immobilizing you mid-thrust. Cock buried to the root, throbbing, unmoving.
“Nuh-uh. No free rides.” He leans in, voice dry and taunting.
You’re right there. Teetering on the razor’s edge, every nerve screaming, thighs locked and shaking, cunt clamped down so tight around him you can feel every throb of his cock like it’s your own heartbeat. Your moans have gone high and broken like a kitten in heat, the kind that sound like you’re about to sob his name into the mattress. His lazy circles on your clit have finally turned firm, relentless, leather dragging perfect friction.
"Vic-" You hiccup, moaning, "Vic- M'gonna-"
Your back arches harder into the headlock, vision tunneling, breath coming in short, desperate hitches. Heat coils tighter, tighter- right on the brink, right about to shatter-
The doorbell cuts through the room like a guillotine.
Victor freezes. Mid-thrust. Cock buried to the hilt, throbbing, but completely still.
You whimper, hips twitching uselessly, trying to chase the friction he just stole. He blinks once. Slowly. Then a bright, satisfied smile pops back up across his face, the one that says everything’s right with the world again.
"Oh, hey, that must be the new pizza I ordered." He grins, grip going slack on you so fast you collapse into the mattress. "Perfect timing, right?"
He starts to pull out- too quick for your sensitive heat, every inch dragging along your swollen walls until you’re left clenching around nothing. A fresh gush of slick follows him, dripping obscene down your thighs. You make a broken little noise of protest.
He pats your ass once, almost affectionate. “Hold that thought, babe. I’ll be right back.”
He swings his legs off the bed like this is the most normal thing in the universe, zipping up the leather fly, and lets out another whistle while he walks.
You’re left there- face-down, ass-up, cunt still pulsing and empty, orgasm hanging in limbo like a cancelled flight. Every muscle trembles with denied release. You can hear him in the hallway, casual:
“Yeah, hey. Pepperoni and extra cheese? Sweet. Keep the change.”
The man obviously doesn't keep the change for long, because you hear the sound of a gunshot and thud.
The door clicks shut. Footsteps return. He strolls back in holding the steaming box like it’s a trophy, already flipping the lid open and snagging a slice.
He drops onto the edge of the bed beside you, takes one huge bite, chews thoughtfully while eyeing your wrecked, trembling form.
“Sorry. You still mad about the last one?” he asks around a mouthful, genuinely curious. Like you were the one pissed about this whole thing in the first place. “This one’s better. Truce?”
You might really kill him one day.
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